The Deepest Water (20 page)

“Yes. I believe Brice Connors has been playing with someone else’s marbles.” She paused, regarding the lieutenant. “When he first introduced Buster, he was writing about Matthew Petrie, but he’s changed in the last one. Now he’s Brice Connors. Once you read Brice instead of Buster in that section, there’s no mistaking him. Jud was an excellent observer.”

Caldwell eyed her steadily for several seconds without speaking, his face completely blank. He picked up his cup and looked surprised to find it empty.

“Yours is gone, and mine is stone cold,” she said, rising from her rocking chair. “Do you want more?”

“Thanks, but no. You’ve given me something to think about, but I should be on my way.”

“I have more for you to think about,” she said sharply, and walked into the kitchen to pour out the cold coffee and refill her cup. He followed.

“Think about Jud’s will,” she said. “He added that six-months waiting period years ago, when there was a possibility that Petrie might try to get money from Abby if Jud died prematurely. There really wasn’t anything much to leave her at that time, but he wanted to protect her any way he could. But he added that designation with thirty-day contingency just a few years ago, when he knew there would be a great deal of money. And at that time he did not change the six-month waiting period, he left it in there, still protecting her. But not from Petrie any longer.”

Abruptly Caldwell walked out, came back with his own coffee cup and filled it. “Go on,” he said. “What else?”

“He intended Abby to inherit,” she said. “But if they happened to be in an accident together and she survived him by only a few days, or weeks, then she would not have inherited. I think Jud had no intention of letting Brice ever touch a cent of that inheritance. You know the terms of the will. If she dies within thirty days following Jud’s death, the executor, Jud’s attorney, will dispose of Jud’s estate in a manner to be disclosed at that time, and not until then. A cat and dog hospital? Various assorted people? No one knows. Years ago my late husband talked about that clause to Jud, urging him to straighten out his affairs. The clause protects the estate from inheritance taxation twice in a short period of time, that was Herbert’s concern. Jud laughed and said if they taxed nothing twice, they’d still get nothing. But later he added it. I think he had a different reason, to keep Brice from touching the money. And he bought insurance for Abby for at least thirty days with that clause.”

She sat at the small dining table in the kitchen; Caldwell sat opposite her.

“Mrs. Shaeffer,” he said soberly, “you’re making some very serious charges. You realize what you’re implying?”

She waved that away. “Just listen,” she snapped. “Last summer Abby and Brice called Jud and said they’d be out for a few days. He was really surprised. He knew Brice didn’t like him or approve of him, and tried to keep Abby away as much as possible. Jud was hurt by it. During that visit Jud and Abby came to see me but Brice stayed back at the cabin, and Abby said he wanted a nap, he wasn’t feeling well, that the stock market had taken a nosedive, and his clients were screaming and yelling, and he was up all night, night after night. I think he went under then. And not with just his own money. One day last week Abby mentioned that he was in a state of nerves, year-end reports coming up, the annual audit coming, clients driving him crazy. I think he’s running scared, and he has to raise money before the auditors arrive. Neither he nor Abby knew about the six-month waiting period, and they didn’t know about the designation with thirty-day contingency. That must have sent him reeling.”

Slowly, as if selecting his words with great care, the lieutenant said, “But he’d still have to wait six months. What you’re hinting at just won’t compute, Mrs. Shaeffer.”

“It does,” she said. “I asked my attorney about the six-month period, and he said that unless there’s a contingency clause attached, the way there is for the shorter period, that provision would be nullified with Abby’s death. Brice would inherit immediately, no waiting period, after the thirty days have passed.”

“Then why would Jud Vickers have left the six-months clause in?” Caldwell asked. “Why not a trust fund, let her have the interest and protect the principal? It doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s too controlling. He didn’t want to control her from the grave. He never tried to control anyone, but Jud sized up Brice Connors the day they met. Brice tried to get him to put money in his company very early, and a year or so ago, when the market rose like a skyrocket, he tried again, promising really big returns. Jud knew he was a gambler from the start. And he knew he would get in trouble. Gamblers always lose eventually, that’s what he said about Matthew Petrie a long time ago, and what he said a few years ago about Brice. Then, last summer, Brice made a desperate plea for help, and Jud said no, and later wrote the scene you just read, changing the surface, keeping the core of it.” Very softly she added, “I think he left that clause alone because he knew there would be trouble, if not soon, eventually. Six months gives Abby time to smell the stench, recognize the source.”

