Murder in Kincaid Towers Read online

  Murder in Kincaid Towers

  A Molly Ryan Mystery

  ISBN: 978-1532736025

  ISBN: 1532736029

  This book is fiction. All characters, events, and organizations portrayed in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons –living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2017 by Jane T O’Brien

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  Books by

  Jane T O’Brien

  Bristol Falls

  Glenwood Hills

  Cumberland Heights

  Murder in Forest Glen

  The Mystery at Shelby Lake

  The Mystery of Waverly Island

  Murder in Pinewood Bluff

  Camden Corners Collection

  Camden Corners Book One

  Camden Corners Book Two

  Camden Corners Book Three

  Samantha Degan Series

  Murder in Stonehill Manor

  Murder in Lancashire

  Murder in Ashville

  Murder at Seabrook Shores

  Molly Ryan Series

  Murder in Hillsboro

  Murder in Kincaid Towers

  Murder in Evergreen

  Murder at Coventry Hill Inn

  (Introducing Cassandra Cross)

  Cassandra Cross Series

  Murder on The Isabella

  Murder at Channel Two

  Finian Frog Children’s Series

  Fabulous Finian Frog

  Finian Frog Falls in Love

  Finian Frog and Farley’s Wishes

  Finian Frog and Froglet Freddy

  Hennessey Hound Tales Children’s Series

  Happy Hennessey Hound

  Hennessey Hound and the Bully

  Prologue

  “Brooke, I wish I could talk you out of going over there tonight. Travis Kincaid is trouble, why can’t you see that?” Molly Ryan knew voicing her fears would not dissuade her friend, yet she couldn’t stay silent.

  “Molly, you don’t understand, Travis and I are meant to be together. You don’t know him like I do. Something is wrong and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  Brooke Hartley rushed out of her friend’s apartment before Molly succeeded in changing her mind. She knew Molly was right to be concerned about Travis. Brooke wasn’t stupid, he had a reputation with women and still, she believed he’d finally found true love with her.

  Kincaid Towers is three blocks from the Balsam Lake Apartments where Brooke and Molly are neighbors. It is faster to get there on foot than drive her car to the Kincaid Tower parking garage.

  Travis called her earlier and said he had an emergency meeting and he would see her tomorrow. She knew by the sound of his voice that something was wrong, and she wanted to show him she could be an equal partner in their relationship.

  Rawlings, the doorman greeted her as she climbed the marble steps to the entrance of the largest building in town. Kincaid lived on the top floor of the building in the penthouse suite overlooking the lake and harbor. It was a chilly night and Brooke was sorry she’d left the apartment without her jacket. Molly had her so flustered with her dire warnings, it slipped her mind it was the middle of February. She couldn’t go back now; Molly would never let her get away again.

  Brooke shivered when she stepped into the warm lobby.

  “Ms. Hartley, you’ll catch your death, what are you doing out in this weather without a coat?” asked Rawlings.

  Brooke’s teeth chattered, and her chin felt frozen, she mumbled something about being fine and Rawlings punched in the code for her to enter the express elevator to the penthouse.

  I can’t remember if Mr. Kincaid told me he was expecting Ms. Hartley tonight, Alice is right, I need to retire, my memory keeps playing tricks on me. Rawlings sat at his post, closed his eyes, and dozed off.

  Brooke could hear soft music playing as she entered the massive living room. The lights were low making it hard to see inside the room. Brooke loved the view from this room with the bright lights of the city sparkling in the night. A heavy blanket of fog lay over Hillsboro making it difficult to see any lights at all this evening.

  “Travis, it’s me, are you home?” she called out. When there was no answer, she followed the dim light shining from the bedroom.

  I shouldn’t be here, Molly was right, I’m setting myself up for heartache.

  Brooke turned to walk to the elevator when she heard a gurgling sound. She ran into the bedroom and stopped in her tracks when she saw a woman sprawled on Travis’s bed. Brooke gasped in disbelief when she spotted dried blood making a trail from her open mouth. Brooke’s instinct was to help the woman and she rushed to her side stubbing her toe on an object on the floor. She reached down to move it away and recognized it as one of the barbells Travis kept in his bedroom. Without thinking, she lifted the barbell and moved it out of her path. She reached for her cell phone to call for help and discovered she didn’t have it with her.

  Brooke pulled a blanket over the woman in a futile attempt to make her comfortable and began to weep when she realized this was the meeting Travis had tonight. I must pull myself together, I don’t know who to call. Rawlings, I’ll call Rawlings, I’ll tell him to send an ambulance but it’s too late to save her.

  “Good evening, Rawlings.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid, I trust your evening is going well.”

  Travis got on the elevator without saying a word.

  Mr. Kincaid must have a weighty problem on his mind, he usually has something pleasant to say. I hope it was all right to let that girl upstairs. I thought he was home already. In fact, I’m sure of it, he came home two hours ago, I hope he didn’t catch me sleeping when he left again.

