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Murder, My Suite

Page 15

by Mary Daheim


  “Is that what she told you in the washroom last night?” Judith asked, the sympathy in her voice coming through in any language.

  Mia didn’t reply at once. She was walking very slowly, keeping her eye on a big yellow Caterpillar tractor that was moving along the edge of the road. “There were rumors,” Mia said at last in a terse tone. It appeared that she had given herself time to consider Judith’s questions, and now had one of her own. “How do you know about the washroom?”

  “I was there with Dagmar after you left her,” Judith answered truthfully. “She was upset, too. That’s why she left her turban and scarf. Maybe that’s why Agnes Shay got killed.”

  Mia turned to gaze up at Judith. “The companion? Very sad. What has it to do with me?”

  Renie was on the other side of Mia. “I imagine,” she remarked, “that’s why the police questioned you and Mr. Linski. You know, the big scene at Crest House. It couldn’t look good for you when, less than an hour later, somebody killed Agnes because she was mistaken for Dagmar.”

  With an annoyed gesture, Mia rubbed the tears from her eyes. “Such a waste! The assassin should not have made a mistake.”

  The high-pitched words hung on the mountain air as Mia Prohowska turned her back on the cousins and ran off as if the ghosts of the secret police were at her heels.

  TEN

  JUDITH’S HIP SOCKETS had never been the same since she and Renie had challenged Auntie Vance and Aunt Ellen to a rigorous badminton doubles match at the family cabin some thirty-five years earlier. Renie had never learned to ice-skate because she had weak ankles and impaired coordination. Except for gardening and running up and down the stairs of their multistoried residences, the cousins had no commitment to physical exercise. In middle age, they should have been no match for the twenty-nine-year-old Mia Prohowska. But curiosity could do more than kill the cat: It could turn a pair of menopausal matrons into Olympic sprint contenders. Judith and Renie caught Mia just where the road branched off to Clarges Court.

  “You…need…a…cold…drink,” Judith insisted between gasps for breath.

  “You’re…a…nervous…wreck,” Renie panted. “Come…inside.” Slackly, she gestured in the direction of the Clarges Court complex.

  Apparently drained from the emotional upheaval of the past few hours, Mia offered no resistance. As the three women approached the condo’s street entrance, Judith noticed that the police car was gone. Fleetingly, she wondered who was sitting with Dagmar. Freddy had obviously abandoned his aunt. Perhaps the Kreagers had returned from their swim.

  Renie tapped out the security code on the handsome wrought-iron gate that led into Clarges Court. They passed the units that housed the Kreagers and Dagmar Chatsworth. All seemed peaceful. The only sign of life in the courtyard was a pair of young boys in wet bathing suits, running out of the pool area and heading for a unit at the opposite end from the cousins’ condo.

  Mia didn’t drink hard liquor, which put her hostesses in a bind. They had purchased only scotch and rye. Fortunately, the skater was willing to accept one of Judith’s diet sodas.

  The soft drink seemed to loosen Mia’s tongue. “I found out about Dagmar’s terrible lies just before she arrived here,” she said, sitting stiffly on the mauve-and-teal sofa. “Someone phoned and left an anonymous message.”

  Judith had sat down in one of the two matching armchairs. Renie was in the other. Having cornered their prey, the cousins now seemed willing to give her some breathing room. “What did they say?” Judith asked, keeping her voice on a calm, conversational level.

  Mia stared into her tall glass of soda as if she expected to find bugs. Or poison. “This person revealed what Dagmar planned to write in her next book. It was…ugly. And lies. All lies.” Mia shuddered at the memory.

  Judith gave her guest a chance to regain her composure. “Did you recognize the voice?” She was prepared for a negative response.

  Mia didn’t disappoint her. “No. It was very strange, like a windup toy. Croak, quack, squeak.” The imitation wasn’t bad. Mia’s gray eyes widened and the cords in her neck were strained.

  “Disguised,” murmured Renie with a sidelong glance at Judith. “What did this person say?”

  But Mia refused to reveal the dreadful falsehoods that Dagmar was allegedly putting in her next book. “Nat thinks we should sue now,” she said, running a nervous hand through her mane of red hair. “There is a way, he tells me, to stop the presses.”

  “An injunction, maybe.” Renie refilled her own glass of Pepsi. “When did you get the call?”

