Murder Melts in Your Mouth (15 page)

“Not all,” she said. “But a lot. And now the whole damn place is going to collapse like a house of cards.”

“No, it isn't,” I protested.

Lexie's face had looked drawn a moment ago, but now the tendons in her neck tightened. “Yes. The situation is very bad, Nora.”

“Can you tell me? Can I help?”

She smiled wryly. “I doubt you can help, sweetie.”

“I'm a good listener, you know.”

“Yes,” she said, and quelled a tremor with effort.

She needed food. Perhaps she hadn't eaten since yesterday. Quickly, I opened the jar of Jif and got a knife out of the drawer. Wine and peanut butter—my comfort foods. I slathered the crackers and lined them up in front of my friend.

As I hurried to feed her, Lexie said, “About a week ago, one of our midlevel accountants didn't show up for work. We were worried, of course, and called his home, contacted his family. We discovered he had left the country. That's a hell of a red flag in my business.”

“What happened?”

“He disappeared. His departure triggered an immediate internal audit. And the auditors came to me with the news that some of our accounts had been tampered with. He'd been helping to move client money without the proper authorizations.”

“How does that happen?”

“It shouldn't happen at all, of course.” Calmer, Lexie explained, “When we move large amounts of cash, we require two officers to sign off on the transaction, not to mention other safety controls. Which Hoyt Cavendish helped set up. He knew how to beat them, Nora. Turns out, this accountant had been juggling accounts at Hoyt's request, then hightailed it to a lovely hacienda by the sea.”

“You mean they stole the money from the firm?”

“Technically, Hoyt stole the money. He'd been pilfering accounts for a couple of years, and the accountant helped cover his tracks. Last week they must have realized they couldn't make the books appear to balance anymore, so Hoyt paid off his accomplice with a final lump sum. A couple of million dollars.”

“Hoyt's been giving the money away, Lex.”

My conversation with Daniel about Hoyt's inability to pay the rest of his debt for the Stradivarius made sense. If Hoyt had made charitable donations all over the city—cash he'd stolen from Paine Investment Group clients—he might have made “withdrawals” from client accounts periodically, not just one big theft.

Lexie said, “Yes, I realize now Hoyt has been throwing donations at every charity and orchestra that will sit still long enough to catch his largesse. The little prig loved the spotlight. I assumed he was flashing around his own dough. But, of course, it wasn't his.”

“How much cash is missing?”

She massaged her temples. “At least a hundred million.”

The sum rocked me back on my heels.

Acknowledging my shock with a nod, Lexie said, “We reported the losses to the Securities and Exchange Commission on Friday. Over the weekend, the IRS got involved. They found a secret witness—someone who had evidence that would prove when Hoyt's wrongdoing got started—someone who obviously had something to gain by playing along. On that person's evidence, I believe, the Treasury Department intended to arrest Hoyt in our offices yesterday.”

“They called the meeting of all Hoyt's clients, so they'd be there for the arrest?”

She shook her head. “It was dumb luck the two meetings happened on the same day. As soon as I learned about Hoyt's stealing, I had to break the news to our clients that their money was gone. I wanted to assure them that I intend to repay them, of course. And I had a repayment plan ready.”

“So soon?”

“We worked all night on it. If I didn't have a plan, I'd have been out of business within ten minutes of the world discovering Hoyt's scheme. Who would leave their life's savings with a company that loses their money like socks in a dryer?”

“My God, Lex, can you come up with a hundred million?”

“It's going to take time and,” she added grimly, “quite a bit of personal sacrifice. But I'll do it. Otherwise, I might as well close the firm and start knitting.”

My heart went out to my friend. Not because she stood to lose an incredibly huge amount of money. It was her reputation that mattered most to Lexie. Just looking into her eyes, I could see she was devastated at the thought of losing her most precious possession.

I said, “How did your clients take the bad news?”

“The meeting went as well as could be expected. At first, almost everybody took it calmly. Then Hoyt showed up—uninvited—and all hell broke loose.”

“What happened?”

“The Treasury Department people burst in and announced they were going to arrest Hoyt on the spot. Scooter Zanzibar started shrieking about needing money for a movie. His grandmother, Elena, said something about the marriage being off. Did you know Hoyt was going to marry Elena Zanzibar, of all people?”

“I just learned it myself. Chad Zanzibar was at the meeting?”

“Yes, the little troll.”

So he could have run down the street after killing Hoyt, I thought, and shown up at the restaurant fast enough to almost have an alibi. “What about Tierney Cavendish? Was he there?”

