by Gloria Dank
“Where do you usually keep it?” asked Bentley.
“In my hall closet at home, near the front door.”
“You haven’t used it? For how long?”
“Oh, at least three or four days. Since that dinner at the cabin. Everyone made such a fuss about my hunting, I decided to lay off for a while. Besides, it’s been damn cold. Damn cold.”
“I see.”
“That’s the truth, I’m telling you. The truth. Ask Dwayne. He knows I haven’t been out in the woods. Actually, he’s been there himself, shooting.”
“Shooting?”
Roger let out a shaky wuffle of laughter. “Sorry. Shooting pictures. He’s by way of being an amateur photographer.”
“You say anyone could have taken the rifle?”
“Yes, damn it. Nobody locks their houses around here. Anyone could have come in during the last couple of days and taken it right out of the closet. It’s no secret that I own one.”
“No,” said the detective, his piggy eyes narrowing, “but not everyone would know where it was kept, would they? Can you tell me who would know that?”
“Well,” said Roger slowly, “anyone in the family, I guess. They probably know where I keep the gun, they’ve seen me take it out when I go hunting. Maybe some of the neighbors.”
“Who are your neighbors?”
“The Grunwald sisters on one side, Frank Vanderwoort on the other.”
Bentley wrote this down. “What was Bobby Fuller doing in the woods outside of town late yesterday afternoon, do you think? He didn’t usually go in for walks like that, did he?”
“No. I don’t know why he suddenly decided to be there. He didn’t call me up beforehand and ask my advice. I do know that at dinner the other night, some of the women were nagging him, telling him to get out more. That it would be good for him, you know. I find it that way myself. Salubrious. A brisk walk in the woods, don’t you know, on the lookout for game.”
“Who was telling him to get out more?”
“Oh, damn it … I don’t know. Gertie brought it up, I guess, and then my sister agreed with her. They said he was working too hard and should get out more. I think maybe Sarah put in her two cents also. Maybe he listened to them. Maybe he had a rendezvous with someone. How would I know? We weren’t friendly.”
“Where were you, Mr. Halberstam, yesterday afternoon?”
“I was home all day,” Roger said readily. “Ask anyone. Ask Dwayne. Oh no, damn it, Dwayne was out. Well, I don’t know if I have any goddamned witnesses for my goddamned alibi. The truth of the matter is, I was home, watching television. It had snowed and I thought it was too cold to go out. I told Dwayne so, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Thank you, Mr. Halberstam. Don’t go anywhere, by the way. We’ll have our eye on you.”
“Perish the thought,” Roger said jovially. He rose to his feet. “Is the interview over? May I leave?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’ll try not to kill anyone else while you’re around,” said Roger, in a ghastly attempt at humor. He crossed the room to stand at the door. “It would be stupid of me to try that with your hounds on the trail, wouldn’t it now? Ha ha ha!”
Dinner that night in the cabin was held in a subdued mood. Snooky and Maya did not feel much like eating, and even Bernard found that his appetite had been dampened by the day’s events. Afterward they gathered around the fire, Bernard with Misty on his lap, her head curled against his shoulder like a baby’s. The three of them sat in gloomy silence. Snooky tried to read, but after half an hour he threw the book down.
“I give up. There’s nothing like a murder to spoil the simple rustic mood. I’m going to turn in early.”
“Good idea,” said his sister. “We will too.”
As Bernard climbed into bed, he found his wife sitting up, a pensive expression on her face. “What is it?”
“I’m thinking about Snooky. Would you mind very much if we stayed on here for a while longer? I would feel awful leaving him in the middle of this murder investigation and everything.”
“Not at all,” said Bernard bitterly. “Why don’t we sell our house and live here forever with Snooky? That would be a perfect solution.”
“I’m glad you don’t mind.”
“Yes.” Bernard rolled over onto his side and lay brooding in the pitch darkness. His vacation in Vermont had gone straight to hell. He was getting no work done at all, and people were getting shot to death outside his cabin. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Maya?” he whispered.
“Mmmhmmm?”
“Do you think that whoever killed him is still out there?”
“What?” she asked sleepily.
“You know. Out there—in the woods?”
“Oh, Bernard. Please.”
“Waiting,” breathed Bernard. His eyes grew round in the darkness. “Waiting … for another victim?”
“Bernard, please. I have to go to sleep.”
“All right. Good night.”
Maya rolled over and regarded the large bulk of her husband lovingly. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him, sweetheart. If you have bad dreams, wake me up, okay?”
“If I have bad dreams,” said Bernard, pulling the covers up to his chin, “I’ll be in the car and halfway home to Connecticut before I wake up myself.”
Bernard woke up the next day relieved to find himself safe and sound in bed with the sun streaming in the windows. He had had disturbed dreams, visions of himself running in circles in the woods, nightmarish moments when Bobby Fuller’s pale frozen visage floated in and out of his mind like a worm. He got out of bed, stretched, and shook himself all over.
Maya sat up and plumped the pillows behind her. “How did you sleep, sweetheart?”
“Badly.”
“So did I.”
