Death Trap

by Karin Kaufman

  “He’s in training to be assistant manager at Wyatt’s Bistro,” Stuart continued. “Ten years too late, I’d say.”

  “Nice place,” Gilroy said. “Good food.”

  “You bet,” Kip said. “What do you mean ten years too late, Stuart? I’ve only been there three years.”

  “Well, this is all terrifically interesting,” Maurice said, “but Stuart, what on earth? First you disappear with the chief and his date, and now all this. Whatever this is.”

  Stuart slipped his hands from his pockets and sat on the hearth. “Always the impatient one, Maurice.” When he pronounced the name Mau-reese, Maurice’s puffy face hardened.

  “You know it’s Mor-ris,” he said. “I told you when we first met.”

  “Sorry, I forgot. It’s been a few months.”

  “Your memory is just fine.”

  “Lesley, have you offered Maurice-pronounced-Morris a mini-quiche?”

  At the sound of her name, Lesley flinched.

  “I’d like one, Lesley,” Gilroy said. “Don’t get up.” He rose and stepped to the ottoman. “They look good.”

  “They’re just frozen ones from the grocery,” Lesley said.

  “Rachel?” Gilroy asked.

  “Sure.”

  Gilroy plopped a mini-quiche on a napkin. Handing it to me, he gave me The Look. He didn’t like the turn the evening had taken—neither did I—and he was going to search for an acceptably early end to it. I was to follow his lead.

  “So Lesley, how’s your birthday going?” Gilroy asked as he retook his chair. “Here you are serving us drinks and hors d’oeuvres when you should be having dinner at Wyatt’s or the Porter Grill.”

  For the first time since our arrival, Lesley looked delighted. “Steak at the Porter Grill tomorrow. Right, Stuart?”

  “Absolutely, honey.”

  “Rachel, did Stuart show you his Venus flytraps?” Brynne asked.

  “He did,” I said. “Though I was mostly interested in the greenhouse.”

  “Because you’ve never been one to traipse across leaves, uninvited and unwanted,” Stuart said.

  Maurice wasn’t the only impatient one. As a writer, I had no taste for words that sounded like they ought to mean something but in fact were vague at best. “I don’t know what that means, Stuart.”

  Stuart spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, sorry. I’m being obtuse, and I don’t mean to be.”

  “You’ve always been exactly how you mean to be,” Jova said. “Never more and never less.” She crossed her legs and proudly threw back her head, as though she’d just made the most discerning comment of the evening.

  “If you think hard about it, sad to say I’ve often been quite less,” Stuart said. He slapped his legs and stood. “But enough of that. I’d like to play cards. Anyone game? So to speak?” He chuckled at his own joke.

  I was liking Stuart less and less. And feeling more and more sorry for Lesley, who was nibbling like a mouse at the edges of her own quiche.

  “What about this announcement?” Kip said. “That’s what our invitations said. You invited us here for drinks, Lesley’s birthday, and a big announcement.”

  “If you want to get to the cheese,” Stuart said, “you have to work your way through the maze.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake!” Jova exclaimed. “All right, fine. I’ll play.” She rose, pulling herself to her full, impressive height, which was accentuated by a flowing white tunic top. “Show me to the table.”

  At least we could all talk about cards and not insects, I reasoned. Stuart strode ahead of me, and I looked over to James. His expression was both irritated and troubled. I thought he’d last another half an hour before he made up an excuse for us to leave. He had less tolerance for nonsense than any man I’d ever known.

  Probably the only thing keeping Gilroy at the house was concern for the Hunters. He’d met the couple shortly after arriving in Juniper Grove, hired on as the town’s new police chief after working as a detective in Fort Collins, about twenty miles to the northeast. He’d left that city’s police force under a cloud, falsely accused of incompetence and misconduct by the town’s mayor, whose serial-DUI wife Gilroy had arrested after catching her drunk behind the wheel yet again.

  Brynne was the last to rise. She stood with her hands at her abdomen, her limp wrists hanging in a sort of begging-dog posture. Her high heels threw her chest forward and her rear back. In profile, she looked like the letter S.

