“How does it look?”
“Beautiful. Did you have an orchid bouquet when we got married?”
“Daisies. Remember, we were into simple things then?”
“And cheap things?”
“Think of it as a prop—like that expensive champagne you bought this afternoon.”
“We can drink that champagne.”
“Orchids are beautiful, but I can’t think of any other way to defend them.”
“Well, maybe every woman deserves a dozen orchids at least once in her life. How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Another hour. Want a snack?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll call the kids and write a message for Rebecca and Hilda.”
“Well, I’m going to need your help zipping up that dress. Thank heavens it was too loose when we got married, or I’d never make it now.”
“I’ll be back up in a while.”
Susan spent another half hour finishing her hair and putting on makeup. Jed reappeared and helped her into her padding and then into the dress she had worn when she married him.
“Thank goodness we’re only going next door. I would hate to have to sit down in this.”
“You did drive to the church when we got married.”
“I was twenty pounds thinner then.”
“You look about forty pounds heavier. How did you make that thing?”
“A cut-up pillowcase and lots of polyester batting. Ready?”
“Sure am. I was watching out the window, and people have been arriving for the last fifteen minutes.”
They headed off to the party, picking up her bridal bouquet and his champagne as they passed through the kitchen.
“We’ll probably get the award for the cutest couple,” Jed suggested as they knocked on their neighbors’ door.
“In this costume, I think of us as a threesome,” Susan said as the door opened and their hostess greeted them.
THIRTEEN
“A pregnant bride? A pregnant bride! And Jed’s the groom! I don’t believe it!”
Susan’s costume was a success, even though the padding needed a lot of pulling and tugging to keep it nearer her waistline than her knees. She wandered through the party, greeting friends and neighbors, exchanging stories of Halloween and cabbage night mischief, admitting that she did have a famous houseguest, but no, she knew nothing, nothing at all about the murders. She was looking for Charles Grace.
“Amy!” Susan spied her hostess, busy passing around a tray of bacon-wrapped sea scallops. “Wonderful party. And I love your costume.” Actually she didn’t. Amy was masquerading as Elizabeth Taylor dressed as Cleopatra. Except that Amy had neither the impressive chest nor the beautiful violet eyes. Susan took an orange paper napkin and some food before continuing. “I was talking to Kathleen, and she said that you had invited Charles Grace. That was so nice of you.” She hoped Amy would pick up the cue.
She did. “Yes. I wanted him to feel like part of the community. But I never thought he would choose that particular date.”
“Who … ” Susan began.
“Marion somebody—that librarian who’s always mooning over him. Can you believe it? He’s always acting like he would do anything to be free of her for one night.”
“He brought Marion Marshall?”
“That’s her name. Yes. He really should have mentioned to her that this was a costume party. She’s wearing a tailored navy suit and mid-height heels. Although maybe she has a very acute sense of humor, and she came as a dowdy librarian.”
“Do you know where they are?” Susan decided to ignore the comment.
“The last time I saw Charles, he was at the bar in the dining room. I have no idea where Marion is—probably staring up at him with adoring eyes.”
Susan hurried off without waiting to hear more. She found the librarian standing beneath an enormous plastic spiderweb that covered the ceiling of the Ellsworths’ dining room. He was again wearing his giant caterpillar costume, although he carried the tail over his left arm after a few guests had tripped on it. He had a glass of scotch in the other hand.
“Hi! Guess you can’t wear that at home. I mean, the birds might think you were food or something.”
He responded to her cheery greeting as though she were the worm and he the bird. “Mrs. Henshaw. I didn’t know you would be here—I thought your houseguests and your work with Hancock’s police chief would keep you busy.”
“It’s been an unusual week,” she agreed, ignoring his look. “You know, I was wondering if you might have locked me in your office last night—accidentally, I mean.”
“I told you, Mrs. Henshaw. I had nothing to do with the locking up last night. Marion was in charge of it. I was very busy speaking with people after the presentation; I certainly didn’t have time to lock up, and it wasn’t my job to do so. And”—he lowered his voice and pulled her over to a corner of the room—“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread rumors about me. I was very upset about your visit to my home late last night. I can assure you, you can look into my life very carefully, and you will find that it is circumspect. I have dedicated it to taking care of the patron—and I do not include pushing pornography in that category.”
Susan forced herself to respond. “I’m sorry about that. But we do have to follow up any leads—no matter how unlikely.” She took a deep breath and plunged in again. “I understand you brought Marion Marshall to the party tonight.”
“Yes. I’m afraid this is my last kind gesture toward her. She has become a terrible pest. She overheard Mrs. Ellsworth extend an invitation to the party tonight. She actually went home, changed, and appeared on my doorstep about five minutes before I was about to leave. She asked me for a ride over here—I had no idea she was presenting herself as my date. I assumed she had been invited on her own. This is very presumptuous of her. Monday morning I’m afraid I’m going to have to give her two weeks’ notice.”
