Chapter 13

The sun looked as if someone had turned its rheostat up to extra bright that day. The sky was a delicate, depthless, early autumn blue. The puffy little clouds sprinted and dipped sassily along, moved by some high-altitude breeze that reached down from time to time to give the trees a gentle stir. It seemed as if some callous, cruel hand had added another crime against Charlotte Cohane, burying her on a day when she would have so loved to be alive.

Thus far, the only good thing I had managed to glean from the day was that Episcopal funerals are brief and dignified. I love the Prayer Book, basically unchanged since Cranmer’s sixteenth century writing of it. It seems hard to think of it as a product of Henry the Eighth’s raucous reign, but its beauty and hope and promise have an assurance I personally would find difficult to write today. I’m glad he got it done before television and rap.

We went the whole nine yards: to the church, to the cemetery, finally to Ellen’s house. I was exhausted and could only imagine what Aunt Mae must be feeling. She was white as a sheet and very shaky. After a stay just long enough to be polite, I simply told her and Mom they were leaving. I would drive them home in Mom’s car. Cindy would follow in hers to take me home. They didn’t argue.

Once home, I headed directly for the shower, and shortly discovered I had company. Strangely, given the strenuous day we had put in—and why—we began to play. We splashed, we gently pulled hair, we snapped washcloths, we ducked each other, we aimed the water stream at various parts of various anatomies. And of course, we made love. Awkward. Slippy-slidey. Laughing. Bury us tomorrow. Today we are lovers. We are blessed. And by God, we are alive.

Funeral, sadness and fatigue notwithstanding, I think I was more relaxed that evening than I had been in weeks. I know I was more hungry. Mom had made fried chicken and potato salad to take to Ellen’s. Aunt Mae had made a peach and almond pie. It was old-fashioned, but it was the way things were still done in Provincetown, and I thought it very kind. Fortunately, they had made extra for us. Fortunately, they had made large extras, for Sonny arrived, looking strained and tired and handsome in his dark gray suit with white shirt and regimental tie. He had been at the church, but went back to work after that.

Not liking coincidence anymore than I did, Sonny apparently felt we were getting too many of the same people involved, albeit peripherally, in one too many crimes.

Sonny had drawn a blank with John Frost and Trish regarding Reed and Merrilou’s prenuptial agreement. They both said they were sorry, but claimed client privilege.

Sonny was certain Emily Bartles would probably know the details and would be at Ellen’s after the funeral. She would almost have to attend, their having worked together at Tellman’s Gallery. So Sonny called on the Rev. Lawrence Bartles, hoping to find him alone. The questions were: had his wife confided in Larry about the agreements and would he talk about them if she did?

Sonny said that for openers he used the excuse of asking Larry how the Catlett family was holding up under the strain of Zoe’s disappearance. Larry thought they were doing pretty well, considering. His main concern was about Marie, because of her age. The ongoing nervous tension wasn’t helping, naturally, but he felt Reed was a pillar of strength.

When Sonny told him of Reed’s verbal threats to Sonny, and physical threat to me, Bartles was flabbergasted. Then Sonny said he told Bartles of Merrilou’s weird behavior all along. By now, Bartles was thoroughly rocked.

Then Sonny said he casually added, “Of course, Merrilou could be behind the whole thing, feeling she needs to stash away every dollar she can.”

Bartles looked confused, “Reed is rich, isn’t he? Merrilou should have no money worries.”

“Except one.” Sonny drank some of the iced tea Larry had poured for them, and looked meaningfully over the rim of his glass to watch Larry turn pale, as Sonny opined, “I don’t understand why the prenuptial agreement was worded that way, it was worse than insulting, it made her sound like a whore. And I don’t understand why she accepted those terms. Do you?” Sonny said he just kept staring at him.

Finally, Bartles gave in. “Look, Sonny, I shouldn’t talk about this, but maybe it will help you understand Merrilou a little better. Her actions may be a little cold and self-serving, but I cannot believe she is criminally involved.”

He stood and put his glass in the sink, then leaned back against the counter as he explained to Sonny, “Merrilou comes from a lower middle-class family. By gosh and by darn she managed to get herself through college. While there, she met a young man who became a minister, and they married. We all thought it was a mistake to begin with, but what can you do? Nobody who thinks he’s in love is going to listen to friends warning him about his fiancée. Bob was assigned to a small church in a rather wealthy community on Lookout Mountain, just outside Chattanooga.”

“Did she know Bob was going into the church when she married him?” Sonny had asked.

“Sure, he was already ordained. Anyway, Merrilou kind of put on airs around the ladies of the parish. Spending way too much money on clothes in order to ‘keep up,’ suggesting the church give Bob and her a complimentary membership to the golf club, a new car every three years. I don’t know what all. I know there was some bad feeling, including the general opinion that she had a lot to learn to be a preacher’s wife. Then the other rumors started.”

“Like what?” As if my beloved brother wouldn’t have already guessed.

“Men. Or at least, the golf pro. Maybe Merrilou figured it was okay, now that they were members.” Sonny said that Larry actually gave a man-to-man grin, along with the surprising remark.

