A Skeleton in the Closet (Kate Lawrence Mysteries)

by Judith K Ivie

  Quickly, I reviewed my evening agenda: Close up the office, feed the cats, and reheat the pizza left over from lunch for my solitary dinner, since Armando had a business thing to endure at TelCom. “Would seven o’clock suit you?” I offered and was gratified by the relief in Lavinia’s voice.

  “Admirably, thank you. Perhaps you would enjoy a glass of sherry. It’s one of dear Papa’s after-dinner customs that Sister and I have continued.”

  I assured Lavinia that a glass of sherry would be most welcome and ended the call, my curiosity thoroughly aroused. After clearing up a few odds and ends and shutting down my computer, I made short work of closing up the office and headed for The Birches. I strolled out to collect my junk mail and bills from the mailbox at the end of my driveway and met my neighbor Mary Feeney, who had come out to do the same. “I only collect this stuff once a week. There’s never anything interesting any more. Any repercussions after the attempted break-in?” she asked idly, sorting through the appalling stack of wasted paper in her gnarled hands.

  For the sake of keeping a lid on neighborhood gossip, I minimized my misgivings. “I wouldn’t even go so far as characterizing it as an attempted break-in,” I laughed it off. “Probably just someone lost who saw my light on and rattled the doorknob when I didn’t answer the bell.”

  “Uh huh. And then he went around and rattled the back doorknob for good measure.” Mary glanced at me shrewdly through her Coke-bottle lenses. “I always do that when I’m lost in a strange neighborhood. Calling the police gives the locals something to do on a Saturday night.”

  “Okay, okay, it was an attempted break-in. I think. Oh, I don’t know, but whatever it was, it’s over. And now that Armando has moved in, you don’t need to worry about me any longer.”

  “How’s that going?” she asked, cooperating in my effort to change the subject, and we spent another couple of minutes laughing about my adjustment pains before returning to our respective units.

  After I fed Jasmine and Simon, and shared one bite of sausage each with them from my reheated pizza, I left a brief note for Armando on the counter next to the stove. He always switched the heat on under the kettle first thing when he entered the house so he could make himself a cup of tea. “Keeping Lavinia Henstock company for a little while,” I wrote. “Home by 9:00. XO” As I anchored the note under one of the floral mugs from the cupboard, I chafed a bit at having to report my whereabouts. At the same time, I enjoyed knowing someone might actually give a rap about where I was. The conflicting emotions annoyed me, as always, and I shrugged them off. What was my problem? It wasn’t as if Armando would restrict me any more than it would occur to me to restrict him. I felt certain I could leave him a note saying, “Having dinner with George Clooney. Back when I’m back,” and upon my return, he would merely grin and ask if I’d had fun. Checking in with the person who shared your home was just common courtesy. Would marriage change that?

  The evening was still warm, so I tossed a light jacket over my arm as insurance against the chill that would come later and picked up my purse. Instead of debating the merits of marriage, I’d do better to focus on Lavinia and whatever she was about to confide to me.

  Ten

  Shortly after seven o’clock, I was ensconced in the Henstocks’ front parlor with a glass of excellent sherry in one hand. A gentle breeze wafted in from an open window overlooking the porch. “The kitchen is cozy for tea or coffee,” Lavinia opined, “but Papa always thought that sherry should be served in the parlor. She patted a fat, terrier-sized dog of mixed heritage that was squeezed in next to her in her wingchair. Henry by name, he was a recent addition to the Henstock household and had set up quite a ruckus when I appeared at the kitchen entrance. “Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!” he yapped shrilly now, jangling my nerves for the second time since my arrival.

  “Henry, do be quiet,” Lavinia admonished ineffectually. The smith who had changed the locks had apparently persuaded the ladies that a watchdog would be the most effective deterrent to unwanted visitors. To their credit, they had adopted Henry from a local rescue group, but I was somewhat mystified by their selection. My idea of a watchdog would be a shepherd or a doberman; but what Henry lacked in size, he made up for in volume.

