“Try them on,” Jennifer said.
“Yes, Doctor, let’s see,” cried Susan.
Reluctantly he obliged, and was greeted with hoots of laughter.
“A Groucho Marx clone,” Jennifer said.
“No one would ever recognize you,” Amory added.
“Here, let me find you a mirror,” Jennifer began digging in her purse for her compact, but stopped suddenly, sensing something wrong. Fenimore was staring intently at a slip of paper that had fallen out of the wrappings.
“What’s that?” Susan asked.
“Oh, nothing.” He stuffed it in his pocket. “Just some instructions from the manufacturer,” he said quickly. He looked for the kid who was running the fish pond booth, but there was no one in sight and the customer line was growing. “Isn’t anyone else going to play?” he asked.
Before anyone could answer, Peter reappeared. “I’m off, Sue.”
“Oh, sure.” She nodded.
“I’ll call you.” And without so much as a nod to Fenimore and the others, he headed toward the field where his car was parked.
Turning back to the group, Susan explained, “Peter has an important squash match at his club in Philly this weekend. His mother would have a conniption fit if he didn’t show.” She raised her eyebrows. Then she said, “I’ve had enough fun and games. I’m going to do some serious diving.”
“Alone?” Fenimore watched Peter’s Porsche leave the field in a flash of scarlet.
“Oh, it’s perfectly safe as long as I stay near the dock.” She was pulling her hair back, preparing to make a braid.
“What do you look for when you dive?” Jennifer asked.
“That depends where you are. In the Florida Keys or the Caribbean you look for exotic fish and plant life. Here we look for smuggler’s loot and pirate treasure. This area,” she waved toward the river, “was a favorite hiding place for pirate booty in colonial days.”
Fenimore nodded. “Your grandmother said Blackbeard frequented these parts.”
“That’s right. And Captain Kidd is also supposed to have passed this way. But it’s hard to find things in this river. It’s muddy and visibility is poor. To see anything we have to wear headlamps with high beams—even in daylight. The closest we’ve come to finding pirate booty—is an old boot!” She laughed and hurried off to change.
After Susan left, Oliver joined them and they settled down to watch an impromptu baseball game started by the Academy boys in the field nearby. The Reverend and Fenimore began comparing college baseball feats.
“Remember the time I struck out three in a row from Dartmouth?” Oliver asked.
“You’re dreaming, Percy. But remember that great save I made against Lafayette?”
“Bullsh … But those were the days, weren’t they, Andy?” Oliver said dreamily. “We had such plans. Remember? You were going to be a fashionable Philadelphia physician and I was going to have a church on Park Avenue.” He glanced at Fenimore. “I guess you’ve achieved your goal?” He sounded a trifle envious.
Fenimore thought of his shabby Spruce Street office with its trickle of patients. One could hardly call it “fashionable,” but he couldn’t remember ever wanting anything else. His dreams had always been modest. All he wanted were a few loyal patients and the freedom to continue practicing on his own. “I guess …”
“Well, I haven’t,” he said, with more than a trace of bitterness. “I never planned to be buried down here in the boondocks. But I still have a chance …” He brightened.
“How’s that?” Fenimore asked politely.
“I have this offer from St. Matthew’s in Manhattan. They have a boys’ school. But it’s conditional. I have to prove my mettle. My record at St. Stephen’s is good except in the athletic sphere.” He made a wry face. “I can’t seem to come up with winning teams. And the alumni are not amused. If I just had some decent playing fields …”
“How are you enjoying our rustic revels?” Lydia suddenly appeared.
“They’re wonderful,” Jennifer said.
“Are you getting to meet everyone, Andrew?” She cast him a meaningful glance.
“Yes. I’ve spoken to almost everyone, I think. Except Fred Jenks. Is he around?”
“He stays behind the scenes at these affairs. He was very busy yesterday when we were setting up. But today—unless something breaks down and we need his help, he hides in the barn or sneaks off and goes fishing.”
