Murder at Peacock Mansion

by Judy Alter

  “Have you talked to Edith lately? She was here this morning and mentioned she hasn’t heard from you.”

  He was startled, as though he’d forgotten all about her. “No, she hasn’t called. Does she need me?”

  “No. I just think she’d like you to hover over her a bit, show some concern. She thinks her stepchildren are in this neighborhood.”

  He slapped his forehead. “I’ve been so wrapped up in this house business…and keeping up with my office that I didn’t even think of it. Thanks, Kate. I’ll call this afternoon. And if you can slip up to the house, I’ll show you some plans.” Then he stopped himself. “There I go again. Are those wicked stepchildren nearby?”

  I shrugged. “We know Rodney has been here. Ask Steven about the others.” I wasn’t telling him about James. He’d want to go with me to Edom.

  “About those house plans, maybe tonight. I have an errand to run this afternoon,” I said.

  “Okay.” He was off, blowing a kiss to me as he pushed open the door with one crutch.

  These days he moved pretty fast on his crutches and was really feeling better generally. His bruises had mostly faded, and, blest be, his disposition had returned.

  As soon as David was out of sight, I told Marj I was running an errand and would be back in about an hour. I still had to do menu plans for the next week and pay some bills.

  The drive to Edom was all of about ten minutes, and I was soon on the main street—the state highway that ran through the middle of the small town. Before Wheeler was rejuvenated, Edom had long been an artists’ colony with pottery shops, a leather worker, a ceramics studio, a gentleman who crafted handmade jewelry—the expensive kind. I spotted James’ studio, new to the artists’ strip, by its plain sign: Art Gallery.

  I opened a creaking wooden door—like most of the studios, this was in an old building, once a part of a commercial strip, I supposed. Inside, all four old brick walls were hung with abstract paintings. I know nothing about abstract art, being almost of the bluebonnet school of paintings myself, but I thought these were probably pretty good. At least, they didn’t look like a chimpanzee had been turned loose with the paints. Nor were they the kind of work where thick layers of paint substituted for artistic quality. The colors of several drew me. When I came in, I called “Hello?” but got no answer, so I stood and studied the paintings for a few minutes. Every once in a while I thought I caught a fleeting glimpse of a shape—the figure of a woman, a face, a rough indication of an animal. I liked the absence of hard lines and sharp corners.

  “Just looking, or may I help you?” He was slight, not much taller than me, and had the requisite long hair of an artist. His pants and shirt were stained with paint—acrylic, I would later learn. But his face was gentle and friendly.

  “James?” I asked.

  He wasn’t startled, just amused. “Yes. Sorry, you have the advantage of me.”

  I held out a hand, hoping the paint on his was dry. “I’m Kate Chambers from the Blue Plate Café in Wheeler.”

  “Looking for some art for your café?” He was still amused. “I don’t think my stuff exactly suits your customers.”

  I laughed nervously and agreed. “No, I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been talking to your stepmother.”

  Now he was just a bit wary, shifting from one foot to the other. “This might get tiring. Let me drag a couple of chairs in.”

  He returned with two folding chairs. Yes, they were paint-stained, but he assured me it wouldn’t come off on my clothes.

  “What does Edith want now, except for the three of us to disappear into thin air?”

  “Oh, I don’t know that she wants that. She simply wants to be safe…and she’s felt threatened lately. A burglary. A trip wire across the stairs. She thinks one of you…or all of you are trying to kill her for your inheritance.”

  He hooted. “Do I look like a steely-eyed killer?”

  There was no holding in my grin. “Hardly, but you never know.”

  He had the habit of stroking his chin, like a philosopher deep in thought. “True, but I don’t want her money or that godawful house he built her. I’m happy where I am, doing what I want—which is not, of course, what the old man wanted me to do.”

  Curiosity won. “What did he want you to do?”

  “Practice law. Maybe go into politics.”

