CHAPTER FIVE

 

Although Martine’s enthusiastic long walks had taken her to many parts of Oyster Cove, the ritzy neighborhood that Jeremy Todd had asked to meet her in was new to her. But the address was vaguely familiar. And even before Jeremy arrived, Martine figured out that she was standing in front of Theodore Kingston’s home.

“What are we doing here?” she asked Jeremy as soon as he approached.

“The police are treating this as a suicide case. After all, there was a suicide note. And he was shot by his own gun. No reason to think that it was a homicide.”

“Yeah, no reason to think it was a homicide.”

“Except that I think it was a homicide. And there’s probably only one cop I could talk into investigating it - Finn Cochran. But he’s in Hawaii right now on his honeymoon, and good for him. So right now, I’ve got to come up with some real evidence on my own.”

“Why don’t you think it was suicide?”

“Theodore Kingston had only been my client for about a year, but I had a pretty good feel for him. He was in good health for his age. He was in great financial shape. He was a bit cranky, a bit self-satisfied, overbearing, kind of irritating, and he had a very healthy ego. He was the most important man in this town, according to him. Nothing about him adds up to suicide.”

“I think that when most people commit suicide, everyone around them is pretty shocked. I think it’s normal for people to miss the signs—or so I hear.”

“He was a perfectionist. Especially on spelling and grammar. But his suicide note had two spelling errors and six grammatical errors. I don’t think he could possibly have written it.”

“Maybe he was just distraught. Do you really think that someone might have killed him? I mean, what reason could they possibly have had to . . . to . . . well, I guess he did have quite a few enemies.”

“See? I knew that you knew something. You said that you knew I was his attorney because you had to keep an eye on him. I need to know why you were keeping an eye on him. I need to know everything. I mean, I wasn’t close to him, and he wasn’t the salt of the earth. But if he was murdered, then he deserves justice. I guess, as his attorney, I feel I owe him that much. So, what can you tell me?”

“He was cranky, all right. He wrote terrible online reviews of businesses, mostly restaurants, on sites like Yelp. And he really hurt those businesses. They had a nickname for him—The Destroyer. A couple of them came to me about uncovering his identity, which I couldn’t do. Mostly because I was a little worried about what they would do to him. One guy, in particular, was very angry. You know, potentially violent. I just didn’t want be responsible for anything that might happen.

“So, I told him I just couldn’t do it. That it was outside my technical expertise. Which it wasn’t, but that seemed to be the easiest way to go. And one woman, I did help to erase her bad reviews from him. He can really put these places out of business, which was just inexcusable. But yeah, he had plenty of people who were mad at him. The question is, did they ever find out that Theodore Kingston was The Destroyer, and how did they find out, and which one of them took action?”

“Can you give me names? Contact info?”

“Sure. I’ll send you a list as soon as I get home. Right now, I have to speak to a psychiatrist—oh, did Dr. Svenson fill you in on this? Someone overheard me about seeing the future. And now, I have to see a psychiatrist. Because I might be crazy. I don’t even know how I’m going to convince her that I’m not crazy. How about I have these really unusual abilities that were transferred to me because of organ transplant from this really awesome witch? Perhaps that will help convince her that I’m not crazy.”

Jeremy flinched. “Good luck.”

*****

The psychiatrist’s name was Dr. Emily York, and she was not one for mincing words.

“You believe that you can see the future?”

“Of course not,” Martine responded, trying to sound innocent. “That’s insane. No one can see the future. We can speculate, of course. And hope. And dream. And predict. But no one can actually see the future. That’s crazy.”

“Martine. This therapy is pointless without complete honesty. I have it on good authority from another physician that you claimed very earnestly that you were able to see the future. Is that what you said?”

Busted. “I probably did say something to that effect.”

“Good. That is a good starting point. The future fills many people with anxiety and uncertainty. Which is natural, because the future is defined by uncertainty. I think our work together must begin with understanding why that uncertainty is unbearable to you. Why don’t we start with your background, your childhood?”

That was easy enough. Martine could rattle off the details of her childhood illness, her parents’ death, her Uncle Pierre’s guardianship, his eventual illness, and her relocation to her grandmother’s. The part of the story that raised Dr. York’s eyebrows was when Martine explained that she had lived on her own for one year after her grandmother died.

“How could such a thing have happened? That was real negligence on the part of Social Services.”

“I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to be put in a foster family. I’m a lot better off on my own. Other people just complicate life. And you have to worry about them. And they worry about you.”

“And they abandon you. Like your parents abandoned you. And your uncle, in sending you away, abandoned you. And your grandmother abandoned you. And now, you don’t really trust people. And you don’t trust the future. You don’t know what disappointment lies ahead. And so, you try to assert some control, perhaps, by ‘knowing’ exactly what the future holds for you.”