“I think I’ll try to track him down.”
“Go ahead. Try the barn.” She pointed behind the house. “But don’t forget to come to the big tent at five o’clock for tea!” She left them.
Fenimore and Jennifer excused themselves, leaving Oliver to watch the end of the ball game alone. The sun was lower and the crowds thinner. Some of the boys were starting to close up their booths. As soon as they were alone, Fenimore stopped and pulled out the slip of paper that had fallen out of his fish pond prize. He showed it to her.
Dr.
Death of a
The phrase was written in cursive with blue ink, but the word “Doctor” above was in black.
Jennifer stared.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re probably dealing with a practical joker here, and his bark is worse than his bite.”
“How can you be sure?” She looked at him. “Until you’ve been bitten?”
He didn’t answer.
After a moment, she asked, “Didn’t he take a chance? Now you have a sample of his handwriting?”
“Or hers,” Fenimore said. “He or she must have been desperate, but decided it was worth the risk to scare me off.”
“He or she doesn’t know you very well,” she said ruefully.
“There’s Jenks now.” Fenimore saw a figure emerging from the barn. Handing Jennifer the purple teddy bear he had inherited, he said, “Meet me at the car,” and took off.
“Be careful,” she called after him.
When he was out of sight, Jennifer decided to use the time to mend fences. She found Miss Cunningham packing up the books she had been unable to sell.
“Can I help?” Jennifer asked.
The woman looked wary.
“I could carry some cartons to the car for you,” Jennifer persisted.
“They’re heavy.”
“I know. I’m a bookseller.” She grinned.
“First, you’ll have to get rid of that ridiculous animal.”
Jennifer set the teddy bear down under a tree. She held out her empty hands.
“Well, I suppose you can start with that lot over there. I’m parked behind the tea tent. It’s a blue van.”
Jennifer easily hefted a large box of books onto her hip and took off. Her slight figure was deceptive. She was very strong.
“Hey, Mr. Jenks,” Fenimore said, catching up with him.
Jenks turned.
Silhouetted against the sun, Fenimore could hardly see his face, but he sensed that his expression was not friendly. “Sorry to bother you, but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Jenks grunted.
“First—could you tell me what happened the night of the fire?”
“Weren’t no fire.”
“I know. But you didn’t find that out until later. Right?”
Jenks looked across the field, apparently trying to remember that night three months ago. “I was doing my late night check, makin’ sure everything was locked up. Didn’t use to have to lock things,” he said. “It was about ten o’clock when I smelled smoke. I was standin’ right about here. It was foggy. When the fog comes up from the river, you can’t see a thing. But I followed my nose. When I got a few feet from the shed, I didn’t see any flames, but I took the hose out anyway and sprayed the shed. When the smoke cleared all I saw was an old smoke bomb. Some kid sure made a fool of me!”
“How could you know what it was? You did the right thing.”
Jenks’s face cleared.
“What about those cellar steps you were repairing, when Mrs. A
shley almost fell?”
“I don’t know what happened, Doctor.” Again, he looked distressed. “I swear I locked the door when I was done.”
“Does anyone else have a key?”
“Only Mrs. Ashley. I keep meaning to get a second set of house keys made, but I never seem to get around to it.”
“Do you keep your keys with you all the time?”
“Yep—except when I’m asleep. Then they’re on my bureau.”
“I know it’s hard to remember, but did you miss them at any time?”
He shook his head slowly.
Fenimore said, “I’m sorry to take up your time, Mr. Jenks. But we’re pretty worried about Mrs. Ashley.”
He nodded.
“Have you noticed any strangers about the farm—in, say, the past six months?”
“Not at the farm, but …”
“Where?”
