by Mary Kennedy
“Cappuccino, please, and make it to go. It’s such a nice night, I’d like to take a stroll.” I wandered back outside to wait while Noah ordered the drinks. It was one of those perfect early summer evenings when the air is sweet with the scent of magnolias and the breeze is soft as a caress. It was good to get away from the tragic scene at Beaux Reves. I could still feel the darkness and sense of evil; it was as though a malevolent presence was hanging over the once-dazzling mansion, and now it was somber as a tomb.
Noah appeared a few minutes later, and we strolled along the waterfront, lost in thought.
“You were pretty impressive back there at the mansion,” he said, breaking the silence. He shot me a look, and his mouth quirked in a sexy little smile. “I think you missed your calling. If you ever want to join me in the detective agency, I could use a partner.”
“Me, a detective?” I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t think so. You should have seen me in the basement today when the lights went out. I was as frightened as a mouse.”
“I can do the heavy lifting if you join the agency,” he said, placing an arm around my shoulders. “You can do all of the analyzing, the strategizing. After all, you’re the one with the MBA. I’m just an ex-Bureau guy trying to make a living as a detective.”
We moved to one side of the walkway as a young couple with a double baby stroller passed by. Twins. Noah smiled at the parents, and I wondered if he and I would ever tie the knot and have a family someday.
“You notice things other people miss, Taylor,” he said. He steered me to a bench under a banyan tree. The Riverwalk was crowded with tourists tonight, and a band was playing nearby, the sound of soft bluegrass drifting in the evening air. “The cord to the boom box could be the key to Lucy’s death.”
“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly wondering if my memory was correct. “Do you suppose I could have made a mistake?”
I’d been so sure I’d seen the boom box perched on the colorful tiles over the kitchen sink, and I’d been afraid it might tumble into the water. Or had I imagined the cord being short? Sometimes our minds play tricks on us and add details that aren’t really there. Memories are as elusive as dreams. If Dorien heard my story about the boom box and the kitchen sink, she’d insist that I’d had a “premonition” that Lucy would be electrocuted. Dorien fancies herself a psychic and believes in precognition, the ability to foretell events that haven’t happened yet.
“I don’t think you made a mistake,” Noah said. “Close your eyes and picture the kitchen. Lucy is washing dishes at the sink and the boom box is on the counter. What do you see?”
I tried to bring the kitchen scene into focus. “I see the cord,” I said. “And I’m amazed the boom box hasn’t fallen into the sink yet. It looks dangerous.”
“Then trust your instincts, Taylor.” He leaned close and planted a kiss on my neck. “I know I do,” he murmured in a husky voice.
“I thought we were here to talk about the case,” I said, unconvincingly. I felt myself tingling just being near him and wished we were someplace private.
“Ah, the case,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I got a text from a friend whose uncle went to college with Norman Osteroff. He scanned a page of the yearbook and sent it to me. Take a look.”
I edged close to look at the screen and saw a much younger Norman Osteroff posing with his friends. Even as a young man, he looked austere, forbidding, his lips firmly pressed together. Did the man never crack a smile? I read the text aloud. “‘Norman Osteroff. Career plans: future attorney. Clubs and hobbies: debate club, Adam Smith Society, Phi Beta Kappa, the rowing team. Astrological sign: Pisces.’ No surprises here, except I didn’t think he’d be involved in anything athletic.” I started to pass the phone over to Noah when I gasped. “Wait a minute,” I said, snatching the phone back. “Look at what his classmates called Norman. His nickname. I almost missed it.”
Noah leaned over and his eyebrows shot up. “Norman the Conquerer? A bit pretentious, but maybe it refers to his debating skills.”
“No, that’s not it,” I said excitedly. “Norman the Conquerer! Remember the love letter I found in Desiree’s room? The person signed it, ‘your conquering hero.’ That can’t be a coincidence!”
