by Abigail Keam
“I paid Miss Eunice twenty dollars to make it,” I confessed. “I don’t enjoy cooking anymore. Takes too much out of me.”
Goetz put down his fork and scrutinized me. “Are you depressed or something?”
“I don’t know what it is. I’ve just got the blahs. I need to stick my nose into something interesting. Everything has been too calm lately.”
“So you are seeking a solution to a mystery that does not exist.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“There is a name for people like you. Adrenaline junkies. You need a rush of excitement juice.”
“I do my exercises, go to doctor appointments and then the rest of the day is free. Miss Eunice, who is practically perfect in almost every way, oversees the house and the business. I just run errands now and then. Everything on the farm is caught up. Charles handles the employees for me . . . so there is really nothing for me to do but get into other people’s business. I feel . . . useless.” My eyes teared up.
“Is the irrepressible Josiah Reynolds gonna cry?”
I started to bawl my eyes out for real. Goetz could be such a hard-ass when he wanted to be.
“Hey, is this for real? Come on now. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I sobbed out loud.
“Stop it, Josiah. You don’t know how lucky you are. You should be dead. Falling off a cliff and then having a maniac after you for years. You beat the odds. You should be rejoicing.” He handed me his handkerchief. “Please don’t cry. Your life is good. You’ll find your way. Just stop crying. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you so.”
My face perked up. “What was that?”
“I said I was sorry for being such a jerk. You’re a good woman. That’s why everyone comes to you when they’re in trouble.”
My intro at last. “Speaking of trouble, there is someone I want you to check out,” I confessed while dabbing my eyes.
Goetz leaned back in the car seat. “I should have known the tears were a con.”
“Don’t you want to make it up to me? After all, I did go to the trouble of making a chess pie.”
“Miss Eunice.”
“Go to the trouble of having Miss Eunice make a chess pie for you.”
“Can I keep the rest of the pie?”
“It has your name on it.”
“What do you need?”
I gave Goetz a sincere smile . . . for once.
18
I stopped by Mavis’ house on the way home.
“Josiah, nice to see you again,” declared Mavis, opening the screen door.
“Hope I’m not bothering you,” I said, noticing that Mavis was still in her morning housecoat. It was the afternoon.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she confided. “I don’t feel like gussying up lately.”
“I understand.”
“Yes, you would, being a fellow widow and all. Please come in. Come in.” She motioned to a chair, which was not littered with newspapers, baskets of laundry or dirty dishes. Mavis gave a sheepish grin. “No need to keep up with things now. Terry always favored a tidy house . . . but . . .”
I cut in. “I know, Mavis. Death throws you off your game. Give yourself time. You’ll find your groove again.”
“You understand. My daughter doesn’t. She was on me this morning. She wants everything normal, but it’s not, is it, Josiah?” Mavis looked about the room. “You know, I don’t even see colors now. Everything is gray.”
I reached over and patted her hand. There was no need to say anything, but I knew exactly what she meant about the lack of color. We both sat in our own thoughts and memories until I broke the silence. “Mavis, I was wondering how your dog is doing?”
“He’s fine. The vet flushed out his stomach and he’s right as rain.”
“Did he eat something poisonous?”
“The vet thought he might have gotten into some insecticide, although I don’t know how. We didn’t have any in the house and don’t have close neighbors. I’ve been wondering where he could have gotten ahold of that stuff. Why do you ask?”
“You mentioned that his claws were bluish. It just clicked with something I read in an Agatha Christie book once.” I thought for a moment. “Are you sure the vet thought your dog had been poisoned?”
“I wasn’t at the vet. My daughter took him. She said they pumped out his stomach. Why?”
“How is your cat doing? Was he sick at any time?”
“No. He was never ill.”
“Anybody visit before the dog got sick?”
“Well, Jean Louis paid Terry a visit, but that was all.”
“How was Terry after the visit?”
“I don’t understand the question. What are you aiming at?”
“Was he agitated or angry?”
“Not that I noticed, but Terry said he felt tired afterwards and he went to bed earlier than usual. He had his heart attack later that night.”
“I see.”
“What are you trying to say, Josiah?” asked Mavis becoming alarmed.
“Nothing,” I assured. “Just being nosey. You know how I am. I like to know how all the pieces fit into the puzzle.”
Mavis’ face relaxed. “Yes, you have quite a reputation. You like puzzles, don’t you? Speaking of puzzles, did you get a chance to study Terry’s notebook?”
“Yes, I did,” I replied, pulling the notebook from my pocket and handing it to her.
Mavis received it gratefully. “Anything?”
“Terry wrote some of it in code that I couldn’t break, but from what I could detect, he wrote down notations of stolen paintings.”
“From the Gardner Museum?”
“No. These were paintings stolen by the Nazis during World War II.”
Mavis looked surprised.
“Did he ever mention that to you?”
“Never,” she murmured. “You think you know everything about a person and then something like this pops up.” She shook her head. “Goodness.”
I stood up. “I hope your dog is fine.”
