“You stole money from Mutt.”
Philip smiled again. “Wrong. I'm trying to prove he's stealing his own.”
“You must be on drugs again.”
“Hell, I never took that stuff.” He shrugged. “You deserve to know what's happened here, the game that Mutt's played out to its end.” He leaned forward, the sly, boyish smile of a secret to be shared cutting his face. “Mutt's not dying.”
“That's crazy.”
“Dead men don't pay taxes,” Philip said. “He's decided to vanish by going into his grave.”
“If he wanted to fake his death, he wouldn't claim to have cancer. He'd fake an accident or something and drop out of sight.”
Philip nodded. “So one would think. But not our Mutt. He-and the delightful Miss Wendy-are planning on taking what's left of his fortune, heading far away, and setting up house with new lives. New names.”
“Why?”
“He wants to marry her without the family hovering, I guess. Or maybe he's just tired of Lolly and Jake being like warts on his ass.” He coughed, then stared hard into my eyes. “And I get the distinct feeling there's something bad in his life he'd like to forget and evade forever, but I don't know what it is.”
Paul's death. And Brian's. Dead men can't be prosecuted, either. Philip's eyes betrayed nothing more. Perhaps he didn't know about the cover-up involving Paul.
“And just how have you been planning to prove this?”
“I got Mutt-finally-to let me handle some of his financial affairs. He figured he could keep an eye on me. But eyes look both ways, don't they? He's been a little lazy about not passwording some of his computer files and I noticed key investments being sold off. Dumped into banks in the Caymans and Switzerland. Mutt's slowly moving offshore, so to speak.”
“Still not proof enough.”
“No, not on hard paper. But you tell me why he's got driver's licenses and passports-for names other than Emmett Goertz and Wendy Tran-in his safe.”
“Did you see those?”
He nodded. “He asked me to get some papers out of the safe and I grabbed the wrong envelope. He was in the John off the study, talking to me while he peed. I slipped out a Canadian passport made out for Edward Grimes, but with Emmett Goertz's picture on it. I stuck it all back in before he came out of the John. I'd nearly pissed myself.”
My throat felt dry. Who to believe? “So when is he planning on jumping ship?”
“Don't know. But he's announced he's got six months to live. So my countdown's started.” He coughed again. “He'll 'die,' and suddenly the family will discover there's nothing left. No money, no land, no stocks. Damned Uncle Mutt, they'll say, he done spent it all. And Mutt'll be off lying in a hammock in Jamaica, screwing Wendy and laughing his ass off at us all.”
“So why haven't you called the police yet?”
“I don't have proof. Has he committed a crime? And maybe I'd be happier if he vanished. I'm tired of dancing to his old tunes.”
I rubbed my eyes with my hands; suddenly I felt an unforgiving weariness pervade my whole body. “So why are you telling me? And what are you going to do next?”
“Can't do anything until the storm lets up and we get the phones back. But I'm telling you this, because Mutt suspects I've been sniffing around. He wants to discredit me.”
“So why doesn't he announce your past crimes to the world himself?”
Philip shrugged. “Maybe he doesn't want the authorities looking too closely at me, or at any member of this family. And if he thinks Aubrey's going to ruin me with his book, he doesn't need to lift a finger. He'd be vanished by the time that book hits the shelves. The dirty work's done for him.”
“And your little tete-a-tetes with Wendy?”
Philip smiled. “I told Wendy I needed her to steal some money away from Mutt for me; or else I might have to rat on him.”
I blinked. “You're trying to blackmail him? You let him know that you know his scheme?” I didn't want to believe Philip-but as much as I hate to admit it, I was starting to accept his story.
Philip ruffled at the accusation. “Extorting from a criminal's not really a crime. It's a public service. Actually, I figured that he wouldn't give me enough credit to deduce his real plan. He'd believe I'd steal from him sooner or later, and he'd let it be sooner. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to leave me holding the bag on some of his debts. Be just like the ornery cuss.”
Philip saw the dismay in my face. “Listen, Jordan. He likes you, he ain't ever liked me much. I'm sure it's a disappointment to you that he's the way he is. But truth is, he's a selfish SOB and he's always been one.”
“That book. You took the book on digitalis poisoning. I saw you replace it.”
“Do you think you're the only one who might try to investigate a crime?” I saw intelligence in his face, a look I'd previously dismissed as arrogance. I was the faulty, arrogant one. “Lolly never mentioned any sort of heart condition. And she'd been aching for Mutt's money from time immemorial. His announcement that he was dying would upset her-she did love him, after all-but it wouldn't induce a heart attack. She'd have shown the proper sorrow and probably bought a parakeet to pretend it was Mutt come back.” He coughed. “Damned old Lolly. Anyway, the way she died, it reminded me of the woman in Bitter Money. I swiped the book after dinner to compare symptoms, but I couldn't exactly parade it around the house, could I? My morning coffee might've had something in it aside from sugar and cream.”
“The book vanished-”
“I'm guessing Mutt did away with it. And the police frankly don't seem to care. His money tips the scales of balance round here. And Tricia Yarbrough's been sweet on him since forever. She won't want to believe he's a killer.”
“You're underestimating Judge Yarbrough. She won't relent on him, or anyone else she thinks killed Lolly. After all, she ordered the additional tests.”
Philip shrugged. “Then maybe it becomes more important than ever that he vanish. And sooner rather than later.”
“Your brother thinks Mutt is the poisoner,” I blurted.
Philip cocked a finger at me, and I realized I still held the unloaded gun. I tucked it back into my pants.
“Tom might be dead on. Lolly finds out that Mutt's faking his own demise and she threatens to expose him if he doesn't stay. He takes Jake's medicine and doses her wine with it. She dies from what looks like a heart attack. Even if the poison gets detected, he can always point to her eccentricities as evidence of craziness, of suicide. That'd be conveniently backed up by the cards she sent you.”
“I don't think Mutt knew about those,” I countered. “But what about Aubrey? Mutt tried to kill him.”
Philip shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe Aubrey found out about his scheme somehow. And Aubrey wasn't winning over anyone with that book he was planning.” He didn't elaborate, and I didn't offer my own version- Aubrey let Mutt know he had stumbled across the truth about Paul's, or Brian's, death.
“I don't want to add to your hurt,” Philip said softly. “But maybe Aubrey wasn't the target. Maybe he was just someone who drank the same cranberry juice Candace did.”
The suggestion froze my heart. “Mutt would have no reason to hurt Candace. None at all.”
Philip's blue eyes looked a great deal like Pop's sometimes did, heavy and sad. “Except you haven't been exactly subtle about poking your nose in folks' business. And your dad's bragged to Mutt and Lolly-actually all of us, when you're not around-about your involvement in solving crimes. Maybe he aimed to poison Candace-not to kill her, just make her sick-to scare you off.”
“Then he miscalculated severely.”
Philip surprised me with a quick squeeze of my shoulder. “It's too bad I don't like you. We could've been friends.”
“You can't pick your relatives,” I said, and he laughed softly.