“Properly folded drapes?” Riggs repeated.
“Yes, they’re a Vinetta Paris design,” Donna explained. “Except Miss Sinclair wanted them made longer so that they would lay on the floor dramatically. It was so impractical, and I didn’t want to do it because I thought it would look messy. But Camille promised to refold them each and every time she opened them.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t understand what you mean,” Victoria said.
Donna tried to explain. “Well, Miss Sinclair fell in love with this particular fabric. It’s a mix of opaque and shiny silk, which was woven into a sort of plaid-like design. I don’t have any more, or I’d be able to show you, but it’s like this,” Donna said as she picked up a bolt of turquoise fabric and unrolled a couple of yards, and held it up. “It’s an ideal weight for floor-length drapes because it will always hang evenly and look great; however, she wanted to use that fabric for extra-long drapes that would lay crumpled on the floor.”
“Are you following this?” Riggs asked Victoria.
“I’m in deep, but I think I’m keeping up,” she admitted with a grin. She turned back to Donna. “So, how long does it take to fold the drapes properly?”
“Well, the trick for Miss Sinclair’s drapes is to keep this cross-grain even throughout the pleat while letting it flow naturally at the bottom. I know it sounds easy, but it actually takes a good ten or fifteen minutes to do it right.” As Donna was explaining this, she took the turquoise fabric and let it fall to the floor so she could demonstrate how the bottom should be arranged. “If you just open the drapes and do it quickly, it will look contrived, and a person’s eyes will be drawn to the irregularity.”
Riggs frowned, but Victoria was becoming excited. Suddenly, he realized what she was getting at. “Miss Holt, how would Miss Sinclair’s drapes look if someone had just grabbed them and pulled them open the normal way?”
“The horizontal lines would be chaotic.” She swooped the turquoise fabric to the side and used her foot to push the surplus into a head. She frowned at the result. “Look. No designer would want to have their name attributed to that; that’s why I was so hesitant to make them.”
Victoria grabbed the pencil from her hair and twirled it between her fingers. “But the drapes were done properly when you were there yesterday. And you’re sure Miss Sinclair was the person who was resetting them?”
“Yes, she was the only one who knew how to do it properly, but she said she only had to do it after the housekeeper had vacuumed the carpets.”
Riggs stopped frowning. “Miss Holt, you saw those drapes yesterday afternoon. Would you be able to tell me if someone had closed and opened them since then?”
Donna considered carefully. “Maybe. I could certainly tell you if someone besides Miss Sinclair had opened them.”
Riggs’ heart beat quickly.
Donna agreed to meet him at the penthouse after work, and Riggs used her office telephone to call the penthouse. Inspector Fisher answered and agreed to make sure that no one touched the drapes until Miss Holt arrived. By the end of the call, Riggs decided that he also wanted Miss Holt to have another look at Mrs. Abbott’s dining room door. It was just possible that she had misjudged its locked position. If she had made a simple mistake, that detail could be tied up nicely.
From Donna’s office, Riggs could see the two women talking and looking at fabrics, so he quickly dialed his home number to ask Amy if she’d ever heard about “Vinetta Paris” drapes.
Amy Riggs answered the telephone breathlessly and informed her husband that not only had she never heard of whatever it was that he was talking about, but that she couldn’t talk because Criminal the Cat had gotten into the trash again, and their second daughter had skinned both her knees roller skating. There was wailing in the background. As Riggs set down the receiver, he glanced up just in time to see Victoria slipping Camille’s fabric samples into her pocket. Donna, who was helping her sales girl find the chandelier catalog, didn’t notice.
Riggs grabbed his hat and came close to Victoria.
“Actually, I don’t want your help, Bell,” he whispered as he grabbed her by the arm.
Victoria looked at him. “You can’t stop me from investigating this case.”
“But you’re a murder suspect,” Riggs objected.
“And so is my husband.” She pulled Riggs’ hand off her arm. “Look, Inspector, my love life is hard enough as it is. I’m going to solve this case with or without your help so that my husband and I can go back to our complicated relationship without a murder charge hanging over our heads.”