“When did you ask your attorney about these matters?” Caldwell asked brusquely.

“One day last week. I didn’t mention names or tell him why I wanted to know, just what the terms mean.”

“Right after you read that section of the novel?”

“Soon after, yes.”

Caldwell shook his head. “Mrs. Shaeffer, you’ve built a case that rests on a few pages of a work of fiction. You don’t like Brice Connors, and neither did Jud Vickers, and you were extremely fond of Vickers and upset by his murder. Everything you’ve said is based on your dislike, a story in a book, and your imagination. And what you’re doing is dangerous. You can’t go around accusing people of murder, of plotting murder.”

“Lieutenant, believe me, I have not called a press conference, and I’m not going around accusing anyone of anything. I called for you to come here, remember. I haven’t breathed a word of this to anyone else, certainly not to Abby. She must not become suspicious of her husband, that’s the last thing I want.”

“Exactly what is it you do want?”

“I want you not to be kind and patronizing. I want you to listen to what I’m telling you, and to do something about it. I want you to stop beating the bushes for a blond-haired man, and stop wasting time looking for an extortionist or blackmailer, or whatever you think about that aspect. I want you to concentrate on Brice Connors, the only one with a real motive for killing Jud. I want you to stop ignoring the rope you keep stumbling over while you’re off tying up nebulous loose ends that could blow in the breeze forever as far as Jud’s murder is concerned.”

Suddenly the lieutenant grinned, and leaned back in his chair. “You want a lot, Mrs. Shaeffer. I’m sorry if I appeared patronizing, no intention there. I’m not. I’m interested in anything you have to tell us. But, Mrs. Shaeffer, please believe this, we have checked him out. And Abby Connors, too,” he added. “That’s always first, you understand, the immediate family. We can account for every minute of her time, and his. We can’t put him in that cabin between one and two in the morning, no matter how hard we try.”

“You mean you can’t put anyone inside the cabin at that time,” she snapped. “Not just him. I’ve told you who did it, and why. With a whole police force at your disposal, it seems to me that you could find out how he managed it.”

Caldwell pushed his cup back and stood up. “We can’t build a case on simple conjecture, Mrs. Shaeffer. You’ve given this a lot of thought, obviously, but unless you have a shred of evidence, real evidence, it’s a fantasy. I appreciate your efforts. Please take this in the spirit in which it’s meant,” he said earnestly. “I know that real police work might look tedious and non-productive from the outside, but we are following up leads, interviewing people, more people than you realize, getting statements, comparing them, looking into records, and bit by bit through our own plodding, laborious methods we get things done. Not as fast as you’d like, but we’re making progress.”

Then, even more soberly, he added, “And I urge you not to repeat what you’ve told me. Believe me, Mrs. Shaeffer, the consequences could be severe.”

Felicia stood up also; the interview, the dialog, conversation whatever it might be called was over. “You’re like the knight who gets on his horse and gallops off in all directions,” she said. “I believe that once you know the right direction you’ll find the trail and whatever evidence it will take to convince you, and once you accept who, then you’ll find out how. The trouble is,” she said, leading the way into the living room, watching him pick up his jacket and put it on, “you’ll run out of time. Or Abby will. At midnight Saturday, the thirty-day contingency period will end; she will be the legal heir to Jud’s estate. And from that moment on, she will be in danger.”

16

By the time Willa showed up after work, Felicia had dinner started, the table set, and wine open. She ushered Willa into the kitchen. “Hang your jacket over a chair,” she said. “It’s pouring again, isn’t it? You must be freezing.”

“Well, it’s raining,” Willa admitted, holding her jacket at arm’s length. “It’s going to drip on your floor.”

“Let it drip. I’m making a Middle East lamb
khoresh
, and this time you have to help me eat it. I’m having scotch and water. You want that, or wine? Help yourself to either.”

