A Puzzle in a Pear Tree

by Parnell Hall

  “Imagine that.”

  “So, they cut a deal, Jonathon and Pam. He would go back to England. Pamela and Max would stay here. Horace would settle a sizable amount on Pamela for child support, as long as she kept quiet about the affair.”

  “And she agreed to that?”

  “Why not? Her husband was leaving Bakerhaven. She and my husband were the aggrieved parties. Why shouldn’t they make a pact to help each other through a rough time?”

  “But they never had an affair?”

  “Horace and Pamela? Don’t make me laugh! That was just the story Horace put out to explain Doddsy’s leaving. He merely leaked it to a few key sources. It got around soon enough. It wasn’t long before the whole town knew.

  “Then Doddsy comes back after all these years, and tongues begin to wag. Time has passed, the two girls have grown. Suppose they were to hear? You see why Doddsy’s so upset? He thinks she found out. He thinks she did it.”

  Cora frowned, puzzling out the tangle of human emotions. “Your theory is Maxine Doddsworth found out what your husband did, sending her father away and spreading lies about her mother, and became so enraged she murdered his daughter to make him suffer?”

  Mindy looked at her with just a trace of a smug smile.

  “Not Maxine. Pamela.”

  40

  PAMELA DODDSWORTH WASN’T OVERJOYED TO SEE CORA ON her doorstep either. “Why are you here?” she demanded sharply. “Why can’t you just let well enough alone?”

  “And let your husband solve it?”

  “Ex-husband.”

  “I thought you wanted me to beat him to the punch.”

  “I do. You’re wasting your time talking to me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Cora, nudged by Pamela, took one of the candy canes off the Doddsworths’ Christmas tree, examined it critically. “I just came from Mindy Taggart.”

  Pamela’s nostrils flared. “Oh, is that so?”

  “I don’t imagine you like her much.”

  “We’re not exactly close. But our daughters were best friends.”

  “I’ve heard the story. Mindy came clean. I know what you’ve been through, and I think I understand what you feel.” Cora held the candy cane like a gun. “What I’m trying to figure out is just how vengeful you are.”

  “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” Pamela seemed genuinely bewildered.

  “It had to be a strain to have your husband come back after all those years. Bringing up ugly old memories. Rekindling ugly old resentments. Particularly if your daughter still idolized her dad.”

  “Certainly it’s hard. What’s your point?”

  “Hard enough to make you kill?”

  “What!?”

  “Someone killed Dorrie. I’m looking into the very good possibility it was you.”

  “Are you out of your mind? I wasn’t even there.”

  “No, but your daughter was.”

  Pamela’s face darkened. “What are you saying?”

  In the reflection of one of the silver balls on the tree, Cora could see Maxine Doddsworth listening from the stairs. Evidently Pamela wasn’t aware of it. That was just fine with Cora.

  “I would imagine your daughter still trusts you enough to do what you tell her. Suppose you were to give Maxine a necklace or scarf or choker to slip on Dorrie’s neck in the crèche. Suppose whatever it was had a poison pin.”

  “I don’t recall any such object being found on the body. But I suppose you have a theory”—Pamela said the word mockingly—“of what became of it.”

  “I haven’t thought it all out yet.”

  “I’ll say you haven’t. Why in the world would I kill the child like that, knowing it would directly implicate my daughter?”

  “Maybe that was the point,” Cora replied. “You are a woman who has suffered a great wrong at the hands of three people. Your husband who betrayed you. The woman he betrayed you with. And her husband, who compounded the injury with lies and deceit. Well, here’s revenge on them all. The Taggarts you deprive of their only child. And your husband—the person you hate most—on him you inflict the even worse punishment of thinking his daughter did the deed.”

  Pamela Doddsworth stared at Cora in growing horror. “Are you insane? Do you think I’m such a fiend? What sort of a twisted mind would it take to come up with something like that?”

  Cora had come up with the idea in no time at all. She tried not to take offense. “It would depend on the degree of hatred. I imagine yours runs rather deep.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Maxine Doddsworth came scampering down the stairs. “Oh, come on, Mom. You still love Dad, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn’t care so much.”

