Cape Cod caper

by Margot Arnold

  His face closed up and he just sat staring at her.

  This was obviously a sore point, so Penny thought quickly. "All right, if you won't answer that, let me tell you what I think. Something scared off the would-be murderer before he had time to finish the little scenario he had planned. I think you were in the barn and I can guess why. I think the something may have been the creaking of the barn door either as you came out or went in—most barn doors do creak and this is something I can easily check. Were you in the barn?"

  He just smiled.

  "Did you meet someone in the barn or were you planning to meet someone?" The smile faded and he shook his head almost with impatience.

  "The police think you used both the barn and the excavation site as drop points," Penny said deliberately. "Presumably they have some evidence to back this up, I don't know, but that is another affair and not my concern. My guess is that you never actually met your customer but you do know his or her identity. It would save me some time if you would give me the name—I swear I would not reveal it to the police."

  Slowly he shook his head and stood up. "I bore no love toward Grange but I did not do this to him, nor do I know who did. I have said all I can say. It is useless to ask me more."

  Penny sighed and stood up also. "There is a murderer loose, a murderer who has tried twice, succeeded once and may well try again. Bear that in mind, and if you have something more you can tell me you know where to find me."

  On her way home she detoured by the Grange house and stopped to examine the cranberry barn which, somewhat to her surprise, she found to be unlocked. The doors, as predicted, creaked loudly on their rusty iron hinges, and she went in to survey a dusty collection of cranberry boxes, old scoops, sacking, and the general miscellanea that goes with a cranberry harvest. There were a lot of footprints in the dust of the floor, but whatever the police had found there to put their suspicions on Eagle Smilk was now obscured, and after a few minutes of halfhearted searching she gave it up and drove back in a slightly depressed frame of mind to the Langley cottage.

  Reaching it, she was amazed to hear joyous squeals and peals of laughter coming from inside. She opened the door on a startling sight. Ann, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling with laughter, was sitting on the couch. Crawling around the floor was Carson Grange, one small dark-haired boy and one small fair-haired girl squealing with delight on his back, as he pitched from side to side making loud neighing sounds. He looked up as Penny came in and, with an extra loud whinny, reared up and gently deposited his charges on the couch. "Hi there," he grinned, "I've been waiting for you, and, as you see, these two varmints lassoed me into action. Came to report to the commander in chief," and he smartly saluted her to the delighted giggles of the children.

  His own spirits seemed so high that the thought flashed through Penny's mind that he might be drunk, but the sense of general euphoria in the room after the depression of the past few days brought an answering smile to her own lips. "Well, out with it then. Officer Grange!" she said. "I could use some good news."

  The smile lingered on his lips but died out of his eyes as he reached into a pocket of his uniform jacket which was draped over a chair. "I typed it out for you, the info you asked for, I mean," he said carefully, avoiding her eyes. "I think you'll find it interesting. Has there been any word from Italy?"

  "Not yet It's a bit soon to expect any, but Toby Glendower will be in touch as soon as he has anything—you can depend on it"

  The phone started to ring. "That might be him now— shall I get it?" Penny said. Ann nodded.

  She went into Ann's room and picked up the phone. "Dr. Spring here."

  The voice at the other end was scarcely above a strained whisper, but every melodic syllable was clear and separate. "I've got to talk to you," it said. "It's very urgent. There's something I think you should know, but I don't want anyone else to. This is Wanda DLcQola. I'll meet you tomorrow morning at nine—Zeb Grange's house, the museum room. Please be there I"

  "Well of course I will, but why not now...?" Penny began to say, then realized she was talking to empty air. Wanda Dimola had hung up.

  CHAPTER 15

  "You mean she died!" There was dismay in Toby Glendower's voice as his wonderful discovery crumbled into dust. A conference was under way in the overcrowded parlor of the inn—the participants Enrico, a nervous but self-important Mrs. Enrico and Toby. "Oh, yes"—Mrs. Enrico was the spokesman, though she kept darting little nervous glances at her husband, as if seeking his moral support and approbation—"it was not more than a year after this marriage, certainly before May of '45 when the war ended, and long after he had left. It is a very sad story now I think of it, signore."