At breakfast, Bernard made an interesting discovery, which was that an unexpected encounter with a frozen body the day before did not seem to have the power to affect his appetite this morning. He stuffed himself on eggs and bacon. Snooky, who ate very little at all times, barely touched the food. He sat back, sipping his coffee and watching Bernard with an awestruck look in his eyes.
“Look at him, Maya. Look at the man eat. Is he like that always, or is it the fresh air and exercise?”
“He’s like that always.”
“Is there any more coffee?” asked Bernard.
Snooky shook his head. “You shouldn’t drink so much coffee and tea. It’s bad for you, you know. It makes you jittery.”
“Not me. It calms me down.”
“Really? That’s strange. That’s very strange. What are your plans for today, My?”
“Don’t you worry yourself about us, little one. We both have work to do.”
“Another one of your articles?”
“Yes.”
“What’s this one on?”
“Siberian yurts.”
Snooky brightened. “Yurts? Those tentlike things?”
“That’s right.”
“William would be so proud if he only knew. He always wanted us to grow up to write on things like Siberian yurts. At least one of us has managed to satisfy his ambitions.”
“I don’t know if William is really ever satisfied, no matter what we do.”
“The trouble with William is, he can’t relax. He spends his whole life in one huge spasm of tension. He never lets go. He’s the most constipated personality I’ve ever met.”
“Maybe one day he’ll understand you, Snooks.”
“Oh, yes. One day when he’s about a million years old and his hair is gone and his eyes have fallen out and he can’t hear anything, and he has to sit in a chair all day long and be waited on by unsympathetic nurses, that’s when he’ll understand me.”
“That’s right, Snooks. You’ll be in the next chair.”
“And you, Maya? Where will you be?”
“Bernard and me? We’ll be in Tahiti, dancing to native rhythms.”
Snooky smiled.
Later, as Snooky was leaving for Hugo’s Folly, Bernard stopped him at the door. “Snooky,” he whispered.
“Yes?”
“I want you to do something for me.”
“Yes, Bernard?”
“I want you to find out what everyone in that family was doing yesterday afternoon. But be casual. Be very casual.”
Snooky leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms in front of him. “I see. You want me to spy for you?”
“Spy is such a harsh word. Such a negative word. Just ask around. Be casual about it. Don’t arouse any suspicions.”
“I think this interest you have in the murder is a little macabre. Unhealthy, you know. I should speak to Maya about it.”
“It would be interesting,” said Bernard, “to know where everybody was. Don’t you think so?”
“Well, that depends,” said Snooky, taking his long red scarf and winding it around his neck several times. “It depends. If it wasn’t really a hunting accident (and we know damn well it wasn’t), and it turns out that everyone in the family was home crocheting in a big group by the fire, all except for Sarah, who happened to be standing over Bobby’s body in the woods with a smoking gun, then, no, it wouldn’t be terribly interesting. At least, not to me.”
“So this is your camera,” Snooky said half an hour later. “A Nikon, eh?”
“Yes,” said Dwayne proudly. He caressed it lovingly. “It’s not the newest model, but it’s one of the best. Takes beautiful pictures. I could show you some of my work, if you’d like.”
“That would be terrific. So you were out taking photographs yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes. I spent most of the time following this bird around in the trees, trying to get a good shot of him against the sky. It wasn’t easy. I like pictures of branches against the sky, don’t you? Especially at this time of the year. The woods are so beautiful in the snow.”
“So true,” said Snooky, leaning back against the plush red velvet of the chair. They were seated in the living room of Hugo’s Folly. “So very true. Did you happen to hear anything?”
“Hear anything?”
“Well … gunshots, for instance?”
“To tell you the truth, Snooky, I did hear something, but I didn’t pay any attention. There are always hunters in the woods this time of year. None of them sounded very close, so I didn’t look around. I never do. They’re not going to shoot me, are they? Of course”—at this point he dropped his voice to a mournful moo—“that’s what Bobby thought, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Terrible,” said Snooky lamely, thinking how insufficient most words were to describe the shock of sudden death. “Did you see anybody else while you were there?”
“Oh, no. Not a soul. I didn’t hear anything, either, except some shots in the distance from time to time. I hope they didn’t get a deer. I love deer, don’t you? So elegant and beautiful.” Dwayne’s face took on a childlike expression. He fiddled absentmindedly with the camera shutter.
“I’m fond of deer myself.”
“I’ve never eaten venison. Have you?”
“No.”
“I don’t think I could bring myself to touch it. Roger keeps telling me it’s delicious, but fortunately there’s not much chance of his bringing home a deer. He’s not a very good shot.”
“I had rabbit stew in France once,” said Snooky.
“Really? Was it any good?”
“No.”
“They eat dogs in Asia, so I’ve heard. I wonder if I should become a vegetarian,” said Dwayne. He twisted around as the door opened. “Oh. Sarah. How’s Aunt Irma?”
“Quiet,” said Sarah, sitting down with them. “Very pale, very quiet. She’s awake now, but she looks to me like she’s still in shock. I wish she’d shout or scream or do something.”
“She’s still absorbing the news,” said Snooky. “Has she eaten anything?”
“No.”
