by Carolyn Hart
Evelyn kept her left hand slightly extended, touching the side of a bookcase as she entered the library. She made ever so slight an adjustment and walked directly to the chair opposite the chief. She sat, lifted her head, and looked every inch an imperious grande dame. Instead of waiting for his question, she spoke, her words swift and clipped. “Last night was reprehensible, from start to finish. Laverne Phillips…”
The chief made occasional notes as she described Laverne’s exploitation of Diane’s grief, Jack’s determination to discredit her and Ronald, Shannon’s pursuit of Jack, Jack’s apparent lack of interest, Margo’s hostility to him, Jimmy’s anger with his uncle.
“I mention these facts because the murders of Ronald and Laverne indicate her claim last night that Jack was murdered may be true. I suppose it was a suspicion of murder which drew Kay Clark here. Possibly she had some communication with Jack prior to his death which suggested to her that he might have been in danger.”
The chief nodded. “Please describe the séance.”
Evelyn accurately reported on the performance in the library.
He glanced down at his notes. He quoted: “‘…bright red poppies in a field…sharp light and a magnifying glass’…Were those phrases directed at you?”
She appeared intrigued and not in the least alarmed. “I’m the only person in The Castle dependent upon a magnifying glass. I suppose the reference may be to the Willard Metcalf painting in the grand hallway outside the ballroom. A glorious burst of red poppies. Many of the best paintings in our collection are hung there. However, I see no reason why that should excite Ronald’s interest. We’ve had that painting”—her brow furrowed in thought—“for at least ten years.”
“Did you see either of the Phillipses after the gathering in the library ended?”
Her expression was sardonic. “Did I shoot them? No. Nor do I know who did. I went directly to my room and I heard nothing during the night. However, I may know one fact of interest to you. A few days after Jack died, I was coming down the upper hallway. I heard a door open. I turned and saw Ronald coming out of Jack’s room. He had no reason—or right—to be there. I asked him what he was doing in my brother’s room.” A dour smile touched her lips. “He claimed he thought he heard the dog scratching on a door and feared Walter might have been trapped inside. An odd coincidence that Walter apparently was trapped behind a door last night. However, I am sure Ronald was lying.”
As soon as Evelyn rose and turned toward the door, I picked up the pen by Chief Cobb’s legal pad.
His eyes fastened on the pen, then he moved his gaze toward the doorway.
I was startled when I felt his hand cup over mine.
In the hallway, Detective Sergeant Price faced the table as he held the door for Diane Hume.
I wrote swiftly, despite the weight of Cobb’s hand above mine. I released the pen.
Cobb grabbed the pen.
Diane sagged into the chair. Her frizzy blond hair was untidy. She wore no makeup and her face looked sickly. She glanced toward the chaise longue and more tears spilled down her cheeks.
Chief Cobb read my sentence.
As Detective Sergeant Price turned to leave, Cobb called out, “In the murder suite, look for a picture of a young guy in a cap and gown.”
The detective sergeant nodded and pulled the door shut behind him.
The interview with Diane, punctuated by her sobs, revealed little. “…someone must have crept into the house last night…poor Laverne…terrible…”
Chief Cobb regarded her with an objective, measuring gaze. “We have discovered that Mr. Phillips directed Mrs. Phillips to float the provocative statements in the séance for the purpose of blackmail.”
Diane’s head jerked up. Her red-rimmed eyes widened in a glare. “That’s not true.” Her voice was shrill and rising. “Laverne heard from James. It’s dreadful”—now she was shaking—“that James had to tell us someone killed Jack.” She pushed back her chair, struggled to her feet, trembling. “I can’t believe this has happened. No one in the family would hurt Jack. But Margo hated Jack. She and Shannon live in a little house on the grounds. She could have put Walter in the workshop. She’d know about that gun in J. J.’s desk. She knows everything in the house.” Diane rushed to the door, yanked it open, and ran into the hall.
