Death on the Family Tree (8 page)

All these revelations about her aunt’s romantic life—or lack thereof—might have been interesting at another time, but right then Katharine had a one-track mind. “While you were in Austria, did you all visit a salt mine called Salzberg, where there’s a Celtic archaeology site?”

“We were twenty years old, Shug. We weren’t looking for archaeology sites, and salt mines would have reminded us of school. I don’t think we left Vienna that whole week, then the girls and I went back to England.”

“But Carter—he stayed in Austria after that?”

“Oh, yes. He meant to stay the whole school year, but he had to come back earlier than he planned. Hitler, you know. Snuck into Vienna early in 1938 and took over the place slick as a whistle, before anybody caught on to what he was up to, including most of the Austrians. Carter hightailed it home in March, scared the Nazis would conscript him.” Dutch paused for a wheezing laugh. “As it turned out, he wound up in Europe with the American army. He was real worried he might have to shoot at some of his buddies from Vienna. He did all right, though. Got him a Purple Heart.”

“Do you know that I never heard of Carter Everanes until today?” Katharine didn’t try to keep the indignation out of her voice, although she knew it wasn’t fair to dump it all on Dutch simply because he was the last of their circle alive. “Nobody told me that Aunt Lucy and Uncle Walter had another brother.”

“They didn’t talk about him.” Dutch lowered his voice a notch. “You see, honey, there was a little unpleasantness.”

“I heard he was murdered.” Katharine had little patience with that generation’s reluctance to talk “in front of the children”—especially now that she was forty-six.

“Yeah. It was made to look like a home invasion, but he was actually shot by his own yardman in his living room. Alfred Simms, the man’s name was, and it shocked everybody. Alfred was a handsome-looking buck, well liked, good worker. We never knew how he came to do such a thing. Maybe looking for money. The police said all the drawers were emptied and closets torn apart, stuff strewn all over the rooms. A real mess. Alfred claimed he didn’t do it, of course. Said he’d left right after six, when he finished cutting the grass, and that Carter was setting out glasses for a friend to come over for a preprandial drink. But Lucy and Walter asked everybody they knew, and they never found anybody who planned to visit Carter or go out with him that evening, and there was only one glass in the living room. Smashed. Then Alfred was seen wearing a valuable ring Carter brought back from Europe. When he claimed Carter gave it to him, the police arrested him, of course. That’s where the unpleasantness began.”

“Looks like that’s where it would have ended. Was he convicted?”

“You’d better believe it, sweetie.” Dutch’s voice was rough with the same brutality she had heard in other Southern males when discussing punishment for folks of other races who, they felt, had gotten out of line. “But at his trial, Alfred said some very nasty things about Carter. Lying, of course, trying to save his own skin, and the jury sent him to the chair anyway, but the newspapers had a field day with Carter’s reputation. Plumb ruined it. A lot of people believed what they read. Lucy and Walter never talked about Carter much after that. A sad bidness for everybody concerned.” Dutch wheezed on the other end and grew silent.

Katharine was silent, too, trying to absorb the story.

“Did all that happen here—the murder and the trial?” she finally asked.

“No, it was down in Decatur.” Dutch sounded like Decatur was south of Antarctica, not a few miles away and butted up so tight to Atlanta’s eastern edge that nobody could tell where one stopped and the other began. “Why you want to know about all that, Shug?”

Katharine had no idea. She wasn’t a morbid person. She never watched televised murder trials. She seldom even watched local eleven o’clock news, it was so blatantly a crime report. When you stay alone a lot, it makes no sense to fill your mind with scary things. Still, she knew she would be back at the Atlanta History Center as soon as possible, reading back issues of the
Atlanta Constitution
for information on Carter Everanes’s murder.

She gave what she hoped was a careless laugh. “Just put it down to curiosity—or boredom. There’s not much happening around here with Jon gone to China.”

“How’s he doing? Have you heard from him?”

When they had discussed Jon a few minutes, she asked, “Why was Carter living in Decatur?”

If Dutch thought it odd that she kept hopping back to Carter, he didn’t say so. Many of his elderly friends hopped from one subject to the other other, so he probably thought it normal. “Carter
could
have lived with Lucy in their old home place. Neither of them was married, and their folks were dead. But Carter liked his privacy, so when he got back from the army and finished law school, he bought him a place with a little patch of yard around it and he hired Alfred to come help him out in the house and the yard. Alfred had a magic touch where flowers were concerned, and Carter was crazy about flowers. Between them, they created the prettiest yard in Decatur. But I never could forgive Alfred for the things he said about poor Carter. It nearly killed Lucy. She was crazy about Carter.”

