“Did you read anything about it in the newspapers? No! Of course they don’t know who did it. Every time I go into that darn house I’m looking over my shoulder, wondering which one of them is a murderer. It’s horrible.”
Bless his heart; Pete didn’t snap my head off at this point. He was probably too tired to take me on. “Sounds like a real drag. I’m sorry.”
“Plus, I had a big fight with McCarthy this afternoon, after a smaller fight yesterday. He won’t even call or text me back when I’m trying to say I’m sorry.” I looked at him beseechingly, as if he could solve all my problems for me, like a helpful big brother. Of course he couldn’t.
“What did you guys fight about? Please tell me it wasn’t Randall.”
My head snapped up. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Aileen told me you were kissing him last night. I told her she was full of it, but she insisted.”
“You told Aileen she was full of it?” I said, momentarily diverted.
He shrugged. “I tell it like I see it.”
“And she lets you. That’s the amazing part.”
“Well, she does call me Moron. If she thinks she’s telling it like she sees it, I guess I’m in big trouble.”
I couldn’t help laughing, but it was short lived. “Yeah, Randall was here last night, coming on to me when I was feeling low after arguing with McCarthy. No, I did not kiss him. It turns out that he was using me to get ahold of my keys. He let himself into the house today and fished a big platter out of the attic.”
“Wow, I was not expecting you to say that.” Pete rubbed his eyes with both hands. “We don’t have to stay up all night again to keep him out, do we?”
I stared at him. “Oh, my God. It was Randall trying to get in that night. I should have checked to see if he had a bump on his head where I threw that box down on him. He was trying to break in to get that platter out of the attic. That no good...” I threw my pincushion across the room, scattering pins everywhere.
Pete made no move to help me pick them up. “Do you think he’s behind the eggs and the mice and the fire too?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.” I jabbed the pins back into the pincushion.
“Well that’s good, in a way. He got what he wanted, so he’ll leave us alone now. Right? What’s up with this platter?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize it. He said he hid it here when he split, and now he had a use for it so he came and got it. That jerk! If he had just asked to come in and get something he left behind, I would have let him.”
“Would you?” Pete never hesitated to ask the tough questions, even when he was exhausted.
“Well, maybe not. I don’t know. I hope you’re right, that he won’t be back. I probably won’t be able to sleep anyway.” I shook the dress. “Of course I won’t even get the chance. I’ll be up all night long finishing this dress.”
“Not me.” Pete stood up and yawned, stretching both arms over his head. “I gotta get to bed, so I can get up again in five hours.” He said goodnight and left, only to pop his head back in a minute later. “Don’t give up on McCarthy. He’s a good guy.”
“You telling it like you see it again?”
He nodded with a smile. “You bet.”
Chapter Nineteen
I was wrong about the all-night prediction. I finished Louise’s gown at 3:45 a.m., so I was able to get a few hours of sleep before I had to get up for the final day of filming. I was so tired when I finally lay down that I went straight to sleep with no thought for either Randall or any other unknown intruder.
Saturday morning was rainy and windy. The front windows rattled from the rain. I wondered if it would affect the filming at Compton Hall. It did make my wait at the bus stop an exercise in endurance. I clutched my shoulder bag close, hoping to keep Louise’s dress dry.
When the bus let me off down the street from Compton Hall, I scurried as fast as I could up to the house. I noticed an unusual number of vehicles in the drive, which made sense for the wrap-up.
I headed straight upstairs to give Louise her gown. If I was lucky, I would have a few minutes to pin up anything that didn’t fit perfectly.
I found Louise in Priscilla’s room, tidying up. I called out a cheery greeting. “Hi, Louise. I’ve got your gown for you.”
She turned and frowned at me. “I can’t believe I have to wear this silly dress. It’ll make me look like some kind of prissy parlor maid.”
I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out the fact that I had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just so she could wear that dress. I merely helped her into it in silence. It fit perfectly, which was some consolation. “There. You’re ready to step back in time with Miss Priscilla.”
Louise grumbled, but I didn’t care. I was just pleased to have fulfilled my obligations in the end. “So, is the filming taking place this morning? Did Miss Ruth come back from the hospital yesterday?”
“Oh, yes, she’s here, that ornery old woman. She’s in the living room, raising Cain like she does. You’d think a little poisoning would set her back a bit, but no. She’s queen of the roost, like always.”
I smiled inwardly, looking forward to seeing that “ornery old woman.” I gathered up my bag and headed back downstairs.
The living room was packed with people, cameras, and filming equipment. I got a glimpse of Ruth in one of the wingback chairs and Priscilla in the other, both dressed in the eighteenth-century gowns I’d made them. Cherry hovered between the two chairs, offering advice to the makeup artists who worked on the sisters’ faces. It looked like the makeup artists were ignoring Cherry completely.
I wormed my way into the room a bit, until I could get a closer look at Ruth. She looked a lot better than she did when I visited her in the hospital, although the color in her face could have been due to makeup. But her bearing was as straight as ever, giving no indication that she had been bedridden only a day earlier.
