Gone But Knot Forgotten (22 page)

I'd been right. Harriet didn't pay the boat captain to kill her husband. She gave Grimaldi money as an act of restitution. I rose to leave. “So who do you think killed Nathan?”

Abernathy squeezed the corners of his eyes. “I have no idea.”

I rode the elevators to the parking garage. As soon as I stepped out, someone walked out of the shadows toward me. “Mrs. Rose? A word.”

It was Henry Oliver, and he was pointing a gun straight at me.

C
HAPTER
34

Oliver grabbed my right arm and shoved the gun into my side. “Walk to the white Mercedes and get in the passenger seat. I'm prepared to shoot if you try to run away.”

I froze while trying to overcome the muddled and frightening pictures in my head. When I didn't move, he tightened his grip on my arm.

Pain shot through my tender muscles. “Ow! You're hurting me.”

He pushed me into the car and slammed the door shut. As he moved around the car to the driver's side, I tried to escape, but Oliver had remotely locked my door. Before I could unlock it, he slid into the driver's seat and pointed a gun at me.

My heart raced, and my mouth went dry. “Where are we going?”

Oliver's jaw clenched tightly. He started the engine. “Where do you think?”

Of course there could be only one place he'd want to take me. Should I tell him Harriet's house would be crawling with police and the forensics team from the shooting the night before? Nah. I'd let him find out for himself.

Predictably, the rain slowed traffic to a crawl. As we sat stuck in the intersection of Sepulveda and Wilshire, my cell phone rang. An LAPD number showed on caller ID. Farkas.

“Give me your phone.” Oliver held out his hand.

I surreptitiously pressed the Answer icon. “The books are hidden in a secret room. If you kill me, you'll never get inside.” I could only hope Farkas heard me and realized I was in trouble.

Oliver grabbed the phone and threw it out the window. “Don't underestimate me, Mrs. Rose.” As he spoke, he turned toward me slightly and his jacket fell open. A heavily carved gold watch peeked out of the top of his vest pocket. A ruby glinted on the end of the winding stem. Suddenly, all the pieces fell horribly into place.

“That's the Benjamin Franklin watch.” I pointed to the timepiece.

Oliver said nothing.

“You were the one who took the watch from Harriet's bedroom. She never would have allowed you up there. It was you. You killed Harriet!”

“Shut up.”

I started to see the overall pattern. Wedge by wedge, like the yellow ring on Quincy's quilt, all the pieces fell into place. Emmet Wish told the truth. Harriet was already dead when he broke into her house.

Words began tumbling out of my mouth. “You were determined to get the books and the quilt and all the family heirlooms back, but Harriet refused to give them up or tell you where she'd hid them.”

“I had asked her several times since Nathan's death for certain things. She kept putting me off. Finally, on my last visit, she confessed to her scheme. She intended to sell them and build a monument to her son's memory.”

“So you strangled her in a rage.”

“I wouldn't expect you to understand the importance of heritage. People without pedigree never do. I'll never permit the Oliver legacy to be sold to strangers.” He glared at me. “One way or another, I'll get what I want.”

I could only pray Farkas understood what I tried to tell him and waited for us at last night's crime scene.

Oliver turned the steering wheel sharply and I realized we were already on Bundy Drive, about one minute away from Harriet's house. Soon my ordeal would be over and Henry Oliver would be arrested for Harriet's murder.

He pulled into Harriet's empty circular driveway. The police and SID team were gone. I was alone with a killer.

My whole world had shrunk down to the inside of this small Mercedes. While we were driving, I hadn't noticed the rain had stopped. I hadn't noticed the street signs passing the windows. I had focused on unraveling the mystery of Harriet's death. Now I must focus on surviving. As long as I didn't leave the car, I'd be safe. If I entered Harriet's house and opened the secret room, my life would be over.

We were hidden from the street and from the neighbors by the trees and privacy hedges ringing her large property. Every house in this luxury neighborhood sat discreetly behind landscaping designed for total privacy. Whatever happened from this point on would happen without witnesses.

Oliver came round and yanked open the passenger door. He pointed the gun and regarded me with cold, dark eyes. “Get out.”

I stayed put. The car was safety. The car was life. He grabbed my arm and pulled me out. My knees were so weak I could hardly stand. He stuck the gun in my back. “Move.”

For once I made my weight work for me. I slid to the ground. “No!”

Oliver waved the gun. “Get up or I'll kill you.”

