Motion for Malice (12 page)

I steeled myself and went back downstairs. Seaver had put Chandler's carrier on the chair beside him, but facing away from him. I thought Chandler looked marginally happier about that. Seaver didn't seem like much of a dog person. Didn't seem like much of a people person either, from what I could tell.

I sat down behind my desk. "How's your brother doing?" I asked him.

Seaver looked at me. "You saw him at the funeral. How do you think he's doing?"

I swallowed. "Well, he was devastated at the wake, naturally."
"Not the wake." Seaver smirked. "The funeral. At the cemetery. That was you, wasn't it? With the Granny Clampett getup? You've been in some interesting places lately, Miss Winters."

Oh, no. I pinched my thigh beneath the desk, willing my cheeks not to go flaming red. I could feel them getting hotter by the second.

"What exactly did you think you were doing?" he asked. He didn't sound too happy with me. In fact, he sounded ticked off. I couldn't really blame him. But I didn't trust him enough to be honest with him. Especially after our little meeting outside Destinies with Dorcas.

So I went for the solution used by criminals and politicians the world over: denial. "I didn't attend the funeral," I told him, surprised to find my voice was steady. "I was here at work on Friday."

He dropped a heavy hand on top of Chandler's carrier. Chandler jumped a little but didn't make a sound. Strange. The Chandler I knew would have been biting through the carrier and then Seaver's hand. He seemed almost afraid of Seaver. I'd heard somewhere that dogs could sense evil. Maybe they could sense obnoxiousness, too. "Let me tell you something," he said. "My brother has been through enough with that cheating wife of his. I won't have you causing him pain, too."

My mouth fell open. "Cheating wife?"

"Oh, come on." He snorted. "She'd been a client for years, right? You mean to tell me she never came in here with that Angle idiot?"

Well, that explained Seaver's contempt for Artemis Angle. I thought back over Dorcas's visits to the office. I couldn't remember her ever coming in with another male except for Chandler. I'd have remembered that Angle idiot.

"She claimed it was a business relationship," Seaver said. "Monkey business is more like it."

"What about innocent 'til proven guilty?" I said. "It seems to me if she'd been cheating, her sister would have known about it."

Seaver ran his fingers along the top of Chandler's carrier. "And done what? Darling Dee wasn't about to get herself written out of the will. She's all about the money, that one. Couldn't get across the bridge fast enough to try to talk Dorcas out of that idiotic mall kiosk idea."

"You didn't think too much of your sister-in-law," I said.

"Weaver could have done better," he said. "And I told him as much. But some people can't be warned, no matter how hard you try."

There was a not-so-subtle message in there that I tried to ignore while I shuffled through some papers, thinking about Artemis Angle and Dorcas and murder by crystal ball. Maybe it had been a crime of passion, when Dorcas had chosen to stay with Weaver. Or a crime of greed, when Dorcas had planned to leave the Society of Seers and take her income with her and out of Artemis Angle's pocket. Or maybe Tippi McWirth had finally had enough of sharing the marital finances, and maybe her husband, with Dorcas. Or a crime of revenge, when Seaver had thought he was defending his brother's honor by killing his unfaithful wife. Maybe his warning hadn't been to Weaver, but to Dorcas. Or to me.

I thought about how different the Beeber brothers were. Weaver was so bland and inoffensive while Seaver was Artemis Angle Lite. Still, I couldn't sit here and ignore him. Not while he was staring at me like that. I wished Missy hadn't taken a vacation day. Then he'd be staring at
her
like every other male that came into the office. Even though I looked especially good in brown wool slacks that hid my skinny legs and the only silk blouse I owned, a light pink whisper that complemented my mousy brown hair by drawing attention away from it. If there was a day for me to be stared at, this was it. Just not by Seaver Beeber.

The phone rang suddenly, startling me. I snatched it up, turning my face toward my monitor and away from Seaver to hide my relief for the interruption.

"You'll never guess what I found out." It was Maizy.

"I'm sorry, this isn't a good time," I told her in my most professional tone of voice. "There are no appointments available."

There was a beat of silence. Then she said, "You sound scared. Who's there?"

"I wish that was the case," I said. "But Friday would be more convenient."