Riggs growled under his breath. “If you interfere, I’ll arrest you.”
“If you had any proof, you would have arrested me already.” Victoria walked toward the door. “Besides, I can’t help you solve the case if you’ve got me behind bars.”
Riggs scowled. He thanked Miss Holt and followed Victoria. They were nearly at the door when Victoria turned back and asked casually, “By the way, Donna, how did you find out about Camille?”
“Paul telephoned from the police station. He was trying to reach Freddy, and he thought he might be here,” Donna said.
At that exact moment, Freddy burst into the shop. The door crashed open with a bang, and Donna jumped in surprise.
“Donna, thank God!” he exclaimed, but he stopped when he saw the inspector and Victoria. He was panting, and his gaze moved between their faces. “I just got a telephone call from Walter,” he explained as he turned to Donna. “Then I remembered that you said you were going to see Camille yesterday, and I hadn’t seen you this morning. I was scared that—well, for a moment, I thought…” Instead of finishing his sentence, he reached out and touched her arm. “Donna, I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Chapter Thirty-Five: Mrs. Peabody Remembers
It was just after lunchtime when Mrs. Peabody answered the front door. “Inspector Riggs. Now, isn’t this a coincidence? Here I am, just thinking that I ought to telephone you, and then you show up at the door.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Peabody.” Riggs took off his fedora. “Has something happened?”
Mrs. Peabody waved him into the foyer. “Well, you said I should tell you if I thought of anything that might be important, and I have thought of something, although it may not be very important. But I suppose you’ll be the judge of that. Now, would you like a cup of coffee or some tea?”
“Neither, I’m afraid,” Riggs regretted. “I’m short on time, but I would like to know what you have to tell me.”
“Well, then you have enough time for one cup because I just boiled a pot.” She led the way into the kitchen and poured the inspector a cup of hot coffee. As she got the milk from the icebox, she explained, “I only just remembered it this morning. I thought you should know that there was a lady visitor here last week, and she and Mrs. Abbott had a proper row, shouting and everything.” She handed him the milk.
Riggs took the glass bottle and poured the milk into his coffee. “I see. Who was the woman?”
“I don’t know who she was, but she must have made Mrs. Abbott see red.”
“So, you didn’t recognize the woman?”
“I didn’t see the woman. I was in here the whole time.”
Riggs nodded and stirred his coffee. “What day was it?”
“Let me see. It might have been Tuesday. No, I was rolling out the noodles for beef stroganoff when I heard them shouting, so it would have been Wednesday because that’s the night Miss Miller went out, and I only fix beef stroganoff when she’s out since she doesn’t particularly care for it.”
“What did they argue about?”
The cook shook her head sadly. “Since I was in here, I couldn’t really make out their words, so much as I could hear the sound of raised voices. It was Mrs. Abbott who got the loudest. Now please understand that I can’t be sure about this, but I think I heard something about a betrayal, and then someone said the phrase, ‘I won’t have it, do you understand?’ and then one of
them used unkind words.”
“What unkind words?”
“Well, I don’t like to repeat them, but one of them called the other, ‘a cheap charlatan.’”
“Could you tell whether it was Mrs. Abbott or the other woman?”
“Not with any certainty, but my impression at the time was that Mrs. Abbott was doing the shouting because I’ve heard her use that word before. I wondered who the lady was, but I stayed right here in my kitchen, rolling out noodles. I never would snoop, but now I almost wish I had peered out the window to catch a glimpse of the lady as she was leaving.” Mrs. Peabody looked like she was proud of herself, but Riggs resented her common decency. At least the coffee was good.
“How long was the woman here?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Miss Miller was out, so Mrs. Abbott must have let the visitor in herself. I heard their voices for about five minutes or so, and the lady must have left soon after that. I mean, can you imagine staying in a house after having been called such a thing?”
“And this was on Wednesday. Do you remember the time?”
