by Carolyn Hart
Suddenly the dog stiffened. He yipped, his tone high and shrill.
“Walter…”
The cocker wriggled free and dropped to the floor.
Diane called him, “Come here, you bad dog.” But she wasn’t scolding him. Her tone was loving and indulgent. “Come back here, Walter. Tell Mother where you’ve been.” Her voice faded as they moved away from the top of the stairs.
Jimmy grinned at us. “She’d be a lot more upset if something happened to Walter than to me.” But there was affection and good humor in his voice. “As dog rescuers, we deserve fresh coffee.” He turned to go back to the dining room.
“Walter!” Diane’s cry was sharp. “Come back. Their door’s ajar. Don’t push! Walter, stop that.” There was a strangled sound and then a high scream.
Jimmy swerved around Kay and me. He reached the stairs, took the steps two at a time.
Kay and I raced after him.
Diane stood at the far end of the hall near a partially open door. She was trembling. “There’s blood…there’s blood everywhere.”
The door to Laverne and Ronald Phillips’s room was partially open. Blood had pooled in a dark splotch just over the threshold into the hallway.
I glanced back. Only Kay was behind me. I disappeared.
Inside the bedroom, I felt as if I’d slammed into a wall. I wouldn’t follow Ronald Phillips today. His body kept the door from fully opening. He lay on his back, skin flaccid and grayish. Dark splotches stained his once-white T-shirt. His temple was disfigured as well. I suspected a gun had been held only inches away and the trigger pulled.
I hovered above the bed.
Laverne lay on her back. Blood had seeped into the pillows and the bedclothes. She appeared to have been shot in her sleep. Had she awakened, groggy from pills, at the rapid staccato of gunfire? I suspected the attack had been sudden, Ronald shot down, then swift movement to the bed and the gun trained on her.
“They’re dead.” Diane’s cry rose from the hallway. “They’re dead!” She clung to her son’s arm.
Jimmy stared into the bedroom, his young face pale with shock. “Walter.” His voice was shaky. He reached out, snagged the cocker’s collar, pulled him into the hall. Smears of blood stained the floor. He lifted the struggling cocker, held him against his chest, then slid an arm around his mother’s shoulders as she began to sob.
I returned to the hall. I glanced toward the stairs and saw no one. I was behind Diane and Jimmy and Kay. I appeared.
Kay took two swift steps, gazed into the room. She drew in a sharp breath. “They’ve been killed.” Her voice was grim. She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her slacks and punched 911.
Jimmy turned his mother away from the room. He still held the struggling Walter. “We’ll wait for the police downstairs. Come on, Mom.” He gave Kay a commanding glance. “Close the door.”
Kay moved quickly, pulled the door shut.
Evelyn waited at the foot of the stairs, worry and fear clear in the drawn lines of her face. Margo and Shannon stood a few feet behind her.
Diane sobbed. “Someone’s killed Laverne and Ronald. There’s blood all over their room.”
Jimmy nodded at his aunt. “Laverne and Ronald are dead. It has to be murder. The police are coming.”
On the main floor, with an apologetic glance, I slipped into the guest lavatory. I regretted that I’d succumbed to the lure of fashion this morning. I couldn’t at this point change to a frumpier costume, but I added oversize harlequin-frame sunglasses and a green kerchief to cover my hair, then returned.
“The police are coming.” Kay spoke quietly. “Possibly we should wait in the drawing room.”
Evelyn led the way. She walked to a Queen Anne chair, sank onto it. Diane huddled on a sofa, shaking, words tumbling. Jimmy paced by the fireplace. Margo and Shannon sat side by side on a bench, their expressions shocked and frightened.
Margo asked abruptly, “Are you sure—”
Jimmy interrupted. “They’re dead and covered with blood.”
Shannon gave a cry.
He started to walk toward her, then shook his head, resumed his quick steps up and down, up and down in front of the fireplace.
The police arrived within five minutes, sirens blaring. Chief Cobb paused in the archway. “Is everyone in the household here?” His gray suit already looked rumpled.
Evelyn wasn’t as majestic as usual. She took a deep breath and nodded, big-boned face bleak.
“Remain here.” It was an order, not a request. “Officer Cain will be in charge. Officer, take everyone’s name.” The chief swung away, moving fast for a big man.
