The Fine Art of Murder (19 page)

“Does she think he’s Hank?” I wondered aloud.

“Probably.”

“Do you think he intentionally took the bracelet off Stacey’s wrist?” The idea seemed so ghoulish to me.

“I’m thinking it was on the floor and he just picked it up while he was wiping things off. Maybe he thought it was Jackie’s. Or maybe, as you said, he decided to use it to implicate Jackie. When did you think of that?”

“Seconds before I said it. Nathan, you didn’t see her face. I think Jackie’s got definite . . . problems. I think she heard her father’s voice.”

“And I’m betting that in spite of her mental problems, Jackie remembers Hank hiding the painting in the guesthouse.”

“We’ll soon find out.”

It was dark outside on the lawn. All the lights had been shut off earlier. As we slowly opened the door, we could hear Jackie.

“I did it again,” she told Brock. “Go fix it like you did before. Make everything right, sweetheart. If you love me, you’ll help me.”

Brock had been briefed and knew what to expect. “I’ll fix it, don’t worry,” he told her.

But even in her confusion, Jackie knew the man standing in front of her was an imposter. “Where’s Hank?” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Hank! Are you out here?”

Two police cars were pulling up as we walked outside. Jackie looked bewildered as the red and blue lights illuminated her face.

“Now if Antoine did as he promised and called Hank to come to the mansion, all the loose ends will be tied up,” I said. “I don’t like loose ends.”

As Jackie was being gently led to one of the police cars, Hank casually walked from the direction of the guesthouse. His expression changed immediately when he saw what was happening. And when he saw me standing there next to Nathan, he started to run. But in order to get to his car, he had to go through the small crowd, which he did without hesitation. For a moment, I thought he was going to plow right into Jackie. Brock must have thought so, too, because he tackled Hank before he could harm the small woman.

Bostwick looked on amused as the two large men wrestled across the lawn. But when he handcuffed Jackie, his humor changed to pity.

When Brock stood Hank up, two officers came over and handcuffed him, too.

“You got the wrong guy, and when I get done with you, you’ll be back to writing parking tickets. Check that fancy stick of his. It’ll have that girl’s blood all over it. You need someone like me to tell you it’s the murder weapon? She may have used it, but Frenchie was always leaving it behind. You might have me now, but I’ll testify against them and I’ll walk.”

“Hank’s not as smart as he thinks,” I said to Nathan. “He doesn’t realize that between Antoine’s alibi and polygraph results, he’s in the clear on the murder.”

“It’s obvious he tried to frame Antoine by giving him back his walking stick. And the whole time, the clueless Frenchman was carrying it around. Well I guess there’s no need for us to go to the police station, is there?”

“No, but before we leave I have to go, tell Bostwick to pick up the walking stick from Antoine.”

“Mother! Wake up! You have to see this!”

I hurried out to the kitchen. Chloe and Cam stopped eating their breakfast when they saw me.

“They’re talking about you on TV, Grammy,” Cam said.

“OMG! Jennifer’s gonna be über jealous. All her grandmother does is make quilts.” Chloe giggled.

While I enjoyed having their attention, I looked to Lizzie to help me understand what was happening.

“It’s all over the news,” Lizzie pointed to the television.

Along the bottom of the screen was a red banner with yellow letters, announcing
BREAKING NEWS
. A serious-looking man read from a paper he held with both hands. “Last night, socialite and prominent citizen, Jacqueline Bannister-Pierce, was arrested for the murder of Stacey Jordan. The arrest came about after police were tipped off by a private investigator, former chief of police, Katherine Sullivan.”

Cam looked up at me. “That’s you, Grammy!”

“It wasn’t just me. Nathan and Brock were there, too.” I told them.

“Miss Jordan had been employed by Randolph Pierce, nephew of the accused, to assist with renovations at Buckhorn manor. Ownership of the mansion is scheduled to be transferred to the state of Minnesota on the centennial of its groundbreaking, which is later this year. Mrs. Bannister-Pierce, seventy-two, has been struggling with mental health problems for years. She is scheduled to be examined by a court-appointed psychiatrist who will determine if she is fit to stand trial. At this time, she is being held at the county jail. Her longtime companion, Henry Slater, forty-five, was also arrested. Mr. Slater allegedly tampered with evidence at the crime scene, interfering with the police investigation. If you’re interested in learning more about the history of the Pierce family, and Buckhorn mansion, go to our website. Once again, Jacqueline Bannister-Pierce has been arrested for murder.”

