Ghosted

Chapter Six

“ I knew it !” Judith leapt up and pointed in accusation at Archie. “You murdered my brother!”

“ Mother !” Desi’s horrified protest was barely audible, as everyone burst into speech.

“Judith, what are you saying?” Mila’s cry seemed to be the shocked consensus.

Despite his training and experience, Archie also shot to his feet. Somewhere in the distance, he was aware that Ms. Madison was warning Judith about the possible penalties for committing slander, but he could barely hear her over the ringing in his ears.

“You’re out of your mind. Me kill John?”

Judith didn’t waver. “I know you did. I know it with all my heart!”

He could see that she really did believe it, really believed he was capable of murdering John. John , for whom he’d have gladly traded the house, the boat, every single goddamned cent, to have back in his life again. For a bunch of stuff he’d never wanted and never had any clue John intended leaving him.

He knew there was no point in responding, knew he needed to stay calm and rational, keep it cool and professional, but something had happened to him over the last two days. His control cracked.

“You know zip , if that’s what you think.” He said furiously, “There’s no way in hell I’d have ever harmed John. I only just got back here. I had no idea John planned on leaving me anything . Let alone—”

“ That’s why you came back. I knew there had to be a reason.”

Ms. Madison tossed the sheaf of papers aside, and left her desk. “I’m sorry, but I think it might be wise to adjourn for now. I’m happy to speak with everyone one-on-one later this week.” She made a little rise, congregation! gesture, and everyone stood up.

The other beneficiaries were still talking—loudly—but for Archie, and no doubt for Judith, they were the only two people in the room, and they continued their exchange as the others reluctantly gathered their belongings, still offering their thoughts and opinions as they shuffled toward the door.

“Judith, you’re wrong. John never discussed his will with me. I don’t give a damn about any of that stuff. You can have it all. Take the damned house. I don’t—”

“Archie, stop ,” Ms. Madison’s voice cut through the uproar. “Now is not the time to make any decisions. In any case, John’s will contains certain clauses which both you and Mrs. Winslow still need to be made aware of.”

Arlo put his arm around Judith’s shaking frame. “Judith, now is not the time. We’ll deal with this through the courts.”

“He murdered my brother.”

“That’s a goddamned lie!” Archie snapped back. He was beyond appalled. It was one thing to resent his small share in John’s life. To accuse him of murder? Of murdering John? Was she out of her fucking mind?

Ms. Madison stepped in front of Judith and Arlo. “Mrs. Winslow, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss. John was a wonderful man. But I must ask you to leave my office immediately .” To Arlo, she said, “She needs to go.”

Arlo was instantly affronted. “ She needs to go? Really, counselor?”

“Yes, really,” Ms. Madison said. “She’s free to call me later with any questions. However, both Mrs. Winslow and Ms. Winslow need to be aware that their bequests contain no-contest clauses. If they attempt to sue Archie and lose—and they will lose, I can assure you—they forfeit their inheritances.”

“We’ll see about that,” Arlo returned. He put his other arm around a shell-shocked-looking Desi, ushering the Winslow ladies toward the door. Ms. Madison moved to join Archie as everyone filed past them, talking quietly, with many curious looks over their shoulders.

Ms. Madison said to Archie, “I’m so sorry. I can’t apologize enough. I should have realized there was the possibility of an outburst.”

Archie, already embarrassed about his own uncharacteristic reaction, brushed her apology aside. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just don’t understand what John was thinking. Of course, his family is going to be upset. They’re already shocked and angry and…and grief-stricken.”

“As are you,” Ms. Madison returned tartly. “As for what John was thinking, he had his reasons. I’m not at liberty to discuss them.” She hesitated. “He told me that he left you a letter. I take it you haven’t yet read that.”

“This is the first I’ve heard about a letter.”

“I assume it’s in John’s safe. Once the police have released the house as a crime scene, you should be able to return and find the letter. Until you’ve read it, please withhold judgment.”

Archie said wearily, “I’m not judging him. I’m just confused.”

She put her hand on his arm. “I know. This isn’t at all how John planned to handle the situation. He had every intention of speaking to you in person. The letter was to serve as backup in case something unforeseen happened before you made it home again. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what happened. But I want you to know, John would want you to know, that he had every intention of telling you...certain things in person. He never intended to take the easy way out.”

