Claire Gulliver #02 - Washington Weirdos Read online

  “Is it him?” Jack wasn’t a cop but had been in the business long enough to recognize a crime scene. He had surmised his man wouldn’t be alive after Wiley’s comments on the phone. The activity in the parking lot confirmed his hunch.

  “They think so. You can’t identify him. His face is blown away, but his wallet contained identification of one of his known aliases, and they’re checking his fingerprints.”

  “How far is this from the Lickmans’?”

  “Not far. It’s maybe four miles from the turn off. But it’s the other way. You’d expect him to head over the bridges to D.C. or Baltimore. And that’s where they found the truck, run off the road about six miles away but on the other side of the Lickmans’. Maybe he had someone waiting.” He shrugged. “Who knows? But somehow, I think Tuffy dashing into the kitchen with everyone following was a total surprise. Why else would he have left so early that he had to steal one of the trucks to get away?

  “Detective Maynard, over there, is in charge. As soon as he finishes what he’s doing I’ll introduce you. He’s getting some mug shots of this guy for you and Claire to look at.”

  Jack looked around and saw the half dozen or so cars and boat trailers parked in the lot. “I thought they closed this launching ramp.”

  Wiley followed his gaze. “Apparently these belong to people who were in the water and gone before the body was discovered. The guy who called it in is over there.”

  Jack saw the new model SUV with a color-coordinated boat still sitting on the attached trailer. The owner paced around the car while a woman, probably his wife, sat inside the vehicle trying to entertain two young children, who were more interested in watching what the cops were doing.

  “He’s not having such a good day today.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Detective Maynard approached and offered his hand to Jack. “So, you think you know this guy?”

  Jack shrugged. “I may have met him a couple of times, but I can’t say I know him.”

  “Probably just as well. I wouldn’t consider him the kind of person who would be a fun friend.” He led the way back toward the body, which was now being zipped into a body bag in preparation for removal. “He was definitely killed right here. Three shots, one directly to the head, probably when he was already down. Someone wanted to make sure he was dead. No witnesses that we can find. No vehicles, no tire tracks. And that doesn’t get us any answers, does it?” He looked resigned. “Wiley filled me in on some of what has happened over the past few months. Anything you want to add?”

  Jack shook his head. “Wiley told you about the arrangement we have working with the FBI? The guy you need to keep informed is Marcus Ng.” He slowly gave Marcus’ phone number while Detective Maynard scribbled in his pocket-sized notebook.

  “When will you have the pictures for us to see?”

  “The guy’s on his way. He should be here in a half hour.”

  “Fine, we’ll wait. Thanks. Wiley will keep you informed if we come up with anything else. Or Marcus will. Hopefully, you’ll do the same.”

  The weary detective nodded, he knew the drill, and then he turned back to the technicians who were clamoring for his attention.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Claire groaned as Great Auntie Maude’s ball smacked hers, knocking her out of range for the clear shot she thought she had at the next wicket. This was not the game she thought it was going to be when she agreed to play.

  “Why don’t you join us for a nice game of croquet, dear?” Great Auntie Maude had asked. It sounded harmless enough even as she explained the house rules in effect. She remembered croquet as a pleasant diversion on a warm summer day. How was she to know they were all sharks just looking for fresh blood?

  She looked at the other players. JoJo was playing along with several of the more elderly houseguests. They appeared harmless. She shook her head in disgust at her own ineptitude. She was beaten. She was just glad they hadn’t wagered money on the outcome. Then as she watched, Hal, who was related to someone but she wasn’t sure to who or how, skillfully sent his ball home.

  Amidst the hoopla and hollering she surrendered her mallet and ball. After adding her congratulations to the winner, she headed for the pitcher of iced tea sitting invitingly on the drink trolley. Claire was amused at the sight of Great Auntie Maude, collapsed in a chair under one of the umbrellas, fanning herself as she sipped her tea. She didn’t look like she could do harm with a croquet mallet, but now Claire knew better. Hal was holding court, replaying each of his swings, and revealing a strategy worthy of winning a war.

