“I know where you can get one, not far off.”
“Now, Minnie, that’s not a bit nice. She’s come in very handy, and we may need her again. Anyway, she doesn’t have false teeth.”
“Why should that stop you? You could pull them out, the way you did with—”
“We weren’t going to talk about that, remember?”
Flo was up out of the rocking chair, getting another drink. Through the keyhole Shandy could see Miss Mink’s partner crossing over to the cupboard. He had a clear view of the hands that had always been kept covered and of the head that wasn’t wearing a wig. Without all that wild red hair obscuring them, the eyes showed up as a strange, opaque darkish gray, like slate.
“Here’s to us, Min.” Flo was drunk enough to be euphoric. “Three down and none to go, unless Sephy and that tin soldier she’s married to start giving us trouble. How’s darling Gracie?”
“Terribly upset, naturally.”
“Glad to hear it. Starched-up little bitch.”
“She’s hardly little anymore. She’s as tall as—don’t you want to hear about the funeral?”
“No, I want to hear about Grace. Is she as tall as I am?”
“No, not nearly.” Miss Mink sounded frightened. “And she’s much slighter built.”
“Too bad. All right, so who else was at the funeral?”
“All the gawkers in town, as you might expect. Your lady friend brought that drunken old uncle of hers.”
“Hesp Hudson? No kidding! How did he act?”
“Reasonably sober, for a change. Of course, the way he bellowed out the hymns, you could hear him all over the church. I thought my eardrums were going to burst.”
“Hesp Hudson singing hymns? That’s a hot one!”
Flo was cracking up, practically falling off the rocking chair. Shandy wished the keyhole were more strategically placed. Then he leaped back like a scalded rabbit. Flo was up and heading for the parlor.
“Come on, Min, let’s us sing a hymn. You can play the organ, can’t you?”
“It’s making a mockery.”
“Mockery, hell. Think how respectable we’ll sound when the neighbors come over with the pies. Chintzy bastards, why haven’t they?”
“There’s a nice cake Mrs. Flackley brought, if you want some.”
“No, I don’t want any of nice Mrs. Flackley’s nice cake,” Flo answered in a squeaky, mincing voice. “Here, let’s both have another hair of the woof-woof to oil up the jolly old choobs, as we say in Liverpool, and away we go.”
Luckily, there was another door to the parlor. Shandy was out in the stairwell trying to look like a grandfather’s clock by the time Minerva Mink got her feet on the treadles and her hands on the keys of the pump organ. Doors in old houses never stay open unless you put a brick in front of them, so he was able to shut himself off from the singers without any fuss.
“Washed in the booze, by the spirits healed.” Flo’s rendition of the rousing old gospel song was hardly respectable, but Trevelyan Buggins’s last batch was certainly an efficacious lubricant for the bronchii. Miss Mink must be well into the spirits, too, by this time. She was pulling out the loud stops and pumping for all she was worth. Under cover of the racket they were making, Shandy dared to reach for the telephone, make a tent of his overcoat to muffle the sound, and dial. This entailed squatting down so he could grip the instrument between his knees, cradling the receiver somewhat painfully between his chin and shoulder, holding his tiny pocket flashlight in a most peculiar way with most of his right-hand fingers while leaving the index finger free to dial with, and using the other hand to keep the coat in place, but he persevered and overcame. He even got the right number.
“Ottermole,” he whispered, “I’m at the Buggins place on First Fork. Get out here as quick as you can. Bring Porble. Use his car; don’t trust that wreck of yours. She’s there, too? Good. Let her come.”
They were still yowling like a pair of banshees on the other side of the door, so now that he’d got the knack, Shandy risked another call. He waited awhile, half-smothered in melton cloth, and made a third. Then he put the phone back and waited some more.
Marietta Woozle, last to be called, was the first to arrive. She’d taken longer than one might expect to cover so short a distance, though. Shandy had guessed she wouldn’t go on to work after the funeral. Now he deduced she’d slipped into something comfortable, expecting to be the visited rather than the visitor, and had had to get dressed again. She was got up like a firecracker and acting the part.
