Rest You Merry

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by Charlotte MacLeod


  “Then I suppose the only logical explanation is that somebody mistook the time.”

  “I don’t see how. Sheila Jackman knew what time it was, all right. She’d been eying the clock and making noises at Roger for at least half an hour before they left. Needless to say, she had one hell of a time dragging him away. Rog has the hots for me, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Shandy found that a highly improbable statement. It occurred to him that Adele must be twice Roger’s age.

  “I see, so that made you aware of the time.”

  “Me and everybody else. That’s what got Jemima fussing about having to go and be the boy on the burning deck some more.”

  “I see. And you had some—er—refreshment of sorts in the oven, I believe.”

  “Squid puffs. You know me, I have to be different. All they know around here is onion soup dip and potato chips.”

  That was a flagrant lie. Thanks to Mrs. Mouzouka’s gourmet cooking courses, most faculty parties tended to be journeys into the unknown. Adele and her pretensions were a pathetic combination.

  “And then of course my loving husband made this big scene about watching Jemima leave and my timer went off and there I was, rushing back and forth like a whirlwind.”

  “Did you personally see Tetnima going down the path?”

  “Well, of course. Who could miss that purple burnous?

  I suppose I oughtn’t to talk that way now she’s dead.”

  “But in fact you do know for certain that she left by the short cut almost immediately after the Jackmans.”

  “Not immediately, because she had to put on a big thing about how she had to rush off and all that garbage. Maybe five or ten minutes. Not longer. I know, because it’s always scary when people start leaving one right after the other. Gives the rest ideas, and before you know it your party’s died on you. I have a hunch that’s why Bob started this big deal about Jemima. After the way he made fun of her, nobody else would dare bug out for fear he’d do the same to them.”

  She chuckled. “Bob’s clever, you know. Plays dirty pool sometimes, but what the hell? You do the best you can with what you’ve got, right?”

  “Er—within legal limits, at any rate.”

  “Peter, you’re a one-man panic. Come on over here so I won’t have to strain my throat hollering at you. Unless you’re afraid of catching my cold,” Mrs. Dysart added with a laugh he could swear was meant to be provocative.

  “One can’t be too careful this time of year,” he replied caddishly. “Miss Tibbett says these things go in threes.”

  “What things?”

  “Good Lord, do you mean to say you haven’t heard about Ben Cadwall? Hasn’t Bob told you?”

  “Soon as he found out I was out of commission, Bob developed urgent business at the power plant. I haven’t seen him since some ungodly hour this morning. What happened to Ben? Peter, you don’t mean—not Ben?”

  “I’m afraid so, Adele.”

  Shandy was surprised to see the woman looking genuinely disturbed. “I found him myself, in his office. It’s getting to be an unpleasant habit of mine.”

  “My God, two in a row! If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have let you in. But Ben, of all people. Look, be a pal and get me some more bourbon. Never mind the ice. I think I’m having a chill.”

  “Here, put this shawl thing around you.” The professor snatched up a Mexican serape that had been thrown across the top of a sofa, and draped it over her thin shoulders. He was slightly worried lest she take the courtesy for a come-on, but Adele didn’t even seem to notice. She was staring into the unlighted fireplace with a look on her face that might almost have been awe. Considering that the Dysarts had barely been on speaking terms with the Cadwalls until Jemima’s funeral, her reaction seemed excessive, yet he didn’t think she was play-acting this time.

  He got her the drink, not without difficulty. The house was a tricky one. A narrow hallway that should logically have led to the kitchen took a sudden turn and wound up at the foot of the back stairs. He wondered if Jemima had come down that way. Bob would remember, perhaps, not that it meant anything one way or the other.

  After blundering around awhile, Shandy did in fact locate the kitchen, which was in an unholy mess. The cleaning woman must be off for the holidays. The bourbon was sitting on the counter top, along with a repellent collection of unscraped plates. He slopped a couple of fingers into the glass and got out of there as fast as he could, which still wasn’t fast enough for Adele.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I got lost.”

