Beads of Doubt (13 page)

Granger smiled. “First,” he said, “I have to ask you not to mention any details of the crime scene to anyone.”

“Like the fact that he was found in the Dumpster?”

He nodded.

“Fine.”

“Good.” He checked the tape recorder, then said, “Did you know Andrew Lynch?”

“I’ve known him for a couple of years,” I said. “Let’s see, about two—ever since he went to work with my cousin Houston Webber.”

“And what was your relationship with Mr. Lynch?”

“Mostly I didn’t have one, and I preferred it that way.”

“Oh? Why was that?”

“Because Andrew and my cousin had an investment company, and Andrew was always trying to get me to let them invest some of my money. I have always believed that relatives and money don’t mix, and that’s even true of the business partners of relatives.”

“But personally you liked Mr. Lynch?”

Now that was a rotten question. I could lie and say “sure,” but that just seemed silly. I straightened up in my chair. “Actually, I didn’t care all that much for him. He was pushy, and he was always trying to sell me something.” I thought about it. “It wasn’t that I disliked him, but he annoyed me.”

The sergeant nodded in acceptance. “Okay. When was the last time you saw him?”

I told him about our very brief conversation the night before at the party.

“Did you see him with anyone else?” he asked.

I thought about it, started to say no, and changed my mind. “Yes, I did. He was with an elderly couple.” I corrected myself. “Perhaps elderly is the wrong term. They were in their late sixties or early seventies. Is that elderly?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “Have you ever seen them before? Do you know who they were?”

“No. I thought the woman looked familiar, but not . . .” I was struggling to remember. “Maybe I’ve seen her at the bank or the grocery store or something like that, but I can’t place where. I’m pretty sure she’s not someone I’ve ever talked to. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Would you recognize her name?”

“I’m not sure I’d recognize her face.”

He let that go and pulled out a list of the guests. It was a copy, and together we went through every name. Did I know them? Did they know Andrew? What time did they arrive and what time did they leave?

I knew about twenty of the people, and many of those were artisans who were setting up their booths. “Can’t Charles help place them?” I asked. “The guard who was watching the tent?”

“I’ve already spoken to him; most of the vendors were gone by the time Andrew Lynch was killed.”

“What time was that?” I asked.

He smiled. “We aren’t releasing that information just yet.”

“But he was killed here; I mean, in this neighborhood. At the neighbor’s. Is that right?”

“That’s close.”

We continued down the list, one by one. I told him that my mother had been escorted to the gatehouse by my brother around eight thirty or nine at my insistence. She’d been pale with exhaustion, and I knew she’d leave if Stephen suggested it. He came back to the party, but I couldn’t say when he left for the night.

Beth and I had gone upstairs around eleven, and we had locked up the house, so everyone had been gone by then. I knew what time Nate Wright had driven off, and I could tell him about Bruce and Delphine Burnett’s departure.

Houston and Rebecca had arrived about seven thirty, and I’d seen them at various times during the evening, but I couldn’t say when they’d left. I did realize that I’d seen Houston at the end of the party. It was close to ten, but Rebecca hadn’t been with him, and there weren’t that many people at the Manse except the volunteers who were clearing the last of the refreshments.

Then he asked, “Do you know if any of these people had a reason to be angry with Andrew Lynch?”

That morning Bruce had said Andrew needed killing, but then Bruce had also said he hadn’t done it. My cousin Houston certainly wouldn’t be pleased with Andrew if he knew about Andrew’s plan to move out and start his own business. It would be especially bad if Andrew was taking some of Houston’s clients, but I didn’t know any of that for sure.

Lauren might or might not be telling the truth about her relationship with Andrew. They could have dated, and he could have dumped her.

Even my brother had done some investing with Andrew, and I hadn’t heard how that turned out. If that was part of the reason, besides rampant spending, that Stephen was broke, he might be very upset with Andrew.

“You know,” I said after thinking it through, “I didn’t know Andrew very well, and I’m sure it wouldn’t help for me to guess at his relationships.”

“Different generations. Makes sense.”

