To the Grave (36 page)

“Well, I don't think we need to call a doctor; then we won't,” Eric said. “Is that all right with you, Mrs. Nordine?”

“Uh, yes. Yes. Thank you, Ms. Greene. I don't know what I would have done without you or what would have become of Mary or…”

“Just hush now, dear,” Ms. Greene said gently. “I know this is awful, unbelievable, but the chief deputy and the rest of the police will get it all straightened out and everything will be fine. Isn't that right, Mr. Montgomery?”

Eric merely nodded. He could only wish he had Ms. Greene's confidence, because when little Mary learned her father had been brutally murdered he didn't know if everything would be fine for her again.

*   *   *

Eric and Deputy Jeff Beal stood side by side, staring. “I can't believe this,” Jeff said. “On Tuesday we were looking at that Arcos fella with his right eye shot out and wearing strings of purple beads. Now here's Ken Nordine in what I'd swear is exactly the same position.”

“The crime-scene photos will tell us, but I'd say you're right.”

“But somehow, this looks creepier to me. I mean, Arcos wore all those strange clothes and had the long black hair and … well, he just didn't look like a regular person. Ken Nordine, though, was a different story. He was always dressed in those expensive suits and people said he had charm and kind of European manners and women were just crazy about him and … well … just look at him now.”

Both men flinched at the sound of Dana Nordine's voice behind them. As his face reddened, Jeff's gaze remained fixed on Ken while Eric looked at Dana guiltily. “Sorry, Mrs. Nordine. We must have sounded unforgivably disrespectful.”

“Not at all.” Dana's eyes looked flat and emotionless in her pale, triangular face. She'd pushed her hair behind her ears, the lobes sparkling with small diamond studs. Her thin lips were colorless and her hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles had turned white. “I went upstairs with Ms. Greene to check on Mary. She's asleep, thank God.” Dana asked in a whispery voice, “Do you know what happened?”

“We know that your husband was shot. So far, we've only found one bullet, but there's a gash on the back of his head. I'd say he was bludgeoned before being shot.” Dana cringed. Too much information, Eric thought. She didn't need to know everything right now. “Mrs. Nordine, can you describe your husband's evening? Did he get any calls, go anywhere?”

“Well, I'm not sure I can recall the whole sequence of the evening. I was distracted because of Mary,” Dana said shakily, her gaze fixed on Ken.

“I need to ask you some questions. Would you like to go up to your living quarters?”

Dana hesitated, then shook her head. “I want to stay down here. I've already seen Ken. The hole where his beautiful eye should be, the blood, those horrible purple beads—those beads! Why in the name of God would someone hang those gaudy beads on him?”

She looked beseechingly at Eric, who took her arm. “You really need to sit down. You're a little shaky.”

Dana covered her mouth as if she were going to burst into laughter. Then she slowly removed her hand. “Yeah, I'm shaky. This kind of thing doesn't happen to me every day.”

Eric guided her to a pale leather couch and two-chair suite near the front of the gallery, as far away from Ken as he could get. Dana headed for the couch and positioned herself carefully, as if out of habit, tucking her long legs beneath her and placing her blue velour robe around them. Before her legs had disappeared beneath the robe, he'd noticed her bare feet and bloodred toenails.

“I saw the kitchenette. Do you need something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“I need a tall glass of single-malt Scotch,” she said tonelessly.

“I understand and you can have all the Scotch you want in a few minutes, but I need for your thoughts to be clear when I question you,” Eric said gently.

“I know. I was only joking about the Scotch. I don't even like it.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “Ken was the Scotch drinker. I don't want anything right now.”

“All right.” Eric sat down on one of the chairs, withdrawing his notebook. “As I asked before, was Mr. Nordine acting differently this evening?”

“Differently? No. He was restless, but he was often restless in the evenings. He had so much energy he always wanted to be busy. Today wasn't a busy day at the gallery. Also, for some reason, Ms. Greene annoyed him, although he was hardly around her all day. I wanted her here. I'm afraid I'm not the most adept mother, especially of a child who's sick. Well, not sick, but recovering from an operation. Mary had an appendectomy on Wednesday.”

