by Lea Wait
“When did you find out?”
“Harry told me. Friday night, when he asked me to take care of her. At first, I was in shock. I didn’t know what to say. All I could think was that I was going to die.”
“And then?”
“The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I wanted to kill Susan. To strangle her or pound her head into a wall. I just couldn’t think straight.”
“What did you do?”
“Everyone needed to talk with me. One dealer had a problem with his booth size. One of the detectives I’d hired to watch the fairgrounds needed to check on the status of some of the cars. Ellen Stuart over in building one had broken her glasses and needed to find an optician. I was angry, and panicked, but I didn’t have time to even think about it. There was one minor crisis after another to take care of.” Vince took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I haven’t told anyone.”
“You must have been really angry.”
“I was. But I kept doing what had to be done, and by the time I saw Susan, it was nine-twenty or so. And when I saw her, I just couldn’t say anything. I just didn’t know where to begin. We were out there.” Vince gestured toward the parking lot. “Near her van. She looked as though she was on her way to clean up before going to bed. I said Harry had told me she had AIDS and asked her why she hadn’t told me herself.”
“What did she say?”
“She said Harry had a big mouth, and that she was a person, not just a person with a disease. That it was her business whom she told. I couldn’t believe she was so selfish. I told her so.” Vince paused. “I told her she deserved to burn in hell.”
“Not a pretty scene.”
“It wasn’t a long one. Both of our voices were rising, and I didn’t want anyone to hear. I didn’t want anyone to know how stupid I’d been. Because when I saw her, Maggie, I realized that I should have known. AIDS explained all the physical problems I knew she’d had. I was angry. I was confused. I felt sorry for her. I hated her. And I felt sorry for myself. It was all a nightmare. So I just walked away. I walked around the far side of the exhibit building and just kept walking around the parking lot over on the north side where no dealers were parked. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to think.”
“When did you come back?”
“When everyone else did; when Susan started screaming.”
“Vince, did you kill Harry or Susan?”
“No! Maggie, I was angry, and that evening I hated them both—Susan for not telling me the truth, and Harry for not volunteering the information earlier. My mind was still reeling. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t have time to think. And I had the show to manage. People were depending on me. Everything was confused. I was trying to get control. And after Susan found Harry, I had to work with the police. I had to make sure the show opened on Saturday.” Vince brushed a piece of hair back from his forehead. “Maybe that was good. I was able to concentrate on something I could do. I could keep people calm; I could protect our investments in this show.”
“And Susan?”
“You were with her. I certainly didn’t want to be. I was sorry Harry was dead, but not sorry enough to be incredibly sympathetic to someone who might have killed me. Maggie, she may have given me AIDS!”
“There are treatments. Susan was on protease inhibitors. They’re supposed to delay the disease.”
“Maybe. But right now I can’t focus on anything except death. Hell, Maggie, I jog in the morning. I don’t drink much. I’ve always been careful about the way I lived. How could I have been so stupid as to have gotten involved with someone like Susan?” There were tears in Vince’s eyes; he shook his head to hide them, and Maggie pretended they weren’t there.
“You hated her; you said you wanted to kill her.”
“I did. And I meant it. But I didn’t do it, Maggie.”
Maggie looked carefully at him. She wanted very much to believe him. Vince was not known for having a caring heart, but he was known to be fair, and she’d never heard anyone accuse him of lying.
“You have to believe me, Maggie. I didn’t do it!”
“Someone did, Vince. And I need to ask you one more question.”
He nodded.
“On Friday, you had a bronze temple lion on your table. When I admired it, you said it wasn’t yours.”
“It was Susan’s. She bought a pair of them when we were in Hong Kong earlier this month. When we got home, I borrowed one to use as an illustration in my pamphlet for next year’s tour. Susan said that was fine, as long as she could have it back for this show. She knew someone who was coming in who collected temple lions.” Vince paused. “The photographer I usually use in New York had been sick for the past two weeks, so I asked the cameraman for the local antiques paper if he’d do a fast shoot for me. I told Susan I’d give it back to her before the show Friday, but the photographer was late. He didn’t arrive until after the show started. Susan was furious. We had an argument about it before the show opened.”
The argument Maggie had heard late Friday afternoon.
“I wanted to return it to her Friday night. In fact, I went and got it before I went for my walk. I didn’t want to have anything more to do with anything of hers. I couldn’t find her, so I left it just outside her van door. It was dark enough, and her van was far away from other people’s, so I figured it would be safe, and she’d see it when she got back.”
“Did she?”
“I guess she didn’t get back to her van then. Anyway, later, after the detectives were here, I was walking around, checking on things, and I saw it there. It’s a pretty valuable piece, and I knew then that Susan was with you and Will—remember?”
Maggie nodded. That was only about thirty-eight hours ago. It seemed a century.
“So I picked it up and stuck it in my van for safekeeping.”
“Why didn’t you give it back to Susan yesterday?”
“I forgot. And Susan didn’t remind me. Although, except for bringing her some orange juice in the morning, I didn’t go out of my way to see her.”