The rainwater puddle on the driveway soaked the seat of my trousers, and the hard cement chilled my flesh. “You can't kill me. You need me alive to get in the room.”

Oliver cursed, then stepped behind me and bent forward. He put his hands under my armpits and tried to lift me. I went as limp as I could, creating a dead weight. He still held the gun in his right hand. The barrel pointed away from me. I reached up under my arm. I grabbed the barrel with both hands and jerked it forward. Oliver struggled to maintain his balance. The gun slipped out of his hand and into mine, firing toward the driveway with a loud pop.

Would the neighbors hear the gunshot and call the police?

“Son of a—” Oliver kicked my shoulder.

“Stop it!” I turned and fired the gun in his direction. The bullet went wild, but he stopped kicking long enough for me to aim at his chest.

Oliver stared down at the gun pointing toward his heart and stopped moving.

I had to figure out a way to stand up. “Back up and keep going until you reach the front door steps.”

“You won't shoot me.” Oliver's lip curled.

“You're dead wrong. I shot someone several months ago and I'll shoot you now if I have to.” Last spring I had defended myself against a killer who came after me with a knife.

“You're making a huge mistake.” He backed up.

“Put your hands on your head and turn around.”

“I'm not—” I aimed near his feet and fired again. The third blast. Where were the neighbors? Wasn't anyone at least curious?

My body began to hurt, and I felt very cranky. Oliver's hands flew to his head and he faced the house.

“Maybe we can work something out.” Oliver's voice became smooth and friendly.

“There's nothing to work out. Now get on your knees and count to twenty out loud.”

While he counted, I got on all fours, grabbed the car door handle, and hoisted myself up to a standing position. I leaned against the Mercedes for support and kept the gun trained on Oliver. He reached twenty and stopped.

A car drove up the street. The tires made a swooshing sound as they passed through the puddles without slowing.
Farkas, where are you?

Since Henry Oliver had tossed my cell phone somewhere on the street near Wilshire and Sepulveda, I'd have to use his. “Reach into your pocket with one hand and pull out your cell phone.”

Oliver removed his right hand from his head and slowly reached into his coat pocket. He held the phone up. “Here.”

“Like I'm stupid enough to come and get it? Slide the phone behind you.” Instead, Oliver tossed the phone in a high arc sending it in the bushes.

Crap!
If Crusher were here, he'd know what to do. How was I going to get help now?

“Nice try, Henry. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to stand up. Keep your hands on your head.”

Oliver stood and turned around. The knees of his expensive suit were soiled and wet. He spoke calmly. “Without a cell phone, you can't call for help. And you can't hold me off forever. Let me get in the car and I'll leave. You can keep the gun.”

“I've got a better idea. Walk down the driveway, hands on top of your head.”

“Hell, no.”

I aimed at his feet and fired for a fourth time. “Just do it.”

I stayed about six feet behind him while he moved down the driveway.

“Walk to the middle of the street and stop.”

He walked slowly and stopped in the street. “All I want is what's mine.”

“Sit.”

Oliver stared at the wet asphalt. “I'm not sitting down in that.”

I raised the gun and aimed at his chest. “Down.” My arms shook in pain.

Oliver glared at the gun and sat in the middle of the street with his hands on his head. A Volvo came toward us, screeched to a stop, backed up, and turned around. As he drove off, I prayed he'd call the police. A red Mustang came from the opposite direction, and this time it stopped. A teenage boy got out and started taking pictures with his cell phone.

I glanced at him. “Please call 9-1-1. I've got a little emergency here.”

“I just posted your picture on Facebook and Twitter.”

“Thanks a lot. In case the police miss your tweet, do you think you could also call them for me? Tell them to notify Detective Gabe Farkas. Tell them my name is Martha Rose.”

“Sure. No biggie.” He looked at his phone and whooped. “This thing is so going viral.”

Within three minutes, cars started parking along the roadside. People jumped out and began taking photos and videos as Henry Oliver screamed obscenities at them.

My mouth went dry. I didn't know how much longer I could stand. “Does anyone have a piece of gum?”

A young girl handed me a stick of gum.

I shoved it in my mouth.

“You a cop?”

I shook my head as I bit into a refreshing burst of peppermint.

Another kid asked, “Is this a movie shoot?”

A girl in pink Ugg boots jumped out of her black Audi to get a closer look. “It's some kind of new reality show, right?”

