“Well, ma’am,” Bates said, “I don’t rightly know how to tell you this, but . . .”
“Hold on, Deputy,” I said.
“Sure,” Bates said. He appeared relieved that I chose to intervene.
I set down the inventory book I held and moved at a deliberate pace toward Eloise. I stopped about a foot in front of her, and she stared at me for a moment. Then she gave me a tentative smile.
“You look nice,” she said. “I’ve met you before, haven’t I?”
“Yes, we’ve met a couple of times. Perhaps I can help,” I said. “I’ll be happy to take the book for you.”
“Uncle James likes you.” Eloise still smiled. “You came to tea.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “How kind of you to remember me.” I held out my hands, encased in the protective cotton gloves I wore.
Eloise glanced at my hands and giggled. “You’re wearing gloves, too.”
I hadn’t noticed until now that she wore delicate lace gloves. “Yes, I am. It’s the proper thing to do, isn’t it, when one goes calling.”
Eloise nodded solemnly. “Yes, it is.” Then she attempted to peer around me. “Uncle James isn’t at his desk.”
“No, he stepped away for a few minutes.” I paused for a breath, feeling suddenly nervous. “I’ll be happy to give him the book for you, if you’d like.”
She pondered that for a moment, then thrust the book at me. “He likes you, so it’s okay. He doesn’t like some people. He doesn’t want them playing with his books.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I said as I clutched the book.
“He especially doesn’t want Hubert to play with them.” Eloise sniffed. “Hubert messes up everything.”
“That’s too bad,” I replied. This reference to her husband intrigued me. “Was Hubert playing with this book?”
Eloise blinked at me. “Uncle James loves cookies, just like me. He eats a lot of them.” She glanced at the desk. “Look, the ones I left for him are all gone. I think I’ll ask Truesdale for more. Maybe this time I can have some, too.” Then she whirled and disappeared through the open doorway.
I thought about going after her but decided that it would probably be like trying to pin a raindrop to the wall.
Bates closed the door and then turned to me with a look of admiration. “Man, you handled her good. I wasn’t too sure what to say to her.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Sean said. “She really is around the bend. She doesn’t even know her uncle is dead.”
The lucid part of Eloise knew, because I had told her. But I wondered how often the lucid Eloise put in an appearance.
I glanced down at the book in my hands. “We need to let Deputy Berry know this has turned up. Lord knows where Eloise found it, but I’m sure Kanesha will want to have it checked for fingerprints.”
Bates whipped out his cell phone and punched a number. I went to the desk and put volume four of the inventory down. I was itching to open it and find out if there was an entry for Tamerlane, but I didn’t dare. That would have to wait until Kanesha was present.
I stared down at the book on the desk, lost in thought as I picked back over the brief but odd conversation with Eloise. Did her mention of Hubert mean that she found the missing book among his things? Or was it simple rambling, like most of Eloise’s conversation appeared to be?
That was something Kanesha would have to follow up on, I decided.
“She’s heading this way,” Bates said as he snapped his phone shut.
I was about to comment when the deputy stiffened and held up his hand. “You hear that? Sounded like a scream.”
He whirled and was out the door before I could frame a reply. Sean brushed past me and went after the deputy. I glanced over at Diesel, and he was sitting up and staring toward the door.
“Come on, boy; let’s go see what’s going on.” I headed after Sean and the deputy. I made sure Diesel was behind me as we approached the front of the house. I heard the ruckus now. A woman whimpered while a man yelled.
When I reached the foot of the stairs, I looked up. Deputy Bates had a firm hold on Hubert Morris, who struggled to pull free. The deputy outweighed Hubert by at least thirty pounds of muscle, so Hubert wasn’t going anywhere. He continued to yell at his wife, who cowered in my son’s arms.
“How many times have I told you to stay out of other people’s rooms? Stupid, stupid, crazy idiot.” Everything Hubert yelled was some variation of those words.
