A Deadly Edition Page 11

  “I’ll help you, since Deanna is apparently still busy with Karla,” Sunny said. “Just unzip me first, please.”

  I obliged, allowing her to change back into her sage-green cotton tunic and denim shorts before she assisted me. We carefully draped our gowns over two upholstered chairs, assuming that the store would prefer to handle hanging them.

  “I just hope Hugh and Aunt Lydia make up before the wedding,” I said as I gently laid the veil on a padded bench. “I hate to see them on the outs.”

  “It is sad. But I think it will blow over.” Sunny slipped her bare feet into a pair of open-backed sandals. “I mean, they’re both adults. And once Kurt is cleared from having anything to do with Oscar Selvaggio’s death …” She grimaced, obviously catching my expression reflected in the mirror. “You do think he’ll be cleared, right? I know he has kind of a secretive past, but I can’t imagine him doing something as foolish as killing a rival.”

  “At least not in a way that might guarantee him getting caught,” I said as I tugged on my jeans. Looking up, I met Sunny’s concerned expression with a grim smile. “He’s a charming devil, and I know he’s been a wonderful friend to Richard and me, but honestly, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  Sunny ran her fingers through her hair. “You really think he could murder someone? I mean, selling some art pieces with dubious backgrounds is one thing. Killing is another.”

  “I’m not sure.” I brushed my own mussed hair behind my ears. “But either way, that isn’t what’s worrying Aunt Lydia. She’s concerned that Hugh and his PI friend might dig up something unsavory connected to my uncle Andrew.”

  “Oh right. He and Kurt were good friends, and Kurt helped Andrew out when he got in trouble back in the day, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. I thought we’d learned all there was to know about that unfortunate period in my uncle’s life, but it’s possible there’s more to uncover.”

  “And Lydia is determined to prevent that, I suppose.” Sunny’s expression grew thoughtful. “Maybe I can help. It’s possible I could find out what’s going on with Hugh’s investigation.”

  I turned to look at her. “How exactly?”

  Her golden lashes fluttered over her bright-blue eyes. “Let’s just say I might be able to ask someone about some details. Discreetly, of course.”

  “What makes me think you’re talking about pumping Mr. Fred Nash for information?” I tipped my head and studied her deceptively innocent face. “Don’t tell me you’re already dating him.”

  “I do have plans to go out with him tonight.” Sunny beamed. “So I can see what I can find out. In a roundabout fashion, of course.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t jeopardize a possible relationship just to get info for me.”

  Sunny threw her arm around me and turned us so we were reflected side by side in the mirror. “Who’s more important? Some guy I’ve only known for a hot second, or my best friend and her family?” She pointed at me with her other hand. “You know the answer to that.”

  I leaned into her and studied our reflections. “Selvaggio was right, you know. We could pose for Hermia and Helena.”

  “Maybe. But we’ve never fought over a man like they did.” Sunny tossed her head. “And if it means helping Lydia, and by extension you, there’s only one choice I’m ever going to make.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I’m always going to push you toward your own happiness. Which might mean another choice.”

  Sunny’s smile illuminated her lovely face. “If it’s real happiness, it can’t be destroyed by me being true to my family and friends.”

  Which was, all in all, probably the wisest thing I’d ever heard my very intelligent friend say.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Sunday afternoon, I was left alone. Richard had dashed off to another rehearsal, Scott was touring the area with Ethan, and Aunt Lydia was having lunch with Zelda and Walt. Determined to keep the weeds at bay, I decided to do a little work in the garden.

  It was in good shape, due to my diligence as well as the recent efforts of Aunt Lydia and Scott. But I knew we had to stay on top of it if we hoped to keep it tidy for the wedding. The spring rains caused new weeds to sprout every day, and the early roses needed to be regularly deadheaded so they’d continue blooming into late May.

  As I wielded my clippers, cursing the thorns that somehow managed to pierce my suede garden gloves, my cell phone buzzed in the pocket of my worn cotton slacks. Yanking off my gloves, I fumbled the phone from my pocket and glanced at the number displayed on the screen.

