“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Really? I thought it was one of the largest, most valuable, private collections around.”
“Well, I wouldn’t really know. I never paid much attention to what all Harold acquired. That was Jim’s thing.”
“Jim?” echoed Farrah.
“My late husband. He managed the collection after his father died. Elaine didn’t focus on it much either. Now then, should we give Keli smoky eyes or cat eyes?”
“You decide,” I said. Suzanne’s evasive answer was only making me more curious. “Was Xavier at the dinner party the other night?”
“Yes, for a while. He didn’t stay for dessert. Can you imagine?” She laughed boisterously, but it sounded false.
“So, if he wanted to buy something from the Turnbull collection,” I pressed, “would he have spoken to Perry or Elaine?”
“Shut your lips, hon.”
“Excuse me?”
She held up a lip liner pencil. “You need to be still while I outline your lips. You wouldn’t want crooked lips, would you?”
Farrah snorted. “Yeah, Keli. You don’t want to look like a Picasso, all disjointed and off-center.”
I tried to smile without moving my lips. “Mm-hmm.”
I couldn’t talk now, but that didn’t mean I was done asking questions. I hadn’t failed to notice Suzanne’s smile drop away when Farrah mentioned Picasso. Something about the Turnbull art collection was making her nervous—and I intended to find out what.
* * *
When Suzanne finally finished with my face, Farrah insisted on doing up my hair to match my new glam look. She had plenty of extra hair ties and bobby pins in her purse, along with a travel-size bottle of hairspray. As soon as she was satisfied, she pulled out her phone and snapped my picture.
“Va-va-voom!” she gushed. “Hashtag: no filter.”
Suzanne was upbeat again, too, launching into her sales pitch with an enthusiasm that bordered on feverish. Everything was on sale, it seemed, but only if multiple items were purchased. “The more you buy, the more you save!”
I knew I wasn’t going to get out of there without dropping a little cash. Then Farrah, the traitor, announced that she had to leave.
“I’m a saleswoman, too,” she told Suzanne. “Only, I don’t get to sell anything half as fun as cosmetics. I represent a legal software company, and I have a client meeting this afternoon.”
“No worries,” chirped Suzanne. “You’ll be back. Come by early before the gala on Friday.”
“Maybe I will,” said Farrah. “Keli, do you need me to bring you some dinner later? Or are you allowed to leave?”
“Of course I’m allowed to leave. This isn’t the Hotel California.” I laughed lightly, but I heard a nervous tinge in my voice that surprised me.
“Have dinner here,” said Suzanne. “Celia loves to cook. You might offend her if you don’t join us.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put anyone out.”
“Keli’s a vegan,” Farrah volunteered.
“That’s no problem,” Suzanne said, with a flick of her wrist. “Celia is used to dealing with dietary restrictions. Elaine didn’t eat red meat, Ray can’t stand seafood, and Perry is lactose intolerant. You’ll fit right in!”
A knock on the doorframe drew our attention. It was Crenshaw.
“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Detective Rhinehardt would like to speak with Suzanne for a moment.”
“Me?” she said, looking alarmed. “What did I do?”
Rhinehardt ambled in behind Crenshaw, with his hands in his pockets and his face pleasantly neutral.
“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’m talking with everyone. Just trying to confirm a few things about Mrs. Turnbull’s passing.”
Suzanne’s alarm transitioned to confusion. I would have loved to stay and listen in on their conversation, but Farrah tossed her purse over her shoulder and linked her arm through mine. She pulled me with her to the doorway, where she linked her other arm through the crook in Crenshaw’s elbow.
“What do you think of Keli’s new look?” she asked him, as she led us through the dining room and toward the hallway.
Flustered, he looked at Farrah’s arm on his before giving me the barest of glances. “Er, very nice.”
“You flatterer, you,” I said.
Farrah laughed and let go of our arms. “Of course, we all know Keli is gorgeous with or without makeup. But this is a look I can’t wait to see again at Friday’s gala.”
“You’re coming to the gala?” Crenshaw asked.
