“More men get caught, anyhow,” he conceded, a definite grin on his face.
I laughed. “And on behalf of women everywhere, we thank you for that dubious praise.”
The sun had gone down shortly before we left the Ashe home, but the moon had already cleared the horizon. Nearly full now, it sheathed the hills in a silvery blue light. Leaf people come and go with the sun, and the narrow road was almost deserted on this Tuesday night.
Only Tuesday? It felt as if I’d been here a week.
Possibilities from last night played through my mind.
“Impulsive like Ledwig’s killer,” I mused, “but not in the heat of the moment.”
“How you figure that?”
“Would you go out on a deserted terrace with someone you’d been fighting with?” I asked.
“If it was coming to blows, I might take it outside.”
“With someone who was bringing along an iron candlestick?”
“It was dark. The killer could have palmed it.”
“Then why was he struck on the back of his head? If Osborne expected to fight, he’d be facing his attacker.”
“Not if he walked out first.”
“Then you’d have found blood on the terrace near the door, not over at the edge.”
“True. On the other hand, maybe Osborne thought the fight—argument, whatever—was over and he walked out there to cool off, not realizing his killer had followed.”
“When I went down to freshen up, that level was almost deserted,” I said. “Osborne could’ve gone to use the lavatory, too, and the killer followed him. If others had been around, Osborne might still be alive. But if the killer got lucky and it was just the two of them, he might have suggested they step out for a breath of fresh air or to look at the moon or a half-dozen other things. Once Osborne was leaning on the railing, looking out over Pritchard Cove —”
“Then it’s just one good blow to drape him over the railing, up with the legs, and ‘Hasta la vista, baby!’” said Underwood, finishing my scenario.
“That’s why I think it was pure impulse. Carpe diem.”
“Seize the day? But why this particular day, I wonder? What was Osborne going to do or say last night or today that made the killer feel he had to do it then?”
“What I said before. It could’ve been sheer impulse and nothing more. He’d already decided Osborne had to go. What better time than at a large party where suspicion could be spread around? If it were me, I’d start with all the usual suspects—wives, children, beneficiaries, business associates, and enemies—then eliminate any of those who weren’t at the party last night or who had alibis for when Dr. Ledwig was killed.”
“You really think the two are linked?”
“Don’t you?”
“Well, Danny Freeman didn’t kill Osborne, that’s for sure. And I’d hate like hell to think we’ve got two killers running around loose. So! Wives? You and Joyce alibi Sunny Osborne, and the bartender out at the country club alibis Tina Ledwig, who wasn’t even at the party. Children? Ledwig’s daughters are in the clear there, and the Osborne daughter’s in DC.”
“Beneficiaries?” I asked.
“Well, Ledwig’s medical associates gain his share of the clinic and hospital. The insurance they carried on him pays for that. If the Ashes had the same sort of policy on Osborne, it’ll buy out the share of the business Sunny would’ve inherited. She gets a bundle of cash, they get exclusives to the properties he controlled, and that’s sure a motive for both of them, but there’s no crossover to Ledwig that I can see. Sunny gains nothing by Ledwig’s death and neither do the Ashes. Besides, they were down in Asheville that day for their son’s hearing and—”
“Hearing?” I asked.
“Oh shit! Sorry. Forget I said that, okay?”
“I won’t repeat it,” I told him, “but I won’t forget it, and I
He took a deep breath, clearly annoyed with himself for that slip of the tongue. “Their oldest son, Bob Junior. He and his wife are both hooked on meth. They were cooking a batch last spring and the house went up in flames. Killed one of the grandchildren. The other two are still in a burn unit at the hospital there. They’re going to make it, but I guess Bobby and Joyce are paying all the bills on that, too.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” I whispered.
“Yeah.” He paused at a stop sign to make another right turn. “Anyhow, the hearing was the same Monday Ledwig died, and Bobby and Joyce were there all day.”
A heartbreaking way to collect an alibi. I thought of the photographs of children and grandchildren on the wall of the Ashe den and the love on Joyce’s face when she spoke of them last night. Yet I’d heard nothing in her voice to betray the grief she must still be feeling.
Denial?
I know how much it hurts when one of my nephews or nieces messes up. The pain must be cubed when it’s your child.
And to lose a grandchild like that?
Because your son thought he could cook up something as volatile as methamphetamine in the kitchen?
