“Why?” Peg demanded.
“I don’t know,” I said impatiently. “Maybe nobody knows. But she was there, we know that for a fact. Now suppose Carole heard someone coming and didn’t want to be seen.
“She could have gone upstairs and hidden in that closet, never dreaming that the cottage would be set on fire and she’d be trapped. Later, after the roof caved in and the cottage was reduced to rubble, the door might have sprung open. Or maybe it was destroyed. But by then, it was too late.”
“Not bad,” Aunt Peg said, considering. “Not perfect, but not bad.”
Noticing, finally, what the two Poodles were up to, she deftly slipped in a hand and removed the rope toy, substituting a pair of rawhide chews in its place. The switch was made almost before the dogs knew what was happening. If I’d tried that, I’d have started world war three. Instead, both Poodles settled down on the floor to chew contentedly. Sometimes you just have to marvel at her talents.
Aunt Peg turned her attention back to me. “So Grant killed Carole,” she said. “Who killed Grant?”
So much for taking a few minutes to bask in the glow of what I’d accomplished so far. As usual, Aunt Peg wanted me to have all the answers. But while I was fairly certain of the deductions I’d already outlined, I was less sure of my next theory.
“See what you think about this,” I said. “Sara’s been having problems with Grant for weeks. Now Carole is dead and he’s responsible. Burning the cottage brought Sara home all right, and the next day Grant was shot. There was no intruder in that house, just Grant, Delilah and Sara. And I think Sara shot him.”
Voicing the idea out loud seemed to give it credence. As did the fact that Aunt Peg wasn’t arguing with me. Maybe I hadn’t filled in all the blanks but I’d assembled enough bits and pieces to emerge with a creditable picture.
“We ought to go tell this to the police,” I said.
Aunt Peg frowned. “When have the authorities ever paid the slightest bit of attention to anything you’ve tried to tell them?”
That was the problem with being a nosy amateur. Not surprisingly, the professionals I’d run into tended to want me to do nothing more than keep quiet and stay out of their way.
“Have you got a better idea?”
“For starters, I should think we’d better warn Delilah. If she’s living in that house with a murderer, she certainly needs to know about it.”
Good point.
Leaving Peg with the rest of the doughnuts, I ran upstairs and got dressed in a black wool pants suit. It was time to pay another condolence call.
28
“I hope we’re wrong,” Aunt Peg said. “I hate to say it, but I hope there really was a mysterious intruder at the Warings’ house last night and we’re running off on a wild goose chase.”
We were in my car speeding toward New Canaan, having left the Poodles behind along with a note explaining where we’d gone in case the fabled fishing trip didn’t turn out to be an all day excursion.
I shifted my gaze from the road ahead and glanced at my aunt. “Do you really believe that?”
“No.” Peg sighed. “And that’s what has me so worried. Lord knows, Delilah can be a difficult woman. But when I think that she’s very likely harboring a murderer in her own home and having no idea of the danger she’s in . . .”
Listening as she spoke, I did the only thing I could do and pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal.
“If Sara has snapped, there’s no telling what she might do next. She always was rather unpredictable, even as a child. And that incident at Westminster is proof that she doesn’t respond well to stress. Knowing what we did about Sara’s past, we should have guessed—”
“We did guess,” I said. “That’s precisely why we’re on our way to New Canaan.”
“We should have guessed sooner!”
Aunt Peg wasn’t happy and neither was I, though for an entirely different reason. Sound as our theory seemed to us, it was just that: a theory. Bearing that in mind, I had no intention of bursting into the Waring house like a pair of Rottweilers with a mission. Instead I was hoping we’d be able to hang back and make a quiet assessment, then pull Delilah aside for a private chat.
“Do you suppose Sara’s still got the gun?” Aunt Peg mused.
“The police didn’t find a murder weapon. Or at least they hadn’t by the time Josh left. He said he and Sara figured the intruder must have taken it with him.”
