Bound for Murder, page 17
“And you think that could happen?”
“It’s possible, given the people involved. Most have moved beyond their criminal pasts, but not all.”
“You believe Jeremy was killed by a drug dealer, not someone he knew at Vista View?”
Kurt lifted his head and leaned against the curved back of his chair. “I don’t have absolute proof yet, but that makes the most sense to me. Mainly because I can’t think of any real reason why one of the commune members would want him dead, and a thousand reasons why a dealer might’ve desired that outcome.”
“I tend to agree with you. I did glean a few motives from the former commune members, but they all seemed rather … weak.” I drew a circle with my forefinger in the soft leather of my chair arm. “Although I have found that sometimes people kill for strange reasons.”
“True. But in all honesty, my contacts have informed me that one of the dealers from back in the sixties and seventies is now working for a larger operation.” He narrowed his eyes. “A larger, more dangerous operation.”
“Which one? The Weasel?”
Kurt lifted his bushy eyebrows. “You are well informed. No, he left the game about the same time I did. The last thing I heard about him was that he’d moved farther south and become an evangelical preacher.”
“He found religion?” I couldn’t prevent a little smirk. “Unlike you.”
“Oh, I believe in a few things,” Kurt replied, with a glance over at my Uncle Andrew’s painting.
“Who, then?” I curled my fingers into my palm. “Not the woman they called Esmerelda?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“And you think she might’ve killed Jeremy Adams, then murdered Ruth Lee to prevent Ruth from spilling any information about her previous crime?”
“Don’t look so incredulous. You, of all people, should know that women can be as cold-blooded, and as deadly, as men.”
“I know they can kill just as easily, but it seems strange …” I fixed Kurt with an intense stare. “Were you ever Jeremy’s dealer?”
“For a while.” Kurt flicked a speck of lint from his tailored wool trousers. “But eventually Jeremy wanted more than I could, or would, offer, and turned to Esmerelda for that stuff. He got in pretty deep, I’m afraid. Which was a shame. He did possess great talent.” Kurt looked up and met my sharp gaze with a sigh. “I imagine it’s possible that he fell behind on his payments, and … Well, perhaps Esmerelda’s bosses decided to make an example of him.”
“I’d think you would’ve heard about such a thing, if it had happened that way. Don’t you keep tabs on everything remotely related to your business ventures?”
“I do now. Back then, not so much.” Kurt tapped the wooden arm of his chair with his short fingernails. “Anyway, I left the area right around the time Jeremy Adams disappeared from the commune. I wasn’t aware that he’d ever returned, although apparently that must’ve been the case.”
I slid to the edge of my chair, gripping my knees with both hands. “Yes, and why? That’s what I don’t understand. He told two people he was headed to, or was in, LA, but then he came back, at least for a brief visit, only a month or two later. Why?”
Kurt shrugged. “My guess is that Esmerelda or someone from her organization tracked him down and told him to come back and pay up or they’d harm people he loved. He had a girlfriend at the commune, you know.”
“That was Ruth Lee.”
“Yes, and then there was his family, including your friend Walt. If they were threatened, I suspect Jeremy would have rushed back to deal with the situation.” Kurt toyed with the gold cuff links on his pale-gray silk shirt. “He may have had a temper, and a drug problem, but deep down he was a kind and decent man. The drugs made him unpredictable, but his heart was always in the right place.”
I thought about the songs I’d listened to on Jeremy’s demo reel. “I can believe that. I mean, from everything I’ve heard.”
Kurt shot me a questioning look. “Something you want to share?”
“No, no. I did talk to Ruth and some of the others, as you know. It’s the way they depicted him, that’s all.” I clasped my hands in my lap to stop my fidgeting. I had no intention of telling Kurt Kendrick about Jeremy’s demo tape. “So basically, you called me in for a chat to warn me off the investigation because you think some still-active criminals might not want anyone digging into their past activities?”
“Exactly.”
