Crossing the Lion (a Reigning Cats and Dog) (2010) (26 page)

I guess I wasn’t casual enough. “Why do you ask?” Missy asked sharply, her eyes narrowing.

I hesitated for a moment.
Got me there
, I thought.

But I’d gotten pretty good at thinking on my feet, especially at times like this. “I have a friend who’s in the market,” I said. Remembering that old saying about sticking as close to the truth as possible whenever
you’re telling a lie, I added, “Suzanne is in a relationship with a really nice guy right now. A New York State trooper, in fact. But I’m afraid she’s putting too much pressure on him and that at some point the whole thing is going to fall apart. I’m thinking that it’s not a bad idea to keep an eye out for any other prospects in case that time ever rolls around.”

“That’s considerate of you,” Missy commented.

I shrugged. “Suzanne and I have been friends for years. In fact, we met in college. So what about Harry? Is he available?”

“He’s single.” She sidestepped my question about whether or not he was actually available. “He got divorced about five years ago.”

“And he never remarried?” I asked, sounding as surprised as I felt. “Or got into a serious relationship?”

“He’s pretty involved in his work,” she replied, quickly adding, “From what I can tell, that is. I don’t know him all that well.”

“I see.” I did my best to keep all skepticism out of my voice. “What about your brothers?” I asked offhandedly. “I get the impression that neither of them is married.”

Missy shook her head. “Not at the moment, anyway.”

When I cast her a confused look, she added, “Brock has never been married. The man can’t make a commitment to which avocado to buy, so how could anyone expect him to choose a life mate?

“As for Tag, he’s the exact opposite.” Missy gave a
disapproving snort before explaining, “He’s already been married twice, and he’s not even out of his thirties.”

“What were his two wives like?” I asked.

Another snort. “Not exactly the kind of girls you’d be anxious to bring home to meet Mom and Dad. The first one, Monique, was a French model. Or so she claimed. Personally, I thought she’d found other ways of using her looks to make money—and that not all of her beauty was natural. That girl’s breasts were so big, thanks to the humongous implants she got somewhere along the line, that she looked as if she were shoplifting basketballs underneath her blouse.

“That marriage lasted less than a year,” Missy continued, her voice dripping with disdain. “As for the divorce, that went on for at least three. But do you think my big brother learned a thing from the experience?”

I didn’t have to answer.

Missy sighed. “Their divorce lawyers were still battling it out when Tag announced all over again that he’d found the woman of his dreams.”

“Another model?” I asked.

“Another
supposed
model,” she corrected me. “This one was Brazilian—Mariana. She was about seven feet tall, with legs as long as palm trees.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “She also had the IQ of one. But Tag didn’t seem to care. I swear, he married her before the ink was dry on the divorce papers.”

“But it sounds as if that one didn’t work out, either,” I prompted.

“No, it didn’t,” Missy replied. “That one lasted only a few months. And I’m pretty sure that divorce ended up costing him even more than the first one.” With a sardonic smile, she explained, “That one got herself a better lawyer.”

Something was troubling me. Tag clearly had a taste for expensive women and expensive toys. But when it came to the question of how he paid for both, I was mystified.

He certainly wasn’t getting the money from Linus. And he didn’t appear to have much of a career going.

Which made me wonder where the money for his hobbies was coming from.

“Missy,” I finally asked, hesitant about pushing her even further, “is there anything else Tag is involved in besides flashy women?”

“How about
stuff?”
she shot back. “He’s probably the biggest consumer of ridiculous boy toys in this entire hemisphere. My big brother is all about fun, and his version of it takes a lot of accoutrements. Fancy cars, luxurious condos in glamorous locales, yachts—”

“I’m talking about something else,” I said quietly. “Something that might have gotten him into trouble.”

A look of puzzlement crossed her face. “Like what?”

By this point, I had a few theories of my own. But I decided not to share them. “I don’t know. It’s just that yesterday I found him doing something kind of strange.”

“What do you mean, strange?” she asked suspiciously.

