“He’s quite handsome,” said Kate.
“But not much of a detective,” Louise added.
“Lloyd said he got all excited when he heard Betty say ‘Leonard is stupid’ and got on the phone to headquarters. Lloyd heard him say something about heading for an island.”
Emma frowned. “Leonard?”
“Yes. Officer Owens said he had gone to an island.”
“Which island?” Kate asked.
“East of here. That’s the direction the boat was headed, I think.”
“He must be talking about Leonard Anderson,” said Kate.
“There must be thousands of Leonards,” countered Emma.
“Leonard sometimes stays on Hiram’s island,” Louise said, adding for Tim’s benefit: “We knew Leonard when he was a young man. I don’t think he’s been back since his parents died.”
“His father was a friend of Daddy’s,” said Kate.
“He was in the art business,” said Emma. “I don’t know where Daddy knew him from.”
“Daddy was a spy,” said Louise.
“He met all sorts of interesting people,” said Kate.
“Many of them were spies,” said Louise.
“Leonard’s parents used to come to Hiram’s quite often,” Emma continued.
“Then they died in that awful airplane accident,” said Kate.
“People were never meant to fly,” said Louise.
“People have been flying for a hundred years, Louise,” Emma groused.
Tim regarded the sisters with bewilderment. “Did you tell Detective Sherlock you knew Leonard?”
“He didn’t ask,” said Kate.
“We didn’t even know he was in residence right now,” said Emma.
“We really must talk to Hiram about keeping us abreast of the latest developments,” said Louise.
“Leonard isn’t stupid,” Emma said. “In fact, he’s rather clever.”
“I think Leonard’s father was a cultural attaché,” Kate mused.
Louise tittered. “Everybody knows that’s just code for spy.”
Tibor had been sullen all day, sitting down and getting up to pace the cottage every five minutes.
“I don’t know why we can’t just watch a movie,” Frankes said. “The canoe isn’t going to dry any faster by you pacing around.”
“I’m thinking,” said Tibor, considering that thinking once in a while wouldn’t do Frankes any harm. Still, there wasn’t any point in aggravating him further. He needed Frankes — for the time being, at least. He was useful. He was good at chores, at fixing things, at carrying out orders.
In truth, he was feeling disconnected. He didn’t care about Leonard, Cerise, Luther, and Frankes as people, nor did he consider them a surrogate family, but he was accustomed to having them around. And they were useful. He lived in a nice house in a nice place, had money, good food and clothing, the freedom to pursue his interests. And little was expected of him.
Except that he had set fire to a house with an old lady in it.
He ground his teeth. If it hadn’t been for the goddamn paintings, if Leonard had been more receptive to Luella’s romantic overtures instead of pursuing the liaison with Cerise’s mother, life could have been good. Luella would have left her entire estate to Leonard. A good share of Leonard’s estate would eventually be his. But no. Leonard had to consort with a courtesan, and reduce Luella’s house to a pile of ashes. And now, he, Tibor, was on the hook for not one murder, but two. He especially resented the second. If that old fart hadn’t been nosing around, he’d still be alive.
He was mulling over this when Frankes remarked, “There’s a boat pulling up out there.”
Tibor sprinted to the window and stared down at the dock. The boat was white and blue with the letters OPP written clearly on the hull. Worse, the man getting out was the same detective who had interviewed them earlier. He had three uniformed officers with him, one of them a woman.
“So they’re probably just following up?” said Frankes with a yawn. “They do that, don’t they?”
“Not with a posse like that,” Tibor snapped. “There’s three of them. No,” he added as he spotted a fourth. “And it looks as if they’re spreading out.”
“So we’ll just tell them what we told them before.”
“And what are we going to tell them happened to Leonard and Luther?” Tibor hissed.
“Tell them they left for a few days. We’ll say they were planning to go to Boston.”
“They’re going to get suspicious when they see the boats.”
“Maybe they won’t see them. The motorboat’s sunk. We pulled the canoes out. We can say we went out on the lake and hit some rocks.”
“We’ll go with that.” Tibor ran a hand over his scalp and waited for the knock on the door.
“How did the investigation go?” Rudley asked when Miss Miller, Creighton and Simpson appeared at the desk.
Creighton shook his head, while Miss Miller looked chagrined. “Disappointing,” she replied
Rudley looked to Simpson.
“Better than usual,” he said. “We weren’t held at gunpoint, kidnapped or thrown into the lake.”
“Except me,” said Creighton.
“I’ve never had a case prove so frustrating,” Miss Miller complained.
“I think Sherlock feels the same way,” said Rudley, “although he seems to have had some inspiration. Lloyd reported that he got rather excited when Betty said something to him.”
“Said something to him?” Creighton echoed.
“Something about Leonard,” Rudley replied.
“Where’s Lloyd?” Miss Miller asked sharply.
“He’s down the hall fixing the ceiling fan.” Rudley leaned over the desk and shouted, “Lloyd!”
Rudley pointed to the trio when the handyman arrived. “Tell the Three Musketeers what the parrot said. What got Sherlock so excited.”
