by Tyler Colins
“Does she reside in Zurich, too?” I asked blandly.
“Geneva.”
I smiled dryly. “Was she recently 'born', too?”
“Almost to the day Pathos was. Do you want me to keep searching?”
“At this stage, I'm not sure it would prove of much value save for appeasing curiosity,” I responded. “Still, we should tie up loose ends. With intensive investigation, I'm fairly sure Pathos and Dinero will somehow link to Prunella. Will you try to find that link?”
“You bet – even if it takes me in-person to the land of army knives and high-end watches.”
* * *
A light but persistent knock on the heavy oak door sounded like a determined woodpecker. Aunt Mat arched a shaped eyebrow and got up to see who it was. Linda, dressed in freshly washed jeans and a thick taupe wool cardigan, sauntered in. Her hair was pulled back with several pretty crystal deco hairpins.
“I thought I'd drop by before dinner arrived and see how you're all doing.” She glanced around. “This is larger and warmer than my room. And …”
“Antique-y?” I asked drolly.
She smiled and noticed our drinks.
“Help yourself.” Aunt Mat gestured the mini bar.
“Thanks.” She pulled out a Bud, unscrewed the top, and took several swigs like a pool player who'd been engrossed in a marathon match or a person who'd had a rough time at the office. “What a day, huh?”
“What a week. But it's certainly been eye-opening,” Aunt Mat responded casually, getting another Scotch.
“We're all so calm, considering.” Linda leaned into a wall near the mini bar and regarded us intently. “I'm curious. Do you guys still believe I killed those Moones?”
“Did you?” Aunt Mat sat on a high-back, shrimp-colored mohair couch between two oriel windows. It was a lovely Louis XV styled piece, with cabriole legs that curved into the arms and frame, and would have nicely complemented the grande dame's drawing room. With slim legs crossed and dainty hands folded, she certainly looked regal sitting on it.
“Don't be silly,” she scoffed. “And I didn't help Prunella, either. She did what she did on her own accord, with assistance from Porter and probably Percival.”
Aunt Mat all but snorted. “If that were true, why would she kill Perc?”
“Because he no longer wanted to help, or she thought he was a liability.” Linda took another swig and leaned forward, her expression intense. “The woman has no conscience, no sense of right and wrong. For her, everyone is a means to an end. Literally.”
“True, she has no conscience,” I conceded, draining my icy drink. “We'll never know the entire truth unless the police find written documentation, bank records or something concrete, or she confesses all, which I have serious reservations about.”
Wet hair slicked back, Rey stopped just outside the bathroom door and regarded Linda with evident surprise. “Oh.”
“Linda was offering her take on Pruney,” I explained.
“Oh.” She hugged the robe tighter, as if it were a protective layer or device to ward off evil spirits, noticed the beaded glass by her cot, and grabbed it.
“We've all agreed that Porter helped Prunella. He had access to the house at all times and could have let her in whenever I and/or Reggie weren't there,” Aunt Mat said. “If Reggie were alive – good heavens. I couldn't even begin to imagine how he'd react once the shock dissipated.” Her expression grew dark. “Even if Prunella were blackmailing or threatening Porter so he'd assist, I'm fairly confident she'd have ensured he'd received a decent cut. Financial incentives make for less disgruntlement and more loyalty.”
“Better a rich blackmailee than a poor one,” I concurred.
“Receiving financial incentive is definitely motivating.” Linda showed signs of relaxing as she moved into a smooth faux-leather rocker recliner. “But why murder in the first place – why now, this past week, at the Moone estate?”
“Prunella had a thing with Thomas and he betrayed her by opting out of the relationship. She'd probably planned revenge for a long while, but had been waiting for the most fitting moment. The inheritance get-together – for reasons only Prunella can confirm – proved the perfect opportunity,” Rey said simply, settling back on the pillows Aunt Mat had claimed minutes before. “She had easy access to Thomas at the house, and a helper to make sure all went smoothly.”
