Death In Duplicate

TWENTY-FIVE

GRANDPARENTS WHO ARE HAPPY TAKING CARE OF THEIR grandchildren are the best people on earth, Susan decided. She was watching Kathleen give final instructions to her father-in-law about helping her son with his homework. Finished, Kathleen picked up a large canvas boat bag and hurried down the driveway to the curb where Susan waited in her car. “That man is so sweet. He and Alex are making a volcano that actually explodes as a science project.”

“I think the word is erupt,” Susan said, remembering the mess the combination of baking soda and vinegar had left on her kitchen table back when her son was in elementary school. “Or maybe explode is more like it. Where’s Jerry’s mom?”

“Listening to NPR and hemming her granddaughter’s Easter dress,” Kathleen said, fastening her seat belt.

“The woman is a saint.”

“You can say that again. She’s also making lamb stew for dinner tonight. Jerry and I always gain a ton when his parents are here, but the extra pounds are worth it.” Kathleen took a bright red Tupperware carton from her bag and pried off the top. She passed it to Susan. “Have a coconut cranberry oatmeal cookie.”

“Thanks! Also your mother-in-law’s work?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. They’re delicious!”

“They are, aren’t they? I brought a few dozen. I thought we might offer them to some of the residents.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“You know, you didn’t explain a whole lot when you called. Are we going to the nursing home first or are we going to look for the Baineses’ house?”

“Depends which ferry we catch. We’re due at Perry Island Care Center for dinner at noon.”

“You mean lunch, don’t you?”

“I think the main meal of the day is at noon in most nursing homes,” Susan said.

“Well, since they think we’re there to check out the food for your mother, they probably won’t expect us to do more than taste everything.”

“No, and we can use the time to talk to people.”

“Do you think the residents know anything at all about who owns the place where they live?”

“I don’t know. Some of the women I spoke with were really sharp,” Susan answered. “Of course, even if Donald is right about who owns P.I.C.C., he might be lying about Shannon ’s cousin.”

“That’s what you’re hoping, isn’t it? You don’t want him involved in this.”

Susan kept her eyes on the road. “That’s true.”

“But you don’t even know him. I know he’s young, but he might be a truly bad person. He might be the killer.”

“He might, but I don’t think he is. Shannon ’s not the only person who believes in him. I told you about the resident I met there…”

“The one with the grandson at Yale,” Kathleen said.

“Yes. She seemed like a very smart person. And she liked him, said he wasn’t a person who would hurt anyone else.”

“And you believe her.”

“I do.”

“So who do you think the murderer is?”

“I have no idea. Donald is the only person I know of who benefits from the deaths.”

“But he lost his wife and his mother.”

“And gained freedom and a whole lot of money.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Not really. Brett’s seen Nadine’s will and he said that Nadine and Donald had left everything to each other. So we know Donald didn’t lose anything financially when she died, but Brett doesn’t know whether Donald’s mother owned the entire agency and left it to him or if they owned it jointly or what.”

“Of course there’s his mother’s house. That’s got to be worth a fortune.”

“Her house?”

“Yes. Susan, you know where she lives, don’t you?”

“I have no idea.”

“Woodwinds.”

“Woodwinds? When did she move in there? I had no idea!”

Kathleen considered the question. “Sometime last summer. The only reason I know about it is that there was talk of the garden club holding a benefit party on the grounds there last August, but after the sale went through we had to find another location.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I never imagined that Blaine Baines had that kind of money.”

“What kind of money?”

“Rich people’s money. Kathleen, Woodwinds was on the market for years. I’ll bet I’ve seen over a dozen ads for it-in the Times, even the estates for sale section of Architectural Digest-and I know the price was well over ten million dollars!”

“What?”

“Ten million dollars!”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Jed always says that a rock and roll star would be the only person who could afford it.”

“I can’t imagine the Rolling Stones practicing guitar riffs in that music room,” Kathleen commented.

“I remember you telling me it was one of the most beautiful rooms you had ever seen,” Susan said. “I still regret not going on that tour.”

Woodwinds was the name of one of the great Connecticut shore estates. Set in the middle of ten well-tended acres, it had been built in the thirties for a famous musician who loved to entertain. It was known for its three-story rotunda, sunken living room, massive music room, and formal dining room where guests, staying in one of the house’s nine bedrooms, had cavorted for decades until the owner died. Kathleen had toured the public rooms years ago during a rare opening of the home to raise money for a local charity.

“You know, it’s odd that Woodwinds was empty for so long,” Kathleen said.

“Not as odd as Blaine Baines buying it. Why would a single woman need a home that large? Or a music room?”

“Status? It’s a fabulous house on a fabulous property. The greenhouses alone-”

“There are greenhouses there?”

“Yes, they’re huge. Right behind the pool house. That’s where we wanted to hold the garden club benefit.”

