Beads of Doubt (30 page)

Finally, she continued. “Then we lost touch with him for years, until he called us up about six months ago and said he’d discovered an investment plan with huge returns. A sure bet. We were still scrambling to catch up on savings, and the Yancys said they were having great results, so we decided to give it a shot.”

“Did the Yancys tell you about the Bead Tea?”

“No, it was your cousin, Houston.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame about his wife’s cancer—she’s so lovely, and friendly, too. The last time we were in the office, he asked us to come and support the cause. I knew the Yancys would be there, and I’ve always wanted to see the Manse . . .” She flushed slightly.

“Any time you want a personal tour, you let me know.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

I smiled and fished a card from my purse. “Just give me a call, and we’ll set up a time.”

She smiled. “Oh, that would be wonderful! Maybe Keith could come, too. He really enjoyed the reception on Thursday—he spent a lot of time touring the house.” I didn’t remember seeing a wheelchair, but there were so many people there, I might have missed it. “He always wanted to be an architect, you know,” she added.

“Maybe he still could be. Has he taken any classes?”

She shook her head. “Like I said, since the accident . . .”

“He’s still young,” I said. “Lots of people make career changes. Even Nate here has changed course a couple of times.”

“Really?” she said.

“Yup. And your son’s got plenty of time,” he said. “One thing confuses me, though; if Keith was there, why wasn’t his name on the guest list?

“Oh, he wasn’t supposed to be, but Ellie Lawler and her husband couldn’t go, so she gave us the extra tickets. I was kind of surprised Keith was interested; I guess he wanted to see the inside of the Manse.”

“Did you run into Andrew while you were there?” Nate asked.

“We tried to, but every time we spotted him, he disappeared before we could get to him. We did talk with your cousin Houston for a while. A charming man. And his wife . . .” She shook her head. “Life can be so unfair sometimes, can’t it?”

My heart twinged. The Yancys had lost their grandson, and Mrs. Linder’s only child had been paralyzed by an accident. And then there was Rebecca—even though she was in remission, ovarian cancer could be tricky. And Tess, lying in her hospital bed, next to that awful woman. I sighed. Life
was
unfair. And there wasn’t much we could do about it. Maybe Nate could help me smuggle Rafferty into the hospital this afternoon.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Mrs. Linder’s voice pulled me back to the living room.

I blinked. “I don’t think so. Except for one thing—if you don’t mind me asking, what was Andrew investing your money in?”

“A yacht called the
High Jinx
.”

I suppressed a grimace. “That’s what I thought.” I stood up. “Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Linder. I hope your investments work out better than you hoped. And any time you and your son want to see the Manse, just give me a call.”

As we stood to go, the front door opened. “That must be Keith,” Mrs. Linder said. A moment later, a dark-haired man in a wheelchair rolled into the living room. His eyes widened when he saw me, and the chair wheeled to an abrupt halt.

Mrs. Linder smiled. “Sweetheart, this is Kitzi Camden and her friend Nate. Remember Kitzi? She’s the lady who owns the Manse.” Something about her tone reminded me of Katie reprimanding Gabrielle. Mrs. Linder sounded like she was addressing a three-year-old, not a man in his thirties.

“Oh, where the Bead Tea reception was.” I studied Keith’s face. His cheeks were drawn, and much of the vigor I could see in the photos on the mantel had faded, but his brown eyes stared at me with intensity. They looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place them. “Nice house,” he said.

“I’m glad you liked it. I was just telling your mother that you’re welcome to a private tour whenever you’d like.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ve got to go get ready for work.” He wheeled past us. “Nice to meet you.”

As her son disappeared down a dark hallway, Mrs. Linder turned to Nate and me. “Thank you so much for visiting. I’m afraid I wasn’t much help, though.”

Nate smiled at her. “You’ve been a big help. Can we get in touch with you if we have any more questions?”

Her eyes brightened as Nate touched her shoulder, and I shook my head in wonder. No woman was immune to the man’s animal magnetism. “Of course,” she said, her voice suddenly chipper. “Let me get you my number.” She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a scrap of paper, beaming at Nate. “Call me anytime.”