  I attempted to find a more comfortable position on the tufted settee. Henry and I regarded each other warily. No doubt he gave the sisters some much-needed companionship, and if his raucous greeting upon my arrival was any indication, I doubted that future visitors, invited or not, would go unannounced. “I’m sure the Judge was right. This sherry is absolutely delicious, by the way.” I took another fortifying sip, moving slowly and unthreateningly under Henry’s beady gaze.

  “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me, my dear. And how is Mrs. Putnam?” Lavinia was having trouble getting around to the reason she had asked me to visit.

  I smiled at her formal reference to Strutter. “She’s very well, as a matter of fact. She and her husband learned recently that they are expecting a child in December. It might even be a Christmas baby.”

  If I had worried about offending Lavinia’s delicate sensibilities with this news, I needn’t have. “I just knew it!” She beamed with delight. “There was something about her the last time she was here … a radiance, you might say.”

  “I’ll be sure to give her your regards. Now Lavinia, I confess that I’m very curious to know what you’ve remembered, or think you’ve remembered, that might shed some light on the, um, remains found in your basement.” I sat back carefully, mindful of Henry.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll get right to it, but first, let me refill your glass.” I was astonished to discover that my stemmed crystal glass was already empty. As I said, it was exceptionally good sherry.

  Lavinia refilled my glass and topped off her own, then squeezed back into the wing chair, where Henry had appropriated more than his fair share of space. “There’s a good doggie,” she praised him, presumably for allowing her to share her own chair, which she did by easing him over to one side. “Now, let’s see. You may recall that when you and Lieutenant Harkness were having tea in our kitchen the other day, I mentioned that some years after our mother passed on, the Judge sometimes … entertained a lady friend in his office during the evening.”

  I nodded encouragingly. “Yes. I remember Ada seemed very surprised to hear that. As I remember it, Ada was a bit more social than you were as a young woman, and she was often out with her friends while you stayed here in the house. Naturally, you would have a better idea about the Judge’s habits.”

  Lavinia smiled and patted Henry’s head while I sipped more sherry. To my eye, the dog looked quite smug. “Delicately put, my dear. But do you recall that I mentioned one evening in particular? It was around nine o’clock, I think. Ada was out, and I went downstairs to make some tea for myself before retiring with a new novel. I could hear voices coming from Papa’s study, one of them a woman’s. On impulse, and partly out of curiosity, I confess, I tapped on his door to ask if he and his visitor would like some tea. I was surprised when he didn’t answer, and when I tried to turn the knob to poke my head in, I was even more surprised to find the door locked from the inside. I went straight to bed, and neither Papa nor I ever spoke of the incident again.”

  I imagined trying to get up the nerve to bring up a subject like that with my own father, shuddered, and took another sip. “I can certainly understand that.”

  Lavinia gazed through the windows behind me, becoming lost in the memory of that long-ago evening. “What I didn’t tell you or Ada or the good lieutenant was that I remembered something else about that night. I heard two voices in Papa’s study, a man’s and a woman’s. But it wasn’t just conversation going on in there, oh no. Just as I approached the study door, the woman became quite distraught, almost hysterical, you might say. I couldn’t hear most of it, but there was something about her husband knowing, or having found out something, and then what sounded like crying. Quite naturally, I believe, my instinct was to help her, even if my fath
er was in there with her. I tapped on the door and tried the knob. The voices stopped but not before I heard distinct shushing noises. I realize now that Papa must have been trying to get her to quiet down.” She paused. “Since I didn’t hear her make another sound, he must have succeeded.”

  I refrained from commenting, not wanting to break her reverie, and swallowed the last of my sherry. Her revelations were disturbing, to say the least. Slowly, her eyes left the window and refocused on mine. “Do you see? I never heard her make another sound.” And then Lavinia, too, fell abruptly silent.

  We sat like that for a moment, considering the implications of what the young Lavinia had heard. Henry, growing bored with human conversation, scrambled to the floor and trotted off busily to the kitchen. I thought back to what Lavinia had told us earlier. “If I remember what you said correctly, it was right after that when the Judge arranged to have the special closet built in the basement.”

