My father had once envisioned his three sons all going into business together to build a family empire. My oldest brother, Hampton, had joined a prestigious law firm years ago and would be relocating to Pennsylvania in the fall. When I'd left town to focus on the film and television industry, Dad's dream was crushed, but he often tried to redirect my interests. It hadn't worked until he'd convinced me earlier this year to help him build an advanced communications program at Braxton. We'd been playing well together in the sandbox, but that was mostly because there were multiple people involved in the project.
“Gabriel might be in trouble, and I think you know a lot about it. He mentioned that you took care of something when he left town eight years ago.” I paused to let the silence linger, hoping it made my father uncomfortable enough to be honest with me.
“That business is all in the past. There's no reason to dig it up again. Besides, I don't know for sure what happened, and sometimes things are better left unsaid. Why don't we talk about something else?” My father stood and looked out on the horizon, jangling coins in his pocket.
I listened to him breathing until I found the right words. “Whatever you did years ago didn't work. Gabriel might be arrested for his role in the jewelry thefts, and honestly, Dad, he looks guilty to me. I want to protect him, but I don't have the information to do so.” I stood next to my father and stared across the farm, trying to understand what he focused on. “I suspect you do. We could work together to solicit him some help, the way families do all the time when one of their own is in need.”
A few birds chirped and a lawnmower idled in the distance while he considered my request. “You do your best as a parent to protect your children when they're young. And you hope they learn their lessons and don't repeat your mistakes.” My father leaned against the corner post, slightly worn down and hesitant to continue. “Hampton's done well, but he almost didn't make it through his last year at law school. He quit one day because he wasn't the best student in the class, then took off for a couple of weeks. I didn't find out until the school called us to check if he'd gotten ill.”
“I didn't know. He's always seemed quite levelheaded,” I replied, feeling strangely saddened for my brother but glad to know he was actually human and had made mistakes.
My father told me how he tracked Hampton down and set him back on the right course to graduate on time. “Your sister, Penelope, pulled something similar, just as Eleanor and Gabriel made foolish mistakes at one point in the past. It seems to be part of this family's DNA.”
I'd known about Penelope's elopement with her husband and how she'd confessed she'd done it just to spite my parents for trying to control her life. Eleanor had disappointed our parents when she didn't become a doctor and had taken a job as a waitress at the diner. Both my sisters had redeemed their actions years later, but it'd still been an awkward period for a while. “Maybe we get this rebellious strain from Nana D,” I quipped, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Kellan, of all my children, you're the only one who's effectively stood up to me. You stop me from interfering in your decisions. You go out of your way to protect everyone in the family. I'm proud of you, son.” My father leaned in to hug me, and for a moment, any proper response failed to rise to the surface. “I did something I shouldn't have eight years ago. Perhaps it's time you stepped in to fix it.”
My father confessed a chilling secret that he and Gabriel had been hiding. After our father had accepted the offer to become Braxton's new president, Gabriel had decided not to transfer to Penn State. My brother's underground relationship had unexpectedly ended, and he knew he had to reveal the truth about his attraction to guys. Gabriel then moved to San Francisco to hide and buy himself time, but he'd stayed away longer than planned. We'd already discussed this piece the previous month when he'd returned to town; however, no one had known my father briefly decided to step down from his post as president to allow Gabriel the option of remaining at Braxton. Unfortunately, that's when Sheriff Crawford had approached our father with disturbing news that changed everything.
“The sheriff alleged that Gabriel was involved in at least one of the jewelry heists. He offered to cover it up, but he insisted both boys leave town to guarantee things would blow over for a while.”
“What do you mean both boys leave town? Who else was involved?”
“Quint Crawford. Silas told me his nephew and Gabriel were involved together with the robberies. Didn't you just tell me you knew that already?” my father said with a cockeyed glance.
“No, I knew someone else had been involved, but I never had a name. When did Quint leave town?” No one had ever said that Quint lived outside of Braxton.
