Eric couldn’t either. Or wouldn’t. The gangly farmer was pacing around the kitchen like a restless, petulant teenager, heaving his chest and making it abundantly clear that he wanted to be somewhere else. Pretty damned juvenile, Des felt, considering how upset his mother was over Tolly’s death.
Danielle was well aware of this. Her eyes repeatedly made contact with his, silently pleading with him to park his geeky self at the table.
He refused, clomping back and forth in his work shoes. “We’ve got soup kitchen detail,” he complained over the whirring mixer. “How long will this take?”
“Not long,” Soave said, standing there with Yolie and Des.
“Eric, would you kindly show some basic human consideration?” Claudia said reproachfully.
“Would you kindly buzz off?”
Claudia abruptly got to her feet and shut off the mixer, leaving them in blissful silence. She took Poochie firmly by the shoulders and steered her toward the table. “Mummy, these officers need to speak with you. Sit down for a minute, will you?”
“There’s no need to manhandle me, Claude,” Poochie said indignantly, perching next to Bement. “What is it, Des?”
“Poochie, something you said earlier this morning struck me as a bit peculiar. Mr. Tolliver was missing, and at that point we were operating under the assumption that he’d skipped town.”
“You were operating under that assumption. I never was, as you and Bement will recall.”
“She’s right,” Bement acknowledged, hands gripping his coffee cup.
“I asked you if any works of art were missing,” Des went on. “You insisted that Tolly would never take anything of yours. I believe you said, ‘There would be no point in it.’ What did you mean by that? Have you made specific provisions for him in your will?”
“I don’t wish to discuss it,” Poochie said dismissively. “Ask Glynis.”
“Poochie did amend her last will and testament in November to provide for Mr. Tolliver,” Glynis offered guardedly.
“Provide for him how?”
“Poochie, you’re under no legal obligation to answer this,” Glynis advised her. “The contents of your will are confidential.”
“Lady, we will be right back here in an hour with a warrant and you know it,” Yolie huffed at the lawyer. “Right now, all you’re doing is impeding an investigation into two murders.”
“Two murders?” Poochie gaped at them in astonishment. “But I thought… you told me Tolly swallowed poison.”
“We believe he was struck on the head and forced to drink it,” Des said.
“Oh, I am so relieved to hear that.” Poochie’s blue eyes puddled with tears. “Not that I mean to suggest I’m happy Tolly was murdered. I simply refused to believe he was despondent. He was happy with me.”
“Of course he was.” Claudia reached a hand out to her mother’s. Poochie instinctively pulled away. Claudia’s face tightened, a mask of anguish.
Poochie was unaware of it. Or appeared to be. She got up and went back to the counter and began greasing the two loaf pans with a stick of butter. “Four Chimneys is for my children,” she said in a firm voice. “Father wanted it that way. The house and the land will be theirs. Likewise my stock holdings. Poor Peter’s as well. But I did what I could do for Tolly. And there you have it.”
Des shook her head at her. “How did you do what you could for him?”
“Why, by leaving him the contents of the house, of course. Those are mine to distribute as I choose, and I chose to leave them to Tolly.”
Des’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
Soave looked at her blank-faced, still not grasping the hugeness of this.
“She left him her art collection, Rico,” Des explained.
“And do not overlook the furniture,” Claudia added in a muted voice. “Some of those antiques are priceless.”
“You knew about this?” Des asked her.
“Of course she did,” Poochie said. “Both of my children did.”
Eric had nothing to say. Just lurked there by the back door like an impatient kid who couldn’t wait to go play ball with his friends.
“I wanted them to understand how much Tolly meant to me,” Poochie explained.
“Tolly told me about it himself,” Claudia said quietly. “He hoped it would bring the two of us closer together, I believe he said. I just thought he was lording it over me.”
“You had no cause to feel that way,” Poochie chided her.
“Well, I’m sorry, Mummy.”
“And what did you think?” Soave asked Eric.
“About what?” The farmer’s attention seemed elsewhere.
“Poochie leaving Tolly her art collection,” Danielle said in a patient voice.
“A bunch of meaningless adornment,” Eric responded, shrugging his shoulders. “Who cares?”
“Know what strikes me as odd?” Soave said. “Mr. Tolliver made zero mention of this when we interviewed him. All he did was cry poverty.”
“Because he was afraid you’d think exactly what you’re thinking, Lieutenant,” Poochie said. “That he was nothing more than an aging gold digger. I told him to hell with what other people think. But Tolly was terribly sensitive. Surely you can understand that.”
“I guess. Only, why didn’t you tell us?”
Glynis answered, “We complied with you fully yesterday, Lieutenant. We granted you access to Peter Mosher’s last will and testament. We answered your questions regarding the estate of John J. Meier. My client’s own bequests were outside the scope of your inquiry.”
“Damn, lady,” Yolie fumed. “If you weren’t being such a nit-picky lawyer that man might still be alive. Don’t you get that?”
“I was doing my job.”
“Girl to girl, your job stinks!”
“You have no call to speak to me that way, Sergeant,” Glynis responded coldly. “It’s highly unprofessional, and I resent it. Lieutenant, I do not care for the adversarial tone this conversation is taking.”
“Duly noted. Can we please move on?”
Glynis continued to glare at Yolie.
“I’m no art expert, Mrs. Vickers,” Soave said. “Can you give us a ballpark figure on how much your collection is worth?”
“Why, I would have no idea. I’ve never placed a dollar value on it. That’s not what art is about, is it, Des?”
“Poochie, I’m afraid that’s very much what it’s about right now.”
“Well, that’s just fine then,” the grand old lady declared. “If you people insist upon being so vulgar I shall be in the conservatory with my plants and other living things.”
“Mummy, please don’t go,” Claudia protested.
But Poochie had already barged out of the kitchen, leaving them and her unfinished gingerbread behind.
“If she’s gone, I’m gone.” Eric flung open the back door. “Come on, hon.”
Danielle got up from the table and followed him, mustering an apologetic glance at Des.
“I’ve got to open up the shop,” Bement said as he, too, headed out.
Only Glynis and Claudia remained there at the table.
“In response to your question, Lieutenant,” Glynis said crisply, “the value of Poochie’s art collection has been placed at one hundred million dollars. And that is a very, very conservative estimate, considering the prices that modern pieces have been fetching at auction lately. It could easily be worth four or five times that much. A representative of Sotheby’s phones me regularly to convey how anxious they are to get their hands on it.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Soave said to her. “You’re telling us that the ‘contents’ are worth more than the house, the land, the stock and everything else put together, am I right?”
“Unquestionably,” Glynis confirmed.