  “Max! How long have you been listening?”

  “Long enough. But don’t worry, Mom. I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “Yeah, oh, my God. You’re not a bad woman, you’re just a martyr. Sacrificing your good name for my sake. And for Dad’s. Any money you got for doing so is entirely coincidental.”

  “This was never about money!”

  “No, of course not,” Maxine said sarcastically.

  “How long have you known?”

  “Oh, a while.” Eyes flashing, Maxine turned to Cora Felton. “Is that what you’re here for? To root out scandal? Spread it around? Take the heat off your niece? Is that why you’re here?”

  “No. I’m trying to find who killed your friend.”

  “You needn’t bother. Daddy’s on the case. He’s the real deal. He’ll prove who did this, no matter what it takes. He’ll run rings around you. You’re nobody. He’s the best.”

  “Max, don’t be rude.”

  “No, she’s right. For experience, your husband has me beat hands down.” Cora twirled the candy cane thoughtfully around her finger. “Maxine, can I ask you a question?”

  “Depends what it is.”

  “Are you in The Seagull?”

  Maxine blinked. Whatever question she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Yeah. Why?”

  “What do you play?”

  “A small part. A walk-on, really.”

  “What’s going to happen with The Seagull now? Is it still going on?”

  “How the hell should I know? Who cares about some stupid play?”

  “I thought you might take over Dorrie’s part.”

  “Yeah. Like that would really happen. I’m no actress.”

  “Then why were you in the play?”

  “Because Dorrie was. She was nuts about that stuff. Me, I could never see the point.”

  “But Dorrie took it seriously?”

  “Worked her tail off.” Maxine made a face. “Mr. Winston’s such a perfectionist. Everything’s gotta be just so. He kept Dorrie late maybe two or three times a week.”

  “You mean for private lessons?”

  “Sure. She was a star. Director’s pet. Even in rehearsal, she was the one he worked with most.”

  “Any of the other actors jealous of the attention?”

  “No. Why should they be? He’s a real pain, fussing over one thing or another. They just resented the time. Mr. Winston’s rehearsals drag on forever.”

  Cora suppressed a groan. She had two days of Rupert Winston’s rehearsals left. “Did Dorrie mind?”

  “She ate it up. She loved playing that part.”

  “Uh-huh.” A thought occurred to Cora. “Was Lance in the play?”

  “Lance? No way. He’s a jock.”

  “Mmm.” Feeling her way, Cora ventured, “So, did you stick around for these late rehearsals Dorrie had?”

  “Are you kidding? Would you stay after school if you didn’t have to?”

  “But Dorrie told you about them?”

  Maxine frowned.

  Cora pounced. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” Maxine said irritably. “Dorrie just wasn’t herself lately. I wondered why. Now I know.”

&nbs
p; “You mean her being pregnant?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But that had nothing to do with rehearsals. Was there anything about rehearsal?”

  “Of course not. What could there be?”

  Cora was embarrassed to discover that she had absently unwrapped the candy cane. “I don’t know. Would she have discussed her pregnancy with Rupert Winston?”

  “Get serious!”

  Cora shrugged. “If she needed advice. And didn’t want to go to her parents.”

  “She’d tell me,” Maxine said emphatically. “She sure as hell wouldn’t tell Rupert Winston.”

  “Even if she had something she wasn’t sharing with you?”

  “Even then. No way she’d talk to him.”

  Cora stuffed the candy cane in her mouth and thought that over.

  41

  THERE WAS A LIGHT ON IN THE THEATER, EERILY REMINISCENT of the night before. That intrigued Cora. The stage was now a crime scene. By rights no one should be there.

  Cora pulled in, found Rupert Winston’s VW Super-beetle parked by the door. That utterly confused her. Rehearsal had been canceled, and even if Rupert had gotten permission to work with a few select people he deemed needed it most, surely she would be high on the list. Not that she wanted to rehearse. Still, the fact that she hadn’t been asked intrigued her. Was it possible Rupert wasn’t rehearsing? And if he wasn’t, what was he doing?