“About eight years ago around the same time as your brother. He only returned in April when he learned his mother was sick,” my father replied, explaining that he'd initially refused to believe Gabriel was involved, but once he'd checked my brother's dorm room, he'd found pieces of the missing jewelry. My father then confronted Gabriel, who didn't deny the accusations nor admit to them. Instead, Gabriel focused on his struggle to accept he was gay and his frustration over our father's new job. My father made the decision to convince Gabriel to leave town not because he was ashamed of his son for being gay but because he wanted his son to have a better life and not be thrown in prison.
“I've felt awful all these years for being the reason he stayed away from everyone,” my father said in a low and disheartened voice before explaining that Sheriff Crawford had later shared a copy of the pawn shop report with Gabriel's name on it. “I knew then your brother was guilty of something. Even if he didn't steal the jewelry himself, he'd stored it in his dorm room and hocked it in San Francisco. Maybe if I'd made Gabriel take responsibility for his actions, things would be different now.”
I considered everything my father had just bared, including recognizing what his news confirmed: Tiffany had seen Gabriel with the jewels the day he'd skipped town. “Gabriel did this himself, Dad. Either he and Quint came back to Braxton to start stealing again, knowing that the sheriff had passed away last year, or Gabriel knows who's recreating the crimes now. Maybe there's an accomplice or a copycat.”
We agreed to regroup the following day once Gabriel returned from the mountains. We assumed my brother hadn't disappeared again, but time would tell for sure. While my father went inside, I reflected on what I'd learned about his role and the story of the sorority's calla lilies. We were also missing records from eight years ago. The sheriff had been crooked. I wouldn't learn a lot from the past burglaries. I'd already spoken with Lydia and Tiffany Nutberry about the earrings that had been stolen from their place the previous month. Now, I needed to ascertain where Quint and Gabriel had been that night as well as the other three times more jewelry had been stolen.
Based on past occurrences, we had one day before the next theft would occur, if that nine-day pattern stayed consistent. If a theft happened, then Gabriel was probably responsible and needed help to turn himself in. If one didn't occur, maybe Quint had been the ringleader and Gabriel wasn't involved in the current round. I had to find out the truth to prevent my brother from making another mistake. More importantly, I had to accept that I'd failed to discover an important fact sooner—Quint had left town right after the original thefts too. While identifying the original accomplice and/or mastermind solved one problem for me, it created another more complicated one. If Quint and Gabriel had been the thieves, and they were back working together again, there was no longer a mystery accomplice to blame for Quint's death. I couldn't accept the killer was Gabriel, suggesting the only other logical solution was that Quint's death had nothing to do with the robberies. Now how would I solve his murder?
Chapter 12
After Aunt Deirdre told Emma about the newest flowers in the conservatory at the Paddington estate, my daughter begged to see them. Timothy offered to drive Emma back and forth, but I saw it as an opportunity to talk with Eustacia and Jennifer Paddington, his aunt and sister, to inquir
e what they knew about the robberies. We followed Aunt Deirdre and Timothy—I refused to call him Uncle Timothy this late in the game—to the estate. The three-story manor had been built in the early twentieth century and was approaching its one-hundredth anniversary. Timothy had mentioned throwing a soirée that summer for all their friends to celebrate his family's history and rise from the ashes of the year's tragedies. A small parking lot, a cedar-chipped path, and lush gardens with shrubbery and trees that'd been shaped into forest animals welcomed guests as they arrived at the mansion.
Bertha's replacement greeted us at the door. While Emma went with Aunt Deirdre and Timothy to check out the conservatory, I asked the new maid what she knew about the latest jewelry theft. Unfortunately, she'd started the week afterward, which meant she couldn't help me. “They didn't have anyone working the day of the burglary, sir. The Paddingtons were still interviewing for a replacement,” she noted before leaving to locate Eustacia. When she did, the maid led me to a sitting room where Eustacia and Jennifer discussed wedding details.
