“Where’s Rupert?” Charlotte asked. “I want him with me.”
Ray lifted him onto the bed. “Here he is. I’ve got to go. I’ll lock the door behind me. Don’t open it to anyone except me or Phil.”
*
Ray raced to his car, grabbed a flashlight, and headed back toward the three bungalows. The moon was now obscured by heavy cloud cover, making it difficult to see beyond the beam of the flashlight. He reached Charlotte’s bungalow, paused to shine his flashlight in the shrubbery around it, and then hurried on to the director’s bungalow, again pointing the beam in the overgrown bushes that threatened to overwhelm the structure. Pausing for a moment to listen and hearing nothing, he continued on to the star bungalow. He circled it, again shining his flashlight in the bushes, and when he was satisfied no one was hiding in them, he knocked on the door.
“Police,” he called out. The door was cautiously opened, and Audrey Ashley collapsed in his arms. He steadied her, then led her into the sitting room and lowered her gently into the center of the sofa. She shifted down to the end so she was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the one lamp in the room that had been switched on. She was wearing a knee-length mint-green nightgown and matching jacket. Ray picked up the decorative blanket draped over the arm of the sofa and, standing above her, placed it casually around her shoulders. She pulled the blanket tightly around her and clutched it in front of her chest with both hands as Ray eased himself into a nearby chair. He shifted the chair back an inch or two, so he was in shadow, outside the small circle of lamplight.
“I had a good look around your bungalow and the one next door, and there’s no sign of anyone. Whoever it was, he’s gone. Now can you just tell me what happened here tonight?” He flipped open a notebook and waited for her response.
“I was going over the script for tomorrow in bed,” she said, “reading lines and repeating them back to myself, when I heard someone rustling about outside my bedroom window. I didn’t know what to do, so I called the police.”
“It’s late to be up reading,” Ray commented.
“I had a little nap after dinner, so I had trouble getting to sleep,” she said. “Maybe it’s a result of years of performing at night, but my sleeping patterns are out of whack. I wake up early and either take an afternoon nap or go to bed early, and then I’m wide awake at the most inconvenient times.”
“So you were reading and your light was on. Were the blinds open or closed?”
“There isn’t a blind, just a curtain. And it was halfway open, I guess.” Ray stood up and disappeared into the bedroom.
“Did you turn the light off and look out the window?” he continued when he returned. “Did you actually see anyone?” She lowered her chin, shook her head slightly, and peered up at him through long, thick eyelashes.
“I feel so vulnerable here. Anyone can wander into the grounds, and there’s no security. I’m so glad you were able to come, but I can’t call you every night, can I?” She laughed lightly.
“We’d rather be called out, just to be on the safe side, than have something bad happen. And your sister. Is she here?”
“I didn’t wake her. She can sleep through anything.”
Ray asked a few more questions for his report and then wrapped up the interview. “It’s almost three o’clock. I’ll be off now and let you get back to sleep.”
“Oh, but I don’t know if I’d be able to sleep! Couldn’t you just stay here a little longer?”
“Whoever it was is gone, and you’ll be quite safe now. The windows are new, and the locks are secure. But if you’d be more comfortable, I could see if rooms can be arranged for you and your sister in the hotel for the rest of the night.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. One doesn’t like to make a fuss, and it’ll be morning soon enough.”
“Well, I’m going to recommend again that the bushes around all the bungalows be trimmed right back. This probably could have been avoided if Harvey had done that the first time I asked.” He gazed around the room, taking in the fresh decor. “Looks very nice.” Ray moved toward the door and said goodnight. A few minutes later, he unlocked the door to Charlotte’s bungalow.
“I don’t think there was a prowler at all,” he said as he undressed. “Something about it just didn’t ring true.”
“Well, she is an actress. You’d think she could have been a little more convincing.”
Ray pulled back the covers and slid in beside Charlotte, taking her in his arms. “She was wearing makeup, and lots of it,” he said into the back of her neck.
“Ah,” said Charlotte. “I get it. She would have cleansed and moisturized her face before going to bed.”
“So if you thought you there was a prowler in the shrubbery under your window, would you take the time to put on makeup? And I’m not talking about just a bit of lipstick. Her face was covered in it. What’s that stuff called?”
“Foundation.”
“And the color on the eyes. I don’t know how long it takes to put on that much makeup, and maybe because she’s an actress she can do it quickly, but I think she had it all in place before she called the police.”
“She wanted to look her best for you.”
Ray closed his eyes. “Her bungalow looked really nice. You and Paula did a great job,” he murmured. “Flowers everywhere.”
Charlotte’s eyes flew open.
Chapter 15
On Wednesday, just before lunch, the police tape barricading the director’s bungalow was taken down. Charlotte called Nancy to let her know the state police were finished with the building and volunteered to gather up Edmund Albright’s personal effects. Nancy, in the midst of budget preparations, had welcomed the suggestion. And so, avoiding the indignity of green garbage bags and assuming the luggage he’d arrived with would still be there, Charlotte arrived with just a banker’s box. She unlocked the bungalow with the key Nancy had sent over and entered the still, empty kitchen.
