An Eggshell Present: An Abishag’s Fourth Mystery (Abishag Mysteries Book 4)

by Michelle Knowlden

Kat leaned towards him. “He did! It wasn’t an accident then?”

  Dog’s hand clenched. “I told the police about the threats and Reich. They looked into it, but the final verdict was a hit and run by person or persons unknown.”

  Kat slid down her chair, and a speculative look crossed her face.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “What if it wasn’t accident, but it wasn’t Reich? Remember Sebastian called me that night. What if someone at Vote Greene tried to silence him.”

  I gulped. “Did you find something in the campaign finances so bad that they’d kill over it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And we’re close to finding out who it is, too.”

  My mind reeled. “Maybe I’m paranoid, but doesn’t this sound like a lot of people want to see us dead?”

  “Not a lot of people,” Dog said. “We’ve dealt with the Reichs before. We already know that their kind of revenge has a long shelf life.”

  “We know that about Annette.” I stuck stubbornly to logic. “All we know about the brother is that he wanted to file a civil suit against the Crowders. He disappeared after Annette was arrested.”

  “I agree,” Kat quickly interjected. “The fact that Sebastian called me the night of his accident …”

  “Sorry, Kat, but someone trying to kill Sebastian because they’re stealing from Vote Greene doesn’t make sense either. That’s a big step to go from stealing a few thousand dollars to killing a human being.”

  “Happens all the time,” she said. “You hear about it in the news everyday. We saw it happen with your first three husbands, too.”

  I shrugged. “That’s different. Revenge, art, and adultery are the very seeds of crazy. One expects violent outcomes when they’re in play. Unless we know that Adam is as insanely bent on revenge as Annette, we shouldn’t suspect him. The person responsible for his father’s death is already dead. And the one stealing from Vote Greene, if someone is stealing from Vote Greene, is out to prove my Dad a criminal. I can’t believe they’d kill over either one.”

  “People do it all the time. To stay out of trouble. To keep from being found out.” Kat shoved her bowl away. “That’s reality. Believing anything else is living in a fantasy world.”

  That was a cheap shot. Dog shifted uncomfortably. Both of them knew that I liked fairy tales. I covered the hurt by murmuring the Abishag’s mantra: Peace like a river. Serenity like a lake. Calm like me.

  Even if I was no longer an Abishag wife, I picked up my bowl with all the dignity of one. “I’ll clean up.”

  Kat took a breath. “Les, I …”

  I didn’t let her finish. “When you can prove what’s going in Dad’s campaign, then we’ll talk. Or better yet, contact whoever you call for election fraud. The police can find out if he or she has an alibi for Sebastian’s accident.”

  Then I nailed Dog with a steely look. “You and Sebastian should know by now that Kat and I don’t need protecting. Not telling us about Adam Reich puts us in more danger. I want to talk to the police. I want to know if Reich is a credible threat. Kat and I need to have a picture of him, too. So we know who to watch for.”

  Dog nodded.

  Kat started to say something, but I shook my head. “Not now, Kat. I’m too worried about what the agency is going to do about the contract. I’m worried about what Tina’s going to do tomorrow. And you two need to pack.”

  They exchanged a look.

  “You want help cleaning up?” Dog asked.

  I shook my head again. “I got it. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  There’s nothing like washing dishes for thinking and crying. Everything I did now felt charged with emotion. We wouldn’t be eating goulash leftovers in Sebastian’s townhouse but in our university house. I would never have a chance to tell Sebastian why this fork was bent. I may never see this bowl again.

  The mantel clock chimed midnight when I finished scrubbing the kitchen and packing. I changed the sheets on Sebastian’s hospital bed in the study and slept in the room downstairs. If I cried all night, I didn’t want Dog and Kat to hear. Before I turned off the light, I put my engagement present on the bureau. When the ring stopped swinging in the rainbow egg, I turned off the light. Whatever its hypnotic effect on me, I fell asleep moments later.

  ***

  I was up at dawn and finished my granola while the sky above the Santa Monica mountains was still pink. I loaded my car with everything I had accumulated since becoming Sebastian’s Abishag wife.

