Private Sins

by Gwen Moffat

‘Bret doesn’t have to have seen her anyway; they could have been at the cabin at different times.’

  ‘Unless she was hanging about, waiting…’ Miss Pink checked and frowned. ‘Someone was hanging about,’ she resumed thoughtfully.

  ‘Bret saw someone. He told the police. He figured Hilton didn’t believe him. Is that where you say his story’s thin?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been Val.’ Miss Pink was on her own tack. ‘She had to come from the opposite direction: down through the meadows, but Jen says Bret saw someone between the cabin and the landslide. It comes back to Byer — again. And Skinner? Byer preferably. Skinner has no motive… well…’

  ‘He hated Charlie: spreading all those stories about him; you pointed that out yourself.’ Miss Pink was silent, staring at her friend. ‘They’re still not saying for certain it’s a bullet track,’ Sophie went on. ‘How can anyone be sure, all the damage that was done to him?’

  ‘If he was shot, someone took a gun in there with them and that would make it premeditated.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Val carries — I mean, loads of guys carry pistols — much more convenient than a rifle. You can scare off a bear, kill a rattler… Not that I would — carry a gun, I mean, or kill snakes — but there are men would never leave camp without a gun, they wouldn’t feel dressed.’

  She was talking too much and Miss Pink hadn’t missed that reference, so quickly stifled, to Val carrying a pistol in the back country. She sighed heavily. ‘But how many people knew about Charlie?’ she mused.

  Sophie chose to misunderstand. She looked sullen. ‘All of us. It was an open secret. Edna had seen a copy of the will. And then Charlie had told Byer, who told Skinner.’

  ‘No, no.’ Miss Pink dismissed the will out of hand. ‘How many people knew that Jen had been pregnant and that Charlie told her Paul was her father?’

  ‘Nobody…’ Sophie thought back and went on slowly: ‘We didn’t know until Bret arrived that day at the homestead and demanded we hand Ali over because her father — and he meant Paul — said the stud came to Jen in Charlie’s will.’

  ‘But when did you know she left home because she was pregnant?’

  ‘Why, not until the morning Charlie left for hunting camp. You remember: he told Edna and she called me. We’d had suspicions, Val and me, but that was all it was: suspicion.’

  ‘But you didn’t tie the two threads together — Jen being pregnant and Paul being, supposedly, her father — until later, did you?’

  ‘You’re right.’ Gradually the significance dawned on Sophie and she was elated. ‘No one knew the whole truth until Charlie was dead.’

  Miss Pink shook water from sprigs of parsley. ‘Hilton would suggest they did.’

  ‘Oh Hilton! He can go to hell. We know we were all in the dark. In any case, he’s not going to find out about that business unless someone tells him and you’re not about to do that.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Miss Pink started to chop the parsley. ‘Actually, he has enough motivation with the money angle, he doesn’t need another motive. It’s odd’, she mused, pushing parsley round the chopping board, ‘how the motives accumulate: family members might equally well have murdered Charlie out of revenge as for the money. An embarras de richesses. I still can’t understand how Hilton came to release Bret.’

  ‘He was never arrested, Mel. I told you: they wanted to question him just.’

  ‘At home that would be synonymous with his being a suspect. Assisting the police with their inquiries, it’s called.’

  ‘They had nothing to charge him with. No bullet track even — not for definite — although apparently there are guys out there looking for the bullet.’

  ‘Did Hilton ask for Bret’s rifle?’

  ‘No. To test-fire it, you mean? Can they do that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t think so, without a charge. You know, you could be right and they don’t suspect him — well, not to head the list.’ Miss Pink hesitated. ‘I take it he told them the whole truth: about going to the cabin, telling Charlie about the bear and so on?’

  ‘Yes, only he said he happened to be riding that way looking to locate the elk herd and first he glimpsed a bear, then he saw the cabin chimney was smoking so he went down to see who was there.’

  ‘Why did Charlie have a fire when he was just about to leave?’

  ‘He wouldn’t put his stove out till the last minute, it’s the only way to brew coffee when —’

  ‘Wait! Did Bret say that Charlie washed up?’

  ‘You mean did he wash?’

  ‘Did he rinse the coffee mugs? Jen said Charlie gave Bret coffee. And there’d be the pot… That’s it! That’s how Byer knew Charlie had a visitor: he did go to the cabin Sunday evening: he found a dirty coffee pot and two mugs, thought nothing of it until —’ Miss Pink stopped, staring at the chopping board.

