by Ann Ripley
“Oh, I get it, for heaven’s sake. Is that supposed to be funny?”
Janie cocked her head. “J thought that was funny, in a kind of crude way. She’s pretty smart, Ma: Don’t be fooled by the way she talks. Now Mark, he’s a very status kind of person. Succeed-at-all-costs kind of philosophy. So anyway, I finally weaseled the story about NYU out of her. Guess what! Jeffrey Freeling broke the university rules and dated her a few times; then he chilled out and dropped her.” The girl threw up both hands, as if imparting headline news.
“Mark and Sandy were kind of together back then, but he was still pretty upset. Then, Mark cheated on Jeffrey’s science exam so he could graduate on time, only Sandy thinks he was forced into it by someone else. He did some stupid thing like breaking into Jeffrey’s office and copying the final. He got caught and thrown out of NYU. What’s more, Jeffrey apparently saw to it that he didn’t get into the MBA program of his choice—which you can be sure was Harvard.” She grinned. “Had to take what he could get at some state university.”
“That’s good background checking, Janie.”
Janie accepted the praise with a flourish of one hand. “Thanks. You can see there was plenty of reason for the sneaky Mark to do the deed. And yet it was funny … there was Sandy telling me all this—I think she needed a cathartic-while …”
“Maybe catharsis.”
“Whatever. While she was tactfully spilling her guts, I filled in all the gaps of the story myself.”
“You mean, some of what you just told me was guesses?”
“Well … I’m just telling you this is more or less what happened among the three of them. It was kind of a veiled conversation. Very typical, Ma, of certain kinds of women; rich, protected women, who can’t call a spade a spade, but have to go through all these hoops, using, uh, you know—”
“Euphemisms?”
“Whatever. Well, that’s Sandy for you. So, while Sandy and I are doing our woman-to-woman, blonde-to-blonde thing, Mark was, like, sucking up to Jeffrey. It was as if he were trying to make up for the past. And I remember a minute there, when we saw them together—maybe she even got a shot of it with her expensive little camera—they looked like the best of buddies, Jeffrey all red-haired and fresh-cheeked and happy, and Mark all eager-beaver. Then Sandy did the same thing, trying to make peace with the professor, maybe. Later on, she helped Jim Cooley try to resuscitate him: She’s really good at CPR.” She shook her head, and Louise saw that the reality of the death was beginning to sink in.
“It’s going to be hard, darling.” Louise was silent a moment, her mind spinning. “Now, if they were acting like the best of buddies, why would you ever suspect Mark?”
Janie shook her tousled head. “Dunno, Ma. Weird chemistry everywhere, weird chemistry ever since we got here, right? I just think Mark is not all that he seems to be. He was straining to be a good buddy to Jeffrey. Maybe he needed a reference letter from him to stay out of jail.”
“Did you tell the police what you thought?”
“Naw,” said Janie. “Chris and I talked it over and decided they wouldn’t believe us. But what I did do was give a meaningful look to the chief investigator as we left in the car.”
Louise smiled. “It probably made the man’s day. Sure he didn’t think you were flirting with him?”
“I looked really hard at him and sent him a mental message: This dumb accident is no accident,”
“What did he do?”
“You’re right: He gave me a big smile. Thought I was coming on to him.” She directed a cool glance at her mother. “So, as usual, Ma, it’s you and me—and Chris and Dad, of course—solving this thing, if it’s ever to be solved. Which this time I seriously doubt. Rocks, after all, do not talk. They don’t hold onto DNA very well, either.”
She swung her legs down, flounced to her feet, and stomped toward the bathroom for a shower. At the door, she turned back to her mother, smiled, and said, “Only time for one bath before tea, and I smell a lot worse than you.”
Tea at the inn was a grave, depressing affair. It was served on the veranda, now dry enough for occupancy. The tall pines and willows surrounding the huge Georgian mansion registered their mournful tenor complaints as a strong afternoon breeze whipped through them and blew away some of the mugginess that had followed the rain. The primordial hum from the trees quite suited the sad occasion, Louise thought.
