How to Crash a Killer Bash (26 page)

“Not until you tell me the truth. Mary Lee may have been your best friend, but
my
best friend is in jail for a crime she didn’t commit, and I’m not leaving until I find out how you two are involved. And what this birth certificate has to do with it.”

“You found it at Corbin’s?” Christine said, her voice trembling.

I nodded. “The date of birth coincides with his age, but like I said, it’s not his last name.”

I hadn’t noticed until I stopped talking that tears had formed in Christine’s eyes. It was then that I knew for certain what I had suspected.

“You’re Corbin’s birth mother,” I said gently.

She squeezed her eyes together, sending the tears streaming down her face.

“You said Mary Lee was your best friend,” I said. “You mentioned you two met at the University of Oregon and were in the same field of anthropology. You said you kept in touch after you graduated and went your similar but separate directions.”

Dan’s eyes widened at the news. Apparently he hadn’t been aware of their longtime relationship. “Christine? You and Mary Lee were friends? I thought you hated her.”

Christine grabbed a tissue from the box on her desk and dabbed at her eyes.

Dan went on. I could see the confusion in his face. “Corbin is your
son
? And he didn’t
know
? What other secrets are you hiding?”

Tears welled up again in Christine’s eyes. I plucked a tissue from the box and handed it to her.

“Yes, it’s true. We both went to the U of O in Eugene, majored in anthropology, some forty years ago. I went on to get my master’s, while Mary Lee went to San Francisco State for her degree in art history. That’s where she met Jason, in fact. I stayed in Oregon and got my first job at the Portland Museum.”

“That’s where you got into some trouble, right, Christine?” I asked.

Christine sniffed. “Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of snooping, Presley. Sure, I met this guy. The museum curator, actually. We worked together, and well, we became close . . .”

“Close enough to become pregnant?” I added.

Her voice turned bitter. “I was young and stupid. I thought he was in love with me . . .”

She blew her nose on the tissue. Dan opened his mouth to say something, but I shot him a “don’t even think about it” look. He closed his mouth and retreated into the background, his face still full of wonder at Christine’s confession.

“What did you do that got you fired?” I asked.

“I thought Mike would leave his wife—he was married, of course. But when I told him I was pregnant, he freaked. Needless to say, it wasn’t the reaction I was expecting. Quite the opposite. And all of a sudden he wanted me out of there.”

“He wanted you to quit your job?”

“Oh no. Not just quit. He falsified some provenance papers that made it look as if I’d bought questionable artifacts.

It blew up into a huge scandal—made the newspapers and local TV news. I was fired a few days later. And there was nothing I could do. I was out of a job and a relationship in a matter of a few days.”

“You couldn’t fight it?”

Christine sighed deeply. “I tried to reason with him, to get him to retract his allegations. When that didn’t work, I threatened to expose our relationship—and my pregnancy. But he said no one would believe me—not with the ugly rumors he planned to spread.”

“So you had the baby under your real name—Judith Hofmann—and gave him to Mary Lee to raise as her own. I assume she covered all your expenses, maybe more.”

I waited for Christine’s response. When she said nothing, I began making it up as I went along.

“Meanwhile Mary Lee created a fake birth certificate to show to Corbin, in case he asked for it. But when he sent for an official copy, there was no record of a Corbin Cosetti.”

Christine bit her lip, then sighed. “That was back in the days before computers. We didn’t anticipate that the records would be transferred to computer and available on the Internet.”

“And that’s when he found the name Corbin Hofmann—born the same day as he.”

She nodded. “He put two and two together.”

“He’s a smart kid,” I said

She nodded silently.

“Why did you change your name to Christine Lampe?”

“After I lost my job, I couldn’t use my real name anymore. I’d never get another one in my field, with the museum scandal hanging over my head. I had to change it to start over.”

Dan stepped out of the shadows, disbelief written on his face. “How could you just hand your baby over to Mary Lee like that?”

Christine’s face hardened, her eyes became slits. “You have no right to judge me. You don’t have a clue what it was like. I had no husband, no job, no future, and my family wouldn’t speak to me. When I called Mary Lee and told her everything, she called back the next day and said she wanted to adopt my baby. She offered to pay for everything, as long as I promised not to tell anyone it wasn’t her biological child.”

“Why would she do that?”

“You know Mary Lee. She wanted to acquire a child, much like she acquired art, but she didn’t want to suffer through pregnancy and ruin her figure. Besides, she was having trouble with her marriage.”

A light went on. “So she faked her pregnancy?”

Christine slowly nodded. “She and Jason were having marital problems. She hardly slept with him. Just enough to fool him and everyone else that she’d gotten pregnant. So she pretended to be pregnant, then conveniently went up to Oregon to visit her best friend—me—and came home with Corbin.”

“And had that fake document made up,” I added, “with her and Jason’s names instead of yours.”

A thought occurred to me that might give Christine a motive for murdering Mary Lee. “Was Mary Lee blackmailing you about the adoption?”

Christine looked puzzled. “No! Why would she do that? If you think about it, I could have done the same to her.”

Maybe she did, I thought, then asked, “Maybe you wanted your son back after all these years?”

“That’s ridiculous!” Christine barked. “What are you getting at? This was a mutual decision, and once we made it, we never spoke about it again. Truthfully, I have no regrets, other than the fact that I couldn’t have any more children. The pregnancy was complicated . . .” Her voice drifted off.