An anchorwoman sitting next to her male counterpart came into the shot. “I know you’ve only been living in Edina for a few months, Bill, but were you aware of the rumors surrounding Buckhorn?”

“Not at first, Sandy. But after researching the history of the estate, I was surprised to learn that there was supposedly a priceless painting hidden inside.”

“Well apparently those rumors were true. Authorities claim that an original Klimt was the motive for the murder.”

“And where is it now?” he asked her.

“Police are still searching but we’ll keep you updated.” Big smile. “And now for your local weather.”

“I have to call Nathan,” I said and rushed to my room to dress.

***

“I told Rousseau he’d be safe at the inn. Brock even went out to check on him after leaving the mansion last night.” Nathan steered toward Lake Minnetonka.

“And he was there all safe and sound?” I asked.

“Sure was. Brock said they even had a beer together. He assured Rousseau that Bostwick had arrested Hank and Jacqueline.”

“That should have made him feel better.”

“Then why did he skip town?” Nathan asked.

“Let me try something.” I dug out my cell phone and called the station. The administrative aide, Bobby Hill, answered. He had worked for me near the end of my time there.

“There’s a team out at the property right now, Mrs. Sullivan. They did a thorough search of the mansion right after the murder, but today Chief Bostwick told ’em to turn that guesthouse upside down. They’re not to come back without that painting.”

“So as far as you know, it hasn’t been found yet?”

“That’s what I’m hearin’.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Sure, Chief.”

I almost hung up, then said, “Bobby, wait!”

“Yeah, Chief?”

“Did they find Rousseau’s walking stick in his room?”

“They did,” Bobby said. “The Chief had it sent to forensics.”

Hank said it was the murder weapon but that didn’t make it legally so. Bostwick was going to have to confirm that with tests.

“Okay, Bobby. I might see you later. I’ll probably come in and see the Chief.”

“Right,” he said and hung up.

I told Nathan what I knew.

“Rousseau swore up and down that Hank hid the painting out there.”

“I know, but come on, Nathan, the guy’s a con man.”

“Yeah. The way they get you is by throwing in a few lies with most of the truth.”

“How long have you been trying to call him?” I asked.

“Since six this morning. He swore that once Hank and Jackie were arrested, he’d give a statement to Bostwick.”

“He’s probably afraid we’d turn him in for his connection to the black market. That ledger would likely implicate him.”

“It probably would.”

“I’ve got to give it to Bostwick.”

“If you do, he’ll know you took it from Stacey’s apartment. The chain of evidence will be broken. It’ll be inadmissible, Kathy.”

I thought about that for a moment.

“Who’s at your office now?”

“E.T.”

“And the ledger’s in a safe place?”

“Locked up tight.”

“It’s going to implicate Stacey and Antoine, for sure. Nathan, can you have Brock go back to Stacey’s and return the book to its hiding place?”

“So that Bostwick can find it there? Good thinking. I’ll call him.”

He took out his cell phone and made a quick call, then hung up.

“Can he do it?”

“He said for you, anything.”

“He’s a big sweetie.”

“I just thought of something else, though.”

“What?”

“The restoration is still an ongoing project. Antoine hasn’t gotten paid yet. He’ll definitely want that money before he leaves town.”

“But he’s said over and over that the most important thing to him is his reputation. Don’t you think he’s afraid that Hank or Jackie will mention his involvement to the police?”

“So you do think he’s skipped out on us?” Nathan asked.

“Looks that way. But let’s check the inn, just to be sure.”

***

“Sorry, Mrs. Sullivan,” the desk clerk said. “Mr. Rousseau checked out last night.”

“Can you tell me what time that would have been?”

“Not exactly but the night guy found Mr. Rousseau’s room key on the desk when he started his shift at midnight.”

“Is there anyone who might have seen him leaving?”

“Wait a minute. I have an idea.” The clerk waved to a maid who was coming out of a room right off the lobby. “Celia!” When the maid stopped, the clerk walked over to talk with her.

Nathan and I waited until they were finished.

When they were done, the clerk returned and the maid walked back down the hall.

“She says that when she went to turn down his bed at nine last night, he wasn’t there. That’s the best we can do.”

“Did he leave anything behind?” I asked.

“No. In fact, his room was so clean that she joked we should hire him to work here.”

