Chapter 8 #2
“I’m not likely to be any help there,” I said, “but I’d be happy to take a look. You’ll probably have more luck at the university, though. Or with the neighbors. And on that note…”
“After I eat,” Mendoza said.
Fine. I made a face, but carried my plate over to the little table in the alcove, where Diana was sitting.
She was trying to keep back a smile, somewhat unsuccessfully.
I figured she was laughing at me, but since it was the first time I’d seen her smile today, I didn’t give her a hard time about it.
Mendoza sat down a few seconds later, and for the next couple of minutes, we all focused on eating.
Mendoza wasn’t kidding about being hungry.
He ate tidily, but fast. Diana mostly picked at her food.
I guess it must have sounded good at the time, but when it came to actually chewing and swallowing, she probably felt like there was a big obstacle in her throat.
I remembered that feeling. It was only a few months since I’d found out that my husband was cheating on me.
“So how’s the dog?” Mendoza asked after a few minutes, and tore me out of my increasingly angry thoughts about cheating spouses.
I looked at him blankly for a second before I hiked my jaw up. “Oh, my God. I forgot the dog!”
I dove into my purse for my phone.
“Dog?” Diana asked while I scrambled.
“Mrs. Grimshaw,” Mendoza said, “had a small Boston Terrier.”
“The woman who was killed in the house next to the one where Steven was yesterday?”
He nodded, while I was frantically pushing buttons. “I had to do something with the dog while the CSI crew went over the house, so I gave it to Mrs. Kelly.”
Diana turned her attention to me, her eyebrows winging up her forehead. I flapped a hand at her but didn’t speak, since Rachel was just picking up. “It’s Gina. I’m so sorry. I totally forgot the dog!”
“That’s all right,” Rachel said. “I left her with Zachary. He said he’d take care of her.”
“Will his mother be OK with that?” Zachary lived with his mother. I hadn’t met her, and he never said much about her, but there was at least a chance she wouldn’t be thrilled about having a dog dumped on her without warning.
“I didn’t ask,” Rachel said. “Maybe he’s planning to sleep on the sofa in the office tonight.”
Maybe he was. “I’ll swing by on my way home. I’m having dinner with Diana and Detective Mendoza.”
“Good for you,” Rachel said. “Anything I need to know about?”
Nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. “No,” I said. “What about me?”
Rachel said there was nothing she hadn’t already told me. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I told her I’d be there, and hung up. “The dog’s fine. Zachary’s got it.”
“Her,” Mendoza said. “I spoke to the lawyer. Next of kin is a sister-in-law in a retirement community in Franklin.”
“Araminta Tucker. The widow of Patton Grimshaw, Griselda’s younger brother.”
Mendoza arched his brows. “Can I ask you how you know this?”
“I was going to tell you,” I said, with a glance at Diana. “I had Rachel look up the ownership of the house next door. The one where Steven and the blonde were yesterday. Araminta was listed as owner, with an address in Franklin. I drove down there.”
“Of course you did.” He sounded resigned but not surprised.
“She already knew what had happened. She saw it on the news. And she was quite disappointed when I showed up and you didn’t. She wants to see you.”
“Why?” Mendoza asked suspiciously.
“Mostly because she thinks you’re nice to look at.” I grinned at him across the table. “Partly, I think, because she thinks the whole thing is interesting. She’s pretty interesting herself, actually.”
Mendoza muttered something. I didn’t ask him to repeat it. “She says that Steven contacted her a few days ago, about renting her house.”
I explained about the university connection and the girl and the lease and all the rest of it.
“And she showed you a copy of the lease?”
I nodded. “The girl’s name is Anastasia Sokolov. Or at least that’s what she goes by. Her handwriting looks like she’s around twelve, so it was easy to make out the name”
He arched his brows. So did Diana.
“She’s not,” I said. “Zachary got a good look at her, and he said she was in her early twenties. But I guess she writes like someone who doesn’t write a lot. Or maybe it’s a Russian thing. The point is, the name was easy to read.”
“And it’s Anastasia Sokolov?”
I nodded. And spelled it, for good measure, so there’d be no question.
“That’s helpful information,” Mendoza said.
I smiled sweetly. “You’re welcome.”
He opened his mouth and closed it again. Not just handsome, but smart. “Anything else?”
I shrugged. “She didn’t like her sister-in-law.
Didn’t make any bones about it. After her husband died—Patton, Griselda’s brother—she, Araminta, moved out and into the retirement place in Franklin so she wouldn’t have to be next door to Griselda anymore.
