Murder Most Persuasive

man whose children despised her. We had it all upside down.

Julian wasn’t using Bonnie.

Bonnie was using him.

Chapter 23

Stupid men are the only ones worth knowing, after all.

—Pride and Prejudice

My eyes flew to Aunt Winnie’s, wondering if she’d had the same idea. From the way her eyes were widening with appalled shock as she stared at Bonnie, I was pretty confident that she had.

“I think I’m in need of another martini,” Bonnie said, setting her empty glass on the table. “Julian, how about you? Would you like one?”

Julian made a show of checking his watch. “Why not? After all, it is past five o’clock!” He chuckled appreciatively as this apparent witticism.

Bonnie smiled at him. Picking her glass back up, she looked my way. “Elizabeth? Would you be a dear and ask Reggie to make me another drink and to make one for Julian as well?” Bonnie turned to Julian, saying, “Reggie makes the best martinis.”

I was happy to run that errand. It gave me an excuse to go into the house and tell Ann my theory about the real reason behind Bonnie’s relationship with Julian. I took the offered glass and headed inside, where I found Ann basting a platter full of thick steaks with some kind of sweet-smelling marinade. Reggie, Donny, and Frances sat on stools at the counter. Reggie was holding her head in her hands. Donny was gently rubbing her back. From the hard line of Frances’s mouth and her ramrod posture, she appeared to still be angry at Scott … or Bonnie … or the world. From upstairs I could hear the twins’ howls of indignation as Scott enforced the time-out.

Holding up Bonnie’s empty glass, I said, “Bonnie has requested a refill on her martini and one for Julian. She asked that Reggie make them.”

Reggie sighed and rolled her eyes. “I can make them,” I offered hastily. “Just point me in the right direction … and remind me what’s in a martini.”

Reggie pushed her stool back and stood up. “No, better let me do it. I need one anyway. Besides, she’s pretty particular about how she likes them. God forbid we anger the little diva. After all, she holds all the cards.” Taking the glass from me, she headed to the dining room where the liquor cart was located.

“What can I do to help?” I asked Ann.

Ann looked around and said, “Would you mind starting the tomato and mozzarella? The tomatoes are in the bowl on the table and the mozzarella is in the refrigerator.”

I grabbed a cutting board, a knife, and the tomatoes and mozzarella, and began slicing them. Taking a plate down from the cabinet, I began to arrange the tomatoes and mozzarella in what I hoped would result in a spiral pattern. “I had an idea outside,” I said, then stopped, unsure exactly how my idea would be received. I was basically about to tell them that I thought their stepmother was trying to avenge herself of years of familial abuse. That might be a tough pill to swallow.

“Does your idea involve committing Bonnie?” Reggie called from the other room. “Or better yet, just killing her?”

“Reggie!” admonished Frances. “That’s not funny!”

“Who said I was trying to be funny?”

Reggie returned with the drinks in her hands. Setting two on the counter she said, “What was your idea, Elizabeth?”

I looked down at my plate before answering. It looked like a close-up of an Impressionist painting. All spots and swirls. I sighed. Like this day, my cheese/tomato pattern had spiraled out of control. I wonder if somewhere in the Hamptons, and for no apparent reason, Martha Stewart was overcome by a shudder of domestic horror. “Well,” I said, “what if Bonnie knows Julian is a fake? What if she wants you all to lose that money?”

“I don’t follow you,” said Reggie, taking a sip of her drink.

“I do,” Frances said slowly. “You think she wants to screw us, don’t you? But why? Why would she do that?”

“Because she hates us,” Ann said, putting down the marinating brush, her expression thoughtful. “Now that Dad’s gone, she can do what she likes. Under the terms of the will, Bonnie has the use of this house until her death. When she dies, the house comes to us. In addition, she received a small inheritance. It really wasn’t much. She might see this as an opportunity to make some more money. She takes the money from the sale of the house and purposely gives it to a con artist—in this case, Julian. Julian pockets the money and claims that he’s lost it in a bad investment. None of us would be surprised—that’s what we think is going to happen anyway. But do you really think she wants Julian to take all the money, or do you think she’s in on it with him?” she said, turning to me.

“What? Do you mean like a fifty-fifty split?” asked Reggie, her drink frozen halfway to her mouth.

I looked at Reggie and nodded. “It’s a possibility.”

“That bitch!” expostulated Reggie, putting down her drink and angrily slapping the counter with her hand.

“I bet I don’t need to guess who we’re talking about,” said a voice from the doorway. It was Miles, dried and in new clothes. “I gather it’s about Bonnie. What’s happened?”

Ann looked at me questioningly. I signaled for her to tell Miles. I saw no reason to keep my theory a secret. “Elizabeth was wondering if Bonnie could be giving Julian that money as a form of revenge on us,” Ann said. “I mean, let’s face it, we’ve never gotten along with her. Now that Dad’s gone…”

“I see what you mean,” Miles said thoughtfully. “She could give the money to Julian and then somehow split it with him. Yes, it’s not completely out of the question.”

“Well, if that’s the case—and even if it’s not the case—what do we do to stop her?” asked Frances.

We all looked to Miles for the answer, but for once he had none. The patio door opened and Laura walked in. “Goodness, so this is where the party’s got to. What are you all doing in here?” Seeing our dour expressions, her voice dropped and she added, “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” said Miles. “Just a theory on the true relationship between Bonnie and Julian.” The ringing of the doorbell prevented Miles from expanding on this theory.

Ann went to answer the door. I heard her give an exclamation of surprise, an exclamation of happy surprise. Seconds later she reappeared with Joe in tow.

“Hey, everybody,” Ann said, her face more flushed than it had been moments before. “Um, Joe stopped by to bring me up to date on the case with Michael.”

“Really?” said Miles. “Have there been any developments?”

Joe cleared his throat before answering. “Unfortunately, no. But I was in the area, so I thought I’d stop by. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were having a party. I don’t want to intrude. I’ll just see myself out.”

As it was clear to me that Joe had used the pretext of the case as an excuse to see Ann, I said, “You’re not intruding, Joe. It’s just a simple cookout. Please stay.”

Joe glanced at Ann. “You’re more than welcome to join us,” she added with a shy smile.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on Ann’s.

Everyone voiced agreement that Joe should stay. Well, everyone except Laura. Her lips pulled down into a faint frown and she folded her arms across her chest. From the doubtful glance she shot Miles, it was clear that she still harbored doubts about the wisdom of Ann’s involvement with Joe.

Miles shrugged away her unspoken message of concern. “You’re always welcome here, Joe,” he said. “Come on outside and join the party. You can meet Bonnie’s new friend, Julian. In fact, I would love to hear your opinion of the man.”

As Ann led Joe outside, I grabbed the platter of steaks. “Miles, can you get those drinks on the counter?”