by Arlene Kay
“That was Micah,” he said finally. “Magdalen’s under observation in the hospital for erratic heartbeat. He’ll contact Carrick and swing by your place later. And in case you’re wondering they didn’t charge her—yet.”
I closed my eyes and pondered his meaning. Sheriff Aleita had to be under enormous pressure to solve the murders. One homicide in a retirement community was disquieting, but two within two months set alarm bells ringing all the way to Richmond. Aleita might be tempted to take the easy way out by tagging Magdalen for the crimes figuring that at her age she might be spared a jail sentence. I sat up abruptly and met Pruett’s eyes. “She’s innocent. I know that, but everything revolves around her somehow. The novel, reuniting with Carrick… If Dr. Tully really found the truth, what could it be?”
For once, even Pruett was stumped. It was only six weeks since I’d first set foot in the Falls, but it seemed far longer. The saga of Magdalen Melmoth, her heritage was one of those tales that never ended. If only I’d remained at Creature Comforts, crafting fine leather products rather than getting involved. I understood my animal clients. Unlike some humans, they had no hidden agendas or homicidal tendencies. Between the literary quest and two brutal murders I felt mired in doubt. Would we ever untangle this skein of drama, deception, and death, or would it remain a mystery forever?
Pruett must have sensed my despair. He put his arm around me and turned on the old charm machine. “Hey, Leather Lady, perk up. We’ll get through this puzzle like we always do. Oh. With all that’s happened I forgot to mention something.”
I looked warily at him. If he uttered even one more discouraging word, I swore I would scream my head off. Instead I hunkered down and gritted my teeth.
He gently massaged my shoulders. “Relax, why don’t you? Every muscle in your neck feels tighter than a spring. It’s nothing bad. My pal from the University called last night. I guess the entire English faculty went bonkers over Sybil Vane. Anyhow they’re convening an international symposium to study it with Wilde scholars from around the world.”
“Do they think it’s genuine?” I asked. At last a crumb of good news to savor. I could hardly believe it. Sebastian Melmoth might become a household name after all.
Pruett grinned. “You know academics. Fun, fun, fun. They’ll fuss and fight and write innumerable treatises about it. Careers will be made and lost. Charges and countercharges leveled. No verdict yet on the provenance, but Micah has found an attorney who specializes in copyright stuff. She’ll make sure everything’s kosher.”
At least Magdalen’s interests would be protected on that front. It should delight her, assuming she wasn’t jailed for double murder. Double murder! The evening was balmy, but I shivered nevertheless. “I don’t suppose Micah had time to research the real estate trust. Maybe that’s the root of Mag’s troubles.”
Talk about a Hail Mary pass. If Carrick was correct, the tract of land belonged to both Magdalen and him. He certainly didn’t plan to sell it, and as far as I knew she wasn’t even aware of the provisions of her mother’s will. Still an offer of two million dollars was nothing to sniff at and people had been disposed of for far less. There was one little problem about that, though. I couldn’t for the life of me figure how Nurse Ross and Dr. Tully fit into the scenario. Perhaps Carole Ross was the intended victim all along and not just collateral damage. That gave me an idea. Rolf Hart was obnoxious and a braggart, but according to Kate, he was a real estate wizard. If I applied a bit of soft soap and played the compliant female, he might clarify things for me.
Pruett interrupted my thoughts. “We’re home, Liege Lady.” He grasped my hand and kissed it. “You know, I love the sound of that. Home. All we need is Ella to make everything complete.”
He was right, but I dared not pursue it. Not today anyway, when events had conspired to turn everything askew. Instead I smiled his way and squeezed his hand all the while repeating that word to myself. Home.
* * * *
Once we arrived I had little time to spare. Zeke immediately started braying and even my Raza extended her beautiful head and eyed me in quiet protest. I released my dogs, leaped from the Porsche, and attended to both of them. Their food and water buckets weren’t empty, but both had the need for a spot of exercise and a dollop of love. What a treat to see Raza cantering around the paddock with the grace of a prima ballerina. My helpers, Keats and Poe, romped with Zeke, giving the little pygmy goat his share of glory too.
