Merry, Merry Ghost

by Carolyn Hart

  “I’ll call Father Abbott.” Jake’s relief was apparent. “Tuesday morning will be good. We can announce the services in the Monday and Tuesday papers.”

  “I know there is much for the family to deal with.” The chief gazed at his listeners. “I appreciate the opportunity to meet with those who spent time with Mrs. Flynn on her last day to live.”

  There was a grim finality to his words, reminding each of them of their proximity to Susan’s death. He reached into his folder, pulled out the legal pad and a sheaf of printed pages. “I’d like to understand how you knew her and why you were here yesterday.”

  Each person in turn described their connection to Susan as Chief Cobb took notes.

  Jake Flynn’s face was puffy from lack of sleep. She wore a little too much makeup and her hair had untidy sprigs. Today’s blue cashmere sweater and gray tweed skirt were more flattering than the brown sweater and slacks she’d worn yesterday. She sat on the sofa beside Peg, whose eyes were swollen from crying. Peg’s black dress emphasized her paleness. She wore no jewelry. Even though Dave Lewis sat on the small sofa beside her, the space between them seemed huge. His face wore a conventional expression of concern. Gina Satterlee sat stiffly on a rosewood chair, twining a strand of dark hair in her fingers. She was the picture of fashion in a crimson sweater and gray worsted wool slacks and red loafers. Tucker Satterlee, his freshly shaved face brooding and still, slouched in an oversize leather chair in a rumpled plaid shirt and Levi’s and boots. Harrison and Charlotte Hammond were in their Sunday best, although his charcoal gray suit was wrinkled and his tie askew. Her long-sleeved black silk blouse matched a subtle geometric square in a violet silk georgette skirt that ruffled nicely over blue leather boots.

  The chief flipped back several sheets in the legal pad.

  When his eyes widened in surprise, I knew he had reached the questions he’d listed in preparation for this meeting. Of course, he had no recollection of having written my additions. Understandably.

  Chief Cobb’s brows drew down in a line. He gave an uncertain shake of his head, cleared his throat. “In investigating a suspicious death, it is helpful to have an understanding of the circumstances surrounding the deceased. Had there been any disruption of this household in recent days?”

  I would have liked to shout a loud bingo! That was the question that mattered. With backs and starts and obvious uneasiness, the story unfolded: Keith’s arrival on Thursday, the summons of Susan’s lawyer Friday, the confirmation of Keith’s legitimacy Saturday morning.

  Cobb wrote fast. I was reminded of a lion gnawing on a carcass. “Obviously Susan Flynn had an eventful weekend. Now I would appreciate your assistance in piecing together an account of her last day.”

  Jake sat forward in her chair, her cheeks turning a bright pink. She said breathlessly, “I spoke with my good friend Mayor Lumpkin and Neva assured me that the investigation was only a formality since no one would ever be able to determine exactly how Susan died.”

  I wished I could see every face at once. One listener knew exactly why Susan died.

  “The mayor”—Cobb’s tone was level—“misinformed you. Mrs. Flynn died from an overdose of digitalis. What remains to be determined is whether her death was self-inflicted, an accident, or murder.”

  Jake sagged back against her chair. Peg gave a soft cry. Dave reached for her hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. Gina’s face was abruptly an unreadable mask of emptiness. Tucker’s lips formed a soundless whistle. Hammond cracked his knuckles, the sound loud in the silence. Charlotte reached over, gripped his hand, and the tiny pops ended. She didn’t look at him.

  Jake fluttered her hands. “It was an accident. It had to be an accident.”

  Cobb’s gaze was demanding. “Was Susan Flynn clumsy?”

  Jake’s eyes fell. “No.”

  Cobb leaned forward. “Was she easily confused? Could she have taken anywhere from twelve to fourteen pills by accident?”

  Jake reluctantly shook her head.

  “Susan was compos mentis, Chief Cobb.” Charlotte’s tone was dry. “You will not find anyone who would describe Susan as clumsy, stupid, or easily confused. To the contrary, she was intelligent, alert, and, though weak and ill, quite capable of dealing with her medications.”

  Harrison said nothing, but he slowly nodded.

  “Susan didn’t make mistakes of that sort.” Peg spoke with finality.