Priscilla smiled at her own reflection in the handheld mirror, enjoying the process of having her makeup applied. Little wisps of her long white hair escaped from her loose bun to curl gently around her face. The nicely pressed ruffles on the ends of her sleeves waved gently when she reached out to accept a tissue from Cherry to blot her lips.
I took a closer look at the sisters’ gowns. When I saw the two of them side by side like that, it was obvious to me that Ruth’s gown had been made quickly, with a much simpler pattern and little thought for detail. Nothing to do about that now. I hoped no one else would notice the difference.
I was about to slip back out of the crowded room when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Martin Sterling, a reporter from the Laurel Springs Daily Chronicle, standing behind me. He beckoned me to follow him into the hall.
I knew Sterling, a small, thin man with short dark hair who often worked on assignment with McCarthy. They made a good team: Sterling with his soft-spoken manner asking the tough questions, and McCarthy with his exuberant charm taking the photographs. I guessed Sterling was here today to write a story to accompany McCarthy’s pictures of the event. I couldn’t imagine that there would be many hard questions today.
Sterling drew me into the hall away from the hustle and bustle in the living room. His dark eyes were drawn with concern. “Have you seen McCarthy?” he asked. “He told me to be here at eight o’clock, but it’s nine thirty now and he hasn’t shown.”
I shrugged. “You didn’t have a fight with him yesterday, did you?”
“With McCarthy?” He laughed, momentarily diverted from his worry. “I can’t even picture that. No, it’s just not like him to be so late without a word. I’ve been calling and texting, but no response.”
I bit my lip. Evidently I was the only one in the world who had ever had a fight with McCarthy. Did I bring out the bad side of him or something? “Maybe something happened to delay him.”
Sterling frowned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
A chill ran across my spine. Sterling was right; McCarthy was a very punctual kind of person, especially when it came to his assignments. He’d once told me, “With photography, timing is everything. If you get there late, the shot is gone.” I couldn’t think of a time when he’d been late or hadn’t responded when I tried to contact him.
Until now.
“You don’t suppose he’s had an accident or something? He does drive like a maniac.”
Sterling nodded. “True. But I’ve checked the police scanner, and there’s nothing about any accident with injuries. If it was a fender bender, I’m sure he’d let me know. That’s the weird part. We’ve got a code to alert each other if there’s some kind of trouble brewing, but he didn’t hit the code.”
Was McCarthy in some kind of trouble? I pushed down a mental picture of him lying unconscious somewhere, unable to hit the code, whatever that meant. McCarthy was a very capable person, who could easily cope with all kinds of trouble. But there was a murderer out there. The killer could be here at the house, even as we spoke. The image of Professor Burbridge’s inert form sprawled on the library carpet filled my mind. Had McCarthy fallen victim to the same fate? My hands went cold at the thought. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number one more time. Still no answer.
“Sterling, there’s a murderer still at large.” I struggled to keep my voice level. “We think it’s someone associated with the renovation of Compton Hall. Should we call the police and tell them McCarthy’s missing?”
Sterling whistled. “Someone associated with Compton Hall, as in, someone here in the house right now?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Okay. I’ll spin over to McCarthy’s apartment and see if he’s there or if there’s any sign of him. You can fill in the cops.” He was gone before I could even thank him.
I tried McCarthy one more time, and when there was no answer I called the police. The dispatcher took down all my information, and clicked her tongue when I told her McCarthy’s name. “Sean McCarthy. Sure. You don’t need to give a full description—we all know him here. You sure he’s not just off doing something else? We don’t normally pursue a missing persons case when the person is only an hour and a half overdue.”
“I’m not sure of anything. I’ve been trying to reach him since yesterday afternoon, so it’s not just an hour and a half. But the thing is, he could have run into the person who killed Professor Burbridge. He could be...” I couldn’t say it. I choked down my growing fear. “He could be in trouble.”
She assured me that the police would take my report seriously, and hung up. I had to be satisfied with that. I stowed my phone and turned to see Ruth standing behind me, her sharp eyes homed in on my face. She had heard every word.
“Talk to me,” she commanded, leading the way to her bedroom. She walked slowly, trying to maneuver her cane around her long, flowing skirt. I knew better than to try to help her.
“Sit.” She pointed to a bedside chair and sat down on an armchair by the bedroom fireplace. She sat stiffly, her back not touching the back of the chair. Both hands clenched the head of her cane. “What do you know about the murderer?”
I slumped down in my chair. “Nothing. I just haven’t heard from McCarthy, who was going to be here this morning and he’s not. He’s a photographer from the newspaper who was supposed to take pictures today. His colleague from the paper doesn’t know where he is. I’m afraid...I’m afraid he may have run into the murderer. He could be...” No, I refused to consider it. He was just running late, and maybe his phone was dead or something. He’d laugh at all the fuss I was causing, if he would ever speak to me again, that is. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just on edge after everything that’s happened here.”
Ruth frowned. “It’s never nothing.”
That chill hit me again, but I pushed it away. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss Ruth? I’m happy to see you here.”
Her frown grew deeper. “Inane pleasantries will not divert me from talk of a murderer.”
