A Farewell to Yarns jj-2

by Jill Churchill

  “I had no idea," Fiona said, when Jane had completed the explanation. "Albert told me how she'd gone on and on about having found a long lost son when he took her over to see the house, but I assumed she was a widow. You mean there's a discontented husband somewhere? I should think he'd be the first one to consider."

  “I imagine the police are considering him pretty strongly," Jane said. "But he's somewhere in the Caribbean, I assume."

  “People can be hired for that sort of thing," Shelley put in.

  “I know, but I'm sure that's not it. If Chet were driven to killing her, it would have to be a crime of passion. A sudden fit of rage. He loved her too much to get rid of her so coldly. Besides, there was no need. If he wanted her out of his life, all he had to do was divorce her."

  “And pay a huge alimony," Shelley said.

  “I don't think it would matter to him. He's got so much more money than he can ever spend, and I'm certain Phyllis wouldn't have asked him for much. He would have known that about her. No, the one Chet might have wanted to get rid of was Bobby, not Phyllis. Bobby was really the one wrecking his happy life.”

  The three women sat silently for a moment, contemplating. Finally Shelley said, "Go back to this theory of yours about Bobby being the killer. Was he there?"

  “Oh, yes. In all his radiant glory. Hung over and being thoroughly nasty."

  “He came in about one o'clock," Fiona added. "At least somebody did. There was door slamming and swearing that woke me up. I assumed it was several people, but it could have been just one noisy one talking to himself.”

  Shelley considered. "I don't know, Jane. He's brash, but I don't think he's got that much nerve. To kill his mother, then stay in the house waiting to be found. Who called the police, by the way?"

  “I didn't think to ask. I guess he did."

  “No, I don't think he'd have the balls for that. He's arrogant, but I suspect he's a coward at heart. Most arrogant people are. Besides, how would he benefit from her death? He'd have to know that Chet would cut off the funds to him the minute Phyllis was gone."

  “But who knows?" Jane insisted. "Suppose Chet had turned a lot of assets over to Phyllis and she'd willed them to Bobby? Chet's a lot older than Phyllis and might have thought it would be easier for her to get along someday without him if half their assets were in her name.”

  Fiona said, "That could be. A lot of couples prefer dividing assets to having them in joint custody. It doesn't make sense legally, but some people still do it. If that were true, the boy could have it all at once rather than at the pleasure of his mother."

  “I can't imagine Phyllis having the sense to make a will," Jane said. "But maybe, under the circumstances, she did. But would Bobby know what was in it?”

  Shelley gave her a pitying look. "Phyllis? She told him everything. You saw them together. She was desperate to find anything to arouse his interest in her. And I'm sure talk about a will would do it."

  “I think you may be right. Now, while we're considering domestic suspects, what about John Wagner?"

  “John Wagner!" Fiona exclaimed. "You don't mean the John Wagner who lives over on Oak Lane, do you?”

  Jane nodded.

  “He's a perfectly odious man. I wouldn't put anything past him." Noticing her companions' startled expressions, she explained, "Shortly after we moved here, he approached Albert about a community fund-raising project to buy a couple of lots and turn them into a park. Albert was disposed to be helpful until your Mr. Wagner laid out the plans. The way he saw it, I would contribute virtually all the money, Albert would do all the work, and Wagner would get all the credit, including having the park named for him. Of course, Albert refused, and Wagner became extremely offensive about our finances and status.”

  Jane could well imagine. He probably made some crack about it really being Richie Divine's money, not theirs. At least, that was the sort of thing he'd say.

  Fiona's face was flushed. The memory really rankled. "I'm sorry. That's entirely beside the point. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

  “No, I'm glad you did," Jane assured her. "Let me tell you the things he said about me when we were on the volleyball team—"

  “Jane, that's hardly relevant," Shelley said. "We're agreed that he's a son of a bitch. But does that mean he'd murder his stepmother? And if so, why wait all these years?"