“Oh, I hope so too. He’s such a darling. I want him back. I hope my daughter doesn’t get too attached to him.”
I nodded. “Oh, look. There’s a pen on the floor.” I bent over precariously and picked up the pen and a little fuzz ball of dog hair and a partial dog nail along with it. The dog must have chewed on his paws. I handed Mavis the pen while hiding the fuzz ball in my palm.
Mavis saw me to the door and watched as I hobbled down her stoop and finally into my car.
I headed home with the ball of dog hair in my coat pocket.
19
I went to the diagnostic lab where I’d had a slab of chocolate tested following a friend’s death earlier in the year. I asked for Charlotte.
“Mrs. Reynolds!” exclaimed Charlotte as soon as she saw me.
“Hi. How have you been doing?”
“Fine, but my boyfriend left me.”
“Oh, no.”
She gave me a cheeky grin. “He caught me with his professor.”
“NO!” (Hadn’t I surmised that?)
“I still can’t figure how he found out.”
“His loss.”
“Actually, I’m happier.”
“That’s all that matters.”
“What brings you here? Another case?”
I pulled out a little ball of fur from a plastic bag.
Charlotte looked at it curiously.
“Can you test for cyanide poisoning from fur or a partial nail?”
Charlotte’s smile exploded. “Cyanide is usually tested through the blood, but yes, Mrs. Reynolds. Yes, we can try.” She then gave me a salacious grin.
I grinned back.
20
June was taking a bubble bath when I popped my head into her sumptuous marble bathroom.
“Make sure those bubbles hide all your old nasty lady bits,” I teased.
“Always a pleasure to see you too, Josiah.”
“Are you being sarcastic?
” I asked, sipping out of the champagne glass that had been sitting on the bathtub’s ledge. “How do you get out of that thing anyway?” Her bath was a deep soaking tub. I sat on its edge.
June reached for her glass but I held it out of her reach and drained it.
“Get me a new glass, if you don’t mind,” demanded June, scowling. “I don’t like drinking after people and why the hell are you bothering me? Can’t a woman take a bath in peace? Next you’ll be coming in while I’m on the toilet.”
Looking about the room, I spied another champagne glass and a bottle on the sink counter. “Why do you already have another glass in here?” Then it dawned on me. “Oh goodness, you weren’t expecting someone . . . were you?”
Just then I heard the unmistakable voice of a man in June’s bedroom.
“Are you decent, my little bubala?” A giggle. “I hope not. Here I come. Ready or not.”
The bathroom door opened and in stuck a head hoping for a naughty glimpse of the eighty-eight-year-old mistress of the house. Instead he saw me sitting on the edge of the bathtub holding a champagne glass staring back.
“What’s up, Buttercup?” I greeted.
“We’ve been caught red-handed, my boy. The jig is up,” quipped June, struggling to get out of the tub.
As I passed Liam, I handed him my glass. “Oh, Liam, take care. Her bones are brittle,” I whispered.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Before closing the door, I saluted June.
She returned a toothy grin, knowing that her secret was safe.
I mean, who would believe it!
21
The doorbell rang.
Old habits die hard.
Most people would immediately answer the door, but I went to a side room where the security monitors were located. I moved the joystick on the camera to get a visual ID.
Even with Baby hovering by my side, my heart sped up as I placed my hand on the door handle. My breathing quickened.
“Are you going to open the door?” asked Eunice, coming up behind me. “It’s Detective Goetz. I looked out the window.” Knowing that I still panicked when anyone came to the house, she gently moved me out of the way and opened the door. “Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning, Miss Eunice. Is the mistress of the house around? I’ve got something for her.”
“She’s right here. Come on in. We were just working on getting the house right. There’s a tour coming in a few hours.”
Goetz stepped inside the door. Seeing me, he held up a manila envelope. “I’ll only keep her for a few minutes, I promise.”
“Let’s go to my office,” I offered. “We’re almost finished anyway.”
“How’s business?” asked Goetz, looking around.
“We are booked into next year,” announced Eunice proudly. “We could be booked every weekend, but I’m only allowed two Saturdays out of the month for receptions plus one tour every two weeks now.”
“The Butterfly is my home,” I cautioned. “A private residence.”
“We could make a fortune, but she won’t let us,” laughed Eunice, “but you didn’t come here to hear me complain about Josiah’s lack of business sense. I’ll be in the kitchen. Nice to see you again, Detective.”
“Same here.”
Goetz followed me into my office but couldn’t close the door as Baby took up residence on its threshold. “How do you get this dog to move?” he asked, trying to shut the door.
“You don’t. He basically does as he pleases.”
“I see.” Goetz turned and tossed the envelope on my desk.
I opened it and perused the contents. “There’s not much here.”
“The guy is clean. At least in the States.”
“Can’t you check with Interpol?”
“I have no valid reason to check on this guy. If I get caught using more of the Department’s resources without cause, I could get into trouble. I am months away from retirement. I’m not going to jeopardize that because your nose is twitching.”
