To Catch a Leaf (11 page)

Richard put his arm around her shoulders. “If this is too much for you, honeypot, say the word and I'll whisk you right home in my carriage.”

Grace smiled into his eyes. “Thank you, dear Richard, but if there's anything we Brits do well, it's soldier on. Continue, Marco.”

“Let's go back to Juanita,” Marco said. “Did you notice friction between her and Constance?”

“No,” Grace said. “Connie was polite to a fault with her.”

“Does Juanita work?” I asked.

“She teaches a yoga class several times a week, I believe,” Grace said.

“How did she meet Burnsy?” I asked.

“Juanita was a renter in one of the family-owned apartment buildings,” Grace said. “One day she went to the management office to complain about a broken dishwasher, and Burnsy happened to be there. Being the eternal skirt-chaser, he volunteered to fix it. Well, the silly man knew nothing about repairing machines, but he couldn't resist trying to impress a beautiful young woman, and, according to Connie, Juanita couldn't resist a wealthy man.”

Burnsy likes sexy babes,
I wrote.
Juanita likes money.

“What do you know about Constance's daughter?” Marco asked.

“Virginia Newport-Lynch,” Grace said, then spelled it out for me. “Virginia is middle-aged, divorced, has no children, and fancies herself a painter. However, from what Connie said, she's never sold anything of note. She studied art in college, then moved to Taos, New Mexico, married an artist living on a commune, and painted pictures of vases and pueblos. Later, she moved to Chicago and worked at the Art Institute. She's a plain woman with an odd taste in clothing and with features that are rather ratlike, if truth be known, although her whiskers are on her chin rather than below her nose.”

Grace stated that as a fact rather than as a joke, but I couldn't hold back a snicker as I wrote it down.

“How did she get along with her mother?” Marco asked.

“The air fairly crackled with animosity when Virginia and her mum were in the same room,” Grace said. “Connie called her daughter a contrarian. If she said black, Virginia said white. Connie once said they couldn't even agree on the time.”

“Been there,” I said.

Marco's cell phone rang, so he left the booth to take the call. When he returned he said, “That was Sean Reilly. The police found no evidence of theft or of a break-in, and no one had reported anything other than the cat missing. He also mentioned that according to the coroner's preliminary findings, there are bruises on Constance's shoulders consistent with being pushed.”

“Poor dear,” Grace muttered, shaking her head sadly.

“Is that all Reilly told you, Marco?” I asked.

“He wanted me to pass along a message for Grace,” Marco said, prompting Richard to put his arm around her shoulders in a reassuring way.

“Yes, Marco, please proceed,” Grace said.

“Reilly said to prepare yourself, Grace. They're calling you their top suspect.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
eeing the anguish in Grace's eyes, Richard said, “Whatever it takes, Grace, I'm here for you. I don't want you worrying about legal expenses, hear? That includes paying for these two young people to investigate. The police may be starting with you, but they sure as heck aren't going to end there. Marco, how soon can you and Abby get to work?”

“We've already started,” Marco said.

“Richard, love,” Grace said, her eyes filling with tears, “I appreciate your offer, but this is not your responsibility. I'm perfectly able to pay for my own defense.”

“Grace, my little English dove, I don't want to step on your toes, but please let me help you. This money you're due to receive may be frozen. So indulge me a little, honeypot. I like taking care of you.”

“Thank you, dear, but it's a matter of pride, you see.”

“Pride, is it?” he asked. “And what's that little ditty you're always telling me about pride?”

Grace sighed resignedly. “It's not a ditty. It's a verse from Proverbs. ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.' That's all well and fine, Richard, but—”

He put his fingers over her lips. “Hush, now. I want to take care of this for you. Will you please let me do that?”

The sweet, loving look that passed between them nearly made my own eyes well up. I glanced at Marco to see if he'd caught it, and the corner of his mouth turned up in that quirky, endearing way of his as he gazed at me. He squeezed my hand beneath the table.

This was definitely the man I wanted to share my life with.

“Shall we get on with it, then?” Grace asked.

“You were telling us about Connie's daughter,” I reminded her.

“That's really about all I know of Virginia's personal life,” Grace said, “other than that she has a disorder called syncope, which causes her to faint under stress. For a woman who likes to be in control at all times, it infuriates her.”

“Does she work outside the home?” Marco asked.

“Not for several years,” Grace said. “Sadly, neither one of Grace's children feels the need to be industrious, hence Connie's disgust. She worked very hard raising funds for her favorite philanthropic organizations and had always encouraged Virginia and Burnsy to do the same, but they weren't interested.”

“What about Griffin?” I asked.

“Ah, yes, Connie's grandson,” Grace said. “Griffin is a scholar. He studied history at Oxford and now writes papers on the Victorian era. It's too small a niche to make any sort of living from, but Griffin has never had to worry about money.

“He's forty years old, good-looking, and always well turned out. Connie had seemed to dote on him, but at our last meeting, I sensed a strain of some kind between them that was unrelated to her worries about the inheritance money.”

I put a star beside Griffin's name. Grace's observation was something to explore in greater depth. As Marco had taught me, sometimes the tiniest detail could prove to be the most important

“What about Griffin's relationships?” Marco asked. “Was he seeing anyone?”

“He had been seeing a young woman but broke it off several months back and wouldn't tell his grandmother why. That didn't sit well with her.”

