Murder at Peacock Mansion

by Judy Alter

  Tempting to ask what she’d done to precipitate banishment, but I held my tongue. “I’m no lawyer but my companion is, and he may be able to advise you on that. Unless you had a prenup, this is a community property state. But moving on, why is Rodney still in Canton? Doesn’t he have a business to tend to in Dallas?”

  She shook her head. “Rodney’s business went bust, and he’s being hounded by creditors. And his wife sued for divorce, but he has no money for a lawyer or anything else. He thinks he and I could live in the mansion, on the money Dad left Edith.”

  “What does he plan to do with Edith?” Seemed plain to me.

  Her eyes grew wide with fright. “I don’t know. I told him I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Edith was always fairly nice to me.”

  David is going to go ballistic over this! Or else say, “Not my circus, not my monkeys!” Oh, but David, they are, because I’ve taken them on.

  She hadn’t touched her lunch, and I had only nibbled on mine between questions. “Where does Steven Connell fit into this? I thought he worked for David, who works for your stepmother. In fact, I thought she sometimes confided in Steven, which made it awkward for everyone.”

  She pushed her steak around and finally cut a bite. “Steven…he…well, I guess he plays both sides. I think he takes care of Steven, and right now he takes care of me. That’s all I care about. I certainly wasn’t going to share a room with Rodney.” Indignation flashed across her face.

  All I could think of was that old line, “What tangled webs we weave/When first we practice to deceive.” Instead, I said, “Eat your lunch. It’s getting cold.”

  Once she started to eat—and I left her alone with questions—nothing seemed wrong with her appetite. I could barely finish my lunch, and outside Huggles barked, letting me know he’d finish it for me.

  When Rose finally wiped her mouth and pushed her plate to the side, she had one simple question for me. “What should I do now?”

  Have I suddenly become the mother of a middle-aged woman? Had she always had someone to tell her what to do next? Probably so. I sighed in frustration.

  “I’d move out of Steven Connell’s room for starters,” I said.

  “Where? I left Tremont House because I had no more money—and because you knew who I am.”

  This one was a long shot. “Go back to Tremont House. I’ll tell Donna. You’ll have to fix your own meals, do the cleaning, and so on. If she gets other guests you’ll have to help her.”

  “I was never trained in housework,” she said softly, “but I suppose I can learn. In fact, I suppose I may have to.”

  “I think so.” I hope the bitter irony didn’t show in my tone, and once again I blessed Gram for all she taught me. I only wished Donna appreciated those lessons as much.

  She left, assuring me she was going to get her belongings out of the Holiday Inn in Canton and would tell neither Rodney nor Steven where she was going. She only hoped—and I did too—that she saw neither of them. I’ve eliminated two of the stepchildren from those wanting to kill Edith, leaving only Rodney. But that wasn’t what she asked of me. She wanted me to find out who killed Walter, and I’ve made no progress on that front at all. Still, I guess keeping her safe is the foremost concern.

  I rinsed the dishes, cleaned up after lunch, and called David. To my everlasting frustration, he was too busy to talk—his voice was clipped when he said this, as though he were talking to a barely remembered stranger. “We’ll talk tonight,” I said, “but you’ll want to hear this.”

  I called Donna.

  “You did what? She stiffed me. Didn’t pay her bill, after all the trouble I went to—and you too—to fix those special meals for this hoity-toity Dallas matron.”

  “The hoity-toity Dallas matron has no money and is in fairly desperate circumstances. I told her she’d have to work for her keep.”

  “Good. I need someone to clean my house, do the ironing, that sort of stuff. I’ll figure out a rate of pay. She can work off her debt too.” A pause. “She bringing that snooty daughter? I could put her to work too.”

  “No, the daughter’s back in Dallas. And, Don, remember there’s a minimum wage law. She’s not exactly an indentured servant.”

  Donna snorted and cut off our conversation.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rose returned to report that Steven Connell beat her to it—he’d moved out of the motel and, she assumed, left the bill unpaid. She didn’t see Rodney but presumed he was still there.

