Baylin House (Cassandra Crowley Mystery) (24 page)

Rob showed up looking even more stressed than when Cassie
left Bayside View. He glanced around the room as she closed the door behind him.

“Are you comfortable enough here for a few days?”

“Anywhere with a decent bed is good for me,” she answered,
trying to lighten the tension he brought with him. She pointed to the chairs at
the table.

Rob sat down nearest the corner, still visually inspecting
the room and not looking happy about what he saw.

“It won’t take long to find another apartment,” she offered,
sliding into the other chair. “I looked at University Commons before I went to
Bayside View. Maybe they’ll still have an open unit.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t suppose I could put
you on a plane tonight and ship you back to Las Vegas, could I?”

Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going back to Vegas until I
finish the project with Rosalie Baylin. I need this paycheck.”

He nodded.

She slid her hands from her lap to the table, and leaned
forward. “So I really caused all that damage plugging the printer in at the
kitchen? I know it draws a lot of--”

“No,” he cut her off. “We think the weight of the printer is
what kept it from being as bad as it was intended.” Rob reached across the
small table and folded his hands over hers. “Someone has threatened your life,
Cassie. I’m not just trying to scare you; I need you to understand this is
serious.” He circled his thumbs under her wrists. “Starting right now, I don’t
want you to step outside this door without me knowing about it. I need you to
tell me everyone you’ve talked to since you got here, and I need to know
everything you’re going to do before you do it.”

Cassie frowned and slid her hands free, dropping them into
her lap again. “That’s too much--”

“That’s the way it has to be. Unless you’re willing to leave
until we have a lock on it . . ?”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Rob took out his little notebook. “You have a cell phone. I
need you to call me whenever you leave one location for another.”

He ripped out a clean page and wrote a phone number with the
same prefix as Cassie’s new cell phone. “Call this number as you leave; tell me
where you’re going, and don’t be surprised if I ask you to call again when you
get there.”

She stared at the paper. “My day starts early. Who’s going
to answer when you’re off duty?”

“It will still be me. That’s my private cell phone.”

“At seven-thirty in the morning?”

“I don’t care if it’s four-thirty in the morning! As long as
you’re in Cordell County, I want to know where you are. If I don’t answer,
leave a message. When this is over you can tell me to kiss off, and I’ll leave
you alone, but right now you’ve got to let me do my job.”

They locked eyes in a standoff.

“What did you find in my apartment?”

He continued a hard stare. “We found an unexploded charge
stuck to the underside of what used to be the breakfast counter. I’m assuming
your printer was sitting on top of the counter?”

“What do you mean,
a charge
?”

“CSI says it’s an amateur attempt at using an underwater
explosive of some kind. They’re still working on it.”

“But you said
un
exploded . . . if it didn’t go off, then
what happened?”

“Looks like a chain reaction began with primer cord
connected to the phone on the wall, and run under the counter close enough to
the back of the stove to flash the 220 source. The combination of primer and
220 loosened the breakfast bar and the weight of the printer pulled it down. Our
tech people think that’s what dislodged the terminating connection that was
supposed to blow the rest. We’re lucky you weren’t standing in front of it.”

To borrow Henry Wainsworth’s phrase, NO SHIT, SHERLOCK!

Cassie’s mouth suddenly tasted like asphalt. She eyed the
handful of quarters left over from the Laundromat, and went to the dresser to
retrieve them.

“Did you notice if there’s a vending machine out there
anywhere? I need something in my throat.”

Rob was in front of the door before she could get to it. “You
stay here. The fewer people who see you the less I have to worry. Hand me the
ice bucket and I’ll fill that too.”

Cassie was in no position to argue. She retrieved the brown
plastic bucket and handed it to him.

When he returned, she put the heaping bucket back in the
tray on the bathroom counter, slipping a small cube into her mouth to slow the
acid fire.

Rob was back at the table with two cans of soda. “I didn’t
think to ask if you have a preference,” he said.

She sat down and reached for one of the cans, shaking her head.
“I don’t.”

She took a couple sips, letting the bubbles roll down. When she
was sure she could speak without her throat clenching on her words, she said, “this
tastes wonderful. Thanks.”

“Good. Now tell me what’s going on, Cassie. I know about the
editing job and Rosalie’s Baylin House project. Who else have you had any kind
of dealing with?”

Cassie took a deep breath. “I stepped on some toes at city
hall.”

“Doing what?”