“Or snuck it back upstairs for safekeeping,” Peg muttered darkly. “Maybe we should have called ahead, just to make sure that Delilah was okay.”
I put on my turn signal, zoomed off the exit ramp, and headed left on Route 106. “We’re almost there now. Five minutes, max.”
Mid-morning on a Saturday, I’d have expected West Road to be nearly empty. It wasn’t. Instead, we joined a line of cars that all turned into the Warings’ driveway. News of Grant’s murder had obviously spread through the quiet town. Delilah’s friends and neighbors were gathering to pay their respects.
“See,” I said as I wedged the Volvo into a small spot along a box hedge. “I’m sure everything’s fine. With this many people around, Sara wouldn’t dare try anything.”
“Let’s hope not.”
Aunt Peg hurried up the wide front steps. She lifted the heavy brass door knocker and let it fall. A moment later, the door was opened by a housekeeper wearing a plain gray dress and a weary expression. Circles under her eyes attested to the fact that she’d probably been up most of the night.
“Miss Bentley is receiving visitors in the living room,” she said.
Aunt Peg and I exchanged a glance.
“We came to see Mrs. Waring.”
“You’ll have to talk to Miss Bentley about that.” The woman took our coats and draped them over an arm that already held two others. As she waved us toward the living room, the door knocker sounded again.
“Come on,” I said to Peg. “Let’s go see if we can find Delilah.”
Like the driveway out front, the living room was jammed. The throng of callers spilled over into the dining room, where a buffet brunch had been laid out on the table. A maid in a uniform that matched the housekeeper’s was serving orange juice and coffee.
Conversation was muted, voices were hushed. People gathered in small groups, looking properly somber. Though many of the faces were familiar to me from the show circuit, I didn’t see Delilah anywhere.
“There’s Sara,” Aunt Peg said, grasping my shoulders and turning me so I could see through the crowd.
She was sitting in a low chair beside the marble fireplace. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her hair was gathered into an untidy knot at the nape of her neck. As we made our way across the room toward her, Sara caught my eye, stood up, and held out a hand.
“Melanie, Mrs. Turnbull, thank you so much for coming. I appreciate your support.” The line sounded rehearsed, but I could hardly blame her. Sara had probably had occasion to use it a dozen times in the past half hour.
“We’re so sorry about what happened—” I began, but Aunt Peg elbowed me aside.
“You poor, dear girl,” she said. “What did happen?”
“I wish I knew.” Sara’s bottom lip quivered. “As I’m sure you can imagine, this has all been a terrible shock. Everything feels like a blur to me right now. The police keep asking me questions and I can’t seem to get anything straight in my mind.”
“There, there,” Aunt Peg said soothingly. “That’s a natural reaction to the trauma you’ve been through. You must try to take it easy until everything settles down. Melanie and I were hoping to pay our respects to your mother, but we haven’t seen her.”
“No, I’m afraid Delilah is indisposed. She isn’t receiving visitors.”
“But surely she’d be comforted by the presence of an old friend. . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Sara said firmly. “As I’m sure you can understand, Delilah is quite overwrought. She isn’t seeing anyone.”
“Is s
he here?”
Sara didn’t answer. Instead, she looked past us into the crowd. “Please help yourself to some food. If you’ll excuse me, there are some people I must see.”
“Baloney,” Peg said heartily when Sara had gone. “So much for doing things the easy way. Now where do you suppose Delilah is?”
“I can’t imagine she’d have gone far. She’s probably upstairs somewhere.”
“I don’t like that at all.” Aunt Peg was frowning. “If you’ll pardon the expression, Delilah Waring is tough as an old boot. I’m sure she’s upset. Under the circumstances, who wouldn’t be? But even under adversity, she’s not the type of person to willingly hide herself away.
“Don’t forget, I was here last week when we all thought that Sara had died in the fire. What could be worse than believing your only child had been taken from you in such a horrible manner? But Delilah was very much in evidence then, greeting her guests, giving orders, running the show, just as she’s always done. I find this sudden disappearance of hers highly suspicious.”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “Let’s go find her.”
