The Silver Anniversary Murder Read online

  “Two years?” I said.

  “That’s what the court papers say. Then she remarried, let’s see, about five years later. The new husband’s name was Owen Foster. She divorced him eight years after that.”

  “Busy lady. Do we know for certain that that’s her name? Foster?”

  “It’s the name she goes by.”

  “So she’s single now. That means it wasn’t her husband who helped her hunt down the Brinkers.”

  “Apparently not. The investigator did some more digging and found her address and where she works. She’s a part-time nurse at a local Portland hospital.”

  “A nurse,” I breathed. “She might have access to chloroform.”

  “Might indeed. Looks like you’ve done it, Chris. You planning to share this information with the authorities?”

  “Yes, but not tonight. I can’t thank you and your friend in Portland enough.”

  “Can’t live without friends. Remember me to Jack.”

  Ariana had gone upstairs to put Eddie to bed, taking her lovely bag with her. She said she had a small present for him. When she came downstairs, I told her and Jack what Arnold had said.

  “Then we know where she is,” Ariana said excitedly. “They can arrest her.”

  “I’m sure they will,” Jack said. “Assuming she’s there. This gal does a lot of running around.”

  “What an awful life she’s lived,” I said. “Two husbands, two divorces. Arnold said the first divorce was less than two years after the wedding.”

  “And you can bet it was gathering steam for a long time before it got to court. It must have been a disaster from the beginning.”

  “So she needed money and her sister wouldn’t give her any.”

  “Her sister didn’t have to,” Ariana said with irritation. “My father’s mother bequeathed that money to her son, not to her daughter-in-law’s sister.”

  “You’re right. I’m just looking at it from your aunt’s point of view.”

  “How did she even know about it?”

  “It must have been in all the papers when your grandfather died. They probably referred to him as a millionaire businessman. I notice they do that all the time now. Fifteen years ago a million dollars was a lot of money.”

  “Fifteen years ago,” Ariana said.

  “Isn’t that when you lived in Madison and talked to your grandmother over the phone?”

  She nodded, but I could see something was bothering her.

  Something was bothering me, too. I didn’t say anything at that moment, because things were still a bit fuzzy. Before I ran Ariana back to the motel, we all talked for a while, had coffee and cookies. Tomorrow, we decided, we would get in touch with Joe Fox and tell him what we had learned. Or perhaps, Ariana suggested politely, I would do it, without telling him she was here in town. She didn’t look forward to being hauled down to his interrogation room.

  And then she said, somewhat tentatively, “What did Barry say when you talked to him?”

  It took me a couple of seconds to recall whom the name belonged to. It was her Chicago boyfriend, now archeologist in Guatemala.

  “He was very concerned about you,” I said. “I think he really cares.”

  “Good.” She took a deep breath. “Because I do, too.”

  Jack fell asleep quickly but I didn’t. What was bothering me? We had learned so much in the last day or two; we knew the identity of the killer and where to find her. What was still gnawing at me?

  Count the years, Joseph had said. What years? What was I forgetting? I didn’t know the exact time that Ronald’s father had died, but the money must have been given to Ronald about fifteen years ago, give or take a year or two. The Brinkers were then living in Madison. What was wrong with that?

  Think, Kix, I ordered myself. Adelaide gave the money to Ronald Brinker during her lifetime to make certain he would get what was his due and she left nothing to him in her will. That was fine. They got together somewhere, she handed over the money, they kissed good-bye, and he went back to Madison. What was wrong with that?

  I turned my back against Jack’s chest. How nice it was to be married to a warm, comfortable man. His arm moved to cover me and I wriggled closer. Something I hadn’t seen, something Joseph had observed. I was too close to this now. What wasn’t I seeing?

  Count the years. What years? Twenty-five? Ariana’s age? And then I saw it. I sat up in bed like a shot, dislodging Jack’s arm and pulling the summer blanket off him.

  “Huh?” He put his hand on my back. “You OK, honey?”

  “Jack, she wasn’t their child.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Ariana. She wasn’t the Brinkers’ child.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Joseph was right. This wasn’t about money. The money came later, when Ariana was five or six or seven years old. The Brinkers moved out of Portland when she was a baby. She’s the twin’s daughter.”

  “Jeez.” He sat himself up beside me. “You want to run that by me again?”

  “The twin was pregnant. But by the time the baby was about to be born, or maybe even sooner, she’d broken up with her husband. She talked to Elaine and Elaine said she would take the child. The twin gave her name as Elaine Brinker in the hospital. She gave birth to Ariana and handed the baby over to Elaine.”

  “OK so far.”

  I turned to look at him in the light that came through the shades. “And then she changed her mind.”

  “And wanted the baby back.”

  “Right. And they couldn’t do that. She was their child by then. They loved her. So they picked up and ran.”

  “Wow.”

  “It fits,” I said. “Joseph was right. It wasn’t about money. It was something much more profound, much more important. It was about keeping their child. The money came later. They didn’t need it so they saved it for Ariana by burying it.”

  “So at first the twin chased them to get the baby back and then, when she kept losing them, she hunted them down to kill them for keeping her child.”

