Elegy in Scarlet

by BV Lawson

  Drayco caught a stray tennis ball that bounced in their direction, almost hitting his chest. He threw it back. The young girl who’d missed her shot twirled around and covered her face with her racket, peeking through the strings. Drayco waved.

  “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you again, Mr. Drayco. But I’m surprised you didn’t just call me on the phone.”

  “Disembodied voices give me the willies.”

  She laughed. “It’s all about that body language thing, isn’t it? There was such a controversy about using profiling at the TSA.”

  “I know you and Jerold weren’t on the best of terms. But did you ever get a hint he might be involved in gambling?”

  “Gambling? Most people play the lottery, I suppose. Or bet on their favorite sports team if that’s what you mean. Nothing else.”

  “What about something illegal?”

  She used the towel in her hands to wipe the non-existent sweat. “He’s one of the last people I’d expect to pull such a stunt.”

  “I stopped by the East Potomac Golf Course on my way here. One of Jerold’s regular golfing buddies said the same thing.”

  “There you go. Maybe he cheated on his taxes, maybe he took candy from babies. Few things surprise me these days. My job, you know.”

  “Underwear bombs and passengers smuggling exotic birds in their bras?”

  “Why, Mr. Drayco, you must read the news. Thank you for not including pat-down mishaps.”

  “There’s the matter of Edwin’s lawsuit.”

  “Edwin’s a dear man, but he’s a prude. One trip, one pat-down and suddenly he’s the victim of assault. Not at all like my case against Jerold. Ironic, though, don’t you think?”

  “It was an effective way to embarrass his brother.”

  Just then, a plane taking off from DCA veered too far off the legal flight path. Its loud engine noise made Drayco pause. “An MD-88.”

  “However would you know that?”

  “The sound of the engines.” He got tired of trying to explain his synesthesia to other people. It was like explaining breathing to someone without lungs. “You said last time we talked that Jerold didn’t get along with Gogo. And Ashley didn’t get along with her father.”

  “The couple in cahoots, you mean? Gogo is into martial arts as I understand. It’s possible. But they’re both adults. They didn’t need Jerold’s blessing.”

  “Maybe they needed his money.”

  She laughed. “Jerold was terrible with money. Always splurging on things he couldn’t afford. I doubt he had any left to give them.”

  “Two million dollars actually.”

  Her eyes widened. “Now I understand all your questions. My, my.”

  “Ever heard of a man named Alistair Brisbane?”

  She thought about it. “No. And it’s a memorable name, isn’t it?”

  She looked at her watch, the same expensive one she wore last time. At least, it wasn’t navy. “I don’t want to appear heartless, Mr. Drayco. Your mother is the prime suspect in a murder, and that’s hard. But I learned early on how difficult it is to survive in this world. Even more being a woman in a man’s world. You put on a cloak of emotional armor every day you wake up.”

  Moving as if she had a plane of her own to catch, Drayco had a hard time keeping up as he walked her to her car. She opened her car door and added, “Look, if I think of anything, I promise I’ll give you a call. I’m beginning to enjoy these chats of ours.”

  As Rena’s Lexus screeched out of the parking lot, he tried to imagine Jerold trying to get close enough to her to harass. His judgment must have been way off even to consider it.

  Rena said she hadn’t heard of Alistair Brisbane, and yet she’d ended their conversation shortly after his name was brought up, the second time that had happened to him. Maybe there was one name that frightened even the self-confident Rena.

  Had she crossed paths with him while she was at the TSA? Maybe Uncle Alistair’s long, multi-tentacled reach stretched farther and deeper than Drayco could begin to imagine.

  Chapter 29

  Drayco double-checked the address. Towne Centre Estates. Were developers just not trying anymore when it came to names? Add an extra “e” to town, reverse the “er” in center, throw in “estates,” and you got a generic pretentious subdivision. Still, Ashley’s mother must have been a good businesswoman because the price for houses this size here could buy three homes in outlying areas like Manassas.

