“Don’t worry about it, I said,” she practically shouted. “I can do it all myself. Just give me the sheets and I’ll take care of it.”
When I stepped back into the gallery hall, she slammed the door shut. I blinked. What had I done? Pish was right there, carrying her extra bag.
“Well, that was rude of her,” he said, setting it down.
“I don’t know why I let her in.” I fretted. Pish took Lush’s arm and guided her along the hall to her own room.
Vanessa poked her head out of her room, the next one over. “What’s going on?”
I told her and she beckoned me over.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, dear? Cleta didn’t trust Lauda toward the end.”
“Cleta didn’t trust anyone, Vanessa. I would never take that as a point against someone.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“What do you think of Lauda?” I whispered, glancing over at the door. Though Pish had set down her other suitcase, I was loath to bang on the door to hand it over. I was uneasy, having just remembered the reference to the will from Cleta and Lauda’s conversation in Autumn Vale as overheard by Gordy. But allowing Lauda to stay made a kind of sense given the way Cleta had died.
“Lauda didn’t have an easy life,” Vanessa whispered, patting at her hairnet-covered hair. “The family was wealthy, but Cleta’s sister had married badly, then squandered every last penny she inherited, so Lauda got nothing when her mother died. She did so much for Cleta, but you know what that woman was like; she was often cruel to Lauda. She made jokes at her expense about her weight and her looks. But Lauda never snapped back.”
“What did you think of the scene Lauda made, accusing us of kidnapping her?”
Vanessa grimaced. “We did sneak out of Manhattan. Cleta sent Lauda on some wild-goose chase for currant jam and clotted cream, all the way to New Jersey! She timed it just for when we were leaving. She didn’t tell anyone where she was going, not even her lawyer, Joey Swan. Let them all stew! she said.”
“Nice.” I made a mental note of Cleta’s lawyer’s name for Virgil to check in with.
Lauda came out into the hall, and Vanessa slipped back into her room.
“Look, I’m sorry if I seem on edge,” Lauda said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. With her Windbreaker off, I could see that with her polyester stretch-waist pants Lauda had paired a purple madras plaid shirt, tails out and worn long. It was only a slight improvement over the mud-colored dress she wore the first time I saw her. “It was such a shock when the police told me Auntie Cleta had passed, and we didn’t even get a chance to make up. I was hoping I could come out and we’d have coffee. I just wanted her to know I acted as I did because I was frightened.” There was a whine in her voice, a thin sound of dismay, and she clasped her hands together in front of her. “She left the city without even telling me where she was going!”
Her puffy face was heavily lined, bloodshot eyes swollen, prominent bags under them. She certainly looked like she had been crying. I was reminded that just because I found Cleta insufferable didn’t mean someone couldn’t love her. What did I know of these two women’s relationship? “I understand,” I said, my voice gentler than it would have been just moments before. She must have cared deeply about her aunt to have hung around Autumn Vale for so long waiting for Cleta to calm down so they could talk. “I am so sorry about what happened. There was nothing anyone could do.”
“I know that. Can I get those sheets from you?”
“Sure.” I had turned my uncle’s tiny old office into storage: shelves and shelves of linens, cleaning supplies, and other stuff. Sheets and fresh towels in hand, I returned, gave them to Lauda and was about to offer to help her when she grabbed the last suitcase and again slammed the door in my face. Sheesh!
Vanessa emerged again, as did Patsy. In whispers, taking turns, we filled Patsy in on Lauda staying. She looked concerned.
“Is that safe?” she whispered, eyeing the door like she expected a snake to whip out of it and chomp her head.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
The two women exchanged a look.
“Well, someone was trying to kill Cleta!” Patsy said.
We had just been through that. “Okay, that was in New York, and I’m sorry, but given the behavior I witnessed from Cleta it could have been any one of a number of people she had contact with. Besides, she died of a heart attack!”
Patsy heaved a sigh of relief. “Of course you’re right, dear.”
Vanessa still looked doubtful. “I know it seemed I was being an apologist for Lauda, but Cleta didn’t trust her niece. It is unnerving.”
“I’ll take all this into consideration,” I said. “But for now, everyone just go to sleep. Lock your doors if it makes you feel safer.” I was being facetious, but Patsy nodded, as did Vanessa.
“We’ll do that,” Patsy said.
The next morning I was up early and, I’m sorry to say, cheerful at not having to face Cleta. I had a lot of muffins to bake, so Emerald came down to cook for herself, Lizzie, and Juniper, and also the Legion minus one.
And plus one.
I explained about Lauda as Em scrambled eggs for Lizzie, who sat in grumpy silence at the long worktable.
I turned the oven on to preheat and assembled my muffin ingredients: flour, eggs, oil, sugar. And what else? I paused, remembering the first morning after they had arrived. Cleta viewed my breakfast offerings with dismay. Where are the muffins? she demanded. She had heard I was famous for my muffins. When I pointed out the basket of carrot, apple, and bran muffins, she sneered that they were not muffins at all.