  “Well, Hal, you’re getting a big head. I think I have to challenge you to another game. Who’s up for another round?” Maude, eighty if she was a day, enthusiastically marshaled the players.

  Claire had asked her earlier how she kept her energy so high.

  Maude had winked and said, “Don’t you know that every day above ground is a good day? And at my age I can’t afford to waste any good days.”

  Now remembering that comment she smiled. Maude was an interesting person and in many ways she reminded her of her assistant at the bookstore, Mrs. B. She was sure Mrs. B wasn’t as old as Maude but probably not far from her age. But both woman had sharp minds and displayed a curiosity about all aspects of life which seemed to keep them young. Many times Mrs. B’s unflagging energy shamed Claire into extending herself.

  And, of course, Mrs. B had played a major role in convincing Claire she should sponsor Lucy’s tour of Britain last spring; say nothing of her encouraging her to take charge of the tour when Lucy’s accident prevented her from going. Yet Claire never blamed Mrs. B for getting her into that mess. The trip had been an enriching experience, which despite the problems and the danger, ultimately increased her confidence in her own abilities.

  Now, as she watched Maude carefully select her mallet, Claire hoped that someday she would be another Maude or Mrs. B. Then remembering the events of the last few days she amended her thoughts to include the hope she lived long enough to be like them.

  Amy was playing this round. She was too young, of course, but Hal said he’d help her and even JoJo didn’t object. Amy had been subdued today and, while most people didn’t know why, they all felt the need to cheer her up. JoJo shadowed her sister, solicitously offering advice. Hal encouraged her to knock her ball hard into any others in her reach and the whole group cheered when Maude’s ball was sent skidding sideways. Claire was happy to sit on the sidelines and kibitz. It gave her time to think.

  Dr. Milhouser had sent them home in time for lunch. Cook had set out a lovely buffet of salads, sandwiches and fruit. Tables were set up in the solarium and on the terrace, which allowed people to sit where they wished. No one seemed to notice MiMi had been absent for the entire morning, so she was spared the subsequent questions and the concerns which would have been heaped on her if anyone had known about Tuffy. And after lunch MiMi excused herself to take a nap. She looked as if she needed one, even though she only said she had a terrible headache. But Great Auntie Maude was more than willing to take charge. Some guests returned to their rooms for a nap. Several headed for the pool preferring their nap on a lounge chair at poolside, and this courageous contingent let Maude talk them into playing lawn croquet.

  Claire leaned back in one of the shaded chairs, enjoying the light breeze coming off the bay, which kept the heat from being unbearable. The voices of the croquet players as they coached and heckled their fellow players blended with the calls of birds in the trees, the cries of the gulls over the bay and the hum of bees busily seeking nectar. The heat made her drowsy, or maybe it was the late night. She was just considering going to her room for a nap when she spied Jack heading across the lawn. She sat up suddenly alert. Her heart pounded with anxiety. She realized she had been waiting for him. She was hoping he had some answers for her.

  Jack helped himself to a glass of iced tea and then pulled another lawn chair close to hers under the umbrella, so they could share the same pool of
shade.

  “Looks like a wicket game.” He grinned at his play on words.

  “You better believe it. Don’t they look like nice harmless souls? Well, they’re sharks.”

  “Sharks?” He grinned. “You lost, huh?”

  She nodded sheepishly. “How did you know?”

  “Oh, I’ve played a little croquet in my day. The more harmless they look the more ruthless they seem to be.”

  “Well, they sure suckered me. First a practice round. That wasn’t too bad and I was feeling pretty confident, but then we played a real game.”

  He laughed. “I wish I had been here to watch.” Then he changed the subject. “How’s Tuffy?”

  She shook her head, pushing her words past the tightness in her chest. “Not good. Dr. Milhouser wasn’t too optimistic about saving him unless he finds what caused it.” She leaned toward Jack. “Did you hear from the laboratory about their analysis?”

  “I’m still waiting. Hopefully we’ll hear soon.”

