Appearances, copyright 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, by Etienne. All rights reserved.
If the idea of two men loving each other and expressing that love in a sexual manner offends you, then you have clearly come to the wrong place. Feel free to leave.
Appearances
-10-
Philip Meets Gran
Charles took my hand and led me through a large and very grand foyer, which was typical for large old houses of the period, then through an archway and into a parlor, which though quite large, managed to convey an air of intimacy. His grandmother, who had been sitting in a rocking chair beside a small table, closed the book she had been reading after carefully marking her place, placed it carefully on the table, and rose with the aid of a cane when we entered the room. She was tall for someone of her generation, slim, very elegant, and every bit the patrician I had been led to expect. Charles led me halfway across the room before he let go of my hand and walked over to embrace the old lady.
"Hi, Gran," he said, "I'm sorry I forgot to call you before I left town on Friday, but my departure was much earlier than originally planned. I trust Andrew told you why."
"He did," she said in a firm and commanding voice which contradicted her apparent age. She stepped back from him for a minute, and said softly "My dear boy, you look wonderfully relaxed. I haven't seen you look that way in a very long time." There was a pause, while she gave me a penetrating look "And you, I suspect, are the reason for this improvement."
Charles reached out, grabbed my hand, and pulled me over to where they were standing. "Gran, may I present Philip d'Autremont. Philip, this is my grandmother."
"How do you do, Mrs. Barnett," I said.
"Much better, now that I have seen this young man looking like himself again," she replied. She sat back down in the rocking chair, and indicated that we should sit on the sofa across from her.
"Gran, we can't stay but a few minutes. We left Florida at four o'clock this morning, neither of us has had much to eat all day, and we are frankly exhausted. I just wanted to say hello, and introduce you to Philip before we go out for an early dinner. Perhaps this weekend we can have a real visit."
If she was surprised to learn that we were not going to linger, she chose not to comment. "Of course I understand. I'm so very glad you took the time to come by. I have been so concerned." She shifted her gaze from Charles to me, and continued "Charles probably doesn't know it, but he and I were distantly related to your late wife."
Charles was stunned at this. "Really? I certainly don't remember you mentioning her."
"Charles," she said firmly, "think about her maiden name. You cannot be descended from the Marks, Barnett and Lewis families without being related to the Meriwethers somewhere along the line. You are related to all three families, whereas I come from the Marks and Lewis side." With that she was off and running about family connections for a good fifteen minutes. She finally began to wind down "I'll have to look it up to be certain, but I think you and Lucinda were probably third cousins, twice removed."
Charles laughed at that. "I'll take your word for it," he said. "And now, we really have to be going. Tomorrow is going to be another very long day."
"Run along, then," she said. "I will expect the two of you for dinner Sunday, however, and bring Richard with you if you like."
He promised that we would be there, and we made our departure. When we were a few blocks down Peachtree, he glanced at me "What IS it about old Southern ladies and genealogy?"
"I know what you mean," I said, "you ought to have heard my grandmother on the same topic. Your grandmother certainly was surprised at your appearance."
"Good old Gran, she doesn't miss much," he replied. "As far as she is concerned, I can assure you that you are already part of the family."
We finally arrived in the lower midtown area, and he pulled into the parking lot behind the Pleasant Peasant, which was our destination. He turned the car over to the parking attendant, and we walked around to the entrance. The Pleasant Peasant has been an Atlanta favorite since it opened in the early seventies. Situated in an 1890's building that had originally been a Drugstore, it retained the original tin ceiling and tile floor. The dining room was not large, but was always bustling, and was indeed one of the happiest places in Atlanta. Since it was a week night, we didn't have to wait very long for a table.
I knew the Maitre'd slightly from many previous visits, and discovered that Charles knew him similarly. On the way to our table, we each spotted one or two acquaintances, though none that we had known in common prior to this evening. I commented on this when we were finally seated at our table. "Funny, we seem to have traveled in totally different subsets of the same circles."