Then he looked genuinely pained as he continued. “One of the church ladies saw them come out of the motel where the pro lived for the summer. Merrilou always swore they had just stopped by to pick up some clubs needed for her lesson. I don’t know what was true. But divorce was the result, and I’m sure she got no alimony.”

I couldn’t resist adding my bit to the gentlemen’s gossip hour. “Helluva lot of clubs they picked up if she had to go in and help the pro carry them out,” I put in.

Sonny nodded and went back to his drumstick.

“Well,” Cindy added, “she’s apparently scared to death of finding herself penniless for the second time, poor woman. Even if you don’t like her—and I don’t either—you can’t blame her for wanting some kind of nest egg. Right or wrong, she came out of one marriage without a cent. She wouldn’t want it to happen again. She should never have accepted that last prenuptial clause from Reed.”

“How could she not?” I grinned. “Should she have said, ‘Darling, you know I would never cheat on you, but if you should catch me in the act, I want more than a lousy ten thou’?”

Cindy stuck to her guns. “She had a reasonable need of money, even if she took unreasonable steps to get it.” She moved to another point in the discussion. “Do you suppose Emily Bartles knew the combination to the safe or knew the hour at which it would be open?”

“Presumably not.” Sonny answered. “It was a confused morning all around at Tellman’s. The two owners left around seven o’clock that morning. Cassie flew them over to pick up a Philadelphia flight out of Boston. Emily Bartles and Charlie opened the gallery at nine thirty as usual. Emily got there first by a few minutes and had to wait outside for Charlie. Charlie arrived by cab, and mentioned to Emily that her car battery had gone bad overnight.” Sonny loosened his tie and collar and looked happier.

Then he continued, “Emily does not have keys, according to her. Oh, yes, Dana was supposed help out part of the day, but had to drive her grandmother to an eye doctor’s appointment in Hyannis. And with the Tellmans away, Emily and Charlie would both have to work a full day.”

I began to put the remaining food away. “I didn’t know Dana spent so much time there. Did Emily Bartles hear a shot? Is that how Charlie was found?”

“Apparently Dana fills in from time to time. After all, she is the Tellmans’ niece.” Sonny stretched. “Nice meal, thanks. No, Emily did not hear any gunshot, and the morning went smoothly in general. Around ten, Charlie told Emily she’d better take her lunch hour from twelve to one. Charlie had a tooth bothering her. It was getting worse, and she had managed to get a one thirty dentist’s appointment. She thought it might run a little long.”

“Did she really have an appointment?” Cindy asked.

“Yep. Emily left at twelve and returned about ten of one, to find the front of the gallery wide open. She was surprised Charlie wasn’t working at the front desk, which someone always covered when the gallery was open. Otherwise, anyone could have strolled in and carted out pictures and statuary or whatever. Emily shrugged it off, figured Charlie may have been in pain and nervous about the dentist, and assumed Emily would be back shortly. So Emily just began her work of dusting and straightening, taking care of the few potential customers who dropped in and answering the phone. When Charlie wasn’t back by three, Emily called the dentist to see if she was all right. She thought maybe Charlie hadn’t felt well, had gone home, and the dentist was supposed to have called the gallery.”

“But Charlie had never been there,” I guessed.

“Right. When Charlie was twenty minutes late for her appointment, they had marked her off as a no-show. It had happened before. After they explained this to Emily, she then walked down the hall to the back of the building and into the office and ran out screaming . . . called 911 . . . and was in the parking lot sobbing when the uniforms got there.”

I lit a cigarette and didn’t even pretend to count. “So if she did know the combination, or if Charlie had the safe open for some reason when she was shot, Emily could have emptied it and put the money in her car, or called Merrilou to meet her in the lot and given it to her before she even called the cops.”

“Yes, but think, Alex. Did Charlie just sit there quietly while Emily or Emily and cohort robbed the safe, took her gun out of the desk and shot her with it?” Sonny gave me a wry grin.

“Maybe Merrilou lured Charlie out into the gallery on some pretext while Emily swiped the gun—she probably knew where it was kept—and shot Charlie when she returned to her desk. And the safe was already open for some reason. Maybe Charlie planned to combine the dentist with the bank. And that suicide note sounds like Emily.”

I held my hands spread in front of me in a won’t-that-work? gesture.

Sonny shrugged. “It could be. By the way, Larry Bartles sent you his best. He also said to keep your eye out for Catlett. Larry now thinks there may be more there than just stress. And it could be violent.”

“Swell. Did Larry have any specific information?”

“Apparently not. He didn’t elucidate.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.”

“You two are not funny,” Cindy snapped. “Is Alex in danger or not?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” I said. “The entire family has been strange from the start. I mean, who wants to be a forensic geologist—playing with bones a thousand years old? And why would the wimpy little kid want to place himself in with a bunch of Marines who would have him for lunch and spit out the seeds? Why would Reed and Merrilou send Grandma out to get someone she knew as a nine-year-old kid to investigate Zoe’s disappearance? And Zoe herself sounds a bit wacky. I think they all just need a good psychiatrist.”

“Sounds like the all-American family to me,” Sonny stated and left.