Hearse and Gardens (10 page)

Liv was crying.

I put the book down and went over to them. “What's wrong?” I reached into my pocket and took out the case that held my hearing aids, and put them in. If I'd been wearing them, I might have heard the buildup to Liv's breakdown.

Liv looked beautiful, even with puffy eyes and a red nose. I handed her a tissue from a Louis the Some-teenth desk.

She sobbed, “I'm worried she's going to have Granddad deemed incompetent and take away all his rights.”

“Who is?” Elle asked.

“Celia. She and Granddad have a prenup. This is the only way she can get control of his money.”

I said, “Do you think your grandfather is in his right mind?”

“Only recently has he become confused and forgetful. I mean, I know he's ninety-one, but his decline happened so fast.”

Elle took her hand. “How do you know about Celia's plans?”

“I overheard Brandy and Celia arguing about Granddad's will. Brandy found Celia sneaking through the papers in his study.”

I recalled the conversation I overheard between Richard and Celia and the argument between Richard and Brandy. Maybe Richard was trying to convince Brandy to testify that Uncle Harry had lost his marbles and she refused.

I handed Liv
The Room Beneath the Stairs.
She stroked the book with her fingertips like it was a talisman. “I should get back to Granddad. I don't want Celia anywhere near him.”

“How about Kate? Is she close to her stepfather?”

“She wasn't close to Granddad before my dad's body was found. Since then, she's been spending more time
with him. I think she's only doing it for my sake, but whatever the reason, I'm happy. She comes across tough, but I know inside she's a marshmallow. Her mother is another story. What you see is what you get.”

We took the secret staircase down to the second floor, then we walked Liv back to Uncle Harry's room. When I glanced inside, Kate was sitting next to Uncle Harry's bed.

Elle and I took the central staircase in the front of the house to the first floor. At the bottom, loud voices were coming from a room down a hallway I'd never taken. I grabbed Elle's arm and dragged her toward the voices.

Richard said, in his midwestern accent, “I don't think it's any of your business why I'm in the library. I work here. What's your excuse for hanging around all the time?”

Nathan said, “I'm a friend of the family, Harrison is like a father to me, and I don't have to explain myself to the staff.”

Richard said, “That old geezer isn't in his right mind. Just because once upon a time your family had some clout in Montauk, doesn't mean you can lord it over me. How are you handling the fact that your wife murdered Pierce and ran off with the Warhol?”

I stuck my head in the room. “Oops. We thought this was the way to the kitchen. Must've taken a wrong turn.”

Elle added an unconvincing chuckle. Her face was the color of watermelon, her freckles the seeds.

I'd been wondering what the library would be like at Sandringham. I wasn't disappointed. It had two marble fireplaces, one on either end of the long room. Shelves of books covered all four walls. There was a brass rail near the ceiling
where you could roll a ladder to your desired location. That was if you picked a volume in the nosebleed section.

Richard was seated at an ornately carved mahogany desk. In front of him, an ancient book was splayed open. His right hand hovered over a notepad with writing on it.

He glanced at us. “Hey.”

I said, “Hey.”

He put his head back down.

Nathan said, “I'm going to the kitchen. I'll take you.” He strode ahead of us. We could barely keep up.

Nathan stopped in front of the archway to the kitchen. He went to step inside but stopped, muttering, “I'm taking care of this now. Not later.” He took off in the direction of the front of the house, passing Kate, who was headed in our direction.

Kate held a stack of magazines. “What's up? Planning to raid the kitchen like I am?”

Elle giggled. “How'd you know?”

When we walked into the kitchen, Celia stood behind Ingrid, holding a legal-sized piece of paper. The steam coming off the top of a boiling pot made Ingrid's face look young and dewy, a sharp contrast to Celia's stern face.

Kate walked over to her mother and Ingrid. She snatched the paper out of Celia's hand. “Celia. Give Mrs. A. a break. She can't make three different menus for every meal.”

I wasn't surprised Kate didn't call her mother, “mom.”