  “I wish I could, sometimes. What did Ben die of?”

  Shandy had a sudden urge to play his hunch, and see how she reacted.

  “Taxine poisoning,” he said firmly.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Then wait for the official autopsy report.”

  “Peter, how could it be that? Taxine isn’t something a grown-up takes by accident. It comes from yew. We had a lecture at the garden club. I remembered that one, because the name sounds like taxi.”

  Shandy had got roped into speaking at the Balaclava Garden Club once or twice. He knew many faculty ladies belonged. It was one of the few places where town and gown met on an equal footing, though no doubt some were more equal than others. If Adele knew about taxine, probably every woman in town did.

  “No,” he replied, “I’m sure Ben wouldn’t ingest the stuff knowingly unless for some reason he decided to commit suicide.”

  “Ben kill himself? Never!”

  “That’s my personal opinion, but I must say I’m surprised to hear you being so definite. I had no idea you were that well acquainted with him.”

  Adele made a sound that could have been a laugh. She was quite drunk by now.

  “There’s one hell of a lot you don’t know about me, Peter Shandy. I knew Ben Cadwall long before I ever met Bob. We were almost engaged once. Of course he was years and years too old for me,” she added hastily.

  “I’m sorry,” Shandy replied. “I had no idea. Er—where did you know Ben?”

  She set her glass down on the sticky coffee table. “Look, do me a favor and don’t mention this to Bob. It was all over years ago, but he doesn’t like to be reminded. That’s why he and Ben always sort of had it in for one another.”

  “Does Hannah know?”

  “I don’t suppose so. Ben always got a kick out of keeping secrets. I must say it was a jolt when we moved here and found them on our doorstep. I might have known Ben would wind up in a place like Balaclava.”

  “I’ve often wondered what brought you and Bob here,” Shandy ventured. “I’d have thought you’d prefer a more—er—urban atmosphere.”

  Adele shrugged. “Variety’s the spice of life, they say. How about it, Pete? Care for a little variety?”

  To Shandy’s overwhelming relief, Bob Dysart chose that moment to barge in, shouting.

  “Dell? Dell? Where the—Oh, hi, Pete. Entertaining the little woman while the old man’s out hustling a buck, eh? Nice work if you can get it. How’re you feeling, gorgeous?”

  “A fat lot you care,” sniffled his wife. “Why didn’t you tell me Ben Cadwall’s dead?”

  “Give me time. I just got here.”

  “You could have come home earlier.”

  “I was busy.”

  “Oh yeah? Who with?”

  “You mean with whom. What are you drinking, Pete?”

  “He’s saving his thirst for later,” said Adele with a savage laugh. “He has a heavy date with the lady librarian.”

  “Ah, so? I must check her out. Pause for laugh. Nobody laughs. How about you, pussycat?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Dysart went and got what looked to Shandy like a great deal of whiskey.

  “Thanks, pal, I needed that. Christ, what a day this has been! Pete, did you tell Adele how somebody tried to murder me this morning?”

  “No, I—er—hadn’t got to it yet.”

  “Jesus! Just beca
use you don’t give a damn, didn’t it occur to you that somebody else might?”

  Dysart was furious. He must actually have worked himself around to believing his own story.

  “Bob, what are you talking about?” demanded his wife. “Peter says Ben was poisoned with taxine.”

  “Yes, and it was meant for me.”

  Dysart went on about the incident in the dining room. “And what would any intelligent person make of that?” he finished.

  A great deal less than you’re making of it, Shandy thought.

  The second hearing was no more plausible than the first, to his mind. Why choose so risky a way of getting at a man who left himself vulnerable in so many other ways? And what could be the motive? Adele asked that question. Her husband had his answer ready.

  “I can’t say for sure, but I have a hunch it’s something to do with the plant.”

  “The Skunk Works?” Shandy injudiciously exclaimed, using the inevitable student nickname.

