An Old-Fashioned Mystery

by Runa Fairleigh

  Violet shrugged. “It’s possible, I suppose, but I kind of doubt it. I don’t think there was anything of importance in there, not after all these years. Just the old records—” she waved at the desk “—that Drupe was looking at.”

  “Besides,” Cerise put in, “it’s not just who had a reason to kill Mr. Drupe. If Violet’s right, it’s who had a reason to kill both of them. Mr. Drupe may be central to it all, or he may be incidental. Right now we don’t know. So, we’re right back at the beginning: who had a reason to kill Rosa?”

  “Even minus one,” Sebastian said, “there should be no shortage of candidates.”

  “What makes you say that?” Violet said.

  “Mousey’s accusation against Mr. Drupe.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, Sis, there was something there that you didn’t notice. Or at least didn’t mention.”

  Violet dug the letter out of her shoulder bag and looked at it. “What are you—”

  “Top right-hand corner, Sis.”

  “Damn! You’re right, Sebastian.”

  “What is it?” Derrick asked.

  “The number five,” Violet said.

  “As in page five,” Sebastian added. “Meaning that there are at least four preceding pages. Assuming that the rest of the material is similar to what we’ve already seen, Mousey made accusations against at least four people besides old Drupey. Golly, for all we know, her letter might have gone up to page nine.”

  “Why not ten?” Violet said.

  “How could it? I’m number ten. I never met her, and she didn’t know me, therefore she couldn’t have a grievance against me.”

  “One doesn’t have to know you, Sebastian, to have a grievance against you, but I suppose you’re right in this case.”

  “So, now we’re right back where we began,” Derrick said.

  “Not quite,” Violet said. “There are a few more lines to follow.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as—whatever it was that hung on the wall over there, but is no longer in this room.”

  Eight heads turned in the direction Violet was pointing. She smiled at the sounds of surprise that her dramatic announcement generated, and particularly at the sputtering, choking noises that came from one of their party.

  “Oh, dear,” Budgie said, pounding her husband on the back.

  “Something else is gone, too, Sis.”

  “Oh?” Violet said coldly, more than a little tired of the way her brother always seemed to manoeuvre himself into her spotlight.

  “Yes,” he said smiling and pointing. “Mr. Drupe’s dentures. Upper and lower.”

  More sounds of surprise as everyone looked and saw that Drupe’s mouth did indeed contain nothing but gums. Violet wrinkled her nose; missing pictures were one thing, missing dentures were something else again. Really! How tacky!

  “Do you think it’s a clue, Sis? Is this what they mean by the teeth of the evidence?”

  “Sebastian! This is not funny.”

  “You’re right, it’s not. But it certainly is something to chew on, isn’t it?”

  Cerise started to giggle, and the others joined in, grateful for even a small release from the growing tension and strain. Violet, tapping her foot impatiently, waited for things to quiet down, then asked if anyone knew what had been on the wall.

  There was no response, and Violet was wondering where to go from there, when Mrs. Hook said, “Why don’t you ask him?” She pointed at the Colonel, who flushed, then paled, but said nothing.

  “What do you mean?” Violet asked.

  “I mean, I saw him standing right in front of that spot yesterday afternoon, nose right up against whatever was hanging there. I didn’t pay attention to what he was looking at. A body’s got enough to do without keeping track of stuff like that. And I’d like to know how many there’ll be for dinner. There’s enough to do without setting places and then having to take them away.”

  “I imagine we will all be at dinner, Mrs. Hook.”

  Mrs. Argus laughed in a most amused way. “No, not all,” she said, and ran from the room.

  “Maybe the old bat’s flying off to Transylvania,” Sebastian hissed through drawn lips.

  “Well, what about it, Colonel?” Violet asked.

  “Hell and damnation! The damned woman’s mad as a March hare! All wrong. Never been in this room. Never. Don’t know what was hanging there. Never saw it.” The Colonel harrumphed a couple of times, then stalked out.

