There are only two families in the world,
my old grandmother used to say,
the Haves and the Have-nots.
— Cervantes
Annie had been sound asleep by the time Grady called it a night around three in the morning, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sleep alone, in his own room.
It was amazing, even humbling, but for the first time in his life it was enough for Grady just to lie down beside a woman, hold her warm, sleeping body in his arms.
Keep her safe. Above anything, everything, keep her safe.
He fell asleep smiling, pleased with his success of the evening, more than a little apprehensive about some of the things he’d discovered after Maisie finally went to bed, but basically content to wait until morning to tell Annie everything.
* * *
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” a well-rested, and quite recently and most happily satisfied Grady said as he stood just inside the door of the morning room, Annie’s hand held tightly in his. “I see Dickens has delivered my messages, asking you all to be here.”
A.W. wiped his mouth with his napkin, then folded it precisely, laid it back down on the table. “The note Dickens delivered had my father’s name on it, not yours. I should have known he wouldn’t come downstairs. He probably doesn’t know the way.”
Grady looked at Annie, smiled. “Hear that? He can finish a sentence. I think you owe me five bucks.”
“Grady, be nice,” Annie warned him, unable to keep her admiring gaze off Daisy Goodenough, who was trying to keep the blueberries from rolling off her stack of pancakes, and not having much success. You had to hand it to the woman, she’d turned Dumb Blonde into an art form.
Mitzi Peevers, looking a little less like a woman who’d spent fifty years worshiping the sun, her skin softer, even slightly pale, took a sip of coffee, and then addressed Grady. “Can we safely assume that you are acting as my father-in-law’s messenger?”
“It’s seldom safe to assume anything, Mrs. Peevers,” Grady told her. “However, in this case, yes, you may safely assume that.”
Daisy giggled, and nudged Junior, who was nursing a Bloody Mary, and most probably a hangover. “I heard about that, Junie. Assume. To assume makes an ass out of you and me. Isn’t that the cutest thing?”
Annie tapped Grady on the shoulder. “I first heard that during a rerun of The Odd Couple, the television sitcom, that is, starring Jack Klugman and Tony Randall. Felix and Oscar. You remember?”
“I remember, Annie,” Grady said, taking her hand again, squeezing it lightly. “Oscar was the neat one.”
“No, not Oscar. He was the slob. Felix—”
“I know,” Grady interrupted. “But, if we’re done playing your private version of Who’s On First, maybe we can get on with this?”
“Sorry, I’m sort of nervous,” Annie told him, turning toward him to whisper the words. “They’re all still watching us, aren’t they?”
“All except Junior. I don’t think he can focus yet this morning. I’m just taking a wild guess here, but it could be because Maisie delivered Daisy some papers yesterday, papers showing his divorce from his last wife isn’t final yet.”
Annie looked toward Daisy, who seemed happy enough, and then at Junior once more. “I bet it will be by next week.”
“Not if we’re right, and I think we are,” Grady whispered back to her.
“Well? Are you just going to stand there, whispering like that? Not that I shouldn’t expect such rude behavior from people of your ilk. Con artists and private detectives. We’ve had over a week of this, and it’s more than enough. My father-in-law has lost his mind.” Mitzi motioned for A.W. to pull back her chair for her. “I don’t have time for this. I have important business in town.”
“At the bank?” Grady asked, knowing his smile to be far from innocent. “Please, don’t allow us to keep you. I’m only here to tell you that Archie wants all of you—you, too, Miss Goodenough—present and accounted for in the drawing room at three. He’ll speak to you all then.”
“Daddy’s going to come downstairs?” Muriel asked, horrified. “He never comes downstairs.”
“He’s making an exception,” Annie said, batting her eyelashes. “For me. Isn’t that sweet?”
“For you?” Mitzi came around the table, not stopping until she was only two feet away from Annie. “Why?”
Annie wanted to say it. She wanted to say, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” But she didn’t. She just widened her eyes even more, and said, “I really don’t know. But I think it’s important that we all be there. Grady?” she asked, turning to him. “Don’t you think it’s important we’re all there?”
