McLain grinned back.
Laura, calm now that everybody’d arrived, took charge. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Samantha.” She gave McLain a subduing look. “Suppose we all go into the living room. We need to be comfortable. Alison has something important to tell us.”
Samantha shifted her gaze from Art Chamberlain to Alison. She studied the girl as the group made their way to chairs and sofas in front of Laura’s living room fireplace. What she saw worried her.
Alison was even paler than she’d been the previous evening when they’d been discussing ways to stop the vandal before he could attempt another murder. Poor girl. Whatever had had her so upset last night when she’d gone to her aunt’s room was certainly taking a terrible toll on her. As soon as everyone had settled, Samantha said, “Alison?,” Her voice was full of the concern she was feeling for her precious young friend.
“I have something to tell you.” The girl drew a quivering breath. “Something that I must tell you.” Tears filled her eyes. “Aunt Samantha, I’m the vandal.” The words tumbled out. “It’s me. I ruined your tulip tree, and I tore up Mrs. Twiford’s garden, and the Hathaway’s and Turner’s before that. But I meant well,” she pleaded for understanding. “Really, I truly did. My intentions were good. I thought that by tearing up her flowers, I’d help Miss Emilee decide to move.”
She jumped up and looked wildly around at the others. “She couldn’t go on with that huge old place much longer, she just couldn’t. You all know that. She needed to go somewhere that wouldn’t work her to death.” She whirled to face her aunt. “And that time when you brought her to see me at my condos, she really yearned over them. Remember?”
“Yes, I do remember,” Laura answered, “but . . .”
“There! You all know how it was. Miss Emilee was working herself to death . . . and she just drooled over the condos and how easy everything was in them. When I saw that, I just had to get her to decide to move. After I saw that she would love to have been in one of them, I simply couldn’t stand the way she worked and worked and skimped all the time.”
“So you played vandal,” McLain said softly.
“Yes! I did.” She faced him, her eyes defiant.
“I wondered. You were pretty upset the other night.” He smiled at her gently. “I figured we were making you sorta nervous.”
Samantha rounded angrily on McLain. “What other night? What are you talking about?”
“The night we came over with the list and found Janet Wilson here.” McLain was talking more to give Alison time to calm down than to answer Samantha.
“Oh.” Samantha subsided, thinking back. Alison had seemed nervous that night, but she hadn’t connected it with the list she and the Colonel had made of neighbors who might help in their plans to catch the vandal. McLain had, though. Samantha frowned. She should have been more observant, more sensitive. After all, he wasn’t as close to Alison as she was.
McLain prompted Alison. “So you took on the job of convincing her she’d be better off moving, and tore up a coupla gardens and hers. Then you vandalized your Aunt Laura’s greenhouse and tore up Sam’s tulip tree to give more credence to the vandal idea after Miss Emilee’s.”
“Yes.” Alison nodded vigorously. “And Mr. Chamberlain caught me.” She flashed a shy smile at her elderly neighbor.
“Ah, yes,” Art Chamberlain began tentatively, as if testing the water to see if anyone would listen to him before he went further. It was a habit that living with Agnes had fostered in him. “Yes, yes, I did see Alison. We rather bumped as I cut across your lawn, Samantha. Coming back from . . . er . . . my . . . hmmmm . . . errand at Laura’s greenhouse, don’t you see.” His eyes begged the Colonel not to divulge the nature of his errand. “I was shocked, I can tell you. It was so unlike Alison to do such a thing, especially since she loves you. She was tearing blossoms and small branches from your tulip tree. I scolded her severely. I had to scold her in a whisper, of course.
“Even so, Rags began to bark, and then your outside spotlights came on and . . . Oh, dear, that gave me an awful start! I’d forgotten you had them—the lights, I mean—because you’d never turned them on before. They surprised Alison and me both.”
“They certainly did!” Alison agreed. “Then we ran like rabbits when we heard your phone ring, Aunt Samantha.”