  Cora tried the gym door. It was unlocked. She eased the double doors open and stepped into the theater.

  The basketball court was drenched in shadow. The stage lights were on. Downstage left, a slender young girl stood in a single spotlight. A teenager, with wispy black hair, thin lips, and haunted eyes. Attractive, in an artsy sort of way.

  As Cora watched, the girl declared, “ ‘I’m a seagull.’ ” She paused, touched her forehead. “ ‘No, that’s not it! I’m an actress.’ ”

  Rupert, in slim black pants and turtleneck, catapulted onto the stage from the shadows, as if he were a dancer in an avant-garde ballet performed on a trampoline. “No, no, no!” he cried. “Laura, darling, you are not auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. You are back to see your childhood sweetheart, Konstantine, after your tempestuous affair with the writer, Trigorin. It’s been years, and much has happened. You’ve had and lost a child. You’ve tried, but failed, as an actress. A seagull is what Konstantine killed and laid at your feet in act one, declaring someday he’d kill himself in the same way. It also happens to be the title of the play. So you cannot say you’re a seagull as if you were at a McDonald’s window asking, ‘You want fries with that?’ ”

  The girl’s face twisted in anguish. “I know. . . .”

  “See?” Rupert said triumphantly. “Now you’re giving me true emotion. Feel that bad about the seagull. Feel that bad about your wasted life, your shattered dreams. Your abandoning Konstantine. Okay, try it again, and— Hello! Who’s there?”

  “Me,” Cora said, coming forward. “I was driving by and saw the light. I didn’t expect anyone to be here, it being a crime scene and all.”

  “The police released it this afternoon. Too late to call people for the pageant, but at least I could work with Laura.” When Cora raised her eyebrows, Rupert said, “You find that heartless? The Seagull opens two weeks after vacation. Terrible scheduling, but it’s not my doing. I just lost my ingenue, which is devastating. If Nina’s no good, the play doesn’t work. Konstantine’s tragedy is tied in to her tragedy. I’ve only got two weeks. That’s Laura’s handicap. Everyone else has had six weeks already, and she only gets two. Dorrie’s death is tragic, of course, but for me it’s a disaster of epic proportions. The Seagull’s my first play in Bakerhaven. I want it to be perfect.”

  “Laura is Dorrie’s understudy?”

  Rupert snorted. “I wish. In this high school they don’t have understudies. Laura was playing one of the bit parts. At least she’s seen some of the blocking. Even if she hasn’t learned the lines.” He glared at the young woman, who visibly wilted under his disapproval.

  “So what will happen with Laura’s part?”

  “I’ll have to get someone. One of the other actresses will move up.”

  “Maxine Taggart?” Cora suggested.

  “Good heavens, no. That girl can’t act to save her life.”

  “Then why’d you cast her?”

  “I didn’t. What’s-his-name did. The drama teacher.”

  “Mr. Erskine,” Laura prompted helpfully.

  “Yeah, him.” Rupert spread his arms theatrically. “Flew off to Colorado to take care of dear old Mommy, who had a stroke. Left me with this play. It was in bad enough shape before. If it goes on now it will be a true miracle. Even if I do get to rehearse.”

  Cora said, “I only stopped by because the last time there was a light in the theater it wasn’t good.”

  Laura shuddered.

  Rupert rolled his eyes at Cora, mouthed, “Thanks a lot!”

  On her way out, Cora paused in the doorway to watch the actress standing young, and pale, and exquisitely fragile in the pool of light, telling the world she was a seagull.

  Judging by Rupert Winston’s assessment of her performance, Laura wasn’t that good in her new role. Still, she seemed happy enough to be playing it.

  Cora couldn’t help wondering how much Laura had wanted the part.

  42

  SHERRY CARTER WAS SHOCKED. “YOU BROKE INTO HIS MOTEL room?”

  “Well, if the guy’s going to leave his door unlocked . . .”

  “Inspector Doddsworth left his door unlocked?”