“You could’ve just told me all this last night, at the library.”
“Not with all those deputies around.” Kurt rose to his feet. “I hope you understand—I do not wish to be drawn into this investigation in any way. I prefer my past to remain … unexamined territory.”
“You’re afraid someone might dredge up more than one skeleton?” I asked as I stood to face him.
“If you mean, do I want to keep some things buried? Why yes, I do. Although not necessarily actual bodies.”
I considered that necessarily for a moment. “I suppose I should thank you for the warning, but really, there’s no need. I’ve completed my mission for P.J. and Carol, and I think I’ve also exhausted all the research help I can offer the sheriff’s department. So it looks like I’m done playing detective. But you”—I met his intense gaze and held it —“could help the authorities a great deal if you shared the information about Esmerelda and her compatriots with them.”
“I will talk to someone. Perhaps not Brad Tucker, who, despite his many fine qualities, tends to hold a rather black-and-white view of life. But I do have contacts on the federal level who might be able to assist our good chief deputy.” Kurt stepped forward and gripped my forearm. “I hope you won’t run to the local authorities with this information I’ve shared today. I prefer to handle this type of thing in my own way.”
I twisted my arm hard to the right, dislodging his fingers. “That’s fine. But I’m giving you a deadline.”
Kurt’s eyebrows shot up under the fall of his thick white hair. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. You go to your FBI pals or whoever and share what you know by the end of next week, or I tell Brad what you’ve just shared with me.”
Looking me up and down, Kurt chuckled. “This takes me back. Do you know how much you look like your great-grandmother Rose when you get riled up?” He winked. “‘Though she be but little, she is fierce,’ indeed.”
I’d heard enough harrowing stories about my great-grandmother to make me bristle at any mention of our resemblance. “I don’t care for that comparison, you know.”
“I said you looked like her, not that you behaved in the same manner. Which, thankfully, you don’t. I only knew the woman when I was young, but I can assure you that your personality is a great improvement upon hers.”
“I should hope so.” I waved my hand toward Uncle Andrew’s painting. “Do you also want me to keep silent about your purchase of Andrew’s work? Around Aunt Lydia and Hugh, I mean.”
“If you don’t mind. I don’t want Lydia to feel beholden to me.”
It was my turn to chuckle. “Don’t worry, I doubt she’d ever feel that.”
Kurt flashed a smile. “Probably not. But I’d prefer she not know about my purchases, just the same.”
“All right, you have my promise to keep that quiet. Now—if you feel I’m sufficiently warned off the Adams case, I really should be going. Like I said, I need to help Richard with his dinner party prep.” I crossed to the door but paused to look back at him. “Oh gosh, I suppose we should’ve invited you. It’s a party to celebrate Fiona Muir’s birthday, and since you were her uncle’s foster son …”
Kurt joined me in the hall. “Nonsense. You needn’t worry about that. Anyway, I have other plans.”
“Still, I should have thought of it before this,” I said, glancing over at that small painting, worth a great fortune, that hung so innocently on the wall. “But to be honest, Hugh Chen is going to be there, which would probably make it uncomfortable for you.”
“Yes, Hugh does like to quiz me about all my art dealings,” Kurt said as we made our way down the stairs. “He believes he’s bound to catch me in a lie someday. Something he can prove, I mean.”
“Hope springs eternal,” I said, following his swift progress to the front door.
“‘Man never is, but always to be, blest,’” Kurt replied, as he opened the front door. Before I could step out onto the portico, he laid a hand on my shoulder. “Remember that, Amy. One can eternally hope, and yet always be thwarted.”
I glanced up at him from under my lowered lashes, unsure if he was talking about Hugh’s quest to uncover his less-than-legal art deals, or something else.
Perhaps something like the love he still felt for a man he’d lost so long ago.
“I still think that hope is worth indulging in sometimes.” I reached up and patted his hand before moving away. “Perhaps you should try it.”
He gave me a speculative look. “In what fashion?”
