Suspicion of Malice (46 page)

Claire said, "The break room is down the hall to
the left. And if you could bring me a fresh cup? Black
is fine. Thanks."

Gail walked down the corridor and back again,
looking through the windows into the open studios. A class of little girls in one of them. Older dancers in another. Then to the break room for the coffee.

When she returned, they were in a discussion
about the lawsuit that Roger's wife had threatened. Whether to settle. Claire thought they should.

Gail set the cups on the coffee table, feeling a
nudge of annoyance that he had been able to calm
this woman so quickly. Claire Cresswell was chat
tering like a schoolgirl. And why wouldn't she be
smitten? That resonant voice, the big brown eyes, the slight frown of concern. His warm, subtle sexuality had put a blush on her cheeks.
Aren't you just
gorgeous?

Claire was smiling, and her face had relaxed. Gail took that as a good omen for her own chances of not
being kicked out again. She took a chair at the end
of the couch, facing Anthony.

"Porter just hates to be pushed around, but I said,
Porter, you don't want to be in litigation for years,
do you? Our lawyer has him pretty much convinced
it's the right thing to do, just let it go. I'm going to
call Nikki and say there are no hard feelings and
we're so sorry. We
have
to make up before Sunday,
don't we?"

"Sunday?"

"When we go out to scatter Roger's ashes. There
won't be many of us. Just the immediate family and
a few friends." Claire turned to smile at Gail. "You're
coming too, aren't you?"

Gail nodded, relieved that Claire Cresswell had forgiven her.

Anthony patted Claire's hand, then squeezed it. "Claire, I am sorry to raise such painful issues, but when Ms. Connor and I talk to the police, they will ask us certain questions. I want to have all the answers for them. You understand. There was a family dinner the night before Roger died. Some disagree
ments between him and Porter. Could you tell me
what it was about?"

"Roger wanted Porter to resign, and he wouldn't do it, so Roger and Dub said they'd vote him out.
Porter was the angriest I have ever seen him. He
threw things. It took me forever to get them
calmed down."

Anthony leaned over to put his empty cup on the
table. The expensive fabric of his suit rustled softly, and Gail imagined a little cloud of cologne wafting around Claire's head. "The next night, Saturday, Porter was at the Black Point Marina after a cruise to Bimini," Anthony said.

"No. Porter didn't go on the cruise. He just hasn't
got the strength. I dropped him off at the marina and
had dinner with some friends."

"You picked him up again around nine o'clock.
And then?"

"And we went home. He was in bed by ten-
thirty." Claire laughed. "Believe me, Porter's not going to go creeping around in the dark."

"Another difficult question," Anthony said. "Ted Stamos told the police that Bobby attacked Roger without cause and threatened to kill him. This never occurred. I asked Stamos about it, and he said, indirectly, that he lied because Porter told him to. Was
Stamos afraid of losing his job? Or was it simple loyalty? What do you think?"

Claire took her time. "I'm sure Porter didn't ask
Ted to lie. Ted misunderstood. But it's true that Ted and Roger didn't like each other. It goes back some
years. Ted had a crush on my daughter when they were kids. Roger knew about it, and he'd promised
not to say anything, but he told Porter on them, and
Porter threw Ted off our property. Ted and Roger
never liked each other from that moment on. Remem
ber what I told you before? No one in the family
could have killed Roger."

Gail could read Anthony's thoughts. It was com
fortable for Claire to blame Ted Stamos for murder. Anthony said, "Not liking someone isn't a motive I
would suggest to a homicide detective. Let me ask
you about the corporation. You recall that yesterday I asked Porter about the shares, and he said that about
twenty years ago, he gave Dub additional shares of the business, up to forty-nine percent. Why did he
do that? Does Dub have some hold on him? I am
thinking of blackmail, and perhaps Roger found
out—"

"No!" Claire protested with a laugh. "They're
brothers.
It was just the fair thing to do. Dub had
been working so hard, and he wanted some compensation for it. It doesn't
mean
anything. Porter still has
the controlling interest. It was for appearances."

Anthony nodded, apparently letting it go.

Gail leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. "Was it for Diane?" In the corner of her
vision she could see the flicker of surprise on Antho
ny's face. "Was it because Porter wanted them to
take Maggie's child?"

Anthony was openly staring.

Claire Cresswell's face paled as if someone had struck her.

Gail said, "Claire, it's true, isn't it? Porter promised his brother more shares of the company if he and Liz
would adopt the baby." This was the only reason
that made sense to Gail. She had guessed, but
Claire's reaction had just confirmed it. "Please,
Claire. This could be the reason Roger died. Did he
know? Was he going to tell?"

The facade began to crumble. Lips pressed to
gether, then trembled. Eyes shone with sudden tears.
"He couldn't have known."

"Are you sure? Claire, he was old enough to see
what was going on. Maggie might have said
something."

"Maggie never told anyone. She hid it. Even from me." Claire's voice became husky. "We didn't know
until . . . she tried to kill herself. The maid found
her, and we called an ambulance, and at the hospital
the doctor told us. Porter wanted it aborted, but it
was too late. They wouldn't. We had to decide what to do. We couldn't let Maggie keep it. She was only
fifteen. Her life would have been ruined. Something
shameful like that? All the gossip, the whispering—"
Sharply Claire said, "You think it shouldn't have mattered, but you weren't
there.
It was awful for all of us."

