“Then you should tell the investigator,” Walter said.
“I have,” Marcus blustered. “I don’t think he believed me. After all, I was the only one who noticed it. And why else would he keep going around and asking us all of these questions? I told him he needs to be looking for a burglar.”
“How could it have been a burglar,” Freddy demanded, “when nothing was stolen?”
“But something was stolen,” Julia objected. “Rosemary said she didn’t notice until the next day, but a file was missing from Mother’s drawer. Walter, what was that file?”
Walter shook his head uncomfortably. “N…nothing, financial reports for the second quarter—Elliott Bay Fishing Company, that’s all.”
“That’s balderdash,” Freddy said. “Since when did you start hand-delivering financial reports to our mother? Come on, Walter, you can tell us. What was it really?”
“It didn’t have anything to do with what happened,” Walter said. He walked to the window and turned his back on them.
“Well, the burglar thought it was important,” Marcus said. “That must be why he stole it.”
Freddy was shaking his head. “It doesn’t make any sense. If there was a thief, he would have gone to the silverware drawer, mother’s jewelry, that sort of thing. He might have taken cash from a safe, but not a business file.”
“Maybe they thought the file was stocks and bonds,” Marcus suggested. “Did your mother keep that sort of thing in the house?”
Freddy ignored the question. “But nothing else was taken,” he objected. “On the other hand, if the person was just after that particular file, why would he have gone upstairs at all?”
Julia frowned. “Are you suggesting there were two separate crimes in the same house on the same night? No, that’s too much of a coincidence.”
“It depends on what was in the file,” Marcus insisted. He turned to Walter. “Look, Walter, we all know you weren’t hand delivering financial reports to your mother. Whatever that file was, it was important enough for you to take it to her house last Wednesday. Now it’s gone, and she’s been murdered. Don’t you think you ought to tell us what it was? If it was stocks, that’s not against the law, and the police are bound to find out eventually.”
Walter glanced over his shoulder at Marcus. But he turned back to the window. “No, it had nothing to do with the murder, and I won’t discuss it.”
The rest of them exchanged glances.
The clock on the marble mantle ticked, echoing in the grand room. Marcus stroked his minuscule mustache and resumed his anxious pacing.
Julia poured herself another cup of coffee and stirred in more milk than she liked. “Maybe we’re wrong about the robbery,” Julia suggested. “We’re assuming nothing of value was taken, but maybe mother had jewelry or cash that we didn’t know about. She could have had a secret stash somewhere. Maybe something was stolen after all.”
Freddy looked at her. “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”
“The whole thing is a stretch,” Julia agreed. “We’re already dealing with an outrageous situation. Besides, for all we know, your run-of-the-mill thief has methods that we’ve never considered. Maybe—”
The door swung open, and young Alex Shrubb marched into the room, carrying a silver tray by his shoulder. “Hello, everyone. I’ve been instructed to deliver the iced tea and sandwiches. Cook says it’s past coffee time, and now it’s time for a late luncheon.”
“Thank you, Alex,” Marcus said. He moved one of his wife’s tulip arrangements to make room for the refreshments. Alex set down the tray and grabbed a sandwich.
Freddy strolled over to the tray and helped himself. Then he turned to his nephew. “How are you holding up, young man?”
Alex shot a quick glance at his mother and raised his chin. “One must weather hard times in stride.”
Julia raised an eyebrow and put her hand over her mouth.
“Several of Alex’s friends have been sending their condolences,” Marcus explained with a distinct tone of approval. “At least it’s good to know that young people nowadays still know how to behave when someone is grieving.”
Julia put down her sandwich and turned to her son. “Alex, dear, was that Ruth Ann Simpson who came by this morning?”
“Who?”
“You know, the blonde girl you were talking to on the porch this morning. I saw you from the greenhouse. Is she Robert and Tracy Simpson’s daughter?”
