Читать книгу The Secrets She Kept - Бренда Новак - Страница 12
ОглавлениеTHE NEW CHIEF of police at Keys Crossing was every bit as attractive as Maisey had said. About five foot six, 125 pounds, she didn’t look particularly strong, but she had a no-nonsense, direct approach, which Keith liked, and clear, intelligent blue eyes. Once he’d met her, he was glad the old chief had retired. Reuben had had a great deal of experience with minor infractions such as traffic violations, breaking and entering, petty theft and drunk and disorderlies during the summer, when the tourists arrived. But to Keith’s knowledge, he’d never investigated a homicide.
Since Chief Underwood—she hadn’t offered her first name—hailed from Chicago, he was hoping she’d have more familiarity with violent crime. But once he met her, he didn’t feel that was going to be the benefit he’d anticipated. She was fully convinced his mother had committed suicide and nothing he said seemed to sway her.
“There’s no reason to assume she’d take her own life,” he argued when she refused to change her mind.
“I hear what you’re saying,” she responded. “I noticed the suitcases myself. But there was no sign of anyone else having been in the house and no indication that she was sexually assaulted, for instance. That’ll have to be confirmed when the autopsy is performed, of course—we’re not jumping to conclusions there—but so far all signs point away from it.”
“There’s heart attack, stroke.”
“Which will also have to be considered and addressed during the autopsy. But the coroner said she didn’t have a flushed face. Her carotid artery wasn’t swollen. There was no bluish tinge to her nose, eyes or fingertips—all typical signs of cardiac arrest. I’m afraid the preponderance of evidence, at this point, suggests suicide.”
“Even with her impending trip?”
“It’s possible she didn’t decide to...to do what she did until the last moment.”
Keith gaped at Maisey, who was sitting next to him in Chief Underwood’s small office. “She wouldn’t suddenly decide to kill herself. That kind of decision takes serious thought.” He knew from experience.
“She must’ve,” Chief Underwood insisted.
“Why?” Keith cried. “She had everything. What was there to make her so intent on ending her life?”
Keith hoped the police chief wasn’t about to point to their estrangement. The fear that his mother had committed suicide and he was the cause clawed deeper by the minute.
She formed her slender fingers into a steeple. “You two must be going through hell. There’s no need to hash this out. Not right now. Go ahead and grieve, and make whatever plans you’d like to make so you can put her to rest. Then, when that’s all over, you can come back and we’ll talk, okay?”
A tingle skittered down Keith’s spine. “No, that’s not okay,” he said. “Why can’t we talk now?”
Her expression indicated that she was trying to be patient. “I only knew your mother for three years, after I came here. But even three years was enough time for me to figure out that she had a great deal of pride.”
“That’s not news, Chief.” Other than Maisey, who would know Josephine better than him?
She straightened her blotter. “What I’m trying to say is...there may have been certain circumstances in her life—distressing circumstances—she didn’t tell you about.”
His mother hadn’t told him anything in five years. But neither had there been any sign of unhappiness in those letters he’d found. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway. Wouldn’t something have shown up—some complaint? “Like...”
Two lines formed on the chief’s forehead. “Thanks to an investment she made—a huge resort she and a group of partners were building in Jamaica at a total cost of over a billion dollars—she was losing everything, Mr. Lazarow. All her money. All her holdings. Everything.”
“No.” Keith stiffened. “That’s not possible. My mother would not have risked that much.”
“Perhaps the resort seemed like a good idea at the time, but a series of...unfortunate events put the project under water—literally.”
“I’m telling you she was more conservative than that.”
“I understand why you’d be skeptical.”
“She controlled a vast fortune.” One his grandfather had built and would’ve hated to see destroyed...
“I’m sure she expected everything to go well,” the police chief explained, “but, because of a tropical storm, the resort flooded, and the insurance refused to pay because of an exclusion in the fine print that had something to do with the footprint of the hotel portion. Then the other investors pulled out, cutting their losses and leaving your mother holding the bag.”
At the news that their mother had been losing everything, Maisey had gripped his arm. Now she surged to her feet. “The situation can’t be as dire as you’re making it sound,” she said. “I’ve been working at Love’s in Bloom since I returned to the island. Business has never been better.”
A sympathetic expression pulled at the corners of Underwood’s lips before she whirled around in her chair to get a file from the cabinet behind her. “That may be true, but the flower shop was only a small portion of her holdings. The income from that couldn’t even cover the expenses of running Coldiron House.”