  “Well, for one thing, she was in Chicago, right under his nose. I don't think she'd been back here since he became and adult. It would have been a lot harder to fly into the island and get out again without being noticed. But that doesn't matter. I don't think he would have killed her. I think he would have killed Bobby, or tried to. See, it's the same with Chet or John Wagner. The thing that changed in their lives was the addition of Bobby. It was when he came along that everything started to go wrong."

  “How would he have known where they were?" Fiona asked. "She only saw the house yesterday afternoon and moved right in."

  “But she called him from my house and invited him over."

  “To your house?" Shelley exclaimed. "Would he dare?"

  “Sure. He had no idea he offended me. Buthe didn't come anyway. He did go see her, but at the house next door later last night. So he knew the house—”

  Shelley caught her train of thought. "She probably showed him around, and he would have known which room she was in."

  “Maybe not."

  “Look, Jane, half the time you're arguing that Bobby was the intended victim and half the time that he was the murderer. You can't have it both ways."

  “But I want it to be one or the other," Jane admitted. "We don't know enough to guess what happened, but I'm positive Bobby had something to do with it. He's far too horrible to simply be an innocent bystander.”

  Fiona's maid came into the kitchen looking rattled. "Excuse me, Mrs. Howard, but there's a man to see you. A policeman."

  “Thank you, Celia. Don't be alarmed. He's just making inquiries about what happened next door last night. He may want to talk to you, too."

  “I'm going home," Jane said. "He'll have a fit if he finds me here. Thanks for the tea, Fiona.”

  She and Shelley slipped out the back door. "Is that your Detective VanDyne calling on Fiona?" Shelley asked as they walked away.

  “My VanDyne?" Jane scoffed. But she did like the sound of that phrase.

  Thirteen

  For once, Jane was happy to come back home to a messy house; it gave her something to do. She fed the pets, then cleaned up the rubble the kids always left in their mad dash to school. The milk lake was the worst part. Willard had run through it and left sticky tracks all over the kitchen. She mopped it up and ran down to the basement to wash the towel she'd thrown in to soak up the worst. It was one of her best towels, and she noted with irritation that it was beginning to fray along one edge.

  Funny how linens and light bulbs all seemed to give up at the same time, no matter when they were purchased. She'd have to buy more towels—a thought which led her to consider her financial status. These plush beauties had been purchased when Steve was alive and bringing home money weekly. Now she got a check once a month from her mother-in-law which represented Steve's share of the Jeffry family pharmacies' profits. There was also the interest on the CDs that she had put Steve's life insurance money into. But she had always put that back into the kids' college accounts. Sometime soonshe would have to give some serious thought to getting a job.

  An old aunt of hers had given her advice the day after Steve's death which she had followed just because Aunt May was so forceful and certain of herself. Aunt May had said the one thing a new widow must do is absolutely nothing. Make no changes, no unnecessary decisions for a full year. It had been good advice, keeping Jane from acting on all the crazy notions that had occurred to her in those first weeks, but soon the year of grace would be over.

  Would Chet Wagner make impulsive changes and decisions? she wondered as she closed the lid of the washing machine. Was "do nothing" the sort of advice a succe
ssful businessman could or should follow? Of course, most men don't have the things that keep their feet on the ground like most women do when death leaves holes in the middle of their lives. A woman still had wash to do, meals to cook, pets and children to look after. Grief simply couldn't go full throttle when you're cleaning burnt oatmeal off the bottom of a pan. Most women had friends to rally around, too. She'd seen a television play once in which an old lady said of a girl in trouble, "She probably went home to her mother. Women turn to women in time of trouble.”

  Poor Chet. Men didn't seem to turn to other men very often in time of trouble. Did he have a friend to turn to? He certainly couldn't count on his son John for sympathy and support. John Wagner wasn't the nurturing sort. Jane had never met the other son; perhaps he was a nicer person. Of course, Chet had tons of people who worked for him. Those who were bright and ambitious would at least pretend sympathy and look for opportunities to help him. Maybe that would be enough.

