Trouble at High Tide (26 page)

“I’m sorry if your forced vacation was not what you had anticipated,” Tom said, “but you are welcome back any time.” He raised his glass. “To my family, guests, and good friends, all of whom have helped me bear this dreadful episode. I thank each and every one of you.”

We touched the rims of our glasses together around the table, me with my ginger ale, George with a goblet of water, and the others with their wineglasses.

Tom put his glass down and pushed back his chair. “Now, if it suits you all, may I suggest we take our coffees to the
sitting room to allow Norlene to clean up and get home before the weather worsens? Adam, please give her a hand and then bring in some cordials.”

“When did you learn that we don’t have to stay on Bermuda any longer?” I asked Tom as the others had left the dining room. “I guess I’m a little surprised that we weren’t notified personally.”

“Commissioner Hanover called this morning,” Tom replied, ushering me into the living room. “He asked me to pass along the news that you are no longer required to stay, but since I didn’t see you before you left this morning, I decided to hold the news for tonight and deliver it in person.”

I found it odd that the commissioner, whom I had seen earlier in the day, hadn’t bothered to give me that information when he’d had the opportunity, but I didn’t mention it to avoid having to explain why I had visited the commissioner in the first place.

When we joined the others in the sitting room, Godfrey, who’d taken a chair near the fireplace as his wife settled on one of the sofas, said, “I take this as a sign that the police service are closing in on solving their cases.”

“I certainly hope so,” Tom said, “but the inspector here would know more about that than I.” He turned to George.

“So far as I know, there have been no arrests to date,” George said tactfully. “Beyond that, I’m not at liberty to speculate.”

“Oh, come now, sir, you must know something more about the Jack the Ripper killer who’s been terrorizing this island,” Godfrey said. “After all, the niece of our host here was a victim of the monster herself.”

“That’s right,” Stephen said. “The local police may not be the most sophisticated investigators but we’d like to know that the world-famous Scotland Yard is making progress.”

The note of sarcasm in Stephen’s voice did not escape me, and I was certain George had caught it as well.

“Too bad,” Tom said. “I was hoping that you would entertain us with some inside information, the sort of scoop that the media vultures would sell their souls for.”

“There’s no inside scoop to provide,” George said with a noncommittal smile. “All I can say is that we continue to investigate in conjunction with Bermuda’s local authorities, who I must say are quite professional in the way they go about things. The Yard are here only in an advisory capacity; the investigation is very much under local control, or as you Americans are fond of saying, the ball is in their court.”

I had to admire George’s deft diplomatic hand, although I wondered whether he was being entirely truthful. From what I’d seen, George and his colleagues were very much hands-on in the attempt to identify the murderer who’d been stalking young women on the island.

Adam, who had carried in a tray with three bottles of liqueur and a dozen tiny glasses, chimed in as he set them down on a table, “Maybe the government should have called in the FBI instead.”

“I have confidence that Scotland Yard will crack the case before long,” I said.

“Nice of you to say, lass,” George whispered to me.

“I do, too,” Margo chimed in. “The police always save the day.” She smiled at me.

“I have to speak up for the Yard, as well,” Godfrey said. “Every bit as good as your FBI.”

“I’d just like to see them solve Alicia’s murder,” Tom said, “and catch this Jack the Ripper before he slaughters any more of us.”

“If I remember correctly, Tom, you said that the Scotland Yard team told you that Alicia was not a victim of the Jack the Ripper killer,” I said.

“You don’t remember correctly, Jessica,” he replied with annoyance. “I’m a little surprised at you.”

“But I heard you say it the other day when the inspectors were here.”

“What you say is not precisely accurate, Jessica,” Tom said, “and accuracy is key in such cases. What the Scotland Yard inspectors said was that they didn’t
believe
that she was a victim of Jack the Ripper. That’s not a presentation of proof in any court I’ve ever had jurisdiction over.” He sounded as if he were lecturing a law student. “I frankly think they’re wrong.”

“She was killed by the Bermuda Jack, no doubt about it,” Adam said.

“What makes you say that?” George asked.

“The MO, MODUS OPERANDI,” Adam replied. “I read the papers. I read the crime reports. As sickening as it might be, Alicia was killed just like the others.”