  “Since an accidental overdose seems highly unlikely, that brings us,” Cobb said smoothly, “to the question of suicide. What was Susan Flynn’s mental state on her last day to live?”

  A smile trembled on Peg’s lips even though her eyes were shiny with tears. “She was happier than she’d been in years and years. Her last day was wonderful. She was thrilled to have Keith at the Christmas party and to introduce him to the neighbors as her grandson.”

  Cobb looked around. “Where is he now?”

  Peg gestured toward the window. “In the front yard, playing. I asked Thea Carson who runs the children’s Sunday school program to bring her son over to play. Keith’s too little to understand about his grandmother’s death. Although I think he knows more about death than any little boy should.”

  The more Peg talked, the heavier the silence.

  Jake’s eyes were desperate. “But Susan was ill. Very ill. I can see how she might accidentally take too much medicine. It had to be an accident.”

  No one else spoke.

  Cobb surveyed the room. His tone was bland. “From all accounts, Mrs. Flynn was a careful and precise woman, which makes accidental ingestion unlikely. Since Mrs. Flynn was in good spirits yesterday, the hypothesis of suicide also seems unlikely.”

  Harrison cleared his throat. “Susan’s last day was filled with great happiness and we are grateful for that. However, we all feared that she was overdoing. You have to remember that she was very ill. She hadn’t attended the Pritchard House Christmas party for several years. Yesterday, she took part and even had dinner with us to celebrate Keith’s arrival. How can anyone know what happened after she went to her room? She may have suffered great pain and, in a moment of despair, possibly not even reckoning the outcome, poured a handful of pills—”

  “Susan would never commit suicide.” Peg’s eyes flashed. “Never in a million years.”

  Charlotte brushed back an untidy gray curl. “Susan didn’t commit suicide.” She spoke with utter certainty. “So”—her expression was quizzical—“I believe that leaves us with murder.”

  “Charlotte!” Harrison’s voice was anguished.

  Dave Lewis didn’t look as handsome when he turned to glare at Charlotte.

  Charlotte’s light blue eyes watched Cobb. “You indicated Susan died from an overdose of digitalis. How was the overdose administered? Or is there any way of knowing that?”

  “We can be fairly certain we know the answer.” Cobb’s answer was swift and emphatic. “Digitalis in a heavy concentration was found in the dregs of both a cup of cocoa and a pot of cocoa found on a table in her bedroom. Was she in the custom of drinking cocoa every evening?”

  Jake looked stunned. “Every night.”

  Cobb held his pen over the pad. “Who prepared the cocoa Saturday night?”

  Jake’s fingers closed over the strand of pearls. “I did. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. I fixed it like I always did, two tablespoons of cocoa, two cups of whole milk, an eighth cup of sugar, a dash of vanilla.” Her breath came in irregular gasps.

  Peg pulled away from Dave’s grasp and leaned forward, her eyes flashing. “Mother took wonderful care of Susan. Always.”

  Gina stiffened. “I took the cocoa upstairs. There was a Christmas cookie on the plate as well.”

  Cobb swiveled toward Gina. “Where did you put the tray?”

  “On the table by Susan’s chair. Susan was in the bathroom. I didn’t call out. I knew she’d see the tray.”

  “Did you pour the cocoa?”

  Peg shook her head. “Susan often waited until l
ater to have a cup. Sometimes she read late and drank the cocoa right before she went to bed.”

  Cobb turned back to Jake. “When you poured the cocoa from the saucepan, did you look into the china pot?”

  Jake frowned at him in bewilderment. “Why would I do that? The pot was clean and waiting on the tray. I lifted the lid and poured in the cocoa.” A look of horror crossed her face. “I stirred it.” Her hand slid up to clutch at her throat. “Do you think there was digitalis in the pot?”

  “That is a possibility. What time did you prepare the cocoa?”

  “Just after everyone left. It was about eight-thirty.” Her lips clamped shut.

  “I’d like to see where the chocolate service was kept.”

  I followed Cobb and Jake to the kitchen. She pointed at the far end of one counter near the pantry. “Every morning I brought the tray down and washed everything up. I put the tray there.”

  He made a note. “Did anyone else ever use the service?”

  “Oh no.” Jake stared at him with huge eyes. “Everyone knew that was for Susan’s cocoa.”

