A Deadly Clue, page 2
“It was dreadfully sad. There were pictures and news footage from the funeral, and it all seemed so tragic.” Donna pressed one hand to her heart. “The reports didn’t go into a lot of detail, but I did read it was an overdose of some kind. Such a loss.”
Vince nodded. “In more ways than one. From what I heard, Mac’s wife, Leonora, never really recovered and passed away from cancer a few years later. There were rumors she simply gave up rather than pursuing the more rigorous treatments Mac urged her to undergo.”
“It’s the same old story—money doesn’t mean you don’t have problems,” I said.
Donna shook her head. “It certainly doesn’t. In fact, I think it sometimes makes things worse.” She shifted her gaze to Vince. “There was something else, wasn’t there? Some sort of accident involving members of the Stewart family?”
“That was definitely before Kimberly died, but yes, there was a bad car crash. I don’t remember many details because it happened when I was at college and hadn’t yet joined the school paper,” Vince said.
Donna’s dark eyelashes fluttered. “I vaguely remember it. There was a flurry of coverage that died down surprisingly quickly.”
“Probably due to the Stewart family influence. I believe it involved Duff and his cousins, Lucas and Gabriel Neri. I think Lucas is around Duff’s age and Gabriel is several years younger, but like I said, I don’t recall all the specifics.” Vince tapped his chin. “I assume you have a library card, Jane? The county system offers digitized copies of local and major state newspapers you can search online. You might be able to find out more that way, if you’re interested.”
“I’ve used those resources before, but thanks for reminding me. It’s one of the benefits of having a library card that’s easy to overlook.” I finished off my wine and set down my glass. “Anyway, I suppose I’ll only be meeting Duff and his wife tomorrow, unless other members of the family live with them.”
Vince sat forward, gripping his knees. “Ainsley does still live on the estate. She was married briefly but came back home after her divorce. Mainly to indulge her passion for horses, I think.”
“Yeah, she’s won numerous jumping and dressage championships. I’ve also heard that her niece, Ara, is an excellent junior rider. That’s Finn and his wife, Soo Jin’s, thirteen-year-old daughter,” Donna said. “They live in Clemmons, not far from the Stewart estate. One of those exclusive developments. But Ara has the use of the Stewart family stables.” Donna shot me a conspiratorial look. “I only know this because my friend’s granddaughter also rides and has competed against Ara. Honestly, I’ve heard way too much about the girl.”
“Well, I shouldn’t take up more of your time,” I said as I stood up. “Thanks for the wine, and the information. I now feel less like I’ll be diving into unknown waters tomorrow.”
“Happy to help.” Vince rose to his feet to face me. “Let me know if you need any more background on the Stewarts. I still have friends working in the news business.”
“I know, and it does come in handy,” I said, with a smile. “Not to mention your rather encyclopedic knowledge of people here and throughout the state, Donna.”
“Oh, my dear, call it what it is,” Donna said, with another grin. “Gossip.”
“Gossip or not, it can be very useful.” I crossed the room but paused at the door to add, “I’ll let you know what happens after my little excursion tomorrow.”
As I opened the door and stepped onto the porch, Donna called out, “You’d better.”
Chapter Three
Fortunately, despite it being January, the weather was clear for my trip to the Stewart estate. Most of the drive was on the busy interstate where I had to drive ten miles over the posted speed limit just to avoid being run over by other vehicles, so I breathed a sigh of relief as I took the exit off the highway. Following the directions from my GPS, I turned onto rustic roads until I reached the estate.
The entrance was marked by white brick columns topped with black metal pedestals and spires. There was no sign to designate the estate, and surprisingly, no gate. I drove down a winding blacktopped driveway. It was bordered on both sides by oak trees planted so close together that their bare branches interlaced overhead, drawing a dark filagree against the clear sky.
Spying two large barns and a paddock at the edge of one of the fields adjacent to the driveway, I remembered Vince and Donna’s information about Ainsley Stewart and her niece. Behind the row of trees lining the drive, white wooden fencing proclaimed wealth as loudly as the barns and acres of rolling fields.