  But it wasn’t Ashley he hoped to see—it was her lodger, Lauralee. After parking a couple of houses up the street, he’d just unlocked the car door when he saw the young woman pop out from a basement entrance. Her crisp navy dress and stylish high heels screamed high-end department store. Shoplifting must pay well these days.

  After one look at Lauralee’s ducked head and hurried movements, he decided not to get out of his car, after all. He was also grateful for the hedge partially blocking his car from her sight line. But he could still see she carried what appeared to be a violin case that she thrust into the trunk of a red sedan before looking around briefly, jumping into the car, and peeling away.

  Drayco started his engine and began to follow as they wove through the streets of Falls Church and into the even tonier areas of McLean, with multi-million dollar gated homes. Beyond the gates, the lawns were uniformly green, even in February, like rows of Stepford houses.

  After Lauralee had parked in front of a tudor faux-castle, she got out, retrieved the item from the trunk, and rang a bell on the gate. When it buzzed open, she disappeared up the walkway and into the house.

  He briefly contemplated doing a little friendly trespassing but nixed the idea and waited for the better part of a half-hour. When he spied her familiar brunette ringlets reappearing, sans the violin case, he eased out of his car over to hers and leaned on the passenger side facing the house.

  Her smiling face faded as she spied him, and for a minute, he thought she might make a run for it. But she walked up to him with folded arms and said, “I could report you for stalking. Or harassment.”

  “You won’t.” Drayco pointed at the mansion. “Unless you want me to march up that driveway there and speak to those nice folks about what you handed over.”

  She glanced back at the house. “Do we have to have this conversation out here in front of God and everybody?”

  He pointed to her car. “Would that be better?”

  She sighed and unlocked the doors with her key remote. Once inside, she made sure the windows were all rolled up before she said, “It’s not what you think.”

  “Right now, I don’t have any thoughts on the matter whatsoever. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  She ran her hand along the steering wheel. “Jerold had some musical instruments, violins, violas, that had some value. Not on a Strad-level, but pretty good. He gave them to me for safekeeping when he moved to his condo.”

  “After his divorce from Ophelia?”

  She nodded. “He didn’t have the space. And he thought I knew enough about the instruments to take care of them, keep them safe.”

  “I don’t remember seeing them itemized in his Will.”

  “Guess they weren’t. I mean, Ashley didn’t mention them. I don’t think Jerold ever told her I had them. They were still estranged, you know, him and Ashley.”

  “And when he died?”

  “I thought about telling her. Then I heard about that two million he left her. Figured maybe Jerold wanted me to have these, you know?”

  Drayco studied her. She avoided looking at him, picking at the fraying edges of the worn fabric seats. When he’d first spoken with her at Kicks and Sticks, along with Gogo, she’d mentioned her parents in the same breath as sin and the Bible. He had a good idea what they’d think about this little scheme of hers. “You’ve been selling the instruments and pocketing the money?”

  She bit her lip. “I’ve only sold a couple so far.”

  “How many instruments are there?”

  �
�How many total? Fourteen. He liked to collect them. And he sometimes played them in our concerts, depending on the rep.”

  “You called them ‘not Strads,’ but what does ‘pretty good’ mean?”

  “A Guadagnini. And Sacconi, Degani, Corsini, Hardie.”

  “Italian school makers except for the Scottish Hardie. I’ve seen similar instruments sold at auction for anywhere from three grand on up to ten or even twenty. How did you get these potential buyers to believe the instruments’ pedigree?”

  She glanced in his direction, then away again. “I drew up some papers, okay?”

  “Forged some papers, you mean?”

  “I might have made up some previous owners and sales and things like that. But they’re good instruments. I couldn’t lie about that.”

  “Surely it wasn’t that easy?”

  “I set myself up as a dealer of rare violins and violas. I have a business address, business cards, everything.”

  “You conned them?”

  “Like I said, they’re good instruments. I didn’t lie about that.”

