Crime & Punctuation Read online

  I was in information overload. I had been followed. It hadn’t been overactive imagination or paranoia after all. But if it hadn’t been Klein who’d burgled my house, who had it been? “Did you ask Van Heusen about the break-in?”

  “He’s lawyered up and isn’t saying a word about anything. It doesn’t matter. We have grounds to hold him on a warrant from another state as well as for what he’s alleged to have done in Lenape Hollow. Klein knew other interesting details about his activities here.”

  I leaned forward, fingers crossed. “Did Klein have anything to say about Greg Onslow?”

  “Mr. Onslow is clean.” Blume acknowledged my start of surprise by toasting me with her coffee cup. “We can’t prove he knew anything illegal was going on, and when we questioned him about his employees, he informed us that he had already fired Mr. Van Heusen. He claims he found out that Van Heusen was using unethical methods to deal with members of the community.”

  That sounded like a quote and caused my eyebrows to shoot up. “That’s his story, eh?”

  “It is, and he’s sticking to it. We have no evidence to prove otherwise. So far, everything points to Onslow having been taken in by Van Heusen, just like everyone else. We have no case against him.”

  I stared at her. “You’re telling me Onslow is an innocent victim?”

  She shrugged. “I’m hardly unbiased on the subject. My mom lost her savings on one of Onslow’s deals. She went into it because he was married to Tiffany, and Mom always thought Tiffany Scott hung the moon. I would love to see him end up in the cell right next to Van Heusen’s.”

  I sipped my coffee and considered what she’d told me. Officer Blume concentrated on polishing off the last crumb of her coffee cake. In a minute, she’d leave. She’d given her report to Van Heusen’s other victim, me. Her duty was complete.

  When she started to rise, I put a hand on her forearm to stop her. “Can I ask you something? About Tiffany?” I remembered that she’d called her a spoiled brat and was curious as to why.

  “I guess.” She didn’t look eager to discuss the dead woman, but she subsided into her chair.

  “You and Tiffany must have known each other all your lives.” She’d said her mother had been fond of her. That suggested a fairly close relationship between the two girls.

  “We went to school together, but I wouldn’t exactly call her a friend.”

  Just as I wouldn’t have called Ronnie one? I went with that theory. “I suppose everyone was envious of her—rich, pretty, and then she captures an even wealthier husband.”

  “There wasn’t that much to be jealous about, especially after she got married. For one thing, Tiffany wasn’t as happy as most people thought. I sure didn’t envy her being dependent on her husband for every little thing.”

  “One of the men working on my house, a man who was previously employed by Greg Onslow, hinted to me that Onslow might have been abusive to his wife, psychologically if not physically. When I pressed him for details, he wouldn’t say more, but he definitely gave me the impression that all was not well between them.”

  Blume looked thoughtful. “I never saw any sign that he hit her. And to tell you the truth, she wasn’t hurting for spending money. Onslow was generous with her. Anything Tiffany wanted, Tiffany got right up to the end, but she had to ask him for it every time. She had nothing in her own name except those stocks she left to her grandmother in her will.” She shrugged. “When I heard that, I figured she’d done it to spite him.”

  “And yet you still think Ronnie is the one who murdered her?”

  Blume looked uncomfortable. “I’m not supposed to repeat this, but it will come out at the trial anyway. According to my mother, it’s already making the rounds on the Lenape Hollow grapevine. The tests they did after the autopsy turned up traces of one of Mrs. North’s medications in Tiffany’s body. She was drugged before she went into the water. That’s why she drowned, and that’s why the charge is homicide. No way was her death accidental.”

  Chapter 39

  I brooded for much of the rest of the day while a light rain fell outside my windows and added to the general aura of gloom. I could understand why the evidence made Ronnie seem guilty, but I wasn’t convinced she’d kill her own granddaughter. It still seemed to me that Greg Onslow was the most likely murderer. He had a temper. His wife had defied him. And his flunky, Van Heusen, had access to Ronnie’s house and, presumably, her medicine cabinet. Then again, if Tiffany’s quarrel with Ronnie was over Ronnie’s relationship with Alan Van Heusen, and Van Heusen found out about it, maybe he’d acted on his own.

