Twisted at the Root--A Jane Lawless Mystery Page 10

  Marlo opened her mouth and was a little nonplussed when nothing came out.

  “Do you have any idea how I could get in touch with Mr. Atchison?”

  “No. Yes. He’s staying with me right now. Are you telling me the truth?”

  “I am.”

  “That pig,” Marlo growled under her breath.

  The intercom gave another buzz. “Hey, boss, Jason said you can do the press check.”

  Rocketing out of her chair, Marlo said, “Walk with me.” She might be short, but she took long strides. As they came through the door at the end of the hallway, a thought struck her. “Are you saying you think my cousin had something to do with my father’s murder?”

  “If it turns out that Rashad is innocent—and I believe he is—then the next question is who committed the murder? I’m looking for motive. I believe your cousin might have had one.”

  “Who else?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Who else do you think had a motive? Me?” Marlo felt like she was in an Aaron Sorkin scene, walking and talking.

  “I was told you and your father had been quarreling about your upcoming marriage.”

  Ah, the real point of the interrogation. “Of course we were quarreling. We always quarreled. Come on, you can do better than that.”

  “I have a few questions about your husband, George Krochak.”

  Marlo stopped and whirled toward her. “No, no, no. George is off limits. He had nothing to do with it. Neither of us did. Look, if your intent is to smear people just so you can muddy the waters on behalf of Rashad, then get the hell out of my sight.”

  “That’s not my intention.”

  “Do you consider alibis? I was with George from four o’clock on that day. Neither of us left our townhouse until we received the call from my father’s neighbor.”

  “What I know is that George was your alibi and you were his. Not exactly airtight. There were no security cameras at or around your townhome, so your comings and goings can’t be confirmed. Did the police ever check your cell phones to verify your location?”

  Marlo felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t a story, it was the truth.”

  “Did they ask for your phones?”

  “No.”

  “Did they question you? Or George? Did they ask either of you to take a lie detector test?”

  “I did not murder my father, lady. Now, get the hell out of here before I call security.” She didn’t employ a security guard, but it sounded good.

  “I’m sorry to be so direct. I know this is painful for you. If you could just give me a another minute or two—”

  “Leave,” shouted Marlo, pleased when the woman seemed startled. “And don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

  17

  The bar and grill just down the street from the gallery seemed empty for a Friday afternoon, with only a few people eating while watching a hockey game on one of the flat screen TVs. Five or six more sat at the bar, content to drink their lunch. Peter had ordered himself a Coke to help kill the time. She was fifteen minutes late, which made him wonder if she’d forgotten or blown him off. Either was possible. And then, there she was, snaking her way through the tables. Kit, as usual, looked wonderful, a fresh, sunny face in the dim bar light, her clothing varying shades of cream and white.

  “You didn’t wear a coat,” he said, standing up as she reached the booth. He gave her a quick kiss.

  “The gallery is, like, a stone’s throw away. I’m hardly going to freeze.”

  “Did you have trouble getting free? I know my invitation was kind of last minute.” He sat back down, watching her slide in opposite him.

  “I’m the owner’s wife. If I want to take a long lunch, I take it.” She opened the menu and began studying it.

  “I’m still having a little trouble getting used to that.”

  When the waiter arrived, Kit ordered hot tea and Peter ordered another Coke.

  “Yes, I hear you had dinner with Eli last night. He told me about your conversation. I’m glad you know what happened.”

  “It’s just … I know how much you and Eli cared about each other.”

  “I did love him,” she said, looking wistful, “but we had our problems.”

  “Oh?”

  “Look, Peter.” She set the menu down. “Eli is a great guy. I know you two have been friends for years, but to be honest, there were times when he scared me.”

  “Because of his drug addiction.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Something else?”

  “Are you sure you want to talk about this? It’s all such ancient history.”

  “I’d like to understand. If you’re willing to tell me.”

  She glanced at the TV above the bar. “Oh, I suppose. It’s not very interesting. See, Eli really changed after his sister died. That was hard on him. And then his parents divorced. He began to use more, which you know, but it went beyond that. He would, like, enter this dark place, sometimes in the blink of an eye. The stuff he’d say when he was in one of his moods—” She shivered. “He started reading all these awful books. Things about serial killers, stalkers. Whatever was happening to him, I couldn’t deal with it. I was relieved when he left for rehab in California.”

  “So he began reading that stuff before he went to rehab?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t know any of that,” said Peter.

  “Because I never said anything. Except to my dad.” She looked down. “I’m lucky. I can always confide in him.”

  “You two still as close as ever?”

  “Always. He’s been living in Phoenix for the last couple of years with his second wife.”

  “And your mother?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t stand to be around her, haven’t seen her in forever.”

  When the waiter arrived with their drinks, Kit ordered a Greek salad. Peter ordered a cheeseburger and fries.

  “That’s enough about me,” she said, pouring hot water over the teabag. “Tell me about you.”

  “Talk about a boring topic.”

  “How’s Sigrid?”

  He rearranged his silverware. “She’s good. Nothing much new to report.”

  “Eli said you’d done some time in rehab. I was glad to hear it, although it must have been hard on your family.”

