MURDER AT THE PIER (A Sister Sleuths Mystery Book 1) (18 page)

Art Patton greeted Tom
with an outstretched hand, a smile playing on his lips.

"Come in, Detective. Welcome. You're my second visitor
already today. Quite a busy day I'm having."

He spread his arms, indicating a chair where Tom could sit
across from him. Tom sensed the older man was fishing for something.
Had he
seen me talking with Maddy
?

"Yes, I saw Maddy on my way in."

"You two know each other?"

He recognized the need to be honest and direct with this
man. "We're friends. She told me about doing a layout in your garden for
her furniture store. She's quite excited."

"I'm looking forward to it as well."

He's charming, alright.

"May I offer you refreshment, Detective?” he asked as
the housekeeper entered. “A bite to eat?"

Tom rejected the ploy to turn the interview into a social
situation. "No, thanks. I'll try to keep this as brief as possible so I
don't take too much of your time."

The older man smiled but sat erect in his chair, alert and
wary. He crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. "Fire away,
then. How may I be of assistance?"

"I spoke with your wife at City Hall yesterday. Are
you aware of our conversation?"

"As a matter of fact, she came to me shortly after you
interviewed her. She was quite upset. Admitted she had done something stupid;
something she wasn't proud of. She didn't want to keep it bottled inside any
longer because she was afraid it would come between us."

"What had I asked that had her so worried?"

"Oh, it wasn't anything you said that frightened her.
Your conversation simply made her come to her senses. She realized if you had
found out about her indiscretion, other people probably knew or would find out
as well. Eventually, it would get back to me. Buena Viaje is a small town,
Detective, especially when it comes to gossip. Once the word got out, it would
have spread like wildfire."

"And she didn't want it ruining her reputation."

"It wasn't her reputation she was worried about. She
didn't want it ruining our marriage."

Tom's face displayed skepticism, but Art continued anyway.
"There was more to it than that. I found something out about my wife last
night I hadn't known. She told me how much she has come to hate politics. The
longer she's been in office, the more she sees government as petty game-playing
for power at the expense of the public whose money and freedoms are being
exchanged for services they would prefer to do without.”

"That's a fairly stringent condemnation of
politics."

"I thought so, too," he chuckled, "but one
with which I concur. In fact, she had decided not to run again. She was afraid
to tell me for fear I'd be disappointed in her."

"And would you?"

"Be disappointed in her? To the contrary. What
Margaret has never fully accepted in all the years we've been married is that I'm
happy with whatever makes her happy. If it's politics, fine. If it's climbing
Mt. Everest, fine. If it's having her own business, that's fine, too. In fact,
that's what we've decided she should do. She's going back to her roots in
catering and starting her own catering business right here in Buena
Viaje."

Interesting,
Tom thought,
but not what I've come
for. It's time to tackle the more sensitive issue. This man moves through life
like an actor on a stage
.
Let's see what a dose of reality does.

"During the course
of that enlightening conversation, what did your wife tell you about her affair
. . . the affair she had with Neal Henderson?"

The older man's body stiffened. His lips grew thinner, but
he didn't avert his eyes.

"No need for a sarcastic tone, Detective." He
uncrossed his legs and sat even straighter. "She related the whole sordid story
in a torrent of tears and self-recrimination. It wasn't necessary."

"You didn't care?" Tom sounded incredulous.

"It wasn't because I didn't care, but I'd known about
the affair for some time. I decided to let it run its course. I never doubted
she'd end it. He was an unprincipled money grubber. No one she could seriously
care for.

To be truthful, I could never understand why my friend, Don
Carson, turned his business over to the young man the way he did. I guess it
had something to do with the boys growing up together, but Henderson never held
a candle to Don's son."

"I've heard the same opinion expressed by
others."

"Because it's true."

"Let's go back to your knowledge of your wife's
affair." Tom knew the answers to his next questions were key to his
investigation. "How did you find out and when?"

Art Patton sighed deeply. The man's acting skills served
him well, but he couldn't hide the pain in his voice. "Max told me. It was
one of the most difficult things he's ever done, but he felt I should know. He
knew, of course, because he drove her to several rendezvous during their little
dalliance."

Tom noted the man's choice of words in describing his
wife's affair tended to depict it as something of small concern.
Was his
wife's affair of so little import to his pride? If he still loved this woman
deeply as he proclaimed, how much pain had Henderson brought into his life?
Enough to give him cause for murder?