  Darn! I really wanted Onslow to be guilty of something. Otherwise, he might still manage to ruin 265 acres that had once provided the community with a swimming hole, a picnic area, a baseball diamond, and thirteen miles of hiking trails. Whether he built his amusement park or not, his machinations were depriving Lenape Hollow of a local treasure.

  I doubted the police would listen to my latest theories, but Mike was Ronnie’s lawyer. I felt certain he could find some use for the bits and pieces of information Darlene and I had accumulated.

  It had been just a week since I’d last seen him. At that time, over lunch, I’d intended to fill him in on everything Darlene had unearthed online. Instead, we’d ended up talking about other matters. Since Ronnie had not yet been arrested, I hadn’t felt any urgency about passing along what I knew, especially after he kept warning me against meddling.

  I tried phoning him first. His cell went straight to voice mail. Since I didn’t think I could leave a coherent message, I disconnected and punched in the number of his landline. I was encouraged by the busy signal. Someone was home, and there was a fifty-fifty chance it was Mike. If he wasn’t there, then his wife probably knew where I could find him.

  I hopped into my car and drove to Treeline Lane. On the way I realized that he might not be aware that my house had been burgled, or that I’d almost been run down, or that Van Heusen had been arrested. I suppose I should have let him know about those first two incidents as soon as they happened, but it simply hadn’t occurred to me.

  The Doran house sat on a large lot, but it was nothing spectacular, just a pleasant-looking three-story white clapboard with dark blue shutters on the windows. I rang the doorbell and stood awaiting a response on a tiny front porch that did little to keep me dry. Every gust of wind further dampened my clothes. I made a mental note to buy myself a full-length raincoat, maybe one with a nice warm lining. I was shivering in my short fall jacket and wishing I’d thought to wear gloves by the time Mike finally opened the door.

  “Well, this is a surprise.”

  That much was obvious. He was wearing a ratty old pair of sweatpants and a matching hoodie. When I stepped into the entry hall, I caught a whiff of burnt toast.

  “Is this a bad time? I didn’t realize it was so close to supper.”

  He glanced at the grandfather clock in the hall. “It’s only five-thirty.”

  I let that pass. My husband and I both came from families who ate their evening meal as soon as the breadwinner got home from work. We’d kept to that tradition, and I still did. Ordinarily, I’d already have eaten by this hour. I hoped my stomach wouldn’t start growling while I was talking to Mike.

  “It’s fine,” he was saying. “The wife’s away for a few days, and I was just catching up on some paperwork.”

  When I said what I had to discuss was business rather than personal, he led the way to his home office, a room completely devoid of feminine touches. If it hadn’t been for the obligatory gold-framed photo of his spouse, prominently displayed on the glossy mahogany surface of his desk, I might have doubted the existence of the third Mrs. Doran. I did a double take when I got a closer look at her likeness. She was bright-eyed and smiling and considerably younger than her husband, but what was most striking was that she bore a strong resemblance to wife number one. I doubted either she or Sonya would thank me if I pointed that out.

  Once I was settled across the
desk from Mike, I launched into my story, backtracking now and again in an attempt to make certain points clearer. Mike listened without comment, although he did look slightly shell-shocked by the time I finished.

  “You’ve been a busy girl,” he murmured.

  I’d summarized all the information Darlene and I had gathered about Tiffany’s widower and his flunky and combined it with what I’d learned at Mongaup Valley Ventures and from Officer Blume. Unfortunately, that now included the conclusion that Onslow was innocent of any crime.

  “It’s possible he’s not a crook, just a bad businessman who keeps going bankrupt,” I said, “but I’m not convinced of that.”

  “I can tell you how he managed to get startup loans for new ventures,” Mike said. “His father was a successful entrepreneur. Onslow managed to convince backers that the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree. Daddy’s legacy has stood him in good stead for years, but Daddy is long gone now and so is the fortune Onslow inherited from him.”