  It was Sunny. “Hi there,” I said, crumpling my gloves in my other hand. “What are you up to today?”

  “Not much. Had a late night, so I’m basically in recovery mode,” Sunny replied.

  “Oh, that’s right. You went on a date with Fred Nash. How did that go?” I strolled over to one of the white benches at the edge of the garden path. I sat down, dropping the gloves onto the wooden plank seat.

  “Fine, but that isn’t why I called.” Sunny cleared her throat. “Along with the normal getting-to-know-you questions, I did manage to slip in a few inquiries about the investigation into Mr. Kendrick. I thought you might like to know what I found out.”

  I stretched out my legs and leaned against the back of the bench. “Of course I do. Spill.”

  “Well, here’s the thing. Fred isn’t just digging into Mr. Kendrick’s business. He’s also involved with something connected to your brother.”

  I sat bolt upright. “What? Why would he be doing that?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t go into any details. Just mentioned it in an offhand way. Actually”—concern tinged Sunny’s tone—“I think it was a slip. Because as soon as he mentioned something about Scott, he changed the subject. I couldn’t get anything else out of him after that.”

  “I guess he realized that you’re my friend and might share info.”

  “That’s what I figured. Anyway, as far as Mr. Kendrick is concerned, Fred and Hugh are looking into his past involvement with the Kelmscott Chaucer. Apparently, he might have been secretly involved in a deal over a copy of that book many years ago.”

  I stared blankly out over the garden as I recalled what Emily Moore had told me about a scandal surrounding the Chaucer. I frowned. “A stolen copy sold to someone unaware of its questionable provenance?”

  “Exactly. Fred told me there has always been a shadow hanging over that situation, even though no one was ever charged with wrongdoing. But when the buyer died, his kids sued or something. Anyway, it was a big scandal in the art world.”

  “Emily Moore told me something about that. She said the buyer died unexpectedly and the accusations of buying stolen property created so much stress that it contributed to his death. At least according to his children.”

  “Really? I guess that might be the reason why Hugh is still digging into that old scandal. He must be trying to close a cold case.”

  “And he wants to lay the blame on Kurt, I bet,” I said. “Although, according to Emily, it was Oscar Selvaggio who was directly involved in the sale.”

  “Maybe Mr. Kendrick was a silent partner or something?”

  “It’s possible.” I focused on a butterfly perched on one azure blossom in a bed of decorative thistles. “What did you think of Fred Nash? I mean, I know he’s handsome, but is there more to him than that?”

  “He’s also smart and easy to talk to.” Sunny sounded guarded, which told me she was far more interested than she wanted to admit. “He used to be a cop, you know.”

  “I’d heard that.” I didn’t mention that Brad had been the first person to share that information with me. Although I believed Sunny was totally over any romantic feelings for Brad, I still sometimes hesitated to bring him up in conversation.

  “Anyway, I liked him well enough to see him again. After that, who knows?” Sunny tossed off this information with a nonchalance I suspected she didn’t feel. I’d never seen her react to any man as strongly as she
had to Fred Nash upon meeting him. There’d been a sense of electricity sparking between them that made me question whether this might not be the start of a more serious relationship. But I wasn’t about to say anything about that. I knew such words would drive my free-spirited friend into denial.

  “Okay, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to share that bit of info, but I’m sure you have things to do, and honestly, I just want a nap,” Sunny said, before telling me good-bye.

  After we hung up, I continued to watch the butterfly dance over the spiky purple thistle flowers for a few minutes, then decided the rest of the garden work could wait. Sunny’s mention of my brother had unnerved me. The fact that he was on the radar of a PI as well as the sheriff’s department was something that required action. I needed to find a way to untangle the sticky threads of coincidence that seemed to be entrapping the truth.

  I wanted to question Kurt Kendrick, who appeared, as always, to be at the center of the web.

  * * *

  Fortunately, Walt and Zelda had picked up Aunt Lydia after church, so I had access to the car. Driving out to Highview, I reminded myself that this might be a fool’s errand. Even though Kurt often spent weekends at his country house, he also traveled a great deal and sometimes stayed in Georgetown at the townhouse next door to his gallery. There was no guarantee that he’d even be home today.

