Murder Most Persuasive (10 page)

“Yes, it must have been upsetting to learn that your instinct was wrong,” said Joe to no one in particular.

Laura flushed. Beside her, Miles said, “Easy, Joe.”

“My apologies,” said Joe, suddenly standing up. “Well, I think I have everything I need for now. I’ll be in touch with you again once I get the coroner’s report. And of course, I’ll want to interview Mrs. Reynolds when she returns from her trip.” With the barest glance in Ann’s direction, Joe said, “Again, please accept my condolences. I’m sorry that this investigation must take place so soon after your loss.”

Ann stood to walk him to the door, but Joe anticipated her. “No need to disturb yourself further on my account. I’ll see myself out.” He turned and headed for the door. Sergeant Beal jumped to her feet and hurried after him. Seconds later, we heard the front door open and shut.

There was a collective sigh of relief at their departure. No one spoke at first; no one looked at each other. It was Reggie who broke the awkward silence. “Ann,” she said, “you really are a crap hostess. You forgot my glass of wine. Now, if you please, I think you’d better bring me the whole bottle.”

CHAPTER 9

Where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?

—
SENSE AND SENSIBILITY

I
FOLLOWED ANN
into the kitchen, where she immediately collapsed limply into a chair. “Oh, God!” she moaned into her hands. “He hates me! Hates me!”

“He doesn’t hate you,” I said, as I pulled out a chilled bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “He’s just proud. You didn’t expect him to act any way else, did you? Here, open this.” I handed her the bottle. “I’ll get the glasses.”

I reached into the cabinet behind me and took down several glasses. By the time I’d turned around again, Ann had eased the cork out and was in the process of pouring the contents down her throat.

“Hey!” I yelled, as I grabbed the bottle away from her. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ann grabbed the bottle back. “Trying to get drunk, thank you very much. Now if you’ll stop interfering, I’d like to get back on task.” She took another sip, but I grabbed the bottle back again before she could drink any more.

“Would you please stop doing that?” she said, trying to snatch the bottle back. “It’s really annoying!”

I held the bottle away from her. “Ann, you don’t drink. Not like that, anyway. You are the personification of a lightweight. Need I remind you of what happened at Reggie’s second wedding? You had three drinks and ended up puking in the bathroom for half an hour.”

“That’s not true,” Ann said with a haughty lift of her chin, “I threw up after I caught sight of myself in the mirror wearing that hideous bridesmaid dress.”

She had a point. Reggie had hired some famous designer (who I dearly hoped was in a different line of work now) to create her dress and the coordinating bridesmaid dresses. Hideous didn’t even begin to describe the resulting creation. Think dominatrix meets Scarlett O’Hara—in strip-pole pink. If I recall correctly, there were even little chains on the corset portion of the dress.

“Well, I’m not letting you get drunk,” I said firmly. “It’s not going to solve anything.”

Ann rested her head in her hands. “I never said it would solve anything,” she mumbled. “It just would let me forget for a while that he hates me.”

I put the bottle down (well out of her reach) and went over to her. Gently putting my hand on her back, I said, “He doesn’t hate you, Ann. But you didn’t expect him to come here all smiles, did you? Besides, he didn’t come on a social visit. He had to keep it impersonal and professional.”

“Well, he succeeded at that, all right. He was nothing
but
impersonal and professional. In fact, if I didn’t know otherwise, I’d say that he didn’t even recognize me. He treated me like he would a complete stranger!”

“Ann…”

“We used to be able to practically read each other’s thoughts,” she continued in a soft voice, almost to herself. “We could just look at one another and
know
what the other was thinking. But tonight … it was like staring at a blank wall. I don’t know him anymore.”

“Ann, I know this is hard, and I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I think we have a bigger problem here than how Joe feels about you.”

She stiffened at my words. “You’re right. I’m being silly. I almost forgot. Michael.”

“Yes, Michael.” Trying to lighten the mood a bit, I added, “Some people are always troublesome, I guess. Even in death.”

Ann gave a wry smile. “Yeah, well, that would be Michael.” She stared at the table for a moment and then said, “The police think one of us did it, don’t they?”