  While I showered, Dog and Kat had breakfast. They’d packed Dog’s ancient Saab the night before.

  “Les?” Kat stood at the door. I’d just finished stuffing the rainbow eggshell present in my backpack.

  “You ready to go?” I hoped I didn’t look guilty.

  She nodded. “We thought you’d want a few minutes alone, so we’ll take off now.”

  “Did you clear the refrigerator?” I’d forgotten about that.

  “Yeah. We left some of the goulash for Connor.”

  Suddenly unable to speak, I swallowed.

  “Anyway,” she said hurriedly. “We’ll see you back at the house.”

  “Thanks,” I managed.

  After they left, I picked oranges and put bowls of them in the kitchen and the study. I scrawled a quick note for Mrs. Timmons and gave her my phone number. I knew she already had it but it would be a tonic to hear her voice today. I left another note for Sebastian under a magazine that Connor had left behind. Sebastian couldn’t read, and I expected that Tina would not read it to him. Maybe Connor would.

  I scoured each room till nothing remained of me, as if our Abishag marriage had never existed. When I started my car, my eyes were dry and I felt a new resolve. No matter what the agency or the Crowder family decided, I would fight for Sebastian.

  When I pulled up to the West LA house, I saw Professor Stegner lurking near the garage. In the first two years living at the university house, I’d never met our dodgy landlord. Dog handled all the rental business. I first met Stegner when he came to our aid the Christmas I was an Abishag wife to the artist Jordan Ippel. His forgery, fencing, and cake dome bashing skills had been enormously helpful.

  “Leslie?” He sidled towards me, looking furtively up and down the street.

  “Hi, Professor Stegner. Thanks for letting us …”

  “Hush,” he whispered. “The walls have ears.”

  Since he’d drawn me into a shadowed corner of the atrium, I wasn’t sure what walls he meant. I lowered my voice. “Are you in trouble? Can I help?” I hoped that didn’t mean doing something illegal.

  Sorrowfully, he shook his head. “My current peccadillo will only be resolved by time or the eradication of evidence at a certain precinct in Tucson. I’m here to talk to you about Sebastian Crowder.”

  “He’s doing better, sir, but we’re not taking care of him anymore.”

  “So Kathmandu told me yesterday,” he said. “I was sorry to hear about his accident. Last year, over fruit cake, I had the most illuminating discussion about glacier bones …”

  Since I doubted Sebastian would ever return to his physical anthropology studies, I interrupted him. “I probably should unpack my car. If I see Sebastian, I’ll tell him you asked after him.” My voice trailed off at the end when my throat tightened.

  “That’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” After shooting another wary look up and down the street, he leaned closer to me. He smelled of donuts and potassium chloride. “I may need to leave town for a spell. Sebastian asked me to hold something for him. He may want it back before I return … if I return. I’d like to pass it to him or his proxy now.”

  I studied him suspiciously. Had Sebastian really given him something or was Doctor Stegner trying to trick me into holding some ill-gotten treasure for him. “I could give you his mother’s phone number.”

  He shook his head. “No, dear. He told me specifically that he didn’t want his family to know about it. Or the police,” he added that last under his breath.
“But that goes without saying.”

  My eyebrows rose sharply. “Sebastian would never do anything illegal.”

  He didn’t notice my step backwards. “None us believe we will. Then one day, we do. Circumstances drive our moral decisions. That thin membrane of personal ethics can’t withstand even the small, everyday crises of speed limits or a store clerk’s mistake in our favor. How can an honest man hold fast in events that shake him to his very core?”

  Philosophy had never been my strong suit. “Sebastian would never do anything illegal,” I repeated stubbornly.

  He exhaled. “Nevertheless.” He withdrew a battered envelope from his worn leather jacket and placed it in my hands. “Please give this to Mr. Crowder with my deepest regrets. I could not find the original owner, and I can no longer keep it safe.”

  “When did he give it to you?” I held the envelope tentatively.

  “A year ago, late January. Weeks after your artist husband died. He hoped that my ties to the criminal underworld would resolve the matter, but neither of us anticipated how quickly circumstances can change. Some of my contacts have died or disappeared or mutual trust has failed. My livelihood doesn’t foster constancy.”

