The Bilbao Looking Glass

by Charlotte MacLeod

  “How big is Pertwee’s office?”

  “Not big at all, I shouldn’t think. I’ve never been inside, but I know it’s in his house and his wife does most of the secretarial work. Mrs. Lomax used to go in and help out once or twice a week until her arthritis got so bad she had to quit. I don’t know whether they’ve got anyone else to replace her.”

  “Mrs. Lomax, eh? Would that be your caretaker’s wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “How does she get along with the nephew?”

  “I have no idea. I can’t imagine her telling tales outside the office, if that’s what you mean. She’s not that kind of woman.”

  “How well do you know Mrs. Lomax?”

  Sarah pondered that one for a moment, then had to confess, “Not well at all, really. The Lomaxes tend to be somewhat feudal about not trying to be on social terms with their employers. I’ve stopped there with messages a few times and she rides up here with her husband in the truck once in a while when he isn’t intending to stay long. We pass the time of day, I ask about her arthritis, she makes some polite comment about the lilac bushes or whatever, and that’s the extent of our conversation. Mrs. Lomax has always impressed me as being an intelligent, well-bred, self-respecting woman. More than that, I can’t honestly say.”

  The lawyer nodded. He had the most beautiful head of thick, wavy, iron-gray hair Sarah had ever seen on an older man. Max’s would be like that in thirty years. Right now Max was sound asleep in the easy chair, with his head wobbling around and his mouth slightly open. She must indeed be far gone to find him so totally adorable in such an absurd posture.

  “Tell me about Alice Beaxitt,” the elder Bittersohn commanded while Sarah was tucking a sofa pillow behind Max’s neck.

  That was easier. Sarah told him all she could think of, including the dirty trick Alice B. had played on Max at the party.

  He pushed out his lower lip and thought about it for a while. Then he said, “Interesting. If this Tergoyne woman was such a dumb soak and the companion so clever at minding everybody’s business, it doesn’t add up. How could Miss Tergoyne keep her will a secret for so long, and why should Miss Beaxitt stick around doing the work if she wasn’t going to get anything out of it?”

  “But Alice B. got a great deal out of it,” Sarah reminded him. “I’ve told you Miffy paid the bills. Obviously Alice B. never spent a cent of her own money, otherwise how could she have left so large an estate of her own? That is, assuming the money’s really there and the will isn’t just another of Alice B.’s little funnies.”

  “The money’s there, according to Pertwee. Okay, so Alice B. is riding the gravy train, she’s got a hefty pile of her own stashed away. Would that reconcile her to being left completely out of Miss Tergoyne’s will?”

  “Maybe not,” Sarah admitted. “Alice B. was a vain woman. She was always bidding to be the center of attention in one way or another, and I know she liked having people regard her as Miffy’s heiress. She was younger than Miffy by several years and took much better care of herself, so she’d naturally have expected to be the survivor. I think it would have rankled dreadfully if she’d known that some day the truth would come out and she’d face the humiliation of having people know Miffy’d regarded her as something between a paid companion and a charity case. She wouldn’t flounce off in a huff because after all, she did have a good thing going at Miffy’s, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d known for years and nursed the grudge until she could think of a way to outwit Miffy and get what she thought was coming to her. Look at how long Alice B. must have remembered that bit of information about Max, and never used it until the moment came when she could make a big effect with it. That’s how she was.”

  Sarah was getting excited about this idea. “As you know, we’ve had a series of robberies around the summer colony. Suppose Pete Lomax has been doing them and Alice B. found out. She did have an unbelievable sort of underground network. She could blackmail Pete into helping her, not that he’d need much coaxing if he thought he was going to get a share of the profits. Or what if she simply sized Pete up as the sort who’d steal if he got the chance?”

  “What if isn’t evidence,” the lawyer objected.

  Max was awake now. “Let her talk, Jake. Go on, Sarah. What if Miss Beaxitt did maneuver Pete into helping her rob Miss Tergoyne? How come they took only works of art? Silver and jewelry would have been easier to fence.”