“Can I fix her something?”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I wish Bernard was here. He makes a hot toddy that puts you right out.”
The two of them went into the kitchen, leaving Dwayne playing happily with his camera. Snooky gathered together some ingredients from the liquor cabinet and spices from the pantry, and mixed up a hot potion. “Here. Try that. I guarantee you it’ll make her happier. It’s an old family recipe. William used to make it in times of crisis. He never touches alcohol unless he can convince himself that it’s medicinal.”
Sarah gave him a quick kiss and went upstairs. Snooky went prowling for a new victim. He found Gertie standing in the laundry room, next to the kitchen, looking around her in a bewildered way.
“Now where did I leave my—ah!” she cried, pouncing on something on the floor. She held it up in triumph. It was, as far as Snooky could tell, a twig with a bit of moss attached to it.
“I suppose you don’t recognize this?” she asked scornfully.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. It’s a twig with a bit of moss on it.”
Gertie snorted. She placed the specimen carefully in a plastic bag and dropped it into one of the many voluminous pockets of her coat. “Anybody can tell you’ve never studied botany. Not like your sister, for instance.”
“Oh, my sister is the shining intellectual light of the family. We’ve all known that for years. So you’ve been out in the woods?”
“Yes, I’m out every day. Just got back. I’ll go out again this afternoon.”
“Found anything recently?”
Gertie beamed. She rubbed her hands together and marched past him into the kitchen. She sat down at the counter and began to take off her green rubber boots. “Yesterday I saw a lizard,” she said cheerfully. “Adorable. I’m not sure what type it was, it ran away too quickly. Delightful creature. And there were some lovely birds. Not much wildlife around these days, though. Everyone is holed up for the winter.”
“You’re dripping on the floor.”
“So I am. Who cares? I always drip on the floor. A little mud never hurt anyone. Where was I? Oh, yes, yesterday was quite a day. I wish I could have gotten a better view of that lizard. It might have been an unusual type. The markings on it—”
“Did you run into Dwayne in the woods?”
“What’s that? Dwayne? No.” She let out a harsh hoot of laughter. “Dwayne and I have run into each other only once. Literally, I mean. He was pointing his camera at the sky, God only knows why, and I was following a chipmunk in the bushes. Neither of us was looking. I bumped into him and knocked him to the ground. Nearly broke his camera. He was nice enough about it, but I could tell he was upset.”
“So you didn’t see Dwayne. How about anyone else?”
A cautious look came into Gertie’s mud-colored eyes. “Bobby Fuller, you mean? No, I didn’t see him. I heard shots, but naturally you always hear shots in the woods this time of year. Whoever killed Bobby kept away from me. Which is just as well. The less I know about it, the better.”
Snooky regarded her thoughtfully. “Really? Why is that?”
“Don’t want to get involved,” snapped Gertie, standing up and wiggling her toes luxuriously. “Don’t want to know anything I shouldn’t. I figure if there’s some funny business going on in this family, the less I know, the safer I am.”
“Well, that’s true, of course.”
“Glad you see it that way.”
“Still, Gertie, you must admit that nobody’s really upset about Bobby’s death.”
“We’re not hypocrites, young man. We’re an honest lot. My brother, Hugo, had bad taste—look at this house—but it was honest bad taste. Nobody here is wasting any time pretending. Bobby’s death means a lot more money, some day, for all of us.”
“Yes. I suppose that’s true.”
Gertie shot him a crafty look. “And if you’ll take my advice, you’ll stop poking around and asking so many questions about what happened. The less you know, the better.”
It was a warning.
> “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Gertie.”
“You do that. Now I have to go catalog this specimen. Got to keep up to date on my journals.” And she was gone, thumping through the house in her stocking feet. Snooky could hear her bedroom door slam shut overhead.
Snooky left the kitchen, his brow furrowed in thought, and made his way down the hall. He was standing in the foyer, gazing absently at the evil-eyed portraits on the walls, when the doorbell rang.
“Why, Detective Bentley. What an unexpected pleasure.”
“I’m here to interview Irma Ditmar.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that will be possible. She’s not in very good shape. Her heart, remember. Why don’t you arrange to come back tomorrow, or maybe next year?”
“I’ll wait for her in the living room.”
“No, you won’t,” said Sarah sharply, coming into the foyer. “As I told you yesterday, my aunt is in no shape to be harassed by the police. I’ve given her something to drink, and she’s going back to sleep again. She’s had a great shock to her system, and I’m not going to let anyone disturb her.”
“All right,” said Bentley, suddenly amicable. “While I’m here, Miss Tucker, where were you that afternoon?”
“That Bobby was killed? I’ve told you a hundred times, Detective. I was home all day. I made dinner for everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Gertie, Aunt Irma and myself.”
“Can anyone corroborate where you were?”
Sarah looked at him frostily. “My aunt can, when she wakes up. You can see her tomorrow, but not before then.”
“Thank you. By the way, Mr. Randolph, how about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“Where was I when Bobby was killed?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flattered to be considered a suspect, Detective. What exactly do you think my motive is?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“Let me think. I was home in the cabin all day.”
