by Carolyn Hart
Inside, I heard the distant sound of a piano. I flowed through the house, admiring the living room with a white marble chimney piece, hand-beaten copper vases, a rosewood whatnot with a collection of porcelain birds. In the dining room, stained-glass windows with a heraldic motif of a metal visor in the center of a blue-and-gold design overlooked a rectangular mahogany table. Balloon-backed chairs repeated the design in blue-and-gold tapestry.
At the end of the hall, I entered a long room. Chintz-covered easy chairs, a large-screen television, and a wet bar provided a homey atmosphere. A bricked wall suggested this room was a later addition.
A slender woman sat at a grand piano. Her hands moved lightly as she played “Clair de lune.” The mood and movement were mournful. She looked cool and summery in a light blue cotton blouse and a leaf-print-pattern blue-and-silver sarong skirt. Softly curling blond hair framed a face with the beauty of classic features: smoothly rounded forehead, wide-spaced blue eyes, narrow nose, perfect lips curved in a hint of a smile. She had the kind of beauty made famous long ago by Grace Kelly.
My gaze swept past a wall with an English hunting scene and stopped at a knotty-pine wall covered with family photographs that followed a little boy from toddler days to college. I saw the boy and the woman seated at the piano as they had changed over time. The woman who held him when he was little smiled down at him adoringly, a mother’s look of passionate love. The little boy’s father had an open, blunt face that had improved with age from a rather vacuous expression when he was young to a tolerant, genial middle age. Family pictures, the three of them smiling and happy, included sitting on the top rail of a wooden fence, skiing, playing tennis, boating, birthdays, dances. I studied the photos with a prickling of shock.
I stepped back, scanned the wall. Across the top of the wall was a series of studio photographs. The pictures were evenly spaced except near the end of the row, where three of the frames hung several inches farther apart.
I glanced behind me. The pensive pianist was focused on the keys, the slow music continuing.
I moved nearer the wall and quietly lifted several frames in turn. There were nicks from previous nails a few inches from the current hooks. The photographs at the end of the line had been moved to hide a missing frame. At one time, another picture had hung there.
I gently straightened the last frame and gazed at the woman. Her lovely face appeared troubled. She half turned toward the wall of pictures, perhaps sensing my movement, perhaps seeking solace. For an instant, sheer misery made her face forlorn. Her hands came down, crashing into a discordant chord.
Now was the time to confront Gwen Dunham.
On the front porch, I glanced around. No one was about. I swirled into place. I took no pleasure in what I was about to do, but someone had pushed Jack Hume to his death and I might be near to knowing why. I pushed the bell.
In a moment, the door opened. The smooth social veneer that keeps misery hidden molded her face into polite inquiry. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Dunham, I’m assisting Kay Clark with her book about Jack Hume. I would like to speak with you—”
“I can’t help you.” Her voice was thin. “I hardly knew him.” The door began to close.
“Jack Hume took your son’s hairbrush.”
“Oh God.” She clung to the doorjamb as if all her strength were gone.
“Hey, Gwen?” The robust call came from down the hall. A burly man with thinning sandy hair and a sun-reddened face strode up the hallway. “Ready to go?”
Violet eyes huge in a blanched face, she held out a beseeching hand to me. “It’s my husband. I can’t talk to you now. I can’t.”
“Three o’clock in the gazebo at The Castle.”
She nodded jerkily and the door swung shut.
I disappeared. Inside the house, I watched her turn to meet him.
The smile slid from his face. “Gwen, what’s wrong?” He darted an angry look at the door. “Who was that woman? What’s happened?”
She reached out and spread her fingers on the tiled top of the side table in the foyer. She tried to smile, but her face was paper white, her eyes staring. “The woman?” Her voice was uneven, breathless. “I don’t know.” There was a ring of truth to her voice, truth and puzzlement. “I shouldn’t have opened the door. I have a terrible headache. I’m going upstairs. I’ll lie down for a while. Go on to lunch without me. Tell Ted and Tracy I have a headache.” She turned and moved blindly toward the stairs.
