Ultraviolet (37 page)

“Friend of yours?” Sean sneered.

It had been a long day and I’d had all I wanted to take of Sean’s and Gigi’s continued selfishness. “Your father didn’t have time to disinherit both of you, but he was planning on it. Pretty good motive for murder, if you ask me.”

“You told the police
that
?”

“They obviously figured it out on their own. That’s what they do.”

“What are you so pissed about?”

“I don’t know. You and Gigi. Neither of you gave a damn about your father. He wanted you to stay clean and you’re obviously on something right now.”

“Just dope.”

“Whatever. You get nearly half your father’s estate and you’re still using. Somebody killed your father and it wasn’t Violet.”

“How do you know? It must’ve been.”

“The police don’t think so.”

“You really think I would kill my father?” Sean said, looking up at me with a hopeless expression.

“I don’t know. I don’t think you’d go out of your way to save him.”

“Man, that’s cold,” he said with a doleful shake of his head.

I left him on the stool, his shoulders hunched forward, his feet planted in a way to keep him from turning into a puddle. Mr. Ponytail appeared and gazed at him in annoyance. Honestly, I didn’t believe Sean had the stomach and conviction to physically hurt anyone, let alone kill them. He was just pathetic. A do-nothing. A disappointment to his father.

Fight or no fight, I didn’t believe Sean had plotted his father’s death over fear of losing his inheritance.

Saturday morning the sun actually made an appearance. I opened an eye to see it outlining the edges of my closed blinds. I climbed from bed and flipped the blinds open, earning bright stripes of light across my bed. Binkster opened her eyes, but that was the extent of her morning greeting.

“You can’t sleep with me every night,” I told her.

I checked my cereal supply, though I don’t know why. I hadn’t purchased any from the store during my last trip, and it hadn’t magically appeared. There was a rolled-up silvery pack of some cereal-like stuff, opened eons earlier, and now sporting a large chip-clip to keep it “fresh.” I took off the clip and poured some into my palm. Oats, bran, indiscriminate grain-type stuff and raisins.

I thought about Dwayne. It felt imperative, for some reason, that I decide what to do about him. Maybe I should have a wild affair with Vince Larrabee. That would end things with Dwayne once and for all, I was pretty sure. Of course, it also meant compliance on Larrabee’s part, and I wasn’t convinced the man was all that enamored with me as a possible love interest.

I also wasn’t interested in completely tearing apart my relationship with Dwayne.

“Ah, the vagaries of love,” I said, tossing back my handful of granolish.

Sawdust never tasted so good.

A noise sounded from outside the cottage. A kind of thud. Binkster, who’d roused herself upon hearing I was digging through the cupboards, suddenly went on alert, growling and yipping, the hair standing on the back of her neck.

“What’s bark-worthy?” I asked her as I walked across the living room and peered out my front blinds. I made out the pile of “treasures” being placed on my driveway, all around my car. Ogilvy was hard at work at his garage sale.

“Hey!” I yelled as I unlatched the front door. Before I tore out, I turned to Binkster, who was trying to squeeze past me. “You stay,” I told her sternly. She’d been injured running out the front door and into an approaching car. Now, she sat down on her rump, but it was difficult for her. Her muscles were rippling and her gaze darted past me, the growling intensifying.

I shut the door on her and marched across to Ogilvy’s pile of garage sales items. “You can’t set up here. I rent this place. I have rights.”

“You don’t rent the garage,” he responded, looking at me as if I were just trying to be difficult.

“My car’s been parked in this driveway for years. I’d guess I’m renting that, too.”

“You gonna stop me?”

“I’m sure as hell gonna give it the old college try.”

He thought that over. “You buy this place, you’re gonna want the garage emptied.”

I slid my jaw to one side, holding on to my temper. “You haven’t accepted the other offer?”

“Nope.”

I gazed toward the garage. Why was I fighting him? What possible good would it do? I wasn’t going to buy the place, but somebody would. A battle with Ogilvy wasn’t going to change the inevitable.

“I need to move my car,” I muttered, slamming back into the house for my keys. Binkster tagged after me, trying to assess my mood, which was dark, dark, dark. The sun had come out this morning and that was the only good thing about it.

