Murder at Peacock Mansion

by Judy Alter

  We thanked him for his hospitality and time, asked him to thank his wife, and fled. Once in the car, David let out a long, “Whew! What a story. I don’t know how to begin to sort it out.

  “Nor to know how much is truth, how much resentment, how much just having an audience. I want to get home and check divorce and marriage licenses. How ironic if Edith isn’t legitimately heir to all she’s protecting so fiercely. Besides, I suspect Rose and James and Shelly would like to be rescued from jail.”

  “Wheeler it is, nonstop.”

  But we weren’t out of Dallas before David announced, “We’ve picked up a tail. Don’t turn to look but check your makeup in the rearview mirror or something. There’s a tan Camry pretty close on our tail—just one car back so as not to be obvious. What kind of car does Edith drive?”

  “Not a tan Camry,” I assured him.

  “No telling what Steven’s driving. He seems to have a different car every time I see him. No sense trying to dodge them. It’s obvious where we’re going—except he may be surprised when we go to the jail. Call Chester, would you please, and tell him we’re on our way.”

  I did, told him we thought we were being followed, and spent the next bit of the drive in anxious tension, afraid to look back, afraid not to look back. At Seagoville, the Camry made a U-turn and left us. I breathed a sigh of relief but David was even more puzzled.

  “I hope they’re not going to Edgar’s house. I guess following us to Wheeler was too big a risk.”

  “You don’t even know it was them!”

  “Instinct, Kate, instinct.”

  If I’d said that, he’d have jumped all over me. “Maybe they just wanted to be sure we weren’t going to do anything else in Dallas.”

  “Or maybe they’re going over to take I-20 to the Mansion, after being sure that’s not where we’re headed.”

  “I don’t want to worry about it. I just want to collect our charges, go home, and get on the computer. I’ll call the café and order chicken-fried steak for everyone. That will delight Rose.”

  We pulled up to the police office to find ourselves met by what almost amounted to an armed militia—Chester, Tom, and Doc, each with weapons at easy reach. Even James stood by, although unarmed except for a cell phone in his hand. Rose and Shelly were cowering together in one, unlocked cell.

  When we walked in peacefully, Chester said, “We didn’t know what to expect. A shootout maybe.”

  Sheepishly, I admitted the car had turned off at Seagoville. “Besides, we didn’t know for sure it was Edith and Steven.”

  “I knew,” David said firmly.

  “I am so sorry. Dinner at the café is my treat. Surely there’s safety is this many numbers.”

  “And this many armed men. But we promise not to shoot up the café,” Chester said. “All right if we call Carolyn to join us? She’s feeling a bit neglected these days.”

  Carolyn Grimes was one of my favorite people, and I urged Chester to go get her. The rest of us trooped over to the café. I had forgotten, of course, to place an order, so everyone ordered what they wanted. Carolyn hugged me warmly and whispered, “I am so worried about you.”

  “Don’t be,” I whispered back. “Look what good protection I have.” I introduced her to Rose, and the two were soon deep in conversation that I doubted had anything to do with Edith Aldridge and her son.

  I was pretty clever about arranging the seating, if I do say so. Having settled Rose and Carolyn at one end of the table, I put David and James in the middle, Chester at the end, and then seated myself between James and Chester. I had things on my mind, but I didn’t want to appear to be telling Chester what to do. “What’s next?” I asked, trying hard to be casual. “We can’t keep these people cooped up at my house much longer. You think Edith and Steven went back to the mansion?”

  Chester looked at me. “You got the vision, Kate? That’s exactly what I think. Told Halstead so, and he went to court today to get a search warrant. He and his guys will go in soon as they get it. Me? I’m glad I’m out of it. I’m too old for that kind of foolishness.”

  “Foolishness?”

  “Yeah. I think Edith and Steven are in cahoots, and they’ll be there, holed up and ready to stand off an assault. It could get dicey. Carolyn’d never forgive me if I got hurt again.”

  Chester had been pretty badly injured in an accident which involved me, and I’d been both guilty and grateful ever since. Now I shuddered at the violence that might end this whole tangled mess—and I still couldn’t understand what started it.

