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8:25 p.m. Saturday, August 29th, 1992
SAM had hoped to continue listening to what was being said in the kitchen, but then Padget had come running toward the door, and she’d had to fly back down the corridor to the laundry room to keep from being caught. She’d left that door ajar just enough to peer along the hall and watch the butler speed in the other direction, heading for the staff bedrooms apparently. Too risky to sneak around the house at the moment, she’d decided. So she’d sat there waiting and watching. And thinking.
While it would’ve been nice to hear what Bailey managed to get out of those people, she would have to trust him to do his job and tell her about it later, and at least she’d heard enough to realize what had happened in the dining room. Another death. Her first reaction had been guilt.
Had she gone too far trying to scare somebody into confessing? Had Oak had a weak heart? Sam had meant to give someone an attack of conscience. Had she instead given them a heart attack? The way Mrs. Trimble had blamed Brandt’s ghost for Oak’s death had made her wonder. Sam had gotten a different impression of what had happened from Bailey and the others, though.
None of them had said as much, but the expressions on the faces of those three men, how they were holding themselves, not to mention a certain something in the voice of her helper—it all spoke clearly. Mr. Oak had died during dinner, and there had not been anything natural, or supernatural, about it.
Sam supposed it might’ve been suicide, but why would Bailey have seemed so tense if that were the case? Would Padget have been so insistent to Mrs. Trimble and Talia that everybody had to stay out of the dining room? No, Oak must’ve been murdered. The thought did not immediately relieve her of feeling at fault. If the tricks she’d played with the lights and chandelier had provided a killer with an opportunity to strike, then Sam was partly to blame. And it must have, because Oak was dead and the person responsible remained unknown.
Pondering these things as she sat watching the corridor through the crack in the door, she saw the butler come running back down the hall with a camera in his hand. What was that for? He returned to the kitchen, and Sam had to be content to know her helper knew what he was doing, whatever might be going on in there. Unlike her, Bailey was an expert. But that didn’t mean she had to just sit around being useless.
Taking a chance while the coast was clear, Sam slid out of the laundry room and down the hallway to the back stairs. The staff was still in the kitchen for the moment, so it should be safe enough. In the empty stairwell she stopped and tried to think what she could do to help find the truth.
Whatever his crimes might have been, Oak was facing a higher Judge now. If he had taken his own life, for whatever reason, the man had made his decision, and Sam was not to blame.
And if a killer had taken an opportunity she had created to murder Oak, then that person must have already planned to do away with the man, and they would have found or made another way to kill him. Sam might not know the criminal mind the way that Bailey did, but she understood logic.
Her mind went back to the will. Presuming the same person who’d killed Keener had now knocked off Oak, could it have been for the same reason? If someone had wanted to get their hands on Keener’s money, they might also want whatever portion Oak had taken. If the financial advisor had, in fact, embezzled funds from Brandt’s personal fortune, then that money had to be hidden somewhere, but killing Oak would not reveal where those funds had disappeared to. So if getting that money were the motive, then the murderer must’ve already known where to find it. In which case Mr. Oak might’ve been nothing but an obstacle to be gotten rid of.
But Sam had to consider the likelihood that the murderer had possessed a separate motive for killing the money man. If Keener had been murdered so someone could inherit his wealth, such a person might be furious that Oak had already relieved the man of a hunk of his fortune. They might’ve killed out of anger. She couldn’t understand that herself, but she’d seen how greed could twist people.
More than anything she would’ve like to talk to Bailey right then, to hear his thoughts about means and motive, but that wasn’t an option. He was busy now and looked to stay that way. And she couldn’t imagine there would be much to gain in going back to try scaring the people in the parlor. Not that she had a taste for more of those tricks anyway. It had been her own idea that had put her in this position where she couldn’t come out openly to talk to these people. She could only spy on them.
If sneaking around was the only option left her, she at least had an idea what she should do next. It would need to be done soon, too. So Sam ran up the steps to the second floor, not wanting to waste any more time.