I thought I detected a touch of condescension, but I was annoyed with him and that always colors how I hear things. The problem was that he hadn’t given me an opportunity to tell him about the candlestick.

“You know, there is something—”

He cut me off. “Tell me about the lights in the parking area.”

“There’s not much to tell,” I said. “We have a security company that checks them. Because of its size my mother was always concerned that the Manse would be a target for thieves, so that’s just one of the security measures she had installed. Of course, we have an alarm system, too. I’m sure you’ve already talked to the company.”

“This afternoon,” he said.

“Good. Which reminds me, I need to report a crime. It completely got past me, because it was so busy today. And then with the murder . . .” He didn’t look terribly interested; in fact, he continued flipping through papers in front of him. “So here’s the thing,” I went on. “A pair of brass candlesticks was stolen.”

His head came up. “Stolen from here? Are you sure they were taken yesterday?”

“Not just yesterday, but last night.” Now that I had his attention I explained that Beth and I had moved them yesterday evening less than an hour before the party started, and they had not been here this morning.

“You’re positive?”

I didn’t roll my eyes, or say “duh” like my grand-daughter, Shelby, but it did cross my mind. “Yes, of course, I’m sure.”

“Would you describe them?”

And so I did. Size, color, ornamentation. All I couldn’t tell him was the weight, but that didn’t matter much. He could weigh the one he had in his evidence closet or whatever they call it. At least now he knew where the murder weapon had come from.

“You said two are missing?”

“Two.”

“And were they valuable?”

“Well, they were my grandmother’s, so I assume so.” I hadn’t thought about that.

When we finished with all his questions, I walked him out of the small office. “Is there anyone else you need to talk to?”

“Who else is here?” He flipped through his notebook. “My mother, but I bet she’s gone back to the gatehouse. Beth Fairfield, and Lauren, Andrew’s assistant.”

“I spoke to Lauren, I mean Miss Kestler, earlier today. She was at his office last night.”

“Also,” I said, “the guard, Charles, and Nate Wright.”

“He’s on the list, isn’t he? He was at the party.”

“For about half an hour,” I said. “He left early.”

“I’d like a minute of his time. Could you send him here?” He gestured toward the office.

“Not a problem.” Somewhere in the background a phone was ringing, and I hurried off to answer it.

This time
I
raised an eyebrow. Beth looked wonderful, her skin rosy and her eyes twinkling like Santa’s. My, my. “No . . . Dwayne is still here. He’s in Grandfather’s office and he wants to talk to Nate.”

“I’ll get Nate. You get the telephone. It’s Rebecca.”

She went in one direction, I went in the other, toward the old wall phone in the kitchen. “Hello?”

“Kitzi, I can’t believe what’s going on!” Rebecca’s voice was high, her words rushed. “Andrew was murdered. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I did.”

“It’s just too horrible, and Houston is still at the police station. He’s been there for hours. I’m terrified that he’s is going to be arrested. And then his mother keeps calling me every twenty minutes; she’s practically in hysterics.”

Rebecca used to be a first-grade teacher who could corral twenty-five six-year-olds without ever raising her voice. I’d seen her in action at two school events; she was the poised one who could catch a marauding child with one hand and fend off a demanding parent with the other.

Before she and Houston married, my mother and my aunt Miranda took Rebecca to lunch. I had liked Rebecca right away, so I showed up halfway through the meal in case someone needed to pick up the pieces and like all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, try to put them together again. I found the three of them having a wonderful time telling stories about Houston. All charming stories, of course. When it was time for dessert they ordered two different ones and shared like college roommates.

Rebecca had handled children, the family elders, and even cancer with a grace that I could only admire. It rattled me that she was so upset over Houston’s absence.

“Rebecca,” I said, “I talked with one of the detectives just a minute ago. He’s here at the house, and he’s doing what looks like a normal and very thorough investigation. Houston is not going to be arrested.”

“But he hasn’t come home and he doesn’t answer his cell phone. When I talked to him earlier he said he couldn’t leave.” She took a long shuddering breath. “Kitzi, this whole day is like a nightmare.”