  They lapsed into a glum silence. Tuffy would have been having a great time right in the middle of the croquet game if he had been there, perhaps even providing enough distraction to level the playing field.

  “Claire, they found our man.”

  Claire perked up. “They did? Oh my God! What did he say? Did you see him? Did he tell you anything?”

  Jack shook his head, now looking even gloomier. “He was shot several times.”

  The blood drained from her head in a rush; her mouth opened but words didn’t come.

  “Shot?” she finally stammered. “Shot? As in dead?”

  He nodded.

  She leaned closer, grasping his arm urgently. “Jack, this is really scary. Why was he killed? What does it mean? What’s going on?”

  “All good questions. Unfortunately I don’t have any of the answers. But I think we all agree now that his attack on you in the Mall was not just a random act of violence in the big city. There is some purpose, some plot, and we haven’t even got a clue as to what it is.”

  “So it is the Guiness affair then?” She managed to sound calm even though she could feel the goose bumps on her scalp.

  “We don’t know.” His face was pensive. Claire could imagine the wheels turning in his brain. “Of course, that was our first thought. But it could be something entirely different.”

  Claire felt tears well up behind her eyes and she shook her head determinedly, refusing to give in to her frustration.

  Then she had a horrible thought. “Jack. Did he follow me? Have I put the Lickmans in danger by coming here?”

  Jack looked at her with sympathy. “We just don’t know. Perhaps. But remember, Claire, you didn’t want to come here. We all insisted. The Lickmans were certain you would be safe here.”

  He watched her digest his words and persuaded softly, “You are not responsible for this situation, Claire, whatever it is.”

  But he didn’t comfort her. She only thought about Amy and JoJo, Mrs. Kramer, Cook, Charlie, and the Lickmans. They had been so kind to her, and she had apparently led a killer right into their midst.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, totally depressed.

  He shrugged. “Maybe go in and see what David thinks. Wiley went to update him while I came out to find you.”

  She got up, putting her empty glass on the table. Amy was engrossed in hitting her ball through a wicket, so Claire waved good-bye to JoJo and headed for the house.

  Jack was right behind her, but he was hanging on to his iced tea glass, which he had refilled. His phone gave a discreet little chime. He fished it out of his pocket with one hand, managing to turn it on and get it to his ear without upsetting his iced tea.

  “Jack here.” His voice was crisp. Then there was a long series of nods, umhs and uh-huhs, then, “Okay. You’re sure? All right. Thanks for the quick work.” He was walking faster now, Claire almost running to stay with him.

  “What? Was it the lab? What did they say?”

  He nodded. “It was the spinach. It was botulism. Deadly! Thank God, Tuffy tripped the waiter and knocked it all on the floor, or who knows how many people would be deathly ill right now.”

  They had come through the solarium and down the hall, bursting into the library without even a polite knock on the closed door. Startled, Wiley, David and MiMi looked at them.

  “Jack, Claire? What is it? Is it Tuffy?” MiMi’s voice was tight with fear.

  Claire went to her and took her hand while Jack repeated the news.

  “Botulism? Oh my God!” MiMi collapsed onto a chair near the fireplace. “I’ve used that caterer many times. They have always been so good. How could they have let this happen?”

  Then she seemed to get it. She turned a ghastly white. “Oh, my God. If Tuffy hadn’t tripped the man, it would have gone on the table, and who knows how many would have gotten sick.” She paused, taking a deep breath; she tried to be calm as she looked to Jack. “Is it fatal?”

  He nodded. “Can be, or worse.”

  “Worse? What could be worse?” David was indignant and clearly frightened. After all, except for Tuffy’s antics, he would have certainly fallen victim to the spinach.

  “It attacks the nerve cells. Some victims are paralyzed, their brains only partly functioning. It can cause a person to become a vegetable, if they survive. It’s very dangerous.”

  Still clutching Claire’s hand tightly, MiMi put her other hand to her mouth. “Tuffy? Is there an antidote? Can we do anything for him?”

