by Mary Daheim
“I understand there’ve been quite a few calls, though not many visitors,” Edwina said. “It’s as if the other inhabitants think murder is contagious.”
“I imagine Wayne Burgess has fielded a bunch of queries,” Judith said. “Despite the media blackout, the homicide investigation must have leaked all over the city, including the corner offices downtown.”
“Even snobs like to gossip, especially about each other,” Edwina noted. “We’re interviewing the neighbors, but nobody lives close by. That’s the way it is in this place. Sunset Cliffs dwellers have acres of property and plenty of privacy. The closest house is Evergreen, which belongs to the Wayne Burgesses.”
“You won’t get much out of the other residents anyway,” Renie said. “They’ll close ranks, too. The only way they’ll tell you anything is if they have a grudge or an old rivalry.”
“Which,” Edwina said, “is what we’re hoping for. The rich may band together, but it doesn’t mean they have to like each other. Since the Burgesses originally owned everything around here and still have a large amount of unsold property, there are bound to be some hard feelings. We’ll just hope for a break. It’s too bad so many of these people are vacationing someplace else this time of year.”
“You mentioned evidence,” Judith said. “Is any of it tangible?”
Edwina laughed. “You know better than to ask. You mentioned walking around the grounds yesterday. I didn’t notice that hitching post out in front last night—it was too dark and stormy. Usually, those old-fashioned stereotypical representations of black people don’t bother me. But this morning the first thing I saw was that poor little black footman, holding out his hand. He’s there to do his master’s bidding, but it looks as if he’s begging. Which, of course he is.” Edwina paused, her expression ironic. “Walking into this house, you can feel the prejudice, the hostility, the overwhelming sense of superiority. It’s like the air is poisoned. Anyway, I stopped to look at the little guy. I wanted to tell him that the most recognizable face on the planet is a black man named Michael Jordan.”
She stopped, looking sheepish. “Silly, huh? But while I was looking down, I spotted this.” Edwina fished into her briefcase and displayed a plastic envelope that contained a tacklike object. “It’s a marker, to show where your golf ball lands on the course. The uniforms didn’t see this last night because it was probably covered by leaves and branches that blew down during the storm. Do you recall it from yesterday?”
“No,” Judith said. “Renie fell over the hitching post when we got here yesterday morning. We had to straighten it up. I’m sure we’d have noticed it if only because the rest of the grounds are so pristine.”
“Russ Hillman?” Renie suggested.
“Maybe,” Edwina allowed. “I assume he’s not the only golfer in this bunch.”
“Russ said he wasn’t here last night,” Judith said. “Of course he might have dropped it this morning when he came to breakfast.”
Edwina shook her head. “You can’t see too clearly through the plastic, but there’s mud on this marker. It stopped raining right after sunrise, at least an hour before the Hillmans arrived.”
“So Russ may be lying,” Renie remarked.
“Possibly,” Edwina said. “Mr. Hillman just jumped to the top of the interview list.”
Another knock sounded at the door, followed by Deputy Sorensen poking his head into the library. “We finally got hold of the guard who was on duty in the gatehouse between six and midnight,” Sorensen announced. “You want to see him? His name’s Jack Moody.”
“Take him into the parlor,” Edwina said, getting up from behind the desk. “Leave the door ajar in case Danny needs me.” She winked at the cousins.
As soon as the deputy and the detective left, Judith grinned at Renie. “Edwina is my new best friend. I think she believes we can help.”
“Why,” Renie said in her best middle-aged ingenue’s manner, “do I sense that Edwina has talked to Woody Price?”
Judith’s eyes widened. “That didn’t occur to me. I hope Woody didn’t give me too much of a build-up. And I sure hope he hasn’t talked to Joe.”
“Woody,” Renie intoned, “is the soul of discretion. Under that walrus mustache of his, nobody keeps a tighter or stiffer upper lip.”
The cousins allowed three minutes before they crept out of the library, went down the hall, and posted themselves outside the parlor door. They had only a splinter view of the room, but they could hear perfectly.