Gail thought for a moment of backing away from
a topic so clearly painful to this woman, but she said, "So you decided to keep the child in the family by
giving it to your in-laws."

"Porter decided. I wanted to put the baby up for adoption, but Porter wouldn't allow it. He said . . .
hell no. 'Hell no. It's my flesh and blood.' He decided
the baby would live with Dub and Lizzie. A little sister for Patty. So we drove Maggie up to Orlando.
I have a cousin there. Liz came up and stayed until it was over. She doesn't have family, so it wasn't
hard to do. We had a private doctor, and he put Dub and Liz's name on the birth certificate.

"Porter told Maggie to sign the consent. He said
the baby was going to be adopted by a nice couple
in another state, and she shouldn't talk about it
again, ever. He said, 'What you did was bad, but it's
behind you. Don't think about it anymore.' Porter
had to go back to work, but I stayed with her. After
the baby was born, Porter and I took her to his cous
ins in Vermont, and they put her in a hospital there.
The doctors were wonderful. It was the only solution.
It's the only thing we could have done. She got bet
ter. We sent her to school up there. She became an
artist, and she was famous. Her paintings are in mu
seums. She was on the cover of
Art in America
—"

Claire's exhalation turned to a sob, and she pressed her fist against her mouth. Anthony gave her his handkerchief.

After a minute, Gail leaned closer and said softly, "Claire? Who was Diane's father? Did Maggie tell you?"

Taking some time to answer, Claire pressed the
handkerchief to the corners of her eyes. "No. Maggie
kept so much from me. Porter said to let it be. I
didn't press her to talk about it."

"Did she ever find out about Diane? Did she
guess?"

"She must have." Claire took a shaky breath. "Eight years ago Maggie spent the winter with friends in Key
West, and she came through Miami. That's when she
painted the portrait. I'm sure she knew. Before she went
back north, she gave it to us. She came to the house and set it on a chair for us to look at, and she didn't
say anything, and nobody said anything, and Porter
walked into another room and closed the door. When
she was gone, he came out and said . . . 'Put that
thing away.'"

Claire's mouth trembled. "I didn't see Maggie for
four years. Oh, we'd write, and there were some phone calls, but she never visited. Then she met
Nate, and they got married. He was so kind to her.
He didn't know any of this, but he tried to patch
things up. He kept after her, and we started visiting again. She even saw Porter a few times. We spent Christmas together.

"A week before she died, Nate said, 'Maggie, go
visit your mother, go see the new gallery.' We'd
moved to the condo by then. She came over, and we
had a nice lunch, just the two of us. Porter was at
the office. And afterwards Maggie got up and walked around the house, and she asked me, 'Mama, where's
the portrait that I gave you? Where is it? I don't see
it anywhere.' I didn't remember what she was talking
about. I didn't remember at first. She tore the house apart looking everywhere, and I was running after
her, crying, begging her to stop. She found it in a box under the bed in the guest bedroom. I tried to tell her. I said, 'Your daddy wanted me to give it
away, but I didn't, I kept it.' I said, 'Maggie, I'll have
it framed and hung in the gallery, I will. I promise.'
She didn't say anything more. She pushed the por
trait back under the bed and she left.

"We spoke on the phone a couple of times that
week. I wanted to say something, but she didn't
sound upset. I thought everything was all right. A
few nights later Nate came over and told us she was gone. She'd killed herself in the cottage with her sleeping pills. After the funeral, I didn't think about it anymore. I put all those thoughts away in a box.
Never looked, not for three years. It was Porter's idea to give the portrait to Roger. He didn't care who had
it. He just wanted it out of the house. Then Nate
bought the portrait. It wasn't a mistake. Jack sent it back to us because somehow he
knew.
Or he guessed. He loved Maggie so, and he blames us for what hap
pened to her. He hates us. Maybe he should."

Claire clutched the handkerchief in her fist. Mas
cara was splotched around her eyes. Breathing
deeply, she gazed out the window. "Diane should
have her portrait. I'll talk to Liz. I'm sure, very sure, I can persuade her. I may talk to Diane someday. Maybe after Porter is gone. He would be so furious
if he knew I'd told you."

Anthony said, "You can rely on our discretion. No
one will know."

"Thank you. Oh, my. What time is it? I should go.
It's late, and we have some people coming over for
cocktails." Claire stood up, tottering a little, and An
thony steadied her with a hand on her arm. Her lip
stick was gone, and her face sagged. "It's been lovely seeing you both again. Don't forget Sunday."

They walked her out of the lounge and across the hall to the elevator. She took gold-framed sunglasses
out of her purse and put them on. She waved good
bye as the door slid shut.

Gail stared into the brushed metal surface. "Oh,
my God."

Turning her toward the lounge, Anthony said qui
etly, "Let's talk for a few minutes." He closed the
door. "Why did you suggest that Roger was killed because of what he knew? It's doubtful he knew anything."

"I suggested it to see what would come next."

"It worked," Anthony said.

"Then why do I feel so rotten?" Gail wandered to the windows looking down into the studio. Dancers had come into the room. Some stretched their legs,
others practiced their steps. They wore the same
patched or faded clothing that Gail had seen the last
time she'd been here, with Bobby Gonzalez.