I made a face at him. “Are you kidding?”
He laughed. “Me neither. I can whip up another one later.” He knelt on the floor and peered into the hole. “Jeepers, it’s dark in there.” He stuck his hand tentatively inside, kept going until half his arm was swallowed up in wall. “This runs pretty deep. Got a flashlight?”
I found one in the drawer and handed it to him. He flicked it on, shone it inside. “I see a few buttons—a little ball—oh, and a catnip mouse.”
Maybe, but I didn’t think so. “Keep looking,” I encouraged him. “You said it ran deep.”
He shot me a dirty look and then thrust his arm inside all the way up to his elbow. “Noth—Wait! There is something all the way in the back.” He wiggled the light around. “Looks like a box.”
“A box!” I leaned forward excitedly and tried to peer over his shoulder. “Can you grab it?”
“I think I can get both hands in there if you hold the flashlight.”
He passed it to me. It took a few minutes, because I kept jiggling the light around and he had to stop every few seconds to chastise me, but eventually Gary pulled out a long, rusty metal box. He also pulled out Purrday’s toys. Purrday walked over, picked the catnip mouse up between his teeth, and went over to lay in front of the refrigerator, happily chewing away on his toy. Gary set the box on the counter and we examined it. It wasn’t very deep, but it was long. Actually, it looked like the type of container you find inside bank safety deposit boxes. There was no lock on the box, just a little lever that you flipped up. Gary looked at me questioningly.
“Want me to end the suspense?” he asked.
I hesitated, then shook my head. “I’ll do it.” I held my breath, then flipped the lid back.
Inside lay two books. The top one was leather covered, with faded gold embossing on the cover. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. The embossing was faded, but I could still make out the title: My Diary.
“Oh, goodness.” Suddenly I felt guilty, as if I’d invaded my aunt’s privacy. “This—this has got to be Aunt Matilda’s diary.”
Gary let out a low whistle. “The old girl kept a diary? Wow.”
He reached for it, but I held it back. “I’m not sure we should look at it.”
He stared at me. “You’re kidding, right? There might be something important in there.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Like what? A combination to a secret vault loaded with diamonds?”
“Hey, you never know. It was important enough for her to hide it in a place no one would have ever found it, if it hadn’t been for Purrday here.” Gary gestured with his jaw toward the cat, who was now lying on his back, his hind legs in the air, his forepaws wrapped firmly around the catnip mouse. His tongue lolled out of one side of his mouth, and I swear I saw a bit of drool spill out onto the tiled floor.
“Yes, Purrday you were very helpful,” I said dryly. “Thank goodness you led us to the secret panel before you got high on catnip.” I tapped my forefinger against the gold embossing. Should I or shouldn’t I?
“Did you ever think that maybe you were meant to find that?” Gary said suddenly. “That Purrday was sent by your aunt to lead you to it?”
I stared at him, open-mouthed. “That’s a line from our next-to-last show,” I said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “When I found the sacred medallion among Captain Ruddy’s things. That’s what you said to Destiny, only you substituted Lola for Purrday and Ruddy for my aunt.”
He shot me a sheepish grin. “Yeah, okay. But you have to admit, it’s sort of the same situation.”
Abruptly I thrust the book into his hands. “Okay then. You look at it. It won’t seem as much an invasion of her privacy if you read it.”
“Okay, fine.”
Gary pulled out a chair and settled himself at the table. I busied myself at the sink, throwing the congealed and cold eggs out and washing out the bowls, because it was a sure bet Gary wasn’t going to continue with his chef duties anytime soon.
After a few minutes he said, “This goes back years. Your aunt made her first entry when she was seventeen.”
I chuckled. “Aunt Tillie always did come late to the party. Most girls start diaries when they’re in fourth grade.”
He cast me a quick glance over his shoulder. “Is that when you started yours?”
“No, fifth—” I stopped, realizing how easily I’d stepped into that trap and stuck my tongue out at him.