“Okay, Jack,” Edwina was saying, “how long have you been employed by the Sunset Cliffs community?”
“Seven years, come May,” a deep, husky voice replied. “I hired on after I got out of the merchant marine. The six to midnight shift is all mine. I don’t like working days.”
“Tell me about the patrol that drives around the community.”
“That’s a separate bunch of guys,” Moody responded. “It’s a private security outfit that works some of the businesses around here. They drive through once, twice a day to keep an eye out for people who don’t belong.”
“How would those people get into Sunset Cliffs in the first place?” Edwina asked.
“It don’t happen very often. But once in a while some Nosey Parker sweet-talks a resident or staff member to get ’em inside, just to look around.”
“Do you know if the patrol came through last night?”
“Nope, not on my shift. If they show up at night, which they don’t always, it’s usually around two, two-thirty, after the taverns close and everything quiets down out on the highway.”
“We tried to get hold of you last night about an hour after you got off work. Where were you?”
“I usually stop for a couple of beers and maybe a few hands of poker at The Ace in the Hole or The Flush Royale. You know, to unwind.”
“You like this job?”
“You bet. It’s pretty soft, if you don’t mind putting up with a lot of guff from the swells. The pay’s not bad, the Christmas bonuses are good, especially the ones that come in a big fancy bottle from the liquor store, and there are some other bennies, too, if you know what I mean.”
“Like what?”
“Oh—I guess you could call ’em tokens of appreciation. No big deal, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”
“So tell me about last night. Is that your log?”
“Yeah. The deputy told me to bring it along. Wanna see it?”
“That’s the general idea,” Edwina said sarcastically.
There was a pause, apparently for the transfer of the log. Judith twisted around, trying to get a different view. She saw the partial outline of a hefty man in jeans and a denim jacket.
“I see several names I don’t recognize,” Edwina said. “Apparently, they went to other homes in Sunset Cliffs.”
“Yeah, visitors. I don’t log the regulars, I just wave ’em through.”
“Can you recall which members of the Burgess family came through the gatehouse during your shift?”
Another pause ensued. “Mr. Burgess—Wayne Burgess—came in about six, a little earlier than usual. He works late downtown most nights. He had his driver and the limo. The limo went back out about ten minutes later.”
“Without Wayne Burgess?”
“I guess. It’s got those tinted windows. It’s hard to tell, especially after it starts getting dark.”
“Who else?”
“The young guy, Mrs. Hillman’s son, walked through a few minutes after the limo went out. That must’ve been about six-thirty.”
“Walked through?”
“Right. He don’t drive. He takes the bus when he comes from his place in town. Hell, the bus stop ain’t that far from here.”
“Did he go out again last night?”
“Nope.”
“Who was next?”
“Um…the redheaded kid with the pizza truck. That was later, eight, eight-thirty. Bop, they call him. Real friendly, not all snooty like the rest of ’em. Oh—and the girl. She lives up
north. I forget her name.”
“She drove?”
Jack chuckled, a rumbling sound that ended in a cough. “Would you believe it? She doesn’t drive, either, so she hitchhikes. I always wonder if somebody who picked her up would find out how much money there was in the family and hold her for ransom.”
“Hitchhiking is dangerous,” Edwina allowed. “But it does explain why we never found her car. What time did Caroline Flaherty arrive?”
“That’s her name? I guess I still think of her as Carrie Ward. I remember when her dad got killed by that hit-and-run driver. She was real tore up.”
“The time?” Edwina persisted.
“Time? Oh—Carrie. Ten, ten-thirty, maybe? I’m not real sure. I was getting kind of beat.”
“Anyone else?”
“The doctor. He don’t live here, but he might as well. I always wave him through, just like family.”
“What time?”
“Uh—eleven-thirty, eleven-forty-five?”
“No. That’s wrong. Dr. Moss was dead by then. Think again.”
“Well, then it must have been more like eleven-fifteen.” A truculent note had edged into Moody’s voice.
“Do you recall anybody else?”