The teapot remained on the table where she had last seen it, beside a little pile of papers. Since the police forensics team had finished their work here and turned the property over to its owner, there was no reason she couldn’t touch anything she wanted to. So she picked up the teapot and was about to empty its contents when something stopped her. She took out her phone and snapped a photograph of the two floating tea bags before pouring the stale tea down the sink, rinsing the pot, and placing it the cupboard.
Turning her attention to the papers on the table, she set aside the blocking notes the first director, Simon Dyer, had left behind and concentrated on the documents written by Edmund Albright. One was a list of every prop needed in the play, and a second document, attached to it, showed where he wanted every item placed on the props table and how he wanted it labeled. She placed Edmund’s papers in the banker’s box and turned her attention to the sitting room. She hadn’t actually entered the room on the morning she discovered the body, but now she’d have to walk through it, and past the sofa, to reach the bedroom.
She steeled herself and entered the sitting room. The room had a faintly chemical smell that she guessed came from the materials the police had used in their forensic analysis. The odor was slightly sharp, but not unpleasant. Specks of dried blood remained on the wall and sofa cushions. The closed curtains gave the room a depressing air, so she pulled them open and was slightly uplifted by the sight of the trees that surrounded the bungalow, swaying lightly in the breeze, their living, waving branches casting a moving pattern on the faded carpet.
She entered the bedroom. The closet door was open, presumably left that way by police investigators, revealing a large black suitcase, familiar to anyone who has ever waited at an airport luggage carousel. She tugged it out of the closet, lifted it onto the bed, unzipped the lid, and flung it open. She emptied the drawers, and after folding all the clothing, she placed it neatly in the suitcase. She returned to the closet, removed the shirts and trousers from the hangers, and set them on the bed, then cleared all the toiletries out of
the bathroom.
She went through the pockets of the garments one by one, placing each item of clothing in the case, and when it was full, she checked the clothes closet one last time and then zipped the suitcase shut and pulled it behind her through to the kitchen, its little wheels clacking on the tile floor the only sound she’d heard since she entered the bungalow. She opened the door to the small cupboard beside the door and found, hanging on a hook, the beige jacket Edmund had carried on his arrival and worn at rehearsals. She lifted it out, checked the pockets, and set the contents on the kitchen table. A used tissue and a receipt from Bentley’s Bistro. She examined the receipt. Two coffees and one chocolate croissant. She folded the jacket, zippered it into the suitcase’s side pocket, and after a moment’s hesitation, held onto the receipt.
With a final look around the kitchen, she switched off the light, locked the door, and walked home.
Chapter 16
Charlotte unlocked the door to her bungalow and went in search of Rupert, who was lying on her bed, sound asleep. She lay down beside him and stroked his soft fur.
“What do you think happened in that bungalow, Rupert?” He looked at her with adoring brown eyes and then, at the sound of someone knocking on the door, jumped off the bed and ran to the door.
He gave a couple of short, sharp barks and then looked at Charlotte to make sure she understood something needed to be done.
“Who is it, Rupert?”
She opened the door to find Aaron on the steps.
“This arrived,” he said, holding out a letter. “It’s from England, and Nancy thought you’d be the best person to deal with it, so she asked me to give it to you. I should have given it to you yesterday, but things got busy, and I’m sorry I forgot. Anyway, here it is. Nancy thought you might want to show it to Ray and let them deal with it.”
After thanking Aaron, Charlotte withdrew the letter from the envelope that had been neatly sliced open and read it twice.
*
Early mornings were now cooler, with a mysterious mist that wreathed the mountaintops and skimmed along the surface of the river. But by midmorning, chased away by the Catskills sun, the mist disappeared, leaving behind crisp, clean air filled with the promise of the autumn soon to come. And now, at lunchtime, the temperature was comfortably warm. Charlotte loved this time of year. The worst of the summer heat was behind them, and the short days filled with wind and rain that would lead into winter were yet to come. This was a day to be enjoyed.
With Rupert scampering ahead, they walked along the path that led to the wooded area at the end of the hotel property. As they reached the star bungalow, the door opened, and Maxine emerged. Charlotte and Rupert slowed their pace, and Maxine joined them.
“Hello,” said Charlotte. “Are you finding enough to keep you busy while Audrey’s in rehearsal?”
“Oh, yes. I’m well used to this. Once the play is running, I’ll be so busy looking after her. And you must let me know what I can do to help you too, if I can.”
“Oh, that’s very kind,” said Charlotte. “We’re so short staffed, your help would be very welcome. Especially as you know your way around a theater.”
“Yes, we all grew up in the theater, but we soon recognized that Audrey was the one with the talent, so we put all the family resources into supporting her.” She gestured at Rupert. “I’ve seen you walking past with your dog. Mine’s had to stay with a friend until I get home. He’s a Jack Russell, and I can’t tell you how much I miss him. Walking without a dog always seems so pointless. Do you mind if I walk with you?”
“Not at all. I can certainly appreciate how much you must miss your dog. Rupert and I have never really been apart. And as for being here, settling in all right, are you?”
“Oh, yes. I like the small-town atmosphere. Audrey’s more for the big city. She loves London and New York, but I’m very happy here. I walk into town and pop into the shops, and it’s all very interesting. I feel right at home, in many ways.”
