Murder Most Persuasive

“This is fascinating! I never thought of Bonnie as lusting after anyone, least of all Miles!”

“Yeah, well, I think it came as something of a surprise to Miles, too.”

“Do you think your dad ever noticed?”

Ann shrugged. “Who knows? You know what he was like.”

I nodded. Uncle Marty loved his business and his kids—in that order. I doubt if Bonnie was even in the top ten. Half of the time he ignored Bonnie; the other half he mocked her. Once the kids were grown, Bonnie was no longer necessary to Marty’s plan. As a faithful Catholic—at least to the rules, if not the intent—divorce was not an option for Marty. He simply ignored her. I wondered if Marty would have cared if she’d run off. Probably if it were with anybody other than Miles, he wouldn’t have.

“Well, I think it’s a good idea to call him tomorrow and see if he can help by remembering any disgruntled employees from back then.”

“And then what do we do?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m not suggesting that we do anything. I just thought that it might be worthwhile passing that information on to the police.”

“Meaning that we should do everything we can to point the police to the idea of an accomplice, someone outside the family,” she said.

I tilted my head in acknowledgment. “Something like that. I don’t think the police are going to ignore the family or the effect that Michael had on everyone. I just think it might be a good idea to give them more than one option.”

Ann stared back at me, her eyes worried. “I’ll call Scott and Miles first thing in the morning and then see if I can’t get those records.”

* * *

Up in my room, I called Peter. I ended up with his voice mail so I left him a brief message to call me when he had a chance. I didn’t go into the details of my day. I couldn’t begin to fathom how I would even phrase that message: Hey, Peter, it’s me. Funny thing happened today. Remember that guy Michael who embezzled all that money from Uncle Marty? Well, he was just found dead and buried under the old family pool. Anyway, hope all is well with you. Give me a call when you have a sec. Love ya!

My call to Aunt Winnie was more successful. She answered on the second ring, and her surprise at hearing from me so soon gave way to stunned silence as I launched into my tale. When I finished, she said, “I always thought Michael was a little shit. I see that I wasn’t alone in that sentiment.”

“Any idea on who that might have been?”

“No. Both Marty and Reggie were besotted with him. I tried to warn Marty when I realized he was grooming Michael to take over the company, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Nothing unusual there.”

“I was wondering if Michael might have had a partner in the embezzlement scheme.”

“And you think that person double-crossed him and killed him?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“It’s not out of the realm of possibilities, that’s for sure. What bothers me is that he was put under the pool. That’s a little too close to home. And speaking of home, how is it there? How’s Bonnie been?”

“Well, she’s still leaving for her spa retreat as planned. No surprise there. Considering she planned a trip for the day after Uncle Marty’s funeral, I don’t think anyone expected that a little thing like Michael’s body being discovered on the old property would deter her from her trip.”

“Yes, well, her going might not be a surprise, but it still makes me want to smash my forehead on the table. Or better yet, smash her forehead on the table,” said Aunt Winnie. “How’s Ann holding up?”

“Pretty well. You know Ann. She’s the kind of person the rest of us want to be when we grow up. She’s had so much dumped on her and yet she still manages to keep it all together.”

“Still, I’m glad that you can be there to help her. I imagine she’s going to need all the help she can get over the next few days.”

“I’m happy to stay here and do whatever I can,” I said with what I hoped was the proper measure of humbleness.

Of course, Aunt Winnie saw right through that. “Oh, please,” she said with a snort. “I know you want to help Ann, but let’s be honest! You jumped at the excuse not to have to stay with Kit!”

“Well, I don’t know about ‘jumped’…” I began.

“Skipped, bounced, hopped. Whatever verb you prefer, you did it. I know it and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, if you had to deal with Kit, Pauly, and the Jungle Room, you’d have done it, too,” I muttered defensively.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong! I’m not judging you—far from it. Just be aware that Kit probably knows it, too. Be nice. You know how she can get.”

“Better than anyone,” I said. “But you’re right. I’ll try to be nice.”

“Good girl.”

We talked a little more, and I hung up after promising to keep her posted on the case. Curling up onto my side, I thought about what Aunt Winnie had said about Kit. I made a sleepy resolution to be nicer.

Sleepy resolutions, I’ve found, are always the easiest.

* * *

Although I awoke as I had for the last few weeks—to the tinny clanging of my cell phone’s alarm, this morning there was a marked difference. Gone was the sensation that I was in the middle of some safari gone terribly wrong. No monkeys swung above me, no elephants sat before me, no hippos peered out at me. And the ceiling! It was a glorious, crisp, sensible white; nary a blue-black tongue in sight.

Really, it’s the little things in life that give you the most joy.

I rolled over and languidly stretched in the queen-size bed. I was in Uncle Marty’s guest bedroom: a bright, airy room that faced the back of the house. I walked to the window and pulled back the white linen drape. It was another perfect autumnal day. Azure skies, crisp leaves, and cool air greeted me. All that was missing to make it perfect was Peter. And a cup of hot coffee.

I couldn’t have Peter, but at least I could have the coffee. Throwing on my robe and favorite (and only) well-worn bunny slippers, I headed down to the kitchen to start the coffee. Halfway down the stairs, I was greeted by the rich aroma of a pot already brewing. In the kitchen, I found Ann, up, showered, and busily bustling around. Scarlett was up as well and happily eating from her bowl. Actually, I should say she was happily eating from her Waterford bowl. I guess if my day started with breakfast out of a Waterford dish, I’d be happy, too.

“Morning!” Ann said. “Coffee’s ready. I know you’re not a morning person. Can I speak, or do I have to wait until you’ve had a cup?” She didn’t wait for an answer and broke into a stream of questions. “Can I get you something to eat? We’ve got bagels, English muffins, and toast. How’d you sleep? Would you prefer a fruit salad? What’s your pleasure? You take your coffee with cream and sugar right?”

“Uhh … good morning?” I said slowly. I knew something was up but, unfortunately, I did need my coffee before I could figure it out. “Don’t worry about me, I can get my breakfast,” I said, making my way to the breadbox. I picked out a poppy seed bagel and plopped it in the toaster. Ann hovered anxiously nearby. I wondered if she had mistakenly taken Bonnie’s medication.

“Did you by chance take Bonnie’s medication this morning?” I asked.

“No, why?”

“You’re very chatty. And busy. And chatty. Speaking of Bonnie, is she up?”

“No. She usually doesn’t arise before ten. Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please. But Ann, honestly, I can get all of this. You don’t need to wait on me.”

Ann ignored me, pouring a large amount of steaming coffee into a blue-and-white polka-dotted ceramic mug. Handing it to me, she said, “Cream? Sugar?”

I took the cup. “Enough already! You keep spoiling me like this and I’ll never leave. I’ll be like Sheridan Whiteside in The Man Who Came to Dinner.”

“Somehow I can’t picture you as an annoying guest.”

“You haven’t had my spaghetti yet,” I reminded her, adding a liberal dose of both cream and sugar to my coffee, before taking a much-needed sip. The bagel popped up from the toaster and Ann rushed to get it.

“Ann! Please. I can get this! You don’t need to wait on me.” She put the bagel on a