Death by Surprise (Carolyn Hart Classics) (20 page)

He looked uncomfortable. “Please, miss, if you block the front drive, we won’t be able to park all the cars.”

“What is it? A party?”

The second man had arrived now. He overheard me and said officiously, “By invitation only, Miss. If you . . .”

“I’m part of the family,” I said brusquely, over my shoulder, and started up the steps.

Anger swept me ahead, a swirling wave of anger. A party. Amanda dead two days and a party. The funeral was in the morning. Amanda dead and my father’s honor destroyed, but Grace was giving a party.

I opened the front door, startling a maid who was putting fresh water in the vases along the hallway.

“Where is Mrs. Carlisle?”

“Upstairs, Miss. May I ask . . .”

Of course Grace would be upstairs. Dressing for a party was a ritual with her, as much to be treasured as the moment when the guests arrived to find her standing, serene and regal, in her drawing room. First came the long luxurious bath with the creamy oil of gardenia swirling in the soft water. Then a rest in her silk negligee on the satiny chaise-lounge in the alcove of her dressing room. Finally, a half-hour before the guests were to arrive, the slow and careful application of her makeup and the donning of her dress. A blue dress, usually. Blue is so becoming for blondes. Even aging blondes.

I burst into her room.

I was right on target. She was standing in front of her full-length mirror, admiring her image, the soft crushed silk dress, the string of perfect pearls. She swung about, one hand at her throat. “K.C., you startled me. When will you learn not to slam and bang about?”

I wasn’t ten years old to be quailed or fifteen to be snubbed. I stood just inside the door and stared at her.

No one ever said Grace wasn’t perceptive.

“K.C., what’s wrong?”

“I just talked to Sonia Levy.”

She took a quick breath. She clutched her throat as if breath were, suddenly, impossible to find.

I knew it was true.

Grace didn’t say a word. She stood there, looking old and sick and grey.

“What did you need the money for, Grace?” My voice shook with anger. “What in the hell did you need the money for?”

She turned and walked blindly toward her dressing table and slumped into the chair. She leaned forward, hiding her face in her hands.

I crossed the room, stood beside her. “It was easy, wasn’t it?” I asked bitterly. “So easy.”

She made no answer, would not look up.

“It won’t do any good to hide, Grace. I know how you did it. Dad talked about his cases to you. Judges aren’t supposed to, of course, but it helped him make up his mind, a kind of thinking out loud. It never occurred to him that you would ever divulge anything you heard. He didn’t worry about you. For one thing, I suppose in his heart he knew you usually didn’t listen. You didn’t care. You didn’t care how he thought, how he worked. But he should have worried about you, shouldn’t he?”

Her hands dropped. She raised a ravaged face. “Please, K.C.”

“No, Grace. I won’t stop. Not this time. Not until I know how it happened.”

Her mouth worked. Finally, faintly, she asked, “That Levy woman. What is she going to do?”

That was Grace, of course. Always concerned about Grace. Always.

“Listen to me,” I said harshly, “you are going to tell me the truth. This one time you are going to tell the truth. Why did you do it?”

Her fingers began to pleat the soft silk of her dress. “I had to do it, K.C., I had to. If I didn’t pay, he was going to tell your father.”

“He?”

Her fingers moved harder, faster. “Larry. Larry Stephenson.”

“What did he threaten to tell Dad?”

She shook her head, back and forth. “I didn’t mean . . . I had no idea that he . . .” She stopped.

“Go on, Grace.”

“He was so kind at first. So sweet and . . . and loving. I never intended anything to happen. But that day he went with me, to the lake house . . . and then, it was so exciting. But I never meant for it to go so far.”

“You had an affair with him?”

“K.C.”

So it was not to be mentioned directly. That was too shocking, too insensitive. Crude K.C. would spell it out.

I could have shaken her until her perfectly arranged hair collapsed into an untidy mess. I could have . . . Suddenly, I was tired. Because of her incredibly benighted views of sex, she had bartered away my father’s integrity.

