“Yes.” Cady made no move to get out of Mack’s lap. “And Arden obviously went there prepared to defend himself.”
“Or because he had intended to kill Stanford all along,” Sylvia suggested. “Maybe he wanted to tie up the loose ends of the scam. When you think about it, Felgrove was the only one who could testify against him.”
“Maybe.” Cady settled deeper against Mack. “But there’s no way to know for certain what Arden’s intentions were until the cops catch up with him.”
“And you got caught in the middle,” Mack growled. “Of all the damn fool—”
“Mack, you promised to save the lectures until tomorrow.”
“Sorry.” He removed the glass from her fingers and took a healthy swallow of the remaining whiskey. “Just slipped out. Couldn’t help myself.”
Cady turned back to Sylvia and Gardner. “The police think the whole event amounted to a falling-out among thieves. Each one wanted to silence the other.”
“Looks like Arden was a little faster than Stanford,” Gardner mused.
Mack felt the shudder that went through Cady. He tightened his hold on her.
“Felgrove seriously underestimated Jonathan Arden,” he said thoughtfully. “Probably assumed Arden was just a two-bit con artist. It never occurred to him that he might be a very dangerous two-bit con artist.”
“I would never have dreamed that Stanford was capable of murder, either,” Sylvia said. “The man was a full-blown sociopath and none of us suspected it.”
“I always knew it,” Randall said softly.
They all looked at him.
“Yes,” Cady said. “You did.”
“I’ll never be able to prove that he murdered my mother, but I’ll go to my grave believing it.” Randall drained his glass. “If nothing else, he pushed her deeper into the bottle.”
Sylvia frowned. “I’ve got to admit, Cady, I’m starting to wonder if there might be something to your theory that he killed Aunt Vesta.”
“We’ll never know for certain now,” Cady whispered.
There was another long silence. Mack wasn’t sure what everyone else was thinking, but he knew that he was contemplating the dismal fact that life doesn’t always give you answers.
“Wonder how long it will take the cops to find Arden?” Gardner said after a while.
Mack looked at him. “Probably not very long.”
“Unless he leaves the country,” Leandra volunteered.
“There is that possibility,” Mack agreed.
Randall exhaled on a long sigh. “Well, one thing is certain. Austrey-Post is in worse shape now than it ever was. When the news hits the papers tomorrow, there won’t be any way to keep the facts about the forgery scam quiet. I’ll have to go public and hope for the best.”
“You’ll get through it,” Cady assured him forcefully. “Galleries have survived this kind of thing before. It will all blow over eventually.”
But Randall looked unconvinced. “Maybe. If we can hold on long enough. But there’s no getting around the fact that we’re going to take a huge hit when this gets out. When you add the projected reduction in income to the losses we’ll have to sustain in order to make the refunds to the clients who got ripped off, we’ll be lucky to survive. And that’s without taking into account the damage to our reputation.”
Cady studied him for a moment. “You’ll find a way to keep the gallery open. That’s not the real problem, is it? You’re afraid that if the business has to struggle for a few years, Brooke won’t stick around.”
Randall cupped his whiskey glass in both hands and stared down into the dregs. When he raised his head, his expression was bleak. “She always said that I was too obsessed with getting control of the galleries. Now I’ve got control but I’ve got nothing to show for it except a business that’s headed for the rocks. I wanted to give her at least some of the same things that George Langworth was able to give her. But there’s no chance of that now.”
Mack noticed that neither Sylvia nor Gardner rushed to reassure him that everything would turn out all right in the end. Leandra just gave him a pitying glance.
It was Cady who spoke up.
“I think,” she said gently, “that you’re seriously underestimating Brooke.”
“You really believe that she’ll marry him when she finds out that his company is in such precarious shape?” Mack asked much later when they were alone.
“Yes.” Cady sat on the edge of die bed and yawned widely.
He thought about it while he unbuttoned his shirt. “What makes you so sure?”
She closed her mouth and contemplated the question for a moment. “It’s hard to explain. Maybe it was the way she stayed with George Langworth after she learned that he was dying. She could have walked out.”
“I told you, that move could easily be interpreted as having been very much in her own financial interests. She will soon be a very wealthy widow.”
Cady shook her head slowly. “No, I think she did it because it was the right thing to do.”
He was not so sure, but he decided to let it go. “Guess we’ll all find out what she’s going to do soon enough. The news about the big shoot-out down at the marina will be in the headlines in another few hours.”
Cady said nothing but he could almost feel the shivers going through her.
“You gave me one hell of a scare tonight,” he said very neutrally. “You know that, don’t you?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she said automatically.
He ignored that. “This is the second time in the relatively short period that we have known each other that you have nearly gotten yourself killed. It’s an unnerving habit.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She spread her hands wide. “Normally, I live a very boring life. That’s why I started taking those freelance consulting jobs you offered.”
“You went to work for me because you were bored?”
“Uh-huh.” She braced her hands behind herself on the bed. “I suppose I could have joined the Marine Corps instead but they don’t have a lot of openings for experts in European decorative arts.”