“I don’t know. Maybe hope to meet someone to share this great heap with you,” I said, turning aside so that he couldn’t see my face.
He didn’t reply. When I paused at the picket fence gate and glanced back at him, his face wore its familiar mocking expression. But whether that sarcasm was directed at me or himself, I couldn’t be sure.
“Goodbye, Amy,” he said. “Please give my regards to Richard, Lydia, Fiona, and yes, even Hugh. Tell them I wish them all well and hope to see them again soon.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. “Goodbye, and thanks for the information, and the warning. I vow to remain vigilant.” I gave him a little mock salute.
His expression sobered. “As, I promise, will I.”
Which made me wonder, as I started up my car and headed down his long, tree-shaded driveway, just how long and how seriously he’d been keeping tabs on some of his former acquaintances.
It also struck me, as I turned onto the gravel road that led back to town, that perhaps Kurt’s driving by the library last night had not been an entirely random occurrence.
Chapter Nineteen
Watching Fiona Muir examine the dining setup for her birthday dinner involved a great deal of swallowing words and tongue biting.
“I suppose this works,” she said, her forehead crinkling. “Although a folding table isn’t exactly my idea of elegance.”
“There is a linen tablecloth.” Richard circled the table, placing silverware at each setting.
The stack of wooden salad bowls I carried clattered as I crossed the living room. Richard, who’d sacrificed a formal dining room for his studio, had spread a large beige-and-tan-patterned wool rug over the wooden dance floor and set up a folding banquet table covered by a white tablecloth. The chairs, pulled from the kitchen table and other locations in his house, might have been a motley assortment of styles, but they were all sturdy and perfectly suitable.
“I think it’s a very clever way to provide a bigger dining space,” I said, handing the bowls to Richard. “We usually just eat in the kitchen, but there isn’t room for a larger crowd at that table.”
Fiona smoothed back a strand of dark hair that had escaped her smooth chignon. “I hope you’re going to be happy with this arrangement in the long run, Amy. There isn’t space in this house to add a real dining room, and I imagine that you’ll regret this rather peculiar setup after a while.”
I met her imperious gaze. Her beautiful gray eyes, enough like Richard’s to give me pause, were narrowed between her thick black lashes. “Oh, it’ll be fine. We don’t plan to do much formal entertaining. If the group’s too large for the kitchen, we’ll just have a buffet.”
“But holiday dinners …” Fiona said, before Richard cast her a sharp glance.
“I have plans to convert the back porch into a dining space eventually,” he said, banging the last of the salad bowls down beside a dark-blue ceramic plate.
“That’s a good idea,” his mother said, her expression brightening. “Just let me know when you plan to start that project. I’m acquainted with a great interior designer, if you decide to go that route.”
“Thanks.” Richard caught my eye and raised his eyebrows. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do.” Fiona tugged a tiny wrinkle out of the tablecloth. “When is this friend of yours arriving, Richard? I thought we were eating around one.” She stared pointedly at her delicate gold wristwatch.
“She’ll be here,” Richard said. “And she isn’t just some friend. You know her, Mom. You met her years ago.”
“Right, the husky, very tall girl. The one you used to dance with so often. But then she just disappeared.” Fiona fluttered one of her fine-boned hands. “I hope she’s not still so flighty.”
“Excuse me, I need to check on something in the kitchen.” Richard strode across the room, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him.
“Do you need any help?” Fiona asked.
“No, just take a seat in the living room, Mom. We’ll only be a minute,” he told her as we headed into the hall.
“You knew this would be difficult,” I said when we entered the kitchen.
“Problems?” Aunt Lydia, who was standing at the tall, oak-topped table that functioned as a kitchen island, waved a carrot at us.
Richard released my hand and headed straight for the counter that held an open bottle of white wine. “No more than usual,” he said, pouring himself a full glass.
I walked forward and leaned against the other side of the island. “Fiona is being a little …”
“Critical?” Aunt Lydia chopped the carrot into thin slices.