  Travis was irked when he saw Rawlings obviously waking from a nap when he came in. What kind of doorman is the guy? Just anybody can walk in off the street and get into the offices or worse, my home.

  The elevator opened to his apartment. He heard someone crying softly in his bedroom. He walked toward the door and saw Brooke sitting on the bed.

  “Brooke, what are you doing here? I told you I couldn’t see you tonight.”

  Brooke looked up with tears streaming down her cheeks.

  It was then Travis saw the body on the bed. He ran to the woman and knew she was dead.

  “Brooke, what have you done to my wife?”

  Chapter One

  “Molly, I’m in jail. The police think I killed Travis’s wife. I didn’t know he was married. Oh, Molly, what am I going to do, I didn’t kill her, but they think I did.”

  Molly thought she was in the middle of a dream until she heard Luke’s voice asking what was happening. She tried to comprehend what Brooke was saying.

  “Brooke, calm down, did you say you’re in jail?”

  “Yes,” she sobbed, “they think I’m a murderer. I don’t know what to do, Molly.”

  “Brooke, don’t say anything to the police. Luke and I will be there as soon as we can. Don’t be afraid, I’m sure it seems dismal now but hang in there.”

  “Hurry, Molly.”

  Luke was up and out of bed and getting dressed before Molly was off the phone.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Brooke is in jail; they think she killed Travis Kincaid’s wife. I knew that snake was trouble. I can’t believe he’s married and I’m sure Brooke didn’t know it either.”

  Molly thre
w on a pair of sweats and a heavy sweater over top. She grabbed another sweater for Brooke, she would be cold sitting in a jail cell.

  “I should have done more to stop her from going over there tonight, I don’t know what happened but there’s no way Brooke would kill anyone,” said Molly when Luke pulled out of the apartment parking lot. “I can’t picture her in jail, Luke. Brooke pretends to be a strong woman; however, she is as insecure as the rest of us.”

  “Molly, don’t blame yourself. Brooke has never let reasonable heads prevail in any situation. There is nothing you could have said to stop her from doing what she wanted.”

  Upon arriving at the police station, Luke was relieved to learn Detective Abe Wentworth was assigned to the case. Luke and Abe’s son, Jerry, had been friends since childhood. Luke knew Abe was a fair and reasonable man.

  “Detective Wentworth, it’s good to see you again.”

  “Luke, my boy, what brings you down here tonight? Never mind, I know why you’re here. The paper assigned you to the Kincaid case. This one is bound to make the national headlines.”

  “What can you tell me about Brooke Hartley’s involvement? She is a friend and incapable of murder.”

  “Luke, in this business I’ve learned anyone is capable of murder under the right circumstances. Here we have a mistress walking in on a wife in her lover’s bed. That’s all the motive we need.”

  “Brooke was in a relationship with Kincaid but it’s not fair to call her his mistress. Where is Brooke? Is it possible to see her?”

  “She’s in a holding cell. We’re waiting for the lab to finish testing for fingerprints on a bloodied barbell suspected of being the weapon used to whack Mrs. Kincaid on the head.”

  “Where’s Kincaid, does he know what’s happened?”

  “Yes, he’s here throwing his weight around trying to gather a slew of attorneys to get his girlfriend out of here. Between you and me, I think bail might be denied because of possible flight risk.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Brooke doesn’t have enough money to run.”

  “She doesn’t, however, Kincaid does. Go have a seat in my office, I’ll have the suspect brought up here. She’s a nice girl who got mixed up with the wrong guy. It happens all too often.”

  Detective Wentworth’s office was nondescript. Molly didn’t see family pictures or any personal items on the unusually tidy desk. There was a landscape on one wall and

  framed certificates on another indicating Detective Wentworth had continued his training throughout his career. The colors in the landscape had faded and the painting looked as dreary as Molly felt.

  The door opened, and Brooke walked in wearing an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs on her wrists. Molly stifled a gasp when she saw her beautiful friend with dark circles under her eyes and her hair disheveled. She looked like a lost waif.

  “Are the handcuffs necessary, Officer?” Molly heard herself say as she embraced her friend.

  “Routine, ma’am, strictly routine.”

  “Brooke, can you tell us what happened tonight?” asked Luke as he put his arm around her guiding her to a metal chair with cracked faux leather seats.

  Brooke calmly repeated her story of finding the lady on Travis’s bed. “I heard a gurgling sound and I followed it to the bedroom. Oh, Molly, I think the sound I heard was the woman’s last breath.”

  “You said this woman was Travis’s wife? How do you know that?”

  “He walked into the bedroom and asked me what I’d done to his wife. I didn’t do anything to her, I swear. Molly, I think Travis killed her and he’s going to make sure the police blame me.”

  “Detective Wentworth said Travis is calling lawyers to get you out of here. Have you spoken to Travis?”

  “No, I never want to see him again. He lied to me, if I’d known he was married I would never have been involved with him. Molly, why didn’t I listen to your warnings?”

  Chapter Two

  Five months earlier

  “Molly, Travis Kincaid is here; he wants to see you,” said Joanie Pryor, the high school girl who works part-time in Buds and Blooms Flower Emporium. “He’s really cute for an old guy.”