  Jane came back upstairs and went to work on tidying up the living room, getting ready for more Christmas decorations. She picked up things the kids had left and took them up to dump in their rooms. She plumped cushions, halfheartedly ran a dust cloth over the major flat surfaces, and hauled the recalcitrant vacuum cleaner out of the front hall closet. But on her first swoop with it, she sucked up a penny that crashed around hideously for a second before the machine moaned to a smelly stop. "Damn!" she exclaimed, unplugging the monster and flipping it over onto its back to operate.

  As she knelt, she caught a glimpse of white under the nearest chair. It was one of Phyllis's knitting bags. Jane crawled over, pulled it out, and peered in the top. It was Bobby's crimson sweater. Never go be completed. Jane pulled out a sleeve and looked at the elaborate cable pattern, done apparently on size two or three needles. She could feel the sharp-cornered edge of a knitting book in the bag. Maybe she could finish the sweater for Phyllis. It seemed a fitting tribute, especially given how difficult it would be for an amateur like Jane. But what would she do with it, if and when she ever finished? Give it to Bobby, as Phyllis had intended? God, no! The day would never dawn that Jane would so much as slip a stitch for Bobby Bryant.

  She shoved the sweater sleeve back into the plastic bag, wondering what to do with it, whenthere was a knock on the door. Willard, naturally, went quite mad. As he went flying by, barking like there was a mob of cossacks about to break down the doors, Jane reached out and grabbed his collar and nearly jerked both of them right off their feet. Shoving him down the basement steps, she went to the front door and discovered Mel VanDyne. Of course! He would visit when there was a dead vacuum cleaner with its guts spilling out in the middle of the living room.

  “Come in. Let's sit in the kitchen," she said. "Have you learned anything yet?"

  “Nothing worthwhile. I've been interviewing neighbors. I hope you'll tell me what they wouldn't themselves."

  “You think a neighbor killed her?"

  “No, I don't. According to you and Mrs. Howard, Mrs. Wagner just flitted in and bought the house yesterday. Nobody'd ever heard of her or met her before. It seems unlikely that anybody could develop a murderous hatred of her in such a short time. Still, I need to check it out.”

  Jane had poured them coffee and sat down across the table from him. At least she'd cleaned up the milk lake and cleared the crumbs. He wouldn't go away with greasy elbows from sitting at her table. If he wasn't impressed by her neatness, at least he wouldn't be having a little chat with the Board of Health about her. "I get it. This is a perfectly pointless line of inquiry, so it's okay to talk to me about it.”

  He grinned over the top of his coffee cup. Oh, those teeth! "Tell me about the Howards and Mr. Finch anyway."

  “Tell me what you think of them first."

  “All right. Mrs. Howard is a nice Englishwoman, and Mr. Finch is a not very nice American. There's also a house behind on the next street, but the people are out of town."

  “The neighbors think Mr. Finch poisons dogs and cats that come in his yard."

  “I know. The local police have a fat file of complaints but no proof. Mrs. Wagner didn't know him, did she?"

  “Of course not. How would she? She only lived in the house for a few hours. When did Phyllis die?"

  “Don't know yet. The coroner's first guess was between midnight and four. Her son says she spoke to him when he came in, but he has no idea when that was. Thinks it was around one. That's when Mrs. Howard says she heard a voice or voices. Do you know this Finch character?"

  “No. We've got a nodding acquaintance, as my mother would say. I see him working on his lawn, which is sacrosanct. And I pass him in the aisles of the grocery store. My kids are afraid of him, but that's probably because he's the neighborhood ogre. He's yelled at them a time or two for cutting across the corner of the yard. In fact, he called me once when Mike was little to tell me what a bad mannered child he was. I never knew quite what it was about."

  “You think he's a killer type?"

  “Of dogs and cats, yes. But unless Phyllis ran across his precious lawn with a Rototiller, I can't imagine why he'd have the least interest in her, let alone a desire to kill her."

  “Fair enough. When I went over to talk to him, he tried to make me take off my shoes before I could come into the house. My impression is that murder is altogether too messy an activity for him. What about Mrs. Howard?"

  “Fiona? You know who she is, don't you? She's Richie Divine's widow.”

