Fatal Trust (8 page)

Lexie blinked the eyes in question. “What are you talking about?”

“I suspected who you were when I met you,” Trey said. “You really do have
your aunt’s eyes. When I googled your law firm and saw your photo, I knew I was
right.”

Denying it would clearly be futile. “Did you know Aunt Jessica well?”
Lexie asked.

“Fairly well. I was usually around when she came here to visit Max. She
was a charming, talented, beautiful lady. I can see why Max loved her.” Trey
idly tapped his pen on his legal pad. “My only question is why you’re
pretending to be Ben’s girlfriend. If I had to guess, I’d say it was because
Ben isn’t satisfied that Max’s death was an accident and contacted you about it
and the earlier attempts on Max’s life.”

Lexie thought for a moment, chewing her lower lip. Ben didn’t want Trey
to know what they were doing out of fear he might give them away, not because he
was a suspect. And Trey might be able to help. He’d worked for Max for a long
time and knew the family. He’d also be anxious to see his best friend’s killer
brought to justice.

“Actually, Max contacted me,” Lexie admitted, then explained about the
letter.

When she’d finished, Trey’s mouth twisted wryly. “Max always knew what
buttons to push.”

“I’m not going along with it just because of my duty as a lawyer,” Lexie
said. “It’s also because Aunt Jessica would have wanted me to do it. And
because I liked Max and owed him a lot.”

“I can certainly understand that. Max was my best friend for more than
thirty years.” Trey shook his head. “I’m still having trouble believing he’s
gone.”

“He’s lucky to have had you,” Lexie said. “He always told me that
anything to do with money and numbers bored him so much that without you, he’d
have been out on the streets for failure to pay his bills.”

“True.” Trey smiled faintly. “Not that I could ever understand the
sentiment, especially when you’ve got as much money as Max had, but then I’m an
accountant.”

Lexie laughed. “I never got it, either, but Aunt Jessica was the same
way. I think it’s one of those left-brain things that affects exceptionally
talented artists.” Then something Trey had said earlier hit her. “You knew about
the prior attempts on Max’s life?”

Trey nodded. “I was at Easter dinner when he had what he claimed was a
gallbladder attack. A few days later his doctor asked me if Max honestly would
have taken poison for a book, which is apparently how Max explained the poison.
Bill and I play poker together every Thursday, and he was worried Max might be
losing it. He didn’t mention the kind of poison, so I assumed it was something
mild and reassured the good doctor that Max was completely sane and probably
had done it for a book. Max could get a little fanatic about his writing.”

“What about the shooting?”

Trey pursed his lips. “I didn’t know about that until Max showed me the
tabloid article about it. Then I started questioning whether Max really
had
taken the poison intentionally. I didn’t feel I could ask him about it since
Bill had probably violated some medical privacy law mentioning it to me,
although he’d assumed Max had already told me the truth. So I told Max I didn’t
believe any group had shot out his window, because he hadn’t mentioned getting
threatening letters to me. He said he didn’t tell me everything and to drop it.
He was so vehement that I did.” Trey closed his eyes for a moment, pain
flickering across his features. “God, I wish I hadn’t.”

“The cops probably wouldn’t have found anything,” Lexie said. “According
to Ben, they give new meaning to ‘incompetent.’”

“I might have been able to convince Max to hire a P.I.,” Trey said.
“Although knowing Max, probably not. And Ben’s right about our local law
enforcement. I assume that’s why Max wanted you to check this out.”

“He was also afraid that someone else might discover some unrelated
family secrets during their investigation and make them public.”

Trey started tapping again. “He had a point. Max has always been so
protective of his privacy that the tabloids will pay a fortune for any dirt
related to him or his family. They’ll pay even more right after his death. But
he knew you’d never expose anything, both because you were his attorney and
because of your aunt. How did Ben get involved?”

“Max sent him a letter asking him to work with me.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Max trusted Ben implicitly.”

Something in his voice made Lexie look at him curiously. “Do you know a
reason he shouldn’t have?”

“Only that I don’t think you should trust any beneficiary when you’re
dealing with as much money as Max had,” Trey said. “I like Ben. For what it’s
worth, he’s never tried to cheat me on a car repair, even though he knows I
know nothing about cars and would do whatever he recommended and pay whatever
he asked.”

“Do you know if any family member is desperate for money?” Lexie asked.

“Muriel,” Trey said immediately. “She went through all of her inheritance
from her late husband making contributions to her favorite religions and is now
living on her social security. She hasn’t made a mortgage payment for months
and is actually in danger of being foreclosed on. Which is ironic considering
her late husband, Harold, was president of the bank holding the mortgage.”