  Fleetingly, Mia looked blank. “The exact date I do not remember. Time runs like a river, especially at the end of a tour. But it was the morning after we returned from your city.”

  Judith tried to calculate in her head. “You came to Bugler right after your last show?”

  Mia nodded. “We never return to hotel. We chartered a plane to Port Royal. Then Anatoly and I drive to Bugler. It is very late when we arrive. I am wanting to sleep in, but no, Anatoly insists I go to the practice. He drives me like a demon.” Despite the complaint, Mia didn’t appear overtly annoyed.

  The call had come through Thursday morning, Judith figured. “You were phoned…where? At home?”

  Mia shook her head. “At the rink. It’s just outside the village square, next to the driving range for golf.”

  “Did you tell the police?” Renie asked.

  Again Mia shook her head. Her poise was returning, and with it, a hint of the regal aura that emanated from her presence on the ice. “To what end? In this country, it is not against the law to make a phone call. There was no threat. Only the report of Dagmar’s vicious calumny.”

  “So,” Judith said in a thoughtful voice, “it could have been a friend with a warning.”

  Apparently the idea had never occurred to Mia. “A friend? A friend!” She seemed dismayed. “No, no, surely not! The unexpected call, the unhappy communication, the secrecy of the voice—is that what friends do? Not in my homeland! In the past, no good ever came from such messages! The next thing, a loved one disappeared, or a stealthy shadow followed, pretending to gaze in shop windows with state-owned goods of dubious quality. Oh, no! This was no friend, Mrs.—” Mia faltered, then stared at the cousins. “Forgive me, I know not your names.” Her uneasiness returned.

  Judith and Renie introduced themselves. The formality struck them as both awkward and amusing. But Mia didn’t seem to notice.

  “I understand there was a small problem with Dagmar at the Cascadia Hotel,” Judith said, starting for the refrigerator and more soda pop. “Did you actually talk to her there?” Her voice was raised as she called out from the compact kitchen.

  “No,” Mia answered, “I did not. I speak with the poor dead secretary. Except then she was alive.”

  Judith returned, carrying two cans of diet soda and a single Pepsi. “The discussion was about Rover?”

  Politely, Mia refused more soda. “Rover?” Her flawless brow furrowed.

  “Dagmar’s repulsive dog,” Renie prompted.

  Enlightened, Mia nodded. “Nasty, that dog. Miss Shay, she is nice. We reach the compromise. There is no serious provocation. Not,” Mia emphasized with narrowed eyes, “for murder.”

  “So you dealt with Agnes,” Judith mused. “Nat—Mr. Linski—didn’t get involved?”

  Mia slapped her hands on her knees and laughed in an ironic manner. “Of course! He is always involved! That is his way!” Sobering quickly, she stared first at Judith, then at Renie. “But this is not perilous. He shouts at Miss Shay, at the funny little man with the bowlegs, at Dagmar Chatsworth! It is of no matter. The dog incident is settled, all is well, my fellow skaters have Band-Aids applied. Then comes the phone call. All is not well. And Dagmar comes to Bugler and enjoys herself and is eating the salad with the warm chicken livers and I am desolated! I am looking forward to the long and prosperous career. Skaters age like wine, becoming finer as years go by. But my future, my whole life, is threatened. Wha
t should I do? What would you do?” Mia didn’t wait for a reply. “I accuse her of perfidy! I wish to wring her neck! I try, I fail, Nat stops me! Then I go to the washroom to regain myself, and who comes but Dagmar! So I plead, I beg, I am practically on my knees, but the tile is colder than the ice. She is unyielding, yet I perceive distress in her eyes. She is afraid! But,” Mia concluded, suddenly limp, “not of me.”

  “Huh?” It was Renie, taken aback by the swift change in Mia’s attitude. “So who scared Dagmar? Did somebody else come into the washroom?”

  Mia turned vague. “I don’t recall. I think not. As for the hateful Dagmar, she refused to withdraw her false charges. That shows she was not the least little bit frightened of me, hey? But frightened she was. Yet it does me no good.” Mia seemed to wallow in sadness.

  In her head, Judith heard the strains of Gypsy violins, their moaning melody filling the lobby of a third-rate hotel in Bucharest. Or some such place where seedy guests with card-board suitcases and frayed overcoats argued hopelessly with desk clerks who lived off bribes. At Clarges Court, a chipmunk bounded up onto the small deck outside the living room and peered through the sliding glass door.