“I happened to run into him while I was doing a little exploring,” I said. “It was shortly after Nick arrived on the island. I was getting us some lunch in the kitchen, and I noticed a staircase I hadn’t seen before. I couldn’t resist taking a peek, since this house is so amazing. Anyway, I found Tag way up at the top of the tower. Somehow, I got the feeling he was hiding.”

Missy’s look of confusion melted into one of disgust. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not
that
again. I thought that was one problem he’d finally gotten under control.”

“What problem?” I asked.

I wasn’t surprised when she responded, “Gambling.”

Bingo, I thought. One of the possibilities I’d already come up with. “Tag gambles?”

“One more of his vices,” Missy replied angrily. “My brother has brought shame on this family again and again, ever since he discovered the power of a pair of dice. It’s gotten him into trouble more times than I care to think about. And there’s no doubt in my mind that that’s why you found him cowering in a corner somewhere.

“Oh, sure, there were times when he’d win,” she noted. “That’s how he financed that abomination of a car down there—among other things. And he happened to meet both Monique and Mariana when he was flush.

“But that’s only one side of the coin,” she continued. “I can’t tell you how many times he came slinking into this house with his shoulders slumped and his
head down, begging Daddy for money to pay off his gambling debts. A
lot
of money. And he’d swear up and down that he’d give it up if only our father would bail him out. ‘Just this once!’ he would always say. By this point it’s practically become his slogan. He probably means it, too, at least when he’s saying it. But before you know it, he’s back at it again.”

“And did your father bail him out?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“For a while. But even then, it was never without making Tag grovel. Daddy would give him a stern lecture every time. He also made it clear that the only reason he was helping him out was because the characters Tag owed money to were so—well, they were pretty unsavory. They meant business, too.”

“But you make it sound as if Linus stopped paying back Tag’s creditors,” I observed.

“Only lately.” Missy frowned. “Finally he’d had enough. So the last couple of times Tag came begging, Daddy told him he was on his own. I imagine he got the money he needed somewhere, but I don’t have a clue as to how or where.”

Shaking her head disapprovingly, she added, “They say gambling is an addiction, one that’s as hard to break as an addiction to drugs or alcohol. Believe me, I’ve done tons of reading on the topic. And I have to admit that that certainly seems to be the case with Tag. But it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”

My mind was racing. Tag’s fear of loan sharks could explain why he might need a lot of money fast, which he could get hold of most efficiently by killing
Linus and benefiting from a large inheritance—at least, the one he assumed he’d be getting.

I was about to change the subject, now that I had the answer I’d been looking for, when Missy let out a wistful sigh.

“I’ve tried having Harry talk to him,” she said. Her voice sounded far away, as if she was talking to herself rather than to me.

“Harry?” I repeated.

“That’s right,” she said, still distracted. “But it hasn’t done a bit of good. I swear, whatever advice anyone gives Tag goes in one ear and out the other. You’d think he’d listen, especially to someone like Harry, who’s such an incredible role model!”

Your loyalties are showing
, I felt like telling her.
You’re supposed to be saying things like that about the man you love, not the one you’re secretly visiting in the middle of the night. At least in public
.

But her claim that Harry was the ideal role model for her wayward brother was one more sign that the two of them were, indeed, an item. Which led me to move her name, as well as her big brother’s, a little bit higher up on my list of suspects.

•  •  •

Given what I’d learned about Gwennie and Jives’s true identities earlier that day, I was curious to find out more about them. After all, just because Missy and Tag were looking more and more suspicious, it didn’t mean I’d ruled out anyone else—especially two imposters
who’d traveled all the way across the Atlantic to play their con game.

My first impulse was to run upstairs to the bedroom, pull out my laptop, and do a little Googling. But then I remembered that there was no Internet access on Solitude Island.

The more time I spent here, the more I understood how well named the place was. And there were no computers, cell phones, or even electricity, for that matter, back when Epinetus Merrywood came up with the name.

I considered asking Nick if he had any ideas, some secret technique he’d learned during the years he spent as a private investigator. But I knew, deep down, that being stranded on an island didn’t leave me with a lot of options.