“Getting murdered isn’t the easy way out.”

“No, of course not.” Behind the red squares of her spectacles, Ms. Madison’s hazel eyes were troubled. “I’m so sorry for, well, all of it, but in particular the terrible things Mrs. Winslow said. I can promise you there’s no breaking this will.”

“I don’t care about the will,” Archie said.” Judith and Desi can have everything as far as I’m concerned. My life is in D.C.”

“Well, no, they can’t.” Ms. Madison was firm. “Not for two years, in any case. There’s a clause attached to your inheritance as well, which bars you from selling or disposing of the house in any way for a full twenty-four months. After that, it’s up to you.”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding. John anticipated your initial reaction might be...less than enthusiastic. But he was adamant that you have some kind of safety net for the future.”

Archie couldn’t help a flare of exasperation. “I have a safety net. I have a healthy savings account and, eventually, I’ll have a very decent retirement. I don’t need Judith and Desi’s share—”

“No,” Ms. Madison cut in. “That’s not what this is. I know this is not a comfortable discussion for you—”

“No, it’s not. I don’t want or need any of this.”

“I understand. But John wanted you to understand, well, a number of things. Among them, the fact that John and Judith received equal shares of their parents’ estate. Equal shares in all things financial and sentimental.”

Archie absorbed this in silence. He wasn’t entirely sure what Ms. Madison was getting at, and maybe Ms. Madison could see that in his expression.

“In other words, while Judith—Mrs. Winslow—may feel she has first right to certain family heirlooms and properties, there was never any such belief or agreement on John’s part. He purchased McCabe House thirty years ago. Despite the distant family connection to the McCabes, it was not an inherited property. As for those items that might be considered family heirlooms, Judith already received her share, which she can, in due time, pass on to her daughter and grandchildren. John was free to do the same.”

“But—”

Ms. Madison qualified, “Or leave them to anyone else of his choosing.”

Archie fell silent.

“Mrs. Winslow has her own income from her late husband as well as whatever is left from the money and property she inherited from her parents. Through the years, John chose to help her out financially, but that was not any kind of official arrangement and had nothing to do with anything but his kindness and generosity.”

This was all news to Archie, and he honestly didn’t know what to make of it. He said nothing.

Ms. Madison sighed. “I can see you’re not at all happy about this. And, of course, I can’t tell you how to feel. I can’t even imagine—anyway, I can only suggest that you trust John just a little bit and wait until you have all the facts.”

Did he have a choice? It sure didn’t feel like it.

That thing about avoiding stress and exertion until he was fully recovered from his head injury?

Not so much.

By the time Archie reached his hotel, he wanted nothing more than to lie down. Too much walking, too much talking, too much screaming for a guy on sick leave. He had never been good at pacing himself, and if there had ever been a time he needed to be at full speed, it was now. But despite his best effort to will himself back to one hundred percent, it just wasn’t happening.

Even if he had been back to full speed, he lacked clear direction—something else, he wasn’t used to.

He’d been shut out of the police investigation. That meant he would have to wait until Twinkleton PD released McCabe House before he could retrace John’s steps that final day or reexamine the crime scene or look for the mysterious letter John had allegedly left for him.

His best bet would be to try to talk to the people closest to John—barring Judith and Desi, who, after today, were unlikely to be very forthcoming with him. Granted, they’d been unlikely to be forthcoming with him even before Ms. Madison had dropped her bombshell. But those interviews would have to wait till he had rested and refueled.

In the meantime, he was still trying to digest John’s bewildering legacy.

He was deeply moved by John’s generosity, but also baffled. And a little overwhelmed.

Angry as he was that Judith had dared to accuse him of murder, he knew she was not going to be the only person in Twinkleton to notice he now had a compelling motive for homicide.

And, sure enough, when he walked into the cool gloom of the Fraser House Inn’s lobby, he found Detective Swenson standing at the front desk gabbing away to Scarlett Langham.

Scarlett spotted him at once and said something to Swenson, who turned, silently watching Archie cross the glossy floor to them.

Despite his inner howl of protest, Archie kept his expression pleasantly blank.