“I hope so,” she said. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“Yes. As executor, I feel I ought to keep an eye on things for the estate.”
“Ah. Strictly business.” She gave him a wink, then squeezed my arm. “I’ll call you later, girlfriend.” She pulled her boots on in the foyer, then dashed outside.
I turned to Crenshaw and told him about the front door being unlocked when I arrived. “Is there a security system here?”
“There is, but I don’t think it’s been armed lately. The butler who handled that resigned last week with the other staff.”
“Maybe you should hire a private security company,” I suggested.
“Yes, I’d thought of that. At least, I planned to do so for Friday night. Perhaps it would be wise to bring on a full-time guard before then.” He gazed thoughtfully at the paintings and sculptures in the great room.
“So, what’s Detective Rhinehardt up to?” I asked. “Did you ask him to come?”
“No, he called me. Dr. Lamb went to the police with his concerns about Elaine’s death. Rhinehardt is only asking questions at this juncture, trying to determine if there’s any cause to open an official investigation. Unfortunately, it’s too late for an autopsy. Cremation occurred a week ago.”
A door slammed somewhere in the house, causing me to jump. Crenshaw checked his watch. “I need to be going soon,” he said. “Let’s touch base again in the morning.”
“What? What do you mean, ‘in the morning’? Where are you going?” I heard my voice take on a whiny quality.
“I need to stop by the office. Then I have a rehearsal this evening at the community theater. Our fall play opens a week from tomorrow. You should come. We’re performing Pygmalion. I play the part of Professor Henry Higgins.”
“Of course you do. But why can’t you come back here after the rehearsal? I thought you were staying here. You asked me to stay here!”
“Yes, well, I’m afraid I’m needed at the office and can’t devote all my time here. Anyway, I trust you’ll make headway on this project without my presence.” He paused, apparently noticing my apprehension for the first time. “What’s the matter? You’re not afraid to be here, are you?”
“Afraid?” I scoffed. “I just thought I’d have a little help, that’s all. I’m not afraid.”
What could I possibly be afraid of in a potential murder house?
Chapter Twelve
When Crenshaw left, I found myself alone once again in the quiet manor. I returned to the conservatory, hoping to have a word with Detective Rhinehardt, but both he and Suzanne were gone. I thought about looking for them outside, until the echoing jangle of a telephone drew my attention. I followed the sound to the library. There, in the center of the large desk, like something out of an old movie, was a vintage-looking rotary phone. It continued to ring as if waiting for me to answer. The receiver felt heavy in my hand as I lifted it to my ear.
“Hello?”
There was a slight pause, and then a husky, gravelly voice. “Hello. Is Perry there?”
I glanced around the dark library. “Not at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?”
“How kind of you. This is Xavier Charleston.”
The art collector Suzanne described as James Bond with a beard. I couldn’t say why, but there was something about this man that put me on alert.
“I’ll tell Perry you called, Mr. Charleston. I’ll probably see him
at dinner.”
“I appreciate it. He isn’t answering his mobile phone, and we have some business to discuss.” There was another pause before Xavier continued in an even softer voice. “I must know—who is the lovely woman I’m speaking with? Your voice is enchanting.”
I almost laughed. Only politeness kept my response even. “This is Keli Milanni. I’m an attorney working with the Turnbull Estate.”
“Ah, wonderful. I hope I have the pleasure of meeting you before I leave town.”
“Are you leaving soon?”
“Not immediately. But my business here will be concluded in the near future.”
Okay, that’s vague. I wanted to question him further, but before I could say another word, he abruptly hung up.
“Good-bye to you, too,” I said to the dead phone line.
For a moment, I considered searching the library while I had it to myself. Then I remembered Elaine’s diary. Turning on my heels, I ran down the hall and up the back staircase to her suite in the west wing.
Outside the bedroom window, the clouds parted in time to let in a shaft of late-afternoon sunlight. I closed the door softly behind me and hurried across the shadow-dappled carpet. With my heartbeat thudding, I lifted the edge of the bedspread, shoved the mattress over, and stretched my arm beneath it.
Bingo.
