Tracy Kiely: Murder Most Persuasive

I remembered that I saw her with Donny after Michael’s body was found. They appeared to be discussing something very serious—could they have been discussing Michael? Donny was on the crew that put in the pool. Reggie could have killed Michael and then called Donny to help her bury the body.

There were so many possibilities, so many reasons for killing Michael. He was that kind of guy. I needed to figure out which reason had gotten him killed. Was it because of Reggie? Was it because of Scott? It was no secret that Frances wanted Scott to take over her father’s business. Could she have wanted it to the point that she was willing to murder the competition? Or was it because of the embezzlement? Had Michael been double-crossed? And if so, by whom? Had Bonnie been his partner, or had she witnessed something when she unexpectedly returned to the house? And why had Bonnie been poisoned? Was it because she had seen something, or was it completely unrelated to Michael? She was planning on giving Julian a large amount of money to invest. It was clear that Julian was nothing more than a scam artist. Had Bonnie known that when she agreed to give him the money? Was she using him to get back at the family? I’d dismissed the idea earlier, but now I considered it again. Could Julian have actually been the one who poisoned Bonnie? I tossed and turned, no closer to an answer and no closer to sleep.

I revised my earlier characterization of Julian as a cowardly larcenist. I decided he could have poisoned Bonnie. I decided it mainly because I didn’t like Julian and that solution didn’t involve family members. I decided that, at least for tonight, I’d lay the blame at his door. It was a much nicer solution and one that allowed me to get to sleep.

Of course, any real hope I had that it was Julian was dashed to hell when he was found murdered the next day.

It was Ann who woke me with the news. Roughly shaking me, she simply said, “The police just called. Julian’s dead. Murdered. Here’s your coffee.”

“Murdered? At the Ritz?” I asked sleepily, sitting up and taking the offered cup.

“Yes. He was poisoned.”

I was now fully awake. I stared blankly at the steaming cup. Who needs coffee when you have murder? “Don’t tell me,” I began.

She nodded. “Yup. Lily of the valley. Again.”

I rubbed my eyes in confusion. “But how?”

Ann sat down heavily on the bed next to me. “They don’t know,” she said, and then reconsidered. “Or if they do know, they’re not telling me.”

“How…”

“The hotel maid found him this morning.”

I looked around for the clock. “Wait, what time is it?” I asked.

“Twelve thirty. I let you sleep in.”

“God, I haven’t slept this long in ages.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve had a rough week,” Ann said kindly.

“Me? You’re the one who should be sleeping in.” I shook my head. “So Julian is really…?”

“Dead. Quite dead,” Ann said, with a hint of a smile. “Oh, except it turns out his name isn’t Julian St. Claire.”

“Imagine my astonishment,” I murmured. “What is … sorry, what was it?”

“Melvin Gibs and he was from Trenton, New Jersey, where he is wanted for six counts of larceny.”

“Oh, this just gets better and better.”

“I guess that depends on your definition of the word ‘better,’” Ann said with a sigh.

Word spread quickly about Julian’s (aka Melvin’s) death. By unanimous consent, it was decided that Bonnie not be told right away. According to Dr. Moser, she was resting comfortably and probably could receive visitors later today. “That’s only if,” he added somberly, “it’s okay with the police.”

Officer Daschle came by the house around one thirty to take additional statements from both Ann and me. His attitude toward us had decidedly chilled since yesterday. Of course, he hadn’t exactly been a fan before, but compared to how he glared at us as he took our statements, yesterday’s interview seemed almost chummy. Of course, it probably didn’t help Officer Daschle’s mood that Julian had practically screamed for police protection, been dismissed as a crackpot, and then turned up dead. Some days you just can’t catch a break, I guess.

“As you know,” said Officer Daschle, “Mr. St. Claire, as you knew him, was found dead this morning. Preliminary reports indicate that he died from the same kind of poisoning administered to Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Could he have drunk from her glass after all?” asked Ann.

Officer Daschle shook his head. “He would have already been ill by the time we arrived. No, it seems that Mr. St. Claire was poisoned later— after he left the hospital.”

“But why?” I asked.

Officer Daschle fixed his gaze on mine. “Well, that’s what we’d like to know as well, Miss Parker. I do remember Mr. St. Claire mentioning something about an investment?”

I turned to Ann. It was probably better if she explained it.

Ann took a deep breath. “Before my father died, he sold his property in St. Michaels. The proceeds were to be split among the three of us—Reggie, Frances, and me. For some reason, Bonnie thought it should be split four ways, with her being the fourth. Our father sold the property before he died, but he didn’t have a chance to distribute the proceeds. The split is not mentioned in the will. Anyway, when Bonnie got back from her spa retreat”—Ann tried to keep the disgust out of her voice when she said this—“she brought Julian back with her. She told us that he was some kind of ‘whiz investor’ and would be investing all the proceeds from the sale. There were some among us who objected to this arrangement.”

“Some?” said Officer Daschle.

“Okay, all,” Ann amended. “We were discussing it when she collapsed.”

“What exactly was said?” asked Officer Daschle.

“Nothing really. We just told her that we didn’t want her investing our share of the money with him. We didn’t think he was legit.”

“Well, you were right on that count. He was most certainly not legit.”

“But we didn’t poison him! Just like we didn’t poison Bonnie! None of this makes sense!” cried Ann, burying her face in her hands.

Officer Daschle was unmoved by Ann’s distress. “Do you know if Mrs. Reynolds had given Mr. St. Claire the money to invest yet?”

“No. For some reason, I thought that she hadn’t, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.”

Officer Daschle did not answer right away. He appeared to be caught in some kind of internal debate. “We were able to access Mr. St. Claire’s bank accounts,” he finally said. “It appears that your stepmother had not given him the money.”

“Oh,” said Ann. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“You had no idea of this?”

Ann shook her head. “No. I only knew what she told us, which was that she was planning on it.”

“Well, I suppose whoever killed Mr. St. Claire wanted to make sure that she didn’t get the chance. After the failed attempt on your stepmother, it appeared that the plan was to prevent her from continuing with her original plan,” said Officer Daschle. “I need to know your whereabouts last night.”

“I was here,” said Ann. “With Elizabeth,” she added.

I nodded. “After we left the hospital, everyone came back here and had a late supper. Everyone left around nine thirty, I guess,” I said. I didn’t see the point in revealing the part where we’d learned that Reggie had been lying all these years about ending things with Michael. I didn’t see how the two could be related.