Appraisal for Murder (11 page)

He sighed. “She was jealous. It had the same effect of dislike. She tried to drive a wedge between me and my parents, especially my mother.”

“Why should she care? I would think, given what you stood to inherit, that she’d want to be on their good side.”

“There’s no figuring Darla. Took me awhile to figure that out.” He studied me for a moment. “You probably thought you knew your husband pretty well, but there were some things you really didn’t know.”

I grimaced. “You can say that again.”

“What I found out was that Darla has a hard time maintaining relationships with very many people.” He stood and poured himself another cup of coffee. “She was even estranged from her parents when we were married. At the time, I thought it was her parents with the problem. Wrong.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m paying this lawyer a lot of money, and I figure she has people who work on stuff like this.” He smiled. “I’ll pass your idea to her.”

I smiled in return, though in truth I thought he should be more aggressive about his own defense.

THAT NIGHT I SAT IN BED and tried to think of ways to test my theory on Sgt. Morehouse. More specifically, ways to test it without Michael figuring out I had done so. I told myself I was doing this because Aunt Madge would hate to see Michael in prison, but I can rarely totally fool myself. This was something I could dig into in a way I hadn’t wanted to dig into anything in the last few months. Since learning about Robby’s crimes I’d alternated between wanting to hibernate and figuring out how to leave Lakewood. And it seemed Michael was growing on me. Maybe I even liked him a bit.
So what if I do?

Any good lawyer would probably consider that Darla had a lot to gain if Mrs. Riordan died while Darla was married to Michael. Plus, unless the police knew a lot more than they were letting on, it seemed unfair to accuse him. Of course, I didn’t know him well. He could be a serial ax murderer in Houston. Though if he were, the Ocean Alley police would probably have matched his fingerprints to some left at a crime there.
Unless he wore gloves…

I stopped my train of thought and frowned as I played absently with Jazz, who was trying to attack my toes which, fortunately, were under the covers. Even a cat without claws has teeth. “Why do you do that?” I asked her. “You have no motive to maim me, I feed you.” I picked her up and held her under the front of her belly, with her face facing mine. She tried to swat me. “Nice,” I said, and put her down.

I examined my interest further. There was a great deal I didn’t know about Michael. Maybe the split with his partners was actually because he was hard to work with or was lax about business procedures. There was a lot more to find out before I stuck my neck out. Right now, I was relying on Aunt Madge’s and my own instincts. Hers might be good but, hell, I never figured out Robby was draining our bank accounts. How good were my instincts?
Maybe he did kill his mother.
I pushed that thought aside.

I WAS MORE RELAXED THAN I had been in a long time, and spent the weekend walking on the beach, reading a Sue Grafton novel and trying to convince Jazz that Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy only wanted to smell her, not eat her. Aunt Madge suggested that I simply leave Jazz alone, perhaps sitting on the bookcase, and she would get used to the guys. I was convinced that I needed to protect Jazz until she had her confidence about the relationships. One of the best things about Aunt Madge is that she only makes her suggestions once.

Every time I went out I looked for Scoobie. I thought of going to the library, but reasoned that it would be invading his space.
Who am I kidding?
We had been good friends for one school year, but was there a reason to strike up that friendship again? We had had a lot of fun, though. I decided that’s what I was looking for, something fun to do. I debated calling Michael, but decided even though I thought he was innocent it bordered on nuts to invite a possible murderer to lunch. If I hadn’t found anyone to hang out with besides Aunt Madge by next weekend, I’d visit my sister and do some shopping at the Mall in Lakewood.

On Monday I went to Java Jolt before I stopped at Harry’s to see if he had more work. I had thought of a way to learn more about Michael. I didn’t even know the name of Michael’s firm, but I figured if I Googled “Riordan + Houston + oil” I’d get something. Sure enough, Michael Riordan was still listed as vice-president for operations of USA Energy Distributors. The company web site said the firm distributed “home-grown Texas oil” throughout the western United States.
Home-grown? These guys could use a botany class.

I found a Houston newspaper on line and a brief article said Michael would be stepping down at a date to be determined, but it was only a short note on the business page. I scanned the business section and saw an article by Joel Kenner about the drop in home heating oil prices because OPEC had lowered the per-barrel price. Maybe Mr. Kenner would know more about the circumstances behind Michael’s departure. I went to switchboard.com and found the phone number for the paper and jotted it down.

Thank goodness for mobile phones. Mine is programmed not to give out my name or number on anyone’s caller ID. I wasn’t sure I’d be exactly honest with Mr. Kenner about who I was. I went out to the boardwalk and sat on a bench. Kenner took my call and listened as I explained I was a reporter for the
Ocean Alley Press
and was looking into Riordan’s background in conjunction with a piece I was doing on him. When he asked, I hesitated a second and then said my name was Georgine Winters
. Damn, that was dumb.

Good reporter that he was he wanted to know more about the story I was working on. The murder accusation was public information, so I started to give brief background when he stopped me. “You’re telling me Michael Riordan has been accused of murder? Let me get my pen.” My heart almost stopped.
This is not good.

I spent a couple minutes telling him that I was one of a number of people who thought the police evidence against Riordan seemed flimsy, and that’s why I was doing the story. He wanted a lot of particulars, so I told him he should consult the paper’s web page, as I had not done the prior articles. That stopped him, and I was able to ask my questions.

“All I could find in your paper was a brief piece saying Riordan was stepping down as VP for operations at USA Energy Distributors, but a couple folks here have said he had a falling out with his partners. Do you know any more about that?”