He continued flipping pages. “Not a lot of excitement in your aunt’s life. It’s mostly church stuff, and socials, and oh, wow! She planned a church event when she was twenty-one. Guess event planning runs in your family’s bloodline, Shell.” He flipped a few more pages, and then let out a low whistle. “Here’s an interesting entry.” He glanced up to meet my gaze. “Her first mention of a man.”
Curious, I moved closer. “Who?”
“Doesn’t say, just gives an initial. ‘Today R and I went to the movies. He wanted to see an action picture but finally agreed to the romantic comedy I suggested. Later on, we went for a soda at Parker’s.’” He flipped a few more pages and read a few more passages out loud, all of which hinted at a burgeoning romance between my aunt and this mysterious R. Gary let out a cry: “Here’s something interesting. Come look at this.”
I didn’t need any further urging. I went and peered over his shoulder and read:
Today I thought R might ask me to marry him. Instead I find out he’s been two-timing me with Amelia. That witch pretended to be my friend, and all the while had her sights set on my boyfriend. I don’t see how I can ever forgive either of them.
“Oh my God,” I cried. “This must be the reason for the feud! Mother said it was over a man. Amelia stole Aunt Tillie’s boyfriend away from her.” Suddenly I started to laugh.
Gary looked at me. “What’s so funny?”
“Sorry. I was just thinking about the last time I saw Amelia. She certainly didn’t appear to be the man-stealing type.”
“Maybe she just didn’t age well,” said Gary. He flipped another page and a faded photograph slid out and onto the floor. He snatched it up quickly and we looked at it. From the style of dress, I figured it must have been taken in the early fifties. My aunt would have been in her twenties then. The photo depicted two women, dressed stylishly, their hair worn in long bobs. Standing between them was a tall man with a high forehead, wide eyes, and a killer smile. I frowned as I looked at the photo. Something about the man struck me as familiar, but I couldn’t think why.
Gary flipped the photo over. “‘Me, Amelia, and R before the church social, September 9, 1951,” he read. “Which one’s your aunt, I wonder?”
“I think the one on the left. She looks like other photos I’ve seen of Aunt Tillie when she was young.” I stared at the other woman. “Amelia wasn’t half bad herself.” I tapped at the photo. “Wish I knew more about this ‘R’ guy, though.”
“Well, let’s see what this other book has to offer.”
Gary set the diary aside and pulled the other volume from the box. He looked at the cover. “Fox Hollow High, Class of 1947. This must be your aunt’s high school yearbook. Man, she kept it all these years?” He shook his head. “I couldn’t even tell you where my high school diploma is.”
I gave him an impish grin. “Are you sure you’ve got one?” As he sputtered, I reached for the book. “It does seem odd, though, that she’d lock her diary and this book away in such a—a unique hiding place.”
“She obviously didn’t want to part with it, but the memories it brought up were too painful.”
I nodded. “Maybe.” I set the book down on the table and started thumbing through the pages. It was typical high school stuff. Lots of candid photos, sports, different clubs. I looked carefully through the various photos but didn’t see any of those three in any of them.
Gary noticed my disap
pointed look and patted my shoulder. “Maybe they weren’t very active in clubs,” he said. “But for sure you’ll find them in the class photos; unless, of course, they were absent the day they were taken.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.” I found the section on class photos and went immediately to the Ws. Matilda Washburn and Amelia Witherspoon’s photographs weren’t far apart from each other and I had to admit, they were both very pretty. Gary was right—Amelia hadn’t aged well. No doubt her disposition could account for some of that.
“Since we only know the boy’s first initial, R, we’ll have to look through these photos,” I sighed. “And there were almost a thousand kids in this class.”
Gary flipped a few pages. “Say, maybe not. Look at this photo. He looks like the guy.”
I looked, and indeed the figure Gary pointed to was the same man in the photograph with my aunt and Amelia. I sucked in a breath. The man’s most prominent feature wasn’t discernible in the faded photograph, but there was no missing it in the formal portrait.