“Oh, I do, I do, Miss Kendall. And Dr. Sandborn has voiced his concern that Archie might find the exertion, the shock of reentry into the world, as it were, too much for him. Which is why the good doctor will also be present,” Grady said. That had been Annie’s idea, and he’d gone along with it because she’d insisted—and because he had his own agenda where Milton Sandborn was concerned. “We’re just going to be one big happy party. Come on, Miss Kendall, let’s take a ride in your new car.”
“Mitzi? What’s happening? Do you think it’s his will? Can she really be some bastard grandchild? Do you think he’s going to—”
“Shut up, Asswipe,” Mitzi said, glaring at Grady, and then barreled past Annie and headed for the stairs.
“Good thing you copped her passport before we came downstairs,” Annie said, as she and Grady left the mansion via the foyer. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to have your big scene. That is how you see it, don’t you? As your big scene? Gather the suspects, explain your deductions, and then turn toward the guilty party, pointing your finger at him accusingly?”
“Do you blame me?” Grady asked, leading her toward the garages. “It’s every detective’s dream.”
“Except that you wish you had more proof, right?”
“There can never be too much proof, but I think I’ve got enough.”
“Enough for Archie, but what about me, or the police, if Archie lets you call them in on this? You know about Daisy now, but you still can’t be positive Mitzi is her accomplice. It still could be someone else, right? It would be nice to have a little more proof, just in case neither one squeals on the other one. Are you sure you checked everywhere for fingerprints? Did you check behind the rearview mirror in the Suburban?”
“Oh, boy, here we go. Annie Kendall, Junior Detective, rides again.” Grady stomped off ahead of her, waving his arms to an unseen audience. “I’m brilliant. I solved the case. But is she happy? No-o-o, she’s not happy. She’s still dragging up memories of every damn last book she’s ever read, every damn last movie she’s ever seen, and thinking she knows more than a trained professional.”
He turned to face her, and she did her best not to laugh, because he looked so flustered. Almost as flustered as he’d been that morning, when she’d finally gotten up the nerve to wake him with an extremely intimate kiss. He should be happy she read a lot of books, that’s how she saw it. Especially her beloved romance novels.
“And yes, ma’am,” he growled now, “I checked behind the rearview mirror, ma’am. I checked everywhere, ma’am. Now, give me your keys. I want to drive this thing first, just in case someone decided to cut the brake lines or something.”
“And you want me in the passenger seat while you do this? In the death seat? I don’t think so. How about the outside mirrors?”
“Annie, I’m warning you!”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m real scared. Just shaking in my boots. Come on, Grady, humor me. Did you check behind the sun visor?”
“Yes, I checked behind the—damn!”
“Aha! The Suburban was heading west, Grady, at four in the afternoon. The sun had to be a factor. But nobody remembers the sun visor. I saw it once, in a movie—or maybe I read about it. Doesn’t matter, I guess.” Annie rocked back and forth on her heels, feeling smug. “You want to go get the kit, or shall I? That way you can just wait out here, rehearsing how to eat crow.”
* * *
Archie really pulled out all the stops, ordering Dickens to drag out the double-breasted black tuxedo he’d last worn for A.W. and Mitzi’s wedding. Junior tended to wed in places like Vegas, and Reno, so Archie had never attended his younger son’s nuptials.
Grady and Annie came into the bedroom as Dickens was tugging on the bright red suspenders that hopefully would keep Archie’s slacks from hitting the floor. Archie had never been a big man, but now his nearly emaciated frame was just sort of floating inside his slacks, rather like those of a circus clown.
“They’d better be industrial-strength suspenders,” Grady remarked, watching as Archie held on to the bedpost and Dickens pulled, ending with the waistband of the slacks closer to Archie’s chin than his waistline. “And love the tie, Archie. Plaid is so in these days.”
Annie picked up the red-and-green-plaid cummerbund and handed it to Dickens, who just looked at it helplessly. It could probably be wrapped around Archie’s middle twice. “I think he looks cute. Archie, I think you look cute. Really.”
“I know what I look like, girlie-girl,” Archie snapped back at her. “Tomorrow Dickens is taking me shopping.”
“You’re going outside?” Grady watched as Dickens retreated to a drawer, came back with a fistful of safety pins. “Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. I’m just saying it so I can watch your eyes bug out of your head. Why shouldn’t I go outside?”
