The Silver Anniversary Murder Page 17

  When the festivities were over, we all went out for a fine lunch and then returned home. My cousin Gene was with us. He and Eddie are great buddies and my in-laws understand that Gene is a close part of the family. He was dressed more formally than we were and I persuaded him to take his jacket off in the restaurant and be comfortable. After my in-laws returned to Brooklyn, Gene stayed on and played with Eddie till late in the afternoon.

  It was a satisfying day. When it was just the three of us again, I went to the phone to call Ariana, but before I picked it up, it rang.

  “Where’s the girl?”

  It took me a second to fit the angry voice to Joe Fox.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Mrs. Brooks, this is Joe Fox. Where is Ariana Brinker?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her today. We had a family affair. I was just about to call her at the hotel.”

  “Don’t bother. She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She checked out of the hotel.”

  I looked down at the answering machine to see if it was blinking, but it wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I haven’t seen her and she hasn’t left a message.”

  “She’s skedaddled, Mrs. Brooks. You’ll never see her again. She knows we were closing in on her and she’s taken off. Do you know if she has a passport?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I expect she’s out of the country by now.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, thinking that she would not leave without her stash. She would have to return to Chicago first—if she had told me the truth about where she put the money.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she has an estate lawyer in New York and I’m sure she’s heir to whatever her parents left behind. And she was determined to bury her parents. That was very important to her.”

  “She’s a good actress, that one,” he said gruffly. “She says what she wants you to hear. Who’s her estate lawyer?”

  I didn’t want to tell him. The truth was, I had forgotten her name although I could see her clearly in my mind. “I don’t know. She’s in New York. That’s all I remember.”

  “What’s the girl’s Chicago address?”

  “I have no idea. She said she had traded apartments with a friend—and I don’t know the friend’s name and don’t know what her previous address was.”

  “For a woman with a lot of information, you’re missing some fundamental items.”

  His tone and insinuations annoyed me. “I’ve told you what I know. There isn’t any more.”

  “Stay in touch.” He hung up.

  Before telling Jack what had happened, I called the motel and asked for Ariana Brinker.

  A second voice came on and asked who I was.

  “Christine Bennett Brooks.”

  “Mrs. Brooks, Ms. Brinker left a message for you in case you called. Just a minute, please.” She put me on hold briefly. “Here it is. ‘I’m OK. Don’t worry about me. You’ll hear from me.’ ”

  I hung up the phone and told Jack.

  “I don’t like it,” he said. “My gut tells me something’s wrong.”

  Mine did too but I tried to ignore it. “She wouldn’t leave the country without the money.”

  “Maybe she put it into checking accounts instead of safe-deposit boxes.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “How many checking accounts could she open?”

  “As many as she had time for. She might have gotten certificates of deposit. When they came due, she could transfer them easily into checking accounts or have the bank send her a check, wherever she was.”

  “She didn’t run,” I said.

  “Boy, you get stubborn when you defend someone you like.”

  “So do you. It’s not such a bad trait. She’s innocent, Jack. She didn’t murder her parents.”

  “Have it your way.”

  I didn’t respond.

  I sat for several minutes, thinking. Finally, I called the motel back. “Did Miss Brinker take a shuttle to one of the airports or order a taxi?” I asked the young man who answered.

  “I wasn’t on duty,” he said. “Can I call you back when I’ve checked?”

  “Please.” I gave him my number and sat down to wait.

  Five minutes later he reported back. “I’ve checked the shuttle lists and she’s not on it. And I called the taxi company we use and they didn’t pick her up.”

  “Thanks so much. I appreciate your looking into this.”

  She must have taken the rental car to one of the airports, I thought. I didn’t know what company she had used or if she had gotten it through the hotel. Why did you do this, Ariana? I thought. You must have known how bad it would look.

  The phone rang, jarring me. I had put it on the table next to my chair. I grabbed it and answered. There was a lot of noise at the far end.

  “Chris? It’s me, Ariana.”

  “Ariana, thank goodness.” I saw Jack look up.

  “Did you get my message?”

  “Yes, but I’m worried anyway. And Detective Fox called. He’s furious.”

  “I don’t care about him. I care about you. I just wanted you to know I’m all right and you shouldn’t worry.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In an airport.”

  “I can tell that. Which airport? Let me come and get you.”

  “No. Listen, I’ve got a pile of quarters here and I’m afraid they’ll run out before I tell you something very important.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I know who did it, who killed my parents. I don’t know if I can prove it, but I’m going to try.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “I think I know the motive. Listen to me, I sound like a cop, don’t I?”

  “You really know who did it?”

  “I think so. I figured it out. I want a little more information and I think I know where to find it.”

  “You’re not leaving the country.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Detective Fox thinks that’s where you’ve gone.”

  The operator came on and I waited while she deposited a few dollars’ worth of quarters.