"Is it that jerk from Friday night?" Maizy demanded. "Is that who it is? Do you want me to come over? I can go all ninja on his butt. My dad taught me self-defense."

"That won't be necessary," I said immediately. Whatever Maizy going ninja looked like, that was the last thing I needed. "I'm sure we can handle that matter."

"You bet we can," Maizy said. "We're all over it. Make sure you get home by three. I've got some hot news, but it'll wait 'til then. Call me if you need me. I can ditch study hall." And she disconnected.

I hung up the phone and noticed Wally's extension had gone dark, indicating he was finally off the phone.

"Excuse me," I said to Seaver. "I have to run upstairs." I grabbed a file and hurried upstairs. Wally was scribbling on a yellow legal pad, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. His jacket was off—his tie was loosened. He looked up when I knocked on the open door. "Do you have a minute?" I asked him.

"I'm just writing a love poem to your sister." He put down his pen. "Want to hear it?"

I didn't think a love poem was on Curt's list of approved activities for him. I shook my head. "Maybe another time." I closed the door. "I need to talk to you about Dorcas Beeber's murder."

"You sure?" He tapped the legal pad. "I'm no Keats, but it's not too bad. How about just a taste?"

I sat down with a sigh.

He picked up the legal pad and cleared his throat. "Your lips are nectar from the sweetest bee."

I looked at him.

"Your eyes are molten lava from the volcano in Hawaii."

I could feel the Butterscotch Krimpet threatening a return appearance.

"Your hips are—"

"Okay," I said. "I get the point."

"As soft as grape jelly."

I closed my eyes while he finished cataloging my sister's body parts.

"Your toes." He paused to roll his eyes upward, presumably reminiscing. "Your toes are as delicious as toes can be."

Ewww.
"Wally," I said, "The police think I might have killed Dorcas, and I need your help."

He rolled his eyes back down to earth and frowned. "Did you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then don't worry about it," he said. "Any good criminal defense attorney can handle that."

I nodded. "Can you handle it?"

"I'm not a criminal defense attorney." He shrugged. "How about if I change
delicious
to
tantalizing
? You think that works?"

I stood up. "Thanks for the pep talk."

He gave me a wave without looking up from his legal pad.

Howard's door was open when I left the office. Weaver's meeting must have ended. Which meant Seaver should be gone. Sure enough, I hurried downstairs to find his seat empty. Only the indentation of Chandler's carrier on the next chair remained. I peeked into the kitchen just to be sure they were gone and caught sight of the SUV as it rolled out of the lot.

It was black, and Seaver was at the wheel.

The weather had taken a sharp turn by the time I got home at 3:15. The wind had shoved the sun behind a thick layer of clouds, leaving the afternoon draped in gray. My mood wasn't much better. I was seriously freaked out about the visit from Detective Bensinger, and talking to Seaver Beeber hadn't helped. The trifecta had been learning that Seaver drove an SUV, adding him to the ever-growing list. Even in my desperation, I had to admit that wasn't much to go on.

Maizy was already waiting on my steps when I came around to the back of the house. She stashed her cell phone in her pocket and followed me inside. "I've got some awesome news. Want to hear it?"

"I could use some awesome news," I told her. "Tell me someone confessed."

Maizy nodded. "Tippi McWirth. About three years ago."

"What does that mean?" I rummaged through the cupboards for something with lots of sugar and very little nutritional value to give me a boost. I was coming up with a lot of nothing, which embarrassed me as an alleged adult. I had nothing to offer a guest except the powdery remnants of a box of Chocolate Cheerios and some ancient Cheese Nips. And one iced oatmeal cookie, which filled my sugar craving well enough to scarf it in three bites standing at the counter.

"Walnuts would be better," Maizy said, watching me.

I did a palms-up shrug. "You work with what you've got."

"Suit yourself. Long as you don't mind getting fat."

I looked down at myself. Straight shot all the way to my feet. I didn't think getting fat was a problem. "So what did Tippi confess to?" I asked.

Maizy dropped her coat and backpack on the table. "Turns out she was arrested in 2012 for battery and terroristic threats." She grinned. "Against the woman she thought her husband was seeing on the side."

My mouth fell open.

