Read Online Vineyard Enigma by Philip R. Craig - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Philip R. Craig
Ads: Link
has.”
“I heard he liked the ladies. What was his appeal? What was hers?”
“You know the cliché: Men can’t resist beauty; women can’t resist money. She’s young and pretty, and he was rich. She got into his bed and wanted into his bank account. Tough luck for her that he got himself killed before the divorce went through, the slut. Men!”
“She didn’t seem quite that tough when she heard he was dead.”
Barbara snorted. “She fainted at the loss of his bank account.”
I had to laugh. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. Connie is your friend, I take it. You’ve been on her side.”
“She’s my friend, and now she doesn’t have to worry about Matt and his money going to that trollop.”
I said the obvious. “The cops might think that’s a motive for murder.”
“They’d be wrong. Connie was on Nantucket when it happened and she’s not the type who’d know where to find a killer for hire. Besides, knowing her, she’d rather have Matt alive, even if he took his money with him when he left her. She’s too sweet for her own good.”
“Is there a lot of money involved?”
“He had his share, I guess. There’s a flood of money on the island right now, as I’m sure you know, and the people who have it aren’t afraid to spend it on art, to say nothing of houses or yachts or whatever else their little hearts desire. I know that Matt had a special room in his barn just for storing merchandise until he sold it. It’s air-conditioned or temperature-controlled, or whatever they do in rooms like that. He worked with his father, you know, and Daniel Duarte had a worldwide reputation.”
“So I’m told. There’s a possibility that Matthew knew about those Zimbabwe eagles I mentioned when I was at your place this morning. Since he’s dead, I can’t talk with him about them. Can you help me out? Do you know anyone else I can talk to? Anyone with an interest in African art?”
She was silent for a moment, then said, “There are a couple of folks who have collections that make ours look tiny. Georgie Hall is one of them. Do you know Georgie and Brent?”
“No, I don’t.”
“She’s the collector, but Brent pays the freight. He can afford it. Another person is Gerald Jenkins. His collection is smaller than Georgie’s but he has a better eye than she does. Rumor has it that Georgie envies his taste and tries to compensate by buying more expensive things than Gerry can afford. Am I being catty?”
“I don’t mind. I’m a cat man.”
“All right, then, I’ll give you another rumor: Georgie sometimes gets a line on something Gerry wants and buys it first for more money than Gerry can offer.”
“How does she manage that?”
“The art business is no different than any other business. Dealers are interested in making money. They aren’t above arranging bidding wars among clients. Matt did a bit of that himself, I’d say.”
“They must have to walk a thin line, for fear of offending good customers.”
She laughed. “Maybe they do when things are tight, but there’s so much money around these days that they don’t have to worry about losing a customer or two.”
“Not even a Gerald Jenkins?”
“Not even Gerry.”
“Where can I find Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Hall?”
“Try the telephone book. If you can’t find them there, come down here and I’ll draw you a map.”
I rang off and opened my telephone book. Sure enough, there they were, listed just like ordinary folks. Was this a wonderful country, or what?
Gerald Jenkins lived off Middle Road, and Brent Hall lived on Tea Lane. They were almost neighbors and both also lived not far from the house and barn once owned by the late Matthew Duarte. I wondered if there was any significance to that, but set the question aside because a lot of people lived in Chilmark, and understandably so, since it’s the loveliest township on the island. If I didn’t live where I live, and if I had a dozen buckets of large-denomination bills
“I heard he liked the ladies. What was his appeal? What was hers?”
“You know the cliché: Men can’t resist beauty; women can’t resist money. She’s young and pretty, and he was rich. She got into his bed and wanted into his bank account. Tough luck for her that he got himself killed before the divorce went through, the slut. Men!”
“She didn’t seem quite that tough when she heard he was dead.”
Barbara snorted. “She fainted at the loss of his bank account.”
I had to laugh. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. Connie is your friend, I take it. You’ve been on her side.”
“She’s my friend, and now she doesn’t have to worry about Matt and his money going to that trollop.”
I said the obvious. “The cops might think that’s a motive for murder.”
“They’d be wrong. Connie was on Nantucket when it happened and she’s not the type who’d know where to find a killer for hire. Besides, knowing her, she’d rather have Matt alive, even if he took his money with him when he left her. She’s too sweet for her own good.”
“Is there a lot of money involved?”
“He had his share, I guess. There’s a flood of money on the island right now, as I’m sure you know, and the people who have it aren’t afraid to spend it on art, to say nothing of houses or yachts or whatever else their little hearts desire. I know that Matt had a special room in his barn just for storing merchandise until he sold it. It’s air-conditioned or temperature-controlled, or whatever they do in rooms like that. He worked with his father, you know, and Daniel Duarte had a worldwide reputation.”
“So I’m told. There’s a possibility that Matthew knew about those Zimbabwe eagles I mentioned when I was at your place this morning. Since he’s dead, I can’t talk with him about them. Can you help me out? Do you know anyone else I can talk to? Anyone with an interest in African art?”
She was silent for a moment, then said, “There are a couple of folks who have collections that make ours look tiny. Georgie Hall is one of them. Do you know Georgie and Brent?”
“No, I don’t.”
“She’s the collector, but Brent pays the freight. He can afford it. Another person is Gerald Jenkins. His collection is smaller than Georgie’s but he has a better eye than she does. Rumor has it that Georgie envies his taste and tries to compensate by buying more expensive things than Gerry can afford. Am I being catty?”
“I don’t mind. I’m a cat man.”
“All right, then, I’ll give you another rumor: Georgie sometimes gets a line on something Gerry wants and buys it first for more money than Gerry can offer.”
“How does she manage that?”
“The art business is no different than any other business. Dealers are interested in making money. They aren’t above arranging bidding wars among clients. Matt did a bit of that himself, I’d say.”
“They must have to walk a thin line, for fear of offending good customers.”
She laughed. “Maybe they do when things are tight, but there’s so much money around these days that they don’t have to worry about losing a customer or two.”
“Not even a Gerald Jenkins?”
“Not even Gerry.”
“Where can I find Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Hall?”
“Try the telephone book. If you can’t find them there, come down here and I’ll draw you a map.”
I rang off and opened my telephone book. Sure enough, there they were, listed just like ordinary folks. Was this a wonderful country, or what?
Gerald Jenkins lived off Middle Road, and Brent Hall lived on Tea Lane. They were almost neighbors and both also lived not far from the house and barn once owned by the late Matthew Duarte. I wondered if there was any significance to that, but set the question aside because a lot of people lived in Chilmark, and understandably so, since it’s the loveliest township on the island. If I didn’t live where I live, and if I had a dozen buckets of large-denomination bills
Similar Books
