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6:50 p.m. Friday, August 28th, 1992
BAILEY waited off to the side of the old boathouse, watching with interest as the hydraulic motors pivoted the turntable ramp and then lowered the close end to rest on the pier. When they had arrived this morning, he’d been too busy, after seeing Sam safely stowed away again in the back of the SUV, to have the opportunity to observe this operation properly. Now, though the sun was low in the sky behind him, there was plenty of light to watch as the two luxury town cars crawled off the ferry, across the pier, and through the converted boathouse. Both cars passed him by and continued up toward the house. Apparently neither needed a chauffeur.
The fact that Brandt’s two money men couldn’t bring themselves to share one car and ride together even such a short distance tended to confirm the reports of enmity between them. The more pertinent question was whether either man had hated his employer and how much. But people rarely murdered someone out of dislike.
Bailey turned his head to glance at the ferry before heading back up to the house and noticed there was a man standing now in the bow of the ship. Not the captain, but another passenger apparently. The man checked his watch, then lifted his gaze to stare up toward the mansion for a minute. He turned and waved at the pilothouse before jogging off the ramp. He had to be Keener’s confidential assistant. Bailey had assumed the man was in one of the cars, but apparently Mr. Hope didn’t care to ride with either of the other men. Interesting dynamic.
As the man came trotting through the other side of the boathouse, Bailey saw a lean figure in cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a white denim shirt. He also noticed a thick head of golden hair being burnished bronze by the rays of the setting sun. Then the man glanced briefly at Bailey as he ran past.
In that brief glimpse, Bailey had recognized the person, and it hadn’t been Keener’s confidential assistant. It had been Turner. One of his fellow time-travelers from the future.
Bailey stood stunned for several minutes. He’d not seen any of his colleagues, other than Kirin and Sam, since their arrival in the past. The landing had been a disaster that had left the mission in shambles before it had even begun and left him leaderless and adrift. Until he had recognized Sam’s newfound authority.
What was Turner doing here? As soon as Bailey had asked himself the question, the obvious answer followed. Like his own time-travel device, Turner’s watch would have been programmed to home in on the closest leader. Which would be Sam.
Presumably the man had recognized Bailey, but he hadn’t stopped. Perhaps Turner had become as leaderless as Bailey had been and was now focused on finding one, but Turner tracking down Sam was not only awkward, it might be dangerous to her. So Bailey began running up the road after him.
But by the time he rounded a curve and came in sight of the house, Turner was already sprinting up the steps, and Bailey couldn’t call out. So he simply watched as his old colleague sauntered through the door and into the foyer. Walking at a more moderate pace, he thought he still had a chance to catch up to Turner when someone barked at him.
“Here. You. Come here and help me.”
The two town cars had been parked on opposite ends of the large, circular gravel driveway in front of the house, and next to the open driver’s side door of the one on the far left side stood the tall, thin figure who had called out. Bailey stopped and started over toward the gray-haired man with loose skin sagging from his spare frame. It looked like the mummification process had already begun before the man was ready for it.
He had to be Mr. Quill, who was the chief financial officer of Brandt Keener’s company. The senior citizen was squinting hard at him. Whether he was trying to place him or expressing disapproval wasn’t quite clear.
“My name’s Bailey, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I don’t care what your name is.” Quill reached down into the car, popped the trunk, then came out clutching a briefcase by the handle. “What I want is for you to carry my luggage. That’s what we’re paying you for, isn’t it?”
We? Bailey grabbed the garment bag and large suitcase out of the trunk and started for the house. He spoke over his shoulder. “Yes, sir, this is what I was hired to do.”
He ran up the steps and through the main door to find the butler there waiting to welcome the newly arriving guests. Bailey paused. “Padget, I saw a man just run right in—”
Padget nodded. “That was Mr. Hope. The late Mr. Keener’s right-hand man. He was expected.”
Bailey narrowed his eyes. “The man I saw didn’t have any bags with him, so I thought he wouldn’t be a guest.”
“He’s not, really. He was always here when Mr. Keener was, which had become rather a lot recently. So Mr. Hope has been keeping his things in his suite here for a while, making him more like a permanent resident than a guest.”
So. Turner and Mr. Hope, the confidential aide, were one and the same. That meant he’d been here, working for Keener, for decades, based on the news reports Bailey had read. It also meant he might be a murderer. After what Kirin had done, he couldn’t be considered above suspicion just because he was a colleague. Bailey wondered how Turner had ended up in such a position. He would have to find an opportunity to ask the man, but right now he needed to warn Sam.
Mr. Quill came into the foyer behind him, glaring, and Bailey ran across the foyer and up the stairs—they surely couldn’t expect him to always take the back staircase—hoping he might catch up with Turner. But Bailey didn’t see any sign of the man on the second floor when he got there, and he couldn’t just start searching the rooms like Sam. Besides, Turner might be anywhere.
So Bailey headed along the west end of the hall, to the first door on the right, and went into the suite Padget had assigned to Quill and put the man’s two bags on the bed. Then he hustled out and down the stairs to find Quill in close consultation with Padget as the two stood by the front entrance. Bailey tried to listen as he went past them and out the door, but all he heard was something about a digestive complaint and an indignant demand for a special sort of herbal tea.
