Antiques Knock-Off (24 page)

“I’m Sheila,” she said pleasantly. “May I help you?”

“Ah, hello, Sheila—I’m Brandy … Bob’s sister-in-law?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled, showing off perfect white teeth. “Bob has mentioned you often.”

I didn’t ask whether in a good way or bad. Friendly as she was, she had a dignity and faintly formal air that made me feel like I was wearing clown shoes. From J. Crew, natch.

Shelia’s eyes went to Sushi in the tote. “I approve of your accessory.”

And her stock went up with me ten points. Here less than a minute, and investing already….

“Thanks,” I said. “Any chance I could I get in to see Bob? I guess you know I don’t have an appointment, but it’s kind of important.”

She nodded to the nearby closed door. “Mr. Hastings
is
rather busy—he’s been in there all morning working on reports. But I’ll be glad to ask. A break might do him good, and I can’t imagine him turning his favorite sister-in-law away.”

That was sweet, but then I was also his only sister-in-law.

Sheila returned to her desk to use an intercom. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Hastings,” she said, “but Brandy Borne is here to see you….”

There was a pause on the other end, then, “Send her in.”

She turned to me, saying, “He’ll see you,” as if I hadn’t heard Bob’s reply.

Why do they always do that?

I crossed to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

The large room—formerly the dreary bookkeeping department of the bank (I’d worked there one summer during community college)—had been transformed into what seemed more a modern loft apartment than an office, complete with a living room area, conference/dining table, kitchen, and work space.

Which made sense for Bob, since he spent so much time at the office.

“Wow,” I said. “Impressive digs.”

Bob—casually if expensively attired in a light blue polo shirt, tan slacks, and brown leather slip-ons with tassels—stood in the middle of his fiefdom.

“Brandy, how are you? I’m surprised to see you out and about so soon. How is the baby?”

He gestured for me to sit on a couch that faced a fabulous view of the river—once a row of small windows, the wall had been replaced entirely with glass. Sliding doors led to a narrow, decorative-but-functional balcony to allow a closer inspection of the passing riverboats and barges.

“The baby is doing really well for a preemie,” I said, settling on the leather couch, Sushi in the tote on my lap. “And I’m fine. Drugged to the gills, but fine.”

He smiled at that. “Good to hear mother and daughter are doing well.” Bob settled into an overstuffed chair across from me, a modern glass coffee table displaying business magazines between us.

We exchanged some more small talk, and when that petered out, Bob asked, “To what do I owe this visit?”

From my shoulder bag I withdrew a printout of Connie’s letter, saying, “I won’t tell you how I got this, but I’d like you to read it. I think you might be able to help me find out who was responsible for what happened to Connie.”

I put the paper on the glass table, and Bob reached for
it. He read for a moment, his face impassive, then suddenly he set the paper back down.

I read into his quick, stoic reaction that just a glance had been enough to tell him the letter was distasteful or intrusive, and I said, “I could summarize it if you like.”

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

“Have I said or done something wrong? I was hoping you could help me.”

He stood, crossed to the glass wall, then looked out over the panoramic view. “It’s not that, Brandy. It’s that I already know what it says.”

It took me a moment to process that. “You’re not saying that it was … was written to
you?”

Bob glanced sideways and nodded, his back still to me.

“Then you … and
Connie.
…?”

He laughed harshly, then turned. “Oh, it wasn’t mutual. That woman was delusional—insanely jealous of Peggy Sue. I don’t even think she was really in love with me. She just wanted everything Peg had—house, money, cars, vacations, friends … you name it. And that extended to me.” He paused for a moment. “When Connie somehow found out that Peg had had a baby out of wedlock and told me …” He shrugged.

A baby out of wedlock:
me.

“You hadn’t known, before?”

He shook his head. Hands went into his pants pockets. “It wouldn’t have mattered. I love your sister.” His eyebrows shot up. “I guess it’s ‘mother,’ isn’t it? Seems obvious now. How could I not have known? I’d have been there for you, Brandy, better than I ever was. I always liked you. As far as Peggy’s concerned, well … I guess you know I’d do anything for her.”