  “If you want to call it that,” Dysart replied stiffly. “It just happens that we have some very interesting research going on there. I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to toot my own horn, but just among us three, there’s a potential for commercial development that will make your Balaclava Buster look like a worm-eaten radish, and I’m the guy who’s pushing it. And if we do what I have in mind, it’s going to be a real kick in the guts for the oil companies and the gas companies and the coal mines. I know this sounds like cloak-and-dagger stuff, but I’m talking straight fact, and I’m the only one who sees it. The rest of them down there are dragging their feet and piddling around, while I’ve been trying to line up ways to exploit the potential. And it’s beginning to look as though somebody wants to stop me. Looks as if I’d better make sure my insurance is paid up. Got to keep the little woman in bourbon. Jesus, on second thought, I’d better not. I might be worth more to Dell dead than alive.”

  “Oh, stop talking like a fool!” his wife exploded. “I never know whether to believe you or not. You can be so damned convincing, then it turns out you’re just building up for another of your funnies. Peter, could he possibly be telling the truth?”

  Shandy hunched his shoulders. “I trust Bob won’t take offense if I say that for his own sake, as well as yours, I sincerely hope he isn’t. I don’t mean that you’re consciously trying to deceive either of us, Bob,” he added hastily. “It does seem to me, though, that if somebody were—er—out to get you, he might choose a less chancy method. I can understand that with this—er—tremendous responsibility preying on your mind, you might make the interpretation you did. Being a simple-minded person myself, I’m more inclined to believe that since Ben Cadwall got the poison, it was Ben somebody meant to kill.”

  Dysart scratched his chin. “I don’t know if you’re trying to deflate my ego, Pete, or get my mind off my troubles. What the hell would anybody murder Ben Cadwall for?”

  “Well, for one thing, he handled all the money around here, which meant that he had a great deal of power. For another, he was a busybody. Let’s assume, by way of hypothesis, that somebody was actually plotting to sabotage your research, or your—er—merchandising efforts. Don’t you think Ben would get wind of that fact even before you did?”

  “My God, Pete, you’ve hit it! So that’s why whoever poisoned my coffee this morning made no effort to get it away from Ben. It didn’t matter which of us got killed first, since we’d both have to go anyway.”

  “Will you stop talking like that?” shrieked Adele. “Why did you drag me here in the first place? I can’t stand it any more! We’ve got to get away.”

  “I’m not running, Dell.”

  Shandy reached for his hat. “I am,” he said firmly. “I hope your cold is better soon, Adele. And, Bob, I shouldn’t dwell on this matter if I were you. The comptroller’s death probably has a very prosaic explanation.”

  He spoke more bravely than he felt. The likelihood that Ben had been killed for some reason less exotic than sabotage didn’t preclude the possibility that Dysart was also on the murderer’s list, and that the episode of the coffee cups didn’t in fact mean exactly what Bob thought it did.

  Chapter 19

  “HELEN, MAY WE SKIP the faculty dining room tonight?”

  “Certainly, Peter, if you’re tired.”

  “I’m not tired, I’m fed up. If I don’t get away from here for a while, I’ll start to climb the walls and gibber. There’s a place about twelve miles out on the Dallow road that serves fairly decent roast beef.”

  “That sounds delightful. Shall we take the Ameses’ car? I presume I have the keys.”

  “Thank you, no. Can you imagine what shape any vehicle Jemima drove would be in? I’ll phone down to Charlie’s garage and rent one. That will at least give us a fighting chance of coming back alive.”

  “Peter, you poor man! You’re having a ghastly time, aren’t you? Shall we talk now, or wait till we get some food?”

  “Food first if you don’t mind. Go get your things while I talk to Charlie.”

  He ought to think about buying a car of his own. Until now, it had never seemed worth the bother. Shandy poured another tiny puddle of sherry into the bottom of his glass, and went to the Ameses’ telephone.

  After he’d made his arrangements with the garage, he phoned to see how Hannah Cadwall was doing.

