Thicker than Water (13 page)

“All right,” he said and finally took that damn toothpick out of his mouth. “Just one question.”

“What?”

“Was Sylvia murdered?”

“It doesn't appear so,” I said.

“Then why do you care about all of this?”

“That's two questions,” I said.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Seriously, why does any of this matter to you?”

“I'm that nosy assistant with the wadded panties,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “I really do say the stupidest things, don't I?”

“Just take pictures and log who goes in and out, and you can talk stupid forever, I won't care.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Sixteen

“All right, who's the private investigator parked outside on River Pointe Road?” Colin asked as he entered my office at the Gaheimer House the next day. I sat at my desk and just buried my face in my hands.

“That obvious?” I said. I stood immediately and walked past him to the front door.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“You entered the house with the alarm on,” I said. I punched in a code and went back to my office.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”

“What do you want?” I asked. “Because I have loads to do and I have to meet with the historical society this evening. We're voting on who should be president.”

“Well, I want to know why there's a private investigator snooping around my town.”

“I hired him.”

“Believe it or not, I figured that much out. I want to know why.”

I said nothing.

“Is this because you think Sylvia was murdered?”

“No,” I said finally. “He's out there because Sylvia thought somebody was trying to kill her. That's the private investigator she hired in the first place. He's out there because I was attacked in broad daylight last weekend at the Strawberry Festival, and because Stephanie swears there's a ghost in this house. Now, since I don't believe in ghosts, that must mean that somebody was making the noises that my very levelheaded sister heard. You put all that together, and I've got Mike out there watching the house to see who comes in and out.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Is he that bad?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I'm trained to see that sort of thing. Most of the people in town won't notice.”

“What do you mean, ‘most'?”

“Well, none of my deputies have noticed, so that means Eleanore will probably figure it out, but otherwise you're safe,” he said.

“That's it? You're not going to yell at me over it and make him leave?”

“No,” he said. “Actually, I think it's kind of a smart thing to do.”

“So you think—”

“No, I don't think Sylvia was murdered,” he said. “But I do think that something is going on with this house.”

“Really?” I asked and sat down. I felt a little better knowing that the sheriff was sort of on my side. It was such an unusual position for me.

“I did some questioning,” he said. “Seems most of the witnesses on Sunday said they saw somebody about five foot four to five foot seven—just how tall depends on the witness—anyway, they saw this person raise a club and hit you with it.”

My mouth dropped open. Then the hair stood up on my neck. Somebody
was
trying to hurt me. It hadn't been random. Funny, I wasn't nearly as frightened of the idea of somebody deliberately clubbing me in broad daylight as I was now that I
knew
somebody had deliberately clubbed me in broad daylight. Suddenly that alarm system didn't seem like enough protection.

“No other description. Seems as though the person was wearing a disguise,” he said. “We found a wig and some clothes in a Dumpster.”

“No way,” I said. My breath came faster. The ends of my fingers tingled.

“Yes, way,” he said.

“Holy sh—”

“Yes, that, too,” he said.

“But wh—”

“Why?” he asked. “You tell me.”

“But I—”

“Don't have a clue? Come on, tell me another one.”

“No, Colin, I really don't,” I said.
Think. Think
. “I mean, if somebody was just attacking
me,
I would say it was because of something I knew about this town that could harm somebody. But with what I know now about Sylvia—and the fact that her suspicions had been going on for a year—well … It's more convoluted than somebody attacking me because of something I know.”

“Sylvia had no idea who was trying to hurt her?”

“No,” I said. “You question Mike if you want. He told me that she told him she woke up one night and there was somebody standing at the foot of her bed. This was just after Wilma died, so about two years ago.”

“Did the person at her bed try to hurt her?”

“I don't know. I don't think she told Mike, either,” I said.

“Then it has to be some kind of connection between you and her,” he said.

“What connection? There is no connection other than I worked for her for ten years and knew her all my life. Half the people in town knew her all their lives, too. The only difference is I worked for her.”

Color crept into Colin's cheeks. “Her will.”

I stared at him.

“You got everything,” he said.

“Yes, but…”

“I checked with her lawyer.”

“And?”

“He said Sylvia had called him about six months ago and told him that no matter what anybody said, you were the beneficiary of her will. He said she was paranoid since Wilma had died that the paperwork hadn't been done correctly. Said she kept calling to double-check that everything had switched from Wilma to you. Because Wilma was her inheritor and executor and she was Wilma's, and whoever died first, the other was to switch it to you. So after Wilma died, her lawyer said she had called and called and called making sure that everything was in order. Then about six months ago, she called and stated to him that you were the beneficiary no matter what.”

There were those tears again. I reached for a tissue. “What does that mean?”

“I take it to mean that Sylvia was worried that somebody would contest the will, and she wanted you to have everything.”

“But why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would anybody contest the will? I mean,
who
could contest the will? Is that what you mean by the connection between her and me? If it's the will, then only the person who thinks they should have inherited is the culprit. Is that what you're saying?”

“I'm saying most likely. There's no other connection between the two of you, right? So it has to be a disgruntled heir.”

“But who? She had no children. Wilma had no children.”

“Their brother did.”

“He's been dead for twenty years. Maybe more.”

“Yes, and his two daughters and his son are all dead as well, but those three children had five children between them,” he said.

“But how could they think they would be left anything? As long as I have lived in this town, they've never set foot in it.”

He shook his head.

“One of them lives just over in Wisteria, and she never came to visit.”

“They all came for Wilma's funeral,” he managed to add.