  In spite of the circumstances, it was a pretty jolly supper party. David and James were talking animatedly about David’s plans for rebuilding yet again. “It may have been a blessing in disguise. Brian and I have been emailing about some changes in the plans, and Sheriff Halstead has provided enough arson evidence for my insurance to cover the bulk of it.”

  “You think Edith or Steven is responsible?”

  “I can’t think of anyone else, and all I can think is that Edith has a secret she’s hiding and is afraid I’ll uncover it.” He nodded toward me. “Or Kate will. Hope she doesn’t have the nerve to try to torch the café.”

  The very thought sent a chill through me, and I wanted to change the subject as quickly as I could. “James, I have an odd question. Was Rodney an expert with a bow and arrow?”

  He almost laughed. “Where’d you get that idea? I doubt he ever picked up a bow in his life. Now Dad and Edith, they used to hunt deer on the property with bow and arrow. Dad quit, because Edith got better at it than he was. We ate a lot of venison for a while there.”

  “Really?” I tried to make it sound like that was just an incidental fact, nothing more, and James turned back to his discussion with David, while I sat in utter confusion. Thinking Steven was skilled with a bow and arrow too was almost too much coincidence, but would Edith shoot her own peacocks? And then her stepson. What kind of hard-hearted woman hid behind that gentrified façade? I was suddenly more frightened than ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  No one knew that Edith had told me Rodney was an archery expert, and I told no one at that table. But I figured it was conclusive evidence that she was lying—about a lot of things. The suspicion that crossed my mind was not comforting—she had asked me to look into Walter’s murder because she thought I was inept and would give the appearance of looking into it while accomplishing nothing. That made me angry, and I knew I had to prove that she herself had killed Walter Aldridge. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde personality!

  When the house had settled down for the night and I had David’s ear, I told him about the archery lie.

  “I was about to call Halstead and see what their search turned up…and who. I’ll share that with him, if that’s okay with you? I don’t want to steal your thunder.”

  “No, go ahead. I’m getting online to review Walter Aldridge’s murder one more time.” I accessed Van Zandt County court records and studied the transcript of the trial; I read the obituary again; I reviewed my notes on the murder. Only David’s voice interrupted me.

  “Halstead said there was no one at the mansion. Lucy the housekeeper gave them the key. She’s worried about Edith. Halstead said they searched the house. Thoroughly. Came up with nothing. Zip.”

  “No bow and arrows.”

  “No, but he thought that was an interesting piece of information.”

  “Where could they be?”

  David shook his head. “Mexico?”

  “And leave the house and inheritance behind? I doubt that.”

  “Halstead’s pulling bank records in the morning—his and hers. You know, if I didn’t know they were mother and son, I’d think this was a case of lovers leaving everything behind. But I can’t imagine Edith doing that.”

  “Neither can I.” I shook my head. There was some key, some clue we were missing. “We don’t know how much money is involved.”

  “I do to a certain point, although it’s privileged information. Let’s just s
ay she gets a healthy check deposited directly into her local account every month. And I mean healthy.”

  I knew he would not be more specific, but he frustrated me. “How do we know she doesn’t have accounts in Dallas? And what about Steven?”

  “I doubt Steven has any assets. He always seemed to live from pillar to post. He’s in this for the money.”

  “And why is she in it? She was going along smoothly, with her ‘healthy’ income. Why stir things up?”

  “Because Rodney made her feel threatened. I think she thought you’d pin the murder on Rodney and it would all be over.”

  That didn’t help my ego any more than my own idea that she thought I was inept.

  “But now she’s—well, to use a trite phrase, she’s burned her bridges behind her. Effectively given up her income and her inheritance.”

  “Only if she’s proven to have murdered Ambrose or Rodney. And to avoid that, I have no doubt she’d—okay, another of your trite phrases—throw Steven under the bus. But the first thing is to find them. If they have an ounce of sense, they won’t come busting in here.”

  “But is she motivated by greed or revenge?”