  “No. But if he had, I could have walked right in.” Cora surveyed the contents of the refrigerator with displeasure. “Didn’t you make dessert?”

  “I did. We ate it. So if the door was locked, how did you get in?”

  “Bathroom window.”

  “Aunt Cora!”

  “What difference does that make? The point is, I got in and I found the evidence.”

  “What evidence? You found out Doddsworth had an affair with Taggart’s wife umpteen years ago.”

  “It’s why he left town.”

  “So what?”

  “And Mindy’s still hot to trot.”

  “Good lord, Cora. That ice queen, hot to trot?”

  Cora pawed through the refrigerator. “That’s the problem with you younger generation. You can’t imagine the older generation having a sex life.”

  “I can imagine them having a sex life. I just can’t adjust to your vernacular characterization of it.”

  “Oh, dear. Was I speaking in the vernacular? And I do so try to avoid that.” Cora found a cup of custard pudding, held it up critically. “How many weeks old is this?”

  “Cora!”

  Cora stuck the custard back in the refrigerator.

  “If it’s too old to eat, throw it out,” Sherry said.

  “It’s too old to eat now. Later I may not be so fussy.” Cora grabbed a package of cookies from the cupboard, poured a glass of milk, took them to the kitchen table.

  Sherry sat opposite her, sighed, then said, “Okay. What is it you think you found?”

  “Oreo cookies.”

  “Aunt Cora.”

  “I found enough motivation for Jonathon Doddsworth to frame you for murder.”

  “I thought you already had that.”

  “Yes. His daughter being a suspect. But now I have the motivation for him believing her a suspect.”

  “You had it before. Dorrie stole Maxine’s boyfriend.”

  Cora waved that suggestion away with a cookie. “Boyfriends are a dime a dozen. I never really liked that motivation. Now, you put together a whole history of family intrigue and betrayal, this thing begins to look a lot better.”

  “You’re saying you think Maxine murdered Dorrie?”

  Cora said something, but her mouth was crammed with cookie, and Sherry couldn’t understand her. “Was that a yes or a no?”

  Cora took a gulp of milk, washed the cookie down. “
I’m just saying there’s enough reason for her father to be afraid little Maxie might have croaked Dorrie. To the point of framing you to take the heat off her.”

  Sherry frowned. “You want me to try to sell that to Becky Baldwin?”

  Cora waved a fresh cookie. “Absolutely not. I don’t want you to even tell Becky Baldwin. Or Aaron, either. This is some information you and I happen to have. I’d rather not explain how we came by it. I’m also not too keen on spreading gossip.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Sherry said. “Let me be sure I’ve got this straight. It was Doddsworth and Mrs. Taggart who had the affair. But Taggart deliberately led everyone to believe it was he and Pamela Doddsworth?”

  “That’s it in a nutshell.” Cora dipped a cookie in her milk. “You know, they’re better when you dunk ’em.”

  “Aunt Cora. Stick with me here. If you don’t think Maxine committed murder, what’s the good of all the gossip you just found out?”

  “Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t gossip? Damn!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “My cookie broke off in my milk.” Cora heaved herself to her feet, fetched a teaspoon from the silverware drawer, plopped back down, and began fishing noisily for her cookie.

  Sherry got up and poured a glass of milk.

  “There you go.” Cora nodded approvingly. “You might also want a spoon.”

  “I’ll be careful.” Sherry sat down, dipped an Oreo delicately in milk.

  “So where’d Becky and Aaron go?” Cora asked.

  Sherry grimaced. “Well, aren’t you the soul of tact?”

  “Sorry. Let’s take them one at a time. Where did Jimmy Olsen go?”

  “Back to the paper to work on his story.”

  “Where did Perry Mason go?”

  “Home.”

  “Did they leave at the same time?”

  “Damn!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “My cookie broke.”

  “I told you to get a spoon.”

  Sherry fetched a spoon. The two women sat in companionable silence eating cookies and drinking milk.

  “Any phone calls?” Cora asked after a while.

  “Just your favorite director.”