  “Oh, you’ve had made a miserable lawyer!” It came out before I could stop the words. “But that’s another thing. My boyfriend”—what a strange word for my ex-boss who was now my lover!—“is a lawyer. Has an office in Dallas but does most of his business from a cabin on the lake. Or did, until two thugs beat him half to death and left him to die in a burning house. He’s on the mend now, and the two are in jail. They tried to shoot me, too.”

  He jumped from his chair and began pacing. “You’re not making this up, are you?” His worry and concern seemed genuine.

  I sighed. “No. I wish I were. I gather you don’t have any idea about it.”

  “No. I’m not fond of Edith, mostly because she didn’t like us. But I wouldn’t wish her harm. As for the inheritance, I don’t know how much will be left after she’s barricaded herself in that mansion for all this time. Rodney might have a better idea. We each got a nice chunk when Dad…er…died.”

  “Are you close to your sister and brother?”

  His laugh was almost harsh this time. “Not hardly. They became the people the old man wanted them to—contributing citizens, he called it. I’m the oddball out. And I couldn’t care less. They both make me uncomfortable.” He sat back down and stared into space for a moment. “Sometimes I’ve thought about going to see Edith, trying to reach out to her. I suspect she needs friends, although I’m probably not good friend material for her.”

  “You’re right, she does need friends. She denies being lonely, but I think she is.”

  “I guess now isn’t a good time.”

  “No, probably not,” I agreed. “But keep the idea in mind.”

  We talked a little more. James even tried to explain his art to me, though he ultimately said if it needed explaining, it wasn’t successful. If I’d been a rich woman, I’d have gone home with a painting, just as a way of saying thank you.

  As I left, he said, “I’ve never been to your café, but Shelly”—he jerked his head toward the back—“is always after me, saying we should go out. I think she gets tired of her own cooking. Maybe we’ll come one night. Are you always there?”

  “Yes, and I’d be delighted to have you be my guests.”

  “Oh no!” He raised his hands in protest. “I pay my way. I’m not a starving artist.”

  We both laughed. I drove back to Wheeler in a relieved and happy frame of mind. Now I knew about Rodney, who I didn’t trust, and James, who I liked a lot. What about Rose?

  ****

  Mrs. Middleton, Donna’s new guest at Tremont House, came into the café the next day for lunch. I’m not absolutely sure how I knew it was her, except that she was matronly looking—I couldn’t think of another way to put it. She had on a stylish pantsuit with a ruffled blouse, gold earrings, and clattering gold bracelets. The pantsuit looked like it was from a catalog for “ladies of a good size.” Her brown hair waved in curls that must have been set the day before, and she’d slept on them and then dressed without brushing them out. You know, that flat, hair-sprayed look. Heaven forbid that we should disturb the hairdresser’s careful work.

  With her was a bored young woman, maybe nineteen or twenty, with long straight brown hair, carefully done makeup, and a layered outfit that spoke of the latest style.

  I waited on them, after signaling Marj, and as I handed them menus, Mrs. Middleton said, “My goodness. We are starved for some good food. That place we’re staying is lovely and comfortable, but our dinner last night was…well, not acceptable. Breakfast this morning was all right but who can mess up oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins?”

  Way to go, Donna! How did you mess up chicken Divan?

 
; “I’m so sorry. Would you like a light lunch today?”

  The woman looked at me with pity. “Not on your life. I’ll have chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and turnip greens. Melissa?” She turned to the daughter.

  “I’ll have the tuna salad plate,” the girl said languidly, looking up for a moment from her cell phone.

  When I delivered the lunches, Mrs. Middleton asked, “Do you know that Mrs. Bryson who runs the B&B? I believe her name is Donna. You look a lot like her.”

  I couldn’t hold back a grin. “She’s my twin sister. Fraternal, not identical. She’s the good-looking, stylish one.”

  I swear that sophisticated woman blushed to the roots of her hair. “Oh, now I didn’t mean…the chicken Divan wasn’t that bad. Just maybe a touch overcooked.”

  “I’ll try to help her do better,” I said. “How long will you be staying?”

  She waved a vague hand in the air. “No idea. I’ve some business to take care of, so we’ll stay for however long that takes.”

