An Old-Fashioned Mystery

by Runa Fairleigh

  “Yes, Sis. Why would they say they saw you if they didn’t?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? I’d also like to know how come they seem to be so chummy all of a sudden? And how come they happened to be in the lounge and just happened to ‘see’ me walk by? Awfully convenient, wasn’t it?”

  “Sis, what are you suggesting? That they really didn’t see you but decided to make up this story together?”

  “Of course that’s what I’m saying, you fool!” Violet’s voice rose shrilly, and her eyes flashed at her brother. “I know I wasn’t wearing my jumpsuit last night. I know I wasn’t outside. I know I didn’t talk with Mrs. Argus. Therefore—if this is not too great a logical leap for you—they are lying when they say that they saw me.”

  “I say, Violet!”

  “Yes, Violet,” Cerise said. “Believe me, we’re not lying. What possible reason could we have?”

  Violet looked at Derrick and Cerise with considerable suspicion. “I don’t know yet, but I know there’s got to be one. And I’ll tell what else I know. Last night, I didn’t see Mrs. Argus, but I did go into her room. I wanted to see if there was something there that might help to tie all this up into a neater package. Well, I didn’t find anything that provided any new explanations, but I did find this on the floor under the chair where I’d been sitting.” From her purse she pulled out a small, pocket-sized binder which she put on the table. The cover was of sleek chocolate-brown leather, embossed with the letters DC.

  “I say! That’s mine!”

  Violet looked expressionlessly at Derrick. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? I wonder how it came to be in Mrs. Argus’s room.”

  “I must have dropped it last night when we went up there.”

  “Only you didn’t have it last night. I remember you were making notes on a loose piece of paper. And you also didn’t go anywhere near that chair last night. So how did it get there?”

  “How should I know? That old woman probably took it and hid it for reasons of her own.”

  “Probably.” Violet stared steadily at Derrick until he blushed and looked down at what was left of his breakfast. “Except,” she added slowly, as though thinking out loud, “it hadn’t been hidden. It looked more like it had been accidentally dropped.”

  “Would you please give it to me?” Derrick held out his hand.

  “And, do you know?—” Violet turned to Sebastian “—there’s only one page that has anything on it.”

  “Please give it to me.”

  She opened the binder. “Here it is. See? The word ‘GOLD’ followed by the number 716147.”

  “Give it!”

  “And then below that, a whole long string of letters.” Violet pointed to a section that began, “TFPPBEHWNPTWLJGZBOGTIGMBKQCBKUR.…”

  “Give it, you stupid bitch!” Derrick reached across the table and snatched the notebook from Violet’s hands.

  “Oh, sure. Take it.” Violet shrugged unconcernedly. “I made a copy of it anyway.”

  Derrick pointed a manicured finger at her. “You’ve poked into everybody else’s business, Violet, but I’m warning you, you’d better not poke into mine.”

  “Why not? What are you afraid I might find?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything. Especially not a stupid bitch who does things and then doesn’t remember she’s done them. You’re probably the one who stole this notebook, and then forgot you did it.”

  Violet’s eyes seemed to bulge slightly, her lips were pulled back, and her fingers gripped the edge of the table. “At first I didn’t know what was happening,” she hissed between clenched teeth. “Now, it’s looking more and more like some kind of conspiracy.”

  “Conspiracy!” Derrick’s tanned face flushed even darker. “You must be mad. There’s no conspiracy. I’ll tell you what it is, Violet. It’s frustration. Frustration is giving you delusions. What you need is a man. That’s assuming you could find one who’d put up with you. But if you did, then maybe you’d stop behaving like a nosy, snoopy old maid.”

  “My God!” Cerise turned to Derrick. “You’re not only a boring lout, you’re a stupid boring lout!”

  “I can defend myself, thanks!” Violet shouted at Cerise. “I don’t need your help. And besides, it won’t work. Whatever it is that’s going on, I know you’re in it with him.”

