Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set Page 25

  "Oh, but of course. You sound different in person than you do on the phone, Mary. Do you have a cold?"

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." I smiled, sniffed dramatically, and then added, "I think I'm past the contagious stage, however."

  "Don't worry about passing it on to me. My entire family is just getting over it, so I'm probably already immune. Have a seat."

  "Thanks."

  "It's nice to finally meet you, Ms. Arnold. Your son is a fine man. I just spoke with him at a benefit dinner this last weekend," Mr. Myers said. "I certainly would not have expected Roger's mother to be so young. What can I do for you today?"

  Whoops, I hadn't taken Chad and Roger's ages into consideration. I'd just assumed that the two "sons" were of school age, maybe ten or eleven, rather than grown men. Now I was sure Mr. Myers was wondering if I'd become pregnant in the fifth grade.

  "Thank you. I guess I did marry fairly young. And I assure you I'm older than you may think. The reason I'm here, however, is to inform you one of your clients, Mr. Prescott, of D&P Enterprises has suddenly passed."

  "Horatio?" Mr. Myers asked. He was obviously stunned by the news. "How dreadful. He's been banking here for ages. What happened? Heart attack?"

  "No, Mr. Prescott was shot. Murdered, I regret to say. The homicide case is currently under investigation by the Rockdale Police Department. It's not clear yet who the perpetrator might be, but they're following several leads, and they already have a suspect in custody."

  "Oh, how dreadful. Is the suspect anyone I might know?" Mr. Myers asked.

  "He's a financial consultant named Peter Randall."

  "Peter Randall? No, not Pete. No, I just can't see Pete murdering anyone." Mr. Myers shook his head, a scowl on his face.

  "I've never met the man."

  "I have, and I believe they've pointed the finger at the wrong person. Peter would never... well, whatever. That's none of my business, and I guess the police know what they're doing. It's quite dreadful, anyway," Mr. Myers repeated. Although he expressed surprise at the mention of Peter Randall as a suspect, I sensed he didn't seem completely shocked about the fact someone would want to kill Horatio. "How I can I be of help?" he asked.

  "Because of the situation, the company's finances need to be scrutinized and audited. I'm sure you can understand the need for that," I said. I laid the signed consent form down on Mr. Myers's desk. "I just need to pick up the particulars on D&P Enterprises so we can begin the lengthy process. There's no reason to delay something that's going to have to be handled in the near future, anyway. If you could just photocopy the last few months' worth of statements for me, I'd appreciate it. Three months should be sufficient. You can keep the original copies here at the bank."

  "Certainly, Ms. Arnold. I'll get the files for you. It will just take a few minutes to run Xerox copies of all the account statements. There are a number of them, you know."

  "Yes, of course," I said with an understanding nod.

  "I'll have my secretary bring you a cup of coffee, if you'd like."

  "Thank you, I could use a cup. It will soothe my raw throat."

  "How do you take it?" Mr. Myers asked in a cordial tone.

  "Black, please."

  "Fine, I'll tell her and be back with the information on the account in just a few minutes. I sure do regret to hear about Mr. Prescott's demise, Mary. He wasn't exactly one of my favorite clients, but nonetheless, I don't like to hear he was murdered."

  Why did this revelation not surprise me? I didn't think Horatio Prescott was on anyone's list of favorite people.

  Chapter 9

  I arrived at the inn in less than half an hour. Driving back, I wondered if I shouldn't drop off the account information at Arnold Accounting after I studied it. I'm sure the way I obtained it wasn't entirely legal. If I dropped it off in a plain manila envelope, perhaps no one would question how it got there. With any luck at all, Mr. Myers and Mary Arnold would never have an occasion to meet in person; for then, Myers would realize he'd been duped. Rockdale was a small town; we were bound to run into each other again sometime in the future. But I would deal with that bridge when I crossed it.

  A few minutes later I sat with Stone in the basement and scanned through the file of information on the D&P Enterprise account, while Stone continued to sift through the trash. He hadn't uncovered anything else of interest in the bag of discarded paperwork. Stone obviously assumed Boris had shredded important documents and stuffed them in the trash bag. He was clearly disappointed.