Celia said, “You stay out of it. Your stepfather requires soft food. All you eat is your precious Mrs. A.'s carb-heavy cuisine. I require a raw diet. If you're so worried, why don't you switch over to my healthier menu?”

“I will as soon as you get rid of that trough of red licorice in your bottom nightstand drawer.”

Kate sat at the farm table, put her feet up on a chair, laid down the menu, then commenced to rip pages out of a fashion magazine.

Without turning to look at Ingrid, Celia said, “Do as I say
Mrs.
, or I'll talk to my husband.”

On her way out, Celia nodded at Elle but ignored me completely.

Kate said, “Don't let her talk to you like that, Mrs. A. I don't.”

Ingrid said, “Don't worry about me, Katie. I'm just fine. Now, show me what you plan to make to wear to the film festival.”

Elle and I were invited for tea, which we both declined, because we were sadly too full from breakfast. We knew Ingrid's tea most likely involved food. After we said farewell, I collected my wagon and we headed back to my rental. The storm was edging closer.

When Elle pulled the pickup into my drive, she said, “Wow. What a dysfunctional family dynamic they've got going at Sandringham.”

“You're part of that family,” I said.

“No blood relation, but I am very fond of Uncle Harry and Liv. Do you realize Richard, Brandy, Celia, Nathan, and Ingrid are all around the same age as Pierce would be if he'd lived?”

“Duh! Don't you listen to anything I say?”

“It's pretty clear Nathan's wife did the dirty deed. She's probably living on an island somewhere in the Caribbean enjoying the money she made off the Aqua Net picture.”

“I'm just sayin', you never know people. Just ask my dad. I remember this one case where he unknowingly invited a murderer over to dinner. On top of it, the guy was a town councilman.”

“Guess who's coming to dinner?”

“You wouldn't laugh if you saw the crime scene photos. I used to occasionally go through my dad's files when he brought them home from work. All that stopped after Councilman Johnson was arrested.”

“Well, I better get going,” Elle said. “Batten the hatches, matey.”

I saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

I was happy she wouldn't have to drive all the way to Sag Harbor. She was going to East Hampton to meet Detective Shoner for the Adopt-a-Pet. If anyone could protect her from the nor'easter, he could.

The storm wasn't at its worst.

Yet.

I made coffee in my French press and placed the cup and the pot on the round etched brass tray table that was next to my cushioned window seat. I'd already lit a fire, and the cottage was at its utmost coziest. I stretched out and looked at the beach, happy I wasn't on it. Too bad I had to go out later to the Adopt-a-Pet. I really needed to talk to Detective Shoner, especially with the new developments at Sandringham with Uncle Harry's competency issue. I wanted to know if the cops had placed Pierce's murder on the front burner or back. Uncle Harry and Liv deserved to see their loved one's killer brought to justice.

I didn't tell Elle I was planning to attend the Adopt-a-Pet. She would have a dog picked out for me within seconds. I was a softy when it came to dogs. Especially after Tripod—woman's best friend. The Adopt-a-Pet
started at noon and ended at four. I planned to be there at three forty-five.

*   *   *

The parking lot at East Hampton High School had only four cars in it. Two of the vehicles were Elle's pickup truck and Detective Shoner's Lexus. I followed the arrows to the gymnasium door. Not an easy task. For every two steps forward, the wind pushed me back one.

When I walked in, an elderly lady came toward me. She held an open cardboard box filled with forms. “Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie, we wrapped the Adopt-a-Pet up early because of the nor'easter. The gym becomes a shelter when there's any threat of flooding. We do have one pet we weren't able to find a home for. Why don't you go take a look. Ms. Warner can help you.” She pointed to Elle, who stood next to a large animal crate.

I was doomed.

Elle saw me and shouted, “What are you doing here? It must be a sign. I have the perfect pet for you!”

I looked at the size of the crate. “Oh no, you don't!”

“Come see. Your heart will melt.”

That was what I was afraid of.

Detective Shoner came into the gym from a door behind the crate and grabbed his coat from a nearby chair.

If I didn't hurry over there before he left, I'd never find out anything about the case.

I walked across the basketball court, thinking it had been years since I'd played—a bonding sport my father and I shared back in Detroit.