“Did Max know about that?”

Trey nodded. “She tried to borrow money from Max a couple of months
before he died, and I couldn’t help overhearing. He told her he wasn’t about to
finance Billy Graham’s ministries, the Vatican, Buddhism Today, and that Wicca
church or school or whatever the hell it is with his hard-earned cash.”

“She contributed to all of those?”

“And more,” Trey said. “Max told me she’s gone through every cent Harold
left her. She’s living on her social security.”

“Would Max really have let her lose her house?”

“Probably,” Trey said. “But he’d have made sure she had a place to stay,
paid rent for an apartment, or bought her a condo. He might even have bought
her house from the bank and let her stay there. He wouldn’t want her to be
homeless. Just unable to make contributions she couldn’t afford.”

“Anyone else?”

“Cecilia showed up a couple of days early for Easter,” he said. “She
seemed agitated. She had a long meeting with Max, and when it was over she was
even more agitated.”

“She asked him for money?”

“I don’t know. I do know that Max was really upset by her most recent
divorce and afraid she was turning into her mother. Max also told me that
Jeremy asked for money, although not why he wanted it. Probably had some hot
investment opportunity. Max turned him down.”

“What about Seth?”

“I know the money he’s inheriting will help him advance his career,” Trey
said. “And he’s no doubt still furious that Max refused to force the director
of
Dark
Fire
to hire him as an assistant last year.

“Not that any of them would have killed Max,” he added quickly. “And I’m
sure Max would have helped anyone who became truly desperate. I got more from
Max alive than dead, in case you suspect me.”

“All you get from the trust is a year’s salary as severance pay. At your
insistence,” Lexie said. “Max wanted to give you much more. Why did you turn it
down?”

“I inherited some family money, and Max has paid me very well, so I’ve
saved quite a bit. I don’t need more money.” Trey looked rueful. “What I do
need is family. My wife died four years ago, and we never had kids. I consider
Max’s grandkids my family, and I didn’t want to risk ruining my relationship
with them because they resented how much I got from the trust. Especially when
I’d never spend it anyway.”

“Will you be looking for another job?”

He shook his head. “I think I’ll retire. I’m sixty-three, and after
working with Max, any other job would be a major letdown.”

“Do you know what family secrets Max was concerned might be uncovered?”

“Other than what you already know, I haven’t got a clue.” Trey steepled
his fingers. “I’m sure you’ve considered the possibility that when Max arranged
to send you the letter, he was trying to create one last great drama, making
sure if he died, someone would suspect it was murder.”

Lexie nodded. “Can you think of anything else that might be relevant?”
she asked.

Trey considered that for a moment, and then shook his head. “If I do,
I’ll let you know. It’s hard for me to believe anyone in the family killed Max.
But if one of them did, I want the killer punished.”

Lexie got to her feet. “I’d appreciate it. I’d also appreciate it if
you’d keep my identity quiet.”

“Absolutely,” Trey said. “Are you married?”

“Divorced. Why?”

“Because it just occurred to me that Max might have had another reason
for wanting you to work with Ben on this. He could have been trying to match up
his favorite grandson with Jessica’s niece.”

Lexie rolled her eyes. “If so, it’s a good thing he was such a successful
writer. Because he’d never have made it as a matchmaker.”

When Lexie walked into the parlor for sherry hour that evening, everyone
except for Ben and Trey was already there. “Have you seen Ben?” she asked
Cecilia. “I knocked on his door before I came down, but he didn’t answer.”
She’d also been watching out the window for his return. Much as she’d prefer to
avoid him until their kiss was a distant memory, she needed to talk to him
about what she’d learned from Trey.

“I don’t think he’s back from work yet,” Cecilia said.

Jeremy draped an arm around Lexie’s shoulders. “So you’re on your own?
Lucky for me.”

Lexie deftly extricated herself from Jeremy’s arm. “How was boating?”

“Terrific. You’ll have to join me tomorrow.”

“Do you remember when Grandfather took Dylan and Seth out sailing and
convinced them that the lake was haunted and they needed to clap the entire
trip to keep the ghosts from tipping over their boat?” Cecilia asked.

Jeremy chuckled. “Grandfather had the special effects crew working on the
movie version of one of his books rig up some dry ice specters,” he explained
to Lexie. “Scared those two to death.”

“Attention, everyone. Attention.” Muriel was standing in front of the
fireplace, waving her hands. She’d traded her habit for a deep purple caftan
and silver turban. Seth was busily snapping pictures. “Later tonight I will be
holding a séance. My dear brother has tried to speak to us. We need to listen.”

