“What sort of an affair is it?” I asked after we were motoring toward Andover.
Mrs. Radcliff explained that the bazaar was being sponsored by members of the Daughters of the American Revolution and would be held at one of the fashionable clubs of the city. As Flo’s mother belonged to the Greenville chapter, she explained, she and her guests would have an entry.
“I look forward to meeting a number of prominent persons today,” Mrs. Radcliff said. “The Andover chapter has a very exclusive membership.”
Florence winked at me. It is a great source of amusement to Flo that her mother stands in such awe of society personages.
At Andover, Flo drove the car to the City Club and parked it beside a long row of other automobiles, many of which were under the charge of uniformed chauffeurs.
“Oh, dear,” remarked Mrs. Radcliff nervously, “I didn’t realize how shabby our old coupe looks. I do hope no one notices.”
“Now don’t start that, Mother,” Florence said, taking her by the arm. “Your car is perfectly all right. And so are you.”
We went up the steps of the stone building and mingled with the other women. So many people were present that our arrival attracted no attention. Mrs. Radcliff was reassured to see that she was as well-dressed as anyone in the room.
Several long tables were covered with various knick-knacks offered for sale. Florence and I wandered about examining whatever struck our fancy. Flo’s mother bought a vase and an imitation ivory elephant, but Flo and I considered the prices too high for our purses.
A young woman stood behind one of the tables at the far end of the room. I stopped short and stared at her.
“See someone you know?” Florence asked.
“See that young woman with the dark hair and the lace dress. She is Cybil Furstenberg!”
“Really? I must say she has courage to come here today after all that has happened!”
The young woman did not realize that we were subjecting her to scrutiny. However, she seemed fully aware that she was a general object of curiosity, for her lips were frozen in a set smile, and her face was pale despite the rouge on her smooth cheeks.
“I suppose she must be on the bazaar committee,” Florence went on. “But my, if someone had jilted me, I would not have come here today.”
“Jack must have missed his interview, after all,” I murmured, half to myself.
“Jack?”
“Yes, Dad assigned him to the Furstenberg story. I suppose he drove to Sunnydale today in the hope of seeing Miss Cybil.”
“She may have come here just to escape reporters.”
“For two cents I’d try to talk to her myself,” I said.
“Do you think she would talk to you?”
“Not if she realizes I have any connection to the Greenville Examiner, but at least I can try. There’s something about the disappearance of Thomas Atwood which seems sinister to me, never mind Dad getting a scoop for his newspaper.”
“Don’t create a scene, whatever you do,” Florence warned. “Not that I would mind, but Mother would die of mortification.”
“I’ll try to be careful,” I promised.
I sauntered over to Cybil Furstenberg’s table. I selected an article at random from the display and asked about the price.
“Three dollars,” Miss Furstenberg answered mechanically.
I loitered at the table until two elderly women had moved on. I was now alone with Cybil Furstenberg. I would have no better opportunity to speak with her.
“Miss Furstenberg,” I began.
“Yes?” The young woman looked me full in the face for the first time since I’d walked up to the table. Cybil Furstenberg’s eyelids were red and swollen from weeping, and she looked as if she had slept very little since the eve of the wedding.
“I should like to talk with you alone, please,” I said.
“Do I know your name?”
“Jane Carter.”
“Carter—Carter,” the young woman repeated, and her eyes hardened. “Oh yes, you are the woman who came to our place yesterday with that photographer! And you telephoned again this morning.”
“Yes,” I admitted reluctantly, “but—”
The young woman did not allow me to finish.
“I’ll not talk with you or any other reporter. You have no right to come here and harass me.”
“Please, I’m not a reporter, Miss Furstenberg. I have something to show you.”
But Miss Furstenberg had closed her ears to my words. She turned abruptly and fled in the direction of the powder room.
I hesitated, remembering my promise to create no scene. Still, I could not allow Miss Furstenberg to elude me so easily, so I followed her down the hall toward the powder room.
“Please, Miss Furstenberg, you must listen to me,” I pleaded when I’d caught up to her.
My words had not the slightest effect on the girl, so I opened my purse and took out the white gold ring. I thrust it in front of Miss Furstenberg.
“I only wish to show you this.”
The young woman stopped short, gazing down at the ring.
“Where did you get that?”
“Then you do recognize it?”
“Of course. Thomas showed it to me the night before we were to have been married. Tell me, how did it come into your hands?”
“We can’t talk here,” I said.
Miss Furstenberg glanced around and observed the many eyes focused on us, then led me into the deserted powder room. We sat down on a sofa in a secluded corner.
“I didn’t mean to be so rude before,” Miss Furstenberg apologized. “It was only because I must protect myself from reporters and photographers. You have no idea how I have been annoyed.”
“I do understand,” I said, “and I wish to help you. That was why I was so insistent on talking with you. I think this ring may be a clue to Mr. Atwood’s disappearance.”
“Then you believe, as I do, that he did not go away purposely?”