  “That’s it. That’s what happened.”

  “So what happened to the first husband, the father of the child?”

  “Who knows? It doesn’t even matter. Maybe he was a disaster as a human being, didn’t care about the baby or about his wife. He just wanted out. But she kept on.”

  “I think you’ve got it,” he said. “This is certainly a stronger motive for murder than money is, even a lot of money. And I see now why Elaine would have to cut off all ties to her natural family. Her mother probably knew what was going on and might turn her in to be fair to the twin.”

  “Yes,” I said, nodding. “They could stay in touch with the Brinkers quietly, surreptitiously, but not with the Lysaughts. Elaine couldn’t trust her own mother on this. Jack, what an awful situation, fighting over a baby.”

  “And who would guess? Ariana looked like her mother, which meant she looked like her adoptive mother. It was just perfect. So who did this Eileen enlist to help her kill the Brinkers?”

  I shrugged. “What difference does it make? Maybe a boyfriend, maybe a hired detective.”

  “Not if he’s licensed. That’s the end of his career at the very least if she gives him up.”

  “I have to call Arnold. I want that Portland detective to do a little more digging. Just to fill in the blanks, I’d like to know when the Brinker grandfather died, which would be the time he left money to his wife and maybe his children, and when Grandma Adelaide died.”

  Jack glanced at the lighted clock on his night table. “Not now, Chris. You may be wide awake, but the rest of the world isn’t.”

  “I have to tell her, don’t I?”

  “Ariana? If you don’t, it’ll come out. That’ll be Aunt Eileen’s defense, that her child was stolen and it ruined her life.”

  “Can she prove it? The birth certificate lists Elaine and Ronald Brinker as parents.”

  “Don’t forget DNA.”

 
“Right. Even if the twins’ DNA is similar, Ronald will be ruled out as the father.”

  “This is really something. You put the whole damn thing together.”

  “Oh my. But will I sleep?”

  Jack pulled me down. “Let’s give it a try, huh?”

  Saturday is not the time to accomplish business but I wanted Arnold to talk to his Portland lawyer friend so the detective could get to work early Monday.

  “That’s some theory,” Arnold said on the phone, a familiar piano sonata playing in the background.

  “I think it’s right. Here’s what I’d like to know: When did Grandfather Brinker die? That should be in the local papers. And when did his wife, Adelaide, die? I don’t recall his first name but it’ll be in her obituary.”

  “What’s that going to tell you?”

  “When the money passed from Grandpa to Grandma. I think she must have arranged to hand over during her lifetime however much was destined for Ronald because she knew he couldn’t come out of hiding to claim it after her death.”

  “Why do you need to know that?”

  “I want a chronology. If the Brinkers left Portland before the grandfather died, it must have been because of the baby, not because of money.”

  “You have any idea how much money was involved?”

  I realized Arnold didn’t know about the money buried in Madison. “No. Ariana hasn’t claimed her inheritance yet. When she gets the death certificate, she’ll take care of that.”

  “OK. I’ll call and pass along your questions.”

  The next thing I had to do was harder. I called Ariana and said we should get together. I picked her up at the motel and drove over to the cove that our family and many others in the area own in common, a semicircle of sandy beach on the Long Island Sound. This is my favorite place in Oakwood. When I first moved into Aunt Meg’s house, I used to walk here to think, to get close to the things I loved—the water, the sand, the wind.

  “Where are we?” Ariana asked.

  “A private beach that a group of families in Oakwood owns. Feel like a walk?”

  She looked at me with apprehension. “What’s going on?”

  “I have something to tell you and I don’t want an inquisitive five-year-old around.”

  She opened the door of the car, took her shoes off, as I did, and we started walking. As usual, there were few people on the beach. It was difficult to swim here—waves battered the shore—but it was a refreshing stroll. An old woman sat on her aluminum chair, an umbrella protecting her from the sun’s rays. I waved as we passed her, not sure who she was, but she was a neighbor.

  “I figured something out last night, Ariana. It explains a lot of things but it will surely bring turmoil to your life.”

  “Maybe I don’t need to hear it.”

  We walked and I said nothing.

  “OK, do it. Tell me. I can’t stand this.”

  “Your mother’s twin is your natural mother.”

  She stopped and looked at me, her eyes large and dark, peering into my thoughts. Then she whispered, “No.”

  “It’s why your parents left Portland when you were a baby.”

  Two tears ran down her cheeks. “It wasn’t the money? I thought you said it was the money.”

  “My feeling is that your grandfather didn’t die when you were a baby. The money wasn’t distributed until years later.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  We resumed walking. It was morning and the sand was still a comfortable temperature. Later today, it might be so hot you would need to cover your feet for protection.

  “I see,” she said, her voice unsteady. “It explains a few things, doesn’t it?”

  “Several.” I ran through them: why the people putting furniture into the SUV were wearing gloves, why Elaine’s driver’s license was missing but her husband’s wasn’t, perhaps why the blood found in the apartment belonged to neither victim.

  “This is—this is hard to accept.”

  “I know.”

