Death on the Mississippi
Page 23
“Did you know we have a ghost at Bridgeway?” Paula said. “If you look hard enough on the nights of a full moon you can see her rise up from the river and walk along the parapet.”
“Anyone I know?” Lyon asked.
“Mary Piper. That was Old Caleb’s first wife. Caleb is the Civil War colonel immortalized in our stained-glass window.”
“What did Mary do to deserve such a fate?”
“That’s the disturbing part. We don’t know. The story is that they were having dinner out here on the patio when Mary abruptly left the table and walked over to the parapet. She climbed on the wall, spread her arms wide apart, and before anyone could stop her, leaped into the river. Her body was never found. They say that six months later she rose from her watery grave to haunt us forever.”
“Have you seen this apparition?” Lyon asked.
She gave him a real smile this time. “Of course not, but I like the story. When I was fifteen I spent a great deal of time making up reasons as to why she jumped. Most of my reasons were variations of family problems that teenagers face.”
“That sounds a little morose,” Lyon said, aware that this was a mental state that often consumed adolescents.
“I’m going to die,” she said quietly without rancor.
“We all are, Paula … eventually.” He sighed inwardly at her new mood. During his days teaching English at Middleburg University, he had been only too aware of sensitive adolescents who seemed to write hundreds of poems announcing their affinity with death.
Paula tried to manufacture a laugh, but the effort produced only a choked sob. “Evidently not eventually,” she said. “I’ve just been informed that my murder is practically around the corner. Like, this month.”
He considered the possibility that the protesters outside the mansion had truly frightened her. “Those people who were demonstrating tonight are against killing,” he said. “I don’t think they will harm you.”
“I don’t mean them. I know most of the younger ones from school, and I would have been with them if Daddy’s hired goons wouldn’t laugh at me. I’m talking about something else.”
Lyon wondered what in the world Swan was up to. If he were using this murder game as a ploy with a very sensitive, death-obsessed young woman, he was into cheap hits. But if sex was his ultimate aim, why did he ask Lyon to come tonight? “I don’t understand.”
“Markham Swan says it’s my turn,” she said. Her eyes were wide in astonishment and fear. Lyon realized that her feelings transcended poetic sensitivity or adolescent depression. This was pure fear. This was a display of a deep human emotion—a dread of imminent death.
“Someone is going to kill me,” she insisted with conviction.
“Who is someone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wait a minute, Paula,” Lyon said. “How old are you?”
“I just turned eighteen,” the young woman replied.
“Do you have many jilted lovers thirsting for revenge?”
She blushed. “I’ve only had one lover and he hasn’t been jilted yet.”
“Someone is after your money?” Lyon suggested.
“I do have a trust fund from my grandparents and Mom, but I’m an only child.”
“Terrorists are out to get you?”
“Terrorist countries are often Daddy’s best customers.”
“Then there is no reason why anyone would want to kill or even harm you, is there?” Lyon said.
“No.”
He made a final attempt to turn her. “There is something called a panic attack, which has fearful symptoms. Perhaps you should see a doctor.”
“Please don’t be condescending, Mr. Wentworth. I mean what I say. Look at this.” She handed Lyon a white piece of copy paper folded into four parts. “Please read it.”
Lyon carefully unfolded the paper to find several lines centered on the page. He tilted the paper toward the light and read: “Paula: The Piper Pie proves it. You are going to die this month. Come to the gate cottage at nine tonight and I will show you how I know.” The note was signed Markham Swan. Lyon carefully refolded the paper and handed it back to her.
Her eyes were very wide as she looked into his face. “You see what I mean?”
“How well do you know Markham?” Lyon asked.
“We were introduced when he first arrived to start the book. I see him around the estate and we’ve exchanged a few words. He puts in a great deal of time at the house and often works in the library, but I’ve been away at college for most of the time. He’s also living in the gate cottage with his wife. I once found him alone with my stepmother in the library. They were standing very near each other and looked like they had just quickly stepped apart. They looked sheepish.”
“What is the Piper Pie?”
“I haven’t the slightest,” the young girl answered.
Lyon laughed. “A new cook perhaps? A lousy baker?”
She looked. “You’re not taking this seriously?”
“You’ll have to make it clearer for me,” Lyon said.
“Rabbit delivered this note earlier in the day and I believe it.”
“I think there is something I should tell you about Markham Swan,” Lyon said. “Actually, this situation is my fault since I am the one who recommended him to your father. I never considered the fact that he might be working out of Bridgeway and that you two would meet more than casually.”
It was her turn to laugh. The sound was a sparkling tinkle of pure sound. “I see how he looks at me. I learned about that sort of thing a long time ago.”
“He does have a reputation in that area,” Lyon said. “In fact, the reason he gave up teaching was his involvement with a young woman student whom he eventually married.”
“So I am not supposed to go to any evening trysts at the gatehouse with the infamous Markham Swan?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ll be there. I’m here tonight because Markham phoned me about this nine o’clock meeting. He’s involved in some sort of huge head game, but damned if I know what it is. I swear to you, Paula, I will find out.”
She tilted her head and seemed to be considering her options before she turned to him with a wide smile. “Then you’ll go for both of us and protect me from the lecherous Mr. Swan?”
Lyon peeked into the library, to find Bea seated alone at the library table. She was bent over a small Tiffany lamp that cast a multicolored glow across her face. She seemed tired to the point of exhaustion. He wanted to hold her and protect her, but that was not possible at this moment.
She turned with a small smile of recognition and relief. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Where are the two dragons?”
“They have temporarily retreated into their caverns under ostensibly different pretexts, but I suspect they are actually holding a secret conference concerning my care and feeding.”
“Let’s go home. The hell with them.”
