Mix-up in Miniature (21 page)

Neither of us could make much sense out of the pages, except to note that under the column labeled Memo was a list of people and companies that had either been paid or needed to be paid. I noted a “Reimbursement from Adam George” for four hundred ninety-five dollars, and an entry for Westbay Consultants, who were paid thirteen thousand dollars.

“We’re assuming there’s something illegal or incriminating here, right?” Henry asked.

I worked a half nod, half shrug with my head and shoulders. “This has to be what Caleb was talking about in his communications to Paige, what he wanted her to find. And if it’s money, it must be about Charles Quentin.”

Henry mimicked my gesture. “And why else would he leave it on the bench for you?” he asked.

“Along with a note to beware of CQ. I wish Caleb Swingle would stop speaking in riddles and come out of hiding himself.”

In an attempt to educate ourselves, we looked in my old relic of a dictionary for a definition of embezzlement.

“ ‘The unlawful taking of something from another that has been entrusted to you,” I read.

Henry shook his head. “Sad.”

I agreed.

We bent our heads over the ledger sheets and stared at them, as if we’d come upon a strange, coded message, which in a way we had. The first page, which was numbered page six, had headings along the top:
ROCKWELL ACCOUNTING—GENERAL LEDGER (DETAIL)
with a range of dates from earlier in the year.

“Let’s hope the LPPD has someone who can make sense out of this,” Henry said, turning away from the table.

I pointed in the direction of Maddie’s room. “It’s pretty quiet down there,” I said. “Does Taylor know about Maddie’s computer restrictions?”

“I thought I’d leave it up to Maddie to tell her.”

“She’s had several conversations with her parents and she seems resigned, if not pleased, with the results. That is, even with all her negotiating skills, the imposed penalty is still in effect.”

“That’s probably good.”

“I think so, too. Shall we check on the girls or do you think they can handle things?”

“They can handle it.”

“Right.”

A pause.

“Let’s check,” we said at the same time.

Grandparents will be grandparents.

By five o’clock
in the afternoon, the day’s excitement was over.

Skip had come by but stayed only long enough to take a handful of cookies and the ledger pages with him. It had been anticlimactic for me simply to hand over the material that had been the subject of a search-and-rescue mission for what seemed like a long time.

Henry and Taylor had gone home to get her ready for parents’ night at her school. Henry would be back for the crafts meeting, which he’d started to attend on a regular basis. His woodworking expertise was a great asset, for which my friends thanked me (and him).

Tonight was Karen’s turn to provide our dessert, so my only task was to arrange the dining room table with plates and cutlery and set out the coffeemaker. Karen’s special dark chocolate truffle cake was a fine alternative to cognac ice cream, though I could imagine a perfect world where we’d have both.

The bottom line: I didn’t have to bake tonight.

Maddie was finishing her homework.

The dollhouse’s secret had been unearthed and passed on to the LPPD.

I was out of things to do.

A dangerous situation for me.

I checked the clock. Was there enough time for me to make a trip to Paige’s dorm and be back for the crafters meeting? I wanted to examine the sign-in sheet for Monday night. What were the chances that Charles Quentin had to sign in? What I knew of dormitory security from Richard’s college days wasn’t reassuring. A photo of Charles would be better. I wished I’d thought to sneak one with my cell phone.

Not that I remembered how to use the camera in my cell phone. I’d have to get Maddie to show me, for the fifth time.

I paced my house.

The plan to visit Paige’s dorm room wouldn’t work, and it was too soon to call Skip and ask about the ledger pages. I finally thought of something useful. If I couldn’t get to Paige’s dorm, I could at least call and tell her we’d found the envelope Caleb had hidden. I did know how to use the call log in my phone and reached Paige quickly.

“Hey, Mrs. Porter. Anything new?”

“We found it,” I said.

Paige seemed to know immediately what I meant, and like Maddie, didn’t sound as disappointed as I was by the contents of the envelope.

“I’m not crazy!” she said. “Now maybe the police will leave me alone and go after who really took Varena away.”

I hoped she was right. Though we didn’t find a signed confession, my guess was that we had found a serious motive for murder. “Paige, do you have a minute to answer a couple of questions?”

“Sure. I’m home for the evening. Sad, huh?”

I didn’t feel qualified to comment on Paige’s social life. “Does a visitor to your dorm have to sign in?”

“Theoretically, yes. But these rent-a-cops aren’t the most reliable, believe me. They go out back for a smoke and forget to lock the front door all the time. A lot of kids do their homework in the foyer just to watch the door.”

