“The full guided tour? Why not?”
They followed her into the hall where Horace, who had been waiting patiently, fell into step behind them. Serena led them through the mansion while commenting more on security arrangements than decor.
“In addition to the gentlemen at the gate, whom you met, we have metal detectors over all the entrances. I believe they’re of early-airline-hijacking vintage. The ground floors have some interesting burglar alarms on each window. They produce a rather loud noise if necessary.” Her tone had changed to that of a rather bored tour guide in the caverns of a musty cathedral.
There was an antiseptic quality about the rooms that bothered Lyon. The furnishings were obviously expensive and arranged in an orthodox manner; and yet they resembled a decorator’s showroom more than a home that was lived in by vital people. He imagined that Serena had had very little to do with the actual decorating.
“How many men do you have on guard?” Bea asked.
“Around-the-clock shifts of six hours each. I feel that eight-hour shifts make men less alert, and alert is how I want them. There is always someone on the gate and another patrolling the grounds with a Doberman. Horace or his counterpart is always near me personally. Other members of the household are armed, exceptionally well paid, and loyal.”
“My God, Serena. You have more protection than the President of the United States.”
They entered a large living room. Serena walked over to a mahogany dry sink centered unobtrusively along one wall. An iced pitcher of martinis had previously been prepared and a bottle of Dry Sack sherry had been decanted. She poured a cocktail for Bea and sherry for Lyon. Bea noticed that her drink contained an olive. The woman had done her homework well.
Serena raised a glass of Perrier. “To my health. May I have it for the requisite number of years.”
Lyon sipped his sherry. The woman standing by the sink fascinated him. He assumed she was a person of some education if the interesting book titles lining the walls in the library were actually read; and yet she was a shrewd and unethical businessperson. It never ceased to amaze him that well-read individuals who had a true appreciation for art and music could still operate in everyday life with ruthless force, with no regard for the basic tenets of human decency.
“I’m not exactly sure what you want Lyon to do,” Bea said.
“Merely to observe and draw conclusions from the reactions of people at dinner tonight. I have approached the problem as I would any other and planned my assault accordingly. Those I have invited here tonight have strong motives for killing me. I am going to add to their discomfort with certain disclosures.”
“Such as?”
“We have already spoken about Gustav Tanner and his unbridled ambition. He will be informed that I am not only aware of his attempts to pick up voting rights in Shopton, but he will be told that I have circumvented his efforts. His services will be terminated at once.”
“If he doesn’t have a motive when he arrives here, he will when he leaves,” Bea said.
“My husband, who wants the security of marriage to my money along with the sexual license of a college boy, will be informed of our imminent separation. Needless to say, the legal documents will be drawn by my new law firm.”
“It doesn’t sound like the type of dinner party I’d prefer,” Bea said under her breath.
“Mr. Smelts will be asked to resign from the union due to ill health. Which, if he doesn’t comply, he will certainly have. We are going to be under pressure in that area soon, and I would just as soon that he took the fall.”
“He blames you for what happened to him in his office.”
“Mr. Smelts always blames others for his own stupidity. His inefficiency will no longer be tolerated.”
“Who else is going to be at this happy gathering?”
“Marty Rustman’s wife. I am most interested in her reaction when I tell her that her husband is alive and aware of her bedding down with Mr. Tanner.”
“Marty may not be alive.”
“It doesn’t matter as far as my remarks are concerned. What will matter is how Mrs. Rustman reacts. That is what you will watch, Mr. Wentworth. I will expect your conclusions later.”
“I told you that I am not …”
“I know exactly what you are and what you have done. That is why you are here.”
“I think you have been given a royal command, Lyon,” Bea said. “And I think it’s time for us to go home.”
“We’ll stay,” Lyon replied quietly and put his hand over Bea’s.
“I have arranged for the personnel and other files of all my interests to be brought here. I would like you to review them for any further possibilities I may have missed. I pay well, by the way.”
“I can’t accept money.”
She smiled crookedly. “Everyone has a price. We’ll discuss that aspect later.”
“I will look at the files. It would be helpful also to have the union files here.”
“That has been arranged. Mr. Smelts has seen fit to loan them to me.”
“How convenient,” Bea muttered.
“As I said. The files are in the study. Cocktails will be served at seven, dinner at eight. The other guests will arrive at seven.”
Lyon sat at the French Provincial table in the study surrounded by folders. He could see a guard outside walking back and forth along the side of the house. His Wobblies sat on the edge of the windowsill. Their tongues lolled to the side as they watched.
The Ferret in the Fortress. Maybe not a bad idea. He would set the book in an interesting historical period, perhaps during the early Crusades. Richard Lion-Heart would be the leader of a band that …
“Lyon.”
“Huh?” He returned to reality to look at Bea.
“What do you think of her?”
“I think she’s a piranha.”
“Then why did you agree to stay and participate in this charade?”
He thought for a moment. “Because she may be right and because it intrigues me.”
“The deaths of Maginacolda and Falconer were not any great loss to society.”
“There’s also the man in the produce company that we don’t know anything about, Marty Rustman, and Fabian Bunting.”
