by Sala, Sharon
“What happened?” he asked.
“Wilma’s body was found in her apartment this morning.”
Peter gasped. “No! Oh, my God! What happened? Why?”
“The detective didn’t say, but he asked for Mr. Jason to call him.” Then Ruth’s eyes welled up all over again. “I can’t believe it! This makes no sense. No sense at all.”
Peter hugged her. “This is terrible news. I’m so sorry.”
Ruth nodded. “So am I. I need to find Mr. Jason and give him the message.”
* * *
As Jason had predicted, Miranda was blowing up his phone this morning, but he was more intent than normal on dressing with care. He’d called a meeting to speak with the board members, making sure they understood the situation regarding his uncle.
But Miranda’s calls kept repeating until finally he knew he’d get no peace until he spoke to her in person, so he answered the next call.
“This is Jason.”
“Darling! Finally! I’ve been calling forever.”
“I know, and we need to get something straight here. I’m not running just one business in Uncle Carter’s absence. There are three huge ones, plus subsidiaries. I’m busy. So when I don’t answer, I would assume you’d understand I’m not taking calls.”
He heard her take a deep breath, then felt the rage behind her words as she answered.
“That is a horrible welcome home. It’s not what I expected from you. You’ve already backtracked on our wedding plans, and now you’re treating me like a call girl begging for a trick.”
He hesitated long enough to let her make what she chose of it before he answered.
“You can’t backtrack on something that never was, and I do not want to hear another word about a wedding, understand? I never asked you to marry me. I never hinted at an engagement. Honestly, Miranda, I think we need a break from each other. You want way more from me than I’m going to return. We were good in bed together. That’s about it for me.”
The scream was earsplitting, and the curses that came after it were right out of the gutter. He grimaced as he disconnected. That wasn’t pretty, and he didn’t enjoy it, but he was glad it was over.
He went back to the mirror to adjust his necktie when someone began knocking at his door. He came out of his bedroom suite into the sitting room.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened. It was Ruth, and he could tell she’d been crying.
“Ruth! What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Mr. Jason, Detective Bruner from Homicide just called me. Wilma was found dead in her apartment this morning, and Detective Bruner said he needs to speak to you as soon as possible. This is his number.”
“Wilma dead? I’m so sorry, Ruth. This is terrible! Oh, wait! You said Homicide. Do they think she was murdered?”
“I don’t know. Detective Bruner asked me about any relatives she had, and of course I told him there was only her mother, who’s in a nursing home. She doesn’t recognize people anymore, so there was no need to notify her. I guess Arnetta, Louise and I were the ones closest to her.”
“Maybe Bruner will have more answers for us. I’ll let you all know if I find out anything new.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jason. Oh, and breakfast is ready.”
“Thank you, Ruth. I’ll be down soon.”
“Yes, sir,” she said and hurried away.
Jason looked down at the name and number on the paper and then went back to get his phone. When he made the call, it was quickly answered.
“Detective Bruner, Homicide.”
“Detective, this is Jason Dunleavy. Our housekeeper just informed me of your call. Why did you need to speak to me?”
“There was a note left on Wilma’s bed that was obviously meant to suggest she committed suicide, but there’d been a struggle in the bathroom, and it appeared someone tried to clean up bloody footprints walking away.”
“So you’re saying she was murdered?”
“It’s beginning to look like that. Either way, it still affects the case we have on your uncle Carter Dunleavy.”
“Dear God, I’m sick just thinking of the fear and horror she must have felt, but why does it affect Uncle Carter’s case?”
“There was no forced entry, so we’re assuming it was someone she knew, and that brings me to why I needed to speak to you. The note that was left behind claimed that Wilma was confessing to being the person who kept making the attempts on your uncle’s life.”
Jason staggered backward, then dropped onto his bed.
“What? No! Why? Did she say why?”
“Something about him being mean to her all the time and she was sick of it and tried to kill him.”
“Well, that’s not true. I can state that for a fact. Uncle Carter handpicks the people who work here. We appreciate the staff and they’re treated with consideration, respect and kindness.”
“Okay, but I’ve talked to Detective Cristobal, who handled the missing person report, and everyone agrees with your uncle’s belief that the attacks on his life had to be partly an inside job. Maybe Wilma was part of it, and someone was unhappy she hadn’t succeeded, so he got rid of her to protect his identity.”
“I just can’t believe that,” Jason said. “I’ll be contacting Charlie Dodge to give him this information, too. Uncle Carter hired him to find out who was behind it all.”
“Cristobal mentioned him,” Bruner said.
“So, what do we do?” Jason asked. “And what about Wilma’s body?”
“It’ll be in the ME’s office undergoing an autopsy. All of this is early days, but because of the note, we needed to let you know. I do not believe the danger to your uncle has, in any way, been neutralized.”
“Thank you for informing us,” Jason said. “And please keep us updated. Uncle Carter’s life depends on what we learn.”
“Yes, that’s understood,” Bruner said. “We’ll stay in touch.”
Jason disconnected, then sat staring at the floor in disbelief. What did they really know about Wilma, other than that she was an only child with a mother in a nursing home and that she’d been a good member of the staff?