Vince ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it upward in a sort of tall Mohawk. “What a weekend. Harry murdered, Susan dead. I may have AIDS. Detectives all over the place. Reporters are beginning to interview dealers. This is my premier show, Maggie. I can’t believe this is all happening. And I guess I’m sorry about Harry and Susan—but I can’t say I’m crying over them.” He looked straight at her. “Please, don’t tell anyone I was so stupid. Don’t tell them about Susan.”
“Vince, I’m not going to blab. But half the people at this show know now that Susan had AIDS, and a fairly high percentage of those people know you were sleeping with her.” But most of them, Maggie thought, will assume that as two intelligent adults they were having safe sex.
Vince was with Harry and with Susan just before Harry’s death, and he had argued with them both. If Maggie was right, and the temple lion was the weapon that killed Harry, then Vince was the only one who knew where it was. And he certainly had a motive.
Chapter 24
Atropa Belladonna L. (also called deadly nightshade, a member of the potato family), German lithograph, from Kohler’s Medizinal Pflanzen, 1882. Belladonna was used in ancient times as a poison and sedative; in medieval Europe, devil-worship cults used it to produce hallucinogenic effects. Price: $55.
“Maggie, these prints are perfect. My niece will love them. I’ll mat them in navy, I think, and frame them in gold, and they’ll be elegant. She’s going to have a dark blue kitchen, and prints of coffee and tea plants will be just right, don’t you think?” Lydia was rhapsodizing almost as soon as Maggie turned the corner of the aisle into her booth. “So how much to a dealer? You’ll give me a good price, I know.”
Maggie focused on the prints. “Usually they’d be thirty-eight dollars each. I usually give twenty percent off to dealers. That would be”—she did the math in her head—“that would be sixty dollars and eighty cents
. Why don’t I even it a bit and say sixty dollars?”
“That’s fair; that’s fair.” Lydia nodded. “Now, I usually give at least thirty percent off, especially with something like this, where I will have to replace the mats and buy frames, so it isn’t really complete, but”—she looked over at Maggie, who was about to say something she would regret later—“but these are special prints, and I know some of us operate on a tighter margin than others, so I think sixty dollars will be just fine. I’ll write you a check.” She scurried back to her booth.
Maggie shook her head and walked over to see Will. He had just finished selling a bed warmer to a young couple. “Sell anything major for me while I was talking with Vince?”
“Are you going to offer me a commission? One 1914 print of a Pekingese, and the Wilson print you had on the wall.” Will grinned as Maggie turned and looked at the empty spot on her wall in delight.
“You sold the Wilson?” Alexander Wilson, the Scotsman who’d come to America in 1784 and painted the first major portfolio of North American birds twenty years before John James Audubon, had never received the acclaim Audubon had, but was beginning to be valued. Maggie had put a price of $700 on the large folio framed print of eider and ruddy ducks. “That’s wonderful! I should leave you in charge of my booth more often!”
“Please don’t. I was so busy with your sale I almost missed one of mine. So far today I’ve only sold two awls. Oh, and one nice brass trammel and the bed warmer, so it hasn’t been a total loss. How’s the search for the perfect lion coming?”
“Here’s your check, Maggie dear.” Lydia pressed it on her. “Did I hear you were interested in lions?”
“I was admiring the bronze Chinese lions in Susan’s booth.”
“Very nice. I noticed them, too. But a little clumsy for my taste.”
Maggie looked at her. “I didn’t know you were interested in Chinese sculpture.”
“Well, actually not. I mean, they aren’t what I would want in my living room, you know?”
Maggie thought of Lydia’s van and couldn’t help but agree.
“I spoke to Vince about them; he said Susan had gotten them on his Asia tour. He’s using a photograph of one in his advertising brochure for next year’s tour.”
“Susan did show one to me Friday and said she’d bought them recently. She didn’t say where. It’s so sad that she is gone now, isn’t it? But that’s all water under the bridge, as they say.” Lydia beamed at Will and Maggie. “I was just about to pour some energizing tea. A new mixture I’m trying out. Would either of you like to try some?”
“I’m a coffee man, myself.” Will looked down at the top of her head. “But, thank you, Lydia.”
Maggie shook her head. “Cola woman here. You’ll miss having Susan to share your teas.”
“Nothing lasts forever, that’s for sure, Maggie.” Lydia sighed deeply and glanced over at Abe, who was going to have a stiff neck if he woke up suddenly. “Abe has been so upset this weekend. It’s brought it all back…when our poor Danny died, you know. Abe has been quite frantic.”
Abe sighed and let out a low-tremored snore.
“I can see that,” Will said, winking at Maggie. “Well, I’m off for some of that coffee, since both of you ladies are here to watch your own booths, and mine.”
“No problem, Will.” This might not be a banner day for sales, but Maggie’s mind was full of details. She glanced across the aisle to where Lydia was pouring hot water out of a thermos onto a tea ball in a cup.
Maggie looked down at the check in her hand from Silver in Mind. A few more dollars toward the motel cost, in any case. She tucked it into her cash box and took the couple of steps to Gussie’s area. “I’m back. How are you doing?”
“I’d feel a lot more comfortable if the police had at least figured out another serious suspect or two.”