I slowed the car as it crested a hill to catch a panoramic view of the Stewart mansion. Unlike Aircroft, which had a taller central section and two long wings bent at slight angles like open arms, this house was much less welcoming. While Aircroft’s natural stone façade and loam brown trim gave off an earthy quality, this home’s white-painted brick and contrasting forest green shutters and trim gleamed like fine porcelain under the bright winter sun. Everything was perfectly manicured and maintained, from the formal landscaping to the copper-roofed portico that allowed visitors to be dropped off at the main entrance without suffering any effects from the weather. Massive stone urns holding evergreens trimmed into spires flanked the tall double doors.
It looks like a hotel, or a country club, I thought as I drove closer. I feel like I should be arriving with luggage.
I pulled up under the portico and parked in one of several designated spots off to the left side. After yanking off my gloves and shoving them into the pocket of my coat, I climbed out of my car and surveyed the house’s façade, immediately realizing it wasn’t a true vintage home.
Not that Aircroft was ancient, having been constructed in the 1920s, but this house looked like something built in the 1980s. I stared at the net of tiny white lights that covered the evergreens, wondering whether the decoration was a leftover from the holiday season or was used year-round.
I stepped forward, but before I could press the bell, the massive front doors—dark mahogany crisscrossed with bands of metal—swung open. A solitary figure appeared, outlined by the light spilling from the entry hall.
“Welcome,” said the woman, whose simple black pantsuit, crisp white blouse, and sensible shoes marked her as a maid or housekeeper. “You must be Mr. Stewart’s visitor from Aircroft.”
I removed my sunglasses and tucked them into my purse. “Yes, I’m Jane Hunter, and as Mr. Clewe’s assistant must’ve informed you, I’ve been sent to personally pick up the books purchased by Cameron Clewe.”
“Of course.” The woman’s smile was more practiced than welcoming. “I’m Ms. Warner, the housekeeper. Please come in. I’m afraid Mr. Stewart is still tied up on a business call, but he asked me to direct you to the library.”
Trailing her into the mansion’s front hall, I was momentarily dazzled by the enormous crystal chandelier hanging above the parquet floor. It wasn’t antique or even vintage, but rather an aggressively modern piece that featured icicle-shaped crystals of various lengths dangling from a metal grid.
Like so many knives or swords poised to rain down on an unsuspecting victim, I thought, lowering my gaze to take in the staircase that began at an open balcony over the foyer and swept down in a wide curve of white wood and elaborate black wrought-iron railings.
“This way, please. Since Mr. Clewe’s assistant said you were bringing the bill of sale, Mr. Stewart informed me that you should feel free to check over the books before he arrives,” Ms. Warner said, leading me through one of several arches enclosing the foyer.
Walking into the library, which had floor-to-ceiling white bookcases on two walls as well as a shorter dual-sided bookcase dividing the room in two, I immediately noticed a large oil painting of a young woman hanging above the white marble fireplace.
Ms. Warner registered my interest. “That’s Mr. Stewart’s sister, Kimberly,” she said in a hushed tone. “She tragically passed away many years ago.” She examined the painting, frown lines wrinkling her brow. “I’ve been told the artist caught her likeness, but not her gentle spirit.”
A shaft of light from the room’s front window fell onto the marble hearth like a pool of gold. I looked up, fixing my gaze on the painting. Gentle? I thought, observing the set of Kimberly’s lips and the hint of fire in her dark brown eyes. No, the painter didn’t capture that, if that truly was her nature.
The painter had placed Kinberly in front of a sky-blue drape that brought out the gold highlights in her light brown hair. Standing beside a small table decorated with a vase holding sunflowers, Kimberly stared straight out at the viewer with disinterest. Only her hands, clasped tightly at the waist of her simple sapphire-blue dress, betrayed any emotion.
She’s holding herself together, I thought. Fighting to keep from flying apart. She appears still and calm, but that isn’t what she was feeling.
I was certain I was right, because I’d seen that look and posture before.
It seemed Kimberly had been just as nervy as Cam, and just as determined to keep her anxiety hidden.