“My theory is that Mr. Atwood was the victim of a plot. Did he have any known enemies?”
“Oh, no, everyone liked Thomas. Tell me about the ring. Who gave it to you?”
“No one. I found it while I was exploring a path on the estate, the trail which is blocked off.”
“You shouldn’t have gone there, but no matter. Just where did you pick up the ring?”
“I found it near the lily pool.”
Miss Furstenberg stared at me with expressionless, half-glazed eyes.
“Oh!” she murmured.
Her head dropped low, her body sagged, and she slumped down on the sofa in a faint.
CHAPTER 10
My first thought was to call for assistance, but then I realized calling for help would result in awkward questions. I felt certain Miss Furstenberg had only fainted and would soon revive.
I stretched the young woman full length on the sofa, then ran to the washroom for a glass of water. I dampened a towel and folded it across Miss Furstenberg’s forehead, at the same time rubbing her limp hands and trying to restore circulation. I noticed that the white gold ring had fallen to the floor, so I picked it up and put it back into my handbag.
Miss Furstenberg must have fainted because of what I told her about the lily pond, I decided. I regretted that I had not been more tactful in breaking the details of how I’d come into possession of the wedding ring.”
I watched the young woman anxiously, fearing that what I had assumed to be an ordinary faint might be a heart attack. A wave of relief surged over me as Miss Furstenberg stirred slightly. Her long dark eyelashes fluttered open, and she stared blankly about her.
“Where am I?” she asked, moistening her dry lips.
“Here, drink this,” I urged, offering the glass of water. “You’ll feel much better in a few minutes.”
“Now I remember,” Miss Furstenberg murmured. “You were saying—”
“Don’t think about that now. Just lie still and relax.”
Miss Fur
stenberg did not try to speak again for some little time. Then, despite my protests, she raised herself to a sitting position.
“I feel quite all right, now,” she insisted. “How stupid of me to faint.”
“I am afraid I was very tactless.”
“On the contrary, our conversation had nothing to do with it.”
“I thought—”
“It was the heat,” Miss Furstenberg insisted. “I had a sunstroke once, and since then I can’t bear an overheated room.”
“But it isn’t very warm in here,” I said. “I don’t notice it at all.”
“You might not, but I am very sensitive to it.”
“Well, I’m glad your faint wasn’t caused by anything I said. I thought you seemed shocked by what I told you about the ring.”
“You were saying that you picked it up near the lily pond?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I knew the exact place.”
“If we could go to your estate together, I could show you,” I suggested.
Miss Furstenberg hesitated, obviously still prejudiced against me because of my connection with the Greenville Examiner.
“Very well,” she agreed. “Will you please ask that my car be sent to the door?”
“Gladly,” I said.
Leaving Miss Furstenberg in the powder room, I returned to the main hall. Florence separated from the crowd and hurried to meet me.
“Oh, Jane, I saw you go off with Miss Furstenberg,” she began. “Would she talk with you?”
“She did, and now I’m going with her to the estate.”
“But Mother expects to start home in a few minutes,” protested Florence. “How long will you be gone?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. If I’m not back here by the time you are ready to leave, don’t wait for me.”
“But how will you get home?”
“Oh, I’ll find a way. The important thing now is to learn everything I can from Miss Furstenberg. She’s in the mood to talk.”
“I’d love to visit the estate,” Florence said wistfully.
“I wish I could take you, but I don’t see how I can this time.”
“Of course not, Jane. It would be very foolish of you to try. You might lose your chance to go there yourself.”
“Will you explain to your mother about my sudden disappearance?”
“Yes, she’ll understand,” Florence replied. “We’ll wait at least an hour for you before we return to Greenville.”
I left a call for Miss Furstenberg’s car and then went back to the powder room to retrieve Miss Furstenberg. The young woman walked a bit unsteadily even with aid. However, no one paid attention to us as we crossed the main hall and climbed into the waiting automobile.
The big limousine rolled away from the clubhouse and sped toward Sunnydale. During the ride, Miss Furstenberg scarcely spoke. She sat with her head against the cushion, eyes half closed. As we came within view of the drawbridge, she roused herself.
“I see you have visitors at the estate,” I said as we approached several cars parked near the river’s edge.
“Reporters, always reporters,” Miss Furstenberg said. “They may try to board as we pass.”
I wondered how the limousine would be taken across the river. The old watchman had noted our approach. Before the car reached the end of the road, he had lowered the creaking drawbridge into position.
“Is the bridge safe?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“For light traffic only,” Miss Furstenberg answered.
The arrival of the car had created a stir amongst the group of men gathered near the bridge. I caught sight of Jack Bancroft and could not resist rolling down the side window, so he would be sure to see me. It was delightful to see him stare as if he could not believe his eyes.
Several of the reporters attempted to stop the limousine, but without success. The car clattered over the drawbridge which was pulled up again before anyone could follow.
The chauffeur deposited us at the front door of the great house.
“Now show me where you found the ring,” Miss Furstenberg said.