The scriptwriting assistant's brow creased as she considered it. “You know, you're right. She'd have to have been waiting for an opportune moment, like this get-together. It would have taken a great deal of planning and accuracy to do it elsewhere, like at the New York office or his Long Island home. Too many people would have been around and too many things could have gone wrong.”
“Makes sense,” Rey agreed quietly, studying her gin and tonic.
Linda frowned. “What doesn't make sense is Percival being an accomplice to sticking a stake in someone's chest – or possibly even doing it himself – not to help a half-sister, lover, or anyone else. He was many different things, but a killer? I don't see it.”
“Like Porter, he could have been coerced,” I responded. “If he'd been involved in the larceny, the theft, call it what you will, he may have wanted to protect Prunella.”
“From who? Her own unhinged self?” Rey scoffed.
“Maybe he did it to guarantee her silence. I could see her threatening to spill all and implicate him, whether he was involved or not,” Linda asserted.
“Good theories, ladies, but we're just flapping lips,” Rey exclaimed.
I shrugged and turned back to Linda. “Why don't we get back to those Moones?”
“I didn't kill them.” Linda paced around. “Yes, I took time off work. I called in sick, had an ill relative, needed dental work, or whatever. I lied a half dozen times in five, maybe six years so I could go on trips to relax and unwind, to have “me” time. If I was nearby at the time of the Moone accidents, then it was coincidental. Strangely but truly coincidental.”
Pursing her lips, Aunt Mat studied the young woman.
I smiled dryly. “With everything that's happened, I'm sure the police will be investigating those 'accidents'.”
Linda plunked the bottle loudly on a night table, her gaze as frosty as Rey's glass. She was about to say something when there was a rap-rap-rap at the door.
Rey elected to see who it was.
A scrawny, mouse-faced man murmured a greeting and rolled a laden cart to a large round maple table in the corner.
Rey turned to Linda. “You know the truth always comes out eventually, so –”
“You're impossible.” She scowled and stomped from the room like a spoiled birthday girl who'd not received the slice of cake with the sweet, creamy rose.
“Something I said?” Rey asked innocently, closing the door with a sledgehammer-striking-concrete bang.
27
Three on a Dare
Four Scotches and four hours later, Mathilda Reine Moone was fast asleep. She reclined to the far left, her face serene, almost joyful, as if she were dreaming of tiptoeing through a vast sunny field of daisies. A couple of sedatives on top of the Scotches had undoubtedly contributed to the feeling-no-pain slumber.
There was some serious sleep to catch up on, so Rey and I had seen no reason not to get to bed early. But sleep wasn't coming easily, maybe because of the over-fatigued factor. Certainly the trucks chunka-chunking past and the guard pacing past the door and chatting sotto voce on a Smartphone weren't helping. My cousin, I was pretty sure, was mentally rehashing the events of the last few days, because she was normally a restless sleeper, and at the moment she wasn't moving a muscle. Her brain, like mine, was probably on overdrive.
The day I'd arrived at the grotesque Moone manor, the film Two on a Guillotine had invaded my thoughts. If I'd been born male pre-1960, I might have had a thing for Connie Stevens, who played Cassie Duquesne in the film directed by Jake and the Fatman's William Conrad. I'd have wanted to be reporter Val Henderson, played
by the ever-cute Dean Jones, who befriended the ever-cute blonde. For those not in the know, the premise of the film bore a familiar storyline to the one we'd been experiencing of late. Ceasar Romero, wonderfully eccentric as the magician-father, had an unusual clause in his will. As a result, a week-long stay in the creepy Duquesne manse resulted in several scary moments, where skeletons and strange little bunnies popped up at the darnedest moments.
The film had been a favorite of my mother's and the first time I'd seen it I'd been four. I'm sure Mom had always dreamed of being Connie Stevens (she'd worn her hair in a similar fashion for the first six years of my life). The film had creeped me out, but in a fun way: a kid seeing a horror film for the first time. It hadn't been gory or grisly, but entertainingly frightening. It played upon your senses and made you squirm. Nothing was what it appeared. Everything had been a pretext, much like Aunt Mat's crazy scheme. Only she'd not wanted to lop anyone's head off; she'd wanted to ensnare whoever had been cheating her. So she'd claimed.
