TWENTY-THREE

“What?” Liza’s voice was weak and thready, as though she’d lost her composure—for the first time ever.

“I’m so sorry. I wanted you to hear it from me rather than the police.” Or wherever it was she got her information about happenings around the Bay, which she always seemed to know about before anyone else.

“I—I don’t understand.”

“He tried to make a run for the border, then committed suicide when the authorities had him surrounded. He”—I cleared my throat—“he killed Doreen and Spencer.”

“This can’t be real,” she said after a pause. “I thought I knew him. It wasn’t as though I loved him, of course. But he was . . . special to me.”

A shadow passed over the sun. Eclipse? No. It was the burly form of Lieutenant Hawthorne of the New York State Police. He towered over me, not quite touching but close enough to be intimidating. Well, I’d been through enough today. He wasn’t going to scare me.

I held up my index finger in a wait a minute gesture.

“Liza, Channing’s last words were, Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I tried.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.

Lieutenant Hawthorne must have popped one of his ever-present sticks of gum into his mouth because I could hear it snapping as he chewed and the crinkly sound of a piece of paper being rolled up. I was pretty sure if I looked up, I’d find a not-amused expression on his nicely chiseled face.

“Sorry?” she said. “He tried? Tried what?”

“I was hoping you might know what he meant.”

“I wish I did. Now I suppose I’ll never know. Look, Georgie, it means so much to me that you called to tell me, that it didn’t come from a stranger. But I . . . need to be alone for a while. To try to make sense of this.”

“Of course. I’ll check in on you later. And I’m always here for you. You know that, right?”

“I do. Bye.”

“Bye.” And she was gone.

Caitlyn was leaning up against a cop car. She appeared to be giving a statement to a good-looking young officer. He handed her a box of tissues, and she wiped her nose and dabbed at the tears that still dripped from her eyes. I wondered if it would do any good for her to go to the ER and get her mucus membranes flushed or treated somehow to get rid of the burning pepper oil. Or maybe it just had to wear off. At least she’d gotten a very low dose. Despite her ordeal, she seemed talkative, almost flirty. Well, as I said, the officer was cute.

“Georgie.”

“Yes? Let me guess. You want to take my statement.”

His expression was stony. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

Truer words were never spoken.

*   *   *

Caitlyn and I sat in Melanie’s hospital room, one on either side of the bed. She was finally awake, and had agreed to try some orange gelatin, which she was now slurping daintily from a plastic spoon.

“How do you feel, Melanie?” It wasn’t just a polite question. I’d done some soul-searching in the last few hours and come to the realization that holding on to resentment and anger did no one any good, least of all me who had so much to be thankful for. Not that Melanie was going to win any mother-of-the-year awards. But a truce was the beginning of, perhaps, an understanding. And if she truly did want to be part of Cal’s life, I would not be the one to stand in the way of that relationship.

“Plenty of drugs. Plenty of bland, soft foods. A moderately cute doctor. What more could anyone ask for?”

“How about some information?”

She sighed. “I suppose you want to know about the trust. I wish my great-great-grandfather had just given the money away to charity. So many lives would have been saved.”

Caitlyn nodded. “Elihu Bloodworth made a fortune in the lumber business, basically cutting down, processing, and selling every tree he could get his hands on. Of course, sustainable growth and the biological necessity of having trees weren’t known then. In those days it was just take, take, take.”

“Not so different now, though I think things are changing,” I said.

Melanie continued. “Elihu had three sons and two daughters. By all accounts he was a crotchety old coot and by the time his children were married, he decided he didn’t care for them or any of the spouses. And he seems to have felt that since he himself had made his own fortune, his children should not have their fortunes handed to them.”

Caitlyn said, “So he sat down with his lawyers and created a generation-skipping trust. Upon his death, his entire estate was to be liquidated and the assets placed into an interest-bearing account, to be managed by his loyal friend and attorney, Jonas MacNamara.”

“As in MacNamara and MacNamara?” I said.

“Yes,” Caitlyn said. “The law firm has been run by MacNamaras for more than a hundred years. Back to the trust, legally the money could not be tied up forever. There had to be an end date.”