  Then she said, “Are you still there, Chris?”

  “I’m here, yes. Tell me what you know.”

  “Not yet. It sounds so crazy. I think they did it for the money.”

  “Was the money originally stolen?”

  “I don’t think so. I think my parents got it from my grandmother just as they told me. At least, it’s possible.”

  “Can I join you wherever you are?”

  “You’ve done enough. Stay home with your family. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Ariana, Jack and I are—”

  “I have to go,” she said, interrupting. “Good-bye.” She hung up before I could respond.

  Jack listened patiently as I related every word I could remember of the conversation. “And she wouldn’t tell you where she is or where she’s going?”

  “No. She’s in an airport, but it doesn’t have to be one of the New York ones. I suspect she hopped on a flight this afternoon and she’s on the second leg to wherever she’s going.”

  “She didn’t give you any clue who the killer is or how she figured it out?”

  “Nothing, but she did say it was about the money.”

  “But you don’t know why she thinks that.”

  I shook my head. “Joseph said it only looked like it was about the money, but that it wasn’t, that it was about something much more important.”

  “Remember that Sister Joseph sees a lot of things differently from the way other people do.”

  “I know.” I was racking my brain to figure out what it was that might have tipped her off.

  “Chris, you have every piece of information that Ariana has. You gave her most of what she knows. You’ve been to every place she’s gone to. If she can figure it out, so can you.”

  “Sh
e must have sat in the hotel room last night or this morning and thought about it. She had the letters from the two lawyers, both written by her parents. Maybe they said something that she didn’t read to me. Maybe they tried to give her some hint.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jack said. “They spent their lives keeping information from her. Why would they turn around and tell her what they had worked so hard to keep secret? And why a hint? If they wanted her to know, they’d tell her outright. I don’t think it’s in those letters.”

  “Then what?” What? I asked myself again. What? There was the folder of papers I had seen in the desk that had been found abandoned in a field. Except for the newspaper clipping describing my exploits here in town last year, there had been nothing of interest. There were the pictures she had copied for me. What else? The money, the SUV, the empty apartment. Maybe a U-Haul had been rented, but so what? It had been returned and used a dozen times. We had spoken to Mr. Benson Monday night, the man who had seen the Brinkers load their SUV with furniture.

  Why had they loaded their SUV if they weren’t moving anywhere?

  “You look like you’re burning up a lot of brain cells.”

  “Why did they load the SUV if they weren’t moving anywhere?”

  “Good question. Maybe they were moving and these people finished the job for them. Maybe they helped the killers at gunpoint.”

  “Yes,” I said. “And maybe something else.”

  22

  I sat by myself trying to think where Ariana was headed. There were three possible destinations, unless she knew something I could not imagine. The first was Madison. The money had been there and the house was there. For a while, at least, the killers had been there. If she were lying about having figured it out and wanted only a little time to settle her affairs, take the money, and run, then she could be on her way to Chicago. But suppose she had lied about putting the money away in Chicago. I had left her in Madison. She could have deposited the money in banks in Wisconsin, or even in banks along her drive from Madison to Chicago. If the money wasn’t all in one city, it would be hard to find. I didn’t even want to think about that, but it sounded like a reasonable thing to do, and not difficult.

  It was even possible that she had reburied the money behind the house, although I thought that would be dangerous. The killers had been to Madison, might even still be there, and might decide to dig up the yard at their leisure. No one was living in the house, the window had been repaired, and the neighbors couldn’t see over the shrubbery. What had given us privacy might allow them to do damage without being seen.

  The third destination was Portland. What could she hope to find there? I had asked Jessie Brinker to check some things for me and I hadn’t heard from her, but that wasn’t surprising. I had just talked to her yesterday.

  If Ariana had flown to Madison, she would have had to change planes and could have called from the airport in Chicago or Detroit between flights. Both Chicago and Portland were likely to be direct flights.

  I went to my notes and found the list of phone numbers she had given me. I had one for Wally Keller at his office and another at his home. I reached for the phone and dialed the home number.

  His wife answered and called him to pick up.

  “Mrs. Brooks?” he said.

  “Yes. I hope I’m not intruding. Have you heard from Ariana today?”

  “Haven’t heard a word since the three of us looked at the things in that SUV. Is something wrong?”

  “I’m just trying to chase her down,” I said lightly. “She was here for a while. I thought she might be on her way to Madison.”

  “She could be, but she didn’t tell me. Any developments on the homicides?”

  “Not so far. I don’t suppose the Madison police arrested the driver of that SUV?”

  “Nah. I’ve talked to them a couple of times. I think those folks came back, found the car towed, and high-tailed it out of town.”

  “You’re probably right. Mr. Keller, if Ariana turns up, would you give me a ring?” I said it casually.

  “Tell you what. If she comes here, I’ll tell her you called.”