"Well," he said, "greater Atlanta has a population of about two million, of which considerably more than ten percent would statistically be gay. Add to that the fact that it has been sort of a gay mecca for many years and I would guess the percentage to be much higher than ten. I certainly do not know more than a tiny fraction of that number, so I guess it's not too strange that we never met before, and I'm sure that we did not."
Changing the subject, I asked him "Do you think it will be safe for us to stop by my apartment on the way home? I really do need to gather some clothes and things."
"No problem," he answered. "There is no reason for anybody to be watching and/or following you, now."
We ate leisurely and well, consuming a bottle of a very good Sauvignon Blanc in the process, and were on the way to my apartment about an hour after we had been seated. Charles did not ask for directions until we were well up Piedmont Road. As we neared the Ansley area, he glanced at me "From here, you will have to navigate."
I directed him down the appropriate side street, which led to the street my apartment (condo, actually) was located upon, and directed him to my parking space. The empty parking space reminded me of something "I forgot to call the dealer about my car on Friday."
"You can take care of that in the morning," he said. "Meantime, if you have errands to run tomorrow, you can use my car. I'm not likely to need it during the day, and if I did, it would not matter. I can always use Andrew's car during working hours."
"Thanks, I appreciate that," I said, as I got out of the car. "I'm on the second floor," I continued, and led the way upstairs. After I ushered him into the apartment, I said "Make yourself at home. It won't take me more than a couple of minutes to round up a few things."
He ambled around, looking the place over, while I gathered enough clothes and personal items to last for several days. After a time, he tracked me down in the bedroom "Do you spend much time here?"
"Not really. Weekends mostly, when I am not out of town. Why?"
"Well, the place looks very comfortable, and it looks occupied, but it doesn't really look 'lived in' if you know what I mean."
I laughed at that. "You are too shrewd, counselor. No, it is not really 'lived in' as you put it. I spend time here, mostly working in the little den you saw, and I spend time at the house on West Paces Ferry, but neither of them could truly be called 'home.' That has been a fact of my life for quite some time, and one that occasionally bothers me. I simply haven't known quite what to do about it. I do have a retreat up in the mountains of North Carolina where I truly feel 'at home,' but I don't get to spend very much time there, either. At times, I feel almost like some sort of latter day nomad."
He looked thoughtful. "Well, maybe after the trial and everything, we can do something about that."
He did not elaborate, and I chose not to press the matter. I assumed him to be alluding to some sort of arrangement for living together, and was quite content to take things one day at a time for the near term. I finished packing, and he helped me carry things down to the car. It was just a short hop down Piedmont. We had to turn off of Piedmont at the point where it became one way in the wrong direction, cross over to Juniper, and down to his street. As he pulled into the garage, he said "Well, I see that the super sleuth is home."
"The car suits his personality," I said, "or at least what I have seen of it."
"You're on the mark, there. I'm glad he is home, as I really didn't want to wait until tomorrow to get a rundown from him on the investigation."
We carried my stuff upstairs, and Charles created more than enough space in the closet. He also made room in the bathroom for my gear. Richard had not turned up to greet us, so Charles went looking for him, while I wandered around the house. Things had happened so rapidly on Thursday evening and Friday morning that I really had not taken a good look at his home, and I spent some time admiring it, starting at the ground floor.
The living room was painted in neutral tones, its parquet floors covered in places by Turkish carpets. There were a number of very good prints on the walls, and the furniture had obviously been expensive. It was a very warm, comfortable room, bordering on what is sometimes referred to as understated elegance. Large colonial style windows looked out onto a small garden enclosed and made private by a high brick wall.
Upstairs, the same effect had been created in the dining room, which also overlooked the garden below, its view being somewhat restricted by a deck that ran across the back of the house at the second story level. I wandered from there into the kitchen, and found Charles lounging against a counter, talking to Richard, who was at the breakfast table, which I noted had a view through sliding patio doors of the deck and garden below. Richard was in the process of finishing what appeared to be a late supper, while Lance was sitting at attention beside the table, waiting for handouts.