“That was the result of the combination of Dylan and alcohol,” Jeremy
said. “Grandfather had nothing to do with it.”

“Some of us aren’t quite as narrow-minded as you seem to be, Jeremy.” As
Muriel waved her hands again, Lexie counted a total of six rings and three
bracelets, all gold and studded with jewels.

“Why not do an exorcism?” Jeremy asked. “That way he won’t bother anyone
else.”

“It would be unseemly to banish Maxwell from his own house, especially if
he wants to tell us something. I have a special bond with him, you know,”
Muriel said. “Just before Easter, I predicted he would die soon. A couple of
months later, he was dead.”

Jeremy snorted. “He was eighty-seven. Predicting he’d die soon was a
pretty safe bet.”

Muriel ignored him. “The séance will be held in the living room at nine
tonight, and all believers are welcome to attend,” she said. “Now if you’ll
excuse me, I must prepare myself. Please eat dinner without me.”

“Well, I’m not a believer, but I’ll go if you will, Lexie,” Cecilia said.

Lexie had even less desire to attend a séance than she did to make
another trip to Walt’s, but she was supposed to believe in ghosts.

And maybe someone would let something slip during the séance. Something
that would enable her to identify Max’s murderer and head back to Philadelphia
tomorrow.

She didn’t have to fake her enthusiasm. “Of course I’ll be there. I can’t
wait!”

Whatever their reasons, every family member had decided to
show up at Muriel’s séance, Lexie noted as she walked into the packed living
room just before nine. Correction—everyone except Ben. He was no doubt stuck at
work, helping yet another beautiful, sexy woman needing emergency muffler
repair.

The heavy burgundy velvet drapes were drawn, blocking out
every bit of dusk, and only the sconces on either side of the fireplace were
lit. Muriel was sitting in a dining room chair that had been positioned in
front of the fireplace, her eyes closed, her hands clasped together on her lap.
Seth had already started taking pictures—documenting his eccentric Great-Aunt
Muriel for his sons, no doubt.

“Trey and Ben are both lucky they’re busy tonight,” Cecilia
said as Lexie joined her on the black leather couch.

Before Lexie could respond, Muriel spoke. “Everyone be
still.” She opened her eyes, stood, and turned toward the fireplace mantel, her
purple caftan flowing around her. Lexie winced as she lit an incense burner
only inches from the sacred Maltese falcon statue.

Muriel returned to her chair. “I’m about to contact my dear
brother.” She raised her hands out in front of her. “I summon the spirit of
Maxwell Windsor,” she singsonged. “Maxwell, if you’re here, give me a sign.”

Silence
. Muriel waved her hands, her
jewelry glittering and flashing in the spotlight. “Maxwell, please give me a
sign that you want to talk to us. You’ve tried before.”

“Maybe he’d answer if you called him Max,” Jeremy said from
a chair the same black leather as the sofa. “He hated Maxwell.”

“Shush,” Muriel said. “Maxwell, we want to understand what
you’re concerned about. Max, please.”

The house groaned. Lexie caught a whiff of incense.

“Told you he preferred Max,” Jeremy said.

“Be still. So you are here, Max,” Muriel said. “We know
you’ve appeared to Dylan. Please tell us what you want.”

The house groaned louder, like a perfectly cued movie sound
effect.

“Max, we’re your family. Speak through me, or speak through
another who is here.”

The house groaned a third time, even louder, then the wind
whooshed. The incense odor was strong. The hairs rose on the back of Lexie’s
neck.

“Max, speak to us. Please.”

But even though Muriel eventually got to her feet and paced
and gestured like a television evangelist while begging Max to speak, he never
said a word through anyone. After fifteen minutes, Muriel lowered her waving
hands and planted them on her ample hips, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Max, would it hurt you to do what I wanted just once? You always were
obstinate, even when we were kids. I know you think you run everything since
you’re seven years older than me and this is your house, but you’re dead, for
God’s sake. I’m trying to help you. Come on, Max, talk to me.”

Silence, not even a groan from the house.

“If you don’t want my help, then tough,” Muriel said. “The
séance is over.”

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” Cecilia
said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Lexie said.

By eleven-thirty they’d finished a bottle of wine and
decided to go to bed. Ben still hadn’t made it home, and Lexie was annoyed. Not
because she cared that he was with some other woman. But because she and Ben
were supposed to be partners. How could they be partners when he wasn’t around
for her to give him valuable information?

“
Everyone, come here. I have a
message from Maxwell.”