  “In it with him?” Cerise said. “I’m not in anything with him. I wouldn’t spit on him if his hair was on fire. But believe me, Violet, we’re not lying. We saw you—”

  “Believe you?” Violet stood up, her eyes round and hot, glowing red spots on her pale cheeks. “I believe something funny is going on, is what I believe. And I believe you’re right in the middle of it, sweetie. And I intend to find out exactly what it is. Then we’ll all know just what to believe.”

  “Golly, Sis—”

  Violet whirled to face her brother, and he forgot about trying to pacify her. She glared at him for a moment, her anger like a cold blue flame. Then she tilted her head and looked quizzically at him, and finally turned and stomped from the room.

  Cerise looked at Sebastian. He merely raised his eyebrows and brought a silencing finger to his lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Actually, they weren’t all that surprised when they found Mrs. Argus’s body.

  Violet had come back downstairs about half an hour after her outburst, once more composed, though displaying an odd air of expectancy. She told the others that Mrs. Argus was not in her room, and that her bed had not been slept in. With reluctant sighs but little discussion, they agreed that they’d better look for the old woman.

  The search did not take long. It started where Derrick and Cerise said they’d last seen Mrs. Argus, and stopped about fifteen yards farther on, at a large concrete birdbath. There, lying on the dead leaves that covered the bottom, they found her. From the marks on her neck, and the horrible expression on her face, it was obvious that she’d been strangled.

  They stood looking down at the corpse, nodding their heads. There were no shrieks, or cries, or hysteria. Perhaps they were beyond that, shocked to the point where numbed acceptance was the only possible response; certainly they were getting used to having their worst fears continually confirmed.

  “What’s that?” Derrick said, then stepped over the side of the birdbath and knelt by the body. From between the fingers of Mrs. Argus’s tightly closed hand, he withdrew something.

  “What’d you find?” Sebastian asked.

  Derrick went back to the other three, holding out something between his thumb and forefinger. When he got close enough, they could see it was a single hair, about nine inches long. It was blond.

  “Golly, Sis, it sure doesn’t look good for you.”

  “No, it doesn’t, does it?” Violet said evenly. “Two witnesses to place me with the victim not fifty feet from the crime? A blond hair clutched in the victim’s death grip? You’re right. It looks pretty bad.” She stared at her brother, then smiled. “In fact, Sebastian, it looks just the way you intended it to look. You did a pretty good job. Just not quite good enough.”

  “What are you saying, Sis? That I—”

  “Yes. That you’re the one, Sebastian. You’re the killer.”

  “I say, Violet! Really!” Derrick said. “Sebastian? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Precisely,” Violet said. “That’s why we haven’t been able to figure it out. We’ve been trying to make sense of it, when all along there was no sense, only confusion. And who here has devoted his whole life to confusion, to chaos, to absurdity, to demonstrating the pointlessness of everything?”

  “Oh, come on, Sis. I’ve never devoted myself to anything.”

  “Right. Perfect nihilism—a common attitude of those who kill without conscience.” Violet turned to Derrick and Cerise. “From the beginning I’ve been thinking it was someone with a reason to kill Mousey. Of everyone here, only Sebastian didn’t know her, therefore he was the only one I didn’t suspect. Now, it’s obvious I was wrong…ju
st as I was supposed to be. It was a classic case of the least likely suspect. Christ! I should have realized what was going on right at the beginning, when Sebastian kept reminding everyone that he couldn’t have done it because he was the outsider who didn’t know anyone.” Violet shook her head disgustedly. “If a character in a book said that, it would be like waving a red flag at the reader. Only I didn’t see the flag. If I had, maybe more of us would be alive. But I mistakenly agreed with him—which by now I should know better than to do—and never considered him as a possibility. Until now.”

  “But Violet,” Cerise said. “Why would he do this?”

  “Yes, why, Sis? This should be interesting. I must say, you’re really outdoing yourself this time.”

  “Well, I said before that Sebastian never needed a reason to do anything. That he had a whim was usually sufficient justification. This, too, may have started as a perverse whim, but the reasons behind it are now clear. Obviously, one of his purposes was to get me, to show me up. You see, ever since I became successful, Sebastian—who’s never had to do anything except amuse himself—has been envious of what I’ve accomplished. Every chance he gets, he tries to make fun of me, mock me, cut me down. He wants to see me fail, and when we got here, he saw it as a perfect opportunity to make the Society-Girl Detective fall flat on her face.”

