Easter Bunny Murder (14 page)

Lucy's spirits sank as she listened to Rachel, realizing that it was all true. Jurors who were living from paycheck to paycheck, or even subsisting on unemployment, could hardly be counted on to be sympathetic to the plight of a multimillionaire who lived in a huge mansion and had private nurses and servants. Those folks would hardly consider staff reductions and the lack of fresh flowers as hardships. They would think VV was pretty well off compared to themselves.

“That's depressing,” said Lucy. “The DA's going to have to convince them that VV was a prisoner in her own home and that this is really a case of elder abuse.”

“All the defense has to do is claim that VV was ga-ga and Vicky and Henry were only trying to protect her interests,” said Rachel. “The jurors are most likely going to be sandwich generation folks themselves who've had to deal with aging relatives and they might very well sympathize with Vicky and Henry.”

Lucy thought of Izzy, who'd remarked that her aged mother was getting better care at Heritage House than VV was getting in her own mansion. “Aucoin has to show them that VV really was abused, that she would have gotten better care as a Medicaid patient,” said Lucy.

“Good luck with that,” said Rachel, and Lucy realized she was right.

“You know,” replied Lucy, “I'm convinced those three had something to do with Van's and Maxine's deaths. Two accidental deaths in the same family, in one week, it just seems fishy to me. I'm sure they wanted to get them out of the way. Van came home and upset the apple cart because he didn't like the way VV was being treated, and then Maxine came on the scene, claiming that Van's death wasn't an accident.”

“Believe me, Bob's begged the DA to investigate, but Aucoin says there's no evidence the deaths were suspicious. The cops found a half-empty vodka bottle in Maxine's car . . .”

This was news to Lucy. “Did the medical examiner check her blood alcohol level?” she asked.

“The body was pretty far gone, it had been in the water for several days,” said Rachel. “As for Van, it turns out he'd suffered from arrhythmia for some time but kept it a secret.”

“Yeah,” grumbled Lucy. “It's not enough to know, or suspect, what happened. You've got to be able to prove it.”

“Exactly,” said Rachel. “But if you can come up with some proof, Bob says it would really strengthen the prosecution's case.”

“I'll work on it,” said Lucy, aware that there was a huge difference between wishing and doing. She wished she could prove that Van and Maxine were murdered but she didn't have the slightest idea how to do it.

“That would be great, Lucy,” said Rachel. “By the way, Bob says they need some help at Pine Point. Do you think Toby would be interested?”

“Toby's got his hands full at the moment, but I know that Eddie Culpepper is looking for a part-time job. Willis also mentioned it to me when I was there, and told me to have Eddie call him.”

“Thanks, I'll have Bob call him.”

“Take care. Get better soon,” said Lucy, hanging up. She'd no sooner ended the call than the phone started ringing. She checked caller ID, saw it was an out-of-state 212 area code, and ignored it. Following Phyllis's and Ted's example, she turned off her computer, switched off the lights and headed for home.

Chapter Fourteen

W
hen Lucy got to the office on Friday morning, Ted was working on a story about a fund-raiser for Will Smollett, the fisherman who'd been electrocuted and didn't have health insurance. “So the Claws are going to play and there's going to be a silent auction?” asked Ted, tilting his head to hold the phone against his shoulder and clicking away on his keyboard. “Are you still accepting donations of goods for the auction?”

Lucy hung up her jacket and went over to the reception counter, where she rested her elbows on the scuffed Formica. “Heck of a thing,” she said to Phyllis. “You'd think a guy like Will would know better than to get himself electrocuted.”

“Those generators can be tricky,” said Phyllis, who was wearing apple green today. Her reading glasses were green with rhinestones, her sweater was green with sequin trim, and her eye shadow and fingernails were green. Lucy was relieved to see that her lips were thickly coated in a somewhat more natural peony pink.

“I don't know much about them,” admitted Lucy, leafing through the stack of press releases that Phyllis handed her. “Fishing is so darned dangerous.” It occurred to her that restoration carpentry was also dangerous and she hadn't yet convinced Bill that he needed a will; she filed the thought away when Phyllis picked up the conversation.

“I don't know why they bother. They can hardly make a living at it anymore, what with the catch limits and all the other regulations.”

Lucy nodded. It was a subject she'd written about many times, every time the government changed the regulations, which was often.

She had picked up the press releases and was starting to cross the room to her desk when the door opened to a jangle of the bell, and a middle-aged woman stepped into the office. With her neatly permed gray hair, tailored black pantsuit, and expensive-looking black loafers, it was obvious she wasn't from Tinker's Cove, where most women wore sweatpants or jeans. When she spoke, it was with a heavy New York accent.

“I'm looking for some information and I wonder if you could help me,” she said.

Lucy eyed her warily and pointed to the stack of
Penny-savers
on the reception counter. “If you're from the media, you can buy our latest issue for seventy-five cents.”

