“Your Fish and Wildlife contact?” I asked.
“Yes. Well, he does spend a lot of time undercover. He’ll call when he can. Let’s get this big boy out to the zoo.” He went to climb into Clarence’s van.
“Can you take charge of the rescue while I’m gone?” Clarence asked Randall.
“No problem.” Randall grinned. “It’s only the cats left now, and ever since they elected me mayor I’ve become an expert cat herder.”
“When we get the tiger settled, I’ll call to see if you’re still rounding up all his smaller cousins or if I should just meet them over at Meg and Michael’s barn.”
Randall nodded, and waved as first the van and then the truck carrying the tiger rumbled slowly across the farmyard and headed for the lane.
“Meg!”
I turned to find Meredith standing in the doorway.
Chapter 20
I braced myself for some new complication, then relaxed again when I saw that Meredith was smiling broadly.
“I think Mrs. Frost is ready now,” she called. “But we need to carry her down.”
“As long as he’s been here, you’d think Willimer could be bothered building a ramp,” Randall said. “Duane! Come help me carry the little old lady and her wheelchair.”
Duane seemed to be one of Randall’s larger cousins—not that any of them were small, but Duane was not only tall but uncharacteristically bulky. As they were going inside, another pickup truck arrived. A woman was driving, and from the two lab heads, one yellow and one black, peering out the windshield from the passenger seat, I deduced she was Dagmar with the search-and-rescue dogs.
Dagmar jumped out, immediately followed by the black dog. The yellow lab, whose muzzle was actually more silver than golden, took Dagmar’s place in the driver’s seat and watched with a wistful expression as the younger dog threw herself into the snow and joyfully rolled in it.
“That’s my old girl, Peaches,” Dagmar said, seeing me looking at the yellow lab. She reached out to scratch the dog’s head through the open door. Peaches thumped her tail happily on the seat. “She’s retired now, but she pines if I leave her at home when Piper and I go out.”
“But she doesn’t get to have any of the fun,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, she will.” She smiled. “I always bring along some training materials, so I’ll have something for the dogs to find and be rewarded for if the search comes up empty. She’ll get her share.” She scanned the horizon. “Kind of hope we do come up empty on this one. We already have one dead body too many, and anyone who’s still alive out there under all that snow could be in a very bad way by now.”
I was hoping to stay and watch the search, but just then Meredith emerged from the house carrying two small, battered suitcases. She took them over and put them in the Twinmobile. Then she stepped a few paces away, pulled out her cell phone, and made a call. Randall’s cousin Duane emerged from the house carrying Mrs. Frost, while Randall followed with the wheelchair. I wished Dagmar good luck and went inside to collect Ronnie’s cat carrier.
“Oh, thank you,” Mrs. Frost said, as we helped her get settled in the front passenger seat. “This is very nice. Do you have many children?”
Did the van look that bad?
“Only two,” I said. “Twin ten-year-old boys.”
“Oh, how nice. Twins run in my family, too. I was always hoping that Johnny and Becky would have twins when they got around to having kids, but they never did. Get around to it, that is. And now that I’ve lost them both…” Her voice trailed off and she applied a damp tissue to her nose.
“All buckled up?” Meredith chirped, as she tested my seat belt and Mrs. Frost’s before buckling up her own. “Rather tight quarters in this row,” she said, giving Ronnie’s carrier a shove. He responded with an irritable hiss.
“Sorry,” I said. “The suitcases and the wheelchair take up most of the cargo area.”
“I’ll manage.” She assumed a look of noble martyrdom.
“Is this going to take long?” Mrs. Frost asked.
By the time I started the Twinmobile I was already looking forward to depositing them both at the Inn.
“So,” Meredith began. “Did you have snow like this where you were living before you came to Caerphilly?”
“Snow’s snow.” Mrs. Frost frowned out the side window at it. “What’s so special about this snow?”
“I think what she meant was ‘where were you and your son living before you came here—was it someplace that gets as much snow as Caerphilly?’”