Anything?

My neck began to tingle.

He seemed to be talking as much to himself as to me. “When Connie threatened to go public with the information, I offered her money for her silence.”

I said, “I think she may have been blackmailing others, like my father, Senator Clark. And possibly Benjamin Timmons, who may be involved in some kind of fraud with his customers.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Connie hadn’t been bilking them and more. She was a spider caught in her own web. She told me she’d been investing that money for the time when I would leave Peggy Sue for her. But when the money no longer placated her, when I could no longer keep her at bay … she gave me an ultimatum.” He spread both hands. “Don’t you see? I couldn’t have Peggy Sue hurt. My girl, my sweet girl, dragged through the mud like that …”

Mrs. Crumley’s words came to mind.
“At least your sister’s husband knew enough not to interrupt the game.”
Secretary Sheila had said that Bob had been in his office all this morning, but I bet she couldn’t say that about the morning of last week’s bridge club. It must have been then—the morning Connie died—that Mrs. Crumley spotted Bob in the parking lot.

I said, “You switched cars with Peggy Sue, didn’t you? Knowing she would have an alibi.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “My sports car was too recognizable, so I took Peg’s, parking mine in the same spot at the country club, then retrieved it later. Don’t look so stricken, Brandy. Somebody had to do something about Connie Grimes. More than just shove her in a department store.”

I felt sick to my stomach—worse than any morning sickness.

“Don’t feel bad, Brandy. You’re not putting the final nail in my coffin. Connie had already done that, by having
me named as the beneficiary of the investments
and
her life insurance policy. It’s just a matter of time before I’ll be charged.”

Bob was Tony’s suspect.

“Oh, Bob, I’m so sorry….”

He smiled sadly. “I know. You’ve always been very sweet to me, Brandy. Much as I love her, Peg could use some of your qualities—your sense of humor, your heart.”

“What now?”

“Nothing good. Listen, uh … Peggy Sue’s going to really need your support now. When she finds out what kind of financial shape I’m
really
in … and not just because Connie had been draining me … anyway. Be a good sister. Good daughter.”

“I’ll try.”

“I guess I’d better call your friend, Chief Cassato.” Bob moved to his desk. “But first I need to give Sheila some instructions.”

He spoke into the intercom. No answer. He tried again. No Sheila.

Bob looked at me. “She must be in the copy room at the end of the hall—would you go down and get her for me, please?”

I nodded, picked Sushi up, and numbly made my way to the closed door.

The next minute I relive over and over in my mind. Did I suspect that Bob only pretended to use the intercom? Did I realize he was purposely sending me out of the room?

No … firmly no. Never. But maybe … maybe a little bit yes….

In slow motion I open the door of his office. I step out, close the door. But Sheila is there—she looks up from her desk. I turn and hesitate a heartbeat before I open the door
to the office again. The sliding glass panels to the balcony stand open. Beyond, the water sparkles as if blanketed with diamonds, while a white barge chugs lazily up river. Just another tranquil day in Serenity.

Bob’s office is empty.

Then five stories below, a woman starts to scream.

A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip

One way to spot a knock-off is if the item doesn’t show wear and tear where it should. There should be marks around drawer handles, on chair arms or table legs which would be consistent with normal use. If an antique looks so new that it seems too good to be true … it
is
new, and it’s not true.

P
redictably, Bob’s tragic demise sent most of the family into a stunned depression. But Mother swung into action, and within twenty-four hours, not a living soul in Serenity hadn’t heard that Vivian Borne’s despondent son-in-law had taken his life because he had Creutzfeldt-Jakob’s Disease. (I think the “fine folks” at Wikipedia had a hand in Mother’s affliction selection, too).

This fatal condition (had Bob actually contracted it) would have caused blindness and loss of movement and memory within one year of its diagnosis. And, as she told all and sundry, Mother felt certain Bob didn’t want to become an emotional and financial burden to his family, which made his decision “courageous.” This was one of Mother’s finest performances, and she really did do Peggy Sue and Ashley (and Bob’s memory) a service.