  “That’s fine.” Lawyers, I thought. I hadn’t been clever enough. He wasn’t going to tattle on Ariana, who was his client. If she wanted me to know she was there, she would call. I wasn’t getting anything out of him.

  Before we finished the conversation, he told me the SUV and its contents were being shipped to New York State and should arrive any day. The Madison police had no reason to hold it any longer.

  I had a feeling that if Ariana had told him she was coming but hadn’t cautioned him that the trip was a secret, I might have caught him off guard when I asked if he had heard from her. I was pretty sure she hadn’t called him. Which didn’t answer any questions definitively for me. She could still be on her way there. Or to the other two destinations.

  Chicago had only the money, if it was there, and her apartment. It wasn’t involved in the homicides. But wherever she was going, I couldn’t get out of my mind the fact that she wanted to bury her parents. I didn’t think it was an act. I was sure she cared.

  “Jack,” I said, trying to think what to do next, “do you have that phone number for the parents of the guy in Guatemala?”

  “Yeah, it should be here.” He messed around some papers on the coffee table, which looked as though a tornado had hit it. I’d better get back to tidying up, I thought. “Here.” He handed me the slip of paper on which Ariana had written the boyfriend’s name, Barry Tedesco, and his apartment phone number. Jack had added the forwarding number in big black numerals.

  I called the number and a woman answered.

  “Mrs. Tedesco?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Chris Bennett Brooks. You talked to my husband last night about your son in Guatemala.”

  “Oh yes. Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all. I wondered if there was any way I could reach your son by phone.”

  “That’s not too easy. Sometimes they’re miles from the place where there’s a telephone line. But you can leave a message and he might be able to get back to you at some point. He’s called me once since he got down there. And they’ve got a computer where the phone is. Do you have an e-mail address?”

  I found myself smiling, happy Jack had convinced me to get on-line. “Yes, I do.” I gave her my address and she gave me her son’s and the phone number. “Did he ever mention Ariana to you, Mrs. Tedesco?”

  “He said he’d met a very nice girl and I was really pleased. Sometimes my husband and I think he works too hard and should play a little. Is there a problem?” She sounded a bit apprehensive.

  “Nothing to worry about. She’s had some bad luck and I think your son may be able to help with some information.”

  “I see.” She said it as though she didn’t.

  “Thank you very much. I’ll e-mail him and maybe leave a phone message.”

  I’m sure I left her wondering, but I didn’t think a long story would help either of us.

  I had never called overseas before, but it was straightforward. After keying several numbers, I heard a ring. Almost immediately someone answered, speaking Spanish.

  Ouch, I thought. I speak some French and I know some Latin, but Spanish is beyond me. “Hello?” I said. “Do you speak English?”

  “Oh, sure,” a man’s voice said. “Better than Spanish.”

  “Oh, good. I’m looking for Barry Tedesco.”

  “Barry, yeah. He’s out at the dig but I think he’s coming back tomorrow. Want to leave a message?”

  I asked to have Barry call me or e-mail me. I explained I was a friend of Ariana Brinker, her parents had been involved in an accident, and I needed some information from him. The man I was talking to said he hoped it wasn’t serious and promised that Barry would get the message the minute he walked into the office. Upstairs, I typed an e-mail message saying substantially the same thing and sent it off. Now I would have to wait.

  A litt
le while later, I got a surprising phone call. It was George Benson, whom we’d visited Monday night.

  “Mrs. Brooks,” he said, “I thought of something. It’s probably not going to help you much, but I noticed something odd that night.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The Mitchells who were loading their SUV? They were both wearing gloves.”

  “Really? On a warm night? What kind of gloves, did you notice?”

  “The kind you wear around the garden—cotton, burlap, like that.”

  “Thank you very much,” I said. “That’s very interesting.”

  The Brinkers were wearing gloves. The Brinkers were loading their SUV so they could dump their possessions in a field or where homeless people congregate. Where was this going to end?

  I did what I do when I can’t think what else to do: I went over everything I had once again. I thought about Grandma Adelaide Brinker giving her son and daughter-in-law a million dollars in used bills. Had she met them somewhere and handed over the suitcase? She must have known that her son was being hunted. She never came to visit; she was merely a voice on the phone to young Ariana.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  “Just like that?”

  “I’m working myself into a headache. I don’t want to think about this case any more today.”

  “Let’s go.”

  I got a call from Guatemala at eleven the next morning.

  “This is Barry Tedesco. You called me?”

  “Yes. Thanks so much for getting back to me.”

  “Is Ariana OK?”

  “She’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Barry, after you left for Guatemala, she found out something awful had happened to her parents.”

  “She said she was worried. She hadn’t called them for a while.”

  “That’s what my question is. Were you, uh, seeing her before you left?”

  “Seeing her? Yeah. I was seeing her. Why?”

  “Because it seemed out of character that she didn’t call her parents for quite a while.”