Chapter Four
Ms. Warner directed my attention to a pile of books stacked on top of the short bookcase. “Mr. Stewart had his secretary pull the books from Mr. Cameron’s list, but I know you need to double-check them. Please feel free to start that process. I must take care of something in the kitchen, but Mr. Stewart will join you shortly.”
“Thanks so much,” I called out as Ms. Warner left hastily. Strolling over to the bookcase, I pulled the bill of sale from my purse and began checking the inventory list against the stack of books. Cam had only purchased ten volumes, so it didn’t take long to determine that the books matched his bill of sale. When I completed my examination and stepped back, I caught the heel of my loafer on the edge of a rug covering a portion of the light oak flooring.
A swear word escaped my lips as I stumbled forward and grabbed the top edge of the bookcase to keep from falling. Unfortunately, my action disturbed the stack of books, sending one of them sailing to the floor on the opposite side of the bookcase.
Obviously alerted by the noise, a man’s voice called out, “Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing here?”
I straightened and surveyed the other half of the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize someone was here.”
An older man sat slumped in an armchair upholstered in fawn-colored leather, a closed book clutched in his bony hands. Thin to the point of gauntness, his deep-set onyx eyes provided the only life to his hollow-cheeked face. At first glance I assumed he was older than me by at least a decade, but as I looked closer, I noticed that his thinning chestnut-brown hair showed no signs of gray.
This isn’t Duff Stewart, I realized, remembering Donna’s mention of Duff’s all-American-boy looks as well as images from family pictures I’d skimmed online. I didn’t recall seeing this man, but was certain I’d seen someone with his angular features in a few of the photos.
I squared up the book stack. “I’m Jane Hunter, a librarian. I work for Cameron Clewe, cataloging his book collections.”
Fixing me with a hooded-eye stare, the man examined me for a moment, then smiled. “Ah, right. Duff told me someone was coming to pick up a few of Mac’s books today. I’m Gabe Neri.”
Leonora Neri Stewart, I thought. Duff’s mom. He looks like photos of his mother I found in my online research on the family.
Gabe rose to his feet, gripping his book in one hand. He wavered for a second before he found his balance. “Nice to meet you.” Reaching the bookcase, he bent down to retrieve the book that had tumbled to the floor. “Thankfully, this doesn’t appear to be damaged.”
“That’s good. I’d hate to have to explain a broken spine to Cam.” Facing him, I noticed that his skin, while pale, wasn’t crisscrossed with many lines. Perhaps he’s ill, rather than elderly. “I’m guessing you’re a cousin.”
Gabe’s eyes narrowed as he looked me over. “It seems you’ve heard of my family.”
I opened my mouth and snapped it shut again before I blurted out a question about his involvement in a long-ago car accident. “I think most people in the state have, considering your connection to the Stewarts. I believe your father was Leonora Stewart’s brother?”
Gabe pressed the two books he held to his chest. “Correct. He and his sister were very close, so the two families have always remained in touch, even after the older generation passed. But to be clear, I don’t actually live here, or even nearby. I have a condo in Asheville. I just drove in today because of tonight’s family gathering to celebrate Finn’s birthday. That’s Duff’s son,” he added. “I usually don’t join these things, but I like Finn and decided to make an exception.”
“I see. I suppose your brother is coming as well?”
“Lucas? Yes, he’ll be here. He lives in Winston, but still seems to finagle an overnight stay out of Duff whenever he visits.” Gabe cast me a wry smile. “It’s so he doesn’t have to drive after the party. He likes his cocktails, you see.”
I forced a smile. “It’s nice for a family to be close. I’m afraid I’ve never experienced much of that. I was an only child, and both my parents died rather young. They were only children as well, which really made the family tree wither.”
“So just a nuclear family?” Gabe’s thin lips twitched. “Or perhaps you live alone, like me?”
“I do, but I have a daughter. Kicked out the ex-husband years ago.” I flippantly tossed this off, despite the punch in the stomach memories of my marriage always evoked. “Bailey doesn’t live with me, though. She’s thirty-two and out on her own.”