Lexie and Cecilia raced up the stairs, then down the
hallway. Muriel was standing just outside her open bedroom door. She was still
wearing the purple caftan.

Muriel waited until everyone had gathered around her before
speaking again. “I was trying to sleep when Maxwell’s ghost woke me up!” Unlike
Dylan, she seemed more excited than terrified by the encounter.

“Maxwell told me he doesn’t do séances. That’s why he waited
until I was alone to come to me. He was standing at the end of my bed. He even
motioned for me to take out my earplugs before he talked to me.”

“I’m sure it was just a dream,” Cecilia said, patting her
aunt’s arm. “The séance probably triggered it. Don’t be upset.”

Muriel raised her double chins. “I’m not a bit upset,” she
said, taking a couple of steps away from Cecilia. “I tried to summon my brother
to the séance, so why would I be upset he finally appeared to me? Maxwell said
he wasn’t in purgatory, but he couldn’t go to heaven or be reincarnated until
he found out who murdered him.”

“Grandfather claimed he was murdered?” Cecilia asked.

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in it, since he’s obviously
confused,” Muriel said, waving a disparaging hand. She’d at least taken off her
jewelry before going to bed. “He didn’t even know whether he was scheduled to
go to heaven or to come back to earth as some animal.”

“What else did he tell you?” Dylan asked.

“Nothing important. But he appeared to me. He really did.”

“Of course he did, Aunt Muriel,” Seth said. “Let’s go down
to the parlor and get you a little sherry so you’ll sleep.”

“I’d prefer a little Jack Daniel’s,” Muriel said, allowing
Seth to lead her to the stairs.

“Where’s Ben?” Jeremy asked.

“He must still be at work,” Lexie said, since Jeremy was looking
at her.

Jeremy checked his watch. “At eleven-thirty?”

Lexie yawned. “If the excitement’s over, I’m going to bed.”

“I think I’ll stay up to make sure Ben makes it home before
one,” Jeremy said. “It would be a pity if he lost out on his share of the
inheritance because he decided to”—he paused long enough to give Lexie a
significant glance—“
work
all night long.”

“Ben wouldn’t do that.” Cecilia smiled tightly. “He’s not
like you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. See you at breakfast,
Lexie.”

Jeremy was the only person eating breakfast when Lexie
walked into the dining room the next morning. “You’ll be happy to know Ben made
it home at a quarter to one,” he announced. “However, he’s already gone into
work again, which means you have time to go boating with me.”

“Actually, I don’t. I’m going to see Ben at work.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that’s a good idea?
You might not be real happy to discover what he’s working on.”

“I’ll risk it.”

After a quick cup of coffee and half a scone, Lexie strode
out of the house.

“How’s it hanging, Lexie?”

The speaker was a man with thinning dark brown hair and the
build, beefy neck, and paunch of a former football player a few decades out of
playing condition. He was leaning against a white Cadillac with Ontario plates
parked in the circular driveway. Lexie had never seen him before in her life.

“Excuse me, but have we met?” she asked.

“No, but I’ve heard all about you,” he said, walking toward
her. He was wearing khakis, a tight scarlet polo shirt, and white loafers. “I
like a woman with balls. And my fourth wife was an exotic dancer.”

Lexie blinked at the non sequitur as the man extended his
hand. He wore a pinky ring with a diamond nearly as large as the rock sported
by her mother’s best friend, Bitsy Davenport, and exuded a mixture of
toughness, spicy cologne, and breath mints. “The name’s Jack Pierre Jackson,”
he said. “J-A-C-K, not Jacques. My mom was from Quebec, but my dad put his foot
down on my first name. You can call me J.P.”

“Are you here visiting one of the family?” Lexie asked.

“I’m here checking on my investment.”

“You invested in Nevermore?” Surely she’d have heard.

“Hell, no. I’m talking about Dylan Windsor. He owed a friend
of mine from Vegas money, and I bought the debt. Since I was in the area, I’m
checking whether he’s fucked up getting his inheritance.”

She should have guessed. “So far he hasn’t.”

“Happy to hear it, especially since I paid nearly face value
for the thing. Not including interest, of course.”

“Does he owe you a lot?”

“Enough that I’d like to get repaid. Even if I have to break
a few bones to do it.”

Lexie’s heart hit a speed bump, and her eyes widened.

J.P. grinned, holding up his hand. “I was kidding. I don’t
work that way.”

He certainly hadn’t sounded as if he were kidding. If she
were smart, she’d say good-bye and leave. On the other hand, this was her
chance to find out more about Dylan’s motive, and he was high on her suspect
list. Surely she was safe in broad daylight.