  Gilroy and I held back, watching the others walk ahead of us in the direction of the kitchen. “Does Stuart act like this?” I asked.

  “Never,” Gilroy said.

  “Lesley’s nervous.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t know any of these people?”

  “Only the Hunters. Come on. Let’s work our way through the maze.”

  “Yeah, I want to find this cheese.”

  We found the others in a formal dining room off the kitchen. Almost too formal for cards. Two huge glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room’s Wedgwood blue walls and white wainscoting. Another sideboard, this one smaller than the one in the Hunters’ great room, sat along the wall near the head of the table. There, Stuart had installed himself. Lesley sat to his left.

  “Come along, you two,” Stuart said to us. “It’s poker, if you don’t mind. Lesley’s favorite game.”

  “Poker’s good,” I said.

  Stuart shuffled the cards, Lesley cut the deck, and Stuart began to deal, flicking the cards with a little too much vigor across the large dining table.

  “Hey!” Kip said, catching a card before it flew to the floor. “You’re going to expose my hand.”

  “It’s just a friendly game,” Jova said. “Right, Stuart?”

  “We’re not playing for money,” he answered.

  He continued to fling the cards at the players, including at James, who was seated just to his right. I sat next to James, catching my cards as best I could.

  “Nothing wild,” Stuart said. “Nothing at all.”

  “Not even jokers?” Brynne asked.

  “I believe nothing means nothing,” Maurice said.

  “I still don’t understand what you meant by ten years too late,” Kip said, gathering and then examining his cards. “You know I haven’t been at Wyatt’s that long. It takes time to make assistant manager.”

  “How old are you now, Kip?” Stuart asked.

  “Thirty-two.”

  Stuart leaned back in his chair. “All right now. Lesley? How many cards?”

  I glanced at Kip. He seemed vaguely aware, but not altogether certain, that he’d been insulted.

  “Three,” Lesley said.

  “Uh-oh,” Maurice said. “Bad sign, Lesley.”

  Lesley discarded three cards and picked up her new ones.

  “Not necessarily,” Jova said. “One time I let go of three and picked up two queens and a ten. Made a full house.”

  “Jova’s the last opinion on cards,” Stuart said. “Give it up, Maurice.”

  “See?” Maurice said. “You do know how to pronounce my name.”

  Brynne’s forehead furrowed. “Did your parents give you that pronunciation?” she asked.

  Maurice gave her a look meant to shame her into saying no more. It didn’t work.

  “It’s just that, well, in America, it’s usually pronounced Mau-reese.”

  “You teach French?” Maurice said. “A world language? Mor-ris is the standard pronunciation around the world. Everywhere but here.”

  Embarrassed, Brynne retreated, studying her cards. “It’s just unusual,” she mumbled. “Different.”

  “So is Brynne Ware,” Maurice said. “It sounds like a pattern of dinnerware.”

  I sighed. More loudly than I meant to.

  “Yes, Rachel?” Stuart asked. “Yes, yes. I think I see your point.”

  “I’m not sure I had one, Stuart.”

  He laughed and laid down his cards. “How about
we take a quick tour of our new addition prior to my announcement?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Gilroy said, pushing to his feet. “Rachel and I need to leave soon.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  Jova’s eyes shifted from Stuart to Lesley. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been here, has it? What new addition?”

  “A month ago, Lesley and I built an addition at the opposite end of the house. For my medieval collection.”

  “Medieval in time period or in nature?” I asked.

  Stuart nearly roared with laughter. “Rachel’s a worthy opponent in the language game, Maurice.”

  “Is that the big announcement?” Kip asked, sounding like a sulky child. “Your tour?”

  Maurice rolled his eyes. “He just said the tour would be prior to the announcement. Prior means before.”

  Stuart gave Maurice a pat on the back as he strode from the dining room. “I take it back. No one knows the English language like you.”

  Looking pleased with himself, Maurice followed the Hunters through to the kitchen. “Let me grab some more champagne first,” he said.

