Murder Most Persuasive

Chapter 18

“She’s met somebody!” Ann shrieked into the phone.

I pulled the receiver away from my ear and said, “Who’s met somebody?”

“Bonnie!” came the hysterical answer. “Apparently he’s her ‘soul mate’ and she’s bringing him home with her! Can you believe it?”

I stared unseeingly at the article on my desk. “Wait. Bonnie is bringing home a guy? Who is he?”

“His name is Julian. Can you believe it? And not just Julian—Julian St. Clair, if you please! Dad’s funeral was only last week! Not only does she run off to a spa the day after the funeral, but now she’s coming back with her soul mate!”

“Whose name is Julian St. Clair,” I added. I admit I was somewhat at a loss for words. Granted, Bonnie certainly had outdone herself this time, but I didn’t quite understand Ann’s extreme reaction to it. “Ann, I’m sure it’s harmless. Bonnie has always been daffy. And besides, so what if she’s met someone? I mean the name does sound like a character out of a Harlequin romance novel, but where’s the harm?”

“Where’s the harm?” Ann repeated in astonishment, her voice growing shrill. “Where’s the harm? Well, aside from the general horrible tackiness of it all, there’s the potential for a great deal of harm! I haven’t gotten to the worst part yet. Julian is not only her soul mate, but her new financial adviser! Apparently he’s, and I’m quoting here, ‘an absolute genius with money.’”

“Oh,” I said. “Oh, God.”

“Oh, shit is more like it! What am I going to do? They’re coming home today!”

“Okay. Don’t panic,” I said, hoping to calm her down. “Nothing has happened. Yet. Maybe Julian is actually a nice, stable accountant. Maybe he is her soul mate.”

Of course, neither of us believed that. Nevertheless, we weren’t prepared for the horrible reality that was Julian.

After work I went straight to Uncle Marty’s house. Ann looked terrible. Her eyes appeared dazed and her color pale. Her hair stood out in various directions in a manner that suggested she’d been pulling at it. A lot. In lieu of a greeting, she handed me a large glass of white wine. “Here. You’re going to need this,” she said.

I took the glass. “He’s that bad?”

“Worse.”

I trusted Ann’s judgment. I took a sip. “Where is he?” I asked.

“They’re both out on the back patio. Come on,” she said wearily, turning and heading that way.

With some trepidation, I followed her. I caught sight of Bonnie first. Wearing cream linen pants and a coral silk blouse, she was reclining on the chaise longue with Scarlett curled up at her feet. Oversized sunglasses hid most of her face. In her right hand, she held a martini glass; in her left, a cigarette. Seeing me, she smiled and sat up a little straighter. “Elizabeth, darling! How are you? Annabel tells me you’ve been just a wonderful help to her this past week. She certainly looks better than she has in years! Her face has gotten some color in it.” To Ann, she asked, “Ann, dear, did you start using that new moisturizer I gave you? It’s supposed to work wonders.”

“No.”

“Oh, well. You should, you know. You know what they say about the face. It’s the gateway to the soul.”

“That would be the eyes, actually,” said Ann.

Bonnie crinkled her nose and considered this. “Well, the moisturizer is supposed to help with crow’s-feet, too.” Shifting her gaze to my direction, she said, “Anyway, thank you, Elizabeth, for all your help to Ann. It’s all such a ghastly mess. I know I could never stomach it. I’d be hopeless at it.”

It was unclear if she was referring to the murder investigation or the cataloging of Uncle Marty’s things. Not that it really mattered. Either way she was right—she would have been hopeless at both.

Bonnie continued, “Now, I’d like to introduce you to someone very special. Elizabeth, this is my friend Julian St. Clair.” With a smoky flourish, she gestured to the man sitting languidly at the table.

I now understood the reason for Ann’s distress. I’d heard the term lounge lizard, but until now I had never visualized one. Next to the definition in the dictionary, there should be a picture of Julian. I judged him to be in his early to late fifties. He was fit, deeply tan, with slicked black hair and predatory blue eyes. His mouth was full, his cheeks were artfully stubbled, and his chin was weak. He wore an expensive beige linen blazer, tight black jeans, and Italian loafers. I revised my earlier categorization of him as someone out of a Harlequin romance novel; he was more like the villain from one of the cheesier Bond movies.

As I turned his way, he politely rose to his feet. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m so looking forward to meeting all of Bonnie’s extended family,” he said in a voice that hinted at a foreign accent. From where I couldn’t tell, but I would bet money that it was about as authentic as his tan. Glancing over at Bonnie, he whispered confidentially to me, “She’s quite a special lady.”

