Gone But Knot Forgotten (21 page)

C
HAPTER
32

Lucy rattled the doorknob. “Oh crap! How're we going to get out of here? Birdie's alone out there. I should never have listened to you, Martha Rose. If we die in here, Ray's gonna kill me.”

“Harriet never would have installed a room where she could be trapped inside.” I looked around frantically for a way out. In the dimness of the low-watt overhead light, I spotted a red button on the wall opposite the steel portal. “Here!” I punched the button. The electromagnetic lock disconnected with a click and released the door.

We stumbled into the foyer, clutching our guns. Arthur shot past us. Wish staggered to the front door, leaving a thin ribbon of red behind. He had just begun to turn the knob when Arthur pinned him against the entrance.

Birdie jumped out of the powder room closet holding the shears with both hands and pointed at Wish. “Freeze, dirtbag!” She slowly limped in a crouched position toward Wish, jabbing the air with her scissors.

Wish's mouth went slack. “Are you kidding me?” He raised his right arm to get a better look at the bloody, open wound. Then his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the floor. Out cold.

“He's probably in shock.” Lucy ran to her tote bag for the roll of duct tape. “Good job, Arthur.” She glanced at me. “Let's bind him up before he awakes.

We rolled him over and wrapped the silver tape around his wrists. I stuck out my hand. “Give me those scissors, Birdie, so I can cut the tape.”

“Oh no, Martha dear. These are my good fabric scissors. I don't want to ruin the sharp edges.”

“But you were willing to stab the guy with them?”

“Well, only as a last resort. When I heard gunshots, I called the police. They should be here any minute.”

I ripped the tape with my teeth, then bound Wish's ankles together. I wrapped more tape tightly around the wound in his right forearm to staunch the bleeding.

Moments later a cavalcade of sirens approached from a distance. Vehicles screeched to a stop in the driveway. Someone pounded on the front door, and a familiar voice shouted, “LAPD! Open up!”

Lucy and I dragged Wish's body away from the front door. Farkas stood on the porch surrounded by five uniformed policemen—all with their guns drawn. Blue and red lights pulsed in a garish dance on top of four squad cars.

I closed my eyes and let out my breath. “Thank God you're here.”

Farkas scowled when he saw the three of us. “We received a 9-1-1 from this address.”

I pointed to Wish, lying unconscious with his hands and feet tied together. Red smeared the floor underneath him. “He tried to kill us, but Arthur disarmed him first.”

“You'd better call a bus,” said Birdie. “He's lost a lot of blood.”

Farkas lifted an eyebrow and looked at me. “Really?”

I shrugged. “She's a fan of cop shows.”

We spent the next two hours at the West LA Division of the LAPD giving statements. Lucy borrowed my cell phone to call Ray and found someone to give Arthur a well-deserved drink of water. I joined Farkas in a small blue interview room and played the recording of Wish's confession. “You should've listened to me, Detective. I was right about the killer.”

“I never said you were wrong. I just told you to back off. After our conversation tonight, I started looking into reports of high-end thefts during the last five years. Turns out your boy sold insurance to a number of the victims. Your hunch about him was right on the mark, and I would have gone after him if you hadn't . . . jumped the gun.”

I crossed my arms. “I'm glad you're amused. Thanks to us, you have Harriet's killer, along with a confession.”

“Correction.” He pressed his lips together and pointed to Lucy's iPhone. “Wish copped to a number of felonies, but I didn't hear him confess to Mrs. Oliver's murder.”

“Oh, I'm sure you can beat it out of him.” Farkas squinted at me. “I'm debating whether to throw you and your dangerous gun-toting, knife-wielding gang in jail tonight.”

“Guns and
scissors,
Detective. On what charges?”

“Obstruction. Weapons. Assault. Kidnapping. Give me time. I'll think of a few more.”

“I've got a better idea.” I gathered my purse and hoped I could bluff my way home tonight. “Why don't we all go home and get some sleep? I've got a yoga class in the morning.”

Farkas hesitated, then stood and moved toward the interview room door. “Quilting, Mrs. Rose. Stick to your quilting.”