“Let me see,” she considered. “Wednesday…we eat at seven. I’d already seasoned the sauce, and I was rolling out the second batch of noodles when I heard them. It must have been between five-thirty and a quarter to six.”
Although Riggs couldn’t appreciate Mrs. Peabody’s respect for her employer’s privacy, he was impressed by her culinary clock. What a great cook she must be to be able to tell time by the stage of meal preparation. Beef stroganoff was one of Michael Riggs’ favorite dishes, and her timing sounded right to him.
* * *
Rosemary Miller was even prettier than Riggs had remembered. Her face was fresh, and her hair was down, resting past her shoulders in curly orange locks. He wondered if the liberation from her controlling employer had brought about the improvement. Surely, the strain of living with a woman like Mrs. Abbott must have been tiring.
Rosemary greeted him politely but not enthusiastically, and they sat down in Mrs. Abbott’s office.
“I hope you haven’t been under too much stress,” Riggs began.
“I’m managing,” she replied. “Although, I have to admit that more than once I’ve been grateful that I have my own apartment above the garage. I wouldn’t be able to sleep in this house.”
“I don’t suppose those files have managed to turn up?” Riggs suggested.
“Did you expect them to?” she asked with a surprise. “Your men searched the house, and I searched the house. I looked absolutely everywhere, and I can tell you that those papers are not here.” She took the key from its spot behind the plant and unlocked the cabinet, opening it wide for inspection. “I wish they were.”
“Mrs. Peabody told me that Mrs. Abbott had an argument with a woman last Wednesday.”
“She mentioned that to me as well,” Rosemary said. “But I wasn’t here, so I’m afraid I don’t have any information that I can add.”
“You were out last Wednesday?”
“Only in the evening. I went to the cinema.”
“What time did you leave the house?”
Rosemary considered. “It was a little before five o’clock. I caught the five-twelve trolleybus into town.”
Riggs nodded. “And when did you return?”
“About ten-thirty. I went to a seven o’clock picture, and then I did a little window shopping along Fifth Avenue before I came back.”
“I suppose you went to the theater on Spring Street?”
“That’s right. I saw that new Hitchcock movie with Cary Grant.”
“Were you with anyone?”
Rosemary paused before answering. “No, I was alone.”
The inspector didn’t believe her. He leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. He took a deep breath and rubbed his mustache thoughtfully.
“Can you tell me if Mrs. Abbott was expecting any visitors that evening?”
Rosemary took her employer’s appointment book and skimmed the page. “There’s nothing here, and if she was expecting anyone, she never said anything to me about it.” She left the page open and passed the book to the inspector. He read the neat notes, written in two distinctly different hands. “It is strange, though,” Rosemary added, looking down and pressing a wrinkle out of her skirt, “because Mrs. Abbott usually discussed almost everything with me either before or after the fact, but she never mentioned a woman visitor.”
There was a faint defensiveness in her voice, and Riggs wondered if Rosemary was offended that Mrs. Abbott hadn’t taken her into her confidence. Maybe she was hurt, or maybe she was threatened. He stood up to leave. “Oh, by the way, Miss Miller, I’m coming back later with Miss Holt. I want her to have another look at the dining-room door.”
Rosemary raised an eyebrow. “Do you think she’s guilty of the crime or of a mistake?”
“Either,” Riggs said with a smile. He put on his hat and followed her back to the foyer. He pointed at the staircase. “By the way, Donna said she came back in to get her gloves that night, and she saw you coming down the stairs.”
There was a long pause.
Finally, Rosemary Miller took a deep breath. “Oh, yes, I remember. I had just brought Mrs. Abbott her tea. Donna came in just as I was coming back downstairs.” Rosemary opened the front door for Riggs.
“But you told me Mrs. Peabody brought up the tea that night,” Riggs said.
“That’s true,” Rosemary said, “but that night, Mrs. Abbott wanted a second cup. I’m sorry I forgot to mention it.”
It was one of the worst lies Riggs had ever heard, but he thanked Rosemary and left with no further objections.
