Susanna nodded, but managed a grim smile. "Davey and the gang would never let you live down accusing someone of murder based on an e-mail."
"God, it is thin, isn't it?"
"Go. Let the police talk to Montague and find out if he has a simple explanation."
"I hope he does. Matter of fact, I'm still hoping it was a ghost I saw."
Susanna said nothing, but Tess knew-they both knew.
Ike Grantham was dead.
Andrew found Lauren in her herb garden with her poodles. The little dogs were running through the grass, looking as if they'd collide, but never did. Lauren stood on a narrow gravel path among the herbs- Andrew recognized oregano, several kinds of thyme, sage, all getting going for the season. The seaside mansion and extensive grounds reminded Andrew that Lauren Grantham Montague was a wealthy woman. It was easy to forget, and maybe she wanted it that way. She didn't have drivers or guards at a gate or even full-time household help, but she came from money-and a lot of it.
If she or Ike wanted to disappear, or to make someone else disappear, they could do it.
"Dolly would enjoy the poodles." Lauren spoke without looking at him, her gaze on the dogs. "You should bring her by sometime."
One of the dogs scrambled over Andrew's foot. He ignored the tight ball of tension in his gut and concentrated on why he was here. But he let her have her moment of pleasantries. Why not? "I'm sure she'd get a kick out of these guys. She's an animal lover."
Lauren turned to him, her eyes red-veined, as if she hadn't slept in days. She smiled without feeling. "Most princesses are."
Her comment irritated him. Her idea of being a princess and Dolly's were so different. Lauren didn't have a clue about how he or his daughter thought. It wasn't because she was rich. That was too simple, too black-and-white. She established her own ideas for who people were and what they believed, why they did what they did, to suit herself. She'd take one fact about them and run with it, creating a whole panorama out of one tidbit. He'd seen her do it even with antiques she brought to Harl. She'd mix fact with fantasy, project herself and her own perceptions and beliefs, and turn a Windsor chair into a grand story.
Bottom line, she tended to jump to conclusions about people.
Andrew suspected she had about him.
"Tess Haviland's skeleton is for real," he said.
She didn't seem surprised at his abrupt comment. "She thinks it's Ike. That's the police's nightmare scenario. They're hoping he turns up."
"What about you?"
She shrugged. "It would be horrible if it was Ike. I'd suffer personally, of course, but so would the project, my husband, you. Richard's Pentagon appointment is already in jeopardy, just at the whiff of something wrong. And you. You're right next door. Can you imagine if it turns out that Ike Grantham was killed in the Thorne carriage house?"
"You sound like a reporter reading the news. He's your brother."
She tossed back her head, annoyed. "I know who he is."
Andrew didn't back off. "You know more than you've admitted."
She kept her head back, her eyes half-closed as she stared at him. "Do I?"
"Lauren, whatever pieces of this mess you have- maybe you've put them together wrong, come up with the wrong answers."
She scooped up one of the dogs and held it, scratching under its chin. "I think I like dogs better than people." She pressed her cheek to the top of the dog's head, her eyes filled with tears. "You don't respect me, Andrew. You never have. You've never appreciated what I do for you-or anyone else for that matter. You're very independent that way, you know."
He didn't respond. A light breeze had stirred, bringing out the smells of grass and soil, flowers. It was a beautiful spot, no old Adirondack chairs, no overgrown lilacs, no Harl.
Lauren set down the dog and walked a few steps onto the path. The herb garden was planted in a classic star pattern, with a gazing globe at the center. "I haven't seen or heard from my brother since last March. He was supposed to meet Tess that afternoon in Boston to discuss a new design for the project's Web page. They often met up here, but not that day."
The dogs had followed her onto the path and were getting into the herbs. Lauren herded them out of the rosemary. "Stay on the paths, kiddos, or I'll put you inside." She squatted and replaced dirt one of them had scratched up. "He was stopping at the carriage house first. He told me at breakfast. We'd argued."
"About the carriage house?"
She shook her head and rose, brushing the dirt off her hands. "No, about his living arrangements."
Andrew knew what she was talking about. A frequent subject of gossip in town, the Grantham living arrangements were one of their more obvious eccentricities. When he was in town, whether for an extended period or a few days, Ike lived in the family mansion with his sister. It apparently was never a problem with her first husband. He and Lauren had traveled frequently themselves, and his family owned a place on Cape Cod. After their divorce, with their daughter away at school, it was just Ike and Lauren again, brother and sister, in the Beacon-by-the-Sea house where they'd grown up, an arrangement that apparently had suited them.
But Andrew guessed all that changed when Lauren decided to remarry. "Richard didn't want Ike staying here?"
"He wanted me to buy out Ike's share, minus all the work I'd had done, the maintenance, the taxes I'd paid. If not for me, the termites or the tax man would have gotten this place. Ike never lifted a finger or contributed a dime. Richard didn't want to be unfair to him, but Ike was furious. You know how he was- is." The correction was halfhearted, and she gave a quick, sad smile, as if she didn't expect Andrew to believe she thought her brother was alive. "Rules and details like mowing the lawn and paying property taxes were for other people, not him. He was above that sort of day-to-day trivia. That's all well and good, I told him-then he should hire someone to handle the tasks that bore him."
"I don't recall you two arguing in the time I've known you."
"We never did, but Richard made me see how my brother was taking advantage of me-and had been for years and years. All our lives, really."
Andrew walked onto an offshoot of the main path, two of the dogs scooting past him. He was suddenly aware of the stillness and beauty around him and expected this would be hard to give up. And Ike would feel entitled to it. That was the way he was.
But Andrew stuck to the main issue-Ike's actions on that day in March. "Why was he headed to the carriage house?"
"Oh, he was being ridiculous. He said he never should have given it to Tess, he should have kept it himself and renovated it as his Beacon-by-the-Sea home. He was trying to pretend nothing I said mattered."
"The carriage house isn't on as grand a scale as this place-"
She waved a hand angrily. "Ike was just blowing smoke. He'd never give up this place without a fight, without making me feel as if I were stabbing him in the back. He'd fight me every inch of the way. I never told Richard, but according to our parents' will-he could win."
"They stipulated you both owned the property or neither did?"
She nodded, almost embarrassed. "Basically. It was a way to manipulate me from the grave. They knew Ike wouldn't live up to his share of the responsibilities, so they made sure I'd have to keep sweeping up after him the way they did. It's not as if I couldn't afford to." She turned and started back down the path toward the lawn, walking slowly, pensive more than outraged. "Richard was having none of it. I didn't want him to know how I rated with my parents."
"What did you do after you and Ike argued?" Andrew asked.
"I went to the office. Ike got all the prestige there, too, without having to do any of the hard work. He did what he wanted to, what amused him. I was furious with myself for putting up with it. It was as if Richard had taken off the blinders, and I have to say I didn't thank him for it. It's an awful feeling, knowing you've been a doormat for your brother, that your own parents expected that of you."