“And if you want a tour, just let me know. I’d love to spend more time visiting with Keith.”

Her brightness faded a little at the mention of her son. “Of course. That would be lovely.”

 

“So, do you think we can put Mrs. Linder on the suspect
list?” Nate asked as he bit into a turkey sandwich. On the way back to the Manse, we had stopped at Schlotzky’s, an Austin-based chain that makes—in my opinion, anyway—the best turkey sandwiches in town. We sat across from each other at a small table by the window, our knees almost touching.

I swallowed a bite of cheese and turkey bliss, complete with olives—I had opted for the high-calorie Turkey Original—and took a sip of Diet Coke. At least the drink was low-cal. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem the type, but I could be wrong. Her son sure did look surprised to see us, though, didn’t he?”

“Maybe they don’t get many visitors.”

“Maybe it was my orange hair,” I joked. “But I wonder what bank he works at. None of the ones I know about are open Sunday afternoons.”

Nate nodded. “Keith was at the party Thursday night. Maybe he killed Andrew over his parents’ investments.”

“But how could a man in a wheelchair hit someone over the head and then get him into a six-foot-tall Dumpster?”

“Good point. Maybe he had help.”

“It’s possible. I can’t imagine Mrs. Linder being involved, but we haven’t met her husband.”

“Maybe the Yancys helped him.”

“Still, I just don’t see it happening. He hands the candlestick to Mr. Yancy and says, ‘Would you mind braining our investment counselor? And I could use a little help getting the body out to the Dumpster when you’re done.’ ”

Nate laughed, a deep belly laugh that sent a current of warmth through me. “No, I can’t quite see it. Maybe we need to take a closer look at Mr. Yancy, though.”

“Or Bruce, the contractor next door. He and his wife were investing, too. Or maybe there’s another angle we haven’t even looked at. Lauren said he wasn’t seeing anyone, but maybe he was. For all we know, it could have been a crime of passion.”

He took a last swig of his Coke and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost two o’clock. What shall we do next?”

I glanced at my half-eaten sandwich. “Let me finish eating, and we’ll talk.”

As we climbed back into the car fifteen minutes later, the CD switched to “Eleanor Rigby,” the violins dipping into a minor key and singing of death. Tears pricked my eyes, and I swallowed hard. “Nate, what do you say to picking up Rafferty and going to visit Tess?”

He glanced at me. “I know I agreed to this earlier, but isn’t Rafferty an Airedale?”

I nodded.

“And isn’t Tess in the hospital?”

I nodded again, and my heart squeezed. I didn’t know how many days she had left, and if I didn’t do something soon, she might never see Rafferty again.

He reached over and took my hand. “You don’t let anything get in your way, do you?”

We had just turned south onto I-35 when my cell phone rang.

“Kitzi?”

It was Jacqueline. “How’s it going? Did you make any headway?”

“I don’t know if it helps, but I just looked up the registration records on the boats registered to High Jinx Charters. They haven’t changed ownership in five years.”

“So?”

“So the foreclosure sale you told me about never happened.”

“What does that mean?”

She took a deep breath. “It means your friend’s investment firm never bought the boats.”

My pulse quickened. “Did you find out who owns
the company?”

“Something called A.C. Investments in Corpus Christi. The owner of record is a guy named Alexander Corcoran.”

Well, that explained the A.C. “Is there a business phone number?”

“I called it. It goes to an answering machine.”

“I guess we can try it tomorrow. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now.”

“Thanks, Jacqueline. You’re a wonder.”

“Any time,” she said. “I’ll probably have more info tomorrow.”

“I’ll talk to you later in the week, and we’ll set up dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” she said.

I hung up and told Nate what Jacqueline had found out. “So I’m guessing that all the money Andrew’s clients contributed didn’t get them squat,” I said.

“But what about the renovations Lauren was talking about?”

“I’m betting Andrew used his clients’ cash to refurbish the boats so that whoever owned them could resell them,” I said.

“Or reopen the charter service. So who owns the boats now?”

“A company called A.C. Investments run by an Alexander Corcoran.”

Nate sighed. “Sounds like Andrew was getting into some pretty dirty business. Should we call Lauren?”

