“Randy’s?”
“I don’t think so.” She stopped for a minute. “Now that I think about it, I’m really not sure. But I do know that Phyllis had done a lot of the decorating.”
“Really?” Susan didn’t know many grown-up children whose mothers had decorated their first apartments. Not that she didn’t know a lot of mothers who were dying to try. In her own home, her children had insisted on displaying their own taste in their individual abodes. The results were interesting: Chad was living in the middle of a montage of long-haired rock musicians. It would have given her nightmares, but he loved it. Chrissy’s room was covered with posters of her favorite artists’ work and piles of books; Susan actually enjoyed putting away laundry in there.
“Yes, and she did an incredible job. It’s just a tiny fourth-floor walk-up in the Village—two rooms only, but she turned the bedroom into a fantasy, fabric on the walls, pillows everywhere. She even bought them an antique sleigh bed.…”
Susan didn’t listen too carefully to Beth’s description of the wonders of Darcy’s apartment. She was beginning to tire of the works of Phyllis Ericksen. Actually, she was beginning to get tired of everything here. She was hungry again and could use a cup of coffee. She had suggested to Beth that they talk in the restaurant, but Beth had explained that she was waiting for Jon.
“Even in Jon’s dorm room …” Beth was saying when Susan returned to the conversation. “You should see it.”
“I’d like to. What do you think about the murders?” she asked, trying to return to the subject that really interested her.
“I … I really don’t know,” Beth said. “It all seems a little unreal somehow. First the fake body turning up in that pool, and then George dying, and now finding Randy’s body—it’s almost too much.”
“It’s not the vacation you planned.”
“No, it certainly isn’t. I’ll admit I was worried about this trip. I’d never met Jon’s parents, and I didn’t know how they would feel about me or the fact that we’re living together.…”
“And how did they feel?”
Beth looked surprised. “I don’t think they cared one way or the other. Oh, they were very polite,” she added, seeing the puzzled look on Susan’s face. “They said all the right things and made me feel comfortable and welcome and, I suppose, like a member of the family. It’s just that I felt like they were doing it automatically. Like it didn’t matter who Jon brought on this trip …”
Like Beth wasn’t anything special, Susan thought. “Are you and Jon planning to make your relationship permanent?” she asked.
“You mean, are we getting married?” She shook her head. “I thought so. And I’m not a girl who assumes that if a man sleeps with her, he’s going to marry her, if that’s what you’re thinking.…”
“I wasn’t.…”
“It’s just that, until this trip, Jon was acting like marriage was what he wanted. When we were in New Jersey, he even kidded my parents about wanting grandchildren. We haven’t made definite plans, but we’ve talked about what type of wedding we would like, and where we would live if Jon was lucky enough to find the position that he wanted.… I wasn’t imagining it, Mrs. Henshaw, Jon was planning to marry me!”
“And that changed when you got to the park? Or after the murders?”
“Almost right away. Maybe the first night, in fact. We all met in George and Phyllis’s room for a drink before dinner. I had met Phyllis as soon as we arrived—she was waiting to meet the snowcoach that we were on.…”
“And George?”
“She explained that he was skiing, told us that the whole family was going to get together at five o’clock, and gave us their room number. She was very sweet and welcoming. To tell the truth, I was relieved.”
“Meeting parents is difficult,” Susan suggested, remembering her own past.
“Yes, and Jon had always talked about his childhood as though it was a happy one—you know, a summer home, parties, and trips to neat places. My family is very working-class; we didn’t do things like that when I was young.…”
“But you think now that it wasn’t such a happy time?”
“I don’t know.” She spoke slowly. “We spent the night before we came here in Jackson Hole, and we were eating dinner in a Mexican restaurant when I noticed that Jon was awfully quiet. At the time, I wondered if he regretted bringing me along on this trip. And maybe he did.”
“I don’t think so.” Susan tried to comfort her with clichés. “He appears very attached to you.…” But did he?
“Then he said something about how different his family was from most other families. He didn’t explain, but it made me remember the opening line of Anna Karenina—you know, about happy families being all alike, but unhappy families all being unhappy in different ways? That isn’t exactly how it goes, but—”
“I remember. So you started to wonder if his family life wasn’t as ideal as you had imagined?”
“Exactly. And when I asked Jon about it, he changed the subject. That’s not like him. Usually he likes to talk. So I was a little nervous by the time we got here.”
“You didn’t show it on the way.” Susan commented.
Beth laughed. “Wanna bet? I don’t even know what book I was looking at!”
“How have things gone since you arrived?” Susan asked. “You said something about that first night?”
“It was odd. You know, so much has happened that it’s difficult to remember that it was only a few days ago.”
“I know.”
“Well, I was a little nervous when we got to their room. Jon made a big deal about how his father hates people being late—I don’t think the first thing you should know about a person is what they don’t like, do you?”
“No,” Susan agreed, thinking that Jon was an inconsiderate, or possibly insensitive, young man.