  Cobb glanced from the counter to the swinging door that opened into the main hall.

  I timed Cobb and Jake’s passage from the kitchen to the living room. It took only a matter of seconds. As they walked into the living room, I waited until the door closed behind them. I appeared. I wasn’t worried about anyone coming out of the living room. Chief Cobb had much more to discuss with them. Since the hall was chilly, I changed into a pink velour blouse and slacks and pink loafers, and a wristwatch with a pink leather band. I do like pink. I checked the time down to the second. I paused in the hallway, taking a careful glance around as someone last night must have checked to be certain no one was watching. I walked up the stairs, quickly, quietly, softly. Again I looked about in the upper hallway. No one. Twenty-eight steps to Susan’s room. I disappeared, slipped through the closed door, reappeared. Twelve steps to the bedside table where the pill containers had stood. They were gone, most likely removed by the crime lab. I didn’t need them. I pretended to pull a tissue from a container, pick up a plastic vial, twist off the cap, empty a dozen pills into my hand, replace the cap. Twelve steps to the door. I disappeared. In the hall, I reappeared and, after a swift glance about, hurried downstairs. At the door to the living room, I looked at my watch. I had gone up and down in three minutes and forty-six seconds. I walked down the hall, entered the kitchen, pretended to drop pills into a china pot, then walked back to the front hall. I disappeared and returned to the living room.

  The atmosphere was tense.

  Harrison looked both upset and frightened. “…certainly do not appreciate the inference that I might have drugged Susan merely because I was absent from the living room for a few minutes during our after-dinner coffee Saturday evening.”

  Dave Lewis looked pugnacious. “I used the downstairs lavatory. I didn’t go upstairs.”

  The Hammonds and Tucker spoke out, insisting they too had remained on the first floor.

  Cobb was bland. “However, each of you was absent from this room at some point during the evening while Mrs. Flynn was still downstairs. Each of you, therefore, had equal opportunity to go upstairs to Mrs. Flynn’s room, take the digitalis, and return downstairs, either to place the digitalis at that time in the china pot waiting in the kitchen or during another absence from the gathering.” He gazed at Jake. “What time did you fix the cocoa?”

  Jake spoke hurriedly. “I was later than usual because after dinner Susan stayed downstairs until everyone left.”

  Cobb’s eyes were bright and alert. “Was this unusual?”

  Jake moved uneasily in her chair. Her eyes darted around the room. “Oh.” She looked uncomfortable. “Susan rarely came down for dinner anymore but this was special. We had the annual outdoor tree trimming in the afternoon. The whole neighborhood is invited. Susan expected us to come. Of course”—she looked at guarded faces—“we all loved the tree party. It was always a fun afternoon. Then Susan asked everyone to come back for dinner at seven because, well, I guess she wanted to see everyone again.” She added hurriedly, “Christmas, you know. There’s never much time to visit during the tree trimming. Anyway, Susan went off to rest. We all gathered again for dinner at seven.” She concluded in a rush as if successfully completing a race.

  Cobb looked at each face in turn. “Everyone in this room not only saw Susan Flynn yesterday afternoon but was present for dinner. In fact, she especially wanted each of you to return for dinner. Why?”

  “Susan was terribly fond—”

  “Let it go, Jake. Even if you have a guilty conscience, I don’t.” Tucker’s expression was amused.

  “Tucker, that’s a terrible thing to say. Susan was very fond of all of us and that’s why she wanted to talk to us.”

  All humor gone, he sat straighter. “Coincidences happen, Chief Cobb. Once I had a mare stolen and the next day somebody called and tried to sell me a mare that looked just like her. It turned out to be a different horse altogether. What are the odds? Anyway, last night Susan brought all of us together after dinner to talk about her will. I told her at the time she didn’t owe us any explanations, but she was always direct and open. I guess you’ve got the drift that her grandson arrived out of the blue. Susan had her lawyer investigate and she got plenty of proof that Keith is her son Mitch’s child. Susan told us she intended to change her will and leave everything to Keith though she made it clear she was providing generous bequests for all of us. She’d already worked everything out with Wade Farrell so I guess the old will is out. Now everything will go to Keith, instead of being divided among us.”

  Gina watched her brother. A telltale flutter moved one eyelid.

