by Mary Daheim
SEVEN
“SHUT UP AND pass the salt,” Renie said as the cousins assessed their order of hamburgers, French fries, green salad, and Pepsi. “I’m sick of all these people. Everybody seems to have a hidden agenda. And nobody seems to be telling the whole truth.”
Judith shot Renie a rueful look. “So when did anybody ever do that except us? In fact, even we don’t, all the time. I lied to Iris about Yancey Tobias, and I don’t even know why I did it. Stop being crabby. It’s just because we’re an hour late for lunch and you’re out of sorts.”
“Bag the ham and the hot dogs for tonight,” grumbled Renie. “Let’s go into Glacier Falls and eat at the Virgin Forest Cafe. They’ve got a London broil that makes me weep.”
“That was in 1968, and the place has changed hands four times. It’s Thai food now, you dope.” Judith bit into her burger.
Renie swore under her breath, ate three fries, two bites of hamburger, and a forkful of salad, then relaxed in the same chair she’d sat in that morning at the Green Mountain Inn. “Face it, coz, Riley was trying to play two fiddles at once. Which one stopped the music?”
Judith tipped her head to one side, chewing thoughtfully. “Neither, maybe. Besides, we only have Lark’s word for is that Riley wanted to marry her. It’s possible that she’s playing out a fantasy.”
Renie stabbed at her lettuce. “So what were Riley and Ward fighting about?”
“If they were fighting.” Judith’s gaze wandered around the dining room. It was after one-thirty, and the lunch rush was over. But the Green Mountain Inn was still busier than it had been in midmorning. Nine of the twenty tables were full, mostly, Judith judged, with locals. “I’ml inclined to believe there was a row, if only because, when we showed up at the Kimballs’ lost night, Ward seemed surprised to see us.”
Renie swigged down about half of her Pepsi at once. “So? I haven’t seen Ward in years.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Judith explained as an elderly couple tottered past. She smiled, recognizing them as longtime occupants of a mobile home in the stretch of road between Nella Lablatt’s and Ward Kimball’s. “If Ward had merely dropped by to visit Riley probably would have mentioned that we’d been there, too. But Ward didn’t know we were at the cabin, so I have to conclude that he and Riley weren’t engaged in chitchat.”
“Ward didn’t know we’d been with Iris when she found the body,” Renie pointed out.
“True” Judith agreed. “He hadn’t yet talked to Iris last night. He and Lark were probably given only the bare bones by the neighbors who called on them. I suppose the news of Riley’s murder spread like wildfire. The bottom line is that Clive may be right about Ward and Riley having a quarrel.”
“Speak of the devil.” murmured Renie, looking beyond Judith to the dining room entrance. “Here comes Clive now.”
Clive Silvanus could not avoid the cousins. nor did he try. “Mah soul and body,” he exclaimed. coming directly to their window table, “Ah’m surprised to see you two charmin’ ladies here. Ah thought Ah’d have a bit of luncheon.”
“Pull up a chair,” Judith offered. “Have you heard anything new about Riley’s death?”
Seating himself in the same place where Dewitt Dixon had joined the cousins earlier in the day, Clive expelled a heartfelt sigh. “Ah spoke with the sheriff’s people within the hour. They stopped by before goin’ to call on poor Iris. Naturally, there was very little Ah could tell them.” Graciously, he beckoned to Dee Johanson to bring him a menu.
“Did you tell them about the argument between Riley and Ward?” Renie asked.
Clive looked affronted. “Ah did not. Why make trouble?” He gave Dee a grateful smile as she handed him the plastic-covered menu.
“This afternoon,” Dee said, mainly for Renie’s benefit, “we have boysenberry pie, fresh-baked.”
But this time Renie demurred. Dee took Clive’s order of chicken fried steak and again retreated reluctantly.
“You never did say what they were quarreling about,” Judith remarked, willing to leap into the fray now that Renie had broached the subject.
Clive brushed at his mustache and looked pensive. “Ah didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Still, Ah couldn’t help but overhear a snatch or two. It seemed to be about that lovely child, Lark. Ah gathered her daddy thought Riley was takin’ advantage of her. You know how daddies can be.”
