Nothing to Lose, page 22
“May I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Jim Brixton,” I said.
“That would be me. Who are you?”
“My name’s J. P. Beaumont,” I explained. “I’m a private investigator from Seattle. I’d like to ask you a question about one of your clients.”
“Which client?”
“Roger Adams.”
“Do you have any ID?”
I presented my ID wallet and passed along a business card as well.
“Has something happened to Roger?” he asked, handing the wallet back to me. “Is he all right?”
“As far as I know,” I answered. “At least at the moment.”
Brixton frowned. “Then why . . . ?”
I cut him off in midsentence. “I’m doing some work for Roger’s daughter, Danitza. I understand you did a change of beneficiary on a life-insurance policy for Mr. Adams last summer and that Nitz is now the owner and beneficiary of a half-million-dollar policy on her father’s life.”
“That’s correct,” Brixton said, “but if you already know that . . .”
“Mr. Adams and his daughter have been estranged for a number of years. Would you be able to tell me what triggered this action on his part, this sudden change of heart?”
“Mr. Beaumont, my dealings with my clients are confidential, and—”
I ignored his objection. “Before you made the change,” I asked, “was Mr. Adams’s current wife, Shelley, the previous beneficiary?”
Brixton gave me an exasperated sigh. “Yes, she was,” he replied resignedly.
“Do you know if she’s aware that she’s no longer listed as the beneficiary on that policy?”
“I have no idea what Roger might or might not have shared with her, and I don’t understand—”
“When you came to his office to do the paperwork, did he mention if he and Shelley were having any kind of marital difficulties?”
“This is outrageous,” Brixton objected. “I really can’t answer these kinds of questions. As I said, dealings between my clients and me are private transactions.”
The fact that he was trying to avoid answering my questions provided more information than might have come from straight answers. I was reasonably sure that Shelley Loveday Adams was up to her old tricks by cheating on this husband the same way she had cheated on her previous one, and Roger was finally beginning to catch on.
“When did you execute that change order?” I asked.
Brixton frowned. “Back in June, I believe. I’d have to check my calendar in order to give you an exact date, but I don’t understand. . . .”
I had a feeling Jim Brixton knew way more than he was saying. I needed to get him to spit it out today, because once the Alaska State Troopers rode into town, I’d be kicked to the curb, right along with Lieutenant Marvin Price. With that thought in mind, I decided to go for broke.
“Are you aware that Shelley Adams was married before?” I asked.
“Yes,” Brixton answered. “I forget his name, but I believe the man was a bush pilot.”
“His name was Loveday,” I supplied. “Jack Loveday.”
“That’s right. I remember now. He committed suicide.”
“He might have committed suicide,” I corrected. “Lieutenant Marvin Price is considering reopening that case as a possible homicide, and Shelley Loveday Adams is the primary person of interest.”
Dropping Marvin’s name was the right thing to do. Brixton seemed taken aback. “I hadn’t heard a word about any of that,” he said.
“That’s because it just happened, and here’s my concern. I went to see Roger Adams yesterday. It struck me that he’s in very ill health at the moment. If his primary caregiver thinks she’s looking at a half-million-dollar insurance payday when Roger kicks off . . .”
“Roger thought Shelley was having an affair,” Brixton blurted out. “That’s what he told me. He said he’d checked her phone and her computer and hadn’t found anything, but he said she was spending a lot of time going back and forth to Anchorage, and he was pretty sure she was seeing someone.”
“No idea who?”
“If he knew, he didn’t say, but do you think Roger is in danger?” Brixton asked.
“He may be,” I said, “and that’s why I’m working with Lieutenant Price on this. We both consider it a matter of some urgency. With that in mind, is there anything more you’d like to add?”
Brixton grew hesitant again. “The change of beneficiary was just the first step. He told me that he intended to write her out of his will as well. If he did that, Shelley would lose all the way around, and in that case what would be her motive?”
Good question, I thought. “We’re looking into it,” I said.
“Do you think I should stop by and see him?”
“No,” I said. “For now let sleeping dogs lie. If Shelley is up to something, I don’t want to raise her suspicions any more than they already are.”
“But if she means to do him harm . . .”
“Believe me, Mr. Brixton, Lieutenant Price and I are doing everything in our power to prevent that from happening. Just hold tight, but thank you for your help. What you’ve told me has been very informative.”
With that I gave him a half-baked salute and headed for the Travelall. Jim Brixton might have answered most of my questions, but I didn’t want to be trapped into answering any of his.
Chapter 25
As I fastened my seat belt, I was dreading Twink’s next question about where we were going because I had no idea. Fortunately, a phone call saved me.
“Mr. Beaumont?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Betsy Norman. You asked me to call?”
“Yes.”
“What’s this about?”
“I’m doing some work for Danitza Adams Miller,” I told her. Had Betsy been able to see my face, she might have seen that as a big fat lie, but over the phone I figured I could get away with it.
“Her aunt, Penny Olmstead, mentioned you’re good friends with Nitz’s stepmother,” I continued. “I wondered if I could visit with you about that for a few minutes.”
