We found Buddy and his lawyer seated together on the low sofa in Quinn’s office. Mason took the chair behind Quinn’s desk and was about to usher me and Lurleen out the door when Buddy asked us to stay. His attorney shook his head.
“I pay you, right? So, we’ll do it my way. There are enough snitches in the house, not to mention recording devices, that whatever I say here will be in the news tomorrow. I want the girls to hear my side of the story.”
Danny left the room and returned moments later with chairs for us. He stood by the desk as Mason settled himself in the chair behind it.
Mason produced his own recording device, announced the date and time. He read Buddy his rights, and then began asking questions.
Buddy seemed eager to tell his story, at least some of it. “I never had any idea I had a son until a year ago when Savannah announced it to me as if she were giving me a birthday present. Some present. She wanted to bring the boy over to stay with her and expected me to welcome him!
“A son I knew nothing about, that I wasn’t even sure was my son. Savannah and I had a one-night stand—that was it. She never thinks about anyone but herself. She’s met my wife. Mary is as fine as they come, but she’s not exactly tolerant of mistakes—even those made years ago.”
“You left in a rage after Savannah told you,” Mason said.
“Damn right I left in a rage. Savannah was about to destroy my life.”
“The nasty pranks started the next day. Those were from you?”
Buddy conferred with his lawyer and then spoke over the lawyer’s obvious protest.
“Yes,” Buddy said. “Once Quinn heard about a son he knew nothing about, he agreed to help me. We had to convince Savannah that it wasn’t safe to bring Olivier to Veracrue.”
“The second batch of threatening letters began a week later,” Mason said. “Was that you as well?”
“No, but you can bet I didn’t mind them. I wondered if Quinn sent them— and then he went and got himself murdered.”
“You’re telling us you don’t know who was sending the hate mail?” Mason asked.
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
Mason questioned Buddy for another ten minutes. Buddy said he went to France to get a DNA sample from Olivier, but once he saw his son, he didn’t need one. No two people could look that much alike and not be related. He admitted he might have recommended Olivier and his family go into hiding for a while because of the death threats. After all, Quinn had been murdered, and no one was safe.
Buddy denied knowing anything about Quinn’s virility treatments.
On the issue of the mishaps during the show, he came clean and verified everything Rose said. He still maintained he had nothing to do with her being on the show, and he had nothing to do with the reporter’s death.
At the end of the interview, Mason stood and made it clear that Buddy could no longer supervise the investigation.
“I got that,” Buddy said, “and I’m glad to be done with it. You should know the deputy chief, Matt Lewis, is my nephew, but he’s a straight shooter.”
Mason told Buddy he was to remain on the estate under house arrest for the time being. They’d sort out charges later. Danny brought Matt Lewis into the office. Mason told him they’d be working on the case together. Matt would be the officer in charge—on paper.
Buddy nodded at both men. “You’ll make a good team.”
Mason dismissed the chief and his nephew—they were to find an available room in which they could both stay. The lawyer also left, saying he’d contact Buddy later.
Lurleen and I moved to Quinn’s more comfortable couch. Mason and Danny remained standing and offered us coffee.
“I wish we had some of your cookies to help us think,” Mason added.
“I’m sure Anna could fix us something to eat,” I said.
Mason shook his head. “The fewer people who know what we’re up to, the better. What are your thoughts about the chief?”
Danny spoke first. “It’s pretty convenient the hate mail started right after Buddy found out about a son. The letters would be a lot more frightening than a few crazy pranks.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Mason said, “and Buddy was one of two people to call Anna Annie. ”
“According to her,” I said. “You have to remember Anna’s story changes every five minutes. First Annie is a nickname everyone used and then it was only Dorian and the chief who called her that. Maybe she’s protecting someone else.
“I can give you my opinion of Buddy for what it’s worth. It seems to me he was honest with you about a lot of things—things his lawyer might not have wanted him to reveal.”
“Buddy has a nasty temper.” Lurleen said. “You heard how vicious he was about Rose, and it was all lies.”