  “Yes, but Alice B. wouldn’t have been doing it for the money. She didn’t need that. What she’d have wanted was to hurt Miffy without risking being caught. That meant she’d need somebody else to pin the crime on. You’d be the perfect somebody because you weren’t one of the crowd, yet you were somebody local who knew the lie of the land and had the right sort of expertise.”

  “She didn’t know me,” Max objected.

  “But she knew about you, didn’t she? I shouldn’t be surprised if Alice B. had made her plan while you were in the living room and she was out in the kitchen filling her clam puffs. She could have telephoned Pete easily enough from there to make himself available that night. I shouldn’t be surprised if they’d even worked up some kind of innocent-sounding code message she could leave with a third party.

  “She wouldn’t have to make any other preparation except to make sure Miffy had a good stiff nightcap, because she was familiar with the inventory book and knew exactly which pieces an art expert would go for. I expect she deliberately dropped that remark about your old girl friend to send you off in a huff. Then she could claim you came back and robbed the house as an act of vengeance.”

  “Sounds like a plot from Verdi.”

  “I know, but Alice B. was like that, all theatrics and offstage noises.”

  “So she axed herself to make the plot more convincing?” Jake grunted.

  “Oh no, Pete would have thought of that for himself. He’d know he’d never be safe from that tongue of hers as long as Alice B. was alive, and he is a violent man. She’d have been easy to kill because an attack on herself would be the last thing she was expecting. Alice B. was always the attacker, not the victim, and then it was with words instead of weapons. By doing away with her, Pete would be not only freeing himself of a menace but getting to keep the loot.”

  “And how was a man like him going to fence a lot of stolen paintings?” Max asked mildly.

  “How do I know? If he was involved in previous robberies, he must have connections, mustn’t he? Or perhaps Alice B. had lined someone up. She might have cooked up a lie about Miffy’s wanting to dispose secretly of some valuables with her acting as the intermediary. She might have got a dealer to believe her, or at least pretend he did, if he thought he could make a good thing out of it.”

  “It happens,” Max agreed.

  “Alice B. would have been the one to think of planting the Millard Sheets on you, though Pete must have built that neat little hiding place inside the staircase. He’s fairly good with tools.”

  “Okay,” said Uncle Jake, “but how did he manage to kill Miss Tergoyne in a roomful of her friends when he wasn’t even there?”

  “Easily enough, I should think, if his lady friend was the waitress. Working around these old gardens as Pete does, I should think he could have found nicotine in somebody’s potting house or shed. It’s supposed to be banned now, I believe, but you know how people leave things poked into corners for years and years.

  “As to why he’d want her dead, Miffy’s brains weren’t so entirely pickled in alcohol that she wouldn’t recall Pete’s being around the place and maybe taking too much interest in things that were none of his business, like the inventory book. Being Miffy, she’d tackle him straight-on and tell him he’d better get her paintings back fast or she’d blow the whistle on him. She’d be more concerned with retrieving what was hers than with any high-flown humbug about seeing justice done.”

  “That’s not bad,” said Max. “She’d have given him a deadline. I suppose. He’d have to shut her up before it came a
round and he couldn’t produce. That’s why he’d run the risk of killing her publicly like that, instead of waiting till dark and backing a truck over her. I suppose the waitress could have managed to slip Miss Tergoyne the poisoned drink. She might have kept her hand on it while she was passing the tray to make sure nobody else got that particular glass. She’d be taking an awful chance, though, juggling a deadly poison around like that.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know it was poison. Pete could have told her the nicotine was only some kind of practical joke like knockout drops or stuff that would make Miffy throw up in front of her company. That’s the sort of thing Pete would think was funny. Or if the waitress is the tender-hearted type, Pete could say it was medicine the doctor couldn’t get Miffy to take any other way. Anyway, I think it was pretty dim of Chief Wilson not to get hold of that waitress instead of you.”

  “Here’s the man to tell,” Max remarked as a familiar face appeared at the side door. “Hi, Jofferty. How’d you get past the sentries?”

