FORGET ME NOT (Mark Kane Mysteries Book One) (15 page)

Lucy stood there with her arms crossed, which
is never a good sign.

“Okay you win; I’ll ask Greg for the
computer. But you can make a start, can’t you? Once I get the
password.”

“If you take me out to dinner I’ll consider
it; not a diner, a proper restaurant.”

She lifted her shoulders and raised her
eyebrows at me, cocking her head on one side like a puppy waiting
for its owner to take it for a walk. She had me over a barrel.

“You’ll need a while to smarten yourself up,”
I said, playing for time.

“I’m smart enough already. You’re the one
that needs to get yourself together.” She headed for my front door.
“I’ll be back at seven, okay?”

“Perfect.” The hiccup preceded the word this
time, rather than punctuating it.

Lucy was back at seven as she had threatened.
We strolled to a Mexican restaurant which was within easy walking
distance of the house. I’d had enough driving for one day.

“Sidney may be leaving the office,” said Lucy
between mouthfuls of enchilada, “he says the address is putting
people off.”

Sidney was an accountant.

“The address is supposed to be having the
opposite effect. That’s why we pay so much rent.”

“He says his potential clients may think he’s
too expensive.”

“Well we’ll have to find somebody else to
take his place. Perhaps you could put out some feelers.”

I was only half listening because I was
simultaneously devising a plan whereby I could salvage my dignity
and get my own back on her.

“I was only pretending not to know about the
emails,” I said. “I was testing you as a matter of fact. If I’m
going to let you get involved with the investigative side of my
business I have to be sure you are capable.”

Lucy almost choked on a piece of enchilada
she was in the process of swallowing.

“I’ve been involved in what you call the
investigative side of your business since day one; I don’t remember
it troubling you before.” She emphasized the word ‘investigative’,
but least she didn’t use air quotation marks.

She looked across at me, eyes twinkling. Not
because of the choking but because of the new plan she was about to
lay on me.

“Still, if I’m to formally become part of the
investigative side of the business,” she said, stressing the word
‘formally’, “we shall probably have to revise my salary.”

Well that idea went well, I thought.

“You’ll have to find a replacement for Sidney
first.”

“Oh, don’t worry; I’ll bring him to
heel.”

“Why do you think Gloria might have deleted
emails relating to Susan?” I said.

“I don’t know that she would have, but some
people delete emails that they’ve sent or received to unclog their
email accounts. Most emails have settings which allow users to
automatically delete emails that have been sent or received. It
doesn’t necessarily signal anything covert. It seems to me that in
order to do a thorough job the possibility of deleted emails should
be considered.”

“I’ve never deleted any of my emails.”

“I’m sure you like to treasure the few that
you get.”

“Anyway, you’ll have plenty of time to check
the emails,” I said. You’re not exactly rushed off your feet at the
moment, especially if Sidney leaves.”

Lucy’s female intuition had seen that one
coming.

“I have the time,” she said, “it’s a question
of whether I have the inclination.” She tilted her head and raised
her eyebrows in mock triumph.

Simon Philips lived with his wife and two
small sons in Dedham which was no more than a hop and a skip away.
Whatever reaction I’d been expecting from the elder brother it was
subsumed by his enthusiasm to meet me. He told me that I was to
join him and his wife for lunch and Sally wouldn’t take no for an
answer. He and Sally were extremely grateful for the work I was
doing for his father and were looking forward to seeing me and
discussing the progress of my investigation. It was a great relief
to know that the matter was being so competently handled, and so on
and so on. I should have taped the call for Lucy; I was to be
popularity Kane today and I could do no wrong.