I wasn’t sure I bought everything Christine was saying. She sounded sincere, but giving up her baby to Mary Lee must have had emotional ramifications over the years. Mary Lee was wealthy, while Christine was not. Maybe Christine was jealous of all Mary Lee had and wanted her son back—or money to keep quiet. When she found out her lover, Dan, was cheating on her with her best friend, it must have been the final blow to her ego.

When did she learn about Dan’s affair with Mary Lee? And was that motive enough to murder Mary Lee?

“Mary Lee got you the job at the de Young, right?”

Christine looked at me defensively. “She has a lot of clout, as you probably know.”

“And she owed you. But maybe she regretted it after a while, and wanted you out of the picture?”

“Why would she? I was no threat to her.”

“Dan?” I turned to Dan Tannacito, who was witnessing all this with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Did Mary Lee know about your relationship with Christine?”

He pressed his lips together, then said, “No . . .”

Christine whirled on him. “She did, didn’t she! She knew! She’d been acting strangely—distant. Was she going to fire me too?”

Dan held his hands up, trying to keep up his innocent appearance. “No, no. I mean, yes, she found out about you and me. But I told her it was—”

“It was what?” Christine hissed.

Squirming, he said, “You know, just a fling. Nothing serious.” I had to admire his nerve, but it was no match for his stupidity.

Christine closed her eyes. Her lips quivered, and her hands were trembling. I could practically read her mind. Betrayed again. This time not only by her lover Dan, but by her best friend Mary Lee.

“Get the hell out of my office!” Christine shrieked.

“Wait a minute, Christine,” I said, holding up a hand. I turned to Dan. “What did Mary Lee do when she found out about you and Christine?”

“She was . . . upset, you know,” Dan stammered. “But like I said, I calmed her down, reassured her.” He turned to Christine. “Chris, I only saw her so I could influence her to get us more money for the museum. That was it. I didn’t love her or anything. Not like I care for you.” His eyes were pleading.

“You only cared for me because I was in a position to promote you to assistant curator,” she snarled. “I’ll bet you had plans to take over my job, too. You . . . you . . .” Out of names to call him, she picked up the antique arrowhead I’d recently threatened them with and threw it at Dan.

He covered his head with his arm and ducked.

The arrowhead flew by, narrowly missing him.

“Chrissy, darling, that’s not what it was . . .”

Before Christine could respond, I shouted, “Quiet! Both of you! Christine, you had a motive to kill Mary Lee because she was two-timing you with Dan. And, Dan, you had a motive to kill Mary Lee because she threatened to get you fired when she found out about your affair with Christine. I’d say you both had a motive to murder Mary Lee. I think it’s time to call Detective Melvin and let him figure out the details.” I reached for the phone on Mary Lee’s desk.

Dan stepped forward, his usually charming grin gone. He placed a hand over mine. “You don’t want to do that.”

I felt the hairs at the back of my neck tingle. “I don’t? And why is that?”

“Because,” he said, “none of this has anything to do with the murder of Mary Lee’s ex-husband. Neither of us had reason to kill Jason.”

I pulled my hand out from under his. “Maybe . . . maybe Jason thought you two killed Mary Lee, confronted you, threatened you . . . and you felt you had to silence him, too.” It was a long shot—they had separate motives—but maybe I could shake something loose with my wild accusations.

“Give me a break, Presley,” Christine said. “I can’t speak for this two-timing jerk here”—she jerked a thumb at Dan—“but Mary Lee was my best friend and the mother to my child. Hardly motive enough to kill her, just because she fell for this gigolo.”

“Well, I didn’t kill her either,” Dan said. “If things had worked out, I might have been the next Mr. Mary Lee Miller. With all the benefits that entailed.” He shot Christine a “so there” look.

Christine’s already blotching face filled with color. “Ha! I knew it!” She picked up another antique from her desk—a small stone statue—and hurled it at Dan.

It hit the wall behind him.

“Hey!” Dan shouted. “Knock it off! You were using her too, telling her what to buy, nagging her to raise more money, just so you could be the most prestigious curator in the country, if not the world.”

That did it. Christine went after Dan, whitened teeth and polished nails. She beat on his chest and kicked his shins. Just when I thought she might bite him, I pulled her away before she really did commit murder.

“Christine, chill!” I pushed her into a chair. She slumped into the seat, sobbing into her hands. I passed her the box of tissues.

“You’re both acting . . . inexcusably! Now shut up, before I call security and have you arrested for . . . for fraud or something.”

My cell phone rang. Brad. I’d almost forgotten about him.

“Hi, Brad. Sorry. I got caught up in something,” I said into the phone.

“Presley. Meet me at the tower.” He sounded breathless.

“What’s wrong?” I glanced at Christine and Dan and caught a look passing between them.

“Just hurry!”

He hung up, leaving me staring at the phone.

With a last look at Christine and Dan, I ducked out of the office and ran to the elevators. Brad had sounded upset. What had happened? Was the dog all right?

I punched the elevator button for the tower and heard a buzzing noise as the doors closed. The sound grew louder as the car reached the seventh floor.

Brad was waiting for me when the doors opened. He took my arm as I stepped out. The buzzing sound was even louder. “What’s causing that noise?” I asked, grimacing.

He nodded toward a small crowd that had gathered at the other elevator. I followed him as he shouldered through, and noticed that the elevator doors kept opening and closing partway. Something was blocking the doorway. Squeezing through a couple of onlookers, I glanced down to see what had jammed the doors and gathered such a gawking crowd.

There lay the body of a man.

He was facedown, had dark hair, and his cap was askew.