would have kept it.”
“And now all your plans have collapsed.”
“Yes, but at least I tried, and young Desmond knows that I tried. With his father gone, my own brothers can step in-they didn’t dare while Desmond was alive. He threatened them with hired killers, and he meant the threat. He said anyone could buy a killer if they knew where to go.”
I wonder, who else knows where to buy a hired killer? Dr. Erica Davenport, maybe? Philip Smith? Frederick Collins? Gus Purvey, even if I do like the man? Carmine thought. Aloud he asked, “How is your son?”
“Recovering slowly. He had such a terrible bout of what I’d always dismissed as a benign children’s complaint- chicken pox. He had the sores right down inside his throat-everywhere! The worst is that he’s going to have to repeat his school year.”
“Not if you hire coaches and he goes to summer school,” said Carmine, whose own health had always been rude.
“Only if he feels up to it,” Philomena said, tone steely.
Uh-oh! An overprotective mom! Carmine changed the subject. “Tell me about Erica Davenport, Mrs. Skeps.”
“I detest her as a person, but she deserved her seat on the Board, which is more than I can say for those other slugs. Oh, not Wally Grierson! That man’s a treasure. When old Walter Symonds headed the legal division, it was pathetic. Cornucopia was forever making contractual errors and settling out of court for big sums on damage lawsuits. But after Erica took control, all that gradually stopped. Desmond adored her because she saved the company so much money.”
At that moment someone shouted from the front regions of the house, answered by the hoarse, light voice of a boy. Quick talk passed, but when the newcomer entered, Desmond Skeps III was not with him. The fellow might have passed for Carmine’s brother, cast in the same muscularly tall mold, with the same olive skin, broad facial bones, and extremely intelligent eyes; the differences lay in the hair, his worn fashionably long, and the color of the eyes-in his case, dark brown. He wore bell-bottomed jeans, a white sweater and denim jacket, but contrived to make the clothes look formal, and with him he brought an air of ownership that wasn’t lost on Carmine.
“Tony Bera,” he said, extending his hand.
“Carmine Delmonico.”
“You all right, Philomena?” Bera asked Mrs. Skeps.
“Perfectly, thank you.” She turned to Carmine. “Tony seems to think the whole world is out to get me.”
“Don’t decry a good watchdog, Mrs. Skeps. I wouldn’t be visiting you if there weren’t a murderer on the loose. Not that I think you’re in danger-I don’t. Just the same, I’m happy to see Mr. Bera. Do you live hereabouts, sir?”
“Yes, just down the lane.”
“Good. According to Desmond Skeps’s will, Desmond Skeps the Third inherits everything. I was supposed to get a full copy of the document, but so far it hasn’t materialized. Dr. Davenport called
Captain Marciano and said your son was the full heir, but gave no further details. Maybe you can fill me in, Mr. Bera?”
“I wish I could,” the lawyer said, frowning, “but so far, we haven’t even heard that much.”
“I thought there had to be a reading, especially in the presence of the heir,” Carmine said.
“Not necessarily. It all depends what the will itself directs be done. Mr. Skeps’s lawyers in New York City will have known the contents. If young Desmond is the heir, I’m entitled to see the will in its entirety because I act for his mother, and therefore for him.”
“Is that ironclad, sir?”
“Well, no, but she’ll be his guardian!”
“Yes, of course.” He looked at Philomena Skeps. “There are still a few things I need to know, ma’am. Can you give me an actual date for your first overture to your ex-husband about the possibility of reconciliation?”
“We talked about it on the phone on the Monday of the third week of last November.”
“And when did Mr. Skeps hand Dr. Davenport her marching orders?”
“Very soon afterward. That same week, certainly.”
So Erica Davenport had known of the reconciliation for four months, give or take a few days. Not much reason for murder now. A woman scorned with murder in mind wouldn’t have waited this long. It looked more as if, the Skeps fish having slipped her hook, she baited it again and caught Myron. The diamonds were a gift from Myron, the most generous of men. Given that they totaled about eight carats, the price tag must have been somewhere between a quarter and a half million dollars. No chunks of Coke bottle for Myron Mendel Mandelbaum! And he was
“Now tell me about the-er-slugs, Mrs. Skeps.”
She sneered, an expression that didn’t suit her face. “Oh, them! Desmond called them his yes-men, with good reason. Phil Smith admits it freely-he can’t even be bothered heading up a specific company, which I guess means he’s landed on his feet as usual. He’ll step into Desmond’s shoes, chair the Board, you name it. Hypocrite! Anyone would think he was royalty.”
“What about their past histories? Shady activities? Shady deals? Shady women?”
“Not that I know of, apart from Gus Purvey, who pretends to be a man’s man-and is, in the one respect men’s men don’t aspire to. Namely, that he is a homosexual with a penchant for youths dolled up as women.”
Carmine looked at Anthony Bera. “Anything to add, sir?”
“No. I’m not a part of the Cornucopia world.”
Maybe not, thought Carmine, getting to his feet, but I am going to be investigating your whereabouts on April third, Mister Fat Cat Lawyer. A winterized house in Orleans says your legal practice must pull in a healthy income. You’re in love with Mrs. Skeps, but she doesn’t even see you except as her friend. That’s a very frustrating situation to be in.
He repeated his trick with flashing light and siren on the journey home; from Providence back to Holloman was a well-worn beat. Maybe the visit to Orleans had done his soul some good, but it hadn’t advanced his investigation. Time to get tough. If no copy of the will had appeared at County Services, he had every intention of invading Erica Davenport’s lair and demanding one immediately. But the document was waiting. Accustomed to legalese, he read its many pages swiftly, then sat back, winded. Someone had blabbed that he was seeing Philomena Skeps today, and Erica Davenport had deliberately withheld knowledge of the will from him and Philomena Skeps until the meeting was in the past. No wonder! The fur would have flown like wildcats locked in mortal combat. What a blow for Philomena Skeps and Anthony Bera! What might they have said in the throes of rage?
Desmond Skeps III was indeed the sole heir, but guardianship belonged to Erica Davenport. Not in a maternal sense: Philomena was still free to house the boy, feed him, dress him, nurture him. Be his mother in his home. But she was stripped of all ability to control his destiny, his fortune, the fate of Cornucopia. When it came to the power and the money, Erica Davenport stood
Poor Myron! This lightning bolt meant that Erica didn’t need to find a rich husband, if that was what had prompted her assault on the affections of Carmine’s friend. She could set her own salary and perks, with no one to gainsay her-Van Cleef’s, here I come! No, thought Carmine, the gold-digger image felt wrong. This woman was after power, not money, which suggested a side to Myron he hadn’t suspected. Myron had come into Carmine’s life nearly fifteen years ago and been taken at face value as a very wealthy film producer; it hadn’t occurred to Carmine to burrow into the dear man’s commercial affairs. Now, far too late for it to matter, he was beginning to think he should have.
And what of the woman given her marching orders by Desmond Skeps over four months ago? She’d probably interpreted her lover’s action as the beginning of her absolute end. Instead she had succeeded him as ruler of the Cornucopia kingdom. So the big question was: did Erica Davenport know the contents of Desmond Skeps’s will? A colossal motive for murder if she did. But how could she have discovered what lay inside a document held in a vault in New York City guarded by a firm she didn’t know? The only way would have been if Skeps told her, but would he? No, he would not, was Carmine’s instinctive conclusion; Skeps wasn’t that kind of man. Rather, he would have
