Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“Don’t be,” Clayton said, in exactly the same dismissive, breezy tone Juliette used when she talked about her parents.
The kind of blanket statement that hid a wealth of dirty secrets.
“They ran into some money troubles when I was in school, and it really took a toll on their health. I left school and came back, tried to help as much as I could. But in the end, I think neither one of them had the will to keep going. My mother succumbed to her drinking, and my father died of a heart attack shortly after.”
“Jesus,” Juliette whispered softly. “Clayton, really. I’m so sorry. Do you have any family left?”
“I had Warren,” Clayton said, still lost in that middle distance.
“After everything that happened with my parents, he took me in. Gave me a home when mine was crumbling down. I suppose in a way, I’ll always be grateful to him for that.
He rescued me, when I think my parents would have been just as happy to see me drown right alongside them.
And now the empire he worked so hard to build is crumbling. ”
“How are things?” Juliette asked, trying not to sound overeager at the shift in topic. “At the Ellingham Group, I mean.”
“A complete disaster,” Clayton said wryly.
“Warren never was one much for keeping detailed records of his plans for the future, as evidenced by the shoddy state of his will. I really do think the old chap thought he would live forever. With Brad gone now, we’re in damage control trying to undo all the unfortunate changes he made in his short stint as CEO.
Not to mention the hassle of the investigation.
Sorry, is all this triggering for you? We can talk about something else. ”
“No, no!” Juliette said. Was she envisioning Brad’s lifeless face and the half-moons of blood under her fingernails that took two days to properly clean out?
Yes. But she finally had Clayton talking about Brad and Warren; she could dissociate later.
“Actually, it’s kind of nice to talk about it.
Cathartic, you know? It was so awful, with the police and the questioning that went on for hours.
Did they grill you like they grilled me? ”
“I haven’t spoken with the police yet, though not for lack of trying on their part,” Clayton said.
“I left the club straight after my unfortunate encounter with Brad in the luncheon tent, which security has relayed to the police, but they’re very insistent on being thorough this time, I guess.
I simply don’t have the time to discuss Brad’s death when things are so delicate at the Group. ”
Detective Marks was looking at Clayton as a suspect as well—interesting. But Clayton just said he’d already left the club and security could prove it, so he couldn’t have been the one to kill Brad. But there was still the matter of Warren’s death, which he didn’t have an alibi for.
“So, the Ellingham Group is really struggling without a captain?”
“Actually, we’ve been able to right a few ships in the last couple of days,” Clayton said, polishing off his scallop as they brought out the second plate in perfect timing.
Something soup-ish, buttery with a hint of sweetness and a spicy twist on the back end.
A lobster bisque, perhaps. Why did that feel so familiar?
“Luckily for the company, as much as Warren didn’t like to commit his ideas to paper, he did like to brainstorm them out loud.
And I took meticulous notes, obviously, so we’re not as sunk as we were when Brad took over. Rest in peace, of course.”
“Of course,” Juliette acknowledged, fully aware that neither of them meant it. “And how lucky that you have Warren’s notes! For the company, I mean.”
She didn’t mean that, but Clayton preened nonetheless.
“They’ve actually named me acting chief operating officer as we sort things out.
It’s only temporary, of course; they’ll want to hold a formal interview process once we keep the stock price from tumbling.
But it’s good to know Warren’s dreams for his company won’t go unrealized. ”
Juliette wondered if Warren wasn’t the only one going unrecognized. It was one hell of a promotion to go from Warren’s gal Friday to COO of the whole ship. It was also one hell of a motive for Clayton to get rid of Warren and Brad. But how to prove it?
“On top of that, I’ve been packing up Warren’s entire art collection for donation to the Seattle Art Museum,” Clayton added. “You can see why scheduling was such a bear.”
“Brad donated Warren’s art collection?” Juliette said in surprise. “I saw him more as the ‘burn them on the front lawn to piss off his father’s ghost’ kind of guy.”
“Oh, he would have, given half the chance,” Clayton chuckled darkly.