He repeated his second question. "When did you learn
of the affair?"

"Shortly before his demise," the actor admitted,
"but it doesn't mean the events are interlinked."

"How did you respond to the news Max gave you?"

"I could see how badly the affair might end for
Margaret in terms of her position with the City and her reputation in town. I
decided to try to meet with him, to talk some sense into him."

"Shouldn't that conversation have been with your
wife?"

"The last thing I wanted was for Margaret to think I
was spying on her, or that Max was. She would never have felt comfortable
around either of us again. But I also realized she was still too emotionally
attached or she would have ended it herself."

"And what about Neal? What made you think he wasn't
too emotionally attached to listen to you, especially with you being the indignant
husband?"

Art Patton blanched. For the first time, he showed signs of
how distasteful the conversation was for him. Tom could hardly imagine how
distasteful dealing with Neal Henderson must have been.

"Men like Neal Henderson always have a price,
Detective. I had no doubt I could offer him adequate inducement."

"Did your meeting happen to take place the night he
was murdered?"

The actor shifted uneasily in his chair, looking at the
folded hands in his lap.

"In fact, I did speak to Neal Henderson the night of
his death. But it was a brief exchange. The conversation we were meant to have
never took place."

Tom pulled out his notebook.
His tone, as well as the tone of the entire conversation, had taken a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree
turn.

"Please tell me exactly what happened between you and
Mr. Henderson the night of his murder."

"I called his office. I told his assistant I wanted to
speak with him on one of his investment projects in which I had interest. Once
I had him on the phone, I informed him what I wanted to speak to him about was
of a personal nature. He understood immediately."

"How did he respond to your request?"

"He was rude but agreed to see me. He said he had
something to take care of that evening but would meet me afterward in the
lounge of the hotel next to the Pier on the Boardwalk."

"Did he indicate a time?"

"He said he would be finished with the first matter by
nine-thirty and we could meet shortly after."

Tom assumed the dead man's logic
for the night in question.
His meet with the brothers was scheduled
for nine o'clock. He knew he could see Patton shortly after his payoff to them
because of the proximity of the hotel to the parking lot at the Pier.

"What happened next?"

"I had Max drive me to the Pier. Margaret was out of
town giving a speech at some convention or other so Max was free with the car.
When we got to the lot, I told Max to park and wait for me. On my way to the
hotel, I heard someone speaking loudly as if on a cell phone. I recognized the
voice; it was the voice of the man I had come to see."

"Did you continue to the meeting place?"

"No." The older man's voice began to tremble.
"No, in the next instant, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life,
one I deeply regret."

Tom's pulse raced with the excitement of obtaining a
confession. He tried to keep his voice calm: "What did you do, Mr.
Patton?"

"Not thinking clearly, I walked toward the voice.
Seeing he was alone, I began spewing out the speech I had rehearsed. Before I
had spoken more than a few words, he turned on me. He looked furious, almost
like one possessed. It was quite frightening, actually. He screamed for me to
leave, he would see me at our arranged time and place. With that, he turned his
back on me like I didn't exist.

My fright turned to a cold, steely anger. This man who had
defiled my marriage was now unwilling to even acknowledge me. A fury welled
inside me unlike anything I've experienced. I grabbed the closest rock within
reach, walked up behind him, and took a swipe at the back of his head. He fell
onto his knees, then collapsed on the sand. I threw the rock into the ocean and
walked back to my car."

"Did you give any thought to going back to help the
man?"

"I never imagined the blow I struck was enough to do
more than give him a bad headache. I'm not a strong man; it was hardly more
than a glancing blow. I couldn't believe it when I heard the news the next
morning he was dead."

"The knock on the head was not the cause of death. The
cause of death was strangulation. You hadn't killed Neal Henderson."

"I realized that when the
coroner's report was finally released indicating the cause of death as
strangulation. I'll admit my relief was immense though I was certain the whole
time my blow could not have been deadly."

"Once you knew your blow hadn't killed him, what
stopped you from giving the police the information about your encounter the
night of his death?"

The actor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed
at his lips. "At that point, I considered going to the police to disclose
everything that had taken place but I still had one reservation."

"Which was?"

"I knew my wife couldn't have been involved with the
act itself, but I'm ashamed to admit I wondered if she might have put someone
up to getting rid of him."

"You suspected her of hiring someone to kill Neal
Henderson?"