“You don’t look old enough to have a child in their thirties,” Gabe said, with a smile.
“Thank you, but since I’m sixty-two, it’s easily possible,” I said. “Anyway, I finished checking over these books, so if you’ll excuse me …”
Gabe’s gaze remained fixed on my face. “You’re taking the books to Aircroft, I assume?”
“Yes. I’ll be cataloging them and adding them to Cam’s library. Which reminds me—I need that book that fell.”
Gabe’s gaze shifted to the stacked books. “I heard Cameron Clewe has a new hobby. Something about investigating cold cases, Miss Marple-style?”
“If you mean as an amateur detective, yes. Although I’m not sure Cam is a good stand-in for Christie’s elderly sleuth.” I smiled. “I assist him in those endeavors, so maybe that would be my role.”
“Still not old enough. At least, not looks-wise.” Gabe swiftly slid the book he’d picked up into the middle of the stack. “Wait a moment, I believe there’s a canvas tote stuffed into one of the shelves on my side. Let me grab that so you can use it to carry these to your car.”
“That would be great,” I said as he bent down again.
Gabe stood up, flourishing the tote bag. “I remembered Sharon kept this here so she could easily carry books to her room.” He offered me a wry smile. “She likes to stash things around the house, just in case she needs them. I think there’s a flashlight kept on one of the shelves on your side.”
He was right, there was a flashlight acting as a bookend. “I don’t know, perhaps I shouldn’t walk off with Ms. Stewart’s bag.”
“Nonsense, I’m sure she has others.” Gabe gave me a wink. “Or if not, she can certainly afford to buy more.”
“Buy more of what?”
I turned to face the man who’d just walked into the library. Of average height with a stocky build, he had white hair that gleamed against his ruddy complexion.
He spends a lot of time outdoors, sailing, fishing, or golfing, I bet, I thought as I examined him. The man wore a simple but elegant houndstooth jacket and brown wool pants. His hazel eyes were narrow and overshadowed by bushy brows currently drawn together over his bumpy nose.
“Ms. Hunter, I assume?” he said, striding across the room to meet me.” I’m Duff Stewart. Very nice to meet you. Sorry to make you wait.” His words were clipped as short as his hair.
“No problem at all. I was able to check over the books already so you didn’t waste my time.” I extended my hand. “Jane Hunter, Cameron Clewe’s personal librarian. I’m currently cataloging his collection of books and ephemera.”
Duff’s eyebrows shot up as he shook my hand. “My, my, he must have accumulated quite a lot of books to require a professional cataloger. That seems rather … excessive.” He offered me a toothy smile.
I felt myself bristling. “It’s primarily because he wants to eventually share his collection with scholars. Cam isn’t a hoarder; he actually plans to allow researchers to discover his holdings through an international online catalog. Of course, researchers would have to travel to Aircroft to make use of the materials, but Cam is fine with that as well.”
“How benevolent of him,” Duff said. The amusement glinting in his eyes faded as he looked beyond me and caught sight of Gabe.
“I see my cousin has been keeping you company. I wondered where you’d gotten to, Gabe. Did you forget our upcoming conference call with the family lawyer?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Gabe snapped.
I turned my head at Gabe’s words, curious about the anger dripping from his words. His expression shifted as soon as he caught my eye.
“And voila,” he said, motioning toward the tote bag, which he’d apparently filled with the books. “I told Ms. Hunter she could borrow this tote, Duff. It would be difficult to handle the books otherwise.”
“Borrow?” Duff’s gaze remained fixed on his cousin. “No need for that. Just take it, Ms. Hunter. My wife has duplicates scattered all over the house.”
“Thanks,” I said, but before I could add anything more, Gabe circled around the bookshelf to stand next to me.
“Anyway, as for locating me, you should know this is my favorite room,” he said. “Especially since Kim’s portrait is here.”
Duff’s gaze shifted to the painting. “Ah yes, you and Kimberly were always close, weren’t you?”
“More so than you ever were, anyway,” Gabe said, his tone barbed with spite.