  Jack nodded. “The lab technician has already sent some anti-toxin to Dr. Milhouser. It should be arriving there soon. The only problem is that he doesn’t know how it will work on dogs. He says it’s frequently successful on adults, but they’ve never used it on animals. So it will be risky.”

  Almost as if on cue the library phone extension rang and David picked it up. Mrs. Kramer said Dr. Milhouser was on the line.

  David nodded. Then asked his wife, “Do you want to talk to him, or should I?”

  “You! You talk to him.” And then they all sat and listened to David’s side of the conversation.

  “Well, Dr. Milhouser thinks using the anti-toxin is Tuffy’s only chance. I told him to go ahead.”

  MiMi broke into tears but she nodded, agreeing with him. What else could be done? Claire bent over and hugged her, feeling a big lump in her own throat.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I think we should get Marcus Ng from the FBI and Charlie and anyone else you can think of in here to try to make sense of this?” Jack looked to David, who seemed dazed but recovered himself enough to nod his agreement.

  “MiMi, do you want to cancel your house party? I mean, people will understand.” Wiley was concerned.

  MiMi shook her head, looking through her tears at her husband for agreement. “We only do this once a year, and I think we should just finish it. We have the cookout scheduled for tomorrow afternoon with all the houseguests and about thirty more people expected. But we’re doing all the food preparation here, so that should be safe enough. It’s almost easier to go on as planned than to cancel and try to explain why to everyone.”

  David looked at her intently then nodded. “Whatever you think, my dear.” He smiled lovingly at her and she tried her best to return it.

  Jack stepped over by the windows and used his cell phone. He looked up and said, “Is four o’clock here okay with everyone?”

  They all nodded, and he spoke into his phone again before joining them. “Ng’s bringing a couple others and probably Detective Maynard, too. Who else should come?” He looked at Wiley.

  “Charlie, and a couple of people who work for me. I’ll call them.”

  “Neil should be here,” David said. “Let’s meet back here at four.”

  MiMi went to meet with Mrs. Kramer about details for dinner and the cookout the next day. David said he would call Neil and then go socialize with the guests.

  “Claire, we brought some pictures for you to take a look at. You know,
to see if you can identify the man who attacked you?” Jack nodded to Wiley who reached into his briefcase for an envelope. He handed it to Claire.

  She pulled the little stack of pictures out and looked at them carefully. The photos were of tough desperate men, shot in black and white and none of them looked like people anyone would like to know. She easily separated the two shots of the man in the Mall, the same man in the kitchen last night.

  “You’re sure?” Wiley looked over the ones she chose, then handed them to Jack. “Those are the same ones Jack picked. I guess there’s no doubt we found our man. Too bad we didn’t find him sooner.”

  “Yeah, especially for him,” Jack added dryly.

  Claire noticed she now had a full-fledged headache and, since there didn’t seem to be anything else she needed to do right then, she excused herself, deciding an aspirin and a nap would help her clear her mind before the four o’clock meeting.

  Jack and Wiley headed for the kitchen, hoping to scrounge some leftovers to make up for their missed lunch.

  Claire’s room was blessedly cool. The sheer curtains stirred with the breeze coming off the bay, as well as pleasantly defusing the light in the room. She wondered if the house was air-conditioned, but then noting the opened window decided it was probably the thick stone walls that kept it cool. Her head felt better just coming through the door. She had only been there a few days but the room felt like it was hers.

  She had learned on meeting Great Auntie Maude that she usually was given the Rose Room, so Claire had offered to trade with her.

  “Oh no, my dear.” Maude’s smile was genuine, her pat on Claire’s arm gentle. “MiMi has told me what a valued guest you are and you should have the Rose Room. You deserve it. I’m perfectly comfortable in the Garden Room. You enjoy.”

  So Claire was enjoying it. And after she took an aspirin she removed her shoes and lay on the bed, looking around the lovely room, feeling herself relax, little by little. Her mind drifted as she examined the pieces of the puzzle, looking for clues. She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she woke exactly forty-five minutes later knowing two things about the situation.