I well remembered young and handsome Johnny Cain. His coal black hair was newly cut, his deep blue eyes alert and intelligent. I hoped he wouldn’t recall the redhead he’d glimpsed at Lulu’s when I was in Adelaide for the Christmas holiday. Of course, on that particular day, I’d worn a particularly flattering jade green blouse and slacks, which emphasized the sheen of my hair. Possibly today was the first time in either my earthly or Heavenly existence that I perceived a negative aspect of red hair. Truly, once glimpsed, the coppery gleam of my hair is difficult to forget.
Morning sunlight slanted across the Aubusson carpet, its colors faded a dusty rose and pale gold from years of exposure. Each person sat in an island of silence. Johnny Cain moved from one to another. When he reached me, his expression was curious. I could have told him it was déjà vu all over again. Instead, I gave my name in a sibilant mutter and hunched my head to one side as if I had a stiff neck.
When his task was done, he waited near the archway.
Everyone sequestered in the drawing room appeared shocked and subdued. Evelyn clasped the silver head of an ebony cane, her expression somber. Diane slumped against the side of the sofa, occasionally pressing a sodden handkerchief to her reddened eyes. Jimmy paced, frowning as he flexed his hands, opening and closing his fingers into fists. Shannon held tight to one of her mother’s hands. Margo kept her gaze trained on the archway, watching as officers and technicians came and went in the hallway. Shannon’s face creased in thought. Occasionally, she stared at Jimmy with haunted eyes.
More quick steps in the hallway. A wiry, trim figure in a sport shirt and Levi’s trotted past the archway. I recognized the medical examiner. His official pronouncement of death was necessary before the bodies could be moved and the business of collecting evidence begun.
I moved restively in a not very comfortable early Victorian chair. Perhaps Wiggins had been right to discourage appearances. If I weren’t a guest at The Castle, I could be upstairs right this moment. Instead, I was trapped in the drawing room.
Occasionally Johnny Cain slid a puzzled glance toward me.
I sat in a shadowy corner with one hand to my face, as if propping up a cheekbone. Upstairs so much was happening…I gave a little mental shrug. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I stood, still with a hand to my face. I veered fairly near Johnny and muttered, “Going to the lavatory. Back in a minute.”
He said, “Miss de Sales…”
“Got to hurry.” Dignity was a small sacrifice for duty.
He followed me through the archway.
I flapped a hand as I opened the lavatory door only a few feet away and stepped inside.
I punched the lock, gave myself a thumbs-up in the ornate ormolu mirror, and disappeared.
In the hallway, Johnny stood where he could keep an eye on the lavatory door as well as the drawing room. In two quick strides, he checked the doors on either side. One opened to a closet, a second to a storage room. Now he could feel comfortable that the restroom had no other exit and I was inside until I came out. I was glad to see he’d lost his tense expression.
In an instant I was upstairs. I hovered above the chief, Detective Sergeant Hal Price, and the quick-talking medical examiner. I spared one admiring glance for Hal Price, the cotton-top detective with craggy good looks, slate blue eyes, and a muscular build. I was always true to Bobby Mac, but I
would be disingenuous to pretend my pulse didn’t quicken when I saw Hal Price. I knew the attraction was mutual. Perhaps someday I could find the right redhead for him.
“…looks like contact wounds, both to the chest and temple.” The M.E. pointed at Ronald’s body. The doctor stepped to the bedside and looked down, his thin face intent. “Same MO here. That’s kind of a puzzle. The guy at the door had to be shot first. There’s no suggestion of trauma or struggle by him to prevent the attack. Why did she remain still? Natural thing would be to fling back the covers and fight or run. Instead, she’s lying here, and bang, she’s dead. Probably a narcotic. I’ll run the tests, let you know.”
The last words came as he stepped casually over Ronald’s feet and edged out of the partially open door.
Several uniformed officers were working around the perimeter of the room, measuring and photographing. One officer on his knees near Ronald’s pooled blood looked up. “Hey, Chief. The blood’s pretty much dry except in the center. Paw prints go right through it. But there’s a smear here”—one finger pointed at a brownish curl—“that looks like the edge of a shoe.”
Chief Cobb stepped nearer. “That’s critical. Get a good photo, then try for an impression. Whether we get it or not, the murderer may have stepped in blood. If we get a suspect, we can get a warrant to check shoes. There may be microscopic traces that will send somebody to jail.”