“Were good friends,” Betsy corrected, “not so much anymore.” I found that to be an interesting tidbit as Betsy continued. “These days Danitza and her father aren’t exactly on the best of terms either, you know.”
“I’m aware of that,” I said. “I believe Penny is hoping we might be able to find a way to resolve that situation.”
That was the honest truth. Penny really did want to end Nitz’s long estrangement from Roger Adams.
Betsy sighed into her phone. “I don’t know how I can help on that score, but it can’t hurt to talk. Does it have to be today?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I’m on a deadline, and I really need to get this sorted.”
“I have about half an hour between now and my next appointment,” she conceded. “I suppose I could meet you for coffee. Do you know where the McDonald’s is on Old Glenn Highway?”
I personally had no idea, but I was pretty sure Twink would be able to find it.
“I’m on the way,” I said.
“How will I know you?”
“Just look for a bright yellow vintage Travelall,” I told her. “I’ll be the guy climbing out of that.”
We arrived minutes later. Entering the restaurant, I saw a woman waving in my direction from the far side of the room. I nodded at her, but I stopped off at the counter long enough to pick up my own cup of coffee. I had swilled enough coffee at Zig’s Place that I really didn’t need any more caffeine right then, but I wanted this conversation to seem more like a casual visit than an interrogation, and a steaming paper cup of coffee functioned as a suitable prop.
When I got to Betsy’s table, I put my cup down and then presented her with both a look at my ID and a business card before taking the opposite seat. I noticed that Betsy Norman, Penny Olmstead, and Shelley Adams were all of an age, but it occurred to me that of the three Shelley was the only one whose good looks were being helped along by professional augmentation.
“It says here you’re from Seattle,” Betsy said, frowning at my card.
That’s another prop, by the way. Mel and I still have the condo in Seattle, and from a business standpoint using Seattle as a base of operations has more cachet to it than Bellingham. Also, people know where it is.
“What’s this all about?” she added.
“I was friends with Danitza’s son’s father,” I replied.
“Back before Chris disappeared into the woodwork, you mean?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “That was an unfortunate situation all the way around.”
Betsy nodded in agreement.
“So I’m working on behalf of Danitza and her son. She’s considering attempting to reconcile with her father, and I’m trying to smooth the way.”
“That would be wonderful,” Betsy said. “The rift with her daughter broke Eileen’s heart, but Roger was absolutely adamant about it, and Eileen went with the flow.”
“I understand that growing up you were friends with both Eileen Phillips and Shelley Hollander?” I asked.
Betsy nodded. “Shelley and I go way back,” she said. “I knew who Eileen was, of course, because I was also friends with her younger sister, Penny, but I didn’t really get acquainted with her until I met her as a patient when she started showing up at the hospital for chemo. She was such a fighter as far as the cancer was concerned, and it surprised me that she didn’t go to war with her husband about burying the hatchet with their daughter. I sure as hell would have.”
“You knew Roger had forbidden Danitza to visit her mother in the hospital?”
Betsy nodded. “Yes, everyone at the hospital was aware of that, and we all went along with it. Roger was in the state legislature at the time. He was a big deal statewide, not just here in Homer, and what he said went. Had Danitza tried to visit, she wouldn’t have been allowed to enter her mother’s room.”
“But Shelley was.”
“Of course she was,” Betsy said. “She and her husband and Roger and Eileen had all been great friends—up until Jack died. After he was gone, Shelley was lost. I think being there for Eileen and Roger was one way she helped herself deal with losing Jack. She was a constant visitor in Eileen’s room, especially when the legislature was in session and Roger was off in Juneau. During that last round of chemo, when Eileen was so sick, Shelley was at the hospital every single day. Eileen considered her a godsend, and so did I.”
“Were you surprised that Roger and Shelley married so soon after Eileen died?” I asked.
Betsy shook her head. “Not really,” she answered. “Widows and widowers who come from happy marriages tend to remarry sooner than those whose marital lives were troubled. Besides, the two of them had a lot in common—not only that long history of the four of them being friends together but also having lived through the devastating loss of a beloved spouse.”
Betsy’s response made me think that even now she still had no inkling that her good friend Shelley and Roger Adams had been involved in an affair long before either one of their spouses was out of the picture.
“So as far as you knew, Jack and Shelley had a solid marriage?”
Betsy gave a small shrug. “For the most part,” she said finally. “Jack was a little rough around the edges, and there was a big age difference. He was a homebody, and she was more of a good-time girl. He kept her reined in.”
“Socially or financially?” I asked.
“Both,” she said. “Jack had a reputation for being something of a tightwad.”
“Are you and Shelley still good friends?” I asked.
“Not as close as we used to be,” Betsy admitted.
“What happened?”
“Nothing really,” she said. “Once she married Roger, she started moving in a different social circle, and we drifted apart. I still see her around town occasionally, but we’re not that close. In fact, the last time I saw her, sometime last fall, she mentioned Roger was having health issues.”
“Did she give any specifics?” I asked.
Betsy frowned. “I believe she said something about Alzheimer’s, although Roger’s pretty young to be dealing with that.”
