by Mary Daheim
“It had a better one after all the trees burned down,” Renie noted. “But I thought it was mean of your mother to tell the firefighters that my mother was out of the house when she was still inside in her wheelchair.”
“That’s what your mother gets for always saying, ‘Don’t worry about me.’ Nobody did.”
“I did,” Renie declared, lapping up the fresh spinach in her salad. “I about choked to death rescuing her. It’s a wonder Mom and I didn’t have to be treated for smoke inhalation.”
Judith chuckled. “Our mothers,” she said with a shake of her head.
In the glow of the candlelight, the cousins stared at each other. “Our mothers,” they exclaimed in unison.
Judith reached for the phone. “We’d better call now. I’ll go first, then you can call yours. Then I’ll call Joe and you can—Rats, there’s no dial tone.” Judith replaced the receiver. “The phones must be out, too.”
“I’m getting a cell phone,” Renie asserted. “I hate it when people use them on the road, but they can be a big help in an emergency.”
“Go for it,” Judith murmured, taking a bite of the flaky crust on her beef Wellington. “Strange sensations and odd noises aside, were we hallucinating in the nursery?”
“You mean the figure in the dollhouse?” Renie said, spearing broccoli. “No. But of course it wasn’t real blood. It was some sort of red plastic, like the kind I use to mask photos in a layout.”
Savoring the perfectly done beef, Judith nodded. “A childish joke, I suppose. Except that the real tower is sealed. I think we should mention this to Edwina. She could get a search warrant to see what’s up there.”
Renie made a face. “On what grounds? Because some kid, maybe years ago, played a gruesome little prank? Or because someone’s trying to scare us to death?” And what does any of it have to do with Dr. Moss’s murder?”
Judith, however, gave her cousin a canny look. “That’s a good question. I’d like Edwina to find out.”
“You are hallucinating,” Renie said, putting extra butter on her mashed potatoes.
“Maybe,” Judith said, picking up the coin she’d found in Kenneth’s room. “I’m feeling lucky. I practically had to pry this sucker out from between the bricks. It must mean something.”
“You’re desperate,” said Renie between mouthfuls of beef.
“I don’t think so.” Judith held the penny under one of the candles, then frowned. “This isn’t a penny. It’s…” She paused, peering in the dim light. “It’s a centime, from Haiti.”
“Haiti?” Renie said. “Oh, good grief, now we’re into voodoo.”
“This is really old,” Judith said, still gazing at the coin. “It’s dated 1928.”
“So sell it to a collector,” Renie said, cutting into her beef Wellington. “You might get a U.S. penny in exchange.”
“I wonder if I should call Edwina,” Judith mused.
“You can’t,” Renie said. “The phones are dead, remember?”
“Drat.”
Kenyon reappeared, carrying a flashlight and a tray. “Dessert,” he murmured. “May I remove your soup and salad plates?”
“Yes, thanks,” Judith said, moving a few inches away from the table and speaking in a loud voice. “How did you find us in the tower, Kenyon?”
“It seemed logical, ma’am,” Kenyon replied. “I’d looked everywhere else. Unfortunately, the batteries went out just as you emerged from the second floor.” He tapped the flashlight.
“What,” Judith asked, still speaking loudly, “do you know about Haiti?”
“Haiti? I believe they’ve had some problems there over the years, ma’am. Dictators and such. At one time, the United States occupied the island, but that was many years ago, when I was quite young.”
“Yes,” Judith agreed, “that sounds right. Do you recall if any of the family ever visited there?”
“Not in my time,” Kenyon replied. “However, Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Walter were both world travelers. They might have done. Mr. Walter in particular was always gadding about. East Africa, India, the Argentine. He and his father were both great hunters. The mistress never cared for roughing it, which, I understand, is required when one is seeking okapis and dik-diks. Tents. Mosquito netting. Boiled water. The mistress would be put off. Will that be all for now? I’ll bring coffee in a few minutes, and whatever choice of after-dinner beverages you’d prefer.”
“A couple of Drambuies would be nice,” Renie said.
“Very good.” Kenyon bowed himself out.
