For Every Evil (32 page)

“That’s a stereotype, Ivy. It has no meaning in real life — only in magazine ads.”

“You’re missing my point.”

“Am I? Well, whatever the case, she seemed terribly concerned about those attempts on your life. I told her I felt certain Hale was behind them.”

“Did you?”

“She also said she felt like you were afraid of Max.”

More silence.

“Is it true?” In the background he could hear a doorbell ring.

“Louie … I’ve got to run.”

“You’re changing the subject.” He felt his stomach heave.

“No, I’m not afraid of Max. That’s probably him now. He was going to stop by before he went to the hospital.”

“Tell him I need a new stomach.” He eased out of bed.

“What?”

“I’ll talk to you later. I love you, Ivy. You know that, don’t you?”

“Don’t be a ninny. Call if you need anything.”

“Right. Give my best to Dr. Jekyll. Or is it Mr. Hyde? ‘Bye.” He dropped the phone back on the hook and stumbled into the bathroom.

Bram burst through the kitchen door carrying a box of fresh croissants. “These were the last raspberry cream cheese they had,” he announced, setting them on the counter with an air of triumph. He turned to look at Sophie. “Ah. I can see we’re heavily into our mole persona this morning.” The shades were still pulled, the kitchen dark and gloomy. He switched on the overhead light and then walked over and waved the box under her nose. “Hmm. This is serious. Not even a twitch.” He sat down next to her and pretended to take her pulse. “That’s funny. I don’t feel any reassuring thumps.”

“That’s because I’m thin and wan and in desperate need of sustenance.” She grabbed a croissant out of the box and took a bite.

“Better,” he said, still holding her wrist as he checked his watch. “You didn’t sleep a wink last night, did you?”

“I had too much to think about.”

“What time did you finally get in?”

“Around two.”

Ethel lumbered into the room and sat down directly in front of Bram, sniffing the air. Her gaze came to rest on the croissant in Sophie’s hand.

“You know,” he said, scratching the dog’s ears, “this mutt looks more like a cartoon than a real animal. With those short legs and that large head —”

Sophie put a finger to her lips. “Shh. She’s sensitive about her height. I understand completely.”

Bram and Ethel both stared as Sophie finished her roll.

“The police are still holding Kate,” said Sophie, licking her fingers.

“How do you know?”

“I just called and talked with Detective Cross.”

“But they haven’t officially arrested her yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Do you think she’s guilty?” He got up to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Ethel moved over next to Sophie and eased onto the floor, her head resting on Sophie’s right foot.

“No, though I wish I were more certain.” Even so, she wasn’t about to forget her promise. She would not stop her search for the real killer. “I just keep thinking about the night Hale died.”

“What about it?” He selected his own croissant and sat down.

Sensing another potential food opportunity, Ethel twitched but remained prone.

“I know I’m missing something — I can just feel it. After Rudy came and got me at the party that night, we immediately ran up to Hale’s office. In my mind, I can see his body lying on the floor. His desk was empty, except for an ashtray. He must have been smoking because there was a cigar in it. He’d been using the computer, too, because Rudy said the monitor was warm when he found him.”

“But it had been turned off?”

She nodded.

“That’s odd.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, think about it. Why would a man who was terrified for his life be staring at a computer screen? He’d just received a threatening note from Ezmer Hawks, right?”

“You mean Kate.”

“Whatever.”

Sophie bit into another croissant. Raspberry jam oozed from the corners. “You have a point I wonder if the police subpoenaed any of Hale’s computer files?” As she considered the question, she heard a soft knock on the back door.

“It’s the health food police!” shrieked Bram, stuffing the last bit of croissant into his mouth. “Quick. You hide the box and I’ll start brewing some herbal tea.”

Ignoring him, she got up, tucking her shirt inside her jeans.

“Wait! I’ll get some sprouts out of the refrigerator and scatter them around the breakfast table. That’ll put ‘em off the scent.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re nuts?”

“Generally, during my yearly salary review, the subject is
broached.”

She rolled her eyes, opening the door.

Ethel let out an obligatory growl. It was a mere formality. Movement was the farthest thing from her mind.

“Hi,” said Ben, giving her a tentative smile. “Is this too early to come calling? I know it’s Saturday.”

He was the last person she expected to see. “No, of course not. Come in.” She glanced at Bram out of the corner of her eye and noticed several thin, green tendrils dangling from his closed mouth. “We were just finishing breakfast.”

Ben’s eyes fell to the box of croissants.

“Caught red-handed,” said Bram, holding his hand to his head like a gun and pulling the trigger. He slumped backward over the chair.

Sophie waved Ben to a seat and then resumed hers. “What can we do for you?”

“Well,” he said, unzipping his suede jacket “actually, I think I have some information you might be interested in. You’re a pretty good friend of Chuck Squire’s, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say we were friends,” said Sophie. “He was managing editor at the magazine before I took over.”

“Well, you know he was recently appointed CEO of Hale’s company, IAI.”

“I did hear that. By the way, are you going to be shooting their new spring catalogue?”

“Not exactly. Chuckles wouldn’t approve the contract.”

I m sorry.

“Yeah. To be honest, getting that job was a matter of financial survival. I did pick up a couple of other shoots, but nothing to compare with that one. I’m just keeping my fingers crossed. Anyway, in the negotiating process, I found out something interesting. It seems Hale falsified his tax records for 1994.”

“Charles told you that?”