“I don’t know a lot yet, though I’ll be doing some more digging now.” I winced and he continued. “There’s been talk about some accounting irregularities, and accounting’s under him, or was. I heard the concerns don’t seem to rise to the level of Securities and Exchange Commission violations, but investors are really squeamish these days, you know what I mean?”

I said I did, and asked if he knew why Riordan had not resigned outright. He didn’t know about that, and mentioned it seemed to be a “gentleman’s agreement” that he resign. He was, after all, one of the partners, not just an employee.

“Listen,” he continued, “you’ve been a big help. How about I get back to you later today or tomorrow?” I told him I was going to be moving around a lot and would call him, and hung up. Probably not what a good reporter would do, but it got me off the phone. I was furious with myself. If Kenner thought I’d been a big help that was probably not good for Michael. When would I learn that my persistence was not, as my mother had often told me, always a virtue?

I folded my mobile phone and stuck it in the pocket of my jacket.
How stupid can you be?
As I turned to face the ocean, I stared into Scoobie’s face.

“So,” he said quietly, “Now you’re a reporter.”

“Are you going to rat on me?” I asked, in a definitely grouchy tone.

He smiled. “Hell, if I were going to tell on you I’d let your aunt know that you used to sit under the boardwalk and squirt water up at people.”

“That was you.” I felt myself relax. “I just filled the big squirt gun for you.”

“We did some pretty stupid things for kids our age. Better watch that you aren’t now.” He gave me a half wave and strolled away, knapsack on his back.

WHEN I GOT TO HARRY’S a few minutes later he had his hands folded on his desk and was listening attentively to Mrs. Jasper, who was seated in front of him and had her handkerchief in her lap. Today she had on an old-fashioned, but designer-looking, suit of pale blue. It gave her a very washed-out look. Harry jumped up as if I was the Publisher’s Clearinghouse prize announcer and introduced me to her.

“Yes, we met after the funeral.” I took her hand, and very directly asked if she was going to be selling a home soon and needed an appraiser. I really didn’t want to give her time to launch into something I had no interest in. Besides, I sensed she felt sorry for herself, and right now I wasn’t up to coddling anyone.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m just visiting new businesses, asking for donations for the church’s Social Services Committee. Our food pantry is getting low and, as you know,” she dabbed one eye, “I don’t have Ruth’s help anymore.”

“I just told Mrs. Jasper I’d be happy to donate a hundred dollars,” Harry said.

“Why don’t you grab your checkbook and I’ll keep Mrs. Jasper company while you write the check?” He looked at me as if he thought I was very insensitive, and pulled his checkbook out of the bottom drawer.

“You found Ruth,” she said, looking at me intently.

Since I knew this, I was tempted not to comment, but instead said, “Yes, it was quite a shock.” Seeing her stiffen, I added, “She looked very peaceful.”

She blew her nose. “It doesn’t sound as if she died peacefully.”

I closed my eyes for a second and tried to remember she was old and had lost a friend. “Ruth’s face looked very relaxed, as if she was sleeping.” I decided not to mention her staring eyes.

I shrugged. “Aside from the fact that he seems to have been genuinely fond of his mother, why would he set himself up as the prime suspect? He doesn’t strike me as stupid.”

“Oh, of course not. His parents were very proud of him.” Her eyes narrowed. “But he wasn’t very smart about that girl he married, was he?”

That comment hit too close to home. “We all make mistakes.” Harry had finished writing the check and torn it from his register, so I picked it up and handed it to her. “I’m so glad we could help the Social Services Committee.”

She actually got the hint and rose from her chair. She was surprisingly agile for a woman her age, which I judged to be at least mid-seventies; no need to grip the arms of the chair. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said to Harry.

He started to say something, but I cut him off. “Let me walk you out.” I said. “Do you need any help on the stairs?”

“Oh no. I walk the boardwalk every morning,” she said. I made a mental note to be sure to walk in the evenings.

Harry came from behind his desk, and I could tell he wanted to say something, but I moved Mrs. Jasper toward the door. “It’s very good of you to do so much for the church,” I said.

At first I wasn’t sure what she meant, then I wondered if she wanted to know if the upstairs still looked like a crime scene.
Nosy woman.
But, Ruth Riordan had apparently been close to Mrs. Jasper. “It was lovely. Ruth had excellent taste.”

When I turned around, Harry was looking at me as if he didn’t know me. “She would have been here all afternoon,” I said. “Ask Aunt Madge. I just couldn’t take it today.”

“Whatever you say.” His tone was reserved, and I could tell he did not like the way I had treated her. I felt bad for a moment, then decided I could take his reservations about me more than I could take an hour with Mrs. Jasper.

“Anything new?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Have you given any more thought to dropping by some of the real estate offices? I did it when I first opened, but it wouldn’t hurt for them to see a new face.”

OK, so he wanted me out of his sight for awhile. “Good idea. It’s so nice outside, it’s a good day to do it.” I picked up a stack of my cards from their holder on his desk and gave him what I deemed a jaunty wave as I left.

TWO HOURS LATER, I’d met some very friendly people. I was smart enough to know that every agent saw me as a potential homebuyer, so I didn’t take their sociability too personally. Fortunately, there was no home number on my card, though half of them knew I was Aunt Madge’s niece. That’s what discovering a dead body does for you.

There are six real estate offices in Ocean Alley, which is a lot for a small town, but most of them also do beach house rentals as well as sales. I’d gone to five of them, and left Lester Argrow for last. Did I really want to find him? No, but I could use Ramona’s name, and he could make decisions that would add to my checkbook.