Mother’s defense of Bob seemed to me particularly gracious in light of the fact that he had not come forward when she was arrested, to clear her of the murder he’d committed. I like to think that while he might have allowed Vivian to go through with a trial—figuring (rightly) that she would likely enjoy the theater of it—Bob fully intended
to step up and clear her, should she be found guilty. After all, someone else standing trial for the murder might be enough to muddy things so that he could get away with his crime.

I doubt Mother had thought any of that through, though, and acted less out of compassion for Bob and more out of protecting her eldest daughter.

Perhaps Mother could forgive Bob, but I wasn’t sure I ever could. I had thought I’d known the man—he’d seemed sweet, kind, even mild-mannered, but he had stabbed Connie Grimes to death with a kitchen knife. Whatever homicidal fantasies I had ever harbored about that dreadful woman, such a savage act was beyond my comprehension. Sometimes still waters do run deep. And scary.

Sis had her own forgiving to do. After the funeral—a small, private affair—a numb Peggy Sue, who had never been one to worry about finances, got a rude awakening when she learned just how far in debt her late husband had sunk them: double mortgage on the fancy house and loans on three cars, with the recently expanded business severely overextended.

Bob had even cashed in his hefty life insurance policy to keep them afloat (although, with his suicide, the company wouldn’t have paid out, anyway).

In anticipation of Peggy Sue having to sell her house in the near future and move in with us, Mother readied the guest room. We had plenty of space in the house, but not enough beds, so I rounded up an air mattress for Ashley in case she might visit from college.

On the brighter side (yes, Brandy was back on Prozac, so everything had a brighter side now), Mother received a suspended sentence for her interference in Connie’s murder, which remains on the books as unsolved. I know for a fact (because Tony told me during one of our lengthy
phone conversations) that Sheriff Rudder had pleaded with the judge for leniency on Mother’s behalf.

“Well, that was generous of him,” I’d said, “considering everything she’s put him through.”

“Oh, don’t misread it,” Tony’s voice said on the other end of the line. “She deserved a year in the county jail. But having your mother as an extended guest at his facility was nothing Rudder could abide. In fact, he threatened to resign if she were allowed back in his jail.”

Mother’s suspended sentence, however, came with community service, and she wasted no time in creating her jail theater program, so the sheriff got stuck with her anyway. Whether that’s poetic justice or karma (good or bad), I’ll leave to you.

In fact, on a recent Saturday evening at the jail, an original play written and performed by the female inmates, and directed by Mother, had its gala opening night (or as gala an opening as a play presented inside a detention center could have, anyway). Mother had invited me to watch the dress rehearsal, going to the trouble of clearing it with the sheriff himself, but I declined, not wanting to spoil all the fun.

I say “fun” not because I was expecting to have a fine time seeing a wonderful evening of skilled amateur entertainment. No. We’ve discussed before that I am not a perfect human being, and one of my flaws included an ability to perversely enjoy Mother when she was caught up in a complete theatrical debacle.

There was no guarantee of that—Mother had been genuinely good at times, particularly when she wasn’t directing herself. But the odds were in my favor, particularly with this surefire combo of elements—Vivian Borne and the Cell Block H Players? I was almost giddy with anticipation—there’s nothing quite so entertaining as seeing Mother fall flat on her face.

Was that really so terrible of me?

Don’t answer.

The performance was being presented in the women’s common room at the jail, and at seven o’clock—one hour until curtain time (though there wasn’t a curtain)—deputies began herding attendees through the main floor metal detectors, then escorting them (four at a time) through the various security doors, and finally depositing them in rows of plastic chairs, borrowed from our church.

The audience—approximately fifty to sixty people, carefully selected and approved—included the mayor and his wife (Mother calling in a favor for having helped to elect him), several city council members, four of Mother’s Red-Hatted League gal pals, Tina and Kevin, Judith Meyers from NAMI, the senator’s aide, Denise Gardner (of all people), and of course various family members of the cast. The latter included a fairly rough element, but they were dressed in Sunday clothes and on their good behavior. Maybe they were hoping for an early release.