"What about Noreen?"
"Nothing." In that short, clipped way that means, "there is something, but I'm not going to tell you." As a teenager, I'd often used that "nothing" myself.
"What did Noreen do?" I asked. The obvious answer came to me at once. Why would Noreen go to the trouble of finding out about Beryl's past? Certainly not because she cared. "She was blackmailing you."
Beryl's words came haltingly. "She told me about going to the private detective, that she found out Roy is still alive. She threatened to tell William the truth."
The doorknob rattled again. "We'll talk more later," I whispered. I went to the door, unlocked and opened it.
Alice stood there, grasping the handle of an upright vacuum cleaner. "I was about to do the hoovering in here. If that's all right."
Beryl stood up, remarkably composed except for her flushed face, and hurried toward the door. "We were leaving anyway," she said to Alice. "Hoover away."
CHAPTER TWENTY
The rain returned to the skies over Mason Hall right after dinner, and as if reflecting the weather, the family members became gloomy and dejected. William and Beryl immediately retired to their sitting room, but Alice suggested another game of Monopoly, and Elizabeth and Jason reluctantly agreed to join us.
At a still early hour, however, Alice announced she had things to do in the kitchen, never returned to the sitting room, and the game broke up. After walking the dog, I retreated to my bedroom. Since I'd come to bed earlier than usual, sleep eluded me for a long time, and I found myself rehashing my dilemma. Instead of giving up, I became more determined than ever to learn the truth. Aunt Beryl's confession had increased my desire to muddle through to a conclusion.
Yet I wanted to sleep and perhaps let my subconscious mind work on the problem for a while. I lay still and listened to the rain and what might have been people moving around in the hallway. Sometime before I dozed off I heard a car motor and thought it must be Chaz returning home from wherever he'd been.
Early the next morning, I came down to the kitchen and, since the rain had stopped, took Mr. Tarkington for a walk. I wanted to take advantage of the sunny skies as well as to think about what I'd learned the day before.
Why had Noreen asked Ingersoll to investigate Beryl in the first place? Did she suspect Jason's real father was still alive? How? Why? Did she plan to blackmail Jason too? Her being dead and unable to satisfy my curiosity seemed decidedly inconsiderate.
Beryl presented another puzzle. She had ample reason to want to kill Noreen. Yet, after hearing her recital, I wondered if someone who had reinvented her life so successfully wouldn't have found another way to solve the problem. Who else knew what Noreen had done? Did William? Did Jason? Did Chaz? Since they were still alive and present I could ask them, but should I? Would it be better if I forgot about the family's closet skeletons?
Tark headed for the far edges of the back garden, and I followed him. I detected a strange pungent odor and saw a thin plume of smoke rising from behind the garage, so I walked around to the back of the building. Tim stood near a large, black trash barrel burning something, causing the smell.
Apparently he heard my footsteps on the gravel, for he turned to me, and I could see he looked about as happy as if he'd found an army of fire ants in the rose bed.
"Something the matter?" I asked, my curiosity running rampant again.
"Somebody been burnin' stuff out here, see? Not supposed to. Supposed to ask me to deal with the rubbish." He poked into the barrel with a long sharp stick, and more acrid smoke emerged.
I leaned over to look inside and saw blackened smoldering debris. "What is it?"
"Can't tell, can I? Smells like the devil, though, don't it? Not paper or garden clippin's."
I couldn't imagine anyone in the family dirtying their hands by trying to dispose of something. Brought up in a house with quite a few servants, they'd surely expect someone else to do that.
"Another thing." He pointed to an old bicycle. "Vandals been here. Ruined me bike, see? He pointed to a bent spoke on the rear wheel and then the headlamp fastened to the handlebars.
"They broke the light too?"
"Aye. Can't ride to the pub at night without it, can I?" He shook his head. "Hard to keep 'em off these days. Got no respect for private property, they don't."
I sympathized with him, being old enough to remember when far less vandalism occurred, and public buildings, walls, and highway overpasses weren't liberally decorated with graffiti. "I'm sorry. Do you think it could have been the same person who burned the rubbish?"