“She said ‘Leonard is stupid,’ ‘Tweek and Freak,’ ‘Feed Betty’ and ‘Sweetie.’”
Miss Miller grimaced. “I don’t see how that helps.”
“Don’t know,” Lloyd continued. “But he got real excited and said we must pipe in something that spoils our brains. I said how about water, and then he went away and called a cruiser boat.”
“I knew Betty was involved in this,” Miss Miller said in a tone of triumph.
Creighton cleared his throat. “I think I can expand on that.”
They turned to look at him.
“I think the answer might be in the jewellery shop downtown.”
Chapter Thirty
Tibor answered the door when Sherlock knocked. He noted that the woman officer who had accompanied Sherlock had taken up a position slightly ahead and to the right of the door.
Sherlock nodded curtly when Tibor greeted him. “I’m here to speak to Mr. Anderson. Leonard Anderson.”
“Oh,” said Tibor casually, “I’m afraid he’s not here.”
“And where would he be?”
“He decided to spend a few days in Boston, but” — Tibor threw up his hands — “you never know with Uncle Leonard. He might decide at the last minute to go to Europe or even Australia. He has acquaintances everywhere.”
Sherlock glanced around the cottage, his gaze taking in Frankes, who had retreated to the kitchen doorway and was leaning against the jamb.
Sherlock removed his notebook, rifled through it and frowned. “You let a man suffering from dementia go off on his own?”
“Luther went with him,” said Tibor. “He travels with Luther quite often.”
“I thought Luther was mentally challenged,” Sherlock said after another glance at his notes.
“He isn’t the world’s greatest intellectual, but he’s fine with things he’s familiar with.”
Sherlock h
eld Tibor’s gaze for a moment. “Do you have any pets around here?”
Tibor blinked. “No.”
“A parrot turned up nearby. She had a lot to say.”
“Sorry, Detective. I can’t tell you anything about that.”
“Hmm.”
“Is that why you came here? Because of a parrot?”
Sherlock didn’t answer the question. “We’re going to need to take a look around,” he said instead.
“I thought you had to show me a search warrant,” Tibor began. “But” — he shrugged — “feel free.”
“You’re absolutely right. Petrie?” He addressed the officer accompanying him. Without taking his eyes off Tibor, he held out his hand as she removed a document from her pocket and handed it to him. He handed it to Tibor. “The warrant.”
“Go ahead,” said Tibor.
“In a minute. We’re just waiting for Officer Vance. He’s having a look around your boathouse.”
“It takes three of you to look around?”
“When we’re doing a search, yes. You never can tell what people might do.”
“I suppose not.”
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable. And have your friend join us.”
Tibor beckoned to Frankes. “They want to look around.”
“I heard,” said Frankes, taking a seat.
“So, Mr. Frankes,” said Sherlock. “It’s just you and Mr. Gutherie here at this time?”
“Yes.”
“Where did the others go?”
“They said Boston,” said Frankes. He yawned. “I don’t think they had bought tickets, but that’s what Mr. Anderson said.”
“So,” Sherlock ventured, “how’d they get to town?”
There was a fraught moment of silence, then Tibor said, “They took the motorboat. We were supposed to pick it up at the dock in the village, but we ran our canoes onto the rocks. We’re trying to repair the one where the damage was mostly above the water line. We aren’t used to the water around here,” Frankes added. “It was kind of a shock when we hit the rocks.”
“Why didn’t you just go in to town with them?”
Tibor paused a tick, then laughed. “Luther takes up an awful lot of a boat. And there was also luggage.”
Sherlock thought this over. “We’ll just wait for Officer Vance to join us then.”
“I’m an excellent driver,” said Creighton as Miss Miller cut a corner rather precariously.
“Elizabeth likes to drive,” Edward explained as they tore down the road to Middleton. “She often says she would enjoy the opportunity to race competitively.”
“I know,” said Creighton, gripping the door handle. “I’ve seen her with Rudley’s motorboats.”
Creighton fell silent, pondering his idiocy. There was nothing to connect Sherry to the murder of the chief, as she had a solid alibi, but, as Miss Miller suggested, sometimes a coincidence is not just a coincidence. Sometimes the coincidence is meaningful. The parrot’s appearance at the Pleasant at the same time as Sherry’s sealed it, he thought.
“Is this the one?” Miss Miller asked Creighton as she pulled up in front of one of the jewellery stores.
“Oh,” Creighton said, startled out of his reverie. “Yes, this is it.”
“Miss Brown picked the necklace up two days ago,” the saleswoman at the counter said after he’d introduced himself. “She forgot her wallet. She said you’d be in later to settle the bill.”
“How much?” Creighton reached into his pocket and removed his wallet.
“A hundred and twenty-one dollars, plus tax.”
“Holy Christ.”
The woman regarded him gravely. “When the goldsmith got a look at it, he was quite impressed. Custom-made, twenty-four-carat gold. And those stones were genuine diamonds and rubies. He wanted to do the job well.”
“All he had to do was replace a couple of links,” Creighton grumbled, handing over his credit card. “And you just gave it to her?”