“So we stay.”
“Have you looked at the union files?”
“I’m doing it now.”
“I would imagine there might be enough there to show illegal connections.”
“Enough so that I can file a complaint with the state labor commissioner in the morning. I’m surprised that she’s so willing to reveal them to us.”
“You’re being used.”
“How’s that?”
“She’s letting us see the files because she knows that you will file a complaint. Then Smelts gets hung. She’s a survivor, Bea. As she said, she’ll let Smelts take the fall and extricate herself. I’d be very surprised if you found anything that had a direct connection to Serena.”
The sun fell behind the estate walls throwing shadows of elongated trees across the grounds. Lyon looked up from his study of the files, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sat looking across the darkening yard.
A phone rang somewhere.
Bea was working at his side. She had filled a dozen pages on a yellow legal pad with names, facts, and dates. Lines crisscrossed from one name to another in a confusing maze.
“Find out anything?”
“Enough to delight Kim and destroy that rotten union.”
“I recognize a few of the guards we’ve seen.”
“From where?”
“They are men I met in Smelts’s office one night.”
A voice from behind them at the doorway startled them. “Cocktails are served in the living room.”
“Is that an invitation or an order?” Bea asked.
Lyon put the files aside neatly. “Serena said we’d find it interesting. Shall we go?”
“Of course, sir.” They linked arms and walked down the h
all toward the living room. They could hear the low murmur of voices and the clink of ice in glasses. They paused at the archway leading into the room. “You said interesting, I’d say incongruous.”
“Agreed.”
The butler stood before them with a tray holding a sherry for Lyon and a martini for Bea. They automatically took the drinks.
Barbara Rustman was in a corner talking to Gustav Tanner. The hospital administrator spoke softly into her ear and she shook her head violently.
Jason Smelts was in a conspiratorial conversation with Ramsey McLean on the sofa. He punctuated his remarks by slamming a fist into a palm. Ramsey saw them and left the protesting labor leader with relief. He shook Lyon’s hand and held Bea’s a moment too long until she withdrew it from his grasp.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“I think we are here by edict,” Lyon said.
He laughed. “Serena doesn’t believe in social niceties.”
“She seems to meet problems head-on.”
“My wife is one for militarylike protection of her vulnerable areas.”
“Do you know why everyone is here?”
“I’ve guessed. You, the Wentworths, are here as her insurance. I don’t know if she’s told you or not, but Serena is convinced that everyone here has a motive to kill her.”
“Do they?”
“Mr. Smelts just told me he has. He knows he’s going to be tossed to the wolves. In fact, he feels he already has been placed in jeopardy.”
“Tanner?”
“I handled that for Serena myself. Tanner will make his move at the annual meeting and be cut to ribbons.”
“Do you exclude yourself?” Bea asked.
“Of course not. Please, excuse me, I have to check with the cook on dinner arrangements.”
“Cynical, isn’t he?” Lyon said when Ramsey left.
“I’m finding him less and less attractive.”
Jason Smelts approached them warily. “What in hell are you doing here, Wentworth?”
“I’m a guest. How are you feeling?”
“Lousy. Seeing you here doesn’t help my disposition.”
Lyon saw Bea’s shoulders straighten. It was a sign he knew well. His wife was preparing for battle. “You seemed only too glad to see Lyon when you were suffocating in your office.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your gratitude is boundless,” Bea said.
Smelts’s face reddened. “Who the hell is this broad?” He gulped the remainder of his drink.
“My wife.”
Smelts faced Bea and rattled his ice cubes near her face. “I know who you are. Christ! You’re that pinko, bleeding-heart politician who’s either sucking up to the welfare cheats or the bull dykes.”
“Don’t confuse feminism with sexual predilection, Mr. Smelts.”
“Same thing.”
“I think not.”
The clinking ice cubes wavered toward Lyon as if shaken by some aboriginal shaman. “If you kept her knocked up, she’d stay home and out of trouble.”
Lyon felt a sudden surge of anger. “We’re both rather disturbed about your union’s interesting arrangement with the Shopton Corporation.”
“You don’t know from nothing.”
“We spent a cozy afternoon with your files,” Bea said.
Smelts grabbed the sleeve of the passing butler and rattled his ice cubes under the surprised man’s nose. “Get me another one.” He turned back to the Wentworths. “She’s setting me up, isn’t she?”
“Have you always been a corrupt labor leader?” Bea asked. “Or is this only the latest of a series of cons?”
Lyon knew that Bea was off and running. He’d seen her take up the cudgels before; he had seen her joust with other enemies. Smelts represented the type of corruption of trust she hated the most. He knew his wife would plunge forward without regard to the very real physical danger Jason Smelts represented.
“I don’t care for the question,” Smelts replied slowly to Lyon.
“You can speak directly to me, Mr. Smelts. I am a grown-up lady.”
“What’s Serena been telling you?”
“More than enough to interest the Labor Department and possibly a grand jury. A complete audit of the pension fund should make interesting reading.” Bea’s anger at the man overcame her natural reluctance to be Serena’s tool in his destruction.