  Turning off the gravel mountain road onto Highview’s paved driveway, I was surprised to see the gates standing open. Typically the gates were left unlocked only during parties or other events. At any other time I had to use the intercom attached to a pole near the gates to introduce myself before Kurt or one of his staff would buzz me through.

  I hope I’m not crashing a party, I thought as I drove down the gently winding driveway. Lined with trees and shrubs, the drive masked the view of the house. There would be no way to know if Kurt had guests until I pulled into the circular parking area at the end of the drive. But there’s really no harm. If I spy vehicles, I’ll just turn around and leave.

  When I reached the house, I realized I’d been mistaken. Only one vehicle sat in front of the picket fence–enclosed cottage garden that separated the driveway from the house, and that was Kurt’s glamorous black Jaguar.

  I parked, sitting in my car for a moment to consider my next move. Something was off—I’d never seen the Jag parked in front of the house. A smaller driveway led to a garage behind the house, where the expensive sports car was normally kept under lock and key. Added to the oddity of the gates being open, this was a definite red flag.

  Don’t be silly, I chided myself. Kurt might have simply forgotten to close the gates after returning from some errand. Maybe he was in a hurry and just parked out front for convenience. Perhaps he plans to drive out again soon.

  That would explain everything. I shook off my sense of unease and climbed out of my car. Smoothing my loose T-shirt over my worn slacks, I reached the gate that led into the cottage garden.

  As I strolled the flagstone-paved path to the small covered porch, I admired the myriad colors of the blooming garden. Kurt’s landscaper had planted old-fashioned flowers and shrubs, most of them native to the area, and so the air was filled with fragrance—seductive scents that modern, genetically modified flowers just couldn’t match.

  Remembering Brad’s words about aconite being a common garden plant in this area, I surveyed the kaleidoscope of brightly colored flowers for any traces of blue. And there it was, in the far corner—a tall plant with feathery silver-green leaves. The spiky stems were covered in purple-blue blossoms shaped like a cap, or like the monk’s hood that had given the plant one of its common names.

  Another of which is wolfsbane. I considered the irony of this as I climbed the steps to Kurt’s front porch.

  As I reached out a finger to press the doorbell, I noticed that the forest-green front door stood slightly ajar. Like the open gates, this gave me pause. Kurt wasn’t fanatical about security, but he kept his doors locked unless he was throwing a party. And then, as I’d discovered, he always hired private security to blend in with the guests. Which made sense, given the value of the art and antiques that filled his home.

  I considered returning to my car to immediately call the sheriff’s department but decided that Kurt would probably not appreciate such an action, no matter the circumstances. I was concerned, though. Not so much about thieves, since I’d seen no other vehicles, but rather that Kurt could’ve suffered some sort of medical emergency. Despite his air of strength and vitality, he was in his seventies. He could easily have experienced a spell of light-headedness, if not something worse.

  Since Kurt didn’t keep a full-time staff, preferring to hire in a chef, cleaners, or other workers only when they were needed, I knew that he might be alone in the house. If he was incapacitated, no one would know … I pulled out my phone and held it in one hand, prepared to punch in 911.

  Before I could even lower my fingers to tap the phone, the door was yanked open and I found myself face-to-face with a strange man.

  He was almost as tall as Kurt but much thinner. Almost skeletal, I thought. There was nothing weak in his appearance, however; lean muscle sheathed his bare lower arms, and the hollows of his bony face were sharpened by genetics rather than illness. His dark hair, worn longer than most, flopped over his wide forehead, shadowing his deep-set, pale eyes.

  Eyes that blazed as he stared at me for a second before shoving me aside and barreling down the porch steps. I grabbed one of the railings to steady myself as he disappeared around the side of the house. Clinging to the balustrade, I puzzled over his lack of transportation. How had this strange man traveled to Highview without a car?

