Unlawfull Alliances Read online

  “Yes. Can you give me any insights?”

  He shrugged. “All I know’s Erica Stratton was jealous of Amy Morrison. But that doesn’t make her much different from most women now, does it? Don’t know any more than that.”

  “If you did, would you tell me?”

  “If you’re helping Scotty? Yeah.”

  I believed him. Still, I had to ask the next question, knowing that I would be asking the same one of Erica. “Why did you dislike Amy Morrison?” Bluntness was definitely an attribute for a detective.

  His face all but flushed. “If you’re thinking I’m your culprit, you got it wrong, lady. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have liked to—” He tapped the ashes out of his pipe and stuffed it inside a pouch and then into his jacket pocket. “Looks like the service is beginning.”

  I followed him into the chapel. Charlie was deep in conversation with Jerry Bridges who had obviously come to the funeral to do exactly what we were doing. Jerry kissed me on each cheek before escorting me down the side aisle to where my husband was seated.

  “Any news?” I asked Charlie as he squeezed in beside me on the bench.

  “Aye, but not the good kind. Jerry thinks they may have found enough evidence to arrest Scott Morrison.”

  The ceremony was beautiful with candles, orchids, roses, irises, spoken words of affection, I was sure. Had Charlie not just informed me of this new tidbit of information, I might actually have heard them. But, distracted by my mind’s analysis of how, why, and what evidence they had, I heard little.

  Charlie’s elbow in my arm brought me back to the present. Scott Morrison was walking toward the podium. Gone was the boyish innocence. In its place were hunched shoulders, hollowed cheeks, and swollen eyes. He must have been planning to speak, but was too emotional, so instead found his way to the piano bench. He sat down, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, stared at the black and white keys, and began playing. I recognized it immediately. It was one of my favorite pieces, although usually played on a cello. From Saint-Saens’ The Carnival of the Animals: “The Swan.” I wondered if it was one of Amy’s favorites. I didn’t know about anyone else in the room, but it brought tears to my eyes.

  The bigger surprise was when Anthony Morrison walked up to the piano, gave his son a comforting hug, and as Scott returned to the pew to sit beside his mother, Anthony settled down at the piano. I wondered if this was planned or impromptu. The piece he played was haunting and familiar, but I could not place it. I could, however, envision a ballet dancer, moving brilliantly across a stage, a stage that was dimly lit, and filled with flowers. At the end of the piece, I saw the dancer’s face. Amy, her fragile porcelain complexion staring out at the crowd of mourners, taking her final bow, and walking gracefully off the stage. If the crowd wasn’t already crying, it certainly was now.

  “Not your usual funeral,” Charlie said as we were making our way out of the cemetery.

  “Nothing the Morrisons do is usual,” I said.

  As the casket was being lowered into the ground, Charlie and I stood away from the crowd with Jerry.

  “Can’t you tell us what you’ve found on Scott, Jerry? Did the paint samples match his car?”

  “It may not— No, ‘fraid I can’t tell you anything, Jenny. Not until we verify— But if our suspicions are correct, we’ll wait until tomorrow to talk to him.” He didn’t need to explain the reason for the delay in questioning his primary suspect. Nor had the moisture in Jerry’s eyes escaped me during the musical tribute.

  When Joe found his way out of the crowd, we drove to Anthony and Rosemary Morrison’s house. It was a catered affair, coffee bar and all, validating to my statement that the Morrisons’ gatherings stood out in the memories of their attendees.

  The first person I spotted, once we were in the garden, was Amy’s first husband, Daniel Walters. I quickly introduced him to my father and my husband. I was right, I realized, seeing them standing side by side. Daniel’s blue eyes were nearly as beautiful as Joe’s.

  He seemed distracted as he shook hands, something else holding his attention. “Amy’s music,” he whispered breathlessly before I could ask.

  I listened beyond the buzz of the dialog and realized it was a piano concerto coming through the speakers to the garden. Chopin if I wasn’t mistaken.

