Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way

by Rohn Federbush

  John’s fur hat lay abandoned on the green-and-white silk couch. She clutched it to her. “Help me,” she prayed to the Lord, or to any remaining force of soul which might allow her husband to guide her.

  A drop leaf desk, with two filled bookshelves occupying its lower section, was the only piece of furniture in the room except for the upholstered chairs and marble end tables. Before opening the lid of the desk, Sally looked out the side window of the room. An unobstructed view of the front stoop could let anyone in the room see who was entering the house. A butler could easily choose not to appear in the entranceway. Reeves could avoid meeting Tim on his illicit visits.

  So the desk might contain the butler’s belongings. She returned to the library to retrieve the evidence case. After tearing one plastic glove on her diamond wedding ring, she opened the desk’s only drawer.

  Travel brochures and train schedules were jammed to overflowing. She let down the lid of the desk onto the open drawer. A small, gold framed picture of Bret confused her for a moment. She thought perhaps the desk was Matilda’s. Bret would not keep a picture of himself on his own desk. Would the butler keep a picture of his boss?

  Each vertical section of the desk held paid receipts addressed to Reeves. “Bingo.” Sally filled cloth evidence bags with the material.

  After all the dividers were emptied, she reached up inside the desk. A shelf between the top and the first lengthwise panel held yellow vaccination cards for Reeves and Enid Krimm. Enid’s useless passport was also on the hidden shelf. Sally put the cards into a plastic evidence bag and ran out of the room. “I found it,” she cried up the staircase. “The butler did it!”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Before Sheriff Woods heard Sally’s cry, he was congratulating himself on his own success. The central suite of rooms at the top of the stairs contained a large sitting room. A fireplace flanked by filled bookcases vied for attention with the back wall, where a two-story high window invited a view of slumbering gardens and a fountain layered with snow.

  Bret’s bedroom to the right of the suite was decorated with reds and deep browns. The fireplace was copper. Sheriff Woods was tempted to test the winged back leather chair and its footstool, but headed for the mirrored wall of closets. He rummaged through each pocket of Bret’s suits, throwing the clothes onto the four-poster bed to facilitate his search. He found no reason to waste time by re-hanging the garments of a murderer.

  Bret was a fastidious man. No scraps of paper, receipts or coins were left in his pockets. Maybe the butler did do it. Reeves cleaned up after his boss. Sheriff Woods caught a reflection in the closet mirror of his own smile. Sally, she could turn a stone to butter. He secretly hoped she would stay in town. But if another interesting case didn’t appeal to her, he was pretty sure she would be off to Ann Arbor again. Tim was right. They would miss her.

  Bret’s dresser drawers yielded nothing of interest. Was the gun Bret used to kill John even his? Something else to check on. Maybe Sally was right. Maybe someone instigated John’s death by revealing Matilda’s infidelity.

  He wanted to be thorough, so he knelt down and poked his head under the leather dust ruffle of Bret’s bed. He pulled out a long white box. Expecting to find a spare blanket, he opened the box. Instead, letters filled the box. A pink diary, strange knick-knacks and pieces of rocks, leaves and twigs were also stuffed in the box. He recognized the paraphernalia as a lover’s stash. Tim’s name was written on the bottom of a birthday card. Bret found, or was shown, Matilda’s personal keepsakes. Fingerprint experts needed to go over the evidence.

  When he opened Matilda’s door on the left side of the main room, he was taken aback by the contrast to Bret’s room. Here all was light and fluff. No other color than white was used on the furniture, bed draping’s, rug or chairs. Even the fireplace was white marble. The two-timing lady was surrounded with white profusions of virtuousness.

  He didn’t bother with Matilda’s closet or dressers. Bret’s room divulged all he needed in the way of evidence. He wondered if Reeves’ fingerprints were on file in some national data bank for a traffic infraction, or worse.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  On the third floor of the castle, Tim found storage rooms filled with extra furnishings, trunks, and boxes labeled with their contents. Reeves’ bedroom and bath were the only habitable areas. He was surprised at the starkness of the furnishings in the butler’s room. They consisted of a low cot, a caned chair, and one beat up dresser. No pictures, not even curtains on the pointed windows. ‘A monk,’ Tim thought. Or a man on the move, with a better future or pickings planned.