She says she hasn’t seen her sister-in-law in two years.
Griselda hasn’t visited her and she hasn’t visited Griselda.
She didn’t mention any other family members. ”
“So bad blood between them,” Mendoza said. He didn’t write anything down, but I got the distinct feeling he made a mental note.
“That’s my impression. Or maybe not bad blood, but not a lot of love lost. She said Griselda was an unpleasant person, and that she was always sticking her nose in other people’s business. Araminta didn’t seem surprised that Mrs. Grimshaw had been murdered.”
Mendoza didn’t say anything. His silence said a lot. Or maybe I was just getting better at reading it.
“Surely you’re not thinking that Araminta killed Griselda?” I asked. “Why would she? I mean, I know she didn’t like her. Or they didn’t like each other. But they hadn’t seen each other in two years. Why would she kill a woman she hadn’t seen in so long? When she could just keep on not seeing her?”
“She’s the next of kin,” Mendoza said.
“So?”
“So she inherits,” Mendoza said. “I checked with the lawyer. There are no other relatives. The elder Grimshaws are gone. Patton Grimshaw died a few years ago. Neither sibling had children. And Griselda didn’t make a will in favor of anyone else.
Araminta Tucker-Grimshaw is the sole surviving relative. She gets it all.”
I blinked. “Is there anything to get? Enough to commit murder over?”
“People have committed murder over a handful of change and a pair of sneakers,” Mendoza said. “In this case, there’s the house, a few hundred thousand in investments, a life insurance policy of a million dollars, and the dog.”
The dog?
“I’m not sure she can keep Edwina where she lives.” Are residents in assisted living allowed to have dogs?
“Then she’ll have to make other arrangements,” Mendoza said. “In either case, depending on her own financial situation, it might be plenty to commit murder over.”
I thought about it. And realized he might be right.
Motive aside—and yes, a million dollar life insurance policy, a couple hundred thousand in investments, plus a house, might be plenty of motive for murder—Araminta might have a car.
I had no reason to think she didn’t. From what I’d seen of her, she would have been capable of driving it.
Her eyesight seemed fine, and she had all her faculties.
And it’s not like it takes a lot of strength to point a gun and pull the trigger.
Araminta Tucker was small, sure, but she wasn’t too small for that.
So motive aside, she might have both means and opportunity.
“I haven’t had a chance to check,” Mendoza added. Still on the subject of Araminta Tucker’s finances, I guess. “But retirement living doesn’t come cheap. If she needs cash, that life insurance policy alone will go a long way. And it’s not like she liked her sister-in-law.”
No. “I guess you’ll go see her tomorrow?”
“I think I’d better,” Mendoza said. “Both to take a look at that lease and to assess her potential for murderer.”
“Will you let me know what you find out?”
He gave me a jaundiced look, and I added, “About Edwina. If she doesn’t want Edwina, or can’t keep her, maybe she’d let me keep her. I’d be willing to pay for her, if money would make a difference.”
Diana looked at me and I said, defensively, “She’s nice. A fun, little dog. I like her. And I don’t want her to end up at the pound.”
Diana didn’t say anything. Mendoza said he’d let me know. “I don’t suppose you noticed a gun sitting around?”
I hadn’t. “But if she’d just used it to shoot her sister-in-law, it isn’t likely she’d keep it on the coffee table. Is it?”
It wasn’t. Mendoza turned to Diana. “I’m sorry to ask, but I’m sure you understand why I have to. Does Steven own a gun?”
Diana nodded. “We both do.”
Mendoza didn’t look surprised. I guess maybe I was, a little. It had never crossed my mind that she was packing heat.
And she must have noticed, because she felt compelled to explain.
“I get death threats sometimes. Sometimes, one party wants the divorce but the other party doesn’t.
Some men take it personally when their wives leave them.
And sometimes, someone hires me to help them negotiate a fair settlement in the divorce, but the other party doesn’t agree on what’s fair.
And then they blame the fact that they have to pay so much alimony on me.
So far it’s just been threats. Nobody’s tried to hurt me. But I carry a gun just in case.”
Mendoza nodded.
“Do I need a gun?” I asked.
They both looked at me. I added, “If I’m going to follow cheating spouses around for a living, maybe one of them will decide it’s my fault his wife’s leaving him.”
Mendoza hesitated. I got the pretty distinct impression that he wasn’t in favor of me carrying a gun. It was probably nothing personal. Most cops aren’t in favor of civilians being armed. It makes their jobs much harder.
On the other hand, I was sure he could see my point. Especially after what Diana had just said.