Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) (9 page)

I decided she felt I should laugh at her last remark, so I did, thinking she had a much jollier disposition than her daughter.

Alice eased her bulk out the door, and I sat down to begin my task. I had no idea how American police would have handled the matter, but it seemed to me the British showed unusual efficiency. The papers and records, which had been removed and now returned, seemed in remarkably good order. Someone, if not Noreen, had arranged similar things together. Maybe a female police officer, since most men can't organize a sock drawer.

Once again, I told myself I was doing necessary work, not even remotely related to snooping. After all, I had to look at every file folder and every loose paper in order to know where it might belong, didn't I? Into the filing cabinet I put receipts, bank statements, copies of land leases, and income tax returns. Also catalogs for everything from paper clips to farming equipment. Into the desk drawers went deeds, correspondence, invoices, copies of stock market transactions, and miscellaneous papers. I enjoyed every minute.

Especially when I found two odd things. First, a seemingly recent application to a building society for a mortgage on what sounded like some family-owned property. A large mortgage, if I could accurately translate pounds into dollars. Who was the person who had applied for the mortgage? None other than the late Mrs. Edward Mason. Apparently Jason had reason to be concerned about what Noreen might have been up to lately.

The second was an invoice to Noreen from a detective agency for "services rendered." The paper stuck to my fingers, my palms grew sweaty, and my heartbeat accelerated. Had I not been sitting down, I might have fallen.

Why had Noreen hired a detective, and what service had he rendered? Okay, so Inspector Kincaid insisted Noreen died from an accident, not murder, but like Nessie from the Loch, another mystery had just surfaced.

I wanted to speak to Jason about what I'd found among the office papers, but he didn't return from work until shortly before the dinner hour, so I didn't see him until we gathered in the dining room. Elizabeth looked pale but composed, and Chaz didn't show up at all. Beryl told us his band would be performing that night. Then, since she belonged to several women's organizations, she carried on at great length about her activities.

William spoke only when spoken to but, when prodded, came up with the information he'd played golf that day, as he often did. The remainder of the conversation, as it had the night before, revolved around the late, unlamented Noreen, her drinking, her presumably accidental fall into the lily pond, and that a funeral for her was being arranged.

Afterward, Jason went into the office. "Where are those office papers?" he asked. "Kincaid said he'd return them today."

"Aunt Alice and I put the papers away, and she disposed of the boxes."

"What?" His voice rose at least two octaves, and his face flushed. Just as Alice predicted, instead of being grateful for our help, he carried on like a scenery-chewing actor.

"You had no right to do that," he bellowed.

"Alice wanted to tidy things up and I—"

"Nothing should have been done without my permission."

"But I—"

"The papers in this office do not concern you, and you're not to meddle." He swiveled around in the desk chair, turning his back to me.

I reminded myself that since no good deed ever goes unpunished, I shouldn't have been surprised. Even then, I debated whether I should persevere and tell him about what I'd found. Actually, I was miffed. See if I'd ever help
him
again. Let Jason find out about the mortgage and the detective's invoice by himself.

Then my conscience reminded me I had been snooping as much as helping, and perhaps I deserved his criticism. Maybe I'd ask Uncle William about those papers. Perhaps, despite what Jason had said the other night, William would know something. After all, he'd known about Noreen's drinking and dallying. I gave Jason one last glare behind his back before I left the office.

* *   *

As it turned out, I didn't speak to William until Saturday. He told me he didn't play golf on the weekends because that's when all the duffers came out to clutter up the links, often using carts rather than walking as one ought to do. Beryl, on the other hand, had gone to oversee a jumble sale at the church.

After breakfast, William and I carried our cups of tea, which I'd begun to prefer to coffee, into the small sitting room and sat in adjoining chairs. He said that, the room being quiet, if we sat close to each other he wouldn't need to use his hearing aids.

"I've become somewhat proficient in lipreading as well," he added.

"What a convenient talent."

"Some people think because I don't hear everything anymore, I'm daft as well." He chuckled.