  “One of them killed Tiffany,” I said, getting back to the most important crime. “If not her husband, then Van Heusen.”

  Mike rubbed at his chin with the knuckles of his right hand, a nervous habit he’d had as a teenager but one I hadn’t seen the adult Mike use until now. “Con men don’t usually resort to violence, Mikki. If he thought Tiffany was on to him, he’d have been more likely to take off and start over with a new identity. From what you tell me the police have discovered, he’s done that before.”

  I frowned. “What about Onslow, then? Supposedly, Tiffany had proof that he was guilty of fraud. We know she sided with Ronnie to oppose his plans for Wonderful World. Maybe she was getting ready to divorce him.” I pictured Jenni Farquhar as I made that suggestion, and my gaze drifted, of its own volition, to the photograph of the third Mrs. Doran.

  “Did you find anything to support this theory in Tiffany’s manuscript or research notes?”

  “Well, no. Not really. I mean, the characters I assume are based on her husband and Van Heusen are crooks, but with so many of the details changed to reflect the time period of the novel—” I broke off when he started to shake his head.

  “It’s a good thing you never gave that thumb drive to Detective Hazlett,” Mike said. “He’d have laughed himself silly. Face it, Mikki, there is no there there. No proof. Not even a hint about where to look for it. Maybe it’s just as well that the original and all the copies were stolen.”

  “Not all of them. I back up to the cloud.”

  “Great.”

  The disapproval in his expression persuaded me that this was not the time to confess that Hazlett did have a copy, as did Ronnie, and that Onslow had the original. Instead I asked, “Do you really think Onslow is innocent? Or that he’s so stupid that Van Heusen could have conned him?”

  “Anyone can be taken in.”

  “If Onslow was duped and there’s no case to be made that Van Heusen killed Tiffany to keep her quiet about his illegal activities, then where does that leave Ronnie?”

  “In jail.”

  The indifference in his voice puzzled me. I blinked at him in confusion for a moment before the truth reared up and slapped me in the face.

  “You think she’s guilty! You actually believe Ronnie killed her only grandchild.” When he said nothing, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did she admit it to you?”

  “A good defense attorney never asks a question unless he’s sure he already knows the answer.”

  It took me a moment to work that one out. “In other words, you haven’t asked her if she’s guilty, but you assume she is.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty, Mikki.” A wry smile played across his lips.

  “Are you even trying to come up with another suspect?”

  He sat up straighter, suddenly all stiff-necked and defensive. “I’m not likely to let a client go to prison if I can keep her out. Even a cold-hearted, domineering witch like Ronnie North deserves top-notch representation. So unless you’ve earned a degree in law and passed the bar in the last couple of weeks, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave her defense to me.”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  He sighed. “And I’m grateful for that. If anything you and Darlene uncovered turns out to be relevant, I’ll certainly make use of it.”

  I must have looked as annoyed as I felt, because Mike pasted on a smile and reached across the desk to pat my hand. In his best soothe-the-little-woman manner he said, “Stick to building your new business and let me handle the lawyering, okay?”

  “Do you have any idea how condescending you sound?” I jerked my fingers out of his grasp and stood up.

  This time the smile was genuine. “Have a little faith in the legal system, Mik. In the end, it’s up to a jury to decide whether or not Ronnie murdered her granddaughter.”

  Chapter 40

  By the time I left Mike’s house the rain had stopped. It was already dark, and I was tired, discouraged, and beyond hungry. Since my cupboards were almost bare, especially the one that held the cat food, I stopped at the grocery store on my way home. I was wheeling my cart down the aisle with cereal on one side and bread on the other, thinking that it had been a long time since I’d bought a loaf of seeded Jewish rye but that I’d do better to pick one up at the bakery rather than rely on store-bought, when someone called my name. A woman I’d never seen before bore down on me, her gaze avid.

  “Didn’t I just see your car parked in front of Mike Doran’s house?” she asked.