  In the bathroom, he used a plastic bag for the water tumbler on the sink, hoping for fingerprints. He found a few hairs in the shower’s drain for DNA evidence. Reeves cleared out every personal possession, wherever he was. Tim bet Reeves was the person who made sure Bret found out about his visits to Matilda. If he was going to reveal her indiscretion, why had he waited so long?

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Back on the main floor Tim called out for the rest of the team, “Where are you guys?”

  “In here.” Sally called from the dining room. The room’s pictures were stacked in one corner. Sheriff Woods was upending the chairs. Sally held up a plastic evidence bag with yellow cards inside and another with a passport. “Reeves knew Enid Krimm.”

  Sheriff Woods patted a long white box on the table. “Your love letters were under Bret’s bed.”

  Tim sat down. The weight of the consequences of his affair with Matilda pushed his head to the table.

  “You didn’t harm John.” Sally rubbed Tim’s shoulders. “Remember you stepped in front of me, when Bret pointed the gun at us.”

  “Reeves was an evil man.” Sheriff Woods coughed to hide his emotion.

  Tim recovered himself enough to ask. “Could I look through the box?”

  Sally tugged on Sheriff Woods’s uniform. “Give the kid a break.”

  “We’ll wait for you in the car.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Don’t start the car,” Tim said, when he got in the back seat. “How does Reeves’ link to Enid clear up why Matilda’s father lied about his whereabouts during the fire?”

  “And who called him on his cell?” Sally asked.

  Sheriff Woods said, “He acted as if he suspected his wife was involved.”

  “Why don’t we drive over to the Montgomery place and ask a few questions?” Tim asked.

  Sally knew the answer. Sheriff Woods hated any contact with the parents of Tony Montgomery. Sheriff Woods started the car; but at the corner of Territorial Road and Dunham, he went straight through the intersection. “I want to take this evidence directly to the station.”

  Sally met Tim’s astonished look. She slightly shook her head. The Montgomery household of guests, Peter and Geraldine Masters, as well as Matilda Armstrong could wait long enough for Sheriff Woods to recover his bearings. “I wonder why Reeves kept a picture of Bret on his desk?”

  “His room was cleaned out,” Tim said. “But, I bagged a water tumbler from his sink.”

  “Good,” Sheriff Woods said. “I’m hoping we can match the fingerprints on Matilda’s box to Reeves to prove he’s the one who ratted you out.”

  “Maybe Reeves was gay,” Sally said.

  “Hatred of women might cover his motivations,” Sheriff Woods said. “But how would hurting the Bret make sense if he loved him?”

  “Revenge,” Tim said. “He made a pass at Bret and was rebuffed. Reeves’ cot looked uncomfortable enough for a suffering sinner’s penance.”

  “Bret’s bed was big enough for two,” Sheriff Woods said. “I remember there was a chain lock on the door between his room and the sitting room. I thought it strange for a married couple. But if Bret was hiding an affair with Reeves, it might explain why Matilda thought Bret loved the castle more than he cared for her.”

  “Might explain the delay in revealing Matilda’s indiscretions,” Sally tried to believe. “But d
on’t forget, Reeves held Enid’s passport. Maybe he knew she wouldn’t need it.” Sally recalled Bret’s words and said them aloud. “You ruined my marriage.”

  “Bret’s marriage included enough secrets, why couldn’t he bear hearing about Tim and Matilda?” Sheriff Woods asked.

  “Maybe it was Reeves who jilted Bret,” Tim said.

  Sally said, “After Reeves showed Bret the evidence against Matilda, Bret might have refused to divorce her; so Reeves left him.”

  In St. Charles, Sheriff Woods pulled up in front of the Hotel Baker. “Sally, there are tons of paperwork Tim and I need to do to get this evidence properly catalogued.”

  “Don’t forget to feed the kid,” Sally said as she got out. “Pick me up by two o’clock?”

