At last the three of them got settled with extra sweaters, glasses of sherry, hunks of Eddie’s rat-trap cheese and pilot biscuits in front of the immense fieldstone fireplace that was far and away the pleasantest thing about the barny old house. Nobody felt much like talking by then. They were content to bask like cats in the warmth of burning, salt-soaked driftwood that spurted flames of blue and green and red-orange and brilliant yellow; rolling tiny sips of wine around their tongues, nibbling at the good, simple food. Even Caroline Kelling was not demanding attention. She said once, “This cheese is excellent,” but nobody responded and she seemed content to let it lie.
“She’s getting old,” Sarah thought. “Old and worn out. Whatever she may have done in the past, she’s no threat to us now.”
It was strange to think of Aunt Caroline in the background, not calling the shots any more; almost terrible, in a way. Sarah roused herself enough to say, “Darling, ask your mother if she’d like an early supper.”
Alexander reached out a hand to hold her back “Don’t go yet, Sadiebelle. I want to look at you.”
She picked up the long, elegant fingers and held them to her cheek, not able to speak for the lump in her throat. Why couldn’t it have been like this always? Sarah didn’t move again until her foot most unromantically went to sleep. Then she gave the hand a gentle squeeze and laid it back on the faded denim slip cover.
“I shan’t be long. We’re just going to picnic here by the fire. You might fix your mother’s drink and do something about that front log which is about to burn through and spray live coals all over the hearthrug.”
“Yes, my darling. More sherry for you?”
“Not yet, thanks.”
Sarah went out, shutting the door behind her to keep the heat in the living room. It was almost completely dark by now. She flipped a light switch, but nothing happened. Lomax must have expected Alexander would turn on the electricity when he got here, and Alexander supposed Lomax had done it. No matter, they always kept oil lamps filled and ready in the kitchen. She got one off the shelf and reached toward the painted tin match safe that hung beside the window over the sink.
As she moved, something that was not her reflection moved along the glass. Her hand froze in mid-air.
Somebody was out there spying on them. She knew, as she had known Wednesday night about the man on the path, although nothing was to be seen now except forsythia branches black against a dark blue sky, whippy lines punctuated by sharp, pointed buds. The leafless shrubs could offer no cover. He must have ducked down beside the house, only a few feet away from her.
Ought she to call for help? What would that accomplish? If Alexander rushed out to confront the intruder, he might get hurt, even killed. If he stayed inside, he’d feel like a coward and the good work of last night and today would be undone. If it was the same person who’d been with her on the path and made no move to hurt her, there was probably nothing to be afraid of, anyway.
Sarah nerved herself to move forward and flick the damp-stained calico curtains across the windowpane, like any cozy housewife settling in for the night. She took the match, touched it to a couple of the lamp wicks, and turned them down so they’d give a soft glow without sooting the chimneys. Then she started heating soup and cutting sandwiches.
Years ago, as a lonesome little girl afraid to be upstairs in the dark by herself, she’d got into the habit of singing in bed. It always gave her courage to fall asleep then. She tried it now.
“Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?”
“I’ve been to seek a wife, she’s the joy of my life.”
She aged ten years before she realized the voice blending with hers was her husband’s. He put his arms around her from behind, and nuzzled her hair.
“I missed you, Sadiebelle. Shall I help with the sandwiches?”
“No, they’re done.”
Poor angel, if he ever knew what a fright he’d given her! “I’m just waiting for the soup to heat. You could reach us down some plates and mugs if you like.”
“The nice blue ones or the awful old greenery-yalleries?”
“The blue, of course. Alexander, I have a charming thought.”
She pitched her voice a shade on the loud side, to let the lurker by the wall know she was not alone. “Why don’t we take the old uglies out on the back terrace, and smash them one by one?”
“I have an even brighter idea,” he said. “Let’s wait till Leila tries to rope us into joining another committee, and throw them at her.”
Laughing together, they set out the trays, and carried them back to the fireplace. Sarah had splurged on a can of crabmeat because it was something Alexander adored but seldom got. He was touched, and let her know with a warmth that brought another lump to her throat. How little it took to make him happy, and how seldom had she tried during these past difficult years. From now on, things would be different.
But in what way would they be different? Much as she’d rather forget it, Sarah couldn’t help remembering that dark shape outside the kitchen window. There were too many dark shapes in her life lately. Ever since that day in the graveyard, they kept popping up everywhere she looked.
This one was nothing but nerves. The vast, neglected estate had always been a magnet for trespassers. She’d never been afraid of them before because Alexander was with her. He was here now, wasn’t he? Whatever happened, they’d be together. What was the sense in worrying?
14
SARAH WOKE UP SMILING and reached out to touch her husband. Alexander was no longer beside her, though. He must have gone down to light the fire, which meant he was over his awful lethargy, and thank God for that. She lay a few minutes listening to the seagulls’ usual morning quarrel down on the rocks and making plans for the day. After breakfast they might run over to the fish shack and pick up a bucket of clams. She’d make a big pot of chowder. Alexander would eat great bowls of it and say, “Thank you, Sadiebelle,” and give her a smile that now had nothing but love and joy in it.