“Because you haven’t left the house in about twenty years, or this room in ten. Or do I have that wrong?”
“Yeah, well, and I never got shot at until that damn arrow came through my window, now did I? If I can’t be safe in my own house, with my high-priced bodyguard sniffing around my decoy instead of watching me, then I might as well go wherever I want.”
“Oh, Archie, now I understand,” Annie said, giving him a hug. “You were afraid to go outside. I’ve read about that. It’s called agoraphobia. That’s so sad.”
“You’re in trouble now, Archie,” Grady told him, shaking his head. “She’s read about that.”
Archie pushed Annie away, looking flustered. “Let go of me, girl.”
“Archie.” Annie had tipped her head to one side, looking at him with her eyes full of sympathy. “Don’t be embarrassed. A lot of people have agoraphobia. We all have phobias. Look at me. I can’t even say... Indiana Jones.”
“Yeah, she’s right,” Grady added, mostly because he just couldn’t help himself. “Don’t worry yourself over a fairly common phobia. Hell, it’s the stampeding paranoia you might want to be a tad concerned about, Arch.”
“That’s not funny!” Annie said, whirling to face Grady, who quickly took the smile off his face. “Archie’s been ill, and for a very long time. But now he’s taking steps to confront his fears—aren’t you, Archie? And I think that’s wonderful.”
“And I think you’re both one great big pain in my ass,” Archie said, but clearly his heart wasn’t in the insult. “Now, can we get this over with? And it still stinks to high heaven that you won’t tell me ahead of time. Who was it? Mitzi? My money’s on Mitzi. Only one with balls. I’ve always said that.”
“If we tell you, will you still go downstairs?” Grady asked, and Annie smiled at him, showing him that his quick insight had allowed her to forgive him for his last wisecrack.
“I might,” Archie said, and Dickens rolled his eyes, holding out the too-large tuxedo jacket. “Well, I might. Damn it, Sullivan! Don’t think I’m going to miss you when you’re gone, because I won’t. I’ve had hemorrhoids I’ve liked better. Some of them older than you, too.”
Grady took the jacket from Dickens and helped Archie into it. “Just as long as you don’t stop payment on the check,” he said, then patted Archie’s shoulders—well, he patted the shoulder pads. Archie’s shoulders were probably in there somewhere, but not so anybody would notice.
“Can we go now?” Annie asked, already heading for the door. “Come on, Archie. It’s show time.”
Grady gave Archie a gentle shove. For an old, skinny man, Archie had great staying power. He didn’t move. “Archie? One step at a time, okay?”
“I know, I know,” Archie said, doing his best immovable-object imitation. “I’ve been practicing for a couple of months now. Got as far as the kitchen, once.”
Dickens stepped forward. “That’s true, he did. In his nightshirt. I heard the cook’s screams from my rooms. The cook’s screams, Archie’s screams. She gave her notice the next morning. It is not one of my most cherished memories, sir.”
“Nor the cook’s, I imagine,” Grady said, giving Archie another gentle push.
Annie walked back over to Archie, took hold of his right arm at the elbow. “Come on, we’ll do this together, all right? One step at a time. It’ll be easy—watch. Put one foot in front of the other, Archie, and you’ll be walking out that door.”
“Those are fractured song lyrics, aren’t they?” Grady asked, watching as Annie gently tugged, and Archie fiercely resisted. “I know I’ve heard that line somewhere.”
“True, but I don’t remember any more than those few words,” Annie told him. “Still, it’s one of my favorites.”
“Isn’t everything...” Grady muttered, taking Archie’s other arm. “Okay, all together now—put one foot in front of the other...”
It took about twenty minutes, a lot of encouragement, and roughly sixteen choruses of the snatch of song, but finally Archie was baby-stepping into the drawing room, to be met by his variously startled, resigned, and wary relatives.
Dickens, who had been bringing up the rear, his pocket full of safety pins, gave a mighty sigh, turned to leave the room. Grady asked him to stay. Firmly asked him to stay. He had a little surprise for Dickens, one he hadn’t shared with Annie.
“Sandy? I did it,” Archie said as the good doctor (depending on whom you asked) rose from his chair and walked across the room to greet him.
