23

The state forensic wagon was parked near the carriage house next to a police cruiser. A new Cadillac SUV had been nosed into the rose bushes. It had stickers that said it was from Clarke County and the owner was a member of the Georgia Bar Association.

The gardener was blowing leaves off the path as we walked up and pressed the bell. Good to keep to a schedule.

Maddox was not happy to see us. Oh, there was the manner and the smile and the hand-shake, but also evident was that little something that says you’ve intruded where you’re not wanted. He led us into the library. Maddox must have been busy with the cleaning supplies and gadgets because when we left at dawn it had been in disarray. Now it was immaculate. But that was Maddox.

“Crime lab’s taking it’s time,” Lake said.

“They’ve finished this floor but still working in the tower room,” Maddox said. “I wanted to be here until they finish, then lock up. I’ve got to get back to Athens. The restaurants.”

“Who’s minding Bax’s businesses?”

Maddox hadn’t expected the question phrased like that and looked annoyed. “The staff. The restaurants are closed until after a viewing service, nonetheless I must look after special needs that always arise.”

“Of course,” Lake said genially. “Here in Augusta, you’ll need to find somebody to take Caspar’s place until he recovers and hire a housekeeper, won’t you?”

“I intend to hire a full-time guard and come back when I can. That is until I decide ...”

Already making decisions before the will’s read. I asked, “You thinking of selling this place?”

He struggled to hide his irritation. “Premature.”

“Is Anthony DuPlessy your attorney, too?”

“As a matter of fact,” he said. “Tony’s here.”

“Fabulous,” I said. “It saves me a trip to Athens to talk to him.”

“Why would you want to talk to him?”

“He’s the attorney of my deceased client.”

“I don’t see ...”

“What Dru is getting at,” Lake said, “is that there are certain activities she’s undertaken for Baxter that might need clearing through an attorney.”

I didn’t know what Lake alluded to, but I liked his interruption. It gave Maddox time to reconsider his petulance.

Maddox said, “He’s using the study. I’ll fetch him.”

“I’ll go with you. I saw computers. I’d like to borrow one to check my emails.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Anthony stood. He’d been sitting in a leather chair behind the lovely inlaid desk. He came around to the front to shake hands. “Mr. DuPlessy,” I said. “This is Detective Lieutenant Richard... .”

“We met at the Athens Police Department,” Anthony said, appearing distracted, not looking at our faces, but at piles of papers on the desk. Obviously, he was in the process of going through Baxter’s desk, piling record books and file folders on top of it. He’d been reading an unfolded document of three or four pages, but it wasn’t dressed in Will blue.

“You have a job ahead of you,” Lake said.

“Mostly old stuff, before Baxter kept computer records,” DuPlessy said, drawing his hands apart and going to sit behind the desk. “It’s necessary that we compile what comprised his personal and business life.”

“Any business life here?” I asked.

“Not that I can see,” he said. He laid his hands on a stack of jacketed papers. “Insurance policies here.” He waved his hand over gray and green old-fashioned record books. “Gardening receipts, going back before he lived here.”

“Was this house a family home?” Lake asked.

Maddox and Anthony exchanged uncomfortable glances like they didn’t know certain things and were trying to find records like deeds and other important papers, even the Will.

“That’s a private matter,” Anthony said.

“You might like it that way, but it’s not,” Lake said. He looked at Maddox. “Have you gotten in touch with Linda Lake, Baxter’s half-sister, about succession?”

Maddox answered, “I have not. Mr. DuPlessy has consented to do that for me.” Gone was the nickname, Tony.

DuPlessy looked like he’d like to show us the door. “Time enough to sort through inheritances.”

“Have you found Baxter’s Will?” Lake pressed.

“I have a copy in my office,” Anthony said. “I believe the original rests in a safe deposit box at his Athens bank. It takes time to get into that box.”

“If you don’t have a key,” I said, looking from Anthony to Maddox. “Did you know how Baxter was leaving things?”

Maddox said, “He intended to sit down with me and our attorney, Mr. DuPlessy here, and go over his properties and put me on the deed to this house.”

“When?”

Anthony interjected, “No set time. Obviously, he didn’t foresee his demise. You can inform his half-sister that she has been named in the Will, but I can’t say now what the nature of her inheritance is.”

By the look on his face, Maddox didn’t like what he was hearing. His glance at Anthony seemed warn against saying more.

But Anthony went on, “The Athens properties were in an estate trust, the monies to accrue to the estate and dispersed in a specified amount of time to his heirs and assigns, which includes a number of charities. Mr. Carlisle was a very charitable man.” I just bet. Wonder who’s on the boards of these charities? “It was his intent that the restaurant operations would go to Maddox and this house would be deeded to Maddox, also.”

“Have you found the deed?” Lake asked.

“No,” Anthony answered.

Maddox’s face was a rictus of controlled antagonism. “It will surface. In the meantime, I feel it my duty to act as caretaker until we sort through Baxter’s holdings.”

“As Bax’s blood son?” Lake asked. “Your name is Maddox Gilmeath, is it not?”

I’d never thought he was anything other than Baxter’s son and fastened on his face. There was some resemblance in the coloring and the shape of the chin and nose. But unless there was a clear and concise Last Will and Testament that included Maddox Gilmeath—not simply as a generic son, but as a named individual—there was going to be a DNA analysis in Maddox’s future. Trust Linda on that.