“Oh, you mean that girl who lives up the street, the one who giggles all the time? No, that wasn’t her. I was talking to Carrie Louise this morning. You remember her mother, Mrs. Morton? She’s got really big hair, and she’s on the school dance committee. She sent Carrie Louise over with a card and some flowers.” He pointed to a small bouquet of roses on the piano. There was a growing collection of bouquets and sympathy cards, and the grand piano was getting crowded.
Julia walked over to them and said, “How thoughtful of her.” The roses still had tiny drops of rain on them, and there was no florist’s ribbon. “They must be from Mrs. Morton’s garden,” Julia said as she picked up a small handwritten envelope and opened it, but as she read, her expression changed.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Marcus asked.
Julia set the card down. “The cards got mixed up. This one isn’t from Mrs. Morton.” She smiled and set it down.
Alex put his hands in his trouser pockets and announced, “By the way, I think Grandmother’s murder was an inside job.”
Everyone stared at him. Even Walter turned to look.
“I’ve been thinking things over very carefully,” Alex continued, “and I’ve been considering all of the angles. And I think, well…I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we’re dealing with here.”
Freddy adjusted his glasses and grinned. “A theory, eh? It sounds like you’ve been listening to the Nick Carter, Master Detective, Radio Hour?”
“It’s a good show,” Alex admitted. “I’ve learned a lot. But I have to warn you that the truth is often shocking.”
Everyone waited to be shocked.
“The dining-room door was unlocked,” Alex explained. “So whoever did it either had a key or someone inside the house let him in! Don’t you see? Someone had to unlock the door for the murderer.”
“Son, what exactly are you getting at?” Marcus demanded.
“Now, don’t get me wrong,” Alex hurried on, “I like Rosemary a lot, but what if she had a secret agenda? I mean there’s a lot of stuff we don’t even know about her—like her family and where she grew up. And why does she always want to know about people being poisoned? Did you know she collects newspaper stories about suspicious and accidental poisonings? And last month, Grandma accidentally tipped her glass over. I saw Rosemary holding her wrist.”
“She was checking her pulse?” Marcus asked.
“Alex, don’t you think you’re being too hasty?” Julia asked. “After all, Rosemary has worked faithfully for your grandmother for the last ten years, ever since your grandfather died.”
“Besides that,” Marcus said, “your grandmother was going to leave Rosemary a legacy. Since she died first, Rosemary has not only lost her job but she’s also lost a lot of money.”
“But that’s just it!” Alex insisted. “Everyone keeps thinking that Grandmother’s death was because of her money because she was so rich, but that may not be the reason at all. Just listen to this, a couple of weeks ago, I overheard Rosemary talking on the telephone. Now, I didn’t hear everything, and I don’t know who she was talking to, but she actually said the word ‘secret’ two or maybe even three times. Now, that’s pretty suspicious, isn’t it?”
Julia shook her head. “Alex, I just don’t think—”
Alex persisted, “And what if Rosemary isn’t really a secretary at all? What if she’s a spy or a communist or something? Dad, you were in the war so you probably had to deal with that sort of thing all the time. The enemy plants a spy, and they act normal an
d patriotic until everyone trusts them. Sometimes they were just exchanging codes—”
“Alex, my boy, I was a Medical Supply Officer in Hawaii. That’s not exactly spy work.”
Julia turned patiently but firmly to her son. “Alex, I want to see the man caught as much as you do, but if Rosemary could hear the things you’re saying—”
“So maybe it’s not her,” Alex conceded reluctantly. “But you know she probably has a fella. Think about it, she never mentions anyone, and that’s suspicious! She’s so nice and pretty, she must have a boyfriend! So, why don’t we ever hear about him?”
“Maybe she wants her privacy,” Walter suggested. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down.
“Or maybe he’s a Communist,” Alex said. “And she trusts her man, but he’s just using her, and she doesn’t even know it. She could be passing coded messages. We need to tell the police so they can investigate whether or not Rosemary’s part of the red underground, or she might be related to a crime boss.”
“Son, do you really think that the Soviets or a crime circle wanted to murder your grandmother?”