Lexie cleared her throat and plunged. “I hope you won’t find
this question impolite, but are you with the Mafia?”

J.P. spit on the lush grass that edged the sidewalk, just
missing one loafer. “Don’t I wish. But the fucking Americans don’t give us
Canadians no respect, and the Canadian families think you gotta live in
Montreal or Toronto to be worth anything. Which is a bunch of shit. I mean, I
might be in Thunder Bay, but I ain’t no amateur, let me tell you. I’ve whacked
more guys than any of their soldiers.” He raised his hand again. “Not no more,
of course. My fifth wife’s got a soft heart and made me quit. And I never
whacked anyone except in self-defense. I wouldn’t want you to think badly of
me.”

“I don’t,” Lexie said, shaking her head for emphasis. She
wasn’t about to offend a man who bragged about whacking people for any reason,
even self-defense.

“So because everyone’s so damned prejudiced, I’m stuck
dealing with deadbeats like Dylan Windsor with only a half dozen guys to help me
out.”

“Maybe you should sue for discrimination.”

J.P. chuckled. “Beautiful and got a sense of humor. You
really do remind me of my fourth wife.”

“Do you want to talk to Dylan?” Lexie asked, changing the
subject before he remembered the things he didn’t like about his fourth wife.
She was an ex, after all.

“I wanna make sure he understands he better not blow his
chance at getting some of his grandfather’s money.” He glanced at an enormous
gold watch. “If you could give him the message, I’d appreciate it. I’m running
late.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’d also consider it a personal favor if you’d do whatever
you can to make sure he don’t fuck up.”

Just what she needed, being held responsible for an
alcoholic gambler. She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not that close to Dylan.”

“Don’t worry that I’ll blame you if he screws up, ’cause I
won’t,” J.P. said, obviously noticing her discomfiture. “But if you do have the
chance to help me, I’d consider it a favor, like I said. I don’t forget nobody
what does me a favor.”

“I’ll try. Is it all right if I deliver your message to
Dylan later today?” Lexie asked. “He’s still asleep, and I need to see Ben.”

“No problem. And tell Ben he’s a lucky man.” J.P. winked. “I
can tell you’re a hell of a woman, and having been married five times, I’m
somewhat of an authority on women.”

“I appreciate the support. It’s been nice meeting you, J.P.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Lexie.”

Lexie leaned against Nevermore’s cool stone façade to
support her weak knees as she watched J.P. get into his Cadillac and drive off.
When she’d first arrived at Nevermore, she’d thought she’d slid into a version
of Wonderland. She’d been half-joking.

She’d been right.

Lexie hadn’t been in Lakeview since her first day in
Minnesota, when she’d been so focused on finding Ben’s garage that she’d barely
noticed the rest of Main Street. If you ignored Lake Superior—which was hard to
do since it filled the horizon—the place resembled Mayberry from the old
Andy Griffith
Show
s
she’d watched on cable with their housekeeper, until her mother had found out
and informed her Barringtons didn’t watch that sort of thing. Cars in vintages
spanning the last forty years were angle-parked along both sides of wide Main
Street. The stores and cafes didn’t appear to have been remodeled since the
sixties; two barbershops had red, white, and blue spinning poles; and the movie
theater had only one screen. The five bars were all grouped together on the
block before the railroad tracks that marked the end of the business district, away
from the more family-oriented merchants. There wasn’t a coffee bar, fast food
restaurant, or bagel place in sight; the only things that would have confounded
Aunt Bea were the cell phone dealer and the sign in the window of the hardware
store advertising computer repair.

As Lexie stepped into Ben’s garage, it was déjà vu all over
again, complete with the scent of eau de oil, the blaring country music, and
Ben’s legs protruding from beneath a vehicle. This time she didn’t waste time
trying to speak loud enough for him to notice her. Instead she switched off the
music, and then pounded on the Camry’s hood. “We need to talk, Ben.”

He slowly slid out from under the car and sat up. “Can’t it
wait? I’m a bit busy.”

“No, it can’t wait.” Finding Max’s murderer was taking long
enough without Ben delaying things. “If you’d ditched whatever woman you were
with at a more reasonable hour last night, we could have talked when you got
home. Since you didn’t—”

“If you’re here to tell me about Aunt Muriel’s séance and
supposed conversation with Grandfather, Cecilia already filled me in.”

“I’m not.” And she wasn’t moving until he talked to her. She
planted her hands on her hips.

Ben got the message. He stood, wiping his hands on his
jeans. “I guess I can afford a short break. Let’s go to my office.”