Easter Bunny Murder (15 page)

“Everybody gets the same thing; lunch is at noon sharp. Mr. Willis says it's more economical in the long run.” Elfrida took a warming tile out of the oven and placed it in a basket, then she piled the muffins on top. “VV is doing much better, now that she's getting a variety of real foods.”

Lucy was taking a sip of the Colombian decaf she had brewed for herself, thoroughly enjoying it, when Fran appeared in the doorway. She stuck out her hand, introducing herself to Elfrida. “I'm looking forward to talking with you later. Willis is going to set up interviews this afternoon.”

“Okay,” responded Elfrida. “Any time before three. I have to be home for my kids.”

Fran gave a brisk nod, then turned to Lucy. “Let's go,” she said. “I want to see where Van died.”

“Sure,” said Lucy, reluctantly setting the still-full cup in the sink. “I saw the whole thing.”

Fran raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Yeah. I brought my grandson for the Easter egg hunt.”

“Then you can show me exactly what happened,” said Fran. “You can be Van.”

“With one major difference,” said Lucy, scowling. “I have no intention of dropping dead.”

She led the way upstairs to the hall, explaining that all the townsfolk were some distance away, on the other side of the closed gates. “We saw the door open,” said Lucy, performing the action as she remembered Van doing it. Then she stopped, realizing the ornamental grille was open, and closed it. “This grille was in place,” she said. “Van had to push it open. Maybe it stuck or something because he seemed to have some trouble with it.”

But when she lifted the latch, it opened easily, and the grille swung outward in a smooth arc.

“He was in a bunny costume, with a big basket of eggs on his left arm,” continued Lucy, staggering awkwardly down the steps.

“Is that how he moved? Did he stagger?” asked Fran.

“Yup. All the way to the gates, he was spilling the plastic eggs as he went,” said Lucy, picturing the scene. “He got to the gates, stopped, and collapsed, right here.” She dropped to the grass.

“Interesting,” said Fran, crossing the lawn and taking a close look at the door. When she'd finished with the door, she got down on her hands and knees and examined the grille.

“Do you see anything?” asked Lucy, who had followed her.

Fran didn't reply, but got to her feet and brushed off her knees. “On to the impound lot,” she said. “I want to see that car.”

Lucy remembered Barney warning her not to touch Maxine's car for fear of destroying possible evidence. “I think you'll need permission for that,” said Lucy, seating herself back in Fran's car and fastening the seat belt. “You better check with the police chief first.”

Fran looked at her. “From what I hear, that car has been out in the weather at Al's Auto Care since they pulled it out of the water more than six weeks ago and nobody has bothered to take a look at it.”

“That's true,” said Lucy.

“I also have rubber gloves,” said Fran, pulling a pair of thin exam gloves out of her tote bag. “I know what I'm doing. Believe me, I'm not going to contaminate valuable evidence.”

Lucy wasn't convinced she was doing the right thing, but she had to admit that Fran had a point. If the officials weren't going to examine the car, somebody should. Fran was confident she had the necessary skills and Lucy decided to take her word for it. She had her own suspicions about the car and was eager to learn what Fran might find.

When they got to the garage, the gate to the impound lot was open and nobody seemed to be around, though they could hear voices coming from the repair bays inside. Fran was all business, opening the trunk and taking out a tool bag and a mechanic's dolly. Lucy was impressed.

“I am not going to get my clothes dirty,” said Fran with a shrug. “Which car is it?”

Lucy pointed out the white BMW, a battered but sleek and classy contrast to the bulky vans and aged pickup trucks that filled the lot.

Fran put on her gloves, then pulled a small but powerful flashlight out of her bag. She first peered inside the car, paying special attention to the steering wheel and smashed windshield. Then she turned off the light and carefully examined the extensive damage on the front end. Lucy could barely stand to look at the crumpled metal and broken glass, but Fran showed no emotion at all. Finally, she positioned herself on the little trolley and rolled under the car. Lucy watched as the beam of light from the flashlight danced here and there. Then the light went out and Fran emerged, every hair in place.

“The brake line was leaking,” she announced. “It wasn't a clean cut . . .”

Lucy was overcome with a sense of dismay. “What does that mean? Did it break in the crash?”