Outside on the gravel drive, the financial wizard who’d managed Brandt’s personal fortune, the stout Mr. Oak, seemed to be having some difficulty climbing out of the driver’s seat of his car. He, too, called out for Bailey’s assistance.
“My good man, could you lend a fellow a hand?”
With the man’s black hair unflatteringly pasted down over his forehead and his excess weight overflowing from his short stature, he looked more like a stump than a tree, but there was enough of an association to make it easy to remember Oak’s name. It suited this man almost as well as Quill’s fit him.
Stifling a sigh, Bailey trotted over to grab Oak’s arm and helped the man extricate himself out of the upholstered leather seat. “There you go, sir. Do you have bags you wish me to bring in for you?”
Something emanated from Oak that was half of a laugh and all of a snort. “You don’t think I’d try to carry my own luggage, do you?” He made the sound again. “My thanks for your assistance in getting out of my car. I overindulged with a late afternoon meal meant to tide me over on my journey, and I believe I grew into my seat.”
Bailey stared at the man. “Do you mean you sat in your car for the entire ride on the ferry?”
Oak grinned and repeated his odd laugh. “Both Mr. Quill and I remained rooted in our vehicles the whole way over, to avoid having to endure each other’s company.”
“And what about Mr. Hope? Or is his company as unpleasant to you?”
“Ah, yes, he moved about rather freely. At least he regularly visited both of us to make sure we were not suffering from our folly too greatly.”
Bailey glanced toward the mansion. “Won’t you have to spend some time with Mr. Quill? Staying in the same house the whole weekend?” It wasn’t like the place was that big.
“You’ll find my things in the trunk.” Oak handed over his keys. “As for my dear old friend, there’ll be other people around to dilute his presence. Quite different from being trapped with the man on a boat on the open ocean.”
Shaking his head, Bailey stepped around to the back of the car and unlocked the trunk. He grabbed the four medium-sized blue bags of different shapes and arranged them to carry in one load, then closed the lid with a thunk. As much as he was finding out about these two men, none of it helped him divine a motive for either of them.
Maybe Sam could find something when she was searching their rooms during dinner, or maybe they would discover that one of the men benefited by the will. Once they learned what Keener’s testamentary dispositions had been. The lawyer was supposed to arrive in the morning.
Oak took his time crossing the gravel and lumbering up the steps to the door, where Padget stood waiting with the hint of a grin. Bailey had to wonder if the man had derived some kind of secret satisfaction from putting Quill and Oak in rooms across the hall from each other. He followed with the bags at a steady pace. Turner could be anywhere in the house now, and there was no point in Bailey searching for the man. Yet.
Just inside, Mr. Oak had also taken this chance to talk with the butler. “And if you see that I get an extra-large serving of dessert at dinner, then I won’t have to ask for seconds. And if you’d have the maid bring up a hot toddy before I go to bed—it helps me sleep, you see. And in the morning...”
Bailey had slowed his walk further to eavesdrop on the conversation, but it hadn’t been useful. And he’d seen Quill standing at the railing on the second floor, scowling down at him, so he sped up his walk toward the main stairs. Padget had not said a word to him a minute ago, so it had to be alright to use the direct route some of the time. Bailey had just started up the steps when suddenly the chandelier hanging high above the foyer began to rattle violently.
All four men turned to look up and stare. Then the front door slammed shut with an ominous clap, and three sets of eyes shifted to Padget.
The butler shook his head and appealed to Oak. “You saw, didn’t you? It was pulled from my hand.”
The chandelier, which had ceased its shaking to only sway gently, jerked once again into frantic motion. They all watched for a protracted moment until it started to subside.
Padget looked to the other three. “I’m not from this area—was that an earthquake?”
Mr. Oak let loose with a nervous giggle. “Hardly that, my dear fellow. It must’ve been the wind.”
Bailey nodded. “Sure, a stiff breeze might have done that.” He was sure none of them had felt even a whisper of wind. “Just don’t claim it was a ghost.”
Oak couldn’t seem to help but keep giggling for a while. Padget stared at the man in dismay. When the rotund fellow finally got ahold of himself, all he could do was ask a question. “And who do we think might want to haunt this place?”
Padget took Oak by the elbow, then steered him across the foyer toward the door to the parlor. “Let me get you a drink, sir, to help you relax.”
Mr. Quill, observing all this, snorted in disgust. Taking the stairs two at a time, Bailey brought Oak’s bags up to the second floor landing in a flash to find Quill still standing there and staring down at where the two men had disappeared.
The old man turned to Bailey with a severe glare and drew a set of keys out of his jacket pocket. “My car needs to be taken around and parked in the garage. Now. And see you don’t scratch it.”
Bailey took the keys and nodded without saying a word. He didn’t trust himself. He walked around the man and ducked into Oak’s rooms to deposit his bags on the floor, then came out to see Mr. Quill going through into his own suite.
Pounding down the stairs, Bailey had one thing on his mind. He wanted to track down Sam as soon as he had the chance to do so without exposing her, so he could warn her about Turner. Before the man had the chance to find her himself. It would be better if that reunion didn’t come as a surprise, but in a time and manner of Sam’s choosing.
First Bailey needed to find her to let her know, then she could decide how she wanted to handle it, but before that he had to drive two town cars to the garage. As it happened, he found Sam asleep there in the back of one of the SUVs.