“Well, no. See, it seems Hale was selling artwork he never reported as income. He also has several Swiss bank accounts. I don’t know what’s in them, but I have the numbers. At first I thought Chuckie was part of it, but now I’m not so sure. I think I jumped to a wrong conclusion somewhere along the line. I confronted him with it the other day, and he just blew me off. Said his hands were clean. That’s when I got to thinking.”

“How
did
you find this information?” asked Bram, scraping the sprouts into a neat pile on the table and then blowing diem away.

“It’s a long story.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Suffice it to say, I’m pretty sure Chuck was gathering evidence on Hale’s financial activities for a specific reason. That evidence is what I stumbled across.”

“And the reason?” asked Sophie.

“What else? Blackmail.”

Bram whistled. “Did Hale know about it?”

“I’m almost positive,” said Ben, looking more than pleased with himself.

“How do you know?” asked Bram.

“I called his lawyer’s office yesterday morning. I wanted to know the last time Hale had updated his will. It’s a matter of public record now. They couldn’t put me off.”

“And?” said Sophie.

“It was two weeks before his death. In the new document, he designated Mrs. Betty Malmquist as his new heir, but he made Charles Squire the acting CEO of IAI for one year after his death — at a very hefty salary, I might add.”

“You think Charles forced him to do it?” asked Sophie.

“Not the heir part. I think Hale did that all on his own. But appointing Chuck president, yeah, I think there was some pressure. Though, I have no proof other than the disk I filched from Hale’s office.” He put a hand over his mouth. “Oops.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow.

“Anyway, I guess I’m wondering if our friend Charles might not have had something to do with Hale’s murder. He had ample motive, and I don’t doubt opportunity.”

Sophie wondered if the police knew any of this. Surely they would’ve investigated everyone who benefited from Hale’s death. The will had to be a big part of it.

Ben pulled some papers from his pocket. “Here are copies of what I have. I dropped these off at the IRS office in downtown St. Paul a couple of days ago, but you know how slowly bureaucracies move. This morning I mailed a set to the police. I wanted to remain anonymous — for obvious reasons.” He gave a sheepish smile.

“Very interesting,” said Sophie. “As I think about it,

I may just pay a short visit to Charles this afternoon. You never know what might turn up.”

“No, you never do,” observed Ben, rising from the table. “With a mastermind like Chuck, anything’s possible.” He winked. “Well, I better get going. Let me know if you find out anything, Sophie. I’m very interested.” He stepped quickly to the door. “See you good people around.” He grinned, disappearing into a gust of March wind.

The grand strains of Beethoven’s
Emperor
Concerto assaulted Sophie as she climbed the steps to the gate house. Before ringing the bell, she peeked through the glass. Charles was lying on the bare wood floor in the center of the room, his arms outstretched. From this rather odd position, he appeared to be directing the music. His eyes were tightly shut, a wand held in one hand. What a strange man, she thought to herself as she pushed the button.

Instantly he leapt to his feet. He scrambled to the back wall and opened a small cabinet.

Sophie could hear the music being turned down. A second later the door opened.

“Oh,” he said, his rapturous expression drooping, “it’s you.” Somewhere along the way, he’d managed to lose the wand.

“Practicing for a new career?” she asked.

He tightened his lips. “Perhaps. What do you want?”

“To talk to you.”

“I’m busy.”

“I can see that.” She brushed past him into the gallery. She’d never had much respect for Charles. She found that, over the past year, she’d come to treat him more and more like his father did. She should probably try to be nicer, but some things were just too hard. “I understand you were blackmailing Hale.”

His Adam’s apple almost burst out of his neck as he tried to swallow his surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, you probably should.” She made herself comfortable in one of the two wing chairs near the front. She nodded to the other.

Charles perched. “You have no right to come in here making accusations like that.”

“I know Hale was selling art he never reported to the IRS. If I can find out something like that, so can you. In fact, I’m sure you
did.”

Charles raised his chin, his nose wiggling like a dog sensing the ominous approach of the mailman. “You have no proof.”

“No, but I think the police will find it more than interesting that Hale changed his will a mere two weeks before his death.”

“So?”

“He appointed you acting president of IAI should anything happen to him.”

“I was the logical choice.”

“Why? Because you’ve been working here less than two months? Because nobody else on the board of directors has any expertise in the field? Or maybe it’s because you’re such a swell fella.”

He gave her a disgusted sniff. “What do you want?”

She decided to take a chance. “The night Hale died, you were here in the gate house, weren’t you?”

“What if I was?” He played with the leather buttons on his sweater. “Hale was being an ass. He’d made a promise to Ben Kiran to let him shoot the new catalogue, and then he hired someone else. Ben made his displeasure quite clear to me that evening and asked me to pass it on to Hale. Since I couldn’t find him anywhere, I thought I’d try the office.”

“And you found him sitting behind the desk.”

“No. Actually, he wasn’t here. I waited for a few minutes and then turned on the computer. I didn’t feel much like partying after my little scene with Ben, so I decided to get some work done. That’s when Hale stomped in.” He grew silent.

“What happened?” she prodded.

“Well … I started to tell him what Ben had said. I explained that he’d discovered some information about his illegal activities. I assumed Hale would be pretty upset, but he just ordered me out of his chair and sat down. He looked strange. He got out his gun and set it on the desk, and then he lit a cigar. I waited for a minute and then suggested we fire the other photographer and rehire Ben. But… it was as if he wasn’t even hearing me. He told me to get out. When I didn’t move fast enough, he pointed the gun at me and — and threatened my life! Well, I know when I’m not wanted. I made my escape with great haste.”