I rolled on my side and eyed the attractive woman. She was a walking encyclopedia, her head filled with “trillions of tidbits of junk” (as Aunt Ruth June had once claimed). Wacky, lovable Aunt Mat had remained hidden while we'd dealt with the initial mayhem and murder. If anyone had had a perfect opportunity to help Prunella Sayers, she had. After all, she knew the passages, had access to medical, botany, and gardening books and manuals, and knew what made people tick.
When thoughts and musings refused to cease tumbling and colliding, I slipped from the bed, grabbed my robe and Rey's, and tiptoed to her cot. She shifted and was about to say something when I tossed the robe onto her chest and motioned her to follow.
Pocketing change and a hotel key card, I closed the door softly behind us, and nodded to Rey's “Cute Blond”, who stood twenty feet down the overly warm hallway, before an arched window shrouded with condensation, phone in hand. Despite acne scars and a huge Terry-Thomas gap between the front teeth, he was oddly attractive when he smiled.
“We thought we'd stretch our legs … and maybe grab a late drink.”
He scanned our garb.
“Too casual?” Rey asked with a sultry smile.
“If no one else is down in the lounge, you may get away with it.” The remnants of a southern accent hung in his words, as if he'd been born and raised in Mississippi but had made an attempt to lose any trace of dialect or drawl. Close but no cigar.
“Maybe we'll just walk around a wee while.”
“Ladies, I don't think that's a good idea –”
“We can't exactly leave the hotel dressed like this,” I interjected. “Even if we dared, it's way too cold outside. We'd be Popsicles before we reached the end of the block.”
He chuckled and motioned us onward.
“What's up?” my cousin asked when we reached a vending-machine niche three floors below. Her gaze focused on a section featuring chocolate bars. “You got any –”
Change found its way into her hand before she could ask.
Two PayDays dropped from their comfy little compartments. She passed one over.
It was fairly fresh and delicious. There was nothing better than a mix of salty peanuts and sweet caramel. “I'm going to run ideas by, based on what Johnny conveyed today. Don't interrupt, okay?”
An eyebrow arched. Mouth full, she held up a finger and I waited until she could speak. “How many bits of information have you received recently and not shared?”
“Only what I received today. Do you want to hear or not?”
“I'm all ears,” she sneered, taking a big bite.
“What if Thomas was killed not because he'd dumped Prunella – and we've tossed this around previously – but because he was the chief, or counterpart, behind the misappropriation? He had access to Aunt Mat's and Reginald's accounts and contracts, and all things legal. He helped Reginald set up businesses, wrote up agreements and organized deals, oversaw financial dealings and arranged for antiquity shipments. He handled imports and exports. It wouldn't have been difficult to siphon funds, to switch authentic artifacts, antiques and antiquities with fakes before they arrived, especially if he had a couple of phony cohorts whose identities he used to do all the dirty work. Over the years, performed at a practical pace, the substitutions would never have been obvious. And they still wouldn't have been if our uncle's old friend and advisor hadn't visited and detected the fakes.”
“So Prunella figured it out at some point and wanted in?”
“Or he wanted her in at some point to help smooth and conceal transactions … a partner to make it work on both sides of the big pond. He invented Gruber Pathos and Santana Anna Dinero, and when necessary, he played Gruber and she Santana.” I gave a quick rundown of the Swiss twosome.
Rey chewed thoughtfully and noisily, obviously relishing the sugary rush the candy was providing. “I wonder how and when they became lovers. Was it fraud first and romance second?” She eyed the half-eaten bar. “So-o, when he dumped her, that lucrative business venture they shared was a done deal, and a large source of no-tax income dried up. He'd cut her out of the picture and she was pissed.”
“Very much so, I'm sure,” I agreed. “The sweetest revenge would have been to use something against him to let him stress and stew. Killing him would have been too easy and not very gratifying.”
Rey waved what was left of the PayDay. “Do tell, Cousin Jilly, how or what would she have used against him?”