When Charles saw me enter the room, he said "Richard has a bit of news for us, but refuses to talk until he has finished stuffing his face. Come into the study with me, we can wait for him there."
I followed him as requested. When we were seated at the desk, I said "I've been admiring your house. There was really no time Thursday or Friday to take it in. You and Robert must have done the decorating. It looks much too comfortable to have been the product of a decorator."
"Thank you. Actually, it was mostly Robert. As an Architect, he had an eye for how things should look." He opened one of the desk drawers and rummaged for a minute, turning back to me with a key in his hand. "You will need this, I think. Tomorrow morning, I'll show you how to arm and disarm the security system."
I added the key to my key-case. "Thanks." Suddenly I realized how tired I was. "How much longer do you think Richard will be?"
"Not long, why?"
"Because, I am sinking rapidly. You must be exhausted, as well."
"Too true, and I'd suggest bed right now, were it not for the hints he dropped earlier. Here he comes, now."
Richard came over to the desk, followed closely by Lance. Richard took the other chair, seemingly determined to make conversation about anything but the case, while Lance curled up at Charles’ feet. Charles let him ramble for a bit, finally cutting him off. "Richard, you are looking at two extremely exhausted people. We were in the air by four this morning, and it has been a LONG day. Cut to the chase, and give us a condensed version of your report, please."
"Well, to make a long story short, I was able to make some progress. As you know, Philip was not able to safely go by his house or apartment and retrieve a photo of his wife, so I went down to the newspaper office, and managed to obtain a fairly good photograph that had appeared in the society pages last year. I spent Friday, Saturday and Sunday evenings doing some serious pub crawling. I bought a lot of drinks for a lot of people, but since I was working and needed to be sober, I mostly drank tonic water. Early Sunday evening, in a dyke bar down on Peachtree, I found a bartender who thought she recognized the deceased. Better still, she dimly remembered seeing the deceased with another woman once or twice. That's not much to go on, but it gets better. Alice, the bartender I spoke with, only works there on a part time basis. The regular bartender, who is almost certain to be even more helpful, is on vacation, and is not expected to return to work until next week."
"Well done, Richard," said Charles. "That is more than anyone could hope for on such short notice."
"I'm impressed," was all that I could think of to add to the conversation.
"You'll be even more impressed when you get my bill," said Richard, with a grin.
Charles stifled a yawn. "On that note, I'm ready to call it a night. Tomorrow morning we can have a formal conference with Mark at the office, and then maybe Philip can arrange for you to gain access to the murder scene, as well as his wife's apartment." He looked at me with a question mark.
"I can escort him to both places tomorrow and he can poke about as much as he wants to." I was yawning, too.
Charles got up and walked around the desk to my chair. He held out a hand. "Coming?"
I took his hand, and let him pull me to my feet. "Right behind you."
We started to the door, saying good night as we left the room. Without waiting for a response, we went upstairs, and were undressed and in bed in a matter of minutes. Charles pulled me to him. "I set the alarm for six, so we will have time for a run in the morning - that is if you want to."
"Sure. I missed not having a run on the beach this morning. It will be good to get back into a regular routine."
Charles started kissing me and doing things to my body. "How tired are you, actually?" he asked, after a few minutes.
"Well, the spirit is weak, but the flesh is obviously willing," I said.
All Charles said in response was “Lance, bed,” and Lance obediently jumped off of the bed and curled up on his own bed, giving us a look of reproach. Lance, ever the optimist, always began the night by curling up between our legs at the foot of the bed, and he always was ordered to his own bed sooner or later.
Afterwards, I fell asleep immediately. I suspect Charles did, too. When the alarm went off the next morning, I awakened to find myself both refreshed and relaxed. Charles got up and turned it off, and then went to the closet. Coming back to the bed with running shorts and shoes in hand for both of us, he sat down on the edge, and leaned over and gave me a brief kiss. "Still feel like that run?" It was a rhetorical question. He was already pulling on his shorts.