“Kellan, what a surprise! What brings you by?” Eustacia sang from her baby-blue-tufted, chenille chaise longue. Her cane, topped with a brass lion's head, rested by the side of the long chair, enabling her feet to stretch out comfortably. I didn't want to make her get up, so I leaned in for a perfunctory greeting. I'd known my nana's frenemy for years, and I was grateful the two of them had been on good terms ever since the election had been decided. “We missed you at Kirklands the other night, sleepy.”
“You're quite funny.” I updated them on Emma's botanical interests, then brought up Bertha Crawford. “I saw her at the funeral on Friday evening. She didn't look well.”
Eustacia shook her head and sighed. The normal blue color of her frenzied hair had been toned down, but she would never relinquish the comfort of her classic 1980's pink tracksuits. When at home, despite demanding that others dress more sophisticatedly, she chose comfort over fashion. “Life should never end so early. I can't imagine what it must've been like to be electrocuted, that unfortunate soul.”
At least the sheriff had been able to keep the truth about Quint's death from reaching as few people as possible. “I imagine you knew him as a boy since Bertha worked here.”
“Yes, he used to visit when he was a small child. Bertha had been with us for almost twenty-five years before she retired,” Eustacia added while staring innocuously around the room.
“Was Bertha working here the day the Paddington jewelry was stolen?” I asked, introducing the topic in a hopefully inconspicuous manner.
“Which time?” Jennifer placed knitting needles on her lap. She'd been creating what looked like a blanket for her baby, due that fall. Sporting less makeup than usual and kinky chestnut hair that had been trimmed an inch, Jennifer looked pretty and relaxed. Impending motherhood and marriage had softened rough edges and tendencies to act spoiled.
“I suppose both,” I said, feeling a tad guilty about leading them directly where I needed them to go. “Eight years ago, Gwendolyn misplaced a brooch, right?”
Eustacia chortled. “Misplaced? It was stolen, my dear. She swore up and down for days she did not lose it at the Play House, but no one believed her. I know for a fact that she was telling the truth.”
Interesting news. Helena had told me they'd taken it from her while attending the performance at the theater, but everyone else said they'd never seen it there. “What do you mean?”
“The show took place on a Friday evening. I'd been unable to go because my arthritis was flaring up and I couldn't get hold of Dr. Betscha that afternoon. I can't speak to what happened at the Play House, but the next day,” she said, looking quite pleased with herself, “the brooch was sitting on Gwennie's dresser just where she said she'd left it, as plain as the wrinkles on her face.”
“Then, you believe the thief stole it from here, not from the theater?” I was puzzled by the two different stories but knew there had to be a justifiable explanation. Helena positively said that Krissy had picked it up off the floor in the main lobby at the Paddington Play House. When Eustacia nodded, I said, “How do you explain several witnesses claiming they'd seen it while at the show?”
“They must have been confused. It was just a bunch of sorority girls, they probably saw someone else's brooch and thought it was Gwennie's,” she replied with determination, turning to Jennifer. “You were there. Did you see it?”
“I hadn't been paying close attention, Aunt Eustacia. Bertha is the one who suggested the police should ask everyone who'd attended the show. Her son, Quint, had been here that day for her birthday, and he'd mentioned his friends had been onsite and might remember seeing something.” Jennifer nibbled on a dry biscuit before presenting a fancy plate layered with others in my direction, another sign that her manners were improving since watching her mother pass away earlier that year.
I declined her offer, only able to focus on Quint's presence popping up everywhere. Why had he decided to steal all the jewelry? Did he rope my brother into it? Krissy Stanton claimed to have seen the brooch on the theater floor. How did it end up back at the Paddington estate after someone put it in the safe at the sorority house? It increasingly looked like I needed to pay a visit to Krissy, who might remember more than she realized. “What about you, Jennifer? What did you lose recently?”
