“Oh yes, often, particularly the horns and the winds. We—they, I suppose I ought to say—tend to eat lightly beforehand. And playing a full symphony concert is desperately hard work, in case you didn’t know, so one’s often starving by the time it’s over. Wilhelm was always hungry anyway. He claimed he ate to quiet his ulcers down which no doubt would have happened if he’d chosen his food sensibly, but he never did.”
“What sort of food was Ochs likely to have ordered?”
“Chili dogs, curries, fried fish, fried potatoes, fried steak, fried chicken, fried anything. Mexican food when he could get it, Chinese food, Italian food—he loved that. Giant hamburgers with lots of raw onion. You know, macho he-man stuff, though he’d even eat quiche in a pinch. And douse it with ketchup, no doubt. He was great for Worcestershire sauce, piccalilli, mustard, all that stuff.”
“Did he drink much?”
“Liquor, you mean? A fair amount of beer and wine if it was on the table, but seldom anything stronger. Wilhelm was basically an eater, not a drinker. If he was in fact poisoned on purpose and not by accident, I expect you’re right about its having been put in his food. It wouldn’t be hard to fool him. He’d order shrimp cocktail, for instance, and doctor the sauce up with so much tabasco and horseradish that he couldn’t possibly have tasted anything else unless it was strong enough even to overcome the horseradish. Wilhelm would eat horseradish by the spoonful.”
“So what you’re saying, Lucy, is that he must have pretty well paralyzed his taste buds long ago.”
“I should think so, yes. But why would anybody want to murder poor old Bill?”
“Why should anybody want to murder you, for that matter? I’m sorry to bring it up again, Lucy, but when an attempt is made on somebody’s life, it’s usually for a reason, even if the reason is a totally insane one. Can you think why anybody connected with the orchestra might have wanted to kill either of you?”
The middle-aged woman in the shabby twin bed stared up at Madoc for a long moment, then shook her well-groomed gray head. “God, Madoc, what a question! I suppose I get under a few people’s skins now and then. I’m the one who has to keep nagging them after all, about things like not stuffing their personal junk in the wardrobe trunks and being on time to make connections. And paying their hotel charges before they leave. I’m sure everybody thinks I’m a pain in the neck, but I find it hard to believe I’ve managed to make anyone mad enough to kill me.”
She shifted her position, as though the sagging mattress had grown too uncomfortable to tolerate any longer. “As for Wilhelm, the only reason I can think of is that one of the other horn players might want his chair. But there’s no guarantee they’d get it even if they did bump him off. Surely any player must realize that. I’ll grant you it would have been physically possible for one of the musicians who went on the train to have slipped him the poison either at supper the night before or any time yesterday. Maybe even in a candy bar or something. Would that work?”
“I suppose so,” Madoc replied, “if you were clever enough to pull it off. Invite him to a movie, perhaps, and sprinkle ground-up castor beans on his caramel corn in the dark.”
“Or take him for a walk and buy him a hot dog, and mix the poison in with the piccalilli and chopped onion. Wilhelm always ordered raw onion when he could get it. He used to say that was the only way he could bear hanging out with Cedric Rintoul. Cedric eats onions by the bucketful. Ugh, this is scary to think about! You don’t suppose there’s any chance somebody dumped ricin into that soup I just ate?”
“If they did, we’ll go together,” Madoc reassured her. “I ate soup from that same kettle and so did everybody else in the company. I shouldn’t worry about the soup, Lucy. It came out of tins which I opened myself, and my father was right there helping to stir it.”
“Sir Emlyn was working in the kitchen?” Lucy was gaping at Madoc as if he’d all of a sudden sprouted antlers. “Madoc, you can’t be serious!”
“Why not? Tad washed the breakfast dishes.”
“Don’t bother talking nonsense to me, Madoc. I have no sense of humor to speak of, and I never appreciate stupid jokes. Sir Emlyn did no such thing.”
“Oh yes he did, and quite capably, too. Why shouldn’t he?”
“Because it’s highly inappropriate. Conductors just don’t act like that. I’d better get up.”
“Whatever for? We’re managing perfectly well without you.”