He tossed the shirt aside. “Nice to know I beat out the Marine Corps recruitment guys.”
“It wasn’t much of a contest. I didn’t like the thought of wearing a uniform.”
Her flippant tone irritated him. She had been through a lot this evening, he reminded himself. He had to make allowances.
Dressed in only his trousers, he walked back across the room and sat down beside her on the edge of the bed.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
“Okay?”
“Do you need anything? A sedative, maybe, to help you get to sleep?”
“No.” She stared straight ahead at a small, gracefully shaped vase that sat on the antique washstand. “I’ll be fine.”
He followed her gaze to the vase. It looked French. Probably early nineteenth century, judging by the design. “You’re trying to make it all add up, aren’t you?”
“Yes. But it doesn’t add up, does it?”
“Not quite,” he agreed.
“It all happened so quickly. And I admit I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to details. But I don’t think Arden was there to negotiate a blackmail deal. He had that gun in his hand when he appeared on the bow of the boat. He came prepared to do murder.”
“I suppose it’s possible that he brought the gun along to defend himself in case Felgrove tried something violent. But why try to hunt you down later?”
“Because he realized that I could identify him. He has no way of knowing that I recognized his mask and costume, of course, but he certainly knows that I heard Stanford call him by name.”
“According to the info that Ambrose dug up on Jonathan Arden, there’s nothing to indicate a history of violence.”
“People change. You’re the one who said that just because Dillon had no record of being a stalker, it didn’t mean that he might not become one.”
“True.
”
He fell silent, thinking.
“What is it?” she asked eventually.
“I don’t want to add to the confusion, but what makes you so sure that it was Jonathan Arden behind that mask tonight?”
She stilled. “I told you, Stanford called him by name.”
“Stanford didn’t see his face, either, did he?”
“Well, no.”
“Stanford said he got a note? Not a phone call?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“But he and Arden had been working together for quite a while. They were partners in the scam. If Arden decided to blackmail Stanford, why didn’t he just pick up the phone and issue the threat verbally? Why send a note?”
Cady’s eyes narrowed. “Because Stanford would realize that the voice on the other end of the line was not Jonathan Arden’s?”
“When you think about it,” Mack said, “Arden would have to be a complete fool to wear a costume that might be noticed and traced to him and to the scene of a murder.”
A short time later he sat in front of the computer and contemplated possibilities. He needed to see the pattern more clearly. He could make out some vague outlines but he could not bring the picture into focus. Thoughts of how close he had come to losing Cady kept interfering with his concentration.
After a while he opened the file that contained his notes regarding Jonathan Arden. He studied the contents for a few minutes and then he called up an e-mail form and addressed it.
Cady materialized in the doorway. “Mack? What are you doing?”
“Sending a message to Jonathan Arden.”
“You’re kidding.” She hurried into the room. “Where did you get his e-mail address?”
“Ambrose pulled it off the internet.” He did not look up from the screen. “There’s no way of knowing whether or not Arden will check his e-mail. He’s on the run, after all. But it occurred to me that he might be interested in doing a deal.”
“What are you offering?”
He did not reply. Instead, he typed the message and then shifted slightly in the chair so that Cady could read over his shoulder.
Understand you did not kill Felgrove. If you want some help proving it, contact me. You have information that I need. We both have a vested interest in finding the real killer.
Cady straightened. “Think he’ll get in touch with you?”
“Don’t know.” Mack shut down the computer. “But it’s worth a try.”
Twenty-seven
The following morning he poured freshly brewed green tea into two mugs. It wasn’t that he was getting used to the tea, he told himself. It was simply that it was too much work to make a pot of tea and a pot of coffee. Settling for tea was more efficient.
Besides the tea wasn’t so bad. Hell, maybe he was getting used to it.
Cady wandered into the kitchen, sat down at the table and picked up the mug he placed in front of her. She said nothing. Just took a long swallow. He studied her closely. The strain around her eyes told him that she had not slept any better than he had.
“Did you do your yoga?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t look like it did much good.”
“Thanks. Good morning to you, too.”
He took the seat across from her and helped himself to a slice of toast. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
She blinked owlishly. “Like what?”
“Like this.” He moved a hand to indicate the sunlit kitchen. “You. Me. Having cozy little chats after you nearly get killed. It’s hard on my nerves.”
To his chagrin there was no answering glint of amusement in her eyes.
“You don’t have to make it sound like it’s a regular habit,” she muttered into her tea. “We’re only talking two occasions here, that’s all. Hardly a routine occurrence.”
“You probably won’t believe this, but a lot of people go through an entire lifetime without having even one close call with a murderer.”
“Is this the start of the lecture? Because if it is, I’d better warn you that I am not in the mood for it.”
“No, this is an attempt at breakfast banter. I’m saving the lecture for later.”
“I can’t wait.”
He eased his own mug aside and folded his arms on the table. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Just a little tired, that’s all.”
