There was only one apartment on the floor, and as the elevator door opened, we were greeted by a woman in a white uniform. Before she could say a word, Minerva Hunt stepped in front of her.
“Why don’t you go out for a walk, Martha. Father won’t need you while I’m here.”
“Yes, mum. I’ll just be getting my jacket.”
“So, Detective, Carmine tells me you’re a bit desperate to see me.”
“Actually, I stumbled into him while we were on our way to meet your father.”
“Oh, he can’t be talking to you, sir,” the woman, whom I assumed to be a nurse, said to Mike as she reached for a jacket in the hall closet.
“I’m dealing with this, Martha,” Minerva said, her long arm stretched across the door frame. “We’ve just finished lunch and he’s resting, Mr. Chapman.”
“I’m famished. Must be some leftovers. What do you feel like, Mercer?”
Minerva let down her arm so that the nurse could exit, and Mike stepped into the foyer of the apartment. “Cook has plenty of roast beef left, Miss Minerva.”
“So you’re in, Detective,” Minerva said, turning her back to us and following Mike into the living room. “Exactly what is it you want?”
Mike had crossed through to the living room, an enormous space flooded with early-afternoon light from the tall windows that provided a view over the top of the museum and the fall foliage of Central Park. The antique furniture and old masters paintings were extraordinary.
“I’m about to leave,” Minerva said, looking over her shoulder at Mercer and me. “You’ve got no business being here. If your issues are with me and about my housekeeper, then let’s go somewhere to talk.”
“We need to speak to your father. This is bigger than Karla Vastasi. It’s about the library now,” I said. She didn’t give any hint that she knew about the murder of Tina Barr. “I’d like you to stay until we’ve finished with him.”
Her navy turtleneck sweater and pencil skirt showed Minerva Hunt’s slim frame to advantage. She tugged at her collar and pulled it up against her chin. “He’s too weak to do this so unexpectedly. I’ll get you the number for his lawyer-Justin Feldman. Let him set the appointment for you.”
I smiled at Minerva. “I’ve got Mr. Feldman’s number on my phone,” I said. “He’s a great litigator and a powerful adversary, Ms. Hunt. I’ve worked with him often. I didn’t realize he did estate work, too.”
She practically slapped the phone out of my hand. “No, that’s right. He’s not-um-not handling those matters. You tell me right now what anything has to do with my father’s estate. The man isn’t dead yet.”
“Temper, temper, Minerva,” Mike said. “We’ll explain that to him ourselves.”
Sliding pocket doors opened and a butler appeared, summoning Ms. Hunt. “I’ll be right in. Why don’t you show my friends out?”
“We’ll take a couple of roast beefs on rye before we go, and I’ll stay with Minerva, if you don’t mind.”
The butler looked more perplexed than the nurse had been. Minerva pushed the doors wider apart and led us down a hallway, past the grand dining room and a parlor to a cheerful sunroom that caught the southern exposure.
Seated in a leather armchair was an elderly man dressed in a black jacquard smoking jacket, and perfectly groomed. A large yellow cat sat on his lap, stroked by the man’s trembling, liver-spotted hand. A second one, identical in color, was curled against his slipper.
“This is my father, Jasper Hunt. Father, these gentlemen are from the police department. Ms. Cropper-is that your name, dear?-works for Paul Battaglia. You remember Paul, don’t you?”
Jasper Hunt lifted his head and met us with a vacant stare.
“We’re having a family chat,” Minerva said. “I know you’ve met my brother, Tally. Perhaps you’d like to meet father’s favorite children.”
“Siblings?” Mike asked.
“Of course. They’re in the will-doesn’t that make it so?” she said, approaching her father. “That’s Patience, on his lap, and Fortitude, on the floor. Golden Maine coons. Longhairs. Have I got them right, Papa?”
The old man smiled and kept stroking.
“Little library lions, Detective. When Leona Helmsley kicked the bucket a few years ago,” Minerva said, referring to the hotel magnate known as the Queen of Mean, “she left twelve million dollars to her dog. Gave Father all kinds of bad ideas. I’ve done everything reasonable to change his mind, but for now I’m sweet as I can be to those pussies. I may have to adopt them one day.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Hunt,” Mike said, getting on one knee to try to make eye contact with the patriarch of this unusual family. “Pleased to meet you.”
Hunt’s eyes followed the sound of Mike’s voice, but he made no response.
I turned at the sound of footsteps behind me as Talbot Hunt came into the room.
“I forgot to tell you we’ve got visitors, Tally,” Minerva said as her brother stopped in his tracks. “I think you’ve met them before.”
“And I forgot to tell you when I arrived that Tina Barr is dead,” Talbot Hunt said. “Murdered, of all things. In the library.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
It was obvious that Talbot Hunt had come to his father’s home after leaving us at the library this morning. I wondered whether it was a coincidence that he and Minerva met here.
“I thought maybe you were organizing a memorial service for Tina,” Mike said. “Seems like she had something to do with all of you.”
“Why don’t we move into the office?” Talbot said.
“Because my first order of business is to talk with your father.”
“I think you’re smart enough to see he’s not having a good day,” Minerva said.
Mike stood up, took her arm, and walked with her to the door of the room, out of Jasper Hunt’s earshot. “What’s his condition?”
“He’s old, Mr. Chapman. In case you hadn’t noticed. He’s infirm.”
“Any dementia?”
Minerva looked at her brother, and neither answered quickly. “He’s clear most of the time,” Tally said.
“I guess he has to be if you’re trying to change the will. Isn’t that so?” Mike asked. “We got a little bit of Brooke Astor going on here?”
The great Mrs. Astor, who spent half a century distributing her husband’s fortune-more than one hundred million dollars-wound up with her estate in the middle of an ugly battle. The will she had signed years earlier- leaving much of the Astor trust to New York institutions she loved, such as the library-had a subsequent codicil bequeathing most of those same assets to her only son.
“I don’t get it, Detective,” Tally said.
“The issue was Mrs. Astor’s competence-her mental competence-at the time the codicil was signed,” I said.
“Mrs. Astor was a dear friend of my father’s,” Minerva said. “I’m familiar with the case. I just don’t see what it has to do with us.”
“Hello, Minerva.” I heard a weak voice from across the room. “Who’s here with you?”
“Your turn, Coop. You’re good with the old guys.”
“Father, I think it’s time for you to take a nap.”
I started toward Jasper Hunt and kneeled beside Fortitude, who raised up and started to rub herself against my leg, her bushy tail tickling my face and her big tufted feet padding the carpet like a miniature lion’s.
“Don’t marginalize me, Minerva. Who’s this nice young lady here? Have we met?”
He reached out to touch my cheek and I held my hand over his. “I’m Alexandra Cooper, Mr. Hunt. I’m a lawyer. A prosecutor, actually.”
“Bully, Ms. Cooper. Doing justice, are you?”
“We’re trying, Mr. Hunt.”