“The Health Department is holding up the Baylin House license
renewal, so I picked up copies of the complaints. You already know about Fozzi’s
visit to Bayside View for some phony odor report. He was there the day before,
too. Melanie said he was asking who belonged to my phone number.”

Rob frowned, but he said nothing. She watched the ballpoint
moving while he wrote in his little notebook.

She recounted last Thursday for him; the Realtor’s visit,
Rosalie’s request for help, the Power Of Attorney letter, driving to the
Business License office, and Sydney Owen’s cryptic message.

“I still haven’t figured out what she wants me to see, but I
haven’t been able to get hold of her to ask.”

“Those are the papers missing from the envelope?”

“Yes, along with Sydney’s 30-Day Extension of the license. She
left a message on my answering machine that she needed to warn me about
something, and we were supposed to meet for dinner Friday night. She didn’t
make it, and now the City switchboard says she’s on two month Leave Of Absence.”

Cassie took another drink of the soda while Rob added to his
notes.

“I also met with the manager of the Baylin House charity account.
She probably figured out I think she’s embezzling funds. She’s trying to get
them shut down so she can sell the land.”

Rob’s frown deepened. He flipped to another page.

“Her name is Margaret Goodman Frank. I can get you her phone
number if you want. I know Dorothy Kennelly puts money in a separate account to
keep Margaret from touching it, so I’m not the only one who thinks Mrs. Goodman-Frank
is a problem. But my parents also make large donations, I mean five-figure
category, so the name Crowley should have been familiar when I called, but
Margaret either didn’t recognize it, or she pretended not to, which I guess is
worse.”

Rob’s eyebrows flicked upward. Cassie sat quiet, watching him
fill yet another page in his little book.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He flipped through the pages he had, and blew out a heavy sigh.
“Okay, give me a chance to look into this much before you kick any more ant
hills. I’ll bring dinner tomorrow evening and let you know what I find out.”

She was blithely agreeing until it hit her – “Oh! Tomorrow
night I have to meet the publisher’s rep for dinner. I’m not sure what time
yet, but he did say ‘dinner’. I’m sorry, I almost forgot about it.”

“The publisher’s rep . . ,” Rob echoed.

“His name is Henry Wainsworth. He’s Dorothy Kennelly’s
brother. They’re staying at The Marlin and planning to leave Friday morning.”

She caught herself before she said anything about using
Henry’s room to set up another meeting with Margaret Goodman Frank. She was
probably going to call it off anyway, so there was no reason to tell him about
it.

Rob nodded without making eye contact, and scribbled another
note. “Is there anyone else I should know about?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Okay.” He stood and tucked his little notebook and pen into
his jacket pocket.

He was gone before Cassie remembered ask him about Brady
Irwin’s arrest.

When Cassie arrived at Baylin House Thursday morning she
found a silver Explorer parked in front. She pulled the red Santa Fe to the
curb at the house next-door, hoping that would make it less noticeable.

But the red car was the least of her worries when she rang
the bell. No one answered.

After a second ring and a long moment with still no answer,
she let herself in. Rosalie, Dorothy, and Henry were at the table in the same
places as yesterday. Henry was writing something on a long yellow tablet. Dorothy
and Rosalie were glaring at each other.

Dorothy said, “Rosalie, you don’t know he’s not guilty! If
he doesn’t have the capacity to know the difference--”

“What I know, is that he doesn’t have the capacity to harm
another human being.”

“But you don’t know how the police got his name. He has to
have done something--”

“You’re wrong about that! We wouldn’t know how the police
got
my
name if Detective Gorduno hadn’t told you. Am I a suspect because
the police have my name?”

“Of course not. It’s not the same.”

“It is the same!”

Cassie cringed at the tone of their voices. Even Henry kept
his eyes averted. A red flush bloomed from his shirt collar to his ears.

Cassie left her satchel on the far end of the table and
ducked back out of the kitchen to retrieve an extra chair . . . and to look for
Bea.

Bea was not in the laundry, or Rosalie’s bedroom, or on the
deck outside. Cassie pulled the folding chair from Rosalie’s closet.

She leaned it against the living room wall while she crept
up the back stairs and knocked gently on the only door that was closed, not
wanting to alert anyone downstairs.

The door opened. Cassie stared into Bea Morgan’s round face,
blotched and swollen with tears. “What happened?” Cassie whispered in shock.

Bea pulled her into the room and closed the door. “Miss
Rosalie sent me up here to keep me from arguing with Miss Dorothy.”

Cassie waited while Bea blew her nose and dropped the tissue
into a wastebasket that already held several wadded knots.