“Let me guess.” I thought back to the newspaper clipping I’d seen in the scrapbook at the farmhouse. “February twenty-third of next year—twenty-one years after Monty died.”

“Twenty-one years after Elihu’s last grandchild died,” Melanie corrected.

“I know Gladys and Monty never had children of their own. So the MacNamaras identified you and Doreen as the only heirs?”

“That’s right. Our grandmother was the daughter of one of Elihu’s daughters. Monty was descended from Elihu’s other daughter.”

“And now, with Doreen’s death, everything comes down to you, Melanie. How much money are we talking about?” I sat forward on the edge of my seat.

She paused. “It might be as much as a few hundred . . . million.”

Wow. No wonder Melanie was selling her Bel Air home. She was probably planning to buy something bigger. Like property on the moon.

“When the time comes,” Melanie continued, “you and Callista and I will sit down and figure out what to do with the money. For sure we’ll plant some trees, to make up for the forests Elihu destroyed.”

I rose. It was time for me to head back to the restaurant.

“You don’t have to include us, you know. The money’s yours, fair and square.”

She looked at me. “It’s ours. Fair and square.”

Back at the Bonaparte House, Dolly had already arrived. “I heard what happened,” she said sympathetically. “I can handle the kitchen tonight if you want.”

I was grateful, but the busier I stayed, the less likely I was to hear, over and over in a loop in my head, the thud of Channing’s body as he hit the deck of the ship.

I tied on an apron and washed up.

Channing. Why had he killed Doreen and Spencer? He’d admitted that he wasn’t an heir, so he had no personal stake. I assembled the ingredients for the salads, methodically lining up the components. There’s only one true heir to the Bloodworth fortune, and it wasn’t Doreen and it’s not your mother.

But the attorneys said otherwise. And since they’d been involved since the inception of the trust, they must have been keeping track of every birth and every death in the family.

Tell her I’m sorry. Channing’s last words bounced around my mind. Sorry about what? Murdering two innocent people, one a cousin I never knew I had, and one a newspaper reporter who had, perhaps, gotten too close to the truth? But what was that truth? Or was he sorry for something else?

Lettuce, shredded carrots, and chopped celery went into the big stainless steel bowl. The wetter ingredients, tomatoes and cucumbers, went into separate bowls to be added later.

“Dolly, you’ve lived in the Bay your whole life, right?”

She looked up from the lemons she’d been slicing to go into the water glasses.

“Yup, born and raised ten miles away, never lived anywhere else. Never wanted to.”

I knew what she meant. The North Country had its issues, for example, lack of good-paying jobs for young people just starting out. Oh, and the fact that there was sometimes snow on the ground and frigid temperatures from November to May. But I loved it here too.

“Did you know Doreen? Did she ever mention any relatives?”

Dolly smiled, her pearly dentures on full display. “I didn’t know her too well, would see her over at the Legion playing Bingo once in a while. Just recently she mentioned being related to a television actress. Of course, nobody believed her. But it turned out to be true, didn’t it? Who’da thunk that you’d all turn out to be related?”

Yeah. Who’da thunk it? “Did she ever mention anyone else?”

Dolly pursed up her fuchsia lips. “Her parents, that would be Lorne and Bea Webber, her mom was a Smythe, you know. They died years and years ago. Her father had a heart attack and I think she got pneumonia and didn’t think she was sick enough to go to the hospital. Dead in a couple of days. Then there was Helene and Joe.” My grandparents. The bitter ones. “I don’t remember what they died of, but it was within a year or two of each other. Can’t think of anyone else.”

As I continued to work, my mind wandered. Melanie had said the Bloodworth Trust was worth millions. Possibly hundreds of millions. I thought about my grandparents. No wonder they were bitter. They must have resented having to eke out a living on a farm when the only way anyone was going to see any money was when they were dead. And maybe they resented Melanie, the daughter who would inherit twenty-one years after Elihu Bloodworth’s last grandchild died. Her getting pregnant with me had been just the excuse they needed to send her on her way—maybe every look at her was a reminder of what they didn’t have, and could never have, all because of the whims of one spiteful lumber baron a hundred years ago.

