By Familiar Means (34 page)

“You and Dale mostly?”

“Mostly,” Christine agreed. I found myself wondering if she realized the “job” was probably a bribe. If she didn't, she was seriously underestimating her brother. It also meant her brother was trying to put one over on her.

“What about your mom?” I asked. If someone was finally willing to talk with me, I wasn't going to waste the chance.

Christine's smile was tight. “That's a toss-up. She still has a lot of her own ideas, and a controlling interest in the hotel. Rich may be her golden boy, and Dale is the wind beneath her wings, but this hotel is her life.”

It's all she has left.
The words from last night echoed in the back of my mind.

“And what are you?” I asked softly.

Christine's smile was rueful. “I'll have to get back to you when I actually know.” She swirled her coffee. “Have you ever been part of a family business, Miss Britton?”

“No. My dad was a civil engineer. Mom was an art teacher. The rest of us, it's kind of been catch-as-catch-can.

“There is, a, I guess, a kind of legacy, though.”

“Land or money?”

“History.”

Christine grimaced. “Don't tell me; let me guess. This history has ruptured the family, and now you've got to decide which side you're on, and that means what you're really doing is trying to figure out if you can just walk away from the whole huge mess.” She stared out the windows, toward the sloping grass lawn and the marina with its white boats on the clear water. “But let me tell you, it gets worse when the family is all tied up with land and money. I mean real money,” she added, in case I thought she was talking about the kind Grandma used to keep in the old sugar canister for emergencies. “All of us grew up right here on the grounds, in the same suite the Hildes
have occupied since our family built the place. We've all got kids in college, and we're all staring down the road at futures that are pinned to this land and this building.”

Because Gretchen had done her best to make sure none of them would ever leave her. I looked down at my coffee cup and tried to keep my thoughts from showing. It would be so hard to be part of a family like this, with their mother unable to heal from her losses and all the kids trying to make up for things they might not even know about, and all of them fighting with one another because nobody could make it, or her, any better. I might not always get along with my siblings, and there were some screaming matches with my parents I'd really rather not have to remember, but when it came down to it, we all knew we had each other's backs. Even Hope, the family wild child.

Christine set her coffee mug down again. Then she adjusted it so that its handle was pointing at exactly the same angle as the handle for the carafe. “Miss Britton, the real reason I agreed to talk to you is that you are connected one way or another to most of the people around Jimmy Upton's death.” She paused and locked her eyes on mine. “Do you know who killed him?”

I opened my mouth. I closed it again. “No,” I said.

“But you must have an idea? A suspicion?” Christine uncrossed her ankles and leaned forward. “Someone must have said something.”

“Why should I tell you?” I shot back.

“Because you know my family has a certain amount of influence with the town's decision makers. I could help make your friends' lives easier, because I think the police are after the wrong people. And because I'm trying to save my family, Miss Britton. But mostly because I think my mother might be responsible for Jimmy's death.”

36

There are a limited number of reactions available when somebody tells you point-blank their mother might be involved in a murder. There's:

1) Shocked disbelief, with assorted exclamations

2) Stunned sympathy

3) Shocked disbelief with a long silence

However, given that this was me, and my life, I used a fourth option.

“Why?” I asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jimmy Upton was held down in a sink until he drowned. Why do you think your mother could do that?”

“I don't. But I think she could have gotten it done.”

“But why?”

“Because before Jimmy vanished, she was furious. Rich said she had a screaming fight with him. No, I don't know
about what,” she added before I had a chance to ask. “But when he didn't come back, she was . . . entirely calm. My mother is never calm about a personal betrayal, unless she's found a way to make the person pay for it.”

She's had to fight tooth and nail for everything she has,
Grandma B.B.'s words came back to me. “I'm guessing she'd see you working out a separate deal with Shelly Kinsdale and Dreame Royale as a betrayal as well.”

“And we're back to that.”

“You can't be surprised.”

“No. Of course not. It was all going to come out soon anyway.” There was a world of regret under those words. “All I ask is that you try to believe me when I say I am not doing this to break my family. I'm doing it to try to save them.”

“Save them, how?” I felt my eyebrows inch up. All the Hildes kept claiming they were trying to save the hotel and the family. “By setting up some direct competition? Or are you just going to make sure that there's a deal in place for Dreame Royale to pick up the property when things finally sink?”

The words came out much harsher than I meant them to, but my jitters were getting worse, fueled by this glittering office and the feeling that I was finally getting close to the answer. The problem was, the answer might be that Christine was right. The person responsible for Jimmy Upton's murder might just be my grandmother's former classmate.

“You have to understand, Miss Britton, all I've got in this world is my family, and all my family's got is this great big godforsaken building.” Christine spread her hands. “It is going to close. You have no idea what the maintenance costs are or how empty we've been the past several seasons. I'm tired to death of the fights to try to stave off the inevitable. I'm sick of playing both ends against the middle to try to get the rest of them to do anything
practical
.” The word was steeped in bitterness. “But if I can get the new property up and running in time, maybe there'll be a safety net for the family when this place finally has to close.”

“And being able to show them all you were right isn't so bad either.”

Christine didn't even flinch. “Maybe I could have saved Harbor's Rest, if I was given a chance. But my brothers won't let me try, and my mother”—she stabbed a finger toward the door—“stopped listening to me years ago. I'm not like Jimmy or Rich, Miss Britton. I'm not charming. I can't smile and hold her hand and flatter her about all the sacrifices she made for the rest of us. Mother can try to arm wrestle an expansion out of the zoning board, Dale can go into denial, and Rich can run all the interference and charm offensive with the opposition he wants. It's not going to do any good. I've seen the numbers. It. Is. Too. Late.”