Meredith glared at me but Mrs. Frost didn’t appear to take offense.
“Son-in-law, actually,” she said. “I’m sorry—didn’t I explain that? I forget sometimes that people don’t know. And I’ve been talking to so many different people today.”
“So Mr. Willimer—Johnny—is your son-in-law?” Meredith asked.
“Yes.” Mrs. Frost settled back with a nostalgic look in her eye. “Only my son-in-law, but like a son to me—I practically raised him. He’s also—well, before he and Becky got married, I used to call him my nephew, but once they got together that sounded so hillbilly, so I gave him the proper term—first cousin once removed. Which meant he and Becky were only second cousins—nothing wrong with that, is there? And my cousin Deedee—his mother—lived just down the street, and we were close, so he was in and out of my house all the time growing up. Why I remember…”
Mrs. Frost rattled on, wandering from stories about Johnny’s boyhood to the details of their intertwined family tree. And then on to fond memories of bygone church potluck suppers. I didn’t quite tune her out entirely—I had to follow along enough to make the right kind of noises to punctuate her monologue. The sad “oh, dear” when commiseration seemed in order. The encouraging “oh, yes,” when agreement was called for. The mildly astonished “really?” when she revealed something she thought would astonish us. It was a familiar feeling. I had aunts like her. And first cousins once or twice removed that I referred to as aunts because that’s what you called everyone in your mother’s generation. The accent was slightly different—a mountain twang instead of a soft Tidewater drawl—but the rhythm was the same. I could play my part quite well and still have plenty of brain cells left over to do some thinking.
Although I tried to pay enough attention to pick up on any place-names she might mention. The fact that they attended the First Baptist Church didn’t help much, because I knew there were at least a dozen of those in Virginia alone. The fact that she mentioned going “up” to Blacksburg for her granddaddy’s cataract surgery probably meant that their previous home was south of Blacksburg, and in the western part of the state—but I could have guessed that from her accent.
Meredith, meanwhile, appeared to have decided that being in the back seat meant she was off duty as far as interacting with Mrs. Frost was concerned. She sat silently with a pinched look on her face and her eyes closed, except for her frequent glances down at her phone. Was she expecting an important text or email? Or just checking to see how much time had passed. I had already decided that if she uttered the fateful words “Are we nearly there yet?” I would offer her the opportunity to stretch her legs.
But she managed to hold her tongue until we pulled up at the entrance to the Caerphilly Inn. Before I even shut the engine off, Ekaterina’s tall, model-thin form appeared, as if by magic—although I knew there was actually nothing supernatural about her ability to greet guests. She’d had sensors and a security camera installed just inside the entrance to the Inn’s mile-long driveway. She was accompanied by two bellmen and an elegant brass luggage cart.
“Welcome to the Caerphilly Inn,” she said, opening Mrs. Frost’s car door.
I introduced Mrs. Frost, and then let Ekaterina take over. While the bellman whisked the two well-worn suitcases upstairs, along with Ronnie and his litter box, Ekaterina helped settle Mrs. Frost in her wheelchair and took her on a short tour of the ground floor. Mrs. Frost didn’t seem very impressed—you�
��d think she’d been staying in five-star hotels all her life.
I marveled, as I always did, at how the Inn had managed to create such a festive holiday atmosphere without being too heavy handed. Hints of cinnamon and evergreen potpourri teased the senses rather than bludgeoning them. The omnipresent Christmas carols were soft, lush, and definitely relegated to the background. I spotted candles, red velvet, metallic gold, and fragrant greenery, but they accented the existing décor rather than completely obscuring it. And were most of the decorations antique, imported, or just plain expensive—or did I only assume they were because they were in the Inn?
The only thing that seemed to impress Mrs. Frost was the hotel restaurant. More specifically, its bar.
“Do they make those frozen drinks with the little paper parasols?” she asked.
“Of course,” Ekaterina said. “And you can even order one from room service if you don’t feel up to coming downstairs.”