“Do you think Charles Quentin knows where your dorm room is?” I asked this although I had a hard time picturing the older gentleman lying in wait for building security to go lax.

“Oh, my God, Mrs. Porter, do you think it was Mr. Quentin? I didn’t put it together when you said ledger pages were in the dollhouse. Mr. Quentin planted the sword handle piece in my room?”

“I don’t know anything for sure. I’m just wondering who could get into your room. Would someone like Mr. Quentin be noticed if he entered the building and went upstairs?”

“Like I said, anyone can sneak in, and Mr. Quentin looks like every kid’s grandfather. No one would be suspicious unless he was dressed like a scraggly old man. Oh, my God. Mr. Quentin.”

I heard what I thought might be a shiver from Paige, probably remembering times when she might have stood or sat next to a murderer.

Or was I projecting my own shivery feelings?

“Has anyone else from the Rockwell Estate visited you there?” I asked.

“Uh-uh. No one’s ever been up here. Once in a while Laura drives me home, when she’s in a good mood and not harping on me to stop wasting time on Varena’s dollhouses. Oh, another time, when I was really sick, Varena had the driver take me home.”

“Would that be Mr. Sedonis?”

“Yes, Roberto. But he didn’t come in or anything. No one from the estate has ever actually been in my room. Well, except for the guy who planted the weapon.”

A little bell went off in my brain, signaling that something was off in what I was hearing, but as often happened, I couldn’t put my finger on the problem.

Beep, beep.

My call-waiting signal. Doris Ann Hartley was on the line. I signed off with Paige and prepared myself to face the music with Doris Ann. I wasn’t pleasing any of my pseudo-employers these days. Not Alicia, who wanted me to find a killer she didn’t share meals with. Not Doris Ann, who wanted me to find a dollhouse.

Soon no one would trust me with important assignments. Maybe that was a good thing.

“Gerry, I’m sure you know why I’m calling,” Doris Ann said.

“I do, Doris Ann. I need another few—”

“I’ll bet you had a lot to do with it.”

I mumbled a syllable or two, hoping Doris Ann would continue without my input.

“It’s such a coup for Lincoln Point’s little library. I’m thrilled that the ceremony will still go on as planned.”

“Me, too.”

“The head of the library association called me this afternoon to check on the arrangements. It’s very exciting.”

“It certainly is. Any new details?” I asked. I wondered how long I could keep up my end of a conversation when I didn’t know the topic.

“Just that it will now be called a Posthumous Lifetime Achievement Award, presented to Varena Young, for her blah-blah-blah. I’m sure you had a lot to do with its not being canceled.”

“I didn’t even know—”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

What was I doing wrong lately that everyone felt free to interrupt me? “You’re welcome.”

“A Ms. Taggart is going to accept the award for her.”

“Paige Taggart? Not her daughter?”

“It makes sense. Varena’s agent sent her speech over last week. In it, she planned to announce that her research assistant, Paige Taggart, had been—I have it right here, so I’m quoting—‘largely responsible for the continuation of my series of novels and should finally have the recognition she deserves.’ It’s all supposed to be a big surprise to reviewers and readers and so on, but I’m sure Paige told you.”

“Of course.”

“I have to go, Gerry, but I just wanted to say thanks again.”

“My pleasure.”

When I hung up, left to my own devices, I reviewed my suspect list again. Was the plan for the Lifetime Achievement Award another reason for Alicia to be jealous of Paige? But if she was inclined to murder out of jealousy, wouldn’t she have killed Paige instead of her own mother?

The same could be said of Laura Overbee. Why not kill the object of her fury?

My admiration for Paige, on the other hand, went up a notch.

I remembered searching the Acknowledgments pages of the few Varena Young romances I owned, and noting that Paige Taggart was listed alphabetically along with many other people, including the women who typed Varena’s manuscripts. She’d come a long way, and apparently, earned the professional recognition of her mentor.

How hard it must be for her now not to flaunt her great success. The young woman had character. Varena had good judgment in choosing whom she’d spend time with. I wished I could have lived up to her choosing me, if only for an afternoon.

—

Dum,
ta da dum, ta da dum, ta da dum.

We’d been finishing up leftover chicken and dumplings that Henry brought back when my cell phone rang. Maddie ran to see who had activated her marching band tune.

“Uncle Skip, Uncle Skip,” she said.