He leaned the bike against the garage's back wall. "Queer bloke, isn't it, would come clear out here to burn a thing?"
So I'd asked a foolish question. I often did. Sometimes I got interesting answers. "You wear a few different hats, don't you? Gardener, chauffeur, clean-up officer?"
"Don't do nuthin' inside, but I keep the outside lookin' good enough for the Queen." A sly grin raised the corners of his mouth. He'd apparently recovered somewhat from his annoyance at vandals.
"Expecting the royals to visit, are you?"
"Never know. Be prepared. That's me motto."
I laughed with him. "So you're back on the payroll. Noreen—that is Mrs. Mason's—firing you has been officially cancelled. It's just as well you didn't move out."
"Aye."
Tark had returned from his little excursion and sniffed around Tim's boots. He reached down and petted the dog. "A strange one, that Missus. Treated me like I warn't good enough to walk the same earth then she—" He broke off.
I decided that, like all the others, he didn't want to speak ill of the dead. "I gather no one liked her very much. But, even so, I doubt anyone wanted her to drown."
"Her own fault. Had no business bein' out there late at night, liquored up like she was."
The way he said it made me think he knew something. "Did you see her walking her dog that night?"
"Aye. By the lily pond."
"You can see it from here?"
"Me room's up top, you know." He pointed to his apartment above the garage. "See quite a bit from up there."
My skin began to prickle. "Did you tell the police?"
"That inspector fella? Aye."
So Kincaid knew she'd been walking the dog. Why did he tell me she might not have been? Evidently he hadn't been totally candid with me. Well, why should he? The police at home were no different. They didn't reveal what they knew to anyone but the prosecutors.
"What time did you see her?" I asked Tim.
"Ten o'clock mebbe, or half past. Not certain, I am."
"What else did you see?"
He took off his hat and rubbed a hand over his head, mussing his unkempt hair even more. "You mean the car what drove up?"
A car drove up? This became more interesting by the minute. "What kind of car?"
"Don't know."
"But the road isn't close to the pond. Did the car drive onto the lawn?"
"Must've done. Kept 'is lights on a while, so I recognized Miz Mason on account of 'em shinin' on her white hair. This dog too, bein' he's white hisself. Then he turned 'em off."
"You said, 'he.' Did you see a man, then?"
"Man or woman, couldn't tell."
"Did you see someone get out of the car, approach Noreen?"
"No'm. Without no headlights I couldn't see nuthin'. Not me place, anyway, spyin' on me betters. I went to bed. Get up early in the mornings, don't I?"
"Did you tell the police about the car?"
He replaced his hat. "Don't remember. Anyway they knew, trampin' all over the place next mornin' they were."
My pulse racing, I thanked Tim and pulled Tark back toward the house. I wanted to telephone Kincaid and ask questions about that. He had no obligation to share clues with me or tell me anything, but he'd been friendly before, so I hoped he'd at least be willing to listen.
With the information that a car had driven onto the lawn near the lily pond, my earlier impression th
at a family member had killed Noreen receded, and my theory about Mister X returned. On the other hand, Mister X wasn't necessarily the driver of the car. Someone in my family could still be guilty. Anyone could have done it. I mentally listed the possible suspects, beginning with Alice.
Well, maybe not Alice. Like everyone else, she probably hated the woman, but I couldn't see her as a murderer unless Noreen tripped and fell into the lily pond, and Alice couldn't or wouldn't help her out.
William certainly had a motive: he might lose the family property. Jason could have done it for the same reason, except for having been at a theatre in London that evening, plus another if Noreen had seduced and then dumped him. Beryl hated Noreen because she was blackmailing her, and Elizabeth hated her because she thought she'd ruined Chaz. Chaz, it seemed, had even more motive than the others.
Chaz. Yes, he could well be capable of violence. What if he came home from playing at the club, saw Noreen walking Mr. Tarkington near the lily pond, and drove his car onto the lawn? Then he quarreled with her, struck her with a rock, and pushed her under to drown?