Lucy and Birdie sat with Arthur in the lobby. Birdie snored softly with her chin resting on her chest. I touched her shoulder. “Time to go home.” We piled into my car and headed for Encino. As soon as I pulled into Lucy's driveway, Ray opened the front door.

“Oh, oh.” Lucy's voice became quiet. “That's not a happy face.”

I unbuckled my seat belt, intending to get out of the car. “I'll tell him it's my fault. I'll lie and say you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.”

“I already told him that.”

My mouth dropped open. “You blamed me?”

Lucy wiggled her red-penciled eyebrows. “What are friends for?”

Ray reached her side of the car and opened the door. They stared at each other for several seconds without a word. He took his wife's hand and helped her out of the car. He stuck his head inside and glared at me. “I don't believe either one of you.” He slammed the door and I watched them walk inside, Ray's protective arm around her shoulders. No matter what trouble Lucy might have gotten into tonight, Ray would love her.

I backed out of the driveway and steered across the street to Birdie's darkened house. Lucy's husband, Ray, loved his wife madly, even after so many decades together. In contrast, Russell Watson probably never even noticed Birdie's absence.

I helped her out of the car and walked her to her door. “You were great tonight, Birdie.”

She gave my arm a little squeeze. “I know. This is the most fun I've had in a long time. Good night, Martha dear.”

After a short drive home, Arthur and I walked in my house at one in the morning, and he made straight for the water bowl. I made a pot of chamomile tea to calm my nerves and gave Arthur two dog biscuits. He took them so gently from my open fingers, you would never have known he ripped open a man's arm just a few hours before.

“You're a brave boy, Arthur.” I stroked his head.

Adrenaline still pumped through my body as I headed for my sewing room and the emergency package of M&M's I kept in my tote bag for times like this. I changed into my pajamas and sat under my blue and white quilt on the sofa. Bumper jumped up on my lap and settled his furry orange body in the folds. One by one, I fished out the green M&M's from the bag. I always ate one color at a time, saving the brown ones for last. The racing inside my head slowed after a few deep yoga breaths, chocolate, and tea.

I reached over to the coffee table and picked up the keepsake I chose from all of Harriet's possessions, the antique wooden dreidel from Portugal. In just a couple of days, Jews all over the world would kindle the first light of Hanukkah. And children once again would play with their dreidels and recall the time when the Maccabees saved our temple in Jerusalem. Turning the spinning top over in my hands, I admired the delicate painting of the Hebrew letters:
.
A great miracle happened there
.

Wish claimed Harriet was already dead when he broke into her house to steal the books. But who wouldn't lie to avoid a murder conviction? I had confidence in Detective Farkas. He'd get Wish to confess to everything.

I sighed. Tonight the team from LAPD's Scientific Investigation Division descended on Harriet's house for the third time. Farkas promised they'd close up the safe room and secure the valuables before they left. I trusted him to keep his word. Farkas knew how valuable the quilt and the books were. And anyway, once they locked the safe room, nobody could enter without the key and the code.

Since we'd solved Harriet's murder, I could now focus on finding out who really killed Nathan Oliver and clear Harriet's name. Isabel Casco knew more than she was telling. She had a lot of explaining to do, starting with why she wore Harriet's ring.

I also needed a plan to get Nico Grimaldi, the boat captain, to talk. I knew in my gut he had important information in the mystery of Nathan's death. I needed to be smart, though. Digging up the past could be dangerous.

If Carl or Crusher and his guys were around to help, I'd feel a whole lot safer. For some reason, they weren't available. I doubted Ray would let Lucy come with me again. Farkas wouldn't help me because he believed Harriet killed Nathan. The truth was, I'd have to interview Grimaldi alone. My stomach churned at the thought.

Tomorrow would be a long day. With a huge yawn, I hit a wall of fatigue. Bumper meowed as I pushed him off my lap and moved down the hallway to my comfortable bed. I plumped my pillow, nestled under the covers, and closed my heavy eyes. As I fell asleep, I had a vision of the tower on Paulina's tarot card, where people fell and jumped to their deaths.