“So we got there at exactly five o’clock, and there was Phyllis, who introduced me to Jane and Charlotte, and gave me a glass of wine. And then George came in, a little late himself. I was surprised by that, and Phyllis made a comment about it, but to be honest, it was a relief to find out that he wasn’t perfect. And he was very, very nice. He can be the most incredibly charming person … could be, that is.”
“But he wasn’t always.”
Beth sighed deeply. “No, not always. But from the first night, he was mad at Darcy. I really don’t know what happened. One minute he and Phyllis were standing in the middle of the room, typical hosts, and suddenly he was glaring at his youngest son.”
“And Phyllis?”
“She was standing right beside him, a fixed smile on her face and, unless I’m very much mistaken, tears in her eyes. I think she knew then that the reunion was going to be a disaster—and that she could do nothing about it. Jon says that no one can control his father.”
“Really?” She wondered who had tried. “You think George just couldn’t accept that Darcy’s gay?”
“I guess so. But I don’t understand it. Jon said that Darcy has been very open about his sexual preference since he went off to college. And that was four years ago. I think everyone should have adjusted to it by now. And Randy was a perfectly acceptable person—actually a little dull and middle-class for someone like Darcy, was what I thought when we all met in New York.”
“But evidently George couldn’t deal with it.”
“And that was making things miserable for everyone. After twenty-four hours with his family, Jon was becoming a nervous wreck, Carlton and Joyce were keeping more and more to themselves, Jane and Charlotte were bickering, and, of course, most of the people here know that Darcy and his father were feuding. And that scene in the dining room was only the tip of the iceberg—they were sniping at each other every time they met.” She fell silent. “Do you think George Ericksen killed Randy, and when Darcy found out about it, he killed his father?”
“I don’t think so,” Susan said. “But I think that’s what everyone else thinks.”
TWENTY
-FIVE
Jon joined Susan and Beth in the lobby, but insisted that Susan speak to Heather and C.J. before talking to him. Susan agreed, thinking that the entire Ericksen clan appeared to be cooperating with her. She was impressed—and worried. Jon had explained that he thought his niece and nephew were truly upset by the murders. Susan didn’t want to say or do anything to make it worse. She wouldn’t even have spoken to them if they hadn’t asked for an interview. She didn’t like children being involved with murder.
“They seemed nervous, and I didn’t know what to do, so I bought them hot chocolate. They’re waiting at one of the small tables in the back of the bar,” Jon said. “No one will be able to overhear you there.”
“I’ll find them,” Susan assured him, hurrying into the restaurant. She glanced at her watch as she went. She was supposed to meet Kathleen in forty-five minutes. She hoped to speak to Carlton, Darcy, and Phyllis before then. Probably, though, talking to the kids wouldn’t take very long. They undoubtedly could use some reassuring and a little TLC.
Or maybe more than a little, she thought when she arrived at the table where C.J. and Heather sat. Neither of them had touched their chocolate, and they both looked scared to death.
“Hi, I—” she began, sitting at an empty chair.
“We need to talk to you urgently, Mrs. Henshaw,” C.J. interrupted. Then he was cut off by a kick from his sister.
“My grandmother says that you’re helping investigate these crimes.…” Heather took a deep breath. “So we thought we should talk to you right away.…”
“We know something,” C.J. interrupted again.
“I think you’d better let me tell her!” Heather gave her brother a stern look.
“Fine.” The word indicated agreement; his tone didn’t.
Heather glared at him, but withheld comment. “We’ve never been involved with murder before, but we know something about it—”
“She means that she reads mystery novels,” C.J. interrupted.
“Why don’t you let Heather explain, and then, afterwards, you can tell me everything she leaves out,” Susan suggested.
“Fine,” the boy agreed. “Well, go ahead,” he directed his sister.
“C.J.’s right—all we know about this comes from books, but some of the things in those books make sense, Mrs. Henshaw! And we’ve been thinking about where everyone was when Grandfather was killed.”
“I’ve been wondering about that myself,” Susan said.
“Well, we were skiing ahead of you—”
“C.J.!”
“Okay, you tell her.”
“My brother’s right. We were ahead of you, and, well, we weren’t as tired as you were, so we might have noticed more,” Heather said.
“And?”
“Well …” Now that she had Susan’s complete attention, Heather seemed to forget what she wanted to say. She fumbled in the pocket of the anorak she wore. “I’m afraid I’ll make a mistake. C.J. and I made a list.…”
“Good idea,” Susan encouraged. Both children seemed very nervous.
“Here.” Heather held out a piece of lodge stationery.
Susan read it carefully.
Grandfather
(Jane, Charlotte, Darcy)
Jon and Beth
Heather, C.J.
The Henshaws
Joyce, Carlton, and Phyllis
“What are the parentheses for?”
“That’s because we know Aunt Jane and Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Darcy were there before us, but they …” C.J. seemed unable to go on.
“Because they weren’t skiing together all the time and they may have arrived separately,” Heather explained. “Jon and Beth were different. We saw them ahead of us a few times, though, so we’re pretty sure they got to the geyser together. Although I guess we weren’t being exactly accurate,” she ended doubtfully. Then she looked up at Susan. “Does it help?”