  “Flashed my clamming permit at ’em. Ol’ Jed’s roped in five or six of his cronies and they’ve got quite a cordon down there. He claims Mike’s gone up on the cliff to bombard invaders with fish heads. I suppose he knew what he was talking about.”

  “Oh yes,” Sarah told him. “Two of my cousin’s boys were already there. I don’t know how Mr. Lomax heard about the fish heads, though. That was what you might call an inspiration of the moment.”

  “Jed always knows. Understand you folks are having another run-in with the law out here. I’m sorry I wasn’t on duty when they pinched Max.”

  “So am I. I did tell Bradley Rovedock to ask for you when he called the station to let them know about Miffy Tergoyne’s being killed, but evidently he didn’t connect. I’m sure you’d have been able to talk some sense into Chief Wilson.”

  Sarah felt strange talking to Jofferty in his off-duty uniform of plaid shirt and rubber waders, but she couldn’t have been gladder to see him. “Could I offer you something, Sergeant? We’ve been having tea, but there’s whiskey or beer if you’d rather.”

  “Thanks, but I had coffee at the station just now when I dropped in to get the scoop on Max. The chief’s having the time of his life, running up the town’s phone bill making sure you were where you said you were yesterday in New York, Max.”

  “I hope to God he’s succeeding.”

  “ ’Fraid so. Looks as if he’s got to bait up his lines again and go catch himself another suspect.”

  “Sarah’s got one lined up for him.”

  Max told him who and why. Jofferty nodded.

  “Good thinking, Mrs. Kelling. The only hitch is, on the night Alice Beaxitt was killed, I myself picked Pete up about half-past ten for driving under the influence. We kept him in the lockup till morning. I’m afraid Pete’s got what you might call an iron-clad alibi.”

  Chapter 21

  “HELL!” SAID THE PROPER Bostonian.

  Uncle Jake snickered. Sarah turned red.

  “I’m sorry, but it was such a lovely theory. I was even going to add that the Bilbao looking glass got here because Pete brought it. I can’t see how we found the thing before the robbery took place, if Alice B. didn’t give it to Pete. She was the only one who could have pretended the glass was still there the next morning when she took inventory for Miffy, as I suppose she must have. Assuming there weren’t two different glasses involved.”

  “I snuck a copy of the photograph they had in that album,” said Jofferty, “and went over to the bank and compared it to the mirror we found here in your entry-way. Took a Polaroid of that one, too, while I was about it. They sure look alike to me. Were those mirrors all made to the same pattern?”

  “No they weren’t,” Max told him. “Assembly-line production hadn’t been invented in those days. Designs followed the same general scheme, but details could vary a good deal. Even if one particular craftsman tried to make a perfectly matched pair, there’d still be subtle differences in the graining of the marble.”

  He studied the two photographs Jofferty handed him. “I’d say they’re identical. You shown these to anybody yet?”

  “No, and I’m going to catch hell from the chief because I haven’t. I had a hunch I’d better keep my mouth shut until you gave me the word. This must have been part of the scheme to frame you, eh, Max? I suppose they figured they’d better get the mirror into the house before anybody showed up, what with Sarah’s aunt coming and all. Sorry, Mrs. Kelling. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I’d much rather you called me Sarah,” she told him. “I shan’t be Mrs. Kelling much longer anyway, assuming we can keep Max out of jail long enough to get him to the church.”

  Jacob Bittersohn’s eyes narrowed. “The church?”

  “The whatever will make Max’s mother feel better. I don’t care who performs the ceremony, I just want to keep it simple and get it over. Going back to that looking glass, though, I still say it couldn’t possibly have been here when we arrived unless Alice B. had deliberately tricked Miffy into thinking it was still in their house. If Pete Lomax wasn’t Alice B.’s accomplice, then somebody else was, that’s all.”

  “Couldn’t it have been stolen after they’d done their daily check and before you folks got here?” Jofferty suggested.

  “I wondered about that, but it would have taken some awfully clever footwork. Alice and Miffy weren’t early risers. It was apt to be almost noontime before Miffy’d recovered from her previous night’s hangover enough to see straight, much less do her inventory. And how could the thief know he wouldn’t run smack into us? We didn’t know when we were coming ourselves, until we got here. We’d meant to be earlier, but things kept coming up, then Max got a phone call from Honolulu. Besides, that would mean stealing the looking glass in broad daylight.”