  “Oh, Violet,” Cerise said, sadly shaking her head. “You’re saying he killed seven people—seven innocent people, seven total strangers—just to make you look bad? Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme? For someone to do that, he’d have to be absolutely insane.”

  “That’s right. Just because Sebastian jokes about how unstable he is, doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s not. He learned early on that any abnormality you cheerfully acknowledge is rarely taken very seriously; in fact, it tends to make people discount it completely.”

  Sebastian was still smiling pleasantly, but Derrick and Cerise began to look more serious.

  “Another favourite trick of my brother’s,” Violet went on, “is to attribute his own symptoms and aberrations to someone else. That’s what he’s doing when he talks about me behind my back—just another of his attempts to get at me. He doesn’t make things up; no, it’s much more effective to tell the truth. So he tells about all the strange things I supposedly did—only they are really things that he himself did.” Violet looked at Cerise. “Oh, so he’s tried that on you, has he? What’d he tell you? Have you heard the old chestnut that I used to do things without knowing I did them? That’s one of his favourites. Did he tell you about my ripped clothes? Oh, he did? But did he tell you that everyone thought he’d done it?”

  “Not everyone, Sis,” Sebastian smiled. “Only you.”

  Violet looked at Derrick and Cerise, and shrugged. “I never said he wasn’t convincing. It’s not surprising. Considering all the ways in which he’s indulged himself over the years, I doubt that he even has a clue any more what’s real and what he’s imagined. But I don’t mean to suggest that he’s not responsible for his actions. On the contrary. I think he knew exactly what he was doing. And there’s an even more important explanation than his desire to see me fail. In fact, I suspect making me look bad was just a bonus.”

  Violet paused and Sebastian said, “Well, don’t keep us waiting, Sis. What did motivate the Master Crook besides a desire to humiliate you? Which, believe me, could be accomplished with a whole lot less than seven murders.”

  Violet looked at Derrick and Cerise. “I’ve been hearing rumours for some time that Sebastian is running out of money, but I never took them seriously. Now, I’m not so sure. Certainly, his star is rapidly dimming, waning almost as fast as his finances. By creating a sensational murder case, he could propel himself back into the spotlight. By framing me for the murders, he could remove me permanently from the scene, and then take over my company and restore his fortunes.”

  “Oh, come on, Sis. Talk about leaping into the fire. Even assuming I needed money—which I don’t—in taking over Cornichon Cosmetics I’d be going from merely reduced circumstances into outright bankruptcy. If anything, I might very well kill to avoid getting that white elephant, not the reverse.”

  Sebastian laughed, but Derrick and Cerise did not join him. They looked uncertainly from Violet to Sebastian and back again.

  Sebastian sighed wearily and shook his head. “Knowing you as I do, Sis, I assume that your ridiculous accusation is based upon something more than your paranoid delusions and the very unlikeliness of my candidacy.”

  “You see what I mean?” Violet said to Derrick and Cerise. “He’s very good at this. And he’s right—there are a few other things.…First, he had opportunity.”

  “So did everyone else, Sis. No one has a decent alibi for any of the murders.”

  “That’s right,” Violet agreed. “But Sebastian has one that’s especially bad. When Budgie was killed—remember? Sebastian was supposed to be searching the top floor, from which Budgie was thrown out of the window. When I asked him how it was that he didn’t hear anything, he said that he never got up there—some excuse about a call of nature. It was clear to me he was lying.”

  Sebastian smiled and shrugged. “You got me there, Violet. I was lying.”

  “I say!”

  “My God, Sebastian! You don’t mean—”

  “No, of course I don’t mean that. I didn’t get up to the attic because I wanted to take a look at the equipment Violet said Budgie and the Colonel had.”

  Violet sniffed sceptically.