  ‘Until what?’ Sophie prompted.

  ‘Until he reached the cabin the following morning — when we were searching — and he found the mugs and pot had been put away. I’ll bet Val got there ahead of him and rinsed them, and wouldn’t say anything because she thought Jen was the visitor. That’s Byer’s hold over her. The point is,’ she went on slowly, ‘how did she know on the morning of the search that it was imperative she remove any trace of Charlie’s visitor?’

  ‘Edna had told her about Jen’s phone call.’ Sophie’s mind was working, trying to keep up with Miss Pink’s. ‘But Byer had to know something was very wrong the previous evening if he reached the cabin. He wouldn’t think anything of two mugs and a coffee pot on the table but you forgot the pack-horse standing outside. He knew something had happened to Charlie, but he came back, called Val from his house, said he’d gone only as far as the landslip. If that’s what happened, it’s gruesome, Mel.’

  ‘He may not have the guts to kill but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be pleased if Charlie died. Look how he’s taken advantage of it. Perhaps he even went further than the cabin; after all, he had all day Saturday —’

  The doorbell rang. Sophie crossed the floor to admit Russell Kramer, as usual beaming good nature, as usual apologetic for calling without advance notice. He proffered a plastic bag heavy with fish but his face fell as he took in Miss Pink’s activity at the stove.

  ‘I’m too late but these will do for your breakfast.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘We were up to the Finger Lakes, caught us enough rainbow for Edna too. Clyde and me,’ he explained to Miss Pink.

  Sophie was puzzled. ‘Clyde went fishing today? That’s not like him, leaving his mother on her own. I mean, we only buried Charlie yesterday.’

  ‘She insisted he go. There was nothing to do at Glenaffric and she said he was getting under her feet. When I called to say I was going fishing, he was off like a rocket. Now tell me, how was your day?’ He looked eagerly from one to the other.

  ‘You know the police questioned Bret?’ Sophie asked.

  He nodded happily. ‘Another kinda fishing trip. They’d think the poor guy was the weak link: he’d spill the beans on the family, except there are no beans to spill.’

  ‘How right you are. Yes, the police let him go. Val was waiting and gave him a ride back to Benefit. There’s no news really.’ She glanced at Miss Pink who turned to the pilaf and stirred it with concentration. Regarding her back Sophie said casually, ‘Bret told them it was him visited Charlie at hunting camp.’

  Russell gave the ghost of a sigh. He was no longer amused. ‘And?’

  ‘He left Charlie fit and well, and riding up to the rocks where he — Bret — had just seen a bear. Then Bret thought he glimpsed someone in the trees off the trail as he rode down the canyon.’ He stared at her. ‘Clyde was upstream of the cabin,’ she said with careful emphasis.

  ‘So who — Bret thought he saw someone?’

  ‘It could have been a moose.’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Where does Hilton stand now? Does he still suspect foul play?’

  ‘Did he ever?’ They drifted into the living area, Miss Pink abs
ently cradling the Tio Pepe she’d been using in the pilaf.

  Sophie took it from her and filled three glasses. Russell accepted a drink without thanks, his eyes on the traffic below the window, his expression vacant.

  ‘Clyde and Val were together all the time,’ Sophie said, as if he didn’t know that. ‘Bret had no call to say he was at the cabin, he volunteered the information. He’s too simple to play a game of double bluff. Besides, if he had followed Charlie up to the rocks, he’d know he’d leave horse tracks?’ It turned into a question and it was directed to Miss Pink.

  ‘The slope was covered with tracks after the search,’ she pointed out. ‘And then it rained.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Russell had emerged from his reverie. ‘That Bret could have shot Charlie, or that he’s covering for Jen?’

  ‘Jen had no motive,’ Sophie said. They stared at her. ‘She didn’t know,’ she reminded Miss Pink.

  ‘Everyone knew,’ Russell protested. ‘Even I knew. Clyde —’ He stopped.

  ‘I’m not talking about the money.’ Sophie was impatient. ‘OK, so Jen knew about that, but it wouldn’t mean anything to her.’