Judith tried to picture her own father in a similar situation. The rational, even-tempered, intellectual Donald Grover would no doubt have turned the discussion into a debate on morality and ethics. On the other hand, his brother, Cliff, who appeared to be such a quiet sort, would have quelled any man who forced his attentions on Renie by breaking his skull with a coal shovel. Perhaps Ward Kimball fell somewhere in between.
“It wasn’t a violent quarrel, was it?” Judith asked as Clive lighted a cigarette.
“Not while Ah was in the vicinity,” he replied. His expression was conspiratorial. “Ah know what you’re thinkin’. But Ah’ve known Mr. Kimball for a very long time, and upon sober reflection, Ah know he wouldn’t hurt a bug.”
Judith agreed with Clive’s reassessment—as far as it went. But she knew all too well that under certain circumstances, almost anyone could be driven to violence. Ward Kimball, who had been both father and mother to his handicapped daughter for twenty-five years, might react more strongly than most men. He had a right—and a reason—to be protective of Lark.
Judith let the point ride. “What time were you at Riley’s?”
Clive cocked his head. “Oh—about three. Or was it four? Ah forget. The day’s a blur.”
Judith grimaced. “Did you tell the undersheriff when you thought you were there?”
Clive gave Judith a coy little smile. “Ah did mah best. Oh, Ah know—if Ah could be more precise, it would give me an alibi. Knowin’ Ah’m innocent isn’t enough for the law. But there’s no point in makin’ things up just to please, is there?”
Judith allowed that there probably wasn’t. Maybe Ward had fixed the time of his own visit more accurately. But Clive wasn’t finished yet.
“That Hungarian fellow and Dewitt were there before me. Maybe before Ward, too. Ah’m sure that Costello lawman must have asked.”
“Dewitt was at the studio, too? Before he came to the house after Riley was killed?” Judith stared at Clive.
“He said he was,” Clive asserted as Dee arrived with his chicken fried steak. “Why, thank you, darlin’. That looks just delicious. Like my momma used to fix.” He gave Dee a big smile. “Ah had breakfast here this mornin’ with Mr. Dewitt Dixon, didn’t Ah, sugah?” His admiring gaze was lifted up to Dee’s plain face.
Dee laughed, a bit uncomfortably. “You had breakfast with someone, Mr. Silvanus. I thought the two of you were going to stay on and have lunch, too.”
“Well, Ah am doin’ that now. Mr. Dixon has gone into Glacier Falls to the bank. He won’t find better home cookin’ in that town, Ah assure you.” Clive turned his attention to his plate.
Judith and Renie finished their meal in silence. Judith’s brain was spinning. The window of opportunity was slowly closing. Lazlo Gamm seemed out of the running; his copter had lifted off before three o’clock. Clive Silvanus must have shown up at the studio after Gamm’s departure and Ward’s arrival. The art agent hadn’t stayed long, but Ward Kimball was still there when he left. Had Ward gone off to brood and returned later? Judith couldn’t picture the elderly, infirm Ward Kimball overcoming the strapping, middle-aged Riley Tobias. Which, she realized, also ruled out the women involved in the case. Even if the cousins hadn’t been with Iris at the time, she would have been ill-matched against Riley. And Lark was not only small, but her vision was exceedingly poor. Judith realized that left only two known suspects—Dewitt Dixon, and the man who was sitting between the cousins, complacently eating chicken fried steak.
Pushing herself back from the table, Renie broke the silence. “Say, Clive, what’s this we hear about Riley losing his audience w
ith his new style?”
Clive used his paper napkin to wipe a dab of gravy from his upper lip. “That’s poppycock. Oh, it takes folks a while to get used to something new, no matter who does it. But Ah’m willin’ to wager that those portraits would soon become all the rage.”
“Is that what Dewitt bought?” Renie asked, trying to look guileless.
Clive soaked a biscuit in honey. “No, he got himself a landscape. Or got it for his wife, Ah ought to say.”
Renie darted a quizzical look at Judith. “So it was an earlier work that Riley’s ex-wife wanted.”
Briefly, Clive Silvanus seemed genuinely puzzled. “His ex…oh, Erica. Ah never knew her when she was married to Riley. Ah don’t think of her as anything but Missus Dixon. That is, Miz Dixon, which she prefers.”
Clive hadn’t precisely answered the question. Judith pressed on. “Let me get this straight. Riley showed us one of his portraits, ‘The Nerd,’ I think he called it. Is that still in the studio?”