"That's what I thought," Maizy said. "Turned out this woman Vicky waitressed in Harvey McWirth's favorite restaurant, and he brought in clients all the time, so they knew each other from there. But strictly platonic, you know? She prefers her men with spines." She smirked. "Well, one night he brought Tippi in, and she didn't get the 'strictly platonic' part, misread the signs and went nuclear on Vicky's butt with a bowl of
pasta e fagioli
." She shuddered. "Good thing Harvey wasn't having shish kabob for dinner."

"Misread what signs?" I asked, wondering what kind of hothead attacked someone with a bowl of soup.

Maizy shrugged. "Hello, how you doing, good to see you again. That kind of thing."

Geez. If that story was accurate, Tippi McWirth had a very short fuse. Short enough to bash Dorcas over the head with her own crystal ball?

"Her full name's Vicky Auerbach, and I've got her address," Maizy said. "I contacted her through Facebook. She lives in Atlantic City now. We could drive to AC in an hour or so, right?"

I hadn't been to Atlantic City in years, and judging by what I heard on the news and read in the papers, neither had anyone else. Casinos were closing left and right, and casinos were the city's lifeblood. "What if this woman doesn't want to talk to us?" I asked.

"She'll be happy to talk to us," Maizy said. "She's holding a pretty major grudge against our friend Tippi." She popped a Cheese Nip in her mouth. "I set it up already. I told her more charges were being considered against Tippi based on new evidence."

I sighed. "Please tell me you didn't pretend to be a prosecutor, Maizy."

She shrugged and didn't tell me that. Finally she said, "I'll cut school tomorrow and you call out sick, and—"

"I can't have you cutting school," I said. "Or posing as a lawyer."

She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "Do you have any Alka-Seltzer around? I'm not feeling too good all of a sudden."

"What's the matter?" I pushed her hand away to feel for myself. "Does your stomach hurt?"

"Depends who you ask," she said. "You ask my homeroom teacher, I've got a twenty-four hour bug. If you ask me, you'd be a fool not to say yes, thank you, when someone hands you a gold-plated suspect."

I rolled my eyes and dropped my hand. "Fine. We'll go to Atlantic City."

"I knew you'd say that. After all, you're one of the few people who appreciate my genius." Her eyes got wide. "Hey, I bet I could find an awesome belly ring at the Pier Shops. Maybe something with crystals, or CZ even."

"We're not going there to shop," I told her. I peeked in the cabinet. No more cookies. And Maizy had finished off the Cheese Nips. So much for the walnut theory. "I really ought to go food shopping," I muttered.

"Yeah," Maizy said. "I kinda noticed that. Don't you know the way to Uncle Curt's heart is through his stomach?"

I looked at her.

She shrugged. "My mom used to say that. Maybe nowadays it's someplace lower. So anyway, now that I'm not out in the dark anymore, I see you look terrible. What happened today?"

I gave her the thumbnail version.

"So Gollum Beeber has an SUV," Maizy said. "That accounts for one at the funeral."

I shook my head. "No, it doesn't. He was probably in the limo with Weaver and Deirdre."

And I thought Dorcas drove a midsized sedan, like the one Seaver had been driving Friday night when we saw him at Destinies with Dorcas. Exactly like the one Seaver had been driving, come to think of it. But he'd said he was running an errand for Weaver, so it wouldn't be unreasonable to borrow Dorcas's car. Maybe we should have stuck around to see what he brought out of Dorcas's studio. As I remembered it, there hadn't been much there, other than Dorcas.

"I'll see what I can find out about the brother," Maizy said. "It's not so hard to do when you know where to look. And I know where to look. Turns out I'm pretty good at this stuff." She chewed on her bottom lip. "But about Brad Bensinger. He's a pit bull." She noticed my expression of horror. "Not that you have anything to worry about." She studied her nails. Black today, with little crystals on the middle fingers. Maizy had a thing for decorating just the middle fingers. It gave her an excuse to be rude when the occasion presented itself. Not that she needed one, being a seventeen-year-old.

"Of course not," I said. "I feel completely unframed." I poured myself a glass of water and choked down a couple of sips before pouring it down the drain with a shudder.

"Maybe you need something stronger," Maizy said. "I'd help you out, but I'm below the legal drinking age." She grabbed two glasses from the drain board. "What've you got?"