The woman reached into her stylish leather tote and produced a leopard print card case. “I'm not from the media,” she said, giving Lucy a card. “I'm a private investigator. Fran Martino.” She stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Glancing at the card, Lucy recognized the 212 number she'd ignored the day before. “A real private eye?”

“From New York?” asked Phyllis.

Even Ted, who had finished his interview, was on his feet. “Ted Stillings, editor, publisher, chief reporter,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“I've been hired by Juliette Duff to look into the deaths of her parents, Van Duff and Maxine Carey. She's not convinced that the local authorities conducted a thorough investigation.”

“She's right!” exclaimed Lucy. “I'm Lucy, Lucy Stone. Part-time reporter.”

“And you're Phyllis,” said Fran with a nod to the nameplate on the reception counter. “Nice to meet you.”

“So you're a big city detective come to our little town,” said Phyllis with a defensive edge to her voice.

“I'm not here to make trouble,” said Fran with a reassuring smile. “My client, Juliette Duff, is a young woman who tragically lost both her parents in a short time and has a lot of questions that need answers, answers she hasn't been able to get from the authorities.” Fran made eye contact with each of them. “She wants closure, that's all.”

“Well, I can certainly understand that,” said Ted. “We'll be happy to help in any way we can. Lucy can fill you in.”

“What about the listings, Ted?” asked Phyllis rather pointedly.

“There's plenty of time for the listings,” he said, waving away her concern. “Why don't you make a fresh pot of coffee? Lucy and Fran can talk in the morgue.”

“Since when do I make coffee?” asked Phyllis, getting rather pink under the collar.

“Never mind,” said Ted, quick to avert a feminist power play. “I'll do it. Cream? Sugar?” he asked Fran.

“Just black is fine,” she said, following Lucy into the tiny, dusty morgue where the old papers were kept, beginning with the
Courier and Advertisers
published in the 1850s.

Lucy pulled out a chair for Fran, then took one opposite her at the scarred oak table. She could hardly contain her excitement—here she was, face to face with a genuine private investigator. “Is it fabulous?” she asked. “Being a private eye?”

Fran's eyes brightened and she smiled. “Sometimes it's interesting, but most of the time it's a lot of donkey work.” She pulled a file out of her tote and opened it. “These are copies of the official reports,” she said, pointing at the papers with her finger; her nails were neatly filed but unpolished. “They're not very informative.”

Ted entered with two mugs of steaming coffee. “Budget cuts,” he said. “Everybody's understaffed. And remember, these are very well-connected and powerful people. Nobody wants to stir up a hornets' nest.”

Lucy wrapped her hands around the mug. “Van had a heart condition. Maxine had been drinking and was upset. That was all the explanation they needed. Of course, that was before anybody knew what Vicky and Henry and Weatherby were up to.”

“Juliette says that Vicky discouraged her father from visiting Pine Point, but he insisted. He couldn't believe there wasn't going to be an Easter egg hunt . . .”

“Nobody could. There was a crowd at the gate, everybody expected it,” said Lucy.

“Van was in the house, challenging Vicky's authority. He was her brother, after all. He wouldn't take any guff from her. Juliette says he loved his grandmother. He would have found her situation intolerable.” Fran took a sip of coffee. “Vicky had a strong motive—a hundred million dollar motive—to get rid of him.”

“I suppose she could have known about his heart condition,” said Lucy.

Ted was leaning against one of the shelves holding the oversize bound volumes containing the old papers. “But how did she do it? Doc Ryder didn't find any indication . . .”

“He didn't look for any anomalies,” said Fran. “There were no tests for drugs, poison, nothing.”

“Maxine was very suspicious about Van's death. She came in here, making all sorts of accusations,” said Lucy. “That alone would have been motive enough for the Three Pigs, as she called them.”

“Juliette says her mother was furious when she learned the Karl Klaus sculpture had been sold,” said Fran. “
Jelly Beans
was a gift from the sculptor, she didn't think they had any business selling it. She says Weatherby must have gotten at least a million for it.”

“Another motive,” said Lucy.

“There's no shortage of motives,” said Ted. “We can speculate all we want, but what we need is proof.”

“Well, that's what I'm here to find—proof. And I intend to get it.” She set down her mug. “But I'm going to need some help, someone with local knowledge.”

Lucy looked at Ted. “It'll be a great story,” she said.

Ted let out a long sigh. “Okay,” he finally said. “But you've still got to do those listings for Phyllis.”

“I will, I promise,” said Lucy eagerly. “I'll work on them at home, nights, on my own time, if I have to.”

“Good,” said Ted. “So where are you starting?”

Lucy didn't hesitate for a moment. “Pine Point,” she said. “That's where it all began.”

 

Fran offered to drive and Lucy didn't object; the price of gas was rising and groceries cost more, but her weekly allowance had been the same for years. She happily climbed in the passenger seat and gave Fran directions to Pine Point, but she soon discovered she didn't like the direction Fran's questions were taking.