"You bet. Let me go splash some water on my face." I got up and went into the bathroom. When I came back to the bedroom, he had his running shoes already laced up, and was sitting quietly in a chair in the corner, waiting. Lance was sitting beside him, leash in mouth. I quickly pulled on my shorts and running shoes, and in a couple of minutes stood up and walked over to him. "Lead on."
He hooked Lance’s leash onto his collar and then led me to the kitchen and down the back stairs to the garage. He opened the garage door, and after we were clear of it, produced an opener from a fanny pack which he was wearing. "It’s more bulky than carrying a key ring," he said "but avoids tracking through the living room. Ready?"
"After you."
We ran over to Piedmont, and up to the entrance to the park. There were a few runners out at this hour, as well as several people walking their dogs. Surprisingly, Lance seemed to take no notice of the other dogs and seemed to be quite content to trot along beside Charles and me. Charles led us in a wide circle through part of the park, and we arrived back at the same entrance some time later. While we were waiting for the traffic light to change, I asked him how far we had been.
"By the time we get home, about six miles."
The light changed before I could say anything else (I have never been able to carry on much of a conversation while running), and we headed down Piedmont. When we were back at his house, we retraced our steps as far as the kitchen, where he removed Lance’s leash, before detouring into the laundry room, and took off his shorts, shoes, and socks. He dumped the shorts and socks into a laundry basket, picked up his shoes, and naked, turned toward the door.
Reading my mind, he answered my unasked question. "Richard won't be up and about for another thirty minutes or so, and even if he was, it wouldn't matter - we are quite casual around here. Besides," and he grinned "neither of us has got anything he hasn't seen plenty of."
I followed his example, and we went upstairs and shared the bathroom, shaving side by side at the double vanity, and then showering together. The process of washing each other's backs led, as always, to more interesting things. "This is getting to be a habit," I said.
"Well, we all need a few more good habits."
We went down to the kitchen. This time, he wore his newer robe, and I wore the one I had brought with me the previous evening. We were seated at the breakfast table having coffee, juice, and toast, and sharing the morning paper, when Richard came in, wearing a pair of exercise shorts and nothing else. He obviously had not yet showered, and his face was covered with blond stubble. The word bedraggled came quickly to mind. Charles' mouth was full of toast, so I said cheerfully "Good morning."
"The words 'good' and 'morning' are mutually exclusive, as far as I'm concerned," he grumbled.
"Maybe you would feel differently about that if you had gotten up with us and gone for a run through the park," I responded.
"Oh God, not another one," he groaned, "I can't stand it."
"Another one what?" I wanted to know.
"Early morning exercise puke," he said. "Living with one of them was bad enough. I don't know if I can take it in stereo."
"What's wrong with exercise," I said, "obviously you indulge in a good deal of it yourself, judging by the shape you are in."
"Nothing wrong with exercise," he said. "Exercise is okay. Exercise can even be wonderful. Early mornings, however, are not." Before I could say anything else, he added "and don't give me that bullshit about the early bird and the worm. If the worm had stayed in bed, he would have been better off."
Charles finally joined the conversation. "Don't pay any attention to the grouch. I've known him for nearly twenty years, man and boy, and he has always been like this first thing in the morning. One learns never to expect civility from Richard before at least ten o'clock."
Richard sat down at the table, reached over to the coffee maker on the counter, and poured himself a cup. We finished breakfast, and the paper, in silence. Charles looked at the kitchen clock. "If we are going to be at the office by nine, we had better go up and get dressed."
Fifteen minutes later, we were on the way downtown. When we pulled up to the entrance to the parking garage underneath his office building, Charles opened the glove compartment, retrieved the card which activated the barrier across the entrance, showed me how to use it, and explained that I would need to show it to the attendant on duty at the exit. Replacing the card in the glove compartment, he fumbled around, extracted a set of keys, and handed them to me. "Here is a spare set of keys that I keep in the glove compartment. They come in handy when I leave the car to be serviced. If you happen to pass near a locksmith today, stop and get a set made for yourself, as well as a copy of the key I gave you to the house."