“You are a detective. We wouldn’t have had any trouble tracking you down.”
“Could I speak to the goldsmith? I just want to confirm one detail.”
When the goldsmith appeared he waxed enthusiastically about the necklace.
“The inscription?” Creighton prompted.
“Oh, yes,” said the man. “‘Happy Birthday, Sweetie.’ Certainly a lovely gift.”
When they returned to the car, Creighton remarked, “For a destitute little orphan, she must have had at least one rich friend.”
“Of course, ‘Sweetie’ is rather generic,” Simpson observed, aware of Creighton’s embarrassment.
“Yeah,” Creighton sighed. “Still, I should have checked her preposterous story out.”
A silence followed. Simpson cleared his throat. “I must say, Detective, her personality was always consistent and made her story plausible. Besides, apart from having a rather fantastic story, has she done anything criminal?”
“I don’t know.” Creighton secured his seat belt. “I guess we’ll find out when and if she comes back from Ottawa.”
As he made small talk with the officers in the living room, Tibor tried to assure himself that the police would find nothing that would implicate him. He and Frankes had disposed of Leonard’s things except for his watch and rings, which Tibor had simply moved to his own jewellery box. They’d taken the clothes to the other side of the island and dumped them into deep water. He doubted if they would be dredging the entire lake. At least not right away. By then, he and Frankes would be gone.
His thoughts were broken when the officer introduced to him as Vance entered the room, approached Sherlock and whispered something into his ear.
Sherlock nodded, then stood. “Gentlemen, I’m arresting you for the murder of a man known as Chief Longbow.”
Rudley leaned over the desk, his brow furrowed. “Now, tell me again, Margaret, what does the necklace have to do with anything?”
“Quite a lot, it seems.”
“You may extrapolate.”
Margaret paused to form her thoughts. “As Miss Miller pointed out, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
“I believe Sherlock Holmes said that, Margaret.”
“Miss Miller would have thought of it first had they been contemporaries.” She continued. “Miss Miller was the first to point out that the arrival of Betty, the arrival of Sherry, and the murder of Chief Longbow were three unusual things that occurred at the same time.”
“Margaret, we often have three unusual things happening at the same time, sometimes sequences of threes, triads multiplying like rabbits.”
“Yes, we do, Rudley, but there are additional factors in this situation.”
“Such as?”
“Sherry’s odd behaviour, Betty’s verbal clues…”
“Are the police depending on parrots now to solve cases?”
“Not as much as you may think.” She gave him a stern look to warn him that he was disturbing her narrative. “But it was what Betty was saying that rang a bell for Detective Sherlock. Lloyd said the moment she mentioned certain phrases a light seemed to go on for him, and he began to backtrack through his notes.”
“Now we’re depending on Lloyd’s acumen.”
“Lloyd is a useful witness because he simply observes. His mind is a clean slate. He doesn’t try to form theories. Advancing theories without adequate foundation can be a dangerous road to go down, Rudley.”
“You’re right about his mind being a clean slate.”
“Then,” she continued, “Detective Creighton, quite independently — well, in concert with Miss Miller and Mr. Simpson — realized the link between Sherry and Betty. Betty’s reference to Sweetie rang a bell for him. The inscription on the necklace he inadvertently broke, was ‘H
appy Birthday, Sweetie.’”
Rudley’s forehead rumpled. “And from these clues, the assumption is that Sherry had something to do with the death of Chief Longbow.”
She swatted him on the arm. “Rudley, you’d make a terrible detective. The assumption is that Sherry has some connection to Betty and to whomever killed Chief Longbow.”
“Sherry gave no indication she knew Betty.” He paused. “Although, I don’t know if I would be eager to admit being related to a sassy bird who eats us out of house and home and produces large quantities of guano.”
“Sherry was, for some reason, not forthcoming, but that does not mean she is party to a murder.”
“True. But she may be related in some way to the murderer.”
Margaret considered this. “Perhaps she knew who killed Chief Longbow. Perhaps she was the victim of domestic violence by the same man. She ran away from him. He found out where she was. Perhaps he was skulking around looking for her when he encountered the chief.”
“Why do you assume it was a him?”
“It usually is. But that doesn’t matter for now. It is possible that she was fleeing a violent domestic situation when her boat sank. When she saw Detective Creighton on the lake, she concocted her story, hoping he could help her.”
“If she wanted help, she should have told him the truth.”
“She should have, Rudley, but she may not have had much faith in the police to protect her.”
“I can relate to that.” He knit his brows. “But where has she gone now?”
“She may have felt that she was still in danger so she’s gone on the lam. Doesn’t that make sense, Rudley?”
He sighed, put a arm around her shoulder. “As much as anything around here does, Margaret.”
Creighton, who had been talking on his cell phone on the veranda, returned to the lobby just as Tim was entering from the kitchen with a carafe of coffee.
“Well,” Rudley addressed Creighton, “did you get through to Sherlock?”
“Forget Sherlock. I spoke to Vance. They’ve just arrested two characters on an island east of Middleton.”
A Most Unpleasant Picture Page 22