That was unkind, but she had no business calling Sir Emlyn inappropriate. “Lucy, you can’t honestly believe my father would behave in an unseemly manner under any circumstances. We’re in a highly unusual situation. For however long we’re stuck here, everybody’s going to have to pitch in and help out. My father is setting an example which I sincerely hope the rest of the crowd are going to emulate, because I’m not finding it all that appropriate for me to get stuck with the dog work every time.”
“Oh well, that puts a different face on the matter.” Lucy pulled back the foot she’d stuck outside the blankets and resettled herself on the pillows. “I just hope they understand why he’s doing it.”
“If they don’t, I’m sure my mother will be glad to explain. Now let’s get back to the important stuff. Tell me about Cedric Rintoul.”
“What do you mean, tell you about him? What do you want me to say?”
“I shan’t know that till I’ve heard it, shall I? My work consists largely of gathering information that’s not going to do me any good, but I have to keep on asking silly questions because sooner or later somebody will give me the right answer. Since we have nothing else to go on, Lucy, we may as well act for the time being on the premise that the person who fed ricin to Wilhelm Ochs is quite likely the same one who tried to strangle you.”
“But suppose it isn’t?”
“Look at the facts, Lucy. It’s generally known among the orchestra members, is it not, that you and Wilhelm Ochs were old friends as well as close colleagues?”
“Oh yes.”
“It’s also common knowledge that you have a special advantage in being both an ex-player and the present director of operations. If anybody is in a position to have inside information or opinions about why or by whom Ochs was poisoned, you’re a likelier person than anyone else. Isn’t that what they’d think?”
“But I don’t.”
“But you might, Lucy. You see, the poisoner couldn’t very well come up to you and ask.”
“All right, Madoc, you’ve made your point.”
“So that rather whittles things down, wouldn’t you say? It has to be one of the people here with us now who put that violin string around your neck.”
“Yes, of course. I’m not altogether stupid. And they all knew Wilhelm and as far as I know, they all had plenty of opportunity to kill him. And you think it was Cedric who did it.”
“No, Lucy, I do not. At this stage, I have to suspect everybody alike, except myself because I have an airtight alibi. Ricin is a slow-acting poison, so Ochs must have got it quite some time before it began to work, as we’ve already discussed. I was working at my desk in the Fredericton RCMP headquarters until late afternoon day before yesterday. My wife drove me to the airport. My plane was late arriving in Wagstaffe, and I didn’t get to the concert until the orchestra was onstage tuning up. By that time, Ochs was already heading for the last roundup.”
“But the rest of us are all suspects. Even me, I suppose. What about your parents?”
“I can’t rule them out, can I? I will say they’re not likely suspects because they’re only temporarily connected with the orchestra, don’t have any guilty secrets, didn’t know Ochs well enough to hate him, and in any case, wouldn’t have had to kill him to get rid of him. I expect we can eliminate both the pilots because they had no connection with the orchestra and never even got to meet Ochs. Unless it turns out one of them is his long-lost cousin who’ll step into the family fortune now that Ochs is no longer in the way. You see, we mustn’t overlook any possibilities.”
“No, I suppose not. Okay, Madoc; I’ll play.”
“Good. So tell me about Rintoul. Have you known him long? Was there any friction between him and Ochs? Does he get on well with the rest of the orchestra? What about his personal life? As to why I happened to mention Rintoul first, don’t go getting any ideas. It’s just that he rather tends to thrust himself forward.”
“That’s a tactful way of putting it, I must say. I like Cedric well enough, but he can be an awful pest sometimes. So can his buddy, Jason.”
“We’ll get to Jason later.” Madoc pulled out his notebook and waited.
Lucy rubbed her chin fretfully. “I’m on, eh? Oh gosh, let’s see. Well, Cedric joined the Wagstaffe about ten years ago, I believe it was. He came from one of the provincial symphonies, I can’t remember which but it’ll be in the personnel files. He’d known Wilhelm long before that, so they got to be great buddies. Wilhelm thought Cedric was a riot and egged him on, which of course Cedric loved. He’s not a particularly happy man underneath, if you want my personal opinion. It’s the old Pagliacci act. You know, laughing on the outside, crying on the inside.”