  “You mean this was one of the pieces she liked?”

  “I mean, it’s Amy playing. I recognize her.”

  I didn’t doubt him for a moment.

  “It’s beautiful,” Joe said, the huskiness in his voice betraying his calm composure. Joe never had done well at funerals. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get something to drink. Can I get anyone else something?”

  We all shook our heads, and I returned my attention to Daniel. “Have you met Scott Morrison yet?”

  “No, but I spoke with him before coming. Asked if he’d mind.”

  “And he said?”

  “He appreciated the call, but it wasn’t necessary. Anyone who cared about Amy was welcome at—” He looked at me, the distraction of the music over for the moment. “Thank you for telling me about it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Funny, all the way down here, I listened to her music. I have a recording of her playing piano, several actually. No classical pieces though, mostly jazz. And of course, the theme from A Man and a Woman. She played that one a lot. Never saw the sheet music, just figured it out.”

  “Do you think I could borrow it? I’d like to listen to it.”

  “Sure.”

  “See what I mean,” I told Charlie after Daniel had gone to get a drink. “He’s a really nice guy.”

  “So, why did they split up?” Charlie asked.

  “Don’t have a clue, but I’ll work on it. But you can’t deny he’s broken up over her death.”

  “No, that’s apparent. But we still have to keep him on the suspect list.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Look, darlin’, if we did it your way, there’d be no one on the suspect list.”

  I smiled. “That’s why you’re the P.I., and I’m the lowly assistant.”

  Charlie raised a single eyebrow. “Self-correct that one, if you please.” My father’s most severe scolding.

  “Delete the lowly.”

  Charlie kissed me on the cheek and I hugged him in return. Better than a teddy bear.

  “What evidence do you think the police have found?”

  “I dinna ken, luv, but it’s all the more reason for us to be talking to people. Speaking of which, do you know who this chap is over there?” Charlie asked. “I’d suspect him of stealing sweeties from a baby.”

  I looked in the direction Charlie was nodding, directly at Richard Stratton as he swirled the tan liquid in his glass, chugged it down, and snatched up another from the bar.

  “Richard Stratton, attorney in the Morrison firm,” I said. “You’ve never worked on a case for him?”

  “No, he’s never hired me. Only the Morrisons and Jim Gimble have.”

  “Didn’t you interview him about his alibi?”

  “I sent Manny on that one.” Manny was one of my father’s eternal students whom he hired on occasion to help out with cases. Manny had been taking classes from Charlie for almost as long as I’d been living.

  “Not a happy fellow, is he?” Charlie said.

  “I take it he’s still in the running? Even though he has an alibi?”

  “Everyone is in the running, you know that, until the case is solved.”

  “Right. Assume nothing and remember everything.”

  Charlie wandered on over to talk to our Mr. Stratton. He introduced himself, shook hands, subtly wiping his hand on his pants leg immediately afterwards.

  I inched a bit closer so I could hear the detective at work.

  “Did you know Amy Morrison well?” Charlie asked.

  Simple question, but it seemed to set Richard’s shoulders atwitching and his fingers astrumming as he rapped them against the stem of his glass.


  “Not particularly.”

  “It’s tragic, isn’t it? Someone so young?”

  He nodded, but his eyes had fixed on something off in the distance. If my suspicion was accurate, it was a pair of long legs that happened to belong to Meredith Fleming. I felt like smacking him upside the face so that his eyes were too swollen to notice my friend. Charlie had not missed this either, and very possibly reacted the same way I had as he forced Richard’s attention elsewhere.

  He whipped out his detective card and flashed it in his face. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Why?”

  “Routine.”

  “But you’re not a cop, why should I answer?”

  “To make yourself above suspicion.” Charlie was grinning as he said it. “Besides, see that chap in the tweed suit standing by the hedge over there, drinking a, hmm, looks like a latte or something or other.” I knew Charlie would throw that one in Jerry’s face soon enough.