  Melissa sighed heavily. “Mother!”

  “Oh, you may go home any time, dear. But since I have the car, I don’t know how you’ll get there except bus.”

  “Isn’t there a plane?”

  I really did laugh at that. “Not from Wheeler,” I said. “The bus would be faster.”

  “Josh will come get me,” she said.

  “Not if I have anything to do with it,” her mother said rather harshly.

  Melissa looked down and began to poke at her tuna salad, and I found it an auspicious time to leave them.

  When I returned to bus their dishes, Mrs. Middleton raved over her meal. “I grew up eating chicken-fried steak, and I haven’t had any this good in years. I may just tell Donna we’ll take all our meals here.”

  “Let me talk to Donna,” I suggested.

  “I’d be grateful. We may be here a while. Meantime, thank you for a delightful lunch. I like the…ah, casual…atmosphere.” She offered a smile, a gracious handshake, and then she followed her daughter out the door.

  I imagined she didn’t eat in what she called “casual” places and I called “down-home cafés” very often. I could more easily imagine her at Neiman’s Zodiac Room or the posh restaurant at The Mansion on Turtle Creek.

  I didn’t have to call Donna. She called me, distraught. “I’ve been making beds and cleaning the kitchen all morning. Just got time to call now, Kate. My dinner was a disaster last night. Neither mother nor daughter did more than pick at it, and I tasted the serving I’d saved for myself. It had okay flavor but the broccoli was limp and the chicken tough.”

  “Sounds like you overcooked it, Don. What’s for tonight?”

  “Oh, Lord, I have no idea. You have to help me.”

  No, I don’t have to, but I will, because we are sisters and that’s what sisters do for each other. I wondered if she’d ever figure that lesson out for herself.

  “We need ingredients you can get locally, since you don’t now have time to get to Canton and back in time to cook. Let me think. I’ll call you back.” I hung up and went through possibilities in my mind—coq au vin was out, because we didn’t want to do chicken twice in a row. My favorite quail recipe was out, because there were no quail available in Wheeler. I ruled out salmon croquettes—not upscale enough—and decided on my favorite meatball recipe. Large meatballs, baked in the oven, served with a rich brown sauce and mashed potatoes with spinach. When I called Donna, she said, “I can’t do that.”

  “I’ll do it for you. Come pick it up at five thirty.” And that’s how I spent my afternoon cooking meatballs. I made enough for David and me for dinner.

  When Donna came to pick the meals up, I said, “I’m tucking in a recipe for scrambled eggs with ranch sauce—just stop and get the ingredients on your way to Tremont House. You can’t go wrong—unless you cook the eggs too long.”

  She blew me a kiss. “Bless you, Kate. You are the best sister ever!” She ran out the door, carrying her prize meals.

  You don’t always feel that way! Gram, are you listening? I’m following your orders to take care of my sister.

  Chapter Ten

  Donna called on that Friday morning. “Tom is taking Henry camping and fishing tomorrow afternoon—won’t be home until Sunday night. I was wondering….” Her voice trailed off in hesitation, then regained strength. With a sudden burst of quick words, she said, “Could Ava and Jess spend the time with you? I thought I might run to Dallas for a quick getaway.”

  My radar went up. Donna’s quick trips to Dallas used to be to see her lover—we were just all a little slow to discover that. But he was now gone, murdered at Tremont House, and Donna and Tom seemed to have turned their marriage around. She was even a better mother than she’d been almost since the children were born—and Ava was now nearing fifteen.

  She, of course, noticed the pause before I answered and went on, “The girls want a girls’ night with you. Of course, I realize David Clinkscales is staying with you, but I assume it’s all proper and above board.” She let her implication float in the air.

  I wanted to snap, “Of course, it is!” but it wasn’t a position I’d always be able to defend. “He’s sleeping in Gram’s room, and our rooms—yours and mine—only have single beds. Can they bring pallets or sleeping bags?”

  “Of course. They’d love to sleep by your bed, with Huggles.”