Another thought leaped into my head. Now I knew how the dog got back into the house. After drowning Noreen, Chaz picked him up and brought him inside. That was why Tark attacked him the night he tried to seduce me. He knew Chaz had killed Noreen, and he was trying to save my life.
Stunned by my latest notion, I stopped in my tracks. Then, before I could act on this theory, the mansion's back door opened, and Aunt Alice rushed down the path toward me, her face flushed, eyes wide. She grabbed my arm.
"Olivia, where have you been?" Her voice shrill, she didn't wait for an answer. "It's Chaz. They found him this morning."
I stumbled over the threshold. "What?"
"He's been stabbed."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Emotions whirled through my body: shock, disbelief, outrage, sadness, more than I'd ever felt at one time before. Chaz stabbed! Who would want to kill him? A thief in a robbery gone bad? A jealous husband seeking revenge? Maybe that made sense. Nevertheless, he didn't deserve such a terrible end.
In some ways I still liked Chaz. He was a talented musician, and I thought he had many redeeming qualities. I also remembered Elizabeth describing the way he behaved before Noreen's arrival.
Wait a minute. I had just decided Chaz most likely killed Noreen, hadn't I? I could be wrong. Had I missed something here? First Noreen drowned. Now Chaz was stabbed to death. What if someone else killed both of them?
Tark ran into the house through the open door, and to my surprise, Alice clutched my arm and pulled me back toward the garage. "You'll want to see him. He's tucked up in hospital."
Tucked up in hospital? "What?" I pulled my arm free from Alice's strong grip. "I thought you said he'd been stabbed."
"Oh, it was horrible, they said, blood everywhere, hardly a drop left in him."
"Then he's not dead?"
"Not yet, but they don't know how long he'll last. Terrible cut up, he was."
Not dead. My brain struggled to adjust.
Alice rattled on. "We're leaving now. Elizabeth is taking William and Beryl. Now Tim must take us as well." She rushed toward Tim, waving her arms.
I stood still, shocked into silence. Meanwhile, Tim apparently got Alice's message and maneuvered the Bentley out of the garage.
Alice ran back toward me, grabbed my arm again, and pulled me toward the car. "I've rung up Jason at his office, and he'll meet us there directly." She looked at Tim. "You must drive as fast as ever you can."
Once Alice climbed in next to me and slammed the door shut, Tim obeyed and put the car in gear, throwing me back against the seat. Alice leaned forward, as if by doing so, she could make Tim drive faster.
The computer in my head rebooted itself and began to work once more. Someone had stabbed Chaz, no doubt intending to kill him. This time the police could not suggest suicide or an accident.
I reached out and grabbed Alice's arm. "Where did this happen?"
"Near the club where his band performs."
"Who found him?"
"Someone going home late at night saw him under the bushes near the road."
"Bushes near the club?" I tried to remember the area's appearance from the one time I'd been there. I visualized lots of trees, but there certainly must have been shrubs as well.
"What time?"
"Early this morning, I believe. The constable rang us up minutes ago, after they'd identified him."
"I thought he came home last night. I heard a car."
"No, he never did. His bed's not been slept in."
That didn't mean much. I already knew Chaz sometimes slept in his studio. Since the housemaid Alice hired had yet to come to work, no one made beds every morning. Even if Alice looked in there today, it didn't necessarily mean Chaz hadn't come home. Nevertheless, I had to admit it made more sense that he had remained at the club the night before rather than made a second trip later in the evening or early in the morning.
We fell silent, each with our own thoughts. After what seemed ages, Tim jerked the car to a stop in front of the hospital, and we climbed out.
I followed Alice, who plunged through the automatic doors almost before they opened fully, and steamed up to the reception desk. Having acquired the information she wanted, she sailed down the corridor to the elevators with me in her wake, banged on the Up button, and made impatient noises.