Jennifer explained that she'd developed an unusual reaction to wearing silver jewelry upon entering her second trimester. She'd stopped using an antique watch her father had gifted her on her eighteenth birthday. It had crystals and diamonds on the faceplate and was worth a lot of money. “I decided to have it cleaned, hoping that maybe I'd be able to wear it again without getting a rash. It had been sitting on my nightstand the day it was stolen. Arthur picked me up for lunch, and I thought I'd set the security alarm before leaving the house. I might've forgotten… you know, baby brain and all.”
Jennifer explained that no one else had been home that morning or evening due to the costume extravaganza occurring at Memorial Library. Millard had been at the office, Eustacia was with friends, and Ophelia and her daughters were on vacation; the school year had ended and they needed a break from a hectic schedule. When Jennifer returned to her bedroom that evening, the watch had been missing and a black calla lily sat in its place. “The watch was the only thing we didn't have locked in the safe that day. Bertha's last day had been that week too. The place was truly empty,” she said, then turned to Eustacia. “Which reminds me, Bertha mentioned Quint would drop off the keys that weekend, but I never saw him. I don't suppose we should ask her about it now, should we?”
After Eustacia looked at me, synchronizing our newfound clarity and noting that she'd handle it, I said, “Don't you have cameras hooked up throughout the house?”
Eustacia laughed like a small child. “We did, but after the tragedy of Gwennie's murder, we had to order a new system. Timothy wanted to handle it, but he wasn't home from the recovery program. The new system is installed now.” She also indicated there had been no signs of a break-in, which was why Jennifer originally worried she'd accidentally left the front door unlocked.
“Did you tell the police everything you've just told me?”
Jennifer nodded. “Except about Bertha failing to give us the keys. I'd forgotten that part. You don't think Quint had something to do with this, do you?”
“I really couldn't say, but that would be a strange coincidence with the keys and no sign of forced entry. Maybe he accidentally lost them.” I needed to let April and Connor know what I'd learned. “I hope the police find the watch, it sounds very special to you,” I suggested, wondering whether I should also pay a visit to Bertha to deliver an update on what I'd discovered. If she'd coughed up the keys to Quint, we might have found our explanation for how Jennifer's watch had been stolen.
Emma and Timothy joined us in the sitting room. They'd had a fantastic time looking at all the flowers and the pond in the middle of the Great Hall. “There's a mean plant that bites the goldf
ish, Daddy.” Emma shuddered, hiding something in her hand behind her back. “I don't want one of those, and we're never bringing Baxter here.”
“Good idea. What have you got there?” I turned her around and gasped.
“Aunt Deirdre says it's a cow lily,” she giggled and handed me one that she'd been holding behind her back. “Someone cut a bunch and left this one near the pond. Aren't they pretty?”
“It's called a calla lily, and yes, they are very pretty. Especially these black ones.” It was beginning to wither and droop, which suggested it hadn't been cut recently.
Timothy replied, “I called Uncle Millard to let him know that there were several missing in the Great Hall. He hasn't been by to clean the pond or monitor the flower gardens in a week. The last time he checked was the day of Nana D's birthday party when all was fine.”
“Do you have any cameras that would show who might've been near the pond?”
Eustacia said, “Maybe, but it was probably that new maid. Don't worry, we'll take care of it, Kellan. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect it was our jewelry thief, but it's probably just a coincidence.”
“Why do you say that?”
“All the flowers that were left as calling cards after the robberies were white calla lilies that someone spray-painted black. The ones missing from our gardens are legitimate black calla lilies. We only started to grow those two weeks ago, after Jennifer's necklace was stolen.”
While Eustacia had a point, she didn't have the privilege of knowing that the ones left near Quint's dead body were also legitimate black calla lilies. No spray paint had been used for that bouquet. “Can I see the video recordings? I can't tell you why, but there might be something important on it.”
Timothy said, “Of course, I trust you have a valid reason, but unfortunately, there are no cameras pointing near the pond in the Great Hall. We only installed cameras to secure the entrances, exits, hallways, main rooms, and exterior of the house.”
Mistaken Identity Crisis: Death On The Cable Car (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 4) Page 16