  It would mean something, thought Miss Pink, recalling the evidence of straitened circumstances at Benefit, but Sophie continued. ‘I meant the other — factor: that she didn’t know about her parentage until after Charlie’s death. That is, she was unaware exactly how depraved her grand-daddy had been. Why’ — her voice rose — ‘she couldn’t have been more abused by that old monster if he’d done it physically.’

  ‘Keep it down.’ Russell was quick and firm, startling Miss Pink. Hidden depths were not revealed by three words and yet occasionally she’d had a glimpse of something powerful behind the clown’s mask. He had turned to her. ‘This family is volatile,’ he informed her. ‘They wear their hearts on their sleeves. Operatic, that’s what they are.’ He put an arm round Sophie’s shoulders. ‘We must learn to practise a little subterfuge, dear, if we’re not to arouse Hilton’s suspicions.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Miss Pink said when he’d gone and they had sat down to supper. ‘You are inclined to speak first and think afterwards.’

  ‘Only in my own home. In fact, I wasn’t speaking my mind to Russell. I’m annoyed that Clyde should have gone off and left Edna on her own.’

  ‘She had the maids.’ Miss Pink frowned and added, ‘And there was Byer.’

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking — and you forgot: she told the maids to leave at noon. She can’t cope with Byer in her condition — and I never asked Russell if Clyde was going back to Glenaffric or to his own place.’ Sophie put down her fork. ‘I’m going up there, tell her about this morning. She’ll be worried about Bret.’

  Not if Edna was convinced Charlie had died in a fall from his horse; it was more likely that Sophie was worried about Edna… ‘I’ll come with you,’ Miss Pink said.

  *

  Sophie need not have been concerned. At Glenaffric they were met by Clyde who told them that his mother was lying down. Miss Pink didn’t miss the exchange of looks between aunt and nephew. ‘You can go up,’ he said. ‘She’ll be pleased to see you.’

  There was no feeling in the statement but Sophie chose to take it at face value. ‘I’ll just look in on her,’ she told Miss Pink. ‘You stay here.’

  Seeming a trifle embarrassed, Clyde poured coffee and set himself to entertain the guest, but she forestalled him.

  ‘Russell brought us some fine trout,’ she said brightly.

  He nodded. ‘There were plenty. Those lakes back of the Bobcats swarm with rainbow. Cut-throat too. Do you fish?’

  She confessed that she was the rawest of amateurs and without a change of tone told him he must have heard about the outcome of Bret’s interview with the police that morning.

  ‘Val called,’ he admitted. ‘She’s over to Benefit. Kind of a reunion. Sam’s there too. I’m so glad.’ And he did look happy for them.

  ‘Hilton’s given no indication that he wants to speak to you?’

  ‘No-o. Why should he?’

  ‘Jen is the principal beneficiary in your father’s will. Val would do anything to protect her. Now that Bret’s admitted he was one of Charlie’s visitors at the hunting camp, Hilton will be wondering if Val was the other. And you are Val’s alibi.’

  He’d listened intently: an incredibly handsome man, like a ravaged hawk. ‘He isn’t thinking that way,’ he told her. ‘If he was, he’d have pulled me in. Who was the other visitor Charlie had?’ He smiled. ‘Seeing as it wasn’t my sister.’

  ‘Bret saw someone below the hunting camp.’

  ‘No, ma’am, he thought he did but all he saw was its legs. At a distance you can easily mistake a moose for a horse.’

  ‘It could have been a poacher.’

  ‘What’s that?’ came Sophie’s voice as she entered from the passage. ‘What was a poacher?’

  ‘That Bret saw below the hunting camp.’

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Could be.’ She addressed Clyde: ‘No wonder she gave the maids the afternoon off! I should have guessed.’ She glanced at Miss Pink and mimed lifting a glass to her lips. ‘Are you staying?’ she asked Clyde.

  ‘Yes, I’ll stay the night.’

  ‘I will if you want to go out. Melinda can take the car back.’

  ‘No, I’ll stay. She should be all right by tomorrow.’

  ‘She shouldn’t be —’

  There was movement behind Miss Pink. Clyde leaped to his feet and plunged round the table. ‘Now, Mom —’

  ‘Don’ fuss, son, you shoulda told me we had company, shoulda offered her something — oh, you have coffee…’

  Miss Pink was aghast at the appearance of Edna: hair like old hay, bleary-eyed, in a gaping pyjama top that exposed a greyish brassiere: staggering and drunkenly resisting Clyde’s efforts to turn her back to the passage. He gave up and lowered her to a chair where she succeeded in placing one elbow on the table. She tried to turn towards Miss Pink who had sunk into a chair at her side, but it appeared that arthritis prevented her from twisting her spine. This annoyed her. ‘Shoot!’ she mumbled. ‘I can’t see you.’