Just as they finished their run, Micah’s car pulled into the driveway. With his loosened tie and rumpled shirt, he emerged looking more like a pugilist than a legal eagle. His first words to Pruett proved the point. “Got any scotch?” he asked. “I’m knackered.”
While Pruett did the honors, I attended to one very irate coon cat, who demanded that her meals be both fresh and on time. After Thatcher unleashed a verbal scolding at me, she brushed against both male guests and deigned to eat the kibble and tuna. As with most felines, Thatcher issued imperious demands that I hastened to satisfy. Ignoring her was not an option and I strove, often unsuccessfully, to remain in her good graces.
I rarely cook, but with all due modesty I admit that my omelets are second to none. While Pruett and Micah sipped their scotch, I whipped up a crab and cheese omelet that satiated us all. Afterward we addressed the elephant in the room: Magdalen Melmoth and her plight. I wasn’t certain how much Micah could disclose, but he was remarkably forthcoming. Mags gave an official statement that differed very little from Kate’s account. After Tully’s call she had gone to his office and found him mortally wounded. She admitted to picking up the broken Pellegrino bottle but denied trashing the room. When the police searched her, they found no evidence of notes or any other material related to a possible murder and no fingerprints other than Tully’s. The absence of evidence was hardly conclusive, but I felt a faint ray of hope. Surely someone else had preceded Magdalen, ransacked the office, and murdered the good doctor.
Micah and Pruett were less optimistic. Their downcast eyes told me that.
“What about her clothing?” Pruett asked. “I don’t recall seeing much blood on it. I would have expected everything Magdalen wore to be splattered with blood.”
Micah agreed that only the right sleeve of her shirtwaist contained traces of blood. Then he played the cautious lawyer. “Naturally until they test the whole garment we can’t really tell for sure.”
While he and Pruett debated the pros and cons of the case, my thoughts went elsewhere. Tomorrow morning I planned to contact Rolf Hart for investment advice. Because I had no excess capital and limited experience with real estate, I needed backup. One name immediately sprang to mind whenever the subject involved money. Despite her whimsical ways, Babette Croy was razor sharp when dealing with dollars. She’d made some shrewd investments that expanded her net worth into the high seven figures. Confidence schemes never succeeded with her—she could spot a scam at ten paces. I counted on that big bank balance to intrigue rapacious Rolf into granting us an audience. Pruett wouldn’t approve, of course. So be it. An occasional assertion of girl power was good therapy for an entitled male like him. The real estate rendezvous would remain my little secret.
* * * *
Babette was elated when I outlined the plan and readily agreed to play her part. She groused about being excluded from the previous evening’s gathering until I explained that the guys virtually ignored me. Her spirits revived instantly. “Isn’t that just like men,” she said. “Thinkin’ they have all the good ideas. We’ll show ’em.” She suggested that we meet Rolf at her home rather than the Falls. That was an inspired idea I wish I had thought of. Describing Babette’s home as a mansion really didn’t do it justice. “Estate” was closer to the mark. All twenty acres breathed an affluence that would help to bait the trap for Rolf and loosen his tongue. We agreed to portray ourselves as potential real estate partners interested in properties in Shenandoah County. A dose of
understated guile would be necessary to allow Rolf to guide us toward the Strasburg area. I might even suggest that Carrick was reconsidering his options.
“Girl, you know how I can pile on the manure.” Babette smirked. “Rolf won’t even know what hit him. Anyhow, it won’t be hard to fake. Real estate happens to be a solid-gold investment.”
I cautioned her not to get too immersed in her part. Self-restraint was not Babette’s superpower and excess enthusiasm might result in an actual purchase. She waved off my concern. “Oh pooh, you are such a spoilsport, Perri. I know what I’m doin’. Besides I just might find me a bargain. Now that I have Prospero to consider, a big slug of land would come in handy.” I knew that she was a conspicuous consumer with very low sales resistance. The last time we went sleuthing, Babette left with a massive recreational vehicle dubbed Steady Eddie. That too had been a bargain.