This is the way he treated people who were in love with him? He should be wearing a snake costume, not maligning innocent little caterpillars. “You probably shouldn’t be telling me about personnel matters, should you?” she muttered, and, seeing Marion through the entrance of the room, she turned and left.
But when she got to the hall, Marion had disappeared. She looked at the costumed guests and spied Kathleen, dressed in a pair of rosy silk harem pants, a yellow-embroidered halter top, and dozens of glittering necklaces. She had red silk slippers on her feet.
“Wow. You look fabulous!”
“Thanks, but the top is just a scarf, and I’m about to do a topless act. Do you have any idea where there’s a bedroom I can slip into and pin up this thing?”
“Upstairs. Follow me,” Susan suggested. “I’ve been up a few times already. My padding insists on following the laws of gravity.”
They hurried to the master bedroom. The king-size bed was covered with coats, but there was a seating area in front of a large bay window. Susan plopped down on one of the chintz-covered chairs as Kathleen tugged at her top.
“I’m going to have to take this off and start fresh. I think I’ll use the bathroom as soon as it’s free. I really don’t want someone to come in to pick up their coat and find me doing a striptease.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I can manage. How about you?” she asked as Susan pulled up her long skirt and was yanking at the padding.
“I’m fine. Go ahead. I’m going to see if I can find someone with safety pins.”
“I have safety pins. I always carry them. You never know when they’ll come in handy.” Marion Marshall stood in the open doorway to the bathroom. “I have them in my purse.” She pulled the large brown leather bag off her shoulder and began to scrounge around its spacious interior.
“I’ll just use the bathroom and tie this,” Kathleen said, edging past the other woman.
“You don’t need a pin?” Marion looked surprised.
“No, I’m the person who needs the pin. My bab
y keeps falling off,” Susan said.
Marion looked a little startled at this description, but she pulled a pink-flowered satin bag from her purse and, unzipping it, offered its contents to Susan.
“Wow. Where did you get that?” Susan asked, looking down at an array of safety pins from one-eighth of an inch to almost three inches long, lined up in order of size.
“Oh, I’ve collected them over the years. It’s amazing how often someone needs one. Go ahead. It looks like you could use more than one.”
“Thanks.” Susan selected two large pins and got to work.
“Have you considered pinning them to the dress itself? Or maybe that would damage it?”
“I hadn’t thought of that, and it’s a good idea. I’m not too worried about hurting the dress. It was fashionable to wear cotton when I got married, so this is pretty tough. I don’t think I’ll ever wear it again—unless we go to another costume party sometime.”
“This is the dress you got married in?” Marion moved back with respect. “You should cherish it. What if your daughter wants to wear it someday?”
“Chrissy has her own very definite taste. I can’t imagine her wanting to wear this—besides that, she’s three inches taller than I am.”
“If you’re sure …”
“I’m sure.” Susan stabbed a large pin through the dress’s lining to confirm her opinion.
“Then why don’t you let me help?” Susan found herself, long skirt over her head, being firmly pinned into both dress and padding. Well, it was a step on the road to intimacy. And she did have to ask Marion some pretty personal questions—starting now.
“Why were you so anxious to come to this party?” she asked, and held her breath, hoping she hadn’t insulted the other woman.
“I guess Charles is telling everyone that I barged in, isn’t he?” Marion’s voice was colder than Susan had heard it before.
“Well …” Susan began.
“You don’t have to lie. I know what’s happening. You should have heard him talking to Mrs. Ellsworth when we got here. He almost accused me of gate-crashing. I was terribly embarrassed. And mad,” she added almost to herself. “He’s been acting terribly toward me ever since the murder. I know how upset he must be, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior, does it?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Susan agreed, her voice muffled by the layers of cotton and lace that still covered her head.
“That’s what I think, at least,” Marion went on as though she hadn’t heard.
“Why were you so anxious to come to this party?” Susan repeated.
“I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to apologize for locking you in the office last night.”
“You … !”
“I didn’t know you were there, of course. I mean, why would I want to lock you in?”
“But the phone line. I can see that you could have locked me in accidentally—Charles did say it was your night to lock up—but I don’t understand why you would cut the phone line.”
“I didn’t! I would never have done anything like that! It must have been an accident—maybe a tree branch fell on the line outside or something.”
Susan didn’t think it was worth arguing. Brett said the line had been cut, and he would know a cut line from one that had accidentally broken, so Marion either hadn’t cut the line, or for some reason had decided to cut it and was lying about it now.
“Charles seems to think that you think that he locked you in, but of course he wouldn’t. The last thing in the world that Charles wanted is for you to be locked in his office overnight—believe me!”