It took a while to realize she had expected what we think of as English muffins, but to her mind were simply muffins. I asked how long she had been living in America, and she told me over fifty years. I pushed the basket over to her and said, Then have a muffin. Pish chuckled, and after that, I referred to her in code as “The English Muffin.”
And now she was gone. How sad was it that her death made me more cheerful? I decided to make a very American culinary invention, Morning Glory muffins, since it was a beautiful morning. I gathered sunflower seeds, coconut, and raisins—I wouldn’t be using walnuts, since Gogi didn’t like them in muffins for Golden Acres—then grated carrot into a pretty pile. Emerald fed Lizzie while I mixed batter and filled muffin cups.
“How is school going, Lizzie?” I asked.
No answer.
“Remember what we said, about getting through school with a good grade average so you could get into college for photography?”
She eyed me with a squinty expression. “I hate it when you say crap like that,” she griped. “Makes me know I have to go to school.”
Emerald threw me a grateful look.
“I know. I wasn’t thrilled with school when I was your age, either, but I went.”
“Why can’t you homeschool me like Alcina?” Lizzie asked her mother, pulling her bushy hair back into a ponytail and binding it with a heavy elastic.
“Because unlike Alcina’s parents I have things I want to do with my time,” she shot back, crossing from the sink to her daughter and helping her with her unruly hair, which was escaping already. She bent over Lizzie’s shoulder, looked her in the eye, and said, “Including getting the diploma I never got, and some training so I can make us a decent living. And pay for your college!” She snapped the elastic into place and patted her shoulder.
Perching at the castle was temporary, and I knew Emerald wanted to buy or rent a place of their own. I appreciated her help in the meantime, though. She was planning to do something in the reflexology or massage field, and working through a course Consciousness Calling offered.
“All right, okay, I get it. I’ll go to freaking school,” Lizzie said, getting up and hoisting her backpack over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll get a scholarship. I hope th
ey have one for talented photography nuts who hate math.”
“I’m sure they do,” I said, with a laugh.
She turned back, though, before she headed down the back hall. “Oh, Merry, I found some stuff in one of the boxes of photos that I want you to see.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll tell you later!” she said, then set off down the hall and out the back door, followed by Becket, who had snuck into the kitchen when I wasn’t looking and now headed out for his daily prowl.
Elbows deep in muffin batter, I was fortunate that Emerald, my godsend, served the ladies, including Lauda, breakfast. I was happy not to be at the table for that awkward meal. She came back to the kitchen briefly and said it was going all right, though it was frosty and quiet, then she headed back in with another pot of tea.
I was alone in the kitchen when I heard the heavy knocker on the big double doors out in the great hall; again with the thud-thud-thud. I was going to get a complex if this was another shot of bad news or someone else showing up on my doorstep wanting a room. I whipped a tea towel over my shoulder and marched out to answer the door, waving Emerald back into the breakfast room, where I was sure the ladies would be keeping her busy with demands for fresh tea and coffee.
I yanked open the door and there was my very own handsome sheriff, Virgil Grace, with two of his henchmen. “Virgil. What’s up?” Becket slipped in the door past him. I hoped he wasn’t bringing home his own take-in breakfast, like a supersize McRodent Happy Meal.
“Merry, I’m sorry, but I have some bad news.”
My heart dropped. “What’s going on?” I asked, and my voice quavered, echoing in the great hall.
He glanced at his deputies, who stolidly looked anywhere but at us, then pulled me outside, away from his men’s earshot. It was a sparkling May morning, fresh and lovely, the sun shining and the sky a brilliant blue, but all I could see was the darkness in his eyes.
He tugged me farther away and took a deep breath. “I hate to tell you, Merry, but it looks like Miss Sanson’s death may not have been as natural as we thought.”
“What do you mean?” I squawked.
He looked over at his men uneasily, and put his big hand on my shoulder. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this much, but dammit, it happened in your place. She had a heart attack, yes, but it’s what caused it that we’re not sure of. There was cyanosing around her nose and some bruising around her mouth, too faint to make out in the light in the bathroom. And there are bits of fabric in her lungs.”
“Bits of fabric.” For a moment I didn’t comprehend what he was saying, and then it dawned on me. I gasped and covered my mouth, then realized what I was doing and snatched my hand away. “Are you saying . . . Did someone hold something over her mouth and smother her?”
“A towel. It was likely held over her mouth and nose. There were some of the same terry strands in her nostrils, the doctor says. There was some faint bruising on her shoulders, too, as if someone held on to her. But she didn’t die from being smothered. Or, well, kind of yes and kind of no,” he corrected himself. “She did die of a heart attack.”
I stood blinking for a minute, and shivered as I understood him. “Brought on by the smothering?” I said, trying to wrap my mind around what he was saying.
“We think so.”
“So that’s murder.”
He nodded. Someone among those at my tea had followed the woman to the bathroom and smothered her, bringing on a fatal heart attack. Who would do that to Cleta Sanson, no matter how annoying she was?
He moved impatiently. “Merry, I need to get in and cordon off the bathroom and her room. It’s a crime scene.”