Initially Rolf Hart’s personal assistant gave me the runaround. He took our information, explained what a busy man his boss was, and reluctantly agreed to call back. It didn’t take long. Somehow those zeros in the Croy bank balance magically cleared Rolf’s schedule for noon the next day. That gave us plenty of time to plot our plan of attack. Babette arranged for her housekeeper to serve an elegant buffet on the terrace, complete with wine, crystal, and Limoges. I was confident that Babette’s good taste and her cook’s culinary skills would captivate our avid entrepreneur.
“Remember,” I said, “Not a word to Micah or Pruett. This caper is our little secret. If Rolf suspects what we’re up to, we’ve wasted our time.”
Babette scratched her head. “What are we really up to, Perri? Just askin’. I want to play my part right.”
Just my luck. My pal the diva was a method actor! I took a deep breath and once again sketched out the plan. If we excluded the Oscar Wilde novel, that left the oldest of all motives for murder—money and greed. According to Kate, Nurse Ross had quarreled with Sara Whitman about real estate. We also knew that Rolf had scouted the area where Carrick lived, trying to entice him into selling. If there was a connection, we might uncover it during our tête-à-tête with Rolf. At the very least he could provide some useful information.
We finalized our strategy and parted for the day. Babette fled to the talented hands of her hairstylist, while I indulged in my own type of therapy. I saddled up Raza, summoned Keats and Poe, and spent the next hour riding the trails and savoring the beauty of autumn in Virginia.
* * * *
The next day I dressed for success, or my version of it anyway. That task took far more time and caused more angst than I cared to admit. I’m a simple soul who dresses for function, not fashion. Unlike Babette, who regarded WWD as her bible, wardrobe issues tended to confound me. I opted for comfort over any attempt at style and had a closet filled with sensible rather than sensual garb. There were practical reasons for this. Working with leather demanded attention to detail, precision, and a healthy dose of creativity. I had little interest in trends, preferred Modern Dog over Vogue, and considered a dab of lipstick a makeup plus. Not today. I studied my wardrobe and finally chose a Palomino-colored tunic paired with leggings and my best pair of show boots. Fortune had granted me long, slim legs that showed to best advantage in that type of outfit. No sense in masquerading as a fashionista. Besides, if the affluent, horsey set in Middleburg, Virginia, and environs deliberately dressed down, how could I go wrong? I embellished the look with two pieces of jewelry: a Tiffany key necklace courtesy of Pruett and an antique gold broach that formerly belonged to Pip’s mother. Oddly enough those touches buoyed my confidence, as if both the gifts and the givers were at my side.
Babette chose an entirely different route. By wearing a handsome suede ensemble, mile-high stilettos, and discreet diamonds, she reinforced her position in the social and financial firmament. Artfully tousled curls and flawless makeup completed the look.
When I arrived she gave me a quick once-over and the Croy seal of approval. “We make a great pair, Ms. Perri,” she said. “That slimy salesman will be putty in our hands. Believe me, I know the type. The scent of money makes them woozy.”
Frankly the thought of any part of Rolf Hart in my hands made me woozy. I told myself to buck up and forget all that. To realize our goals I had to suppress my natural distaste for the man and make it about business. Nothing personal.
We sipped lattes as we waited on the terrace for our visitor. Either caffeine overload or anticipation made me jittery and Babette was no help at all. She dithered endlessly about our plan and its likelihood of success. Would Rolf show up or merely brush off an invitation from two women? I checked my watch. Timeliness was critical in both business and social transactions. It conveyed respect for the potential client and the issues at hand. Surely a real estate wizard realized that, and if he didn’t, Rolf Hart’s business acumen had been vastly overstated.
Our answer came promptly at noon when the housekeeper presented our guest and the games began.
Rolf had opted for a nicely tailored business suit, a rep tie, and a pinstriped shirt. I gave him points for realizing that a well-groomed appearance was a gesture of respect for his hostess and the dollars she represented. In all fairness he was an attractive man—until he opened his mouth and spewed vile things about our military.
Babette immediately went into gracious hostess mode. “So glad you could join us, Rolf. We need a bit of business advice. Accordin’ to Kate, you’re an absolute whiz at anything real estate.”
