Creeps Suzette

by Mary Daheim

  Dr. Stevens nodded. “She’d had a white ancestor a couple of generations back, though she felt more comfortable as a black woman.” His expression grew grim. “My mother died four years after we returned to the States. Someone broke into our house, and she surprised the thief. He bludgeoned her to death with an African carving my father had picked up in his travels.”

  Renie was looking somber. “You’ve had more than your share. How have you managed to keep your sanity?”

  “Dr. Moss,” Theo Stevens said simply. “He was always there for me. When my father was stationed in Europe while my mother was pregnant, Aaron insisted on having her fly home so he could deliver the baby. Then, after my parents were dead, he and Mrs. Moss paid for my education. They were surrogate grandparents. I’d just turned eighteen when my mother was killed. If it hadn’t been for Aaron and his wife, I never could have gone to medical school.”

  Renie had inched forward in the chair, chin on fists. “Who knows that you’re aware of what happened to Suzette?”

  “No one,” Dr. Stevens replied. “I wouldn’t have told you, except for your discovery of the tower room. I’ve wondered about talking to the police, but I can’t see what good it would do. Surely there’s no connection between my grandmother’s death and Aaron’s.” He smiled weakly. “Maybe I needed to talk to somebody. Besides,” he added, his eyes misting a bit, “now that Aaron’s gone, these old secrets don’t seem to matter, do they?”

  “They don’t show the family in a good light,” Judith remarked.

  Renie concurred. “Jealousy. Infidelity. Even murder—but all in the past. Still, the Burgesses wouldn’t want the story broadcast, even though all the people involved are dead.”

  The doctor gave the cousins a pitying look. “You really don’t understand how these people think, how they see themselves. The fact that Margaret Burgess murdered my grandmother—it would rock the world of Sunset Cliffs.”

  “She got away with it, though,” Renie said. “Was that because of her wealth and social status?”

  Theo Stevens rose from the chair and turned his back to the cousins. He parted the heavy drapes to peer out at the fog-shrouded garden. “She didn’t get away with it,” he said, finally facing Judith and Renie. “Two weeks later, Margaret Burgess killed herself.”

  Dr. Stevens told the story as he had learned it from Dr. Moss. It was simple enough: Walter Burgess had been on a big-game hunting expedition for almost two months when he came home to find his mistress locked away in the tower. He was fearless in the board rooms of the city’s largest industries, brave as any lion while on the scent, bold as a bandit in his corner office.

  “But,” Dr. Stevens went on with an ironic twist to his mouth, “he couldn’t stand up to his wife. Years later, Dr. Moss told me how Margaret would bully and humiliate him. It happened at least twice in front of Aaron, and he was horribly embarrassed for Walter.”

  “That kind of public—or even private—behavior will drive any man into the arms of a more sympathetic woman,” Renie said. “My husband Bill has a name for that syndrome. He calls it—”

  “Worse than nagging,” Judith put in, trying to head Renie off before she started in on Bill’s theories. “Go on, Dr. Stevens. We’re…fascinated.” Horrified, too, Judith thought. It was a terrible, tragic tale.

  “Margaret threatened to expose her husband’s affair and promised to release Suzette after the baby—my father—was born,” Theo Stevens continued. “She kept Walter away from Suzette the last few weeks of the pregnancy. Only Dr. Moss was allowed in, and he’d come away physically ill.”

  The young doctor paused, passing his hands over his face as if he could see the horror for himself. “Then, when the baby was born, Margaret struck. Walter was undone. He suffered a nervous breakdown and took to his bed. No one knew about Suzette’s murder except Margaret, Walter, and Dr. Moss. There had been no question of going to the police. What happened inside Creepers was private, a law unto itself. In an agony of conscience, Aaron agreed to keep silent. He had no choice, you see.” A pitying smile touched Theo’s mouth. “A young doctor, just starting out—it would have been his word against the mighty Burgess clan. Maxwell was still alive, and though Aaron was never sure how much the old man knew, he exerted enormous influence not just in the community, but the state.”

  “Some things don’t change,” Judith murmured. “Look at the media blackout on Dr. Moss’s murder.”