I pulled the Volvo onto the shoulder of West Bay Road, near the end of my driveway, and hoped someone wouldn’t come burning around the corner and rear-end me. Maybe no one would come to Ogilvy’s sale and I would be spared.

No. Such. Luck.

By 10:00 a.m. the place was swarming with bargain hunters. I sat in my living room and watched women, men and families purchase items of all shapes, sizes and worthlessness. Ogilvy kept filling in with more treasures while people kept heading into the garage and appearing with yet more items, thrilled with their purchases. I watched the Fisher-Price people go by in the clutched fists of a three-year-old girl and her toddling younger brother.

Dwayne called. “Just talked to Larrabee. He got that member list from the Columbia Millionaires’ Club.”

“Yeah?”

“You might recognize one of the names. Michael Miller.”

That dragged my attention from the wandering crowds outside. “You mean, Mike Miller of Miller-Kennedy Mercedes? As in, Emmett’s uncle? That Michael Miller?”

“One and the same.”

“I’d sure like to talk to Emmett alone, without Gigi around. Daniel Wu said Roland didn’t think much of the whole family. Maybe that included the uncle?”

“You’ve got a perfect opportunity,” Dwayne drawled.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s Saturday morning. If I were looking for Emmett, I’d try Willamette Crest Country Club.”

“I’m on my way.”

I dressed in my black slacks and leather jacket again and drove toward Willamette Crest Country Club, taking the Sellwood Bridge across the Willamette River. The private golf course meandered along the river and was reputed to be one of the nicest in the state. I turned at the sign, wondering how old the oak trees were that lined the winding drive. There were quite a few cars in the parking lot. Expensive cars. The slightest hint of better weather and the golfers came out in droves.

I smiled at the employees who were about the business office and large foyer. They smiled back. They didn’t know me, but I was dressed the part, so I sailed right in.

I walked directly to the dining room and traded more smiles with a young woman at a podium. “Emmett Popparockskill?” I said, on a question.

She glanced down at her reservations. “Mr. Popparockskill canceled his reservation,” she said in a worried voice, darting me a look.

I looked stricken. “Oh…I wonder if he left a message on my phone….” I pulled out my cell phone and stared at the lighted screen.

“I’m sorry. Cell phones aren’t allowed inside the club.”

I shot her a look of despair. I was
really
going to have to work on those tears. I could tell she felt terrible for me. “We had a golf date,” I pressed. “I couldn’t make it and he knew that, but…I guess we got our wires crossed.”

“He might be at the remodel,” she offered hopefully.

“The golf shop,” I said, as if I’d been hit with a bong. “Maybe he thought lunch was off, too. It’s just down the street…?” I waved a hand vaguely to indicate “somewhere else.”

“Down the drive and take a left. You can’t miss it. It’s in that cute, new little center with the bell tower.”

“Of course. I’ll catch him there. Thanks.”

I’d seen the bell tower strip center when I’d driven past. Now I found it without difficulty and, as there was only one business in the throes of a remodel, I assumed it was the golf shop. I parked the Volvo and walked toward the open door. Inside I could see sheet-rocked walls which were being changed from a vanilla shade to forest green. Cans of paint sat on a dropcloth that was splattered with a rainbow of colors. Emmett was surveying the area as I approached. The whole place was a narrow rectangle. Plans were laid out on the floor and I could see where a counter would be built and a store room across the back.

Emmett glanced at me and frowned. “What are you doing here?” Then, “I talked to my mother,” he said, almost like a warning.

“She’s a pleasant person,” I responded.

“And Gigi told me you saw Daniel Wu,” he swept on. “Sounds like you’re just trying to stir up trouble.”

“Until I’m off the case, I’ll keep looking into Roland’s death.”

“I know Wu told you Gigi and her dad weren’t getting along because of this investment. Well, that’s an out-and-out lie. Did you ask him about the clinics? He got a huge chunk of Roland’s business. I don’t know why he’s bad-mouthing Gigi and Sean.”

“Dr. Wu is the clinics’ main plastic surgeon,” I pointed out. It seemed to me the Hatchmere clan kept conveniently forgetting that rather salient point.

“He always acted like he liked Gigi and Sean. I guess true colors show when there’s money involved.”

“How did you get along with Roland?”

Emmett gave me a hard look. “Did Wu say something about me, too?”