  “What about him?”

  “Good friend of mine.”

  “So?”

  Charlie grinned again. He was good at putting people ill at ease, Charlie was.

  “He’s the police detective who’s been assigned this case. Now, do you think Amy Morrison’s death was an accident?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Do you think Amy and Scott were having marital problems?”

  “None of my business.”

  “Thanks for your cooperation. Enjoy the party,” Charlie said as he walked away.

  “Didn’t give you much, did he?” I said when Charlie was back at my side.

  “Sometimes it’s not what they say, but what they don’t say.”

  I knew that.

  “I think I’ll wander the crowd, luv, maybe have a wee chat here and there. Why don’t you hang around the coffee bar. Seems to attract plenty of people.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “A good cappuccino?” Charlie joked.

  “Right.” I stationed myself where my boss had directed me, no idea what I was to observe, but then that was what Charlie always said, as soon as we assume we know what we’re looking for, we miss what we should have been looking for.

  An espresso drink bar at a funeral. But then this was Seattle.

  “Only at a Morrison funeral,” Erica Stratton came up behind me, successfully reading my mind. “A Rosemary creation, should I say?”

  “Definitely unusual.”

  She ordered a double shot, nonfat latte and I, an Americana. I had to look like I was standing there for a reason, didn’t I? It was sure to keep me awake tonight, but maybe there was a reason I needed to be awake tonight. I shivered as a chill ran down my spine. A premonition, Jenny? I shrugged off the thought.

  “Tell me something, Erica, what did you mean the other day when you said Amy was dedicated to making sure her marriage stayed intact?”

  Erica shook her head slightly, her short brown hair waving in the breeze. “Don’t you just hate it when your words are thrown back at you.”

  “Sorry.” I stood in silence. I’d seen it work often enough for Charlie. When there’s a void, someone fills it.

  Erica did not let me down. “It’s obvious,” she said with undisguised superiority. “When you’re married to a divorce attorney, you’ve got a lot to lose.” Good answer. The only problem was, she was smiling with satisfaction, as if immensely pleased with the explanation she had just invented.

  But the truth of it was, Erica’s answer made perfect sense. Amy had, after all, everything to lose, especially if there was some sort of prenuptial agreement. And if she lost everything, it would put her right back where she had started, in deep poverty.

  I was just about to ask Erica about Jim Gimble’s dislike of Amy Morrison but realized that Dana Gimble was next in line for a drink. Two coffees, one with cream and sugar, one black. I suspected the black coffee was for Jim. Chauvinistic of me, I suppose.

  “How are you doing, Dana?” I asked. “Under the circumstances.”

  She nodded. “I’m okay. Worried about Scotty though.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s bad enough, his having to suffer the loss of his wife, but I don’t know how anyone could suspect him of murder.” Apparently Jim had mentioned our conversation prior to the service. “I don’t believe for a minute that Scott could harm anyone, especially Amy.”

  “Of course not,” I agreed. “Do you have any idea why Amy was depressed recently?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

  She didn’t have any insights for me, but she hadn’t disagreed with my assessment. “Do you think maybe she and Scott were having marital problems?”

  Dana was rocking back and forth as we women are prone to do once we have borne children, no matter how many years ago. “All I know is Scotty tried so hard, but it was as if she wouldn’t let him in.” She was looking off into the distance, her mind drifting into memory mode. “It was as though Amy was protecting herself from something.” Her attention returned to me and she said, “As if she needed protecting from Scott!” She closed her mouth tightly, realizing what she had said.

  She quickly excused herself from our conversation. “Jim’s coffee is getting cold. If he didn’t put that silly cream in it, it would stay hot a lot longer, I keep telling him. And the sugar.” She shook her head. “I’ve been trying for years to get him off that!”

  Looked like I’d guessed wrong on whose coffee was which. Teach me to be chauvinistic . . . and presumptuous.

  “We meet again.”

  I turned and smiled at Meredith. “How are you?”