"Thanks, I know a place in Buckhead that I can have them made, after I take Richard to the house and to Lucinda's apartment."
He parked in his reserved space, locked the car, and we took the elevator up to his office. I settled down in a side chair, near his desk, to wait for our meeting to start. While he read his accumulated messages, I took a good look at his office. The visit yesterday had been so hurried, and I had been in such an unsettled state, that I really had not noticed many details. It was a large office, on the corner of the building, containing, in addition to his desk, a small conference table in one corner, and a sofa and seating arrangement in the corner opposite. His desk, which was a large mahogany affair, was placed so that the outside corner of the building was right behind him, and the two windows allowed light over both of his shoulders. The shape of the wall space behind his chair did not allow for a conventional credenza, instead there was a built in cabinet which appeared to house and partially hide a personal computer. The wall behind the conference table was covered with floor to ceiling bookshelves which were overflowing with legal volumes.
After a time, there was a knock on the door, and a young man in his mid twenties entered the room. Charles introduced me to the arrival, who turned out to be Mark Tatum, the associate who would be assisting with the preparation of my defense. We moved to the conference table, chatted amiably for a few minutes. Finally, there was another knock on the door, and Richard came in, followed by Charles' secretary. I had noted the previous day that, as he had said, she was as attractive as she was efficient.
When we were all settled around the table, Charles looked at me, and said "What we are about to do is second nature to us, and we sometimes take it for granted that laymen understand the process, even if they do not. Please feel free to interrupt and ask for explanations and/or clarifications at any time."
I nodded my agreement, and he went on "What we are going to do this morning is lay out a preliminary plan of action for your defense. This plan may or may not evolve into the final one - that will depend upon how the prosecution proceeds."
He looked at Richard. "Speaking of the prosecution, is your contact in the District Attorney's office aware of your relationship to me? And more important, will that prevent him from talking to you about the case?"
"Yes to the first question. Probably no to the second. Considering who he works for, he has to be circumspect and very closeted. We certainly will not be able to meet openly, but I can create some opportunities to find out from him what is going on."
"Well, create whatever 'opportunities' you can. My feeling is that it will be very helpful to have an inside track for this particular case." Charles gave him a look that clearly (to me, at least) conveyed that Richard should use sex as a lever for information.
He continued. "During the process of Discovery, we may be able to learn the thrust of their case." He looked at me "Do you understand what we mean by Discovery?"
"I think so. Basically, isn't it a process of 'show and tell' for each side of the case."
"Just so," he said. "However, the presumption of innocence on your part will place the onus on them to prove your guilt, and the current rules require that they show and tell all, but we are allowed to hold things back. At the very least, they will have to prove that you had motive and opportunity. We all know that they cannot place you at the scene of the crime. Since they cannot prove you were at the scene, they will most likely concentrate on developing a motive. What they will come up with is anybody's guess at this point. That is where Richard's friend may be helpful, for the sooner we know what their case is predicated upon, the sooner we can develop an appropriate response."
"For the record," he said (Rosemary was busily making notes, and I noted that she also had a small mini-cassette recorder on the table) "the facts of the case are as follows." He recited a precis' of my life, Lucinda's life, and our relationship - pretty much as Andrew had described it the previous Thursday evening. "Our job is to obtain a verdict of 'not guilty' period. The matter of an alibi is off limits now and forever." He looked at Richard "Give us a rundown of your findings to date."
Richard recited the long version of his weekend. Actually, there really wasn't much more to this than the bare facts he had told Charles and me the previous evening. "For a working hypothesis," he added, "try this on for size. Mrs. d'Autremont is getting a little tired of her current lover for whatever reason. She is also several weeks pregnant, so she decides to reveal her pregnancy and use it as an excuse to break off the relationship, either temporarily or permanently. Her lover kills her in a fit of rage."
"Not bad," Charles said, "for a theory built mostly on thin air. Have you got anything at all to support it?"
"Not really, except that the bartender I interviewed described the deceased's friend as very 'butch.'"