  “Were you and Jerold involved with some other creative ‘business dealings’ before his death?” An image of Jerold’s elderly neighbor popped into his head. “Some type of lottery fraud?”

  She turned to look at him directly, her mouth open. “Lottery fraud? What the hell do you mean by that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “All this talk of fraud. If you think I killed him because he was going to rat on me or something, think again. I was just one of the few people he felt he could trust with the instruments. That’s it.”

  Drayco didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Shoplifting, selling instruments that technically weren’t hers, misrepresenting herself—she wasn’t making it easy for him to swallow her story.

  Lauralee glared at him. “Jerold gave them to me. That makes them mine. And I need the money—I’m already working two jobs. Besides, everybody’s a scam artist. Whether it’s love, money, jobs, résumés, whatever.”

  “And that makes it all fine?”

  She gripped the steering wheel. “Are you going to the police or what? Because I’d like to know my options right now.”

  Options? Well, he didn’t have any proof of her story. Neither was there proof those instruments had belonged to Jerold if they weren’t listed in his Will or there weren’t receipts among his papers.

  He unlocked the door and unfolded himself from the cramped seat, relieved to stand. “You should think about buying Ashley a nice wedding present if she and Gogo end up getting hitched. A really nice wedding present.”

  He leaned over and poked his head inside to add, “And maybe you should make that instrument resale business of yours legit. You know, an LLC, a tax ID number ...”

  She blinked at him. “You’re not turning me in?”

  “Depends upon what else I find out. If you and Jerold weren’t doing anything more illegal than not paying taxes, I don’t care what business you’re in.”

  Her eyes widened as he added, “Of course if you killed Jerold so you could keep those instruments for yourself, that’s another matter altogether.”

  He tapped the car on the hood and headed toward his Generic Silver Camry. Maybe he should have been harder on her, but right now his mind was focused on someone else, especially after his earlier conversation with Rena. Thanks to his contacts and an assist from Sarg, Drayco knew where he could find his mystery uncle at this time of day. It was time to introduce himself.

  § § §

  Finding parking near the center of the free world, the Capitol building, was a challenge at any time but especially on a weekday. Thinking he’d have to park at Union Station and walk back, Drayco slipped into a metered spot right across the street from his target, amazed at his luck. Some poor schlub who’d given up his spot to go and get supper for his colleagues was going to be pissed.

  The building was actually five blocks from the Capitol office complex, one of the thousands of lobbying firms crammed into every block in downtown D.C. like novelty-snakes-in-a-can. This firm dealt primarily with medical industry clients, the big boys in health care, insurance, and pharmaceuticals.

  The meeting he was interested in started in ten minutes, according to his sources. He was early, but so was the individual climbing out of a limousine. It was getting dark, and Drayco was farther away this time, but it was the same distinguished-looking man who’d stared at him at the Mayflower’s cafe.

  A second man exited the limo after Alistair Brisbane, and Drayco almost didn’t recognize him in his black suit and tie and charcoal-gray Homberg. Iago Pryce. Now he knew where Iago got his money to live on, the day laborer gig a smokescreen, as Drayco had suspected. A great excuse to explain away his presence, no matter where Iago needed to be, as a mere handyman.

  No wonder Iago was so protective of Maura McCune. And he certainly hadn’t simply “met her at a poetry slam” and gone on one date. Brisbane paid him to be his sister’s bodyguard. So, where was he the night of Jerold’s murder?

  Both men entered the building, and the limo disappeared. Drayco settled in for a long wait until the meeting ended and he could tail Brisbane, but his cellphone rang. He picked it up, expecting Sarg or Benny, but it was a phone number he didn’t recognize.

  The voice on the other end dripped with amethyst-colored filaments. “I would invite you up for a glass of wine since our hosts are running a touch behind schedule. But perhaps this isn’t the right time to meet my nephew. Iago was right about you. You are quite resourceful.”

  “Answer me this, Brisbane. How is it possible you ordinarily keep such close tabs on your sister, steering her out of trouble and thus protecting your reputation, and yet she’s sitting behind bars as we speak?”