“He’s right,” Renie remarked. “Leota in a tent doesn’t ring true.”
“Why Haiti?” Judith said.
“Huh?” Renie looked up from her almost-empty dinner plate. “Why not?”
“Because, as Kenyon pointed out, it’s been a trouble spot for quite a while,” Judith explained. “It wouldn’t be my first choice as a travel destination.”
“Forget it,” Renie said. “Maybe nobody went there. Maybe somebody found that coin. Heck, maybe there’s a numismatist in the family.”
Judith didn’t comment. Indeed, her attention was caught by voices in the hall outside the parlor. Apparently Kenyon had not quite closed the door behind him.
“Who’s that?” Judith whispered to Renie.
Renie, who had her back to the door, turned around, then shook her head. “I can’t see anybody,” she whispered back, “but it sounds like Wayne and Peggy.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Peggy shouted. “Not after all these years!”
“Do you think I want to?” Wayne retorted, his voice also raised, though still under control. “My hand is being forced. I have only two choices.”
“Maman won’t allow it,” Peggy declared. “Think of the disgrace!”
“Maman will see there’s no other way,” Wayne said doggedly.
There was a pause, and then Peggy’s voice dropped. “Have you talked to her?”
“Not exactly,” Wayne replied, also speaking in a more normal tone. “I tried to bring it up last night, but she was watching one of her programs. This morning, of course, was inappropriate. She was still asleep when I left for the office.”
“She’ll never approve,” Peggy said, her voice now further away. “My God, Wayne, how did you ever get yourself into such a…”
Brother and sister passed out of earshot.
“The divorce,” Judith said. “Wayne must know about Dorothy and Jim.”
“Maybe Dorothy knows about Wayne and whoever was in the game room,” Renie said, attacking her white chocolate mousse.
Sadly, Judith shook her head. “They must have been married for over thirty years. Why can’t people work things out?”
The lights went on.
“Thank goodness,” Judith said in relief. “I’ll call Mother.”
But the phone was still dead. Judith was still staring at the receiver when Kenyon came in with the coffee service and two small balloon glasses filled with Drambuie.
“Why doesn’t the phone work now that the electricity is back?” Judith inquired of the butler.
Kenyon cleared his throat. “We have an auxiliary generator out back, ma’am. Mr. Jeepers has managed to turn it on. Unfortunately, it doesn’t restore the phone lines.”
“Oh.” Judith looked disappointed.
The butler staggered out with a tray filled with glasses, silver serving dishes, dinner and butter plates, and eating utensils.
Judith winced. “That poor old guy. It’s a wonder he and Edna don’t collapse, what with all the fetching and carrying they have to do. There’s a lot of ground to cover in this house.”
“I don’t think there’s a retirement plan at Creepers,” Renie said cynically.
“Why did they all come at once?” Judith said, seemingly from out of nowhere.
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The staff. Remember, Bev said that Kenyon and the rest of them were hired about the same time, after World War Two. Which,” Judith continued, �
�means that the rest of the servants, including Nanny Brewster, must have all left at the same time.”
“That’s not too hard to figure,” Renie reasoned. “The war was over, it was a time of great transition. They probably found other jobs.”
Judith shook her head. “All the veterans were back. There was inflation and strikes and, as Mother so often tells me, if Harry Truman hadn’t given ’em hell, there wouldn’t have been any boom during the Eisenhower years.”
“That’s true,” Renie remarked. “How easily we forget. So what’s your point?”
Judith gave Renie a sheepish grin. “The more I hear about this house and this family, the more I think of the period from the mid-1930s to the late 1940s as the Dark Ages. What really went on here?”
“Specifically, you mean what went on with Margaret Burgess,” Renie said. “Is that the key?”
“Now that you mention it,” Judith responded, “maybe it is. But I’ll be darned if I know what it has to do with Dr. Moss’s murder.”
“Where’s your logic?” Renie asked, sipping Drambuie.
“What?”
“Your logic. Why would anyone kill a doctor, especially an old guy who’s been devoted to this family for sixty years?”