  Looking through the file I'd received from Mr. Myers, I discovered there were actually fourteen different accounts in D&P's name at the Rockdale Bank and Trust, but the sum total of all the balances was somewhat less than what I would've expected for a company with over sixty employees on their payroll. I recalled that Robert Fischer, the former loan officer at the bank, had remarked that a lot of their resources were in Swiss accounts. I continued to plow through the information.

  I noticed each account at Rockdale Bank and Trust had a different name, such as "Mineral Rights" and "Precious Gems." It was clear D&P Enterprises had their fingers in many different pots. The account intriguing me the most was labeled "Miscellaneous." Among other things, it showed a monthly deposit of fifteen hundred dollars, drawn from the account of Harry Turner. Could this have something to do with the dirty laundry Alma Turner didn't want to have aired in public? I left Stone sorting through wads and slivers of paper, and went upstairs hoping to find the answer to that question.

  * * *

  I was walking down the hallway toward the parlor because I wanted to put the bank statement copies in my room. As I passed Boris Dack's suite across the hallway from mine, I heard the sound of a shower running. I knew I wasn't in my bathroom taking a shower, so I assumed it must be Boris taking one in his. Except for Rosalinda Swift and Cornelius Walker, Boris and I had the only bedroom suites on the first floor. The upper floor of the two-story home was made up of six guest rooms, all with private bathrooms attached. The top-story suites were slightly larger than the ones on the first floor, making them ideal for couples and distinguished guests. Stone used the owner's quarters, which included two sets of the upper-floor suites. The second set had been renovated into an office and large storage closet.

  I tapped lightly on Boris's door. When he failed to answer, I gave it a nudge. The door was not locked and opened with a squeak into his room. I peeked inside and could see a light under the door of the closed bathroom. Steam escaped from the small gap above the door's threshold. Glancing around his room, I saw he'd laid a fresh suit on his bed, and atop his night-stand were his wallet, keys, pocket protector, and cell phone.

  Quickly I picked up his cell phone, which was a Nokia model similar to mine, and clicked on "calls" and then "outgoing" and found a number dialed at exactly six minutes after one that afternoon. I took a fancy ink pen from his pocket protector and copied the number onto the inside of my left wrist. While I was copying the last digits, I heard the shower stop. I tossed the pen on the nightstand, and quickly exited the room.

  Halfway down the hallway, I realized I'd left the stack of bank statement copies on Boris's bed. I'd set them down to free up my hand to write the phone number on my wrist, and then forgot them in my haste to vacate the room. Now I had no choice but to risk being caught in Boris's bedroom because I had to retrieve the papers, if at all possible.

  I rushed up the hall, nudged open his door again, relieved to discover the door to his restroom was still closed. What I'd have done had he been standing stark naked in the middle of his room, I'm not sure. Fortunately, for me, that wasn't the case.

  I heard sounds coming from behind the still-closed bathroom door. It sounded as if Boris was hanging a towel on a towel rack and stepping into bathroom slippers. I grabbed the file off the bed and headed back out the door in one swift motion. As I stepped into the hallway, I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of the bathroom door opening. I felt lightheaded after my frightfully close ca
ll as I unlocked the door to my room and quickly stepped inside.

  I stashed the papers in the outer zippered pocket of my suitcase, and collapsed on my bed. My knees were shaking, and it took me several minutes to calm down. I went to the bathroom sink, splashed cold water on my face, and ran a brush through my hair. When I looked in the mirror I saw curly, highlighted hair that appeared dull and dry, and bloodshot, light-brown eyes with dark bags beginning to form beneath them. I was stunned by my own appearance. I needed a good night's sleep to recharge my internal battery.

  Finally, I felt collected enough to make my way toward the parlor. I looked through the glass doors, as I passed the library, and noticed Alma Turner removing a book from the history section. Harry was not with her.

  In the parlor, Rosalinda Swift was conversing with Cornelius Walker as they sat on high-backed chairs in front of a roaring fire in the fireplace. I heard Rosalinda titter after Cornelius said, "You see, I've always felt I was a lesbian trapped in a man's body."