"I realized almost at once how ridiculous the notion
was but when you went to City Hall to question her, I worried you had the same
suspicion. It was actually a relief when you called to see me. I was ready to
tell the truth to ensure no suspicion fell on my wife." He paused,
clasping his hands. "Believe what you will, Detective, but if I had
seriously believed my blow to the head had been the actual cause of the man's
death, I would have come forward sooner."

Tom's skepticism showed in his squinted eyes. "Let's
get back to what happened that night. Did Max drive you straight home after
your confrontation with Neal?"

"Actually, no. I was shaken by the ordeal, especially
the violent reaction I'd had to Neal shunning me the way he did. I'm not a
violent man. To the contrary, the only thing I've ever been accused of is being
too nice, of being a pushover.

At any rate, Max noticed the state I was in. I mumbled
something to him about having done something terrible without getting into
specifics. He suggested I go to the hotel and have a brandy to settle my nerves
before my meeting. I told him there would be no meeting, but a brandy sounded
like a good idea.

He walked me to the hotel and returned to the car to wait
for me. The brandy settled my nerves considerably. Max and I returned home
without further incident."

"How long were you at the hotel by yourself?"

"As long as it takes to order and drink cognac. There
were few people in the lounge so I was waited on almost immediately."

"How did Max act when you returned?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Why are you asking?"

Tom remained silent letting his question take hold. The
actor's entire body collapsed against his chair. Taking several moments to
recover, he asked shakily: "What are you suggesting, Detective? What has
Max done?"

Both men leaped to their feet.

"Max's Place," Art Patton cried.

Without understanding the reference, Tom knew where to look
for the driver. They raced through the archway toward the guest house nearly
knocking over the housekeeper sweeping the veranda. Running past the fountain
in the courtyard next to the main building, Tom
cursed.
The limousine was no longer parked in the driveway. A quick peek through the
windows of the guest house confirmed his fear: the man he was looking for was
no longer on the premises.

"Get in, Mr. Patton," Tom yelled, pointing to his
car. He issued additional instructions as they clicked their seat belts in
place. "Call Max." The authoritative inflection in the Detective's
voice left no room for hesitation. "Now."

The older man's hands trembled as he lifted his cell phone
in front of him where they could both hear the conversation. "Max, it's
Art. Where are you?"

"Your wife called. Her luncheon is finished. She's
back in her office."

"Why are you going to pick her up now? She won't be
through working for several hours."

"She said she has one more meeting, and then she wants
to come home. Something about giving Rosa the night off and cooking dinner for
you herself tonight."

Tom hastily jotted something on his notepad and held it in
front of Art. He didn't want Max to overhear him giving instructions.

"Wait there for me, Max. I'm on my way. I need to see
my wife about something. I'll see you shortly." He disconnected without
waiting for a response.

"Is that what you wanted, Detective?"

"Perfect. No chance for him to ask how you're getting
to town without the car. He saw me going into your house. I don't want him to
think you're with me."

Art shook his head and looked out the window. "I'm
afraid you could be underestimating him."

Tom grabbed his ringing cell from the dashboard. Reading
caller ID, he tried to avoid sounding curt. "Hey, Paul. I'm right in the
middle of something."

"No problem. I'll make this brief. I just picked up a
voice message from Lea. She's all excited. Says Councilwoman Patton called her
this afternoon about a change in plans. Lea's bid has been accepted after all.
She's getting the job for the City. I know she'll want to celebrate tonight.
Can you join us?"

"Where's Lea, Paul?" Tom demanded.

"Now? When she left the message, she was on her way to
City Hall to see the Councilwoman." Paul heard the tension in his friend's
voice. "What's wrong?"

"It's Max. He's on his way to Mrs. Patton's
office."

Paul could feel his heart pounding as he repeated.
"It's Max? What do you mean, it's Max?"

"Max killed Neal Henderson."

The only sound in the car was vehicles whizzing by on the
freeway. There was no response on the speaker phone.

"Paul?"

"Is Lea in danger?"

Tom hoped his voice conveyed more confidence than he felt.
"I have another car on the way. We have the situation under control. No
one's going to get hurt."

"I'm going to City Hall."

"You can't help, Paul. You could make things
worse," Tom warned.

"Don't tell me not to get involved if my wife could be
in danger." The line went dead.

* * *

Arriving for her appointment
with Margaret Patton, Lea was caught off guard when the secretary asked Lea to
bring her dog into the office.

Are repercussions in store for our aggressive approach
during our last encounter?
Lea wondered.