“Quiet!” Sean and Deputy Bates roared in unison.
The word reverberated up and down the stairs and through the hall.
Hubert was apparently so startled that he shut up.
“And stay that way.” Bates growled in Hubert’s ear before he practically carried him down the stairs to where Diesel and I stood.
My poor cat had scrunched up against my legs as hard as he could, and I squatted down to reassure him. I didn’t like this yelling any more than he did.
When I looked up again, Sean was carrying Eloise up the stairs to her room, I guessed. She was no longer whimpering, and that had to be a good sign. I hoped she would recover quickly from Hubert’s verbal assault.
At least, I hoped it was only verbal.
I stood and examined Hubert, still in the deputy’s strong grip. “What was that all about?” I asked.
The doorbell rang, and Bates indicated that I should answer it. He had made no move to release Hubert.
I opened the door to Kanesha Berry. “Afternoon, Mr. Harris,” she said as she stepped into the hall.
I returned the greeting, but I didn’t think she heard me.
“Tell this gorilla to let go of me.” Hubert sounded on the edge of hysteria. “I’m going to sue the sheriff’s department for brutality. Let go of me.” He twisted hard, but Bates held on to him.
Kanesha addressed her subordinate, her voice sharp. “What’s going on here, Bates?”
“Mr. Morris here was assaulting his wife on the stairs up there,” Bates said, his expression stony. “I intervened, and I kept him in my custody until you arrived, ma’am.”
“Let him go, Bates,” Kanesha said. “No, Mr. Morris, you’re not going anywhere.”
Hubert stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Kanesha. “I was not assaulting my wife, I assure you. I will admit I was yelling at her, but I didn’t strike her.”
“Then why was she holding her left cheek and saying, ‘Don’t hit me again, please don’t hit me again’ when I found you two on the stairs? And why was she screaming?” Bates glowered at Hubert, who shrank away from him.
“Answer the questions, Mr. Morris.” Kanesha stared hard at Hubert. She seemed to have forgotten my presence altogether. “Now. Unless you’d prefer to go down to the sheriff’s department and answer them there.”
Hubert licked his lips, and his eyes darted back and forth from one deputy to the other. “I guess maybe I did slap her,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “But, my lord, Eloise is so crazy, sometimes the only way you can get any sense out of her is to, um . . .” He trailed off.
“I think we’ll continue this conversation in there.” Kanesha indicated the small parlor with a jerk of her head. She strode toward it, leaving Bates to shepherd Hubert along.
Diesel and I slipped into the room after Bates, and I moved quickly to the side of the room away from the two officers and Hubert. If Kanesha was aware of my presence, she gave no sign.
“Have a seat, Mr. Morris,” she said, pointing to a chair. “Bates, back to the library, on the double.”
“Ma’am.” Bates looked momentarily chagrined, but he nodded and disappeared out the door.
Hubert sat, and Kanesha moved closer until she stood maybe six inches from him. She also now blocked my view of Hubert’s face, but I decided to stay put.
I knelt down by Diesel and rubbed his head, hoping that he would keep quiet and not irritate Kanesha.
“How did this incident start?” Kanesha barked the question at Hubert, and I sensed, rather than saw,
his start of surprise.
“Uh, well, I ran into Eloise on the stairs. I was looking for her anyway, because I thought I saw her earlier, coming out of someone’s room.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Maybe ten minutes ago,” Hubert said.
“And it took you ten minutes to find her?” Kanesha sounded skeptical.
“She gets around pretty quickly.” Hubert laughed. “You’d be surprised; she’s more nimble than you think in those crazy dresses she wears.”
“And where did you find her?”
“On the stairs,” Hubert said. “I was chastising her for snooping in a room that wasn’t hers, and she started whining and telling me she hadn’t been doing that. I told her I’d seen her, but she kept denying it. And, well, I guess I got mad. She’s so loony she can’t remember where she’s been or what she’s done when she’s in one of her states.”