“Looking for me, detective?”

Swenson’s baby face was flushed, although that probably had as much to do with chatting up the police chief’s pretty sister as the heat of the day or the sudden reappearance of Public Enemy Number One.

“Would you mind coming down to the station, Mr. Crane? Chief—we—have a few more questions for you. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Archie repressed a sardonic smile at that quickly suppressed Chief. No question who was the driving force behind this homicide investigation, and tempting though it was to respond with a snappish, Suppose I do mind? he was not going to make life difficult for this cub cop. Nor for himself, because he could guess how Beau would react to any perceived challenge to his authority, particularly from Archie.

“Sure. I guess my nap can wait.”

Swenson gave a short laugh, like he thought Archie was kidding. Scarlett, with an expression uncannily reminiscent of her older brother, studied him critically.

Archie followed Swenson outside and around the back of the inn to where Swenson’s unmarked police vehicle was parked in the small, shady, and mostly empty lot.

In case Archie was in any doubt, it was instantly made clear he was being brought in as more than a mere formality or as part of a cooperative effort when Swenson unlocked the back seat, indicating Archie should sit behind the cage like any other detainee.

Or maybe Swenson was as clueless about professional courtesy as he was everything else.

Archie climbed into the back and buckled up, as if this was all routine. He truly was past caring. Between his ever-lurking exhaustion and the emotional strains of the day, he just wanted to get round two over with.

Swenson, however, was in a chatty mood.

“Has Twinkleton changed a lot since you lived here?” he asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Archie said dryly, “It hasn’t changed at all.”

Swenson considered that for a moment or two.

“I guess you must spend a lot of your time chasing serial killers?”

Archie snapped out of his preoccupation. “ Me ? No. Different division entirely.”

“Oh?” Swenson asked very casually, “What division are you?”

Archie considered and discarded a couple of replies. He said vaguely, “Mostly operational support. Administrative stuff. I work out of D.C. Usually.”

Not lately. Not for the last year and change. But usually.

“You don’t look like a desk jockey.” Swenson’s eyes met Archie’s in the rearview mirror.

Archie shrugged. He had no idea what he looked like these days, beyond the worse for wear.

Less than six minutes later, they pulled into the tidy little blacktop square set aside for Twinkleton PD parking. Swenson pulled into an official slot, got out, and unlocked Archie’s door. Archie unfolded from the backseat and followed Swenson inside.

He had about a twenty-minute wait on his own in the interview room.

Knowing what that was about, Archie was unimpressed—though, usually, he’d have made an effort to conceal his feelings. Maybe none of this was personal. Maybe he was doing Beau an injustice by reading disrespect into standard operating procedure. Unfortunately, when it came to Beau, he couldn’t seem to separate his personal feelings from his professional experience.

He leaned back in the hard wooden chair and stared up at the soundproofed ceiling.

He had been in many interview rooms over the years. Generally, on the other side of the metal table. This was the typical small town police station interview room, stark and functional, designed for utility rather than comfort. The walls were beige, the floor linoleum, the lighting bright and fluorescent and universally unflattering. There was a one-way mirror on the far wall and a mounted camera in one corner of the ceiling.

The closest thing to an ornamental touch was the clock on the wall silently counting down each irritating minute.

He was on guard but not unduly nervous. Frankly, he had reached that stage of fatigue where he didn’t have the energy for anything beyond getting through the next hour without saying things he would almost certainly regret.

He was not expecting to fall asleep. In fact, he didn’t realize he had even closed his eyes, until the sound of the door to the interview room opening filtered into his dream, and he slammed his chair down on all four legs, jarring himself back to consciousness.

He sat up straight, blinking and disoriented as memory came rushing back—disoriented but also relieved that he had not fallen over backwards.

Detective Swenson pulled out a chair, wood scraping noisily on linoleum, and sat down. Archie’s attention was on Swenson’s companion, Police Chief Langham himself.

That was unexpected. Archie had assumed Beau would observe the interview through the one-way mirror. He stared up at Beau.

Beau stared impassively back, and took his seat across from Archie. He smiled a white and rather alarming smile, and said “Don’t worry, Special Agent Crane. We’ve got coffee coming. We don’t want you to miss anything.”