The Errant Heirs Caper - Chapter 2
Dad was in front of me, just beside Rufus, and he reached into his coat pocket, hand emerging with his pistol in hand. That’s when I realized it. Someone was shooting at us.
“Head down, Jenny,” JD told me with an even but stern voice. I did as he ordered, tucking myself low into the boat. I lurched forward, holding the sides of the boat to keep from toppling over as Rufus kicked the engine to go as fast as possible. Dad was in front of me, just beside Rufus, and he reached into his coat pocket, hand emerging with his pistol in hand.
That’s when I realized it. Someone was shooting at us.
I noticed, to my dismay, that water was beginning to collect in the boat.
“We’re leaking,” I called out above the noise of the boat motor.
“Almost there,” Rufus assured us, then he throttled the motor back and guided the boat up onto the shore beside his dock, tactically putting the platform between us and the shooter. It wasn’t a graceful stop, but it did the trick.
I didn’t worry about getting my shoes muddy or my dress wet this time. I hopped out of the boat along with my father and the police chief and the three of us hurried, bent at the waist, into the woods.
“Huntin’ rifle,” JD muttered thoughtfully, the only emotion in his voice a vague sense of curiosity.
“Yep,” Rufus pointed. “Coming from about there. Where that little peninsula on the opposite side of the lake juts in closest. Hope they didn’t hit the Inn.”
I considered the angle from which the shots had come and could see the reason for his concern. The shoreline on this side of the lake was such that any bullets that missed us could very well have struck in the direction of the Reel ‘Em Inn.
We waited a few minutes. The only sound I could hear was my own heart pounding and a mockingbird calling from somewhere behind me. Finally, Dad stood, stretched his back as he always did, then shot me a wide grin.
“Well, that was exciting. Let’s head up and see if the relatives are here yet. I could sure use a drink…”
To our surprise, Presley’s relatives had arrived at Lake Keegan even before we left on our boat ride out to Goat Island. Rufus’ wife, Margo, rushed us all into his back office as soon as we walked into the building. Despite the fact that we were all wet from about the calves down and were tracking water and mud onto the floor, she shoved us all inside and then leaned against the door as if holding back a grizzly bear.
“My goodness, that man is horrendous,” she hissed, then her eyes widened when there was a light knock. A bright red color spread across her cheeks, and she swung the door open just a crack to peek outside. I saw her shoulders drop in relief as she yanked Blake in by the forearm.
“Which man would that be, honey bun?” her husband asked as he found a towel in his private washroom and handed it to me so that I could try to clean up the hem of my skirt.
“Mr. Leonidis Montague, of course!”
“Oh, the nephew, eh?” JD said with a chuckle.
Blake nodded and took a seat. It turned out Presley didn’t have any close family, only a nephew and two nieces. “He arrived just after Peggy Spencer. And he’s hopping mad.”
“She here, too?” Rufus’ eyebrows raised as he found a cigar in his desk drawer and drew it to his lips to chew on the end.
“She’s here, all right. Haven’t seen or heard from the youngest, Beatrix Dunlevy. But her husband’s come to see about her interests until she gets here.”
“And when will that be?” I inquired.
“Due to arrive later tonight. Or so I’m told. But seems Montague contacted the morgue when you all weren’t here. He was pretty upset when he discovered there was some question about the manner of Presley’s death. I refused to respond to his interrogation, just deferred it all to you of course.” He tipped his head in Rufus’ direction.
“Well, I do appreciate that,” the other man responded, dripping sarcasm.
“He’s so pompous, you wouldn’t believe. Fussed about the size of the rooms here and said he was sure he’d have to have his dear uncle’s remains transported to Austin for a funeral befitting his station. As if we can’t give Ol’ Presley a proper burial.”
“Hmmm…” was all my father said to that.
Blake crossed his leg over his knee and tapped his palm on the arm of his chair. “He also called that lawyer out in New Braunfels about the reading of the will. Clarence Todd should be here later this evening.”
“Bunch of money-grubbers.” Margo shook her head.
“All of ‘em?” Rufus asked his wife.
“Well, Mr. Dunlavy is nice enough. In fact, Linton is quite the gentleman.”
Her husband snorted when she blushed a little, and I ducked my head to hide my smile. About that time, there was another knock at the door, this one was anything but polite.
