Murder Most Persuasive

Where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong?

—Sense and Sensibility

I followed Ann into the kitchen, where she immediately collapsed limply into a chair. “Oh, God!” she moaned into her hands. “He hates me! Hates me!”

“He doesn’t hate you,” I said, as I pulled out a chilled bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “He’s just proud. You didn’t expect him to act any way else, did you? Here, open this.” I handed her the bottle. “I’ll get the glasses.”

I reached into the cabinet behind me and took down several glasses. By the time I’d turned around again, Ann had eased the cork out and was in the process of pouring the contents down her throat.

“Hey!” I yelled, as I grabbed the bottle away from her. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ann grabbed the bottle back. “Trying to get drunk, thank you very much. Now if you’ll stop interfering, I’d like to get back on task.” She took another sip, but I grabbed the bottle back again before she could drink any more.

“Would you please stop doing that?” she said, trying to snatch the bottle back. “It’s really annoying!”

I held the bottle away from her. “Ann, you don’t drink. Not like that, anyway. You are the personification of a lightweight. Need I remind you of what happened at Reggie’s second wedding? You had three drinks and ended up puking in the bathroom for half an hour.”

“That’s not true,” Ann said with a haughty lift of her chin, “I threw up after I caught sight of myself in the mirror wearing that hideous bridesmaid dress.”

She had a point. Reggie had hired some famous designer (who I dearly hoped was in a different line of work now) to create her dress and the coordinating bridesmaid dresses. Hideous didn’t even begin to describe the resulting creation. Think dominatrix meets Scarlett O’Hara—in strip-pole pink. If I recall correctly, there were even little chains on the corset portion of the dress.

“Well, I’m not letting you get drunk,” I said firmly. “It’s not going to solve anything.”

Ann rested her head in her hands. “I never said it would solve anything,” she mumbled. “It just would let me forget for a while that he hates me.”

I put the bottle down (well out of her reach) and went over to her. Gently putting my hand on her back, I said, “He doesn’t hate you, Ann. But you didn’t expect him to come here all smiles, did you? Besides, he didn’t come on a social visit. He had to keep it impersonal and professional.”

“Well, he succeeded at that, all right. He was nothing but impersonal and professional. In fact, if I didn’t know otherwise, I’d say that he didn’t even recognize me. He treated me like he would a complete stranger!”

“Ann…”

“We used to be able to practically read each other’s thoughts,” she continued in a soft voice, almost to herself. “We could just look at one another and know what the other was thinking. But tonight … it was like staring at a blank wall. I don’t know him anymore.”

“Ann, I know this is hard, and I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I think we have a bigger problem here than how Joe feels about you.”

She stiffened at my words. “You’re right. I’m being silly. I almost forgot. Michael.”

“Yes, Michael.” Trying to lighten the mood a bit, I added, “Some people are always troublesome, I guess. Even in death.”

Ann gave a wry smile. “Yeah, well, that would be Michael.” She stared at the table for a moment and then said, “The police think one of us did it, don’t they?”

“I … um, I … think…” The words caught and I couldn’t finish.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

* * *

By the time we returned to the living room, Frances was holding court, talking loudly and gesticulating with enthusiasm. Reggie was tapping her well-shod foot in obvious annoyance. Seeing the wine, she muttered, “Oh, thank God,” and practically leaped out of her chair. Grabbing the bottle out of my hand and a glass out of Ann’s, Reggie quickly served herself. With a half glance over her shoulder at Frances, she said in a low voice, “I swear to God, if she doesn’t shut up, I’m going to belt her.”

“Honestly, it’s been so long since I thought about Michael,” Frances was saying, oblivious of Reggie’s annoyance. “But I have to say, I never liked him. There was something about his face—his eyes were too close together, for one thing. I tried to warn Daddy at the time, but of course no one wanted to listen to me.”

I glanced over at Ann in time to see her roll her eyes heavenward. Reggie raised her glass to her mouth—and kept it there a very long time. Taking the bottle back from Reggie, I offered wine to the others.

“Well, he had me fooled,” said Miles after accepting a glass. “I was never more surprised than when I found out what he’d done.” He glanced down at his hands, his face etched with regret. “I always felt that I let Marty down somehow. I should have noticed what was going on.”

Laura grabbed his hand; it looked almost childlike against Miles’s large and calloused one. “This is not your fault,” she said firmly. “No one suspected Michael of being a thief.” Frances shifted in her seat and appeared to be about to speak, when Laura shot her a quelling look and repeated, “No one.”

Frances sniffed and turned her face, but at least she took the hint and didn’t reiterate her ludicrous claim.

“What I can’t believe is that he’s dead,” said Laura. “Murdered, in fact!”

Frances twisted her lips. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised now that I’ve thought about it. He was a criminal. Criminals usually come to a bad end. And to think that Joe is in charge of it all!” Looking to Ann, she asked, “Did you know he was going to be on the case?”

“No. I was as surprised as anyone.”

“He hasn’t changed much, has he?”

“No,” said Ann, “he hasn’t,” her face starting to crumple.

Laura saw this and quickly changed the subject. “Well, what I wonder is, who do you think could have killed Michael?”

Frances shrugged. “He probably had an accomplice or something. Maybe Michael tried to double-cross him or something.”

“I wonder if the police will ever find the killer,” said Scott. “I mean, can they after all this time?”

“I doubt it,” answered Frances.

“Well, in any case, I think we should consult with a lawyer,” said Miles. “I would imagine that we haven’t seen the last of the police.”

“Miles, don’t be absurd!” Frances scoffed. “We don’t need a lawyer! No one who knows us would ever think that one of us could have had anything to do with this!”

“I agree. As soon as we hire a lawyer, we’ll look guilty,” added Reggie. Frances nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know,” said Scott, “I think Miles has a point. It’s a precautionary move and I don’t necessarily think it indicates guilt.”

“But we’re Reynoldses!” said Frances. “Our family has an excellent reputation. That must count for something.”

“Frances!” Ann burst out. “Our name might mean ‘quality construction’ to some, but that hardly translates to inculpability!”

“Girls! This isn’t getting us anywhere!” said Miles, raising his hands. “I think we need to face the very real possibility that the police are going to want to ask all of us a lot more questions and will view us with more than a little suspicion. Having a lawyer on hand to guide us will only help us, not hurt us.”

“I agree,” Scott said, to the obvious annoyance of Frances, who crossed her arms across her chest and shot him a mutinous look.