When I reached Elle and Detective Shoner, I purposely
avoided looking into the wolf-sized crate. “Detective, I need to ask you a few questions about Pierce Falks's murder.”

For a short man, Detective Shoner carried himself like an Amazon. He had impeccable taste in clothing and knew how to dress to compensate for his small stature: monochromatic colors for a streamlined look, narrow vertical stripes, close-fitting clothes, and attention-getting details up high on the body, like a pocket square in a bright color. I'd learned these tips from my ex-fiancé, Michael, who was five ten and told everyone he was six one.

Detective Shoner was also one of the best-smelling men I'd encountered. I was sure Elle agreed, judging by her pink cheeks and starry-eyed look when she glanced his way.

Detective Shoner said, “Ms. Barrett, what could you possibly need to know that you can't find out from your retired homicide detective father or coroner friend?”

“I'd like to know your take on things. Four heads are better than one.”

Elle walked up and stabbed a finger in my chest. “Meg Barrett. What are you up to?”

“You saw Liv. Don't you want to help find her father's killer?”

“Of course I do, but I also had a bad feeling when we were in that secret stairway.”

“Funny you never mentioned anything.”

Detective Shoner interjected, “Okay. I have a deal for you, Ms. Barrett. You adopt this last pet, and I'll tell you everything we know about the case, which I have to warn you, isn't much.”

Oh jeez. I looked at him, then the cage, then back to him. “I can't adopt a pet. I might not have a home when my lease runs out, especially if I lose Little Grey.”

“Little Grey?” He looked at Elle.

“The old Eberhardt property Meg bought last spring.”

“Well, my deal stands.” He walked toward the crate and reached for the latch.

Detective Shoner opened the crate door. I stood back, ready for the onslaught. He looked inside. “She's not coming out.”

Elle said, “Let me.”

Brave soul.

She reached in and crooned, “Come here, baby. Don't be shy.”

Baby?

Elle stuck the upper half of her body into the crate. Nails scratched at the bottom of the crate and there was a growl. “Got her!”

Out came Elle and in her arms was the biggest, fattest cat I'd ever seen.

Detective Shoner took the cat from Elle. “She's a Maine Coon. Someone left her at our precinct door. Until one of the officers made the discovery Joe was Josephine, we'd named her One-Eyed Joe. She would have been adopted earlier if we'd thought of the gloves.”

Gloves?

The huge cat squirmed in his arms, swiping the air with extended claws. He, I mean, she, had a jiggly white Santa Claus belly. The hair coming out of her ears was long enough to braid. And she had one eye. The other eye was sealed in a permanent wink.

Detective Shoner said, “Elle, give Ms. Barrett the gloves.”

Elle handed me a pair of leather work gloves. I had to make a decision because once I held the cat, it would be too late. A one-eyed cat . . . come on.

I put on the gloves. What did I have to lose?

Apparently,
my
eye!

Detective Shoner started to lose his grip, and the cat's left paw reached out and swiped at my temple. I screeched, and the cat fell to the floor and took off toward the bleachers.

After a half hour of cajoling, the cat followed a trail of treats that led to her crate. She gobbled as she went, like she hadn't eaten in years. Inside the crate, Elle had placed an open can of cat food. In she went. This cat's Achilles' heel was definitely food.

“So, what's it gonna be, Ms. Barrett?”

Was he kidding? Blood streamed down my right cheek. Elle dabbed at the wound with one of her vintage handkerchiefs.

The cat had finished her meal and put her nose against the grate of the door. Her one eye didn't look apologetic in the least.

“She'll take her,” Elle said.

“I can't. I don't have any food or a litter box, and the IGA closed early because of the storm.”

“Not to worry.” Detective Shoner picked up the crate from the handle on top. It was almost as big as him. “All her things are back in the mail room at the precinct. You can pick up Jo tomorrow. I'm sure everyone will want to say good-bye.”

The cat gave me the evil eye, then licked her lips.

“But what about our talk?”

“We'll talk tomorrow. In my office.” He gave me a weird look, probably thinking I was an unworthy candidate to be an adoptive parent.