I led her down the winding path into the grove.
“I hope we don’t meet your head gardener,” I said. “He seems to be such an unpleasant fellow.”
Miss Furstenberg glanced at me oddly.
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, yesterday he ordered me away from here in no uncertain terms.”
“He only meant to do his duty.”
“Then the man has been ordered to keep people away from this part of the estate?”
“I really couldn’t tell you,” Miss Furstenberg answered. “Mother has charge of the servants.”
“Has the man been in your employ long?”
“I can’t tell you that, either.” Miss Furstenberg said in a tone that warned me that she did not care to be questioned.
There was no sign of the old gardener when we arrived at the lily pool. I searched about in the gravel and grassy area surrounding the pool for a few minutes.
“Here is where I found the ring,” I told Miss Furstenberg. “And see this!”
“What?”
“Footprints.”
“That doesn’t seem so remarkable.” Cybil Furstenberg bent to examine the prints in the grass. “They must have been left by Mr. Atwood’s shoes.”
“But it looks as if there might have been a struggle here,” I insisted. “From those marks in the gravel wouldn’t you say a body had been dragged across the ground toward the pool?”
“No!” cried Miss Furstenberg. “The grass is trampled, and those are odd marks in the gravel, but I can’t believe Thomas has met with violence. I refuse to think of such a thing! The pool—” she broke off, and a shudder wracked her body.
“It is best to know the truth. Have you notified the police about Mr. Atwood’s disappearance?”
Miss Furstenberg shook her head.
“Until today, I thought he would return. Or at least I hoped so.”
“It seems to me an expert should be called into the case,” I urged. “Why don’t you telephone the police station now?”
“I couldn’t,” Cybil answered, looking very miserable. “Not without consulting Mother.”
“Then let’s talk with her now.”
“She isn’t at home this afternoon.”
“But something should be done and at once,” I protested. “A heavy rainstorm will destroy all these footprints and perhaps other important evidence. Do you truly love Thomas Atwood?”
“With all my heart.”
“Then I should think you would have some interest in what became of him. I can’t understand your attitude at all.”
“I—I have others to think of besides myself.”
“Your mother, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Cybil avoided my gaze.
“Surely, your mother wouldn’t wish an act of violence to go unpunished. So much time has been lost, already.”
“We aren’t certain anything has happened to Thomas,” Cybil responded, her eyes downcast. “If we should bring the police into the case, and then it turns out that he has merely gone away to some other city, I’d be held up to ridicule once more.”
“It seems to me you are taking a most foolish attitude.”
“There is another reason why we must be cautious,” Cybil said hesitantly.
“And what is that?”
For just an instant, I thought that the young woman meant to answer the question. But Cybil seemed to reconsider, for she said quickly: “I can’t tell you. Please, don’t ask me any more questions.”
“Are you afraid you may be blamed for Mr. Atwood’s disappearance?” I persisted.
“No, no, I assure you I am not thinking of myself. Please, let’s return to the house.”
I deliberately blocked the path.
“Unless you wish me to notify the police, there is a little matter which I must ask you to explain.”
I reac
hed down, picked up a small stone, and hurled it into the lily pond. As the ripples died away, we both observed a convulsive movement of the water, a churning which had no relation to the missile thrown.
“I think,” I said, “that you understand my meaning.”
CHAPTER 11
Miss Furstenberg watched the concentric circles race each other to the far edge of the lily pool.
“Then you know the reason why this part of the estate is kept closed off?” she murmured.
“I learned about the alligator yesterday,” I admitted. “Why is such an ugly brute kept here?”
“It was none of my doing, I assure you. I hate the horrid thing. Surely you don’t mean to suggest—”
“I am not suggesting anything, yet,” I said. “But you must realize that it is rather unusual to keep an alligator on one’s estate.”
“My father brought it here from Florida,” Miss Furstenberg revealed reluctantly. “For some reason, the creature seemed to fascinate him. He insisted on keeping it in the pond.”
“How does the creature survive the winter,” I asked. “It is already quite chilly.”
“I believe there is a steam heater underneath the pool which keeps the water from freezing,” Cybil said. “My father had it installed when the pool was built.”
“Your father is not living here now, I am told.”
“That is true.” Miss Furstenberg quickly switched the subject back to the alligator. “Mother and I would like to get rid of the beast, but we’ve never been able to do it.”
“Any zoo should be willing to take it off your hands.”
“Mother often spoke of getting in touch with one, but for some reason she never did. I suppose she hesitated to give the alligator away on Father’s account.”
I remained silent, wondering how deeply I dared probe into the private life of the Furstenberg family. After all, there are certain inquiries which a person of sensibility cannot make. I couldn’t very well ask: “Have your parents separated? Why did your father leave home? Is it true he is wanted by the authorities for evading income tax?” although these were the questions on the tip of my tongue.
Instead, I asked, “Your father is away, isn’t he?”
Jane Carter Historical Cozies: Omnibus Edition (Six Mystery Novels) Page 34