  “But if Miss Tergoyne and her companion went grocery shopping for the party—”

  “Miffy never went anywhere if she could help it, except down to the yacht club. Alice B. would have done the shopping, either the day before or while Miffy was on the phone rounding people up. Come to think of it, I suppose she could have brought the looking glass herself, if she’d had any way to get into the house. No, she wouldn’t have done that because she didn’t drive. Miffy wouldn’t go to the expense of keeping a car, so they either bummed rides from their friends or used the station taxi. Besides, being in the village as they were, Alice B. could walk to the store and back easily enough. She’d have trotted around on her errands alone and gone back to make her clam puffs.”

  “While she was planning a murder?” Jofferty was having a hard time with this.

  “Alice B. wouldn’t have been planning a murder,” Sarah reminded him. “She’d have been planning a robbery and she’d have been feeling pretty cocky about it because she’d think she had a foolproof setup. One doesn’t go around suspecting little ladies who make hot clam puffs, does one?”

  “Okay, Sarah, I’ll hand you the clam puffs. But if she had an accomplice and it wasn’t Pete, who’s your next candidate?”

  “One of the Beaxitts, I suppose, since they were her next of kin. My cousin’s wife Vare did come to mind, or rather her girl friend Tigger. She’s the woman they practically had to chloroform before she’d let her fingerprints be taken.”

  “Oh yeah, I heard about that one. They’re checking to see if she has a record. And she’s a niece or something, right?”

  “Vare is, but it appears to be Tigger who’s after money. And then there’s Lassie Larrington, who’s one of Miffy’s heiresses. On account of the tomato juice, you know.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You see, at the funeral, or rather afterward at Miffy’s, most of the crowd were clustered around Miffy and Max. I was standing apart trying to think of a way to rescue him and chatting with Lassie. She was complaining about how flat the Bloody Marys were. I told her she must have taken a glass of plain tomato juice, which I myself was drinking. Naturally Lassie threw a fit and rushed over to the b
ar. She got two martinis. Biff Beaxitt claims she gave one of them to him, but I have the impression he’s lying.”

  “Would he cover up for her in a case of murder?”

  “Probably, if he thought it was worth his while. Biff and Lassie are cousins or something, and he’s married to a relative of Lassie’s husband. She’s the Priscilla Beaxitt who’s another of Miffy’s heirs. He’d be protecting the family name, you see, and also the inheritance. It was really most unlike Lassie to make a mistake about a drink. What if Biff knew she’d used that bit of byplay to bring Miffy a poisoned drink while she was crowding in among the others?”

  “Always what if?” moaned Jacob Bittersohn. “How about evidence?”

  “How about motive?” said Max “Are the Larringtons hard up?”

  “I don’t know. Don was complaining yesterday on the boat about the terrible state of the stock market, if that means anything.”

  “Would Lassie be up to braining Alice Beaxitt with an axe?”

  “I should think so. She’s one of those big outdoorsy types, like all the yacht club crowd. It might actually be easier to swing an axe than poke a knife into someone, mightn’t it? You wouldn’t have to be so particular where you hit, and the axe itself would do more of the work because it’s so heavy and sharp.”

  “Cripes, I hadn’t thought of that. I mean, when you think of an axe you automatically think of a man.” Jofferty shook his head in chauvinistic wonderment.

  “Look at Lizzie Borden,” Max offered helpfully.

  “Never mind look at Lizzie Borden,” snapped his uncle. “Look for evidence that might stand up in court. Go on, Sarah. Anybody else you could make a case against?”

  “Fren Larrington would be a likely starter. He’s Lassie’s brother-in-law. Fren’s a stupid lout with a really dreadful temper. He’s been divorced not long ago, and there might have been some fairly raw stuff they managed to suppress at the trial. Being the sort of person she was, Alice B. could have got hold of the inside facts and used them to blackmail him into helping her.”