“And then I told Alison that she must tell you, Mrs. Masters, and you, Mrs. Fulton, exactly what she had been doing, and why. I was very firm with her about owning up to what she’d done. I told her that I would be there for her if she needed me . . .”
Alison interrupted him. “That was the important phone call I had to make last night. I knew where Mr. Chamberlain had gone, and I had to tell him he had to come home right away.”
Mr. Chamberlain smiled at her and continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “ . . . but that I was going to go visit a friend out of town until she had confessed.” He looked around the intent circle of faces. “I had to get out of town, you see. At least until Alison had cleared the vandal matter up to her own satisfaction. It was the only thing to do, you know. Otherwise, Agnes would have seen something wasn’t right with me.” He sighed. “Agnes never misses a thing. She would have had Alison’s secret out of me in an instant, and the fat would have been in the fire.”
He looked around at them, his eyes begging them to see his reasoning. “You know how Agnes can be. I had to leave to give her time. Alison, I mean, not Agnes.” He blinked at them. “You do see, don’t you?”
Nobody said anything, they were all too busy absorbing the facts that the pair of accidental conspirators had just given them. Each of the listeners came to the same conclusion. It was obvious. The expressions on their faces showed they were all in agreement.
Things were much worse than ever before now.
For if Alison had been the vandal . . . then who was the murderer?
Chapter Twenty
Still uneasy about the conclusions they’d all been forced to draw by Alison’s confession the other night, Samantha glanced out the large, side-by-side windows that made up the front wall of her living room. This was the evening they’d agreed to meet to discuss the tragedies that had befallen them, and it looked as if the weather was going to be as dismal as their meeting was apt to be.
Twilight crept across the river and slowly turned the silvery haze that hung there to a misty lavender. Beyond that deceptively tranquil haze, however, ominous black clouds hung low in the sky.
Now and again, lightning lit the interiors of those clouds with brief silver flashes, and even with the windows closed and the storm still so far away, Samantha could hear the low grumble of thunder. “Hope everybody brings raincoats, Rags,” she told her little shadow.
Rags cocked his head, ran to the sofa, jumped up onto and trotted along the back of it. From there, peering out at the magnificent sky, he answered Samantha with a single, “Ruf!”
She started for the kitchen. “Come on, boy. It’s time to put the coffee on, our guests will be arriving soon.”
Before they’d left Laura’s the other night, they’d decided they were going to meet to discuss what they might possibly do next. It didn’t matter to them that Art Chamberlain had insisted that murder was best left to the police, though certainly what he said did make sense. None of the others who’d been at Laura’s that night were content with that, however. Too many homicides went unsolved these days. Just look at the murder of the man that had been found in the Formosa azalea bush. The man with his fingerprints removed. Samantha shivered with revulsion. No progress had been made on that case yet. The police were inundated with unsolved crimes.
Besides all that, Olivia Charles had been a friend. A dear friend. All of them had loved her. As a result, her murder had touched their lives too deeply for them just to stand idly by and wait for the crime to be solved.
There would be five of them tonight. Laura, Alison, the Colonel and herself had set up the meeting, but Janet Wilson had phoned Laura just this afternoon a
nd asked to be brought into any plan to help identify her cousin’s murderer. Of course, they couldn’t exclude her. Who had a better right to be present?
Samantha’s mind was on the girl as she counted out dessert plates, cups and saucers. Poor Janet, Samantha thought as she poured the contents of the coffee maker into her pre-warmed silver coffee pot. The girl really had no one else in the world. Olivia, excited at the prospect of having her cousin with her again, had told the Bridge group that she’d been responsible for her ever since Janet’s parents had perished when their house had burned. Aloud, Samantha murmured, “Now, Janet has no one.” She looked down to where Rags watched her, bright-eyed. “It’s sad isn’t it, Rags?”
“Errrr.”