“Luckily Warren had more foresight for his art than he did for his company. His art was the one piece of his estate he made a separate provision for in his will. He donated all of it to the museum, which of course means all the paintings need to be photographed and cataloged, restoration work needs to be notated, and paperwork needs to be drawn up. I’ve done a bit of the touch-up work myself.
Nothing too extreme, I leave those to the restorers.
Just some glue and resin repair. Sticks to your skin like crazy, though, so don’t mind the appalling state my hands are in. ”
Juliette thought his hands looked as well-groomed as ever, though she supposed artists were particular about their hands. Though she couldn’t help but note that Clayton’s fingers were on the stubbier end, not nearly as long and graceful and strong as—
NO, Juliette.
“That’s quite a busy timetable for you,” she said, giving him a sympathetic smile and pointedly avoiding looking at his hands again or thinking about any other recent hands in comparison.
He certainly had a killer motive, but she still couldn’t connect him to all the evidence.
He’d handled the microphone just before it shorted out on Warren, and he’d disappeared during Warren’s speech to supposedly look for batteries, which was the same time the defibrillator had been discharged.
But how could he have possibly known about the digitalis in the whiskey, and how could she get him to admit it?
“I suppose managing busy timetables is second nature to you,” she said. “I mean, you planned Warren’s birthday party down to the fold in the napkins. Which couldn’t have been easy, dealing with a personality like June Piedmont.”
“Ah, June isn’t so bad,” Clayton said, shaking his head. “Same type of headstrong as Warren, but she’s had to fashion it into a nicer demeanor. She and Warren never really saw eye to eye about the club, so I’m not surprised she started renovations as soon as he was out of the picture.”
“What will happen to those renovations, do you think, now that June and Robert are in police custody?” Juliette asked, watching him carefully for any sign of surprise at the news.
She knew from Kennedy’s side sleuthing that the official rumor around the club was that June and Robert were involved in some kind of fraud, but no one knew the details for certain.
And nobody knew about their confession to their part in Warren’s death.
“Ah, that,” Clayton said, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I always did find their finances a bit suspicious. Warren suspected they were embezzling before he died, ordered an audit of the club and everything. It’s better for them he never found out the results.”
“Why do you say that?” Juliette asked.
“Because Warren would have eviscerated them,” Clayton said, his tone low and firm. “Eradicated their existence. They would have been worse than ghosts in their own lives.”
June had said as much in her confession. Though Juliette wondered what made Clayton so sure of Warren’s vindictiveness. He had no doubt seen the extent Warren was willing to go to after working with him for so many years.
“I heard the police found something else,” Juliette said, still watching Clayton carefully. “Related to Warren, and his death. Involving the Piedmonts.”
Clayton frowned, his gaze turning sharp. “What do you mean? What have they found?”
“Warren’s death wasn’t an accident,” Juliette said, dropping her voice to a whisper.
“Of course it was,” Clayton said. “The matter is already closed. What are the Piedmonts saying they’ve done?”
Juliette was considering the best way to deliver her newest bit of evidence when the waiter brought out their next course, a mouthwatering rice dumpling that Juliette recognized instantly.
“This is Troy Pham’s signature dish,” Juliette blurted.
“Yes, of course,” said the waiter, looking confused. “Chef Troy personally crafted every dish on our menu.”
“This is Troy’s restaurant?” Juliette said, looking to Clayton. “How? I thought Brad wasn’t going to sign the contract.”
“Oh, he didn’t,” Clayton said. “Or rather, he wasn’t going to.
But then he—well, you know. Troy declared his contract with Pacific Pines null and void and quit, effective immediately.
And who’s to stop him? Warren and Brad are gone, and the Piedmonts have their own legal troubles.
Troy was free and clear to finally get what he wants. ”
“But … who’s funding him?”
“Oh, that’s why I’m here tonight, actually, to deliver paperwork on the art collection. Brigitte Ellingham is now the primary investor in Troy’s restaurant. With Brad gone, Brigitte inherits everything.”