Deadly Summer Nights

by Vicki Delany

  I snapped my earrings back on and studied my lipstick.

  “Betty, you know Jerome Kennelwood had a heart attack recently. He’s doing his best and putting up a brave front, coming into the dining room every night, greeting the guests, but his color doesn’t look good. He’s lost a great deal of weight.”

  “I don’t care one whit, dear. We’re paying the same amount to stay here as we did last year, whether he’s been ill or not, and I expect my bread roll to be fresh.”

  Earrings on, lipstick applied, I adjusted the bodice of my dress.

  “His son’s come up from the city to handle the day-to-day management of the hotel. Such a handsome young man. The way I heard it, the son and Jerome had a falling-out years ago, when Jerome refused to listen to his ideas for modernizing the place. And so the son, Richard I think his name is, left. Now he’s back, because his father needs him, but they’re clashing.”

  Earrings on, lipstick applied, bosom readjusted, I made sure my stockings were straight.

  “All I have to say about that is they shouldn’t be clashing over cleaning the swimming pool. Shall we join the others? I must say I’m looking forward to hearing Mr. Milton Berle later.”

  “Janet went to Haggerman’s last night and she said the comedian they have there is excellent. A star in the making.”

  “Haggerman’s? Where’s that?” Dorothy said.

  “Not far from here. Olivia Peters owns it. She knows all the top acts. They say she comes to dinner sometimes and sits with the guests.”

  Dorothy sucked in a breath. “No! I adored her in Moonlight Dreams on Broadway. I wonder if I could talk Fred into going to her place next year. I’d expect a famous dancer to have an eye for detail.”

  The door shut behind them.

  Curiosity satisfied, I headed back to my table.

  Dinner was slowly ending, and people were gathering together their things and rising from their seats. I was, I realized, enjoying the evening, and I was in no rush to go home. I’d ask Jim if he’d like to have another drink and perhaps we could stay for Milton Berle’s show. Dodging people and chairs, I headed across the big room toward our table. Jim wasn’t there, and I guessed he’d gone out for some air and a smoke.

  Jerome Kennelwood occupied the center of the dining room, surrounded by a group of men with cigars clamped in their teeth and highball glasses gripped in their hands. At the nearby tables, the women had pushed their chairs closer and were leaning across the white tablecloths, chatting.

  Jerome’s back was to me, and I had to suck in my stomach and turn sideways to squeeze between him and a chair at an empty table. “Mark my words, gentleman, if you don’t nip that sort of thing in the bud, it can only spread. We don’t want that rubbish in the Catskills. Not good for business.”

  The men mumbled in agreement. “You’re not implying that those women who took over Haggerman’s are communists, are you, Jerome?”

  I stopped dead.

  “They don’t have to be. You know how susceptible women are.”

  Full round bellies trembled as the men chuckled in agreement. A wave of cigar smoke rolled over my head.

  “A long-past-her-prime Broadway dancer and her snip of a daughter think they can run a big hotel to Catskill standards?” Jerome scoffed. “I’ve heard that staff over there are quitting in droves. So many have left, the kitchen can barely put together a tolerable dinner.”

  “Can’t have that,” one of the men said. He noticed me listening to them, and gave me a vacant smile, no doubt assuming I was the daughter or much younger wife of one of the others.

  “The chief of police, Norm Monahan, great guy, is a personal friend of mine,” Jerome said. “He agrees with me that sloppy management and unsupervised staff create ripe conditions for anti-American activity to take root.”

  The laughter stopped, and the men muttered among themselves. “My wife suggested we go to Haggerman’s tomorrow for the evening show,” one of them asked. “Do you think we shouldn’t, Jerome?”

  “Probably best to stay away. The police are keeping a sharp eye on the place. I’ve heard—”

  “And I’ve heard that you have dead bugs in your swimming pool!” I snapped. Jerome Kennelwood turned around. Amusement danced behind his eyes, and I knew he’d been aware of me standing behind him all along. I tried to take a step back and bumped into a chair. “Your bread rolls are stale, and your chef puts children’s noodles in the soup.”

  “Liz,” Jerome said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Of course you meant it. You meant every word. Please allow me to introduce myself,” I said to the men. “I am Elizabeth Grady, and I am Olivia Peters’s daughter. It is our intention to turn Haggerman’s into the most popular hotel in this section of the mountains. If not the entire Catskills.”

  “That’s nice, sweetheart. I like pretty girls with ambition. How about it, Jerome, are you up to the competition?”

  The men all laughed. Some of the women had turned in their chairs when I spoke. I had not attempted to keep my voice down.

  “Competition is one thing, but let’s keep it fair,” Jerome said. “I hate to see hardworking Catskills folk thrown out on their ear in the middle of the season when a place can’t pay their wages.”

  “I have no intention of not paying anyone their wages.”

  “Maybe you don’t, Liz. Not now. But you’re in over your heads, you and your mother. How did she get that place anyway? Win it in a poker game?”

  The men laughed heartily. The women were watching me carefully. Conversation all around us had died, and people were no longer heading for the doors.

  “She inherited it honestly,” I said. “We run an honest business. We don’t go around bad-mouthing our neighbors to anyone who’ll listen.”

