Colleen McCullough - Too Many Murders

“Now tell me about the-er-slugs, Mrs. Skeps.”

She sneered, an expression that didn’t suit her face. “Oh, them! Desmond called them his yes-men, with good reason. Phil Smith admits it freely-he can’t even be bothered heading up a specific company, which I guess means he’s landed on his feet as usual. He’ll step into Desmond’s shoes, chair the Board, you name it. Hypocrite! Anyone would think he was royalty.”

“What about their past histories? Shady activities? Shady deals? Shady women?”

“Not that I know of, apart from Gus Purvey, who pretends to be a man’s man-and is, in the one respect men’s men don’t aspire to. Namely, that he is a homosexual with a penchant for youths dolled up as women.”

Carmine looked at Anthony Bera. “Anything to add, sir?”

“No. I’m not a part of the Cornucopia world.”

Maybe not, thought Carmine, getting to his feet, but I am going to be investigating your whereabouts on April third, Mister Fat Cat Lawyer. A winterized house in Orleans says your legal practice must pull in a healthy income. You’re in love with Mrs. Skeps, but she doesn’t even see you except as her friend. That’s a very frustrating situation to be in.

He repeated his trick with flashing light and siren on the journey home; from Providence back to Holloman was a well-worn beat. Maybe the visit to Orleans had done his soul some good, but it hadn’t advanced his investigation. Time to get tough. If no copy of the will had appeared at County Services, he had every intention of invading Erica Davenport’s lair and demanding one immediately. But the document was waiting. Accustomed to legalese, he read its many pages swiftly, then sat back, winded. Someone had blabbed that he was seeing Philomena Skeps today, and Erica Davenport had deliberately withheld knowledge of the will from him and Philomena Skeps until the meeting was in the past. No wonder! The fur would have flown like wildcats locked in mortal combat. What a blow for Philomena Skeps and Anthony Bera! What might they have said in the throes of rage?

Desmond Skeps III was indeed the sole heir, but guardianship belonged to Erica Davenport. Not in a maternal sense: Philomena was still free to house the boy, feed him, dress him, nurture him. Be his mother in his home. But she was stripped of all ability to control his destiny, his fortune, the fate of Cornucopia. When it came to the power and the money, Erica Davenport stood in loco parentis . And in the years between now and the boy’s twenty-first birthday, Erica Davenport was the head of Cornucopia. Nor could Carmine see how Anthony Bera had a hope of overturning the will in court. Philomena Skeps had no business experience, nothing to offer a judicial panel. No, the only way Philomena Skeps could win anything was to stay on the right side of Dr. Erica Davenport, chief of Cornucopia. Whom she detested.

Poor Myron! This lightning bolt meant that Erica didn’t need to find a rich husband, if that was what had prompted her assault on the affections of Carmine’s friend. She could set her own salary and perks, with no one to gainsay her-Van Cleef’s, here I come! No, thought Carmine, the gold-digger image felt wrong. This woman was after power, not money, which suggested a side to Myron he hadn’t suspected. Myron had come into Carmine’s life nearly fifteen years ago and been taken at face value as a very wealthy film producer; it hadn’t occurred to Carmine to burrow into the dear man’s commercial affairs. Now, far too late for it to matter, he was beginning to think he should have.

And what of the woman given her marching orders by Desmond Skeps over four months ago? She’d probably interpreted her lover’s action as the beginning of her absolute end. Instead she had succeeded him as ruler of the Cornucopia kingdom. So the big question was: did Erica Davenport know the contents of Desmond Skeps’s will? A colossal motive for murder if she did. But how could she have discovered what lay inside a document held in a vault in New York City guarded by a firm she didn’t know? The only way would have been if Skeps told her, but would he? No, he would not, was Carmine’s instinctive conclusion; Skeps wasn’t that kind of man. Rather, he would have relished tormenting her as the weeks and then the months went by; beneath the obvious differences, he was not unlike Evan Pugh. I bet they both pulled the wings off butterflies, Carmine thought.

When had the will been made? Carmine looked again, just to make sure he hadn’t mistaken the date. But no, he hadn’t. It was made two months ago, well after Skeps had dispensed with the lady’s services as his mistress. That meant Skeps had coldly considered her merits for the job, and liked them.

He looked at his watch: still time to pay Dr. Davenport a visit before Cornucopia closed its offices for the day. Nor did he call her to make sure she was there; with this new job draped around her shoulders, she’d be there.

Having made a useless trip to Skeps’s offices, he found her upstairs in the penthouse. Which, Abe had discovered, had a small internal staircase hidden inside a guest lavatory. The back wall opened inward when the second in a row of fancy knobs was pressed, revealing a very tight set of iron spiral steps. So Carmine used them, and emerged as if he’d availed himself of the facilities. His appearance didn’t alarm her, just annoyed her.

Today she was wearing dull red, and the eyes she turned on him had gone khaki. Chameleon’s eyes, he thought. They reflect the color around her, but they can’t achieve dull red. The pigment for it isn’t there.

“I must be your prime suspect now,” she said.

“No, if anything you’ve gone down a few notches. Unless he told you what was in his will?”

“Desmond Skeps, so indiscreet? The only thing that ever loosened Desmond’s tongue was alcohol, and by the time I met him, he’d limited his intake severely. One single-malt Scotch a day, that was it, and he never, never deviated. He headed one of the country’s biggest companies, and he knew the damage a loose tongue could wreak. When he first took over the firm, he compromised Cornucopia’s tender for one of the earliest atomic reactors, which enabled a rival company to undercut him using Cornucopia’s own design. It all but killed him. Grierson was the one pulled him out of the fire-if Des loved anyone, it was Wal Grierson. His board was brand-new then. He should have fired all of them except Grierson, but he decided yes-men had their uses-provided, that is, that the boss didn’t get drunk.”

“Obviously you indulged in pillow talk, Dr. Davenport.”

“Oh, she told you, did she? She would!”

“Did Mr. Skeps like women? Get on with them?”

“Oh, come now, Captain, you know full well he hated women! That’s why his will really staggered me. It never occurred to me that Des valued my business sense. Now look at me! I’m Chairman of the Board and I have complete control of young Des’s shares, interests, money.” She gave a breathy laugh. “I, Erica Davenport, am cock of the walk!”

“So you’re going to rub Mrs. Skeps’s nose in it.”

“Not at all.” The eyes were so earnest they were struggling to be blue. “I have no intention of interfering with Philomena Skeps or with her duties as a mother.”

“I have a different question for you, Dr. Davenport. What would happen if Desmond Skeps the Third died?”

Her skin lost its color. “Don’t! Oh, don’t!”

“You’re a lawyer, the eventuality must have occurred to you. So what happens?”

“There are other members of the Skeps family. I daresay the closest agnate relative would inherit.”

Carmine’s heart sank. “Mr. Philip Smith?”

“No, definitely not. Mr. Smith claims blood relationship, but the degree has never been investigated. There is a male nephew and a male first cousin. They would come first, with the first cousin ahead. The nephew is the child of Desmond Skeps’s sister. The first cousin is the child of Desmond Skeps Senior’s younger brother. However, the will was drawn up under New York State law, and I am no expert on that.”