Fran was stripping off her gloves. “Maybe, maybe not. It could have been cut intentionally but made to look ragged. I also think that iron door grille was wired and Van was electrocuted.”

“Of course,” said Lucy, remembering how Van had staggered when he took hold of the ornamental ironwork.

“Whoever did it is very clever, they've covered their tracks pretty well,” said Fran, bending to pick up the dolly. “And whoever it is, is a skilled mechanic. This person knows what he, or she, is doing, and was smart enough to disguise the cut in the brake line.” She replaced the dolly in the trunk, along with the bag of tools. “And they're not afraid of electricity . . .”

“What about timing?” asked Lucy. “What if it hadn't been Van who opened the door, but somebody else?”

Fran was thoughtful. “The killer might have rigged a switch—or might not have cared.”

They got in the car once more and Fran started the engine.

“It's so cold-blooded,” said Lucy, thinking that sounded a lot like Vicky and Henry.

“And technical,” said Fran, shifting into drive. “This killer, whoever it is, is a real handy person.”

Lucy chewed her lip, thinking that didn't sound at all like Vicky or Henry.

Chapter Fifteen

“
S
o who's in charge of this investigation, anyway?”

asked Fran. “The local cops?”

Lucy couldn't help laughing at the idea. “The local cops mostly herd tourists on July fourth, issue parking tickets, stuff like that. The state police take over when it's a serious crime like murder, a bank robbery, or a drug investigation. As far as I can tell, there hasn't actually been any investigation into Van's and Maxine's deaths—these days it seems they look for reasons
not
to investigate further—but the DA has charged Vicky and Henry with elder abuse as well as fraud and embezzlement so I guess he must be taking a close look at them.”

“And where is this DA's office?”

Lucy was surprised. “You want to see him?”

“I sure do.”

“He's hard to get a hold of,” said Lucy, who had often tried and failed to interview him.

“Well, I've got to try,” said Fran. “As a private investigator, it's my legal duty to share information with the appropriate authorities. I took an oath.”

“Turn right here,” said Lucy, as they approached an intersection. “Gilead is the next town over.”

Much to Lucy's amazement, Phil Aucoin was only too happy to talk to Fran. His secretary, Nancy Willard, gave Lucy the usual evil eye, but when Fran produced her business card and ID, she grudgingly agreed to show them to Phil. Moments later the door to his office flew open and he was greeting Fran with open arms.

“A real private eye,” he exclaimed, taking her hand and shaking it. “From New York, no less. I bet you could write a book.”

“I'm planning to,” said Fran with a big smile. “When I retire.”

“Well, come on in,” said Aucoin with a sweep of his arm. “Tell me how I can help you.”

Lucy wasn't convinced the invitation included her, but she tagged along anyway. Maybe he wouldn't notice her.

“I see you've got company,” said Phil, seating himself behind the big desk, which was covered with piles of papers. Other stacks of files covered most of the floor between the desk and the window.

Fran took a seat in one of the captain's chairs provided for visitors. “Lucy is helping me, showing me around and providing background.”

He nodded, inviting her to take the other chair. “Fine, fine. Just remember, Lucy, whatever you hear is off the record.”

“Of course,” said Lucy, sitting down and crossing her legs.

Phil leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his belt. “So, Ms. Martino, what brings you to our fair county?”

“Fran, call me Fran,” she began. “I've been hired by Juliette Duff to look into the deaths of her father, Van Duff, and her mother, Maxine Carey. Their deaths may be related to another case you're working on. Juliette is Vivian Van Vorst's great-granddaughter and Van, her father, is VV's grandson and Victoria Allen's brother.”

Aucoin nodded. “I'm familiar with that family's genealogical chart, believe me.” He sighed. “But I've seen the paperwork. There's no indication those deaths were suspicious. It's tragic for Juliette, no doubt about that, but these things happen.”

Fran nodded in agreement. “No doubt about that, no doubt at all.” She paused. “But I have to tell you, I found evidence that Maxine's car was tampered with.”

“Ah,” said Aucoin. “You found the broken brake line.”

“I didn't know you had the car checked out!” exclaimed Lucy.

“Of course we did,” said Aucoin. “But it was torn, it wasn't cut.”

“So it seemed,” admitted Fran. “But I think it was made to look that way. I do think it was torn on purpose.”

