“You think I killed him because he was responsible for my father’s death?” Alesha asked.
“I think it’s possible,” An’gel said. “It’s a powerful motive, don’t you think? Perhaps you thought that, with Nathan out of the way, it would be easier for your family to get his company to make a settlement of some sort. I’m sure that will occur to the police.”
Alesha stared at An’gel, her expression now one of hatred. “You have a filthy mind, old woman.”
“That may be,” An’gel replied, refusing to let the other woman rattle her. “I can’t abide murder, you see, and I can’t stand the thought of a killer getting away with it.”
“So you think you’re going to try to pin this on me? You think that arrogant policeman is going to take your word for it?” Alesha laughed.
“He might,” An’gel said. “I know he’ll be interested when he finds out about your connection to the deceased, if he hasn’t already.” She paused briefly. “Especially when he finds out it was your own cousin you might have murdered.”
CHAPTER 33
An’gel was surprised when Alesha Jackson reacted to her words by laughing. She laughed so hard, in fact, that it took at least a minute for her to stop.
When she did finish, she shook her head at An’gel. “I think you need a serious reality check, lady. Where did you get the idea I’m related to Nathan Gamble? You’re out of your mind.”
Perhaps her grandmother had never told her father about his true parentage. Or her father never told her, An’gel thought. Or maybe she’s simply bluffing. Should she tell Alesha Jackson what Marcelline had confided in her?
“I’m serious, lady,” Alesha said, her tone becoming heated. “I want to know who’s spreading that kind of garbage about me and my family.”
An’gel reckoned she had little choice now. She had started this, and now she had to finish it, within limits. “According to my source, when your grandmother worked here, she became pregnant with your father. My source says that Marshall Turner Senior was the father. He’s Mary Turner’s grandfather and related to the Gamble family.”
“Your source is lying,” Alesha said. “I don’t know why this person made up such a story, but it’s absolutely not the truth. My grandparents were married two years before my father was born. That was after my grandmother worked here. I’ve seen their marriage certificate. No way was that old man my grandfather.”
An’gel was shaken. If Alesha Jackson was telling the truth—and An’gel was beginning to believe she was—that meant what Marcelline had told her was a lie.
“I apologize, Ms. Jackson,” An’gel said after she managed to gather her wits. “It’s beginning to sound like I was grossly misinformed.”
“It was the housekeeper, wasn’t it?” Alesha asked. “She’s the only one old enough in this house to have known my grandmother when she worked here. You tell her from me she’d better shut her mouth and stop lying. I’m not going to put up with crap like this about my family.”
“I certainly understand that,” An’gel said. “I will speak to her, I can promise you that.”
“If it’s family you’re worried about killing Nathan Gamble,” Alesha said, “then maybe you should start with his sister. Ask her what she and her brother were arguing about around eleven thirty last night.”
“Where was this?” An’gel asked sharply.
“Upstairs, in his room,” Alesha said. “I’ll bet she hasn’t told the lieutenant about it. Well, I heard them, and I know what time it was. I’m a night owl, and I didn’t go to bed until after midnight. I heard people going up and down the hall several times last night.”
“Do you remember the times?” An’gel asked.
Alesha thought for a moment. “Once around eleven, I think. Someone came down the hall, and then maybe two minutes later went back toward the stairs. Then maybe twenty minutes later, I heard someone walking down the hall again. I heard this person knocking on a door, and a few minutes after that, the argument. I don’t think the door was entirely closed.”
“How long did the argument last?” An’gel said.
“Not long,” Alesha said. “Maybe five minutes. It stopped, that’s all I cared about. I had to go to the bathroom right after that, and that’s when I spotted Serenity Foster coming out of her brother’s room. I don’t think she saw me, though, because I was in the bathroom closing the door when she went by.”
“Was that the last time you heard anyone in the hall?” An’gel asked.
“No, I heard someone else coming down the hall around midnight when I was on the verge of sleep. I drifted off and didn’t hear anyone go back the other way.”
“Did you tell Lieutenant Steinberg any of this?” An’gel asked.
“Yes, I did, all of it,” Alesha said. “Now I think we’re done with this. You remember what I said about my family.” She stood up and walked out of the room, obviously still angry.
An’gel couldn’t blame her. She herself felt horribly embarrassed now. The whole situation had woefully backfired, but she had only herself to blame. She should never have questioned Alesha Jackson about the story without having more information to back it up. Marcelline had seemed so sincere, so convincing, and An’gel had taken her at her word because she had known her for many years. But, she realized belatedly, not well enough.
Alesha Jackson could be lying, An’gel knew. Alesha could still be guilty of murder. Her father’s death was due to Nathan Gamble’s negligence, allegedly. Whether Alesha Jackson was related to the Gambles through Marshall Turner didn’t affect the woman’s potential motive. Denying the relationship made no difference in that respect. So why deny it? Because it wasn’t true. Marcelline had lied.
On the whole, An’gel believed Alesha’s denial of the relationship. If Alesha could prove that her grandmother had no contact with Marshall Turner after she left his employment and her son was born after her marriage to another man, that settled it.
Maybe Marcelline had simply confused Alesha Jackson’s grandmother with someone else. An’gel found it all so easy to believe that Marshall Turner had impregnated a servant. She wouldn’t have put anything past the old goat. At the distance of over fifty years, Marcelline’s memory could have failed her and she only thought the woman from the past resembled Alesha.
An’gel thought about it. Marcelline could have read about Alesha’s father’s death in the paper. She could have seen the obituary, and the name Arletta Jackson stuck in her mind, to be confused for that of another woman. That was too convoluted, An’gel decided. The simple answer was that Marcelline had lied.
An’gel was left with the question of why. Had she made up the story out of whole cloth to point suspicion toward Alesha Jackson? Away from herself?
Or away from someone she wanted to protect?
The one person who Marcelline would like to protect was Mary Turner. That thought chilled An’gel. Did Marcelline think Mary Turner murdered her cousin?
An’gel recalled how upset Mary Turner was earlier when she recounted her conversation with Serenity Foster and Serenity’s threat. If Mary Turner had really believed that Nathan Gamble meant to destroy her family, her whole birthright really, would she have been angry enough, desperate enough, to kill him?
That didn’t jibe with the Mary Turner she thought she knew. She recalled Henry Howard’s deep frustration with his wife over her devotion to the house. He obviously felt it was a threat to their marriage. Why else would he have tried such a bizarre scheme to frighten Mary Turner? And me, An’gel thought. He did get under my skin a little, I have to admit that. But she had never been frightened to the point—and never would have been, she thought—that she would encourage Mary Turner to let go of the house.