Aunt Peg looked delighted by the prospect. “You mean search the house? Do we dare?”
“I don’t see why not. Who’s going to stop us? Sara? With all this going on, she’ll probably be too busy to even notice.”
Since the downstairs rooms were easy to gain access to, we split up and gave the bottom half of the house a surreptitious sweep first. Five minutes later, Aunt Peg and I met back in the front hall.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Me neither.”
I’d just seen Sara, though, and knew she was busy in the living room. The housekeeper had disappeared. Aunt Peg eyed the wide stairway.
“Up we go, then,” she said.
Heads high, shoulders back, looking as though we had every right to explore the rest of the house, Aunt Peg and I marched up the steps. To my enormous relief, nobody paid any attention to us.
The only other time I’d been on the second floor of the Waring home, Sara had led us directly to her rooms. Now, as we paused on the landing, I was dismayed to realize how many doors led off of the spacious hallway. Not only that, but most of them were closed. Despite all the activity below us, the second floor of the Waring house had the hushed stillness of a tomb.
I hung back for a moment, but Aunt Peg wasn’t deterred. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she said determinedly. Marching over to the nearest door, she grasped the knob and drew it open.
“Linen closet,” I heard her mutter as I crossed the hall and started on the other side.
I’d half expected the doors to be locked, but none were. Instead I found myself peering into one beautifully furnished bedroom after another. Considering how few people lived in the house, I found myself wondering what was the point of having so much space, not to mention owning all that furniture. Just the curtains alone must have cost a small fortune— Behind me, Aunt Peg cleared her throat loudly. I turned and looked. Though most of the rooms I’d seen had been bright and cheerful, the one whose doorway she was standing in was only dimly lit. Its shades had been lowered to block the morning sun.
“This is a surprise,” I heard Delilah say. Her voice sounded hoarse and cranky. “Is that you, Peg?”
“Me and my niece, Melanie.”
I went to stand beside my aunt. She moved over so that Delilah could see both of us in the doorway.
“Go away.”
“We need to talk to you.”
“I don’t feel like talking.”
“We’re sorry to bother you,” I said, “but it’s important.”
Delilah was reclining on a chaise longue on the other side of the room. Though Sara had said her mother wasn’t receiving visitors, the woman was fully dressed, right down to stockings and a pair of polished Ferragamo pumps. A small table beside the chaise held a glass filled with a clear liquid. The scent of gin lingered in the air. Delilah was staring off into space.
“Nothing’s that important anymore.”
“That’s not true,” Aunt Peg said gently. “I know things seem bleak now—”
“Bleak?” Delilah very slowly turned her head so that she was facing us. Even so, her gaze seemed to be turned inward. “Bleak doesn’t begin to describe the depths I’ve sunk to. Please close the door.”
Of one accord, Aunt Peg and I stepped forward. We shut the door behind us.
“So you’re staying.” Delilah frowned. She didn’t look as though she had the strength to argue with our decision. “You’re braver than my daughter, I’ll give you that.”
“Actually,” I said, “it’s Sara we wanted to talk to you about.”
“We’re afraid you might be in danger,” Aunt Peg added.
“Danger?” Delilah cocked her head to one side as though considering the notion. Watching the studied cadence of her movements, I wondered if her doctor had given her a sedative, and if so, how many extra pills she’d taken. “No, I don’t think so. Sara’s a disappointment to me on many levels, but she hasn’t got the guts to be dangerous.”
“We think she may have a gun,” said Peg.
Delilah didn’t respond. She didn’t look surprised either.
“There was no intruder in this house last night, was there?” I asked.
“There was death and destruction.” Delilah’s voice shook. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Destruction?”
“Yes, destruction. That’s the only way to look at it. Everything I loved, everything I believed in, was destroyed in an instant. After that, there was no turning back.