  David shook his head. “Let’s go to bed. Maybe by morning, we’ll have some better ideas.”

  ****

  By morning, all that was clear was that the inmates in my house were getting testy. Rose was harping on James’ funeral arrangements for Rodney, saying they’d all be in danger.

  “Would you let him go in the ground without a proper blessing?” James asked mildly.

  “Yes. To save my skin,” she replied tartly and flounced out of the kitchen.

  Shelly was distant from James because she wanted to go home, had things that needed to be done like laundry and food that would spoil, and she was, she confided to me, bored and tired of the company.

  David wanted to be out at his building site, but although Brian was allowed to go out there, David was not. Both Halstead and Chester were emphatic about that.

  I fed everybody as best I could. I was going to have to send Chester to the local market if this kept up, and a trip to Canton was out of the question. I simply wanted to get back to the computer. I had figured out that Edith killed her husband but had to have an accomplice—at least someone to break down that French door. Or did she?

  I called the Canton Chamber of Commerce and asked for a list of carpenters and builders in business thirty years ago. Predictably, it was a slim list. The first couple of calls were discouraging but I hit pay dirt—an independent contractor named Ralph Jones said he remembered fixing the doors.

  “Damn near busted beyond repair,” he said. “Somebody was in a fury. I always thought they couldn’t have snuck up on that guy ’cause they’d have necessarily made so much noise busting that door.”

  “Big question,” I said. “Was the door broken from the outside or the inside?”

  He thought about it a long time. I waited. Finally, he said, “You know, come to recollect, it was broken from the inside.”

  In my mind, that clinched it: Edith had murdered Walter, shot him in the chest, and then busted up the door. Now what did I do with that information? Halstead would think I’d been meddling in what was most definitely not my business. But to me, that solved Walter’s murder—but shed no light on what happened to Rodney (though I suspected Edith) and Ambrose (surely Steven wouldn’t kill his own father—or would he?).

  Sheriff Halsted, with Chester in tow, broke the monotony of everyone else’s morning by striding in the back door, without knocking, and seating himself at the table, while Chester leaned against the counter.

  “Well,” the sheriff drawled, “I guess you all can go home now. Steven Connell was apprehended down in Zavala County, headed for Mexico, no doubt about it.”

  We waited expectantly, and the sheriff expanded his chest with self-importance. “There’s been a BOLO out on him and Edith for over twenty-four hours, and some alert Texas Ranger spotted him in a roadside convenience store. Apparently took him down with no violence or bloodshed.”

  “What about my client?” David asked.

  Halstead squinted his eyes at him. “You sure you still want her as a client? Anyway, no sign of her. All Connell said was that his mother was ‘bat-shit crazy.’ Forgive my language, ladies. I’m quoting.”

  “We can really leave?” Shelly asked, her voice breaking.

  “Yeah, I don’t think Mrs. Aldridge is going to come after any of you now. Wish I knew where she was, though. We’ll check the house again today, let you know if we find anything.”

  James and Shelly were off to gather their belongings, David was out the door to the building site with a hasty kiss and a promise to see me for supper, but Rose hung back.

  “I don’t want to go back to Tremont House. Frankly, it scares me to stay there alone.”

  I wanted to shake some spine into her. “You can stay here, but you’ll still be alone, except for Huggles. He’s good protection. But I have a café to run, and I’ve been neglecting it.”

  She chose to stay, said she’d come to the café for lunch. I let Huggles out for a good run and then brought him in, locked the doors and showed Rose the alarm system—did I believe for a minute she understood what I was saying?—and left for the café.

  Between Marj and Sallie, things were going smoothly, though by lunchtime I was greeted with a lot of “Where you been, girl?” and “We missed you,” and “Glad to see you back here. Brightens my day.”

  Rose came in for lunch about the same time Chester called to say the alarm had gone off at my house. “I’m sure it was Rose. I’ll go turn it off.”

  “Let me go,” he said, “if you don’t mind telling me the code.”

  The code was so simple—the house address—that he snorted and said he’d take care of it and maybe let Huggles out again.