“So you did, Archie, so you did. That Prozac’s amazing stuff. Not quite the same kick as the vitamin shots, but it seems to have done the trick. Today the drawing room, Archie, tomorrow the world. And quite possibly a visit to the nearest gentlemen’s haberdashery,” he added, touching the wide lapel of Archie’s tuxedo, then pulling a face.
“Daddy?” Muriel was standing behind Milton Sandborn, and when he moved away she stepped forward, her arms held out tentatively, and tentatively gave Archie a quick hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah, I’m a real pisser, aren’t I?” Archie said nervously, pushing her away. “Can we get on with this? A.W.’s over there looking like his shorts are already brown, and Junior’s half in the bag. We wait much longer, and Mitzi will have ripped off another million and stuffed it into one of her secret numbered bank accounts. Right, Mitzi?”
Annie leaned over to whisper to Grady. “You’d better do this quickly. I think Archie’s trying to upstage your Charlie Chan act.”
Mitzi, who had been leafing through a fashion magazine as if totally unconcerned with what might happen, looked up at Archie, her mouth hanging open. “I—what? Archie, what are you saying?”
Grady stepped in front of his temporary employer and signaled for Annie to lead the man to one of the many ugly red-velvet couches scattered around the room. “You could gag him, too, but that might be considered a felony—cruelty to old farts,” he said, waiting for Mitzi to give A.W. a smart smack in the arm, and for A.W. to say, “What do you want me to do? And what’s he talking about?”
“Yeah, Mitzi,” Junior asked, belatedly coming to attention. “Numbered accounts? Where? I thought they were all Delaware corporations, because of the taxes and stuff, and the money is in banks down there. You said everyone wants to be a Delaware corporation. What’s Daddy talking about?”
“Now, Junie,” Daisy said, pulling him back as he tried to stand up. “I’m sure Mitzi here isn’t playing the numbers. My brother, Darryl, he used to play the numbers. But he stopped, right after he broke his arm. At least he says he broke his arm. Pa said somebody probably broke it for him.”
Somebody ought to be writing this all down, Grady thought, because otherwise nobody will ever believe it.
He clapped his hands, hoping for silence. When that didn’t work, he put the pinky finger of each hand into his mouth and whistled loudly enough to rattle the chandeliers.
Abruptly, everyone settled in their chairs. “All right,” he said, stepping into the middle of the room. “Now that I have your attention?”
“Attention for what?” Muriel asked, looking to Annie, who must have seemed the sanest person in the room.
“Am I too late, honey?” Maisie asked, dashing into the room on her four-inch heels. “My mascara clumped, and then everything just ran when I tried to fix it, and— can I sit here next to you, honey?” she asked Daisy. “There’s plenty of room, right? You’re already just about sitting in Junior’s lap anyway.”
“Maisie,” Grady said tightly, acknowledging her presence with a small nod. “So glad you could join us.”
“Oh, me, too, honey,” she said, patting her bouncy curls. “I’ve always wanted to be in on the kill.”
Muriel blanched, looked near to fainting. “The kill?” She had sat down next to Archie, and now turned to him questioningly. “Daddy, what’s she talking about?”
“It’s a surprise, Muriel,” Archie said. “In fact, I have a surprise for you myself.”
“You do?”
“I do. Now, just close your eyes and hold out your hands. No, no, not like that—cup them together. Okay, now just wait...”
Annie clapped both hands to her mouth as Archie quickly removed both his upper and lower plates and placed them in Muriel’s hands.
Muriel frowned, then opened one eye, screamed, and the teeth went flying.
Annie shook her head. “Oh, Archie, that’s mean.”
Archie retrieved the teeth, replaced them. “Why? I’m leaving them to her in my will. Thought maybe she’d want to try them out. It’s all she’s going to get.”
“Drinks, anyone?” Grady asked in exasperation, heading for the sideboard. Agatha Christie never had to contend with a cast of characters like these, so why did he? “I know I want one.”
Junior and A.W. followed him, only to be cut out of line by Milton Sandborn, who only had to refill his glass. “You’d better do whatever it is you’re going to do, son,” he told Grady. “I think he’s finally lost it.”