“I’m not a forgiving woman. Nor am I an easy one. The only thing I can say in my own defense is that I’m just as hard on myself as I am on everyone else.”
“Delilah,” Aunt Peg said smoothly, “no one’s blaming you for what happened.”
“Then you’re a pair of fools, both of you.”
Uh oh.
“Are you . . .” I stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Are you saying that you’re the one . . . ?”
Delilah’s hard eyes nailed me. “For someone who fancies herself a detective, you’re rather out of the loop, aren’t you?”
Apparently so.
“I’m just surprised,” I said. “I can’t imagine why you would have wanted to burn down Sara’s cottage.”
“Oh, that.”
Delilah waved a hand and her fingers smacked against the highball glass on the table. She peered at it owlishly for a moment, then picked it up and took a long swallow.
“I’m having a drink,” Delilah announced. “Would you like one?”
“No,” Aunt Peg and I replied in unison.
“Suit yourselves.”
“ ‘Oh that,’ as you call it,” Aunt Peg said grimly, “resulted in the death of an innocent young woman.”
“Bad luck.” Delilah shrugged. “And you two needn’t look so disapproving. As it happens, I had nothing to do with that stupid fire.”
“Who did?”
She lifted her glass again. Her perfectly aligned white teeth played along the rim. “That was Grant’s doing. Imagine. I had no idea. I was right in the house, living with both of them, and I didn’t have a clue.”
She seemed to have shifted topics. I grabbed on and tried to go with her. “About Grant and Sara, you mean?”
“Grant and Sara, Sara and Carole, Grant and Carole . . .” Her voice faded away, then came back. “I suppose I must have been rather obtuse.”
“Grant and Carole?” Now she’d lost me.
“Bound together by death, you might say. Murderer and victim.”
“So Grant set the fire that killed Carole?” Aunt Peg repeated, hoping to confirm what we suspected.
Delilah stared off into a distance that only she could see. “He seemed to think he had his reasons. I don’t suppose I’d have agreed, but there you are. The girl’s death was an accident. Grant swore that was so. He’d never have set the fire if he’d known she was there.”
�
�When did you discuss that with him?” I asked. “Did you know about it at the time?”
“No-o-o. . . .” Delilah drew the word out, letting her lips and tongue linger over the denial. “They say the wife is always the last to know, don’t they? I guess I’m proof of that. It was all going on right under my very nose, and I had no idea.”
“But you do now,” said Aunt Peg.
“Yes, I do,” Delilah agreed. “Rather unfortunate, isn’t it?” Her hand slid gracefully beneath the cushion of the chaise and reemerged holding a small gun. “I’ve seen too much. I’ve done too much. And I’m quite certain that I know much more than I ever wanted to. I’m afraid there’s only one thing left for me to do.”
29
Aunt Peg’s gasp seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “Delilah,” she said reprovingly, “you aren’t threatening to shoot us, are you?”
“Oh dear, you must really think I’ve taken leave of my senses.” Delilah laid the gun down in her lap, but kept her fingers twined around the grip. “Of course I’m not going to shoot you. I’m going to shoot myself.”
It was amazing how civilized the two of them sounded discussing what was, essentially, a very uncivilized topic. The only thing I could think to do was to keep everybody talking until I came up with a plan.
“So you’re the one who ended up with the gun.” I matched my conversational tone to theirs.
“Ended with it, began with it, used it.” Delilah sighed. “It was all a terrible mistake, of course. I knew that right away. It wasn’t as though I’d made a decision to act. The whole thing just sort of . . . happened.
“I hadn’t even tried to pull the trigger and the gun went off. I never imagined it could happen just like that. But you can’t say that I don’t learn from my mistakes. If it was that easy to use the gun once, it will be just as easy to do so again.”
Delilah’s fingers toyed idly with the weapon. “That’s all I’m left with now, isn’t it? One final act to bring the whole sad story to an end.”
“It was an accident,” said Peg, sounding relieved. “You shot Grant, but you didn’t mean to.”
Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) Page 22