“Which?” Marco asked. “That he broke off his relationship or that he wouldn't tell her why?”

“Connie wanted him to marry and have children. However, she also hated being denied her way. So perhaps both.”

“Tell me about the housekeeper,” Marco said.

“I would guess Mrs. Dunbar's age to be about seventy,” Grace said, “and she's worked for the Newports for many years. Other than that, I'm afraid I can't be of much help. Connie didn't have any complaints about her. In fact, she hardly mentioned the woman at all. I believe she rather viewed her staff as invisible.”

“What about the chauffeur?” Marco asked.

“Mr. Luce functions as both chauffeur and mechanic,” Grace said. “He's very young, perhaps your age, Abby, quite good-looking, and has a passion for automobiles and motorbikes. I got the distinct impression that Connie viewed him as a pet. Interesting, isn't it, that he came out the best of all?”

I finished writing and moved the list to where Marco could see it better.

“Grace, remind me where everyone was when you found the body,” Marco said.

Grace took a sip of wine and thought about it. “I only know what I heard, which is to say, it hasn't been proven. Supposedly, Virginia was in her attic studio, Mrs. Dunbar was in the garden, Griffin was in his apartment, Luce was working on a motorbike in the garage, Burnsy was off gambling, and Juanita was shopping with a friend.”

“Make a note to find out the name of her friend,” Marco said to me. “Grace, was the back door unlocked when you arrived?”

“That's right. I knocked twice and called out, then tried the door, found it unlocked, and stepped inside for a look around. I noticed a door ajar on the other side of the kitchen, with a light coming from behind it. When I opened it, I found myself looking down a flight of stairs to their lower level, and there lay Connie at the bottom beneath a suit of armor. It was horrible.”

“I know this is hard for you,” Marco said, “but could you describe the position of her body?”

Grace drew a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “She was faceup, with her arms flung awkwardly to the sides and her heels still on the bottom step. The fingers of her right hand were curled, too. As I told Abby, I suspected at once that it was more than an accident because all the signs indicated that she'd been pushed.”

“Did you take her pulse?” Marco asked.

“I did,” Grace said. “There was none, yet her forehead was still warm, so she couldn't have been dead long. I ran upstairs to call for help and was talking to the police when Mrs. Dunbar came through the back door. She heard my end of the conversation, dropped the bundle of radishes in her apron, ran to the basement door, and would have charged straight down the steps had I not caught her in time.

“Heaven knows what evidence she might have destroyed in addition to what I may have done. The poor old dear was so distraught that I immediately sat her down at the table and attempted to distract her by asking her questions until the police arrived, but she kept going on about how she might lose her position now that Connie's gone, and she was barely able to manage a complete sentence.”

“Was she able to furnish any information?” Marco asked.

“About the only thing she said was that when she left to go out to the garden, Connie was searching for Charity. The police arrived at last and they were followed by Juanita. The three of us were separated not long afterward and put in various rooms to be interviewed.”

Marco waited until I'd finished writing, then said, “Anything you want to ask, Abby?”

“Grace, you've met Connie's family, haven't you?”

“Yes, superficially.”

“If you had to pick one person from this list to be our prime suspect, who would it be?”

“Oh, dear,” Grace said, rubbing her forehead. “I hate to point the finger of guilt at anyone. If you were to phrase it differently, perhaps?”

“Try this,” I said. “Who should we investigate first?”

“Juanita and Virginia, without a doubt,” Grace said. “Connie wasn't on good terms with either one.”

“Was she on good terms with her son?” Marco asked.

“Not particularly, but it was the two women whom she complained about the most.”

I put stars beside the two names. Marco read over the notes, then said, “That should do it, Grace. Go home and relax, and we'll take it from here. Thanks for your patience, Richard.”

“Anything to help this sweet little lady,” Richard said. “Now, before we go, how about a toast to a speedy resolution of this matter?”

“Hear, hear,” I said, and we clinked glasses.

As soon as Grace and Richard left, Marco said, “I'll meet with Dave Hammond first thing in the morning; then we can head over to the Newport mansion during your lunch hour and see who'll talk to us.”

“I'll bring a bouquet of flowers to get us in the door. But why wait until tomorrow when we can get started now? More people are home during the evening hours than at lunchtime.”

“Sorry, babe. I've got plans for this evening.”

I couldn't keep the disappointment out of my voice. “A new PI case?”

“No.” Marco picked up my hand and began to draw lazy circles in my palm, where the nerve endings seemed particularly sensitive. He knew it drove me wild. “I believe there's a small matter of a payback?”

Ah, the payback. Disappointment gone. “Check, please.”

As Marco helped me into my jacket, I asked, “Was your mom okay with canceling the shopping trip?”

“I didn't cancel it,” he said, ushering me out of the booth. “I postponed it.”

“Marco, that won't work. I don't want to pick out shower invitations with her. They'll be what she wants, not what we want.”

“Sunshine, I've never seen you do anything you didn't really want to do, and that would include agreeing to buy invitations you don't like.”

“You make it sound so easy, but I couldn't do anything that might hurt her feelings.”

“You worry too much. Now, wait right here.”

He slipped through the crowd to talk to his head bartender, then came back to take my arm and escort me out the door.

“Instead of putting her off,” I said, as Marco walked me to my car, “just tell her we'll choose our own invitations.”