Prime Suspect Read online

  “Uncle Richard, is it?” He laughed. “Now that your mother’s dead he’s going to welcome you into the family fold, is he? Well, take a piece of advice from your old uncle.” His expression hardened. “Don’t trust that snake. Not for a minute. He’ll throw you under a bus in a heartbeat if he thinks he’ll make a dime off of you.”

  He obviously hadn’t heard about Uncle Richard’s death. She glanced at Caleb and then realized he couldn’t hear. She leaned sideways and tilted the receiver outward so they could both listen. Caleb draped an arm over the back of her chair so he could draw closer and bent his ear toward the phone.

  “I don’t believe that,” she said into the phone. “Uncle Richard cared about me and Mama far more than you ever did. He took care of us.”

  “Out of guilt.” His free hand waved in a dismissive gesture. “And it didn’t hurt him any, I guarantee that. What’s a few thousand dollars twice a year compared to the millions he has? He sent Beth money to appease his own conscience, not out of any concern for you. Trust me, girl. If you’re throwing your lot in with Fairmont because you think you might get some of his money, you’re wrong.”

  The hand holding the receiver trembled with the urge to tell him how wrong he was. Caleb exerted a gentle pressure on her back with his hand and shook his head. She saw the wisdom of withholding the information about Uncle Richard’s will. Kenneth would be released soon, and if he thought she had money, he would try to leech onto her as he had Mama.

  Caleb’s deep voice rumbled through his chest. “What is it between you and Fairmont? What do you have against him?”

  At first she thought Kenneth might not answer. He turned a scowl on Caleb. But then he appeared to change his mind. “Besides the fact that I’m in this place because of him?”

  Darcie wasn’t about to let him get away with that. “You’re in here because you stole from him.”

  He didn’t bother to deny it. “He’s a bigger thief than I ever was. But that’s okay. When I get out of here I’ll have the upper hand. He won’t be able to touch me again. I’ve got some insurance tucked away right under his nose. A little security. And there’s not a thing he can do about it.”

  What was he babbling about? Disgusted, she let the news out. “You don’t have anything over him, not anymore. Uncle Richard was murdered last night.”

  The shock on his face gave her a momentary, and childish, sense of satisfaction. In the next instant it disappeared as Kenneth’s surprise gave way to a smirk.

  “Somebody finally got him, did they? Not surprised. He was prodding a hornet’s nest five years ago. Apparently the hornets finally wised up.”

  “What do you mean?” Caleb asked.

  But Kenneth refused to answer, just sat there shaking his head.

  “Look, Pryor, whatever you know, we need to know, too. Fairmont’s death wasn’t the first. His wife’s kennel manager was killed a couple of days before, right in his office not fifty yards from the house.”

  The image in the monitor straightened. “The kennel behind the pool house?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mrs. Fairmont’s still breeding those mutts, is she?”

  Caleb’s voice grew stern. “There’s a murderer running around loose, and we’ve got to find him before he kills again.”

  Darcie could almost see the thoughts flying around in Kenneth’s mind. She exchanged a glance with Caleb. That he was keeping a secret was obvious. The question was whether or not he would tell them.

  With the return of the smirk, she knew the answer.

  “I don’t care how many people drop dead on Fairmont Estate. Good riddance.”

  “But what if I’m next?” Darcie demanded. “Don’t you care about your only living relative?”

  His head cocked sideways, and he stared at the screen. If only he would look up at the camera so she could see what was in his eyes.

  “You stay away from that estate, you hear me? Far away.”

  She wished she could read a tiny bit of concern for her well-being in the warning. But who was she trying to fool? He hadn’t given two shakes about her for almost twenty-two years. Why would he start now?

  She stood, thrusting the telephone into Caleb’s hands. “I’m through here.”

  Without waiting for an answer, and without another glance toward her uncle’s image in the screen, she left the room. If that man was her only surviving blood relative, then she’d rather live the rest of her life alone.

