Murder at Peacock Mansion

by Judy Alter

  David got a stricken look on his face, said, “Oh, shit,” and pulled out his cell phone. “Brian? David here. Look, this is an emergency. I may be sending you on a fool’s errand but get someone out to the site right away and leave a guard there, an armed guard—one of your guys who knows how to shoot a handgun.” Pause, during which Brian must have said simply that he’d do it, and David responded. “Thanks. I’ll check in with you later.”

  Then he turned to me. “If this is about money—stealing it, swindling it, whatever—nobody will touch the new cabin. If it’s about revenge, somebody, even Steven, could torch it. And it may be about both.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not. You’ve been in enough danger so far. No more.” He knew me too well. “And, Kate, don’t wait five minutes and then follow me. You know what you always say, you have a café to run. I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

  He kissed me quickly and jumped in his car, which he’d parked outside the café instead of walking over.

  Serious preplanning.

  It was an endless morning, even with lunch only an hour away. That hour stretched and stretched for me. I’d look at the clock every three to five minutes, amazed it had moved no further than it had. I made two major mistakes in calculating social security withholdings and had to go back and do my work over. Marj eyed me nervously but left me alone.

  The café phone rang, and I jumped to answer it. “Do you have meatloaf today?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we certainly do.” I know my voice fell from the high pitch with which I’d answered to almost a monotone. My patience was running out, and I wanted to jump in my car and hightail it to the mansion. I even went so far as to open the kitchen door and listen for Huggles, but he seemed in no distress, not the way he was when the cabin burned. I concluded illogically that meant David was safe.

  He called, of course, at twelve fifteen, just as the first wave of customers was checking out. I called Marj to take over the register and added the counter to the newest wait staff’s three tables. If she couldn’t handle that much she wouldn’t last long. Then I took my phone out the kitchen door and sat on the stump where Gus the dishwasher sat to smoke his cigarettes.

  “You sitting down?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t mention where my seat was nor how uncomfortable.

  “Rodney is dead. Murdered.”

  I came close to dropping the phone, and then I was silent so long that David demanded, “Kate? Are you there?”

  “Yes. He can’t be dead. He’s the one who wanted the money, the one that set this whole thing in motion. How can he be dead?” My mind wouldn’t wrap around this new development.

  David’s tone was almost ironic and yet serious. “Shot with a bow and arrow. Body left outside the front door.”

  “Like the peacocks,” I breathed. “But he was the one who knew how to shoot a bow and arrow. That’s how Edith knew he’d killed her peacocks.”

  “Apparently, he wasn’t the only one. Sheriff’s people are here dusting for fingerprints—don’t imagine they’ll find any.”

  “Is Edith upset?”

  “I have no idea. She’s gone. Nothing in the house is disturbed, but she’s just gone. Halstead is going on the theory she was kidnapped, but there’s no sign of a struggle.”

  “Is Lucy there?”

  “No, and this is what I think is puzzling. Halstead called Lucy. She says she reported for work as she does every morning at seven, but Edith told her she wouldn’t be needing her today. Sent her home.”

  “I’m coming up there.”

  “That’s the last thing I want you to do. I need you to call Rose and James, tell them what’s happened, and tell them I’m worried about their safety. And, Kate, I’m worried about yours too. Trying to think of a safe place for all three of you. I’ll be back as soon as Halstead’s through with me, but I think maybe we all need to go to my place in Dallas.”

  “Dallas? I can’t just up and leave the café.”

  “You can if it means your life. Also call Tom and Chester. I want them with you.”

  “But—”

  He ended the call with a quick, “Got to go.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I made the phone calls. Rose was predictably frightened and said she was coming to the café immediately. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to have us all in one place at the same time, but I knew she didn’t want to be at Tremont House alone. James was just as predictable.

  “Rodney’s dead? Without getting his inheritance? He must be royally pissed.” Then his voice sobered. “I wasn’t fond of him, but he was my brother. Guess I’ll have to make the arrangements. I still have his wife’s phone number so I can get in touch with the kids. Even though the parents are estranged, the kids need to know.”