I waved my bar in return. “This brings us back to the first hypothesis. She'd tell our aunt, knowing it would incense her. Prunella was totally banking on that.”
“Which resulted in incensed Aunt Mat deciding to carry through with revenge.” As if she were a deflating beach ball, Rey exhaled slowly. “Aunt Mat could have told Prunella to be patient, that she or they would strike when the moment was right.”
“Maybe they set that perfect 'moment' in motion when our dear aunt and her equally dear friend planned a fabulous balcony death scene and inheritance get-together. Thomas topped the bequest list.”
“What I'm not getting is why she would tell you about her suspicions regarding the thefts in the first place if she knew – courtesy of Prunella – that Thomas was involved. If they'd planned revenge, she'd have been smart to remain silent.”
“She may have wanted to divert suspicion by pointing a finger elsewhere. She may have believed the thefts or substitutions would be discovered at some point, especially with the crazy goings-on. If she had me – us – believing there are several potential thieves, the truth may have simply become obscured because the focus would have been on the murders.”
“I don't know, Jilly.” Multiple lines wrinkled Rey's brow. “Aunt Mat's possible knowledge of, and/or involvement aside, we've thrown these ideas around in one form or another. There are way too many maybes. Do you have any fresh questions or hypotheses?”
“Just a continuation. What if Aunt Mat killed Thomas? She could easily have done so from a concealed room or niche. What if Prunella, in on the plan, grabbed the deadly dart from Thomas' neck and hid it, or had Porter dispose of it? What if Percival had seen his half-sister near Thomas' body, only at that time, he wasn't aware he was witnessing anything criminal? It dawned on him later. Maybe something said or done triggered the memory and he confronted her.”
“I don't know, Jilly.” The lines deepened. “What about Jensen? And Porter?”
“Again, I have to go with Jensen having learned something. He had documents in a briefcase in his room. Some of them listed company names and dollar figures, which is how I stumbled on those two names: Pathos and Dinero. If he'd found evidence and someone discovered this, his fate had been sealed.” Eyeing the last of my treat, I reflected on arrival day. “I wouldn't have thought anything if I'd seen Prunella casually saunter past Thomas in the drawing room. And if I'd seen Porter and Prunella chatting in the kitchen, why would I have thought something underhanded was going on? If Prunella were tucking something into a shoe box, would that have seemed
suspicious? No. Simple everyday actions don't equal nefarious doings.”
My cousin eyed her fingertips and then licked them slowly. “Next.”
I leaned into a pineapple-yellow wall. “I'm inclined to believe Porter was involved with robbing the Moones, pressured by Prunella or otherwise. We were saying Prunella was the one to coerce him, but it could have been Thomas who'd done the intimidating. I found an old photo of Porter in Thomas' room.”
Rey's eyes grew so round she resembled a Philippine tarsier. “How come you didn't mention that?”
I offered a lame shrug. “It slipped my mind.”
“Care to search those malfunctioning memory banks and locate other things that have 'slipped'?” She slapped my shoulder. “Tell all and don't leave out a thing.”
I provided a rundown of the two room searches. When she remained silent, either annoyed because I'd not invited her on the quest or she was digesting the meager findings, I moved on. “I'm also inclined to believe the theory that at some point Porter developed cold feet – undoubtedly when bodies started piling up. As a result, he became one.”
Rey held up a finger. “What if Percival was helping his crazy beloved Bird Lady and our aunt?”
“Then we have four of them –”
“A team?” She exhaled slowly and scanned the wall. “One mastermind, one accessory, and two co-conspirators.”
I started to laugh at the absurdity, then stopped. Maybe it wasn't far from the truth.
“It still boils down to this, Jilly: we have no proof. You've been saying that often enough over the last few insane days.”
“It's merely more conjecture, you're right.” A tiny grain of doubt had been parked in the back of my mind for the last hour and it started to sprout.
“You've got that infamous Fonne I've-got-an-idea look. What's up?”
“Linda.”
She groaned. “What? She's part of the murdering quartet? We have a quintet now?”
I smiled. “She's the scapegoat, Rey.”