The doorbell rang, and Alex stopped arguing.
“This could be Rosemary now,” Marcus said. They all waited as the housekeeper’s footsteps echoed across the hall to the front door. There were faint voices and more footsteps and then Victoria walked into the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Victoria Crashes the Party
Walter jumped up so quickly that he knocked over his coffee cup. It hit the marble floor and shattered. He stammered something, stooped over, and began picking up the tiny porcelain fragments. Marcus helped him.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” Victoria said. “I only just found out. If there’s anything that I can do—”
Julia invited Victoria to sit down and said, “Yes, it’s terrible. I think we’re all at a loss.”
“It’s impossible,” Freddy said. “And there’s nothing for us to do except to wait for the police.”
Walter stood up with the pieces of the shattered cup in his hand. Victoria started to say something to him, but Walter looked away and announced, “I’ll just go get another cup. I’ll get two cups.”
He left the room.
Victoria looked around the room at their expressions. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all,” Julia assured her. “Actually, your timing is impeccable. The others will be here any minute.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “Yes, we’ve just been discussing various aspects of the case. I assume you’ve read the newspapers?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t very informative,” Victoria said. She didn’t mention the police report or Fisher’s notes.
Walter returned.
He still didn’t look at his wife. Victoria busied herself with an invisible piece of dust on the porcelain lamp beside her. Walter poured a cup of coffee, and without looking at Victoria, he handed it to her. But as she reached for the cup, Walter pulled it back, added some milk, and handed it to her again. Victoria thanked him, but Walter mumbled something too quiet to hear.
Walter filled his own cup, but he didn’t look at Victoria.
Julia and Marcus exchanged glances, and Freddy tapped his hands together. Alex poured himself a glass of lemonade and grabbed another sandwich.
“Alex, what are your plans after graduation?” Victoria asked.
“I’m supposed to go out East in the fall to attend a university in New York,” Alex said. He glanced at his parents and added, “But maybe I won’t now.”
The front door opened and closed. There were voices, and everyone turned to see Paul striding into the room. “Hello, everyone,” he announced as he straightened the collar of his blue sports jacket. “I hope you don’t mind my letting myself in—” Paul stopped mid-sentence when he saw Victoria. He glanced at Walter and then back to her, then smiled. “Well, if it isn’t Victoria.”
Paul turned to his sister. “Camille’s here, too, but she stopped in the powder room. You know how women are.” He grinned. He took off his charcoal hat and dropped it on a chair. “A few drops of rain, and they have to run to a mirror so they can look everything over.”
Marcus shook Paul’s hand. “Hello, old boy, would you like some coffee or iced tea, or perhaps something a little stronger? It is getting on.”
“Excellent idea, Marcus. I’ll take a scotch.” Paul sat down and crossed his legs, but he stood up again when Camille entered the room. She was wearing a salmon pink dress with a plunging neckline and a double string of pearls. Her matching circle hat was wide and adorned with salmon pink ribbons and an ostrich feather. She took off her white coat, and Alex hurried to take it from her. “Thank you, dear,” she said and smiled gratefully. “Well, hello everyone, I hope you’re all enjoying our drizzly springtime weather. What would Seattle be without its little showers?”
Paul waved his hand toward his sister-in-law. “Victoria, this is Miss Camille Sinclair. Camille, this is Walter’s wife, Victoria.”
Victoria held out her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Sinclair.”
Camille’s expression didn’t change, but her tone shifted. “Likewise, Mrs. Abbott.”
“Ms. Bell, actually,” Victoria corrected her. “But please call me Victoria.”
“You kept your maiden name?” Camille said. “That’s unusual, especially for a woman who isn’t famous. But I suppose Bell is a rather charming English name, although with your complexion, I would guess that your family came from another part of the world.”
“My parents came from an area that is now part of Poland,” Victoria said.
“You don’t look particularly Polish,” Camille said as she scrutinized Victoria. “No, I would say that there is definitely something more…exotic about your features. Of course, you are absolutely lovely.”