  Dr. Stevens gave Judith a bleak look. “This was even worse, because none of it ever came to light.” He cleared his throat before resuming his account. “Two weeks later, Margaret Burgess hanged herself in the tower, in the same tower room where she had murdered Suzette. The official word was that Margaret died of heart failure. Dr. Moss was compelled to sign the death certificate.”

  “Poor man,” Judith sympathized. “What a burden he carried all those years.”

  “Indeed,” Dr. Stevens replied. “I know that when he finally confided all this to me, it helped a little. He’d felt a moral obligation to write it all down and lock it away in his safe, to be opened only after his death.”

  “That must be what the thief was after,” Renie put in.

  “Of course,” Theo Stevens agreed. “But I couldn’t say as much. Suzette may have been my grandmother, but it still wasn’t my secret. It belonged to Dr. Moss.”

  “Not anymore,” Judith asserted, her face set. “Eventually, this will all come out.”

  “If the killer is caught,” Dr. Stevens said, his high forehead creased. “Back then, even when Aaron knew who was guilty, there was nothing he could do. He told me he signed the death certificate because Margaret’s heart had, in fact, stopped, and the scandal would have killed Walter, or at least driven him over the edge. Aaron was fond of Walter, who was, I gather, a decent man. In any event, Walter had two small children. It didn’t seem right to deprive them of both parents. In fact, it struck Dr. Moss as too cruel to allow Peggy and Wayne to grow up by themselves at Creepers.”

  Judith and Renie were silent for several moments. Dr. Stevens was still standing, his eyes cast down on the smooth surface of the desk.

  “This may sound callous,” Renie finally said, “but what did Walter and Margaret do with the body?”

  Sadly, Dr. Stevens shook his head. “I don’t know. Neither did Aaron.”

  “I can guess,” Judith said, still overcome by the enormity of his revelations.

  Dr. Stevens looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Judith winced. “Do you really want to know?”

  The doctor put a hand to his mouth, then paced back and forth behind the desk. “I’m not sure I do.” He paused, leaning a hand on the back of the leather chair. “Yes. My grandmother’s remains deserve a decent burial.”

  “Check with Jeepers, the handyman,” Judith said. “I may be wrong, but ask him how long the wishing well has been closed up.”

  “So Theo Stevens is really a Burgess,” Renie remarked after the doctor had left. “Do you agree that mixing blood-lines is a very good thing?”

  “Inbreeding, even among tight little social circles is never a good idea,” Judith said, still feeling unsettled.

  “You end up with the Hapsburg lip,” Renie said, “along with some other more ghastly things.”

  “Like insanity?” Judith murmured.

  “Sometimes,” Renie responded. “Margaret must have been insane, and not just with jealousy.”

  “Probably,” Judith replied, doing some pacing of her own in front of the glass-enclosed bookcases. “But is it a motive for murder?”

  “What?” Renie looked puzzled.

  “A secret from so long ago,” Judith said. “As we mentioned, none of the current family members was involved. Oh, sure, it’d be a big scandal if word ever got out, but not the sort of thing that would be ruinous to any of these people.”

  “It’s no wonder Caroline wouldn’t sleep in that other bedroom,” Renie said. “That’s where her grandmother hanged herself.”
r />   “True,” Judith said, rather absently. “But who put that gruesome doll in the dollhouse? Certainly not Dr. Moss.”

  “You’re right,” Renie responded. “Did someone else know?”

  Judith stopped pacing. “Leota? Would Walter have told her everything?”

  “Maybe,” Renie said. “She certainly would have wondered about his first wife. I don’t see Leota as the second Mrs. de Winter in Rebecca.”

  “I also don’t see her setting up a ghoulish exhibit like the dollhouse,” Judith declared. “If she knows—and I suspect she does—she’d go out of her way to keep the secret. What bothers me is that when I asked Dr. Stevens if he thought Dr. Moss had been paid off to keep quiet, he said he didn’t think so. Remember, he remarked that while Dr. Moss never complained about paying Dr. Stevens’s medical school bills, it seemed to be kind of a squeeze financially.”

  “So the three million or whatever came later?” Renie said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “It might,” Judith said slowly, “if…” Her voice trailed off.

  “If what?” Renie demanded.