Both the chief and I looked after her thoughtfully. Yes, Diane had depended upon Laverne, revered her. Yet if Diane had slipped up behind Jack, a desperate creature driven to violence, and Ronald knew, he might have wanted much more than a nice steady income from Diane. Diane was a very wealthy woman. Or Diane might have feared for her son.
Could indecisive, sweet-natured Diane have shot two people?
In the spear of sunlight through the library window, Margo Taylor’s face held little echo of youthful beauty. Lines of dissatisfaction radiated from her eyes and lips. She had an aura of unhappiness. “…have no idea what happened last night. Shannon and I have our own house. I’m quite sure Shannon didn’t go out after we went to bed. Nor did I.”
Chief Cobb looked skeptical. “How can you be certain?”
“I sleep with my bedroom door open. I would have heard her door. I slept very poorly last night.” Fear glimmered in her eyes. “I heard Walter barking. I looked at the time. It was almost two o’clock. I was surprised. Usually he doesn’t bark unless he wants to play with someone. Then the barking stopped.”
“You didn’t get up to see?”
“No. You see”—and her voice was barely audible—“I thought someone from the house couldn’t sleep either and had gone out for a walk and Walter wanted to play.”
The instant of silence between them held a vision of a dog bounding up to someone he knew, someone who moved purposefully through the night to The Castle after placing Walter in the workshop.
The chief once again glanced at his notes. “You’ve worked here for a good many years.”
Margo waited, her face still and wary.
“Were you aware of the forty-five kept in the upstairs office?”
“I knew there was a gun there at one time.”
“When did you last see it?”
She turned her hands over. “I don’t know exactly. Several years ago Evelyn decided that the floor in the study needed to be replaced. There had been a water leak. Alison advised her on how to obtain flooring from that era. Evelyn instructed me to empty the desk drawers and pack the contents. After the floor was repaired and the desk back in place, I returned the proper items to the drawers. That would have been the last time I saw the gun.”
“How many people knew there was a gun in the drawer?”
“I have no idea. Actually, a lot of people may have known. Evelyn was very proud of her father. Several times, in order to raise money for charity, small groups have been taken on a tour of the family rooms. That included the study. Evelyn led the tours and she always showed her father’s gun. It was a World War Two relic.”
I studied Margo with interest. She had managed to imply that all of the outsiders at last night’s séance could easily have known about the gun.
The chief’s gaze was stern. “Was the gun loaded?”
Something flickered in her eyes. Was she trying to decide which answer best served her? She paused for a fraction too long, then said smoothly, “I don’t know.”
Cobb straightened his notebook. “Who had reason to murder Jack Hume?”
She looked at him with a blank face. “I have no idea.”
“Was there dissension between Mr. Hume and those living in the house?”
“He didn’t approve of Laverne and Ronald.” Her voice was carefully neutral.
Chief Cobb was sharp. “Clearly Mr. and Mrs. Phillips were not involved in Hume’s death. I want to know his relations with his sister, his sister-in-law, his nephew, and your daughter.”
She was equally sharp in her response. “Ask them.”
He asked brusquely, “You have no opinion?”
“No.” She sat quite sti
ll, her face carefully expressionless.
The chief leafed through his notepad, paused as if reading notes. He tapped the pad. “Your daughter was furious with Hume because he dropped her.”
Margo’s eyes glinted with anger. “Possibly he hurt her feelings. She’s very young. Her interest in him was a passing thing, an infatuation. That is scarcely a reason for murder.”
He looked sardonic. “So you do have an opinion.”
She made no response.
Cobb spoke without emphasis. “Years ago, Jack Hume dropped you for another woman.”
Margo’s smile was cold, her tone disdainful. “Are you suggesting that I waited until he came back to Adelaide twenty years later and revenged myself by pushing him down the balcony steps? That’s absurd. If you’re quite finished, I have work to do.”