“We’ve been over that,” Judith said, but caught the gleam in Renie’s eyes. “Okay, because he knew something. He had something in his medical records or private papers that someone couldn’t afford to have exposed. Maybe he took Leota’s fears seriously, and he knew who was trying to kill her.”
“Go on.”
“But why wait all these years if it goes back to Margaret, who died circa 1937? What happened in the last few days to goad someone into killing Dr. Moss? Frankly, the connection with Margaret makes no sense. And yet I feel there must be something.”
“The next time I talk to Bev,” Renie said, “I’ll ask her how her father’s first wife died.”
“Good,” Judith said. “The next question is, why try to kill an old lady like Leota?” Judith was on her feet, circling the parlor, glass in hand. “This old lady is in excellent health, but she has tons of money. She could live another ten, even twenty years. Money is always an excellent motive. Who desperately needs money? Dorothy and Jim? Who else?”
There was a rap at the door, which was still ajar. Dr. Stevens peeked in. “May I?” he asked.
“Of course,” Judith said. “What brought you out on such a stormy night?”
Theo Stevens smiled. “The storm.” He sat down in the chair Judith had pulled out for him. “Since the phones were out, I thought I’d better check on Mrs. Burgess in case Nurse Fritz had been trying to reach me. She wasn’t, and my patient is better this evening, though she’s had a rough twenty-four hours.” He paused to gaze at Judith. “Mrs. Burgess said you got a nasty bump on the head last night.”
Judith’s hand automatically touched her scalp. “I did, but it’s better.”
Dr. Stevens got up to examine the slight swelling. “You’re right, it’s coming along. Headache? Double vision? Dizziness? Nausea?”
“Just a headache,” Judith replied.
The doctor turned to Renie. “How’s the Bell’s palsy, Mrs. Jones?”
“Droopy, still a little numb by my ear, but improving,” Renie said. “This is the first day I haven’t had to patch the eye.”
Dr. Stevens smiled. “Good. It just takes time. By the way, Dr. Moss’s funeral is set for Thursday at eleven in the chapel. Will you attend?”
Judith and Renie exchanged glances. “We don’t know,” Judith finally said. “It depends on the police—and other things. About our staying on, I mean. Will Dr. Moss have any family at the services?”
Theo Stevens shook his head. “His only relatives are distant cousins who live in California and the Midwest. I don’t think Aaron had seen any of them in years.”
Renie uttered a little snort. “So some shirttail relations will inherit whatever the poor man saved up all these years, and count themselves lucky because he had the grace to get himself killed. I’ve seen that often—my mother was a legal secretary. Let’s hope Dr. Moss left everything to charity.”
Theo Stevens’s dark skin grew even darker. He coughed in a nervous manner. “Actually, Mr. Gibbons told me today that Aaron left everything to me. It’s no secret, of course. The will has to be made public when it’s filed for probate.”
Renie beamed at the doctor. “That’s great. Certainly you should get the house because you and Dr. Moss shared both living and work quarters there.”
“Congratulations,” Judith said, putting out her hand. “Not having to find a new situation must be a big help when you’re just starting your practice. Dr. Moss must have thought a great deal of you.”
Dr. Stevens avoided Judith’s gaze. “It seems so,” he murmured.
Renie was nodding agreement. “Whatever savings he had will come in handy. Somehow, though, I don’t see Dr. Moss charging enormous fees, even if his patients were rich.”
“You’re right,” Dr. Stevens replied, once again looking at the cousins. “Aaron began his practice in the Depression when even some of the wealthy residents of Sunset Cliffs were facing financial disaster. He was grateful to the ones who could afford to pay him, and he never felt right about raising his fees the way other doctors did over the years. That’s why,” he went on, as if in a daze, “I can’t believe his estate is valued at over three million dollars.”
FOURTEEN
JUDITH AND RENIE couldn’t quite believe the size of Aaron Moss’s holdings, either. The amount was actually closer to four million, Dr. Stevens explained, because it didn’t include the house.