“Dale's the financial manager; is that what he thinks?”

Christine shook her head. “Dale can't separate the family from the building. To him, if we lose one, we lose the other.”

Just like his mother, then. I pictured Dale in his great-grandfather's office. I heard the pride in his voice as he talked about inheriting that particular space.

“Then Dale doesn't know about you and Dreame Royale either?” I asked.

She smiled bitterly. “Not yet. If he did, I'd be the one in the tunnel. Or the police station.”

Those sad, soft, angry words sank deep into me. I suddenly felt very sorry for Christine, sitting alone in here, sealed off from the building she grew up in, talking to me instead of to her family.

I think something of what I thought must have showed in my face, because Christine's granite facade began to crumble. Her face fell into its natural lines, and they were deep, worried grooves around her eyes and her brow. She looked tired. She looked old. “Do you know what it's like to think someone in your family is capable of such a thing?”

“It must be terrible.”

“I can't sleep,” she whispered, and a tremor crept into her voice. “I can't focus. I keep thinking, is there something I should have seen, or done? And then there are my children. She's their grandmother. I think about them coming home for Christmas and being with her while this thing is hanging over our heads and I . . . I swear it's like I'm about to pass out.”

I could believe that. Just talking about it, Christine had gone very pale under her suntan.

“I want to find out who killed Jimmy Upton, whether or not the evidence will hold up in court. As long as I know”—she tapped her chest with one neatly manicured finger—“then I don't have to go on suspecting my mother. And if”—she took a deep breath—“if I've got to get ready for the worst, then I want some warning. I just want to be able to talk to her. Try to reason with her.” Christine bit her lip.

“You know I'm a friend of Jake and Miranda's?” I reminded her. “Aren't you afraid I might lie to protect them?”

To my surprise, she gave me a small, tight smile. “I'm in marketing, Miss Britton. You get very good at reading other people in this business. What I've seen so far tells me you're just not that good a liar.”

Well, she had me there.

“So how does Kelly Pierce fit into all this?”

If Christine was surprised, she didn't show it. “Kelly's got years of experience at hotel management, plus about a thousand connections for suppliers and staffing. She's the backbone of the entire plan and she's going to be a full partner.” Christine leaned forward. “Well, Miss Britton? Will you help me?”

I swallowed. “I've got a question first.”

She waved, indicating I should go ahead.

“Do you know anything about the tunnel?”

Christine rolled her eyes. “Good lord. That tunnel again. All right. No. I don't know anything about it. Have I heard it existed? Yes. When I was a little girl. Did I look for it? Yes. Again, when I was a little girl. I never found it.”

And that made it unanimous. Not a single Hilde would admit to knowing about an entrance to the tunnel. They'd all grown up right here. They'd been rambunctious, curious kids, running around on these lawns, exploring these hallways, playing hide-and-seek in the basements and storerooms, and none of them had found something as cool as a secret door.

Maybe everybody else was right. Maybe it really had
been bricked, or cemented, over during one of the renovations.

I did not like that idea. Because if it was true, then the only way for Jimmy Upton's body to have gotten into the tunnel was through the old drugstore, right under Jake's and Miranda's noses. Which brought us back to Chuck and to the Luces.

“Did you ever look in the hotel archive for hints?” I tried.

Christine gave me a blank look. “Archive? What archive?” She paused. “You don't mean the file closet?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. “I found a photo in a book with a caption that said it came from the Harbor's Rest private archives.”

Christine laughed. “Wow. Someone was being kind. We've got a collection of old records and clippings, photos, all that, that goes back for, well, forever, but we've never had the resources to catalogue them properly.”

“So you haven't looked at them? Or told the police the records exist?”

“The police didn't ask. They were all about the security camera footage and the information from the time clocks. And, no, I haven't looked myself, because frankly, between dealing with the police and the press and Shelly Kinsdale, I haven't had time or reason. You're welcome to go digging yourself if you want.” She paused. If there was a clearer indication that Christine really wanted to find out what had happened to Jimmy Upton, I don't know what it would be. But she wasn't done. “This will be on the condition you promise to tell me what you find before you go to the police or Frank.”

“If I can,” I said.

Her perfectly made-up face twisted tight, and for a moment I saw the very strong resemblance between her and her mother. “I'll have to settle for that, then.” She opened the center drawer of the desk and pulled out a set of keys. “I'll take you down there, but I really don't think you're going to find anything.”

“Why not?”

“You'll understand when you see it. Come on.”

I grabbed my purse and portfolio and followed her out into the hall. Instead of turning toward the lobby, she took us in the other direction. I assumed we were headed for a flight of service stairs, but before we got there, the fire door flew open in front of us and Rich Hilde, flushed and out of breath, shot out.

“Christine!” He pulled himself up short.

“Rich,” replied his sister. “What's the matter this time?”

He didn't seem to notice the strained patience in her voice. “Have you seen Mother this morning?”

“Not yet, why?”

“I can't find her, and Dale . . .” His eyes skittered back to me. “Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize you were still—”

Christine cut him off with a curt gesture. “Never mind that. What's Dale done?”

“He's fired Kelly Pierce.”