Cobb was thoughtful. “Here’s how I figure it. Late last night there was a knock at the door. Phillips gets up. Probably he’s foggy with sleep. He opens the door, the gun’s jammed against his chest, and bingo. As he falls, the murderer steps inside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, and kicks the door shut. A couple of strides to the bed.” The chief matched action to his words. “Gun to her throat, pull the trigger. Back to the guy on the floor, maybe he’s moaning. Maybe he’s still alive. Gun to the temple and that’s the end of the story.”
Hal looked at him quizzically. “Three, maybe four shots, and nobody heard?”
Cobb raised a sardonic eyebrow. “If anybody noticed the shots, they haven’t shared that information with us. I don’t think there was that much noise. A gun fired against his body muffled the first shot and very likely that was the only shot fired from the doorway. Once Phillips was down, the murderer stepped inside and shut the door. The Castle walls are old, thick, and well insulated. If anyone in bed heard a pop, it didn’t register as gunfire. I doubt the entire attack required more than three or four minutes. When they were dead, the gun was tossed down beside him”—the chief pointed at the gun lying on the floor—“and the door opened. The murderer likely waited long enough to be sure no one was stirring, then returned to his or her room. Or left The Castle.”
The chief looked at Hal. “Process the weapon, then see if anyone in the drawing room can identify it. I’ll find a place downstairs and interview those who are in the house.”
I reappeared in the lavatory, unlocked the door, and was back in my chair when Price appeared in the archway.
“I am Detective Sergeant Hal Price. We appreciate your patience. Chief Cobb will speak with each of you individually in the library.” He glanced at a card in his hand. “Ms. Francie de Sales?” He looked inquiringly around the room.
As we walked down the hall, I held a hand to the side of my face. In my peripheral vision, through the spread of my fingers, I saw Hal Price give me a long, searching look.
He held the door to the library. “Ms. de Sales, Chief.”
I sat down with my hand apparently stuck to my jaw.
Price started to pull up a chair to one side of the oak table.
The chief tapped a legal pad. “I’ll take care of this interview.” His bulldog face was bland. “Check upstairs on the evidence collection.”
“Yes, sir.” Hal moved out of my view. I heard the door open, then shut.
Chief Cobb and I sat on opposite sides of the oak table in the library. His heavy face looked purposeful and determined. His tie was loosened at the throat of a pale blue shirt. “You can take your hand down. He’s gone.”
I yanked off the kerchief and sunglasses as well, tucked them in a pocket.
He laughed, then quickly sobered. “What do you know?”
He didn’t ask how I knew, which I considered tactful. He wanted information. I gave him everything.
He wrote fast, then looked up with a grim face. “You’d think a man who’d threatened to expose a murderer might have been more cautious. Probably Phillips answered the door because he was foggy with sleep. From what you’ve said, he was a cocky little guy. He had planned to let his victim stew, get more and more nervous and worried, then make a move. The murderer didn’t give him that chance.”
I wasn’t surprised. Jack Hume posed a threat and he’d been pushed to his death. Kay Clark arrived, asked too many questions, and a vase crashed down where she waited.
I finished with the story of Walter, the cocker, shut in the workshop. “If only Walter could talk.”
The chief looked at me in surprise.
“If Walter was outside last night, wouldn’t that indicate the murderer came from outside the house?”
The chief shrugged. “Whether the dog was in or out, he had to be put where he couldn’t raise an alarm.”
I understood. Walter loved a frolic. Someone in the house walking in a hallway would attract the dog if he were inside. The answer: scoop him up, carry him outside, stroll to the workshop, shut the dog inside. Then the murderer would be free to slip back to the house and approach Laverne and Ronald’s suite.
If the murderer came from outside The Castle, either Alison Gregory or one of the Dunhams, it was also essential to prevent Walter from barking.
Chief Cobb was suddenly formal. “Thank you for your assistance, Ms. de Sales.”
When I was at the door, he called after me: “Should any other information come to your attention, please let us know.” He sounded bland, as if I were simply Kay’s assistant, but his eyes held mine for a moment.
He knew who I was.
I knew that he knew.
Neither of us intended to say more.