  Peg’s face creased into a puzzled frown.

  “It’s a shame she died before the new will could be drawn.” Harrison shook his head as if in regret. “Barring a new will, it seems obvious to me that the old will stands. However, all of this discussion of her estate seems distasteful. There is no proof that Susan’s death was anything other than an accident or possibly a result of misjudgment on her part.”

  Gina turned a bracelet on her arm. The gold band had a cunning inlay of diamonds in the design of tiny Christmas trees. “We can ask Wade Farrell about the will.”

  I felt content. Soon they would meet with Wade Farrell and they were in for a shock. Especially one of them. Tomorrow morning in the mail, Wade Farrell would receive the holographic will unmistakably written and signed by Susan and witnessed by Leon Butler.

  Harrison’s nod was pleased. “That’s a good idea, not that there’s any doubt about the current will standing. I’ll call Wade and suggest we all be present for a formal announcement, possibly tomorrow afternoon. Certainly we are entitled to have an idea of what amount we will receive.” For an instant there was an empty look of fear in his eyes.

  Was he wondering if the inheritance was going to be enough to keep him out of bankruptcy?

  “I don’t like this talk about Susan’s will. It’s as though”—Jake glared at Cobb—“you are suggesting someone killed Susan for her money. That’s horrible. Besides, the whole idea of murder is absurd. There are too many things that haven’t been explained: my car being stolen and where Susan went last night, if it was Susan, and who that redheaded woman was. If Susan drove out with someone none of us knew, maybe they came back here together and that woman put digitalis in her cocoa and Susan drank it. Or Susan got confused and took too many pills. Then there’s that pillow on Susan’s face. Why, that’s crazy enough to prove something weird was going on. And,” she concluded triumphantly, “none of us know anything about any of it.”

  Chief Cobb closed the legal pad. He gave it a thoughtful glance, then stood. He was a big man, a powerfully built, impressive man with a face seamed by effort and intelligence and experience. He stood in that elegant living room, his gaze steady. And grave.

  “All of these matters must be explained, including the fact that after death, Susan Flynn’s
body was moved. She died lying on her left side. Someone put her body on the floor on her back. This changed the settling of her blood. A pillow, smeared with her lipstick though she wore no makeup, was placed over her face.”

  Jake shuddered, shook her head in negation. She looked as if she wanted to run away.

  Gina gripped her bracelet so hard her fingers showed white. She stared at the floor, her face half hidden by a swath of drooping hair.

  A frowning Tucker glanced from Jake to Peg to Gina as if judging and measuring and wondering. He no longer slouched, but sat upright, slightly bent forward.

  Peg pressed one hand against her lips, her round face creased in distress. Dave slipped an arm around her rigid shoulders. She seemed unaware of him.

  Harrison drummed the fingers of one hand on the arm of his chair. A slight tic pulled at one eyelid. “Possibly so, possibly not. Science is often discredited these days. In any event, whatever happened, the movement of Susan’s body is irrelevant to the cause of her death and the suggestion of murder has yet to be proven.”

  Charlotte’s intelligent face looked thoughtful. “Susan on the floor and the pillow on her face made a huge difference, didn’t they, Chief Cobb?”

  “An enormous difference. An alarm was raised. The police were summoned. An investigation began. An autopsy was performed. That autopsy revealed death was caused by a massive overdose of digitalis, not suffocation. Let’s consider what would have happened had Mrs. Flynn’s body been found in her bed this morning. The doctor would have been summoned and death by heart failure recorded. There would have been no police, no investigation. Instead, I’m here today because her body was found on the floor, a lipstick-smeared pillow on her face. Someone suspected that Mrs. Flynn had been murdered and was determined to have an investigation made.”

  There was not a breath of sound or movement.

  Chief Cobb’s heavy face was somber. “Whoever set up that scene, tell me what you know. Before it’s too late.”

  I gently pulled the soft blanket over Keith’s shoulders, bent to lightly kiss his cheek. He slept with his lips curved in a smile, one arm tucked around the soft furry plush of Big Bob’s arm. Was Keith remembering the thrill of setting the glistening star atop the tall tree, or the fun of hide-and-seek, or possibly, deep inside, to be held forever, the joy in his grandmother’s eyes as she curved an arm around his shoulders?