  Everyone looked after him, expressions of curiosity on their faces. They all knew he was lying.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Oh, dear,” Budgie said, and hurried from the room.

  Violet hardly hesitated before running after her, and caught up with her in the corridor. The Colonel was nowhere to be seen.

  “Tell me about it,” Violet said gently.

  Budgie looked at the younger woman with pale watery eyes, then looked down, sadly shaking her head.

  “It’s all right. You can talk to me.”

  Budgie looked up, seemed about to say something, then again shook her head. “No, dear. It’s my problem.”

  Violet resisted the impulse to take Budgie by the shoulders and shake her until she stopped being a long-suffering fool and realized that even though she had the misfortune to be married to the foul son of a bitch, she could still think about herself every once in a while. Instead, Violet said softly, “If there’s a problem, it belongs to all of us now.”

  Budgie sighed and nodded. “I suppose you’re right, dear. But it’s not easy.” She sighed again, and Violet smiled encouragingly. “You know, dear, the Colonel can be a difficult man to live with.”

  “I did get that impression.”

  “Yes. Not everyone understands the Colonel.”

  Violet, who felt she’d understood everything there was to know about the Colonel the moment she laid eyes on him, merely smiled and nodded again.

  “Yes, dear. He does tend to antagonize people.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “So everyone notices, dear. Believe me, I am constantly—constantly!—having to get him out of trouble. The man never learns.”

  “I imagine it’s quite a strain.”

  “You have no idea. He’s worse than a child. I have to watch him all the time. I’m always apologizing for him, making excuses. If I leave him alone for a minute, I never know what mischief he’ll get up to. And it’s been like that for almost thirty-five years. Nonstop.”

  “Why do you put up with it?”

  Budgie looked at Violet and smiled, her expression saying that she’d never be able to make the younger woman understand.

  “The Colonel seems to have quite a temper,” Violet said.

  “That’s one way of putting it, dear. He has his own ideas about things, and he doesn’t like it if he can’t get his way.”

  “He gets upset?”

  “He certainly does, dear.” Budgie laughed tolerantly, then looked worried and quickly added, “But, dear, you mustn’t think he’d ever hurt anyone.”

  “No, of course not,” Violet said, mentally adding, neither would an unexploded bomb.

  Budgie seemed reluctant to continue, so Violet asked about the Colonel’s habits.

  “Habits, dear?”

  “Yes, you know. What the Colonel likes to do…you know…in private.”

  Budgie blushed. “Oh, I couldn’t tell you that.”

  “It might be important.”

  “Really, dear? I don’t see why.”

  “Trust me. Please.”

  “But I’ve never told anyone this.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you did.”

  Budgie sighed. “Well, dear, if you really want to know, I suppose.…”

  Budgie then proceeded to relate—cheerfully and at length—the Colonel’s many curious, albeit harmless, quirks and practices. Violet, who had a low tolerance for peculiarities other than her own, punctuated Budgie’s recital several times
with incredulous shrieks of “He does what?” or “He likes what?”

  By the time Budgie finished, Violet wasn’t quite sure who was the sophisticated modern young woman and who was the dowdy Victorian doormat. Still reeling from what she’d heard, Violet barely managed to ask, “But what about children?”

  “Oh, the Colonel likes children.”

  “Ah! You mean, he really likes children.”

  “Yes, dear, he really likes—oh, dear! You mean—what that tan young man said last night?”

  Violet nodded, holding her breath.

  “Oh, no, the Colonel wouldn’t.…No, I’m sure he couldn’t.…At least, I don’t think.…No, of course not. There was only that one—oh, dear!”

  “What? What is it?”

  “No, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Please.” Violet sensed she was close to a major revelation, and had some difficulty maintaining her composure.

  “Well, all right, dear, but you mustn’t make more out of it than it really is.”

  “Don’t worry,” Violet said, exhaling slowly. “I’d never do that.”