“I’m not so sure,” Noah said, his dark eyes earnest. “Norman and Desiree? I know they say opposites attract, but don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch? He’s a stuffy lawyer, and she was a girl who loved to drink and party, from what I’ve heard.”
“It wouldn’t have to be a love affair,” I said. “At least, not on his part. Think about it. Desiree was an heiress. He might have pretended to be enchanted by her to use her in some way.”
“How?” Noah drained the last of his coffee.
“I don’t know. This seems to add another layer of complication to the case.”
“We can check the financials again,” Noah suggested. “Osteroff had a lot of power with that family, and if he could pull the wool over Desiree’s eyes, maybe he fooled Abigail, too. I think at the end she might have lost trust in him and that’s why she asked you and Ali to do the inventory.”
“I think so, too.” I felt as if the whole case had gone topsy-turvy. “Where do things stand right now with our suspect list?”
“If we take Norman out of the mix?” Noah sat back, resting his arm along the back of the bench. “Nothing’s changed with the other suspects. What’s the latest on Laura Howard? She stood to make a lot of money from the tontine.”
“No, she didn’t.” I filled him in on my conversation with Laura about the Savannah real estate she’d won and how it wasn’t the gold mine she’d expected it to be.
“But she didn’t know about property values sinking until after Abigail’s death, right?” he asked.
“Right. So she still could be a suspect, but somehow I just can’t see her as a killer.”
“You can’t see past the white gloves and pearls,” Noah teased me. “Some famous socialites have murdered people. Don’t be fooled by their ladylike appearance.”
“I know. If we take Laura Howard out as a suspect, we’re left with Angus.”
“You told Sam there’s something shady about him,” Noah said.
“I know there is. He and Lucy were upset when Ali and I were wandering around the mansion. I think they were afraid we’d find something that would incriminate them.”
“And now Lucy’s dead.”
“I know. I have the feeling this is a game changer, but I can’t figure out who would want to kill her.”
“Someone who felt threatened by her,” Noah offered. “Who stands to gain from her death?”
“Could it be her son, Nicky? He probably was helping himself to things from the mansion, but I don’t think she would ever turn him in. And Angus wasn’t threatened by her. I think they were involved in something together. They seemed thick as thieves.” I paused. Sunset had passed, and a cool violet color was slowly taking over the evening sky. “I suppose we should consider Jeb Arnold, the estate manager. We know he was selling off antiques from Beaux Reves, or at least trying to.”
Noah nodded. “I was glad you told Sam about what you heard from Gideon. They may be able to run a sting operation and catch Jeb. I just don’t see him as a killer, though. And if he really was trying to peddle stolen goods, Lucy and her son must have been in on it. Lucy was there every single day, and she knew what came in and out of the mansion. So Jeb wouldn’t have had any reason to kill her. Unless she was blackmailing him. Was that possible?”
“I don’t think so; he was flat broke. He had awful gambling debts and didn’t have any funds to pay them off. So there wouldn’t be any motive for Lucy to blackmail him. We have a wild card,” I said. “Sophie Stanton.”
“Sophie Stanton. Did anyone dig up anything on her?”
“The Harper sisters are on it,” I said, “and Sara is calling in some fav
ors to figure out if she’s really who she says she is. There’s just something about her that’s a little off.”
“As in crazy-killer off? She’s not in any criminal database.”
“No, she’s probably not a killer. I just can’t get a handle on her, and it’s annoying to me.” Noah glanced at his watch, and I knew we both were ready to wrap up the conversation. Noah had already told me he had to go back to the office to finish up some paperwork, and I wanted to get back home to talk with Ali. I knew she’d be waiting up, eager to hear what had happened at Beaux Reves.
“I always think of you telling me to ‘follow the money’ in any investigation,” I said.
“I still stand by it.” He smiled. “I’m flattered you remembered.”
“It’s a good strategy, but in this case, I don’t see where it’s leading us.”
“I don’t, either,” he said, standing up and reaching out his hand. “The one thing I’m sure of is that it all goes back to Desiree. Somehow the three deaths are connected. If we can find out what happened to Desiree, we can find the killer.”