Shaking his head, he pocketed his phone and went down to breakfast. The family had to be told, and the staff also needed to know what the police believed. This day was steadily getting worse and he still hadn’t had a cup of coffee.
* * *
Kenneth and Dina were the first ones into the breakfast room, but neither one of them paid any attention to Ruth’s quiet demeanor or red-rimmed eyes. She was staff and of no importance.
Edward entered next, his white cane tapping the way, and as he did, Ruth hurried toward him.
“Good morning, Mr. Edward. May I escort you to your seat?”
Instead of saying yes, as he usually would, he paused.
“Ruth, I hear sadness in your voice.”
“Yes, sir,” Ruth said. “This way, sir.” And she led him to his chair. “Would you prefer eggs or pancakes this morning?” she asked.
Edward sat, but he wasn’t satisfied to let it pass.
“Pancakes with Peter’s blueberry syrup, please, and a strip of bacon.” Then he added, “I’m sorry for whatever has troubled you.”
“What troubled Ruth is going to be troubling all of us,” Jason said, as he entered the breakfast room in hurried strides. “Good morning, everyone. Ruth received sad news this morning. One of our staff passed away last night.”
Dina gasped. “Oh, dear! Who?”
“It was Wilma,” Jason said. “And I received a message from the detective who notified Ruth. He asked me to call him, which I just did.”
Ruth carried the food to Edward. “Your pancake is in the center of the plate. It’s buttered and has blueberry syrup as you requested and it’s cut into squares. I put two pieces of bacon on the plate.
They’re at nine o’clock. You need to eat both of them.”
Edward smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he said and carefully felt for the plate to verify its placement and took a deep breath as he smelled the fresh coffee Ruth was pouring.
Kenneth got up to fix a plate for Dina while Jason stood, waiting for a moment to speak.
“What’s the big mystery about Wilma’s passing?” Kenneth asked.
“She didn’t just pass away. They’re thinking she was murdered,” Jason said. “And according to the detective, there was a supposed suicide note left on the bed, but they’re not buying it.”
Dina frowned. “Really, Jason! We’re eating here.”
Jason slapped the table, rattling the crystal. “Fuck breakfast! A woman we know was murdered, and Detective Bruner thinks Wilma was involved in what happened to Uncle Carter. Like I said, there was a suicide note, but the police dismissed that theory. Bruner suspects the person paying her to dispose of Uncle Carter was displeased that none of those incidents killed him, so she was killed to shut her up.”
Ruth grabbed at her heart in disbelief and fainted at the end of the breakfast-laden sideboard.
Jason groaned. He shouldn’t have blurted that out so callously. He picked her up and carried her out of the breakfast room and down to the staff lounge.
Peter turned to see who was entering, then ran toward them.
“Ruth! Oh, no! What happened, Mr. Jason?”
“She fainted. I’m afraid there’s more bad news regarding Wilma’s passing. She may have been the one responsible for the attacks on my uncle here in the house and was killed to shut her up. At least that’s their working theory.”
Peter was obviously stunned, but before he could comment, Ruth moaned. She was coming to.
“She needs a place to lie down,” Jason said.
“There’s a daybed in our lounge,” Peter offered.
“Right!” Jason carried her there.
Louise walked into the lounge just as Jason laid her down. She rushed to the bed.
“What happened to Ruth?”
“She fainted,” Peter said. “Mr. Jason, we’ve got this now. Thank you for bringing her to us.”
Jason backed off as they circled the bed to tend to Ruth. It felt weird to walk away, but he could tell they were uncomfortable with him in the capacity of helping them, instead of the other way around.
“This has been a terrible morning. Let me know if we need to call an ambulance,” Jason said and returned to the breakfast room to get his phone.
When he started to leave, his mother cried out.
“Jason! Wait! What about your breakfast?”
“I’ve lost my appetite,” he said and went into the office to call Charlie Dodge. Uncle Carter needed to know this, and Charlie was the link who could make that happen.
Thirteen
Charlie was making ham-and-cheese omelets for breakfast when the doorbell rang. He slid the pan off the burner for a moment and went to answer.
It was Wyrick. The cut on her head had scabbed over, and the bruise on her cheek was darker. But her eyes were flashing, and the jut of her chin was a mute warning not to mention the other issues. She needed a hug, but she sure as hell didn’t want one, so he felt obliged to insult her instead.
“Use your damn key,” he said and ran back to tend to the omelet before it overcooked.
Carter walked into the kitchen, saw the stony expressions on both Charlie’s and Wyrick’s faces, and wondered how on earth they managed to work so well together.
“Good morning, Wyrick,” Carter said.
“Morning,” she said, then turned her back and took off her turquoise bolero jacket with the black soutache braid, and hung it on the back of her chair. The turquoise eyeshadow with gold eyeliner was a definite statement, and the gold lipstick she was wearing sparkled. Her knee-length pants matched the jacket, with the same black braid running down the outside seam of each leg. Her black knee-high boots had three-inch heels. All she needed was a red cape and the kind of sword bullfighters used for the killing blow. The blouse she’d worn under the jacket was white and semi-sheer. She’d probably chosen it because the dragon tattoo on the entire front of her body was visible enough through the fabric for shock value. Charlie suspected Wyrick needed to unsettle them so they’d leave her the hell alone.
