I e-mailed Harry what I’d found and poured myself a glass of milk. The police probably had done their own search but, just in case, Harry would need to alert them.
Like so many times in the past, I wondered what pathways Harry was traveling in his mind. He’d managed to convince me Van Pelt’s and Paul’s deaths were connected. Now he was bringing Paul’s newly discovered relatives into the investigation. Although I tried hard, I couldn’t see how Paul’s relatives could have anything to do with Van Pelt’s death.
I took a swig of milk. Over the rim I saw Harry pull open my sliding glass door.
“I’d told the police about Paul’s sister.” Harry raked his hand through his hair. “They’d already tracked her down.”
“So my search was a waste of time.”
Harry ignored my complaint. “They haven’t tried to find cousin Julianne.” He squeezed his over six foot frame into my club chair. “When are you buying a new chair?”
I raised an eyebrow. “When am I getting a raise?”
Harry scowled and pulled out his cell phone. “Let’s talk to Margot. Maybe she knows where Julianne is.” He punched numbers on the screen and pressed speaker.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Margot Martin-Day?”
“Yes?”
“I’m your late brother’s attorney. Have the police contacted you and explained the situation?”
“Are you Paul’s lawyer?”
“Yes. I’m calling to extend my condolences, answer any questions you might have, and ask if you have your cousin’s contact information.”
“My cousin?”
“Miss Julianne Truitt?”
There was some rustling at the other end of the phone.
“Mrs. Martin-Day? Have the police contacted you?”
“Because Paul’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Harry rubbed his eyes. “Are you saying it’s good that your brother has died?”
“He stole my inheritance. Him and Julianne. I hope they both rot in hell. Did he leave me any money?”
We lost the connection after Harry said, “No.”
“I guess we’ll need to find Julianne Truitt after all,” I said.
“Yes, I think you do.” Harry looked at his watch. “Don’t you have to be somewhere?” Before I could answer he added, “I’ll look into the inheritance Margot claims she was robbed of.”
I would have pointed out that Julianne might have the information we needed, sparing a time consuming and boring search, but with his reddened eyes, Harry looked like a bloodhound on the trail. I didn’t want to rob him of the chase. I grabbed my jacket as Harry unfurled himself, rising from the chair. For a minute we stared at each other. With a sense of gnawing disquiet, I picked up Benedict’s belt and headed to the theater.
Rehearsal ran smoothly. Both the director and the stage manager were on the same page. During a break, the pretty actress with hair spiked like Lucy’s came over to me.
“Jake, we’re going to Eat’n Park after rehearsal. Want to come?”
Beth’s hair smelled like grapefruit and basil. Lucy’s hair had smelled like that too. It was nice. I took a surreptitious whiff and imagined myself on the Amalfi Coast, walking through a lemon grove.
“What do you say, Jake?” Beth had that same look of concern I sometimes saw on Harry’s face.
“Uh, sure. Yeah. You smell nice. What perfume are you wearing?”
“No perfume,” she said.
“But your hair,” I shrugged, “it smells nice.”
Beth smiled. “Oh! Yes! It’s the hair gel I use. Smells great right?”
I nodded.
“I can pick some up for you the next time I get my hair cut. It’s the salon’s own brand.”
The stage manager called us back before I could ask if she’d ever seen Lucy at the salon. Later, at the restaurant, as Beth settled alongside me in the booth, smiling a dazzling smile, her arm touching mine for one brief moment, my earlier sense of disquiet evaporated and I thought only of how to ask her out.
I found Harry at his espresso machine the next morning.
“You’re looking tired, Jake.” He handed me a cup. “A long night?”
“Uh-huh.” I bit into the breakfast casserole Mrs. Griffin had left for us. Hints of nutmeg and vanilla went a long way toward waking me up. Harry’s macchiato did the rest.
“Looks like you’re finally back with the living,” Harry said, pouring himself another glass of orange juice.
“Uh-huh — so where’s Mrs. Griffin?”
“She’s taking a few days off. This has all been a shock for her and her sister’s coming in from California for support.”
The mansion would fall apart without Mrs. Griffin’s tight rein. But I had to admit I was relieved Marlowe wouldn’t be stalking me for a few days.
“I said we’d take care of Marlowe while her sister’s in town.” Harry’s smile grew into a grin as my mouth moved but nothing came out. “Her sister claims she’s very allergic to cats. You’re to pick him up in an hour.”
I would have complained bitterly had Harry’s cell not rung. My cousin answered, walking away from the kitchen table, his back turned. I chowed down on the rest of the casserole. If I had to face that whirling dervish, I’d need all the strength I could manage.
After a few minutes, Harry came back. “That was the attorney in California who handled Paul’s mother’s estate, such as it was.”
“Did Paul cheat his sister, Margot, out of her inheritance?”
“Not according to the attorney.” Harry made more macchiatos in silence. When he sat back down, he continued. “There wasn’t much to the estate once his fees were paid. The house was sold, and proceeds were divvied up between the two children, with some little amount going to their cousin Julianne.”
“Then why did Margot think she’d been robbed?”
“There was a painting. The appraiser said it was worthless, but Paul’s mother had always claimed otherwise.”
“Did they try to sell it?”
“No. Paul let Julianne take it, and when Margot found out there was a big fight. Julianne wouldn’t give it back. In fact, she skipped town with her boyfriend and child in tow. Margot never forgave either of them.”
“Sad story. Seems no reason to break up a family, though.” My own grandmother had been disinherited when she married my grandfather. Despite that, she and her brother, Harry’s father, and her sister, Great Aunt Agatha, remained close, in large part because the siblings knew family was far more important than money. I felt sorry for Paul, who’d lost his sister because of a dispute over money.
“You need to find Julianne,” Harry said to me.
“Before or after I pick up the cat?”
Harry’s chuckle trailed behind him as he left the kitchen. I sat still for a moment, trying to put all the pieces together, failing in the face of the sad reality: Marlowe was coming to the mansion.
Mrs. Griffin put the cat into his carrier. “He needs water left out, and he likes a little bit of cheese — but just a little — and you can give him a few frozen peas each day. There’s an open package in the freezer. Otherwise, just his cat food.” She handed me a bag filled with cans.
I felt the housekeeper’s eyes bore into my back as I walked out to my car. Whatever happened, I needed to keep Marlowe safe or Mrs. Griffin would never forgive me. I hoped Harry would take our cat sitting seriously too.