27
“Somehow Abigail is the key to all this,” Ali said. “I just know it.”
“It may go all the way back to Desiree,” I said, recalling Noah’s words. “Until we figure out what happened to Desiree, we may never discover who murdered Abigail and Lucy.”
It was the next day, and I was helping Ali and Dana set out coffee and pastries for the morning crowd. We decided to open the shop a little early today. The Harper sisters were dropping by to pick up candies for their nephew’s class party, and Dorien wanted to see our tasting tray. I was sure she wanted to copy the idea for her own shop, and I didn’t really mind. It’s good to be neighborly, and there’s room for both of us in the district.
Dorien has been having a hard time getting a foothold in the catering business, and she said she hoped we could “partner up” for some promotions. Offhand, I couldn’t think of any way we could join forces. Her business isn’t really much of a success and she’s scrimping by with her part-time work as a tarot card reader. I feel sorry for her, but I don’t want to jeopardize our own business by rushing into anything with her.
“I’m not so sure about Desiree,” Ali countered. “What if it really was just an accident? Maybe she had too much to drink and fell into the river that night? She’d been spotted prancing along the edge of the pier, shoes in her hand, high as a kite. One misstep and she could have landed in the water. She probably couldn’t swim in that floor-length cocktail dress, and she might have gone right under.”
“That’s a possibility, I guess.” I found myself going back and forth on what happened to Desiree. Officially, the case was closed, but Noah had looked over all the police records and wasn’t convinced that her death was due to natural causes. Abigail had certainly had her suspicions, at least after the fact. But why hadn’t she pushed for a more aggressive investigation at the time? She had the money and connections to fund a deeper look into her sister’s death.
Or could it be that she was too grief-stricken to think clearly, and she had let the opportunity pass her by? That was the only explanation that made sense to me. The only other possibility was that she was involved in her sister’s death, and I simply didn’t believe it. The two sisters were close, and Abigail felt her sister’s loss very keenly.
I’d told Ali as much as I could about Lucy’s death as soon as I got home last night. Just as I’d suspected, she’d been waiting up for me. She was upset, but was glad that I’d visited the crime scene with Noah. She’d become a little teary when I told her that Lucy may have been murdered, but she managed to control her emotions and ask all the right questions. At this point, she knew as much as I did.
The Harper sisters arrived a few minutes later, and I filled them in on the events at Beaux Reves. Both seemed upset at Lucy’s death, particularly at the thought that she might have met with foul play.
“When will the police know for sure, dear?” Minerva asked me.
“I suppose after the autopsy,” I said. I glanced at Ali. I didn’t want to say too much in front of her. “There seems to be some question about whether she was actually electrocuted or just stunned and held underwater long enough to drown.”
“Held underwater?” Rose blanched. “How would the police know that for certain?”
“There seemed to be bruises on her back,” I said in a low voice. Ali was busying herself taking a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven. They’re one of our most popular items, and we always seem to run short. “Sam said she thought she saw some suspicious marks on the body, but she couldn’t be sure.”
I didn’t go into detail about my theory of the boom box and the cord. All that would be left up to the CSIs. Noah said I should trust my instincts. I was positive the cord was too short so Lucy couldn’t have been balancing the boom box on the edge of the tub, but it was silly to speculate. “We should know something in the next few hours,” I said with more certainty than I felt.
“I wish we knew what Abigail’s inner life was like,” Ali said, joining us.
Rose and Minerva exchanged a look. I’m sure they had no idea what Ali was talking about. “Inner life?” Rose asked.
“Her hopes and dreams, her fears, her goals. The sort of thing you’d put in a diary.”
“I wish the police had found a diary,” I said feelingly. “Even a date book. Everything hinges on what Abigail was planning the night she died. What a pity she didn’t keep one. We’d know if she had an appointment that night and who she was meeting.”