“You could have called me with this.”
“Maybe I wanted to see you.”
“You’ve seen me.”
Goetz tilted his head. “You’re a hard woman to get to know up close and personal.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to get up close and personal.”
“You could do worse and have,” Goetz ran on. “You’re batty about old movies, right? Gilda with Rita Hayworth is playing at the Kentucky Theater tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at six. Wear something pretty.”
I meant to say no thank you, but heard something that sounded like “all right,” come out of my mouth. Who said that?
I don’t like men who try to dominate me. I like to be in control, so why did I agree to this date against my better judgment?
Why indeed?
22
Goetz showed up a little before six. He was freshly shaved, bushy eyebrows trimmed, nails manicured, hair cut, shirt pressed and smelling of expensive men’s cologne.
I didn’t look bad myself wearing a pale green silk tunic, which accented my green eyes and highlighted my red hair.
We both surveyed each other with unexpected approval.
Before leaving, I let the Kitty Kaboodle Gang inside and set the alarm, promising Baby that I would bring home a treat for him.
Goetz opened the car door and helped me settle in with my wrap and purse. Satisfied that I was buckled in properly, he shut the car door and got in himself.
“Were you that courteous with your wife?”
“No, but I don’t intend to make the same mistake again.”
I didn’t know how to respond so I stared out the window, mentally reciting lines from Gilda.
Rita Hayworth as Gilda: You do hate me, don’t you, Johnny?
Glenn Ford as Johnny Farrell: I don’t think you have any idea of how much.
Rita Hayworth: Hate is a very exciting emotion. Haven’t you noticed? Very exciting. I hate you too, Johnny. I hate you so much I think I’m going to die from it. Darling . . . I think I’m going to die from it.
As I rode along, I wondered where this relationship with Goetz was going. I didn’t even know his first name. I don’t remember him ever telling me. But one thing was for sure . . . I was never going to say to him, “I hate you so much I think I’m going to die from it. Darling . . . I think I’m going to die from it.”
23
The next day I got a call from Charlotte.
“Mrs. Reynolds?”
“Yes, Charlotte. Did you find anything?”
“The tests were inconclusive. I can’t tell you that the fur or the nails tested postive for cyanide. I’m sorry.”
Disappointed, I replied, “I’m sorry too. There goes my theory.”
“Is there any other test you want me to try?”
“No. Thanks for trying.”
“Anytime, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Goodbye.” I hung up.
Darn! Where do I go from here?
24
I needed concrete evidence, which meant I had to look for it. That meant I had to snoop. In order to snoop I had to get into June’s house without arousing suspicions about my being there, so I made up the story that my septic tank had backed up.
Of course, June said I could stay with her until it was fixed. She put me in an ugly bedroom in the guest wing of the house, making for a longer walk to the elevator since I wouldn’t use the staircase with my bum leg. Guess her Ladyship was annoyed with me for cutting into her whoopee party the other day.
The first night, Jean Louis stayed up very late working on the portrait. I finally fell asleep waiting for him to leave and missed my chance. The second night, he and Lady Elsmere went to a dinner party at some “swell’s” house on Old Frankfort Pike.
I watched from the upstairs window as the Bentley traveled down the long driveway and turned onto Tates Creek Road. Satisfied, I hurried to the elevator and pressed the first-floor button.
It didn’t move.
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I pressed again.
It didn’t budge. Didn’t make a humming sound. Didn’t do a thing!
Hells Bells! It seemed that someone wanted to keep me upstairs for the night. Someone had turned off the elevator!
No one in this house would do that. That elevator was for the convenience of Lady Elsmere. It even had a backup system if the electricity was cut off. One had to have a key to lock up the elevator and Charles kept all the keys downstairs in his office. No one in this house would dare to turn off the elevator. No one.
No one except maybe Jean Louis.
I exited the elevator and looked wistfully at the curving staircase. My heart began pounding against my chest, but I had no other choice. I had to make it down that staircase.
After wiping moist hands on my pants, I began the descent down the stairs. Clinging to the banister, I took one step at a time. Sweat broke out on my brow, but I continued until I finally reached the ground floor.
It had taken me a good twenty minutes to carefully climb down the master staircase.
Unsteadily I made my way to the library where Jean Louis kept his paintings. The door was locked.
But I was prepared for that. I had gone into Charles’ office yesterday and unlocked the safe where Charles kept a second set of keys for the house.
How did I know the combination? I was to be an executor of June’s will if something should happen to Charles before she died.
Bet Jean Louis didn’t know that little bit of info.
I wish I had had the forethought to take the extra elevator key at that time.
I unlocked the door to the library and turned on the light. I looked at the antique grandfather clock in the corner. Forty-five minutes had passed since my descent to the ground floor. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had plenty of time still.
June and Jean Louis would be gone for hours.
Feeling moisture on my upper lip, I wiped it off with the back of my hand. Pulling some books out from their shelf, I unearthed a small digital camera where I had hidden it yesterday while Jean Louis was on a bathroom break.