In one final effort to understand why an overweight fifty-five-year-old woman would be forcing a man in a suit to sit down in the middle of a wet street in a fancy neighborhood, gum girl asked, “Is this like a Brentwood version of the video where everyone pops up and starts to sing ‘ ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun'?”

I shifted my arms in an attempt to ease the pain. “We're waiting for the police.”

Oliver looked around at the crowd surrounding him and then back at me. He removed his hands from his head, stood, and twisted his mouth into an ugly smile. “You can't shoot me now. You might hit an innocent bystander.”

He was right. I didn't dare shoot at him with all those kids standing around.
I wish Crusher were here, he'd subdue the guy in no time.

Oliver turned and grabbed the girl in the pink boots around the neck, using her as a shield. He growled in her ear, “Where's your car?”

“Don't hurt her!” I lowered my gun.

She pointed to the black Audi parked behind her.

He tightened his grip. “Keys!”

“In the car,” she squeaked.

Oliver pushed her away and jumped in the Audi. She fell onto the asphalt sobbing.

Finally, sirens approached. Four squad cars formed a blockade across the street in both directions. Officers jumped out of their cars with guns drawn and yelled for people to clear the area.

One of the cops helped the girl to her feet and dragged her to safety behind a squad car. She pointed to the Audi. “He tried to steal my car.”

Police surrounded the Audi with guns pointed at Henry Oliver.

“Get out of the car and put your hands on your head!”

“Out of the car, now!”

Oliver opened the door and surrendered.

I handed the gun to a uniformed officer. “Call Gabe Farkas and don't let that man go. He killed Harriet Oliver.”

“Right behind me.” The cop thumbed over his shoulder.

Farkas pushed his bulk through the crowd of teenagers.

“What took you so long?” I asked. “Didn't you figure out my message?”

“Yeah, I also got the 9-1-1, but there are massive pileups on the 405 and the 10. I got here as soon as I could.”

“I caught Harriet's killer. Henry Oliver, her brother-in-law, confessed. He was going to steal the books and the quilt and kill me, but I managed to wrestle the gun away.”

“You got some fancy kung-fu training I don't know about?”

“No, I just sat down and refused to move.”

“Yeah, my wife complains I do the same thing. You okay?”

“He only bruised me. I'm wet and cold and my body aches.” Fog settled over parts of my brain and I started sweating. “I guess you'll want to tape off the driveway as the new crime scene. What is this, the fourth time in two weeks? Must be a record.” I thought about my dream that morning. “You've been here so many times. It's kind of like sorting through mountains of used clothing, don't you think?”

Farkas looked at me funny and his lips moved, but I couldn't hear what he said through the loud ringing in my ears. A strong pair of arms grabbed me as my body turned to rubber. Then everything went black.

C
HAPTER
35

I woke up on the ground with Farkas staring at me, eyes wide with concern. “You scared me, Mrs. Rose. You okay?”

“How'd I get down here?”

“You fainted for a couple of seconds. It happens sometimes when people go through a shock.”

I sat up and took stock of my body. My right arm throbbed where Oliver grabbed me, and I was stiff and sore from head to toe. For once, being overweight had prolonged my life. If I'd been down to my goal weight, Oliver could easily have lifted me and forced me inside Harriet's house. I might be dead right now. The enormity of my narrow escape hit me and tears spilled down my cheeks.

Farkas helped me to my feet and offered me a tissue. “Maybe we should have a doc take a look at you.”

I didn't want to be “checked out” by a doctor in a cold hospital emergency room. I just needed a warm quilt and some rest. “I'm not sick. It's the stress of the last few days. I just want to go home.”

Farkas put his hand under my elbow. “If you're sure you're okay . . .”

“I'm fine.”

“I'll drive you home, then. You can give me a statement on the way.” The detective escorted me to his white sedan and helped me inside. He set a recording device on the console while he drove. Fortunately, we didn't hit gridlock heading north toward Encino.

I carefully laid out the whole story of Henry Oliver and his obsession with the family heirlooms. “He threatened me, kidnapped me, and would have killed me. He expressed no remorse at killing Harriet. He merely viewed her as a woman without pedigree.”

Once we arrived at my house, Farkas made sure I got inside before he left.

I swallowed a Soma and soaked in a hot bath until the pain subsided and my butt warmed. I put on my pajamas and warm socks and cuddled with Bumper on my sofa. Two hours later a knock at the door woke me.

