Monument to Murder - Margaret Truman [29]
“It’s fitting that she’d ended up in Washington. Her best friend here at school was Jeanine Jamison. That’s her name now that she’s our first lady. Jeanine Montgomery was her maiden name. I’m sure she’s grateful to have Mitzi close-by to help ease the incredible pressure she must be under as first lady. They were inseparable here, just as they are in Washington. Mitzi is one of our major fund-raisers, and the first lady has lent considerable support to our efforts in that regard as well.”
“This Ms. Cardell,” Brixton said. “Her family from Savannah?”
“Yes. Wonderful people, pillars of the community.”
It took a few moments for the name Cardell to register with Brixton, big shots in Savannah, plenty of money, their names in the society columns every now and then. The old man led the annual St. Patrick’s Day parade on a few occasions; Savannah’s St. Patrick’s parade was the second largest in the United States, second only to New York City. Go figure. Brixton recalled being introduced to him at a fund-raiser for a charity dedicated to providing funds to the families of cops wounded or injured in the line of duty. Typical titan of industry was Brixton’s reaction to shaking his hand. Cardell had made his money in real estate, and there had been rumors that he’d pulled a few shady deals including payoffs to elected officials to secure prime downtown property. Business as usual.
“That’s the best I can do,” Mrs. Farnsworth said.
“You’ve been generous with your time,” said Brixton. “I appreciate it.”
She walked him from the building, looked up into a pristine blue sky, and said, “I’ve been blessed with helping nurture so many outstanding young ladies during my years here.”
“Must be nice seeing your students go on to bigger and better things.”
“Very satisfying, Mr. Brixton, very rewarding.”
Brixton got into his car and turned on his cell phone, which had been off all day. There were messages from Cynthia. He called the office.
“You know,” she said upon answering, “you should get in the habit of leaving your cell phone on, Bob. It’s so damn frustrating trying to reach you.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. What’s happening?”
“A restaurant owner called to say he needed you to do some undercover work at his place. And that attorney called to get a report on the wife you followed last night.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“I told him I’d have you call.”
“I will.”
He’d been avoiding making that call all day.
“Are you coming back to the office?”
“Later. The handyman get the door fixed?”
“Uh-huh. He left his bill.”
“Okay. I should be back within the hour.”
While Brixton dialed the attorney’s number, Mrs. Farnsworth placed a call of her own from the office. “Mr. Cardell, it’s Waldine Farnsworth at CVA.”
“Hello there,” he said in a loud voice colored by his Savannah roots. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She told him of Brixton’s visit and of his interest in the girls in the photo. “I pointed out Mitzi to him. I hope that was an appropriate thing to do.”
“You say he’s a private detective?”
“Yes. He gave me his card.”
“Ah’m sure there’s nothing to it, Waldine, but I appreciate the call.”
“I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Much obliged, Waldine. I’ll have to get over there one of these days to talk some about raising some more money for that fine school of yours.”
“I look forward to that,” she said, and the conversation ended.
Brixton reached the attorney from his car.
“What’ve you got from last night?” the attorney asked.
“The husband’s right,” Brixton replied. “She met up with a guy at a motel south of here.” He gave the attorney the name of the motel and its location.
“Damn good work, Brixton. You’ve got pictures, tapes?”
“Well, let’s just say I had pictures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I got a good set of pictures of the two of them hugging in front of their motel-room door, but I got mugged. The bastards took my attaché case that had my camera and recorder in it.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. That’s really wonderful, Brixton.”
“Couldn’t be helped.”
“It