  FIFTEEN

  For the first twenty minutes or so of the drive back to Atlanta, Darcie stared out the window, her expression troubled. Caleb left her alone with her thoughts and focused on reviewing the interview with Kenneth Pryor.

  When she had stomped out of the room, Pryor wasn’t interested in talking anymore. After a few unsuccessful attempts to get something new out of him, Caleb gave up and ended the visitation.

  They were still an hour outside of Atlanta when she broke the silence. “Well, that was a waste of gas and time.”

  “You think so?”

  “Don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “We didn’t get anything solid, but at least we have a couple of things to think about.”

  She looked at him, her expression blank. “We do?”

  “Sure. We verified that there’s something more to the dislike between Pryor and Fairmont than the embezzlement. After five years, he still insists Fairmont is a crook.”

  “That’s the way he justified his actions, by claiming that Uncle Richard was as big a thief as he is. As if that makes it all right.” She showed her opinion of that idea with a disdainful toss of her head.

  “Maybe, but I think there was more to his claims than that. I sure would like to know what he was talking about with that hornet’s nest comment. It’s almost like he was bragging, proud that he was going to beat a powerful man like Fairmont at his own game.”

  Questions rested in the face turned toward him. “So? That proves he’s self-centered and delusional.”

  Caleb acknowledged that by dipping his head. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s true.”

  Her chest puffed out. “That Uncle Richard was a thief? That’s ridiculous. He’s...he was a respected businessman. Politicians called him up to Washington for meetings, and he hosted fundraising dinners for them.”

  “So you’re saying the fact that a bunch of Washington bureaucrats liked him proves he wasn’t crooked?” He disarmed her with a grin, and her outrage gave way to a chuckle.

  “Touché.” Then she sobered. “But that doesn’t prove he was dishonest. And what was that babbling about insurance?”

  “Exactly. That’s something else for us to think about. What is the insurance Pryor mentioned?”

  Her eyes unfocused as she considered the question. “Information of some kind? Proof, maybe, of Uncle Richard’s illegal activities?” She hurried to add, “Not that I believe that for a minute. If he had that kind of proof, why hasn’t he told anyone before now?”

  “I don’t know,” Caleb said, “but I don’t think he was blowing smoke about that. He seemed genuinely pleased that he was going to be able to...how did he put it? Get the upper hand over Fairmont.”

  Reluctantly, Darcie nodded. “It did sound like bragging, didn’t it? But I don’t know how this can help us unless we find whatever it is he was talking about. We don’t know what it is, much less where to look for it.”

  A mile passed with the only sound in the cab the wheels rumbling down the highway.

  “You know what else was weird?” Caleb spoke slowly, thoughts falling into place as he said the words. “When I told him about Lewis being killed, his ears pricked up.”

  “You’re right. But he couldn’t have known Lewis, could he? Mrs. Fairmont said he’d only been her kennel manager a couple of years, and Uncle Kenneth has been i
n prison for five.”

  “That’s what struck me as weird.” Caleb pictured Pryor’s face, the sudden flare of interest when he had mentioned Lewis. “He didn’t ask anything about him, not even his name. He asked about the kennel.”

  “You’re right,” she said slowly. “He asked whether it was the kennel behind the pool house.”

  They looked at each other a minute, and then Caleb said what they were both thinking. “Is his insurance hidden somewhere in the kennel?”

  “Was the kennel even there five years ago?” she asked. “The building didn’t look very old. It certainly wasn’t part of the original estate.”

  Caleb grinned. It would probably lead to nothing, but at least it was a trail to follow. He leaned down to grab his cell phone from the cup holder and handed it to her.

  “Call Mason. Number two on speed dial. Ask him if he can find out when that kennel was built.”

  * * *

  “Bingo.”

  Mason marched into the Emersons’ kitchen the next day while Darcie and Caleb were finishing up a sandwich for lunch. Lauren had returned to work after taking a few days off. Darcie suspected she and the others had made a pact of some kind not to leave her alone, because her hostess didn’t leave for work until after Caleb had arrived that morning. She didn’t ask, though. Having the big man around gave her a sense of security she needed right now.

