“Questions about what?” Aunt H. asked.
Seamus said quietly, “Artemus.”
I glared at him but said to her, “Look, darling, believe it or not, he’s on our side. Just hear what he has to say. Meanwhile, I’m going to make some phone calls and see if I can track down Tarrant.”
Aunt H. looked even more confused, but she met Seamus’s gaze, and her chin rose. “Of course,” she said. “Ask whatever you like, Mr. Cassidy. Or should I address you by some other rank?”
“Cassidy is fine,” Seamus said. “Would it be all right if we sat over here by the windows, Mrs. Bancroft-Hyde?”
His tone was courteous, respectful, and I relaxed a little. This was going to happen whether I liked it or not.
Aunt H. threw me a strange look before answering coolly, “As you like.”
Seamus didn’t look at me. All his focus was on my aunt now.
He had asked me to trust him, so I would try. At least until he gave me a reason not to.
It was almost unnerving to walk into the kitchen and find everything returned to normal.
By “normal,” I mean Betty’s body had been whisked away and all emergency vehicles and personnel had departed. What was not normal was to find the room cold and empty and silent.
I’d reassured Aunt H. that I would resume the hunt to locate Tarrant, but standing there staring at the blinking coffee machine and the unlit stove, I knew we had more pressing problems. As in who was going to do the cooking and cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping around here now? As heartless as that no doubt sounded, the question had to be considered.
Sure, in the short term I could take over the cooking and washing up. But that was a temporary measure at best. What about the long term? What about next week when my vacation ended and I had to fly back to New York? Assuming things had calmed down enough that I could leave.
Things had been bad enough when it had been up to poor Betty and Tarrant to try to keep Green Lanterns running. With all that had happened, would it even be possible to hire replacements?
I considered this grimly—and then realized I was taking it for granted Tarrant was gone for good.
Maybe Seamus was wrong about Tarrant being on the run. Even if Tarrant had found whatever was left of Ogden’s embezzled loot, I still found it hard to believe he would have left Betty ill or dying. I sure as hell didn’t believe he’d killed her. Besides, Dr. Tighe had said all indications were that Betty had died a natural death.
What, then?
Had Tarrant found Betty dead and suffered some kind of psychotic break?
Wasn’t that as likely as any other scenario?
What were the other scenarios? So much had happened over the past twenty-four hours, I was starting to lose track.
What were the facts?
The simplest and most straightforward fact was that Betty had died, apparently of natural causes, at some time during the night.
I winced, remembering the ghastly expression on her face. Had she looked like that because she knew she was dying? Or had she seen something that terrified her into having a stroke or a fatal heart attack?
Like what?
Like her father sneaking off into the night with Ogden’s ill-gotten gains? Like Liana wafting around like Vampira? Like Ogden’s ghost? Like Ogden himself—not dead and still very much alive?
Was that so far-fetched an idea? Seamus thought so. But what was the alternative? That Ogden’s disgruntled spirit had returned and was haunting Green Lanterns?
I will never rest until you have paid for what you did.
There was more going on here than Tarrant or Liana or maybe someone else searching for some missing embezzled funds—and whatever it was, it had started with Ogden’s death.
I thought of Aunt Halcyone’s cryptic comments about responsibility and guilt. The fear in her eyes when she’d learned Seamus was a cop.
As much as I didn’t want to believe it, even I had to admit Ogden’s death looked less and less like an accident and more like murder.
Chapter Twenty
Someone rapped sharply on the glass panes of the kitchen door, jolting me out of my bleak thoughts.
I went to the door and found Cyril on the kitchen stoop. His hair stood up in wet spikes, and his shirt was on inside out.
“Hey, I just heard on my police scanner,” he said. “Poor old Betty! I keep remembering those butterscotch cheesecake bars she used to bake for us when we were rehearsing Almost, Maine. You’re the one who found her?”
“Yeah, it was pretty aw—” I broke off. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. You’re here as a reporter?”
“Of course.” Cyril seemed surprised at my glower. “That’s what I do. That’s my job.”
“There’s no story here. She died a natural death.”
His jaw dropped. “Boy, did you turn into a snob, Bancroft. Housekeeper or not, she still gets her 836 characters of obituary.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Cyril cocked an eyebrow. “Do I?”
I muttered under my breath and pushed the door wide. “Whatever. Come in. I actually do have some questions for you.”
“Yeah?” Cyril followed me inside. He looked around the kitchen, his face losing some of its usual good cheer. “Damn. You can really feel the change already.”
“I know. Although, to be honest, it’s been like that since I arrived last week. Green Lanterns is a different place since Ogden died.” Ironic, given that Ogden had hardly been the source of all the light and warmth I had previously associated with Green Lanterns. I added, “That’s off the record, by the way.”
Cyril gave me a chiding look. “You know, I came as much to see you again before you go back to New York as I did to report on Betty.”
I made a face, acknowledging the likelihood of that. “Anyway. There isn’t much to tell you. According to Dr. Tighe, she died of a stroke sometime early this morning.”