“Oh, gee. ‘So glad you could show up for your great-aunt's funeral, here's my whole life savings.' Is that how they think that's supposed to work?”

“I guess they think it belongs to them more than it belongs to an outsider.”

“Well, I've got news for you, Colin Woodrow Brooke,
they
are the outsiders,” I said. “Not me. I'm the one who was here for the Pershing sisters. Nobody else.”

Colin looked taken aback.

“No,” I said and held my hands up. “That's not how I mean that to sound. I never once thought Sylvia was going to leave me all of this. I thought she'd leave me a few mementos and some photographs and the rest would go to charity. I really thought Sylvia would leave everything to Santa Lucia's or Catholic Charities. I never once thought I deserved to inherit this. But I did. And now when I think of Sylvia and Wilma, I don't think of their great-nieces and -nephews. I think of this town and everybody in it. This is who and what they loved. And their ‘family' showed just how much they cared or thought about those two old ladies, and I don't see how any of them could even think they were entitled to their belongings.”

“Well,” he said as he looked out my office window, “somebody thinks so.”

“How is hurting me going to help whoever it is get Sylvia's things?”

He turned to me then and crossed his arms. “Maybe they don't really care about the money. Maybe they just don't want you to have it.”

“Oh, so we're dealing with juveniles.”

He smiled and shook his head. “‘Vengeance is mine.'”

“‘Sayeth the Lord,'” I said. “Not for some greedy twit who's been waiting for that rich great-aunt to die.”

“Watch your back, Torie. I'll be watching it for you,” he said, “but you need to stay on your toes. Don't do anything stupid.”

“Define stupid,” I said.

Seventeen

Six hours later I went home for dinner. Mrs. O'Shea had cooked some weird dish with salmon. Since I despise salmon and so do my children, we all just moved it around on our plates. As soon as she headed for the shower we all ran to the kitchen and got out the peanut butter and jelly. I read Matthew a story, gave Fritz a bath in the upstairs sink—and subsequently had to change my clothes—kissed the girls, and went out the door to the historical society meeting at the Gaheimer House.

I drove, which in and of itself indicated my level of anxiety. When the weather is nice, and sometimes even when it isn't, I usually walk, but I didn't want to be alone on dark streets tonight. Besides, I was still pretty sore from what had happened to me at the festival; I got tired earlier than usual, and it was already well into the evening. It was eight o'clock when I arrived at the Gaheimer House, and a few people were waiting out on the sidewalk to be let in.

Charity Burgermeister was there with her miniature poodle, Heather. Heather wore a pink collar with rhinestones. Elmer Kolbe stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Elmer is the fire chief of New Kassel, and long past retirement age. Leigh Duran, Deputy Duran's wife, was in the middle of telling Charity a story about something. As soon as I pulled up, Helen Wickland came jogging across the street from the direction of her candy shop.

“Hey, everybody,” I said. “Hello, Heather.” The dog barked at me and bared its teeny tiny teeth. Really, I do want to know: When in the eons of time were poodles predators? Charity smiled her contagious smile and then sheepishly tapped the end of feisty little Heather's nose. My only hope was that the poodle was housebroken. Sylvia would come back from the dead to kill me if I allowed a dog to urinate on her hardwood floors.

My
hardwood floors, actually. It was still too bizarre for me to comprehend.

“Come on in,” I said. I didn't reset the alarm, because people would be coming in and out for the next few hours. Within minutes, ten or so members had shown up, including Eleanore Murdoch. Then my sister showed up. She wasn't a member of the historical society but, being the thoughtful person she is, realized that I might need support tonight and came of her own volition.

We were supposed to begin at eight-thirty on the nose, but we waited around for fifteen more minutes to give everybody a chance to show up. This was important, after all. Our entire slate of officers had to be decided. About forty of us were finally seated in the dining room with refreshments when I stood facing everybody and tapped on my glass. “I think we know why we are all here tonight,” I said. “We need to vote on new officers. Do we have any nominations?”

“I move that the historical society be moved from the Gaheimer House,” a voice in the back said. It was Eleanore, sitting all smug next to Leigh Duran. Rumbles erupted from the group, and I held a hand up to quiet everybody. Elmer raised his hand, and I gestured at him to speak.

Standing up ever so slowly, Elmer turned to face the gathering of members. “Moving the historical society is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. The Gaheimer House
is
the historical society. All of the records are in the basement, the computers are here, Torie's office is here. And Mr. Gaheimer's antique furnishings are here, and that's why people come to take tours in the first place. Which puts the revenue back into the historical society.”

“That is if there's anything left in the Gaheimer House for the tourists to see by the time she sells it all off,” somebody said. I glanced around to see who it was. Danny Eisenbach. I would not have thought him capable of saying such a hurtful thing, but then he has never pretended to be my best friend either. As far as I was concerned, he was just a guy who'd lived here his whole life. We moved in different circles most of the time. I never detected any hostility between us.

I held up a hand. “The only things I'm getting rid of are Sylvia's daily effects. Her toothbrush, toaster, pants, shoes. And I'm giving most of that stuff away. The Gaheimer collection stays as it is.”

Elmer, who was still standing, gave me a concerned look.

Eleanore stood. “Leaving the historical society in the grips of that woman will only mean that she still has control of it. The so-called president would be a figurehead only. I think the historical society of New Kassel should be totally removed from the Gaheimer House, so that Torie will not ‘inadvertently' be in charge of everything.”

I was floored. I sat down in my chair, and Stephanie reached over and squeezed my hand.

“I also move that the position of chairperson for events should be taken away from her, so that we have no more incidents like the one we had with the Brown Jugs,” Eleanore said.