her disabled brother, who wouldn’t amount to much anyway, not to mention all the bills she wouldn’t have for his medical expenses. Unquote.”
I shrugged and drank my mojito. I still felt the same cold fury I’d felt that night in the lodge, remembering the matter-of-fact way Charles had tossed off that remark.
“God, that’s sick,” Quinn said. “Except I suppose we need to remember that was forty years ago. Those were the days when you stuck people like that in closets and tried to forget about them.”
“‘People like that.’ It breaks my heart.” I fished in my purse for the last two photos and pulled out the one of Stephen Falcone, setting it on the table for Quinn to see. “That’s Stephen. Look at him. He has such kind eyes. And a sweet smile. I bet he really trusted everyone. Never thought anyone would do anything to hurt him.”
Quinn picked up the photo, his lips pressed together. “I’m sorry, Lucie,” he said.
I took the final photo, the blackmail photo, and slid it in front of him. “And now here’s this.”
Even Quinn reddened, staring at the raw sexuality of a man and woman utterly engrossed in making love when they believed no one was watching.
He cleared his throat. “Wonder who took it.”
“We can eliminate two people right off the bat,” I said. “These two. It must have been someone else among the Fearsome Fivesome.”
“Sixsome.”
“Huh?”
“Charles was part of this group, too.” He tapped his finger on the edge of the photo. “There were six of them, counting Charles. What do you bet he took the photos on your phone?”
“It could have been a timer,” I said. “And he said he wasn’t a member of the Mandrake Society. He was married, though not to Juliette back then. Said he didn’t like their drinking and disdained what he called their ‘sexual experimenting.’ ”
“He doesn’t look too disdainful doing what he’s doing there.”
My turn to blush. “Why would he lie about being part of the group? About”—I indicated the picture —“that.”
“Maybe he had a rich-but-jealous wife and he didn’t want her finding out he was screwing a gorgeous twentysomething hot chick, in case she decided to divorce him and leave him penniless.”
“That sounds like a plot from one of Thelma Johnson’s soap operas.”
Unexpectedly, his eyes softened and he sounded wistful. “Good old Thelma. I miss getting coffee in the General Store in the morning with her and the Romeos. Finding out what’s going on in the world.”
“That can be remedied.” I tried to keep my voice light.
He sighed. “Yeah, I know. You’ve only dropped two million hints.” He slid the photo over to me. “Back to the matter at hand. What’s your explanation for this, since you don’t seem to like mine?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” I said. “But I wish I knew more about Maggie Hilliard. She’s the one who gave the group their name and then had those wineglasses made for everyone. So she’s into bonding, weekend parties at the beach. Kind of like a family.”
“Then why would she betray her boyfriend by having sex with another member of the group? Especially the father figure.”
“Ugh, that almost sounds like incest when you put it like that.”
Our waitress stopped by. “Another round, folks?”
Quinn glanced at me and we both shook our heads. “We’re fine with these,” he said. “Thanks.”
She set down the bill and left.
Quinn indicated the picture of Maggie and Charles. “ ‘Incest’ is a pretty strong word, if you ask me. Though Maggie doesn’t exactly come across as a wholesome all-American girl, into group hugs and singing ‘Kumbaya’ with the rest of the campers when she’s doing this with a married guy old enough to be her father.”
I turned the photograph over.
“Except she was the one—apparently the only one—who felt so much remorse about Stephen that she wanted to come clean about covering up his death.”
“Returning to a distasteful subject, she had sexual relationships with two men she worked with at the same time. That can’t have done much for group dynamics,” he said.
“Unless she was coerced,” I said. “What if Charles lusted after her and promised to protect the Mandrake Society if she cooperated? So being a good team player, she went to bed with him. Maybe she figured they’d be discreet since he was married and she was involved with Theo. Counted on the others never finding out about it.”
“Yeah, well, throw that theory out the window because someone did find out,” Quinn said. “And decided to record them in flagrante delicto. Wonder who it was. And why.”
“Two reasons: blackmail or jealousy.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Maybe both.”
“That’s why. What about who?”
“You don’t take a picture like this unless you intend to do something with it. Someone meant to use this photo to influence—or blackmail—either Maggie or Charles. Or hurt Theo. Again that leaves Mel, Paul, and Vivian.”
“My money’s on Vivian,” Quinn said. “It seems like a female thing. What do you bet she was jealous of our girl Maggie who was having good-time sex with not one but two guys who worked together?”
“Mel had the photograph,” I said.
“Maybe Vivian made copies and put ’em in her Christmas cards to the rest of the gang.”
“Now you’re being crude.”
“I notice you didn’t dispute that I could be right.”
“Okay, multiple copies,” I said. “But when did the others see this photo? At the time? After Maggie was dead, or long after they were disbanded?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does. Charles implied that Theo believed—but couldn’t prove—that Maggie driving off that pier and drowning wasn’t an accident. So I’m betting Theo didn’t know about the affair, because if he did, you’d have to wonder about a lovers’ quarrel between him and Maggie.”
“Meaning Theo might have tampered with her car in a jealous rage?”
“Yes, except Charles said Theo accused him and the others of doing something to shut Maggie up about Stephen. That’s when he threatened to make them all pay for her death. So I guess we can eliminate Theo.” I frowned. “Wonder what made him doubt the drunk-driving explanation?”
“I don’t know, but it leaves us with the Usual Suspects. One or all of whom might have had a motive for murder.” Quinn tipped his glass and drank, rattling the ice cubes. “Vivian, Mel, and Paul. And we can’t discount Charles, either.”
“Everybody’s dead,” I said. “Except Charles.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
“What if Charles engineered Maggie’s accident?” I said finally. The thought had been flitting uneasily through my mind all afternoon, ever since I found that photograph. If Charles bore some responsibility for Maggie’s death, played some role, it changed everything.
“How?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know. If he did, the police never figured it out.” I shrugged. “Maybe I’m grasping at straws.”
“If he did, that could explain why he wants to know if Theo is still alive. Maybe Charles is worried Theo finally learned something after all this time that can tie him to Maggie’s death.” He paused. “There’s no statute of limitations on murder, you know.”
“No,” I said. “There isn’t, is there?”
“You’d better watch it, Lucie. I know we’re just speculating, but if any of this is true, you’re dealing with a guy with no conscience.”
“I know,” I said. “And if it’s true, then it would make Charles a murderer.”
Chapter 16