C
HAPTER
33

I stood at a conveyor belt, sorting through huge piles of old clothes. The more I sorted, the bigger the piles grew. My heart sunk. No matter how fast I moved, I'd never finish the job. Then I floated up into grayness and cat whiskers tickled my face, followed by a rough little tongue on my cheek.

“Thank God you woke me.” I stroked Bumper's fur.

The clock read nine-thirty. Too late to attend my Yoga class. My body ached and throbbed all over. The excitement yesterday of finding the Declaration Quilt and books, the terror of being shot at, and the late-night interrogation at the police station—all contributed to one huge fibromyalgia flare-up. To make matters worse, the weather outside had turned cloudy and damp with a promise of rain. I staggered into the kitchen to feed the animals, take my meds, and brew a hot cup of tea.

While waiting for the water to boil, I grabbed a notepad and pencil and jotted down a to-do list: Call Lucy and Birdie. Call Henry Oliver. Talk to Isabel. Pay Grimaldi a visit. Be at Abernathy's office at two.

This felt like sorting through an endless pile of used clothing. My meds started to kick in about the time I finished my second cup of tea. Time to get going. The sooner I could wind up Harriet's estate, the sooner I could get back to my real life.

I called Lucy first. I'd been close to the Mondellos for twenty years and counted on our long friendship to smooth over any anger Ray might be harboring about the shooting last night. Now past ten, I figured he'd be working and Lucy would answer the phone. I was wrong.

“You're both a couple of lunatics! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I'm sorry, Ray. I knew with a trained police dog and all, we could take the guy down.”

“
Take him down?
Who are you? Annie Oakley?

“No, but Lucy is. And anyway, Arthur did the job for us.”

“You almost got my wife killed.”

I'd never heard him so angry, and I hated to be the reason. I loved this man almost as much as I loved Lucy.

“No, she didn't.”

Lucy picked up the telephone extension. “Nobody forced me to go. I went because I wanted to. Hi, Martha. You okay?”

“I oughta have the both of you locked away.” Ray hung up.

“Oh, Lucy, I'm so sorry. I never thought he'd go so far. I feel terrible I put us all in danger. Ray has a right to be angry.”

“He'll get over it.”

“Have you spoken to Birdie today? Did she tell Russell?”

Lucy chuckled. “I saw her briefly outside a few minutes ago. Russell has no clue she left the house last night. They sleep in separate bedrooms, remember? Anyway, she seemed very chipper. She said, ‘I wish I were fifty years younger. I'd join the force.'”

“Thanks again for being there for me last night.”

“I'd say
anytime,
girlfriend, except I'd be lying. I promised Ray I'd lay low for a while. See you next Tuesday for quilting.”

My pulse sped as I dialed Henry Oliver's phone number. I gave him Abernathy's address and told him to meet me there at two. I hung up quickly before he could start in on me, but my hands were shaking anyway. The sooner I could be rid of the bully, the better.

I let Arthur out in the backyard for a potty break around the time the first raindrops started to fall. Given the prolonged drought in California, we welcomed any amount of moisture. I only wished the rain hadn't appeared on a day I planned to be driving around LA. Traffic would crawl. Before I let Arthur back into the house, I dried off his fur and muddy paws with an old towel. He licked my face.

I left a voice mail for Isabel. Then I called Grimaldi, the boat captain who threatened Nathan Oliver.

A woman's voice answered the phone. “Hello?”

I introduced myself as Harriet's executor. “I'd like to speak to Nico Grimaldi.”

“You're too late.”

“I'm sorry? Is there somewhere I can reach him?”

“My dad passed away last week.”

Oh no. Grimaldi was dead? “I'm so sorry.”

The woman's voice caught in her throat. “Why did you want to talk to him?”

What could I say?
Do you know if your father killed Nathan Oliver?
“An old debt.”

“Did he owe you money?”

“The other way around. I'm trying to determine if Mrs. Oliver might have owed him some money. For the loss of his boat.” I hated to lie to her this way, but I didn't want to add to her grief.

“That's news to me. I thought they settled years ago.”

What? Harriet settled with Grimaldi? Abernathy must have known. Why didn't he say something?