Willa was eyeing her curiously; she ignored the look, uncovered a pot and sniffed, thought a moment, added a pinch of cinnamon, and covered it again. “That will hold it while we talk.”

Willa poured a glass of wine and sat at the dining table across the kitchen. “Was Abby here today?”

“No. She said she had something she had to do. She’ll be here tomorrow.” Felicia sat opposite her and studied her face. Willa was not beautiful, but striking, with good bones, lovely hair, deep-set blue eyes that were only slightly less shadowed than they had been the previous week. Her grief had left its mark on her expression, one of sadness, a remoteness that never used to be there. For a short period Felicia had feared that Willa would go into a real depression following Jud’s death, a clinical depression; her remoteness had been frightening, but she was coming back, not all the way yet, but she was coming back. Basically Willa was level-headed and very intelligent, possessed of an analytical bent that exceeded Felicia’s, and that was what Felicia was counting on now, that steady, analytic intelligence. She took a drink of her scotch and set the glass down, and then without any more hesitation told Willa about Caldwell’s visit, their conversation.

“He didn’t believe a word of it,” she finished. She had watched Willa’s expression change to incredulity, disbelief, maybe even pity.

Now the younger woman lowered her gaze and sipped wine without speaking. Felicia waited out the silence as Willa thought. Finally Willa said, “It sounds plausible, possible, but Felicia, he was right, you can’t accuse someone of murder based on a few pages of fiction, and you don’t really know for sure that Jud was writing about Brice. The cousin appeared in the first novel, he wasn’t just created.” Her eyes widened and she leaned forward slightly. “Have you told Abby this?”

“No, of course not. I’m telling you because you’re intelligent, and you know Brice. Do you think he’s capable of it?”

“I know him,” Willa said, “but that’s all, just barely know him. He isn’t interested in any of Abby’s friends. And then, after Jud and I… I’m sure Brice didn’t approve. He became even cooler. Polite and cool. I confuse him,” she said with a little shrug. “I’m in the art world, which he doesn’t trust, but also I’m in administration, which he understands. It’s hard for him to decide where I belong.” She looked past Felicia, thinking.

Then she said, “Capable of planning it, maybe. He’s the type who can plan elaborate financial deals and such, with all the details that go along with them, but the execution of the plan is a problem. There’s still the means of getting to the cabin that apparently no one has been able to figure out. Felicia, you must know the police had to have suspected him first thing. Isn’t that how it works, the family first, then widen the circle to include outsiders? But they would have checked him out, and his alibi must be strong enough to stand up under their investigation.”

More forcefully she said, “Aside from that, there are too many unanswered questions—all that money in cashier’s checks, the strange man who flew into Bend that night, maybe a woman from Jud’s past. There’s just too much no one knows.”

Felicia nodded, not at all surprised. “What I’d like you to do is go to the living room and read that section again, and think Brice, not Buster. See what you make of it with Brice in mind. I’ll finish up our dinner.”

They stood up simultaneously, Willa to go to the living room, Felicia to the stove. She lighted the burner under the rice, then took the salad greens from the refrigerator, washed and ready to be tossed with vinaigrette. Spinach leaves were washed and stemmed, ready to be added to the lamb for a minute or two only. Yellow saffron and yellow split peas, a few apricots had turned the
khoresh
a lovely golden color; the bright green of the spinach would complete it. For dessert she had chilled pear halves, she would add a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and top it with caramel sauce. And that was how dinners should look, and taste, she thought with satisfaction when it was time to call Willa.

She found her on the couch staring off into space with a thoughtful look. “Ready or not,” Felicia said. “You know where the bathroom is. Get yourself a towel if I forgot to put one out for you.”

She dished out the rice, carried food to the table, and by the time Willa joined her, everything was in place.

Willa picked up her wine and drank it all. “You’re right,” she said in a low voice. “I didn’t see it before, but he caught Brice, the way he talks, the way he moves, everything. And I didn’t see it.”

“Of course not. You expected the little bastard Buster, and that’s who you saw. It’s like one of those object/ground pictures, where first you see only one image, then suddenly it flips and you see the other one and can’t find the first one until it does the flip again. The point is you can see one or the other, but not both simultaneously. Now let’s eat while it’s hot.”