"Well, perhaps the other bartender will be more helpful when she gets back from her vacation. In the meantime, you can begin the customary investigation of the scene, etc. As soon as we are finished here, Philip will get you into both his home and his wife's apartment."
"Comments or questions, anyone?"
Mark had a couple of questions, but nobody else said anything.
"Good. One last thing. It is very clear, from what we have learned from our source, that the police are not actively pursuing their investigation. As far as they are concerned, they've got their man, so it will be up to us to do their job for them."
Rosemary and Mark excused themselves. Charles wrote something on a business card, and handed it to me. "The first number is my private line here at the office, and the second number is my cellular phone. Call me if you think of and/or need anything. Would you like to meet somewhere for lunch, if you have time?"
"Sure,” I said, “when and where?"
"Well, if you can get back here by about one, we can walk to any of several places. I won't make any commitments in case you can make it."
"Don't worry," I said, "I'll make it."
Richard said "What about me?"
"What about you," Charles wanted to know.
"Am I invited to lunch?"
"Only if you have something useful to report. Now go out and flirt with Rosemary for a minute while I talk to my client."
"Yes, massa," Richard said, and retreated to the outer office, closing the door behind him.
Charles looked at me. "Well, the wheels of justice are turning."
"So it would seem."
He came and stood very close to me. "If you can't make it for lunch, I will understand. Disappointed, of course, but understanding." He leaned over and kissed me. "Now go on and escort the boy wonder to the scene of the crime, and don't let him give you a hard time."
"Yes, massa," I said mimicking Richard, and walked out the door before he could come up with a rejoinder. Richard was sitting in a chair beside Rosemary's desk. From their casual manner and chatter it was obvious that they were old friends. Their conversation wound down as I approached. "I'm ready whenever you are," I said to Richard.
"Then let's go," he said, tossing a casual "bye, babe" to Rosemary.
We walked to the elevators, and I thought about logistics. "Shall we take one car, or two?"
"Why don't you drive us there? That will give us a chance to talk. I will have one of my grunts meet us there to help me snoop, and he can bring me back here for my car."
When we were in the car, I gave him the address on West Paces Ferry, as he requested. He took a portable telephone from a holster hanging from his belt, and called his helper. Replacing the telephone, he said "isn't technology wonderful?"
"I've noticed that Charles likes his toys. Apparently, you do too."
"They have their uses. Speaking of Charles, you certainly have had an effect on him. I've watched him slowly turning into some sort of zombie over the last three years. The process seems to have reversed itself over the weekend. Clearly, he is in love with you." Adopting a slightly lighter tone, he added "I just hope your intentions are, as they say, honorable."
"He is, they are, and for the record, it’s mutual. We sorted all that out over the weekend."
"He hasn't told me about it, yet, but it must have been SOME weekend."
"It was. In a nutshell, Lydia turned up at the beach house Saturday morning with an alleged boyfriend in tow. I say alleged, because Charles saw right through it - she was playing matchmaker. They stayed until Sunday afternoon. Saturday evening after dinner, Charles told us about his encounter with Robert's parents the day before the funeral. We wound up watching a videotape that Lydia had shown to her parents on that occasion. Watching that tape served as a catalyst, triggering something in Charles which allowed all the grief he had been holding back to come flooding out."
"I know the videotape you mean, and am not surprised that it produced a reaction. But right there in front of everybody? That doesn't sound like him at all."
"No. He excused himself and went outside. I followed him, and managed to get him upstairs before it happened."
"In the shower, I'll wager."
"You know about that?"
"He and I have few secrets after all these years."
"You are right on target. He went to the shower, asking me to join him there. After it was over, I managed to get us both dried off and into bed."
"I guess I owe you an apology."
"For what?"
"My tacky remark about honorable intentions."
"No problem," I answered, and changed the subject. "I'm surprised that you and Charles were never an item."
"There was a time, when we were teenagers, that I would have liked that, but I've been covered with this bear rug since I was fifteen, and Charles has this thing about hair."
"So he told me." I suspected that there had been more to it than that, but I chose not to pry.