“K.C.,” and she was pleading, “I had to pay him. I realized what a scum he was, how he had fooled me, made me . . . a plaything. But if I hadn’t paid, he would have told your father.” She rubbed her eyes and said querulously, “I had to pay him.”

“Dad never knew?”

“Of course not,” she said sharply. “Of course he didn’t know.”

“Was this what Francine Boutelle threatened to put in her story?”

Grace looked suddenly wary. It was interesting, watching her try to think. Slowly, she nodded.

“Did it ever occur to you,” I asked, “that Boutelle may have already written the article?”

Sheer panic flooded Grace’s face. “But she promised me . . .” Grace broke off sharply.

“What did she promise you?”

“I paid her and she promised not to put it in.”

“Where did you get the money?”

“I put a mortgage on the lake-front house.”

She had been able to pay off this time. With Dad dead, there was no one to question any financial transactions.

I frowned. The big meeting had been at Grace’s house Monday night. I had my appointment to talk to Francine on Wednesday and it was Wednesday night that she was murdered.

“When did you pay her off?”

For the first time, Grace looked scared.

“Was it Wednesday? Did you go to her apartment Wednesday night?”

Grace folded her lips and looked stubborn.

“You’d better tell me, Grace. It’s murder, you know.”

“I have an alibi.”

“Do you, indeed? That’s interesting. Especially since they don’t know when she was killed.”

“She was still alive . . .” She clapped a hand over her mouth.

“When was she still alive, Grace?”

Grace looked at me uneasily. “I was there only a few minutes. She was fine when I left.”

“What time was it?” I pressed.

“Just after six,” Grace said reluctantly. “I stepped into her foyer and gave her the money. It was in a shoe box.”

I could almost have smiled at that. How classic.

“Did she count it?”

“Yes. And then she promised me never to reveal . . . it.”

Grace had asked me to go and see Francine, but she hadn’t put any eggs in my basket. She would already have paid Francine before I had any opportunity to handle Francine. Another vote of confidence. But none of that mattered any more.

“You gave her fifty thousand in cash?”

Grace nodded.

“Grace, did you wear gloves when you put the money in the shoe box?”

Alarm flashed in her eyes. “No. Why?”

“I just wondered. If the police found it, I imagine they fingerprinted it.”

Once again fear swept her. “What shall I do?”

“Do? Why, nothing, Grace. If I were you, I would do absolutely nothing.” I stared at her for a long moment. “You’ve done enough damage, haven’t you?”

I left then, left her to have her party, to wear her swirling blue silk dress. I drove down to the beach. I wanted to be alone and there is no place as lonely as a deserted beach at night. I parked and walked down winding wooden steps to a narrow strip of shore, still wet where the tide had eased out. I walked out to the end of the point and climbed a boulder and looked out in the darkness toward the ever-moving sea.

At least Dad never knew he had been betrayed. I think, perhaps, he might have felt pity at Grace’s love affair, but he could never have forgiven the sale of his name. He had tried hard to be a good judge. I could hear Grace’s self-pitying voice, “But really, K.C., what harm did it do? He had decided to suspend the sentence. The Levys could afford it. It didn’t hurt anyone.”

Oh, Grace.

And now, she had been at the doorstep of murder. I didn’t fool myself. She was as close to it as anyone. I had started my search this afternoon, hoping to turn outward, away from the family, but it had come full circle. A closed circle.

Grace could have done it.

The phone was ringing when I got home.

“Hello.”

“K.C.” His voice was brusque and self-assured and I was surprised at the burst of pleasure it gave me to hear it.

“Yes, Harry.”

“Did you see the news conference?”

So much had happened these last few hours that it took me a moment to remember.

“Oh no, I didn’t.” I had forgotten totally Kenneth’s scheduled news conference. Had he expected me to come? “Did it go off all right?” I asked anxiously.