As I walked away, I swear the cat smiled. I saw imaginary feathers sticking out of her mouth.

*   *   *

I maneuvered my Jeep safely out of East Hampton and through Amagansett, making a rash decision to check out Little Grey. You never knew what damage could be done during a nor'easter on a property where the trees and branches hadn't been pruned in decades. And what was even sillier, I took Old Montauk Highway: the twisting, turning roller coaster of a road that followed the shoreline, when I could have chosen the new, straight, safe road to reach Montauk.

On a clear day, Old Montauk Highway brought ocean views so spectacular you might feel you were in the South of France. Bad analogy—especially when thinking of Princess Grace's demise on a similar road in her little sports car. I couldn't even see the Atlantic out the passenger window. Everything was a blur. My trusty Wrangler swayed from side to side. Its roof was made of canvas, and I worried that a piece of flying driftwood might come slicing through.

It took me thirty minutes when it should have taken half that time.

Lots of time to think about the cat.
What have I done?

I parked at Little Grey and reached in the back for my trusty vintage Coleman lantern, then made my way
toward the folly. I didn't even glance at the porch of the cottage for any bad news. The lantern weighed about two tons because it used six D batteries.

I made it to the folly just as a large branch crashed behind me. I turned and held out the lantern. The branch had severed the remaining arm from a moss-covered Aphrodite-type statue.

Once inside the folly, I lit the kerosene lanterns, took off my soaked hoodie, and wrapped a down comforter around my shoulders. Then I sent a text to myself from my cell phone to remind me to buy a generator. It was cold!

I'd left my hearing aids in for security, even knowing the weather didn't call for it. They amplified the pounding rain on the roof and the clash of the wind chimes I'd hung outside.

Lightning illuminated the windows across the room.

A smushed nose was pressed against the glass.

Someone in a yellow-hooded rain slicker.

I screamed.

One second he was there, the next he was gone.

Adrenaline took over. I reached for my nearest weapon, a claw hand-rake, and rushed out into the deluge. I wouldn't stay inside. The glass folly turned me into glow-in-the-dark prey.

Stupidly, I forgot the lantern. I ran around to the side of the folly where I'd seen the figure in the window. Icy rain hit my face, like shards of glass being fired from a blowgun.

I went back inside the folly and extinguished the gas lanterns and flew out the door, not bothering to lock it. On the way to the Jeep, I brandished the claw rake in one
hand, and the arm from the statue, which I'd tripped over, in the other.

Once I arrived home safely, set the alarm, and chugged a glass of pinot noir, I felt better. I'd have a lot more to talk about to Detective Shoner in the morning when I went to pick up Jo.

Oh boy. The cat had a name. There was no going back now.

I sat on the sofa with a cup of chamomile tea, and thought about Gordon Miles. It couldn't have been him playing those tricks on me. He was on some army base somewhere—fighting the good fight. Or was he? I was almost positive the face in the window was male, or else I'd put Tara at the top of my list. The fact that the dead gull and the face in the window of the folly happened at Little Grey and the bucket incident happened at my rental, proved I was someone's target.

After I lit a fire, I stood at the window and looked in the direction of the black ocean. The nor'easter was in full force. I'd taken out my hearing aids and saw only what was illuminated under the lamppost—the gate at the top of the steps, opening and closing to the beat of the storm. The sea grass blew from left to right, in time to the gate.

Then the lights in the cottage went out.

I was a brave soul but a little gun-shy in power outages, for a reason I'd rather think about later. I pulled my Sunday
New York Times
reading chair and an ottoman next to the fireplace. Then I sat, covered myself in a velvet crazy quilt, and opened my e-book reader. I couldn't concentrate on
And Then There Were None
, even though the Agatha Christie tale was usually a welcome distraction.
An isolated Victorian cottage on a secluded island with a list of suspects, complete with alibis—what wasn't there to love? I turned off my reader and closed my eyes.

Even though my hearing aids were out, I could still hear a tribal drumbeat repeating over and over in my head, along with the visual of the gate violently opening and closing.

It took hours before I could fall asleep.