“He said Roland didn’t get along with your family.”

“Well, that’s just not true. Roland and I were good friends. We knew each other before I even met Gigi.” He started to say something else, then changed to, “He might have thought my parents were…not at his economic level.”

“Roland had won and lost a couple of fortunes. Are you saying he was a snob?”

“God, no. He was just pathological about being ‘taken’. Uncle Mike said something negative about my father that Roland never forgot, even though it wasn’t true, strictly speaking.”

Strictly speaking…“What was it?”

“Just a throwaway comment. Something about Dad living off him. Uncle Mike didn’t mean it, but I don’t think Roland ever saw it that way. I always kind of felt like I had to make excuses for my parents.”

“Roland knew your uncle?”

“They met a couple of times.” Emmett turned away from me, bending down to check a pallet of tile that seemed to suddenly need serious attention.

“At CMC? The Columbia Millionaires’ Club?”

Emmett jerked as if he’d touched a hot wire. He didn’t immediately answer. I got the impression lightning thoughts were sizzling across his brain. He opened his mouth and shut it. I waited, but he opted for silence.

I said, “Someone called Roland from CMC’s business office the day of the wedding. Afterward, Roland was upset and that’s when he and Violet got in a fight. I thought maybe your uncle called him.”

“No.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“What the hell do you want?” he suddenly snapped, his face darkening to a brick red. “Why are you asking about Uncle Mike? He’s got nothing to do with this!”

“Maybe it was someone else from the club,” I allowed. “But what makes you so certain it wasn’t your uncle? Is there some specific reason?”

“No.”

“So if I talk to him, he’ll confirm that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I glanced at my watch. “Then, I guess I’ll head on back down to Miller-Kennedy and ask him myself.”

I made as if to leave and Emmett practically raced me to the door. His hand thrust out, blocking my way. I gave him a sidelong look.

“My uncle’s a family man. He loves his wife. Would never cheat on her.”

“That’s kind of what the club’s all about, isn’t it? Meeting other women?”

“He doesn’t belong to it.”

“According to the club’s records, he does.”

“My uncle’s not the member. I am.” Emmett’s expression grew serious. “I used my uncle’s name and credit report to join. I wasn’t a millionaire, but he was. I told the members I went by my middle name, Emmett.”

“When was this?” I asked, trying to fit this into the puzzle.

“A few years ago. I was involved with my ex-girlfriend, and it wasn’t working.”

“Junie-Marie.”

“Oh, you met her,” he said, nodding. “She got the job at the dealership and just took over my life. I joined the club and told her I was at meetings. I went to some of the parties, just to get away, y’know? I met Roland through the club.”

“But you met Gigi through work?”

“Roland told me his daughter was going to buy a car. He sent her to the dealership.”

“So, you’re Michael Miller at CMC? Your uncle must know.”

“I had the club paperwork sent to my home address. It wasn’t that big of a deception.”

“So, he doesn’t know.”

“He found out a couple of weeks ago,” Emmett admitted after a moment.

I thought about it. “And that’s why you quit…”

“More or less,” Emmett said with a grimace. “Anyway, I didn’t call Roland from the club that day and neither did my uncle.”

I absorbed this news. “Do you know anyone else from the club who was a friend of Roland’s?”

“Neither one of us has really been around the club much lately.”

“Did you meet Roland before he was married to Melinda? She said he basically quit the club when they got married.” I thought about Daniel Wu’s cryptic comment about Violet being “one of them”, meaning women Roland was seeing, and asked on sudden inspiration, “Had Roland started going again?”

“I don’t know. I’m really not in that loop.”

“How did your uncle find out you were using his name?”

“I don’t know that, either. He just called me into his office and asked me how come he was a member of a club he’d never joined.”

It sounded to me like someone from CMC had figured out Emmett was impersonating his uncle and had made it a point to alert Mike Miller. “Was there anyone at the club that Roland didn’t like?”

“Oh. Sure. Dante.”

“Dante who?”

“Just Dante.”

“What’s Dante’s story?”

“He’s got a bunch of businesses and the women like him, but the men avoid him. I talked to him once, but he wasn’t interested in anything I had to say. He just kept talking about the girl he was with. Wanted to know what I thought of her.”