There was little conversation, but guests gratefully and rather greedily partook of the fresh pastries and tea, as if determined to manifest some sign of life in the face of death. Despite Janie’s suspicions, no one showed any signs of guilt. There was only sorrow and regret over the death of the professor. Some had showered and changed, while others, like Bebe Hollowell, Grace Cooley, and Louise herself, were in the same rumpled clothes they had been wearing all day. Louise imagined that the two had drained the strength from each other by saying cruel things that may have been true, but were too hurtful and should never have been verbalized.
Stephanie and Neil Landry had just returned from a journey to antiques shops in nearby towns. They came out on the veranda and self-consciously offered their condolences to the rest, as if by being absent at the time of the tragic announcement, they had not shouldered their proper responsibilities. Stephanie still looked fresh in her bright shirt, shorts, sandals, and big trendy hairdo. Neil was casual, in a well-cut jacket, chinos, and white leather sports shoes. Louise noticed that he acted bolder than he had last night at dinner, when Jim Cooley’s quiet authority had somewhat quashed him.
A pang of fear ran through her: Was Sunday’s newspaper going to be in time to safeguard Barbara Seymour? Whether or not it was foul play, Freeling’s death struck uncomfortably close to home—and the tension that seemed to haunt the inn this weekend. She only hoped Tom Carrigan’s story did what she hoped it would. As if reading her mind, Landry slowly turned and looked at her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. It was discouraging to Louise that she couldn’t seem to disguise her disapproval of people—or even her minor philosophical disagreements, as had been the case with Fiona last evening. She would have to learn how to put on a better face for the world. After all, sometimes the occasion demanded it. Bill, of course, had always said she would make a terrible spy and a rotten poker player, because she wore her emotions on her face.
After all that had happened today, Neil Landry was an outrage: Louise wasn’t about to sit here and engage in a staring contest with him. Anyway, she needed some rest before dinner, and she was sure others must feel the same way. Nora still sat apart from everyone in a haze of depression. Grace looked exhausted, either because of the verbal slashing from Bebe, or because of Freeling’s accident—probably both. She was involved in a tense conversation with Jim, and appeared to be pleading with him about something.
There was no doubt about Bebe Hollowell’s feelings: She loudly proclaimed them. “This day has been way too much for me, folks. I’ve a headache that just won’t go away. I don’t feel well at all.”
Stephanie interposed, “Why don’t you rest, and someone will bring dinner to your room? Then maybe you can join us later for dessert and coffee.”
Bebe heaved an important sigh; she delighted in every attention. “Oh, would you do that? I would so like to call it a day and try to forget everything—that disastrous garden tour, and that poor man’s death.” She accepted the slim Stephanie’s help rising from her chair. “So tragic, these deaths,” she sobbed, as she slowly left the veranda.
Jim Cooley, in fresh slacks and shirt, looked around at the group. “Grace doesn’t feel well, either,” he announced.
“It’s just that I have a raging headache,” Grace explained quietly.
Jim gave his wife an unreadable look. He seemed to be curbing whatever criticism he might want to offer. “I suppose we all might feel poorly at this juncture,” he continued, “but it would be good if the rest of us could return for Barbara’s superb meal.”
Of course, thought Louise: Loyalty above all, and i
n this case, Louise agreed with him. It was loyalty to their plucky hostess, Barbara Seymour. Jim took Grace’s thin hand. “Dear, suppose we arrange to have your dinner sent up to you, too?”
Grace gently separated her hand from his and thanked him, then left the veranda. Frank intercepted both Grace and Bebe in the sunroom and escorted them into the interior of the inn. Jim Cooley half rose, looking after his wife with real concern, then sank back in the chair, apparently thinking the better of going with her. The rest of the guests lingered, finding comfort in each other’s presence.
Louise, Bill, Janie, and Chris sat together with little left to say to each other. They listened to the murmur of the wind in the huge pines. “That beautiful sound,” said Bill idly. “It’s coming from second-growth trees.”
“Second-growth—really?” said Louise.
“Yes. Don’t be deceived by their size. All of Litchfield Hills’ virgin forests were taken down; these hills were made bare once. This is second-growth forest.”