In the wake of Oak’s death, she expected somebody, probably the police, to come look through the man’s things for a suicide note or something to explain why he’d died. She’d failed to find anything of the sort when she’d searched his rooms earlier, but she might’ve missed something. So she would need to go through the place again. And she’d have to do it before someone else thought to—she didn’t want to get caught, and if there was a clue there, she was going to find it first.
She paused at the top of the stairs and listened. Everything was quiet up here, and she couldn’t feel anyone else’s presence in the corridor. Turner and Quill were probably still in their suites—not all that much time had passed since she saw them head upstairs—but either man might pop out of their room at any time. So she needed to move fast.
Padding softly down to Oak’s door, she was relieved to find it unlocked, and she slipped in quickly and quietly. Automatically taking out her duster, she started to run its feathers over things while her eyes ran around the room looking for something to show why someone would’ve wanted Oak dead.
It wasn’t as if the man had brought much. Bailey hadn’t found anything in the few financial documents he’d left in here, and the rest was just casual clothes and toiletries. The baggage of a man who’d come for the weekend, but not to work.
But when Sam had searched before, they hadn’t known he was an embezzler, and she’d simply been looking for indications. Now she suspected the man might have hidden something somewhere. She just didn’t know what or where.
So absorbed was she in speculating about possible places Oak could’ve concealed something, Sam started when someone suddenly arose on the other side of the bed. It was Mr. Quill. The man must’ve been down on his knees—looking under the bed or the mattress? His head swiveled crisply to stare at her with wide eyes. Clearly she’d surprised him as much as he had startled her, and she wondered why he’d been searching Oak’s room just like she’d been intending.
She tried a little curtsy. “Oh. Excuse me, sir. I didn’t think anyone was in here. I can return some other time.”
Quill drew himself up to his full height and went on the offensive, giving her a hard glare. “And what are you doing in here?”
Sam held up her feather duster as an aid to explanation. “I came to clean.”
He snorted, and his stare turned withering. “It seems unlikely anyone sent you to clean this suite, since Oak is dead. And especially unlikely as you’re not the maid. Who are you?”
Sam stood there frozen. If he didn’t accept her because of the uniform and the duster, she couldn’t think what she might say that would convince him. Then a familiar voice sounded from behind her.
“She’s the second maid.” Sam whirled and saw Turner standing in the doorway with a wry smile on his face. “Samantha. I hired her myself, to help out for the weekend. And I’m glad I did, since Talia has seen fit to quit without notice.”
Quill looked past Sam at the new arrival. “Why haven’t I seen her until now then? And why did she come in here—did you tell her to do that?”
“I imagine she just didn’t know any better, and don’t ask me why you haven’t noticed her around. I would like to know what you’re doing here though. Your rooms are across the hall.”
The CFO snapped back. “I know that. But Mr. Oak may have had sensitive information about our company finances with him, and I wanted to make sure they weren’t lying around for prying eyes.” He glared at Sam as he said that. And she didn’t believe a single word of it. He’d been just as guilty of sneaking around the suite searching for something as she. She wondered what he’d been looking for.
Turner nodded. “I appreciate the thought, but I believe the police will want us to leave everything as it is. And once they’ve finished in here, it will be for me and Dobson to take care of anything relating to Brandt’s personal finances and the company, as the executors of his estate.”
Quill pursed his lips. “The company’s accounts are my business. I hope you’re not going to attempt to prevent me from doing my job.”
Turner cocked his head at the man. “You’re being retired, or had you forgotten?”
“No, of course not, but I’m not gone yet.” Quill suddenly smiled. “You know, that stipulation in the will isn’t legally binding. As the future president of the company, you can make whatever personnel decisions you believe are in the company’s best interests. And after you’ve seen the results of this audit, I think you’ll want to keep me around.”
Turner simply shrugged. “I haven’t decided to accept the position.” Then he looked around at the room. “Now, I need you all to get out, so I can lock this place up for the police.” He backed away from the door to let them through.
Sam nodded and scooted out into the corridor. Quill left the suite slowly and grudgingly, squinting at Sam with suspicion. The feeling was mutual, but she was playing a maid, so she didn’t let it show but kept her eyes angled down.