  "If you could tell it from the beginning, then perhaps I could understand better." Toby was terrified that she might suddenly dry up on him again.

  "If you wish, but you must understand I was very young at the time and all I know comes from my mother, rest her soul! and my aunt, who was a maid at the palazzo then. It is like a fairy story, signore, a sad fairy story. Two sisters in love with the young American officer and none of us knowing for sure which one of them he preferred—Anna-Maria, the present Contessa, who was always so proud and so lively, or Christiana, the quiet one. Both of them were beautiful then in quite different ways, and when the Americans came and took the village from the Germans he —this Ricaldo Dimola—was billeted in the palazzo. In the war things happened so quickly..." She stopped a moment and sighed. "Then his unit moved out and there was a counterattack- The Germans came back. Oh, that was a terrible time! They took hostages away with them, the priest, your papa"—she turned to her husband—"the Amalfi sisters, and others; all so that the village would be afraid to fight any more. Then..." She looked helplessly at her husband. "I am not sure about the next."

  Enrico took up the story. "The Germans were retreating by then, and one of the partisan units raided their column —they were trying to save my father—they got the Amalfis back and took them off up into the hills. She did not come back until several months after the war ended—even after the Japanese had given in I think it was—the Contessa, that is. She came back with the partisan leader who was her lover, and her baby, and they said Christiana had died of the ill treatment of the Germans and the hardships after. The Contessa said she'd been buried in the forest, but she put up a beautiful memorial to her in the churchyard; you can see it for yourself, signore. Then they left again and we did not see her for several years. When she came back there was no more partisan leader, but since then, oh, many, many men at the palazzo."

  "But then he came back," his wife interrupted, and her husband looked surprised.

  "I didn't know that!" he exclaimed-

  "Oh, yes—many months after the war it was. He came to the palazzo; it was after the Contessa had left again. My aunt told him of Christiana and he carried on like a wild man. He was much changed, my aunt said, gaunt like a wolf. He had been a prisoner of the Germans and wounded besides. When she took him to see the memorial he flung himself on it like a madman and wept. She thought he would kill himself right then and there. But he went away, and now you, signore, tell me he became a great man."

  "But he returned here two years ago—you must have heard that then," Toby put in.

  She looked startled. "I know nothing of that. My aunt left the palazzo many years ago—such goings-on she could not stand! And as the money got less, the Contessa got worse—such a temper!"

  "Didn't he come to the inn to make enquiries?" Toby appealed to Enrico.

  "No, he did not come here." Enrico knitted his brows. "But I do seem to recall ... there are always some tourists that find their way here in summer, you see ... 1 can't be sure."

  "Would there be someone in the palazzo who would know?"

  Emico shrugged. "Perhaps. But the Contessa no longer has a servant—only she would know, and she no longer sees anyone but the priest."

  "And about the baby you mentioned—what happened to it?"

&nbs
p; "Oh, Lorenzetto!" Enrico laughed scornfully. "Best not to ask. Like his mother, that one, and a bane to her just as she has always been to us."

  "And his father?"

  The peasant faces on either side of him closed up. "She said it was the partisan Lorenzo's child," Enrico said shortly. "She said they were married, but there were many who said it was a German's bastard; the Contessa was not fussy so long as a man attracted her. That is all I know."

  "And this Lorenzetto—where is he now?"

  Enrico shrugged. "He comes and he goes. He has not been seen in the village for a long time. I do not know where he is or what he does—nor do I care." His tone was bitter.

  "Well, I am much indebted to you for all this information," Toby said dolefully, for he did not see how it made any sense at all. "I think I had better go into Imola and see if I can pick up traces of Mr. Dimola's visit there. If I can pin down the time of it maybe someone in the village will remember, and then I had better pay the priest a visit. I suppose it will mean making the rounds of all the hotels in Imola." He sighed heavily.