Maddox stood stiffly, his hands balled at his sides. “If you have any notion that I’m an imposter, get over it. I am Baxter Carlisle’s son. He acknowledged me without question. He supported me from the cradle. I am a legitimate heir.”

Lake lifted his shoulders and lowered them in a we’ll-see gesture that further annoyed Maddox. Lake said, “I wouldn’t go messing around with records, insurance policies, deeds, etcetera, until the court and all relatives and interested parties get hold of a copy of the Will and the trust agreements.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Life goes on. As the estate attorney, I will see that everything is done strictly according to the law, the wishes of the deceased, and the heirs and assigns. I can do no more. That is my duty as an officer of the court.”

Maddox looked my way. “Changing the subject to the matter of your contract with Baxter, have you calculated your expenses and other monies owing?”

Gee, he was sounding more like Anthony DuPlessy than Anthony DuPlessy. “I will when the job’s finished.”

“If you are going to continue your inquiries along the line of your theories, I’ll continue to pay you,” Maddox said. “How much do I owe you so far, and would you like payment now?”

“You don’t owe me. You didn’t hire me. My client is deceased and any money owed will be paid by Baxter’s estate when I hand in my statement. Correct Mr. DuPlessy?”

“Pursuant to court approval,” Anthony answered.”

“Bull shit,” Maddox said, raising my eyebrows at such unexpected language. “I’ll hire you to find out who killed Baxter.” He stared at me. “Close your account with Baxter and open one with me.”

* * * * *

I checked my emails, then called Web. What he had dug up on Darla Gilmeath wasn’t much, and I told him to dig deeper, get Pearly Sue to help with Maddox, too. Then I totaled my per diem and expenses. Maddox, using his heretofore checking writing privilege by the current authority of his attorney and executor of a Will not yet proved, paid me. I executed a new contract that authorized me to investigate the death of Baxter Carlisle on behalf of Maddox Gilmeath and the estate of Baxter Carlisle to a reasonable conclusion. I would be paid whether or not the murderer (s) were charged and convicted.

We left Maddox and Anthony in the study and walked ourselves out of the house. “That was a neat thing for Maddox to do,” Lake said quietly.

“Makes him look good.”

“Innocent, you mean?”

“He’s got the perfect motive.”

“Motive isn’t everything,” Lake said.

“I go on it.”

“I look for alibis and timelines.”

“Looks solid for Maddox.”

“If he even entertained the idea of offing dear old dad, he was premature. You heard—they don’t know exactly how Bax left things.”

“I learned from Bax that Anthony recently took over his grandfather’s practice. The old man probably knew things that never got on paper. And I do believe you’re right. What you’re saying is, Maddox needed more time to get dear old dad to put things on paper and thus acquire more inheritance. Or it all. The hell with the charities.”

“That’s how I read it.”

“Did you see the beneficiary on the insurance policy that lay open?” I asked.

“I don’t have enough eyes to study suspects and roam over private papers.”

“Susanna Lake.”

“Hey, that’s my girl.”

“Half a mil.”

“Daddy can retire.”

“In trust.”

“You’re kidding. You saw a trust provision in the flick of an eyelash?”

“No, but it’s always that way.” I tapped his shoulder. “So parents don’t buy Lamborghinis with kiddle-dee-dee funds.”

We’d come to our cars when the wheels of another crunched on the pavement. Half way up the driveway, the car halted. By appearance, it was a rental nearly identical to my midsize. However, the windows were dark, and I couldn’t make out the driver. For sure, it wasn’t law enforcement.

The driver, apparently seeing cars on the pavement with two people ready to get into them, backed down and turned onto the street.

“That must be the accountant,” Lake said. “With the prince in the counting house, needing help to find his money.”

Watching the car, I said, “He could have parked behind the Caddy. I sense something furtive.”

“You and your intuition.”

“Sixth sense. Try and get a look at the driver.”

The car idled at the curb as we drove out. Lake turned right and I went left. The silhouette in the seat showed the driver to be tall. I got his tag and county in my rear view mirror before he pressed the gas and swerved onto the driveway. The academy teaches recruits how to read tags from all angles. Academy training comes in handy.

Up the street, I turned around and called Lake with the number. “Fulton County. Want to bet the airport?”

“I’ll call Joe, get him up to Baxter’s.”

We started the trek to Atlanta, me following Lake. It’s a hundred and forty-five miles to downtown Atlanta from Augusta. Halfway into the drive on I-20, near the Eatonton exit, Lake called my cell. “Car is a rental from Fleetwood, picked up at the airport and signed for by Uli van Uum, a London address.”

“So Maddox calls his boyfriend to come succor him.”

“Get you around a bunch of intellects, and I have to get out the Thesaurus.”

“Did Joe go to Baxter’s?”

“In his capacity as bureau chief in charge of the case, he questioned van Uum who provided proof he flew from New York to Atlanta and rented a car. He provided addresses for his homes in London and Prague voluntarily. He said he doesn’t know a Viktor or Cho Martine.”

“How long has he been in New York?”

“A month. He has a six week exhibit. He had planned to visit Maddox after his exhibit. No need to get Webdog on van Uum, Joe’s contacting NYPD.”

“NYPD has nothing else to do.”

“They’ll check him out. See if he’s taken any trips south since he got to the U. S.”

“How well does Joe know Anthony DuPlessy?”

“Enough to say there’s nothing dodgy about him.”

“A job for the Webdog,” I said.

Lake observed, “Webdog’s got nothing else to do, either.”