They drove along in silence for a while and then Susan spoke up. “I wonder if the property could be subdivided.”

“And if Blaine Baines bought it planning to develop it,” Kathleen continued, catching on immediately.

“Yeah. If she could build ten large homes on an acre each on the water, she could probably sell them and get her own home for free.”

“It’s possible,” Kathleen said. “But two-acre zoning is standard in that part of town, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, but that’s easy to find out down at the municipal offices… Oh, damn! I almost missed the turn-off!” Susan slammed on the brake and made a sharp right turn. The driver of the Lincoln Navigator behind her made his anger known with twin blasts on his horn and Susan flinched. “I hate it when people do that to me, too,” she said. “It’s only a few more miles to the ferry. We may make the early run.”

“Great.”

By staying a few miles over the speed limit, they arrived at the ferry landing as the boat began loading for the trip to the island. Almost without a pause, Susan guided her Cherokee into the center of the ship, switched off the engine, and turned to her friend. “Want to ride over in here or to get out?”

“It’s warmer in here.”

“Definitely.”

“So let’s stay…” The ferry lurched just as it began its trip and stopped Kathleen in midsentence. “This means we can find the Baineses’ house before going to the nursing home, right?”

“It means we can try to find it. Brett gave me the address and I recognized the name of the road which, I think, is the one that circles the island. We’ll just drive around and, if we come across it, we’ll-”

“We’ll what?”

“We’ll look around to see if we find any evidence that Mike Armstrong was ever there.”

“Do you believe Donald’s story that he helped Mike Armstrong hide when the police were looking for him after the deaths on Perry Island were discovered to be murders?” Kathleen asked, remembering what Brett had told Susan this morning.

“I think it’s weird that anyone would stay on the island if they were trying to avoid the police,” Susan answered.

“The police may have set up some sort of roadblock at the ferry dock so that it was impossible to come and go without detection.”

“Maybe, but lots of people on the island must own boats and might have helped Mike if he felt it was important to flee. And there are people on the mainland who could have traveled across the Sound, tied up at a private dock where no one was home, and helped Mike leave.”

“That’s possible. But it’s also possible that the young man didn’t have the right contacts to have access to a boat and was thrilled to stay at the Baineses’ house until the investigation had cooled down a bit.”

“True.” She started the engine as the ferry bumped gently into the shore. “Well, maybe we’ll know more in a bit.”

“How are we going to learn anything without getting into the house?”

“Donald told Brett that there’s a key hidden beneath a flowerpot near the back door.”

“How convenient.”

“Well, we’ll find out if it’s there if we find the house.” Susan drove off the boat and turned at the first main road they came to. “This is the road. Brett said to turn right and continue on for three or four miles.”

“What number are we looking for?” Kathleen asked, peering out the windshield.

“That’s the problem. The island has a quaint tradition of naming properties rather than bothering with boring things like street numbers. We’re looking for Windswept. Apparently it’s painted on a board at the end of a dirt road that leads to their driveway.”

“You’re kidding. How do people get deliveries? Mail or FedEx or whatever?”

“I have no idea. Just keep looking on your side of the road for Windswept. It must be on the water, don’t you think?”

“It may be, but that doesn’t mean we’ll find it,” Kathleen replied, squinting to read a hand-painted sign that, as far as she could guess, said UBERHOLM.

They drove along slowly, but they didn’t find what they were searching for. Susan was about to suggest giving up when she realized what she was looking for was right in front of her. “That’s it! Windswept! It isn’t on the water! It’s right there. On the left. On my side!” She slammed on the brakes, turned down the road she had almost missed, and found herself on a narrow, bumpy dirt road through the woods. During the summer, it would be impossible to look through the woods, but now, with the leaves barely covering the branches on the trees, there could be little doubt that the house they were traveling toward had no near neighbors.

“Tell me again why Donald says he allowed Mike to live in this house,” Kathleen demanded.

“He told Brett that Mike had trouble finding a place to stay on the island and, since he was working nights, didn’t want to travel back and forth to the mainland. So Donald offered Mike a room in the caretaker’s cottage on the property here in exchange for helping keep the driveway plowed in the winter.”

“I don’t understand how they even ended up in contact with each other.”

“Well, Donald claims that Mike went to the real estate agency in town looking for a place. And the agent there, who knows that the Baineses rent out their place in the summer and were looking for someone to do some minor caretaking over the winter, put them in contact with each other.”

“Makes sense.”

“Yes, but there is one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“ Shannon was doing laundry when I left and I ran down to the basement and asked her about all this and she says it’s a lie. She says that when Mike couldn’t get off the island for some reason, he sacked out in a storage room near the kitchen, that he never, ever stayed in any place owned by the Baineses.”

“Interesting… Well, will you look at that?”

“Yes.” Susan put her foot on the brake and both women stared at the sight before them. “Will you look at that?” Susan repeated Kathleen’s words.