  I gave Cornelius's statement some consideration and then asked the pair if they'd seen Harry Turner recently. I soon realized Rosalinda wasn't tittering with amusement from Cornelius's quip, but rather, she was tanked out of her gourd. "Tarry Hurner?" she asked, as she tried to focus on me with her glazed and bloodshot eyes. "Tarry's not in dis woom white now, Wexie."

  "Uh, yes, I can see Harry's not in the parlor, Rosalinda. Do you happen to know where exactly he is?"

  Cornelius draped his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me toward him. "Rosalinda's had a long afternoon, my dear," he said. "Harry's out on the back porch, I believe. Would you like me to take you to him? Perhaps we can duck into the hall closet on the way. We should spend a few minutes getting better acquainted."

  "No thanks, Cornelius. I can find him on my own. You stay here and keep an eye on Ms. Swift. She seems to be a bit under the weather."

  "Don't worry, Lexie, she'll be all right. Doctor Walker will take care of Rosalinda."

  I pulled away from Cornelius's embrace and excused myself. I was relieved Harry was, indeed, resting on the back deck, and he was alone. He was bundled up in a thick woolen scarf and a heavy parka, and was staring off into space, seemingly deep in thought. He stood next to the dirt-filled planter Otto had run his fingers through.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Turner," I said, in greeting. "Mind if I join you?"

  "Not at all," he said, turning his attention toward me. "How are you feeling today, Lexie? You had us all worried last night. I can't imagine how you would come to swallow a poison like tansy oil. That's highly unusual."

  "I know. I can't imagine it either, but I'm fine now. Thanks for asking. Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? It's something that's just come to my attention. It has me perplexed and more than a little curious."

  "Depends on what you want to know, but I'll try to answer your question if I can."

  "Harry, I can't explain how right now, but I've discovered you've been making a monthly stipend to D&P Enterprises. A check is written off your account on the first of each month in the amount of fifteen hundred dollars. The money doesn't appear to go toward a stock purchase or a deposit into a money market or mutual fund account. Were you a client of D&P Enterprises?"

  "Um, well, no. Not exactly a client."

  "Then why—"

  "It's just, um, more of a matter of... well, let's put it this way. I'd be classified as more of a victim of D&P Enterprises than a client," Harry said softly. He cleared his throat and continued in a barely-audible whisper. "Listen, Lexie, can this be just between you and me? Alma would have a fit if she knew I told anyone about the blackmailing. For some reason, I feel like I can trust you."

  "Blackmailing? Of course, Harry. I won't repeat what you say to anyone." Except for Stone, and possibly the entire team of homicide investigators, I thought, as I whispered back in response. "And I'm glad you feel you can trust me."

  "Horatio has been blackmailing me for years, Lexie. He... he... uh—oh, this is so embarrassing. It was such a silly thing, really. Please keep this to yourself. Telling you about it is humiliating enough as it is."

  "Go on, I won't spread it around. I promise you, Harry," I said, offering encouragement. Telling Stone, my boyfriend and co-conspirator, wasn't exactly spreading it around, was it? Oh yes, and possibly the team of homicide investigators, of course.

  "All right, here goes," Harry said, lowering his head and refusing to look at me as he spoke. "About ten years ago, Horatio, who was an investor like myself, except on a grander scale, was attending the same antiques auction as I was. The auction was an estate sale in Jefferson City. We were both involved in a silent bid on a spectacular Salvador Dali original. I have a respectable art collection, although it's not nearly as impressive as Horatio's. Anyway, he'd booked a room at the hotel where I was staying. The night before the auction he burst into my room, uninvited, and caught me dressed up in a pair of pantyhose and one of Alma's frilly negligees. To this day, I don't know what possessed me to put those clothes on, but Horatio caught me completely off guard. Before I knew it, he had pulled one of those small, instamatic cameras from his pocket, snapped a photo of me, and departed. I merely tried the stuff on as a lark, you understand."