“You know Tierney? No, he wasn't at the meeting. But he had visited the office earlier in the day, looking for his father. Heavens, I forgot all about that.” Lexie frowned, as if trying to recall details.

Perhaps Lexie hadn't been aware of Tierney's return to the Paine Building. But Crewe and I had seen him in the stairwell, so he had certainly gone back to see his father. I wondered why.

“The Paine Group situation must have been embarrassing for Tierney, too,” I murmured.

“His father stealing from friends? Yes, that would be pretty awful.”

Lexie caught herself. “Sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to rub salt in your wound.”

“I know. Forget it.” My situation paled by comparison with hers. “I can imagine how Tierney felt the moment he realized his father was a crook, that's all.” I pushed a cracker into Lexie's hand.

She accepted the cracker, but didn't eat it. “If I'd known the Treasury Department intended to ambush Hoyt in front of everybody, I'd never have called the meeting. And I certainly didn't know they had a secret witness in the wings for added drama.”

I took a breath to tell her who the secret witness was.

But Lexie kept talking. She said, “It was such bedlam, let me tell you. Scooter threw a temper tantrum. Elena was so furious I thought she'd have a stroke. And Brandi Schmidt went into hysterics on the spot. Others were angry, too, of course. And Hoyt looked like he was going to collapse. It was a real melodrama. I immediately called a halt to the meeting. I'd been blindsided, too, but I knew shouting wasn't going to help. I insisted everyone clear the room so I could get Hoyt's story straight.”

“That's when you argued with him.”

“Yes.” One-handed, she continued to rub her forehead. “I'm so ashamed, Nora. I was furious. He stole money from people who trusted me, but I—I shouldn't have lost control the way I did.”

“What did he say? Did he defend himself?”

She laughed shortly. “Believe it or not, that's when he punched my painting.”

I winced. “What did you do?”

She shook her head, unable to say more. I saw her quiver with emotion—fear or revulsion or anger, I couldn't be sure.

I reached to cover her hand with mine. “Lexie, we'll help you beat this. The police must realize they're wrong about you. The pressure's off you now.”

“Nora—”

“Crewe and I have been asking around.”

“Don't.” She pulled away from me and shook her head. “I don't want either of you dragged into this.”

“But—”

“I'm serious, sweetie. It's my problem. Let me figure it out.” Her eyes were wild again. Then she clasped her hands until the knuckles turned white while she fought for control. I wanted her to cry, to let out the tension that clearly thrummed inside her. But she didn't.

Coldly, she said, “For one thing, I want to know who this damn secret witness is.”

“Oh.”

“Whoever it is may have triggered the whole thing. Of course, I know it all starts with Hoyt. But this goddamn secret witness has some explaining to do, too.”

“Oh, Lex, I sincerely hope not,” I said on a sigh.

“Why?”

“Because the secret witness,” I said, “is my father.”

Lexie stared at me. Then she said, “Oh, hell.”

M
y phone rang on the counter and I picked it up. I didn't recognize the number displayed on the screen, so I answered warily.

“It's me,” Michael said. “How's the patient?”

“Not bad.”

“Would she flip out if a couple of guests dropped in?”

“You mean you? Now?”

“And Crewe. He just got a hot tip that's going to blow the lid off your murder case.”

I took a look at Lexie, who was still absorbing my bombshell about Daddy. I said, “I think she can handle it.”

“We'll be right over.”

I told Lexie that Michael and Crewe were on their way.

Instead of exploding, she went back to her bedroom to get dressed and dry her hair.

I took that as a good sign.

Twenty minutes later, I turned off the security system and opened the door to Michael and Crewe, who were laden down with take-out bags marked with the logo of a restaurant that required ordinary citizens to wait weeks for a reservation.

“What's all this?” I asked.

“We ordered dinner before I got the phone call,” Crewe explained. “So we decided to bring it here. There's plenty to share. The chef heard I was in the dining room and sent out extra food. I hope that's okay.”

“You're a lifesaver. We were just about to scrape out the bottom of the peanut butter jar. Why don't you take it all to the kitchen, Crewe? You know the way.”

He had regained his color and looked positively jaunty as he carried the food to the kitchen.

I held Michael back, and we lingered in the hallway. I said, “Let's give them a minute alone.”

“You sure that's a good idea?”

“I'm afraid all I'm doing is helping her stay under control. It might help if she could blow off some steam.”

“By yelling at Crewe? Well, it can't hurt.” He leaned against the newel post. “What about you? Have you been in touch with…the rest of your family?”