  Budgie smiled weakly. “There isn’t that much to tell. It was when little Squeak was about ten or eleven. You know, she never really liked the Colonel. She said he frightened her. But she was such a high-strung, nervous little thing that she was scared of nearly everything. You know, she saw monsters in every shadow, and she would never get into her bed until someone looked underneath it and told her nothing was hiding there. I guess she never understood that when the Colonel made those faces at her, it was just to make her laugh.

  “Anyway, one day she came to me, very upset, and said the Colonel tried to…you know…do things to her. I confess, dear, that I didn’t take her very seriously. After all, I thought I knew the Colonel pretty well. And I also knew—as I said—that little Squeak had a tendency to overreact to things, and even to make things up if it suited her. She had a very active imagination. And I know it’s not nice to say this, but she could be a very nasty little child when she wanted to. Well, afterwards, I talked to the Colonel about this, and naturally he said it was all nonsense. He said he caught her looking through his private things—she was always sneaking around, snooping into things, even if she knew she wasn’t supposed to—and he got angry. So angry that he spanked her, but as soon as he did it, he felt awful about it.”

  I bet that’s not all he felt, Violet thought, but remained silent.

  Budgie sighed sadly. “I guess poor little Squeak made up that story to get even. After that, the Colonel and I decided that maybe it would be better for everyone if Squeak didn’t spend very much time with us. The Colonel was very upset about this. As I told you, he really does like children.”

  Yeah, Violet thought, especially with a cream sauce and miniature onions.

  She’d read enough magazine articles to know that this kind of thing was far more common than was generally believed. Furthermore, in the households where it occurred, there was very often a kind of unspoken conspiracy to ignore it, because that way the appalling fact didn’t have to be faced. Since Violet wouldn’t trust the Colonel to provide the correct time of day, she saw no reason to believe his version of the affair. Whether Aunt Budgie did or not was moot; in any case, she could not be expected to discuss it any more openly than she had already done. Still, Violet had a strong feeling that Budgie meant her to read between the lines. She also had a good idea about what another page of Mousey’s letter was concerned with. Now, that was a disclosure that one might well do literally anything to suppress.

  “But dear,” Budgie said, “what does any of this have to do with the treasure?”

  “What?” Violet heard her voice rise in an unfortunate squawk.

  “The treasure, dear. Isn’t that what you wanted to know about?”

  “Treasure?”

  “Yes, dear, you know—that missing gold from the Revolutionary War.”

  “Yes, of course,” Violet said confidently, nodding her head, feeling as though she’d opened the door of her house only to discover that she was now in the middle of the Gobi Desert.

  “Well, dear, the Colonel has been interested in that for a long time. He did a lot of research, and came up with a theory that the gold was still on the island—buried somewhere. As far as I could tell, he had no particular reason to think this, but when the Colonel gets an idea, he tends to hold onto it pretty tightly, reason or no reason. At first I thought it was just kind of a hobby with him—and I was certainly thankful for anything that would keep him occupied for part of the time. But I’m afraid that eventually—as so often seems to happen with him—it turned into a real obsession. He could hardly think of anything else and became determined to find the treasure, no matter what. Of course, he hadn’t a clue what he was doing; he’s not very good at figuring out complicated problems—or simple ones, either. Sometimes, dear, I swear he doesn’t know his right from his left. But I couldn’t tell him that. Instead, I reminded him that even if he found it, it wouldn’t belong to him. But even that didn’t make any difference. He was consumed by the idea of the treasure, and terrified that someone would beat him to it.” Budgie sighed wearily. “So, dear, that’s why he’s behaving as he is. He’s so wrapped up in his crazy schemes that he assumes everyone else is as well.” Budgie sighed again and shook her head. “I’m sure he was in the study, as Mrs. Hook said. You see, when your brother and I went in there yesterday, I noticed that there was a very old map of the island hanging on the wall. That’s what’s missing, dear. That’s why the Colonel acted the way he did a few minutes ago. Believe me, it doesn’t mean anything, and you shouldn’t pay any attention to him. That man! Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to—pay attention, that is. But I told you at the beginning, dear—it’s my problem.”