Samantha gave him a quick pat and tried for a lighter tone. “I made another apricot pound cake. Surely that’s enough for just the five of us.” She put the cake on one end of the large silver waiter that held the dessert plates and forks, then put the coffee pot on the other end of the tray with the cups and saucers.
Rags wagged his stumpy tail and watched with approval as she took out the tea napkins. When she returned to the tray with them, he trotted after her, then followed as she took the heavy waiter into the living room and deposited it on the coffee table.
The room was dim now, and Samantha drew the drapes. She loved the light and opened the house to it every morning, but darkness was something she blocked out. She hated the way night turned the multi-paned windows of every room into black mirrors.
She didn’t like having her reflection popping up at her in odd places, startling her. Now, with her nerves on edge from all that had happened recently, she liked it even less. Especially since she’d recently added the thought that someone outside could actually be looking in.
“Grrrr.” Rags started for the front door.
“Oh, that must be the Colonel.” She chuckled. “I know how much you like him.” She smiled down at the terrier and went toward the front door. She had almost reached it when the door chimes sounded. Opening it, she said, “Good evening, C . . .” She coughed and hastily changed her greeting to “Janet.” Continuing smoothly, “Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Masters. I hope I’m not intruding. It’s just that I . . .”
Samantha interrupted the girl to put her at ease. “Nonsense. Of course you’re not intruding. Everyone understands that you’re anxious to help. And rightly so, dear.” She led Janet to a place on the sofa. “Everyone knows that Olivia and you were very close.”
“Yes. Olivia was my guardian, as well as my mentor. She was only a few years older, but everyone knew she was so much wiser. Olivia always knew what was best. What I should or shouldn’t do.” She stopped speaking abruptly and stared down at her tightly clasped hands. Her shining blonde hair fell forward to veil her face.
How Samantha’s heart went out to the girl. Now that she didn’t have Olivia, Janet would be forced to grow up. Samantha regretted that thought the instant she had it. Chiding herself for being unkind in even thinking that Janet had a sort of immaturity about her, she forced a smile and offered, “Would you care for coffee?”
“Yes, thank you.” She accepted the cup Samantha poured, added cream and sugar and sat back. “Samantha?”
“Yes?”
“Do the police have any clues, or do you have any idea who could have . . .” Janet broke off as the door chimes rang.
“Excuse me,” Samantha rose and went to the door. Before she reached it, Colonel McLain opened it for himself and entered the foyer.
“Lousy weather coming in.” He slid the raincoat he had slung over one shoulder off and hung it in the guest closet himself.
“Yes.” Samantha wondered if she ought to thank him for making himself so at home, then decided it would serve no useful purpose. There was no way she was going to retrain the man. “I saw the storm building up across the river before I drew the drapes.”
He nodded at Samantha and greeted the other guest. “Hi, Janet.” Then, “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Samantha scowled at him for his tactlessness. “Laura invited her, and I’m sure we’re all glad to have her.”
“Yeah.” He was totally unrepentant for having been less than welcoming.
Samantha shook her head. The man had absolutely no social graces.
There was a quick tap at the door, and Laura and Alison came in with their raincoats over their arms.
“Here.” Samantha smiled as she embraced each in turn. “I’ll take those.” She hung the coats in the guest closet while Rags tore frantically around Alison until the girl bent down and took him up to hold him. Then he tried his best to lick her chin. Alison held on to Rags as if he were a lifeline.
“Alison. Don’t let that dog lick your face.” Laura spoke vaguely, out of motherly habit, certain she was talking to the wall for all the good it would do. She asked Samantha, “Anything I can do?” When her hostess shook her head no, Laura went to sit in one of the wing chairs that stood in front of the windows.
Alison, subdued since her confession, nevertheless let Rags’s little tongue touch her face once before she held him away. Her voice lacked its usual cheery enthusiasm as she told him, “Thank you for that nice doggie kiss, Rags.”
Worried about this change in his friend, Rags squirmed in her hands and stretched his neck as far as he could toward her, his tongue stretching, too.