  Enrico looked relieved. "Yes, a trip to Imola, excellent! There are many interesting things to see there. As to the hotels, I think there is only one he would have stayed at: the Olympia on Via Pisacane; try there."

  Before he set off, Toby put in a call to Penny to report his findings and his plans. "I thought 1 was on to something when I found that marriage record," he said in an aggrieved tone, "but now I don't see it gets us one bit further ahead. The poor girl was dead and gone before Dimola even returned to the States after the war. Still, I'll keep plugging if you think it's worth it. I'll check now for Dimola in Imola."

  "Yes, and while you're at it look for other Dimolas too," Penny said. "Steven and Inga should have been there at least twice according to my information, but just for the heck of it see if any of the others were aware of Dimola's interest in the village as well. If any of them were up there I'm sure some villager would remember—they're a pretty spectacular-looking bunch on the female side. By the way, were the Amalfis blondes?"

  "What an extraordinary question! I haven't the faintest idea. What difference does it make?" Toby rumbled.

  "Well the Dimola taste runs heavily to blondes. If both Amalfis were blondes he may have dowered them equally with his favors, even if he only married one of them," Penny said coarsely.

  "Oh, meaning you think the Contessa's child might have been his by-blow? But what difference would that make?" "It's an idea I've been toying with all along. No great difference, I grant you, save in terms of scandal and blackmail, but you might try and get a line on this Lorenzetto—after all he doesn't seem to be around and we've an unaccounted—for body here. Dig some more."

  Toby groaned softly to himself. "Well, I'll call you back on what I find in Imola. You making any progress your end?"

  "Some. I saw the young Indian today and he helped a bit And I have hopes of a big breakthrough tomorrow when I talk to Wanda Dimola."

  "I only hope you do better than I have so far," Toby said gloomily, and rang off.

  He hit pay dirt immediately at the Hotel Olympia in Imola. The hotel clerk was impressed by his official card with its titles, and, after initially demurring for form's sake, dived avidly into the files as a favor to the "milord inglese." Toby silently blessed the requirement for the registration of all foreigners, as he watched the clerk's expert fingers flipping through the cards. He emerged with quite a pile and laid them proudly before Toby. "All we have of the name you requested. I hope you find what you seek. You are welcome to use the desk in the office."

  As Toby perused the small stack his eyebrows rose and he became very thoughtful. "Well I'll be jiggered!"' he murmured to himself. "It looks as if Penny may have something after all!" There were two entries for Steven Dimola by himself, one with Inga, corresponding to a similar one for Rinaldo. A later one for Rinaldo alone, and, a few days after that, Steven and Inga again. Then a single entry for Annette Dimola by herself, and two days after that an entry for Alexander and Wanda Dimola. "So they were all here sniffing around—but what in Heaven's name for?"

  Penny retired early from the continuing domestic euphoria in the Langley cottage. She felt unaccountably nervous and badly wanted some time by herself to think about things. First she examined Carson's typewritten account, which was impressively professional. On the local drug scene he had unearthed enough indications, if little actual proof, that Eagle Smith certainly had been one of the suppliers of marijuana and "uppers" for the neighborhood. Among other things. Eagle Smith had made frequent trips to Hyannis to a little novelty store whose proprietor had some very shady connections in Boston and had been under a quiet police scrutiny for some time.

  One of the present servants at the Dimola mansion had once been up on a drug charge, when she had become involved in a road accident and some pills had been found in her car. She had been fined and bound over as a first offender. The fine had been paid by Alexander Dimola— which Penny found significant.

  Another interesting item had been that several local children, who made it a game to trespass on Zeb's Indian site, knowing full well how furious it made him, had reported that at various times they had seen Inga, Wanda and Steven Dimola alone at the site. (Not that that really meant much, Carson had added in parentheses, all of them got interested in Zeb's work in a casual sort of way and dropped in from time to time to see how he was getting on.)

  He had a long paragraph on the mail arrangements of the Dimola estate. Prior to the arrival of the whole family there it had been customary for one of the servants to pick the mail up and distribute it. Since Rinaldo's illness and with so much business mail coming to the house for Alexander, the family had taken over the chore, the only outsider involved in the pickup being Ann.