“At the old wharf. This farm goes right to the water’s edge, you know, and there are two wharves. The first—the newer one—is near the house. That’s the one Miss Susan and her boyfriend dive from. The other, the older one, is at the far edge of the farm, near the cottage. We don’t use it anymore. It’s rotten. I once thought of buying it from Mrs. Ashley, with a few acres, and setting up a fishing camp, but I never could put the cash together.” He paused, contemplating his lost dream. “Well, one night I decided to go to the old wharf for a little late fishin’. They usually bite pretty good around dusk. And I saw this fellow sittin’ on the wharf. He had a flashlight, though it wasn’t dark yet. When he saw me comin’, he lowered himself into a dinghy and took off—rowing hell-bent for leather.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No. And I didn’t think too much about it. Thought he just didn’t want to get caught trespassin’. We get a lot of fishermen in the spring and summer. And in the fall they’re the muskrat trappers. Muskrats are big down here. Mrs. Ashley lets the trappers use her place in season. So I didn’t think much of it. I did wonder though. I thought he must be a stranger, because people around these parts give that place a wide berth.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s s‘posed to be haunted. Old Nathan Ashley died there, and before he died this black dog showed up. He never owned a dog in his life. It crouched on the bottom of his bed snappin’ and growlin’. Wouldn’t let any of his kin near him. Finally, Old Nathan reared up and roared, ‘Leave him alone. He’ll go when I go.’ And the funny thing is, he did. Vanished into thin air.”
Fenimore thanked Jenks and went in search of Jennifer. He found her behind the tea tent dusting her hands. She had just loaded the last carton of books into Miss Cunningham’s van.
“Learn anything?” she asked, as they made their way to the entrance of the tent.
“Not much.” He had dismissed the black dog as pure folklore.
They found Mrs. Ashley getting ready for the late-afternoon tea party. She looked as fresh as when she had first greeted them. Where did she get her energy? As soon as she saw them, she came over.
“My dears, you are staying for tea?”
“I’m sorry, Lydia. I’m on call tonight, and I have to get Jennifer home.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She sounded genuinely disappointed. “Was it a successful day, Andrew?”
“In a way,” he said. “Lydia, I beg you and Susan to come back to town until we clear up this matter.”
“But, Andrew, we always spend the summer here.”
“Let the Jenkses look after things.” He took her hand. “I mean it,” he said earnestly.
She looked to Jennifer for support.
But Jennifer said, “It really isn’t safe, Mrs. Ashley.”
“Well, I …”
“Good. That’s settled,” Fenimore said. “We’ll be off then. And thanks for a beautiful day.” He was sincere. With a few exceptions, he had enjoyed himself immensely.
“It was lovely.” Jennifer started to shake hands, but Lydia kissed her impulsively on the cheek.
“Come again soon,” she said. “Both of you.” She glanced at the teddy bear. “All of you.” She turned back to her chores with renewed vigor. It wasn’t until they reached the car that Fenimore realized the import of Lydia’s last remarks. She had absolutely no intention of coming back to town.
As they drove off into the sunset, the last thing they saw was the girl who had sold them the strawberries by the roadside. She was running across the field from the river—pigtails flying. It was a picturesque sight.
CHAPTER 16
When they found the road to the expressway, Fenimore settled back and said, “Now I’m going to test your powers of detection.”
“Oh, goodie,” Jennifer said.
“Let’s look at our suspects one by one, and you tell me what you think of each of them. We’ll start with Tom Winston.”
“Oh, he’s too disagreeable.”
“What?”
“If he were trying to pull off some evil scheme, he’d disguise it by being more amiable.”
“Hmm.” Her reasoning was a bit backward, but he understood what she was getting at. “How about Amory?”
“Oh, no. He’s too agreeable.”
“What?”
“If he were carrying out some Machiavellian plot, he’d be tensed up. His mask of amiability would slip at least once, and it never did.”
“Hmm. What about Miss Cunningham?”
Jennifer laughed. “She’s a terror all right. Reminds me of Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca, or Miss Haversham in Great Expectations.”
“Well, did she or didn’t she?”