  He tapped the envelope I held against my chest. “Take care with that, young Leslie. I fear its contents are more dangerous than we’d imagine.”

  Too late, I wondered if this was why Sebastian had been nearly killed.

  Before I could open my mouth, Stegner said, “Tell Stanley that his bowfishing bow is still here.” Then he dashed to a non-descript sedan at the curb.

  I ran across the lawn but tripped over a sprinkler head. I shouted, but he either didn’t hear or ignored me as his car roared away.

  I stuffed the envelope into the backpack that contained the 96th eggshell present. I headed into the house with several bags and the backpack. Banging open the door, I called Dog and Kat’s names.

  “We’re in here,” Kat yelled. I dumped all the bags except the backpack and struck out for the kitchen at the back of the house.

  I stalled in the doorway when a wave of nostalgia overwhelmed me. Although it smelled of neglect, it looked the same as when we’d moved out almost two months ago: the countertops stained yellow from curry stews, a school calendar askew on the fridge, and the wall behind the stove embedded with glass fragments from Heather’s one and only experiment in canning.

  “Coffee?” Kat asked.

  I shook my head. “Professor Stegner ambushed me outside the house.” I unzipped the backpack and extracted the envelope. “He said Sebastian gave this to him over a year ago. He said it was something illegal.”

  Kat cut me off. “Impossible. No one’s moral compass tracks north more than Seb’s.”

  My gaze stayed on Dog. “Do you know about this? Does it have to do with Reich?”

  He shrugged. “He didn’t say anything about it to me.”

  “Too long ago to have anything to do with your dad’s campaign.” Kat frowned. “Why haven’t you opened it?”

  “Because if it is illegal, I’ll have to give it to the police. But I don’t want to get Sebastian in trouble.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hand it over.”

  Both Dog and I objected, but she feinted left and when I leaned right, she snatched it from me. She ripped it open before I could wrestle it from her.

  She pulled out a sheath of papers and a yellowed newspaper fragment clipped at the top. Her eyes widened.

  “No way,” she breathed.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “This changes everything.” Kat had a dramatic bent. “The newspaper article is about a trial against a Chicago racketeer named Billy Tolliver. An IRS agent was the only witness against him. He disappeared after the trial but not before securing a conviction against Tolliver. This has gotta be why someone attacked Sebastian.”

  Chicago? Mobsters? The IRS? How was Sebastian mixed up in this?

  “It’s not illegal to have a newspaper article.” Dog cast a wary look at the paper stack. “What’s the rest of it?”

  “It’s a confidential case file on the IRS agent.”

  “So this has nothing to do with Adam Reich or dad’s campaign?” I leaned over her shoulder and stifled a shriek. “It says unauthorized possession of the file is punishable by law. Stop reading it, Kat.”

  “No.” She flipped quickly through the pages.

  “Dog?”

  He looked uneasily between Kat and me. “Maybe she’s right, Kat. Put it back in the envelope.”

  She flipped faster through the pages. “In a minute.”

  I reached over her shoulder, but Dog’s arm barred my way. “Leave it, Les. We’ll know better what to do after she reads it.” He knew when to surrender.

  I stalked to the living room and threw myself onto the battered garage sale couch. I felt torn about her reading it. What if I had to testify against both Sebastian and her? The thought horrified me.

  I remembered what Doctor Stegner said about circumstances directing morality. I’d never believed in situational ethics. I believed in black and white. There was no gray when it came to right and wrong.

  But Sebastian had had the file. And someone may have attacked him because he did. So here I sat, thinking about gray.

  Fifteen minutes later, Kat and Dog joined me in the living room. Kat handed me the envelope. Dog set a cup of coffee on the table near me.

  Unable to bear not knowing, I growled, “So what did it say?”

  “The file was the IRS agent Donald Simpson’s testimony. He had been asked to review Tolliver’s tax records in hopes of either tracing illegal business activity or evidence of personal tax fraud. Years of not being able to nail the guy, they planned to convict Tolliver of whatever they could find. Simpson was pretty good at his job. He wasn’t much older than us, but he found evidence of both personal and business illegal acts.”