Their home was a beautiful single story
whitewashed brick house with dormers, on a large corner lot that
looked like the showpiece from a garden center. I was warmly
welcomed and shown into the drawing room which is how Sally
referred to the triple aspect living room about half the size of an
aircraft hangar. An enormous pure white fabric sofa curled itself
around one corner of the room; the furniture was modern chic and
there wasn’t a single item I could see that would have been within
my budget. Full length folding doors led through to a comfortable
looking family room and beyond that, round a corner, a dining room
with a table that could have probably accommodated an entire
basketball team. The drawing room looked out over the front yard,
but the street was shielded from view by a large hedge. It gave the
impression of total isolation from the world beyond. If the
intention was for visitors to be impressed it worked.

A comprehensive buffet lunch had been laid
out in the dining room and a large rectangular glass-top table had
been set up on the flagstone patio at the rear beyond sliding glass
doors which opened as smoothly and quietly as a ghost’s whisper. It
was a little early for lunch when I arrived so I was supplied with
a glass of scotch on the patio. The lot was only a fraction of the
size of the Boylston house but it had been fastidiously planted
with flowers, shrubs and trees so that the boundary was completely
obscured by foliage.

“You obviously share your father’s love of
flowers,” I said to Simon.

“Yes, but not tending to them I’m afraid.
That’s Sally’s handiwork you’re admiring.”

Their children were staying with Sally’s
parents for the weekend, but other guests were expected for lunch.
Simon apologized for this but explained that it was too late to
cancel the arrangements when they received my call and he didn’t
want to delay our meeting either. The other guests were potential
clients of Simon’s. Simon’s idea was that after lunch he and I
would retire to his office to discuss the case and Sally would
entertain the other guests. I had earmarked the entire afternoon
for the meeting so I was perfectly happy with the arrangement,
especially if Simon had a few drinks during lunch to loosen his
tongue before our chat.

Three couples swanned in about a half hour
after I arrived. I was introduced as a family friend. We sat
outside and everyone drifted in and out to the buffet table. There
was an excellent choice of cold meats and a salad that looked as
though it had been professionally prepared. I congratulated Sally
on the food and the presentation. She nudged Simon who winked at me
and whispered “outside caterers”. I limited myself to only one
additional scotch because I wanted to keep on my toes. I avoided
the selection of wines completely. There is something in that old
adage about not mixing the grain and the grape.

Like a high school dance the men gravitated
to one end of the table, the women the other. I was in the middle,
caught between talk about derivatives and options on my right and
desirable kindergartens on my left, neither of which I knew
anything about so I smiled politely and nodded and tried to appear
absorbed in the conversations. When the men started on the office
anecdotes Simon excused himself and steered me back into the house.
Disappointingly I hadn’t seen him consume any alcohol at all.

Simon’s study was surprisingly small. It had
probably been commandeered from a former nursery. The house had
obviously been either constructed or remodeled with entertainment
in mind so that the bedrooms and study, as far as I could tell,
took up only a fraction of the overall size of the building.

Simon produced a decanter of scotch from a
bookcase before I’d had a chance to sit down and poured himself a
large glass which he swallowed in two gulps before refilling it
again. I declined another drink on the excuse of having to drive
home. I told him about the previous afternoon’s drive home from his
father’s house after my over indulgence. I thought it would set the
right tone.

“I can’t afford to drink in front of my
clients,” he said. “It wouldn’t look good having a lush trying to
part them from their money.” There was contemptuousness in his
voice which was completely at odds with the business persona I had
seen networking the assembled gathering earlier.

“Greg tells me I can trust you completely,”
he said, “and he asked me to be frank with you. Things have been a
bit fraught between us lately but it’s not his fault, I can see
that. It’s just that…” He closed his mouth tightly making a
straight line with his lips. He lifted the decanter to refill his
glass then thought better of it and placed it back on the desktop
in front of him.

“I understand that Greg’s told you about my
role in investigating Susan,” I said. “I don’t want to repeat
things that you already know. I’ll be glad to answer any questions
that you may have.”

“Can I just ask you, is everything I say to
you in confidence; like a lawyer I mean? I don’t think I’ve ever
met a private investigator before.”