I put my back against the opposite wall, creating as much distance between us as possible in the small space. “I called Rawlins a little while ago. He'll make sure everything's under control.”

“You sure about that?” He smiled a little.

“No,” I said ruefully. “But my parents managed to raise three daughters without endangering our lives, so I think they can manage a few grandchildren for one night.”

Michael shook his head in wonder. “I guess everybody has parents, but somehow I never pictured yours so—well—”

“Outlandish?”

“Crazy, I was going to say. You sure you're from the same gene pool? I mean, your sister Libby fell right out of your mother's apple tree, and Emma's the spitting image of your dad. Come to think of it, the twins—”

“Okay, okay, I get the point.” I smiled, too, but it faded quickly.

A moment passed while we kept our distance. There was something new between us now. Something painful.

Although I'd never been happier with anyone in my life, I suddenly found it too hard to look into Michael's face. Last night after he'd left the farm, I had struggled to put a name to the feeling I had inside. In the middle of the night, I figured it out.

I couldn't help feeling betrayed.

And humiliated.

Why did he have to choose Emma, of all people? The one woman who could make me feel the most inadequate. And now she was the fertile one, too.

During the most tumultuous time of our relationship, Michael and I had deliberately tried to have a baby together. And we'd failed. Maybe it was for the best, I supposed, because it would have been wrong to bring a child into an unstable home.

But here was Emma, impregnated in a matter of weeks.

So I hugged myself and avoided Michael's gaze. I found my voice and tried to sound neutral. “How's Em?”

“She's been better.” He shrugged. “You okay?”

“No, but I—”

I wanted to say I'd get used to the situation. But I doubted it.

So I said, “Lexie just told me the whole story of what happened in her office. It's bad. Very bad, Michael. She could lose the firm. And she—she's never been like this—all emotionally shut down. Not since she was a kid. Not since her cousin raped her. Back then, Lexie was too young to cope. Now she seems just as distraught and unable to voice it.”

“Whatever happened to the guy? The cousin?”

“Why?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

“Her family decided she shouldn't have to go through an unpleasant trial. They sent him to Arizona, I think. He's a real estate developer or something now.”

Michael kept his face impassive. “Interesting.”

I shivered suddenly. The house's air-conditioning had finally chilled me.

Michael took off his suit jacket and slung it around my shoulders.

His hands lingered there, and he squeezed me. “Don't worry. You need to hear what Crewe's learned.”

He took me by the hand, but I pulled away. I turned and led him to the kitchen, where Crewe had just told Lexie something that sent her plunking into a chair.

I hurried to her side. “What's going on? Lex, are you okay?”

“The police,” Crewe said triumphantly, “have just issued a warrant for the arrest of Tierney Cavendish.”

“Tierney! Why? How? What did they learn?”

“Somebody must have told them that Tierney was in the Paine Building at the time his father died. But get this—he can't be found. He's disappeared.”

“Why would Tierney kill his father?” I asked.

Almost gleeful, Crewe said, “He must have been angry with Hoyt for not giving him the money to stabilize Amazon Chocolate! So he killed him.”

“But,” I said, “there wasn't enough time, was there? Crewe, we saw Tierney at the restaurant just a few minutes before we ran up the street to see Hoyt's body on the sidewalk. How could Tierney have—”

“He must have moved fast,” Crewe acknowledged. “But the important thing is that Lexie's no longer Public Enemy Number One.”

I frowned. “I can't believe he'd kill his own father.”

“He ran away,” Crewe said. “That's incriminating, isn't it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Lexie's in the clear,” Crewe insisted. “The police believe Tierney killed Hoyt. Isn't that fantastic?”

“Sure.” Michael defused the tension by reaching for the take-out containers. “It's a good development for the moment.”

“For the moment?” Crewe's tone was tense.

“Relax,” Michael said. “This is good. The heat's off Lexie while the cops hunt for Cavendish's son.”

“In other words,” Lexie said to Crewe, “down, boy. I'm not off the hook yet.”

Crewe flushed.

Michael began opening containers. “That's not what I mean. Maybe he killed his dad, maybe not. You know the family dynamic better than I do. The cops are grabbing at anything because the case is high profile.”

“So they're busy chasing down any suspect that looks possible,” I said.

“Right. Let them focus on the son for a while. Meanwhile, the rest of you can keep asking questions. With all those people involved, there's bound to be a lot more information floating around. The game isn't over yet. And you guys know the players better than anyone.”

Crewe said, “You don't think Tierney did it?”

“It doesn't matter what I think. Only what the cops are thinking.”