“I … um, I … think…” The words caught and I couldn’t finish.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

*   *   *

By the time we returned to the living room, Frances was holding court, talking loudly and gesticulating with enthusiasm. Reggie was tapping her well-shod foot in obvious annoyance. Seeing the wine, she muttered, “Oh, thank God,” and practically leaped out of her chair. Grabbing the bottle out of my hand and a glass out of Ann’s, Reggie quickly served herself. With a half glance over her shoulder at Frances, she said in a low voice, “I swear to God, if she doesn’t shut up, I’m going to belt her.”

“Honestly, it’s been so long since I thought about Michael,” Frances was saying, oblivious of Reggie’s annoyance. “But I have to say, I never liked him. There was something about his face—his eyes were too close together, for one thing. I tried to warn Daddy at the time, but of course no one wanted to listen to
me
.”

I glanced over at Ann in time to see her roll her eyes heavenward. Reggie raised her glass to her mouth—and kept it there a very long time. Taking the bottle back from Reggie, I offered wine to the others.

“Well, he had
me
fooled,” said Miles after accepting a glass. “I was never more surprised than when I found out what he’d done.” He glanced down at his hands, his face etched with regret. “I always felt that I let Marty down somehow. I should have noticed what was going on.”

Laura grabbed his hand; it looked almost childlike against Miles’s large and calloused one. “This is
not
your fault,” she said firmly. “No one suspected Michael of being a thief.” Frances shifted in her seat and appeared to be about to speak, when Laura shot her a quelling look and repeated, “No one.”

Frances sniffed and turned her face, but at least she took the hint and didn’t reiterate her ludicrous claim.

“What I can’t believe is that he’s dead,” said Laura. “Murdered, in fact!”

Frances twisted her lips. “Well, I can’t say
I’m
surprised now that I’ve thought about it. He was a criminal. Criminals usually come to a bad end. And to think that Joe is in charge of it all!” Looking to Ann, she asked, “Did you know he was going to be on the case?”

“No. I was as surprised as anyone.”

“He hasn’t changed much, has he?”

“No,” said Ann, “he hasn’t,” her face starting to crumple.

Laura saw this and quickly changed the subject. “Well, what I wonder is, who do you think could have killed Michael?”

Frances shrugged. “He probably had an accomplice or something. Maybe Michael tried to double-cross him or something.”

“I wonder if the police will ever find the killer,” said Scott. “I mean,
can
they after all this time?”

“I doubt it,” answered Frances.

“Well, in any case, I think we should consult with a lawyer,” said Miles. “I would imagine that we haven’t seen the last of the police.”

“Miles, don’t be absurd!” Frances scoffed. “We don’t need a lawyer! No one who knows us would ever think that one of us could have had anything to do with this!”

“I agree. As soon as we hire a lawyer, we’ll look guilty,” added Reggie. Frances nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know,” said Scott, “I think Miles has a point. It’s a precautionary move and I don’t necessarily think it indicates guilt.”

“But we’re Reynoldses!” said Frances. “Our family has an excellent reputation. That must count for something.”

“Frances!” Ann burst out. “Our name might mean ‘quality construction’ to some, but that hardly translates to inculpability!”

“Girls! This isn’t getting us anywhere!” said Miles, raising his hands. “I think we need to face the very real possibility that the police are going to want to ask all of us a lot more questions and will view us with more than a little suspicion. Having a lawyer on hand to guide us will only help us, not hurt us.”

“I agree,” Scott said, to the obvious annoyance of Frances, who crossed her arms across her chest and shot him a mutinous look.

“Why don’t I call Stephen Guilford?” said Miles. Stephen Guilford had been the family lawyer for years.

Scott nodded. “He’s a good guy. He’ll know what to do. He was really good with Reggie’s first divorce.”

“And her second,” added Frances.

“And her third,” said Ann with a smile.

Reggie good-naturedly rolled her eyes. “And no doubt one day he’ll be wonderful with my fourth. Point taken, ladies.”

“So I’ll call him in the morning?” asked Miles.

“Fine. Call him. But the publicity is going to be awful. I just know it,” said Reggie. “The
Post
is going to have a field day with this. I can see the headline now:
Is D.C.’s Best Wedding Planner a Black Widow
?” Looking over at Ann, she added, “I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty, but it might have been a good thing if you’d stayed with Joe after all. At least we’d have someone in the police department on our side.”