“And your husband was worried about Mary?”

“Well, he was concerned, of course, but she seems to be doing well and we have Ms. Greene.” Dana hesitated and then said a bit harshly, “Frankly, I don't think Ken was all that worried about Mary.”

“I see. Any idea of what
was
worrying him?”

“Well, as I said, he's often restless and he doesn't sleep well. Sometimes he takes a sleeping pill. The last few days, though, he's been concerned about someone on our staff—Bridget Fenmore. She has the title of manager, but she really does the bookkeeping more than anything else and even Ken has to help her with that. Anyway, she didn't come to work yesterday or the day before and didn't call. Ken tried to reach her and couldn't. I can't say I was particularly impressed with Miss Fenmore's skills, but in the two months she's worked for us she's always been reliable and prompt.”

“Does Miss Fenmore have family here?”

“I don't know. Ken hired her. When he was getting worried about her yesterday, I told him to look at her personnel folder and check on her family—maybe they would know something. He said he'd driven past her house and the newspapers and mail were piling up.”

“He drove past her house?” Eric asked. “Did Mr. Nordine know Miss Fenmore well?”

Dana's eyes shifted away from his. “I'm not certain. Maybe.”

He was having an affair with her, Eric thought. His girlfriend of not more than two months hadn't shown up for a couple of days and he was more worried about her than his own daughter, who'd just had surgery. “Do you know if he ever called her family or maybe contacted some of her friends?” Eric asked in a neutral voice.

“No. Frankly, I never thought about her again. I thought she'd show up on Monday with a good excuse—good enough to keep Ken from firing her. She's only twenty-six … and she looks a lot like Renée Eastman … did.” Dana sighed. “If she hasn't come home yet, I'll look through her personnel papers today. Maybe I can locate her family and they'll know where she is.”

“That's all right, Mrs. Nordine. We'll go through all your records if you don't mind.”

“Not at all. Everything's in order and I'm not sure I could really concentrate today.”

“No one would expect you to. It's really a police job, anyway.” Eric cleared his throat. “Can you tell me about tonight? Was anything different than usual?”

Dana went silent for a minute. “I'm sorry. I'm trying to remember,” she said. “Ms. Greene and I spent a lot of time with Mary early in the evening. Around eight o'clock, I came down to the main gallery. We usually have quite a few visitors at eight on a Saturday night, but there were only a few. I'd expected low business because of the Blakethorne wedding. Did you know?”

“I attended.”

“Oh!” Dana must have realized she'd sounded unflatteringly surprised that a policeman had been invited to the wedding of the wealthiest man in town. “Was it nice?” she asked quickly.

“Very nice. My girlfriend's sister was Patrice Greenlee's maid of honor.” Eric always avoided mentioning his personal life in an interview and could see the curiosity in Dana's eyes. Oh well, the damage is done, he thought. “I see Marissa Gray. Her sister is Dr. Catherine Gray.”

“I know Catherine! Well, a little bit. Marissa did two very nice articles about the gallery. I didn't know there was a connection.” Eric frowned and Dana added, “Between you and the Gray sisters.”

I didn't mean for you to, Eric thought. “Our families were friends since the girls and I were children,” he said more abruptly than he'd intended. “So around eight o'clock the gallery was nearly empty and your husband was surprised by that? Unhappy?”

“Both. We'd been invited to the wedding, although we don't really know either the bride or groom, but with Mary newly home and all, I'd said I absolutely wasn't attending. And Ken's heart didn't seem into going, either, which was odd for him. He loved to socialize.” She tilted her head and looked at Eric ruefully. “To be honest, he wanted the chance to promote the gallery to Lawrence Blakethorne's wealthy friends.”

“But not attending the wedding didn't seem to be what was bothering him.”

“No. He was irritable. He said he had a headache. Well, actually he said he felt a migraine coming on. He's suffered from them for years. I told him to go upstairs, take some of his migraine medicine, and go to bed. He needed rest, quiet, complete darkness. That's why I often sleep in the guest room when he's having one of his headaches. That's where Ms. Greene found me after she found … Ken.”