Janie jumped impatiently from her chair. “Dad, I can’t believe you’re talking about trees when someone really neat has fallen off a cliff.” Her voice was filled with disgust. She reached a hand out and pulled Chris to his feet. “Come on, Chris, let’s go swimming.”
Louise gave Bill a wan look. “I hope Janie’s going to be all right with this. I don’t know about you, but I’m wiped out—I have to go lie down.” He went with her to her bedroom suite, and they sat together on the edge of the bed.
He put an arm around her. “This has been a hard day for you.”
“It’s just too much, Bill.” She pressed her head against his shoulder, and, not finding that enough, clasped both arms around him. He turned and shoved her long hair back with one hand, found her lips, and gently kissed her. Then he lifted her onto the bed, and they made love slowly, drawn closer in this act of creation by the knowledge that one of their companions had lost his life today.
At dinner, Louise noted the sober mood that prevailed; the absence of Grace and especially Bebe also made the crowd quieter. Even the faint curtain of mist in the air outside the veranda seemed to enclose them in a kind of quiet gloom. Louise had put on a fresh dress but hadn’t bothered with makeup. Nora looked like a woman out of the Old Testament, in her black caftan and sandals. There was little joy to be found, except among the outside dinner guests, who knew nothing yet of the death. And then there were the flowers, robust, patriotic-colored bouquets of red geranium, blue delphinium, and white daisy, that flew in the face of emotions like sadness and mourning. Obviously, they were prepared before the staff learned of the accident. Or was Barbara Seymour doing her best to restore a sense of normalcy to the inn?
Louise also noticed that young Teddy found many excuses to pass their table, which was probably what started all the trouble. And Louise didn’t need trouble, after her nearly sleepless night, performing all day in front of the camera, and returning to the inn to deal with the trauma of Jeffrey’s accident. But trouble it would be, when they all finished their appetizers and Janie, looking more grown-up than usual in a calf-length, sleeveless, pale green print dress, impetuously got up from her seat next to Louise. She crossed the veranda and caught up with Teddy, guiding him down the porch stairs with a firm hand. Louise could only see their heads. Her daughter was talking rapidly to the young man, hurrying, as if she wanted to get back before the next course was served. He bent down to listen, his cowlick cunning as ever, his eyes alight with interest.
Their little conversation created waves. The red-haired waitress, for one, seemed infuriated that Teddy was conversing with a guest. She flounced by and stared down at the pair, nearly spilling her tray when she bumped into a chair. Chris reacted in a similar jealous fashion. Blond and handsome in his best clothes, he stared indignantly at the two of them for a while. Then he excused himself and stalked over, descended the stairs, and joined them. Louise could see from their gestures that Chris didn’t want Janie to divulge more to the young maître d’hôtel. But when he tried to pull her away, Janie coldly removed his hand from her arm.
At this juncture, Mark Post appeared from somewhere on the lawn, where he had apparently gone to smoke. He came up the steps past the young people, shooting them a surprised look. Janie and Chris returned to the table, Teddy resumed his maître d’ responsibilities, and Louise incorrectly assumed that peace had been restored.
“What was that all about?” Louise asked her daughter.
Janie’s eyes shone with excitement. “I told Teddy what Chris and I suspected about Jeffrey’s death—that it was no accident. That Mark or—”
“Now, wait, Janie,” she interrupted, “I think you and Chris are going too far.”
The girl waggled her legs like an accordion under her fancy print skirt, and said, “No way are we wrong.”
Louise moved a hand over and gently pressed upon her daughter’s legs to stop the wiggling. “Darling,” she whispered, “I know you’re nervous, but don’t do that.”
Janie pushed her mother’s hand away. “Aw, c’mon, Ma, don’t obsess. You just wait—time will tell whether Chris and I are right. In the meantime, it’s good to have Teddy in this with us.” She cast a wary glance at Chris sitting on the other side of her. “Except Chris doesn’t think so.”
Suddenly, Mark Post rose from his table on the edge of the veranda, came over, and crouched down between Janie and Chris. His thin face was dark red, his mouth twisted angrily. Janie’s blue eyes widened.