I smiled. “I will certainly keep you informed.” As I stepped into the hall, Detective Sergeant Price came around the corner.
Quickly, I yanked the sunglasses from my pocket, put them on.
He walked more swiftly. When he stopped and looked down at me, I was grateful for the dark lenses that hid my eyes.
“Ms. de Sales.”
I waited.
He cleared his throat. “Ask Kay Clark to come to the library.” He lingered only an instant too long, then stepped past me.
I walked swiftly to the drawing room. “Kay, they want you in the library.”
Evelyn Hume’s face folded in a disagreeable frown. “I fail to see why we are being held here and why you and Kay have been summoned before me.” Her sense of entitlement was powerful. After all, she was Evelyn Hume.
I was conciliatory. “Obviously, Kay and I aren’t important witnesses. I never met Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and Kay had only a brief acquaintance with them. I’m sure the chief wished to speak to us first so that he can concentrate on the people who matter, the ones who knew them quite well.”
I wasn’t surprised that my pleasant statement was not reassuring to the occupants of the drawing room. Evelyn’s lips folded into a tight, hard line. Diane broke into fresh sobs. Jimmy stopped pacing and jammed his hands into the pockets of his chinos, his expression grim. Margo looked wary. Shannon moved uneasily.
Kay and I turned away and walked down the hall. As we rounded the corner, the corridor to the library lay empty. I disappeared.
I hovered near the ceiling. I didn’t expect to learn anything from Kay’s visit with the chief, but I didn’t want to miss his other interviews.
In a few quick questions, Chief Cobb made certain Kay could add nothing to the information I’d provided. “Mrs. Clark, please keep our conversation confidential as well as the murders. Nothing has been rele
ased to the news media. There are witnesses I wish to interview before the crime is publicly known.”
“I understand.” She rose, then looked at him somberly. “Did Ronald and Laverne Phillips die because of me?”
His rumbly voice was patient. “Did you advise Ronald to try blackmail?”
She shook her head, understanding his query was rhetorical. “If I hadn’t come back to Adelaide, he might not have realized Jack was murdered.” Her dark eyes mirrored her distress.
The chief lifted his bulky shoulders in a shrug. “Phillips could have contacted us. He chose another path. You came to The Castle because you suspected a crime. When we spoke at Lulu’s you admitted as much. If there had been a basis for me to investigate, I would have done so. There is an important distinction between your suspicions and Ronald Phillips’s knowledge. He knew something. It may have been nothing more than a glimpse of someone climbing the stairs to the third floor. If he had informed us, I could have taken that fact and investigated that person.”
Kay pushed back a strand of silky dark hair. “Person.” Her tone was puzzled. “You talk about a person. Last night at the séance, Laverne’s ramblings obviously referred to more than one person.”
Chief Cobb sketched a noose on his legal pad. “Phillips was an equal-opportunity blackmailer. People will pay to hide secrets, even though innocent of murder. But one of his listeners was a murderer. Phillips made a fatal error.”
As Kay left, Detective Sergeant Price stepped inside. He carried a gallon-size plastic bag zipped shut. Clearly visible was a dark metal handgun. He shut the door behind him, lofted the container in triumph. “Homegrown, Chief. There’s a chip on the lower right edge of the grip. Evelyn Hume said her father brought the gun back from the Pacific in World War Two. Army-issue Colt .45. One bullet left. What are the odds the other five will be retrieved during the autopsies?”
“I’m willing to take that bet. In the affirmative.” Cobb’s eyes gleamed. “Where was the gun kept, when was it last seen, who is responsible for it?”
Price answered in order. “Her father’s upstairs office hasn’t been changed since he died. Kind of a shrine, I guess. I checked out the desk. Huge. Mahogany. Drilling plats unrolled and open. Some drilling logs. Evelyn Hume said the gun was kept in the lower right-hand drawer. When I opened the drawer, no gun. Apparently the desk wasn’t kept locked. The old dame simply gave me a cool stare when I asked if the gun was secured. Nothing, she told me frostily, is kept under lock and key at The Castle. I suppose the implication is that only hoi polloi live in houses where they have to lock up the silver. In fact, they hardly lock up anything here. No alarm system. As for keys, they sprinkle them around like confetti. The plumber has one, ditto repair companies like air-conditioning, heating, handyman. You name it, someone has a key.”