“That’s not all.” Blake drew our attention again. “Montague stopped me in the hallway and…”
“Mr. Scribner! Mrs. Scribner, are you in there?”
I stood and cut Margo off before she could reach the door. Looking to my father, I waited for his nod, then I put my hand on the knob and snatched it open so quickly that Leonidis Montague nearly toppled over as he banged his fist into nothing. He caught himself, grabbed the hem of his vest and tugged it straight as he huffed into the room.
“Mr. Scribner.” He approached Rufus’ desk. “I would like to have a word with you.”
“You can call me Chief Scribner.”
It was all I could to keep from laughing. Rufus never used his law enforcement title. Clearly he was making a point to the pretentious man. I crossed the room to his left and took the only vacant chair in the room, leaving Mr. Montague with no choice but to stand. My father had taught me how to make points, too.
Mr. Montague reached up to brush a non-existent strand of hair back into place, fingers barely touching his excessively oiled coiffure before his eyes scanned the other occupants of the room in disdain.
“If you all would excuse me, I would like to speak with Chief Scribner.”
Mrs. Scribner hurried past him, her eyes burning with dislike as she sniffed and exited the room as quickly as she could, apparently happy to comply with his request. His gaze rested on me next, and I fought off a grin as I crossed my legs at the ankle and settled into my chair.
“So, what can I do for you?” Rufus asked, adjusting his ample backside into his squeaky desk chair.
Mr. Montague bristled but decided to ignore the rest of us for the moment. He gave Rufus his attention. “I demand to know why you allow hunting so close to this establishment. A stray bullet could have killed me.”
Rufus’ eyebrows knitted close together in a serious frown. “There’s no huntin’ in this area a’tall, Mr. Montague.”
“Well, then, how can you explain the bullet hole that went through the window in my room?”
That had all of us at attention, I sat forward, my heel knocking the wooden floor as I planted my foot back down, preparing to stand. JD cut his eyes to Blake, who nodded with a pointed but otherwise detached expression.
“I took a look,” he agreed. “You all were gone, but I heard the shot and came out of my room, intending to check things out. Mr. Montague nearly ran me over…”
The other man stiffened at that representation, issuing a loud harrumph.
“… and I found the bullet lodged in the ceiling of his room. Looks like a .22.”
“Hmmm…” was all my father said as he leaned forward to take the spent round from Blake.
“This entire affair is like a dog and pony show,” Montague hissed to Rufus, somehow managing to lift his nose even higher in condescension.
“Anyone out to get you, Mr. Montague?”
“What are you suggesting? That the shot was actually intended for me? Who on earth would do that?”
“Good question,” JD said with a little smirk.
“I have no enemies, sir,” he replied, and I wanted to chuckle at the irony. I couldn’t imagine the man having any friends, much less no enemies.
He returned his attention to Rufus, and I somehow thought he didn’t really believe the rest of us warranted his consideration. “I would also like to know the status of my uncle’s remains. Why has an autopsy been ordered?”
“Standard procedure.”
“Do you mean to tell me that it’s standard to perform an autopsy when someone dies from a heart attack?”
“How’d you know it was a heart attack?” JD asked, smacking his lips on a toothpick dangling from his mouth.
“Just who are you, sir?”
“This here’s Mr. JD Pierson. He’s an insurance investigator hired by the company that held the policy on your nephew,” Rufus explained.
“I see.” Montague chewed on that a few seconds, then his chest swelled as he took a deep breath. “Well, I was told when I received the news of my uncle’s unfortunate passing that it appeared he’d had a heart attack.”
Rufus inclined his head to my dad ever so slightly, and I knew he was confirming the truth of Mr. Montague’s words. The police chief began to say something but was interrupted by Margo’s sharp knock.
“There’s a call for you,” she said to her husband, then left the room as quickly as possible, leaving the door open.
I took the opportunity to consider Leonidis Montague, trying to determine whether he was just an exceedingly unpleasant person or whether he could be a killer. I also had to wonder if someone had really been taking shots at us, as I’d formerly assumed, or perhaps at him as it appeared now.
About that time, a beautiful woman with striking black hair and piercing blue eyes entered, followed closely by a tall, Greek god of a man in a pin-striped suit.
“Have you any word of the attorney yet, Leo?” the woman asked, tugging on the fingers of her white gloves to remove them and then tuck them into her handbag. She was exceedingly overdressed for the occasion in a tulle tea gown, though at least the dress was black.