“Why should Rintoul be unhappy? Does he feel threatened in his job?”
“No reason why he should. Cedric’s about as good as they come on trombone. But he’s pretty much of a washout otherwise. Especially with women.”
“Any particular woman?”
“No, just women in general. He always comes on strong to any new woman in the ensemble. Corliss Blair, for instance; he made a big play for her, but she wasn’t playing. Cedric’s problem is, he doesn’t know how to act. He’s like a kid in school, thinking he can get a girl’s attention by teasing her with a dead mouse or something.”
“Has he ever waved a dead mouse your way?”
“Getting personal, aren’t you? No, you see it was different with me. I was just one of the boys in the brass section. We’d go out and grab a bite together, that sort of thing, but that was as far as it ever went.”
“You haven’t been doing that nowadays?”
“Once in a while. Now that I’m director of operations, I never have time to eat. Besides, I’m not one of the gang any longer.”
Lucy put her hand up to her neck. “Is your throat bothering you?” Madoc was constrained to ask. “Would you rather not go on with this just now?”
“No, I’m all right. I could use another cup of tea, when you get around to it. I did want to say about Cedric that he’s really not a bad guy, even though he does drive people nuts sometimes. He’s generous, for one thing. Too generous for his own good, sometimes.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, he lends money and doesn’t get paid back.”
“To whom does he lend it? People in the orchestra?”
“Well sure. Those are the only people he knows. The only ones he associates with, anyway.”
“Can you think of anybody who’s heavily in debt to him at the moment?”
“Look, I think you’d better ask Cedric himself that. I don’t see what it has to do with this business of my getting strangled.”
“Nor do I,” Madoc admitted cheerfully. “By the way, you’re not—”
“I’m not in hock to Cedric, no, nor to anybody else. And I don’t lend, either. My money belongs to me, and I hang on to it. Next question?”
Chapter 11
LUCY HAD SAID ALL she was going to say about Cedric Rintoul, that was clear. Madoc was too experienced an interrogator to force the issue. “Then what about Rintoul’s pal, Jasper?”
Lucy shrugged. “You needn’t try to borrow any money from him, either. Jason’s always broke. He has five kids to support, two of them in college, not to mention a wife and a mortgage. I believe the wife’s gone back to work, though, to help foot the college bills. She was a trained nurse before they started having kids.”
“So he’s a real family man?”
“God, yes. Don’t let him back you into a corner, or he’ll start showing you photographs. Jason hates having to leave home. I think that’s why he clowns around with Cedric so much when we’re on tour, to keep himself from feeling homesick. He doesn’t do it when we’re back in Wagstaffe.”
“That’s where he lives?”
“Just outside the city, in an area that used to be country and is getting to be another bedroom community. He’s got quite a decent place, and he’s crazy about it. We never see him in Wagstaffe except at rehearsals and concerts. The rest of the time he’s lugging the kids to hockey games or puttering around his garden. He has a little greenhouse, too. He comes to rehearsal with big bags full of stuff: cucumbers, cabbages, out-of-season tomatoes, you name it, and passes them out to anybody who wants them. Flowers sometimes, too, but the veggies are his big thing. He says they save a mint on the grocery bill.”
“With five kids, I expect they do,” said Madoc. He was thinking about castor oil plants. Jasper wouldn’t have room for one in his greenhouse, but he might grow some outdoors, now that his children were evidently old enough to leave the seeds alone. “You say he’s always hard up. Does he borrow from Rintoul?”
Lucy scowled. “I wouldn’t know about that. Look, Madoc, I told you I don’t like these questions about money. As far as I know, Jason doesn’t borrow from anybody, unless you count the bank. His wife works, as I said. The kids get part-time jobs, and in a pinch they could all live on peas and carrots. He’s getting by. And in case you were about to ask whether he fools around on tour, the answer is no. He’s so monogamous it’s pitiful.”
“Does he gamble?”