  Budgie looked at Violet, her expression a mixture of hope and anxiety, but the younger woman didn’t seem to notice. The Gobi Desert had turned into a lush oasis, thickly verdant with twining vines ripe with intricate possibilities.

  Finally Violet looked into Budgie’s pale, expectant eyes. “I’m glad we had this talk. You’ve accounted for some things I’d noticed and wondered about.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Budgie smiled gratefully, her tense little body at last relaxing.

  “There’s just one more thing. Have you seen the Colonel’s cane?”

  “His cane, dear? He had it this morning, I know, but I don’t know what—oh, dear! Surely you don’t think that—not after what I said. But you said—oh, no! You can’t—”

  Budgie turned and ran down the corridor, her plump body shaking. She stopped once and turned back, a curious expression on her face. Violet could not decide whether she looked despairing or relieved…or a combination of both. Then Aunt Budgie turned the corner and disappeared.

  Violet gazed down the empty hall, going over in her mind all the interesting things she’d been told. And she had certainly been told several earfuls. For all her hesitancy, once Budgie got started.…

  Thinking about it, Violet had the feeling that Budgie was not quite as ingenuous as she seemed, and that—despite what she said—she had in fact not been all that reluctant to talk. Then Violet recalled the look of undiluted hatred that she had seen Budgie give her husband the day before. As Budgie had said, it was her problem. Maybe, Violet thought, she had decided upon a way to deal with it.

  For quite some time, Violet slowly walked alone through the long corridors of the big house, considering possibilities, trying to see if there was a way she could make all the different threads weave together into a thick, solid rope. As she turned a corner on the second floor, she saw Budgie and Mrs. Hook standing close together at the far end of the hall, apparently deep in a serious conversation. When they turned their heads and saw Violet, they nervously jumped apart, then quickly walked off in opposite directions.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the middle of the afternoon, Violet had pretty well worked out her case. There were still some gaps and spaces, but she was a
t least ninety per cent sure, and was confident that the remaining ten per cent would fall into place before much longer.

  All things considered, Violet couldn’t have been more pleased with the result. Of course, it might have been more interesting if the solution had been slightly less obvious. After all, if she’d been told at the outset that crimes of violence would be committed, and then asked to guess who the perpetrator would be, this was the member of their party that she probably would have picked. Still, she couldn’t complain. Certainly, if there was to be a murderer among them, Violet was not at all sorry that it had turned out to be the Colonel.

  She had detested him on sight, recognizing exactly what he was even at a distance of more than a hundred yards. Calling him a pig was both a slander of a perfectly respectable animal, and a too-generous assessment of his character. Closer observation and contact had not only confirmed the original judgement, but had revealed further and more varied forms of loutishness and social maladjustment. Why, as far as Violet was concerned, anyone who tried to pull a stunt like the one the Colonel had tried in the lounge was capable of just about anything. Goddamn! Her zippers still bristled at the recollection.

  Still, Violet knew better than to let her personal feelings interfere, and she again went over what she knew and what she was at least reasonably certain about.

  One. Even the little that Budgie had willingly related made it clear the man was a pervert and a degenerate. No matter that Budgie seemed untroubled by his so-called “quirks,” and said he was essentially harmless; she had been making excuses for him, covering up, for so long, it was automatic with her, and Violet would not have expected anything else. It didn’t take much insight to see that the Colonel was a dangerously diseased personality, a menace to those around him, who should have been neutered years ago, if not put down like a rabid stoat.

  Two. The depravity that Budgie acknowledged was nothing compared to the vileness she hinted at. Again, her rejection of the awful truth was to be expected, but Violet could read between the lines, and she could also recognize a cri de coeur when she heard one. Violet, who could always and easily believe the worst of anyone, had no trouble casting the Colonel in that most terrible of roles—the child molester.