“Oh, but she did keep a diary, Taylor,” Minerva said. “She called it ‘the book.’ She mentioned it at lunch that day, do you remember? She was so surprised at the idea of dream interpretation that she said something like, ‘This is one for the book.’”
This is one for the book. “You know, I did notice that,” I said slowly. It was all coming back to me. The happy, sun-splashed patio, the smile on Abigail’s face as she realized she wasn’t condemned to death by her dream. “And you’re right, those are exactly the words she used. The book. I thought maybe she was writing a novel.”
“A novel? Oh, good heavens, no,” Minerva said. “That was just an expression. She always called it the book, and I assumed it was a diary of some kind. Or maybe an appointment book.”
“Did you ever see it?” Ali asked eagerly. “This book of hers?” She quickly poured coffee for everyone and greeted Dorien, motioning her to a bar stool. “We’re talking about whether or not Abigail kept a diary,” she said, filling her in on the discussion.
Minerva pushed a plate of croissants toward Dorien and said, “No, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. I never saw it, but I know it exists.”
“But where is it?” Ali said, frustrated. “It’s got to be somewhere at Beaux Reves, but the place is so huge. Taylor and I have only had time to look in a few rooms.”
“I have an idea,” Dorien said, turning to Minerva. “You and Rose probably knew Abigail better than anyone. What was Abigail’s favorite room in the mansion? Do you know?”
Minerva put down her coffee cup and rested her chin on her hand for a long moment. “It had to be the library,” she said finally. “That was the room where she felt the happiest, surrounded by her beloved books, listening to a violin concerto. Sometimes she had Lucy light a fire for her, and she said she loved to look at the burning logs. She told me it was the most peaceful room in the house.”
“The library,” Dorien repeated. “That’s interesting. I had a dream about Abigail last night, and she was in the library.”
Ali and I exchanged a look. Was Dorien telling the truth or was this a shameless bid for attention?
“It must have been the library. It had walls and walls of books. It had a fireplace with a green marble mantelpiece and a maidenhair fern in a pot.” Dorien was staring off into the distance as if she was lost in another
dimension. Her voice became low, hypnotic. “There were two ceramic dogs guarding the fireplace. The room was dark, with heavy drapes. It had lots of mahogany paneling and what they call a ‘tray ceiling.’ I remember thinking it would look a lot better if someone let some light in. Abigail smiled and motioned to me to sit down. And then I woke up,” she finished abruptly.
I could hardly contain my surprise and stared at Ali. What Dorien had described was the library at Beaux Reves. Her description was perfect, down to the last detail. How was this possible? I’d seen everything for myself: the green marble mantelpiece, the dark wood paneling. Even the ceramic dogs and the maidenhair fern. It was as though she had an exact image of the Beaux Reves library imprinted in her mind.
How had she described the room so perfectly? Had Dorien ever been inside the mansion? I doubted it. Of course, she could have seen a photograph of the Beaux Reves library, perhaps in a travel book. Some people have photographic memories and are able to recall a picture in complete detail. I don’t have that ability, but I know it exists.
“That’s very interesting,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“Well, maybe that will put you on the right track,” Dorien said, biting into a croissant. “Have you settled on a suspect yet?”
I shook my head. “Not really. Here’s where we are.” I took a few minutes to bring Minerva, Rose, and Dorien up to speed on the missing items from the mansion and our suspicion that more than one person might be involved.
“The trouble is, anyone could have been stealing from the mansion,” Ali said. “Even Lucy.”
“Surely not Lucy!” Rose said. “She was devoted to Abigail.”
“I’m sure she was,” I said gently, “but she could have been in dire straits. I suspect she might have had some financial difficulties. Her son seemed to be a complete drain on her. Of course, other people at Beaux Reves had access to valuables, too.” I ticked off the possibilities on the fingers of one hand. “There is Nicky, her son. Angus, who was hired to do an inventory. Sophie, who is a bit of a mystery woman, and Jeb, the estate manager.”