Shannon Taylor burst into the library. She hurried to the table, skidded to a stop. She looked very young and very pretty, blue eyes blazing, heart-shaped face cupped by thick brown hair. “You are seeing everybody else first. It’s like I don’t count, like I’m some kind of kid. But you need to listen to me. Last night I was upset. People have told you about last night, haven’t they?” Shannon didn’t pause for an answer. “Laverne antagonized everybody. That’s why she was killed, and him, too. Laverne knew that somebody pushed Jack. I know who killed him. You have to talk to Gwen Dunham. She lives next door. I heard her quarrel with Jack in the gazebo and she told him she wished he was dead and then he died.”
“Sit down, Miss Taylor.” The chief’s tone was calm. “Your accusations against Mrs. Dunham are interesting. Last night you accused Jimmy Hume of his uncle’s murder. To be precise”—he glanced at his notes—“you said to Jimmy, ‘I heard you say you were going to hurt him. Did you?’ In fact, Miss Taylor, isn’t that what you said?”
Shannon looked stricken. “I didn’t mean it.”
Cobb was stern. “That was your first thought, wasn’t it? You accused Jimmy Hume, not Mrs. Dunham.” He pointed at the chair. “Sit down.”
She slipped into the chair, stared at him with anxious eyes. “Jimmy might have had a fight with Jack, but he would never shoot people. Never in a million years. The minute I heard about Ronald and Laverne, I knew Jimmy didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Did you hear the dog bark last night?”
The sudden change of subject caught her by surprise.
Shannon’s hands were beneath the top of the table, out of the chief’s view, but I could see them open and close, open and close. She was frightened.
“The dog?”
He didn’t repeat the question. He waited, his gaze steady and demanding.
“I don’t think so.” Her hands opened and closed. “I was asleep.”
I dropped down, whispered in the chief’s ear. “Ask if she heard her mother go outside.”
He went rigid for an instant, then cleared his throat to hide the tiny hiss of my words. “What time did your mother go outside?”
Her eyes flared wide. She waited an instant too long to reply, then said quickly, “Mom didn’t go outside.” There was stark fear in her eyes. “If anybody said so, that’s a lie.” She pushed up, struggling for breath. “Mrs. Dunham wanted Jack to die. Talk to her.”
Jimmy Hume looked tired and somber, his drawn face giving a preview of his appearance at forty if life turned out to be unkind, purplish smudges beneath his eyes, a hard, mournful stare, jaws clenched in worry.
Chief Cobb leaned back in his chair. “You were angry with your uncle. You threatened him.”
“For the record”—Jimmy’s voice was dull—“I didn’t push Jack—”
The door opened. Detective Sergeant Price strode around the table. He carried a gallon-size plastic bag, holding it by the zipped top. He placed the bag on the table.
Chief Cobb looked down at a picture of a handsome young man in a cap and gown. The picture was not framed.
Price pointed. “Found this photograph in the murder suite, slipped into a coffee-table book about Yellowstone. Good work by Officer Woolley. She flipped through the books one by one and noticed that a page seemed too thick. She looked closer and saw tape at the top and bottom, keeping two pages together. When she used a razor to slit the tape, it opened and the photograph fell out. Pretty clever.”
I agreed. A clever hiding place devised by Ronald Phillips, a clever officer to find it.
Jimmy craned to see. He frowned.
Chief Cobb glanced from the photograph to Jimmy. “Do you know him?”
“Sure. That’s Ryan Dunham.” Jimmy appeared puzzled. “I don’t see why his picture was in the Phillipses’ room. Ryan’s a great guy. That’s strange.”
Cobb made no reply to Jimmy. He looked toward the detective. “Has the photograph been checked for prints?”
Price nodded.
“Then I’ll keep it for now. Thanks, Hal.”
At the door, Price looked back. “We have everybody’s prints here in the house. We’ll see if there’s a match on the gun. We still need prints from Alison Gregory and the Dunhams.”
“I want to talk to them first.”
Price nodded.
As the door closed, Cobb turned back to Jimmy. “You were angry with your uncle?”