  “Deal. I’ll let Tim ring up Matilda and have the group prepare their lies for us.”

  “You might be surprised,” Sally said. “Truth wills its way out.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  In her quiet hotel room, Sally blessed Sheriff Woods for allowing her a break. She was surprised how debilitating investigating her husband’s murder was. She reminded herself she’d become involved initially because of John. The arson at the Masters’ house was thrust upon her because of the Armstrongs’ invitation to visit the castle during their wedding reception. As she laid down to rest for a minute, a dream or the parallel universe where John had resided for such a short time claimed her re-assessment.

  It was in the early afternoon of New Year’s Day when John had carried her over the threshold of his childhood home. His small border collie, Ginger, ran between his legs. Nearly stumbling over the dog, John said he fancied his youth when he could depend on his strength. He said he wanted to raise Sally above his head as a show of victory to the universe. Instead, he clasped her closer to his chest.

  Sally had whispered into his shoulder. “You better set me down before you permanently ruin your back.”

  John carefully placed her on her feet before sweeping his arms out to include the large front room. “How do you like the joint?”

  “Not bad.” Sally unbuttoned her coat. “Not bad for a bachelor’s pad.”

  Ceiling to floor windows faced each other on the east and west sides of the room. Winter snow drifts crisscrossed by the tree limbs’ long shadows provided a stunning contrast to the modern paintings claiming the south wall. Slashes of primary colors randomly streaked three unframed canvases. The north wall sported a mammoth stone fireplace flanked by separate hallways. Facing the fireplace, the furniture consisted of a leather couch flanked by two glass-topped end tables.

  “Make any changes you want.”

  Sally had heard no enthusiasm for alterations in his tone. ‘Stark’ described the room. Her condominium’s colorful, book-stuffed hominess called to her from Michigan. Thank the Lord, no buyers had presented themselves to purchase her sanctuary. Was John’s carpet was grey or well used? Liberal donations from Ginger’s fur rolled about. The paintings resembled her father’s house painting skills. “You spent a lot of your time running your family’s hotel, didn’t you?”

  “True; but my folks lived here until they passed away.”

  One high-school trophy claimed the stone shelf above the fireplace. Sally pointed. “Is that your trophy?”

  “No.” John swiped at a cobweb attaching the metal statue to the stonewall. “Mother thought James’ tennis stardom deserved a place of honor.”

  “I wouldn’t touch a thing.” Sally returned her arms to John’s neck. “You’re perfect.”

  “I’m glad you approve.” John’s warm kiss had been interrupted by the telephone. He let go and threw his black overcoat on the couch before answering. “We’re home,” he announced, triumphant. Then he turned to Sally. “James wants to know if he should bring Betty over. You didn’t meet his wife when you were here solving your Ann Arbor friend’s case.”

  Sally felt obliged to meet his twin brother’s wife. “Of course,” she said, as convincingly as she could. The six-hour drive from Ann Arbor to St. Charles had been too long for her old joints. She had wanted to take the more leisurely ferry from Ludington to make the shorter drive down from Milwaukee. John had argued against the plan. The construction delays on the I94 loop around the southern shore of Lake Michigan proved she’d been correct. They sat in stalled traffic for two hours after they’d passed Gary, Indiana. How long would she accommodate her new husband?

  “I usually invite people over for New Year’s Day.” John helped Sally off with her blue alpaca coat. “Our parents served up to three hundred when they were the hosts.”

  “How many people are coming today?”

  “Not to worry.” John laid her coat next to his. “Betty has her favorite caterer in gear.”

  Sally put her hands on her hips. “John?”

  “You’re tired.” He picked up the phone.

  “Never mind.” Sally reminded herself how much she loved him. “Just tell me how many you expect.”

  “I don’t know.” John busied himself with hanging their coats in the entryway closet. “You look great. I am sorry. I did not expect Betty to plan a New Year’s Day party this year; although, she usually handles the affair for me.”