“What the hell’s going on here?” she yelled as she hurled open the door, driving the knob through the wall behind it, from the sound of the crash. “I could hear you all the way up the road. You slaughtering a hog or something?”
“Oh, hello, Marietta, darling.” That was the person called Flo. “What brings you here? I thought we had other plans.”
“So did I, you bastard.”
“Now, sweetie, don’t get sore. Minerva and I were just having a little religious service of our own, since I couldn’t very well pay my respects in public. Pull up a chair, and join the party. Let me fix you a drink.”
“Not for me, lover. I know the kind of drinks you two fix. Listen here, you creep—”
Marietta’s own decibel rate had been rising steadily. Miss Mink took umbrage, having a bit of trouble with her sibilants.
“May I remind you this is a house of mourning?”
“Sure, go ahead and remind me. Try it with your teeth in next time.”
“What did I tell you?” Miss Mink demanded, apparently of her fellow songster.
“Yeah, what did she tell you?” shouted Marietta. “I’ll tell you what she told you. She told you to kill me, didn’t she? You’re planning to fake a suicide, and you want me for the corpse. You’re going to pull out all my teeth so I can’t be identified, just like you did—”
“Shut up!” Shandy could hear the slap. “Where did you hear that?”
“You ever hit me again, buster, and it’ll be the last time you ever hit anybody. Never mind where I heard it. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s not the truth. Who told you?”
“What’s that to you?”
“If somebody’s telling lies about me, I want to know. Besides, we only—”
“Said it a few minutes ago. I know.”
“So you’ve been sneaking around listening outside the house, have you? That’s a hell of a note.” Flo’s voice dropped to a gentle wheedle. “Honey, don’t you trust me?”
“Sure, like a rattlesnake trusts a cobra. So you admit you said it.”
“I’m not admitting anything. Look, baby, you know the plan. I have to get the Flo character out of the neighborhood in a way that won’t start the Goddamn neighbors yapping about what happened to me so that I can come back as my real self.”
“Whoever the hell that is.”
“God, you’re cute. That’s what I love about you, baby. So anyway, Min and I were sort of kidding around about the best way to get me out of here, and I made a dumb joke about how I could fake a suicide if I had a dummy to put in my place.”
“And I’m supposed to be the dummy. Thanks a bunch.”
“Look, your name was never mentioned. Minerva said there was somebody handy who’d be about the right size, that’s all. Maybe she’s just a weensy bit jealous or something.”
“That old bag of bones? Jesus, don’t tell me you’ve been giving it to her, too?”
“If you think I’m going to stay in the same room with that trollop,” Miss Mink began to shriek.
“Wait a minute! Wait a minute,” yelled the person called Flo. “Look, we’re all in this together, aren’t we? What are you putting me in the middle for? I promised you I’d see you both got your cut, didn’t I? I told you I’d cover up for you no matter what you did. So, okay, when Minerva put the carbon tet in the old folks’ bedtime bottle—”
“I didn’t know it would kill them! I only did what yo
u told me to.”
“Sure you did, sweetheart. Not that a jury would ever believe you. Look, you did us all a big favor. Marietta appreciates it as much as I do. Don’t you, Marietta, baby? It’s just like when you got a little bit impetuous with that ice pick out in the still house.”
“Why, you lousy rat fink! Okay, lover. I took the ice pick from the icehouse at Forgery Point the same night I got the carbon tet from the shed, like you told me to. And I wore gloves, which you didn’t tell me to because you were hoping I wouldn’t think of that myself. And I handed the pick to you by the point, and you took the handle with your bare hand because you’re not so Goddamn smart as you think you are. And after you’d rammed it into his neck and pulled it out and threw it in the corner behind the still, I went and got it back. “
“The hell you did! When?”
“When you went back in the house to get the suit, that’s when. And I picked it up real careful and wrapped it in some tissues and stowed it in my pocket because I’m a firm believer in carrying insurance, lover. And I’ve got it hidden with your fingerprints on it in a place you’d never find in a million years. But the cops will, because I’ve taken care of that little detail, too. So don’t give me that impetuous crap, lover.”