  I wondered if Connell had moved out because David fired him. If he’d gone back to Dallas and more profitable pickings, that suited me fine. One less person involved in this mess.

  “Donna’s expecting you. Hasn’t even changed the linen on your bed yet. And she says she can work out a payment arrangement.”

  Rose wailed. “I have no money to pay her. I can’t even buy food or gas.”

  The poor pitiful act wasn’t going to work with me. “David will help you. Come on, let’s go.” I all but had to drag her to the B&B. She was like a reluctant puppy who saw no other way out. She followed my car in her Buick gas-guzzler. No wonder she can’t afford gas!

  Donna loved nothing better than having someone to lord it over, especially someone who had previously intimidated her. Her surface graciousness covered a streak of downright meanness. “Mrs. Middleton! Or is it Mrs. Mitchum? Either way I thought I’d never see you again. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Rose by contrast was nervous as a wallflower at her first dance. “Uh, I’m sorry, Mrs. Bryson. I’ll see that you’re paid…eventually. I…that was unforgiveable. I should have explained the circumstances to you.”

  The Dallas matron melted before my eyes into a puddle of stammering insecurity.

  Nothing fazed Donna. “Oh, dear, do call me Donna, and I’ll call you Rose. Now let’s get you settled. You can take your suitcase right on up to your old room. I’m so sorry that darling daughter isn’t with you.” She led the way, without even offering to help Rose with her baggage.

  “I’ll just run on back to the café,” I called after them. “Rose, be sure and come to the café for supper. Say about six?”

  Rose flashed me a look, which I assumed to be a yes, and I left, careful to quell the instinct to slam the door behind me. I think I wanted to slam the door on the lot of them. I also wanted to put my next plan into operation, which I hoped wasn’t a big mistake.

  Once at the café, I asked Marj if she could cover dinner once again. “I’ll be back to close.” She agreed.

  Next I called James Aldridge and asked if he and Shelly could come to dinner at my house. “It’s important,” I said.

  James hesitated only a nanosecond before agreeing. They would be there at six fifteen. Finally I called David. “Dinner guests tonight at six. Can you be here?” If he couldn’t I’d wing it without him. But I really needed to talk to him first.

  “On my way now. Sorry I couldn’t talk before. Big new client had just come into my office in Dallas, and I was Skyping with him. As good as a conference, and a lot less trouble.”

  I was incredulous. “Where were you that you could use Skype?”

  “iHop in Canton.”

  “Weren’t you afraid of being overheard?”

  “Kate, no one’s in iHop at ten thirty in the morning. It’s as empty as the café. Will you be at the house when I get there…about fifteen minutes?”

  “Yep. I’ll be cooking.”

  I took enough for salad from the café and went home to examine my cupboard. Found spinach fettucine, canned artichokes, lemon, garlic, pesto—everything I needed but mushrooms. I raced back to the café, grabbed about half a pound of fresh mushrooms and headed home.

  When David came in, I decided it wasn’t the smartest thing to hit him immediately with all my news. I gave him a quick kiss and continued setting the table. “Who’s the new client?”

  “You’ll never guess. Big-time lawyer from Dallas named Mitchum. Filing for divorce on the grounds of in
fidelity.”

  Silverware clattered to the floor, and I was only lucky I wasn’t holding a stack of plates. “Mitchum?”

  “Yeah. What’s wrong with you?”

  “David, Rose Middleton is really Rose Mitchum, Walter Aldridge’s daughter.” And so I launched into the whole long story, including the fact that she was penniless and her husband wouldn’t give her money nor let her come home. “You’ll have to recuse yourself or whatever that term you lawyers use is.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Mitchum is an important man and a friend of mine. Well, maybe that’s overstating it but we’ve played golf, and we’re in Rotary together. I don’t know Rose Mitchum or whatever she calls herself, so I have no investment in her. No conflict.”

  “You’re meeting her tonight. She’s coming for supper. So are James Aldridge and his Shelly.”

  “Kate, what have you done?”

  “David Clinkscales, how could you take the case of a man who turned his wife out of her home and made her penniless? She doesn’t even know that the law says the home is common property and so is his fortune. She needs your help a lot more than that big fat rich banker does.”

