Diane Davidson - Prime Cut

While Leah was still in the hospital, she had been questioned by Andy Fuller and two investigators from the sheriff’s department. Her face had still been bandaged; her broken ribs had made talking difficult. After they left, so did she. The hospital had called the department when they’d discovered her gone. She wasn’t a suspect in any of the crimes that had taken place at the cabin, and yet why had she slipped out? When Tom called Bobby Whitaker to ask if Leah wanted to join us at the cabin, Bobby had replied that his half-sister was too busy. Too busy, to come see historic treasure buried by her grandfather unearthed? Too busy doing what? She was at the museum, Bobby confessed, just looking at her grandfather’s old stuff.

So we were at the Homestead. We were going to talk to Leah together because I was a friend, not a cop. Besides, I wanted to know for myself what had happened with that falling flat.

But as Tom and I crossed the Homestead dining room, we immediately heard Leah arguing with Sylvia Bevans in the kitchen. Between them, on the island, were the letter from Leavenworth and the framed Times article on the 1915 stagecoach robbery. Apparently Leah was demanding that the letter and the article be deacquisitioned so she could have them for mementoes. And Sylvia, fiercely protective of the museum, as usual, was telling her that she absolutely could have neither the newspaper article nor the letter.

“But why do you want them?” huffed Sylvia, trembling indignantly inside a lime-colored linen suit. “After all this time? The police told me you want The Practical Cook Book , too. Have you gone insane? Why don’t you just take a photocopy?”

Leah, bandaged and holding herself at an awkward angle, shot back: “No, Sylvia, I have not gone insane. I’m leaving Aspen Meadow. I’m moving to Arizona, okay? The only things I want to keep are the messages my grandfather sent, and the newspaper reporting his last caper.”

“You absolutely cannot take museum property—”

“We need to talk to Miss Smythe, Mrs. Bevans,” Tom interposed gently as we joined them. “If you would excuse us. And please bear in mind all that Miss Smythe has done for the museum,” he added. “Especially this afternoon.”

Snapping her mouth shut, Sylvia stomped past Tom, back toward the sacred realms of her office. She did not acknowledge me.

Leah shuffled over to one of the stools and sat gingerly. A bare spot above her ear had been shaved and stitched. Her face was still swollen and covered with bruises, and the streaked pixie haircut looked disheveled and shorn.

“Are you here to arrest me?” she asked Tom defiantly.

“No,” Tom replied easily. “Why don’t we sit and talk?”

Leah gestured impatiently. “I’m leaving the Smythe land. When I have the property, everyone wants it. They use me to try to get it. That’s why I’m going away.”

“Begin at the beginning,” Tom advised. “Goldy hasn’t heard your story yet.”

Leah raised one eyebrow at me and hrumphed .

“I’m sorry about Ian,” I said, and meant it.

“Don’t be. Ian and I have … had been together for ten years. What kept us together was preserving wildlife migration routes.” Leah touched the bare spot on her scalp. “I guess even a good cause isn’t enough when you’re not getting along, especially when the person you thought you loved turns into a self-centered, temperamental guy.” She shifted her weight on the stool and winced. “They’re doing a lot of shooting down in Phoenix now, what with the good weather … anyway, Ian said he didn’t have the capital to set up in a new place. But I wanted to leave, and I wanted Ian to move his studio somewhere, anywhere, away from my cabin, so Bobby could sell it. I feel responsible for Bobby, and I’m the only one who does. I wanted to let him sell that land to the paint-pellet people, so he could have a way to live, now that the modeling was finished for him.” She took an unsteady breath and shook her head. “I don’t give a damn about anything buried up there. If they don’t find any of the victims’ heirs, and the county historical society people want it, they can have it. I have a big family house in Aspen Meadow that I’m about to put on the market—”

“Three people are dead,” Tom reminded her.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” She stopped and tried to construct her thoughts. “Bobby said the place would show better if we did a little work on it. We hired Eliot because he was available and said the job could be done in a week, before we got going on the Christmas catalog. The liar.”

She fell silent; her fingers stroked her bruised cheek. Tom prompted: “And?”

She moaned. “That moron Eliot found the rifle in the wall, and a note from my grandfather saying you needed Winnie’s cookbook and the rifle to find his treasure. Ian’s Images put out the story that we’d fired Eliot, but that wasn’t quite true. Ian and Gerald Eliot were in on it together. Eliot was going to get Ian the cookbook. They were going to find the treasure together. But Ian … oh, God, I didn’t want to believe he could have killed Eliot. I didn’t even ask him about it. I didn’t want to know. And he knew better than to mention it.” She gave me a quizzical look. “How did you find out about what was in the wall?”

I said simply, “Gerald Eliot had Rustine photocopy the note. But André didn’t have the note.” Leah’s confusion deepened. I told her about André’s knowledge of the very common code, showed it to her in the Leavenworth letter, then explained that André had requested a photocopy of the cookbook. “That’s why he went to the cabin so early on Monday morning.” Leah’s eyes watered; she raked her hair again.

She said, “So … Ian managed to make it look as if André had died accidentally?” When I nodded, she began to cry. She said, “He must have thought he was in too deep, by then. Anyone who figured out the code would be on to him, about what he’d done to Eliot to get the cookbook. It all got so out of control. I knew it, but I didn’t want to face it. I was afraid.” Tears streamed down her face. “I loosened the clamp on the flat. I wanted to die. That way Bobby would still get half the property. And if the flat didn’t kill me, at least I would be far away from Ian. I knew he’d kill me next.” Sobs wracked her slender body.

“Let us take you back to your place,” Tom told her. “You need to rest.”

“Aren’t they going to start the digging up at the cabin in a couple of hours? Don’t you want to be there?”

“It’s more important for you to take care of yourself,” Tom replied. “Let us help you get home.”

She picked up the Leavenworth letter and shook her head. “I can drive. I’m fine . You all go on to the cabin. I never want to see the damn place again.” With her free hand, she smeared the tears from her eyes and forced a sour laugh. “I must look awful. I need to do something about my makeup, don’t you think?”

We followed Leah to her old house overlooking Main Street, then went home. I surveyed my lustrous cherry cabinets, bright new windows, and gleaming Carrara marble countertops. This was a kitchen I could enjoy, I decided, as Tom and I began to pack up for our meal at the cabin. Arch, joining us, announced: “Elk Park Prep called and said after Tom talked to Leland, he paid my tuition.” While I offered a quick prayer of thanks, my son looked around and exclaimed, “Man, this place rocks! The marble’s cool. I told Lettie she could come over after school tomorrow to see it. That’s okay, isn’t it?”