  "Uh-huh, I see." I hoped I didn't look as astonished as I felt. Trying to visualize Harry Turner in panty hose and a frilly negligee was like trying to picture Mother Teresa in a thong bikini. Harry Turner was a very masculine-looking gentleman. Handsome and debonair, he had a Cary Grant aura. In many ways he'd initially reminded me of my own father, with his muscular build, dark hair and easygoing personality. He didn't remind me of my father anymore, however. My father would stick his arm down his own throat and rip out his heart before he'd don a woman's negligee and panty hose. There wasn't enough money stockpiled in all of Kansas City's casinos' vaults to entice him to sacrifice his manhood on a lark such as Mr. Turner just described. I knew I wasn't faring well in my attempt to mask my revulsion.

  "Trust me, Lexie, it wasn't something I made a habit of doing. But I'd had a few drinks and was feeling kind of loopy and restless. Alma was at a ladies luncheon, and I'd picked her clothes up off the top of her suitcase to put them away. And, well, what can I say? I was bored, I guess. It was a bad decision, and I've regretted it every day of my life since. I certainly hope this doesn't color your view of me in any way."

  That ship had sailed, I was afraid. I could never look at Harry in the same way again.

  "I understand, Harry." Yeah, of course I understood. The guy was a closet transvestite. What's not to understand? I thought.

  "So, I dropped out of the bidding, naturally, and left the auction," Harry continued. He wiped sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief he pulled from his back pocket. He looked like a man being ordered to walk down a gangplank. I knew this wasn't an easy story for him to relate.

  "A few days later, a package arrived in my office with a copy of the photograph," Harry said. "There was no denying it was me in the photograph. Horatio had taken a full, clear shot of my face. I knew if the photo were ever made public, I'd be humiliated and my business would suffer irreparably. To keep it locked away in Horatio's safe would require a monthly payment of fifteen hundred dollars, he informed me in a note accompanying the photograph. I considered taking the package to the authorities but chickened out because I was too ashamed for them to see the photo. I knew most of the guys on the police force, and I didn't want to be the butt of a lot of jokes and ridicule. I was aware it was something apt to quickly spread all over town."

  "Yes, I'm sure it would have, and I can see why you didn't want to bring it to the attention of the police. I wouldn't have, either, if I were in your shoes." Whether they were leather oxfords or sequined high heels, I said to myself.

  "Not knowing what else to do, I reluctantly told Alma about it, and after a lot of deliberation, we agreed there was nothing we could do but pay the old bastard the money. Alma made it clear she'd divorce me should the photo ever see the light of day
. That's what I meant when I said I would've done away with Horatio myself if I thought I could get away with it. He's made my life hell for the last decade. Alma and I are concerned about what will become of the contents of his safe, now that he's deceased. I'm sure Alma's threat to divorce me still stands. She's afraid of public humiliation and being ostracized by all the ladies at the country club.

  "Alma and I have, understandably, grown apart in the intervening years, and it's not because I can't stand the thought of living without her. It's because she controls the purse strings in our family. If we were to divorce, I'd be left destitute, I'm sure."

  Noticing the questioning look on my face, Harry added, "Our resources are primarily from an estate she inherited from a wealthy, unmarried aunt when Alma was only in her twenties. When we married, I was basically penniless. I had lots of grand ideas and high aspirations, but no money to back them. I don't need Alma in my life as much as I need her resources. I'm sure it sounds a bit mercenary to you, but I'm too old now to have to go out and pound the pavement looking for work to make a living. I'd rather leave matters as they are than to have to resort to being a vagrant."

  "Yes, I can see why you'd be concerned about what might happen with the contents of Mr. Prescott's safe," I said, not even bothering to temper my sarcasm. "But blackmail is illegal, and Horatio's actions were despicable. Does Boris know about the photo?"

  "I'm not sure," Harry said. "But from the looks he sometimes gives me, and a few snide remarks he's made over the years, I'm relatively certain he does know about the photo. I've considered discussing the matter with him, but I'm not sure how to go about it. It's a difficult subject for me to broach, as I'm sure you can understand."

  "Yes, I understand. It won't be easy, Harry, but I can't see you have much choice. If anyone would have access to Horatio's safe, it would be Boris. With Horatio's death, the circumstances surrounding the photo he took of you could be exposed to the general public. It may be something you'll want to ensure never happens. Have you ever had any personal differences with Boris?"