Cyril nodded. “I heard. No autopsy required. When will the funeral be?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how we can plan her funeral without talking to Tarrant.”
“You found her in the kitchen?”
I nodded at the floor behind the table.
He said in the tone of one giving his opening sentence a test run, “She died with her boots on. I guess that’s the way she’d have wanted it.”
Was it? Had Betty really not had other dreams or desires than to spend her life cooking and cleaning for other people?
“Her slippers, if you want to get technical.”
Cyril grunted. “Where do you think Tarrant is?”
I gave him a considering look.
Cyril said, “He’s got a girlfriend. She hasn’t heard from him since the day before yesterday.”
“Tarrant has a girlfriend?”
Cyril chuckled. “He sure does. Betty introduced them. They went to the same church.”
I still couldn’t get over the idea that Tarrant had had a girlfriend.
“It’s weird his taking off like that.” Cyril was following his own line of thought. “Maybe he just couldn’t handle Betty dying so suddenly? They say no matter how old you are, losing a kid is the worst thing that can happen to you.”
“Maybe. He loved her. In his own unique way.”
“Was there anything odd in his behavior during the past week?”
I laughed. “Was there anything not odd in his behavior ever?”
“Good point. He was always kind of eccentric. And he got worse once you left. Of course, he wasn’t the only one.”
At my look, he shrugged. “You said yourself things have been…different for a while now.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Cyril asked a few more general questions about how long Betty had been employed, whether I knew if she had other family members. It was sort of depressing to realize that I’d known Betty my entire life, but really knew very little about her personal life.
“Hey, I wanted to ask you. Wh
at was the thing with the balloons?” I interrupted, suddenly recalling that flash of…whatever it had been the night before. Epiphany? Insight? Free association?
“What are you talking about?”
“The silver balloons that were released a couple of days ago. I only heard half the story on the radio. Something about a memorial service?”
“Oh. Hart Lenton. Right. He disappeared a couple of years ago on his way home from work.”
“He disappeared? Russian Bay has an open missing-person’s case?”
“What? No. Lenton wasn’t from Russian Bay. He was from Jenner.”
“That’s less than an hour away.”
“So?”
“Who was he? What did he do?” I demanded.
“He wasn’t anyone. I mean, he was an ordinary guy, by all accounts. Loving husband, devoted dad, good neighbor.”
The doubt in the back of my mind was so nebulous, I wasn’t even sure of what I was suspicious. “Was he a PI, by any chance? An insurance investigator? Anything to do with law enforcement?”
“No. Nothing like that. No ties to law enforcement. No criminal ties either. He was a contractor. Small-business owner. Nothing that would involve kickbacks or bribes.”
“What happened to him?”
“No one knows. That’s the reason for the balloon release every year around this time. The family wants to boost the case’s media profile. It’s what people do in these cases.”
“How long did you say this guy has been missing? Over a year?”
“Two years at least.”
“Two years.” My excitement faded. Two years was too long, right? Too long for what I was thinking—not that I had really formulated my thoughts, beyond the realization that if Ogden was still alive, he’d have had to find a substitute corpse for himself.
According to Seamus, that possibility had already been explored and dismissed. Nobody—no body—alive or dead was missing or unaccounted for in Russian Bay.
Besides, if Ogden was still alive, what was Aunt H. so afraid of?
I had just said goodbye to Cyril and opened the refrigerator to consider our options when Seamus entered the kitchen.
His expression was grim, and I braced for battle. Clearly, we were going to be on opposite sides.
“Well?” I said by way of greeting.
His eyes flickered, not missing the lack of welcome in my tone. “We need to talk.”
“Where’s Aunt H.?”
“Upstairs, checking on the Labanca woman.”
I had to remind myself that Liana was actually Lacey Labanca. “So talk,” I said. “It’s not like we’re not all in the loop now.”
“Actually, we’re not all in the loop. I’ve asked your aunt to keep what I told her about Labanca to herself for now. At least until she’s off those pain pills the doctor gave her. I don’t want anyone arguing that I coerced her into a confession while she wasn’t in her right mind.”
“I see.”
Seamus sighed. “I’m not the bad guy here, Artemus. This isn’t my fault. And if it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. Someone who wouldn’t give a damn about you or her.”
That was true. I was not being fair to him. But I loved my aunt. I owed her everything. She had been a girl in her twenties when she assumed my guardianship. Her own parents had died only eighteen months previously—to be followed by the loss of her beloved brother. But she had made sure I felt safe and loved from the day I arrived. I was going to do whatever I had to, to protect her.
“What did she tell you?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Seamus’s mouth was a straight, unsmiling line. “Not a damn thing. Which is not going to help her. Which is not going to allow me to help her.”
“Does it not occur to you that maybe she doesn’t know anything?”
He shook his head. “No. She knows something. That’s obvious. It’s even obvious to you, or you wouldn’t be glaring at me the way you are.”
I tried to tone the glare down to a more moderate SPF 15. “What did you say to her?”