Henry and I made a modest effort to clank silverware and glasses while we eavesdropped on Maddie’s side of the conversation.

“I miss you, too.”

Pause.

“I’ve been busy with a lotta, lotta homework.”

Pause.

“Yeah, maybe some time, but I have a lotta stuff to do.”

Pause.

“No, not so much surfing.”

Pause.

“I’m fine.”

Pause.

“Love you too, Uncle Skip. Here’s Grandma.”

I took the phone.

“What’s up with the little squirt?” Skip asked. My nephew was understandably confused by Maddie’s unenthusiastic response and lack of interest in helping him with his caseload.

“You’ll have to ask her some time.”

“I sort of did, but she didn’t really answer. She’s not growing up on me, is she? ’Cause I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“It’s complicated.” As weaselly as the phrase was, there were times when it fit perfectly.

“Okay. Some other time. I thought you’d want to know the latest word on the ledger sheets.”

“Yes, please,” I said.

Skip gave a loud laugh. “What’s going on in that house? Who are you and what have you done with the real Maddie Porter and my Aunt Gerry?”

“I’m just trying to be polite and cooperative,” I said, laughing myself.

“Yeah, well, I miss the old guys.”

“Come on, Skip. What about those ledger pages?” I used my nastiest teacher voice, one I called up on those occasions when a promising young student clearly didn’t do her best.

“That’s better,” Skip said. “The LPPD has access to the state’s greatest forensic accountants and they’re terrific at their job. But whoever pulled those pages apparently was no stranger to accounting either. Exactly what we need is there and the key transactions are highlighted to show the fraud perpetrated on the Rockwell Estate by its financial overseer.”

“In short?”

“Someone busted Charles Quentin.”

I blew out a breath. Not that I was surprised, but I didn’t expect such a quick, unequivocal confirmation of my theory that Charles was hiding something. No wonder he was uncomfortable when I brought up Uncle Caleb.

“How did this happen so fast?” I asked. “I just gave you those ledger sheets this afternoon.”

“Funny thing, it wasn’t that fast. You didn’t know, and neither did I, that Varena Young had been secretly in contact with the state’s white-collar-crime division with suspicions that her moneyman was cheating her. She said she didn’t know how to prove it, but there was someone close to her who could help.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.

“That a brother who served twenty-five years for embezzlement might be the perfect connection to have at a time like that?”

Exactly.

Caleb had certainly taken precautions, approaching first Paige and then me instead of coming out in the open. Because he was embarrassed by his prison record? Or deathly afraid of Charles?

I tried to recall the snippets of the argument I’d heard at the Rockwell Estate as I was leaving from my first visit. The exact words escaped me, but I was sure the tone was accusatory, the men accusing each other and Varena scolding one of them. There was an excellent chance the topic was Charles’s extracurricular activities.

I repeated my recollection to Skip. “Doesn’t it seem that Charles murdered Varena so she wouldn’t expose him, and now Caleb is afraid he’s after him? That must be why he’s hiding in the bushes.”

“A reasonable scenario, but we have to take it one step at a time.”

I guess I missed that day at the academy.

“What’s happening with Charles?”

“We’ve taken him in for questioning. The state’s guys are interviewing him as we speak. Unless he can do some fast talking and explain away separate accounts and dummy corporations where he funneled some of Varena’s earnings, my guess is that an indictment is on the way.”

“Why would he do that? Why would he steal from a family he’s been with practically all his life?”

“Let’s face it, Aunt Gerry, you never can believe anyone would do something bad. Except me when I was a kid.”

We shared a pleasant family chuckle.

“But Charles Quentin is not a young man. Why would he want to risk dying in prison? Besides, he certainly doesn’t look poor. He has the whole Rockwell Estate, including chauffeurs, at his disposal.”

“Maybe he wants his own little cabaña on the beach. Money is one motive that crosses all classes of people. The poor need it; the rich want more.”

It sounded both obvious and sad.

“And you’re working on the murder charge?”

“He has an alibi for the afternoon.”

“Provided by a chauffeur?”

“Now that you mention it.” He laughed. “It might take a while to build the case for murder, but we’re on our way and he won’t be going home tonight.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

I could rest easy. I wished I could pass the message on to Caleb somehow.

“Nice work, by the way, Aunt Gerry, with Sedonis and Paige and the ledger and all.”

“Thanks.”

I liked to think I wasn’t as needy as an eleven-year-old for appreciation and praise, but it felt good to hear it.