Wading Into Murder

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  This was a very different Violet, Laura thought, almost regretfully. She had liked the delightful, less complicated one. No doubt, though, Violet was both.

  “No one knows I suspected you,” she assured Violet. “I haven’t told anybody on the tour anything because I didn’t know who to trust. Everyone seems to have some kind of hidden agenda.”

  “Good. Now, that’s all I can tell you at the moment, but I would like to hear anything you have found out. Whatever you can tell us will be appreciated, and will be kept confidential. I am particularly interested in the hospital visit I understand you and Olivia and William made.”

  “Did Lady Longtree tell you about it?” Laura asked.

  “I tackled her about it,” Violet answered. “Like you, I was concerned for her safety and for William’s.” She sighed. “There seems no way to stop those two from getting involved, as I gather you are aware – or the dynamo in the wheelchair.

  “In case you’re worried about Victoria, a highly competent policewoman cum nurse has been posted at her door,” Violet added. “Where Victoria goes, she goes.

  “And now I would like your version of the hospital visit and everything else you can tell me.”

  Obediently, Laura described the hospital visit and her unexpected encounter with the father. Then she recounted everything she could think of that seemed to involve the case, from the time after her near-accident on the street, which Violet had witnessed, to her adventures of the night before, including seeing the Takaras and the man from the teashop, and her doubts about Hans. Violet listened with grave attention, but her lips twitched suspiciously when Laura described her encounter with Maisie.

  Laura had a sudden inspiration. “That was you!” she exclaimed.

  “Possibly,” Violet answered with a grin. “What exactly did you find in that alley? And who is the man who came to your rescue?”

  “I found, as you probably know, a bunch of clothes and a wig that could have been worn by the person who pushed me into the street, if anyone did, the one William thinks was Dr. Bernstein in drag. I also found some dark hairs in the wig, short and curly and coarse. No one in the tour group has that kind of hair.

  “And I found two long red hairs on a silk scarf that probably came from the lady who went into Alan’s room with the babies,” she added. “I saw her go into his room in Glastonbury, too, by the way,” she added. “I forgot that bit.”

  “And the man who escorted you home? Violet prompted.

  “Oh, that’s Richard,” Laura answered casually, and hoped she wasn’t blushing. “He walked me home and then we agreed to meet for coffee the next morning. He was very helpful,” she added defensively.

  Violet’s eyebrows went up. “I’m surprised he didn’t proposition you in that get-up,” she commented, “instead of settling for coffee.”

  Laura laughed. She had underestimated Violet. “He almost did, but I asked him for coffee instead. It worked quite well, since he turned out to be a journalist. He’s checking out the tour and the people on it for me.”

  “I hope it’s all right that I talked to him,” she added ruefully. “I really needed to talk to someone who wasn’t involved in the tour.”

  “We’re running some checks on him,” Violet answered.

  Laura was confused. “But if you’re already running checks on him, you must know who he is, so why did you ask me?”

  “I need to get all the perspectives,” Violet answered carefully.

  “Which is code for checking every person’s story with everyone else’s,” Laura translated. Which meant, she realized, that she too had been a potential suspect, not just to the police but also to Violet. How astonishing!

  Or maybe she still was. “Am I a suspect?” she asked bluntly.

  Violet tried not to smile. “Not that I know of at the moment,” she offered. “I’ll admit we were baffled by you at first. We’d expected a staid professorial type and you didn’t exactly match. You’ve been well checked out, however. Of course,” she added mischievously, “our information could be wrong.”

  Laura laughed. “I’m really who I say I am, too,” she said.

  She frowned. “How did you know someone tripped me?” she asked. “You couldn’t have shown up at the right moment just by chance.”

  “I was keeping an eye on you and everyone else from a raised platform in the maze with the help of these,” Violet told her, pointing to the binoculars hanging around her neck. “At least I was until fog made it impossible. Then I settled for prowling around the maze, listening for sneezes. I’ve studied the plan, too, but that’s confidential.

  “One more thing,” she said, looking straight at Laura. “We cannot be seen having a private talk like this again. So please don’t try. And do try not to be alone.”