Victoria set her cup down and asked, “By any chance, are you the same Camille Sinclair who is famous for her stage work?”
“I have dabbled in theater,” Camille replied sweetly. “Imagine you knowing a little thing like that! I’m flattered.”
Paul handed Camille a martini. “We had a lady come over to our table last night, just so she could meet Camille and tell her how much she loved her in Macbeth.”
Camille waved her hand lavishly. “It was Othello, Paul. I never was in that other play.”
“It’s all about the same thing, isn’t it?” Paul laughed heartily. “Long, wordy, and tragic.”
“Do you enjoy theater, Miss Bell?” Camille asked.
“I often find it stimulating. I especially enjoyed the one you did in the Paramount Theater last summer. I think it was called Death of the Duchess.”
“Oh, that tragic medieval melodrama,” Camille remembered with a grin. “Murder, betrayal, and adultery. Yes, that was fun.” She sipped her martini. “So, Miss Bell, being immigrants, your parents must speak Prussian or Hungarian or something. Some of those languages can sound so coarse. You’re lucky that your English is so good.”
“With the right words, any language can be coarse,” Victoria said.
Camile smiled. “I bet.”
The doorbell rang, and a few moments later, Rosemary came in with Donna Holt.
Rosemary pulled off her gloves. “Sorry I’m late, but I brought Donna along.”
“I’m sorry for the intrusion,” Donna said as she looked around at the family gathering. “But my shop has a faulty light switch. It’s sparking, and Rosemary suggested that one of you might know who I should telephone.”
Walter stood up and cleared his throat. “Miss Holt, this is my wife, Victoria Bell.”
He still didn’t look at Victoria.
“Oh, I’m happy to meet you, Ms. Bell,” Donna said, shaking the other woman’s hand. “I was at the dinner party on Saturday, but I understand you were out of town on business?”
“Yes, I work for the city, in the Records Department. Last week I was attending a librarians’ conference in New York.”
“
Donna here is the best decorator in town,” Camille said. “I simply couldn’t do without her.”
Despite Donna’s objections, the conversation moved on to her design work, then Freddy’s bookstore, and business matters in general. Freddy got a telephone book to look up the electrician’s telephone number, and Alex went to the kitchen for a soda. Marcus had just gotten into politics when Camille, who had been quiet for some time, let out a breathy squeak.
Everyone turned to look at her. She was holding the newspaper and was staring—in apparent shock—at the Hollywood Column. She glanced up at them. “Oh, I am sorry,” she apologized as she pointed to the newspaper. “I shouldn’t even read the gossip column. But it says here that Robert Knightly’s wife, Rosamund, has left him. Can you imagine? He’s a great success, and she was just a little nobody who used him. It’s shocking.”
The room was silent. One by one, everyone’s gaze drifted to Victoria.
Walter was the only one who didn’t look at her. He kept staring out the window, but his jaw clenched, and his face turned red. Ms. Victoria Bell sat on the sofa and sipped her coffee as though the remark were irrelevant.
Freddy turned on a white porcelain lamp so he could see the telephone book better. “About that electrician,” he said as he copied down a name and number. “This is the best man in town. My mother had an account with him, and you can tell him to put the repair on that account.”
He handed the paper to Donna.
Donna thanked him and slipped the paper into her handbag, and hurried back to her shop. As soon as Donna was gone, Rosemary turned to Alex and asked, “Is everything all right, Alex? You’ve been staring at me since I came in.”
Alex cleared his throat, but before he had a chance to reply, Julia explained that he had skipped his lunch, and Marcus added that Alex hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately. And both of them sent their son off to the kitchen. The result was that Alex didn’t have a chance to accuse Rosemary of being a Communist, a thug, or a murderer.
With her son safely dispatched, Julia turned to Rosemary. “Managing my mother’s affairs must be very difficult. You will let us know how to help you.”
The Charlatan Murders Page 12