  “Why, yes, it was. Something about diaries and trial records that he wanted to keep for his memoirs but he didn’t want anyone else to see. I thought it was other people’s secrets he was trying to keep, but now … now I’m not so sure. For one thing, why would he have anyone else’s diary? That’s a very personal record, not a legal document.”

  I gave that some thought, and I had to admit it didn’t make any sense. I took a deep breath and came right out with the question on the tip of my tongue. “Lavinia, do you think your father was having an affair with a married woman, and that was the secret he wanted to keep?”

  Her eyes grew round with distress, but she answered me unwaveringly. “That has occurred to me. It was wartime. Most of the younger men were serving, and many had been gone for years. Papa was a very distinguished-looking man and very popular with the ladies. It’s not entirely unthinkable that … well, that he became inappropriately involved with one of his clients.” Further than that, Lavinia could not bring herself to go, and I didn’t push her.

  As gently as I could, I asked, “But even if that were true, and I’m not saying it was, why on earth would he want to keep any sort of documents in the house that might point to such a relationship?” Then I answered my own question silently. Blackmail. Either he was blackmailing the woman, or more likely, he was using the papers as insurance against her blackmailing him.

  If that possibility had occurred to Lavinia, she didn’t mention it. “I have no idea whatever. I don’t like to keep secrets from my sister, but I truly don’t see what useful purpose it would serve for me to confide all of this to Ada. It was a very long time ago, and her memories of dear Papa are precious to her.” She took a breath. “What I need to know is, should I tell any of this to the police? Might it help solve this dreadful crime?”

  It was a poser, for sure. On the one hand, Lavinia’s recollections might well help trace the identity of the body. Surely, there must be records of women reported missing around that time. The flip side was that Lavinia’s memory of the evening in question might not be accurate. It had been more than sixty years since she had overheard the scene in her father’s study—or thought she had. She herself had questioned the accuracy of her recollection. I struggled to think of something wise to say, but in the end, I had to promise to give it some hard thought and telephone her before lunch tomorrow. This called for consultation with Margo and Strutter.

  “Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!” This time, both of us were startled enough to jump. We had been so focused on our conversation, we hadn’t noticed that dusk had fallen outside the parlor windows; and while Henry could certainly be heard, he was nowhere in sight.

  “Goodness! It’s nearly dark outside. Let me turn on a lamp. Where could that silly dog have gotten to?” Lavinia got to her feet rather unsteadily, whether from the effects of the sherry or from sitting too long, it was hard to say. She groped her way to a side table and switched on a lamp, then looked around for Henry. “Henry! Come here! There’s a good dog.” She clapped her hands together sharply and waited expectantly.

  The evening breeze coming in the front window had turned sharply cool, and I shivered slightly. “Do you mind if I close this window?”

  “Not at all,” she responded distractedly and moved into the hallway leading to the kitchen. “Henry! Where have you gotten to?”

  I rose to my feet and realized that the sherry had been a lot more potent than I thought; but then, I had consumed a good deal of it, thanks to Lavinia’s hospitality and Henry’s yapping. So much for sherry being the genteel libation of clergymen and old ladies. This stuff packed a wallop. With difficulty, I wrestled the window shut and tottered after Lavinia. Halfway down the hall, the basement door stood open. “Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!” shrilled Henry from the nether regions, and my heart sank. No amount of sherry in the world was going to make me happy about going down into that basement again, but I could hardly let an eighty-something-year-old woman tackle those stairs, not to mention that dog, on her own.

  Nevertheless, that seemed to be precisely what Lavinia intended to do. “Now how did that door get open?” she mused, twisting the doorknob. “I’m quite certain the locksmith tested this new lock before he left.” She pushed in the button that locked the door from the hall side. Then she shut the door firmly and twisted the door again. “See? It works perfectly. Oh! Ada must have left the door open when she came up with the sherry from the wine cupboard.” She tsk-ed her annoyance. “Now Henry has got down there.” Recklessly, she yanked the door back open and started down the dark stairs, feeling for the light switch.