“Thanks so much.”

Nathan handed her one of his cards. “If you see Mr. Rousseau, you can reach us here.”

“I’ll remember that.”

As we walked back to the car, Nathan and I discussed if we should spend any more time trying to find Antoine Rousseau. My job was finished; I’d proven that Randolph Pierce was not a murderer and handed the real killer to the police to boot. I’d done everything I’d set out to do and more. Now it was up to the cops to make a case against Jackie and Hank and make it stick.

“So do you think Rousseau got away with the painting?” Nathan wondered.

“I know I shouldn’t care, but it’s driving me crazy not knowing,” I said.

“If he did,” Nathan said, “he wouldn’t worry about collecting his money from Pierce.”

I sighed. “I’d like to be done with this, but I know I’ll have to go see Bostwick later.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “You and Dean don’t mix well.”

“And you do?”

When we walked in, E.T. was rearranging the desks in the main room.

Nathan looked amused. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” E.T. told him, rolling a chair closer to the window. “The feng shui in here is all messed up. Believe me, Boss, once I get the harmony flowing again, you’ll feel the difference.”

“You knew the man was like this when you hired him,” I said, watching in amusement. “What can it hurt to jazz up the harmony in here?”

“Is Brock on his way to Minneapolis?” Nathan asked E.T.

“Yep, with the ledger,” E.T. said.

Nathan shook his head again at the feng shui and walked into his office. E.T. was oblivious to much except his project. I followed Nathan. He sat behind his desk with a heavy sigh.

“Can I borrow your car?”

Nathan stood up and reached in his pocket. “I have a lot of work to catch up on here. When will you be back?” he asked, tossing the keys to me.

Making a successful catch, I opened my mouth in exaggerated surprise. “You’re letting me go alone without a single word of caution or a list of instructions?”

He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. “The bad guys are behind bars, Rousseau is gone, and hey, you’re a big girl . . .”

“And I can take care of myself. Admit it. Come on . . . say it.”

“You can take care of yourself. Happy?”

“I’ll be even happier after I tie up this loose end.”

“And return my car!”

“You’re such a nag.”

***

I tried not looking too smug as I sat across from Dean Bostwick, but it was very difficult.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Isn’t your PI job all finished?” He leaned back in his chair and smiled at me. He was being very cordial, and I decided to play it the same way.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I was wondering if you got back the forensics report on Antoine’s walking stick?”

Bostwick looked sheepish. “Good catch on that. No, I don’t have it back yet, but Hank assured us it was the murder weapon. I think it’ll check out.”

“What about Antoine?”

“He may have left town, but if he hasn’t, I’ve put him on the no-fly list. But I’m thinking that he might be waiting until Pierce is released to settle up with him. Also, if he has the painting, he has to figure out how to get it out of the country. He can’t just waltz onto a plane holding a priceless painting under his arm.”

I laughed. “You got that right. And how’s Jackie?”

“She hasn’t quite come all the way back from around the bend, yet,” he admitted. “She did, however, confess to killing her brother, Leland, all those years ago.”

“She drowned her own brother?” I couldn’t believe it.

Bostwick nodded. “Seemed he was Daddy’s favorite.”

“Poor Jackie.”

“The woman’s a murderer, Katherine,” Bostwick said. “I have no sympathy for her. In fact, we’re reexamining the conditions under which Marshall Senior died. Who knows?”

“Wow! At least she can’t kill anyone else.”

“So did you just drop by to check up on the murder weapon?”

“No. I really stopped by to bring you a little . . . present, Dean.”

“It’s all in a day’s work. There’s no need to thank me for anything.”

“There’s a ledger I think you might be interested in.”

“What’s in it?”

“I think it’s a list of people who have illegally purchased stolen art from Stacey and Antoine Rousseau.”

His eyes popped and he looked like he’d just won the lottery. “How do you know? Where did you get this?”

“Oh, I can’t reveal my source, Dean.” I stood to leave.

“Where’s this book—you know, if you touched it, or moved it, it’ll be inadmissible.”

“I think if you send somebody to Stacey’s Minneapolis apartment tomorrow, they’ll find it in the kitchen, on a shelf with a bunch of cookbooks.”

“Katherine . . .”

I stopped at the door and turned to look at him, making my face as innocent as possible.

He threw his hands in the air and just said, “Thanks for the tip.”