“Georgie?”

My head snapped up. “Huh?”

“That’s more salad than we need,” Dolly said, waving her chef’s knife at the enormous pile of lettuce I’d chopped as I’d been musing.

“Oh. I wasn’t paying attention. Well, let’s put the extra in the walk-in and whatever we don’t use you can take home. I’m going to go check my e-mail.” I untied my apron and peeled off the gloves.

“Go on,” she said. “I’ve got it from here.”

And she did. Dolly could easily run the kitchen if I or Sophie weren’t here.

A whiff of stale air hit me as I entered my office. It had been closed up for a few hours and it had been a warm day. I crossed the wide pine floors and opened the window overlooking the employee parking lot and frowned. My car wasn’t there, of course. I’d completely forgotten that it was still out at Doreen’s farm. I checked my watch. Not enough time to go out there this afternoon before we opened for dinner, unless I wanted to stick Dolly with the cooking and supervising the wait staff and running the credit cards. Impossible. Oh well, I thought. It’s not like I’m going anywhere tonight. I’ll have somebody drive me out there in the morning. And I knew just the woman for the job. Caitlyn.

Back at my desk, I booted up my laptop. It had been a couple of days since I’d heard from Cal. While I waited for the Internet to connect and the programs to load, I glanced around my desk. I’d been trying to keep my desk neater. Feng shui, or the Law of Attraction, whatever you wanted to call it, I figured it couldn’t hurt. A piece of foil lay on top of the server schedule. I picked it up and rolled it into a ball. Chocolate wrapper, of course. I flicked it into the wastebasket. Two points, though it didn’t feel like much of a victory.

The computer clicked and whirred. Whoa, Nellie. I sat up straighter. My eyes scanned the top of the desk. Where was it? I opened drawers until I remembered it was still in the pocket of my jeans. The card from the genealogical investigator. I stared at it for a moment. Would I be able to pull it off? Only one way to find out.

I punched the numbers on the card into my phone, holding my breath when it rang. On the fourth ring a man’s voice came on the line.

“Sheldon Todd.”

“Hello, Mr. Todd. My name is Georgie Nikolopatos. I’m Melanie Ashley’s daughter.”

There was a pause. “Yes, Georgie. What can I do for you?” The voice was low and a bit gurgly, as if he needed to clear his throat.

I was a terrible liar. “Uh, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Melanie has had . . . an accident. She’s in the hospital here in the Bay. She mentioned that she had you working on a project for her. Could you give me a status update so I can report back to her?” Mentally I crossed my fingers, then did it for real just for good measure.

“Why didn’t that assistant of hers call? She’s the one I’ve been dealing with.”

“She’s taking care of other things for Melanie. They’re very busy, you know.” I hoped I sounded just a little bit frosty—enough that he’d know I meant business but not so much that he’d get annoyed with me.

Another pause. “Well, you can tell her that I’ve hit a dead end. There’s no marriage license, no birth records, and no church records anywhere to be found. I’ll keep working on the newspapers. Did Caitlyn find anything yet? We split up some of the research.”

Pieces were starting to fall into place, but there were still so many missing. Why would Melanie be looking into genealogy? And whose genealogy was she looking into? There was only one answer. There was another heir out there, possibly more. The lawyers apparently didn’t know about whoever it was, because they would have notified all the potential heirs.

“Caitlyn? No, I don’t think she’s found anything yet. Say, have you been paid? You know, with Melanie’s illness I want to make sure you don’t fall through the cracks.”

“She gave me a big retainer a couple of months ago. I’m still using it. Believe me, I’ll let somebody know if it runs out. It takes a lot of hours to go through the newspapers looking for documentation, you know.”

“Newspapers?” I blurted. Don’t blow it now, Georgie. “Uh, Melanie didn’t tell me what research methods you were using to . . . complete the project.” Ugh. Even though genealogical investigators were apparently not bound by the same vow of confidentiality as attorneys, he could shut me down at any moment.