He came after her, reached out to take her arm. “I’ll help—”
She pulled away. “No. I need to rest. Everything will be all right. I’ll take some medicine. Please, go on without me.”
He watched as she climbed, using the banister to pull herself from one step to another. His face held uncertainty. He moved toward the stairs, stopped, shook his head in frustration. He walked down the hall, a man deep in thought. Clearly the thought was not pleasant.
The terrace room at The Castle reflected a taste for Moorish architecture. A long wooden table near the French windows apparently served the family for lunch. Evelyn looked remote and unapproachable. Diane’s sundress was too youthful, exposing bony, freckled arms. Jimmy’s square face looked set and hard. Kay’s dark head was bent toward Diane and Kay seemed to hang on every word. Laverne and Ronald Phillips weren’t in evidence.
Diane’s face glowed with eagerness. “…Laverne gives so much of herself. She is absolutely drained after a séance. I worry about her…” Her praise continued.
Jimmy ate stolidly, his face drawn in a frown.
Evelyn ignored the conversation except for an occasional disdainful glance.
Obviously Kay hadn’t shared her information about Laverne and Ronald with Diane. I wondered if Kay had spoken yet with Laverne. But that could wait until later. At the moment, I was impatient to talk to Kay.
I dropped down beside her, bent to whisper in her ear. “Remain calm.”
Kay stiffened. Her expression became glazed.
“Meet me downtown at Lulu’s in twenty minutes.”
I sat at the counter and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I no longer felt the need to appear businesslike, at least not for lunch. A jade green cotton top with a square neck and cap sleeves made my eyes look even greener. Green is good for redheads. A short white skirt with green-stemmed daisies and white sandals completed my ensemble.
I took a last bite of hamburger as Kay slid onto the next stool. Providentially, the space was open, even though Lulu’s was at the height of the lunch crunch.
The waitress filled up my tea glass, cast a professional eye. “Dessert today?”
“Lulu’s special.” After my successful morning, I deserved fresh apple pie with melted Cheddar and a scoop of homemade vanilla.
“Coming up.” She glanced at Kay. “What’ll you have?”
“Key lime pie and coffee.”
When our desserts arrived, I forked flaky crust first.
Kay slid here eyes toward me. “Where have you been?”
She gave the distinct impression she would have been happier had I never reappeared. Fortunately, I wasn’t sensitive. “I had an instructive chat with Alison Gregory.”
Kay looked bored. “So Alison’s sinking her piranha teeth deeper into the Hume fortune. What else is new?”
“Not so fast. Evelyn wasn’t interested in a partnership, nor was Alison. Jack wanted Alison’s help. He made a special effort to be charming to her at The Castle one evening, asking her to describe some of the paintings to him.”
Kay looked puzzled. “Describe the paintings to him? Why? He was as much a connoisseur as Evelyn. Jack’s wife was an artist and they often spent time at galleries in Europe.”
I shrugged. “I suppose it was a way to be friendly with Alison. In any event, it wasn’t art that brought him to her gallery. He wanted to talk to Alison about Evelyn.”
As Kay listened to my report, her eyes widened and her fork with a mound of key lime pie remained on her plate. When I fini
shed, she sat silent for a moment, then shook her head. “Paul was Jack’s best friend. Why did Jack lie to Paul about Evelyn planning to go into a partnership with Alison?”
“Maybe he didn’t. Maybe Alison Gregory lied.”
Kay looked efficient. “There’s a quick way to answer that.” She pulled out her cell, dialed. “Evelyn, this is Kay. I may have misunderstood Jack in a phone conversation before he died. We were talking about Gregory Gallery. Are you considering becoming a partner with Alison?” She listened, then said smoothly, “Actually, I was on my cell and there was static. He must have said something about you and Alison working so closely together in your art acquisitions, a real partnership.” She ate a bite of pie. “I understand. It’s a minor point, but I wanted to clear it up. Thank you.” She clicked off the cell. “Jack lied to Paul. Why?”
I hadn’t known Jack. I didn’t know how closely—or not—he hewed to truth, but there could be an explanation. “Paul and Jack were old friends, but would Jack necessarily want to discuss Evelyn with him? Instead, he made up a story to give Paul a reason for his curiosity.”