“What do you mean by gamble? Jason plays cards with the bunch, but not for big stakes. Offhand, I can’t think of anybody on your list who does. They can’t afford to. Musicians in the Wagstaffe are decently paid, but they don’t make wads of money like rock stars. On tour, the management pays for transportation, food, and lodging, but not for incidentals. It gets expensive, all those little things like paying for your laundry and having to tip somebody every time you turn around. The only thing Jason squanders money on are silly jokes like whoopee cushions and presents he can take home to the kids. He’s a really simpleminded guy.”
“How long has he been with the orchestra?”
“Forever, I think. He was here before I was, anyway. I’m not sure but what this is the only orchestra he’s ever played with. The only major one, certainly. Jason didn’t get to be principal trumpet until about five years ago, though. He rose from the ranks, like Wilhelm. I ought to be downstairs talking with Sir Emlyn about lining up another horn player.”
“There’ll be time enough for that when you get to where you can hire one,” said Madoc. “Anyway, you can’t talk to my father now. He’s called a rehearsal.”
“Then why aren’t they rehearsing? I don’t hear anything.”
“Come to think of it, neither do I. Maybe he hasn’t finished washing the dishes yet. I hope he’s also seeing about that pit for the latrine. It slipped my mind entirely.”
“Latrine pit? Remind me to compliment Lady Rhys on what a classy conversationalist she’s got for a son. And don’t tell me Sir Emlyn’s doing the digging himself, I already told you I don’t like sick jokes.”
“No, my father’s afraid of straining his shoulder before the festival. I expect my mother’s doing it for him. So that’s all you have to tell me about Jason Jasper?”
“That’s all I can think of. Unless you’d like to know his kids’ names, ages, and the brand of toothpaste they prefer.”
“Later perhaps. Let’s see how well we can do on Frieda Loye. Did you offer to share with her last night because you’re friends or because you consider it part of your job to cope with her nightmares?”
“Wrong both times. I like Frieda well enough but wouldn’t call her a close friend. We have, however, been roommates lots of times, simply because for quite a while we were the only two women in the orchestra. She doesn’t snore, she doesn’t invite guys into the room, she’s neat in her habits, and s
he doesn’t always have nightmares. Why shouldn’t I room with her? Next question?”
“Is she married?”
“No, the Mrs. is sort of a courtesy title. She had what they call nowadays a significant other, but he died.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Oh, ages. I don’t believe there’s been anybody since, certainly nobody from the orchestra. She has a little apartment in Wagstaffe. It’s nice.”
She meant it wasn’t. Madoc wondered what sort of living quarters Lucy herself had, and what kind of reaction he’d get from Frieda if he asked.
“What does she do with her spare time?”
“She needlepoints. She’s got needlepoint pillows on her couch, needlepoint seats on her chairs, needlepoint pictures on her walls, a brick covered with needlepoint that she uses for a doorstop. I couldn’t stand doing that artsy-craftsy stuff myself, but Frieda says it calms her nerves.”
“Frieda’s nerves seem to be giving her a great deal of trouble these days,” Madoc ventured. “Was she always like this?”
“Like what?”
“About two jitters from a nervous collapse.”
“Well, my God, what do you expect? How’d you like to wake up and find your roommate getting strangled?”
“I shouldn’t like it at all, but I don’t think that’s her problem. She was the same way last night at the concert. And I can’t say your friend Rintoul was helping her out of it. What does he have against her?”
“What do you mean, against her? Nothing that I know of. I told you Cedric makes a pest of himself because he wants to be noticed. He was trying to get a rise out of her, that’s all. Frieda’s such a damned stoic that she just toughs it out instead of turning around and telling him to stuff himself, so he tries all the harder. If you’re trying to hold me responsible for his pulling that trick with the violin string during the performance, I’m here to tell you I didn’t know anything about it. If I had, I’d have taken the fool thing away from him during intermission, not that it would have been my job to do so. As it happened, I had the wardrobe trunks to cope with, the buses to organize, and about seventy million other things on my mind. And then there was Wilhelm. Damn it, I liked Wilhelm! Why don’t you get off my back for a while, eh? My throat hurts.”
Troubles in the Brasses Page 10
