Colleen McCullough - Too Many Murders

“Come in, Captain,” she said, leading him down a long hall to the back of the house, where an English-style conservatory had been added, all glass joined by graceful Art Nouveau iron struts painted white. It was stuffed with plants, some of them touching the transparent roof, but space enough had been left for a white-painted table and chairs and, in a different spot, two small white-padded settees. The pots, he noticed, were all painted white; Mrs. Skeps was a perfectionist. Green shall be the color of the room’s glory, white shall all else be.

She had provided him with pastries. As he hadn’t stopped on the road for breakfast, he made short work of the dainty goodies along with several cups (no mugs!) of coffee. Only when he was done did he lead the conversation away from pleasantries.

“You never remarried, did you?” he asked.

“No. Desmond was my only love,” she said, giving Skeps his full name as if she never did otherwise. Then she dropped her bombshell, voice tranquil. “We were reconciling.”

His startled eyes rested on her face, which remained smooth and impassive. “You were? After so long?”

“Yes, for young Desmond’s sake. I contacted Desmond over four months ago, and we’ve been having a series of discussions ever since. There is another woman, you know.”

“If there is, Mrs. Skeps, we haven’t found a trace of her.”

“It’s Erica Davenport, of course.”

“She denied it emphatically, ma’am.”

“Naturally! It wasn’t a great love affair, to be sure. On either side. Nevertheless, Captain, that Desmond should dispense with her services was one of my conditions.”

“And did he dispense with her services?”

“Yes, shortly after I first contacted him.”

“Did he give her a farewell gift of diamond earrings and a diamond pendant?” Carmine asked, curious. Well, according to the selfsame Erica Davenport, curiosity was his besetting sin.

Mrs. Skeps laughed, genuinely amused. “Who, Desmond? No! He may be one of America’s richest men, but he’s a miser.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, dear, it’s so hard to speak-or think!-of Desmond in the past tense. No, what Desmond gave Erica was infinitely more valuable than diamonds, though it cost him nothing.”

“A seat on the Board, among other things.”

“Quite so. I didn’t mind her at all. While she was with Desmond, he didn’t plague me.”

“You’re well educated.”

“Yes, mostly from reading.”

“The sheepskin’s fine, but it’s the extracurricular reading that really educates. But why, Mrs. Skeps, did you make your overtures of reconciliation? Your husband’s jealousy ruined your marriage.”

“I told you, because of young Desmond.”

“Isn’t he better off without the horrors his father used to put you through? I’ve had to read all the divorce material, so I know.”

“I made him give me his word that he’d never repeat that kind of conduct,” said Mrs. Skeps. “His word was sacred to Desmond. You see, young Desmond is moving into his teens, and a boy of that age needs a father, no matter how inadequate. I would die for my child, Captain! I also believe that, having given his word, Desmond would have kept it.”

“And now all your plans have collapsed.”

“Yes, but at least I tried, and young Desmond knows that I tried. With his father gone, my own brothers can step in-they didn’t dare while Desmond was alive. He threatened them with hired killers, and he meant the threat. He said anyone could buy a killer if they knew where to go.”

I wonder, who else knows where to buy a hired killer? Dr. Erica Davenport, maybe? Philip Smith? Frederick Collins? Gus Purvey, even if I do like the man? Carmine thought. Aloud he asked, “How is your son?”

“Recovering slowly. He had such a terrible bout of what I’d always dismissed as a benign children’s complaint-chicken pox. He had the sores right down inside his throat-everywhere! The worst is that he’s going to have to repeat his school year.”

“Not if you hire coaches and he goes to summer school,” said Carmine, whose own health had always been rude.

“Only if he feels up to it,” Philomena said, tone steely.

Uh-oh! An overprotective mom! Carmine changed the subject. “Tell me about Erica Davenport, Mrs. Skeps.”

“I detest her as a person, but she deserved her seat on the Board, which is more than I can say for those other slugs. Oh, not Wally Grierson! That man’s a treasure. When old Walter Symonds headed the legal division, it was pathetic. Cornucopia was forever making contractual errors and settling out of court for big sums on damage lawsuits. But after Erica took control, all that gradually stopped. Desmond adored her because she saved the company so much money.”

At that moment someone shouted from the front regions of the house, answered by the hoarse, light voice of a boy. Quick talk passed, but when the newcomer entered, Desmond Skeps III was not with him. The fellow might have passed for Carmine’s brother, cast in the same muscularly tall mold, with the same olive skin, broad facial bones, and extremely intelligent eyes; the differences lay in the hair, his worn fashionably long, and the color of the eyes-in his case, dark brown. He wore bell-bottomed jeans, a white sweater and denim jacket, but contrived to make the clothes look formal, and with him he brought an air of ownership that wasn’t lost on Carmine.

“Tony Bera,” he said, extending his hand.

“Carmine Delmonico.”

“You all right, Philomena?” Bera asked Mrs. Skeps.

“Perfectly, thank you.” She turned to Carmine. “Tony seems to think the whole world is out to get me.”

“Don’t decry a good watchdog, Mrs. Skeps. I wouldn’t be visiting you if there weren’t a murderer on the loose. Not that I think you’re in danger-I don’t. Just the same, I’m happy to see Mr. Bera. Do you live hereabouts, sir?”

“Yes, just down the lane.”

“Good. According to Desmond Skeps’s will, Desmond Skeps the Third inherits everything. I was supposed to get a full copy of the document, but so far it hasn’t materialized. Dr. Davenport called

Captain Marciano and said your son was the full heir, but gave no further details. Maybe you can fill me in, Mr. Bera?”

“I wish I could,” the lawyer said, frowning, “but so far, we haven’t even heard that much.”

“I thought there had to be a reading, especially in the presence of the heir,” Carmine said.

“Not necessarily. It all depends what the will itself directs be done. Mr. Skeps’s lawyers in New York City will have known the contents. If young Desmond is the heir, I’m entitled to see the will in its entirety because I act for his mother, and therefore for him.”

“Is that ironclad, sir?”

“Well, no, but she’ll be his guardian!”

“Yes, of course.” He looked at Philomena Skeps. “There are still a few things I need to know, ma’am. Can you give me an actual date for your first overture to your ex-husband about the possibility of reconciliation?”

“We talked about it on the phone on the Monday of the third week of last November.”

“And when did Mr. Skeps hand Dr. Davenport her marching orders?”

“Very soon afterward. That same week, certainly.”

So Erica Davenport had known of the reconciliation for four months, give or take a few days. Not much reason for murder now. A woman scorned with murder in mind wouldn’t have waited this long. It looked more as if, the Skeps fish having slipped her hook, she baited it again and caught Myron. The diamonds were a gift from Myron, the most generous of men. Given that they totaled about eight carats, the price tag must have been somewhere between a quarter and a half million dollars. No chunks of Coke bottle for Myron Mendel Mandelbaum! And he was serious . The last time he threw gems like that around was for Sophia’s mom.