“I’m not making inane pleasantries. I’m saying I’m glad you’re looking so well after somebody tried to kill you. Okay?” As soon as the words left my lips I wished I could take them back. I imagined that Ruth Ellis was right up there with Aileen on the list of people you didn’t want to argue with. But her response surprised me.
“Well. You’ve got a bit of spunk, haven’t you? So, about this murderer.”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know a whole lot. It has to be someone involved with the house and the renovation, because the police said there was no evidence of forced entry. Everyone involved with the renovations is here right now, so the murderer is in the house at this moment.”
“There’s a sobering thought. So we go through them, one by one.”
I nodded. “Okay. There’s Carl Harper. He’s got a terrible temper and a bunch of heavy metal tools. He could have easily hit Professor Burbridge over the head with a wrench or something, although I’m pretty sure one of his bricks was the murder weapon. Plus he’s had a number of strange phone calls that sound like he’s up to something.”
Ruth’s lips twitched. I could almost picture her smiling in amusement. “You’ve tapped his phone, then?”
“No, he talks really loud when I’m walking past. He’s always shouting, in fact. I’m kind of scared of him.”
“Hmm. Who else?”
“There’s Jamison Royce, the gardener. He didn’t blink an eye when I told him that the Japanese maples I’d rescued from the dump got torn up and burned. He’s a gardener but he doesn’t care about plants. I looked up his business and it’s not listed online. So there’s definitely something shady about him.”
Ruth looked me over with growing respect. “Your detective business isn’t listed, either. I mistook you for a seamstress.”
I laughed. “McCarthy calls me ‘nosy seamstress.’” The mention of McCarthy wiped the smile off my face. This discussion was no joke.
“All right, who else?”
I swallowed hard, and then said it. “There’s Ruth Ellis, who came home to Laurel Springs after being acquitted in the death of her husband. She had an argument with Professor Burbridge the day he died. Burbridge was seen stalking out of the room muttering, ‘I will not be silenced.’ Soon after, he was silenced, permanently.”
I expected an explosion, but Ruth merely regarded me with a deep frown on her face. “How did you come by this information? From the police?”
I shook my head, chagrined to find my hands shaking. “I saw Professor Burbridge come out of the living room and head for the stairs. I heard what he said.”
“And did you hear what was said inside the room?”
“No. I heard raised voices, yours and his. I couldn’t tell what you were saying.”
“All right. I will tell you. Professor Burbridge presented my sister and me with his groundbreaking research into our ancestor, Major Samuel Compton. I imagine you’ve heard of him?”
“Yes. In fact, I know about the professor’s research. I’ve talked with the graduate student who helped him with the research.”
“Ah. You failed to include that person on your list of suspects.”
I ducked my head sheepishly. “I’m not through the whole list yet.”
“All right. So I don’t have to tell you the details of this revisionist history. I imagine I also don’t need to tell you how this revelation could affect the fortunes of the Compton family, which has prospered from the adulation paid our heroic ancestor. If it came out that our family had perpetrated a fraud on the town all these years, and in fact our esteemed forebear was a traitor who caused the deaths of the ancestors of our neighbors, then my sister Priscilla could become a pariah in this town. I do not intend to allow that to happen. In addition, we are in the midst of an expen
sive and very public renovation of the property. How fast do you think the television show would drop Compton Hall at the slightest whiff of scandal? I have no illusions about winning a million dollars, but I do expect the producers to restore this house to its livable modern condition when all this nonsense is finished.
“So Professor Burbridge came to tell us that he planned to release his findings to coincide with the television show’s finale, if you can believe it. I told him in no uncertain terms to cease and desist. He refused, and stormed out. That was the last time I saw him alive. But I did not kill him. Neither did my sister, whom I notice you also left off your list. Or maybe you haven’t gotten to her yet?”
“Of course Priscilla didn’t kill him! She’s the sweetest person imaginable. She wasn’t upset about the professor’s research, was she?”
“She wasn’t angry. She was shocked at the suggestion that the major could have been a traitor, of course. Priscilla doesn’t recognize the existence of evil in others. She sees nothing but good in everyone.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “The presence of a murderer in our midst has been very hard on her.”
I bowed my head, reluctant to ask the next question. But we needed to get to the bottom of this. “What about the sleeping pills? Do you still think that was Priscilla?”
Ruth’s frown deepened, a feat I wouldn’t have thought possible. “I prefer to focus on the professor’s murder at the moment. Who else is on your list?”
“Okay. There’s Noah Webster, Professor Burbridge’s grad student. He worked with the professor on this groundbreaking research and knew all about it. He knew the professor was looking for fame and fortune with this historical coup. He could have killed the professor to get there first. But I’m sure he didn’t.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Well, you and Priscilla knew about the professor’s work, so you could easily dispute his claim that it was his own.” Of course, that would give Noah a motive to poison Ruth, wouldn’t it? I hastened to defend him. “He’s a nerdy history guy with a heart of gold. He couldn’t hurt a fly, I’m sure of it. Plus he wasn’t in the house until after the professor died.”
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