  Her question made me uncomfortable, since her words echoed Alan Van Heusen’s explanation of how he’d found me at Darlene’s. The thing is, my car isn’t all that distinctive. It’s a very ordinary green Ford Taurus, a few years old but in good condition. It has no bumper stickers and now that the telltale Maine license plates are gone, there’s really nothing about it that screams “I belong to Mikki Lincoln.”

  I may have sounded a bit defensive when I asked, “How is it you know what I drive?”

  The woman laughed. “Busted! I saw you leave his place and followed you here.”

  “Why?”

  “You first.”

  Since I wasn’t about to share the truth with a complete stranger, I fudged. “I had a bit of legal business to conduct with him.”

  Her lips were painted bright red. They realigned themselves into a smirk. “Sure it wasn’t monkey business? I hear the current Mrs. D. is out of town. Again.”

  “Not hardly.” Tired of being interrogated, I tried to push my cart past her, but she maneuvered her smaller one into my path, successfully blocking my escape route.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Drawing myself up to my full height, I glared at her. “Excuse me, but who are you?”

  “Can’t you guess?” When I declined to play her silly games, she shrugged. “I’m Mike’s second ex-wife, Gloria. The one who came after Sonya and before Lindsey.”

  “Ah,” I said. The one who’d been pals with Tiffany’s mom. It might have been polite of me to add “nice to meet you,” but that would hardly have been truthful. The last thing I wanted was a closer acquaintance with another of Mike’s exes.

  Now that Gloria had identified herself, I could see the resemblance. All three Mrs. Dorans were well-endowed blondes. Gloria and Sonya also shared an aggressive attitude that I didn’t much care for. I tried again to get around her, but she was determined to maintain her blockade. Short of making a scene, I was stuck.

  “You two were a hot item in high school, or so I’m told.”

  “First I’ve heard of it.”

  “Really? My source is reliable, at least in this instance.”

  Belatedly, I caught on. She meant Mike himself. I wondered what else he’d told her about me. Not the whole truth, obviously, since he and I had never done more than smooch as teenagers. I’d been halfway through college before I lost my virginity. Besides, I obviously didn’t fit his profile of choice. Back in the day, I was brown-haired, skinny, and decidedly flat-chested.
/>   “Don’t believe everything you hear,” I advised Gloria as I tried, for the third time, to get past her cart. Once again she shifted to keep me cornered. “What is it you want from me?”

  “I want to know anything you know that will make my ex squirm. The man is a total creep. He has as little regard for you as he has for me or Sonya or Lindsey, so come on, girlfriend—share.” She leaned closer, sending peppermint-scented fumes my way. “You must know something juicy about his past, the more embarrassing the better.”

  “Oh, please—are you twelve? Even if I did have a memory that would make him cringe, it would be from five decades ago. Who cares about that now?”

  “He does. That’s the point. With Mike, it’s all about reputation.”

  “Is that why you threatened to charge him with assault? I hear that was the leverage you used to get a better divorce settlement.”

  “Exactly!” She looked extraordinarily pleased with her own cleverness. “The alimony I got out of him gives me a nice steady income.” Her face fell. “Well, it did, till he started pleading poverty. I mean, does that seem likely?”

  I was still stuck on the fact that she’d been prepared to lie under oath, and my sarcastic side came out. “Good to know he’s not really a wife beater.”

  “I didn’t entirely make that up. He almost hit me once.”

  No doubt with provocation, I thought uncharitably. “He’s never impressed me as violent. Though it pains me to admit it, I was more of a bully when we were kids than he was.” If anything, Mike tended to be overprotective of women, or at least he was with me.

  “It was a near thing,” Gloria insisted, “and do you know why he almost lost control? Because I insulted his sainted mother. That’s how I knew he’d cave the minute I threatened his reputation. He’s real thin-skinned when it comes to what people think of him, and God forbid anyone should say a word against his family. It’s a good thing we never had kids. He’d have put the poor things on pedestals and they’d have had to rebel and then there’d really have been hell to pay.”