“Then why didn’t she cut back?” Maisey asked. “She didn’t have to be quite as extravagant as she was.”
“Pride could be the answer to that, too,” Chief Underwood replied. “She probably feared people would start to guess that she was struggling, thought she could get back on top without giving herself away. And let’s face it. I doubt there was ever another time when she encountered this type of setback. She wasn’t used to failing.”
Could the destruction of the Coldiron empire—the financial pressure—have gotten to her? Keith wondered. She’d admired Grandpa Coldiron even more than he had. In her mind, no one could live up to his example. Perhaps she felt as if she’d let him down, as if she’d had nowhere to turn and couldn’t handle the humiliation of losing her status on the island, where she’d always been revered as the richest, most powerful person.
He had to admit it was possible, but chances were equally good that she had a plan. Josephine Coldiron-Lazarow would not go down without a fight—even if it meant marrying someone she didn’t love in order to obtain the money she needed. Keith could imagine her grooming her new beau, the Australian she’d met in first class, to help her retain her holdings and save face. “How do you know so much about her finances?”
“The second I started digging, I found nothing other than bills and fines and levies and trouble with the IRS,” Underwood replied. “The resort is sucking all the money away. You’ll probably have to file for bankruptcy.”
“No,” Keith began, but she talked over him.
“You’ll soon find out for yourself, since you’re the executor of her estate.”
Another surprise. Keith brought a hand to his chest. “I am? Is that a recent development?”
She scanned a document inside the file. “Not according to the date I see, which is almost five years ago. That was when the will was modified to include Roxanne. You were to get the flower store and Coldiron House. Maisey was to get Smuggler’s Cove. Roxanne was to inherit a chunk of land near the lighthouse. The rest of the estate the three of you were to hold jointly. Your mother’s diamond ring was supposed to go to Laney on her eighteenth birthday, by the way.”
She threw that aside to Maisey, who gasped a little when she heard it. “She left her ring to Laney? She loved my sweet child. That always came as such a shock to me.”
Chief Underwood winced at the pleasure in Maisey’s voice. “Only it’ll probably have to be sold. That’s why I hesitated to go into this today. I didn’t see any reason to upset you even more.”
“Why didn’t she disown me, like she swore she would?” Keith asked Maisey.
“That part doesn’t surprise me,” Maisey murmured. “Even when you two were fighting, she loved you best.”
Josephine had a funny way of showing it. Although Keith couldn’t say his mother had abused him by burning him with cigarettes, shutting him up in a cage or depriving him of food, she’d always been highly impatient, quick to anger and far too harsh. “I would’ve preferred to be Dad’s favorite, like you were,” he grumbled but directed his next remark to Chief Underwood. “Where did you find her will?”
“In her desk. I’m sorry if it seems like an invasion of privacy.” She pushed the file closer so Maisey could see for herself. “But if she was murdered, it could’ve been a key piece of evidence. I grabbed it, just in case. Besides, once a testator has died, the will becomes public record. I’m not the only one who’ll be able to read it, or get a copy, for that matter. Anyone who goes to the trouble of visiting the courthouse to request the probate file can do the same—once probate has been started, of course.”
“Who starts probate?” Maisey murmured as she read.
“That’ll be Keith, as the executor.”
Maisey glanced over at him before returning her gaze to Chief Underwood. “But...how will the businesses and the estate run in the meantime? The flower shop needs to remain open. Nancy and Marlene, not to mention Pippa and Tyrone, rely on their paychecks.”
“Keith will have the power to act on your mother’s behalf until the court can make the appropriate distributions.” Underwood spoke in a smooth, businesslike tone. “But, as I indicated, there won’t be much to distribute—maybe a little personal property, which will go to the individuals named. Even then, I’m guessing your mother’s debtors will force you to sell her furniture and her jewelry, since it’s worth more than an average person’s would be.”
“Those are keepsakes and family heirlooms!” Maisey said.
“I’m sorry.” At least she seemed genuinely sympathetic. “It must come as a blow.”
“It’s a shock, I’ll admit. But this won’t change my life. I’ll still have what I have now—I just won’t be getting any more. Losing everything would’ve been very difficult for our mother.” Maisey nudged him. “Mom must’ve been distraught. And yet I had no idea.”
“None?” Keith asked.
Maisey shook her head. “None.”
