Wolfe knew him, was friendly with him, and he’s pissed off he can’t pin this on you, then boomerang off it to circle your wife’s death back on you.”
“I got that, loud and clear,” Eli agreed.
“But in this case, none of it fits. Duncan wasn’t an idiot, and he wouldn’t have met the guy he was shadowing alone, in a deserted area. Unless he got a wild hair to go to the lighthouse at night in the middle of a storm, he went to meet someone and most likely someone he knew. And someone killed him. You’re alibied, and there’s absolutely nothing to indicate you and Duncan ever met or spoke. Nothing to indicate you hauled your butt from Boston, where it’s confirmed you were when Abra Walsh was assaulted here in this house, then arranged to meet Duncan, killed him, then hauled back to Boston to toss his office, his apartment, then hauled back here again. Nobody’s buying that.”
“Wolfe—”
Sherrilyn shook her head. “I’m not sure even Wolfe can swallow it, as hard as he might try. Now if he can tie Walsh to it somehow so you had help, or find you contacted an accessory in Boston to do that end, that would go down.”
“Someone planted the murder weapon in Abra’s house.”
“What?” She straightened up, her eyes as sharp and annoyed as her tone. “Why the hell didn’t I know about this?”
“I’m sorry. I just found out myself Monday.”
Mouth grim, she took a notebook and pen out of her briefcase. “Give me the rundown.”
He told her what he knew, watched her write her notes in what he thought of as cop shorthand.
“Sloppy frame-up,” she concluded. “Whoever did it is impulsive, disorganized and maybe a little stupid.”
“He murdered a seasoned investigator, and so far he’s gotten away with it.”
“Even stupid can be lucky. I’d like to see this cottage before I go back to Boston.”
“I’ll ask Abra.”
“And this trench in your basement. I’ll take a shot at the local boys, see how much they’ll share with me.” She tapped her pen on the page as she studied Eli. “In our e-mail and phone conversations you’ve indicated you think this may all be connected.”
“It’s a lot of damn coincidence otherwise.”
“Maybe. There’s another one I dug up I find interesting.”
She took out yet another file. “About five months ago, Justin Suskind purchased a property known as Sandcastle, on the north point of Whiskey Beach.”
“He . . . he bought property here?”
“That’s right. It’s deeded in the name of Legacy Corp., a shell company he set up. His wife isn’t listed on the deed or the mortgage. If and when they proceed with a divorce, it should come out. It’s very possible, at this point, she’s not aware of it.”
“Why the hell would he buy a house here?”
“Well, it’s a nice beach, and it’s still a buyer’s market real-estate-wise.” Her smirk reappeared. “But the cynic in me says he has other motives. We could speculate he hopes to catch you in a mistake, and avenge his dead lover, but you weren’t living here five months ago, and had no plans to.”
“Bluff House was here. My grandmother . . .”
“None of this connects him in any way I can see with your wife’s death, and that’s why you hired me. But I love a puzzle or I wouldn’t be in this business. Add nosy. He buys property here, reasonably close to your landmark family home, a place my information indicates you rarely visited after your marriage.”
“Lindsay didn’t like it here. She and my grandmother didn’t get along.”
“I’d imagine she might bring up the house, and all that goes with it, in pillow talk. So a few months after she dies, her lover buys the property. And you have a trench in the basement, a grandmother in the hospital, a PI shadowing you, then killed. And now the murder weapon planted in the home of the woman you’re involved with. What’s at the core of that, Eli? Not you. You weren’t here when he took the first step. What’s at the core?”
“Esmeralda’s Dowry—something that probably doesn’t exist, and if it does sure as hell isn’t buried in the basement. He left my grandmother to die.”
“Maybe. Can’t prove it yet, but maybe. I wouldn’t have given you all this information if my gauge didn’t tell me you’re not the type to fly off and do the stupid. Don’t screw up my record on character judgment.”
He shoved up because he did feel like flying off and doing