  “It was. Especially Sigrid. But we’re as solid as ever.” He offered a smile.

  She appraised him a bit too intensely for his liking.

  “We’re a boring old couple,” he added, wishing she’d stop staring at him.

  “Uh huh. Did you cheat on her or did she cheat on you?”

  “What?”

  “Tell the truth, Peter. Otherwise your nose will grow.”

  “I would never cheat on my wife.”

  “So she cheated on you.”

  He glanced toward the TV.

  She waited until he was looking at her again and then burst out laughing. “I was fishing, turkey. You know me. You’re as easy to bait as ever.”

  “I didn’t tell you a thing.”

  “Sure you did. Does your daughter know?”

  “Can we talk about something else?”

  “Okay, but before we leave the topic, let me just say this: I’ve always thought you were a great guy. A real catch. If you hadn’t been married back when I first met you, I might have made a play for you myself.”

  That threw him. “Really?”

  “We have bad timing. We’re never free at the same time. Beyond that, we both seem to have a knack for getting ourselves into messy relationships.”

  “Yeah,” he said, half smiling. And then it hit him. “You’re not talking about you and John Henry.”

  “Of course not,” she said, crossing her arms over her stomach. “He’s wonderful. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Peter had invited Kit to lunch because there’d been a question he’d wanted to put to Eli the previous night, but the moment had never seemed right. It was a tricky subjec
t. “Look, there’s something I’m hoping you can clear up for me. It’s about the night Gideon Wise was murdered.”

  She took a sip of tea. “You heard Rashad May’s brother discovered some new evidence that may exonerate him.”

  “Actually, both my father and my sister are working on the case.”

  “Seriously? Have they made any progress?”

  “No idea,” said Peter. He pressed on. “Look, about the drink I had that night with Rashad. You knew Eli asked me to invite him, to help him out.”

  “Yeah.”

  “He wanted a chance to talk to Gideon alone, without Rashad around. He never offered much more than that, even when I pressed him on it. He said it was personal. I mean, I did it. He was a friend and I wanted to help. And then, when I was sitting there with Rashad at the bar, you called and said Eli needed more time, so I asked Rashad to stay and have dinner with me. Now I’m beginning to wonder if I did something wrong.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Peter. He felt both terrible and relieved that he’d finally voiced his concern, fuzzy as it was. “Did Eli have anything to do with Gideon’s murder?”

  She placed her hands patiently on the table and leaned toward him. “No, Peter. Eli may have a dark mind, but not that dark. The fact is, he never even saw Gideon that night.”

  Peter was thrown. “He didn’t? Then why did he need more time?”

  She studied him. “If I tell you, I don’t want Eli to know. Do we have a deal?”

  “Deal,” said Peter.

  She took a sip of tea. “Eli was supposed to meet with Gideon that night. He wanted to talk to him privately about a painting that was about to come on the market. The artist was a man Gideon particularly liked. Eli knew Rashad had been after Gideon to stop buying so much art, and because Eli was hoping he could sell the painting to Gideon during the meeting, he didn’t want Rashad around. When Eli arrived, he kept calling up on the in-house phone system, but Gideon never answered. He stuck around for a while and then called me and asked what I thought he should do. I told him to give it more time.”

  “But why meet with Gideon at the condo? Wouldn’t it have been easier to meet at the gallery?”

  Sighing, she said, “It’s all pretty boring. You’re sure you want to hear this?”

  “Please.”

  “It’s simple: Eli didn’t want his dad to know. He’d never done anything like that before—visiting a client in his home. John Henry did it all the time, but because Eli had been screwing up so badly at work, his dad never would have allowed it.”

  “Why was he screwing up?”

  “What do you think? Drugs. He was a mess. He figured if he could broker the deal with Gideon, his dad would be impressed with his hustle, and his growing business chops. The thing is, you know Eli. He overanalyzes everything. While he was waiting for Gideon, he started worrying he couldn’t do it. That he’d make a mess. Before I knew it, he was home, walking in the front door. I’m afraid I lost it. I yelled at him, told him he was a weakling, that he needed to grow a pair. He reluctantly agreed to go back. That’s when I called you and told you he needed more time.”

  “What happened?”

  “He drove back to the condo, waited around the lobby for another fifteen minutes, but Gideon never picked up the phone. The reason Eli never wanted to talk about it with you was … he was totally embarrassed. He assumed Gideon had blown him off. The whole thing was such a fiasco that he just wanted to forget it. He eventually came home, went into the bedroom, and shot up. That was the end of it.”

  Peter leaned back. “Maybe Gideon was already dead.”

  “That’s what I’ve always assumed.”

  “Eli didn’t … I mean … he didn’t have any blood on him when he came home, did he?”

  “I think I would have noticed something like that, don’t you?”

  If what Kit said was true, and he had no reason to believe she’d lie to him, he could finally relax. “Boy, that takes a load off.”

  “Good. Glad I could help.”

  When the food arrived, Peter tucked enthusiastically into his cheeseburger. He hadn’t realized how much that long-ago dinner with Rashad had been weighing on him until the weight was lifted.

