Looking into a full-length mirror in the guest room, Jeff fidgeted with the fit of a white dress shirt. “Don’t get me wrong. There are rare occasions when I’m glad you’re a boring dresser, so I can borrow from you for unexpected funerals. But for a little variety, maybe get some shirts that aren’t fitted.” Jeff turned around to show Emory the distorted placket of the shirt in the chest area. “I’m going to pop some buttons if I inhale too deeply.”
Emory knotted a tie around his neck. “Then it’s a good thing you’re borrowing my tie too. It’ll keep the buttons from flying across the room when you Hulk out.”
Jeff tapped Emory on the chest. “You joke, but you won’t be laughing if a button shoots the urn and spills Blair Geister’s ashes all over the gathered. We’re lucky I put off my workout to make coffee, or I’d have a crazy pump right now. Hey, have you seen the gym?”
Emory pulled the knotted tie over his head and slipped it over Jeff’s. “Just a glance.”
“It’s the best home gym I’ve ever seen. Let’s hit it after the will reading.”
“Maybe a quick workout. We do need to figure out what happened with Tommy Addison and whether Blair Geister really did die of natural causes.”
“And we will, but what’s the hurry? We have no office right now, and this place is amazing. It’s like a work vacation.”
“For you maybe. You’re in the luxury suite, while I’m in steerage.”
“Speaking of work, we should get downstairs.” Jeff opened the door for him. “After you.”
The PIs descended the front stairs and stepped onto the main floor, in view of the locutorium. Emory followed Jeff into the magnificent room, where party staff were making final preparations for a commemoratory cocktail party and the will reading. The four golden sofas that had been positioned around the room were now lined in two rows of two sofas like church pews, facing a small table with a chair behind it. To the side of the table stood an easel with a framed photograph of Blair Geister and a marble pedestal displaying a glistening golden urn. In front of the set of French doors at the far end of the room, a table draped in black cloth supported an elegant spread of hors d’oeuvres, a bottle of French champagne on ice and half-filled flutes. Under the crystal chandelier in the middle of the room, a young woman in a formal black dress sat at the white grand piano, playing Dolly Parton’s Tennessee Homesick Blues.
“Nice final resting place,” said Jeff. “You think it’s real gold?”
Emory glanced at the urn. “Probably.”
Virginia and Juniper walked into the room behind them. Wearing a black dress with long sleeves, Juniper half-smiled at Emory and Jeff. “Virginia tells me you all would like to attend the will reading.”
Emory responded, “If that’s okay.”
“I think it’s fine. Just stay in back.”
“Will do.” Jeff set his eyes on the poster-sized picture next to the urn. “That’s a great shot of her.”
Juniper smiled at the upward perspective image of her former boss standing in front of a sparkling black skyscraper. “This was going to be the cover of next month’s Architectural Digest. I don’t know if that’s happening now.”
“Is that The Monolith?” asked Emory.
“It is. The building doesn’t officially open for business until Monday, but we have the grand opening tomorrow evening. Actually, because of everything that’s happened, it’s been downgraded to an open house. You all are welcome to attend.”
Jeff responded, “We’d love to.”
Emory nodded and asked her, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.” Juniper fussed with her dress. “I don’t like being here, and I have mixed feelings about Ms. Geister now, but I recognize that I have a job to do.”
Jeff gestured toward the atrium. “I noticed the alarm panel by the front door. Was the alarm on the night they died?”
“Yes. I’m always the last to bed, and I always arm the system. I set off the alarm when I ran from the house that night.”
Emory asked, “How many people have a key to the house and the code to the alarm?”
Juniper counted on her hand as she answered. “Besides Ms. Geister, Tommy and myself, there’s Kenn Marty and Rebecca Gibbs, the maid. I can give you the code if you want to turn on the alarm while you’re here.”
Virginia shook her head. “That’s okay.”
“What about Miss Luann,” asked Emory.
“Oh yes. I gave her a key. Not the alarm code, though.”
Jeff smirked. “She’s psychic. Let her guess it.”
From the atrium appeared a man in a navy-blue suit. “Hello.”
Juniper jumped but relaxed when she saw who it was. “Dr. Sharp. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I apologize. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in.” The six-foot man, whose thick silver hair belied his thirty-odd years of age, gave her a quick hug. “My condolences.”
“Thank you.” Juniper introduced him to the PIs. “This is Dr. Barry Sharp. He’s a recipient of a research grant from Ms. Geister’s EARTH Foundation.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “Not yet. I’m still waiting for the funds to clear.” His face flushed, as if he were embarrassed at voicing the clarification.
“Just a few more days.” Juniper explained the holdup to the PIs. “EARTH grants are put into an escrow account for sixty days before the funds are released.”
“What sort of research?” asked Jeff.
“I’m an environmental climatologist, and the grant is primarily to study the relationship between lightning and climate change.”
“Oh.” Emory’s ears perked up. “Is there a link?”
“Absolutely. Models have shown that one-degree Celsius increase in global temperature can result in as much as twelve percent more lightning activity worldwide.”
Emory noticed more people entering through the front door. “I know this isn’t a good time, but I’d love to talk more about it.”
“Why don’t you come by my lab tomorrow, and I’ll show you my research?” Dr. Sharp handed him a business card.
“I’d love that, but I don’t know if I can tomorrow.”
“I’m there from eight to five every day but Sunday, whenever you can make it.”
Jeff took the business card from his partner. “We’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Great! Text me your full names today, so I can get you on the list of visitors. Security’s tight at Oak Ridge.”
Once the doctor walked away, Jeff sneered at Emory, “I thought you were going to have a nerd-gasm.”
Emory snatched the card from Jeff’s hand. “What are you talking about?”