My mind had already leaped ahead to imagine him reading lips when others thought their secrets were safe. I gloated. I'd been right to seek him out to answer my questions. He seemed very much aware of what went on.

"Jason told me," I began, "that before Edward married Noreen, he handled all the family property matters."

"That's true."

"Then Noreen took over, and now Jason's upset for fear she has put the family fortune in jeopardy."

"We worried, but what could we possibly do? I spoke to Edward many times, but he was besotted with the woman, wouldn't hear a word against her." He closed his eyes and shook his head.

I waited until he again focused on my face. "Yesterday," I said, "when the police returned all the papers they'd taken from the office, Aunt Alice and I returned them to their rightful place." I didn't tell him Jason had a fit over it. "In doing so, I came across papers regarding Mason Square Centre. Is that family property?"

"Yes, we lease the land to the operators. What papers did you find?"

"One appeared to be an application for a loan."

"A loan, you say? In what name?"

"Mrs. Edward Mason."

He sighed. "Then it's as we feared. No doubt she kept the funds for herself, couldn't wait for Edward to lie cold in his grave before getting her hands on his money."

"I found an
application
for a loan. Perhaps it didn't go through, and she hadn't yet received any money."

He frowned and rubbed his chin. "I say, what does Jason know about this? He promised me he'd look at all the records as soon as possible."

"Since the police took everything and just returned them yesterday, he hasn't had a chance to go over them. Perhaps, it being Saturday, he's in the office doing that now."

"I hope you're right, and it was just an application. However—" He paused. "As she's dead now, perhaps whatever money she received is still somewhere about. I shall have to ask Jason to determine if she had a separate banking account from Edward's." He lowered his head for a minute, then looked up at me again. "I say, thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"I hope you don't think… I didn't mean to meddle."

"Not at all, my dear. You're family. Your father didn't choose to remain at Mason Hall, but he
is
my brother."

Encouraged by his attitude, I went on. "There's one other thing. While putting papers away, I found an invoice from a private detective agency." William frowned but didn't comment.

"Apparently a paid invoice," I added. "Also made out to Noreen. Do you have any idea what that might have been about?"

"Dear me, no. To my knowledge, none of us has ever engaged the services of a detective. How very odd. What did she require him to do?"

"I've no idea. The invoice read, 'For services rendered.'"

"How very odd," he repeated.

"I assume there are no skeletons in our closets." I smiled as I said it.

He chuckled again. "Not since the early nineteenth century, when Archibald Mason fought a duel with his mistress's husband."

"Did the husband kill him in the duel?"

"Archibald? No, he prevailed.
That
caused the scandal. He left England afterward and lived on the continent for a few years, took up with a French maid, they say."

"I had no idea I had such colorful ancestors."

"Later they all became prim and proper Victorians." He tilted his head back and closed his eyes briefly again. "And then the war came along and everyone became very serious. Nothing like a war to make you cherish home and family."

"Do you mean World War Two or the Korean War?"

"I meant the first World War. In America, you don't regard it with as much bitterness as we do. My father mentioned it often, how unnecessary, and how deadly. Most of his friends died. It nearly wiped out an entire generation. He survived because he was too old to fight."

"I hadn't realized," I said.

"Thank God the next war didn't claim as many lives. Although both Edward and I served in the Korean conflict, we managed to return intact. However, I'm afraid Edward suffered mentally afterward. Because of that, even though he was the eldest, I took over managing the family business and then gave the task to Jason."

After this long speech, William took another sip of tea, probably cold by then, and looked at me again.

Although everyone knew the facts, I said, "You adopted Jason when you married Aunt Beryl, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"And then your own son, Chaz, came along."

"Yes," William said again, his voice low and somewhat solemn. Not the pride a man generally shows in his one flesh-and-blood son. I wondered if he felt that Chaz's career choice precluded him from taking on the responsibility given to his stepbrother Jason.

If so, William didn't mention it. "If there's been any recent scandal in the family, you may unquestionably blame it on Noreen herself." I barely caught his next word. "Whore."

