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At that moment, Bart's housekeeper interrupted.
"Phone for you, Mr. Bart,” she said, her accent as heavy as her makeup. She was likely in her twenties, with a curvy body and eager-to please demeanor, making Leif wonder for the second time whether she was truly the housekeeper or Bart's mistress.
"Hold all calls, Bonita. I've been remiss in speaking to Mr. Lively here for the past few weeks, and he deserves my attention. Take a message, please." Bart nodded a dismissal, but his eyes held possessiveness toward the woman. "So what do you require from me, Leif? I'm rather inept when it comes to judging art."
Leif launched into the criteria for judging that upcoming weekend and what role Bart would have in the process.
"I honestly don't see why it's critical for me to be involved. It's my uncle who liked art," Bart said once Leif finished.
And just like that, Bart opened the door for Leif’s real reason for sitting on the wealthy man's patio. “And this was the uncle who was killed?"
Bart flinched. "Oh, so you've heard the accounts of my uncle's murder?''
"People like to talk. So do you think Calliope did it?" Leif tried to look casually interested. He'd tracked down Meat Grommet, and the man swore he had been only friends with Calliope. He claimed she'd done nothing more than help him with a piece of art he wanted to give his girlfriend, who had since become his wife. Another name struck from Leif’s list.
"I do. She was after the Harvey fortune. I have no doubt about that," Bart said, lifting an unaffected shoulder even as his hand trembled slightly. It seemed he wasn't necessarily uncomfortable speaking of his uncle's death, but he didn't seem eager to share the story, either. "But that's all water under the bridge."
"But if she killed your uncle, why wasn't she held accountable"?
"She ran before the sheriff could question her. I gave my statement and when they went to find her, she was gone. You know those people. They're like migrant workers. They make up crazy names, keep dark alleys to disappear into.”
"But by all accounts she was small and harmless." Leif led the questioning much like a defense attorney, trying to lull Bart into security.
"My uncle was both feebleminded and delicate in constitution. A child could have tipped him down those stairs. Besides I saw her with my own two eyes."
"So you were actually there?"
"Yes. My uncle had asked me to come by," Bart said, setting the empty glass on the small table beside him. "Why are you so interested?"
"It involves the founder of the festival. Suppose my curiosity got the best of me." Leif gave the man a sheepish smile before looking out at two golfers about to tee off. "But why do you think she wanted his money? He'd already endowed the artist program."
Bart laughed. "Shit, everyone wants money, son. Uncle Simeon had plenty of it, too. He was a typical tightwad Southerner, though. Didn't like to part with it. Kept damned tinfoil and storage bags like he couldn't afford more. But when it came to art, he tossed money away like it was nothing."
"Must have driven you crazy."
"It'd drive anyone crazy. He had me on a strict allowance. Getting more out of him was like squeezing blood from a turnip."
"I know the type," Leif said, though he really didn't. Most of the people he surrounded himself with were generous in nature, and reusing, renewing and recycling was expected. "Must have been a relief to inherit the money and have control over how it was spent."
"Yeah, but it was a hard thing to lose the old bag. Of course, not having to beg was nice. I closed down the artist program. Why spend money on something I had no interest in continuing? No offense, but I didn't see the point."
Leif shrugged. "It was a good program."
"Which led to my uncle's death," Bart said, looking a bit more relaxed. “Again, why so interested?"
"Because Calliope was my mother."
Bart froze, his gaze shifting from his pool to Leif. "Your mother?"
"Yeah."
For a few moments Bart seemed to mull over how to handle this wrinkle. Leif, however, felt an enormous sense of relief at finally coming clean about exactly who he was with someone other than Hilda and Abigail.
No more secrets.
Finally, Bart looked at him. "I can see the resemblance in you. She was a beautiful woman, and if I may say, you're likewise as pretty." He gave a small nervous chuckle.
Leif, however, didn't respond.