“The cops. The medics. All those emergency types. Then Hank Ferguson came along for the midnight to six shift, so I took off.”
“Mr. Moody, there are no entries in your log after ten-thirty. Was it really that quiet?”
“I don’t log people goin’ out.” The mulish tone was still in Moody’s voice.
“You didn’t log the emergency personnel, either.”
“That’s different. They ain’t visitors as such.”
Edwina’s sigh was audible in the hallway. “Okay, just a couple more questions. Who, if anyone from the Burgess family, left Sunset Cliffs while you were on duty?”
“The pizza guy. He went out around nine and came back later. He gets off after eleven when the place closes down.”
“And?”
“Nobody.”
“What about Mrs. Hillman?”
“Never saw her.”
“Come on, Mr. Moody, Peggy Hillman told us she went over to the mall. You must have seen her, both coming and going.”
“Maybe I was taking a leak.”
“Do you always take a leak when Mrs. Hillman comes and goes?” Edwina’s voice had turned harsh.
“Hell, I don’t know. Look, sometimes I get sleepy. A half-hour, an hour’ll go by and no action. I nod off. So what? The folks who live here know how to trip the barricade. I ain’t no cop.”
“You certainly aren’t,” Edwina said. “For the last time, do you recall Mrs. Hillman leaving or returning to Sunset Cliffs last night?”
“Aww…Okay, maybe she did come through around seven or so. Maybe she didn’t come back till after midnight. Yeah, that must have been it. Check with Fergie. He’ll know.”
“We have. He didn’t.” There was a brief pause before Edwina spoke again. “Okay, you can go. But not too far. Get it?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Anyways, I gotta work tonight.”
As Judith and Renie heard the movement of a chair, they scooted out into the entry hall. Russ Hillman, looking tired and bewildered, was pacing the floor.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “That young detective called to say I had to get over here pronto.”
Jack Moody came stomping through the entry hall, muttering to himself. He barely looked at the cousins or Russ before he slammed out of the house. Edwina strolled in and greeted Russ.
“Let’s talk,” she said, and beckoned the newcomer in the direction of the parlor.
Judith and Renie waited until they were sure that the pair had settled in for the interview. But this time when they went to the parlor door, they found that it was closed tight.
“Drat,” Judith breathed. “I guess she doesn’t like us anymore.”
“This interrogation is different,” Renie pointed out. “Moody wasn’t a suspect.”
“True. All the same, I wouldn’t mind chatting with him. He might be more forthcoming when he’s not talking to a cop,” Judith said as they headed back to the entry hall where Kenyon was showing Gaylord Gibbons out and letting Dorothy Burgess in.
Dorothy took one look at Gaylord and grabbed him by the lapels. “Let me warn you,” she said in an angry voice, “if you make trouble for me, I’ll sue your ass.”
The startled lawyer reeled on the threshold. “But Mrs. Dorothy…”
Throwing Gaylord one last stinging look, she marched into the house and headed straight for the main staircase. “Don’t worry about announcing me, Kenyon,” she shouted. “By the time you get upstairs, I’ll be leaving this place. Forever.”
“Ma’am?” Kenyon said, cupping his ear.
But Dorothy was already out of sight.
TWELVE
THE RAIN WAS slanting down against the old wavery glass in the guest suite windows. Judith sat on a Regency bench and stared outside. She could see two uniformed deputies wearing dark slickers and heading in the direction of the garage.
“We’re not doing our job,” Judith stated, turning away from the window. “We hardly see Mrs. Burgess, and we haven’t any idea if she was the intended victim, let alone who killed Dr. Moss. There has to be a connection of some kind between his death and the attempts on Leota’s life, either by accident or design.” She sighed in frustration. “I’m more confused than when we got here.”
“That makes two of us,” Renie said, tossing aside the magazine she’d been perusing on the settee. “What did you think of Moody?”
“He’s either lying about who he saw or didn’t see, or he sits in that gatehouse and gets drunk. Both, maybe. Those ‘bennies’ he mentioned are probably bribes,” Judith declared. “Think about it—you live in Sunset Cliffs, and your every move is monitored. These people don’t lead blameless lives. If you’ve got a vice, especially if it’s sex, you don’t want anyone to know all your comings and goings.”