Oh, please. I took a quick sip of wine to hide the disgusted grimace I was quite sure was visible on my face. Bonnie simpered. Scarlett ignored us all and slept. For once, she had the right idea.

Julian continued. “Bonnie tells me that you have been helping Ann sort out this unfortunate business with the murder of the young man, Michael?”

“Well, we’ve been doing what we can to help the police,” I answered, taking a seat at the table. I was unsure how much Ann had actually shared with Bonnie and how much Bonnie had made up.

“Such a terrible tragedy,” he murmured. “Bonnie mentioned that she had concerns about her own dear husband’s death.”

I looked over at Bonnie in annoyance. Was she really still pushing her ridiculous theory that Marty was murdered? Bonnie met my glance with an innocent wide-eyed gaze.

“I told Julian all about it,” she said breathlessly. “He agrees with me about poor Marty. Tell me, do the police think there’s a connection?”

“No,” I answered firmly. Changing the subject, I turned back to Julian and said, “I understand that you two met at the spa?”

“Yes,” said Julian. “I noticed Bonnie one morning at the pool. I could see right away from her amazing aura that she was a singular individual. I introduced myself and our connection was instantaneous—almost cosmic.” He smiled at Bonnie, his small white teeth flashing brilliantly in the sunlight. From the doorway, Ann made a noise and abruptly went back inside.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Did you say her ‘aura’?”

Julian nodded and leaned toward me, his manner intimate and faintly flirtatious. “Yes, her spiritual signature is very clear and strong. As you must already know, the aura is a reflection of our true nature at any given moment.” He placed his hand over mine. I wasn’t surprised to see that his nails were manicured and buffed to a glossy shine and that he was wearing a gold pinkie ring. “Surely a clever young woman such as yourself must have noticed it,” he said as he leaned toward me. The small movement sent a whiff of his cologne my way. My nostrils began to sting. And then burn.

I quickly slid my hand out from under his and moved it under my nose to block the odor. Unfortunately, the scent had transferred itself to my fingers. My eyes began to water. Julian continued, unaware of my distress. “Of course, not everyone has the trained eye. Bonnie’s aura is bright, clean pink. It’s very rare.”

“Of course it is,” I murmured, as I tried to pinpoint the main ingredient of the smell. Gasoline? Formaldehyde?

“The pink aura is an indication that the individual has achieved a perfect balance between spiritual awareness and the material existence.” I glanced at Bonnie to gauge her reaction to this, but she was busy admiring her manicure, her satisfied expression signifying a kind of spiritual appreciation of the material, I guess.

“Well, that is something,” I said in what I hoped was a tone of awe. Julian completely missed the sarcasm in my voice and nodded importantly. Bonnie attempted to look modest.

“The most advanced people also have a yellow halo around their head,” Julian continued, as if sharing a secret.

“Like Jesus?” I cried excitedly.

This time Julian caught the sarcasm. His eyes narrowed slightly and he leaned away from me. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a very distinctive aura, my dear? It’s very dark.”

“Oh, I know,” I replied confidentially. “But that’s because I’m Irish. To paraphrase Yeats, we Irish have an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustains us through temporary periods of joy.”

Julian said nothing. Lighting one of those small, nasty-smelling European cigarettes, he leaned farther back in his chair and turned his attention back to Bonnie. He was not going to waste any more time trying to charm me, for which I was grateful. Frankly, I don’t think my nose could take it.

Julian and Bonnie went out for dinner that night. Ann and I opted to eat in—not that we were asked to join them, of course, and not that we would have even if we were asked. With their departure, Ann and I settled into our routine of the past week. We cooked a simple dinner (grilled chicken, squash, brown rice) and took our plates out onto the back patio. The night was almost cool (that previously mentioned breeze from either the north or south having picked up) and the stars stood out with unusual intensity. If it weren’t for the lingering scent of Julian’s cologne, it might have all seemed a very bad dream. Bonnie was absolutely besotted with the man and clearly had every intention of handing over the entire contents of her bank account to him for “handling.” As a grown woman (at least according to her birth certificate), she had every right to make all the idiotic decisions she wanted to. However, as she was still holding on to the proceeds from the sale of the St. Michaels house, I very much doubted that Julian’s role of financial adviser would go uncontested by the rest of the family.