When we got to the second floor, we went down another long, brightly lit hospital corridor and found Elizabeth, William, and Beryl had already arrived. They looked as concerned as Alice and stood outside a closed door.
"Where is he?" Alice asked, looking from one to the other.
"Intensive care," William answered, his hearing aid apparently turned on and in good working order.
"How is he?" I asked.
"We don't know," Elizabeth said. "Sister said surgery took four hours, and he hasn't recovered from the anesthesia. We're waiting for the doctor."
Beryl, face almost hidden behind a crumpled handkerchief, looked unsteady. William led her to a padded bench against the wall, and they sat. Like William, Elizabeth perched dry-eyed and tense on the same bench.
Alice plopped down next to Beryl, and I joined her, although five people were at least one more than the bench could accommodate comfortably. Alice being wider than most, I felt in constant danger of slipping off onto the hard floor.
Just then Inspector Kincaid, Sergeant Sallow a few steps behind him, came striding down the hall toward us, and I got up from the bench.
He addressed William. "I'm afraid you won't be able to see your son quite yet, Mr. Mason. I understand he's badly hurt and may be unconscious for some time. In any event, we shall want to be the first to question him as soon as the surgeon gives permission."
William also stood, ramrod straight, as if he were an officer whose code of conduct didn't permit slouching. "I understand."
"Meanwhile," Kincaid added, "I'd like a word with each of you." He glanced around the corridor. "I shan't keep you very long. I know this is a difficult time for you, but, in a situation such as this, it's imperative for us to learn the facts as soon as possible."
I considered tweaking him a bit about what he meant by "situation." Would he call it murder or at least "attempted murder" this time?
Kincaid cleared his throat and spoke to William. "Please come with me." He led the way down the corridor, and they disappeared through a doorway into what I assumed might be a waiting room.
The rest of us cast questioning glances at one another, but no one spoke. About ten minutes later, when William returned to us alone, he said the inspector wanted to see Alice, and she took his place in the private room.
Beryl looked up at William. "What did he ask you?"
"When I last saw Chaz."
"What did you tell him?" I asked, curious to know if he'd revealed the heated argument he had with Chaz over his supposed assault on Elizabeth. If he had, the inspector might take that as a mot
ive, although stabbing one's own son seemed far-fetched to me. Especially from William.
"I said we talked late yesterday afternoon at about a quarter past six," William said. He paused and looked back at Beryl. "I told the inspector I didn't see him again all evening or this morning and that Alice informed me someone rang up to say Chaz was in hospital."
"That's all?" Elizabeth asked.
"He questioned me about Chaz's routine: his playing with the band, his friends, any possible enemies. I fear I couldn't help at all. The boy kept to himself so much, you know."
We remained silent again until Alice returned, and she too reported she'd been asked about Chaz's lifestyle and his whereabouts the preceding day.
Next, Kincaid questioned Beryl, and when she returned, she recited the ordeal to us punctuated by sobs and sniffles. She told him she hadn't seen her son at all the previous day because she'd been attending her ladies' club meeting. Speaking through tears, she regretted what she now perceived as the frivolity of her day and acted as if she'd have spent every minute at his side had she known it might be her last chance.
Elizabeth went into the questioning room next and stayed there rather a long time. When she returned, she seemed slightly pink in the face and, sitting back on the bench again, looked down into her lap a long time. She reported she told Kincaid she hadn't seen Chaz the day before, and he'd asked her about his friends or possible enemies.
"Did you mention possible enemies?" I asked her.
She looked straight at me, her eyes narrowed and her mouth a firm straight line. "No, I don't know of any."
I took that to mean she hadn't revealed Chaz's conduct toward her, and I must not mention it either. Her flushed face when she came out of the interrogation must have been the result of once again trying to keep this secret.
When my turn came, I rose slowly. The small waiting room I entered had been furnished with six black vinyl chairs and square end tables topped with dark glass and holding magazines dating from a previous Prime Minister. Kincaid sat in the chair farthest from the door, his sergeant in the chair next to him.
Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) Page 17