I sighed and tilted my head to one side, eyeing him. “Virgil, the towels went into the laundry and the bathroom has been thoroughly scrubbed by my own resident Miss Clean, Juniper. And Cleta’s room . . .” I gasped and clapped one hand over my mouth again. “Oh Lord!” I mumbled. I let my hand fall, fluttering to my side. “Cleta’s niece, Lauda, came to the castle last night and demanded to use up the rest of her aunt’s rent on the room. I let her stay! I’m so sorry!”
“You didn’t know. We’ll just do the best we can. Is the woman in Miss Sanson’s room right now?”
“No, she’s at breakfast.”
“Then we’re going in to secure the scene.”
I stood in the great hall stunned as the three men marched past me and swarmed though my castle, a modern-day storming of the fortress. Virgil led the way to the bathroom, left one of his men there, then led the other upstairs. He made a few calls on his cell phone while doing this, recruiting others, I suspected.
Another day, another murder at Wynter Castle, another police presence.
I wanted to give Virgil time to have officers secure both spots before anyone noticed the police were even there, so I stayed in the great hall to head off any ladies retreating to their rooms. I have a large mahogany table in the center of the great hall, though I move it out when we are having events. Centered on it was a large crystal vase containing tulips just then. I rearranged them, taking out one that was wilted and used the hem of my shirt to dust the perimeter of the table.
As I fussed and fidgeted, I thought back to finding poor Cleta; I knew for a fact that the towels were perfectly neat and lined up on the towel bar when I got into the bathroom. It couldn’t have been one of those towels that was used to smother her, unless the murderer put them back straight. But if they did and the woman was already dead, how did they lock the bathroom? I had the only key and other than that, it could only be locked from the inside. Someone could have had a towel with them, I supposed, but wouldn’t we have noticed someone carrying a terry towel at the tea?
I was chilled when I thought back to just a half hour ago, how cheerful I was that Cleta was gone. How could I have thought such a thing? She was a human being and deserved life until fate or mischance took it from her. Not murder. Never murder!
Virgil came back down to the great hall and we stood awkwardly by the table.
“So shall I tell Lauda that her room is off-limits for now?”
“I’ll tell her. Can you show me where the hamper is, so I can get the dirty towels from yesterday? I want them all so forensics can test them.”
I stared up at him. “I did tell you that Juniper is Miss Clean, right? I’m sure we’ll find that there are no towels left undone. Juniper’s pretty fanatical about that. Anything hits the hamper and it’s whisked away to the washer. She did a couple of loads after the tea.”
He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Okay. I’ll talk to the ladies, and then I’m going to have you keep them where they are until we get finished.”
“How long will that be?”
“If I only knew. Then there will be interviews.”
As I followed him to the breakfast room it really hit me that someone at my party murdered Cleta. We were going to be interviewed, asked what we remembered, who was where, who went where.
He paused outside the breakfast room, his hand on the doorknob. “I don’t suppose I could have you send the whole lot of them back to New York City after this?”
“I’d love nothing better, but no, Virgil, that’s not feasible. They’re in their eighties, all of them, and it takes them a while to do stuff. Patsy Schwartz doesn’t even have an apartment to go home to. She sublet it!”
“I had to ask.”
We entered the breakfast room. Emerald was just refilling Patsy Schwartz’s coffee cup from the thermal carafe on the Eastlake sideboard that held much of my collection of teapots, the rose and other floral patterns repeated in the mirrored back of the shelves. All the ladies looked up.
“We’ve been hearing a commotion,” Lauda said, her tone boisterous. “What’s going on?” She looked completely at home sitting at my lovely old rosewood breakfast table, using my Juliet china and the Wynter family silver.
<
br /> Virgil was about to speak, but I put one hand on his arm. This was my home, and I would be the one to tell them. I heard the door behind me open and Pish entered, going directly to his aunt and standing behind her chair, one hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry to tell you all, but the police have come to investigate what happened yesterday. From evidence gathered in the autopsy the medical examiner has concluded that Miss Sanson was assaulted, which brought on the heart attack that killed her.”
Virgil nodded, approving of my wording. I knew enough not to give away anything about the method as he had described it to me, nor extraneous details. He was watching them all, his gaze traveling over the faces, but I was concerned about Lauda. She had paled and was silent. I wasn’t sure whether I should comfort her or leave that to the other ladies.
“You can’t be serious,” Vanessa said, one trembling hand touching her forehead. “You can’t mean it. But she did die of a heart attack!”
“Merry is correct,” Virgil said. “I’m going to need all of you to stay right where you are. My men are searching upstairs in Miss Sanson’s room, as well as the actual scene and the dining room.”
Tears streamed down Lauda’s face and she sobbed. Barbara ponderously heaved out of her chair and circled the table to her. “There, there, I know it’s a shock, but . . .” She trailed off and looked up, shaking her head, at a loss for words.
“In addition, we’ll need to interview each of you today,” Virgil went on, talking louder over the weeping. “I’m posting an officer here in the room. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak of this to one another.”
Death of an English Muffin Page 11
