Whiskey Beach Part 92

"But in this case, none of it fits. Duncan wasn't an idiot, and he wouldn't have met the guy he was shadowing alone, in a deserted area. Unless he got a wild hair to go to the lighthouse at night in the middle of a storm, he went to meet someone and most likely someone he knew. And someone killed him. You're alibied, and there's absolutely nothing to indicate you and Duncan ever met or spoke. Nothing to indicate you hauled your b.u.t.t from Boston, where it's confirmed you were when Abra Walsh was a.s.saulted here in this house, then arranged to meet Duncan, killed him, then hauled back to Boston to toss his office, his apartment, then hauled back here again. n.o.body's buying that."

"Wolfe-"

Sherrilyn shook her head. "I'm not sure even Wolfe can swallow it, as hard as he might try. Now if he can tie Walsh to it somehow so you had help, or find you contacted an accessory in Boston to do that end, that would go down."

"Someone planted the murder weapon in Abra's house."

"What?" She straightened up, her eyes as sharp and annoyed as her tone. "Why the h.e.l.l didn't I know about this?"

"I'm sorry. I just found out myself Monday."

Mouth grim, she took a notebook and pen out of her briefcase. "Give me the rundown."

He told her what he knew, watched her write her notes in what he thought of as cop shorthand.

"Sloppy frame-up," she concluded. "Whoever did it is impulsive, disorganized and maybe a little stupid."

"He murdered a seasoned investigator, and so far he's gotten away with it."

"Even stupid can be lucky. I'd like to see this cottage before I go back to Boston."

"I'll ask Abra."

"And this trench in your bas.e.m.e.nt. I'll take a shot at the local boys, see how much they'll share with me." She tapped her pen on the page as she studied Eli. "In our e-mail and phone conversations you've indicated you think this may all be connected."

"It's a lot of d.a.m.n coincidence otherwise."

"Maybe. There's another one I dug up I find interesting."

She took out yet another file. "About five months ago, Justin Suskind purchased a property known as Sandcastle, on the north point of Whiskey Beach."

"He ... he bought property here?"

"That's right. It's deeded in the name of Legacy Corp., a sh.e.l.l company he set up. His wife isn't listed on the deed or the mortgage. If and when they proceed with a divorce, it should come out. It's very possible, at this point, she's not aware of it."

"Why the h.e.l.l would he buy a house here?"

"Well, it's a nice beach, and it's still a buyer's market real-estate-wise." Her smirk reappeared. "But the cynic in me says he has other motives. We could speculate he hopes to catch you in a mistake, and avenge his dead lover, but you weren't living here five months ago, and had no plans to."

"Bluff House was here. My grandmother ..."

"None of this connects him in any way I can see with your wife's death, and that's why you hired me. But I love a puzzle or I wouldn't be in this business. Add nosy. He buys property here, reasonably close to your landmark family home, a place my information indicates you rarely visited after your marriage."

"Lindsay didn't like it here. She and my grandmother didn't get along."

"I'd imagine she might bring up the house, and all that goes with it, in pillow talk. So a few months after she dies, her lover buys the property. And you have a trench in the bas.e.m.e.nt, a grandmother in the hospital, a PI shadowing you, then killed. And now the murder weapon planted in the home of the woman you're involved with. What's at the core of that, Eli? Not you. You weren't here when he took the first step. What's at the core?"

"Esmeralda's Dowry-something that probably doesn't exist, and if it does sure as h.e.l.l isn't buried in the bas.e.m.e.nt. He left my grandmother to die."

"Maybe. Can't prove it yet, but maybe. I wouldn't have given you all this information if my gauge didn't tell me you're not the type to fly off and do the stupid. Don't screw up my record on character judgment."

He shoved up because he did feel like flying off and doing the stupid. "He could've killed her. She lay there, G.o.d knows how long. A defenseless old woman, and he left her to die. He could've killed Lindsay."

He whirled back. "His wife could be lying, covering for him out of loyalty or fear. He's capable of killing. The odds are Duncan's on him, too. Who else? Who else would care what I was doing? I thought it was Lindsay's family, but this makes more sense."

"I did some digging there. Nosy," she repeated. "The Piedmonts had an excellent firm and two of their top investigators on this, in Boston. They let them go about three weeks ago."

"Let ... They let it go?"

"My information is the investigators reported there was nothing left to find. I'm not saying they won't hire another firm, but I can say they didn't hire Kirby Duncan."

"If Suskind did, he'd know when I left the house, where I was, how much time he'd have to dig. He was in the house the night I was in Boston because Duncan told him I was in Boston. Then Abra came in. If she hadn't defended herself, he might've ..."

Sherrilyn sat as he paced to the terrace doors and back. "You said Duncan was a straight shooter."

"That's his rep, yeah."

"Vinnie-Deputy Hanson-went to see him the night of the break-in here, to question him. He told Duncan about the break-in, about Abra. A straight shooter wouldn't like being used so a client could break the law, put hands on a woman. So Suskind killed him rather than risk exposure."

"It could make a tidy box, when and if it can be proved. Right now?" She tapped the files again. "All we can prove is he bought property. And his wife didn't strike me as loyal or afraid, not when I talked to her. Humiliated and bitter. I don't know why she'd lie for him."

"He's still the father of her children."

"True enough. I'll keep on it. Meanwhile, I'm going to take a look around here, see if I can find out what Suskind's been up to. Get a bead on him."

"I want you to give the cops what you have on him."

She winced. "That hurts. Listen, the cops will want to talk to him, ask questions, get their own gauge. It could scare him off, and we end up blowing our best angle. Give me a little time, say a week. Let me see what I can finesse."

"A week," Eli agreed.

"Why don't you show me the famous hole in your bas.e.m.e.nt."

Downstairs she took a couple of shots with a little digital camera. "A lot of determination here," she commented. "I read up a little on this dowry, the s.h.i.+p and so on, but just to get a general overview. I'd like to have one of my people do some more in-depth research on it, if that's okay with you."

"It's fine. I've been doing some of my own. If there was anything, we'd have found it a long time ago. He's wasting his time."

"Probably. But it's a big house. Lots of hidey-holes, I imagine."

"Most of it was built years after the Calypso. Whiskey built it, generation by generation, along with the distilleries, the warehouses, the offices."

"You didn't go into the family business," she said as they started out.

"It's my sister's thing. She's good at it. I'll be the Landon in Bluff House. There's been one here," he explained, "always, since it was no more than a stone cottage on this bluff."

"Traditions."

"Matter."