  Rose, all innocence, ordered chicken-fried steak, and hung around the café long after she finished her meal. She clearly wanted company, but I had too much to do.

  I spent the afternoon mostly inventorying supplies and figuring out menus and orders. I also had to think about dinner tonight, so I went into the kitchen and started a small batch of spaghetti sauce, knowing I had fettucine in the cupboard. I’d scoop up salad makings and some Texas toast for garlic bread—three pieces. And then it dawned on me that I really wanted dinner alone with David, and I was resenting Rose more every day. She finally went back to the house about three, saying she was afraid to set the alarm, which I thought showed a rare bit of common sense. I truly considered serving David dinner at the café and taking Rose her portion, but I couldn’t bring myself to be that rude.

  When David came in to the café, he reported that Halstead had called, said he checked the mansion again. No sign of Edith, though Lucy was there and seemed unusually nervous. “He said he’d keep checking,” David added. “I can’t bring myself to worry too much about Edith Aldridge. She’s a survivor. But I don’t think she’s my client any more. My decision, not hers.”

  Halstead apparently revealed something else most interesting. He told John and Big One that Steven Connell had been arrested and they all of a sudden couldn’t talk enough. Steven had recruited them, given them specific orders—which included murder, if necessary—and threatened their families if they talked. Apparently, Steven wanted David out of the way—and out of Edith’s affairs.

  Big One had turned into a whining mess, saying he had three babies at home and he didn’t want them hurt. All he had wanted was a little extra cash, which they never got. John apparently looked at him scornfully but said nothing. Still Halstead said, “Little John had a wife and baby to worry about.”

  The whole sad story was unraveling, and it wasn’t pretty. It was a story of greed on many levels and indifference to human or animal life. The missing piece was Edith Aldridge.

  ****

  For two long days, I worried over the whereabouts—and fate—of Edith Aldridge. Was she trapped someplace and unable to call for help? Had
Steven killed her? I refused to believe that after Rodney’s death and Steven’s arrest, either James or Rose harmed her. They were innocents in this mess; Rodney and Steven were the evil ones. Then I’d pull myself up short and remember that Edith was no innocent either. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I didn’t want her to come to some sad, inglorious end.

  Sheriff Halstead continued to check the house and report the same thing: no sign of Edith, but Lucy was there and seemed nervous.

  David was no comfort. “We may never know, Kate. Connell could have dumped her body in a lake or even a well shaft where we’d never find it unless he talks…and I doubt that.”

  “She’s alive,” I said vehemently.

  “Instinct?”

  “Yes, strong instinct.”

  He really tried to comfort me, but I was anxious, antsy, and impatient. Edith was a strong woman, and I just couldn’t believe that she’d let someone, even her own son, trick her into a dangerous situation. Besides, I didn’t think she had many maternal feeling about that son. In fact, I wasn’t sure who she had feelings for, if anyone.

  I went about running the café, but always in a sort of haze, my thoughts elsewhere. I burned the sticky buns one morning, and Marj just caught me in time from putting salt in the sugar dispensers. I forgot to order steak for the chicken-fried and ordered double chicken. Without thinking, I put pepper in the chicken salad…and then put it in again. The result was inedible. Marj’s suggestion that I go home and rest fell on deaf ears. If I were home, I’d just pace and worry.

  Rose had reluctantly gone back to Tremont House, because Donna had guests—a couple from Dallas, and she was expecting another guest over the weekend, so she’d have a fairly full house. Once there were other people in the B&B, Rose didn’t mind, even seemed glad to resume her duties. At least I had my home back, and David and I had privacy at night. He comforted me every way he knew how.

  ****

  On the third day after Steven Connell’s arrest, Edith Aldridge came into the café about ten in the morning. I stiffened and dropped the plate of eggs and bacon I was about to serve, splattering food all over the place. My heart was pounding, my hands clammy, and my whole body shaky. Why, when everyone was looking high and low for her, did she appear at my café? The only thought that went through my brain was that she intended to kill me; I looked again—at least she had no bow and arrows that I could see. All right, logic wasn’t my strong point in the face of downright fear.