“Can you tell me more?”

“Not much. Around thirteen years ago, my father received a large amount of money from Mrs. Oliver. He spoke so highly of her. He said aside from my mother, she was the kindest woman he knew. He named his new boat
Harriet's Heart
after her.”

Thirteen years ago. Around the same time Nathan disappeared. Could Harriet have paid Grimaldi to kill Nathan? I pushed that thought away. “Do you know if they had any further contact?”

“No, I don't think so. At least my father never spoke about it.”

“Would your mother know?”

“My mother died when I was two. My dad and I have been alone for twenty years. Now he's gone too.” She started to cry.

“I'm so sorry for your loss.”

After I hung up, I realized I never asked for her name.

So Harriet paid the boat captain. After our meeting with Henry Oliver, I'd ask Abernathy why he led me to suspect Grimaldi could have killed Nathan but never bothered to mention the large sum of money Harriet paid the boat captain around the time of Nathan's disappearance.

My stomach growled. I had skipped breakfast, and lunch was still an hour away. Thank goodness God invented brunch. I removed some leftover vindaloo and a packet of rice from the freezer and stuck them in the microwave. In five minutes I spooned hot chicken in a spicy gravy over the steaming rice. Not the usual egg-and-bagel brunch fare, but it worked for me, especially on a cold morning.

With my tummy in a happier place, I settled in my sewing room to create more wedges for Quincy's quilt. When making a quilt, I liked to stack several layers of fabric and use a rotary cutter and thick acrylic ruler to mass-produce the individual pieces. Working with curves required more careful handling, so I used my fabric scissors to cut each piece separately.

I finished making all forty-eight yellow wedges for the first ring and arranged them in a circle, moving the different prints around until I found a pleasing balance. I looked at my watch, nearly time to leave for Abernathy's office. I tried Isabel's number again and finally reached her. “I caught Harriet's killer last night.”

“You caught him? How? Who killed her?”

“Emmet Wish, the insurance agent. He wanted to steal some valuable books. When Harriet confronted him, he killed her.” I told Isabel about the trap we set for Wish and how he shot at us.

Isabel coughed. “Good grief. You sure do take chances. But good for you.”

“We need to talk about Harriet and Nathan.”

She took a drag of a cigarette. “You don't want to go there.”

“I sure do. Especially since you told Detective Farkas Harriet killed her husband. I want to know what happened. I also want to know why you have Harriet's canary diamond cocktail ring, the one matching her necklace.”

“First of all, I never said Harriet killed Nathan. I let the detective believe what he wanted to. Second, Harriet gave me the ring.”

“When? Why would she give you such an expensive piece of jewelry?”

“About thirteen years ago, right after Nathan disappeared, she wanted to thank me for helping her through such a difficult time. I never asked her for a thing. She knew I admired the ring and insisted I take it. You know how generous she was.”

I did, but things were beginning to look bad for Harriet. Did the three of them—Harriet, Isabel, and Grimaldi—kill Nathan?

“It seems like Harriet had a fit of generosity right after Nathan's murder. First to Grimaldi, then to you. You either talk to me, or I'm going to the police with what I know.”

She coughed again. “Fine. Come by this evening.”

An hour later, I sat in Abernathy's office at a large conference table. Dark rainclouds melted into the brooding Pacific Ocean. Henry Oliver wouldn't show up for another ten minutes. I told Abernathy about Emmet Wish and the shooting in Harriet's house last night.

Abernathy's face turned ashen. “I had no idea you were so foolhardy. You could've been killed, but I'm glad Harriet's killer is behind bars.”

“I'm a little worried. The detective threatened to charge us with assault and kidnapping.”

“The police probably wanted to scare you. They know the DA would never bring charges. Wish showed up willingly, and he pulled the gun on you.”

His cell phone chimed and he flipped it open. “Bring him in.”

Two minutes later Nina, the assistant, walked in with a tall, dark-haired man in his late forties wearing an expensive suit with a very unattractive scowl on his face.