“I do.…”
But Marion was going on. “Charles is so upset about all of this—he hated that homeless man being around the library so much—and then the murder and everything—he’s terribly upset. And because of Jason Armstrong being famous, these murders are getting a lot more attention than they would usually. I think everything is going wrong for him these days. It’s all so tragic, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Of course. But it’s been difficult for you, too. You seem to have been so fond of Charles Grace.…”
“I was in love with him.” Marion insisted on correcting her. “But those feelings have died completely. I guess I never really accepted how badly he was treating me. I just couldn’t see it. And, once I realized it, I … I stopped loving him. Just like that. I thought I’d never do it, but I did.” Her voice had gotten quieter and quieter, and Susan, still blinded by her costume, wondered if the other woman was crying.
“Marion,” she said softly through the material. “I really think you’re doing the right thing. Marion?”
“You might be interested in knowing that you’re talking to yourself.”
Susan heard Kathleen’s voice clearly. She pulled down her skirt and looked around. They were alone in the room. Marion had gone, taking her purse and the rest of her safety pins with her. Susan was more than a little bewildered. “She left?”
“Apparently so. What were you talking about? I just saw her go through the door—she was almost running.”
“I guess she needed to be alone. She’s had her eyes opened about Charles Grace in the last twenty-four hours,” she added, and proceeded to tell her friend about their conversation.
“Do you think she did it?”
Susan was surprised. “Of course. Why would she admit to doing something like that if she hadn’t?”
“Because she’s protecting the person who did?”
“Who?” Susan looked intently at Kathleen. “You think she’s still protecting Charles Grace, and he’s the one who did it.”
“I think it’s possible. She could be lying about this great change of feeling for him, couldn’t she?”
“I suppose it is possible …” Susan began slowly.
“Suppose she didn’t know that he cut the phone line—so she didn’t know to admit to it as well. That would make sense. After all, I don’t think we can believe that a different person did the cutting. The only logical reason to cut the wire was so that you couldn’t call for help. And the person who trapped you there is the person who wanted you to stay there until morning. Right?”
“Probably. But there might be other explanations.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe you’re right and Charles Grace locked me in—and suppose Marion saw him, and she realized that I could call out from the office and that he would be caught right away, so she cut the phone line … it doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“No, but maybe it doesn’t make any difference right now,” Kathleen surprised her by saying. “A lot of people might be the person who locked you in. Unless someone else confesses or we find that they were seen by someone, we will probably be forced to believe Marion. Maybe, right now, we should concentrate on why it was done.”
“Why I was locked in.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s what Brett says. I’ve thought and I’ve thought, and I can’t imagine why I was locked in. Nothing happened while I was at the library that there would be any reason to keep me away from.”
“You’re sure?”
“At my house, Rebecca and everyone heard about the lies that were being printed in grocery store papers about her and they were planning to give a press conference, but apparently no one knows where Rebecca was that night … or Hilda either. I don’t know what Marion Marshall and Charles Grace were doing, but it doesn’t look like they were involved in anything unusual. No one got mugged that night, no one else got killed. The man who confessed to the murders is in jail, so there’s nothing there. I just don’t see it. I’ve been looking and looking for the last three days, and I have no answers. I don’t even have any questions that make any sense.… Nothing is working here.” She flopped down on the bed, only to realize she was sitting on a very expensive fur coat. “Damn!” She hopped up. “I’m so frustrated!”
“So let’s go downstairs and party,” Kathleen suggested. “After all, this is the first chance Jerry a
nd I have had to go out together at night for a few weeks. I love Bananas, but being forced to be with him all the time is making me crazy. I’m forever looking for stimulation. In fact, I’m beginning to realize just why middle-of-the-day talk programs are so popular on TV and radio.”
“I know what you mean. I remember when the kids were little—” Susan stopped and stared at her friend with her mouth open.
“Are you okay?”
“I just had a wonderful thought. I know what’s going on here.”
“You know who killed Mitch Waterfield and Jason Armstrong?”
“No, but I think I know how to find out,” Susan said, and explained what she was thinking to her friend.
Kathleen thought about it before agreeing. “You’re probably right. What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know.”
The door opened and a couple of bandits, guns slung over their shoulders and stockings covering their faces, walked in holding hands and laughing.
“Come on out in the hall,” Kathleen urged Susan after greeting the mayor and his wife. “I have an idea. Why don’t you call Brett,” she suggested after they were alone again.
“Brett … That’s a great idea! You know, I think I’ll do it right now.”
“You’ll need his private number.”
“You have his private number?”
“Don’t make a big deal about it, Susan. Brett and I are old friends. And the next person who intimates that we’re any more than that is going to be the next murder victim!”
Susan laughed. “I’ll remember that. I’m going to call immediately. It would be great to figure this out right away, wouldn’t it?”
“A miracle.” But Kathleen spoke too late. Susan had already headed off to find a phone—and her husband.
She quickly explained to Jed what was happening, found a phone in the kitchen that no one was using, and called the number Kathleen had given her. Fortunately Brett answered. She explained her idea while munching from a large brandy snifter filled with candy corn. “You could meet me there,” she suggested.
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