  Kit pulled the napkin into her lap before picking up her fork. “My dad used to make Greek food. Moussaka. Spanakopita.” She pushed the arms of her sweater back.

  “What’s that?” asked Peter, nodding to a bruise just below her left elbow. “Looks nasty.”

  She pulled her sleeves back down. “It’s nothing. I was carrying a tray the other day and ran into a door.”

  “That sounds like a made-up story.”

  “It does?”

  “I’m kidding, Kit.”

  “Oh.” She laughed.

  “I mean, nobody’s hurting you, right?”

  “Hurting me?” she repeated, stabbing an olive. “First guy who tries will end up in the emergency ward.”

  He blinked at her a couple of times and then returned to his burger. She was probably right. Kit had never been anybody’s victim.

  18

  According to a small bronze plaque on the brownstone facade outside the clothing shop, Olsen Mercantile had been opened in 1923 by Olaf P. Olsen. Jane had never been inside, but knew it by reputation as one of the oldest and finest men’s clothing stores in the Twin Cities.

  Pausing next to a table of cashmere scarves, she waited for George Krochak to finish with a customer. She’d seen a couple pictures of him, though in person he was quite tall, well over six feet, and far better looking. She had a hard time picturing him with Marlo Wise. Marlo seemed like a woman far more interested in comfort than style, someone who ate lesser mortals for breakfast. Jane had no problem with that sort of woman. Perhaps, in the spirit of “opposites attract,” George and Marlo were the perfect match.

  George handed a sack to his customer and then walked him to the door. Jane took it as her cue to approach.

  “May I help you?” he asked, turning toward her.

  She hadn’t expected the English accent. “You’re English,” she said.

  “Guilty. My father taught at Cambridge. We moved here when I was in high school.”

  “I grew up in Lyme Regis,” said Jane. “My mother was English.”

  He seemed delighted by the news. “We have much in common.” When he saw her admiring his clothing, he leaned close and whispered, “Brunello Cucinelli. Are you in the market for a new tweed jacket?”

  She laughed. “Not today.” She handed him her card. “I’m an investigator. I’m wondering if you’d be willing to give me a few minutes of your time.”

  “What are you investigating?”

  “The Gideon Wise homicide.”

  He pursed his lips. After speaking quietly to another salesman, he motioned for her to follow him into a back room. They sat down on folding chairs in what felt like a walk-in closet stuffed with clothing.

  “I only have a few minutes,” he said, crossing his legs.

  She wondered if she was looking into the eyes of a murderer. “Then let me get right to it. We believe Rashad May may have been wrongly convicted. If he was, then Gideon Wise’s killer is still walking the streets, a free man. I understand that you had a rather heated early morning meeting with him a couple weeks before his death.”

  George raised an eyebrow. “That’s … true. Are you suggesting I had something to do with his death?”

  “We’re doing our best to eliminate the people around him.”

  “I see,” he said, smiling again. “So this visit is entirely altruistic.”

  She returned his smile. “Can you tell me about that meeting? Why Mr. Wise was so angry?”

  “Well, to be fair, one look at me generally sent him into a paroxysm. But that morning I’d come to confess my sins, to tell him why his daughter and I were getting married. You see, Marlo and I met at a mutual acquaintance’s party. We talked. I liked her very much. Over the next few months, we bec
ame friends. It eventually came out that I’d lost my job at a clothing store in Edina because I could no longer do the work. I’d been diagnosed with a spine condition several years before. At times, I was in so much pain that I couldn’t stand for more than a few minutes. I needed surgery, but I didn’t have health insurance. No job meant no insurance. No insurance, no surgery. No surgery, no job. The All-American vicious circle. Marlo was the one who suggested a solution. She had great healthcare. If we married, I could have the surgery and then later, after I was back working, if I wanted out of the marriage, she said she’d agree to a divorce. No strings. I argued against it, but if you know Marlo, you know she doesn’t take kindly to the word ‘no.’ I may be imagining this, but I thought she might be a little bit in love with me. Or maybe not.” He ducked his head and looked away. “At any rate, I came to the law office that morning to tell Mr. Wise the real reason for our marriage. He was not, as they say, impressed.”

  Jane found the story unusual, if not downright odd, and yet she was inclined to believe him. “Did you have the surgery?”

  “I did, thank you. It was a success.”

  “And you and Marlo are still married.”

  “Going on four years.”

  “If Gideon had lived, do you think he would have stopped the marriage, forced Marlo to back out?”

  He thought about it. “Highly possible. He did threaten five or six times to disinherit her. They both enjoyed making the odd threat. Seemed like part of a long-standing family tradition to me. For her part, Marlo had been against his marriage to Rashad. She blamed Rashad for her parent’s divorce. Believe me, there was plenty of fodder for disagreement between the two of them, and yet their love for each other was as solid as any I’ve ever known. Marlo didn’t murder her father, Ms. Lawless. Nor did I.”

  “I understand Chuck Atchison is staying with you.”

  He seemed surprised. “Chuck? Yes, that’s right.”

  “I wonder if you have his cell phone number.”

  He checked his phone. “Sure.” He read it to her, and she wrote it down in her notes.

  “Is Chuck also someone you’re trying to altruistically eliminate?”