Keith closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He hadn’t planned on staying on Fairham for long. He’d hoped to get his mother’s affairs organized so he could return within a couple of weeks, put some distance between himself and the man he used to be, get back on his regular schedule. But there was so much to try to save here, and it would be far more difficult to manage from across the country.
Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Maisey touched his sleeve. “Keith, this must be beyond upsetting to you. If you’d rather turn everything over to me, I...I’ll do what I can.”
His sister was a children’s book author, and she was married and trying to focus on raising her kids, one of whom was blind and required extra care. She had Rafe’s support, of course, but Rafe wouldn’t be able to help with this. He had his hands full running his own business.
“No. I’ve got it.” His grandfather would expect more of him than to dump Josephine’s death onto Maisey or Roxanne.
“What about your company?” she asked.
“It’ll be fine.” He’d have to stop acquiring for the time being—unless he decided to juggle that with everything else. But there was no need to do that. He could rely on his employees and focus on his own pursuits later.
Maisey turned back to Chief Underwood. “That’s it? That’s the answer? She was going bankrupt, so she killed herself?”
“Going bankrupt would be no small thing to someone like Josephine,” Chief Underwood pointed out. “You said that yourself.”
“True,” Keith allowed. “But you don’t know our mother if you think she’d wimp out that easily.”
Underwood tucked several strands of her honey-colored hair behind one ear. “From what I’ve seen, she’s been battling financial problems for at least three years, ever since I got here. That was when she first bought into the resort.”
“Still,” Keith said.
The police chief scooted her chair closer to the desk. “Look, Mr. Lazarow. I can see how hard this is for you.” She shifted those pretty eyes to Maisey. “For both of you. If she were my mother, I’d be just as convinced she’d never take her own life. But...we can’t overlook the facts.”
“What facts?” Keith asked. “The autopsy hasn’t even been done yet.”
“At this point, the coroner and I believe the autopsy is merely a formality.”
“Which is what makes me uncomfortable,” Keith said.
“That’s why we’re permitting you to select a qualified pathologist from a list of doctors we recognize as having the proper credentials and experience—to compensate for any prejudice you feel we might have. Didn’t Maisey tell you? We spoke about it this morning.”
“Maisey told me, and I appreciate that you’re working with us.” He had enough money, and his name carried enough clout, that he could create a fuss if she didn’t. Whether that had been a factor or not, he hated to guess. She’d agreed; that was what mattered.
“I’m happy to make the concession,” she said.
“That’s good. Thank you. But we need more,” he responded. “We need an aggressive investigation.”
Underwood’s chair creaked when she shifted in it, even though she didn’t weigh all that much. “O-kay.” She stretched out the word as if she was surprised he was still pushing. “Let’s look at other possibilities, shall we? Who would’ve wanted your mother dead?”
Now she was playing along just to show them how ridiculous they were being. Keith resented the fact that she was patronizing him, but at least she was listening.
“Our mother wouldn’t end it all without providing for Pippa and Tyrone,” Maisey said. “She had other help—people who assisted whenever she had a party or drove her if she preferred not to drive—but they were only on call and weren’t nearly as close to her. She wouldn’t have left Pippa and Tyrone high and dry, especially since they’re getting on in age.”
“Even if she’d lived, she wouldn’t have been able to continue paying them,” Underwood said.
“You can’t say that for sure,” Maisey argued. “She was dating a wealthy man from Australia. Maybe they would’ve married, and that would’ve solved everything.”
“You’re talking about Hugh Pointer.”
It wasn’t a question, more of a confirmation. “Yes.”
“I thought so.” Underwood clasped her hands in front of her. “He’s already married, Maisey.”
This news hit Keith like a solid right hook. “What?”
“You heard correctly. I called to get a statement from him before he could hear the news from someone else.”
“So...what was he doing with our mother?” Keith asked.
She moved some papers onto a pile to her left. “This wouldn’t be the first time someone’s cheated.”
“I’d be willing to bet it was the first time someone cheated on our mother,” Maisey said. “Did she know he was married?”
Keith answered before Chief Underwood could. “No way. Mom would never tolerate second place.”
“I tend to agree,” Underwood said. “She didn’t strike me as someone who’d accept anything less than total devotion. Although I couldn’t say we were friends, I met her on several occasions—at the playhouse one night, at the opening of the new art gallery a block over, at the event we held to raise money to equip our volunteer firefighters. She was...formidable, to say the least. So I’m guessing she didn’t know but found out, and that may have precipitated her death. Could be she suspected something was up, hired a private detective to follow Hugh around and...”