“Do we have to discuss this?” Madeline wailed. “We will have to continue living with Alicia’s murder every day. I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

“Very well,” Tom said. “What
would
you like to talk about?”

She cocked her head and raised a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“I know,” Daisy said. “We were in Hamilton shopping today. Would you like to hear about the—?”

Her husband interrupted her. “The last thing we want to talk about is shopping, Daisy,” her husband said. “Pick another topic.”

“Your loss,” she told her husband. “We found this great little place near the post office I was going to take you to, but now I won’t. Which reminds me.” She turned to me. “Madeline and I saw you coming out of the post office, Jessica. What were you doing in Hamilton today? Maybe your errands are more interesting than mine.” She threw her husband a sardonic look.

“You didn’t need to go to the post office in Hamilton,” Tom said. “We have plenty of stamps here, and Adam makes a post office run every day.”

“I was picking up a package in general delivery,” I explained.

“I wouldn’t think that you’ve been here long enough to get mail,” Claudia said.

“I haven’t been,” I said. “The package was not for me.”

I hadn’t been certain how to raise the topic of the envelope addressed to Fairy Fay and wasn’t sure if it should be brought up in front of Tom’s family and guests. I hesitated. He deserved to learn about it privately, rather than in front of so many witnesses.

“It was sent to Alicia, Tom,” I said, “but I think it’s something we should discuss privately. It can wait for another time when you’re not entertaining.”

“For Alicia?” Tom said. “Can’t imagine what she sent away for. Probably another mystery book. Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.” He slapped his knees and rose from his chair. “There’s no time like the present. I’m sure our guests won’t mind if we desert them for a few minutes. Shall we go in the library?”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. These grown-ups can entertain themselves for a few minutes. Can’t you?” he said, looking around.

“Go ahead,” Godfrey said. “I’ve got some questions for the inspector.”

I glanced at George. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he said.

As Tom led me across the breezeway toward the library, I heard Claudia say, “So, Daisy, tell us what bargains you found in Hamilton today.”

“Yes, Daisy,” Margo jumped in. “I was sorry not to be able to join you and Madeline, but we can go together another time.”

“I would rather hear about your case, Inspector,” Godfrey’s voice said.

Tom opened the door to his library and flipped on the lights. “So what’s this big secret you have for me, Jessica?” he said heartily.

“I picked up this package today, Tom.” I pulled the padded envelope out of my shoulder bag and handed it to him.

He squinted at it. “It’s not even addressed to Alicia,” he said as he sank into one of the couches flanking the fireplace. “Sit down.” He waved me into the sofa across from his and pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket.
“How do you know it’s for Alicia? Who’s this Fairy Fay? I never heard of anyone by that name.”

I groped around my bag for Alicia’s book. “Alicia left a note in her book,” I said, finally putting my hand on the slim volume.

“She did?”

“Yes.” I leaned over to show him what she’d written inside the back cover.

He let the envelope fall into his lap and took the book from me, frowning down at the message. “Looks like her handwriting,” he said. “You mean you figured out that she sent herself a package from this scribble?”

“Yes.”

“How did you come up with that?”

“That’s what I do, Tom. Mysteries are how I make a living.”

“I thought you wrote mystery novels,” he said. “I didn’t realize you actually worked real mysteries out in your head.” I sensed that he was becoming uneasy.

“Was she really reading this crap?” He tossed Alicia’s book on the table between us and leaned back to look at the envelope again. I picked it up and returned it to my bag.

“So what’s this?” he said, tapping a finger on the padded envelope.

“Why don’t you open it up and see?” I suggested.

“Do you know what’s in it?”

“Alicia didn’t leave me that information,” I said evasively. “Do you know who sent it to her?”

He looked at the return address and grunted, then turned the envelope over and pulled the tab to open it. I watched as he removed the plastic sleeve and fingered through the
papers inside. His brows went up and he glanced at me. “These are the papers that I’ve been looking for.”

“You must be happy to have them back, Tom.”

“I am,” he said, “very happy.”

He didn’t look happy, however, and I wondered what the evidence of his wrongdoing would prompt him to say and do next.