  VanDyne set his coffee cup down with a clatter. "You're kidding! The Richie Divine? Of course—Fiona Divine. I should have recognized the name Fiona."

  “I think she'd be pleased that you didn't.”

  “I had a lot of interest in his death. My sister was visiting friends in Seattle and went to his last concert. She was at some sort of slumber party when she heard the radio bulletin that his plane had crashed in the Pacific on the way to his next concert. Called home in the middle of the night and woke the whole family up to tell us. I always thought there was something suspicious about it, even then."

  “Why? Tragic, yes. But suspicious?"

  “Don't you remember? He'd gotten into some kind of flap with organized crime—they were skimming profits from his tours. He actually testified against his own business manager, who then ratted on everybody he knew."

  “I had forgotten that. You mean that the mob had something to do with his plane going down?"

  “There wasn't any proof that I know of. But the plane didn't just run out of gas and fall into the ocean. It blew up in midair first. They never found enough bits of the plane or the passengers—to reconstruct what happened."

  “Oh, ugh. I was happier not knowing that.”

  “Sorry."

  “Did you ever stop to think how many entertainers have died in plane crashes? Will Rogers, Glenn Miller—"

  “Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, and Richie Valens in the same one," Mel added.

  “Rick Nelson, Patsy Cline—"

  “Interesting, but beside the point, if you don't mind my mentioning it. Did Mrs. Wagner know Fiona?"

  “No, not before I took her over with me to move some boxes of stuff for the bazaar. Phyllis did mention knowing somebody who knew Fiona, but she couldn't remember who it was. To be honest. I think Phyllis was fudging the truth there. I think she'd just read about Fiona in fan magazines."

  “So they'd never met?"

  “No, I'm sure they hadn't. Women who have met before always at least pretend to remember each other. Neither of them did that."

  “Okay. Who else did Mrs. Wagner know in Chicago?"

  “Nobody that I know of. I believe the aunt she lived with in the old days died some years ago. She might know Bobby's adopted family. She told me some story about the stepmother not getting along with him, but that could just be Bobby's version. I don't know that she ever met them. Chet was apparently the one who traced him down, as a surprise to her."

  “God, what a surprise. More of a shock, I'd think."


  “She adored him."VanDyne stared at her.

  “Incredible, but true," Jane insisted.

  “Did she say anything at all that might lead you to think his adopted family had anything against her?"

  “No, in fact, reading between the lines, I got the impression that they were thrilled to have him out of their hair. Of course, that could just be my interpretation of how I'd feel. Have you talked to them yet?"

  “No, the father and stepmother are out of town. A vacation to Florida. Of course, with air travel being so fast and easy—" Suddenly he seemed to catch himself in the midst of gossiping with a civilian. "Thanks for your help," he said, starting to get up.

  “Wait a minute!" Jane ordered. "You've asked me for a lot of information you didn't much want anyway, and you haven't told me anything. I've got some questions of my own. For a start, who called you in?"

  “Bobby himself. Says he got up to go to the bathroom, glanced in her room, and saw she was dead. By the time the officers got there, he'd passed out."

  “Do you think he'd do that if he was the one who killed her?"

  “Who can tell? He might have been so drunk he wasn't making sense. Or he could have been so stewed that he'd forgotten that he'd killed her. Or he might have figured out that nobody else was likely to discover her for a good long time, and he'd better brazen it out."

  “Maybe. Have you located Chet yet?"

  “No, he's not on that island they own, and nobody seems to know where he's gone. His assistant has promised to let me know the second he's found."

  “You aren't still suspecting him, are you?”

  “I'd be both crazy and negligent not to. How well do you know this guy?"

  “I hardly knew him at all, but I know he adored Phyllis."

  “Still? Or seventeen years ago?"

  “What do you mean?"

  “You got the idea that he adored her from her, didn't you?" VanDyne said. "Look, if she'd come here without that obnoxious son and just talked about him, wouldn't you have formed a different sort of impression? That he was a terrific kid who loved her? Maybe it's the same with her husband."