"Tell me, what do you think really happened at Verger Taylor's mansion yesterday?"
"We've got two facts and a supposition. The facts are that we last saw Verger Taylor at six-thirty. The maid confirms he came home at six thirty-five and that the break-in occurred very shortly after. The shooting couldn't have taken more than ten minutes. The devil with the creaky shoes..."
"Maria didn't say creaky shoes. She said snap-snap-snap."
"... anyway, we didn't arrive at Cressida Houghton's until well after seven. From the map, though, Verger's is actually a short walk down the beach, so the boys could've waited for Verger, killed him, and jogged back on home well in time for our invited arrival at seven-fifteen. That's fact one.
"Fact two is that the bridge game so cleverly laid out for us was a ruse, copied directly from the winning grand slam in yesterday's paper."
"I don't think I'd call that a fact," Meg objected.
"I haven't drawn any conclusions yet, Meg! Now the supposition is that the boys were acting when they got that call from the so-called kidnapper."
"I know we can't prove it, Quill, but I'll be damned if that was acting."
"I agree with you. I think the kidnapper was the fire-breathing demon that opened the door on Maria and shut it. The kidnapping was separate from the murder. Frankly, I'm so convinced that, at least as working hypothesis, we're going to call it a fact. Okay? And I think the basic scenario is this:
"Evan and Corrigan Taylor planned a home invasion for the express purpose of killing their father and leaving his body for the authorities to find. Someone else came along, found the body, and disposed of it. For a reason we haven't discovered yet, the body snatcher can't have Verger Taylor dead."
"So who's got the best motive?" Quill continued rhetorically. "First, there's Chef Jean Paul. If he knew that the deal with Southern Fried wasn't completed yet, he'd have a chance at finding someone else to run his believed instituted."
"I doubt it, Quill. Chef Jean Paul is just like those rabbits. Timid and good only for cooking. Besides, I know three restaurants in New York that would hire Jean Paul in two seconds flat. For an enormous sum of money."
"Okay... let's accept that Jean Paul had a motive, but not a compelling one. What about the shrink? Dr. Bittern knew that Verger had made up his mind to prevent Tiffany from going forward with his multimillion-dollar project."
"Again - it's a motive, but not a compelling one. And besides, the man no idiot. He'd get the same result with Verger dead as Verger missing. Why go to the risk of concealing the body?"
"True," Quill said. "Linda Longstreet, who had the same motive as Chef Jean Paul."
"She's out of it," Meg said. "If she's a murderer, then I'm Paul Bunyan."
"You're right."
"I love it when you say I'm right."
"What about Tiffany?"
They looked at each other and said simultaneously, "Nah."
Meg giggled. "She made it pretty clear yesterday she was much better off being his combative ex-wife. Plus, she's got that spa alibi. You know, Quill, there's another suspect."
"Ernst Kolsacker? According to Birdie and Bea, he doesn't benefit in any way from Verger's disappearance. I can see where his death might benefit him - he could run Taylor Incorporated for a while, but my gosh, guys like that swap corporate jobs all over the country. Like Chef Jean Paul, Ernst could get a good job almost anywhere. Besides, if Birdie's accurate - and have you noticed how sharp she is about money, Meg?"
"No! Really?"
"It's amazing, isn't it? It's how the rich stay rich, I guess. Anyhow, unless we can turn up some reason for Ernst to benefit by Verger's being alive, but out of the picture, then I vote we table him as the body snatcher."
"Agreed. I wasn't thinking so much of Ernst as Mr. X."
Quill groaned.
"I'm serious. That business with the Murex stock bouncing up and down like that is curious, very curious. And you know what? I was so curious I looked at the business section of the paper this morning to track it." Meg reached under the counter and brought out the Palm Beach Post. "See that paragraph?"
" `The alleged kidnapping of real estate tycoon Verger Taylor has resulted in a suspension of the buyout of Murex Limited,' " Quill read.
"This news won't hit the Street... "
"The Street?" Quill said. "You mean as in Wall Street?"
"Go ahead. Mock. You'll mock on the other side of your mouth if I'm right. Anyhow, the news hasn't hit Wall Street or the stock exchange yet, but when it does..."
"When it does, what/"
Meg's lower lip stuck out and she scratched her head. "I don't know enough yet. But I want to check it out."
"Okay, but I think there's something even more important than our tracking down suspects in this case."
"What's that?"
"Finding Verger Taylor's body."