  Molly Ryan’s life has changed dramatically since the day she took the job as manager of the flower shop. She lived in the small town of Newberry in the home of her adoptive parents and managed a small flower shop on Main Street. Since her move, Molly met Stephanie Anderson Sloan, the twin sister she never knew she had, became acquainted with her birth parents and their families, fell in love with Luke Sullivan and is in the process of purchasing Buds and Blooms from its previous owner’s estate.

  Buds and Blooms Flower Emporium is on the first-floor level of the tallest building in Hillsboro. Kincaid Towers houses Kincaid Enterprises and its president and CEO, Travis Kincaid. Travis is the son of the late real estate mogul, Francis Palmer Kincaid. The elder Mr. Kincaid was formerly known as Frank Kent, the boy who grew up on the streets of New York. Frank learned at a young age that being poor was not acceptable. He liked to say he bent the law upon occasion, however, if the truth were known, he broke it several times over.

  Frank chose his new moniker by looking in a ratty phone book in a booth at the bus station near the tenement apartment he lived with his mother and younger brother. Frank didn’t know who his father was and didn’t care. If he could love anyone, he loved his mother although he thought she was a weak woman who fell for some loser who knocked her up twice and took off. His brother, Wiley was another softy who would never crawl his way out of the old neighborhood.

  Frank was right about one thing, his brother, Wiley Kent still lived and worked in the old neighborhood. He won scholarships to college and became a highly-respected attorney who, working along with others, revitalized the area making it one of the most sought-after urban neighborhoods in the city.

  Francis Palmer Kincaid had little time for his brother and never openly acknowledged Wiley’s accomplishments. Francis had few friends, however, always had females of questionable morals on his arm and in his bed although if asked her name, he could never answer the question.

  On Francis’s forty-ninth birthday, he began to worry he would never have a son to carry on the fictitious name of Kincaid. He’d been referring to himself that way for so long, he believed it was truly his own name. Francis watched and listened to people throughout his business dealings. With determination, he rid himself entirely of his Bronx accent, hired professionals to coach him on socially acceptable behavior and set out to win the heart of one of the social elites of New York.

  Francis Palmer Kincaid married Pamela Howard Bassett in a lavish ceremony held at the bride’s summer home in Martha’s Vineyard. Pamela’s father, Maurice, never fully recovered from the disgrace of selling his only daughter to the highest bidder.

  Although Francis and Pamela’s marriage was not based on deep feeling or passion, the two were a comfortable match. Unaware of her father’s financial troubles, Pamela’s world changed very little as a new bride. She had a beauty that reeked of wealth and privilege. Through her years with Francis, she chose to look the other way when his behavior was less than that of a faithful husband. The day she gave birth to Francis’s son and heir was a happy one for her. She feared the child would be a girl and her husband would force her to go through the distasteful condition of pregnancy again.

  Despite her feelings leading up to the birth of her child, she did have a slight affection for the boy. Francis took pride in watching his son grow into a man. At an early age, Travis was at his father’s side to watch and learn how deals were negotiated.

  Although Travis idolized his father, he knew some of his business dealings were less than honorable. He never criticized his father openly but cringed when he watched an unsuspecting victim being trounced by the shrewd businessman.

  Shortly before Travis’s twenty-fifth birthday, his father suffered a fatal heart attack. He left nothing to charity, a stipend to his wife, Pamela, and the rest of his enormous fortune to Travi
s.

  The shock of losing his father and the realization of his massive wealth overwhelmed Travis. He loved and admired his father but refused to emulate him. He vowed fairness in all future transactions and would never see the look of devastation on the opposite side of the negotiation table.

  “Mr. Kincaid, Mrs. Kincaid is holding, shall I put her through?”

  Travis picked up his phone without hesitation, “Hello, Mother, what charity do you want me to sponsor today?” he asked half-jokingly.

  “Now, Son, I don’t always call you for money, although I am still seething that your father left me penniless.”

  “Mother, he didn’t leave you penniless, you have plenty of money to hang out with your haughty friends and you know you can always come to me for more.”

  “Travis, don’t be gauche, I swear your father’s unsavory roots come out in you more each year that passes.”

  Travis knew it was a fruitless effort to attempt to convince his mother that growing up poor didn’t necessarily mean someone had an unsavory past. He ignored her remark and asked again what she needed.

  “Darling, I have the honor of being the chairwoman of the Hillsboro Foundation for Children Gala this year. I hoped you’d donate the use of that wonderful banquet room in your office building, the one on the top floor.”

  “Mother, the top floor is my home, you know that. The banquet room is on the floor below. When have you and your benevolent friends decided to schedule this soiree?”

  “Travis, I wish you wouldn’t make light of what we do, you know the girls and I continue to do good works. What would the less fortunate do if it weren’t for people like us?”

  “I’m sorry, Mother, I know you and your pampered friends are diligent when it comes to helping the commoners. Tell me when you need the rooms.”