While we talked, he had produced a notebook. "I need to ask a few questions, if you don't mind?"
"Fire away."
He did just that for the next several minutes, winding up just as I turned off the street and down the driveway of the house on West Paces Ferry. Strange, I thought, I have always thought of this place as 'the house on West Paces Ferry,' and never as home. It was merely a place where Lucinda and I had ostensibly set up housekeeping, and had lived ever since our marriage. In reality, it was little more than an enormously expensive prop. One of many props that were part of the drama we had enacted over the years for the benefit of society and our respective families. All that effort, just for the sake of appearances. What a waste, I thought.
I pulled into the covered entrance at the side of the house, and we got out and walked to the door. I rang the bell, and then unlocked the door, explaining "The bell was so that the servants won't be surprised. They are probably in a state of panic already, as I haven't contacted them since last week."
"How many are there?"
"A married couple. He doubles as butler and gardener, and she serves as cook and housekeeper. They live in a garage apartment at the back of the property."
"Which one of them found the body?"
"Neither, actually. It was a part-time maid."
"Will she be here?"
"No. There wasn't anything for her to do, after Lucinda's death, so I let her go. I'll get her address for you." Before I could say anything else, I heard footsteps coming from the back of the house, and Lucy appeared.
"Oh, Mister Philip, where have you been, we have been so worried about you. We heard that you were arrested."
I laughed at her patter. "Slow down, Lucy. All in good time. Where is Henry?"
"He's out back."
"Why don't you go and find him, and bring him into the library? Then I will tell you both what has been happening. This is Richard Greene, a private investigator whom I have hired to look into Lucinda's murder."
She said hello to Richard, and escaped to find her husband. "Poor thing," I said, "I guess they have both been kind of adrift for the past week. I hated not to contact them, but Charles said it was not a good idea."
"Can we see the murder scene, while we wait?"
"Of course." I led him upstairs to Lucinda's bedroom. "This is where they found the body. I can't tell you much more than that, because the body had already been removed by the time I got here. The room has obviously been cleaned up since then, so I don't know what you expect to find."
"Probably nothing, but you never know."
"Well, I will leave you to it." I went to the door, adding "By the way, what is the name of your associate - I will tell Henry and Lucy to expect him and show him right up."
"George Markham."
I repeated the name, and then went down to the library to calm the ruffled feathers of Henry and Lucy. I told them that I had been out of town, and that my attorney had thought it unwise to tell anyone, including them, where I was. They were understandably worried about their future, and wanted to know what I planned to do with the house. I reassured them as best I could, explaining that they were provided for in Lucinda's Will. They would receive a generous lump sum, and a small pension. As for the house, I told them it would probably be sold, but not until after my trial, some time next year. I asked them to stay on and take care of it just as they had always done, hinting that I hoped it might be possible to find a buyer for the house who would want to retain their services. I could see that I had said the right words, as they were obviously pleased at the prospect of staying where they were. Before we could discuss anything further, we were interrupted by the doorbell.
"That will probably be a man named George Markham, who is here to assist Mr. Greene with the investigation. They will want to ask you both some questions. Also, you will be getting a call from my attorney or one of his associates, as they will have some questions as well."
Henry excused himself to answer the door, and I went to the small den that had served as a sort of household office to locate the keys to Lucinda's apartment. I found them, and went back upstairs to the bedroom.
Richard introduced me to his helper, a short, heavyset man in his early forties, who could have passed for the stereotype of a tired, jaded P. I.
I handed Richard the keys. "You already have the address of her apartment. I don't know whether the police have been there, or not."
"Thanks. We will go there from here."
"Do you need me to go with you?"
"Not this time. Maybe later."
"Good. Right now I've got a number of errands to run. You can reach me at the townhouse, or leave word with Charles. I'll be seeing him for lunch."
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-To be continued-
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Your feedback, as always, is appreciated, be it good, bad, or indifferent.
My stories may be found on the following sites:
http://tickiestories.us/Etienne_m.htm
My thanks as always to the tireless Rockhunter for editing the last few chapters.
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