“You could say that.” I picked up a loose head of leaf lettuce and began tearing it into bite-sized pieces.
“As always.” Richard took a long swallow of wine.
Hugh, who was using a fork to fluff some curry-spiced couscous in a saucepan, cast us an amused glance over his shoulder. “She does know what she likes.”
“And doesn’t,” Aunt Lydia said, sharing a glance with me.
“And there’s the doorbell,” Richard said, finishing off his wine in one gulp. “I’d better get out there before Mom greets Karla in some less-than-flattering way.” He plunked down his glass and dashed out of the room.
“That woman,” Aunt Lydia said, dicing a piece of celery. “And she’s not nearly as bad as her husband. How Richard turned out as well as he did is beyond me.”
“That is the ultimate mystery,” I agreed.
“Where is Mr. Muir, by the way?” Hugh asked. “Lydia may have told me, but I’m afraid I don’t recall what she said.”
“Because you were distracted by that news on the TV about some famous lost painting being recovered after twenty years,” my aunt said, meeting Hugh’s abashed gaze with a smile. “It’s okay. I found that story pretty fascinating too.”
“Jim Muir is away on a business trip. Fortunately.” I held my finger to my lips. “Don’t repeat that.”
“Our lips are sealed, although I’m sure Richard would agree.” Aunt Lydia tipped up her Lucite cutting board and dumped the chopped vegetables into a large wooden bowl. “Throw in the lettuce and let’s get this tossed. It sounds like Karla is here, so I expect Richard will want to eat soon.”
Hugh covered the saucepan with its glass lid. “In that case, I’m going to wash up. The couscous is ready. I think if we leave it covered it will stay warm enough.”
“Thanks.” I crossed over to the stove and gave a pot of orange-glazed carrots a stir. “Everything’s ready then, except for the salmon, and Richard didn’t want to grill that until closer to serving time.”
Aunt Lydia slipped her white apron over her head, revealing an elegant rose-pink natural-silk jacket-and-skirt ensemble. She folded the apron and laid it on one of counters. “I think I’ll just wash my hands in here, since Hugh’s using the hall powder room.” She patted her short cap of white hair. “But since there’s no mirror—do I pass muster?”
“And then some,” I said, glancing down at my own outfit. I’d made the concession of wearing a dressy jade-green blouse over my black slacks, just to please Richard’s mother. Although, based on the expression on her face when she’d arrived and looked me over, I’d apparently failed in that mission once again.
When Aunt Lydia stepped aside, I washed my own hands in the kitchen’s deep farm sink before grabbing the wooden salad bowl and tongs. “I’ve got this. If you could just bring the dressing, that would be great. But please watch that you don’t spill anything on that lovely suit.”
“I’ll be careful.” Aunt Lydia picked up the silver-plated serving tray that held three different salad dressings in crystal cruets. “Are we waiting to carry in the rest of the meal?” she asked as she followed me into the living room.
“Yeah, salad first. Richard and I will serve everything else later.”
As we crossed over to the table, I noticed that Richard was introducing Hugh to Karla, while Fiona stood off to one side.
Making judgments, I thought, then chided myself for being so catty. While it was true that Fiona Muir tended to be opinionated and overly critical, she was still Richard’s mother. I had to eventually learn to get along with her, one way or the other.
“Looks like we’re ready to start on the salad course,” Richard said. “Please, everyone, take a seat at the table. I just need to grab the water pitcher and fill glasses, and then we can have dinner.”
“Need help?” I asked him as he paused beside me.
“No, go ahead and sit down. I’ll take care of it.” He gave me a smile. “Besides,” he added, leaning in so that he could whisper in my ear, “someone needs to keep Mom in line.”
“Gee, thanks,” I whispered back, but kissed his cheek before he moved away.
“Hi, Amy, so good to see you again.” Karla enveloped me in a hug. Since she towered over me, I had to tip my head back to look up into her broad face.