“I agree,” I said, “but he seems to go off half-cocked without thinking things through. He gets Olivier to go into hiding but with no thought about what happens next. The murder of Quinn took careful planning over time. I’m just not sure Buddy is capable of that. And Quinn wasn’t the threat. Savannah was.”
Mason was silent for a moment. “I was thinking about what you said, Lurleen. I hope it’s nothing like Murder on the Orient Express, but I wonder if we’re looking for two or more people working together to commit these murders. It would be hard for one person to manage either killing without help.
That opened up the field.
“Bradshaw and Granny Flumm were concocting some scheme when I overheard them talking,” I said. “It’s obvious they both hate Savannah.”
Mason nodded. “But, Bradshaw brought Nick Davis into the house, so why would he kill him the same night he came?”
“Maybe he didn’t,” I said. “He’s been drunk most of the time we’ve seen him—not a great way to commit murder. Besides, he wanted Davis here, as you say. Gertrude Flumm asked him to stay sober, but I don’t think he’s capable of that. Maybe she had her own secrets to protect and took matters into her own hands.”
“She’s a steely woman,” Lurleen said. “Perfectly capable of murder in my opinion.”
“I agree,” I said, “but she’d have needed someone to drag his body off the estate. I imagine there are a lot of people in this house who might have been anxious to keep a nosy reporter from digging up information. Frank Moran for one—he was desperate to know what you were finding out, Mason, and Peter Young has admitted he’d do anything for money.”
“Savannah has Frank and Peter working for her,” Danny said. “Maybe they’re working for her or maybe she just thinks they are.”
“That’s assuming Savannah isn’t at the heart of this,” Lurleen said. “She was tired of Quinn and he wouldn’t give her a divorce. I’ll bet Frank or Peter could have helped her get him out of the way.”
We heard the dinner bell. “That’s enough for now,” Mason said. “We’ll take this up again after dinner, but this idea of a murdering partnership makes sense to me.”
I gave Mason a quick kiss and told him I’d join him in the dining room once I called home. I went to my room and got Tommy on the line.
“Are you holding up okay?” I asked.
“I’m great. I’m even growing fond of your dog. Your cat liked me from the start—leave a cat alone and they’re all over you. Josh loves your house, and he’s pressuring me to buy a home with him. He’s not as fond of condo living as I am.
“You continue to amaze me, Tommy,” I said. “I didn’t think you had all this domesticity in you.”
“I’m glad I can still surprise you.”
His tone changed and he became more serious.
“Are you okay? We’ve gotten wind of problems there. I try to keep the news away from the kids, but nothing gets by Lucie. She’s worried and so am I.”
“Don’t be. We have more policemen here than potential victims. I’ll be home in a few days. I made it to the finals, even though that doesn’t mean much.”
“I never doubted you,” Tommy said.
“Are the kids around?”
“They’re out to dinner with Josh. He wanted to become a proper uncle to them and not just my boyfriend.”
“Tell them I love them. Tell Lucie not to worry and that I’ll call them both tomorrow.”
The dinner bell rang once more, and I said goodbye. I started to leave the room when I noticed opened drawers at the small desk. I hadn’t left them that way. My suitcase was also unzipped. Someone had been in my room. They hadn’t found anything because there was nothing to find. I hadn’t brought anything valuable and I hadn’t put any of my suspicions on paper.
I told Mason at dinner. He started to leave, and I urged him to sit back down. “It’s better not to let anyone know about this by your sudden absence,” I said.
He agreed, and he pretended to focus on the meal.
Dinner was delicious and uniquely local—low-country boil was a mainstay of the region. It was a simple dish of potatoes, sausage, corn on the cob and shrimp. Anna warned people that the dish contained beer and for anyone who might prefer a dish without that, she had one ready.
Anna left the room to servers who placed four platters of low-country boil on the table, which was covered with heavy brown paper. This tended to be a messy meal. For half an hour Mason and I ate our shrimp, corn, sausage, and potatoes in silence. We served ourselves from the non-alcoholic platter, as it seemed clear we had a long night ahead of us.