Underwood didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. If Josephine had suspected, she could’ve done exactly that. Their mother wouldn’t hesitate to protect her interests. From time to time, Keith had even suspected she had people watching him.
No longer sure what to say, he sank back into his seat. “What a bastard.”
“Well, if she was hoping to marry him for his money...” Underwood raised her hands as if she didn’t care to spell out that thought, either, and she had a point.
Keith had expected the fact that Josephine had packed her bags and had a fabulous vacation lined up to serve as proof that she’d planned to stick around long enough to enjoy it. But if she’d been battling to save her fortune, her land and her house, and she’d just learned that her only hope of solving these problems wasn’t going to pan out...
God, she could’ve called him, Keith thought. He was shocked at how good he was at making money, once he really started to apply himself.
But, as Chief Underwood had mentioned, Josephine had too much pride...
“Wait,” he said. “If she was planning to go visit him at his home...what about his wife? How would he keep them from meeting up?”
“Lana Pointer was touring Europe with their daughter, who’s eighteen. They have two sons, who’re closer to your age, married and on their own, and then this girl, who came as a late surprise when his wife was in her forties.”
Les Scott, a uniformed police officer and someone Keith had gone to school with before ninth grade—at which point Josephine had shipped him off to boarding school—stuck his head in the room. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m going to lunch and wondered if you’d like me to bring you a sandwich,” he said to his chief.
“That’d be great. I’ll have the meatball sub, extra sauce,” she told him and the door closed. “So...does that answer your questions?” she asked when they were alone again.
No. In Keith’s opinion, what she’d told them only created more questions, and he could tell Maisey felt as bewildered as he did. “Our mother would never commit suicide,” he replied. “Despite everything you’ve said.”
“It’s a long time since you were home.” Underwood spoke as if he wouldn’t really know. She seemed to think she had it all figured out. But nothing about Josephine was simple. It never had been.
“Her phone’s missing,” he said. “So’s her computer. I take it you have them?”
“Yes. I’ve got her phone right here.” She delved into a drawer and held up his mother’s Samsung Galaxy. “Her computer’s with an evidence technician in Charleston.”
“Because...”
“I’m doing my homework.”
“When can I get them back?”
“When I’m done. I’m still tying up loose ends. If I can prove she had a private detective looking for information on her boyfriend, for instance, we’ll be able to fit in that piece of the puzzle.”
The nervous energy passing through Keith made him bounce his knee. Thanks to his exercise regimen, he couldn’t remember being this tense in quite some time. “You’re trying to prove suicide.”
“If I prove suicide, I’ll disprove murder.”
“You’ll never prove suicide because she didn’t kill herself.” He indicated the folder. “Any chance I can get a copy of what you’ve got in there?”
Underwood returned the file to its drawer. “Not right now. Maybe later.”
“Why wait?” he asked. “I only want the truth.”
She met his gaze. “Keith, I’m doing all you can reasonably expect of me. I don’t need you getting in the way or making my life difficult.”
Apparently, his reputation had preceded him. He lifted his hands. “All I asked for is a copy of the file, Chief. That can’t be too hard to provide.”
With a long-suffering shake of her head, she got out the file again—but set it beyond his reach. “Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll have Les scan the contents and email them to you. Fair enough?”
Keith wrote his email address on a notepad he found on the desk and handed it to her. “This is where it should go.”
“He’ll jump right on it.”
Keith caught a hint of sarcasm in her response—as if he was being too high-handed—but he ignored it. He wouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of the answers he sought. Including her. “I’d also be grateful if you’d call over to the morgue and make arrangements for us to see her today.”
Underwood’s mouth tightened, suggesting this put her off even more. “The morgue isn’t designed for public viewings. You’ll be able to see her after they release her body. Once she’s at a funeral home, you can go ahead and have a viewing or bury her or whatever you’d like.”
“That’ll be after the autopsy, which will take another day or two. Maybe more. Chances are she’ll no longer resemble the woman I remember, and you know it.”
“That’s not necessarily true. People have open caskets after autopsies all the time—”
“I haven’t seen her in five years, Chief Underwood. Could you show me a little compassion and make it possible to spend ten minutes with my dead mother today?”