Kanesha posed the question I was dying to ask. “Whose room had she been in?”
Hubert didn’t answer right away, and I wondered whether he was about to lie.
“The butler’s,” he said. “You know, Truesdale. He has a room on the same floor as some of the family, instead of in the servants’ quarters where he belongs.”
Hubert sounded rather indignant over that.
Now I wanted Kanesha to ask him another question. Did she take anything from his room?
Perhaps Kanesha picked up on my thought waves. “Was she carrying anything with her when you saw her leaving his room?”
“I think so,” Hubert said. “But with those skirts of hers it’s hard to tell sometimes. She’s really good at hiding things with them when she doesn’t want you to know she has something.” He paused. “Whatever it was, it had to come from Truesdale’s room. I’m sure of that.”
“Thank you, Mr. Morris,” Kanesha said. “I strongly suggest that in the future you refrain from slapping your wife.”
If Kanesha had spoken to me in that tone, I would have been quivering in my boots. I would have loved to see her expression when she warned Hubert.
Hubert spoke in a strangled whisper. I had to strain to hear him. “No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am; I won’t hit her again.”
“That’s all, then,” Kanesha said. “You can go now.”
Hubert couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. He bolted out the door, leaving it open.
I wanted to fade into the woodwork with Diesel, but there was no chance of that.
With her back still to me, Kanesha said, “It’s okay, I know you’re there. And the cat, too.” She turned toward the door. “Now I want to see that inventory book. Come with me.”
Diesel and I followed her to the library, where a grim-faced Bates admitted us.
Kanesha strode over to the desk and stared down at the book. “I presume we’re meant to think that this is what Mrs. Morris took out of the butler’s room.”
“It seems pretty obvious,” I said.
Kanesha turned to me, an ironic glint in her eye. “From where you were, you couldn’t see Morris’s face while I questioned him. He lied to me. The question is, why?”
TWENTY-FIVE
I was willing to take Kanesha’s word for it. She was an experienced officer. If she thought Hubert was lying, then he probably was.
Diesel found refuge under the work table. He stretched out, face toward me, and regarded me steadily.
I did have a question, however. “Exactly what was he lying about?”
“The room he saw his wife coming out of.” Kanesha responded with a hint of impatience. “If he was even telling the truth about seeing her come out of a room. The whole thing was a bit too pat—with one exception.”
I thought about that for a moment. “The lag between the time he saw her coming out of the room and when he confronted her.”
“Exactly.” Kanesha snorted. “I don’t buy that bit about how slippery she is and that it took him ten minutes to catch up with her. That dog ain’t gonna hunt, at least not with me.”
I was curious about her interrogation methods. “Why didn’t you press him on it, then?”
“I like to let them think they’ve put one over on me, gives them a bit of confidence, and then they start thinking they’re smarter than me.” She shook her head. “That’s when I teach them the error of their ways.”
I filed that away for future reference. “So what do you think really happened?”
“Let me ask you some questions first, about the timing.” Kanesha signaled to Bates. “You too, Bates. How long was Mrs. Morris in the library when she came in here with that book? And how long after she left did you hear her scream?”
I answered the first question. “She was in here five minutes at the most.” I glanced to Bates for confirmation, and he nodded.
“Wasn’t much more than a minute or so after she left that I heard her scream,” Bates said.
“Okay, then,” Kanesha said. “If we take Mr. Morris’s ten-minute time frame, that gives Mrs. Morris about three minutes to elude him and get to the library. I know this is a big house, but I don’t buy his statement that she got away from him.”
“Do you think he lied when he said he didn’t know what she took from the room?” I had my own thoughts about that, spurred on by Kanesha’s doubts and questions.
“I think he knew, all right,” Kanesha said. She pointed to the formerly missing inventory volume. “He knew she had that, but I don’t think he saw her take it. He found it missing, figured she had it, and came looking for it.”