I seized this opportunity to forward my own agenda. "Do you think it possible, then, that Noreen had a lover?"

"Besides Chaz?"

So he knew about that as well, but why would he bring it up? Surely, it must have been painful for him to think his own son cuckolded his brother. "Then you believe they were lovers even after she married Edward."

"I think everyone in the family believed it, neither of them being a model of virtue."

"Could there have been anyone else, do you think?"

"It's possible, surely." He paused a minute. "It would explain the rows I overheard between them. Chaz accused her of that sort of thing." He paused again. "Why do you ask?"

I hesitated. I didn't want to reveal my belief Noreen might have been murdered. I saw no need to reopen that possibility right then and make everyone nervous, if not suspicious. So I invented a story on the spur of the moment. Not a good story.

"I confess I wondered if there might have been another man in her life because of the detective invoice."

He outsmarted me. "I don't see how that would follow."

"Perhaps she had the detective investigate the other man."

I could see he didn't think the idea had merit but, being polite, didn't brush it off completely.

"Anything is possible, isn't it? Especially these days, when promiscuity is everywhere. I never go to the cinema anymore. All that nudity and words no self-respecting sailor would utter in mixed company. And just one or two programs are worth watching on the television."

"I think it's wonderful you still play golf."

"Rains too much. Then I spend time reading, but my eyesight isn't what it used to be. Better than my hearing, however."

We'd returned to our original topic, and apparently William felt it time to end our conversation, for he rose from the chair. "We must have a chat again soon, but now I think I shall talk to Jason about that mortgage business."

I watched him leave the room, then took both our teacups back to the kitchen, pleased he had validated my theory Noreen probably had a lover. Now I needed to discover who he was and whether she met him by the lily pond that night. Oh, yes, and prove he killed Noreen.

*  * *

At six o'clock I phoned my parents but got their answering machine instead. Then I phoned Brad. Although it was nine in the morning in San Francisco, he sounded sleepy when he answered the telephone.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm not home yet, if that's what you mean."

"You haven't been gone a week. Are you having fun?"

I didn't know how to begin what I wanted to say, so I procrastinated. "Have you checked my answering machine for messages?"

"Yes. Not today, of course. I'll do that later."

"Well," I prompted, "were there any important ones? Anything I should know about?"

"I don't think so."

Men are like that: you have to drag information out of them. "Well, who called?"

"Oh, you want specifics. Well, Parry Williams called. Is she one of the ladies you play bridge with?"

"No, she owns the art gallery on the first floor of the building you looked at last month. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah, now you mention it. I didn't go inside her gallery, so I forgot."

After a pause, I prompted him again. "So what did Parry have to say?"

Brad seemed to be still waking up, and I heard him clear his throat. He often made a great deal of noise in the process, as if dislodging Kermit the frog. I heard him yawn. "Only hello and stuff. I guess she forgot you were going to be gone for two weeks."

"Do you remember any of the 'stuff'?" We met Parry when Brad accompanied me on my search for the perfect office in which to establish our private investigation business. Since her gallery was so close to the lobby entrance, the real estate company handling office rentals often gave her the keys to vacant offices and let her show them to prospective tenants.

"I didn't realize you two had become such good friends."

"That wasn't the first time we met," I explained. "She and I went to the same dermatologist. Although she's a few years younger than I am, we seemed to hit it off right away."

"Good." Another long pause.

"So, did anyone else call?"

"Some guy named Edgar Barth. Is he someone you're dating?"

I laughed out loud. "Not hardly. The man is eighty years old and proud of it."

"So?"

"So he's the one I play bridge with."

"You have an eighty-year-old man for a partner?"

"Yes, and I'm very happy about it. He's a whiz at bridge. In fact, I'm proud he's willing to play with
me
."

"C'mon, Livvie, you're a teacher. How could he be better than you are?"

"Did you ever hear the expression, 'Them that can does: them that can't teaches'?"

"That sounds like something from a previous century, maybe even the nineteenth."