  Miss Pink stood up and walked round the table but Edna was still making the effort to turn to the empty chair.

  ‘Come on,’ Sophie urged Miss Pink. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Clyde grimaced at them.

  ‘Not your fault,’ Sophie said roughly. ‘But you should have guessed; it was why she wanted you out of the way. And the maids. She does it,’ she told Miss Pink, ‘not often, she’s not an alcoholic.’

  ‘Who said I’m an alcoholic?’ Edna shouted, her hearing functioning if her vision was temporarily impaired. ‘Don’t you go saying I’m an alcoholic. I don’t drink at all — really, do I Clyde? Clyde! Where’s Clyde?’

  ‘Mom, how about a Scotch? There’s a bottle in your bedroom, let’s go and have a nice big Scotch, how’s that?’

  ‘I’m out of here,’ Sophie grunted. ‘You too, come on.’ And she grabbed Miss Pink’s arm and hustled her out of the kitchen.

  15

  Over the grilled trout at breakfast time they discussed what they should do this day, each avoiding mention of that embarrassing scene at Glenaffric, but Miss Pink thinking that Sophie would want to visit Edna on her own. ‘Delicious fish,’ she observed, although, with the exception of kippers, fish wouldn’t be her preferred choice at breakfast. ‘Where are these Finger Lakes?’

  ‘On the west slope of the Bobcats. You’re thinking of going fishing?’

  ‘Oh, no, I’d never have the patience. I was thinking in terms of a ride. Barb could do with the exercise.’

  ‘That’s an excellent idea. Will you feel comfortable on your own? There are things to do… You see, the problem is the stock. The money doesn’t matter’ — she gave a light laugh — ‘it will be ages before the will’s probated and they’re not in urgent need, any of them; besides, I’m sure Seaborg would give the go-ahead and there’s always credit…’ Miss Pink
was buttering toast with care, as if she had nothing else to do but wait for this flow of words to run its course. ‘… Although there’s the interest,’ Sophie gabbled on. ‘Charlie would turn in his grave… But there, you’re not interested in us discussing which animals are to go where. And to whom. Funny thing, us all being family it’s more complicated, not simplified as you’d expect. I mean, the brood mares at Glenaffric, the stallions, Val and her business… I guess she’ll be wanting to buy me out now.’

  Miss Pink chewed stolidly, listening with only the surface of her mind, but vibrations must have been apparent. ‘Boring old stuff,’ Sophie announced, now with an edge in her tone. ‘A nuisance for you.’

  ‘Bad timing,’ Miss Pink observed. ‘Charlie’s death, Edna hitting the bottle. I’ll be fine on Barb. You’ll know where I am.’

  Sophie was tight-lipped. ‘I’m scared stiff,’ she confessed, coming clean, as so many people did under Miss Pink’s bland eye and shock tactics.

  ‘I don’t see why you should be. Admittedly Val thought Jen was involved, but she wasn’t —’

  ‘Jen thought it was Val.’

  ‘Really? How do you know?’

  ‘Jen told Sam.’

  ‘Ah yes, he’s Jen’s obvious confidant now she’s returned to the fold. And Val is Clyde’s alibi and vice versa — and there’s Edna convinced that Ali was the perpetrator. I take it you rule out Bret; he didn’t have to tell Hilton he went to the cabin. Which leaves Sam —’

  ‘Oh, no. You might just as well cite Russell —’

  ‘No. He doesn’t ride.’

  ‘Melinda! You’re serious!’

  ‘Police thinking. And I’ve taken over the devil’s advocate role from you.’

  ‘You really think the police would consider Sam?’

  ‘They’ll consider everyone in the family, or connected with it. Now I wonder: do they know about Byer? That’s a thought; we don’t know that Val washed the coffee mugs, it was guesswork on my part. You should ask her. There’s no point in her lying now that we know Charlie’s visitor was Bret.’

  ‘You pointed out that there could have been another visitor at hunting camp.’