“It is, though, alas, it will now be called ‘The Unfinished Nerd.’ Still, it ought to fetch a fine price.” Clive sighed heavily. “Riley’s last work. Such a sad thought.”
“Not so sad for Riley’s estate,” Renie remarked. “Who gets it?”
Clive was still looking morose. He brushed at the strands of hair that lay limply over his bald spot. “Riley wasn’t much of a businessman, but Iris saw to it that he made provisions. He set up The Riley Tobias Foundation for Disadvantaged Minority Youth. The money is to be used for study and just plain ol’ appreciation.”
“That sounds very worthy,” Judith said, wondering why she should be surprised at the artist’s humanitarian spirit. Indeed, it occurred to her that it wasn’t Riley’s humanitarianism that she was questioning, but the fact that he’d done something practical about it. Of course, he had acquiesced to Iris’s urging. Still, Judith thought the foundation was an admirable concept. “I don’t suppose you know why Lazlo Gamm came to see Riley yesterday?” Judith asked, changing the subject.
Clive rubbed his mustache. “Well, now, Ah couldn’t rightly say, since Ah didn’t talk to poor Riley after Mr. Gamm had called on him. Mah guess is that he was canoodlin’.”
Renie grimaced. “Canoodling? As in to canoodle?”
Clive nodded solemnly. “That’s right. Lazlo Gamm is a great canoodler.”
Gazing at the beamed ceiling, Judith found not only inspiration but memory. “Grandma Grover used that word, coz. It means to romance someone. Right?” She lowered her eyes to seek Clive’s confirmation.
“It means to snuggle,” Clive agreed with a sage nod. “Or cuddle or what you will. Perhaps there are regional differences in the doin’ of it, but you get the idea, Ah’m sure.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a lascivious manner.
Just then a pair of forest rangers walked past the table, carrying their hats in their hands. Fleetingly, Judith thought of Mike, and wondered if he would someday join their ranks. But her attention quickly went back to the matter at hand.
“With whom is Lazlo canoodling?” Judith inquired.
But Clive couldn’t enlighten the cousins. “His fancy moves quickly. Indiscriminately, too. Ah will say that he is very discreet. Those European counts are like that, Ah’m told.”
Renie evinced surprise. “He’s a count?”
Clive shrugged. “Or a no-account, some might say. He claims to be of noble birth, goin’ way back. No doubt it helps his cause with the ladies.”
Having run out of food as well as questions, the cousins took their leave of Clive Silvanus. During the brief drive back to the cabin, Judith reviewed her chronology of the previous afternoon.
“We show up about one,” she said to Renie. “We stay half an hour or so. Lazlo Gamm flies in circa one-thirty, leaving about an hour later. Dewitt Dixon comes along next, let’s say around two-thirty. Then Ward Kimball, with Clive Silvanus lurking in the background. Clive comes and goes around three, Ward leaves later. How much later, we don’t know. Iris shows up before five, comes to our place, gets us, and we go over to Nella’s. Then we find the body. It could be any of the above, on a return visit.” She signaled for a left-hand turn, noting that the sheriff’s car was still parked by the road in front of Riley’s house.
Judith pulled the car into the little clearing next to the cabin. When they got out, Renie headed for the riverbank. The afternoon was warm. The sunlight sparkled on the rolling water. Up on Mount Woodchuck, the outline of the fire-watcher’s hut could be seen against the blue sky. A few feet away, two young cedar trees gave shelter to a bluejay, a pair of cedar waxwings, and several robins. Judith took a deep breath of the unspoiled country air and smiled.
“You saw that, too?” Renie said with a nudge.
“Huh?” Judith was jarred out of her reverie.
Renie gestured at the river. “That trout. He must have been ten inches. Remember how we used to catch that size all the time when we were kids? When was the last time you had a ten-inch trout for breakfast that didn’t come from Falstaff’s Market?”
Judith drifted back in time to summer mornings when she’d awaken to the caw of the crows, the rumble of the river, and the aroma of fresh fish in butter, of buttermilk pancakes on the old cast-iron griddle, of sizzling eggs, purchased just out of the nest at a farm on the other side of Glacier Falls.
“If you saw a fish, it’s probably an orphan,” Judith declared. “Your father gave up on this river twenty years ago.”
“Not exactly,” Renie replied. “He literally died with his boots on. Fishing boots, that is.”