“Can you tell me a little bit about the staff at Pine Point? I'm familiar with Willis, of course, because of the court case.”

“Willis has been with VV forever—over thirty years. He's devoted to her. Vicky and Henry made a big mistake when they fired him,” said Lucy.

“That's what Juliette told me. But what about the others? Is there a cook?”

“That would be Elfrida, Phyllis's niece. She's a sweet girl, has a bunch of kids. She's not a professional cook, but she's learning.”

“That's a bit odd, isn't it? How long has she been there?”

“A couple of months, maybe. She got hired just before all this started.”

“Interesting,” said Fran. “Do you think she's involved?”

“I think she came cheap,” said Lucy, feeling she had to defend Elfrida from Fran's suspicions. “There was a fancy French chef but they let him go.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Pierre or Jean or Claude, I don't know. Willis will have records, I'm sure.”

“What about housekeeping staff?” asked Fran.

“There are some local women who come in to clean. Willis will have information about them.”

“Who takes care of VV?”

“There are two nurses, Lupe and Sylvia. I'm not convinced they're actually . . . well, they didn't come from a local agency. They seem competent enough, but I suspect there's some sort of immigration issue. Like maybe they have foreign credentials.”

“Interesting,” said Fran, taking heed of the
DANGEROUS CURVE
sign and braking. “I assume this is the place where Maxine died?”

“Yes,” said Lucy. “Lover's Leap. If you want a better look, you can pull over up ahead.”

Fran pulled into the overlook and they both got out of the car and went over to the fence, where a couple of coin-operated binoculars were positioned. They didn't look out at the distant islands, however, but peered down at the rocks below and at the pounding surf. Then Fran raised her eyes and examined the roadway. “She was coming in the opposite direction, right?”

“Yup. Pine Point is just up ahead, maybe a quarter mile.”

“The guard rail wasn't broken?”

“She must have sailed right over it.”

“What kind of car?”

“A BMW. It was completely wrecked.”

Fran shook her head. “What a waste,” she said, and Lucy wasn't sure if she was talking about Maxine or the car. She took another long look at the scene of the accident, then straightened her shoulders. “Let's go.”

When they turned into the drive and approached the gates, Fran let out an appreciative whistle. “This is quite the place. Who cuts all this grass?”

“There's a gardener, Izzy Scannell. She's the only one left; there used to be a crew of workers.”

As they passed through the open gates, Lucy noticed Eddie Culpepper driving a little lawn tractor. Spotting her, he gave a big wave, which Lucy returned.

“Who's that?” asked Fran, who didn't miss a thing.

“Just a local kid, Eddie Culpepper,” said Lucy, thinking Willis had wasted no time before acting on her recommendation. “He's a new hire, he wasn't here when Van and Maxine died.” She decided there was no need to go into Eddie's history as a troubled vet and recovered addict.

Fran gave her a sideways look as she pulled up by the front door and braked. “I'm just gathering information,” she said. “You don't need to get defensive.”

“I'm not defensive,” said Lucy. “I just think you're barking up the wrong tree. The people who work here didn't have anything to gain from Van's and Maxine's deaths; quite the contrary. They put up with a lot from Weatherby and the Allens. They were overworked and underpaid. They only stayed on because they cared about VV.”

Fran gave her a half smile, which Lucy understood to be a gesture of condescension. “I like to keep an open mind,” she said. “You just never know about people. They're full of surprises.”

Lucy followed Fran up the three stone steps to the front door, which was answered by Willis. He was happy to cooperate, once Fran identified herself and made it clear she'd been hired by Juliette, and led the way downstairs to his office. Fran settled herself at his desk and began going through the personnel files and Lucy went on to the kitchen to chat with Elfrida.

She found her taking a pan of blueberry muffins out of the oven.

Lucy inhaled the delicious scent of sugar and cinnamon. “Those smell wonderful,” she said. “And, by the way, I was here yesterday for lunch and that lobster Newburg was really, really good. And the pie was lovely.”

“Thanks, Lucy.” Elfrida set the pan on a cooling rack. “Have one, while they're still hot. And there's coffee and tea, too. Willis got one of those single cup machines so we can have a cup whenever we want now. It makes more sense, now that we've got more people working here and everybody's on different schedules. And I put out muffins in the morning and cookies in the afternoon.”

“Isn't that a lot of work for you?” asked Lucy.

Elfrida shook her head. “I can whip up a dozen muffins in fifteen minutes; cookies, too, except for the baking.” She chuckled. “I never knew cooking was so easy. I'm having a ball. You know what I'm making for lunch?”

Lucy shook her head, her mouth too full of buttery muffin to speak.

“Cream of asparagus soup. I made it myself. And ham sandwiches on homemade anadama bread.”

Just thinking about such a delicious menu made Lucy feel a little weak in the knees, so she made herself a cup of coffee from the snazzy new machine. “For VV, right? What do the staff get?”