  “She’s asleep,” Mary Enderble told him. “Dr. Melchett phoned in a prescription to the drugstore, and John went down to pick it up. Oh, and the police just called. They say it was taxine that killed Ben, of all things! Can you imagine?”

  So Shandy’s guess had been right. The knowledge gave him no satisfaction.

  Helen was upstairs about ten minutes. She came down wearing a long-sleeved, long-skirted dress of flaming scarlet.

  “I bought this thing ages ago and have been itching for a chance to wear it. In California, it always looked out of place.”

  “It’s very nice,” said Shandy awkwardly. It was a great deal more than that, but he didn’t quite know how to tell her so.

  “There’s a heavy black cape hanging in the closet,” Helen went on. “I don’t suppose Professor Ames would mind if I wore it.”

  “Oh, no, I’m sure he’d be delighted. Jemima rather went in for capes.”

  “So I understand. One of the girls was telling me how she used to come swooping in with yards and yards of purple hand weaving swirling around her, knocking things off the desk and creating general confusion. They used to keep book on how many times a week she’d rush into the place, tell everybody how much she had to do, and rush out again without lifting a finger. They must find me horribly dull by comparison.”

  “I don’t see how they could,” said Shandy. “Jemima was a tiresome woman. Speaking of tiresome, how did you manage this afternoon? I hope Porble didn’t keep you at hog statistics all day long.”

  “Not quite. I managed to sneak into the Buggins Room about half past four. The kids had got most of the mess up off the floor. Everything will have to be reshelved eventually, but at least it’s possible to read the titles of those few that got put in right side up, or would be if they’d give me more than one forty-watt bulb for that entire room.”

  “Oh, I expect you won’t have any trouble there. We have no energy shortage at Balaclava just now, though we may at any moment. Dysart thinks there’s a plot afoot to sabotage the power plant.”

  “My stars and garters! Never a dull moment around here, is there? Could he possibly be right?”

  “Only if you accept the premise that Standard Oil and Exxon are likely to feel threatened by a system that runs on animal droppings. We turn left at the foot of the hill.”

  “I know. We came this way when you brought me from the airport. Good heavens, was that only yesterday afternoon? It seems a lifetime ago.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Shandy suddenly realized with a sort of horror that he could no longer imagine Balaclava Junction without Helen in it. Would he ever get u
p courage enough to tell her so? For the moment he must be satisfied to pilot her safely through the jostle of climbing visitors, many of whom stopped them to ask the way to the Giant Marshmallow Roast. At last they got the car and started threading their way through the traffic.

  “Good God,” he panted when they were clear of the mob and out on the Dallow road, “I hope the prime ribs are worth the struggle.”

  “I’m sure they will be,” said Helen. “You’re a very good driver, Peter.”

  “Do you think so? I learned on a John Deere tractor when I was five years old. Then I worked a lot at farms and field stations where one was always running a bulldozer or combine or something of the sort. I don’t believe I’ve ever quite grasped the concept that a vehicle can be operated solely for pleasure.”

  “Probably not many of them will be, unless something can be done about the fuel shortage. Too bad your power plant people can’t invent one that runs on cowflaps. You don’t suppose that’s why Professor Dysart’s talking about sabotage, do you?”

  “Oh, I hardly think so. The project would have to be discussed at faculty meetings before any work got started. Dr. Svenson believes in coordinated efforts toward shared goals.”

  “Do you share?”

  “Fairly often. There’s always a certain amount of jockeying as to whose project takes precedence, but in general I’d say the esprit de corps is maintained at a tolerable level. At least, I’ve always thought so.” Helen caught the doubt and despair in his voice. “I know. It’s like having a nail in your shoe, isn’t it? No matter where you try to step, you keep landing on that same nasty little sore spot. I am sorry, Peter. Let’s really talk about something else for a while. Tell me what you did when you worked at the field stations.”

  “It’s so long ago, I can’t remember.”

  Once started, however, Shandy recalled a great deal, some of it funny enough to set them both laughing. By the time they got to the restaurant, he felt ready to enjoy his meal.

 

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