“I told you, Peggy. He will be here this afternoon.”
She exhaled, as if bored, then glanced at me down her nose before cutting her eyes behind her at the men. “For goodness sakes, Linton, would you please stop following on my heels like a dog in heat.”
The man crooked his lip up and laughed dryly. “You know, Peggy, not every man is dumbstruck by your looks. Especially those of us who can see you for what you really are.”
The dark woman ignored his jab and crossed the room in the direction of the chairs along the wall. To my abject disgust, Blake tipped his head to her before vacating his seat so that she could take it. When he glanced at me, I wrinkled my nose and turned away.
“So, Mr. Montague,” JD said casually. “What is it you do for a living?”
“I’m a pharmacist.”
Peggy Montague chortled as she examined herself in a little compact mirror she’d pulled from her purse. “You mean you were a pharmacist.” She leaned in my father’s direction. “These days he does no more than instruct at a little technical college. You know what they say. Those who can’t, teach.”
Montague sniffed but seemed to have no retort. He cut his eyes away and refused to look at his sister.
“And you, Missus…” Dad looked at the beautiful woman expectantly, waiting for her to correct his suggestion that she was married.
“Miss Montague.” She put out her hand to him, placing it in just the right position for him to kiss rather than shake, should he have chosen to. He did neither, just grinning at her.
“Do you have a profession, Miss Montague?”
It was Leonidis’ turn to laugh. “She’s a professional decoration, can’t you tell? See the way she moves and plays the room. Some men will pay for that sort of show.”
Linton hissed a laugh, too, then pulled the watch from his coat and glanced at the time.
“Waiting for something, Mr. Dunlevy?”
“Everything’s about timing for him,” Peggy noted without looking at him. “In his line of business, everything is about timing.”
“What line of business would that be?” I asked, picking up on my father’s line of questioning.
Linton Dunlevy looked uncomfortable for a split second, then he placed his hands in his pockets. “I’m an exhibition shooter. A professional marksman, you might say.”
There was a pregnant pause in conversation when Dunlevy revealed his career. Without rotating my head, I flicked my gaze down so that I could look at my father. We said not a word, but there was a glint in his eyes that revealed a secret question between us.
Could Dunlevy have been the one to take shots at us earlier that day? Or had he shot at Montague? And if he had, did that mean he’d murdered poor ol’ Pressley?
“Where do you live, Mr. Dunlevy?” Dad asked the man.
“Hey, JD!” Rufus interrupted from the other room. “I’d like you to hear this, JD.”
My father leaned forward and stood with a little groan, then headed off towards the foyer of the Reel ‘Em Inn, the location of the only telephone in the establishment.
“Mr. Dunlevy?”
He blinked, then glanced down at me when I said his name. I waited, but he only fixed me with a confused expression.
“Your residence, Mr. Dunlevy.”
“Houston.”
“And is that where you were when you received the news about Mr. Pressley?”
“No, I was not.” His tone hardened, and I knew he resented the presumptiveness in which I questioned him. It was a common response when I stepped in for my father. “If it is any of your concern, I was in Broken Bow, Oklahoma at a competition. My wife wired me, and I immediately started this way.”
“What do you shoot?” Blake asked next.
“The best, of course. A Winchester Model 70.”
I managed not to react to that. I knew very well a model 70 was .22 caliber. Instead, I questioned, “And where is Mrs. Dunlevy?”
“She’s…” He hesitated. “She hasn’t been well.”
He cast his eyes in Montague’s direction, and I felt they shared some knowledge that they didn’t want to confess to the rest of the room. But before I could press, Peggy snorted a laugh and drew my attention.
“Dear Linton, just tell her.” She fixed her cold eyes on me with a humorless grin. “Our dear Beatrix had a nervous breakdown, no thanks to Linton.”
The color rose in Dunlevy’s cheeks. “Now see here…”
“She’s been recovering from her recent shock in the hospital in Taylor. His philandering was very nearly the death of her.”
“That isn’t true, Peggy. I love my wife.”
“Then why is it that Beatrix told me she hadn’t spoken to you when I called the sanitarium to let her know about poor ol’ Uncle Jarod?”
“Why, you little…”
“Who did you say informed you about Mr. Presley?” I asked Mr. Dunlevy, narrowing my eyes as him.
“Actually… well, in truth, it was Leonidis who called me. So, I wired Beatrix, and she asked me to come right away.”