His manner was polite but distant as he settled into his chair as if he was asserting himself, reinforcing his bona fides as a bigwig before our discussion started. His slight slouch conveyed the distinct impression that he was doing us a favor. “Why don’t you fill me in on your plans, ladies.”
I tried not to bristle at his patronizing tone. Babette caught the whiff of sexism too and responded with a saccharine smile.
She leaned forward and pounded on the table. “We’re talkin’ money here, Rolf. Big bucks for you and us. Perri and I been watchin’ the market and we want in on it.” As a finishing touch, she poured our guest a glass of a very fine chardonnay and eased back in her chair.
That change of pace surprised him. His eye widened as he adjusted his expectations to this more daunting reality. Suddenly the ladies who lunch had morphed into serious businesspeople. “What kind of property were you thinking of?” Rolf asked. “You realize that the DC area is saturated.” He shook his head. “Very few bargains left around here.”
Time for me to play my part. “Exactly. We were thinking of rural areas in Virginia, ones with acreage and growth potential.”
Babette leaped into the conversation. “Lots of those old farms are undervalued. Low taxes too.” She decided to sweeten the pot. “’Course we intend to pay cash up front. Makes things simpler, don’t you think?”
Rolf took a mighty sip of wine and nodded. “I have some thoughts for you to consider. Shenandoah County still has some bargains. We’re talking serious money, though. Last one I sold went north of two million dollars.”
“We figured that,” Babette said. “Carrick filled us in. I’d sure love to get my hands on a piece of land like his. Maybe start my own kennel with Perri.” She smiled my way. “This gal knows everything there is to know about dogs and horses.”
Rolf got a wary look in his eyes, and for a moment I feared we had overplayed our hand. Fortunately a tide of greed surged to our rescue. “I tried that,” he said. “Mr. Farraday was quite emphatic about his own property. Besides, there were issues—an irrevocable family trust—involved.” He shivered. “Those things get messy, let me tell you. Only his descendants can inherit or make changes to the holding, you see.”
“How nice for Mags and Dr. Fergueson.” My expression was innocence itself, though the implication was clear. Rolf chose not to add anything, but it was obvious that he knew the issue at hand.
We paused as a platter of tasty dishes
was placed before us. Maryland blue crab salad, avocado toast, and a tempting cheesecake quickly turned our thoughts from property to food.
“Dig in, Rolf,” Babette said, displaying her dimples. “I love a man with a hearty appetite. Don’t see much of that anymore. I’m a widow, you know.”
I clamped my jaws shut to avoid shouting out. Technically my pal was a divorcée. True, Babette had been widowed three times, but her recent ex-spouse, the perfidious Carleton Croy, was very much alive and currently stalking other wealthy prey.
Rolf immediately flashed a toothy grin that flunked the sincerity test. “Oh, I’m surprised to hear that. A lovely lady such as yourself, I naturally assumed…”
Babette lowered her head, showcasing those magnificent eyelashes. She managed a brave smile and brought the conversation back to real estate.
“I bet lots of those old folks at the Falls own property they might sell. Let’s face it, most of them are swirling the drain anyway. Land’s the least of their worries. We might find us a bargain there.”
Rolf shrugged but made no comment. That gave me the opening I sought. “From what Kate told us that lady who died, Sara Whitman, was a neighbor of Carrick’s out in Strasburg. You knew her, I believe.”
“Vaguely. She was very sharp. I enjoyed discussing real estate with her.” Rolf cut himself another slab of cheesecake. “Your friend Magdalen tangled with her, I hear. Of course I try to avoid petty disputes. No point in it.”
Babette and I both nodded in agreement. Any smart businessperson knew better than that. After all, potential customers came in all shapes and sizes. No sense alienating them. We made yet another foray into Rolf’s business dealings.
“You bought a parcel of land from this Whitman woman, didn’t you?” I asked.
He looked at his watch before answering. Obviously our questions were making Rolf a bit skittish. “Correction: I purchased land with Mrs. Whitman. We were partners in the enterprise.” Another specious smile. “Much like you and Mrs. Croy here.”