I hesitated. “I think I’d rather wait.”

Nate’s brow creased. “You think Lauren’s involved?”

“I don’t know. I’m just curious to see what kind of information she calls with.”

“Maybe we should go down and join her.”

I stifled images of Nate and me, out on the beach, the sun sparkling on the waves, strawberry margaritas in our hands . . . “I just wish we didn’t have the Bead Tea still going on.”

“On the plus side,” he said, “we have another lead to follow. Now, where is Rafferty?”

 

A half hour later we pulled up outside of Tess’s neigh
bor’s house. Marie greeted us at the front door, with Rafferty bounding up behind her. She grabbed his collar and pushed a lock of blonde hair from her pink face. “How are you going to get him in?”

“We’re still working on that,” Nate said.

I bent down and stroked Rafferty’s fuzzy head, and he looked up at me with wet brown eyes. “Ready, Raff?” He licked my hand, and I smiled at Marie. “Thank you so much for taking care of him. We’ll have him back in an hour or two.”

“Good luck getting him in,” she said. “Too bad Raff ’s not a toy poodle!”

Nate grinned at her as we stepped out the front door. “Or a chihuahua.” A moment later, as we loaded Rafferty into the backseat of Nate’s Navigator, he said, “So, Miss Kitzi. How exactly
are
we getting this dog up to Tess’s room?”

“Do you have a spare blanket in the back?”

“What do we need a blanket for?”

“Trust me,” I said.

Nate laughed. “Do I have a choice?”

 

By the time we pulled into the parking lot at Seton
Hospital, Rafferty was stretched out on my lap, nose glued to the window. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to see Tess, can you, big boy?” At the sound of his mistress’s name, his ears perked up. I turned to Nate. “Would you mind pulling up near the emergency room?”

“The emergency room?”

I nodded, and he cruised to a stop near the sliding double doors. I untangled myself from Rafferty and turned to Nate. “Please park in the parking garage, and meet me on the first floor by the elevator. And bring the blanket.”

“Aye aye, captain.” I slid out of the car and shut the door, careful not to close it on Rafferty. As Nate piloted the Navigator to the parking garage, I slipped through the sliding glass doors into the waiting area for the emergency room. Only a few of the chairs were occupied, and the triage nurse, a slight redheaded woman, looked up as I approached. “Can I help you?”

“I hate to bother you, but I’m taking an old friend to visit a patient, and I don’t know if he’ll be able to walk up there.” I hadn’t told a lie—just exercised the sin of omission a bit. “Is there a spare wheelchair I could borrow?”

She glanced at the waiting area and said, “Sure. Things are pretty slow right now. Can you get it back in an hour?”

“No problem. Thank you so much. My friend will be so happy for the visit.”

The nurse smiled, and her face lit up like sunshine. I felt a little twinge at having misled her—but then again, she
was
bringing joy into a sick woman’s life. Even if she wasn’t aware of the number of hospital regulations I was about to break. Ignorance is bliss, or so they say.

Nate and Rafferty were waiting for me just inside the garage entrance. Nate’s eyebrows leapt up as I wheeled the chair up next to the elevator and patted the seat. “Hop in, Raff.” As the Airedale jumped up onto the vinyl seat, I turned to Nate. “Blanket, please.”

“You’re planning on taking Rafferty up in a
wheelchair
?” He shook his head in wonder and handed me an orange fleece blanket.

“Well, it was easier to get than a gurney.” Rafferty shifted, and his tags jingled. “I should probably get rid of the collar, though.”

“Probably. Too bad his legs are too short to reach the footrests.”

“We’ll say he’s an amputee.” With Nate’s help, I removed the collar and arranged the blanket until the only thing visible was Rafferty’s wet black nose.

Nate stepped back to look at Rafferty’s nose protruding from the blanket. “And maybe the victim of plastic surgery gone wrong? I admire your initiative, Kitz, but I don’t think the nurses are going to fall for it . . .”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve got a plan for that.”

His mouth twitched into a grin, and I had to resist the urge to kiss him. “Well, that’s a relief. Let’s have it, then.”

I told him what I needed him to do, and he nodded. “I’ll follow you in five minutes,” I said.