From the corner of my eyes, I saw Peggy raise her chin just a little higher, clearly pleased with herself.
“Oh, for goodness sakes, Peggy. Don’t play the savior here. It isn’t as if you’ve been a fitting influence on our poor Beatrix,” Montague piped in. “If you had your way, you and Beatrix would be selling yourselves in some cocktail lounge to the highest bidder.” He leaned towards Blake, whispering as if telling a secret, “Bea is far prettier than Peggy. And I’d say she’s much better off in that sanitarium. The most trouble she can cause might be forcing every other chap in the place to play endless games of chess with her. She never wins, but she never stops trying.”
I saw Peggy sniff, then remove a cigarette from an expensive gold case, tap it once on the stand beside her, then light it with a matching lighter. She inhaled deep, the end of the cigarette burning bright red.
JD and Rufus came back into the room just then, and all eyes turned in their direction expectantly. My dad approached me, leaning against the wall behind me and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well,” Rufus addressed the heirs. “We’ve got a while before the attorney arrives for the reading. I suggest all of you get back to your rooms for now, and we’ll let you know when he gets here.”
“I want to know about Uncle Jarod’s death,” Montague insisted. “I demand to know what reason you have to suggest murder.”
“Yes,” Peggy agreed, sitting forward and putting her elbow on her knee. “I agree, for once, with Leo. How did the poor ol’ man die?”
I could tell just by looking at them that neither Dad nor Rufus were going to give any information whatever to them.
“He was killed. That’s all I’m at liberty to say until the autopsy is complete.”
After a lot of grumbling, the siblings and Mr. Dunlevy left the room. Blake stood and closed the door behind them, listening a moment before nodding to JD that no one had stayed behind to eavesdrop.
“Well?” I asked, just as eager to learn what was going on as the heirs had been.
“He was murdered, all right,” Rufus said, dropping hard into his seat and then opening a drawer on the bottom right. “Doc found where he’d been injected with a hypodermic, just under his left arm. It might have been missed if he hadn’t looked, at my urging, for foul play.”
I noticed the tiniest bit of victory in his eyes when he glanced at Blake. “He was injected with something, although Doc doesn’t know what just yet. Also, Doc’s pretty sure the bump on his head was made with something metal, like a pipe. Nothing like that was on the scene or in Presley’s boat.”
“So where…” I stopped and snapped my mouth closed when I saw what Rufus had pulled out of the drawer of his desk. A full bottle of bourbon, the expensive kind. It was all I could do not to snatch it from him and pour it down the drain in his little washroom. Instead, my mouth went all cottony as I watched him pour two glasses, then hand one to my father before offering some to Blake and me. I jerked my head back and forth twice.
“Sure, why not?” Blake said, reaching for and taking a glass while Rufus poured himself one.
“So you were about to ask where that leaves us,” Dad said, coming from behind me and taking a seat on the sofa again. “We need to find out where those three—” He pointed his glass in the direction the heirs had gone, then tipped it back to drink all the contents at once and hissed in appreciation, before continuing. “—were at the time of the murder, which Doc says was between three and four yesterday afternoon. Also, the missing sister, Beatrix.”
“Might be good to look into their financial situations. Can you handle that, Blake?”
“I can,” he shrugged. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. My company’s already in it for the whole shebang now anyway, so might as well run up an expense account.”
Dad chuckled. I might have, too, but I was busy watching him lean over the desk to refill his glass.
“There’s something else, Dad.” I hoped maybe I could draw his attention away from the alcohol. “Apparently Dunlevy is a professional marksman. Competitively.”
“Well, well,” Rufus grinned. “Wonder what sort…”
“A .22,” I said loudly, as Dad refilled his glass again.
“Blake, why don’t you take a look at his car, see if you can get your hands on that rifle and see if it’s been fired recently?”
I opened my mouth to suggest JD could do that, but instead, he turned his gaze my direction. “And why don’t you make some calls, too?” He nodded, liking his own suggestion. “Check into their whereabouts and all. The good barrister will be here in a few hours, and we’ll see where we are then.”
I knew his tone, knew his mannerism. That was as good as a dismissal. He and Rufus intended to relive old times, sit around and discuss the last big catch they’d had and probably dream up the next one. They would go through the bottle together, but Dad would find a way to imbibe most of it all himself.
