“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Shannon carefully placed the now mutilated sponge down on the sink and turned to look at Susan. “If I could get Mike to talk to you-”
“That would be incredible! He may be the only person who can answer some of the questions I have.”
“If I can get him to talk to you, will you have to tell your friend the police chief about it?”
“Do you think you could convince him to talk to me?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Would you have to tell the police chief if you talk to Mike?”
“Ah… To tell you the truth, I should, but Brett…”
“Is a cop who is looking for a killer and who will probably be thrilled to have someone turn an ex-junkie over to him as a possible suspect.”
“That’s not true,” Susan protested. “Brett isn’t like that. He’s fair and honest and caring and-”
“And investigating a double murder.”
“Yes, but he’s not going to arrest the first suspect he finds. If Mike is innocent, he doesn’t have anything to worry about,” Susan said.
“But he won’t arrest Mike if he doesn’t know about him,” Shannon said reasonably. “And if he’s only investigating the murders next door, he won’t know anything at all about Mike.”
Susan, who knew this wasn’t true, didn’t say anything immediately. Carefully covering the fruit salad with Saran Wrap, she placed it in the refrigerator and then turned back to Shannon. “I can’t keep anything from Brett that might help him discover the identity of a murderer. It would be illegal.” She wasn’t really sure whether this was true or not. “But there are a lot of things about the situation out at P.I.C.C. that Mike might know-and no one else. Talking to him would be a real help.”
Shannon stared down into the sink. “I’m not sure he’ll even call me back if I leave a message on his phone.”
“But you could try! You could tell him that it’s important, that I’m trying to help.”
“I know that, but… I don’t know how to explain…”
Susan waited quietly for Shannon to continue.
“I love my cousin,” she began slowly. “I’m an only child and Mike is, too. He’s younger than I am and we didn’t have a whole lot in common when we were growing up. But when Mike was thirteen, his father died and his mother began to depend on my parents more and more. They spent time together and Mike and I did, too. We became close in some ways, but not in others.”
“Sounds a little like my kids. Chrissy’s brother is very different than she is, but they’ve become closer as they got older.”
“He has the room she’s painting in, right?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“At school. He’s a senior at Cornell.”
“Oh, well, Mike didn’t have a lot of interest in school. He did a lot of stupid things after his dad died.”
“But you said he had cleaned up his act.”
“Yes, I think so, but…” She shrugged.
“You never really know, right?”
“Right. I worry about him. He’s grown up so much, but still… He’s young and he’s made a lot of mistakes, and he doesn’t handle pressure well.”
“But if all this could be cleared up. If I can figure out who killed Nadine and Blaine and what was going on at the Perry Island Care Center, it would take the pressure off him.”
“That’s true.”
Susan was glad Shannon agreed rather than asking her just how she was going to perform this particular series of miracles.
TWENTY-NINE
SUSAN HAD NEVER EXPECTED TO FIND HERSELF A GUEST IN A home as prestigious as Woodwinds. She had a lovely home of her own and she had friends with homes even larger and more elegant, but Woodwinds was extraordinary. She loved houses and was thrilled to be here-despite the company.
The dinner Shannon had cooked last night was delicious and, amazingly enough, the entire family had enjoyed it seated in the dining room with the twins nearby happily hanging in their mechanical swings. Chrissy and Stephen had finally finished opening their gifts as Susan and Jed enjoyed an after-dinner brandy while examining the many advances in baby equipment, toys, and clothing since their own children were young. After walking the dogs, everyone went to bed early. Susan had slept well. If the twins cried, she hadn’t heard them. When Jed had snored, she had ignored him.
At seven this morning, Donald Baines called and asked her to meet him at his mother’s home. He claimed to need her help with something there. Not the most detailed explanation, but it was an invitation she couldn’t resist.
So she found herself, a couple hours later, walking up wide and deep marble steps to the forged iron doors of Woodwinds. If there was a bell, it was hidden in the pattern of waves, fish, shells, stars, and moons decorating the entrance. Feeling a bit like a fool, she knocked on the metal, but the resulting sound couldn’t possibly alert anyone to her presence.
Despite this, Donald appeared almost immediately, smiling like the most genial host. “Susan, I’m so glad you could make it.” He held out his hands and she had no choice but to offer hers in return.
“I’m glad to be here. I’ve always been curious about this house,” she said. “It’s practically a legend in this part of Connecticut.”
He smiled. “It is, isn’t it? Mother and I have always loved it and I know how much you enjoy looking around homes like this one, so…” He held the door and waved Susan into the foyer.
Her mouth fell open. It was a mouth-dropping space. A mosaic marble floor abutted marble slab walls that connected to a frescoed dome three stories overhead. The only place she had ever seen that was even slightly similar to this was the Capitol building in Washington, D.C. “I had heard about this but, to tell the truth, it’s more amazing than I imagined.”
“It’s been in Architectural Digest twice, House and Garden three times, and the New York Times six times. As well as Elle Décor and a few other publications.”
“Wow.” She had no idea what else to say.
Her brief reaction seemed to be all that was needed. “Would you like to see the rest of it?”
“Sure, I’d love to.” She wondered what was going on. If he had invited her here as a prospective buyer, he was going to be disappointed. Jed had a good job and they were financially comfortable, but there was no way they could afford a home like this one even if they were in the market for a new place, which they weren’t. And if Donald had invited her here to talk about the murders, he was certainly going about it in an extraordinarily roundabout manner.
On the other hand, what an opportunity-a private tour of Woodwinds by its new owner.
Donald happily pointed out the frescoes on the dome and the mosaic on the floor. “Shells, fish, and waves fashioned from Italian tiles beneath our feet and stars, planets, and clouds above us painted on the roof by one of the premier artists of the time.”
“Incredible,” Susan said honestly.
“But once you leave the foyer, the musical themes begin,” Donald continued.
Their shoes clattered on the hard surface as Susan followed her host across the foyer and down a few steps into another, larger room.
“This is the living room,” he explained, barely slowing down as their feet sank into dense wool carpets laid across walnut parquet floors.
Susan had only a few minutes to note the rich apricot-linen upholstered couches set up beneath massive abstract oil paintings and the fireplace fashioned from what appeared to be real jade over which hung a dozen or so brass and woodwind instruments before they were in another room. This, apparently, was the famous music room. The enormous room dwarfed the twin Steinway grand pianos that stood in the middle of the floor. Many different exotic woods had been fashioned into musical notations and then inlaid in the chestnut floor. A treble clef had been painted all around the room near the ceiling and, Susan assumed, someone sitting at one of the pianos could play the tune permanently on display there by spinning in a circle.