“Jesus, Marietta—”
“And furthermore, I saw where you threw those pliers you pulled his teeth out with, and I saw you throw the teeth, too. And I remember exactly where they landed because I’ve got a photographic memory, and I never forget a thing, as you damned well know.”
“Marietta, you wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t turn you in and testify against you? Don’t kid yourself, lover. If you ever try to get funny with me again, you’re dead. Now, let’s talk sense for a change.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Miss Mink feebly.
Marietta was running the show now. “Never mind who did what. We’ve all got a hell of a lot invested in this deal, and we’re going to pull it off. Don’t sweat it, we’re clean as a whistle so far. Okay, I had to stick my neck out with that lie about seeing Porble’s car, but it worked, didn’t it? He’s in jail, isn’t he?”
“Only in the lockup,” Miss Mink corrected.
“Don’t worry, we’ll soon fix that. Look, we’re golden. All we have to do is keep our teeth out of each other’s throats and play it the way we planned it. Now I’m going home and forget I had that anonymous phone call. Flo, you’re going into the general store with a big tale of woe about Mike giving you the air. Make it good. Buy a box of mouse poison or something.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
“Any time, lover. So then you come whining to me after Zack gets home, and I drive you to the bus station with your own clothes in a suitcase.”
“And how do I get back?”
“Call some of the family, dum-dum. Stage a big reunion scene, then say you don’t want to put them out and since Minerva’s here alone, you’ll do them a big favor and stay with her. And you, Min, lie down and look pathetic till they come. God knows you can handle that.”
“Wait a minute,” said Flo. “What about that anonymous phone call?”
“And what if that Professor Shandy comes nosing around here again?” wailed Miss Mink. “I don’t trust him an inch.”
“Forget Shandy. He’s most likely up at the college chewing his thumb and wondering what to do next.”
Now was as good a time as any. Shandy opened the parlor door and stepped through. “Er, no. As a matter of fact, I’m here.”
He raised his voice. “Come on down, Swope, ready to shoot!”
Chapter 21
DON’T SHOOT!” THE PERSON called Flo flung his hands in the air.
Marietta Woozle sneered. “My hero! Jesus, you even make Zack look good to me.”
Cronkite Swope thundered down the stairs. “Who do you want shot, Professor?”
“All of them, if they so much as flicker an eyebrow,” said Shandy ferociously. “Now, by the authority vested in me by Chief Ottermole of the Balaclava Junction Police Force, I declare you three to be under arrest on a charge of conspiracy to murder. There will be further charges, including the one about defrauding Balaclava Agricultural College of an undetermined sum of money, but I don’t think it’s necessary to go into all that just now. Deputy Swope, would you mind reading them their rights? I’ve forgotten to bring my reading glasses.”
“This is illegal,” cried Minerva Mink. “You had no right sneaking in here while my back was turned.”
“As a matter of fact, we entered the house while you were at your nephew’s,” Shandy clarified, “and we did it legally. I have a search warrant here somewhere.”
“But you had nothing to search for.” She was a game old bird, at any rate.
“Yes we did. We sought it, and we found it. The jig, not to put too fine a point on the matter, is up. All is discovered, and you’re headed for the bin. Mrs. Woozle, since you expressed some interest a while back in turning state’s evidence, I think now would be the time to give that possibility your earnest consideration.”
“Hey, Professor, here’s the chief,” yelled Swope.
“Good,” said Shandy. “I thought I heard a couple of cars turning into the road a moment ago. That, quite candidly, is why I interrupted this interesting discussion when I did. I thought it would save a lot of fuss and bother if we could present our reinforcements with a fait accompli. You’d better hurry up and read the rights, Swope.”
“Sure, Professor.” Cronkite whipped through the printed sheet Ottermole had given them without missing a comma. “Now can I shoot?”
“Go ahead.”
“But we’ve surrendered!” Marietta was screaming when Swope’s flashbulb went off.
“Sorry,” he apologized, “I’m afraid I got you with your mouth open. Want me to try another shot?”
“Oh, Jesus, a photographer,” she moaned. “Look, I don’t have to be in the picture if I’m going to rat.”
“I’m going to rat, too,” said Miss Mink firmly.