I wondered if room service normally did this, or if Ekaterina would be arranging it to keep Mrs. Frost from appearing in the bar. She didn’t look all that bad, but she did waft a slight but noticeable odor of cat pee. Or maybe it only seemed slight to me because I’d been in her house.
In due course we delivered her to her room, where her two shabby little suitcases were laid out on matching brass luggage stands. Ronnie’s cat carrier and his litter box were neatly aligned along the other wall, and a home health care aide was awaiting our arrival. I mentally gave Meredith points for efficiency.
“I’m not sure I want someone underfoot all the time.” Mrs. Frost frowned at the aide.
“Oh, she’s just here to help you get settled,” Meredith said. “And if you get along, we can arrange for her to come in the morning and the evening, for an hour or so, to help you with dressing and grooming.”
“Well, that would be a comfort.”
“Would you like a nice hot bath to warm you up after being out in the cold?” the aide asked. “Or do you prefer showers?”
We left Mrs. Frost in the hands of the aide. I breathed a sigh of relief when we finally stepped out into the hallway and watched her room door close behind us.
“I’m not quite ready for that frozen drink with the pink parasol,” Meredith said. “But I would kill for a cup of coffee before we go.”
“There is a complimentary pot in the lobby,” Ekaterina said. “I wanted to show Meg something before you leave—”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby, then.”
Meredith hurried down the hallway and punched the elevator button with such force that I could easily believe that caffeine deprivation was turning her homicidal.
“Anything important?” I asked Ekaterina when Meredith was out of earshot.
“I just wanted to point out to you that I have placed our new guest in the same corridor as the existing two subjects,” she said. “She is in 310, Mr. Haver is in 314, and Mr. O’Manion in 317. I cannot promise to keep any of them under constant observation—the members of my staff do have other responsibilities—but by keeping them in close proximity, we can make our efforts as effective as possible.”
“I appreciate it. By the way, Chief Burke will be coming by sometime later today to interview her.”
“We will be pleased to see him. Has there been any word of Mr. Haver?”
“No. And since you’re asking, I gather you haven’t seen him.”
“No, but I do have some interesting news about Mr. O’Manion. Who appears to be still sleeping.” She glanced at the door of 317 before moving farther down the corridor, gesturing to me to follow her. We stopped near the elevator—I suspected to make sure O’Manion could not eavesdrop on what she was about to say.
“One of my staff members is dating one of the chief’s deputies,” she said. “Do not ask me which, because I do not wish to get the young man in trouble.”
I nodded, and didn’t ask which, since I already knew that Sammy Wendell had at least temporarily given up on his long and unrequited infatuation with my cousin Rose Noire and become smitten with the Inn’s night desk clerk. Caerphilly was a very small town.
“When Mr. O’Manion returned here at two thirty this morning, he claimed to have gotten stuck in a snowbank while searching for Mr. Haver.”
“Sounds plausible,” I said.
“Yes, but he said it in front of the deputy,” Ekaterina said. “Who happened to be dropping in for coffee—we encourage local law enforcement to partake of our complimentary coffee, especially during the night shift.”
Thereby ensuring that the Inn got extra patrols. I didn’t begrudge them that, especially since I knew they often threw in complimentary pastries or sandwiches with the coffee, and sometimes even a hot meal on nights like last night.
“When he heard Mr. O’Manion’s words, the deputy had difficulty repressing his laughter. Apparently he had observed Mr. O’Manion’s car several times during his patrols. It was not stuck in a snowbank. It was parked in front of a certain house in Westlake.”
Westlake was the ritzy section of town, full of houses that I’d have called tasteless McMansions if they hadn’t been on two- to five-acre lots. Though the size of the lots didn’t eliminate the tasteless part.
“Okay, I give up,” I said. “What’s so funny about him being parked in Westlake instead of a snowbank?”
“The chief has instructed his deputies to keep a close watch on this particular house,” Ekaterina said. “They suspect the woman who lives there of being a lady of the evening.”
It took me a second to get it.
“You mean a prostitute?” I asked.