Aucoin spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I can only work with the evidence my investigators give me,” he said, “and they tell me there was no sign of tampering.”

Fran wasn't done; she had another trick up her sleeve. “Then there's Van,” she said. “I've had questions about his death ever since I read the witness accounts, which by the way, Lucy confirms. They all agree that he reacted physically when he opened the ornamental metal grille in front of the door. Different witnesses used different words: ‘staggered,' ‘shook,' even ‘convulsed.' That made me suspect the grille may have been electrified in some way and when I examined it earlier today, I found scratch marks near the base, as if wires had been attached.”

“Or maybe somebody attached Christmas decorations to the grille,” said Aucoin. “Or one of VV's dogs was in a hurry to get out. Or maybe Willis, the butler there, dropped a silver tray when he was opening the door. There could be a lot of reasons for the paintwork to be scratched.”

Lucy couldn't stand it; she'd been biting her tongue, but now she had to speak. “C'mon Phil, you told me yourself you'd be only too happy to nail Vicky and Henry with a murder charge, but you didn't have the evidence. Well, now you've got something to go on. These discoveries of Fran's need to be addressed, they need to be investigated. Vicky and Henry definitely had strong motives for getting rid of Van and Maxine—they knew the jig would be up if either one of them figured out how they were robbing VV.”

Aucoin rubbed his forehead, mussing up his brown hair, which he wore combed straight back. “Motive's not enough,” he said. “We've all got plenty of motives for doing away with our nearest and dearest.”

Fran chuckled. “You said it—but most of us don't do it. I'm convinced Vicky and Henry did.”

Aucoin sighed. “I have seen no evidence whatsoever that either one of them is capable of changing a light bulb. There is nothing in their past to indicate any sort of mechanical proficiency, nothing like the sort of knowledge you'd need to pull off an electrocution. Whoever did this . . .” Aucoin was brought up short, hearing his own words. “And I'm not saying anybody did do it, but if they did, they would have to know a lot about electricity. I couldn't do it; about all I'm good for in that department is flipping a circuit breaker. And as for the brake line, I wouldn't know how to find it—and I'm pretty sure they didn't teach that stuff at the fancy schools those two attended.”

That was all they got out of Aucoin, who made it perfectly clear that he had to prepare for the trial, which was due to begin on Monday. When Lucy was back in the car with Fran, heading home to Tinker's Cove, she thought about what Aucoin had said.

“You know,” she began, speaking slowly, “I was at the funeral. I saw Maxine argue with Vicky and Henry and storm off in a huff.”

“Were you there the whole time?” asked Fran.

“Yes. The day before, too. I was hired to help with the food so I was there before and after.”

“What about Vicky and Henry? Were they there the whole time, too?”

“I think they were,” said Lucy. “I was busy serving the food. I didn't observe their every move, but I did see a lot of them. I don't think they had time to tamper with Maxine's car. They were too busy with the guests.”

“They didn't have to do it themselves,” said Fran. “They could have hired someone, maybe someone who worked at the house. Like that kid, Eddie. He seems like a capable sort.”

“I'm sure he is, but he wasn't working there then,” said Lucy.

“What about the gardener, Izzy? She seems to do more than plant stuff; she does a lot of maintenance, too.”

“She might have the necessary skills,” admitted Lucy, “but what motive could she possibly have? And if she was going to kill somebody, I'm pretty sure she would have knocked off the people who were causing her grief: Vicky, Henry, and Weatherby.”

“What about the butler, Willis?” asked Fran. “He seems like a resourceful kind of guy.”

“He is, and he's very devoted to VV.
I
can't see why he'd kill Van and Maxine, though. They were playing on the same team, defending VV against Vicky and Henry and Weatherby.”

Fran was zipping along the country road, past old farmhouses and mobile homes, hay fields and woods. “Things are not always what they seem,” she said. “And people rarely are who they seem to be, at least that's been my experience. I think we're looking at this from the wrong perspective. I don't think it's about personalities and loyalties. I suspect it's all about the money.”

“But Van and Maxine didn't have much money,” said Lucy.

“Everything's relative,” said Fran. “It might not have seemed like much to them, but I bet their bank accounts are a lot larger than yours or mine.”