“Because of the issue with Brady?”

“Yes. That attorney called here again yesterday a little
before noon and Miss Rosalie overheard me talking to him. He said the DA was
ready to file charges and we needed to get Brady some proper representation
right away to protect him. I didn’t know what else to do – I had to tell Miss
Rosalie. She approved the lien over the phone.”

“With Dorothy here?”

“Miss Dorothy was outside with the rental car man. She
didn’t find out until they showed up with the paper for Miss Rosalie to sign.
Harvey was back then, too, and said Brady was back at work, so the attorney
must have done his job. Miss Rosalie signed the paper and they’ve been fighting
about it ever since.”

Cassie listened with her teeth clamped tight, trying to keep
her head from exploding while Bea fell into another rush of tears.

She wished she could talk to Rob, but his icy professional tone
when she called this morning discouraged that thought. He was definitely
officially
back to being
Detective
Baxter, thank you very much. He probably thought
she’d already found out about this when she called.

Cassie took a deep breath, and did the best she could to
calm Bea with promises she hoped she could keep.

Downstairs she collected the folded chair and carried it
into the kitchen. She didn’t need it; Dorothy and Henry were gone. Rosalie looked
ragged from the stress.

“I can work at home and come back tomorrow,” Cassie offered.
She was anxious to go to the county and check on that lien.

“Oh, dear, no,” Rosalie insisted, shaking her head. “I don’t
want us to lose another whole day. Hand me the package I gave you yesterday.”

Cassie retrieved the envelope from the satchel and handed it
over with an apology. “I was tied up with Henry so long I didn’t even look at
it.”

“That’s alright. I hated giving you such a mess with no
explanation, but there was already too much going on for both of us. Today I need
to get it over with.”

Rosalie opened the manila envelope and removed the contents,
taking a deep breath. “Mother – Judith Baylin -- sent the original package with
this note on top that she hoped it would break my heart the way I had broken
hers just by being born.”

Cassie gasped. That was a horrible thing for a mother to
say!

Rosalie slid the aged pages toward her. “Under the letter is
my original birth certificate. It names Susan Maureen O’Halliday as my mother,
and Lawrence Justice Baylin as my father.”

“Lawrence?”

 “Yes,” Rosalie confirmed. “Apparently the birth document
I’d been using up to that point was something Judith purchased after she
brought me home as an infant and announced to the Society Page that she’d given
birth. I understand Lawrence truly believes that convenient story as he told it
to you, but this document proves Lawrence is my father, not Andrew. And yes, I
did have it checked by the authorities; it matches the certified copy they sent
me.”

Cassie read the details of the Birth Certificate while
Rosalie explained it.

“Lawrence was more loyal to Mother – to his mother – so he
wouldn’t have doubted whatever she told him. But Andrew had to know his teen
aged son had gotten a barmaid pregnant and his wife was solving the problem in
the way she chose to do it.”

Underneath the Birth Certificate was a studio photograph –
an 8x10 hand tinted color rendition of a young man Cassie had no trouble
recognizing was Lawrence Baylin. He was posed with a young woman who didn’t
look quite as young or quite as innocent, but strikingly beautiful, and with a
head of unruly red hair.

Another hand-written letter lay under the photograph,
definitely different penmanship than the one from Judith.

“So this was the package my grandmother opened for you
because you wouldn’t open it?” Cassie whispered. The shocking implication
wasn’t that Rosalie refused the package, but that Noreen Crowley had known all
these years what was in it!

Rosalie said, “Yes. This other letter is from Susan to
Judith, demanding money to keep quiet about the pregnancy.”

“Rosalie, is this the big secret that Dorothy wants
revealed?”

Rosalie blinked, and then growled, “What do you know about
any big secret that interests Dorothy?”

Cassie flinched. Rosalie’s color rose as red as her hair,
and her hands closed into tight fists. Cripes, what wrong button had Cassie
pushed now?

“Only what you’ve just told me,” Cassie offered. “Dorothy
didn’t tell me anything except that when you’re ready, you would reveal some
big secret that I guess she already knows about? I’m just trying to confirm
this is it.”

Rosalie sat very quiet for several beats, still glowering, and
finally said, “You can include the birth certificate in the book, Cassie. Make
a copy of everything, if that’s how it works to satisfy people’s salacious
curiosity. Whatever will generate more sales.”

Cassie nodded that she understood.

“As for Dorothy’s problem,” Rosalie said through her teeth,
“that’s something she and I will settle between us. Now I would like to lie
down.”