Jimmy looked bleak. “Yeah. But like I said, I didn’t kill Jack. Maybe I would have punched him. I wouldn’t kill him. Ditto for Laverne and Ronald.” He took a deep breath. “I suppose I have to tell you. I was outside last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I took a long walk. There was plenty of moonlight. Maybe I walked a couple of miles, maybe more. I came back by the gazebo. Somebody was walking away from the house, across the grass. I didn’t think much about it. Maybe somebody else couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I was trying to figure out what was going on with the nutty Phillipses. I didn’t really think anybody pushed Jack. I mean, that was crazy. I thought that snake—yeah, well, he’s dead now—anyway, I thought Ronald was trying it on, thinking he could squeeze more money out of Mom. See, Mom heard me yell at Jack and she’s easy to scare. I was trying to decide what to do. But what can you do when somebody says something and you can’t prove it’s a lie? Anyway, I was mad and tired and I didn’t want to talk to anybody. I almost ducked back the way I’d come, but then I saw him stop and look back, almost turn, then head toward me again. I knew it was a man. Maybe that’s why I stopped. If it was Ronald, I was going to…Well, that doesn’t matter now. Anyway, I waited. When he got about halfway to the opening to the Dunhams’, I saw it was Mr. Dunham. He stopped again and looked back. I couldn’t see his face clearly in the moonlight. He stood there for a minute and then he jerked around and hurried toward the gate.” Jimmy’s face furrowed in misery. “Clint Dunham was my scoutmaster. Ryan”—he nodded toward the photograph—“is one of my best friends. Maybe Mr. Dunham couldn’t sleep, too. Maybe he was outside and heard Walter and wondered about the noise.”
The chief’s eyes narrowed. “Was the dog following him?”
“No.”
“Did you hear the dog?”
“When I was over by the lake, I thought I heard him yipping. But I didn’t pay any attention. Sometimes he stays in, sometimes he goes out. If he sees anybody, he barks his head off. Same thing if he finds a rabbit. The thing is”—Jimmy looked burdened—“this morning in the toolshed, Walter had a rawhide bone. It was chewed slick. He loves that stuff. Anytime you want to make Walter happy, give him a rawhide bone.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Chief Cobb hooked a finger to loosen his tie. “Hotter than blazes.” Beneath one arm, he held the plastic bag containing the photograph of Ryan Dunham.
Hal Price wiped sweat from his face. “Supposed to hit a hundred and one.” He carried a black case approximately a foot wide and five inches deep.
No trees shaded the path from the side door of The Castle to the gate in the shrubbery between the Hume and Dunham properties. Both men squinted against the hot, sharp brightness of blistering sunlight
.
Much as I enjoyed being in the vicinity of Hal Price, I wished the chief was alone. I had much I wanted to communicate.
As Hal closed the gate behind them, they looked toward an English manor house, not a mansion like The Castle, but a nice, solid home that gleamed with care, the product of years of love. Ferns flourished in blue ceramic vases on the front porch. Red-and-blue cushions made wicker chairs inviting. Stained-glass insets gleamed in the front door.
At the base of the steps, the chief looked back toward the gate. “Maybe two hundred yards from here to The Castle.”
As they climbed to the porch, Price looked around the Dunhams’ spacious yard. “If all he wanted was a walk, he had plenty of room here.”
“I don’t think he was looking for exercise.” Chief Cobb pushed the front bell.
When the door opened, Gwen Dunham’s patrician face looked pleasant. Spun-gold hair emphasized deep violet eyes. She was lovely in a rose Shaker-stitched silk sweater and cream-colored silk trousers. The elegant, immaculate hallway behind her was a perfect setting for her cool beauty. She looked up at the chief and her face was suddenly strained. Adelaide was a small town. She might not know Chief Cobb socially, but she would recognize him as chief of police.
In the instant before Chief Cobb pulled out his wallet, opening it to provide identification, I gazed at the lawmen as if I were Gwen.
Despite his wrinkled brown suit and slightly askew tie, Chief Cobb looked formidable, tall and powerfully built. Hal Price was a man most women would sharply note, white-blond hair, rugged features, athletic build. Price’s slate blue eyes, cool and impersonal, never moved from her face.