The Silver Anniversary Murder (12 page)

12

As it happened, leaving New York early had been wise. We arrived at our hotel in mid-afternoon and Ariana called the lawyer before she opened her suitcase. He was waiting for us. We got a taxi and landed at his office about ten minutes later.

Madison is, of course, a college town. It exudes the kind of feeling that has always appealed to me. There’s a relaxed atmosphere among the people in the street, particularly near the campus. The taxi driver offered to give us a brief tour, but Ariana said we were in a hurry and he took us directly to the lawyer.

The office was on the second floor of a low building on a commercial street in the heart of the city. The receptionist was expecting us.

“Mr. Keller is waiting for you, Ms. Brinker. Come this way.”

The office had a friendly, homey look, a far cry from Beverly Weingarten’s lush appurtenances. A graying man in shirtsleeves and little glasses on the tip of his nose rose and came around the desk to greet us. He carried a snapshot of Ariana in his hand and he compared it to the real face for several seconds. “I’m Wally Keller. Glad to meet you, but I’m sorry about your parents.”

Ariana made a brief introduction of me and explained she had picked up an envelope from the lawyer in New York, which he had already guessed. There was no other way she could have come upon his name and phone number.

We sat and he offered coffee, which I accepted. I noticed a file folder on his desk that I assumed was the Brinker file. He pulled out a brown envelope, very much like the one Beverly Weingarten had delivered to Ariana in New York, and left it on his desk. It, too, was sealed with wax and wire. We had arrived at step two of the hunt.

“Let me begin by giving you some information you may not yet have. Your parents owned a house here in Madison.”

“They owned it in their names?” Ariana said with surprise.

“Through a corporation we set up for them some years ago. I manage the details, provide for maintenance, pay the taxes, and so on. It has been rented to a few professors at the university over the years, and when it was empty for a while, one or the other of your parents would stay in it for a week or two. It’s completely furnished.”

“Is someone living there now?” I asked.

“Not at the moment, as it happens. The Farrels left for a year in Europe a few weeks ago and gave up the house. You’ll be able to visit it without intrusion.”

“What’s in it that I would want?” Ariana asked.

“I don’t know the answer to that, but it’s a fine house and it will be yours.” He handed her the envelope. “Whatever your parents wanted you to know is in here. When the paperwork is done and you have death certificates, you’re free to put the house up for sale, unless you choose to live in it. It’s in a nice neighborhood, not far from the campus, and I can tell you it’s in A-one condition. By the way, I talked to Ms. Weingarten this morning and she confirmed what you told me on the phone yesterday.”

“You had her name and phone number?” Ariana asked.

“Well,” he said with a smile, “you may not recall, but you gave it to me when you called yesterday. I had it from your parents, too. I gather she has spoken to the police in the town where your parents died.”

“She got as much information as she could from them, including copies of the autopsies. But she didn’t tell them I’m their daughter. I’d like to do as much as I can before I cooperate with the police.”

“I understand,” he said. “I hope you’ll keep me up to date on whatever you learn. That’s not to say you have to tell me the contents of that envelope. That’s yours and yours alone. If you decide to sell the house, I can handle that for you.”

“Thank you.”

We returned to the hotel, and I decided to go for a walk while Ariana opened the envelope. We were sharing a room and I didn’t want to get in her way at a potentially emotional time. It also gave me a chance to make some calls from a phone downstairs. I talked to Eddie, but it was too late to reach Jack at work and he hadn’t come home yet. Elsie said she had brought a good dinner with her so that poor Jack wouldn’t have to do any cooking tonight. Poor Jack, I thought. It was bound to be the best meal he’d had all week. And if I knew Elsie, there would be plentiful leftovers.

I walked around the hotel lobby, looking in the shops on the main floor, wondering if Eddie would appreciate a sweatshirt from the university. I decided he’d like it very much and went in and picked up a child’s size. As I paid for it with my one credit card, a chill went through me. My son might want to go to college away from home. Come on, Kix, I said to myself silently, using my childhood nickname, you’re a woman of the world; you have to let him go one day. Just not too soon, I added, taking the bag from the cashier.