“A hundred years ago newspapers had community correspondents. The local writers would send in their village’s gossip—who was sick, who attended the church social, who opened a new business.”

“Sounds nosy.” Keep him talking.

“Eh, it’s like those celebrity news shows today. People love to know about other people’s business.” A deep wet cough sounded on the other end of the line. “I’ve gotta go. I have a lot of papers to go through today. Tell that assistant I’ll send her an e-mail regarding my progress.” He hung up.

That hadn’t gone especially well. I’d been able to confirm that Sheldon Todd was working for Melanie, but not much else. I considered my options. No way did I have enough time to go to the library and hunt through years of microfiche. With so little to go on, I might not recognize the crucial piece of information anyway. Presumably it was about the Bloodworth family, but even that wasn’t a sure thing. No, best leave this to the professional, who could work far more efficiently than I could.

I glanced at my watch. Still an hour before we officially opened tonight. Time enough to go check on Melanie. But I still had no car. I could take Sophie’s White Whale, the enormous Lincoln, but the thing was so hard to park. And by the time I maneuvered the beast through the narrow streets of the Bay and found a place to park it where there was no chance of someone with a more sensible vehicle dinging the doors, it would be just as quick to walk. “Be back in a few,” I said as I waved to Dolly and exited the kitchen door.

Bonaparte Bay was bustling. Late-season tourists milled about, stopping to window-shop. Midge had placed a rack of clearance items outside the T-Shirt Emporium, and I was happy to see customers taking sweatshirts inside to pay for them. Like a bear puts on fat to prepare for hibernation, the shops and restaurants of the Bay depended on this last infusion of cash to get them through the long, no-income winter. Things were looking good.

Spinky’s was on my left. If I didn’t stay to chat too long, I could check on Inky. And get a look inside the restaurant.

The front door was open, so I went in. “Hello?” The newly upholstered red vinyl booths had been installed, as had chrome-edged tables and a new black-and-white-tile floor done in a checkerboard pattern. Framed records and vintage album covers hung on the walls—Elvis. The Rolling Stones. Tom Jones. Zorba the Greek. The effect was kitschy but fun. I predicted they’d do well selling burgers, fries, and onion rings.

Inky came through the kitchen door, a broad smile splitting his face and making the snake tattoo on his neck twitch. Spiro came out behind him, looking spiffy in dark-wash jeans and an emerald green polo shirt that brought out the green in his eyes and complemented his olive skin beautifully. I always felt a bit . . . dowdy next to these two.

“Georgie sandwich!” Inky wrapped his muscular arms around me, then Spiro followed. By the time they released me, we were all laughing. It had been a long time since I’d laughed with Spiro. It felt good.

“I just came in to check on you, to make sure Inky has been cleared of all the charges.”

Inky waved his long slender artist’s fingers. “The lawyer’s taking care of the final issues, but yes, I’m off the hook.” He grinned again. “And while I was in the lockup overnight, I convinced some of the guys in the cells to make appointments for new tats when they get out. So it’s all working out.”

Spiro spoke up. “That bastard Channing was here working, you know. We hired him to do some of the carpentry—I mean, if you have to hire a handyman, you might as well get a good-looking one, right?”

I nodded. I’d been ready to hire him to winterize the farm too. And Liza had also been taken in by his tool belt and pretty face.

Inky continued. “So he had access to the kitchen, the plastic wrap he used to strangle poor Doreen, and the perfect opportunity to frame one of us for the murder. And he might have gotten away with it”—he gave me a gentle buss on the cheek—“if it weren’t for you, you meddling kid.”

I laughed again. “Glad everything is working out here. I’m headed over to the hospital to check on Melanie. Come for dinner in a couple of weeks, will you? Sophie’s leaving for Greece and I want to give her a bon voyage party.”

“That’s nice of you, Georgie,” Spiro said. “Mana will be pleased.”

Wow. If I’d ever had any doubts that Inky was good for Spiro, they were erased now. The change in him was wonderful to see.

We gave each other quick hugs and I was out the door.