  “He’s not fat,” he muttered.

  “Maybe not, but his bank account is.” David was losing this argument, and he knew it. He also knew that if he met Rose at dinner, he’d have to give up the case.

  “I guess Steven Connell was a bad idea.”

  I turned back to the stove.

  ****

  Rose Mitchum arrived a bit early and came to the front door as I’d suggested. I met her, seated her in the living room, offered wine which she gladly accepted, and sent David, her wine in hand, to introduce himself.

  “I feel awkward about this,” he muttered. “Lawyers don’t force themselves on clients.”

  “You’re not forcing. You’re offering to help.”

  He kissed my forehead. “If I didn’t love you…” The sentence wandered off as he headed for the living room or, as Gram would have called it, the parlor.

  In the kitchen I heard murmured voices, although I couldn’t make out the words. Still, the quiet sound made me think all was going well, until I heard a shrill, “You don’t mean it!” from Rose. I wondered which part of her rights David had just told her about. Her voice continued shrill as she said, “That skunk! That lowlife skunk!” Then the talk subsided.

  James and Shelly came to the back door soon after—another suggestion on my part. I was beginning to consider myself a great conniver. But they heard the low voices the minute they came in, and James cocked his head toward the living room.

  “We have another guest.” I poured wine as I explained. “Your sister, Rose, is talking to David, my…uh, companion. She’s in a world of trouble.”

  “Trouble?” James snorted. “What kind of trouble could she possibly be in with that rich husband and big house and spoiled brat of a daughter?”

  Nailed it, James! I put a finger to my lips to indicate whispering. I explained the whole situation in soft tones and they listened quietly until I came to the part about Steven Connell.

  “She what?” James almost exploded, but then he lowered his voice. “Miss Righteousness hooked up with some guy? I don’t believe it.” He apparently didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Finally, he said, “I’ve lost no time weeping for her, but she’s my sister, and if she’s in trouble I want to help.” Then he looked around, counted the places at the table, and said, as if to confirm, “You didn’t ask Rodney to dinner?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  “I think besides reuniting you and Rose, we have to figure out who killed your father. Then we’ll know what’s going on now. I’m not sure Rodney would be…ah…a helpful part of that.”

  James just looked grim.

  For too long, James and Shelly sat in silence, sipping their wine, and I fiddled, unnecessarily, with my pasta, re-tossed a salad that had already been tossed. The silence grew uncomfortable, but at long last David came into the kitchen, dragging a reluctant Rose by the hand.

  She stopped in the hallway. “James!” She stared as though to pinch herself back to reality. “I know you don’t much like me, and I’m sorry.”

  James was rapidly becoming one of my favorite people. He opened his arms, came toward her, and wrapped her in an embrace. “Rose, you’re my sister. How could I not like you?”

  She pulled back, looked at him, and said, “Because you thought I was in a scheme with Rodney to get the mansion from Edith.”

  “Were you?” His tone was gentle.

  “Yes, I was. And now I’m so ashamed. But I was desperate.”

  “If you’re desperate, you come stay with us. We’ll shelter you and put you to work.”

  She laughed nervously. “Kate’s sister is going to do that. I have a feeling I’ll be learning skills I never thought I’d need.”

  While they talked, I toasted the garlic bread and then announced dinner was ready, serving up huge bowls of pasta. For a few minutes there was silence, and then they began to talk about what I’d hoped—Rodney’s plan to get Edith out of the house.

  “He was going to scare her out of the house. I pointed out she could have tripped and gone down those steps to her death, but he seemed unconcerned. Steven told me Rodney shot the peacocks.”

  “Did he have help with this?”

  She nodded miserably. “Steven.”

  David startled visibly, and I could only think that Steven Connell was playing both sides of the game. I only hoped he’d lose this time. The one thing I couldn’t pin on him was Walter Aldridge’s death. Steven was younger than Rodney. Which brought my thoughts back to Rodney.

  “James, what was Rodney’s relationship with your father?”