  He had questioned the postmistress at the tiny substation post office, which also handled Western Union for the village, and found that on the day Penny's cable arrived she had got through to the main house but had been unable to contact Zeb direct. She had been told there was something wrong with his line, and, other than that this information came from a woman, she could give no further light on who it was. She had done the next best thing and put the cable in with the morning mail. She was hazy as to who had picked it up that day beyond the fact that "there was a whole earful of them," "Oh dear," Penny murmured in exasperation, "now I suppose I shall have to try and find out who delivered the mail to Zeb that day! How maddening!"

  Her nerves were still on the jump, so she slipped quietly into the kitchen to fix herself some warm milk. The children had long gone to sleep—Bobby Grange bedded down on the sofa—but from the hum of conversation from the living room it was evident that the two young parents were still finding plenty to talk about. She felt an awful urge to call Wanda Dimola back, but a glance at her watch showed it was past eleven, no time to place an unobtrusive call to the main house. She resigned herself to the inevitable and settled down to sort out Toby's information.

  Apart from the fact that the present Dimola family were the offspring of Rinaldo's second rather than his first marriage, the tragic story of Christiana Amalfi did not seem to have any significance. But how about this Lorenzetto, the child of the lively, worldly sister? Had he been RinaJdo's child? And had Rinaldo on his visit to Colle d'Imola two years previously first become aware of that fact because of the physical resemblance? She frowned. It still did not make any sense.

  She could well see that the Contessa Anna-Maria as the woman scorned might have kept the child's real paternity a secret, passing him off as another man's child. She could well see also that Rinaldo, learning of his bastard, might be upset by this blot on the family honor of which he was so proud. Lorenzetto, by Toby's account, was an unsatisfactory character, though he had been unable to clarify this, but if Lorenzetto were the body in the bog, why had it taken him two years to appear and put the bite on his famous father?

  And again, who of the suspects in the case would be fanatical enough to want to re
move him permanently? Annette—who according to her own account thought her husband the most wonderful thing on God's earth? Maiia—who evidently loved her father deeply? His sons—fearful perhaps of the influence of an older half brother? Inga — who was crazy about Steven and would presumably do anything to protect him? Or Zeb—the only one of the whole crowd who was a complete fanatic?

  She was back to that again. What if Zeb had been put up to it by one of the Dimolas, who in turn had tried to still his tongue? She sighed wearily and climbed into bed. She was not even sure that any of them knew of Lorenzetto's existence, she would just have to wait for Toby's next report—unless Wanda Dimola could tell her what she wanted to know.

  Still absorbed in her problems, she only listened with half an ear to Ann at the breakfast table, as she recounted with some indignation the marital problems Carson Grange had related to her. "His wife sounds like a bitch on wheels! She deserted him and the baby, but now, even though she's shacked up with another man, she's been doing all sorts of things to hurt Carson. She has threatened to try and get Bobby away from him, and she's even tried to break up his relationship with Zeb by telling Zeb a pack of hes about Carson's behavior. It really is too bad! I told him he ought to divorce her, and I think he is starting something now, but he has held off this long because Zeb apparently is very old-fashioned on these lines and persuaded him not to. I think too he was a bit worried about the custody of Bobby."

  "Hmm," Penny said abstractedly, "yes, very disturbing." She waited until after Ann had left for work with little Penny, and then hurried over to the Grange house. The large orange cat, whom she had been feeding once a day, was waiting for her on the front porch, his tail lashing fiuiously. "AH right!" she scolded. "I'll feed you! Hold your horses!" She tried the front door and it was locked. "Damn! I thought the house was still open," she muttered. "Maybe the back door is." She hurried around to the back door accompanied by the cat, and was relieved to find that latched but unlocked. She went through the small back hallway into the kitchen, hurriedly opened a can of tuna for the cat and filled a bowl with milk from the refrigerator. She glanced at her watch—it was a few minutes past nine.