“Tell me, did you know Edmund Albright in England at all?”
“Oh, yes, our paths crossed a few times.”
“What did you think of him?”
“I think he had an overinflated sense of his own importance. Full of himself, really. In my opinion, he thought of himself as a highflyer, but he couldn’t quite find his wings. He really wasn’t all that, if you know what I mean. But he was more than confident in his own abilities, and sometimes that fooled people into thinking he was better than he was.”
“Interesting. And Audrey had worked with him before, of course.”
“He was the assistant director on a play she did in Manchester. She liked him. Thought he had a talent for getting the best out of the actors. Out here, though, she saw a different side of him, and she didn’t like it. She regretted exercising her director approval to bring him here, although he was thrilled to be asked and couldn’t get here fast enough.”
“Yes, so I gathered.”
Interesting smells led Rupert scurrying into the undergrowth, and the women walked on without him.
“And that ridiculous Civil War idea of his. Positively daft! What did he hope to accomplish with that? Call me old fashioned, but I don’t see the point of messing about with good old Elizabethan and Jacobean productions. Everything else is just a gimmick. So unnecessary.”
“You and Wade Radcliffe seem to be on the same page with that. And it’s causing endless problems in the costume department, I can tell you.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually. It’s critically important that Audrey look fabulous in the publicity photographs, so you will come up with some becoming costumes, won’t you?”
“Yes,” Charlotte promised, “I certainly will.”
They had reached the turning around point at the end of the property, where Rupert caught up and assumed his place in front of them for the return journey.
“Tell me, Maxine,” Charlotte said, “do you think Edmund capable of killing himself?”
Maxine took her time before replying. “I think anyone is capable of just about anything, in the right circumstances.” She stopped to pick up a leaf and examine it. “Why? Have the police said for sure it was suicide?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but as far as I know, that seems to be the theory they’re working on.”
They had reached the star bungalow and stopped. “I was going to walk into town, so I think I’ll just fetch a jacket,” said Maxine. “It can get a little chilly on the way home, once the sun isn’t so directly overhead anymore.” A vase filled with roses in the window caught Charlotte’s eye.
“Oh, those flowers,” Maxine said, following Charlotte’s gaze. “Somebody keeps sending them. We wake up in the morning, and there they are. We don’t know who, but Audrey’s had admirers almost her whole life.”
“They look lovely. Well, bye for now. We’ll talk soon, I’m sure.”
Maxine disappeared into her bungalow, and Charlotte and Rupert returned home.
She opened the door to find Ray seated at the kitchen table, eating a cheese-and-tomato sandwich.
“Oh, there you are,” he said. “I thought you and Rupert would be back soon. I made a sandwich for you too. It’s in the fridge.” She took it out, cut it in four, and took it to the table.
“Got some news,” Ray said when she was seated. “With the forensics from the bungalow and the autopsy results, the medical examiner is fairly certain that the death of Edmund Albright was a suicide. Still some test results to come in, though, so it’s not been officially decided yet. It’s ‘pending.’”
“Fairly certain?” Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“The forensics include blood spatter, gunshot residue, angle of entry . . . everything.”
“Does it, though?” asked Charlotte. “Does it really include everything?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, where did he get the gun? Where is there a record of him buying a gun? Or registering it?”
&n
bsp; “He didn’t have to buy it. It was already there. And by ‘there,’ I mean probably right in his bungalow.”
“What do you mean?”
“The gun was registered to Simon Dyer.”
Charlotte gasped. “Simon! You mean Simon left a gun behind when he moved back to Colorado?”
“Apparently.”
“But why would he leave a gun behind?”
Ray took a sip of soda. “My guess is that the gun was just too much trouble. New York State has strict gun laws. If he wanted to move out of state with the gun, he was required to notify the office where he registered the gun. You say he left in a hurry, so he probably didn’t have time for that. If he was flying, well, a handgun has to be checked baggage in a locked, hard-sided container. If he was driving, the laws about guns vary from state to state, so bringing it with him would have been a nightmare. And I have no idea about gun laws in Colorado, so the way I see it, it was just easier for Simon to leave the gun behind. It was way more trouble than it was worth.”
“Where did he leave it?”
“We don’t know, but it’s possible he stashed it somewhere in the bungalow. He might have tried to hide it, hoping it would never be found.”
Charlotte gave a little shrug of mild disagreement. “I looked around his bungalow after he left, and I didn’t see a gun.”
“Well, you were just having a casual look around, weren’t you? If you’d been living in the place, like Edmund was, you’d have been into all the drawers and cupboards, and you might have found it. I doubt you looked in all the places where a gun might be kept or hidden, but Edmund probably just opened a drawer or a cupboard and reached behind something, and there it was. But the investigators will talk to Simon and find out the details about the gun. They’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“All right. So let’s say Simon did leave the gun behind—along with ammunition, of course—and Edmund found it. Why do the police think his death was a suicide? How do they know it wasn’t accidental?”
“Doubtful. People don’t usually shoot themselves accidentally in the head.”
Much Ado About Murder Page 11