“That wouldn't be hard, at least in my case,” said Lucy, who had just paid the mortgage and now had a balance of one hundred and thirty-nine dollars. “But Van and Maxine probably left whatever they had to Juliette—and she's making lots of money as a top model.”

“Yeah,” agreed Fran. “If Juliette can afford me, she's doing pretty well.” She braked, coming to a stop sign and turning onto Route 1. “Anyway, VV's got the real money in this case. She can't go on forever; she's got to die sometime, probably soon, and somebody's going to become very rich.” She accelerated, picking up speed, as they passed motels and gift shops. “The question is, who?”

Lucy dug around in the big African basket she used as a purse and eventually found her cell phone. She dialed Bob's office, then crossed her fingers while she counted the rings, hoping he'd answer himself and she wouldn't have to convince his secretary to let her talk to him. The secretary, Anne, picked up on the third ring.

“Hi,” Lucy said, giving her name. “Any chance I could talk to Bob?” she asked.

“Sorry, Lucy. He's awfully busy these days.”

“Well, you see, with all this stuff about VV,
I
realized my husband and I don't have wills.”

“I can make an appointment for you.”

“I think it would be better if I could talk to Bob. You see, my husband isn't all that keen and I was hoping to kind of make him think it's a social thing. I'd like to meet outside the office.”

“Oh, well, you're in luck,” said the secretary, a note of disapproval in her voice. “He's just come in.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Lucy. A moment later, she heard Bob's voice.

“What can I do for you, Lucy?”

“Bill and I need wills, but Bill doesn't agree. He says we don't have anything to leave anybody and once we're dead, it won't be our problem anyway.”

Bob chuckled. “I'll drop by the house and talk to him,” he said. “But right now I'm tied up with the Van Vorst thing.”

“I'm sure you are,” said Lucy, who knew Bob had been appointed by the family court judge to represent VV. “In fact, I was just wondering about VV's will and all. Is she leaving any money to Tinker's Cove charities?”

“Lucy! You know the terms of a will are confidential.” He sighed. “Besides, at this point, there are so many versions, not to mention codicils, it's going to take forever for the court to sort it all out. And that, by the way, is strictly off the record.”

“It's hardly news,” said Lucy.

“Well, I don't want to read about it in the
Pennysaver
,” said Bob, a warning note in his voice. “I wouldn't want to have to take legal action.”

Lucy figured he was bluffing, but she wasn't about to press the point, either. “I understand,” she said. “But since we're off the record, can't you give me some idea who's going to be the lucky winner when VV dies?”

“No, I can't. Have a nice day.”

“You've got quite a technique,” said Fran dryly. “I'm amazed you get anybody to talk.”

“I mostly write puff pieces, features about the new hair salon, or the rare salamander that was spotted in the Audubon sanctuary.” Lucy smiled. “I did get a photo of that cute little guy, but no quote.”

She was dialing once again, this time calling Rachel, who was back on the job at Miss Tilley's. “You're sounding a lot better,” she began.

“Just a little cough,” she said.

“Keep up the fluids,” advised Lucy. “Guess what? I'm working with a private investigator . . .”

“A real private eye!” Rachel sounded impressed.

“From New York City,” said Lucy. “Juliette hired her to look into her parents' deaths. We've found some evidence that the deaths were suspicious and Fran needs some information. She wants to know who inherits when VV dies. Do you have any idea?”

“I don't, Lucy, but I couldn't tell you even if I did,” said Rachel, sounding a little annoyed.

“It's completely off the record,” said Lucy. “It's just for the investigation.”

“You don't give up, do you?” She hardly got the words out, due to a coughing fit.

“Maybe Miss T knows?” suggested Lucy, when the coughing subsided.

Rachel sounded resigned. “I'll ask.”

There was a long silence but Rachel eventually returned. “Miss T says VV told her years ago that she'd made some changes to benefit Juliette. She doesn't know if it was a small bequest or the whole kit and caboodle. She doesn't even know if she's changed her will since then. It was a very long time ago; Juliette was very young. Miss T says she was too young at the time to do anything that would have upset VV, unlike Little Viv and Van.”

Lucy could just imagine Miss Tilley making a crack along those lines.

“Miss T says VV used her will to control her family. She was always making adjustments, giving one more, taking some away from another, sometimes disinheriting them entirely. She says she doesn't entirely fault Vicky, that VV brought a lot of this on herself.”