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After laying out everything to Harlan Wilford, Beverly was pleased when he said he’d be happy to do anything in his power to help. “I always suspected Reggie Forsythe was a demon in disguise. Lord, help me, I never knew how utterly and deviously evil the man was. You really think he killed his own padre?”
When she said yes, Harlan made a face. “And had someone attack Adam, too.” Harlan’s face turned several shades of red when she told him about Adam. It only took him a minute to grab his hat, call his assistant, Prospero, to come in and mind the store, and they were off.
Beverly wasn’t sure what reception they’d receive from her grandfather’s widow. But Harlan turned on the charm, introducing himself as a colleague of Forsythe and that Beverly was his associate. He handed over the flower arrangement he’d picked up from a florist along the way, and she motioned for them to come in. But she sat them near the door and didn’t offer any refreshments.
Beverly grudgingly admitted to herself that Mairi Forsythe was a fit and attractive seventy-something. Her shoulder-length silver hair sported a stylish bob cut set off by the all-white sweater dress she wore. No mourning-widow black for her. Even so, Beverly couldn’t imagine this woman being a finer catch than Beverly’s grandmother.
As Mairi started to speak, the Botox couldn’t hide traces of frown lines around her mouth. “I don’t remember my husband mentioning you, Mr. Wilford.”
“Please. It’s Harlan. No one calls me mister. I hadn’t seen your husband for a while, but we were both in the Northeastern Antiquities League.”
Beverly didn’t think she imagined the sudden tension in Mairi’s shoulders as she replied. “Reginald was quite the businessman.”
“He was very successful at what he did, yes. But I’m sure you must know how admired and respected he was.” Beverly noticed the corners of Harlan’s lips twitching.
Mairi smoothed a small strand of wayward hair. “Some people admired his drive, perhaps. He was hated for his success more than respected.”
Beverly grew more impressed by the minute at Harlan’s acting job, as he pasted on a fake scowl and said, “I didn’t know that. I’ll bet people were being jealous.”
“Oh, they were jealous, all right. Jealous, cruel, spiteful. I attended many a social affair, the type where the women shower you with air kisses while gossiping behind your back. But I overhead more than they knew.”
Beverly spoke up. “Mrs. Forsythe, we were shocked to hear of your husband’s murder. Do you think it was one of those jealous colleagues, then?”
“I honestly don’t know. The police asked me that, too. They and Reggie said something about a woman who might be involved.” Mairi straightened up. “I know for a fact my husband wasn’t having an affair, despite what people may say.”
Beverly said, “Why else would a woman be involved, do you think?”
“It’s definitely not that. My husband was impotent.”
Beverly bit her lip to keep from laughing when Harlan squirmed at that revelation. She asked, “You mentioned a Reggie. Would that be your stepson?”
“Yes. Reggie’s been handling everything. The police, the attorneys, the media. He’s sheltered me from all of it. I can barely go out of the house without asking his permission.”
Beverly took note of Mairi’s hands as they curled up into fists. Her relationship with her stepson was rocky. That could be helpful. “Were Reggie and your husband that close?”
“Reggie was like a clone of his father. With the personality cut out.” She jutted out her chin. “That makes me sound the wicked stepmother. Why should I care? As soon as Reggie gets his three-fourths of the estate, I’ll never see him again. And good riddance.”
“Three-fourths?” Harlan tutted. “That doesn’t sound fair.”
“Life’s not fair, Mr. Wilford. I’m surprised Reggie didn’t put pressure on Reginald to leave everything to him. I’m sure he’s thrilled his sister is long dead, so he doesn’t have to split anything with her.”
Beverly fought back the tears that came to her eyes, and Harlan reached over to touch her hand. He said, “That’s just not right. If I had a wife, I’d make sure she was well taken care of in the event of my demise.”
“I’ll do all right. Enough to live on. Barely.”
Beverly leaned forward, pouring on her own faux sympathy. “Dear me. I do hope the police don’t believe Reggie was somehow behind his father’s death. What’s the world coming to?”
Mairi tugged on her earring. “The police didn’t say anything about that. I don’t think they’re seriously considering it. Reggie was rich in his own right. To him, his father’s bequest is play-money.”
Beverly kept a straight face as she lied, “I saw both Forsythes arguing at an NAL meeting once. One of my friends said they did that incessantly. But due to the generous bequest, it sounds like they patched everything up before your husband’s death.”
“They did argue, and incessantly is the perfect word. Over everything. Like two horned-steers circling for control of the herd.”
Harlan piped up, “Yet, they both loved antiques. Especially silver. Such a nice collection Reggie has.”
“Reggie was the silver freak. I don’t know why. Silver is so cold, so colorless, so blank. He’s become obsessed with some Indian legend. A silver statue, I think. Now, if it were gold, that I could understand.”
Beverly rushed to say, “Must make a nice addition to his collection, then?”
“If and when he finds it.”
Beverly stifled a sigh of relief at the definitive news Reggie hadn’t found it yet, and Harlan added, “Antiquing is a funny business. Obsessing over history, markings, imperfections. Guess it could turn anybody into an obsessive type. Make you a touch crazy.”
Mairi laughed bitterly. “Crazy. My family said I was crazy to marry Reginald. He had a reputation for being a little shady.”
Harlan replied, “Come to think of it. I’ve heard those rumors, too. I discounted them. As you say, professional jealousy.”
“Maybe not so much.” She looked at Harlan, then Beverly. “I haven’t cried a single tear. My sister tells me it’s because I realize I’m better off. My shrink tells me grief will come in time. But you know I what think?”
Beverly shook her head.
“I loved Reginald too much, at first. But year by year, life ate away pieces of my heart until there aren’t any left. Everyone talks about rose-colored glasses. Mine were star-colored. Twinkling indigo and green and red. But stars burn out eventually, don’t they?”
Beverly and Harlan left Mairi Forsythe’s and stopped at a cafe that they had all to themselves. Harlan ordered an applewood-smoked bacon biscuit and Beverly some chocolate Frangelico crème brûlée. She hoped the Frangelico content wasn’t enough to run up her blood alcohol. She didn’t need a DWI.
She said, “Forsythe had a double motive for killing his father. Wanting to run the business his way and inheriting a pile of money. Plus, he won’t have to deal with his albatross stepmother anymore.”
Harlan nodded while munching. Biscuit crumbs cascaded to the table as he replied, “Plenty of motive, zero proof.”
Beverly licked some brûlée off her spoon. “You know I actually feel sorry for Mairi?”
“So do I, Beverly. Awful lot of collateral damage those two men left in their wake.”
Beverly’s hope that they’d turn up some proof to pin on Reggie Forsythe appeared to be dashed. And Adam told her Reggie had used gloves or some cloth to wrap around the candelabra, probably disposed of somewhere they’d never be found.
In the minds of most law enforcement types, the “mystery woman” was still the main, if not the only suspect. For the hundredth time, she told herself she should just run. Run far away and leave Ironwood Junction and the case behind. She dug the spoon into the crème brûlée. At least, that was one excavation that was going well.
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