Chapter Thirty-Six: Marcus and Julia Shrubb
Michael Riggs walked through the grove of trees that connected the Abbott estate to the Shrubb estate. It was a hot day, and the deep blue water of the lake glistened below him. He stopped to watch an eager speedboat overtaking a graceful sailboat. The buzzing motor cut waves around the sailboat’s silent, steady path. Both boats were moving in the same direction, but one boat was making all the noise and splashing water everywhere, while the other boat slipped through the water with no wake.
That showed Riggs.
Fisher had managed to confirm several facts. First, that Camille and Paul’s cook had been visiting her sister, and their housekeeper had a cold and hadn’t been in the apartment since Wednesday. Their alibis were solid. And second, Paul was up to his neck in debt, and Paul and Freddy were the only Abbott’s with secret money problems.
Riggs continued on to the Shrubbs’ home. A couple of minutes later, a tall, middle-aged housekeeper admitted him, and the inspector stood in the grand living room. There was a large vase of fresh tulips on the grand piano and some lilies and roses by the window.
Marcus Shrubb entered the room, greeted the policeman, and dove into small talk with a business-like gusto. The inspector accepted a seltzer water, and Marcus mixed himself a martini.
“Did you know your telephone is out of order?” Riggs asked at the first pause.
Marcus took a deep breath. “Yes, I called the telephone company from Mrs. Abbott’s house a few hours ago.”
Riggs drank the seltzer and waited.
“So, Inspector, have you made any progress on finding this madman? It’s been nearly a week now, you know.”
“Investigations usually take longer than anyone likes.”
“Well, it’s a bad business for the family,” Marcus informed him. “My wife is holding up bravely, but a woman like Julia should never have to go through something like this. It’s absolutely terrible.” Marcus sat down across from Riggs and lowered his voice to a confidential volume.
“Now listen, Riggs, I know your boys have a method, and you like to follow your protocols and all that. And I’m not the sort of man to tell another man how to do his job. But really, don’t you think it’s high time you got down to the business of finding the man who killed my mother-in-law? Interviewing the family is a formality, I know
, but this elimination business is taking valuable time. What we need is an arrest. The way I figure it, the man we’re looking for is either a burglar or a lunatic. Once you start looking in the right places, I’m sure you’ll find him easily enough.”
Riggs shook his head. “As you say, there are protocols.”
“To hell with the bureaucracy.” Marcus stood up. “It’s time to take action! This sort of thing can’t be tolerated. And this is a nice neighborhood. Surely someone must have noticed a suspicious character lurking about that night.”
“Unfortunately, murderers don’t always look like hooligans, Mr. Shrubb.”
Marcus chuckled softly and sat down. “You think that I grew up like Julia, don’t you?” he suggested with a smile. “Born with a silver spoon, and all that, but you’re wrong. I’ve seen the other side of humanity, the other side of the tracks, as they say. My father was a poor immigrant who kept a corner market on the south side of town. He barely spoke English, and he worked every day of his life. My mother washed laundry to help him keep a roof over our heads. Times were hard on a lot of folks before the War, but even back then, we had it harder than most. So, you see, I know the pain of poverty.”
“That must have been a difficult childhood.”
“I’m not ashamed of where I came from,” Marcus informed him. “And you’ll never hear me complain about it, either. My parents may have died poor, but they were good, honest people who worked hard. They sacrificed so that I could build a better life for myself. And I will always be grateful to them.” Marcus leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees.
“Let me tell you something, Inspector. When I first saw Julia, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. When I got to know her, I knew she was so much more than that. But her situation was entirely different than mine. Her family came from good blood. Julia had education and good breeding. She could have married a dozen men, all of them with better prospects than mine. But Julia took a chance on me—a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. The day that Julia Abbott agreed to marry me was the best day of my life, and I promised myself that she would never regret it. I’ve worked hard, and I’ve always given her the kind of life that she was accustomed to, the kind of things that a woman like her deserves. And then this happens.”
The Charlatan Murders Page 19