“Considering the circumstances, it went very well. Kenneth was subdued, but he sounded like an innocent man. He said he had found Francine Boutelle dead. He was so shocked that he didn’t notify the police although he recognized now that he should have done so. He promised that he would testify fully at his trial and he felt confident he would be exonerated. He explained that he couldn’t discuss the charge against him but he was innocent and, for that reason, he was refusing to relinquish his spot on the ticket although the state committee had asked him to step down.” Harry paused. “I admired him.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Harry.”

“That’s the good news.”

“And the bad?”

“Farris is working overtime trying to figure out what Francine had on Kenneth. So far he hasn’t come up with anything but he’s sure he’ll find it eventually. On the physical evidence, he has Carlisle cold. He has a witness placing him at the apartment and he has the scarf.”

The scarf that Kenneth had removed from Francine’s throat and put in his trunk.

Suddenly a thought occurred to me.

“Harry, what else did they find in Kenneth’s trunk?”

“I don’t think . . . wait a minute.” Harry turned away from the receiver. “Hey, Paul. Paul, c’mere for a minute.” There was a rustle, then, distantly, I heard Harry asking, “What did they find in Carlisle’s trunk?” I couldn’t hear the reply, then Harry said impatiently, “Yeah, yeah, I know. But what else?” A pause and he came back to the phone, “That’s all, K.C. Just the scarf.”

“But Harry, remember what that room looked like? It had been searched. And you told me they hadn’t found a trace of the manuscript on the family. If it wasn’t in Kenneth’s car, that proves someone else was there.”

I was excited, but I wanted to be sure. I called Kenneth.

He heard me out, then said quickly, “I didn’t take a thing but the scarf.” He sighed. “Of course, Farris has fastened on the scarf. As far as he is concerned that proves I did it. Then the money clinched it, for him.”

“The money?”

“Yeah. I had fifty thousand in an envelope all ready for Francine. Fifty thousand dollar bills. I stuffed it in the car when I came back out. The police found that, too.”

“They didn’t find the manuscript?”

He was impatient. “No. I didn’t take anything like that.”

I asked him to go through his arrival again. “What time was it?”

“The clock struck seven as I was there. I remember it scared me when it started to sound.”

Kenneth had been scared. It had been his breathing we had heard on the tape.

“Kenneth, this is important, really important. Was her desk messed up when you came? Had it been searched?”

“Yes,” he said indifferently. To him, the clutter of the room was meaningless. All he could see was that white scarf. To me, it meant the murderer had already come.

I called Farris. He wasn’t in. I asked for his home number.

“Captain, this is K.C. Carlisle, Kenneth Carlisle’s lawyer.”

“Office hours are nine to five, Miss Carlisle.”

“Wait. This might be important. Captain, what did your men find in Kenneth’s car?”

He thought it over for a long moment. It wasn’t in his nature to trust a defense lawyer or to share any of the evidence. “It’s up to the DA to release that information.”

“I’ve heard they found the scarf and an envelope with fifty thousand dollars—and that’s all.”

He didn’t answer.

“If that’s true,” I said urgently, “it proves someone else was there before Kenneth and that she was dead when he got there.”

“Why?”

“Because the living-room had been searched. Obviously, some things are missing, probably the manuscript she was working on when she was killed. If Kenneth had taken anything, it would have been in the trunk with that scarf.”

“Who says? Maybe he went by his office and threw it in the shredder. Maybe he dumped it in the corner trash. Maybe he ate it.”

“For God’s sake,” I said angrily, “use your head. Why would he keep that damned scarf? Obviously, only because he had no chance to get rid of it. All right, if he didn’t get rid of it, then he had no chance to get rid of a manuscript.”

I didn’t make any headway with Farris. None at all.

But I knew. After I hung up, I clung to that. I knew someone had been there before Kenneth. I knew one thing more. The killer must have taken Grace’s fifty thousand dollars in the shoe box. I could be sure of that. It would have been blazoned in the news stories if a shoe box with fifty thousand dollars had been found in Francine’s apartment.