She jumped out of bed, put on heavy corduroy pants and her old green Shetland sweater, and went to start a pot of coffee. The fire, she noticed, was new-laid but not yet alight. Alexander would be out at the woodpile, cutting neat splinters for kindling.
In the cold foggy air the smell of last night’s smoke hung heavy and acrid. Faded walls and battered furniture didn’t look homey now, only depressing. The bogles came creeping back.
Had she or had she not seen somebody prowling last night? Why hadn’t she been brave enough to stick her head out the window and make sure? Sarah opened the back door and scanned the fog-beaded grass for signs of footprints, but couldn’t see any. Then a tall form loomed out of the gray. That startled her again, until Alexander spoke.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t arrange a sunny morning for you, Sadiebelle, but the radio says it’s supposed to burn off by noon. Shall I do something about breakfast?”
“No, my love. Were you planning to light the fire?”
“Yes, my darling.”
He tilted her chin up so he could kiss her on the lips. “Is that coffee I smell, or the allegorical nectar of the pagan deities?”
She kissed him back. “You’re in a bouncy mood today.”
“I am as merry as a schoolboy,” he informed her gravely. “Are we having Eddie’s muffins, I hope?”
“Name it and you shall have it, my love. Want me to barbecue a steer, or will you settle for scrambled eggs and sausages?”
“Whichever is faster. I seem to be getting my appetite back.”
“Good,” said Sarah. “Shall we go ahead without your mother, or do you think she’ll be down soon?”
Alexander looked startled. “Good Lord! I’d completely forgotten we brought her with us.”
Sarah burst out laughing. “To think I should live to see the day! Here, have some coffee and a muffin to stay your stomach while I find out if she needs help.”
However, Caroline Kelling
had managed for herself, having her own precisely ordered suite here as she did in Boston. They heard her tapping her way downstairs, calling out for her son as always. He went to meet her, and Sarah started breaking eggs into a bowl, putting in an extra one for Alexander.
After breakfast, she and he did a few chores while Aunt Caroline sat with her book by the fire. Then all three rode to the fish shack for clams. It was too early to think of chowder after such a large breakfast, so Mrs. Kelling decided everybody should go back to sit by the fire while she worked on a report she’d promised to have ready when Leila came back from Washington.
Alexander replied calmly that he’d made up the fire with oak logs so she’d be perfectly comfortable by herself for an hour or so while he and Sarah went for a walk along the beach.
“I’m surprised Sarah will let you go,” was the amiable reply. “She goes into a swivet about your not feeling well when there’s anything I want you to do for me.”
He didn’t reply. Mrs. Kelling shrugged and turned to her report. They left her punching Braille and went out into the fog. It had begun to thin a bit up along the road, but down under the cliff they could hardly distinguish between beach and sea.
“I hope you’re not too disappointed,” Alexander apologized as if he ought to have managed better weather for their outing. “I do so want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
That was true, although Sarah would have been happier if they could see more than three feet around them. She was getting prickles again, wondering if it was just her imagination working overtime or if there actually was somebody nearby. The pounding of the surf and the rattle of loose stones being pulled out by the undertow made racket enough to drown out any footsteps. So long as this fog held, they could be moving in the midst of a crowd and not know it.
Still she felt safe enough with Alexander. He’d been roaming this stretch of coast all his life. If any trouble threatened, he’d know how to get them away fast enough. She had only to stay close, clinging to his hand as she’d done before her head reached up to his coat pocket and heaven was a stroll with Cousin Alexander.
“Am I going too fast for you, Sadiebelle?”
How many times during the past twenty-five years had he asked her that same question? Sarah began to laugh.
“My legs aren’t quite so short as they used to be. Look, there’s my old wishing rock poking up out of the fog. Remember how we used to sit there looking out to sea while you told me stories about the mermaids?”
He chuckled. “And you insisted you could see them riding the waves. Can you still, darling?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen a mermaid in ages.”
“Perhaps they’re out there today. Come on, let’s sit down.”
They crowded together on the narrow ledge that had been their special place for as long as she could remember. Alexander put his arm around her to keep her from slipping off the edge.
“Now, Sadiebelle, I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you. You’ve been edgy ever since we started out. Is it something in particular or—things in general?”
Sarah laughed uncomfortably. “You’re very perspicacious, my dear sir. I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“If we’re going to treat each other as equals, it has to work both ways, you know. What’s the matter?”
“It’s only that I keep having this absurd feeling we’re being followed.”
“But why?”
“I suppose because somebody was around here the other night when I came to look at the wall, and I’m quite sure I caught a glimpse of him again last night when I went out to the kitchen to start supper.”
“Him? Are you sure it was a man?”
“No, but that was my impression. Someone fairly big, but not so tall as you.” She filled in the details as best she could. “It doesn’t sound like much, does it?”
“It’s enough to make me wonder if somebody’s camping out on the grounds somewhere. We’ve had that problem before, you know.”