Turner closed the door behind them and pulled a huge ring of keys from his jeans pocket. Selecting the right one without any apparent difficulty, he secured the suite and then glanced down at Sam with a smile. “I’d better take you down to see Padget to find out what he wants you to be doing.”
Quill was still watching her, so she acted meek as Turner laid his hand on her shoulder and shoved her ahead of him down the hallway and all the way to the back stairs. But although she was grateful to him for his timely rescue, she’d still have to make it clear to him that he couldn’t tell her what to do.
As they started down the steps, Turner spoke in a low voice. “With Talia refusing to help in any way, I don’t think Padget or Mrs. Trimble will be asking a lot of questions about where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing all this time. They’ll just be that grateful for an extra hand.”
Sam stopped on the stairs and turned, moving his hand off her shoulder. “Thank you for the help back there, but I can take care of it from here.”
His eyes twinkled at her. “Are you saying you’ll explain yourself to the staff, or do you intend to go back to skulking around this place like a phantom? You’d be better off becoming someone everyone expects to see around the house.”
Unfortunately he was right. She nodded. “You can introduce me to Padget and the others and explain everything. And if they do have questions, I’ll just refer them to you.”
Turner began descending the steps again, leaving her to follow this time. “Alright. You’ll have to do some actual work, of course, not just wave your feather duster around. But the kinds of things they will want you to do should give you a good cover for your investigation.”
Sam stared at the back of his head. “You think Brandt Keener was murdered too, don’t you?”
“I thought so then. I’m pretty certain now.”
“Then why don’t you help us find his killer? He was your friend, wasn’t he, once upon a time?” She still felt he was holding back.
“I told you—it’s not my job. The police will find the murderer, or maybe you and Bailey will. But be careful, please. Someone here has killed twice, and they probably won’t hesitate to do so again.”
She ignored his show of concern. “What is your job, Turner? Last time we talked, you said your job for Keener was over, and you weren’t going to be an executor for his estate or a trustee for his children. But you might become president of his company?”
He paused on a step and shook his head. “I’m not going to take the position, but Quill and the others don’t need to know that yet. Since I’ve finished everything Brandt paid me to do, I’m my own man now. Again. With personal responsibilities.”
Sam cocked her head at him. “What responsibilities?”
He frowned at her. “Didn’t I just say it was personal? Besides, it’s a long story. And we shouldn’t be wasting any more of your time trying to talk here and now. I’m sure you and Bailey must have plenty you need to do before the police get here, and you’ll have to squeeze in your detective work while going about your regular duties.”
“I’m not even sure what those are. It was different when I was just trying to look like a maid from a distance. But I don’t think just ‘waving my feather duster around’ will impress Padget or Mrs. Trimble. Do you?”
He stifled a laugh. “No, that’s true. But I don’t imagine you’ll have too much trouble. From what I saw of Talia, her proper job involved a lot of carrying tea trays and drinks around and helping people pack and unpack. Why don’t you ask her for help? She may be refusing to do any of it herself, but maybe she’ll be willing to give you some good advice.”
Sam snorted. “I don’t think I want to learn how to do my job from her. I’ll just do my best to follow whatever instructions I’m given, and hope that nobody notices if I mess up.” Which was pretty much what she’d been doing all along.
Turner shrugged. “I imagine you’ll manage just fine, Samantha.”
The man continued to be as inoffensively infuriating as always. She and Bailey had to find a killer and fast, and they could use some help, but Turner seemed to find the whole thing amusing. Anya had surely never allowed him to act this way. Page must have been a bad influence.
When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Turner stopped and looked back at her. “Perhaps we’ll have time for a longer conversation—after you have caught your murderer.”
Sam had no idea how she was going to do that, especially when Padget and Mrs. Trimble were likely to keep her busy working until late in the evening. But the day would end at some point, and then she could compare notes with Bailey. And hopefully between the two of them they could come up with an answer. Who’d killed Keener and Oak? And why?