I pulled out a slim, leather-bound notebook. Eagerly, I carried it over to the daybed beside the window and settled in to read. What was going through Elaine’s mind on the last days of her life?
Right away, I saw that this wasn’t going to be a quick read. As I flipped through the pages, skimming the contents, I noticed Elaine’s handwriting often deteriorated to a shaky scrawl. And several entries seemed to break off midthought. I thought I knew why. In one entry, she complained about her arthritis again. In a few others, she mentioned being tired and listless.
But that wasn’t all she wrote about. Sometimes she reminisced about the past, and other times she dished on the people around her. I would have to start from the beginning and read every page, I decided. I didn’t want to miss any references to her will or comments about Lana. First, though, I had to peruse the very last entry.
It was written the day before she died. In a return to her neat, flowing penmanship, Elaine wrote about looking forward to the dinner party the following evening. She apparently felt good about the gift she would be making to the museum. A few lines later, she mentioned being irritated with Ray and Perry for keeping some information from her. She also seemed to be upset with Celia for messing up a grocery run, and with Suzanne for generally being annoying. I smiled as I pictured Elaine as a stereotypical grumpy old woman, shaking her cane and grousing about every little thing. Then I turned the page and my amusement evaporated. Elaine’s words rang with foreboding.
Am I being paranoid? Maybe it’s the new medication. It makes me drowsy and uneasy. But I swear . . . it seems like everyone around me is hiding something. I don’t know who I can trust anymore. I don’t feel safe in my own house.
* * *
Dinner was served in the formal dining room. Since there were only four of us, we sat in the center chairs at the long table, with Suzanne and me on one side and Ray and Perry on the other. Celia bustled about pouring drinks and bringing dishes to the table: vegetable soup and crusty French bread to start, followed by mushroom rice pilaf with a side of sautéed broccoli and cauliflower. There was roasted chicken for the meat eaters. I was glad to have the food to focus on, because conversation quickly turned awkward. It started when I walked in and Ray, after one look at me, barked out a laugh. It was the first time I’d heard any hint of humor from him—though it wasn’t exactly merry.
“I see Suzanne got ahold of your face,” he said.
“Don’t be rude,” Suzanne snapped.
I touched my cheek self-consciously. Perhaps I should have wiped off a layer or two of the heavy makeup.
Perry was the only one with the grace to look embarrassed. “You look very nice,” he said to me. “Suzanne’s a pro, you know. She went to beauty school and everything.”
I nodded. “She definitely knows a lot more about cosmetics than I do.”
“Don’t pay any attention to Ray,” Suzanne said. “He’s only jealous I’m able to make a career out of my art. He sits in his little studio making his little paintings, and then he’s too timid to let them see the light of day.”
“Did you say art?” Ray asked. “Is that what you think you’re doing with lipstick and rouge?”
Suzanne gave him a dirty look, and Perry shook his head like the long-suffering parent of squabbling siblings. He shot me a rueful smile and changed the subject. “So, Keli, Crenshaw tells me you’re a fine lawyer—specializing in family matters, I believe?”
“Yes. I handle a variety of issues, from marital conflicts to trusts and estates. And Crenshaw is a fine lawyer, too. We’ve been colleagues for years.”
“Well, I don’t blame him for bringing on reinforcements in this case. The Turnbull Estate is . . . not small. And Elaine wasn’t especially organized with her finances.”
“How would you know?” Ray interjected. “Elaine was very organized, in her own way.”
Before Perry could respond, Celia scuttled into the room with a plate and glass. She sat down next to Perry and helped herself to a serving of rice and vegetables. For a moment, I was surprised, and then felt chagrined at myself. Why shouldn’t she have dinner with the rest of us? She had probably worked for the Turnbulls for so long that she’d become like part of the family. Now I felt bad for not offering to help her with dinner. Even though she earned a salary, it still seemed wrong, somehow, to be served by this tiny woman who must have been pushing eighty.
I leaned toward her. “Celia, everything is absolutely delicious. I’d love to get your recipe for the pilaf, if you don’t mind sharing it.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said briskly. In spite of the brush-off, I thought she seemed pleased.