“Reggie, don’t be absurd,” snapped Laura. “Ann made the right decision and you know it.”

Next to me, Ann bent her head low and said nothing.

CHAPTER 10

It was a delightful visit;—perfect, in being much too short.

—
EMMA

A
N HOUR LATER
, the rest of the family left Ann and me surrounded by dirty dishes and empty glasses. Scarlett, who clearly had no Mammy to advise her to eat like a bird in front of others, freely gobbled up the scraps of food left behind. Miles had promised to call Stephen Guilford in the morning, although Frances and Reggie remained unconvinced of the wisdom of that plan. Pouring the last of the coffee into Ann’s cup, I said, “How are you holding up?”

After taking a sip, she said, “I don’t even begin to know how to answer that. It’s bad enough to have to remember that horrible night with Michael, but then to have to process the fact that someone killed him and buried him under our pool! And who’s in charge of it all? Joe!”

“Yeah. I guess it was kind of a stupid question. I was thinking, though, about something Scott said. He mentioned that Michael’s car was gone the morning after the party.”

“So?”

I paused. “Well, I just wondered what happened to it. Did Michael leave and then come back another way, or did someone else drive the car away?”

Ann considered the question. “Does it matter?”

“I think it might. Did his car ever turn up?”

Ann frowned at her coffee cup. “I believe the police eventually found it at the airport in Baltimore.” She nodded as if to confirm this fact. “Yes, they found it at BWI. I remember thinking that the only reason Michael would have left that car behind was if he’d left the country. Do you remember it? He had that Mercedes. I’ve never seen a man love a car so much. I wouldn’t be surprised if he rubbed it nightly with a diaper.”

I did remember the car. It was a C-class Mercedes, which a boyfriend of mine at the time had referred to as a “starter Mercedes.” It was perfect for Michael. Image was all-important to him, and he thought that his car labeled him as an up-and-comer in the world. I remember laughing at the time at how wrapped up into cars guys can get. All I noticed about the car was that it was black. Of course, men probably would say the same thing about women and shoes. Silly men.

“Well, Michael obviously never left the country,” I said. “I guess whoever killed him drove his car to the airport to make everyone think that. The question is,
when
did that person put it there?”

“I don’t see how the timing really matters,” Ann said.

“It might not, but there are only a few options. One, Michael left St. Michaels the morning of the fifth and then returned later for some unknown reason. Two, Michael left on the fifth, was killed, and
then
brought back. Three, Michael never left St. Michaels the morning after the party, meaning…”

“Someone who was at the party must have driven it away,” finished Ann, realization dawning.

“It would look that way.”

Ann stared at me. “Shit,” was all she said.

It wasn’t a terribly elegant thought—but wholly accurate. We didn’t say much after that, about the murder or anything else, for that matter. We were both too caught up in our own thoughts. I imagined that Ann was trying to process the sudden reappearance of Joe in her life and the grim possibility that someone we knew had killed Michael. I was wondering how Michael’s car ended up at the airport. I debated bringing it up again, but seeing Ann’s drawn face, I decided that she’d already dealt with enough tonight.

As we cleaned up the dishes, I found myself working out various scenarios in my head, scenarios revolving around different people killing Michael and hiding the body in the construction area for the pool. Could someone have really buried a body there without being seen? Was more than one person involved? I thought about Scott. He was familiar with the construction site and might have resented Michael, but was that really a motive for murder? Hell, I hadn’t liked Michael even before I found out about his attack on Ann, but I still couldn’t fathom someone killing him. Unless, I thought with a sick feeling, Michael’s attack on Ann was the very reason for his murder. I quickly glanced over at Ann, wondering if she’d thought of that. Her face, as she dried the cheese platter and put it away, was unreadable.

We said good night around ten o’clock and went upstairs to bed. I called Peter and quickly brought him up to speed on what had happened. After quietly listening to my tale, he said, “Another murder? Jesus, Elizabeth, I hardly know what to say. For a fact checker, you certainly have a fair amount of excitement thrown your way. Well, at least this time, thank God, you have no reason to get involved.”