  “Not bad, considering that I’m at a funeral. You?”

  I didn’t want to stop to think about her question. If I did, I might realize exactly how I was, and that was not a pretty picture, not with three memorial services in the same number of days.

  Meredith stepped up to the coffee bar to order, “A cappuccino, if you please. Oh, what the Hell, I need chocolate. Make it a mocha.”

  I smiled. Something else I could relate to. Her mocha in hand, she came over to join me beside Rosemary’s freshly blooming rose bushes.

  “Looks like a good spot to people-watch.”

  I nodded. “Very good.”

  She met my eyes straight on. She had caught the sobriety in my tone of voice. I handed her my cup to hold for a moment while I dug into my purse for one of Charlie’s cards which I handed to her. She studied it for a moment.

  “My father,” I said.

  “Your father’s a P.I.?” She was smiling.

  “I’m assisting him on this case.”

  “And I was just getting used to your being a minister.” She laughed. “I’m impressed. So you’re trying to figure out who killed Amy.”

  “Do you assume she was killed?” I asked.

  “Why else would you be working on it?”

  “True. So, why else do you think she was murdered?”

  Meredith’s smile was impish. She liked playing word games. “Just a gut feeling.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I don’t know. She just doesn’t seem like the type to do herself in. Too much of a survivor. She clawed her way this far, she wasn’t about to let go.”

  “Clawed her way?”

  “She wasn’t born to this lifestyle.” She motioned toward the elegant garden and gathering of chic people and fancy food that resembled anything more than it did a funeral. “She must have worked her way into it. Somehow.”

  “How do you know about Amy’s background?”

  She thought for a moment. “Hugh, I suppose. He must have gotten it through the legal grapevine. So, was that the real reason for our lunch date?” Meredith asked. “Was I part of your case work?”

  “A bit, I suppose. But it needn’t have been. Can we do it again?”

  She licked the froth off the top of her mocha, her smile white with cream. “Sure. Why not?”

  “And then you can take me to your studio and show me your potter
y.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Something we have in common?”

  “Depends how good you are.”

  Meredith laughed. “Yep, something we have in common. So, tell me more about this investigation.”

  “Not much to tell, but maybe you could answer a question for me. Do you remember the bartender at Rosemary’s fund-raiser garden party?”

  Laughter bubbled out of her. “Jake? Of course. What woman wouldn’t remember him? He works at the club too.”

  “Did you happen to notice if he took any breaks during the party?”

  She stared across the lawn to the spot where the bar had been set up that afternoon. “I don’t remember. Oh, wait a minute. I went to get some water and he wasn’t there. Some other guy helped me. One of the waiters, I think. Why?”

  “Do you remember when it was?”

  “No idea.”

  “Was it before or after you and I talked the second time.”

  Her eyes shifted over to the pool where she had hung out in the sun that gorgeous Seattle afternoon. “After, I think. I’d gotten too much sun and felt dehydrated.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why? What does this mean?”

  “It means that everything points toward Jake Holbrook being the other man in Amy Morrison’s life.”

  “Amy? Cheated on Scott?” She shook her head as if this were an impossible concept to grasp. I felt some relief in this.

  “Not only that, but Jake Holbrook was killed a couple hours before Amy was. Remember the phone call I received during our lunch—?”

  “Oh, my God. That was Jake?” I could almost see the chills running up and down Meredith’s body. This was all way too close to home. She suddenly needed something stronger than a mocha.

  After Meredith left my post, Joe joined me, salmon and shrimp in hand. “Thanks. I was getting hungry.”

  “Why didn’t you get something yourself?”

  “Don’t want to leave here. Too many interesting people coming by. Want some coffee?”

  Joe nodded and put in an order for his usual, an Americana. A man after my own heart.

  “How are you doing?” I asked my husband when he was back at my side.

  “Been better.”

  “Yeah. Me too. Too many memorial services lately.”

  “Of course, you were just at Winnie’s.”