  The chipmunk startled Mia, who reacted as if the little animal were wearing a trench coat and dark glasses. “Oh! Wildlife! They bite, do they not?”

  “They do, actually,” Renie replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “Years ago at our family cabin, Cousin Sue had one try to take her finger off when she put a small sailor hat on him. Or her,” Renie added a bit uncertainly.

  Mia didn’t seem interested in Cousin Sue’s misadventures with the chipmunk. She had just gotten to her feet when the doorbell suddenly chimed. Mia jumped and her eyes grew big.

  “Who is it?” she asked in an anxious whisper.

  “I don’t know,” Renie replied, also getting up. “I checked my X-ray-vision glasses at the border.”

  Tessa Van Heusen Kreager and Anatoly “Nat” Linski stood on the small front porch. Tessa looked annoyed, which the cousins were beginning to think was her standard state of mind. Nat Linski’s expression was more difficult to read, not due to any effort at concealing his emotions, but because so many of them seemed in evidence on his bearded face. The cousins discerned anger, worry, frustration, impatience, and, as Nat glimpsed Mia in the living room, relief.

  His first words were a torrent of foreign sounds. He bolted into the condo and was at Mia’s side in an instant. Tessa uttered a vexed sigh.

  “He’s been frantic,” she said without any trace of compassion. “For some stupid reason, he thought Mia might have come to see us. Or Dagmar. Just to get rid of him, I suggested he try here. The crazy fool wouldn’t come on his own, so I had to tag along like a damned duenna. I never thought Mia would actually be here.”

  “We met her on the trail,” Judith said noncommittally.

  “Oh?” Tessa’s expression was skeptical, but she didn’t linger. “Well, the lovebirds are reunited. I’m going to fly the coop.” Stepping onto the porch, Tessa walked off without another word.

  Nat Linksi was already herding Mia toward the door. He glowered at the cousins, his bushy eyebrows uniting above his prominent nose. “We’ll discuss your part in this later,” he said under his breath. “Prepare to explain. You are under suspicion.”

  “Good-bye,” Mia called as Nat all but carried her over the threshold. “Thank you.”

  “Jeez!” Renie stumbled to the sofa and collapsed. “What was that all about?”

  Judith retrieved the three unopened soda cans and returned them to the refrigerator. She didn’t reply until she had poured serious drinks for herself and Renie.

  “Nat’s overly protective,” Judith declared, sitting back down in the armchair. “Or so I’d guess. His timing stinks, though. We never got to ask Mia about an alibi.”

  “Maybe she wouldn’t have told us,” Renie said. “At the moment, I’d rather find out why Nat Linski said we were under suspicion. Of what, harboring a guest?”

  Judith gave a shrug. “Who knows? He’s volatile. Don’t you remember the Olympics? Every time they put the camera on him, he was either leaping in the air and shouting with joy or pitching a five-star fit.” Briefly, Judith fell silent, then glanced at her watch. It was after four o’clock. She went into the kitchen in search of the local telephone directory.

  Renie brightened. “Dinner?”

  Judith looked up from the white pages. “Huh? Oh, right—The Bells and Motley. I suppose we’d better get a reservation.” She beamed as she found the original object of her search. “Here—Esme MacPherson, 121 Maple Leaf Lane, Apartment 2B. Should we call him—or call on him?”

  Renie tilted her head to one side, her round face pleading. “Dinner? Reservations? Discount coupon?”

  “Okay, okay.” Judith flipped to the yellow pages. Pacified, Renie sipped her drink while Judith made a reservation for seven o’clock. Hanging up the phone, she consulted the map at the front of the directory. “Maple Leaf Lane is on the other side of the town, by some of the lodges and pensions.”

  “Older,” Renie remarked. “By Bugler standards, anyway. Thus, maybe cheaper.” She gave Judith a look of resignation. “Do we go now or on our way to dinner?”

  Judith polished off her scotch. “Now. We don’t know how soon Mr. MacPherson starts his evening rounds. He’s probably recovered from last night’s hangover and may actually be sober this early.”

  Renie gave a nod. “Come on. Let’s go waste yet more of our enjoyable vacation time.”