  “Simpson disappeared after the trial.” I fought to keep my voice even. “Was … did Tolliver have him killed?”

  “Before he testified, his family was threatened. Someone tried running him off the road. After the trial, his wife was found murdered. He and the children vanished.”

  “Ran him off the road?” I said, thinking of Sebastian’s accident.

  “Witness protection?” Dog hazarded. “Because they vanished, I mean.”

  Kat shrugged. “They might have been killed, too, and their bodies disposed elsewhere. Or maybe Simpson decided to disappear after the threats. There’s nothing in the file about what happened to them.”

  At the word “file,” I looked worriedly at the paper stack. “Kat, I’m serious. We have to get rid of it.”

  She nodded.

  Immediately suspicious, Dog and I exchanged a glance.

  She shrugged. “I don’t need it anymore. I’ll remember what’s in it.”

  Which didn’t make me feel any better. “What are you going to do?”

  She veered off on a different tangent. “I have an idea about dealing with your dad’s campaign finance issues. I’ve invited two people at Vote Greene over this afternoon. They can either confirm who had access to those accounts or we’ll find out if they did it themselves. Their digital fingerprints are all over the files.”

  Since I weighed Dad’s accounts as least likely to have put Sebastian in danger, I nodded and said with little enthusiasm, “I’ll make sure I’m here. But how are we going to get rid of this file.”

  “Burn it?” Dog said.

  “It’s got a record number on it. Someone’s looking for it,” I said. “They may already be hunting Sebastian. We should find out who wants it and give it back.”

  Totally ignoring my excellent points, Kat said, “Burning it sounds good to me.” When I started to protest, she said, “Logically, Les, it’s probably Tolliver’s people hunting Seb. They’re the ones who want Simpson, if he’s still living after all this time. If he saw Tolliver kill his wife, Tolliver has even more reasons to make sure the
witnesses are dead.”

  She’d caught my attention with the “logically,” but that didn’t make her hypothesis correct. I picked up the coffee, but it had gone cold. “That can’t be why someone ran Sebastian off the road, Kat. It happened decades ago. Tolliver’s probably dead or out of prison. I think Adam Reich is the prime suspect.”

  “I agree,” Dog said. “It’s why Sebastian was protecting you for the past year.”

  “Not the only reason,” Kat said. “Here’s the plan. Vote Greene finances at 1:30 today. After meeting with the campaign workers, we should have that issue resolved. Fitz is working it, too. I’ll get Dobbins on the Tolliver case and have something later on that. You want to call the police about Adam Reich?”

  Reluctantly, I shook my head. “Sorry, I gotta talk to the agency and lawyers about where I stand with Sebastian. I’ll call my dad if you want him here this afternoon.”

  Both Kat and Dog said “No,” in unison and then exchanged sheepish looks.

  “Okay,” I said. I had no problem leaving my parents out of the investigation. “We’ll fix everything ourselves and then report to all concerned parties afterwards.”

  Kat gave me a guarded look. “You sure you want to talk to lawyers, Les? You don’t have much legal standing as an Abishag. Helping Sebastian now could be best served by finding out who tried to kill him.”

  “He’s in danger till we find out. Maybe we’re all in danger, but the only thing I know how to do is be an Abishag. I want to do that till he says no.”

  Dog said, “I contacted the hospice agency this morning, Les. I’m off Sebastian’s case as his hospice aide. Is there something I can do to help you?”

  Kat’s hand slipped into Dog’s, and they waited for an answer.

  I was terribly aware that they were in danger again, whether from the past when they stood by me in Palos Verdes or because of my dad’s campaign problems or because of this new threat delivered by our landlord. Tolliver had killed before and wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.

  Still I intended to fight for Sebastian. If I got him back, I’d need Dog’s help to care for him.

  “I’m having lunch with a lawyer to see if I can sue for custody,” I said. “I know all the legislation, state laws, agency contracts, and the Abishag’s rules of conduct are in place to benefit the families and secondarily to protect the husbands. Till he can be proved competent, Sebastian’s family has all the rights and he has none. He still needs me, and I’m going to fight for him.”