  Huggles would love it too, though I didn’t tell her he’d been sleeping by David’s bed since David had come home for the hospital. Nor did I tell her I’d slept in Gram’s bed the last three nights. She didn’t need to know any of that.

  “I want to get off early so I can get a full day of shopping in. Can I drop them at the café around nine? I figure they’ll be fine at the house with David. What does he do all day anyway?”

  “He works.” My answer was clipped. There went Donna again, arranging everything for her own convenience, with little or no thought of how she was putting others out. Fortunately, David was fond of the girls—he’d never had children of his own—and it would really be kind of fun. I just didn’t want Donna to know that.

  “Don, what about dinner for your guests at Tremont House?”

  “I’ll steer them toward that Currents place in Tyler you’re always talking about. Sorry, but I don’t think they’d like the Blue Plate. They’re not the chicken-fried steak kind.”

  ****

  Donna actually brought the girls to the café a little after eight thirty, gave me a slip of paper saying she’d be at the Adolphus Hotel, hugged the girls briefly, and was out the door. A whirlwind.

  Ava had brought a book she was reading, and I got crayons and a coloring book for eight-year-old Jess—which she promptly told me she was too old for. Fortunately, David hobbled in about that time and sat with them, the three planning what they could do for the weekend. I brought them all scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits with gravy without bothering to ask what they wanted, and then I tended to my other customers. David and the girls disappeared about nine.

  Eleven thirty found me busy prepping main courses for lunch and dinner. The Saturday special was, as always, fried catfish, something that could not successfully be done before ordering. But we had to have catfish and batter ready, plus mashed potatoes, greens, and salad makings. Saturdays were busy days. With thoughts of a fun evening with the girls filling my mind, I was almost on automatic as I whirled potatoes in the giant mixer and put a huge pot of greens on to simmer.

  I was totally unprepared when Marj came into the kitchen and whispered, “Mrs. Aldridge is on the phone for you.”

  Wiping my hands on the nearest towel, I went to the desk that doubled as my office and where it was a little quiet. “Good morning, Mrs. Aldridge. What can I do for you this morning?”

  Her reply was brusque. “You can get out here as soon as possible. There’s been another…ah…incident.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m not physically hurt. But there’s something you nee
d to see.”

  “Did you call David?”

  “No, I preferred to call you. He’s my lawyer. You’re my investigator.”

  And just how did I earn that title? “It’s Saturday, and the café is busy, but I can be there about three or a little after. I’ll have to bring David and my two nieces. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Your nieces may not like what they see, but that’s fine. I’ll have a high tea ready.”

  High tea sounded fine, but the caution that my nieces might not like what they saw didn’t sit well with me. I figured, however, that I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t sure why but Mrs. Aldridge didn’t seem to request things; she demanded them. So visit we would.

  David and the girls didn’t come for lunch, which alarmed me. About twelve thirty I called him at my house. “The girls are tired of your menu. They’re making me peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches with lettuce. It’s a treat I admit I’ve never had before.”

  Laughter spilled out of me. “It’s something Gram fixed us when we were kids. I love it. Enjoy.” Then I told him where we were going at three.

  “No! I planned to take all three of you ladies to Currents in Tyler for a fine supper. About time these girls learned to eat upscale food, and they’re excited about it. Think they’ll eat escargot?”

  “No. And neither will I. Caviar, yes. Escargot, no.” Still I thought the idea of a fine meal with the girls was enticing. But I said, “David, Edith Aldridge is upset about something. Even if she made it sound like a casual tea. I told her we’d have the girls.”

  “Is there such a thing as a casual tea?”

  “Hush.”

  “I don’t want the girls to ruin their appetites for supper.”

  “They can split something.” My practicality came to the surface. If David didn’t care about the bill, I did.

  “I can tell how Gram raised you.” David sounded just a bit put out. “Frugally. It didn’t take with Donna, but it sure did with you.”

  I changed the subject. “Have the girls dress in the best clothes they brought. I’ll come change about two.” If I had time to run by Donna’s, I’d get them Sunday clothes.