Big bug eyes. Like a frog’s.
I looked at the name below the photo.
Robert Lawrence Peabody.
Well! That explained a lot!
• Nineteen •
I made a few quick calls and learned that Lawrence Peabody, aka Robert Lawrence Peabody, breakfasted this time nearly every day at Minnie’s House of Pancakes, out on Route 81. Gary needed no further urging, since our breakfast plans had long since been abandoned. After we both showered and changed, we set out in Gary’s convertible to not only get breakfast, but hopefully some answers as well.
We had no trouble finding Minnie’s. The building was made of gray stone with a huge stack of pancakes perched on the roof right next to an enormous sign. The parking lot was jammed with cars, and we had to drive around for about fifteen minutes before Gary spied an SUV pulling out of a space at the farthest end of the lot. The entrance was obscured by a sea of people; I finally asked a tall man wearing Bermuda shorts holding a small baby in his arms, and he told us that we had to give our names at the register inside, which meant that we had to push through a veritable wall of people.
“This place either serves food on a par with Wolfgang Puck, or no one wants to cook their own breakfast anymore,” grumbled Gary. “And this is a weekday.”
“It’s what the natives would call a tourist hotspot.”
Gary cut me an eye roll and then sighed as he looked at the sea of people clustered around the building’s railing. “You might as well wait here. No sense both of us getting crushed.”
“Okay,” I said. “While you’re at it, see if you can spot our guy anywhere. Maybe he’s at the counter?”
Gary’s eyes narrowed. “Even if he’s not there, we’re having breakfast,” he growled, and then turned and started to elbow his way into the restaurant.
I walked over to the edge of the railing surrounding the building and leaned against it, letting my gaze rove over the crowd. After a few minutes, I saw the front door open and a group of people exit—a young couple with a toddler, an elderly man and a woman holding hands, a group of chattering girls who looked to be not more than seventeen, and at the very end of the conga line, Larry Peabody himself.
“Mr. Peabody,” I cried out. He paused and looked around, apparently trying to figure out who’d called his name. “Mr. Peabody,” I called again and this time I waved.
Larry’s head swiveled in my direction and his gaze locked with mine. His lips twisted into a sneer, and then he deliberately turned on his heel and he pushed past a young couple to walk briskly down the steps and into the parking lot. I glanced toward the doorway. Through the plate glass I could see there was a line at the register, and Gary was nowhere in sight. After only a moment’s hesitation, I hurried down the steps too. I paused for a moment to get my bearings and looked around. I saw Larry heading toward the far end of the lot, not far from where Gary had parked. I quickened my stride, but the old guy walked darn fast. I was halfway across the lot when I saw him get into a dark maroon sedan about three spaces away from Gary’s convertible. Geez, did everyone in this town own dark maroon sedans? I broke into a run and reached him just as he backed out of the space.
“Mr. Peabody,” I yelled. “Please wait. I need to speak to you.”
He lowered his window and leaned out, his face as dark as a thundercloud. “I don’t believe we have anything to say to each other, Ms. McMillan.”
I positioned myself directly in front of his car. “Oh, I think we do.”
“Get away,” he growled. “I’ve no qualms about running you over.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that before I have a chance to ask you about your relationship with my aunt, and Amelia.”
His frown deepened. “Relationship? What relationship?”
I glanced around the parking lot. “I’d prefer to have this conversation in private.”
“Really?” he sneered. “I’d prefer not to have it at all. Now, move!”
“You led my aunt to believe you wanted to marry her, but you were dating Amelia,” I burst out. “Just how serious was that relationship, Mr. Peabody? And how long did it go on? Until Amelia’s death?”
His eyes narrowed, but his face paled a bit. He waved one hand in an imperious manner. “What sort of nonsense are you babbling?” he said, but his tone lacked conviction.