I gave Ariana a full hour to absorb whatever information and possible surprises might be enclosed in the brown envelope. When I returned to the room, I knocked and waited for her “Come in” before I slid my key card in the slot.

“Chris,” she said. “I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s very weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“It really is a treasure hunt. My parents have buried something on the property they own. Look. They drew a map for me.”

The map was done on graph paper to keep the perspective accurate. It showed the rear of the house, the brick patio, the lawn, and the limits of the property. Marked in heavy black ink were a number of bricks in the center of the patio. “Is something buried there?” I asked.

She nodded. “It’s all explained in the letter. A long time ago, they hired someone to put in a patio behind the house. They told him they were thinking of planting a tree or putting in a piece of sculpture, so the workmen left this area in the center without a concrete base. Then they buried whatever it is they want me to dig up.”

“This is unbelievable,” I said. “My husband said I should take along a shovel—”

Ariana laughed. “Did he really?”

“He did. I guess I should have. We’ll have to find a hardware store.”

“I’m going to rent a car,” Ariana said. “Even if it’s for just one day. It’ll make everything easier, and we can get around the city and back to the airport.”

“Good idea.”

“Maybe they buried a sculpture. But what will I do with it? And where did it come from?”

“Let’s not speculate. It may just be another envelope all wrapped in plastic directing you to another location. How are we supposed to dig up these bricks? Aren’t they cemented in? Otherwise the tenants might find them getting loose.”

“They’re cemented in but Mom says they’ll be easy to get up. We’ll need a chisel, too. I guess when she visited over the years, when there were no tenants, she checked on whatever was buried there.”

“It’s too late today. Let’s have dinner and set the alarm for tomorrow morning. Hardware stores open early and someone at the desk ought to be able to steer us to one.”

Ariana called the desk and ordered a rental car for the next day. Then we went down to the hotel dining room and had a good dinner. I could safely call this the most mysterious trip of my life.

After breakfast on Saturday we picked up the car and drove to a huge hardware store where we bought a hammer, a chisel, two pairs of work gloves, and a spade. Then, using the Brinkers’ map, we drove to the house at the edge of the campus.

It was on a beautiful tree-shaded street lined with brick and frame houses as far as you could see. Some must have been rented to students, who were out this sunny morning washing their cars in bare feet and entertaining friends. There were also children scattered around. Ariana drove slowly, looking for the number of our destination. When we found it, she pulled into the drive and stopped in front of a one-car garage. The front lawn was clipped and trees shaded the front of the house and the well-trimmed hedges.

“This is it,” she said. “The house I loved so much.”

Ariana used one of her keys to unlock the front door. Inside, the house was clean and pleasantly furnished. The kitchen had dishes in cabinets and flatware in drawers. The refrigerator had been cleaned and turned off. The door hung open.

I followed Ariana upstairs, where she wanted to look at the bedroom she remembered so well from her childhood. She walked in and stopped, looking around at the furniture, the windows, and the rug.

“It’s almost exactly the same,” she breathed. “I loved those curtains. Aren’t they wonderful?” She walked over and touched their pristine whiteness. Then she flicked the bedside lamp on and off.

I watched her open the closet door. Hanging on the rod were a number of hangers. Otherwise, the closet was empty.

“Let’s go out back,” she said, and we left the room. She glanced in the master bedroom and the tiny third bedroom, and then we went downstairs and out the back door. She took the map out of the brown envelope and we stood side by side on the brick patio, looking for the bricks we needed to dig up.

“I’ll get the tools,” she said, “and put the car in the garage.” She walked around the side of the house to the car. I followed in her wake, opened the garage door, and grabbed from the car the hammer, chisel, spade, and work gloves we had bought.