"Quill, there's no way we can do that. It's a job for the police. And it may not happen for years. It may not happen ever."
"Then we've got to find out who took the body, if not where it is. Because if we don't, we're going to have Cressida Houghton as an enemy for life. And it's good-bye to the inn and our reputations."
"Not to mention hello to our three-hundred-fifty-three-thousand-dollar mortgage. Okay, we're ready. We're committed. We're going to find the body snatcher. Now what?"
Quill held up Verger Taylor's address book. "Jerry Fairchild. We have to giver this to the police. It's a terrific excuse to see how things are going from the police end. And then I think we should inquire about hiring ourselves a lawyer. And after that, I want to come back here and check out Dr. Bittern."
Meg, still on track with Quills' first suggestion about finding a lawyer said, "We've got a perfectly good lawyer...oh." She looked bemused. "You want to go to find out what Mr. Hawthorne knows?"
"The lawyer for the Houghtons? He won't tell us a thing. Now, Verger Taylor's lawyer? He might tell us a lot."
"Do we even know who Verger Taylor's lawyer is? Was? Whatever?"
Quill tapped the address book. "Franklin Carmichael, of West Palm Beach. It's on Poinsettia Road, which is about ten minutes from the police station. For heaven's sake, Meg, he attended your class with Ernst Kolsacker."
"And you said Dr. Bittern? I thought we crossed him off the list."
"You never know what a shrink knows, Meg. We've got to look him in the eye and find out if he's concealing guilty knowledge."
"Fine. There's not anything else to do today, with the institute closed."
Quill had thrown on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt when she'd gotten up, and she decided to change to a cotton dress. She talked Meg, who protested, into a skirt and blouse. They left the blinds and shades drawn and proceeded cautiously out the front door. The bulk of the reporters had given up; a few stringers hung out by Luis's office door. Quill stopped so fast that Meg plowed into her.
"Luis," she said, remembering the catastrophe the night before.
"The boat," Meg said. "You know, the amount of our bribe from Cressida would just about take care of a new boat for Luis."
They walked across the parking lot to the offices. Meg scowled horribly at the stringers, who scattered like seagulls. She rapped on the office door. Luis opened it.
"You!' he said. "One moment." He slammed the door.
Meg tried again, tapping lightly and calling, "Luis? Luis? We are really, really sorry about the boat."
He opened the door again, buttoning his Combers Beach Club coat. "I apologize," he said. "You caught me in my shirt sleeves." He stepped outside and waved to the reporters, who had retreated to a battered Ford Escort parked in the MANAGER ONLY spot. "You are both looking very pretty this morning," he said. "Would you like the Mercedes again?"
Quill put her hand gently on his arm. "Luis. We are so sorry about your grandfather's boat."
"It's fine. Don't worry. Grandfather had it insured." He beamed. "And I," he said, "have a book deal because you wrecked it."
"A book deal?"
"Well, part of one." He looked modest. "It is to be called The Taylor Tragedy: Blood, Sex, and Crime in Exotic South Florida. I am one chapter. Then there are the talk shows on television. For this, I get paid as well. America is wonderful, Miss Quilliam."
"America is wonderful," Quill mused, pulling into the police station some twenty minutes later. "Do you' suppose our wonderful police will believe that we got; Verger's appointment book from Tiffany? Will our wonderful justice system let Evan and Corrigan go free? Will we be arrested for the sake of making a better book?"
"If you're going to make a speech," Meg said, "I'm walking. And if you don't slow down, I'm walking. Just" drive, dammit."
Jerry Fairchild looked as if he hadn't slept at all the night before. He was unshaven, there were heavy bags under his eyes, and his expression was less than welcoming. "What do you two want now?" They were in his office, which was extremely neat and very clean.
"You probably won't believe us," Meg said belligerently, "but we genuinely forgot about this piece of evidence in all the brouhaha yesterday."
Jerry's expression softened a little. "What piece of evidence?"
Quill produced the address book. Jerry took it, flipped through it, came to Verger's rating system, and chuckled.
"I don't think it's funny." Meg crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. This further evidence of bellicose behavior seemed to amuse the detective. "The man was a pig."
"But a successful pig." "You're not hollering at us for concealing evidence," Meg said suspiciously. "I'd feel a lot better if you hollered. What's the matter, Jer?"
He sighed. "I don't know what Verger Taylor's address book is going to tell me that I don't already know.