I moved from the front of the car over to the driver’s window and leaned inside. “I found my aunt’s diary,” I said. “I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”
For a few moments Larry didn’t say one word, he just sat staring straight ahead through the windshield. The knuckles of his hands gripping the wheel were white, and I could see a muscle working in his jaw. “Diary, huh?” he said at last. He turned his head slightly and glared at me. “My house, two p.m. Be on time.” Then he shifted the car into gear and took off, tires squealing.
I stood for a moment, watching the sedan as it sped out of the parking lot and took the corner sharply, then I started back to the restaurant. Gary was leaning against the railing, twirling a small plastic box in his hands. He cut me an anxious look as I approached. “Let me guess,” he said. He motioned with his chin toward the exit. “That was Peabody.”
“Yep. He was all set to ignore me until I mentioned my aunt’s diary. He told me to be at his house at two o’clock.”
One of Gary’s eyebrows winged skyward. “And that’s a good thing, right?”
I set my jaw. “One way or another, yes.”
“Good.” He jumped as the pager lit up in his hand, and then eyed me. “We’re still having breakfast, right?”
My own stomach growled. “Sure, we might as well.”
“Good. I hate interviewing suspects on an empty stomach.”
∞
Robert Lawrence Peabody’s narrow, two-story house was located on a side street near the edge of town. Gary parked his convertible in front and we walked up the short walkway onto the latticed porch and rang the bell. It echoed eerily through the house. We waited a few minutes and Gary was just about to ring again when the door jerked open and Larry stood there.
“Right on time, I see,” he said. He moved aside to let us enter. “Come in.”
We stepped inside the dimly lighted foyer and Larry ushered us into a large sitting room that had a long sofa, a loveseat, and a La-Z-Boy recliner grouped around a low-slung coffee table. A massive flat-screen tv took up almost one entire wall, and the other had what appeared to be a working fireplace. The elderly man settled himself into the recliner and motioned us to take seats. We settled onto the loveseat, and then I reached into my tote bag, withdrew Tillie’s diary, and laid it on the coffee table.
Larry stared at it for a few minutes without saying anything. Then he said, very softly, “That was your aunt’s?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“You found i
t in her house?”
“Not exactly.” Gary stretched his long legs out underneath the coffee table. “Purrday found it.”
“Huh?” Larry looked puzzled. “Percy, you said?”
“Purrday,” I corrected. “My aunt’s cat.”
“Oh?” The angry expression melted away, and he barked out a short laugh. “That figures, that Tillie would have a cat as smart as she was.” He leaned back and steepled his fingers underneath his chin. “What do you want to know?”
I scooted to the edge of the loveseat. “You were the reason for the feud between Amelia and my aunt,” I said.
He considered this a moment. “I guess I was.” He blew out a long breath. “I never meant for any of that to happen.”
“Why don’t you tell me just what did happen? From reading some of my aunt’s entries, it appears she was madly in love with you—she expected you to ask her to marry you.”
“Did she? Sometimes I wish I had.” He stared off into space for several minutes before he spoke again. “Your aunt was a real beauty back in the day. You look quite a bit like her, Ms. McMillan. Anyway, we dated all through junior and senior year in high school. We were quite the item.”
“I gathered. How did Amelia figure into this?”
“Tillie and Amelia became friends in high school; they belonged to the Business Club, and they had a lot of the same interests.” He pulled at the lobe of one ear. “Amelia wasn’t too good at making friends, so she spent a lot of time with Tillie. Once we started dating, Tillie didn’t have as much time for Amelia. I knew it irked her, but—” He spread his hands. “What could I do?”
“The notation in my aunt’s diary said that she thought you were going to ask her to marry you. It was dated a few years after your high school graduation.”
“Tillie and Amelia both went to business school, and I went on to college,” Larry said. “NYU is only an hour away by train, and the business school was located two towns over, so we still kept on seeing each other. During my senior year at college, I was planning to ask Tillie to marry me—I even went into New York City one weekend to look at diamonds. While I was shopping around, I ran into Amelia.”
The Time for Murder is Meow Page 18