  His half laugh had a bitter quality to it. “Rodney was the fair-haired boy, ready to follow in Walter’s footsteps. He would talk stock market and banking with Dad at the age of twelve…and I gather talk pretty knowledgeably. I didn’t pay any attention. It wasn’t my kind of deal.”

  David stepped in to the conversation. “Was Rodney greedy, even at that young age? Would he have snuck back home and killed his father, believing as the older son he’d inherit the house and the majority of the fortune?”

  James and Rose stared at each other until she shook her head, and James spoke. “No, I don’t think so. Even back then, I don’t think there was that much to inherit beside the house, which was apparently paid for. We had some spare dinners in those days—lots of soup, stew, none of the roasts and steaks I remember from my mom’s day. I don’t know if Mom’s money disappeared when she died or if Dad gambled or whored”—he cast a glance at Rose—“away the money. But it didn’t seem to be there. I suspect Edith lives frugally. She only heats and cools a few rooms in the house; she never invites guests to dinner—always tea, which is easy and cheap.”

  I thought of that sad, formal dining room. “What about Lucy and the groundskeeper?”

  “Loyalty,” James said. “They know Edith is dependent on them, and she’s generous with the bounty of the property—eggs, vegetables that John L. grows. I think he shot a deer on the property last year and they took it home to butcher. And look at Edith’s clothes—a bit out of date, a bit shabby.”

  “So it’s not greed that killed Walter and threatens Edith now. What is it? Revenge?” David looked at him with his best lawyerly look.

  Rose suddenly broke into the conversation. “I think it was all over Edith. Has anyone looked into her background?”

  I was so surprised I could only stare. I’d studied Walter up one side and down the other and found lots—gambling, womanizing—but all I knew about Edith was that she was his Pygmalion, the woman who’d been a cocktail waitress and he’d groomed to be a lady. I almost slapped my hand to my head.

  Rose continued. “I remember once when I was still very young, when Edith had just come to live with us. It was the middle of the night. I woke up and was scared. I wanted my mother, and of course she wasn’t the
re. Edith wasn’t the sort of person I’d run to for comfort. So I crept down the stairs toward Daddy’s office. He was different since Edith was there, but I remembered a man who would take me on his lap and comfort me, lull me back to sleep.”

  She paused and wiped a tear away. “When I got close to his office, I heard loud voices, men’s voices, arguing. I wanted to turn and run up the stairs, but it was like I was frozen there, listening.”

  James reached out an arm to put around her shoulders. “What were they saying, Rosie?”

  It was the first time I’d ever heard that affectionate nickname.

  “This other man—I never did see him—said, ‘She’s my wife, and I want her back.’ And Daddy said something like, ‘She’s not your wife anymore. Common-law marriage isn’t binding, and I married her in a proper ceremony. All legal and good.’”

  “Where was Edith?” I asked.

  Rose began to sob softly. “I don’t know. I never saw her that night. But there’s more. The other man said, ‘Man, she’s got a son to look after. I can’t have her just go gallivanting off and leaving me with that brat. You prepared to take him too?’”

  “And Dad said no,” James supplied.

  “Yes. Said it wasn’t any of his business. He had three of his own, and that was enough for him to take care of. I guess eventually the man left, because I was so scared I crept back up to my bed. And the next morning no one acted any different, as though nothing had happened. I had a thousand questions I wanted to ask—I still do. But I didn’t dare. And now it’s too late.”

  James put his arms around her, and she collapsed into him, sobbing loudly. Finally, she mumbled, “Daddy made a mess of all our lives.” She raised a tear-stained face to James, who gently stroked her hair away from her face.

  David was acutely aware of the importance of what she had just said. “What do you mean, Rose? A mess of all your lives?”

  She stood up and began to pace, holding a tissue to her nose. “He kept Edith from her son, though I never knew how she felt about that. Only after I was a mother, did I realize how I’d have felt. He married me off to Charles Mitchum long before I was ready to be married, let alone to that man. Dad thought it a suitable arrangement, and he saw that all the details were in place, even though he didn’t live to see the elaborate wedding at the Dallas Country Club.”