Abernathy met him at the door and briefly shook his hand. “Mr. Oliver? I'm Deacon Abernathy, attorney for the estate of Harriet Oliver.” He turned toward the table. “And this is the executor, Mrs. Martha Rose.”

Oliver looked past Abernathy's shoulder and sized me up. I remained seated, maintaining eye contact with him. Oliver merely nodded down his arrogant nose. Abernathy escorted him to a chair on the opposite side of the table; then the attorney took a position next to me. “Mr. Oliver, I'll get right to the point. Neither you nor your sister were named as heirs or beneficiaries of Mrs. Oliver's estate. Neither of you, therefore, has a claim to any of Mrs. Oliver's property or possessions.”

Oliver darkened and twisted forward in his chair.

Abernathy held up a silencing hand. “You are here solely at the sufferance of Mrs. Rose, who—despite your rude and threatening behavior toward her—wishes to extend to you the courtesy of an explanation of your legal standing. So, if you have any questions about your rights in this matter, you will address them to me. If not, this meeting is over.”

I knew right away Abernathy had taken the wrong tack. Henry Oliver would only view the word “no” as a challenge. Oliver pushed his shoulders back. “Mrs. Oliver possessed some items belonging to me and my sister, things that have been in my family for generations. They weren't Harriet's to give away or sell to strangers, and I mean to have them back.”

The belligerent tone in his voice hung heavily in the air.

Abernathy merely folded his hands on the table. “Unfortunately for you, the law says otherwise.”

I put my hand on the attorney's arm, and he bent down. I whispered in his ear, “Ask him what he wants.”

Abernathy cleared his throat. “Mrs. Rose is a fair person.”

Oliver's eyes slid in my direction. I returned a steady gaze and hoped he didn't see the vein throbbing in my neck.

“Despite your shoddy behavior, she's agreed to entertain any reasonable requests. She wants to know exactly what you want from Mrs. Oliver's estate.”

Henry Oliver took a list out of his breast pocket and slid it across the table with fingernails that were shiny and perfectly shaped, the kind of man who always looked clean and effortlessly put together. He wanted everything. Even some of the antique wooden toys.

Abernathy looked at me and I slowly shook my head and took a deep breath, and said, “Mr. Oliver, I cannot possibly give away millions of dollars from Harriet's estate. In my opinion, those valuable items should be in a place where they can be properly conserved, like the National Archives or the National Library. Especially the Declaration Quilt. It's nearly priceless but has seriously deteriorated. The quilt needs to be properly conserved. It's a national treasure.”

Oliver glared at me. “That's not up to you to decide.”

I ignored him. “I sympathize with your desire to keep the other family heirlooms. I'd feel the same way if they were mine. As a matter of fact, I've already set aside some of the items on your list. They're packed, crated, and ready to return to your family.”

Oliver seemed to relax a little as I made tick marks on his list with my pen. I handed the list to Abernathy, who slid it back across the table.

“These are the items you may take, but I can't just give them to you. The law says I must sell them at fair market value.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaws. “Outrageous.”

I nodded. “It does suck.”

Abernathy stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “Let us know what you decide. If you're serious about buying the items Mrs. Rose has set aside for you, we'll provide you with a fair market evaluation.”

After Oliver had stormed out of the office, I turned to Abernathy. “I spoke to Nico Grimaldi's daughter this morning. He died last week.”

Abernathy looked surprised. “Too bad. I didn't like the idea of you going to see him, anyway.”

“You didn't tell me everything about Grimaldi. You revealed he had a reason to kill Nathan. Yet, you failed to tell me Harriet gave him a large amount of money around the time Nathan disappeared. What were you hiding?”

“I was protecting Harriet and Grimaldi. When I gave you his contact information, I didn't know he'd died. Otherwise, I might have said something then.”

“Tell me now. Why did she give him money?”

“Harriet felt ashamed of what Nathan had done to the man. She compensated Grimaldi for the loss of his charter boat business. When you discovered Nathan's body in his own backyard, I knew the police would assume Harriet killed him. If they knew she'd given Grimaldi a large sum of money soon after Nathan's murder, they'd misconstrue it as a payoff and arrest the unfortunate man.”