“And that’s such a pity, isn’t it? After you’ve spent these last years trying to hold him together. If that’s what you’ve been doing.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Grady told him honestly. “I do know that you could have seen that Archie got proper treatment for his phobia. But you didn’t, did you? You just kept him juiced up with those vitamin shots, kept him alive, but vegetating, in that room up there. Now, why did you do that? And when did you finally start medicating him for the agoraphobia? Only recently, I’m betting. When you could have started treatment years ago.”
Sandborn drew himself up to his best fullback stature. “You’re questioning my medical expertise?”
“I could be. In fact, I have a theory I’m going to run by you all later on, and Archie’s agoraphobia has just about nailed it down,” Grady said. “But first things first, all right?” He left the doctor standing at the sideboard and returned to center stage, as he’d begun to think of his spot in the middle of the drawing room. Had he only been here less than two weeks? It seemed like ten years.
God, he’d be happy to see the last of this place, these people.
“Okay, folks, here’s the story. Some of you know some of it, some of you think you know all of it, but you’d all be wrong, including me, if I said I had all the answers. Still, I know most of it, and that’s enough for starters. First, since Archie’s already brought it up—Mitzi? You talked A.W. and Junior into setting up Double A and all its little corporations. You also talked them into letting you handle the money, which was a pretty big mistake on their part, wasn’t it? Oh, and I took the precaution of taking your passport and canceling your plane ticket to Rio, so you might want to tell Banning he’s out of luck, too. But don’t be too disappointed. Those May-December romances rarely work out.”
Grady eased a hip onto the arm of the chair Annie was sitting in, and the two of them waited while the Peeverses erupted. “How do you like my opening? I’d say it’s going pretty well so far.”
“And good guess on the Mitzi-Jefferson connection,” Annie commented, watching as Mitzi sat, stone-faced, Junior blustered, Muriel looked blank, and A.W. actually burst into tears. “Poor A.W. He’s absolutely crushed.”
Daisy asked Maisie if she thought she could wear white for her wedding to Junior in Vegas the next week. “It’s not that I’ve been married before, you understand. But I’m not exactly a... well, you know... a virgin.”
“Who is, honey?” Maisie answered, pulling a nail file from her pocket and starting in on her thumbnail. “Who the hell is?”
“That’s it?” Archie complained as the din died down and Grady made no move to continue. “I came downstairs for this? I knew this. Well, most of it. The Banning thing kind of makes me want to puke. I didn’t think Mitzi knew what sex was.”
“Obviously no surveillance camera in Mitzi’s bedroom,” Annie said, wincing at her own daring. She really had been trying very hard to forget everything she’d seen in Mitzi’s closet.
Grady grinned at her, then stood, figuring it was time to finish the first act. He already knew the second act as well, but the third was still partly a mystery to him. Suddenly, he felt like dragging his feet, because he wasn’t sure he was going to like the third act.
“What else?” he asked, spreading his hands, everyone’s attention definitely on him once more. “Oh yes,” he said, bowing to Archie, “you want to know who tried to kill you.”
“And who messed up my room and then tried to run me off the road,” Annie put in quickly.
“No,” Archie said, glaring at her. “You want to know that. I could care less. We’re talking about me here. Go on, sonny, go on. I may be in my tux, but this ain’t the Oscars, and you’re not getting an award for best performance by a pain in the ass.”
“You’re such a warm, fuzzy person, Archie,” Grady told him, smiling. “No wonder I so enjoy working for you. But all right. Be patient for a moment, as I explain. After all, I want to show you how brilliant I’ve been so you know your money has been well spent.”
“How brilliant we are,” Maisie supplied brightly. She jabbed Daisy in the ribs. “Listen up, honey, you’re going to be so impressed.”
Annie looked around the room. Junior’s glazed eyes were beginning to clear. Mitzi had lit another cigarette, her hands trembling. Muriel still looked as if every word that had been spoken had been said in Spanish, and she didn’t understand Spanish. Dickens remained at attention in front of the closed doors. Poppy, who hadn’t once met her eyes since she’d come into the room, had found a seat, but he’d brought the crystal decanter of scotch with him. A.W. was still crying.