He stood and tucked the envelope under his arm. “Unless you have anything more to show me, I think we should rejoin the others.”

“Why do you think Alicia would send those papers to herself?” I asked. “She went out of her way to make certain no one would know the package was coming in, even to the extent of using a fictitious name.”

“I think she wanted to give them to me as a gift,” he replied, as if the idea had just occurred to him. “My birthday is coming up. Yes! Alicia must have known I was looking for these and asked someone to send them to her. She said she had a surprise for me. What a loving, wonderful girl to arrange to get these papers for me. You didn’t know her, of course, but she was a real pixie, full of pranks, but she could be sweet as well. I’ll always remember her that way.”

“Who do you think sent them to her?”

“I have no idea.”

“I think I do, Tom.”

His face turned hard.

“You once had a law clerk you fired, as I understand it.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From Adam. Don’t you remember? We talked about it the day after Alicia was killed.”

“Adam should know better than to discuss my private business.” He glared at me.

“Nevertheless, the clerk’s name was Barry Lovick, wasn’t it?”

“What the hell are you driving at, Jessica?”

“Look at the return address on the envelope, Tom. It says B.L. Barry Lovick.”

“So what?”

“Isn’t Barry Lovick Lillian Jamison’s son by her first marriage?”

“I don’t see what that has to do—”

“There’s obviously more to your ongoing battle with your neighbors than the architecture and positioning of Stephen’s studio.”

“I’ve heard enough from you, Jessica,” he said. “You have a vivid imagination. You’re coloring the truth here. I should have known better than to invite a writer of murder mysteries as a guest.”

“I appreciated the invitation, Tom, and I’m sorry if what I’m saying is upsetting you. The truth is—and as a judge you should respect the truth—the truth is that Barry Lovick had been bringing the papers in that envelope home with him, important papers, papers you didn’t want anyone else to see—and that’s why you fired him. That
is
the truth, isn’t it, Tom?”

He said nothing.

“And he sent those same papers to Alicia here in Bermuda. The question is, Tom, why did he do that? What did Alicia intend to do with them? It would seem to me to be a strange birthday gift, as you suggested.”

“I don’t intend to discuss this any further. You have no idea what’s in this envelope and I don’t plan on sharing these papers with you.” He abruptly turned, opened the door, and stormed from the room.

I followed.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” Claudia said when Tom and I returned to the sitting room.

Margo studied Tom’s face. “Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Perfectly fine,” he said, striding to the fireplace where Stephen had stationed himself again.

“What was that all about?” Stephen asked.

“Nothing,” Tom said. “Nothing at all. Jessica thought she had something really special, perhaps something that I would be upset about, but of course, I’m not. Have a drink, Jessica, and we’ll celebrate your soaring imagination. Adam, pour Jessica a cordial.”

Adam jumped up to follow Tom’s direction.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I don’t want anything. I’m fine as I am.” I sat next to George.

Tom pulled some papers from the envelope and held them up. “Jessica was worried these may have been important. But you see, they’re really not. Not important at all,” he said as he started dropping them into the fireplace. The fire had burned down to embers, but the papers caught immediately and the flames flared up, lighting the room. “See how important they are, Jessica?” Tom said, feeding more of the papers into the fire.

“But, Tom, maybe you’ll need them later,” Margo said. “Are you sure you want to burn them?”

“I don’t need them. I don’t want them,” Tom said, continuing to add more fuel to the fire.

I purposely avoided looking at George, certain he was thinking the same thing I was. It was fortunate that we’d photocopied all of Tom’s documents. Tom thought he was destroying the evidence that could not only end his career, but very possibly send him to jail. He may not have even considered the broader implication that his fortune, however it was accumulated, would be taken away not just from him, but from his family as well.

I knew that Bermuda was sensitive about being used as an off-shore repository of illegal funds. Its reputation as a leading international finance and business center relies on the transparency and honesty of transactions that take place here. When the Bermudian authorities examined the papers, they were likely to share them with the FBI. But it was also probable that they would act on them first, confiscating not just Tom’s bank accounts, but his property as well. I wondered how that would sit with the two women vying for his attention, Margo and Claudia.