“Can you believe this?” Ann asked, as she angrily speared a piece of chicken. “It’s bad enough that I’ve got to deal with a murder investigation, but then Bonnie decides to bring home some greasy boy toy who not only ‘sees auras’ but smells like he’s been marinating in gigolo juice! Have you ever smelled anything so god-awful in your life?”

I laughed. “No, but I imagine that cologne is restricted to a very elite clientele, clientele obviously lacking in olfactory cells.”

“I can’t imagine the ingredients in that concoction are legal.” Ann rolled her eyes in disgust. “But in any case, it’s not the sort of scent you’d expect from your money investor.”

“Speaking of which, what are we going to do about that? We can’t allow Bonnie to give him access to her accounts. He’ll drain them dry!”

“I know. I know,” Ann said with a shake of her head. “But short of having her committed, I don’t know what we can do.”

“Have you called Reggie and Frances and brought them up to date?”

“Yes. We’re going to meet for dinner tomorrow night. I want to talk to them both before they come here. I don’t think they completely understand the severity of the situation. I don’t think anyone really can until they meet Julian in person.”

I nodded. “The smell alone will tip them off.”

It was late by the time Bonnie and Julian returned. Ann made a point of staying up until they got home so she could make sure that Julian at least began the night in the second guest bedroom. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let her take that man into her bedroom,” she said. “All that oil in his hair will ruin the good sheets.”

Bonnie made no objection to the arrangement, a factor I took as a good sign. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to knock some sense into her silly head. Once Julian retired for the night (after making a big show of gallantly kissing Bonnie’s hand), Bonnie followed Ann and me into the kitchen. Pouring herself a glass of white wine, she settled herself at the kitchen counter and said, “So how are the plans coming for Marty’s party?”

Ann turned and contemplated her stepmother in horrified disbelief. “The party? Well, gee, Bonnie, I haven’t really had time to do anything about that. I’ve been rather busy, you know?”

Bonnie’s blue eyes opened in surprise. “Busy? Doing what?”

Ann let out a strangled laugh. “A great deal, actually. I’ve been cataloging and organizing everything Dad mentioned in his will, not to mention dealing with the police.”

Bonnie shrugged. Never having had to organize anything beyond her shoes, she didn’t see the problem. “Well, I would still like to have it. I think Saturday would be perfect.”

Ann gaped at her. “Saturday? This Saturday?” Bonnie nodded. “But it’s already Thursday! I can’t possibly put together a memorial party in just two days!”

“Oh, Annabel, I’m sure Elizabeth here will help you. Besides, as I’ve always told you, you can do whatever you put your mind to.” Bonnie lifted the wineglass in a toast to Ann and took a large sip.

Ann turned to me, her expression one of incredulous fury. While I don’t confess to an ability to read minds, I nevertheless had a pretty good idea what Ann would do right now if, as Bonnie suggested, she just put her mind to it. And while it was true that Ann could always count on me, I didn’t think assault and verbal battery was our best course of action right now.

“I’d be happy to help,” I said quickly, hoping to forestall the outburst I saw forming in Ann’s head. “Ann and I will get started on that now. Bonnie, you must be exhausted. Why don’t you go to bed and let us get started with the plans? We can tell you all about it in the morning.”

Bonnie slumped a little in her seat and nodded. “It has been an exhausting week,” she admitted with a small sigh. “Julian’s been wonderful, of course, but even he can’t take away the dreadful shock of Marty’s death.”

Next to me, Ann’s mouth began to twist and curl in an apparent effort to prevent herself from screaming. “Exactly,” I said. “You should get to bed. Ann and I can handle this. You’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

Bonnie took another sip of her wine before setting the glass on the counter. “You’re probably right. Let me know what I can do to help,” she said to Ann, as she slid out of her chair and scooped up Scarlett. “Julian and I have lunch plans and after that I’m taking him sightseeing. But I should be around later. I think. It really depends on what Julian wants to do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ann said through clenched teeth.

With a backward wave of her hand, Bonnie floated out of the kitchen, Scarlett tucked under her arm.

“She’s—” Ann began, but I cut her off.

“Yes, she is. And more. But there’s no point wasting your breath about it. She is what she is. We’ll call everyone and tell them to be here at five on Saturday. We’ll get some steaks and wine and do a cookout. That will be the easy part. The hard part will be convincing her not to hand over all the money to Julian.”

“Is there anything we can do legally?” Ann asked.

“Short of having her ruled incompetent by the courts, I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’m sure as hell going to find out. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit by and let her drain everything my father worked for just so she can hand it over to that gigolo.”

“Don’t worry. That won’t happen. I promise,” I said.