  Picking up her handbag, Judith assessed the damage to the strap. Fortunately, Rover had only begun to gnaw. The bag was five years old, had cost almost a hundred dollars on sale, and was dear to Judith. She’d hoped it would last another two years. If Rover could be avoided, that was still possible.

  “What other plans did you have?” Judith asked Renie with a touch of sarcasm.

  “Shops,” Renie replied promptly. “I honestly thought we might browse, if not buy.”

  “We can’t afford it,” Judith replied as they headed downstairs to the parking garage.

  “We could afford to browse,” Renie countered.

  Across the roof of the blue Chevy, Judith gave her cousin a wry look. “We could?”

  Renie considered. “You’re right. We couldn’t. You’d shell out another fifty for a browsing fee. Sap.” She got into the driver’s seat.

  But it was Judith who was leading them on.

  In physical terms, they didn’t get far. Tessa Van Heusen Kreager came through her condo door and stopped dead when she saw the cousins about to pull away. She seemed to hesitate, then approached the Chevy.

  “What happened to you two?” she demanded as Renie rolled down the power window. “I thought you were going to stay with Dagmar until Karl and I came back from the pool.”

  Renie explained about Chief Penreddy’s arrival, adding that the cousins had met up with Freddy in the courtyard. They had assumed he’d gone in to sit with Dagmar after the police left.

  “Freddy!” Tessa was scornful. “He came, he sat, he left. Dagmar was alone when we returned. Freddy’s a washout!”

  Judith and Renie weren’t inclined to argue. “I’d hoped,” Judith said, leaning across the front seat, “that Freddy would succumb to his family ties. As far as I can tell, he’s the only relative Dagmar has.”

  Tessa snorted. “Is he?”

  Judith felt faintly defensive. “Well, we asked if she had any family in Minnesota, and I gathered that Freddy was it.”

  Tessa smoothed the collar of her black-and-white-striped silk shirt. “Don’t be naive. Do you really think Freddy is Dagmar’s nephew?” Her expression had turned into a smirk.

  Judith was wide-eyed; Renie frowned. “Excuse me?” Judith said in a startled voice. “You mean Freddy isn’t her sister’s son?”

  “I doubt it,” Tessa snapped. “He’s a parasite. And like most women, Dagmar is a fool when it comes to men.”

  Judith recalled Dagmar’s shocked reaction at t
he hint of a match between Freddy and Agnes. Maybe Tessa was right. Dagmar could be romantically involved with the lecherous little leech. Passing him off as her nephew would explain his otherwise worthless presence. Or so Judith conjectured.

  “How is Dagmar?” she asked, anxious to avoid further consideration of Dagmar and Freddy in the throes of passion.

  Tessa had started to move away from the car. “The same. She’ll give Karl’s brother a heart attack if she doesn’t pull herself together and come up with Friday’s column.” Tessa’s sour expression dissolved into worry. “To make matters worse, we can’t find her files. You didn’t happen to see a gray metal box when you were with her, did you?”

  Judith and Renie exchanged glances. “It was in Agnes’s room,” Judith finally answered. “We…ah…peeked in there to check for Rover.”

  “It’s not there now,” Tessa replied, seemingly indifferent to the cousins’ prying. “I thought Dagmar might have it upstairs, in her part of the condo. But we’ve looked all over the place and can’t find it. Dagmar can’t write the column without it.”

  Not being conversant with the world of journalism, Judith threw out a common-sense suggestion. “Can’t you run something in the Friday papers to the effect that Dagmar is ill?”

  Tessa scowled at Judith. “We’re trying to keep the lid on this thing,” she said, again leaning into the car. “Bugler is sufficiently isolated that, so far, nobody from the outside has come snooping around. Agnes Shay’s name doesn’t make any news. But let those vipers on the rival rags hear that somebody tried to kill Dagmar Delacroix Chatsworth—well, you can guess what kind of headlines that would make.”

  Renie had acquired her aging ingenue’s air. “It might help sell books,” she noted.

  “It might give somebody else ideas,” Tessa retorted. “Isn’t it bad enough that there’s already one murderer on the loose? Karl and I want to keep things under control until the killer is found.” Her fine features sagged, and she had to brace herself on the Chevy’s dark blue hardtop roof. “I’m starting to wonder if that will happen. The police don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

 

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