  “James, you’re missing a major point here. David thinks you’re in danger—you, Rose, and me.”

  He dismissed that. “Fuss about nothing. Edith probably went to Dallas or something—that’s why she didn’t need Lucy. Probably left before poor Rodney was put at her doorstep. Guess it will be a few days before the coroner releases Rodney’s body, but I’ll start phoning around now. May have to go to Dallas.”

  “David thinks we should all go to Dallas, get out of here. We could go to his apartment.”

  “Kate, if somebody’s looking for us, they’d find us there. He’s as much a part of this as you and I are. The attack and fire at his house sort of started this whole mess.”

  He was so right. I wondered if David didn’t see this logic. “James, be careful. Do you have a gun?”

  “Nope. Don’t believe in them. Take care, Kate. Keep me up to date.”

  Both Tom and Chester said they’d be right over to the café, and they arrived about the same time Rose did. Her face was red, and she was breathing heavily, obviously upset.

  “I’m scared,” she gulped. “If Rodney’s dead, am I next? I suspect our wicked stepmother is behind this. Rodney pushed her too hard. He wanted that house so badly. He just couldn’t be content with what he had, thought the world owed him more. Or Edith did.” She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  Tom and Chester were little help. They apparently didn’t know what to do with a hysterical, sobbing woman.

  “I wish it was five years ago. If we could turn the clock back, none of this would happen, Charles wouldn’t be trying to divorce me, Melissa would be a sweet angel and not the hoyden she’s turned into.”

  I stifled the thought that hers was certainly a self-centered approach to the problem. At least James had some words of regret for Rodney.

  Chester finally put a gnarled hand on her arm. “Wishing the present away isn’t going to do any good, Ms. Rose. We got to deal with what’s on our plate now. And the most important things is keeping you and Kate safe.”

  “And James,” she said.

  “James doesn’t feel threatened,” I said. “He’s sorry about Rodney and said he’ll make arrangements, but he didn’t seem particularly upset.”

  “Arrangements!” she sputtered. “There’s no one left to mourn for any of us, except maybe that girlfriend of James’.”

  I thought it was time to move this group to my house. Rose was making a spectacle of herself, and I could see curiosity written on the faces of several customers. None of us seemed in a mood for food, and I could try to give Rose a stiff short of bourbon. My suggestion met with acceptance, and we all trudged across the field to the house. Since the weather was getting warm in the daytime, I’d left Huggles in the house, and it turned out I was very glad I had.

  As we approached the back door, Chester said, “Y’all wait right here.”

  I followed his line of sight and saw it—an arrow stuck into the middle of my back door, pinning a note to the door. Rose saw it too and fainted dead away. Tom knelt by her and loosened her belt and collar, took her pulse, pinched her cheeks, and fanned her with a piece of paper he found gosh knows where—perhaps in his own pocket or
in Rose’s purse.

  Chester was on the phone calling for an evidence squad—they had to come from Canton so it would take a while. We could go around to the front door, but I’d left my keys at the café. Huggles whined and pleaded with us to come in. All I could think was that if Huggles had been out, he might have been the target of the arrow. A sense of dread filled me, but I knew I couldn’t let Rose see that.

  Chester helped Tom get Rose, who was coming around, into one of the rocking chairs on the porch. Then he went after my keys, but first he said, “Call David and Halstead. They need to know about this. And, yes, call that James fellow again.”

  Neither David nor Halstead answered, which I thought was strange, and so did Chester when he returned with the keys. Tom went around to open the door and came straight through the house to let us in where it was cool. I got down the bourbon and poured one finger for Rose, who sniffed it and asked, “Should I really drink this?”

  Chester’s phone went off and he said swiftly, “Grimes here.” There was a brief pause and then he uttered an oath, completely unlike Chester. He listened a minute more and then said, “I’ll be right there.” Then he turned to us and said, “David’s new house has been vandalized.” He took a deep breath and added, “The framing was burnt to the ground. He and Halstead are out there now.”