  Sally needed help to face all the strangers. She might recognize a few classmates from when she was in high school nearly fifty years earlier. She wondered if her Michigan AA sponsor would mind an emergency call on New Year’s Day. “Could I ask for a cup of coffee before the shivaree?”

  “Oh, heavens!” John put both hands up to his bald head. “They wouldn’t?”

  “I hope not! My daddy told me a story about people coming over in the country in southern Illinois keeping everybody up ‘til dawn with their shenanigans and then getting right into bed with the newlyweds.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen. But they may turn this into a wedding reception. I better take Ginger for a walk while I can.”

  Happy to have his owner home, the border collie was romping about the place, down the halls, out into the kitchen. Ginger leapt at John when he opened the door for their walk. John ’s laughter rang through the empty rooms as he closed the door behind him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Sally had focused on the source of a heightened sense of fear. She admitted her natural shyness was a problem, one she was now unwilling to alleviate with alcohol. She called Grace, her AA sponsor in Michigan. “I think I can add new directions to my spending addiction, redecorating John’s house.”

  “Set a budget for each room and stick to it,” Grace said, “then you won’t need to add to your fourth step list.”

  “I will. Of course, that’s the answer. The program is simple.”

  “Complications arrive when we let them. Next time you call, I expect you to tell me about two different meeting locations and the speakers.”

  “I’ll be awfully busy.”

  “No excuses, First things first.”

  “You’re right. I’ll see to it. Thanks for being there.”

  Sally was also thankful for enough time to change her clothes before the party, even if she couldn’t unpack. Which dresser drawers would be designated as hers and which side of the mirrored closet could she claim?

  In the master bedroom decorated in masculine black and gray colors, Sally tried on three outfits. The black dress didn’t seem festive enough or the colors in the room negated its elegance. Red was too Christmassy, so the emerald green velvet won. Her white hair retained a modicum of style which she fortified with additional hairspray. Anticipating a long evening, she chose black-strapped slippers. She congratulated herself for keeping slim at sixty-seven and with a prayer for strength from the heavens, she pronounced herself ready.

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  Betty Nelson, Sally’s new sister-in-law, accompanied an entire tribe of caterers, who scattered around the couple. “Hello, hello.” She nodded to Sally after John’s brief introduction.

  “What time is it?” James asked as he hugged Sally. “We invi
ted everyone for six o’clock.”

  Sally stared at her new brother-in-law. “Without making sure we arrived?”

  “James has a key,” John explained.

  Betty took a moment out of her busy schedule of directing caterers to inform the bride and groom. “Wedding reception.”

  Betty proceeded to order her team to dress the dining room table, find the best china and glassware, stock the bar, and lay out a spread to vie with the most lavish wedding reception.

  The dark shadows from Betty’s black tresses emphasized the lines around her eyes and mouth. Her shoulder-length hair brought attention to the downward pull of the extra skin beneath her chin -- all and all not a youthful choice of hairstyles. Unable to ignore the bad hairpiece sitting on James’ head, in direct contrast to his identical twin brother’s baldness, Sally surmised Betty’s hair was stuck-on, too.

  “Might as well go with the flow.” John advised a dubious Sally.

  When the doorbell rang again, a florist arrived with a decorated tree and an entire truckload of poinsettias.

  Sally tried to place her coffee cup on a dresser near the front closet, to escape into the powder room, but Betty re-instructed her, “Not there, dear. The presents are going there.”

  “I would like to gossip with you about the wife of a friend of mine. I know you don’t have time now,” Sally said. “She stayed in your Safe-House, before I met her.”

  “Is she all right?” Betty directed five catering staff members at the same time.

  “Couldn’t be better.” Sally kept the details to a minimum. “Married a policeman in Ann Arbor.” She wished some etiquette book covered how to celebrate marriages for older couples.

  Sheriff Art Woods, Sally’s high-school friend, as well as the Sheriff’s wife, Gabby, were the first to arrive. Gabby stuck close to Sally, giving her gossipy details about the lives of the guests and making sure everyone knew Sally and John ran a successful detective agency in Michigan. Sally listened at least six times to stories about the destruction of their unfinished home.