Which meant that if I was going to find out more about the duplicitous duo, I would have to do it the old-fashioned way: with a face-to-face confrontation with the Merrywoods’ bogus butler.

So I took a few deep breaths and started checking all the rooms on the first floor. I realized that I didn’t know what a butler did when he wasn’t buttling—not that Jonathan had ever exhibited much skill in that department, anyway.

Given the low level of job satisfaction he was undoubtedly experiencing, especially now that he knew he hadn’t even gotten a mention in Linus’s will, I wasn’t surprised to find him in a back room. The TV was on, his feet were propped up on an ottoman, and
the liquid in his iced-tea glass looked like something other than iced tea.

I cleared my throat as a way of announcing my arrival. Jives immediately jumped out of his chair and stood at attention.

“Dr. Popper,” he said, doing a really good job of not sounding the least bit surprised. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Jonathan,” I said impatiently, “you can drop the formality. Gwennie told me all about you.”

A look of astonishment crossed his face. But he insisted on staying in character as he added, “I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about—”

“Your acting skills are actually pretty good,” I interrupted. “But I know that you’re no more a professional butler than I am.”

His shoulders slumped. “What exactly did Gwennie tell you?”

“Everything,” I replied. “That the two of you are out-of-work actors who decided to put your training to good use by getting some poor unsuspecting rich guy to write you into his will.”

“That’s not quite accurate,” he said tartly. “I merely suggested to Gwennie that since we were both between acting jobs, we might find employment as servants. That way, we’d be free to leave our jobs when another opportunity to ply our craft arose.”

I sighed. Getting Jonathan to give up his Jives act was turning out to be a lot harder than I’d anticipated.

“I know even more,” I said, looking him in the eye
to hide the fact that I was bluffing. “I know about your … past.”

His shocked expression told me I’d been correct in assuming that, in addition to having a collection of eight-by-ten glossies, somewhere along the line he’d also posed for a couple of mug shots.

“I sincerely believed I had enough money to cover those checks,” he insisted. “I wasn’t trying to defraud anyone. As for that old woman who fell down the stairs, it was entirely coincidental that I was in her house at the time, collecting money for the Actors’ Relief Fund. Scotland Yard was never able to prove any connection whatsoever, mainly because there was none.”

I was pleased that he’d fallen into my trap. While he’d made plenty of excuses, I now knew that he was previously involved in schemes that involved stealing money—and possibly even crimes directed at senior citizens. And I’d learned all that without using the Internet.

“But when it came to our positions here, Gwennie and I weren’t doing anything dishonest,” Jonathan continued. “It’s true that we told a fib about having work experience of this type, and I did give a different name on my job application, just in case Linus turned out to be one of those compulsive people who do background checks.

“But everything else was on the up-and-up,” he insisted. “Gwennie and I did the jobs we were paid to do, and we extended every possible kindness to Linus
and his family. Except for that vile assistant of his,” he added.

“What’s up with you and Scarlett?” I asked.

I’d noticed that he seemed to have more disdain for her than he did for the rest of the world in general.

“She’s a snob,” Jonathan sniffed, “unlike the members of the Merrywood clan. I must say, they all treated us with respect. Especially Charlotte. Now there’s a real lady. And Brock has always gone out of his way to make all the servants feel as if they’re his equals.”

“What about the other Merrywoods?” I asked. “And Townie?”

“Tag treats everyone the same,” Jonathan observed. With a wry smile, he added, “He basically thinks everyone on the entire planet was put here to serve him. As for Townie, he was clearly well brought up. He seems to have learned from childhood that a gentleman always acts kindly toward the hired help. That’s true of Missy, as well, although she’s so self-absorbed that she probably doesn’t notice there’s anyone else in the room most of the time.

“But Scarlett—that’s another matter entirely.” Scowling, Jonathan said, “She can be downright rude. The night of Linus’s birthday party, for example. She was a holy terror, ordering all of us around like there was no tomorrow. And she’s not even a family member.”