“And that would mean Hubert took it in the first place and hid it somewhere.” That fell in line with my own reasoning.
“Yes,” Kanesha said. “Now the question is, why is he trying to implicate Truesdale?”
“The will,” I said, even as Kanesha spoke the same words. “He wants to discredit Truesdale in some inept attempt to break the will.”
“And in that case,” Kanesha continued in a triumphant tone, “he is probably the person stealing from the collection, because otherwise why would he think the presence of that book in the butler’s room would incriminate Truesdale?”
She had reached the same conclusion I had. Things weren’t looking so good for Hubert. But there was one problem. We still hadn’t found anything actually missing from the collection.
I voiced that thought to Kanesha.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “This means the inventory is more important than ever now. I really need to know whether anything is missing.”
“Sean and I will work as quickly as we can,” I said. “I’d like to take a break to go home and have some dinner, but we can come back afterward and keep working.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Kanesha pointed to the final inventory book. “Did you look in there yet to see if Mr. Delacorte recorded the purchase of Tamerlane?”
I shook my head. “No, I wanted to, but I figured I’d be in big trouble if I did.”
“Let’s look now,” she said. “And since you’re wearing those”—she pointed to my cotton gloves—“you do it.”
I had completely forgotten I had the gloves on. I glanced down at them and could see several cat hairs adhered to them. “Let me put on a fresh pair. I’ve been petting Diesel with these on.”
Kanesha nodded as I stripped off the gloves and shoved them in my pocket. I went to the work table and the box of gloves I had left there earlier.
With a fresh pair on my hands, I went back to the desk and gingerly opened the inventory volume. I riffled through the pages until I reached the last entry.
I groaned in frustration as Kanesha peered over my shoulder. “It’s not here. The last book listed is a first edition of Edith Wharton’s Ethan Frome, personally inscribed by her.” The Wharton entry ended on the verso of the page. I bent to examine the next page closely. What I spotted excited me. “Look here.” I pointed to the gutter between the pages. “A page has been removed, but the rest of the signature is intact.”
Kanesha frowned as she examined the gutter
. “Signature? I don’t see any writing here.”
I went into brief lecture mode. “The text block—all of the pages inside the book—is composed of sheets, leaves, pages, and signatures. One sheet of paper is folded in half. One half of the folded paper is a leaf, and each side of the leaf is a page. A signature is two or more leaves of paper, or four pages, stacked and folded as a group. The signatures are then bound together, either with glue or stitching, to form the text block of the book. There are variations, of course, depending on the size of the book.”
I could have gone on, about folio sizes, quartos and octavos, and so on, but I figured that was enough of an information dump for the moment.
Kanesha nodded and peered even more closely at the gutter. Whoever detached the page—and I presumed it was Hubert—had done a very neat job of it.
Kanesha stood and rubbed the back of her neck. “If we presume the missing page contained the details about the copy of Tamerlane, then the obvious conclusion is that someone is trying to erase the record of the purchase.”
I brought up the point that I still found so perplexing. “In that case why didn’t he also remove the letters about the purchase from Mr. Delacorte’s desk?”
Kanesha shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t know about the letters.”
“Let me pose a different scenario,” I said. “What if the killer wanted those letters found?”
“What do you mean?” Kanesha frowned at me.
“What if the killer wanted us to think that the Tamerlane had been stolen? And what if there was no Tamerlane at all?”
“A wild-goose chase, in other words, meant to keep the investigation focused in the wrong direction.”
Kanesha didn’t sound as skeptical as I feared she might. “Have you been in contact with the book dealer who supposedly sold the Tamerlane to Mr. Delacorte?”
“Not yet,” Kanesha said. “It’s on my list, but I haven’t had time so far. But I think it will be the first thing I do tomorrow morning.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s after six in New York now.”
“I’ll be very curious to hear the outcome of that conversation,” I said.
Classified as Murder Page 18