“But surely you have a theory.”

Michael popped a plantain chip into his mouth and spoke around it. “I dunno. It wasn't premeditated. Nobody had enough time to figure out the logistics.”

“So it was a crime of passion,” Crewe said.

With a grim smile, Michael said, “Sure, call it that if you like. Does the son have that kind of passion in him? Or does he do drugs? Have a violent history? A short fuse?”

“We don't know him well enough,” I said.

“So the cops needed to start someplace. They are probably thinking he's got the best motive. He needs money, right? That's always a good one.”

“Hoyt doesn't have any money left,” I said. “I think he gave it all away.”

“Did the son know that? Do the cops know now?”

“Probably not.”

“So until they do…”

I said, “We try to solve the case.”

“How do we do that?” Crewe asked. “Nobody's going to confess.”

“You talk to people,” Michael said. “Finesse them.”

I said, “Hoyt's personal life was obviously more complicated than it appeared. That's a place to start.”

Lexie handed her empty wineglass to me for a refill. She had dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a sleeveless white T-shirt that showed off the muscle in her toned arms. She still looked tired, but more composed than before. And definitely more glamorous. She'd taken time to brush on some makeup. But she kept her distance from Crewe.

She said, “I could look at his day planner. I'd like a few answers myself.”

I poured her another glass. “You have his day planner?”

“Sure. It's on the Paine Group computer system. I have the override code.”

“Will the police let you back into your office, I wonder?”

“I don't need to be at the office,” she replied. “I can do it from here. Come with me.”

“Can we eat first?” Michael asked. “I'm starving.”

“Bring it along,” Lexie said over her shoulder, already on her way to her home office.

Pulling Michael's coat around me more securely, I followed her.

Lexie's desk faced the windows, and we could see the river and shapes of the trees on the opposite shore, thanks to the outdoor lights and the moonlight. She flipped on the Tiffany-style desk lamp and slid into her chair.

Behind her desk hung a triptych by an emerging contemporary Chinese artist. The half-human, half-machine figures on the canvas seemed to twist over a fiery red lake that burned with color. Fleetingly, I wondered why Lexie had chosen to place such a tortured piece over her work space.

The laptop computer blinked awake as soon as Lexie touched the keypad.

She said, “Unless the police have shut down the system, it should only be a matter of moments before I can—ah, yes, still up and running. I knew I could count on Carla. She would keep the system up in the event of nuclear war.”

“Lex,” I said. “About Crewe.”

“Yes?”

“He's only trying to help.”

“Of course, sweetie. Okay, here we go.” She peered at the computer screen. “Into Hoyt's day planner. Let's see, shall we?”

I leaned over her shoulder and watched the computer screen as Lexie clicked expertly through the calendar. It took me several pages before I caught on enough to follow the information.

Lexie said, “Hoyt only worked two days a week, see? And he saw a few clients—mostly over the lunch hour. Good thing his assistant was so meticulous. She's got every six-minute segment accounted for.”

“Every six minutes?”

“So we can calculate how many hours we devote to each client, sweetie. Standard procedure. Oh, and his out-of-the-building appointments are in red, too. Look.”

I followed her finger and saw the names clearly typed. “Murusha and Donaldson?”

“Yes, Hoyt had an appointment with them last Wednesday.”

“Can't be the Murusha and Donaldson I know. They're OBGYN oncologists. Todd did a research project with them.”

Lexie laughed drily. “Okay, must be a law firm with a similar name. We do a lot of business with trust lawyers, and I'm not familiar with them all. Look, on this day Hoyt had lunch with Elena Zanzibar at the Palm. And a meeting at three with Brandi Schmidt. A four o'clock with someone else. I never took him for a ladies' man. He certainly didn't look the part.”

“I don't think Hoyt and Brandi had that kind of relationship.”

“Me neither.” Lexie scanned the screen quickly. “The rest of these names are clients and coworkers. Ah, here's the crucial meeting with that damned accountant I was telling you about.” She planted her forefinger on the screen. “I wonder if this is the day Hoyt paid him off. I'll check the transaction records.”

She skipped to another screen, and I gave up trying to follow. I said, “I never realized how easy it would be to steal money from a company like yours, Lex.”

“It isn't easy at all. It requires two people who are willing to jeopardize their entire lives for—usually—very little money. Hoyt gave his accomplice just two million. Is that enough to subsist on for the rest of your life? While evading extradition? Not unless you're willing to live in a shack in a Third World country. Life on the run is expensive. Michael, dear, would you run away from your life here on two million bucks?”