“Generally speaking that’s the case. There
are exceptions of course, but none which are likely to arise here.”
Unless he admitted to poisoning his mother, I thought. “If there’s
anything you say to me that you don’t want revealed to anyone else
then you can tell me and I’ll respect your wishes. Greg is my
client of course, but I doubt there’ll be any conflict of interest
between you and your father over what I’m investigating.”

“I don’t have any secrets from Sally either.
She’d be here herself if she didn’t need to pander to the assembled
masses out there.” He gestured towards the study door.

“It’s clear that you have things which you
want to get off your chest, so why don’t you start?”

He took a deep breath, spread his arms and
laid his palms flat on the desk.

“My father tells me you’re an educated man,”
he said, “a lover of literature. Do you know that passage from
Hamlet? ‘Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not seems’.”

“Yes,” I said, “I’m familiar with that.”

“Well what you see here is the opposite. It’s
all an illusion. Nothing is as it seems. Everything you see here is
a mirage; neither the house, nor the cars nor the furniture really
belongs to us. I mean it’s ours, but everything’s mortgaged up to
the hilt. We’re living on borrowed money and borrowed time.”

“You need the probate expedited I take
it?”

“We over-extended and got hit hard by the
recession. We’ve not been able to recover. I have a good business
and lots of potential clients. I have a good reputation too; but I
can’t survive for much longer. If my clients even got a whiff of my
true financial position they’d drop me like a hot brick. That’s why
we have to maintain this elaborate deception, hoping against hope
that things will improve. We’ve exhausted all the usual ways of
raising funds and we’re hovering on the edge of the precipice of
financial ruin.”

“Could Greg help?”

“I don’t want to take the risk. He doesn’t
know about all this. He’s comfortable financially but not wealthy,
and with Susan’s Damoclean sword hanging over his head as well as
ours his financial future is precarious. Oh, he’s sanguine about
it, and he’s not the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve, but if
this wretched woman gets her hands on my mother’s estate he’ll
probably have to remortgage his home.”

“Are you unhappy about Susan’s credentials or
do you think that she’s manipulated her claim to a large part of
the estate?”

Simon let out a long sigh and poured himself
another drink.

“Look, I have nothing against Susan
personally. To be honest I haven’t the faintest idea whether Susan
is really who she claims to be, although I strongly suspect she’s
guilty of some sort of dishonesty. Maybe she took advantage of
Gloria when she was ill. The real problem is the complication in
obtaining probate because of all this. You see if the will was
straightforward then I could probably raise sufficient finance
against my inheritance. It’s not strictly collateral but with the
right terms I could raise money against a future bequest. But
Saunders won’t budge until the Susan factor has been resolved.
Obviously a DNA test would be wonderful, because it would clear the
way to probate whichever way it went. But I understand you’re still
waiting for the result.”

“Yes, and if it’s not possible to obtain a
profile from the hair there’s always a chance that we can find an
alternative method, by tracing living relatives of your mother.
It’s one of the things I’m working on at the moment.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not greedy. I’d be
content with my share of Gloria’s estate if Susan turns out to be a
genuine claimant. Gloria was a good mother. You probably know she’s
not my real mother. Well she was my real mother, just not related
by blood that’s all. Her wishes should be respected, provided she
hasn’t been duped in some way. It just needs to be resolved one way
or the other.”

“You say you’re financial position was
damaged by the recession, so I take it you’ve had this problem for
some time?”

“Since well before Gloria died. That’s the
crazy thing. They say that God moves in mysterious ways, well check
this out as an example: at the time Gloria lost her grip on reality
she was going to help us. She knew about our situation. Sally and
she were close, and I always found it easier to discuss this sort
of thing with my mother. She could easily afford it and she had no
other commitments. Then I kept putting it off, telling her we’d try
to manage, that we didn’t want to take anything from her unless we
had no other alternative. By the time we knew there was no other
alternative she was unable to do anything because of the sudden
deterioration in her condition. So she wanted to help, but
circumstances intervened to prevent it. She’d be turning in her
grave if she knew how things worked out. It’s not what she would
have wanted.”