  Chester left, telling us the evidence team from Canton should be there within the hour, and, no, we were not to touch the note, the arrow, the door.

  My fingers itched to get at that note, but I knew Tom wouldn’t let me.

  To my credit, my first thought was not selfish. It was for David. He was so excited about his new lake house, so full of plans for us, and I’d been less enthusiastic than he wanted. My second thought was one of guilt. But with the third, came a need for action. “I’m going out there.” I needed to figure out who set the second fire, with John and Dan’l in jail. Johnny Baldwin leapt to my mind, and I was somehow convinced that if I could be out there, I’d find something the men missed.

  Tom Bryson fixed me with a look that I’d never seen from him before. “Kate, you are doing no such thing. If I have to knock you out and hog-tie you, you’re staying right here with Rose. So am I. Three men can handle a fire scene. Besides, if it’s out, there’s not much to handle.”

  I started to rebel, but the seriousness on Tom’s face stopped me, and I sank into a chair.

  Tom handed me a glass of cold water with an order to drink it. Then he turned to Rose, who was still pale but seemed to be mostly all right.

  “Could I lie down somewhere?” she asked. “With a cold rag on my forehead?”

  “Of course.” I showed her to Donna’s old room and fetched a washrag, wrung out in the coldest water I could coax out of the tap. “Let me know if you need anything else,” I said.

  “Peace, safety, and quiet,” she muttered.

  I looked in not ten minutes later, and she was sound asleep. I covered her with a light summer blanket and pulled the door gently shut.

  Tom and I sat in uncomfortable silence. There didn’t seem to be much to say. We couldn’t begin to figure out who was where and why in this tangled mess, but none of it gave me a good feeling. Huggles lay coiled around my feet with what I interpreted as a sense of protectiveness. I thought about David, out there in the woods where any skilled rifleman—or bow-and-arrow expert—could use him as a target. I drummed my fingers on the table, fidgeted, glanced at the back door frequently.

  “Kate, stop it!” Tom’s voice was a command. “You’re not doing yourself or any of us any good.”

  “I’ll be all right when David Clinkscales walks in here,” I said.

  “We can’t wait for that. We have to make some concrete plans. First one is that finding Edith Aldridge is not our responsibility, not any of us except Sheriff Halstead. Our responsibility is to keep everyone safe—you, David, Rose, James.”

  “Donna and the children?”

  “They’re not involved in this, and heaven help me if Donna gets wind of it.”

  “She was in the café yesterday morning, where Ambrose Connell’s body was the talk of everyone. Of course, then we didn’t know who he was. I promised to put his identity on the café web page, but I haven’t done it.”

  “Good. And don’t do it.”

  “Just where will we be safe?” I asked.

  “Right here,” he said. “We’ve pulled the shades, you have a good alarm system, the security is good. I can’t think of any place you all can hide that’s better. Chester’s nearby, and I’m going to be here until this is solved. Or until Steven Connell is found—because I think he’s the one behind all this, without a doubt.”

  “I do too,” I admitted. “But you can’t stay here. Donna will have a fit and complain about being left unprotected. Besides, I may end up with a houseful, if James and Shelly finally see that they’re in danger.”

  As if on cue, the phone rang. James exploded on the other end, “Holy shit! Someone shot my dog with an arrow.”

  I reached down for Huggles reflexively and then asked, dumbly, “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, missed anything vital. Appears to be a flesh wound, but I’ll have to take him to the vet to get the arrow removed. Shelly’s keeping him quiet. But you’re right—someone seriously demented is after us.”

  “Come here,” I said. “I’ll call the Wheeler vet and ask him to meet you. Bring some clothes so you both can stay…and an air mattress if you have it.”