“I told her exactly what I told you last night. She claimed she was hearing it all for the first time. That she knew nothing about Ogden’s former identity or his previous life. But I don’t think any of it came as news to her.”
“She’s good at hiding her feelings.”
“Even so.”
“You’re never going to convince me that she killed Ogden for that money.”
I couldn’t quite read Seamus’s expression. I was surprised when he said, “No, I have to agree with you. I don’t think she gives a damn about the money.”
“But you still think she knows where it is?”
He hesitated.
“Let me talk to her.”
“I wouldn’t try to stop you even if I could. I’m hoping you’ll talk some sense into her.”
“Even if I can’t, what you really care about is recovering the loot, correct? And at this point it looks like Tarrant found the money and fled with it.”
Seamus said reluctantly, “Maybe. We don’t know that for a fact.”
“But there are strong indicators.”
“Again, maybe.”
“Okay, but even if Tarrant didn’t find the money—even if he left for some other unknown reason—the main thing that matters to you is being able to hand back whatever is left of the money Ogden embezzled. So before you make your mind up, before you talk to anyone, before you do anything, give me a chance to find that money.”
Seamus looked pained. “I wish it was that simple.”
“It can be that simple.”
“Artemus—”
“You said last night you didn’t believe Aunt H. knew anything about Ogden’s past when she married him. Whatever ultimately happened, she got drawn into it through no fault of her own.”
Seamus frowned as though staring into some bleak and unpromising distance. “I’ll do what I can. I already promised you that. But how much I’m able to cover for her depends on what the Labanca woman has to say when she’s finally awake. And what version of events Tarrant gives when we track him down.”
Before I could answer, Seamus’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the number, then automatically glanced at me. His expression gave nothing away. “I’ve got to take this.”
I nodded. I didn’t think it was a good sign that he didn’t want to speak in front of me.
Seamus went out the kitchen door, and I went back to studying the contents of the fridge, though nothing I saw on the shelves registered on my consciousness.
I could only think of one reason Aunt H. would decline to trust Seamus, and that was because her secret was something she knew no one in law enforcement could overlook. Something like homicide.
By now I’d had time to reflect—resulting in new ulcer-inducing worries. If Aunt H. had killed Ogden—Foxworth—it had been premeditated. And that was going to be a much bigger deal to try to make disappear, recovered funds or no recovered funds. True, Seamus had said he didn’t plan to poke his nose into Ogden’s demise, but his comments about Liana and Tarrant were a reminder that he might not have a choice in the matter.
I needed to talk to Aunt H. I needed her to be honest with me, however painful that conversation was for either or both of us. And I needed that to happen as soon as possible.
I closed the fridge.
Before I could head upstairs, the back door opened and Seamus reappeared. His eyes were shining, though his expression was somber.
“Russian Bay PD found Tarrant’s car.”
“His car? Not Tarrant?”
“Just the car so far.”
“Where was it?”
“Bay View Street.”
“Bay View Street? That’s weird.” Hard to imagine what might draw Tarrant to that part of town. The Pioneer Market had been closed for years. There was a dog park, a Salvation Army store, and the boarded-up former headquarters of Rational Christians United.
“I’ve got to go,” Seamus told me. “This could be the break
I’ve been waiting for.”
“Sure.”
“Talk to your aunt, Artemus. We’re running out of time. Try to convince her that the best way out of this mess is to tell me what she knows.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll try.”
He stepped back, started to pull the door shut, but then opened it again and crossed the kitchen to me. His hand locked on my shoulder, and he drew me in and kissed me—and then kissed me again.
His eyes were soft and strangely dark as he held my gaze. He said softly, “You can trust me. I swear it.”
Before I could answer, Seamus was gone. The kitchen door banged shut behind him.
Chapter Twenty-One
I had to knock several times—and with increasing force—before my aunt opened the door to Liana’s sitting room.
Aunt H. gazed out at me but said nothing. It was very weird. Like looking at a stranger.
“Can I speak to you?” I whispered.
She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the darkened room beyond.
“Look, darling, we’re going to have this out,” I said. “So you may as well come quietly.”
Aunt H. murmured her exasperation and slipped out into the hall, closing the door soundlessly behind her. “We’ll have to talk here. I don’t dare leave her for long,” she said.
I nodded, keeping my voice down. “That’s one of the first things I wanted to talk to you about. We need to get a nurse to watch over her. Even if she really was who you thought she was all these years, you can’t be responsible for her. She’s crazy.”
“Artie—”
“No. I’m serious. You didn’t see her last night chasing imaginary butterflies through the maze at midnight. If I hadn’t been there, she’d be lying at the bottom of that swimming pool right now. She’s a danger to herself and you. And me, for that matter. To everyone in this house.”
“Artie. Dear. I’m perfectly capable—”
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” I interrupted.
Her mouth curved without humor. She said dryly, “I’m beginning to get the picture.”
I winced. “I’m sorry. Sorry you had to find out like that. You didn’t know, did you? Not until Seamus told you.”
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