The word “Alzheimer’s” grabbed my attention. Shelley had told me Roger was suffering from some form of dementia. My understanding is that those two ailments are two distinctly different propositions.
“Naturally I didn’t ask for any more details.”
“Why not?”
“Religion,” Betsy replied. “That was a big part of why Shelley and I fell out. I’m a nurse—an RN. Sometime after Eileen died, Shelley and Roger walked away from regular medicine and turned to Christian Science instead. I took it personally. People are free to believe whatever they believe, and I should probably have just let it go. But what’s this all about, Mr. Beaumont? I’d hate to think Shelley is in some kind of trouble.”
The Christian Science lie again, with slightly different twist—Alzheimer’s instead of dementia—but I didn’t want to alarm Betsy for fear she might warn her former good friend that I was going around asking questions.
“Not at all,” I fibbed. “I was just wondering if you thought Shelley would have any problem if Danitza showed back up in her father’s life.”
Betsy shook her head. “I can’t imagine why she would.” At that point she paused long enough to check her watch. “Oops,” she said, “I have to go. I’m due at my next patient’s home in ten minutes.”
“Home?” I inquired. “I was under the impression that you worked at a hospice.”
“I do hospice care,” she corrected, “but I do it in my patients’ homes. We don’t have a brick-and-mortar hospice facility here in Homer.” She stood up and gathered her purse. “I hope this was a help.”
“It certainly was,” I told her. “Thank you.”
Once she was gone, I noticed that while I’d been talking to Betsy, Twink had entered the restaurant. I walked over and sat down at her table.
“Do any good?” she asked.
“Not really,” I said. The truth is, I was discouraged. Neither interview had been particularly fruitful, and I felt as though I was just spinning my wheels. And the fact that I was functioning on less than five hours of sleep didn’t help.
“Look,” I said. “How about if you take me back to the hotel and then give yourself some time off and maybe hang out with your friend. If I need you later today, I’ll call. Tonight I’ll treat you to dinner at AJ’s.”
“Sounds good to me,” Twink said. “After all, Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. As for dinner? I’m ready. I finished up the rest of the leftovers from Simon & Seafort’s yesterday.”
We saddled up and headed back to the Driftwood. Twink seemed to be in a somewhat cheery mood, so I decided to take a risk. “Mind if I ask you something?”
“What’s that?”
“I’m curious. You told me earlier that our relationship had lasted longer than one of your marriages. Is that true or were you just pulling my leg?”
“God’s truth,” Twink replied. “The day after the wedding, I found out the son of a bitch was still married. I messed him up pretty good before I was done with him. Not enough to put him in the hospital, but close enough to make me feel better. After that, I had to hire a lawyer and go to court to get it annulled. Took me six months. Talk about insult to injury.”
“I’ll bet he never tried a stunt like that again.”
“You’d better believe it,” she declared. “He most certainly did not!”
Chapter 26
Back at the hotel, I slipped off my jacket and boots and lay down on the bed to rest both my eyes and my feet. It turns out I’m not accustomed to wearing boots, and I had a suspicion that once I got home to Bellingham, the ones I’d bought in Anchorage would disappear into the far corner of my walk-in closet, never to surface again. By the way, that’s one formula for maintaining marital harmony—separate bathrooms and separate walk-in closets.
I wanted to text Mel and see how she was doing, but I also didn’t want to disturb her if she was still asleep. I had just closed my eyes and was about to doze off when my phone rang. The caller turned out to be Marvin Price.
“Hey, Beau,” he said. “We may be in luck.”
I couldn’t help but notice the excitement in his voice. “How’s that?” I asked.
“I just got off the phone with a guy named Nate Bucknell.”
“Who’s he?”
“The guy who bought a Subaru Forester from Shelley Adams in 2010.”
“He still has it?” I asked.
“Yup, he sure does. I ran the VIN numbers of all vehicles registered to either the Lovedays or the Adamses back in ’06, and this is the only one of those still in existence. So maybe that commercial is actually true—the one that says most of the Subarus manufactured in the last ten years are still on the road.”
It was actually twelve years now, but why quibble?
“According to Mr. Bucknell, Shelley said that she and Jack Loveday bought the Subaru new in 2005, and she was still driving it when she and Roger Adams married. At that point, between driving the older Subaru or one of her new husband’s Range Rovers, it wasn’t a contest. She wanted to unload it and gave Nate a good price even though the vehicle had fairly low mileage at the time. By the way, it’s not much higher now. Ever since Nate bought it, the vehicle has spent most of the time sitting in a friend’s garage here in Homer, hooked up to a trickle charger.”
“Why buy a car if you’re not going to drive it?” I asked.
“Mr. Bucknell lives part-time in Palm Desert and part-time in a place called Halibut Cove. It’s about five miles from here, across Kachemak Bay. People who live there mostly get around either by boat or in ATVs. Bucknell’s place there is right on the water, and he goes back and forth from here in his own boat. Nate pulls up to Red Bolger’s dock here in Homer, ties up his boat, then off he goes on his own set of wheels.”