“Any sign of a panic attack?”
“No.” She put the mug down very hard on the table. “Look, if you’re afraid that I’m going to have a nervous breakdown on you—”
“Take it easy.”
“I’m not crazy, you know.”
“I know.”
“And neither was my aunt.” Cady tightened both hands around the mug. “Everyone likes to say that she was flaky and eccentric, and maybe she was. Sylvia talked her into semiretirement, but the bottom line is that she was perfectly capable of running Chatelaine’s right up until the day she died. She was not losing it, like everyone believes.”
“I never said she was crazy.”
“And I’m not going to lose it, either,” she continued with dogged determination. “Just because Aunt Vesta and I had some things in common, just because of the tendency toward panic attacks, just because she never married and my marriage was a nonevent, and she didn’t have kids and it’s starting to look like I won’t ever have any either, that doesn’t mean that I’m a walking photocopy of Aunt Vesta.”
“Stop it.” He flattened both hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet, suddenly furious. “Not another damn word or I’m the one who’s going to lose it. And it won’t be a pretty sight.”
She looked up at him with the expression of a woman who has been snapped out of a trance. “What?”
“Stop talking about losing it. And don’t put words in my mouth. I have never implied that I thought you or your aunt were borderline nutcases.”
“Sorry.” She looked down into her tea. “Guess I’m still a little stressed out.”
“You’ve got a good reason to be stressed.” He moved his shoulders, working out the kinks. “I’m a little tense myself. Maybe it would help to get to work.”
She got slowly to her feet, cradling the mug in her hands. “Good idea.”
“I’ve been thinking.” He picked up his mug and walked to the door that opened onto the hall. “We’ve got two sets of facts. One set fits the murder of your aunt to promote the merger. The second set fits the fraudulent furniture scam. There’s some overlap. I want to see if that tells us anything new.”
He felt her hesitate behind him.
“Mack?”
He stopped at the door and turned. “Yes?”
“You really don’t think I’m a wacko?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t think you’re a wacko. Let’s go see if we can figure out who murdered your aunt.”
Forty minutes later Cady sat back in her chair and surveyed the stacks of printouts that had been sorted into three piles on top of the desk. “I’m pretty good at detecting forgeries but reading runes is not my forte. What does it all mean?”
“For starters, they’re credit card receipts, bank statements and financial records, not mysterious runes. I had Ambrose pull information from the accounts of everyone on our list who had something to gain by the merger or the scam. Now we look for overlap.”
She shrugged. “The biggest overlapper was Stanford Felgrove. He had a lot to gain from both scam and merger. But he’s dead.”
“Whoever murdered him must have figured to gain something by it. The more I go over this, the more I’m convinced that Arden didn’t shoot him. He had nothing to gain and a lot to lose.”
“Maybe he thought Stanford would implicate him in Aunt Vesta’s murder.”
“I think that’s a very remote possibility. If we’re right in assuming that Arden wasn’t the killer last night, then we need to find someone else who had something to gain.”
“Or to lose,” Cady said softly.
/> “Yes,” he agreed.
“You’re thinking of Brooke Langworth, aren’t you?”
“She’s on my list, yes. She had a personal investment in the merger because she intends to marry Randall after her husband dies.”
“All right, for the sake of argument, let’s say she had a motive to murder Aunt Vesta. Where’s the connection to the forgery scam?”
“I’ll admit I don’t see an obvious link, but that doesn’t mean I won’t find one.”
Cady thought about the afternoon she had talked to Brooke in the hushed mansion where impending death had hung in heavy folds. “I just can’t see her killing someone in cold blood. If she was the type to do that, she probably would have gotten rid of George by now. It would have been easy enough to push him into the grave. He’s a very ill man. There must be a lot of drugs in that house, including some strong opiates.”
He hesitated, tapping the tip of the pen against a bank statement. “All right, I’ll give you that point. I’m not sure I buy the logic, but you have raised a legitimate issue.”
Cady made a face. “Well, there goes our one and only suspect. I sure wish Jonathan Arden would call or e-mail you. Maybe he really does know something we could use.”
“Contacting him was a very long shot,” Mack warned. “We can’t count on help from that quarter.”
“So, now what?”
“I’m going to call Gardner.” Mack reached for the telephone. “He knows more about the financial aspects of this situation than anyone else, and it all comes down to the money.”
Sylvia stood at the window of her living room and peered out into the garden where the twins played with the dogs and their new toys. Cady knew that she was brooding.
“Do you think Gardner can help Mack get to the bottom of the mess?” Sylvia asked.
“I don’t know.” Cady slouched deeper into her chair and rested her arms along the curved cushions. “I sure hope so. I have to tell you, Sylvia, this whole thing is getting on my nerves.”
“It’s getting on everyone’s nerves.” Sylvia folded her arms. “Damn. I thought it was all settled last night. Arden killed Felgrove to avoid being implicated in the fraud scheme. It made perfect sense to me and to the cops, apparently.”