The Assistant smiled reassuringly, "I believe the
Councilwoman wants to make amends for the way you and your dog were
received."

Seeing the skepticism in Lea's face, she continued:
"She really does like dogs, you know. Not as much as her husband, of
course, but she told me that even with all the excitement and flying fur last time
you met, she could see what a beautiful animal you have. She'd like to make
your dog's acquaintance under friendlier conditions."

Lea laughed, relieved. "Of course, but I thought dogs
weren't allowed inside government offices."

"Bring her in the back way from the parking lot. She
won't be noticed. Besides," the woman added, winking, "no one
questions the Councilwoman."

Walking in from the parking lot, Lea gave Gracie firm
instructions about not repeating her previous behavior, a rebuke which proved
to be unnecessary.
She held her breath as the
Councilwoman met them at the door, kneeling in front of the dog and offering to
shake hands. Gracie obliged by raising a paw.

When the diminutive woman stood
and returned to her chair, Gracie followed obediently, curling comfortably at
her feet under the oversized desk.

I'll never understand my dogs.
Gracie was upset yesterday but obviously, not by this woman.

Lea was further confounded by the woman's opening remark.
"You made quite an impression chasing me down in front of City Hall the
way you did."

Experiencing an uncomfortable heat sensation crawling up
her neck, she mumbled: "I'm so embarrassed to have run after you that way,
but Gracie was pulling me and . . ."

"It's quite alright, Lea. It wasn't your flying hair
that made the impression. It was what you said. You challenged my reason for
not awarding you the contract."

Lea's head jerked back. "You mean I was right?"

"I'm not willing to admit that yet, even to myself,
but it was close enough to the truth to cause me to examine my other recent
actions. I've had a change of heart in more than one area."

Lea remained silent, sensing the Councilwoman wanted to
continue uninterrupted.

"A Detective came to see me shortly after you and I
had our confrontation. The interview was brutal enough to knock some sense into
me. It made me step back to look at myself. I didn't much like what I
saw."

She brushed a hand in front of her face. "But you
aren't interested in hearing about my epiphany. All you need to know is your bid
has been accepted. Once I set aside my personal feelings, I had to admit your
proposal was by far the best we received."

Lea stopped holding her breath and allowed a smile to
spread across her face. "I hardly know what to say besides thank you very
much."

"You deserve the project, Lea. I look forward to
working with you on it."

As both women rose to shake hands, the door was flung open
and Max rushed into the office.

"Max. What in the world . . .”

Lea hardly recognized the man
who came running around the desk to grab the Councilwoman. Without the
chauffeur's hat he typically wore, his bald pate gleamed. His shirt was soaked
with perspiration. His eyes were a mesmerizing mix of madness and calm determination.

The secretary came rushing through the door, freezing the
moment she saw Max standing behind her employer, pinning the woman's arms to
her sides.

"Shut the door and sit down," he ordered.

Rosemary hesitated, looking to her boss for confirmation.

"Do as he says. At the moment, he's literally got the
upper hand." Regaining her authoritarian tone of voice, she looked over
her shoulder and demanded, "What's the meaning of this, Max?"

Before Rosemary could close the door as the man had
instructed, Tom and Art came storming through it. An emotion flashed across
Max's face when he saw his employer, but Lea couldn't define what he was
feeling.

Instead of trying to approach his driver directly, Art
slipped onto the couch to the side of the desk, asking gently. "Max. My
dear, dear Max. What are you doing, my good fellow?"

The response was formal and respectful. "I'm sorry,
sir. Extreme actions have been called for, I'm afraid. I knew when you called
you were with the Detective. You two have figured it out, haven't you?"

Art had never lied to his bodyguard in all their years
together. He wasn't about to start now.

"I'm sorry to say, yes. Sorry for your sake, my dear
man."

"Art," his wife implored, "will you please
tell me what you two are talking about?"

The two men stared at each other across the silent room,
but no response was forthcoming.

Tom provided the answer. "Max killed Neal
Henderson."

The beefy man's reaction to the Detective's words was
instinctively defensive as though he were under attack. Every muscle in his
body flexed. His jaw clenched. He tightened his grip, causing the Councilwoman
to wince.

In that tense instant, the border collie flew out from
under the desk catapulting her body like a missile. Thrown off balance, Max
stumbled backward allowing Tom to throw a punch on target enough to flatten the
man. In a flash, Gracie was on top of him, baring her teeth and growling.