Lucy and Ray stood on my porch with a casserole dish, a salad bowl covered with Saran Wrap, a baguette wrapped in aluminum foil, and a bottle of wine. Ray bent to kiss my cheek. Thank God he'd forgiven me. “You look a lot better now than you did on your YouTube video.”

I stood aside to let them in. “What video?”

“Richie called to tell us he recognized you on this video that's gone viral. He said in the first hour you got over a hundred thousand hits. Now it's populating Facebook. Everyone's calling you Grannie Oakley. You're famous for singlehandedly capturing a killer.”

I groaned. “I'm not a grandmother yet. Do I really look so old? I want to see the video.”

I watched myself standing like a gray-haired Rizzoli with two hands on the gun. The girl gave me the peppermint gum. Oliver stood and grabbed the young woman in the pink boots. Then he threw her down and jumped into the Audi. Before he could escape, the police arrived and took him into custody. One of the officers removed the gun from my hand. My mouth moved in conversation with Farkas. He reached over to break my fall as I slid to the ground. A minute later I sat up and cried. Then when I stood, the crowd started clapping.

I smiled. “They clapped for me? I don't remember them clapping.”

We ate salad while Lucy piled our plates with hot lasagna smelling like garlic, oregano, and melted cheese. Ray poured deep red Chianti into our glasses. I helped myself to a slice of sourdough bread toasted with garlic butter and parmesan cheese. After my day, I deserved all these calories.

A half hour later I looked at the clock and remembered my date with Isabel. “Oh crap! I have to go to Abernathy's and pick up my car. I've got to be somewhere tonight.”

Ray frowned. “Not a good idea.”

“I feel so much better after such a delicious dinner. I'll be fine.”

While Lucy cleared the dishes, I got dressed. We piled into Lucy's vintage caddy and as we reached the end of my street, an Eyewitness News van approached from the opposite direction. Ray slowed the car and the van parked in front of my house.

“The media's gotten hold of your video, Grannie,” Lucy chuckled.

Ray shook his head, eyes on the rearview mirror. “You're in for it now.”

“Drive!” I ducked down in the seat when the NBC News van headed our way.

The Mondellos chauffeured me safely to my car in Abernathy's building, where I was abducted just hours before. I drove to Isabel's condo on Eleventh Street in Santa Monica. She answered the door holding a drink.

“Martha. I wondered when you'd get here.” Isabel looked at me with weary eyes. She took a deep breath and her long white silk caftan whispered as she stepped aside to let me in. A cloud of Chanel N°5 swirled around her. Even with super-short hair, Isabel managed to exude feminine elegance.

She held up her glass and Harriet's ring sparkled on her finger. “Drink?”

I shook my head. Isabel led me to the living room. We sat on the white leather sofa. She put down her glass and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. “You look terrible.”

I told her about Henry Oliver kidnapping me and confessing to Harriet's murder. “I've got bruises to prove it.” I rolled up my sleeve.

Oliver had left large black finger marks where he grabbed my arm and a red blotch on my shoulder where he kicked me.

She clicked a green plastic lighter and puffed until the tobacco on the end of her thin brown cigarette glowed orange. “He really did a number on you. I saw Harriet look exactly like you do—too many times—from Nathan's abuse.”

I shuddered. “It seems violence runs in the Oliver family. Did she ever fight back?”

“She was terrified first, for her own safety, and then for her son's. She spent her life trying to placate that monster.”

I folded my hands in my lap. “Are you ready to talk about the night Nathan was killed?”

Isabel took a deep drag on her cigarette, leaned back, and blew out a long stream of smoke. “Two years after her son's death, I finally told Harriet what I knew about Jonah's accident. The same evening, a Friday, she apparently gathered the courage to confront Nathan, which sent him into a rampage.

“I got a call from Harriet around eight. I rushed over. Huge black bruises showed on her arms and face and neck. He'd beaten and choked her. He sat in the living room, holding a tumbler full of scotch and an empty bottle of Macallan on the table beside him. When he saw me, he shouted obscenities.”

I flashed on Henry Oliver also spewing curses in the middle of the road earlier today.

“I threatened to call the police.” She picked up her glass and stared at it. “Nathan drained his drink and threw the glass at me. It narrowly missed my head and shattered on the wall. Then he exploded out of the chair and came after me. I tried to run, but he caught me and backhanded me in the face so hard I fell to the floor.”

After my near-fatal encounter with his brother, I knew Isabel spoke the truth about the violence. What kind of hatred and family secrets would produce two such brutal siblings?