“I don’t know if I really think about everyone necessarily abandoning me. They couldn’t help it. None of them could.”

“Under the circumstances, it is only natural that you try to create certainty for yourself. Now tell me this. These futures that you see—are they good outcomes or bad outcomes?”

It was taking too much effort to come up with a plausible lie that wasn’t going to be believed anyway. Martine sighed. “They’re all bad things. People dying. Cats dying. Oh, wait. No, they’re not all bad. There are some good visions as well.”

“But mostly bad things is what I’m hearing. Now, I can see from your medical records that you were in a wheelchair for almost three years before your bone marrow transplant. And you have only been able to walk very recently. That is a huge change in your life. How does it feel to be out of that chair? How have your friends responded?”

“I don’t have any friends. I didn’t ever leave the apartment. Not for about two years. I could work from home. I could have food delivered. And I didn’t want to be the sad, pathetic girl in the wheelchair. So, I stayed home. And I didn’t have any friends. Although, I may have picked up a few recently.”

“Tell me about them, your new friends.”

“Well, there’s Dr. Svenson. I know that’s not actually a friend, but he’s someone I can talk to. And his assistant, Ruby—she took me to find some new clothes. She’s really nice. And Jeremy Todd. He’s actually a client, but we get along okay. There’s Mr. Lucky—okay, not so much a friend as a cat. And then there’s . . . this guy. Morgan.”

“Ah-hah, a guy! This should be very illuminating. Tell me all about him.”

Martine didn’t know whether the psychiatrist was just being nosy or if this was actually therapeutic. But she had to admit, she was actually relieved to have an excuse to talk about him.

“He wants me to meet his family. And there’s a ton of them. Brother, sisters, parents, niece, nephews, grandmother. He and I haven’t even been on our third date! At least, not really. Depends on what counts as a date.”

Dr. York shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s too early in a relationship to complicate with immediate relatives. I can’t advise it.”

“Maybe you can write me a note to get me out of it?”

“I don’t think a note from your psychiatrist will help to reassure anyone. It sounds like the commitment has been made. But I’m going to want to see you immediately afterward for a debriefing.”

“Any advice?”

“Good luck.”

Who did everyone thing she was, Mr. Lucky?

*****

Shortly after Martine had emailed Jeremy with all the potential clients who had made inquiries about The Destroyer, she got a call from him.

“I’m going to go over to speak to his nephew, Brady Kingston, and then I need to talk to these people you listed, people who might have been angry that Mr. Kingston wrote reviews damaging to their businesses. I was hoping that you might be able to come along.”

“That really doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time. I didn’t even know Theodore Kingston, and I’m sorry, but I’m not all that interested in the circumstances of his death.”

“I get that. But I have sworn to act in the best interest of my clients, and I seriously think that he was murdered. And if I don’t dig into this, then the truth will disappear. So, I’m sort of hoping that you might do this as a personal favor to me. People tend to clam up big-time around a lawyer. Your presence would be a huge help, not to mention your insight.”

While Martine’s sense of obligation to Theodore Kingston was nil, her debt to Jeremy was considerable. He was, after all, the one who had referred her to Dr. Svenson, which had resulted in getting her life back and being able to walk away from that hateful wheelchair. Yeah, unfortunately, she really did owe him one.

“What do you need me to do?”

*****

Theodore Kingston’s house was every bit as grand on the inside as it had appeared on the outside. A miniature little mansion befitting of a man whose business was yachts. His nephew, Brady Kingston, was in his late twenties, thin, fidgety, and anxious to get Jeremy and Martine out of his home as quickly as possible.

“I’ve got some business meetings lined up this morning. You know, I would’ve had the life insurance coming to me, except I don’t get that money because my uncle committed suicide. Did you know that? That if someone commits suicide, the life insurance doesn’t pay out? That really sucks.”

“Indeed, it does,” Jeremy empathized. “But if I understand correctly, you are the sole beneficiary of this house, his yacht business, and his liquid assets. That’s not too shabby.”

“The liquid assets don’t add up to much. He just bought two more new boats for the business. We were doing fine with four boats, but he wanted to have six. That tied up a lot of spare cash. And he did a huge renovation of this house last year. That took up a lot of big cash. So, yeah, I got the business and I got the house. But I don’t know if I want either of them. I think selling them is the way to go. Otherwise, I’d have to stay in Oyster Cove, and I’m really ready for fresh scenery, know what I mean?”

“You’re going to be leaving town soon?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah, as soon as I get all the business details figured out. Like I said, I have some meetings this morning.”

“Were you surprised that your uncle committed suicide?” Martine asked bluntly.