It was easy to identify the bricks we had to dig up and even easier to raise them with the chisel. They came out smoothly and we set them aside. When they were all out, we discovered a covering made of a stiff sheet of plastic. This we pried up and found packed earth underneath. Ariana took the spade and began to remove the earth, working carefully as though she might injure a piece of glass. She went down several inches and said, “I think I’ve found something.”

We dropped to our hands and knees and pulled away the earth with our fingers.

“Here it is.” She reached down and jiggled something black, moving it from side to side to free it. It, too, was encased in plastic. She brushed the dirt away and tried to tear the plastic, but it was strong and didn’t yield. I handed her the chisel and she poked a hole in it. From there, it was easy going.

“It’s a suitcase,” she said, pulling a stiff-sided bag out of the covering material, “kind of like an old-fashioned salesman’s bag. And look, it has my father’s initials on it in gold.”

“I’m going inside,” I said, getting up off the brick surface. “You look at it alone.”

“That’s OK, Chris.”

“No. This is your message from your parents.” I went inside and sat on the sofa in the living room. If it was old, it had been well cared for. It was firm and comfortable and faced a television set across the room.

I must have sat there for a full ten minutes before I heard the back door close and Ariana call, “Chris?”

“I’m in the living room.” I rose and started toward her voice. When I saw her face, I was shocked. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“It’s not what I expected.” She dropped into a chair, the closed suitcase on the floor beside her.

“Is it something bad?”

“I don’t know, but I think it is.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Ariana. You don’t have to show me. We can go back to Oakwood or you can go anywhere you like by yourself. You have no obligation to me.”

She sat back in the chair, her hand covering her mouth as though she were afraid she might speak the wrong words. Her eyes were moist and fearful. Finally she said, “There’s money in there, lots of money. And jewelry.”

“Is there a letter?”

She nodded. She was holding it in her other hand. “My mother writes that the jewelry came from Grandma Brinker and the money—”

“You don’t have to tell me, Ariana.”

“She says they inherited some and earned some and it’s all mine.”

“Was your grandmother wealthy?” I asked.

“My mother says so in the letter. There’s even a letter from my grandmother in the suitcase telling me how much she—” She paused. “How much she loved me and how much she would have liked to know me.”

“Is there a return address?” I asked.

“There’s no envelope at all. She just signs it ‘Your loving grandma, Adelaide Brinker.’ ” She looked desolate, unable to say more.

I had a feeling I knew what was bothering her but I didn’t want to be the one to say it. Walking to the kitchen, I looked out the window for a minute or so, and then returned to the living room. Ariana was sitting just as I had left her.

“What if they stole it?” she said in a voice so low I could hardly hear her.

“You don’t know that.”

“But that could be the reason—the motivation for the manhunt. Maybe it happened while we lived here, maybe later.”

“When did your grandmother die?”

“I’m not sure, but not before we lived here. It’s just that it’s so much money and it’s all in cash.” She opened the case and pulled out a rubber-banded stack of bills. From where I was sitting, I couldn’t see the denomination, but I could see that they weren’t new bills.

“There are a hundred in each batch and they’re hundred-dollar bills. I didn’t really count, but there could be a million dollars here.” She looked at me. “A million dollars, Chris. Is it likely that my father’s mother had that kind of money?”

The amount shocked me. People keep saying a million dollars isn’t what it used to be, but for me it’s so much money I can barely conceive of it, especially in one place— and most especially in the same room that I was sitting in.

“Ariana, I don’t know what’s likely any more than I know what’s true. I know there are people who accumulate large amounts of money in their lifetime. Maybe your grandmother was one of them.”

“But what if she wasn’t? What if this is stolen money? What if my parents did something awful and this is the result? There isn’t a word in any of the letters they’ve written me about why someone was after them. Why?”

“I can’t answer that. But let me say this: You knew them and you loved them. You’re a good judge of character. You knew I could be trusted, and you were right. Unless you learn something definite that tells you the money was acquired illegally, I think you should act as though it’s yours. But I think the worst thing you can do is make public what you’ve found. The person who murdered your parents is still out there, and if he hears that the money has turned up, he may come after you.”