“The bylaws say I can invest those funds any way I see fit.”
“I think the law calls it Larceny at Trust.”
“I don’t have to answer that.”
“Not to me, you don’t.”
Three men moved simultaneously: Smelts lunged toward Bea as Lyon placed himself between them, while Ramsey McLean put a restraining hand on the labor leader’s shoulder.
Smelts tried to wrench away from McLean’s grip as he glared at Bea over Lyon’s shoulder. “I could …”
“As your attorney,” McLean interjected, “I advise you not to say one more word.”
Smelts hesitated and then turned brusquely away and walked over to the butler for his drink.
“He can be dangerous,” Mclean said. “I wouldn’t pursue it any further with him tonight.”
Smelts obtained his drink and stalked back toward them. He pushed McLean’s protesting palm aside. He addressed himself to Bea. “You know, you ask dumb questions. You think that when a guy’s young he goes around saying, ‘Gee, I’m going to grow up to be a corrupt labor leader.’ It don’t happen that way. You start out as a worker. You get maybe to be shop steward. One day you find somebody palming you a five for looking the other way. If you got any brains you grow outa the nickel-and-dime stuff and hold back until they meet your price. You got that, lady! You hear me? And I’ll swear I never said it.”
“That’s enough, Smelts,” McLean said.
“You tell Serena that I’m not taking the fall.” Jason Smelts walked away from them to the far side of the room.
“On edge, isn’t he?”
“He has a right to be. You heard what happened in his office?”
“I was there.”
“I would say that would be enough to unnerve any man. His thinking hasn’t been right since.”
Barbara Rustman plucked at Bea’s sleeve and the two women walked over to sit on a settee. “How are you, Barbara?”
“Do you know why I was asked here, Mrs. Wentworth?”
“How were you invited?”
“This large man came to the house and insisted that I come.”
“I think Mrs. Truman wants to talk to you about Marty.”
“I’m not sure he’d like that. Unless he’s dead. Do you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t really know.”
Lyon watched the clusters of people interspersed throughout the large room. There was a conspiratorial air to their intimate conversations. He wondered what reactions Serena hoped to get later in the evening. In a corner, Ramsey McLean finished dialing the phone and beckoned to him.
“Any messages for McLean?… Thank you.” He hung up and turned to Lyon. “Out of curiosity, Wentworth, in that material my wife gave you this afternoon, was there anything pertaining to me?”
“No, there wasn’t.”
The phone near McLean’s elbow rang three times before Ramsey picked up the receiver. His words were clipped and annoyed. “Yes … it’s nearly eight and we’re ready to eatI understand.” He slammed the phone down. “Serena overslept. She’ll be late for dinner. She wants us to go ahead and start. Frankly, I think she enjoys being late in order to make the grand entrance.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t arrange for Marty Rustman to make an appearance.”
“Even her power doesn’t reach to that great union hall in the sky.”
“Then he’s dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“If he is alive, what interest would he have in Serena?”
“Are you that naïve?”
“Then she ordered his kidnapp
ing?”
“You said it, Wentworth. I didn’t.”
“Isn’t that an expensive way to dispose of a recalcitrant labor leader?”
“We lawyers love hypothetical situations, so let me indulge myself. Let us assume that Rustman had proof about the relationship between Smelts and the corporation.”
“That would require his disposal.”
“Hypothetically it might.”
“You are aware that my wife has enough information to go to the Labor Department?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happens to Smelts?”
“The decision has been made to disband the union. Its functions have become more trouble than they are worth.”
“And when charges are brought?”
“To quote one of my favorite Machiavellian people, ‘We’ll watch him slowly twist in the wind.’”
“Smelts feels he’s already twisted.”
“That’s a risk Serena was willing to take. Serena is always protected.” He made an expansive gesture around the room. “As this house proves.”
“It’s almost pathological.”
“Of course. Serena is crazy.”
“Dinner is served” was the call from the unobtrusive butler in the hallway.
Bea held on to Lyon’s arm as everyone else straggled from the room toward the dining room at the end of the hall. “Will you tell me what kind of game is going on here?”
“I’m not sure, but it is interesting. You have to admit that.”
They were the first to arrive at the dining room. It was a long room with heavy, dark wooden paneling that gave it an oppressive aura. Table settings bracketed by heavy silver bowls were interspersed along the table. Small hand-lettered cards identified the places. Lyon and Bea were seated together. Barbara Rustman entered next, nodded in a shy way, and then stood by a chair at the opposite side of the table.
Jason Smelts and Gustav Tanner entered separately and were followed shortly by Ramsey McLean.
“Please sit down, everyone. Serena will be along in a moment.”
It was a quiet meal served by the silent butler. It appeared to Lyon that they had been purposely seated some distance from each other in order to destroy any possible sense of intimacy. Ramsey was at one end of the table, while the place at the far end was conspicuously vacant.
It was during the entrée that Horace entered and whispered something in Ramsey’s ear. Ramsey stood up and neatly folded his napkin. “If you will excuse me a minute? Something seems to have delayed my wife. Mr. Wentworth, will you please accompany me?”
The Death at Yew Corner Page 12