She drew another deep breath. “I told him I'd look after the gallery until about nine or nine thirty. We usually don't close until eleven, but as I said, it was obvious we weren't the biggest show in town last night. He refused and told me to go to bed because I've lost a lot of sleep because of Mary. He said he wanted stay up for a while. I didn't argue and went to bed after eleven.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Eric said, “but do you know if he locked every door and turned on the security system?”

“He was always very careful about locking up.” She paused. “But he was so distracted by his headache.… Why?”

“One of your back doors was unlocked and the security system was off.”

“Oh. I shouldn't have left him alone!” Dana made a strangled noise between laughter and crying. “Oh God, I just can't believe this. I'm sorry. I'm usually controlled. Ken hated hysterics and here I am, acting like a fool. But then he wouldn't know about it, would he?”

“Mrs. Nordine—”

“Someone put him under
her
portrait!” Dana nearly choked. “I know their affair wasn't a secret, but someone punched or shot out his right eye and put him right under
Mardi Gras Lady.
Everyone knows it's a painting of Renée Eastman. It was valuable before, but after Arcos was murdered the price went through the roof. And someone bought it almost immediately.”

“Who bought it?”

“I don't know. Ken said it was a surprise. He
said
he didn't want to tell me until I'd stopped worrying about Mary because I wouldn't really appreciate the surprise until then, but I had a feeling … no, I
knew
that wasn't the real reason.”

“What other reason could he have had?”

“I don't know,” Dana said slowly. “I honestly don't know. But there's one thing I feel like I do know.” She paused as policemen and paramedics separated, making room for the gurney that would carry away the now-sheet-covered body of Ken Nordine. “The sale of that damned painting is responsible for the murder of my husband.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

1

Catherine knocked on Marissa's closed bedroom door.

“Go 'way.”

Catherine knocked louder. “Marissa, get up!”

“Never!”

Catherine sighed, opened the door, and began talking to the lump under the comforter on Marissa's bed. “I have to go to this wedding brunch. I'm the maid of honor. You said you'd go with me, but I know you're exhausted—”

“You're 'sausted, too.”

“Yes, I am. Nevertheless, it's my duty to go. It's not yours. So I'm officially notifying you that you're off the hook. You can sleep away half the day if you like. After all, if it weren't for me, we would have gotten home at a decent hour.”

“Decent hour?”

The lump moved and Catherine saw a mass of dark blond hair with golden highlights, then a slightly puffy-faced Marissa with a slight case of raccoon eyes. “Too sleepy to get off all your mascara last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“You'll know when you finally get up and look in the mirror. Go back to sleep now, though. I'm sorry I woke you.”

“No, no, I'm going with you.” Marissa clambered out of the bed, Lindsay coming to her side as if she might need help standing. “You can't go alone.”

“Why not? Is there something dangerous about a wedding brunch?”

“Well, after last night…”

“You mean after I went into a tailspin because I thought I saw Renée's father.”

Marissa plopped down on the side of her bed. “You don't know that you didn't.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “Why would Gaston Moreau be at Lawrence Blakethorne's wedding?”

“Because he expected James to be there?”

“Why would he want to talk to James at a wedding? After all, they'd be talking about Renée's murder and the release of the body. A wedding doesn't seem like the proper place for that discussion, and from everything I've heard Gaston Moreau is
very
proper.”

“From everything you heard. You only met the man once years ago at James's wedding. Needless to say, you weren't concentrating on Gaston. Have you seen pictures from the wedding?”

“Some Dad took of us. A couple he took of James and Renée. I don't remember any of Renée's parents. I didn't really dwell over photos of that wedding, Marissa.”

“I understand why. They're probably here in some of Mom's twenty albums, but neither of us wants to look for them now. Anyway, you've really heard very little about Gaston because James hardly knew him. James probably wouldn't say much about him if he did know Gaston—he avoids talking about anything or anyone having to do with Renée.”