“All anyone has to do is start spouting science, and you get all gaga. It doesn’t even seem to matter which field of science.”
Emory retorted with an unconvincing laugh. “That’s not true.” He noticed a distant look on their client’s face and saw an opportunity to change the subject. “Ms. Crane, what is it?”
Juniper snapped back to the moment. “It’s nothing. I was just reminded of the last phone conversation I had with Ms. Geister. She called me from Knoxville Friday evening, the night before she died, to tell me to schedule time on Monday with the escrow company. She wanted to extend Dr. Sharp’s grant escrow by another thirty days.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but Dr. Sharp came by the house the next morning and waited around a couple of hours for her to arrive so he could talk to her.”
Jeff asked, “Did you hear what they talked about?”
“They didn’t. He got tired of waiting, and she didn’t show up until nightfall.” The doorbell chimed. “I need to get that.” Juniper excused herself to answer the door, with Virginia at her side.
Jeff grinned at Emory. “Your silver fox has a secret.”
Emory replied, “Will you stop with that. He’s not my silver fox.”
“Oh, but you do agree he’s a silver fox.”
Emory scoffed as they walked into the atrium. Juniper had finished greeting a couple of women, so he took the opportunity to ask her, “What is the EARTH Foundation?”
“EARTH stands for Environmental Advocacy, Research, Teaching & Healing. It’s an endowment Ms. Geister established to oversee all her environmental initiatives, like research, rehabilitation of damaged property into wildlife preserves. Things of that nature. She put half her fortune into it.”
Jeff’s eyes popped wide open. “Half her fortune?!”
“You can tell from the house, she used to spend money on extravagances. The solid gold bed, the paintings. But she had an epiphany about ten years ago. I had only been her assistant for a couple of months, but I could tell she had lost her groove. She achieved all her goals, had no kids and just seemed… uninspired. I suggested she take a vacation to get away from it all and clear her head, and she thought it was a great idea. Actually, I thought she’d take me with her, but she decided she needed to be by herself. She spent two weeks hiking alone in Sedona. When she came back, she had this renewed focus to do whatever she could to heal the environment. The EARTH Foundation’s grants are now the most coveted in the field. She’s had scientists from all over the world apply for them – including some whose research is not remotely eligible, but they sure twist themselves into pretzels trying to offer even a tenuous link to environmental applications.”
“How much are we talking about with these grants?” asked Jeff.
“The amounts vary.”
“And how much is Dr. Sharp getting?”
“His grant is just shy of six million dollars, paid out in annual installments of about $500,000. Escrow is used for the first but not subsequent installments to avoid interruptions in research.”
“Whoa!” Jeff elbowed Emory. “That could be a lot of motive.”
Juniper looked puzzled. “Motive for what?”
“If it turns out your boss was murdered.”
“But she died of a heart attack.”
Emory replied, “Yes, but the medical examiner found an anomaly that’s nagging at us. She had a busted eardrum, so someone could’ve injected something to induce the heart attack through the ear, thinking it wouldn’t be noticed.”
Juniper looked like she was about to respond, but another guest came through the front door and took her attention.
“Hey guys.” Virginia waved her partners over to a corner. “I found out why Blair Geister had it out for her neighbor. Juniper told me earlier he’s filed three lawsuits against her since she bought the place.”
“Three?” asked Emory.
Virginia counted on her fingers. “One was about the boathouse. Another was about the big giant heads. The third was over gargoyles.”
Jeff squinted at the last one. “Gargoyles? I haven’t seen any gargoyles.”
“Me neither,” said Emory. “We need to talk to the neighbor.”
Jeff waved a finger at him. “Remember, we have a date with the gym after this.”
“I think interviewing a potential suspect takes precedence.”
Virginia waved for silence. “Guys, you go to the gym, and I’ll interview the neighbor.”
“There’s the plan!” Jeff wrapped an arm around them both and steered them toward the hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. “You know, I heard expensive champagne has smaller bubbles than the so-called champagne we’re used to. Let’s investigate.”
Within half an hour, the locutorium was buzzing with the somber conversation of two dozen guests. The attorney had arrived and was unloading her briefcase on the makeshift desk positioned in front of the sofas.
Sipping from the champagne flute he had been nursing, Emory noticed the absence of one presumptive beneficiary. “Where’s Eden?”
Jeff looked around the room. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”
Juniper announced to the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to get started with the reading of the will, if you’d care to take a seat.”
“Look.” Jeff hit Emory on the shoulder and pointed to Eden descending the front stairs. “As soon as the money bell rang.”
The pianist stopped playing and left the room, while the guests either sat on one of the sofas or opted to stand nearby. At the back of the room, Juniper huddled with the PIs.
The thirty-something lawyer with blonde hair and a pinstripe pantsuit told the attendees, “Good afternoon everyone. I’m Jennifer Boone, and I’m the estate attorney for the decedent, Ms. Blair Louella Geister. This afternoon, we’ll be going over her last will and testament, filed two months ago today. Ms. Geister appointed Ms. Juniper Crane as the executor of—”
The attorney stopped speaking and gasped when she saw someone new enter the room. One by one, the attendees turned around to see a six-foot-six man walking toward the desk. As he tramped up the aisle between the sofas, each guest elicited a reaction similar to the lawyer.
The man wore construction boots, white pants and a red long-sleeve shirt, but his face could not be seen. An olive vinyl mask with cotton lining shrouded everything from his curly black hairline down to the front half of his neck. It had holes for his eyes, but the openings for the nose and mouth were covered by flaps attached with snap buttons. The mask was held in place by straps that stretched around the back of the head from the jawline, temples and middle of his forehead.
Emory asked, “Who is that?”
While her wide eyes watched the man find a seat, Juniper whispered, “It’s Zyus Drake!”