She shook her head. “No way. I’m not backing off. If that super-WASP wants the nomination, he’s going to have to work for it. Let him convince me along with about six hundred more state delegates. And you can’t leave until you deal with Markham Swan.”
“Want me to stay with you?”
She shook her head again. “It would just inhibit them, delay things, and infuriate you. Go to Markham Swan’s overly dramatic meeting and see what in the world he’s up to. If he’s discovered monsters hiding at Bridgeway, they can’t be worse than the ones I’m jousting with.”
Lyon left the house by the front door and went around to the side, where he found a wide parking area filled with guests’ cars. He also located the electric golf cart, with the keys still in the ignition. He switched on the motor, clicked the front lights, and drove slowly toward the front gate.
He was nearly to the small house at the wall when a muffled retort echoed across the hills. A second noise followed it after a count of four.
The sounds were not quite like any gunfire he had previously heard. A
lthough the surrounding hills made it impossible to pinpoint the direction of their origin, the sounds were certainly not the result of a car backfire or thunder. They sounded more like the distant explosion of large firecrackers.
He stopped the cart by the front door of the small cottage, then sat still for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the night. It was quiet except for a lone cricket and a single owl. If he turned in the right direction and listened carefully, it was possible to hear a distant muted din from the remains of the party at the house up the hill.
Lyon had not noticed the gatekeeper’s cottage during the incident with the protesters. The structure was barely visible from the outside of the estate since it faced the interior side and had no windows or doors on the far side of the wall. A narrow building three stories high located next to the gate’s entrance, it was constructed of the same brownstone material as the main building, and was actually built into the estate’s walls. It was a nondescript building matched by a twin structure located on the other side of the gates. The second building had a double-wide entrance and was evidently used for equipment storage. A single light shone through a leaded window built into the oval-shaped door.
Lyon stepped from the cart and used the knocker on the front door. No answer. He knocked again and heard the reverberations of the sound echoing through the small building. There was no response from the interior of the house.
He knocked again without result and then tried the handle and found the door unlocked. He slowly pushed it ajar.
The building’s narrow structure restricted the floors to one room in width, built in a shotgun design. Entrance was directly into a living room area, with a small dining room beyond, followed by an efficient-appearing kitchen area. He assumed that the bedrooms upstairs were laid out in a similar manner. The small dining room had been converted into an office. A computer monitor that reflected the flicker of a screen saver was the only light illuminating the room.
The body was slumped over the table directly in front of the computer.
A short-haired blond woman was hunched in the far corner of the room. Her back pressed against the wall while her hands were clenched into fists that pressed tightly against her mouth.
She made small mewing sounds as she stared at the corpse in the flickering computer light.
“What happened?” Lyon said.
“He … he’s dead,” the woman finally mumbled. “The son-of-a-bitch is finally dead.”
“You killed him?” Lyon asked in a low tone that was half question and half statement.
She didn’t answer.
Lyon looked more closely at the corpse. There wasn’t any need to feel for a pulse or begin heroic resuscitation efforts. Markham Swan was dead. No one could have survived the massive wounds to his head and throat.
Buy The Pied Piper of Death Now!
About the Author
Richard Forrest (1932–2005) was an American mystery author. Born in New Jersey, he served in the US Army, wrote plays, and sold insurance before he began writing mystery fiction. His debut, Who Killed Mr. Garland’s Mistress (1974), was an Edgar Award finalist. He remains best known for his ten novels starring Lyon and Bea Wentworth, a husband-and-wife sleuthing team introduced in A Child’s Garden of Death (1975).
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1989 by Richard Forrest
Cover design by Andy Ross
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3789-1
This 2016 edition published by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
www.openroadmedia.com
www.mysteriouspress.com
EARLY BIRD BOOKS
FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY
BE THE FIRST TO KNOW—
NEW DEALS HATCH EVERY DAY!
The Web’s Creepiest Newsletter
Delivered to Your Inbox
Get chilling stories of
true crime, mystery, horror,
and the paranormal,
twice a week.
THE LYON AND BEA WENTWORTH MYSTERIES
FROM MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
AND OPEN ROAD MEDIA
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
Otto Penzler, owner of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan, founded the Mysterious Press in 1975. Penzler quickly became known for his outstanding selection of mystery, crime, and suspense books, both from his imprint and in his store. The imprint was devoted to printing the best books in these genres, using fine paper and top dust-jacket artists, as well as offering many limited, signed editions.
Now the Mysterious Press has gone digital, publishing ebooks through MysteriousPress.com.
MysteriousPress.com. offers readers essential noir and suspense fiction, hard-boiled crime novels, and the latest thrillers from both debut authors and mystery masters. Discover classics and new voices, all from one legendary source.
FIND OUT MORE AT
WWW.MYSTERIOUSPRESS.COM
FOLLOW US:
@emysteries and Facebook.com/MysteriousPressCom
MysteriousPress.com is one of a select group of publishing partners of Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
The Mysterious Bookshop, founded in 1979, is located in Manhattan’s Tribeca neighborhood. It is the oldest and largest mystery-specialty bookstore in America.
The shop stocks the finest selection of new mystery hardcovers, paperbacks, and periodicals. It also features a superb collection of signed modern first editions, rare and collectable works, and Sherlock Holmes titles. The bookshop issues a free monthly newsletter highlighting its book clubs, new releases, events, and recently acquired books.
58 Warren Street
info@mysteriousbookshop.com
(212) 587-1011
Monday through Saturday
11:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m.
FIND OUT MORE AT:
www.mysteriousbookshop.com
FOLLOW US:
@TheMysterious and Facebook.com/MysteriousBookshop
SUBSCRIBE:
The Mysterious Newsletter
Find a full list of our authors and
titles at www.openroadmedia.com
FOLLOW US
@OpenRoadMedia