“Sure. Sure. I mean, that kind of thing is always a surprise, isn’t it?”

“Was he despondent? Ill? Suffering from depression? Was he on any kind of medication?” Jeremy asked.

“No. Not that I know of. I wouldn’t say depressed. He was cranky. Maybe that’s not a nice thing to say about someone who has just passed, but my uncle was really a cranky, grouchy guy. Not always easy to live with.”

“You worked for him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I helped out with the yacht rentals. I would make sure everything was well supplied before it went out—you know, champagne, beers, gourmet food, clean sheets, the whole works. And then when the ship came back, I was basically the cleaning boy, getting everything in shape for the next trip out. I also brought in a lot of new customers. I got a commission on that. Yeah, my uncle gave me five hundred bucks every time I brought in a new customer. In fact, that’s the only thing he really paid me for. I did all that other work just for room and board. Can you believe that? He was not a generous guy.”

“Did he have any enemies?” Martine asked, wanting to get to the point.

“Enemies? What makes you think he had enemies?”

“The police are treating this as a suicide, and I’m well aware that there was a suicide note. But I think that it’s too early to rule out homicide. So, you lived with him. He was cranky and grouchy and probably complained freely in front of you. Who were his enemies? Who was he mad at? And who was mad at him?” Jeremy asked.

“Well, everybody knows about the contractor.”

“Everybody except us,” Martine said impatiently. “What about the contractor?”

“Well, like I was saying, my uncle did a huge remodel last year, and they did a pretty good job, but one of my uncle’s treasured antiques went missing during the remodel. Oh, there were people in the house all the time. Any one of them could have taken it, but of course, my uncle held the owner of the company responsible. And he gave him a really bad write-up on Angie’s list, I guess. And they had a pretty loud, ugly showdown about that.”

“Could I get some contact info on that guy?” Jeremy asked.

“Sure thing.”

The doorbell rang.

Brady looked tense. “This is probably one of my meetings. They’re a bit early.”

He went to the door, with Jeremy close on his heels, and Martine thought it best to follow as well. They opened the door to the woman in her late forties, casually dressed, and looking rather worried and uncomfortable at the sight of Jeremy and Martine.

“Brady. It is Brady, isn’t it? I just wanted to stop by to offer my condolences for the loss of your uncle. Mr. Kingston was such a caring, thoughtful man. He truly knew how to look out for other people. Salt of the earth. A terrible loss to the world. Terrible loss to you, Brady. My sincere condolences.”

“Ma’am, I’m Jeremy Todd, Mr. Kingston’s attorney, and I’ll be handling his estate. And your name is . . .?”

“Naomi Webster.”

“And you know Mr. Kingston in what capacity?”

“Oh, he and I, well, we . . . attended the same church. Yes, I’ve known him for years. Well, I don’t want to hold you all up. Just came to pay my respects. Brady. Perhaps I’ll see you in church soon.”

“Okay, sure,” Brady responded unenthusiastically. “Who doesn’t want to get preached to?”

Naomi Webster made a hasty exit, and behind them in the house, they could hear someone coming down the stairs.

“That’s my grandma. She’s in from Nantucket, and was trying to take a nap. She’s really old and she’s really torn up about this. So, maybe we could finish this up some other time?”

Mrs. Kingston, a frail woman in her mid-nineties, slowly made her way to the foot of the stairs.

“Sorry if we woke you, Grandma,” Brady said. “This is uncle Theo’s lawyer. They’ll be leaving soon.”

“Oh, you knew my poor son. My poor Theo. Can anyone tell me why he would do such a terrible thing? Take his own life, when everything was going so well, when he had so many plans for the future?”

Jeremy gave her his arm and helped her into the living room and into an armchair.

“I’m afraid I didn’t know him well enough to be able to say what was happening with him.”

The sight of the grieving mother was even enough to touch Martine. Nothing would bring her son back, but what would disturb her more—knowing that he killed himself or knowing that he had been murdered?

“What kind of plans did he have for the future?” Martine asked gently.

“Oh, he was expanding his business, of course. And he was getting this house all fixed up. It looks wonderful, doesn’t it? He was going to add a deck out back. And . . . I know it’s silly, but he even had plans to take me out for my birthday next month, at a real five-star restaurant. I was so looking forward to it. Why would he even make plans like that if he knew that he wasn’t going to be around?”

“Restaurant? Do you remember the name of the restaurant?”

“Le Bistro. It’s not easy to get reservations for it. The food is supposed to be exquisite, a much higher class of restaurant than you typically get in Oyster Cove. My son had a real understanding of quality in good food. He wouldn’t stand for mediocre offerings. Only the best was good enough for him, and of course, he wanted to make sure that my birthday was a very special day.”