  “If…” Judith threw up her hands. “I don’t know. If there was something else Dr. Moss knew. He certainly seems to be the family confidant. Sixty years ago, people tended to operate on a code of honor. Today it’s money, money, money, and discretion is as old-fashioned as the bustle. Theo Stevens hasn’t been out of medical school all that long. If Dr. Moss was being paid to keep quiet, then whatever the reason for the hush money must have happened more recently, say in the last ten years.”

  “Paid by whom?” Renie asked. “Walter? Leota? Wayne? Who?”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Judith admitted. “For all I know, Dr. Moss’s sizable estate has nothing to do with the Burgesses. He attended many wealthy families. We may be complettely off the track.”

  “Why the loyalty to the Burgesses?” Renie pondered.

  “That’s easy,” Judith replied. “Didn’t someone tell us that they were the first ones to hire Dr. Moss?”

  “Why?” Renie asked. “Look, sixty-odd years ago, Sunset Cliffs was miles beyond what was then the city limits. Why did Aaron Moss set up a practice so far out in the county?”

  Judith considered. “For that very reason. It was the Depression. There were probably plenty of doctors in town. But you’re right—why hire a young physician just out of medical school?”

  “Leota might know,” Renie suggested.

  Judith sprung for the door. “Let’s ask her, before she starts watching her TV programs.”

  Leota Burgess was sitting up in bed, playing gin rummy with Peggy.

  Peggy barely looked up. “They’re back,” she said in an unenthusiastic tone and drained a glass that appeared to have contained her standard Scotch and soda.

  Judith decided to humble herself. “Mrs. Burgess, we’re curious. How did your husband and his first wife become acquainted with Dr. Moss?”

  The old lady folded up her cards and set them facedown in front of her. “My, my, you do ask some peculiar questions. I can’t imagine what the answer has to do with poor Aaron’s murder.”

  “Now they’re detectives,” Peggy murmured. “Where will it all end?”

  “It’s quite simple,” Mrs. Burgess said. “The previous family doctor took Aaron into his practice. Simmons, I think, was his name. Unfortunately, he died shortly afterward. Dr. Moss took over from him, which seemed llike a good idea to my husband, because Dr. Simmons wasn’t particularly up-to-date. Or so Walter told me.” She picked up her cards and nodded at Peggy. “Your play, dear.”

  The cousins retreated into the hall. “We flunked that one,” Renie noted. “The explanation is logical, and therefore, worthless.”

  “But we found out that they don’t know we broke into the tower room,” Judith said in a low voice. “They will, of course, and they’ll be furious.”

  Renie glanced over the railing. “Jiggers, it’s the cops.” She waved. “Hi, Edwina, Danny. It’s me. Not a sugar.”

  Edwina motioned for Judith and Renie to come downstairs. “Is the library available?” she asked when the cousins reached the first floor.

  Judith said that it was, but felt the detectives should have a look at their discovery.

  Edwina balked. “What’s this Suzette business got to do with the homicide investigation? We don’t need to get sidetracked.”

  Judith admitted that there might not be a connection.

  “Fine,” Edwina said, waving an impatient hand. “You can tell me about it later. We need to talk. That is, if you’re still having fun playing sleuths.” She turned to Danny. “Get us some coffee, Number Three Son. Please,” she added with a wry little smile.

  On this visit to the library, it was Edwina who sat behind the desk while the cousins resumed their places in the wingback chairs. “First off,” the detective began in a no-nonsense manner, “we think we know who wrote the note that was left here.” She tapped the desk. “Have you figured it out yet?”

  “Well…” Judith grimaced. “It’s just a guess, but the melodrama of it—the ‘How did it all go so wrong?’ or whatever—sounds like Caroline.”

  Edwina chuckled. “Ain’t you the one? Our handwriting experts agree. But it wasn’t that hard, was it? Caroline—or maybe her brother, Kenneth—would be the only fools who would leave something like that lying around in plain sight. No reason for Kenneth to write that, not Monday night, at any rate.”

  “Unless,” Judith put in, “he killed Dr. Moss.”