“Where’s Ernesto?” asked Suzanne.
“Outside,” replied Celia. “He wanted to finish up some yardwork, now that it’s stopped raining. He said he would eat later.”
Ray’s eyes took on a devious glint. “Guess you’ll have to manage without your little pet for one evening.”
“He’s not my pet!” Suzanne protested. “He’s just very handy.”
“He’s also a nice young man,” Perry offered diplomatically.
At that, Suzanne pulled out her cell phone, and Ray stared morosely at his plate. Casting about for a new topic, I turned to Perry.
“Oh, I almost forgot! Someone called for you earlier. Xavier Charleston. He was trying to reach you on your cell to discuss business. I told him I’d let you know.”
“Ooh la la!” interjected Suzanne. “You spoke with Xavier? Lucky girl!”
“Thank you,” said Perry. “I’ll call him back later.”
“That reminds me, do you still have tickets for the gala?”
“I do, yes. Just let me know how many you’d like, and they’re yours.”
“Great, thanks.” I took a sip of water and tried to think what else I should ask Perry. “I take it there’s a lot of significant artwork here in the house? I wish I knew more about art history. I enjoy art, but I know so little about the famous artists.”
“Have you ever been to the Edindale Art Museum?”
“Yes, but it’s been a while.”
“I’d be happy to give you a tour sometime. I used to work there, you know.”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
The rest of dinner passed in a somewhat strained silence, broken only by the clink of silverware on porcelain and the occasional exchange of words between Perry and me. When Celia stood up and began to clear the table, I made a move to help her. She slapped my hand away with startling strength. “Sit down! I’ll bring coffee and dessert.”
Perry chuckled, and Suzanne rolled her eyes. As soon as the older lady had left the room, Suzanne pa
tted my hand. “You’ll get used to her. She thinks she runs this place.” Then she lowered her voice and leaned forward in the posture of a gossipmonger. “I used to wonder why Elaine kept her on. Celia is kind of disrespectful for a maid, and not very friendly. She was Harold’s housekeeper before he married Elaine, and I don’t think the two women ever did see eye to eye. But she’s efficient enough and an excellent cook. Good help can be so hard to find.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Celia brought in dessert, warm apple cobbler with dairy-free coconut ice cream, and we all tucked in without a word. As soon as I finished, I thanked Celia again, said good-night to everyone else, and left the dining room. Ray followed me out and called for me to wait.
“How’s the search for the will going?” he asked gruffly.
“Well, I don’t think it’s in Elaine’s bedroom. I’ve looked in there pretty thoroughly.”
“I don’t think you’re going to find it in anyplace Elaine put it. I think someone else took it.”
“In that case, the search may be pointless,” I said matter-of-factly. “If someone took it, don’t you think they would have destroyed it by now?”
“Nah, that doesn’t make sense. Think about it! The only reason to take the will would be to change it. The Turnbull Estate is worth millions. Nobody wants to see Elaine’s wayward granddaughter get it all. Whoever took it probably wants to make sure they’ll benefit from it.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to point out the obvious: that the same could be said for Ray. But I had no interest in arguing with him. Instead, I promised I would keep looking and excused myself to go upstairs.
I opened my door to find Josie curled up on a cushioned bench beneath the window. It was immensely comforting to see her. She lent a warm, homey air to the otherwise plain, sparsely-furnished room. I picked up my clipboard and walked around, listing the room’s contents—and searching them—as I went. It didn’t take long. There was a large bed, draped with a simple, white duvet; two bedside tables holding brass, spindle lamps; and a six-drawer oak dresser with empty drawers. The chest at the foot of the bed contained extra blankets, and the bench by the window had no storage. I was hopeful the closet might yield something, but it stored only a few winter coats and extra toilet paper. In fact, the only items of interest in the room were an antique-looking oval mirror standing in a corner, a pair of pastoral paintings on the wall, and a small collection of glass perfume bottles on the bureau. These all looked like they could be valuable, but they hid no secrets that I could see.
Autumn Alibi Page 9