  I gave Gilroy another elbow. “I’m going to need a cream puff after this.”

  “Tomorrow morning, first thing,” he said. “My treat.” He took me by the arm and held me back until the others had exited the dining room. “I’m sorry about this. I thought it would be a chance to introduce you to the Hunters and meet some old friends. I didn’t even ask who the other guests would be.”

  “I wouldn’t have either.”

  “Something’s wrong with Stuart.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “He’s always been eccentric, especially since taking early retirement, but this is strange even by his standards.”

  “He doesn’t like his guests very much.”

  We stepped into the kitchen. “The opposite end of the house,” Gilroy said. “He must have meant on the other side of the foyer.”

  As we moved through the foyer toward the west end of the house, a shadow from the staircase to my right fell across the floor and vanished an instant later. I halted. “Did they go upstairs?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I grinned. “We should make our getaway.”

  Lesley called out, asking where everyone had gone. “The room’s this way!” she shouted. “Stuart?”

  “That sounds like upstairs,” Gilroy said.

  “Someone do me the courtesy of bringing me champagne in my own house,” Stuart yelled.

  “Where’s the restroom?” a woman called. “So many doors.”

  “That’s definitely coming from upstairs,” Gilroy said. “Sounds like Jova.” He eyed our coats. “Should we?”

  “I guess it would be rude to leave without saying something,” I said. “Not that anyone tonight would notice rudeness.”

  We stood at the bottom of the stairs, reluctant to move but knowing we had no choice but to put in half an hour or so before we could politely make our escape.

  “His medieval collection might be interesting,” Gilroy said.

  “It’s quiet up there,” I said. “They must have found the room, and Stuart’s lecturing them.”

  A heavy thud sounded from somewhere on the second floor.

  “Who took it?” Stuart shouted. “Which one of you thieves took it? I let you into my house and this is my thanks?”

  Gilroy threw back his head. “For crying out loud.”

  “So he invited you here to police his collection,” I said, trying not to smile to broadly. “You’ll have to search the guests as they leave.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “This house is huge,” a woman said.

  “That’s Brynne,” I said.

  “Cheese,” a man said. It sounded like Maurice, possibly not far from the top of the stairs.

  Silence. More footsteps. Gilroy sighed.

  A moment later, a gut-wrenching cry cut through the air. “James, no!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Gilroy raced for the second floor, coming to an abrupt stop two feet in front of the last step. I was right behind him and had to press my hands to his back to keep from tumbling into him. Maurice, frozen in place and flat against the wall, was six feet ahead of us. He was still holding his champagne flute. He motioned with it.

  “Chief. Somebody down there . . .”

  “Stay right there, Mr. Salaway,” Gilroy ordered.

  Gilroy quickened his pace down the long hallway. Kip was standing just inside the open door of another room, his hand on the doorknob. “Who’s screaming?” he asked, his voice a petulant whine.

  “Mr. Dempster, stay right there,” Gilroy shouted.

  “Lesley?” Stuart called. “Lesley!”

  I shot looks to my left and right as I hurried after Gilroy. Some doors were open, some closed. Where was Stuart?

  Jova flung open a door to my right. “What on earth?”

  “Where’s the collection room?” Gilroy demanded.

  “Down there,” Jova said, pointing to her right, to the final room in the hall.

  “Don’t move,” Gilroy told her.

  Loud footsteps sounded at the far end of the hall. First Brynne and then Stuart appeared from the left. Stuart pushed Brynne out of his way. “Where is she? Lesley?”

  But Gilroy was already at the collection room’s door. He froze, wheeled back, and caught Stuart before he could enter. “Stuart, no. You can’t go in.”

  “Lesley! James, out of my way!”

  “You can’t, Stuart.”

  “That’s my wife.”

  Stuart wrestled past him. Short of coming to blows, there was nothing Gilroy could do.

  I stepped to the doorframe but remained standing outside. Lesley was on the floor, her eyes and mouth open, the life gone out of her. She appeared to have two wounds, one to her right hand and another to the middle of her chest, and at her feet lay a narrow dagger. Stuart howled, dropped to his knees, and cradled her head.