“Yes, very much.” Susan’s answer was more definite than she felt. The evidence was building in favor of Darcy as the suspect. But could Darcy have killed his father with his sisters present? Or one of them with the other two around? Or Jon and Beth?
“We don’t think there is any way that anyone could have gotten ahead of the other and killed Grandfather,” C.J. added.
“What?” Susan looked at the boy, realizing for the first time what a terrible strain these children were under. C.J.’s face was white, and he was nervously shredding a napkin. Heather’s hands were shaking, and she had licked chapped skin from her lips.
“We looked at all the maps,” his sister explained. “And we tried to figure out the times and everything—even for a wonderful skier—and there is no way that someone like, say, Grandmother could ski ahead of Mom and Dad, kill Grandfather, and then ski back. Not that she would! I don’t want you to think that we think—” Tears were dripping down her cheeks.
“No,” Susan stopped her. “Look, this is a horrible thing that’s happened in your family. You’re both too old to ignore how serious it all is, and I can’t tell you that everything is going to work out easily, but it’s obvious that you’re thinking about how you can help, and I don’t know what else there is to do.”
“Will you come to one of us if you have any questions about this?” Heather needed reassurance.
“Definitely.” She was glad to see that they were relieved. It was, after all, frequently easier to be part of something than to sit on the sidelines and fret. “In fact, this is going to be a big help to me. Thanks.” She folded the paper carefully and put it in her parka pocket.
“So you kids are helping with the investigations, are you?” Susan turned around and discovered that Jon had joined them. Heather and C.J. looked uncomfortable. Maybe they were thinking about their list and what they had just told Susan. Certainly, going by that, Jon qualified as a major suspect in his father’s murder. But motive?
“Your parents have come in,” Jon continued. “They’re at a table by the window.”
Heather hopped up. “We’d better get going.”
Her brother didn’t argue.
“They’re having a tough time,” Jon commented, watching them leave. He sat down in the chair Heather had just vacated. “In truth, we all are.”
“We live in a civilized world. We don’t know how to react to murder,” Susan said, resuming her seat.
“I suppose we should add ‘thank God’ to that,” he answered. “What sort of a world would it be where people have practice reacting to murder? Someplace that makes A Clockwork Orange look like a faculty cocktail party? In the room the women come and go talking of cyanide and arsenic pills? Don’t mind me. My father always said that I’m overeducated. When I get upset, I babble.” He leaned across the table. “You’re talking to all of us. I know, Beth told me. How can I help you?” He brushed his long, sandy hair out of his eyes as he spoke.
Susan thought about how his female students were going to love those sincere gray eyes.
“I’m really only trying to get some background on your family, Jon.”
“Who wanted to kill Father? It’s a difficult question. I think the answer is, all of us at one time or another—but I think we’re all reasonable people. Meaning, of course, that we might want to, but we wouldn’t actually do anything. Who was it that said murder and civilization don’t mix?”
“I have no idea,” Susan said honestly. Whoever it was, of course, had been wrong. Modern history had proven more than once that some civilizations’ very foundation was murder. “But people do get so angry that they lose control,” she suggested.
“But to murder someone?” Amazingly, Jon seemed to find it a new thought. “I’m fairly sure most of us would stop short of murder.”
“Someone didn’t,” Susan reminded him grimly.
He agreed reluctantly. “Everyone outside of the family seems to think that Darcy did it,” he added sadly.
“You don’t?”
“I … I find it difficult to believe. Darcy was mad at Father, f
urious, in fact. But Darcy is truly a gentle soul. He does not have the psychology of a murderer. I’m sure of that!”
Susan wasn’t interested in his inexpert opinions. “This must be very difficult for Beth,” she suggested, to change the subject.
Jon looked surprised. “Beth? Why Beth? She isn’t even involved, for heaven’s sake. It’s my mother we should be worrying about. She is much more fragile than she appears, and Father did a good job of protecting her from some of the harsh realities of life. It’s definitely Mother I’m worrying about,” he repeated.
TWENTY-SIX
“I’m terribly worried about Mother.” Carlton was to echo his brother’s words a few minutes later. “She insisted that I speak to you as soon as possible, so I hurried to find you. I’ll do anything I can to ease her horrible anxiety. So please, ask me anything.” Carlton rubbed his forehead with a nervous gesture Susan had noticed before. “I know Joyce explained to you that I’m an alcoholic.” he continued before Susan could speak. “She says that she told you the whole history of my drinking and why we moved to France. I suppose you think I’m a weak person to have to leave my family in order to stop drinking. And I suppose I am really. I thought, though, that I had it licked. But this reunion was too much—and I knew it was going to be too much. That’s why I brought the vodka,” he added softly. “I should have made some excuse.…”
“But terrible things have happened, and you’re not drinking now.” Susan tried to comfort him.
“You’re being nice,” he said, almost smiling. “But I have it back under control, and we do have other things to worry about. My drinking is self-destructive, but my father’s death threatens the entire family. So why don’t you ask me whatever it is you need to know?”
An Old Faithful Murder Page 14