“That was my own first thought, but I can’t help wondering if there could be more to it than trespassing. For one thing, it seemed a fantastic coincidence that I ran into that Mr. Bittersohn on my way home that night.”
“Where was this?”
“In a coffee shop up along the pike. I was in such a state that I was afraid to drive any further without a hot drink to pull me together. I hadn’t been there two minutes when he came in and sat down at my table. He’s about the right size, and it popped into my head that he might have followed me out from Boston to see what I was up to.”
“Sarah, why would the man do a thing like that?”
“Because of the jewelry, was all I could think of. I thought he might have got it into his head I was sneaking off to meet a—a boy friend, and that he could blackmail me into letting him get at the collection.”
“How could you? The box is in Mother’s name. You wouldn’t be allowed to open it without her authorization.”
“He wouldn’t necessarily be aware of that, would he? I know we told him I’d never seen the things, but that was in deference to Aunt Caroline’s wishes. He may think I could if I chose to. You must admit it’s unusual for a person in her condition to have had complete control over such a valuable family property all these years. Now that I’ve met him again, though, I honestly don’t think he’s that sort of man.”
Alexander shook his head. “We mustn’t be too sure of anything. It does seem too much of a coincidence, his coming upon you like that, and the Studebaker would certainly be an easy car to follow anywhere. What did he say when he came to the table?”
“The sort of thing one might expect. Acted surprised to see me so far from Boston and asked what I was doing out by myself on such a miserable night. I told him you weren’t feeling well and I had to attend to something out here. I mentioned our having two places, and said we were always tootling back and forth. Then I asked him the same question, and he didn’t really answer, but started talking about my doing the drawings for his book.”
“How did he know you can draw?”
“He said Harry told him. I’m afraid he, or whoever it was on the path, may also have got hold of a sample. Like a fool, I tore up that sketch I’d made of the wall, and simply threw the pieces away. He could have picked them up and stuck them back together.”
Alexander was looking gray again.
“I’ve landed you in a fine kettle of fish, haven’t I?”
“No, I don’t think you’re responsible, Alexander,” Sarah replied, “and I’m not saying this simply to make you feel better. I’m beginning to suspect there’s something that’s been going on for a long time without your knowing anything about it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one thing, this business of Ruby Redd. I cannot believe your mother killed her.”
“But she must have!”
“She never said so, did she?”
“Of course she didn’t. Would you?”
“Probably, if I was asking my own son to help me get rid of the body. I’d feel I owed you some kind of explanation.”
“Sarah, she was trying to pretend I’d done it. I told you what she said.”
“Yes, and it seems to me that those words were carefully chosen for their ambiguity. They might also be interpreted to mean she knew who’d done it but didn’t dare say. That would explain why she’s never been willing to talk about it. There’s no earthly reason why you and she should never have discussed the matter, unless she was shielding somebody. Then I keep getting back to the method of killing. Can you honestly see Aunt Caroline sneaking up behind another woman and bashing her over the head?”
“How can one say what another person will do in time of stress?”
“You know what she did to your father, and you have a pretty shrewd idea of what she did to mine. I can believe the poisoned mushroom theory because it’s basically the same as the first murder—setting up a situation that’s going to result i
n death without arousing suspicion. I’ve been thinking she might have got Edith to pick the mushrooms for her, but she mightn’t even have had to do that. Couldn’t she just have dumped her eyedrops or something into the pan?”
Her husband thought a moment, then nodded. “Yes, that’s entirely possible. Atropine is a vegetable alkaloid, too, if I’m not mistaken, and the symptoms might not be dissimilar. The doctor would be apt not to doubt the mushroom story because people who gather wild mushrooms so often do poison themselves by accident, and those who don’t sometimes have an almost superstitious dread of the things—like thinking all snakes are dangerous.”
“And Aunt Caroline would be ready with a plausible story about how Daddy was always so cocksure of what was edible and what wasn’t that he never bothered to check them against the reference books. She’d claim that was why she never dared eat what he picked, which would explain why she didn’t get poisoned, too. You see, we can both accept that idea because it’s so typical of the way she operates. Ruby Redd’s murder was entirely different. Your theory is that your mother killed your girl friend because she didn’t want to lose you, but I can’t buy that. You were still under age and Aunt Caroline had control of the finances. All she had to do was cut off your allowance and ship you off with her on a trip somewhere. She’d be taking a fairly safe gamble that Ruby wouldn’t be the sort of girl to sit chewing her fingernails till you got back, wouldn’t she?”
“I suppose so,” Alexander admitted, “but if she didn’t kill Ruby, who did?”
“I’d say, off-hand, it was most likely the person to whom she gave the money.”
“Gave the money? You mean Father’s money? Good God, Sarah, why would Mother do a thing like that?”
“How should I know?” said his wife. “But if she didn’t give it away, what did she spend it on? A person couldn’t fling huge sums about and have nothing left to show for it unless she bought phoney stocks or bet on horse races—”
Family Vault Page 13