  Edwina sat back in the leather armchair and sighed. “There’s always that. But it doesn’t quite wash, does it? The note could mean that the killer did in the wrong victim. We don’t think so, not with the robbery at Dr. Moss’s house. We’re more inclined to think that if Caroline wrote that note—and we’re going to ask her that—she was referring to something else.”

  “Her marriage?” Judith suggested.

  “Could be,” Edwina allowed.

  “Caroline must have come into Creepers before she went to the pool house,” Judith said. “She realized her grandmother was watching TV, so she went outside to wait and got caught up with her latest poetic inspiration.”

  Edwina nodded. “Now tell me what you’ve managed to dredge up since Danny and I saw you last.”

  It took almost half an hour and two cups of coffee to get through the cousins’ recital, which concluded with their discovery of the former prison in the tower room, the murder of Suzette, and the suicide of Margaret Burgess. Edwina’s initial reaction to the sixty-year-old secret was anger.

  “This is old news in a lot of ways,” she said bitterly. “A sister gets it in the neck for playing games with a white man. I’ll have Danny check the tower room later, then we’ll see if we can connect any dots.”

  “We’ve shown you ours,” Renie said, “now show us yours.”

  “You’re on, Danny,” she said to her partner. “Let’s see how much information you can spill without completely tipping our hand. Remember, these are a couple of amateurs.”

  Clearing his throat, Danny Wong opened his notebook. “First, we just got the report from the hospital lab on Millicent Fritz’s poisoning. Her tea had been laced with rat poison.”

  “Rat poison?” Judith echoed.

  “Tea?” Renie repeated.

  “I know,” Edwina put in. “You were hoping for the pizza. But it isn’t that straightforward.”

  “Dare we ask who might have done it?” Judith inquired.

  “Ask away.” Edwina shrugged. “Ada Dietz made the tea, her sister, Edna, brought it up to the master suite, Peggy Hillman came through the sitting room, so did Bop Burgess. Kenneth and Caroline had been in and out of the kitchen about the same time that the tea was being made. The only persons we can rule out are Dorothy and Wayne Burgess, Russ Hillman, and the rest of the staff.”

  “Not much help there,” Judith said, “except that Fritz must have been the intended victim. But why?”

  “Good question,” Edwina mutt
ered. “This case is full of them.”

  “But you’re making progress,” Judith said in a hopeful tone. “You say you know that several people went in and out of Sunset Cliffs late Monday night and early Tuesday morning?”

  “Yes,” Edwina replied. “We put the squeeze on Jack Moody and the other guard, Ferguson. They didn’t want to lose their jobs, but they don’t want to go to jail for obstructing justice, either. The truth is,” Edwina continued, her expression turning gloomy, “you could get in and out of this compound without a car, if you knew where and how to do it. I suspect just about everybody who lives around here knows that.”

  “And Russ and Dorothy alibi each other?” Judith asked.

  “Of course,” Edwina said, “but that’s meaningless. If not in love, those two are mutually dependent. Dorothy Burgess has had a half-dozen affairs over the years, and who can blame her, given Wayne’s long-term relationship with Sarah Kenyon. As for Russ, I gather he and Peggy haven’t been very happy lately. Marry in haste and repent in leisure—isn’t that the old saw?”

  “Yes,” Judith said absently. “What about the weapon? I can’t believe you haven’t come up with it.”

  “Believe it,” Edwina said grimly. “The crowbar was clean. Sarah Kenyon used it to try to get the garage open when she couldn’t find the remote control. She couldn’t budge the door and left it out back. We think the killer took the remote to stash in a car while the murder was being committed.”

  “Reaffirming the insider theory,” Judith remarked. “Maybe the killer took the weapon away.”

  “Maybe,” Edwina allowed. “The uniforms have searched all over the area, but it’s vast, and heavily wooded. The only good thing is that the groundskeepers or whatever they call them are constantly clearing away debris, especially after all thewind we’ve had lately.”

  “Hold on,” Judith said. “If you don’t put much faith in Russ and Dorothy’s alibi, what about Wayne and Sarah Kenyon?”

  “Same thing,” Edwina replied, pouring more coffee. “But Danny and I are feeling some pressure. We were told late yesterday that we couldn’t keep these people under wraps any longer. They’re officially free to leave whenever they want, as long as they don’t flee the country.”