“I think nowadays they prefer the term ‘sex worker.’”
“Does this mean there’s a bordello in Westlake?” At least half of Mother’s garden club members were from Westlake. The annoying half.
“Only one young woman,” Ekaterina said. “I do not think that amounts to a bordello. And she is very discreet. Sa—the deputy says they have not yet been able to acquire sufficient evidence to take any action.”
“Well, I’ll be,” I said.
“So depending on the time of the murder, Mr. O’Manion may have an alibi,” she said. “But I wonder if it is an alibi he will want to make public.”
“And there’s also the possibility that the alibi may want to disavow any knowledge of him if she’s trying to fly under the police radar. Interesting.”
“Yes.” Ekaterina’s smile looked very catlike. “We will continue to observe the situation, and I will keep you posted if I learn anything else.”
I thought of suggesting that she keep the chief posted. But then Sammy would do that. And for all I knew, information could well flow not only from Sammy to the Inn, but also the other way round.
“Thanks,” I said, and she punched the button to call the elevator.
We had just reached the lobby when my phone rang.
“Meg?” It was Aida. “Where are you? Can you come over to Haver’s dressing room? We may have a problem.”
Chapter 21
Another problem. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear about another problem. I glanced at the clock over the checkout desk. Only ten thirty, and already I’d been up dealing with one problem after another for four and a half hours.
But that wasn’t Aida’s fault.
“I’m over at the Inn, just finishing up getting Mrs. Frost settled,” I said aloud. “You want to tell me what the problem is, or are you just going to tantalize me?”
“Haver’s gun has disappeared. It would be helpful if you could come over and show me if I’m looking in the right place.”
“Damn! I’ll be right over.”
I hung up and turned to Ekaterina. “Could you—” I began.
“Do not worry about Ms. Flugleman,” she said. “I will arrange to have her dropped off in town.”
I shouted my thanks over my shoulder as I dashed for my car.
I tried to stay within the speed limit on my way to the theater. Just because I was on my way to meet a cop di
dn’t mean her colleagues would cut me any slack if I earned a speeding ticket.
Aida’s police cruiser was parked in the ticket pickup zone in front of the theater, and around back there were already a dozen vehicles in the parking lot, even though rehearsal wasn’t till noon. I had mixed feelings about that—I very much approved of people showing up early to get in a little more rehearsal time. But we didn’t really want a whole lot of witnesses if Aida and I were going to be turning the building inside out, looking for Haver’s gun.
When I let myself in the stage door, the lively strains of “Sir Roger de Coverley,” greeted me. I could also hear the brisk, rhythmic pounding of sixteen pairs of feet and over all the voice of Gemma, the stage manager, shouting orders.
“Frank, you’re lagging behind. Clockwise, Darcy! Ryan, don’t swing her that hard; she’s a lady, not a sack of meal. Ladies, clap more delicately. Frank, watch it; you’re stepping on her feet again.”
I paused to watch, just for a moment, as the dancers skipped and twirled through the measures of the old English country dance. I wasn’t generally stagestruck, and had declined all of Michael’s previous offers to give me nonspeaking bit parts in the plays he directed. But for some reason I passionately envied the actors who got to be part of Fezziwig’s ball. I’d filled in often enough, during rehearsals when one or another of the performers was out, that I knew the steps, and if cold or flu felled anyone during the play’s run and Michael was looking around for a substitute, I just might volunteer.
The tune came to an end, and the dancers all collapsed in small panting heaps.
“That wasn’t bad,” Gemma said. “But it wasn’t good, either. Grab some water, everyone, and then let’s take it from the top.”
I left them to it and made my way to the other side of the stage, and then down the shadowy hallway down to the dressing rooms.
The door of Haver’s dressing room was open and light spilled out into the corridor.
I found Aida sitting in Haver’s dressing table chair, talking on her cell phone. The chair was out of its usual place—a small stepladder stood where it would normally have been, right beneath the hole where Aida had pushed the tile aside.
How the Finch Stole Christmas! Page 14