She saw a note from Charlie on top of her keyboard and picked it up.
“Who’s Miranda Deutsch?” she asked.
Charlie slid an omelet onto a plate, then looked up. “Jason’s girlfriend. She’s been out of the country for several months, but since I didn’t know about her before, I don’t want anyone attached to the family in any way to be overlooked. Just run a basic background search.”
Wyrick wanted a cup of coffee before she went to work, but given the small amount of work space in the kitchen, she waited for Carter and Charlie to exit.
The men took their plates to the other end of the dining table to eat, and as soon as they were out of the way, she filled her cup.
Charlie already knew she had a tattoo on the front of her body because he saw bits and pieces of it now and then, depending on what she wore. But this was a full-on view, and he was stunned. The colors of the dragon were startlingly beautiful, but the image was of danger, power and rage.
Like war.
He knew war.
He sat down without looking at her again.
Carter saw it and was intrigued, but he hadn’t forgotten the dressing-down she’d given him when he’d complimented her before, and decided silence was the better choice. He picked up his fork and gave his omelet an appreciative sniff.
“This smells as good as it looks,” Carter said.
Charlie shrugged. “I have basic kitchen skills. I’m better at grilling. I used to grill at least twice a week when Annie and I were still together, but I don’t do it anymore. Apartment living and all that.”
Carter took a bite, and nodded as he chewed. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Charlie said.
Wyrick filled a coffee cup, then got to work.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the rapid click of the keyboard, and the occasional clink of flatware against a plate.
Charlie finished his omelet and got up to refill their cups.
“Hey, Wyrick. Need a refill?” he asked.
“I’m good,” she said shortly.
Charlie put the carafe back on the stand and was going to get their empty plates when his phone rang. He glanced at it.
“It’s Jason,” he said. “Carter, remember, no talking.”
Carter gave him a thumbs-up as Charlie answered.
“Hello.”
“Charlie, this is Jason Dunleavy. Do you have a moment? We’ve had something happen that adds to the situation with Uncle Carter.”
“Wait, I’m going to put this on speaker so my assistant will be able to hear, as well.”
Wyrick stopped typing to listen as he switched it over.
“Okay, we’re ready. What happened?”
“Do you remember the staff you interviewed the day you first came to the house?”
“Yes, Ruth, your housekeeper, Peter the chef, and three maids, Louise, Arnetta and Wanda...no, Wilma,” Charlie said.
“Right. We received a call this morning that Wilma was found dead in her apartment. The police believe it was meant to appear as a suicide, but something changed during the attack, so the evidence left behind no longer supported the message on the note.”
Carter was stunned and it showed.
Again, Charlie reminded him to stay silent, and Carter nodded.
“What about the note?” Charlie asked.
“Basically, it’s written as a confession, stating that Wilma was the one who’d been making all the attempts on Uncle Carter’s life. Th
ere was some half-ass excuse about how Carter was always mean and mistreating her, and she’d finally had enough. We all knew immediately that was a lie, and there were other factors about the crime scene that must not have played into that story,” Jason said.
“Sounds like whoever’s behind it was unhappy that Carter got away alive and silenced the only person who could finger him,” Charlie said.
“That’s the theory the cops are working on, too. I need you to tell Uncle Carter about this update in the case. Now the cops have a new lead to work from. Wilma has an elderly mother in a nursing home. Her mother no longer knows anyone and requires around-the-clock care. It’s my personal belief that if this scenario is true, then it was likely the cost of her mother’s care that led Wilma to agree to this. Everyone is upset here, as you can imagine.”
“Do you have personal information on Wilma, like a Social Security number and a birth date? I’ll get my assistant right on this, and see what we can find out from this end.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll call my accountant now and have him text the info to you.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said.
The moment the phone call ended, Carter erupted. “I cannot fucking believe this!” Then he turned to Wyrick. “Forgive my language. It’s a shock.”
“Nothing to forgive,” Wyrick said. “Do I continue the search on Miranda, or do you want me to concentrate on the murder victim, instead?”
“On Wilma, for sure,” Charlie said, and when the info came through, he gave it to her. She flexed her fingers, and began a whole new file on Wilma Short.
* * *
Miranda Deutsch was still cursing and screaming when she realized Jason hung up on her. Her anger turned to shock, then to disbelief, then to raging disappointment. She stared at herself in a mirror, wondering what it was about her that no man wanted. She knew she was pretty. Her strawberry blond hair and features were like her mother’s, but she was taller. She had a fit and shapely body, and the intelligence to carry on in any social gathering.
She’d been reasonably happy until she’d found her mother’s old journal up in the attic, and then got depressed reading about her mother’s social life, the girlfriends she’d had, the daring escapades she’d pulled off without ever getting caught. She’d even been engaged once, then ended it.