“Of course, he did.”

Mrs. Kingston was unlikely to provide any additional insight into her son’s demise. It would certainly be cruel to prematurely tip her off that he might have been murdered. After a soothing cup of herbal tea, Brady was able to convince her to return to her nap. He wasn’t happy however, that Jeremy and Martine lingered.

If there were any kind of business meetings about to happen in this house with Theodore Kingston’s estate money, Jeremy was determined to witness it. He was soon rewarded with a knock on the door, and three businessmen, who weren’t known to one another but had been scheduled by Brady to arrive at the same time.

“Mr. Milner. Mr. Brooks. Mr. Smith. This is my uncle’s attorney, Mr. Todd, and his . . . assistant, Ms. Cadet.”

Assistant? Well, she couldn’t very well be introduced as a hacker, could she?

All three men were dressed to impress, but Mr. Milner definitely won the prize for most expensive suit.

“Christopher Milner, at your service, Mr. Todd. I trust you are helping young Brady here through all the difficult complications of sorting the estate out.”

“Mr. Milner, your name is familiar to me. You wanted Mr. Kingston to partner with you on a large arcade project. I believe, ultimately, he decided against it. He recently tied up a lot of his capital, and he also had questions about the viability of the project.”

“He did explain about his cash flow problem. But I believe you’re mistaken about his enthusiasm for the project. He thought it had enormous potential. There’s a solid five months in Oyster Cove and the whole Cape area where entertainment essentially comes to a halt. No surfing, no boating, no beach. The arcade will fill a huge void—it’s an untapped market. I think young Brady, here, would do well to consider stepping into his uncle’s shoes and getting in on the ground floor with this project.”

“Yeah, Mr. Milner. It sounds like a super idea, but I’ve still got that cash flow problem. Until I sell this house, and then I’m probably going to be leaving Oyster Cove. Too many sad memories, you know. Time for a new start.”

“But, what about your uncle’s yacht business?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Mr. Smith chimed in. “I’m prepared to offer a very generous price for your uncle’s business.” More casually dressed than Mr. Milner, he looked very much like a man of leisure, on his way to lunch at the country club.

“Not as generous as my offer,” Mr. Brooks said. “I intend to buy the entire Kingston fleet, all six yachts—$1.8 million for the lot.”

“And you are . . .?” Jeremy asked.

“Zachary Brooks.” With a few facial scars, Mr. Brooks had the look of a self-made man. No silver spoon here. He looked as if he had fought his way up from humble beginnings.

“$1.8 million,” Mr. Smith stammered. “That’s . . . that’s quite an offer. And significantly more than the business is worth, in my opinion.”

“That’s because you have a rival yacht business, Mr. Smith. You and my uncle were competitors, always fighting for the same customers. But Mr. Brooks, here, is one of our valued customers, and I’m pretty sure my uncle would rather see his company wind up in the hands of a loyal customer. Especially if you can’t match his price.”

Mr. Smith fumed, grabbed his briefcase, and with a terse goodbye, was out the door.

“I’ll have my lawyer draw up the purchase papers,” Zachary Brooks said. And you get the keys ready, and we will transfer the money into the account of your choice.”

“Cool. Just give me a call as soon as you’re ready,” Brady said.

After Mr. Brooks had made his exit, Mr. Milner renewed his sales pitch. “$1.8 million. That is a beautiful amount of capital. And you’re thinking about selling the house as well? There’s a lot of smart things you can do with that money, young man. And although I realize the yacht business was very time-intensive for you, you could draw in a lifetime of revenue from the arcade business without ever having to live in Oyster Cove or attend the day-to-day maintenance. You would simply be a silent partner who rakes in a substantial monthly income. Can we meet next week simply to have you look at the blueprints and business plan? I know you want to make an informed decision.”

“Sure. I can do that. You got my number, right?”

“Indeed, I do. Until then, Mr. Kingston.”

And then, Jeremy and Martine were alone with Brady once more. Although Brady clearly hoped they would leave as well.

“So, got everything you need?” he asked hopefully.

“Pretty much. Just need the name of that contractor. The one who stole the antique.”

“Oh yeah. Gavin Ramsey. Just look him up on Angie’s list. You can get his contact info there.”

“And your uncle’s review. Thanks for your help.”

Jeremy and Martine were soon headed down the driveway.

“What do you think?” Jeremy asked.

“That I had a grandparent die in the house while I was living with her. I was much younger. And I have a feeling that my grandmother was a lot nicer than his uncle. But . . . he’s just not as upset as he should be. In fact, I think you’re more upset about Kingston’s death than he is.”

“Very true. Now we have to figure out why.”