“I know it is, but it’s going to turn out fine. Trust me on that, okay? Look, why don’t I come over there and keep you company? I can be there in ten minutes—”

“No, that’s not necessary. Thanks anyway, but I’m fine.” She did sound somewhat calmer. “My concern is Houston. Don’t you know someone who could get Houston away from the police station? Miranda said she asked you to help and you refused. Did you?”

“Oh, brother, of course not.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Problem is that I don’t know anyone to call except the detective who’s here now. I’ll just go talk with him. Right away. And, here’s something you need to know: by law Houston can walk out of his interview anytime he wants to. They can’t keep him unless they charge him. Or he can at least have an attorney join him. Important thing is, they can’t keep Houston unless they charge him.”

“But I can’t get a hold of him to tell him that.” Her voice was rising again.

“I can, and I will.”

“Oh, God, Kitzi, I wouldn’t ask, but that stupid chemo just wiped me out. I don’t have the strength to get up and do battle.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said. “And you don’t have to. After I talk to the detective I’ll call Aunt Miranda—”

“No, I’ll do that. As long as she knows you’re helping she’ll calm down.”

“Good. Tell her I’m talking to the police this very moment. Then you take a sleeping pill and go to bed. Houston will be there to wake you up.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea; I hate taking drugs.”

Here was a woman who’d had poison in the form of chemotherapy pumped into her body and she was afraid to take anything to make her feel better.

“Rebecca, that’s just nuts. If it were me I’d be on Valium IVs.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Sure I would. And I’d certainly take a sleeping pill. If you don’t have any, I’ll send something of Mother’s. It will be herbal and you might grow a beard, but you’ll sleep.”

Her laugh was shaky. “Oh, Kitzi, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Now I have one question: did you go home before Houston last night?”

I could hear a crinkle on the phone. “Yes, I was tired. Houston asked Judy O’Bannon, the OCO president, to bring me home. She even waited here with me until I was ready for bed.”

“And why didn’t Houston take you home?”

“Does it matter?” There was a touch of defensiveness. “Don’t tell me you have doubts about him, too?”

“Rebecca, I do not believe that he had anything to do with Andrew’s death. However, I’d feel a whole lot better if I knew why he didn’t leave at the same time as you.”

There was a pause before she said, “It had something to do with Andrew and some investment. I don’t know the whole story. Houston keeps trying to protect me from everything. I don’t like it, but he thinks he’s helping me.”

“Because he adores you.” I didn’t have any more time to spend on the phone; I wanted to be sure to catch Sergeant Granger before he left. “You go get some rest, and I’ll get Houston home. Don’t worry about a thing,”

“Thank you.” She sounded relieved and exhausted.

“And take a stupid sleeping pill. That’s an order.”

“Yes, senator. Good night.”

“ ’Night.” I hung up the phone and marched to the office. The door was closed and I could hear masculine voices coming from inside. I opened the door and stuck my head in. “Sergeant Granger, when you’re done I really need to talk with you.”

He looked surprised but said, “No problem.” I closed the door.

“Ms. Camden?” Lauren appeared, wineglass in hand. “Beth and I were having some wine. She said you might want some, too.”

“Lauren, at this point I’d drink Everclear,” I said, walking with her to the conservatory. “And please quit calling me Ms. Camden. My name is Kitzi.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s even worse.” I stopped and took the wineglass from her. “If you call me that, you can’t drink my wine.”

I was half kidding, but Lauren took me seriously. Her lovely skin turned scarlet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t, but if you’re old enough to drink, then you’re too old to call me
ma’am
.” I sniffed her glass. “What is this? Did Beth pick it out?”

“A chardonnay.”

“Let me get you some good wine.” I handed her back her glass, walked into the concervatory, where Beth was sitting at one of the tables, and went to the small built-in refrigerator hidden behind a pullout bookcase. It was stocked with soft drinks, bottled water, and several different kinds of wine, including Muscovito, which happens to be my favorite.