  “Iago is quite good. But my sister is also resourceful. Runs in the family, you might say. She made an unwise decision, a hasty one, and Iago didn’t make it in time.”

  “You’re saying she did kill Jerold Zamorra?”

  “If I believed that, I wouldn’t be talking to you.”

  Drayco took a moment to process his comment. “All right. If she didn’t kill him, who did?”

  “And if I knew that, she wouldn’t be in jail. That’s what I’m counting on you for.”

  “So you stay under the radar.”

  “You are a bright lad, I must say.”

  Drayco grimaced. Maybe not so bright if he were being used as a pawn. “I know less about you than I do her. How can I be certain you didn’t have something to do with Jerold’s death? And that you’re willing to let your sister hang for it?”

  Brisbane sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly. “I’ve had to do a lot of things of which I’m not particularly proud. But neither I nor my sister killed Jerold Zamorra. You’re just going to have to trust me on that, Scott.”

  Drayco heard a rustling in the background on Brisbane’s end, and his uncle said, “It appears we’re ready to start now. I’m afraid I can’t chat any further. Don’t give up on Maura yet, Scott.” And then Brisbane hung up.

  Chapter 30

  Thursday, February 21

  Nelia Tyler had half-mast eyes set above dark-circle pools, the look of someone who’d gone without sleep for days. Drayco had worried her grueling schedule would catch up with her, even as he respected her strength and resolve.

  As they drove away from her apartment near the Georgetown campus, he handed over a cup of coffee. “Your morning dose of uppers.”

  She smiled, then popped off the lid and took a big gulp. “You said you needed a respectable-looking lady partner, but I’m not sure I qualify right now.”

  “Sure you do. I’ll just tell our target I wore you out from ‘partnering.’” She looked more than respectable, in her form-fitting powder blue sweater dress with a chain-link belt and knee-high cream-colored boots.

  He quickly added, “It may be a wild gander chase.”

  “Gander chase?”

  “Do I look like a goose to you?”
>
  She laughed, then shot him a sideways glance with a slight flutter of her eyelashes. “How do I know if you have the right anatomical qualifications?”

  He grinned. “I think I have my papers around here somewhere.”

  She feigned horror. “Don’t tell me you’ve been neutered.”

  “Last time I checked, no.” An image of Darcie and her red bow made him suddenly uncomfortable.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Nelia changed the subject. “I take it our quarry’s real name isn’t Faust Marchand.”

  “No, but that’s the name he’s known by in the trade. Even uses it at his gallery in Fairfax.”

  “I’m surprised Gogo Cheng didn’t turn Jerold Zamorra in for theft. Who knows? Maybe if he had, Jerold would still be alive, safely locked away.”

  That notion had crossed Drayco’s mind, too. “We don’t know if Gogo’s story checks out yet. He may be the one who’s lying. Even if he’s telling the truth, it could cut both ways. Might help give Gogo more of a motive. Or less. With any luck, this little outing will help track Jerold’s movements and methods.”

  “The fraud scheme he and your mother were involved in?”

  “Maybe it was art theft. Maybe something else.” He hadn’t told her about Alistair Brisbane yet. He hadn’t told anyone, save for Sarg and Benny. Until he knew just how much of a player his uncle was in D.C. power circles, it was best to keep Brisbane off everyone’s radar—and vice versa.

  “Who knows what Jerold, and by extension, my mother, were involved with. After talking to Lauralee yesterday, I have to wonder if she was right when she said everyone is a scam artist of some kind.”

  Nelia smiled. “I’ve got a lovely piece of property in Bermuda I can sell you.” Then her smile faded. “You called Maura your mother just then.”

  He shook his head, confused.

  “You’ve called her Maura McCune or ‘that woman’ until now.”

  Her words caught him off guard—he thought the wall he’d built to keep Maura out of his inner sanctuary was solid. He was grateful for the distraction when they reached the art brokerage, its no-nonsense white brick facade with plain black trim suddenly comforting.