Heaviness for the honorary uncle she had never known and for Aunt Lucy’s grief weighed Katharine down while she dressed. She considered calling Posey to say she had a headache and would prefer to eat alone, but if she did, Posey would bring take-out food to keep her from being alone on her birthday. Besides, Katharine reminded herself with a rueful smile born of experience, if she lied about having a headache, she would develop one out of guilt.

Festive in a black silk dress and black sandal heels, Katharine was fastening a long gold chain around her neck when Posey and Wrens arrived. Hollis wasn’t with them. “She’s meeting us there,” Posey explained. “She plans to go out afterwards, and will want her car. You know how kids are.”

As soon as they were seated at the club, Posey handed Katharine a small white box. “I know my brother will bring you something, but I wanted you to have a present to open today.”

A pair of delicate gold earrings shaped like dogwood blossoms glinted in the candlelight. Katharine gave Posey a wordless hug of thanks.

Hollis joined them before they had finished their first drinks and handed Katharine a package wrapped in tissue paper. Katharine exclaimed as she removed a square of colorful silk. “A scarf from the House of Buiton,” Hollis said lightly, but her eyes were anxious as her aunt lifted up a stream of subdued shades of blue, green, and teal.

“You hemmed this?” Katharine exclaimed, amazed. The stitches were so small they were almost invisible.

“And designed and dyed it,” Hollis admitted with pride.

“How?” When Katharine held up the scarf, it caught the light like jewels.

“It’s an American variation of a Japanese process.” Hollis’s face grew animated and her slim hands flew as she began to describe a process that involved stretching the silk on a frame, painting long stripes of blue and green with a big mop brush, smudging the edges of the colors to soften them, drying it, and ultimately rolling it in newsprint, twisting it around itself and around PVC pipe, securing it at each end with rubber bands, and steaming it. “The steam sets the dye and blends it,” she finished, stroking the silk.

Katharine immediately took off the necklace she had been wearing and draped the silk around her neck. “It feels more like satin than silk.”

“That silk is called charmeuse.” Hollis reached out and stroked it. “I thought those colors would look great on you, and they do.”

“Well, none of us ever has to worry that you won’t be able to earn a living. It’s absolutely beautiful, and I love it.” Katharine knew Hollis avoided hugs when possible, so she reached out and gave her niece’s hand a squeeze. Hollis glowed with pleasure.

At dinner, Wrens was humorous and tolerant of his womenfolk and Posey managed to do no more than roll her eyes when Hollis started telling about her plans for the carriage house. “I want it to have a minimalist feel, you know?” She gestured with her expressive hands. “Furniture from Ikea, so it won’t cost a bundle, and bare windows with blinds. The floors are oak, so I’d like to have them sanded, if Daddy doesn’t mind.” She gave him a hopeful look.

He waved away her concern. “Whatever you say, Shug, so long as it doesn’t put me in the poorhouse.”

“Sanding won’t cost much more than carpet, I don’t think, and will last a lot longer,” she told him earnestly. “Zach knows somebody who will do it cheap, and Zach says he’s good.”

Seeing that Posey was about to say something—possibly uncomplimentary—about Zach, Katharine said quickly, “I understand you and Zach are seeing each other?” She hoped that was the right phrase. Language gets redesigned so quickly by the young.

Hollis fiddled with her fork. “Sort of.” She looked at her plate.

Her daddy leaned over and put one of his hands over hers. “You know, Shug, Zach’s a nice guy, but I don’t like that outfit he works for, not by a long shot. You tell him for me not to go off the deep end.”

One corner of Hollis’s mouth lifted. “Like he’d listen to me.” She turned and peered over her shoulder. “But don’t talk too loud. He’s right over there, with the Ivories.” She gave a quick jerk of her head.

Katharine turned and saw him for the first time. Zach had been a pretty little boy. Now he was a handsome young man except for the discontented expression around his mouth.

The person who compelled her attention, though, was Napoleon Ivorie. Tall, slender, and extraordinarily handsome even past ninety, he had a shock of white hair and an aristocratic profile, and occupied his chair as if it were a throne. Posey leaned over and muttered, “Whatever the waiters think privately of his politics, they sure bow and scrape in his presence, don’t they?”