  Mason set his backpack on the floor, dropped into an empty chair and slapped a file folder on the table. “The building permit for the construction of a kennel on Fairmont Estate was issued in January five years ago.” He flipped open the folder, pulled out a copy of a sketch and slid it across the table toward Caleb. “That was three months before Pryor’s arrest.”

  Darcie positioned the sketch so both she and Caleb could see it. Rectangles and squares with dozens of crisscrossing lines and handwritten measurements meant nothing to her, though the long rectangle probably represented the kennel building.

  Caleb apparently had no trouble interpreting the foreign-looking diagram. “Looks like they made some changes to the pool house at the same time.”

  * * *

  “Yeah, some heavy-duty remodeling. Added that office and attached the two buildings with a breezeway.” Mason shoved the folder forward. “Details are all in there.”

  While Caleb opened the folder and flipped through the papers inside, Mason made no attempt to hide the longing with which he stared at the half-eaten sandwich on Darcie’s plate.

  “Would you like a sandwich?” she asked.

  He brightened. “Love it. I was too busy researching building projects to eat.”

  She left the table and headed for the refrigerator. “So that means Uncle Kenneth was still employed by Uncle Richard when construction started on the kennel. He could have hidden something in there.”

  Caleb wore a troubled expression. “I don’t buy it. Where could he put it that someone wouldn’t find it in five years?”

  “What it are we talking about?” Mason asked.

  “I wish I knew.” Caleb scratched his chin absently and flipped a page over.

  “It could be anything,” Darcie said. “Maybe he hid it inside a wall or something.”

  “If so, we’ll never find it. That kennel is six hundred square feet with six interior walls. That’s a lot of wall space. And I doubt Mrs. Fairmont would be too happy with us knocking walls open to look.”

  She took a plate from the cabinet and assembled a sandwich of thickly sliced ham, Swiss cheese and rye bread. Percy left the corner where his bed had been located to sit hopefully on the floor at Mason’s side when she placed the sandwich on the table in front of him. Mason closed his eyes for a quick silent prayer, and then attacked his lunch in much the same way Percy devoured his breakfast every morning.

  “I know one of the inspectors.” Caleb tapped a scrawled signature on one of the papers. “I’ve worked with him a couple of times. Maybe I’ll give him a call and see what he remembers about that job.”

  What good that would do, Darcie couldn’t imagine. But at least it was something.

  Percy, having realized Mason was not planning to share his lunch, returned to his bed.

  Caleb’s eyes followed the dog. “How long has Mrs. Fairmont been breeding dogs?”

  Darcie tried to follow his train of thought. “Obviously more than five years, because Kenneth mentioned it. He asked if she was still breeding her dogs.”

  “He called them her mutts.” Caleb gazed at her with a teasing grin.

  “Which shows his ignorance. Those dogs cost over a thousand dollars each.”

  Disbelief colored his face. “For a dog so small it would get lost in one of my boots?” He examined Percy again.

  Mason spoke around a mouthful of sandwich. “I like dogs, but that’s insane.”

  Even Darcie had to agree. “When Percy was first delivered to our house I looked up Fairmont Designer Dogs on the internet. Mrs. Fairmont doesn’t have a website or anything, but she does put notices on places like PuppyFind.com when she has puppies for sale. The notice I saw said clearly that prospective owners would be interviewed to ensure a suitable placement.”

  Both men looked at her as if she were crazy.

  “You mean I’d have to go through an interview before I was allowed to fork over a thousand bucks for a dog?” Caleb shook his head slowly. “That’s nuts. If I wanted a dog, I’d head down to the pound.”

  “You can’t find a dog like Percy at the Humane Society.”

  The moment the words left her mouth, she realized they weren’t true. Sloane and her mother had found their puppy at the pound. That pup looked enough like Percy to be a littermate.