“Rats do desert a sinking ship you see, Mr. Buggins,” said Shandy. “Hello, Ottermole. Here are your killers. Reading from left to right, Mrs. Marietta Woozle, Miss Minerva Mink, and Mr. Bracebridge Buggins.”
“Bracebridge?” cried a voice from the back. There was quite a crowd in the house by now. “Are you sure that’s not Bain, Professor?”
“Oh, hello, Goulson. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I just happened to drop in at the station as Fred and the Porbles were leaving. They told me to come along. You haven’t identified the loved one, by any chance?”
“I’m working up to it, Goulson. Where’s my wife?”
“With me.” President Svenson bulled his way through the pack, towing Helen in his wake. “All three?”
“Not me,” Marietta shrilled. “It was Min here who put the carbon tetrachloride in the vinegar jug.”
“But I didn’t know it was going to kill them,” Miss Mink protested. “I only did it because he told me to.”
“And his object, I expect,” said Shandy, “was simply to reduce the number of people who stood to benefit from that lawsuit Mr. Buggins was so sure of winning. His parents went first, no doubt, because they were the easiest to get rid of.”
“Wait a minute, Professor,” Ottermole objected. “It was the guy in the pool who went first. If this guy’s Bracebridge—”
“He is. See, Goulson, there’s that triangular scar under the jawbone you and I were looking for on the corpse last night. For your information, Ottermole, Hesperus Hudson has testified that he did that many years ago with a pair of brass knuckles formerly the property of Bainbridge Buggins.”
“Then Bainbridge was the one in the pool, right?”
“Wrong. Bainbridge Buggins may conceivably still be alive somewhere, despite official government opinion to the contrary, but he appears to have played no part in this conspiracy. The man in the pool was not one of those who might have profited from the lawsuit. I’m sorry, Grace, but he�
��s your brother Boatwright.”
“Boatwright?” shouted Harry Goulson. “I knew Boat. Gosh, that’s—I shouldn’t say great, out of consideration for the bereaved, but at least Boatwright was somebody you could feel friendly toward.”
“Boatwright?” Grace Porble was turning not to Shandy but to her own husband. “Phil, he can’t be right, can he?”
“I’d find it hard to believe he made the identification without due cause,” Dr. Porble replied. “Where’s your evidence, Peter?”
“Hanging upstairs in the attic. We’ve found Captain Buggins’s uniform.”
“That’s right,” said Swope. “I took some shots of it, for evidence.”
“Your brother’s personal papers are still in the pockets,” Shandy added. “I daresay Bracebridge thought they might come in handy for another of his impersonations. You see, Grace, I knew there must be some reason why the body in the pond had been dressed up in that old-fashioned suit. The false beard and the rocks in the pockets may have been meant as a final tribute to your brother’s penchant for offbeat jokery, but they also gave us a lead toward identifying his killer.”
“How was that, Peter?”
“Because they were part of a reenactment of the murder of one Augustus Buggins about eighty years ago.”
“Balaclava’s grandson,” Helen put in.
“Thank you, my love. The crime was, er, poetically documented by Corydon Buggins. We found a copy of his collected poems upstairs in Trevelyan’s den. The murderer would have had to know the story to have thought of the rocks. Since you’ve always shunned the Buggins Archive like the plague, Phil, you were an unlikely culprit.”
“You didn’t begin suspecting Helen, I hope?”
“Damn the fear of it. Bracebridge Buggins himself, in his, er, Flo persona, complained to me that Trevelyan Buggins was in the habit of telling the same stories over and over to anybody who’d listen. However, Trevelyan didn’t get around much, so that limited the list of possible hearers to Grace, which was ridiculous; Persephone or Purvis Mink, who didn’t seem likely; Miss Mink, Beatrice, or Trevelyan himself, none of whom would have had the strength to lug Boatwright around or the means of transportation to get him to Oozak’s Pond; or someone else who’d spent a good deal of time in Trevelyan’s company. Bracebridge had been gone for many years, but he had lived at home until he was drafted. No doubt he’d heard about Augustus’s murder at his dear old daddy’s knee lots of times, and it’s the kind of yarn that might have had a special appeal to his, er, peculiar turn of mind.”
The Corpse in Oozak's Pond Page 19