Rowena sat to his right, Brandon at his left. Brandon was leaning toward his grandfather, talking earnestly. Amy sat next to Brandon with Zach between her and her mother. At a table for two just behind Napoleon sat the two men who had come with him to Aunt Lucy’s funeral.

“Do you know who those two are behind Mr. Ivorie?” Katharine asked Hollis.

Hollis grimaced. “Bodyguards. They are with him all the time.”

“They sure cast a pall over a party. The birthday girl isn’t quite so radiant this evening.”

Hollis looked over at Amy and scowled. “Maybe because she’s getting ignored, as usual. Nobody else matters when Brandon’s around. He’s probably telling his granddaddy about his latest campaign.”

“The gay threat?” Katharine hazarded.

“No, the terrorist threat. Zach says Brandon won’t be happy until every person of Arab descent or the Islam religion is run out of the state.”

Katharine looked back toward the Ivorie table just as Amy looked their way. Amy gave a little wave, so she waved back. To her surprise, in another minute Amy came prancing over to the Buitons’ table and stood swinging clasped hands in front of her, like a little girl. “Would you come tell Papa about those things you found, Miss Katharine? He loves history and things like that.” She wore a wide smile, but her eyes kept darting toward her family.

Katharine was figuring out how to excuse herself when Hollis said, “Go. It won’t take but a minute.”

Katharine had never spoken directly to Napoleon Ivorie, or been so close to the august presence. As they approached him, he was even more impressive close-up than he had been at a distance. His eyes were a unique shade of silver blue, and pierced her beneath frosty brows. His hands were large and looked remarkably strong.

The family genes had been diluted in each generation, for Rowena had inherited nothing from her stunning father except his fair coloring and his charisma while her two children hadn’t even gotten that much. Amy and Brandon both had brown eyes, brown hair, and unmemorable faces. Amy cloaked insignificance in shyness. Brandon cloaked ordinariness in magnificence. Splendid in a tailored navy suit, subdued tie, and gold cufflinks, and with every hair in place and nails buffed to a shine, he could have gone on television at a moment’s notice.

“Papa, this is Mrs. Murray, who found the old necklace,” Amy introduced them.

Brandon frowned up at them, obviously resenting this interruption of their discussion. At a nod from his grandfather, however, he rose from his chair and put out a hand to Katharine. His grip was firm but brief, as if he had more important things to do with his time.

His grandfather half-rose from his chair and smiled. “Welcome.” It was more courtesy than a man of his years owed any woman, and as he lowered himself again, Katharine almost found herself succumbing to his frosty charm, especially when he put out a hand and held hers while he said, “Another birthday lady, I am told. Many happy returns. But I don’t see your illustrious husband—” He dropped her hand and let the sentence trail as he looked around the dining room.

“He’s out of town.” She was surprised Napoleon Ivorie knew who her husband was. Tom was well known in corporate circles, but he didn’t travel in the Ivories’ league. “He’ll be home Friday.”

Napoleon’s eyes twinkled like sunlight on a frozen lake. “And if I know anything about women, you will extend your celebration until then.”

Yes, he was charming, if you were partial to ice and snow. Katharine found herself smiling back. “I certainly will. He’s promised to take me to dinner and the symphony. I’m sorry to disturb you, but Amy asked me over here—” She hesitated.

“To tell me about something you found today. I understand it may be quite old. I find old things fascinating—perhaps because I am one.” He gestured with his free hand. “Please sit down. Brandon will find himself another chair.”

When she sat in the still-warm chair, she discovered Mr. Ivorie had still more surprises for her. “I knew your father,” he murmured. “We didn’t see eye to eye on things—” That was putting it mildly, and his lips curved as if he and Katharine shared a private joke. “—but he was a fine man.”

Katharine found it a bit ominous when Brandon fetched himself a chair from the bodyguards’ table and pulled it to block hers, but she told herself not to be silly and focused on what his grandfather was saying about her dad. “One of the most honest attorneys I ever knew. I have more admiration for a man of integrity with whom I disagree than for a hundred toadies who claim to think like I do.”

“Daddy felt the same way,” she murmured. Her father had claimed that most people are sheep, their political opinions largely shaped by their upbringing and friends. He used to say, “Honey, when you meet somebody you totally disagree with, keep reminding yourself, ‘They probably can’t help it.’ Very few people take the time to think through opinions for themselves.”

She wondered if Napoleon Ivorie was one who had made his own choices, or if he was merely the product of his upbringing. Holding the same political views for three generations doesn’t necessarily make you right, just consistent.