He had a few meetings the afternoon of the day he disappeared. We're interviewing the people he saw that day - most of them have come forward anyway. Anxious to cash in on the publicity. So consider yourselves hollered at." Jerry opened his left desk drawer, took out an evidence bag, slipped the book into it, and labeled it in neat, precise handwriting.
While he was engaged in this, Quill asked, "You think that the boys had an accomplice-that the clues to Verger Taylor's disappearance - "
"Murder," Jerry said shortly. "The motive for murder lies with his sons? And not in Verger's own activities? What did Evan and Corrigan do with the body?"
"You can buy anything you want around here," Jerry said. His eyes looked more tired than ever. "Want your grandmother raped? There's kids who will do it for five bucks and a bag of cocaine."
Quill didn't know how to reply to this. She had a glimpse of the day-to-day routine of this man's life, and it made her shudder. She asked quietly, "Did you really receive another call from the kidnapper?"
"You saw the morning news."
"As a matter of fact, we didn't," Quill said.
"Yes. Hawthorne, that smart-ass lawyer for the Houghtons, got the call early this morning. He taped it. It sounded genuine, but then, the first one sounded genuine. That it, ladies? I've got work to do."
"We heard about Corrigan claiming his confession was coerced. That he's mentally unstable." Meg gave him her most appealing smile.
"As far as I'm concerned, anyone who offs his old man is crazy as an outhouse rat."
"So you think they did it, too."
"Of course they did it. We haven't even begun to dig into those kids' financial histories, but they owe money all over the place. And there's preliminary evidence that Verger had cut the flow of funds off. So they had a motive, all right."
"Do you think they removed the body?"
"Somebody did."
"So you're pretty sure they have an accomplice," Meg persisted. "Makes sense. I mean, who else would be making those phone calls?" She threw out another piece of bait. "Unless you think that Verger's alive, and that for some reason, he and his kids are involved in an elaborate scam."
"What I think is that you two ought to go shopping. Or out to lunch. Anywhere but here, butting into this investigation. I'm sure you're familiar with the penalties for civilians mixing in with police work?"
"Nope," said Meg pertly. "In all the cases we've been involved in, the police have been glad for our help."
"Uh huh." Jerry refused to be drawn. "Thanks, ladies. Now beat it."
"Ladies. Shopping. Lunch." Meg fumed a few minutes later. "So now what? We find ourselves a lawyer?"
"We find ourselves a lawyer. If he'll talk, we find out who inherits Taylor's money and who's running Taylor Inc. right now. And if the opportunity arises, we explore this business of Murex."
The traffic patterns in south Florida were becoming familiar to Quill. If you got out on the street fairly early - say before seven o'clock - or late, after dark, it was possible to maneuver through the streets in a reasonable period of time. But after nine in the morning and before sunset, the traffic was horrendous. And all the cars had license plates from northern states. In addition to the jams created by sheer volume, most of the out-of-staters didn't seem to know where they were traveling to. Cars pulled U-turns in the middle of the streets, or even stopped, blocking lanes of traffic, while the drivers figured out that they'd missed the bypass to Oklahoma some three streets back. Quill was beginning to feel some sympathy for the hostile bumper stickers on native vehicles.
They inched their way to the offices of Carmichael, Webster, and Ross (offices in New York and Palm Beach) in about the time it would take to have an emergency heart transplant. Although Hurricane Helen still circled off the coast of Africa, the fringes of the weather system made the air sultry, humid, and sticky. Quill pulled the Mercedes over, unsuccessfully tried to find the buttons that raised the top of the convertible, and it took her twenty minutes just to find a break in the traffic flow to reenter the street. By the time Quill pulled into the underground parking lot, both she and Meg were hot, tired, irritable, and very hungry.
"I still say we should have called ahead," Meg said in the elevator. Quill, silently blessing the air conditioning, didn't reply until they reached the fourth floor and entered the carpeted hallway to the attorney's offices.
Then she said, "Five bucks gets you ten that Carmichael will drop whatever he's doing to see us. And if we get him to talk, who knows what kind of information he'll drop? We'll just tell him we've got a book deal. That'll start anybody blabbing these days. Especially a lawyer."
Meg clicked her tongue. "Cynical, cynical."
The offices of Carmichael, Webster, and Ross had the hush of expensive construction. The pale blue carpets were thick. The gleaming rosewood desk of the receptionist was hand-carved. Pale blue suede covered the walls and - as everywhere in Florida - expensive silk flower bouquets covered most available surfaces.