  My question was answered by the roar of an engine. The stranger, his face now covered by a black helmet, spun his oversized motorcycle out from the side of the house and raced off down the driveway.

  Recovering my balance, I dashed into the hall, allowing the door to slam behind me. I knew from other visits that a hard close would engage the automatic lock mechanism, which would hopefully keep any other strange visitors at bay.

  “Hello,” I called out. “Kurt, are you here?”

  A groan, followed by a swear word, answered me from the living room.

  I ran into the room, stopping short at the edge of one of the Oriental rugs that covered the weathered wood floor. Kurt was sprawled across the rug, his white hair stained red at one temple.

  Blood, I thought, and again raised my phone, prepared to call for help.

  “Don’t.” Kurt lifted his head and fixed me with a piercing glare.

  “You need medical attention,” I said, my fingers hovering over my phone screen.

  “Do. Not. Call.” Kurt spat out the words like bullets.

  I grimaced but pocketed my phone. “All right, but let me help you.” I crossed to him and knelt down. “I can try to lift …”

  Kurt’s laugh was raspy as a saw cutting through cement. “You can’t possibly do that, little girl. Just help me sit up. I can do the rest.”

  I didn’t even try to mask my displeasure at being called a child. “All right, old man,” I said, emphasizing the last two words.

  Kurt’s laugh roared out again, but with a more cheerful ring this time. “Touché, my dear. Now, if you don’t mind—sit down with your back to me and allow me to use your shoulder to hoist myself into a less embarrassing position.”

  I did as he requested, wincing as he reached out and pressed his heavy palm into my shoulder. He pushed off, almost shoving me over.

  I spun around to face him, eyeing the blood staining the linen handkerchief he’d pressed to his temple. “That might need stitches.”

  Kurt adjusted his legs, crossing them one over the other in a yoga pose. “I have some butterfly bandages and antiseptic upstairs. I can take care of it.”

  “Don’t you want my help?”

  “No.” Kurt looked me over. “I may be old, but I’m not feeble.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that you w
ere. Just that it might be easier for someone else to place the bandage properly. And”—I met his sardonic gaze with a lift of my chin—“a blow to the head can be dangerous. You should have someone stay with you for a while, in case you develop symptoms of a concussion.”

  “Please don’t fret. I’ve had concussions before. I know what they feel like. This is just a minor wound.”

  I scrambled to my feet, glad I was wearing long pants and a baggy shirt. I might look awkward, but at least I wasn’t showing any skin. “A minor wound that knocked you to the floor.”

  “That wasn’t the blow. That was someone kicking my legs out from under me.” Kurt motioned toward a heavy wooden chair. “Can you push that over here? I think I can stand if I have something to pull up on.”

  “Okay, but if you get dizzy and fall over again, I’m calling 911, no matter what you say.”

  “Fair enough.” Kurt waited for me to scoot the chair over, then pulled himself up to a point where he could slump into the seat. “Thank you. Now, if you could just grab me a glass of water from the kitchen, you will have fulfilled your mission of mercy and can go.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’ll get the water, but I’m not leaving. Not until I see you stand and walk around without assistance.”

  Kurt quirked his lips. “Making sure the old man doesn’t keel over?” His expression sobered as his gaze raked over me. “I don’t mind being old, you know. Not most of the time. Although, occasionally, I admit to wishing I was young enough to …” He laughed and dabbed the handkerchief at his temple, where the blood had dried to a dark blotch. “Never mind, my dear. Just make that drink Scotch instead of water. I think you know where to find the booze.”

  “In the butler’s pantry,” I said, cursing the heat that had flushed the back of my neck. “Oh, by the way, I caught Adele in there during the party, pouring herself a stiff drink.”

  Kurt’s blue eyes went cold. “Did you?” he asked lightly. “Not that I mind. She’s welcome to whatever she wants.”

  “I figured. It was just odd … But never mind. Let me get you that drink.” I turned on my heel and headed out of the room, considering Kurt’s reaction to my mention of Adele. He had seemed perturbed by my words, which was curious. Very little rattled Kurt Kendrick.