“I doubt it,” Jennifer spoke thoughtfully, “but I’m not certain. In her bitter, twisted way she might be jealous enough of Mrs. Ashley—of her money, her land, her social position …”
“Did you learn anything while you were helping her load her books?”
“She did say one curious thing. When a copy of Treasure Island fell out of a box, she picked it up and stroked it lovingly. Then she said, ‘This was my favorite book as a child, but my mother took it away from me. She told me it was a boy’s book.’”
“Her mother probably forced her to read Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.”
“Now it’s my turn.” Jennifer cast him a sly glance. “What about Susan?”
“Susan? Ridiculous.”
“Why? She has total access to the house and barn. Who could more easily have planted the smoke bomb, stolen Jenks’s key, unlocked the cellar door, or hidden Mrs. Ashley’s medicine?”
Jennifer had certainly been paying attention if she remembered Lydia’s missing medicine. He had barely mentioned that in the car. “But what could be her motive? She knows her grandmother is going to leave her everything when she dies.”
“Maybe she can’t wait.” Jennifer grinned wickedly. “She’s also very attractive,” she added.
“What’s that got to do with it?” He was outraged.
“ … and she’s very fond of you.”
“Preposterous! Why she could be my …”
“Daughter.” Jennifer finished for him. “Haven’t you heard about Charlie Chaplin and Oona O’Neil? Caesar and Cleopatra?”
“Yes. And none of that applies to me.” He glanced at her sharply. She was grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Then there’s Susan’s boyfriend, that college kid.”
“Peter Jordan. Some of those pranks did have the whiff of the fraternity about them.”
“And what about Oliver?” Jennifer continued.
“Old Perce? Out of the question.”
“The old school tie, eh?” she challenged.
“But Perce—Oliver wouldn’t harm a fly.”
“You obviously aren’t familiar with the pressures of academic life. When it comes to athletics, the alumni have no mercy. If a school goes too long without a winning team, they might threaten to withdraw their offspring en masse. Oliver has his eye on a new post in Manhattan. He’ll never get it if he doesn’t produce some good teams. In fact, if he doesn’t g
et those playing fields from Mrs. Ashley, your old buddy might be out of a job—a failure in the eyes of his former classmates. Many a man has turned to crime with far less provocation.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
“My uncle is headmaster of a boys’ school in New England. One season his soccer team lost every game. He got an ulcer and almost had a nervous breakdown.”
“Nonsense. Not ol’ Perce.”
“Oliver.”
“What about the Jenkses?” Fenimore said hastily. “Now there’s a likely pair. A regular rural Bonnie and Clyde. Plenty of opportunity. They reside at the scene. Could have stolen the medicine, planted the smoke bomb, left the cellar door unlocked, delivered the note with the rancid meat attached, and staged the carcass with Lydia’s photograph … .”
Jennifer was shaking her head vigorously. “Not Agatha Jenks. No one who can bake tarts like that could possibly be an evil schemer.”
“Bah,” retorted Fenimore. “Some of our most famous criminals were wonderful cooks. Take Lucretia Borgia …”
“Recent research has revealed that she was a lovely person who nursed the sick and helped the poor. She just had a bad press—like Richard III,” answered Jennifer.
“What about those sweet little old ladies who tried to poison Cary Grant with their delicious confections?”
“Arsenic and Old Lace was fiction, not fact. But if you feel that way you better not eat Agatha’s cake.”
“Umm.”
“That leaves Fred Jenks,” said Jennifer.
“He seems like an honest fellow. Although he does have a motive. He told me he once wanted to start a fishing camp at Lydia’s old wharf but he could never put together the capital.”
“How is that a motive?”
“Lydia would certainly plan to leave something in her will to a couple who have been in her service for so many years.”
“Oh.” Jennifer didn’t seem to think much of this theory. “Then there’s Mrs. Ashley herself,” she said gleefully.
Fenimore almost ran off the road but managed to hold to it and ask between clenched teeth, “And what might her motive be?”
“You.”
“Me?”
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