  Gilroy told the rest of us to remain outside the room, then went in, knelt down, and checked Lesley for a pulse—the latter for Stuart’s benefit, I was sure.

  The walls of the medieval collection room were covered with both large and small weapons and reproductions—they had to be—of illustrated texts, probably Bibles. Under the room’s single window was a glass-topped display case that on first glimpse held jewelry and other small items.

  “Stuart,” Gilroy said gently, “you have to let her go. You have to leave the room.” He looked back to the door. “Rachel, call Underhill, tell him what’s happened, tell him to bring Turner.”

  As I backed from the door to make the call, I bumped into Jova and Kip, who had crowded in behind me, craning their necks to see Lesley. Brynne and Maurice had drawn close, too, and Maurice, I saw, was still clinging to his champagne glass. I twisted back and maneuvered my way out, for the first time noticing a second, almost hidden staircase directly across from the collections room. It was carpeted, just like the larger one at the other end of the hall. So that’s where Stuart and Brynne had come from.

  I phoned the station, got hold of Underhill, and then returned to the collections room door, squeezing my way around the unduly curious Jova and Kip. “Underhill and Turner are on their way,” I told Gilroy. “They’re calling the coroner from the squad car.”

  Gilroy had managed to get Stuart to release Lesley’s head, but before he could get him out of the room, before he sensed what Stuart was about to do and could pull him back, Stuart knelt one more time and hugged his wife’s body. He was muddying, and potentially destroying, evidence. Especially blood evidence. I had to wonder if it was deliberate.

  “Was Lesley stabbed with that thing?” Jova asked, pointing at the dagger.

  “Don’t ask now,” Kip murmured, brushing back his little-boy bangs.

  “Everyone downstairs,” Gilroy said, leading Stuart into the hall. “I want you in the great room right now. Rachel, take Stuart. No one talks.”

  “W
hat do you mean don’t talk?” Jova asked.

  “Wow,” Maurice said. “What do you think it means?”

  “The time for no talking starts now,” Gilroy said.

  I took Stuart’s arm and helped him toward the stairway at the other end of the hall. I had plenty of time to find out where the second set of steps went. Gilroy had called for silence, and I intended to enforce that. There would be no collaboration, no constructing of alibis. From what I remembered, only Gilroy and I had been together when Lesley had screamed his name. Possibly Stuart and Brynne too, but I couldn’t be sure of that. Everyone else had been on their own, with no one else to confirm where they had been.

  By the time everyone had settled into couches and chairs, Underhill and Turner had arrived. After telling them Gilroy was upstairs, I joined the others in the great room.

  “I thought I’d make coffee,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind, Stuart.”

  Maurice scowled petulantly. “No talking, Rachel.”

  “That isn’t what the chief meant, you idiot,” Jova said.

  “Oh, I’m an idiot?” Maurice said.

  “Is that so hard for you to accept?” Jova countered.

  I held up my hands. “Stop, please.”

  A few minutes later, thankfully, Gilroy and Underhill came downstairs. Crime-scene photos had once been Underhill’s job, but lately that duty had fallen to Turner. Gilroy had probably posted him at the door too, making sure Stuart didn’t return in a fit of grief.

  Gilroy went to Stuart, crouched down at his chair, and said, “I’d like to use the dining room to interview you and your guests, if that’s all right.”

  Stuart answered with a single nod.

  Gilroy rose. “This is Officer Underhill. The two of us will interview each of you separately before you go home.”

  “How long will this take?” Kip said. “I need to get up early tomorrow. I’m taking over prep at Wyatt’s. It’s my first test.”

  Stuart glared at him, his mouth going slack.

  “I don’t know how long it will take,” Gilroy said.

  Stuart began to fidget restlessly in his chair. “I’ve been sitting here thinking, James. I need to ask you something before you start.” He fixed his eyes on Gilroy. “Why did Lesley call your name?”