“Archie,” Grady said now, pulling Annie’s attention back to him. He really was enjoying himself. And he would be, right up until she told him the truth. “Pay attention now, because we’re going for the gold. One, your two sons were ripping you off, which was pretty easy, because you’ve been hiding out here for so long. Two, Mitzi was ripping off your two sons, which had to be even easier, having most probably cooked up the whole Double A scam with Jefferson Banning, who knew damn full well that you weren’t going to leave your children, or him, a cent.”
“Never signed a one of those wills. Ripped them up as soon as he’d give them to me,” Archie agreed, flashing his dentures. “Why should I, when I have a perfectly good one Jefferson’s daddy made out for me years ago. Named the president of the bank, my old pal Smitty, as executor. He’s eighty-six, but he’s honest, and his successor takes over if he croaks before I do. Drove little Jefferson crazy, it did, knowing that.”
“Drove him to a lot of things,” Grady agreed, wishing Archie would shut up.
“And didn’t leave a cent to any of these worthless lumps, either,” Archie went on, going into cackling, egg-laying mode. “Just this old pile and whatever’s in it. Everything else goes into something Jefferson’s daddy called a trust. Going to build hospitals, libraries, science labs at some of the colleges around here. Anything that they can slap my name on. Doesn’t matter what.” He held his hands out in front of him, then spread them as if blocking out a sign in the air. “Archie Peevers Memorial Whatever. I can see it now. Smitty’s going to spread me around all over the place.”
The silence in the room became deafening, then broke all at once.
“Daddy? What about me?”
“Yeah, Muriel, what about poor little you?” Mitzi sniped, waving her hands in front of her. “Where will you go, what will you do?”
Annie was standing beside Grady now. “She’s doing a pretty lousy Scarlett. Gone With the Wind.”
“Thanks, I wouldn’t have known that,” Grady said sarcastically, his attention on Daisy. She was disengaging herself from Junior, hopping to her feet with an alacrity that could make one think she’d just felt the wrong end of a cattle prod. “Going somewhere, Miss Best?”
Daisy hesitated for a split second, then kept walking, as if she had no idea who Grady meant.
“Uh-uh,” Grady said, taking hold of her arm, holding her in place. “The lifeboat for rats deserting sinking ships doesn’t leave for another few minutes. Sit down.” He smiled as he said it, but Daisy sat down again, between Junior and Maisie. Annie was surprised she didn’t sit down right there, on the floor. She’d never heard that steely tone in Grady’s voice before, and hoped she’d never have to hear it again.
“I don’t understand,” Archie said. “Who’s Miss Best?”
“She’s a lot of things, actually. She’s an entrepreneur of sorts, with her own rather successful web site—we won’t go into that right now. She’s also Daisy Best, not Daisy Goodenough. And she’s not as dumb as she pretends to be. Oh, yeah, and she won the gold medal in last year’s archery contest in Ames, Iowa, women’s expert division. Isn’t that right, Daisy?”
“Everyone should have a hobby,” Dickens said quietly, handing Grady a portable phone. “I imagine you’ll be phoning the police now?”
“Thank you, but not quite yet. And, Junior? You can stop looking so surprised. We found your fingerprints on the back of the sunshade of the Suburban. You remember—the vehicle you used to try to kill Miss Kendall here?”
Junior leapt to his feet. “No! We didn’t—I didn’t! I mean—tell them, Daisy. We never meant to kill anybody!”
Daisy, her narrowed eyes now looking remarkably intelligent, crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I refuse to answer on the grounds it might incriminate me.”
“She can’t do that,” Annie said, just about jumping up and down in her excitement as she pointed at Daisy. “She’s not even under oath. Make her talk, Grady. Make her talk before she lawyers up.”
Grady rubbed at his forehead. “Lawyers up? Annie, nobody has even read her her rights. Junior?” he then asked, smiling hopefully at Archie’s younger son. “You want to tell me about it?”
“Yeah,” Annie said, stepping in front of Grady. “It’ll go easier for you if you confess, bunko. Turn state’s evidence. First perp to spill his guts gets the first get-out-of-jail card. Come on, Junie. Let’s cut a deal.”
“Annie, sit,” Grady said, trying not to laugh. God, she was wonderful. Nuts, but wonderful.
She also seemed to have impressed Junior by her cut-and-paste version of good cop, bad cop, because all of a sudden Junior couldn’t talk fast enough.