“No, thank you!” Alison laughed a little and gave him a quick hug. “No more kisses, or I’ll put you down.”
“Rhhrrr.” Rags searched her face anxiously with his button-bright gaze, sighed deeply, then dropped his head, admitting defeat.
Alison plopped into the other one of the wing chairs. When she did, Rags grunted at the jolt and sent her a single reproachful look but made no move to leave her arms.
The Colonel took the big leather chair that had been Andrew’s favorite. He crossed his ankles and sighed as he lifted his feet to the matching ottoman.
Samantha poured coffee for everyone, adding cream and sugar to their specifications, and Laura passed the cups around. “Does everyone want apricot pound cake?”
She didn’t have to ask the Colonel twice.
“You bet.”
“Janet?”
“No, thank you.”
“Alison?” Samantha asked as she began to slice the golden, sugar-glazed round.
“Please. I never miss your apricot pound cake. I’ve never tasted anything I thought was better.”
Samantha looked at her sharply. The words were Alison’s, but the listlessness was not. The poor child must be suffering terribly. Samantha’s heart went out to her.
“Well. What are we trying to do here?”
The Colonel’s voice was a welcome rumble.
Samantha, feeling the meeting called for some sort of notes to be taken, pulled her pad and pencil out of her purse.
“As I see it, we’ve lost our prime suspect.” He smiled kindly at Alison and added, “We know our vandal was certainly not responsible for Olivia’s death.”
Samantha winced for Janet, but the girl seemed to have herself well under control.
“True,” Laura said, “but have we any idea who could have done it?”
“Couldn’t have been robbery. Her purse was there, so were her rings and that pearl necklace she always wore.”
“Perhaps we frightened the would-be robber off,” Samantha offered. “After all, Rags did kick up a fuss and get us out the door fairly quickly.”
“True.” McLain was careful not to add that Olivia’s heart had still been pumping blood from her wounded chest when they arrived beside her.
“Our theory that she might have seen the vandal, who then might have wanted to silence her, doesn’t work anymore either. Not since the attempt to kill Samantha with the water moccasin.”
“No.”
“What if . . .” Janet Wilson began and just as quickly stopped.
“Go on, Janet,” Laura prompted. “What if what?”
“But what could that have been?” Samantha frowned. “Olivia was such an open person. If she knew anything dangerous, she probably didn’t have any idea that she knew it.”
“I’ll buy that.” McLain took his feet off the ottoman and sat forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. “And I’ll propose that whatever it was, there’s a very good possibility that Jasmine Johnson knew the same thing. Or something closely related to it.”
Janet Wilson looked startled. “Why in the world would you say that? My cousin Olivia and Jasmine Johnson hardly moved in the same circles.”
Samantha shot a glance at the girl. Surely she wasn’t upset to think that Olivia and Jasmine might have had something in common. Jasmine was as much a part of their neighborhood as any of them.
Laura was on the edge of her chair. “Why in heaven’s name do you think that Olivia being attacked in my driveway has anything to do with poor Jasmine having been the victim of a hit and run?”
Samantha said, “There have been too many things happening lately for them not to have been related.”
“I hate to keep saying ‘true’,” McLain said, “but there you have it. As I understand it, this neighborhood has never had anything happen but the occasional attempted burglary, and here we are with two homicides and two attempted murders.”
Laura jumped up out of her chair, staring at him, aghast. Her voice trembled as she demanded, “I understand about the snake, but you don’t mean that you think someone tried to kill Jasmine.”
“Yes, I do.”
“But that’s absurd. That was just an accident. Jasmine doesn’t have an enemy in this world.”
“Would you have thought that Olivia Charles had?” McLain asked her quietly.
“No.” Laura looked confused. “No. Of course not.” She looked around vaguely, as if wondering what she was doing out of her chair, smoothed her skirts under her and sat again, deep in the chair this time, as if seeking shelter.
Murder Makes it Mine (Masters & McLain Mystery Book 1) Page 14