  Caleb remembered. “I’ll bet your neighbor didn’t pay that much for her pup.”

  “Yes, but Purdy didn’t come with the collar,” Darcie said.

  He looked blank. “Collar?”

  “That’s right. It’s actually a brilliant marketing idea. Every Fairmont Designer Dog comes with a jeweled collar. It’s what makes them worth so much more than other Maltipom puppies. In dog circles those collars are a mark of prestige.”

  Mason let out a disgusted grunt. “So people can brag about handing over a thousand bucks to someone who already has more money than she knows what to do with. That’s just wrong.”

  “Actually, the money goes to charity,” Darcie told him. “That’s another thing I read on that notice. So people can feel good about spending the money for a designer dog because they’re actually making a contribution to charity.”

  “And Fairmont gets the tax write-off.” Caleb gave a grudging smile. “Pretty smart. For Fairmont, that is, but I still say it’s stupid to spend so much on a dog when you can get the same thing at the pound.”

  His comment stuck in Darcie’s mind. Something about Sloane’s dog bothered her. If Purdy really was a Maltipom, what was she doing at the Humane Society? Nobody in their right mind would pay a thousand dollars for a dog and then leave it at the pound. Did the owner pass away maybe? Percy might have been taken to the pound after Mama died if she’d had no relatives who wanted him.

  “About that collar.” Caleb’s voice was thoughtful. “Do you still have it?”

  Darcie saw where he was going. “Yes, but trust me, it’s not worth anything. I’ll show you.”

  She scooted her chair out and headed upstairs to get Mama’s shoe box. When she returned, Mason had taken a laptop out of his backpack and was powering up.

  “It’s really gaudy.” She pulled it out of the box and handed it to Caleb. “There’s no way I’d ever put that thing on Percy.”

  Every inch of the collar was covered with green-and-clear rhinestones in silver-plated settings. From the front hung a jeweled charm in the shape of a Saint Bernard’s barrel.

  “It’s way too big for a do
g the size of a loaf of bread.” Caleb hefted the thing in his hand. “And too heavy as well.”

  She agreed with a nod. “The only thing it’s good for is bragging rights, and I don’t know anybody who’d be impressed.”

  He turned the collar in his hand, examining it from all angles. “You don’t suppose these jewels are real, do you?”

  Darcie’s first instinct was to laugh. What an absurd idea. But then again, her apartment had been searched. Her car had been broken into. What if the thief hadn’t been looking for the letters after all?

  “Here, lemme see.” Mason held out a hand. When Caleb gave him the collar, he held it up to the light. “Definitely not. The green ones are too cloudy to be emeralds, and those diamonds aren’t even CZ. They’re plain old rhinestones.”

  “How do you know that?” she asked.

  His face took on a look of mock self-importance. “I have a wealth of knowledge about a wide variety of things.”

  Caleb blew a raspberry as Darcie took the collar from him and returned it to the box.

  Mason pointed at his computer screen. “I found a newspaper article from last fall about Fairmont Designer Dogs.” His eyes moved as he scanned the monitor. “They interviewed Jason Lewis, and he talks about the collars and the money going to charity. They also interviewed someone who bought one of the thousand-dollar dogs. Listen to this. ‘Mrs. Cordelia Gates of Ansley Park recently bought two Fairmont Designer Dogs. “I love my babies,” says Mrs. Gates. “They’re my only family, and I pamper them shamelessly.”’ Mason rolled his eyes.

  “I know her,” Caleb commented. “I did some work for her last year restoring her house.”

  Darcie grinned at him. “Mason knows everything, and you know everybody. What does Brent know?”

  “Computers,” he answered without hesitation. “He can do anything with a computer.”

  “Here you go, Caleb.” Mason grinned over the top of the screen. “Fairmont Designer Dogs has puppies for sale right now. Says they’ll be ready to go on June 12, and they’re taking applications. I think you should fill one out.”