Isabel took a large gulp of vodka. “Nathan just laughed and grabbed a fresh bottle of scotch. He called me a whore and told me, ‘Get out. Say good-bye forever to your friend.' Then he went back in the living room and sat down.”

By now, tears streamed down Isabel's face. She looked at me and her lips trembled. “I knew Nathan meant to kill Harriet. I tried to take her with me, but she just stood there, too terrified to move. So, I went in the dining room, picked up one of those heavy old candelabras, and walked behind his chair. He didn't even notice me. I smashed him in the head.” Isabel took another large drink and started to weep.

Farkas said the fatal blow to Nathan's skull came from behind and above. Isabel's story made sense, especially when I also remembered seeing the big dent on the bottom of one of the candelabras.

“Oh my God.”

She carefully dabbed under her wet eyes with a tissue, trying not to smear her mascara and eyeliner. “What else could I do?”

“Whose idea was it to fake the suicide?”

“Mine. I didn't want to go to jail. I convinced Harriet to bury the body in the backyard. We chose a spot in the lawn near the fence and I called a friend. We took turns digging all night until the grave was deep enough.”

I blew out my breath. “He must have been some good friend.”

Isabel nodded. “Nico Grimaldi and I had become pals after Jonah's funeral. He didn't hesitate to help when I called.”

“Did you know Grimaldi died a week ago?”

Isabel wept softly. “Yes, I didn't go to Palm Springs like I said. I stayed with Nikki, his daughter, and helped with his funeral. She contacted me today right after you talked to her.”

“What did Harriet do while you and Grimaldi cleaned up?”

All that vodka had finally begun to work its magic on Isabel. She slowed her speech. “Nathan had hurt her pretty badly. We all agreed: If she went to the hospital, the police would come snooping around. So, we put her in bed to rest while we worked. Nico and I scrubbed the living room. Nathan's blood was all over the chair and the rug and on the nearby lamp and table. Drops of red even landed on the ceiling. We washed down everything we could, but some things, like the chair and the rug, couldn't be salvaged. Nico took an ax to the soiled furniture. He put the pieces in bags and drove straight to the dump.”

“Wasn't anyone curious about the hole in the backyard or the missing furniture?”

Isabel broke into a phlegmy cough. “On Sunday I drove to Costco and bought a bunch of plants. We made a flower bed over the grave. Looked like it'd always been there. Harriet called her gardeners and let 'em go. They never returned to the house, so they never knew the ground had been dug. The new gardener she hired the following week didn't know the difference.”

“Didn't the housekeeper suspect something was wrong?”

“Harriet also let the housekeeper go over the phone so she wouldn't return and see the disaster inside the house. She told the new housekeeper the living room was being redecorated.”

“Whose idea was the suicide note?”

“Mine. I figured if everyone thought he drowned at sea, they wouldn't look for the body.”

Isabel had thought of everything. She protected both herself and Harriet from a monster and committed a nearly perfect crime.

“How did you get Harriet's cocktail ring?”

Isabel emptied her glass. “Harriet insisted on giving me the ring for helping her. She also insisted on helping Nico get back on his feet.”

“What caused your falling out two years ago? She ended your friendship so abruptly.”

“Harriet couldn't stand the guilt.” Isabel's shoulders sagged. “As time went by, she wanted to go to the police and tell them what happened. But she knew if she did, she'd get Nico and me in trouble. I pleaded with her to sell the house and get on with her life, but Harriet said the day Jonah died, so did she. The more depressed she became, the more she pulled back. Finally, one day she just cut me off. I could never get her to return my calls.”

Isabel blinked back tears. “So now you know the truth. Are you going to turn me in?”

I knew all along Harriet wasn't a murderer, and I'd been determined to clear her name. But if the truth came out now, Isabel might go to jail for saving the life of a friend. There was no statute of limitations on murder. Where was the justice in that?

I leaned forward. “You came to Harriet's defense. I'm not sure how the law will look at this, but as far as I'm concerned, you rescued her. I'll leave the decision up to you whether you go to the police, Isabel. If you do, I know a fancy attorney who owes me a huge favor.”

Isabel walked me to her door and gave me a boozy hug. “Thanks, Martha.”

I walked in my door at ten, exhausted. All I could think about was collapsing into bed. Thankfully, the street in front of my house was empty, suggesting the reporters grew tired of waiting for Grannie Oakley. However, I suspected they'd return in the morning.