And so he had. Judith had not been at the cabin that Memorial Day weekend when Uncle Cliff had succumbed to a heart attack at a favorite fishing hole down by the Green Mountain Inn.
Judith’s mood had darkened. Not all the memories of the cabin were happy ones. Her own father’s renovation plans had died with him. Meddling in-laws from Aunt Toadie’s side of the family had ruined the camaraderie of at least one season. There had been the floods, sweeping away the entire riverfront, surging right up to the front porch. And now, Judith thought with a pang as she glanced over her shoulder, there was Dan—resting among the vine maples.
“…in that cupboard above the sofa.” Renie had been chattering away, and Judith realized she didn’t know the topic.
“Whoa!” She grabbed Renie by the arm. “Sorry, coz, I was ruminating. You know—Life. Death. The meaning of existence. What mundane prattle have you been spewing while I waxed sentimental and philosophical?”
Renie rolled her eyes. “Deep thinking—and you? Jeez.” She put her fists on her hips. “I was talking about breaking the law—namely, going fishing, even though the season doesn’t open for another week. There’s still a bunch of gear stowed in that cupboard over the sofa. I’ll bet there’s even a jar of salmon eggs.”
Judith didn’t think it was a very good idea. Game wardens were known to prowl the river. The sheriff’s men were all over the place. This wasn’t like the old days, when there were fewer people around and everybody knew each other.
Renie seemed to consider Judith’s rational arguments. She stood motionless for a few moments, staring out over the river. “Do you remember those Dolly Vardens my dad used to get once in a while? And sometimes even a cut-throat. Mmm-MMM!”
Judith slumped, then turned and stalked toward the cabin. “Okay, okay, but we wait until dusk so we can’t be spotted so easily.”
“Of course. It’s dumb to fish with the sun right on the water.” Renie trotted along, grinning at the prospect, however remote, of fried rainbow trout for breakfast.
The cousins had just reached the door when they were hailed from the distance. Undersheriff Abbott N. Costello and Deputy Dabney Plummer were coming through the woods from the direction of Riley Tobias’s property.
“Let’s keep them outside,” Judith murmured. “Costello’s easier to take in the open.”
“We should take a powder.” Renie sighed. “What do you suppose he wants now?”
Costello approached with his hands swinging at his sides, striding across the rough ground like General Patton trooping through North Africa. Or so Judith imagined.
“I see you didn’t run off to the city,” he said, stopping at the edge of the porch. “A good thing. It would have looked bad for you.”
“Worse, if you knew my mother,” Judith said under her breath.
“What was that?” Costello cocked an eye at Judith from under the brim of his hat. Deputy Plummer already had his notebook out, pen in hand.
Judith ignored Costello’s question. “How’s the investigation going? Did you do an autopsy?”
Costello snickered. “Now why do you ask that? The man was garroted, plain and simple.”
Judith leaned on the stair railing and shrugged. “Even so, I know it’s often procedural. Under suspicious circumstances, death isn’t always caused by the obvious.”
Slapping Plummer on the back so hard that the pen flew out of the deputy’s hand, Costello roared with laughter. “The obvious! Suspicious circumstances! Hee-hee! You got the lingo, lady. What do you and the old man do at night, sit around and read forensics reports?”
Dabney Plummer was scrambling around on the ground, trying to retrieve his pen. Costello sobered and squinted at Judith. “As a matter of fact, Mrs. Smarty-Pants, we did do an autopsy. You bet your booties Riley Tobias died from being choked with that picture-hanging wire. The only thing we learned from taking blood samples was that he was drunk as a skunk. No wonder, with all those beer cans around. I’m surprised the guy’s liver didn’t look like it had been soaked in lye.”
“Gack,” Judith exclaimed, then stared at the undersheriff. “Riley wasn’t drunk when we left him between one-thirty and two o’clock. In fact, he was working when we saw him a little after five.”
Costello rested one hand on his holster and gazed up through the trees. “So you say. Time of death is never exact unless somebody sees the evil deed being done. We only got your word for it—and that live-in babe’s—that he was killed sometime after five. But let’s say you’re all full of bunk. Or lying. The western sun hits those studio windows in the late afternoon and it gets pretty warm inside. Changes in the corpse would be slowed down, see? He could have been knocked off as early as four-thirty. I suppose you know all about taking the deceased’s temperature and such?”