He arranged his long fingers into an arch. “So tell me, what is it you have found that my granddaughter thinks I’d like to hear about?”

“I’m not certain exactly what they are,” Katharine admitted. “One looks like a bronze necklace and has the word ‘Hallstatt’ written on a tag attached to it. The other is a diary, written in German.”

He lifted one hand to his lips and she paused, thinking he was about to speak, but he only nodded. “Yes? Go on.” He motioned with his other hand.

“It is possible they may have come from a site in Austria, which—”

“I am familiar with Hallstatt. Pardon my brusqueness, but at my age, you don’t have time to waste on things you already know. A necklace from Hallstatt would be an intriguing find. How did you come upon it?”

Once again Katharine told the story of Aunt Lucy’s possessions and the old box among them. He drew his brows together as if retrieving a memory. “Carter was at Sewanee while I was. He died violently back in the late forties, soon after the war.”

“Nineteen fifty-one.” She was sorry she had corrected him when a quick look of displeasure crossed his face. The year didn’t matter and she suspected Napoleon Ivorie was not accustomed to being corrected.

“Possibly,” he said shortly. He turned to Brandon. “That was quite a sensational case, at the time. Turned out his yardman had done it, for some jewelry. Went to the chair, of course.”

“As he should have,” Brandon snapped. “We are far too lax today.”

Napoleon flicked the fingers of one hand. “No doubt, my boy, but we don’t need to discuss it at dinner with ladies present. I thank you, Mrs. Murray, for your story. One has to wonder, of course, how Carter came into possession of these things. I presume you are intending to verify that the necklace is genuine and he had the right to have it?”

“I’m going to try, as soon as the curator of the Carlos Museum returns from a trip. The diary that was with the necklace may have come from Hallstatt, as well.”

“I do not collect old books, but if the necklace is genuine and you can establish legal possession, I hope you will contact me should you want to sell it. As you may have heard, I have a small collection of antiquities.” Again his lips curved at his own jest. The Ivorie collection was renowned, one of the largest in the Southeast. In addition, Napoleon Ivorie was rumored to have a private collection unrivaled in the United States.

He reached out and cupped Amy’s chin with one hand. “Thank you, dear heart, for bringing Mrs. Murray over to us. You were right. I was delighted to hear about her finds.”

Amy flushed and glowed at his praise.

His hand dropped. “Now I see that her dessert has arrived, so perhaps you would walk her back to her table? Brandon, let Mrs. Murray out.” He picked up his fork and turned his attention to his cake.

Katharine walked behind Amy and Hollis with a stunned sense of unreality. Was that how it felt to be in the presence of royalty or the pope—a few minutes of intensely intimate conversation, then dismissal as if you had never existed?

“You didn’t bow and scrape,” Posey said when Amy was out of earshot. She stuck her fork into a luscious confection of chocolate. “I was watching the whole time, and you didn’t scrape once. What was it he wanted you to tell him about?”

“Some old things I found in one of Aunt Lucy’s boxes. It’s hard to believe, but one of them may be a three-thousand-year-old necklace and the other an important diary that’s been missing for a hundred and fifty years.”

“In Miss Lucy’s things?” Wrens shook his head in disbelief.

Katharine shrugged. “Like I said, it’s hard to believe, and we won’t know until I have them authenticated, but it’s possible. Did you all ever hear of Carter Everanes, Aunt Lucy’s brother?”

Posey showed surprise by widening her eyes without raising her eyebrows—a new skill she was practicing since her latest Botox treatment. “A brother besides Walter?”

Katharine told them what she knew about Carter, concluding, “So now I’ve got to find out where he got the things, apparently, before I can turn them over to somebody.”

“I keep tellin’ you that no good deed goes unpunished,” Posey reminded her. “If you weren’t such a saint—But what did Mr. Ivorie want?”

“To buy the things, I’d wager,” Wrens suggested.

Katharine nodded. “Not the diary, but if the necklace turns out to be genuine and Lucy had a legitimate claim to it, he has asked me to let him know if we want to sell it.”

Posey chewed and swallowed a big bite with a thoughtful expression. “You’ll be able to retire to your own Caribbean island on the proceeds from that. And you said Miss Lucy didn’t leave you a thing of value.” She viewed Katharine with delight in her possible good fortune. There wasn’t a jealous bone in Posey’s body. “But Mr. Ivorie didn’t cut you dead with those icy eyes? I guess your politics don’t matter if he wants something from you.”