“I suppose.” Kay didn’t sound convinced. “The whole conversation seems off-kilter to me. Jack might dissemble with Paul if there was an important enough reason, but I don’t see Jack asking a woman he barely knew for advice about his family.”
“He’d been gone a long time. From all accounts, Evelyn and Alison are very close. There was real affection in her voice when she spoke of Evelyn.” I finished the last delicious scrap of apple pie. “We can be sure it’s never occurred to Alison that Jack was pushed or she wouldn’t have told me what Jack said about Evelyn.” I quoted, “‘My sister hates me. If she had the chance, I think she’d shoot me.’”
Kay shivered. “He must have sensed enormous anger on Evelyn’s part. She has a very strong personality. I think if she were angry, she’d be frightening.” Kay pushed away the rest of her pie. “No matter what we discover, I never feel that we are getting any closer to the reason Jack was killed. I don’t see how I’m going to find out who’s guilty. Even if I do, what do I do then?” Her voice was forlorn.
It was a surprise to see Kay discouraged. Possibly I should encourage her to give up. I looked into her dark eyes, filled with doubt and sadness. Where was the Kay who never met a challenge she wouldn’t take? No doubt she was weary. Her sleep must have been disjointed, what little she had achieved after the crash of the vase. But if she quit, she would always look back and feel that she had failed a man who had been a treasured, if troublesome, part of her life.
I weighed my choices: encourage Kay to leave Adelaide, thus keeping her safe, my prime responsibility, or urge her to fight the good fight, for herself and for the memory of a man she’d loved.
My lips parted.
Kay sat up straight, her eyes blazing. “I have to keep going. No matter what it takes, I’ll find out who’s guilty.”
Here was the Kay I’d come to respect. I didn’t even consider suggesting she leave the task to me. For her own peace of mind, she had to finish the course. “I’ll do everything I can to help.” I meant every word of my offer.
“Thank you.”
Was there a hint of appreciation in her eyes?
She gave me a thumbs-up. “I’ll catch Jack’s murderer.” She hesitated, then spoke in a rush. “You’re a big help. Thanks for the update.”
Since she didn’t ask if I had learned anything else, I felt under no compulsion to describe my visit to the Dunham home. If my talk with Gwen Dunham at the gazebo proved to be relevant, I would report what I learned as if I’d discovered all my facts from Gwen. I would leave Paul Fisher out of the equation altogether. I not only believe in young love, I believe in late love.
Kay gestured to the waitress, who nodded, and in a moment placed Kay’s check and mine on the counter. As Kay started to rise, I spoke fast. “Did you get anywhere with Laverne and Ronald?”
She settled back on the stool. “Not far. I cornered Laverne alone on the lower terrace and here came Ronald.” She looked thoughtful. “It’s hard to square your version of him and the one he presents when he’s with Laverne. He played the diffident, adoring husband to the hilt, but, thanks to your tip, I watched her. She slid her eyes toward him, time and again. I’d hoped to talk to her alone, but I got the real clear feeling that wasn’t going to happen, not if he could help it. I was as pleasant as could be and said I’d heard some interesting facts from Helen Cramer’s daughter. Laverne looked like one of Poe’s apparitions had her by the neck.” Kay paused and gave me an uncertain glance.
Heavens, I would hope I’m never guilty of being overly sensitive. I waved a negligent hand. “‘No offense meant, none taken.’” I smiled as I remembered Sergeant Buck, who faithfully served Colonel Primrose in the Grace Latham mysteries by Leslie Ford. I’d recently read her latest, evocatively southern and drenched with the scent of magnolias. Oh. Perhaps I shouldn’t share that little fact about Heaven. Dismiss the possibility from your mind that your favorite authors write merrily away in their Heavenly abode. But you might remember the first stanza of Rudyard Kipling’s “When Earth’s Last Picture Is Painted” and draw your own conclusions.