Maggie nodded. “They’re still wandering around the show asking questions, but they don’t seem very focused.”
“The real question is motive. Who would have benefited from Harry’s death?”
Or from both Harry’s and Susan’s, Maggie thought.
“Did your meandering turn up any information?”
“I’m not sure. I think I need to talk to Joe.” Maggie wished she could tell Gussie about Vince’s anger and fear, but she had promised not to tell anyone. There was no reason to share what she was privately classifying as his sexual stupidity. Still, that stupidity meant Vince had a motive to kill Susan: anger, and perhaps revenge. And he was one of the people who had brought Susan food yesterday, so there had been opportunity.
But what about Harry’s death? Vince had had access to the chimera, but so had anyone else walking near the Art-Effects van Friday night. It could have been coincidence. And she might be mistaken about the lion. Maybe it wasn’t the murder weapon. Vince hadn’t wanted the responsibility for Susan that Harry had tried to hand him, but that certainly hadn’t meant he had a motive to kill Harry. So in Harry’s case there had been opportunity, but, so far, no motive that she could discern.
“Joe was closer to both Harry and Susan than anyone else. There might be something else he knows about Vince’s relationship to Harry.”
“Did I hear my name?”
Joe left his cell phone in his booth and walked across the aisle to join them. “I feel as though I’ve lived this whole day in a haze. I don’t even remember helping a customer. I’ve just spent the past two hours trying to reach everyone I know who was a friend of Susan’s or Harry’s. I didn’t want to leave a message about their deaths on an answering machine, so I just keep redialing. Everyone in New York must be sleeping in or away for the long weekend. No one’s picking up the telephone. I hate just leaving a message for people to call me; most of them are not close friends of mine.”
Joe’s skin looked even paler than usual, and his tie was listing to the left. “The police told Susan’s parents. I talked with them just now. They’re going to make most of the arrangements. All they kept saying was they’d never approved of Harry in the first place, and Susan should have never left Bayonne. Actually, they’re lucky. They’re blaming Harry.” He swallowed hard. “I wish I could blame someone else. I just keep thinking there must have been something I could have done. What if I hadn’t gone to look at those books Friday night? What if I’d left the show earlier and found Susan before she’d gone into a coma?”
They were all quiet.
“You did the best you could. We don’t know why this all happened, but no good will come out of wishing.” Gussie shook her head. “I keep thinking, too. Why wasn’t I realistic about my own capabilities—or lack of them? Why did I even attempt to do this show? If I hadn’t done the show, it might not have helped Harry or Susan, but at least Ben wouldn’t have been blamed, because he would have been safely back on Cape Cod, running errands for his mother and me, and jogging in the morning on the high school track. Instead of spending a day in jail being accused of murder.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s not have a pity party. None of us is perfect.” Maggie took a deep breath as she stood with hands on her hips, looking from Joe to Gussie and back again. “And remember, I was the one who gave her the tuna sandwich. Anything could be hidden in tuna fish salad. What if it turns out she died of mercury poisoning?”
Joe smiled feebly.
Maggie checked her watch. “It’s almost two. We have four hours before this show closes, the customers go away poor and happy, and we have to pack up and head back to wherever. And the killer goes, too.”
“That policeman was around a little while ago. He didn’t look as though he had any good leads. He did say they checked out the concession area,” Gussie said, “so I guess they’re investigating your tuna fish. But he said no one else who ate here yesterday had even reported a tummy ache, so they were assuming that if the killer bought food here, he or she added something to it. They’re not investigating the concession stand people.”
Joe smiled weakly. “Well, that rules out about seve
n people who probably never even met Susan.”
“Joe, I know this is hard, but I’m trying to pull some loose ends together. Do you mind my asking you some more questions? Maybe you know something that would tie this all together.”
He shrugged. “Ask away. At the moment I wouldn’t guarantee my own sanity, but I’ll try.” A tear fell down his cheek and he dabbed at it with a linen handkerchief. “I don’t know what I could know that would help anyone just now.”
“Was there any reason Vince would have wanted Harry dead?”
Joe just looked at Maggie. “Vince?” He shook his head. “I can’t think of any.”
“Did Harry know anything about Vince that he wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to find out?” Other than what I just found out, Maggie added silently to herself.
“He knew Harry was bisexual; they had a lot of the same friends. But lots of people knew Harry was bisexual.”
Maggie had a sudden thought. “Is Vince bi, too?”
“Not as far as I know. He was always with women, and I never saw him come on to any guy.”
“And Harry knew about Susan and Vince.”
Joe nodded. “That had been going on and off for years. This time Susan was taking it a bit more seriously.” He paused and pushed his wire-rimmed glasses farther up on his nose. “But she’d been taking everything more seriously since she’d been getting more and more ill.”
“Did you ever go on any of Vince’s tours?”
“Nope. I go to London once or twice a year by myself, and I’m not interested in the other places he goes. His tours are more for people looking for general antiques and conviviality; not for specialists like me.” Joe paused. “I think Harry and Susan both went with him to Europe a couple of years ago, though. And did you know Susan went on the Asia trip this spring?”