  Horrified at the possible consequences, I moved to help, if not stop, her. “I’ll get the light,” I offered, but despite repeated flips of the switch, the dim bulb I remembered hanging from a cord at the foot of the stairs refused to light. Perfect. Muffled growls and yips attested to the fact that Henry was indeed in the basement. If I really had to go down there after him, I wanted some light. “Wait, Lavinia. Let’s get a flashlight, at least.” I groped down two more steps unwillingly, feeling my way along the wall, but Lavinia had already reached the bottom of the staircase.

  “Henry! Come here at once,” she commanded sharply. To my utter amazement, he obeyed, flying past us up the stairs and zooming down the hallway, giddy with his adventure. Lavinia, who was obviously familiar with the basement terrain, reappeared from the gloom and climbed up to join me. “Well, that’s a relief,” she remarked, and I heartily agreed. Henry scampered back down the hall to the kitchen, where he became unusually quiet. Having a drink of water, perhaps.

  I had reached the top step, with Lavinia right behind me, when the door slammed shut. Clunking and rustling sounds emanated from the other side. Had Henry bumped the door shut? “Oh, dear,” said Lavinia, clutching my shoulder. Oh, dear, indeed. I felt for the door and tried the knob. Securely locked, of course, thanks to the shiny new hardware.

  “Now what?” I asked a bit sourly. This evening was going downhill fast.

  Lavinia sank to a sitting position on the step below me. “Now we wait for Ada to get home from bingo, I suppose. I can’t think of anything else to do, can you?”

  If I had my cell phone in my pocket, where Emma and Margo were always telling me to keep it, I could have called someone for help. But I didn’t. It was upstairs in my purse, which I had set down next to me in the parlor. My heart rose as I heard distant sounds from somewhere in the house – the kitchen? the parlor?—followed by footsteps. Thank goodness. It had to be Ada, home early from bingo. “Hello!” I called out loudly to attract her attention. “It’s Kate and Lavinia. We’re locked in the basement.” I pressed my ear to the door to get some idea of Ada’s whereabouts.

  “Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!” yapped Henry gleefully a few inches from my ear, and I fell backward over Lavinia, tumbling down and down the dark staircase until the blackness in my head became one with the darkness that engulfed us.

  * * *

  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Armando’s face scrunched into a worried frown. “Hi, Handsome,” I greeted him idiotica
lly, then winced as the pain from the back of my head, right elbow, and left ankle hit me in that order. If I had expected tender expressions of concern from the love of my life, I was disappointed.

  “!Nunca creí que fueras tan supremamente estúpida!” He rose from where he had been kneeling next to the parlor settee on which I lay and stalked to the doorway leading to the hallway. He folded both arms across his chest and scowled as two paramedics, apparently called during my blackout, attended to business. When they had finished shining flashlights into my eyes, fitting me with an air cast, and wrapping my elbow in icy packs, they took their leave, admonishing me to go straight to the nearest emergency room if I experienced double vision or nausea. The younger of the two, himself a Latino, gave Armando a calculating look in passing. “Cálmate, hombre. Chill.” Fat chance.

  “Oh, dear,” Lavinia fluttered as Ada showed the two men out. “Is he upset?” She glanced nervously at Armando, who maintained his rigid stance in the doorway.

  “That would be my guess,” I agreed. I had reason to know that under stress, Armando reverted to his native Spanish. I hadn’t understood every word of tonight’s commentary, but the part about my being incredibly stupid had come through loud and clear.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have called him, but he was the emergency contact person listed on the card in your wallet. I’m so sorry to have had to look through your things,” Lavinia apologized yet again.

  I struggled to a sitting position. Henry jumped up on the settee next to me and lapped wetly at my face, a conciliatory gesture after his part in the evening’s drama. Since he was still festooned with cobwebs from his basement foray, and his breath was redolent of whatever his evening snack had been, I wasn’t particularly happy about this improvement in our relationship. However, one look at Armando, glowering darkly at me from across the room, caused me to rethink my alliances. Any friend in a storm.