“This whole place gets more prisonlike all the time,” Renie said.
“You bet it does,” Judith responded, getting up from the bench. “I honestly don’t know why people would want to live here. Oh, it has privacy, it has snob appeal, and it’s a beautiful setting, but I’d go nuts.”
“It’s not normal,” Renie agreed. “It reminds me of a big castle, where you have to pull up the drawbridge.”
“And what’s up with Dorothy Burgess?” Judith asked. “What was she talking about when she said she was leaving here forever?”
“Leaving here means leaving Wayne, wouldn’t you guess?” Renie also stood up and went over to the fireplace. “It’s cold, since the wind’s come up again. I wonder if we could get somebody to build us a fire?”
“Like Kenyon? It’ll be summer before he can do it. Besides,” Judith added, going to the door, “we need to do our own interviewing. I still want to get Edna alone.”
“Call for her,” Renie said, pointing to the speaking tube by the bedroom door. “Tea would be nice, especially with some lovely finger sandwiches.”
Judith sniffed the air. “This place doesn’t smell like a pool hall anymore. You haven’t had a cigarette since we got back here twenty minutes ago. How come?”
“I thought about what you said,” Renie replied. “I’m fond of food. When my eggnog diet failed me at Christmas a couple of years ago and I gained a few pounds, I started smoking instead of eating so much. I lost the weight, but now I keep losing it. Instead of being just right, I’ve gotten too thin. As of now, I’m a pig again.”
“Hooray!” Judith cried, rushing over to give Renie a hug. “I thought there was less of you, but I hated to mention it.”
“I know, I know,” Renie said, hugging Judith back. “It’s always galled you because I don’t have to watch my weight. But maybe my metabolism has changed, and I will have to cut down a bit. For now, though, I’m going to give it my best shot. Hand me that speaking tube.”
Ada
Dietz was on the other end, taking Renie’s order in a less than gracious manner.
“Heck,” Renie said, putting the speaking tube aside, “it’s after three, a good time for tea. Why should she be grumpy?”
“It’s her nature, I guess,” Judith replied, back at the window. “There’s Danny Wong. They must be checking that oil spot. At least we found out why Caroline’s car wasn’t parked around here.”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Renie admitted.
“I had,” Judith said, moving away from the window. “But from what I know of Caroline, she might have parked it anywhere along the road and walked here in a daze. The storm didn’t start until after she arrived.”
Fifteen minutes later, Edna showed up with the tea cart. The cousins oohed and aahed over the finger sandwiches and admired the Royal Worcester teapot and matching cups.
“I hope this wasn’t a bother,” Judith said to the little maid. “Did you have to bring tea up for Mrs. Burgess and Dorothy as well?”
“Oh!” Edna put a hand to her lips. “I shouldn’t think so. Mrs. Dorothy has already left. In such a temper, too. Nurse Fritz had to give the mistress a sedative.”
“Really,” Judith said in surprise. “Do you know why?”
The maid shook her head. “My, no. I just happened to be going by the mistress’s suite when Mrs. Dorothy came out. She seemed very angry.”
“Here, Edna,” Judith said in her most kindly voice, “sit for a minute. Perhaps you’d enjoy one of these lovely sandwiches your sister made for us.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” Edna protested, though she gingerly sat down on the edge of the settee. “I’ll rest my feet for a minute, though.”
Renie, who had scooped up four of the sandwiches, nudged Edna with her elbow. “Come on, dive in. The salmon ones are really terrific.”
“Tea?” Judith proffered the pot.
Edna held up her hands. “Thank you, but I—”
“M-m-mm,” Renie sighed, licking her lips as she gobbled up a cucumber sandwich. “Sinfully delicious. Here, take one. I insist.”
“Well…” Edna’s small body seemed convulsed by a mammoth struggle. “Dear me, I suppose it would be rude to refuse.”