  “If you’re referring to me, I’m not bad-mouthing anyone. I’m telling my friends here—and at Kennelwood Hotel we consider all our guests to be our friends—the state of affairs. A man was murdered at your hotel. I consider it fair to ask how safe your place is.”

  People exchanged glances. The word murdered began to spread through the room.

  Blood pounded in my ears. “A man died, yes, and that was highly unfortunate. Let me ask you, Mr. Kennelwood, in all fairness, what you had to do with it?”

  “Now, see here.”

  “No, you see here.” I stabbed my index finger in his direction. Lucky for him that the knives at the nearby tables had been cleared away. “Convenient for you, isn’t it, with your failing hotel, buggy swimming pool, and stale dinner rolls, if the up-and-coming place next door gets into trouble. Did you kill him yourself, Mr. Kennelwood, or simply take advantage of an unfortunate man’s death to spread nasty rumors about your competition? You were quick enough to try to turn the townspeople against us last summer. If there’s any communist activity going on around here, I have to wonder how much of it is going on inside your own head. Or how much of it you’re encouraging in an attempt to place the blame on your competition.”

  “How dare you!” A vein began to pulse in his forehead.

  “Answer the lady, Jerome,” an elderly woman at the nearby table said in a firm voice that carried considerable weight behind it. She pounded her cane on the floor. She was tiny and wizened; her hair was thin, her hands dotted with liver spots, and her fingers bent. Diamonds glittered in her ears and around her throat, the style of the jewelry and the signs of wear on them indicating long-held family heirlooms, probably from the previous century.

  “Thank you so much for stopping by, Mrs. Grady.” A strong hand grabbed my arm. “I hope you enjoyed your evening.”

  I shook the arm off and turned to face Richard Kennelwood. He smiled at me. I did not smile back.

  “Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

  “No, you may not. I’m not finished here.”

  “I think you are,” Jerome said. “Get
off my property or I’ll phone the police and have you removed.”

  “Have them in your pocket, do you?” I shouted. “Your good friend Norm?”

  “Richard, get this woman out of here.”

  “I want to hear what she has to say,” the woman said. “You always were a fool, Jerome, and your recent illness doesn’t appear to have improved your disposition any. My late husband was a friend of your father’s, and for that reason alone I continue to come here. Shall I reconsider that option?”

  Jerome sputtered.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Masterson,” Richard said smoothly. “Your friendship and support is invaluable to my family.”

  “As is my late husband’s money, I’m sure. I might drop into this Haggerman’s resort tomorrow. See what the fuss is about. I approve of women in business. I don’t approve of communists, though. Are you a communist, girl?” Her small eyes were almost buried in folds of skin, but the spark of intelligence shone within them.

  “No, ma’am,” I said. “I am not. Nor is my mother.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now, Edwin, you may escort me to the theater. I’m anxious to hear Mr. Berle. And do get rid of that ridiculous cigar. Mary, take my purse.”

  “Please,” Richard Kennelwood said to me in a low voice.

  “I’ve said my piece.” I lifted my chin and marched away. Despite the throb of anger in my chest, I was careful where I placed my feet. The last thing I needed would be to trip over a loose piece of carpet and fall flat on my face.

  Although, if that did happen, I could sue them.

  Richard Kennelwood muttered his apologies to his guests and then ran after me. “My father didn’t mean all that about you and your mother.”

  I stopped and turned. He stood very close, and I had to tilt my head back to look into his face. His eyes were thickly lashed, the deep hazel flecked with traces of green and gold. I realized my entire body was trembling, and I gripped my hands together. Enough of admiring his eyes.

  “He meant every word. He knew I was standing right there the entire time. I hate to think what he says about us when I’m not around. Actually, I know what he says about us when I’m not around. He called the booking agencies today, didn’t he? Telling them we would be out of business before the end of the season.”

  “I’ll have a word with him. I don’t want bad blood between us.”

  “Whether you want bad blood or not, you’ve got it.” I headed for the doors, my heels tapping furiously on the tiled floor. More than a few people stood back, watching me, and I realized that I probably looked as incompetent as Jerome Kennelwood said I was. I slowed my pace and tried to wipe the fury off my face. I lowered my voice. “Do you want a lawsuit on your hands? You’ll get one if you keep saying my mother and I are communists.”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m not even thinking it, but I assure you I don’t want any legal trouble. Elizabeth, please. I’ll have a word with my father. I can’t promise you he’ll pay any attention to me, but I will try.”

  I turned once again, and once again I stared up into his face. He was, I realized, a very handsome man. His well-tailored suit fit properly, his dark hair was cut short, and he was close-shaven. I mentally kicked myself for noticing.

  “I don’t believe you. You were at our place Wednesday night, the night Mr. Westenham died. You and I talked. You stayed for the last show; I saw you. I told the police that. After the show, did you follow Mr. Westenham down to the lake?”

  Instead of getting angry, Richard grinned at me. “Why would I do that? I’d never met the man.”

  “Because your father told you to. He told you to cause trouble for Haggerman’s. Cause enough trouble that we might be shut down. Or have to shut down if people stop coming. Same result.”