Kay cleared her throat. “Ronald wasn’t fazed. He gave Laverne a glance that meant ‘get that terrified look off your face,’ then he went on the offensive. He claimed that Laverne had been set up by Carol Cramer, Helen’s daughter. He said one afternoon when Helen was resting, Carol encouraged her to look at some old albums and that’s why Laverne’s fingerprints were on the albums. The fact that Carol surreptitiously obtained her fingerprints from a teacup and had them compared to the prints on the album certainly indicated that Carol was not trustworthy. Laverne had only looked at the albums to be polite and was appalled when Carol poisoned her mother’s mind against her, convincing Helen that the intimate details recounted during séances had been taken from the albums. As for the money, it had been freely given as a gift in appreciation for Laverne’s great service in affording comfort to Helen. However, when there was a lawsuit, Laverne felt so dishonored she decided not to keep any of the money even though it had been freely given to her by Helen. By the time Ronald finished, Laverne didn’t look quite so spooked. Oh. No offense meant.”
“None taken.” I laughed aloud.
Kay’s lips quivered for an instant in amusement, then her amusement fled. She sighed and turned her hands up in a gesture of defeat. “As for the historical society, Ronald was as smooth as silk. He said he was greatly interested in Adelaide’s history and was working on a monograph about the founding families, the Humes and the Pritchards.”
“What an eel.” I pictured an eel with carefully coiffed silver hair and cold blue eyes.
“He has an answer for everything and Diane will always take their part.” Kay looked disgusted.
“I imagine she will. However, exposing Laverne and Ronald isn’t our main concern. The point is to catch Jack’s murderer.” I looked into the distance as if seeking enlightenment. I do believe I might have excelled at acting. Possibly that’s why I felt such an affinity with auburn-haired, velvet-voiced, witty Myrna Loy. Those who loved her films will be delighted to know she is as urbane and delightful…Oh. There I go again. Never mind. One day you will know. Perhaps my inner soliloquy made my expression even more arresting. I widened my eyes. My lips parted. I turned to Kay with a happy look of triumph. “Kay, you are so insightful, so clever, with such an unerring sense of character. There is an avenue open to us that only you are suited to follow.”
She looked at me warily.
Was her inner hogwash detector vibrating? I glanced at the mirror. I have never seen anyone look more sincere than I and the light was very flattering to my hair. “Thanks to your good efforts, we know everyone who was present at The Castle the night Jack was killed. However, we must discover which one was angry enough or desperate enough to murder him. You can use your investigative skills to put together their psychological profiles.” This project would be a nic
e, safe diversion for Kay while I followed more fruitful lines of inquiry. “I’ll—” I broke off. The mirror gave a good view of everyone entering Lulu’s.
Chief Cobb stood in the doorway. Despite the heat, he wore a brown suit, white shirt, and tie. The temperature outside probably hovered around ninety-seven. He looked hot, wiping a hand across his sweaty face. He started toward a booth.
I bent near Kay and whispered, “Pay my check,” as I disappeared.
Kay flinched. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” Her voice was sharp.
The waitress turned. She was a big woman with a broad, freckled face. “Ma’am?”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
The waitress looked at the pudgy man on the stool to Kay’s left. He was turned away, deep in conversation with a little boy in thick glasses and a backward ball cap. Her gaze moved past Kay to my empty seat. She stared. “Where’d that redhead go? She hasn’t paid.”
Her raised voice caught the chief’s attention. He glanced toward the counter.
“I’m paying for her.” Kay added my check to her own.
The waitress looked to the front door and back to my empty space. Her face creased in a frown. “She was there when I turned around to get the coffeepot.” She held a metal pot with a red rim. “All I did was get the pot and turn back around.”
The chief stood behind my seat. “Hey, Imogene.”
“Hey, Chief.” Imogene jerked a thumb toward the door. “Did you see a redhead go out just now?”
Sam Cobb’s heavy face was suddenly alert. “A redhead? No.” He looked at Kay. “Good to see you, Mrs. Clark. Is your assistant here?”
Kay maintained her poise. “Not at the moment.”
“Where did she go? That’s what I want to know?” Imogene had met the inexplicable and she gripped it tighter than a dog with a bone as she automatically cleared the counter.
Kay smiled. “She moves quickly. But it doesn’t matter. I’m paying.” She started to rise.