“It’s not a large or lavish house,” he said, “but it’s very nice, and of course any property that abuts Sunset Cliffs is expensive. Mr. Gibbons estimated that it was worth another half-million on today’s market.”
“Did Dr. Moss play the stock market?” Renie asked.
“No,” Theo Stevens replied. “But he lived a rather spartan life, especially after his wife died. Like all doctors, Aaron had to pay huge premiums for malpractice insurance. Frankly, I can’t figure out how he accumulated so much money. In all the years I’ve known him, he never even hinted at such a thing.”
“Does Mr. Gibbons know?” Judith inquired.
“I’m not sure,” Dr. Stevens said. “Lawyers are so closemouthed. I got the impression, though, that he might know more than he let on.”
“Maybe,” Renie said, draining her glass, “some grateful patient either gave or left Dr. Moss the money. Maybe several of them did, and he invested it.”
Theo Stevens frowned. “I don’t think so. Just three or four years ago, while I was completing my residency and living with Dr. Moss, he complained about the high cost of new equipment. In fact, he didn’t replace most of the items he already had, because he felt he wouldn’t be around forever, and that when I took over, I could choose what suited my needs best.”
“Do you have a nurse or a receptionist?” Judith inquired.
“Dr. Moss’s wife, Isabel, was a nurse,” Dr. Stevens replied. “She did everything until she became ill about five years ago. Dr. Moss hired an older woman to replace her, but I think it was too hard for him to make the adjustment. He let her go, and then there was a series of younger nurses, none of whom cared much for such a restricted practice. After I joined him, we got Ms. Parker. She’s middle-aged, very capable, and a recent graduate of the local community college. She’d gone back to school after her divorce. Of course she’s an LPN, but that’s all we really needed. The receptionist work is the biggest part of her job.”
“Does she know about Dr. Moss’s death?” Judith asked.
“No.” Dr. Stevens gave Judith a rueful smile. “She’s in Hawaii for two weeks. Aaron is—was—very good about giving her time off. She’ll be back Sunday. Laura—Ms. Parker—will be devastated.”
“So she wouldn’t know where Dr. Moss got all his money,” Renie commented. “If it was a recent windfall, wouldn’t he have told
you, especially since you’re his heir? How long have you known Dr. Moss?”
Dr. Stevens took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “Since the day I was born. He delivered me.”
“Oh.” Renie looked a little embarrassed. “Your mother lived in Sunset Cliffs?”
“No,” Theo Stevens replied, standing up. “My parents lived in the city. Excuse me, I’d better head home. I’m pretty tired myself. Good night.” Ducking his head, he hurried out of the parlor.
“Logic,” Judith intoned, “tells me something odd is going on with Dr. Stevens and his background. He’s at least a quarter, maybe half, African-American, which means he’s the product of an interracial marriage. His mother and father were inside the city, and since it was going on forty years ago, they may have lived in a primarily black neighborhood. As I understand it, Dr. Moss’s practice was restricted to Sunset Cliffs and part of the adjacent upscale neighborhood. Now why was Dr. Moss attending a mixed-race couple ten miles away?”
Renie looked guileless. “Because they lived somewhere else since our city is usually ahead of the times when it comes to social issues? Because plenty of minorities have lived wherever they wanted including in our own neighborhood? Because it was around 1960, and Dr. Moss was making a civil rights statement?”
“The last reason isn’t as dopey as it sounds,” Judith said. “And yet,” she continued, going over to the window and peering through the damask draperies, “I don’t think it’s the explanation. No matter where they lived, Dr. Stevens’s parents were singled out, not just then, but later, when Theo was finishing his medical studies. Where’s the link?” She paused, noting that the wind had died down, but the rain was still pouring. “Intervals,” she said, turning back to Renie. “What we were talking about before Dr. Stevens showed up. We’ve got something strange going on sixty-odd years ago with Suzette, the French-speaking nanny. We’ve got something else that happened here after the war. Then Theo Stevens is born thirty-five or more years ago, and Dr. Moss treated him like his son and heir.”
“Dr. Stevens is his heir,” Renie put in. “Could he also be Dr. Moss’s son?”