"Thanks, girl, I’ll take it from here." Tom
quickly pulled handcuffs from his belt, attaching them to the man's wrists. Punching
a number in his cell phone, the Detective gave instructions for the squad car
dispatched earlier to City Hall.

Everyone in the room struggled to grasp what had taken
place in front of them.

Art embraced his wife. She leaned on him, letting him walk
her over to the couch where they sat down and held each other. "I can't
believe it, Art. I can't believe Max killed someone. Why did he do it?"

Everyone turned to the actor. What they saw was no act. Pain
showed clearly in every feature on his face.

Knowing the man was overcome with emotion, the Detective
provided an answer. There was more sadness in Tom's voice than harshness.
"Probably because Neal Henderson hurt and disrespected the man he's looked
up to his entire life."

His words were like a
punch in the stomach to Max. The fight in him was clearly gone. His shoulders
sagged. His eyes glistened with tears.

"It's all gone wrong, sir," he moaned, looking at
his lifelong benefactor. "I don't know how it's all gone so terribly
wrong."

Everyone in the room was startled to see the powerful man's
body suddenly wracked by sobs.

Margaret Patton was the first to grasp the full meaning of
Tom's explanation. "Oh, no. He did it because of the pain caused by my
affair."

Her husband turned to face her, taking her hand in his own.
"Don't blame yourself. I was cast in the worst role of my life, that of a
cuckold. But it was my own foolish mistake to arrange to speak with Neal
myself. I found his behavior toward me embarrassingly demeaning. In a moment of
anger, I hit him with a rock.

Apparently, while I was recovering from my appalling
emotional display, Max went to see the horrible thing I told him I'd done.
Looking out for me, as he's always done." He turned around. "Is that
how it happened, Max?"

"Yes, sir." Max put his elbows on his knees and
buried his head in his hands. "He wasn't conscious when I found him under
the Pier, but I could see the wound you inflicted wasn't serious. Standing over
him, all the hatred I'd been feeling toward your wife welled up inside me.
She's never treated me as an equal as you always have; she's never been kind.
You deserved better, too, sir. You've always deserved better. When I realized
she was carrying on with the likes of that upstart, I couldn’t stand what it
might do to you."

Art stood over the broken man, putting an arm on his
shoulder. "But, Max, I've always been happy with Margaret. You've never
understood our relationship, I know, but it works for us. I can see now I
should have shared my feelings about her with you. Maybe then you would have
known I was alright. My honor didn't need defending. My heart was never
broken." His voice choked. "Until now."

Tom was the first to recover from the startling
revelations. "One point I'd like to clarify, Max. Were you the one who
broke into Neal's condominium?”

Max sighed, looking at his employer. "I was afraid he
might have something incriminating against Madam. I was sure he wouldn't
hesitate to blackmail one or both of you. All I found was a picture of her
talking to him at the fundraiser. It wasn't much, but I didn't want him to have
any proof of their carrying on."

Tom didn't mention the picture Max hadn't found; the one
that could, indeed, have been used for blackmail.

An officer appeared at the doorway. Tom helped Max to his
feet and the officer marched him out.

"I'll do everything I can for you, Max," Art
promised as they passed.

The Pattons were the first to
take their leave. Art reminded his wife they were without a driver. She
laughed: "Don't worry, Honey. I can drive that big, black limousine. Next
week, we're trading it in for something more practical. With more cargo room to
take the dogs to their shows. Something I can see out of, without all that darn
window tinting. Right now, I'm taking you home to cook up the best meal you've
never had from me."

He hooked his arm in hers, smiling. A gleam was returning
to his eyes.

"I can't thank you yet, Detective," he told Tom.
"The heartbreak of the outcome is still too fresh. Someday, I’ll be able
to appreciate how well you've done your job. When that time comes, I hope to
find a way to repay you."

"But not by bribery," his wife was quick to add,
bringing them all some much-needed laughter. "That reminds me . . .  all
kinds of interesting things have been happening since you three started gracing
City Hall with your presence."

"What are you referring to?" Paul asked.

"Charles White resigned today. Didn't give much reason
other than his wife wanting to move closer to their grandchildren. Took
everyone by surprise. Except me, maybe." The corners of her mouth lifted
in a small smile as she looked at Tom. "You wouldn't know anything about
that, would you, Detective?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders, looking in turn toward Paul.
"I'm as surprised as anyone. I have no idea what precipitated his
resignation."