“What a couple of losers you two are.”
Louise, alarmed, leaned in so she could hear. Even from where she sat, she could smell his tobacco breath. For some reason, he’d been smoking up a storm.
“I just overheard you talking to that young hick who runs the dining room. And I heard my name mentioned, and then something about how I probably shoved Freeling off the top of that mountain today. Now, are you kids crazy or something? Did you ever hear of slander? You’re slandering me, and I’ll be damned if I know why. Sandy told me just now that she spilled the story of what happened at NYU five years ago. Well, talking about that could be slanderous, too, because, you know, none of that was ever proved: I pleaded nolo contendere for some very good reasons …”
The candlelight falling on his sharp features gave him a malevolent look, rather like a thin gargoyle sculpted in stone grimacing at the world. “I’m not about to explain this whole thing, because you wouldn’t even understand it—you’re too damned wet behind the ears. I’m just telling you that you’d better not talk like that about me again or I could sue you. Do you hear that? Sue you: a real grown-up concept you’d better learn right now before you shoot your mouths off again.”
Done with his warning, he stood erect. As if Chris would take the lead in this, Mark gave him an encouraging little hit on the shoulder and said, “Get that, buddy?” Then, as an afterthought, he leaned over and hoarsely whispered in Chris’s ear, “Don’t be a fuckin’ loser” He strode back to his own table with the grace of an athlete, but Louise noticed his wife took no notice of him and simply kept up her own conversation.
“Well, well,” said Louise.
“Don’t say ‘I told you so,’ Ma, although you did. It’s okay. We’ll just be more careful how we go about things next time.” Janie put her hands in her lap and clasped them together.
“Who, you and Teddy and Chris?”
Janie cast a regretful glance at Teddy. “Not tonight. Teddy has a date, unfortunately. But we’ll get together with him again tomorrow. See, he’s not so trusting as you, Ma. He agrees that Jeffrey could have been shoved.” She flashed a quick look at her mother, and then turned her attention to her rack of lamb.
It was apparent that no one had the heart to make it a late evening, although Janie and Chris, only slightly subdued by Mark’s angry outburst, drifted off together as soon as dinner was finished. Their whispered exchanges practically telegraphed their intentions, and Louise looked at Bill in dismay. “They’re still snooping, I can tell. Why can’t t
hey just play a quiet game of Scrabble in the library and then go to bed?”
“Dream on, Louise. Just who did you think you were dealing with? Talk about ‘her mother’s daughter.’” Still looking at his wife, he cocked his head toward the door and then turned to include Nora. “Come on—let’s all get out of here and go for a walk.”
When they left the veranda, they passed Jim Cooley, perched on the veranda rail with the remaining guests of the inn clustered around him like moths to a flame. Jim was playing the hero again, engaging them in a warm conversation, obviously trying to soothe their frayed nerves so that they could leave Litchfield Falls Inn tomorrow with happy, not morose, feelings.
With Nora loosely holding one of Bill’s arms and Louise the other, they sauntered up one of the winding paths through the wooded hills. The cloud-harassed sun had set somewhere beyond the trees, and there was little light left. Louise glanced at Nora as her neighbor trudged slowly along. “This must be sad for you, walking here,” said Louise. “Isn’t this the way…”
“Yes. We’re retracing the path that Jeffrey and I took yesterday afternoon. It takes one to a very deep, magnificent pool. It’s beautiful.” There was a catch in her voice. “As for Jeffrey, I don’t believe I’ve ever met a nicer man …”
“Better not dwell on it, Nora,” said Bill. “What you have to remember is that it was one of those terrible accidents that sometimes happen to people.”
“Bill, our daughter doesn’t think it was just a terrible accident,” said Louise. She stopped when she saw the look Nora shot her.
“Janie doesn’t think what?” demanded Nora.
“Oh, well, Chris will be telling you, anyway—though heaven knows I don’t want to upset you. I don’t want to upset anyone more than they’ve already been upset. Chris and Janie believe Jeffrey was pushed off that mountain.”