  “Was she going to kill me, too?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think not. Originally, she probably just wanted you back. As time went on, she must have realized that couldn’t be. She became angry, enraged. Eventually, she wanted to kill, but I don’t think she wanted to hurt you. I think she felt love for you.”

  “How can this have happened?”

  I gave her my theory of Eileen deciding to give her away, probably because she was about to be single again and couldn’t raise a child alone.

  “It fits. I hate it but it fits.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ariana. I didn’t know how to tell you without causing you anguish.”

  “You’re just the messenger,” she said generously, swiping the backs of her hands against her cheeks. “And a good investigator. I wish you weren’t so good. I wish it had all never happened. I wish I’d come out here for their twenty-fifth anniversary as I had planned to do. Maybe I could have prevented it all from happening.”

  “None of this was your fault.”

  “No. It’s just my inheritance.”

  25

  With Ariana’s permission, Jack called Joe Fox and told him we had developed some interesting theories that he could hear at his convenience. We were hoping it would be informal, at our home and not at the sheriff’s office. He said he was busy that evening but would come over Sunday about eight. Jack said he sounded very calm, that he was not still angry.

  Ariana told us she would submit to a DNA test. She might as well find out the truth, not just suspect it. I thought she made a wise decision.

  Joe Fox arrived with an unusually large bouquet of flowers for me, and I sensed he was sorry for his unpleasant behavior the last time we had talked. As he and Ariana acknowledged each other, I saw the anger flash in Joe’s eyes while she looked at him steadily with defiance. They said nothing and we all sat down.

  “Joe, I think we know who killed the Brinkers,” I began. I was the designated speaker. Ariana wanted to be present but her dislike of Joe threatened to compromise whatever objectivity she had mustered.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. I’m glad you’ve decided to clue me in on it.”

  “We know some things for sure. The rest isn’t yet proven, but probably can be. I didn’t see it till early Saturday morning.”

  “You didn’t see it.”

  “I finally put it all together,” I explained, unhappy at his sarcastic tone.

  “OK.”

  “The Brinkers were murdered by Mrs. Brinker’s twin sister.”

  “You know this.” He wasn’t giving anything.

  “I know there’s a twin. I know where she lives.” I handed him a copy of my notes from Arnold. “And my theory is that she’s Ariana’s natural mother.”

  His eyebrows went up and he turned to look at Ariana. “Did you know about her existence?”

  “No.”

  “Go on,” Joe said to me.

  “I believe the sister, whose name now is Eileen Foster, hunted the Brinkers from the time Ariana was very young. Eileen gave birth to Ariana and used her twin sister’s name on the birth certificate. I’m guessing when she gave birth she was on the verge of a divorce and she felt she couldn’t raise a child alone.”

  “And later she changed her mind,” Joe said.

  “Yes.”

  “An old story.”

  “And a very sad one,” Jack interjected.

  Joe gave a short nod. “So the Brinkers changed their name, left Portland, and started an odyssey that ended in Oakwood.”

  I nodded.

  “Where she found her sister and brother-in-law and killed them. And we know the rest of the story.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So tell me about your little trip to Madison, Wisconsin.”

  Ariana and I had talked about this before his arrival. I had promised that unless I was asked under oath, I would not mention the money. “Ariana and I went to her parents’ estate lawyer in New York, where she
learned that the house she recalled from her childhood was still owned by her parents, now the estate. We went out there to see it and talk to the Madison attorney.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Mrs. Brooks? It’s not your story to tell. It’s Miss Brinker’s. Is she unable to speak for herself?”

  “Joe,” Jack said, “this has been an emotional roller coaster for Ariana. Cut her a little slack. She’ll give you a sworn statement at another time. We just want you to know who we think the killer is and where you can find her.”

  I noticed that when Jack said something, Joe took it more seriously than when I did. It worked this time, too. He nodded in acquiescence.

  “So you went out there and this twin followed you. Kind of a long drive to do in a short time.”

  “Someone was with her—a boyfriend maybe, or a paid helper.”

  “So they both drove. OK. What did they expect to find out there?”

  “Maybe they didn’t know,” I said. “But Ariana and I were going there together. They must have watched her or my house to see where we were going. And the twin knew about the Madison house. It’s why the Brinkers left a number of years ago.”

  “And the twin kept the sister’s license because she looked like the picture and it had the right name on it, Holly or Rosette or whatever. I’ve lost track of those names, I have to admit. For this case you need a road map.”

  “That’s right. But the man who was with her didn’t look like Ronald Brinker, so they left that license in his wallet.”

  “So they get to Madison and they go to the house in the middle of the night and break in and find nothing. And when they get back to the car, it’s gone. So they know they’ve done something stupid.”

  “Right.”

  “And where do they go from there?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Ariana and I came back here.” I didn’t mention the intervening details: our trip to Portland and then back to Madison, that I flew back from Madison, and that she drove to Chicago and then flew here by herself. “I don’t think the twin knows where Ariana lives. Ariana doesn’t have a listed phone number and she’s moved around a bit herself, going off to college and then to Chicago. So that was a dead end.”