“I’d like to see her, too,” Maisey piped up. “I don’t think any of this will feel real until I do.”
Chief Underwood closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, as if she was digging deep for patience. Keith could tell she thought she was already bending over backward by agreeing to give him a copy of the file. Ultimately, however, she gave in. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said with a sigh. “I shouldn’t. Just keep in mind that they’re busy over there and probably won’t welcome you. This will force someone to take time out of his or her schedule, so I’d appreciate it if you’d be as brief as possible.”
“You have my word,” Keith said and waited while she made the call.
“You can head there now if you like,” Underwood told him when she hung up and wrote down the address. “The supervising technician, a man by the name of Dean Gillespie, will meet you when you arrive and take you back.”
“Thank you.” Keith shook her hand before leading Maisey out into the cool, damp weather of another rainy day.
“The morgue?” Maisey said as they climbed into his rental car. The keys of his mother’s Mercedes were where she’d always kept them, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to drive her car quite yet. “We’re going to the morgue?”
“Would you rather not?” he asked.
She seemed a little shell-shocked. “I’d like to see Mom, as I said. I’m just not sure what else you’re hoping to accomplish.”
“I want to see the condition of her body.”
“You’re afraid there might be injuries they’re not telling us about?”
“I’d rather not take someone else’s word for it. Doesn’t hurt to stay involved, right?” He started the car but didn’t shift into Drive. “So...are you in? Or should I drop you off at home?”
Although she frowned, she didn’t take long to decide. “I’m in. But then what?”
“Then we choose a pathologist we feel we can trust from the list they gave you. Whoever it is will probably need to have her transferred to the hospital where he or she works.”
“And after that?”
“I’d like to talk to Hugh.”
She buckled her seat belt. “Why? So you can ask him if Mom knew he was married? You’ll have no way of knowing whether he’s telling the truth.”
“I can ask him that and other things. Compare what he tells me with what he told the police. Look for inconsistencies. I can also research his background, find out what’s going on in his life and what he might’ve been after by dating Mom in the first place. That might be more useful.”
Maisey rolled her eyes. “Why? Isn’t it obvious? Men adored Mom. I’ve never seen a woman attract so much attention—except maybe Marilyn Monroe.”
That the starlet had also died naked with an empty bottle of pills nearby made the comparison a bit chilling. Was that where their mother’s killer had gotten the idea? “So why wasn’t he willing to leave his wife for her?”
“Maybe he loves his wife. Or he wasn’t willing to break up his family. Chief Underwood mentioned two sons and a youngish daughter.”
“His wife has to be easier to live with than Mom would’ve been.”
“He wouldn’t have realized that yet. No one can resist Mom when she’s pouring on the charm.”
“Still, I can’t buy that she’d ever take her own life.”
“Even after what we just heard?”
“Did it change your mind?” he asked.
She looked dejected as she stared at the wet, shiny pavement ahead of them. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“No,” she said.
“There you go.”
He’d finally shifted and pulled away from the curb when he saw a woman carrying a fluffy Chow Chow—a dog too big for that sort of thing—down the sidewalk ahead of them. “That’s Nancy, isn’t it? And her dog, Simba?”
Maisey took so long to answer he thought she was going to ignore the question.
“Isn’t it?” he prompted, throwing her a sharp glance.
She squinted through the windshield as if she wasn’t quite sure. “Maybe,” she said.
He knew it was Nancy. He’d recognize her anywhere.
Pulling alongside her, he lowered the passenger window. “Hey, climb in,” he called out. “We’ll give you a ride.”
She started at the sound of his voice. She’d obviously been so intent on not dropping her heavy bundle that she hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on around her. She was probably also a little surprised to see him. The only interaction they’d had in the five years he’d been gone was a handful of calls, all instigated by him and all of which she’d ignored, and the car he’d tried to give her a few years ago, which she’d forced the driver to return.
“That’s okay,” she said. “It’s not much farther.”
If she was still in the same house, and he guessed she was, she lived just down the street in a small cottage she’d inherited from her late aunt. She was right—it wasn’t far. But she was already struggling to hang on to her dog. “Simba’s got to be getting heavy,” he said. “And he doesn’t look comfortable. Let us give you a ride,” he said again.
“We’re wet,” she responded.
“Avis will clean the car when I return it,” he told her.
“Come on!” Maisey chimed in and, rather than say no to both of them, Nancy slowed to a stop.