  “Well, of course I didn’t say so, Sis. You know, nothing much usually bothers me, but—golly!—that embarrassed me even while I was doing it. Especially when I found out that Budgie had been killed at that very moment. I mean, how tacky.”

  “You see,” Violet said. “He readily admits to one aberration in order to deflect your attention from the others. But it’s not going to work this time.…There are also the curious circumstances surrounding Mousey’s letter. Remember, Sebastian found the empty envelope, and also the page concerning Mrs. Argus. All very convenient. So convenient, in fact, that I think Sebastian knew where to look for them. Because he had hidden them. And he had them to hide because he killed Mousey, and discovered the letter, and realized that it was a potential gold mine.”

  “But Violet,” Derrick said, “you found the letter about Mr. Drupe.”

  “Yes, in his dresser. Where—subsequent events have shown—it must have been planted. Planted by the person who killed Mousey. Planted by a person who figured I would look there. Planted by a person who wanted me to go off course. Planted by a person who wanted to embarrass me, who loved it when he could chortle out, ‘Wrong again, Violet!’”

  “My, my,” Sebastian said. “My cleverness astounds me.”

  “There were times when I think it astounded all of us, Sebastian. In fact, I think you may have been a little bit too clever.” Violet turned back to Derrick and Cerise. “Didn’t either of you wonder about Sebastian’s reactions whenever we found another corpse? About why he didn’t react normally? Never seemed scared or surprised or shocked? Never seemed to take it very seriously, but instead always had some kind of joke ready?”

  “Golly, you’re right, Sis. The fact that I deal with tension by trying to make a joke, and the fact that I happen to enjoy a certain verbal facility—a flair for the bon mot—are highly incriminating.”

  “I hate to tell you, Sebastian, but your mots are not so damn bons. Your flair, as you call it, is for the feeble and childish, which is precisely how I would characterize—among other things—the removal and eventual reappearance of Mr. Drupe’s teeth. Out of which, I should also mention, you got a great deal of mileage. No, Sebastian, I don’t think your remarks have been spontaneous. They were thought out beforehand because you knew beforehand what we were going to find. In fact, judging from some of the things you’ve said, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the particular modes of death were selected solely to provide you with the opportunity to make your outrag
eous remarks.”

  Sebastian shook his head and smiled. “I was right, Sis. You really are outdoing yourself this time. I’ve heard of people being killed for a song, but for a laugh? Really, Violet!” He held out his arms, wrists together. “Clamp on the old irons. It’s a fair cop.”

  “You see: even now he’s clowning.” Violet looked pityingly at her brother. “You really are diseased, Sebastian.”

  “Gimme a break, Sis! It’s a little bit difficult to take all of your desperate scramblings seriously. Especially since there are two witnesses who saw you do everything but throttle the old crow.”

  Violet smiled broadly at her brother. “I was wondering when you’d bring that up. That was your one mistake, Sebastian. If you hadn’t done that, I still wouldn’t have caught on.” She turned to Derrick and Cerise. “Before, I said that you were lying. I was upset, and I apologize. After I said it, I realized there was another possibility.”

  “Huh?” Derrick said.

  Violet went over next to her brother and positioned herself in a way that duplicated his stance. The similarity—the near-identicalness—was unmistakeable and undeniable.

  “At night, from a distance,” Violet said, “it would be difficult to tell us apart, wouldn’t it? Especially if Sebastian had on something distinctive that you’d immediately associate with me, like my jumpsuit.”

  “I say, Violet! You could be right.”

  “Of course I’m right. I knew that I wasn’t the one you said you saw. Therefore, either you were lying, or it was someone impersonating me for the purpose of casting suspicion on me. After all, there can be only one killer, so if you knew who did one murder, you’d know who did them all. Sebastian was just waiting for the opportunity to link me with the crimes. And how much better for you to make the link, than for him to do it—you who have no connection with me and nothing to gain. Yesterday, somebody went through my room. I had the feeling then that something had been taken, but I didn’t know what. Now I realize it was my jumpsuit. Sebastian must have laughed himself silly thinking about the headlines: ‘Society-Girl Detective Goes Berserk, Kills Seven.’ Nice try, Sebastian.”