  They were at the house within a half hour. And that’s how I ended up with five assorted adults, two dogs, and a sulky cat under my protection. Actually, I called Doc Mason, who came quickly and knew better than to ask too many questions. I also knew he’d ask Chester for details. But he was gentle with Maynard Malcolm, a sweet dog of uncertain ancestry but probably a lot of lab. Doc cut the shaft of the arrow with bolt cutters and then shot some topical anesthetic into the skin so he could make a small cut, just big enough to push the arrowhead through. A few stitches, and he was done. Shelly and James both held the dog and crooned to him, and he submitted peacefully to the procedure, as though he knew people were helping him.

  Doc wore gloves the whole time and when he was through he asked for a baggie. Then he bagged the arrow. “Never can tell where they’ll find evidence,” he said.

  After Doc left, carrying his bagged arrow, we sat and looked at each other. Rose was still sleeping, and James and Shelly were on the floor, crooning to Malcom Maynard. Huggles thought this was most interesting, but I managed to rein in his curiosity. None of us spoke. I suspect we were each contemplating our version of the future.

  That is, none of us spoke until Chester and David arrived, just as dusk settled over us. I had worried that David would be the same beaten-down man that survived the first attack on his house and his life. But I needn’t have worried. The David who came in my back door was blazing mad.

  “They burned it down. My house. To the ground. Brian’s guys didn’t get there in time except to help stomp out the flames so they didn’t destroy every tree on the property. We’ll have to start all over again, including scraping the land clean. I’ll get them, those sons-of—” He looked at me and stopped, though I knew full well what he was about to say.

  “Who?”

  “Steven Connell, for starters. He’s the only one left standing, with Rodney dead, and James here.” He looked down at James and Shelly on the floor with their dog. “What happened?”

  “Dog was shot with an arrow,” James said. “Doc Mason took it out. He’ll be okay.”

  “There’s one big clue—who besides Rodney was skilled at archery?” Then he paused midthought and turned to me. “Rose?”

  “Asleep in Donna’s old room. She’s terrified.”

  “So everyone’s here and accounted for except Steven and Edith.”

  “Looks that way.” I turned to Chester. “Any word on what the note on my door said?”

  “Oh, yeah. I wrote it down.” He pulled a small pad of paper out of his pocket
, thumbed through a couple of pages, and read, “James and Rose must sign a quit-claim to any property or money owned by Edith Aldridge within twenty-four hours. Document must be drawn up by David Clinkscales and notarized. Delivery instructions will follow. Edith is safe.”

  Conversation stopped again. What could we possibly say?

  Rose had wandered in just in time to hear Chester read his notes. “I’ll sign,” she said. “Just give it to me. I want this whole mess to be over with. I want my life back again.”

  James got up and put a comforting arm around her. “Rose, we’re all trying to figure out what’s best to do. Just wait a bit, can you? You’re safe here.”

  She clutched his arm. “Are you sure?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen—we’ve got twenty-four hours.”

  She trembled. “Will you be here, James?”

  “I will, and I’ll take care of you.”

  I wondered how the pacifist in the midst of all of us planned to do that, but he seemed to calm Rose down, and I was grateful. It was past time to think about feeding this edgy, hungry group of people, and I knew I didn’t have enough in my kitchen to do it. Then I thought about eggs—I had two dozen, fresh from the farm. I combed through the vegetable drawer and my frozen vegetables and came up with a respectable frittata—scallions, chopped spinach, frozen peas, and a bit of dried basil. I thought about putting cherry tomatoes into it but saved them for garnish. Fortunately, I had a good supply of white wine.

  Chester said he had to go home to Carolyn and would keep us posted on anything he heard. The rest of us ate my hearty one-dish meal, sipping wine, sitting wherever—Shelly and James were still on the floor with their dog. I fed Huggles, so he wouldn’t try to beg from them. Wynona wandered in, looked with disdain, and went back to her special place in my bedroom. She had plenty of food in there, and a frittata didn’t interest her much.

  I broke the silence. “Is Edith part of this? And if so, why did she want me to find out who shot Walter Aldridge?”

  Silence again, until David said, “No idea. Unless somehow Ambrose Connell was part of this. Steven would have been a young child at the time, so why would he be involved now? She’s apparently the mother who left him with a ne’er-do-well father.”