  “I don’t do a great many things my father tells me, and I certainly don’t kill men I don’t even know, no matter who might tell me to. Before you take the next step and accuse my father . . . He isn’t a well man, Elizabeth. He puts on a pretext in the evenings of playing the host at dinner, but that’s about all he’s capable of these days. Wednesday night, like every night, he went to his room as soon as dinner ended. He wasn’t driving around to Haggerman’s looking for an opportunity to run you out of business.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “I’d heard the comedian was a good one. I’d also heard the new management was an attractive woman, and I thought I’d check them both out.”

  “Oh, please, don’t give me that.”

  He held up his hands, palms out. “I apologize.” He gave me a soft slow smile. “Do you accept my apology?”

  “No,” I said. The bellhop opened the door, and I marched through it. Only once I was outside, standing on the steps, did I remember Jim. I wanted to drive away in a cloud of dust and righteous indignation, but I hadn’t come in my own car.

  Richard had followed me, and he read my indecision. “Can I offer you a lift back to Haggerman’s?”

  Fortunately, before I could tell Richard what to do with his lift, Jim broke out of the darkness, threw his cigarette to the ground in a shower of sparks, and ran up the steps.

  “Elizabeth, what’s going on? I’m so sorry. I came out for air and got chatting to some old guy who’s been coming to Summervale every year since he was a baby. As long as I’m here, I’m thinking of putting together a story on the appeal of the Catskills to New York immigrant families. What can I say? I’m a newspaperman. Once the old guy got telling me his stories, I fell into it.” He stopped talking and looked at Richard, standing on the step behind me. He thrust out his hand. “Jim Westenham.”

  The men shook. “Richard Kennelwood. Westenham? You must be—”

  “Kennelwood? You must be—”

  “My father owns this place.”

  “My uncle was Harold Westenham. I’ve come up to settle his affairs and try to find out what the heck happened, and this nice lady kindly found me a room at her inn.”

  “My condolences,” Richard said.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ve heard good things about Haggerman’s.”

  “It’s a nice place.”

  I grabbed Jim’s arm. “Let’s go. Don’t listen to him, he’s trying to avoid being sued.”

  “Sued?” Jim said. “About what?”

  “Get the keys and let’s walk to the car. I don’t want to hang around here any longer than I have to.”

  “Did something happen, Elizabeth? Richard? What’s going on? Hold on, I have to go back inside. I haven’t paid yet.”

  “It’s on the house,” Richard said. “Take her home. I’m new to running this hotel, but I’m trying my best. Thanks for the tip, Elizabeth. I’ll make sure the rolls are fresh tomorrow.”

  I marched down the driveway, between rows of tall lamps around which clouds of moths had gathered.

  “You might want to have a word with your pool attendant,” I called over my shoulder. “The pool should be sparkling clean when the first swimmers come down. Have the glasses collected before daybreak.”

  Chapter 15

  I didn’t sleep at all well that night. I’d been surly to Jim on the drive back to Haggerman’s, and I’d rudely turned down his suggestion that we have a nightcap in the bar. I felt bad about that almost as soon as I walked away, but when I went back to apologize, I found him chatting to a group of men on the veranda and ordering himself a drink, so I’d slipped into the darkness.

  Olivia had been up, flipping through a copy of Vanity Fair while listening to a radio play, with Winston curled at her feet. “You’re home early, Elizabeth,” she said when I stomped into the house. “Did you have a nice evening?”

  “Yes!” I yelled as my bedroom door slammed behind me.

  “I’m glad that went well,” I heard her say to the dog.

  I hadn’t seriously considered that Jerome Kennelwood might have killed a Hagge
rman’s guest in order to ruin us, but once the thought was in my head I couldn’t get rid of it. Not that Jerome himself had done it, but had he put his son up to it?

  Richard Kennelwood had been on our property at the time.

  Richard was handsome, charming, making the attempt to be friendly. I didn’t trust him one little bit. I’d learned the hard way about handsome, charming men. Jerome, on the other hand, was not handsome and was most definitely not charming, at least not to me, but otherwise, what did they say? Like father like son. Was Richard also out to ruin us, just not as obvious about it as his father?

  I finally fell asleep as the birds were starting to call good morning to one another. When I woke, the sun was streaming through my window, Olivia was humming to herself in what passes for our kitchen, and the scent of coffee was in the air. I stumbled out of bed.

  My mother turned in a swirl of peach satin and fluff and held up the coffeepot. “Do you need one?” We had a small kitchen, but coffee was the only thing ever prepared in it. A bowl of sliced fruit and another of cereal on a room-service tray lay on the table.

  “I’ll have a cup, thanks.”

  “Did things not go well last night?”

  I sighed. “If you mean dinner with Jim, it went well. I enjoyed his company, and we had a lovely evening. Unfortunately it didn’t end as a great success when I had a confrontation with the Kennelwoods. Father and son. To cut a long story short, I was kicked out of the hotel, which didn’t matter, as I was in the process of storming out anyway.”

  “Jim took you to Kennelwood? Perhaps not the wisest choice.”

  “In fairness, Olivia, he had no reason to know we don’t get on with them.”