  Reluctantly, Laura nodded. “I wish I knew who to trust and who not to,” she said mournfully. “It’s horrid to go around suspecting everyone, and I don’t know who to stay with so I’m not alone, either.”

  “Trust your instincts,” Violet advised. “Your judgment is better than you think. But watch your back, Laura, please. These people are ruthless.”

  Her face was so serious that Laura was shocked. This was most definitely a different Violet. “I will,” she promised. “I intend to be very careful indeed. Especially of the father. He really seems to hate me.”

  Tour members began to straggle out of the Manor House and the maze, and they all piled into the bus. Violet slid into the seat behind the driver, Abdul, and Laura sat beside her. That shouldn’t arouse suspicion; she had to sit beside someone.

  Abdul turned his head to look into the rear-view mirror and Laura stifled a gasp. Under the driver’s cap he always wore, Abdul had dark curly coarse hair. He didn’t have a beard, either. How idiotic of her not to think of him before!

  She glanced at Violet and wondered if she had chosen the seat for that purpose. Even if she hadn’t been smart enough to consider Abdul as a possible suspect, Violet probably had. Her friend’s next remark confirmed the thought.

  “A very useful discovery, those hairs,” she murmured, too low for anyone else to hear over the noise of the motor. “Odd, isn’t it, how one tends to ignore what is out of context. We don’t see what we don’t expect to see.”

  “Glad it was helpful,” Laura muttered, furious at herself for being so blind. She had hardly looked at Abdul until now. What else hadn’t she seen?

  When she left the bus she turned, as if looking back to see if she had left anything on the seat, and glanced casually at Abdul. Her eyes opened wide in shock. Abdul wasn’t just the bus driver she had failed to suspect. He was also the man with the racing form, the man who had followed her after the rehearsal, and the man she had seen talking to the Takaras on the bridge.

  ***************

  No wonder she hadn’t been satisfied with her identification of the man following her in Vicar’s Close, Laura thought glumly. She had been looking at Abdul for days without seeing him because one didn’t pay attention to bus drivers. She had even felt sorry for him because he had to wait for long hours while the tour group disported themselves in gardens and museums, and all the while he had been following her, intent on his deadly purposes. There had been plenty of time for him to dress up as a woman and shove her into the street, and the next day to grab a ladder and drop a rock on her head.

  There was nothing suspicious about the fact that the Takaras had been talking to him either, Laura thought glumly. All that showed was that they were friendlier and more observant than she was, and knew their bus driver well enough to recognize him out of context and to hold a conversation with him. Nor was she surprised that William had mistaken him for Dr. Bernstein. The two men had similar coloring and features, and would look even more alike with a wig.

  The question now was how to convey the new information to Violet, who had perversely disappeared the moment they had left the bus. How was she to do that when they couldn’t be seen talking privately together?

  Ponder
ing this dilemma, Laura went up to her room. She found Violet already there, waiting patiently on the window seat. “Thought I’d leap on up as I wanted a look at that doll,” Violet explained. “No one saw me, but I can’t stay long.”

  “I certainly didn’t see you,” Laura answered. “First, though, I need to tell you the rest of the story about Abdul.”

  “Thanks. That really helps,” Violet said when she had finished her account. “But for goodness sake don’t tell anyone else, or let him know you’ve recognized him.

  “I got quite a shock when I realized who he was,” Laura admitted. “I hope it didn’t show on my face. I don’t think he noticed, though.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Violet agreed. “Now let’s see that doll.”

  “I hid it in the closet so the maids wouldn’t see it,” Laura explained as she went to fetch the doll. “It can’t stay there, though, so I hope you’ll take it.”

  “I plan to, as evidence,” Violet agreed soberly.

  Laura opened the closet door and dug under her laundry, where she had hidden the doll. It wasn’t there. She rummaged deeper, thinking that it might have fallen behind her suitcase, but it simply wasn’t there.

  She looked up at Violet, who had come to stand behind her. “It’s gone,” she said shakily. “Someone must have come in today and taken it.”

  “Damn!” Violet’s lips compressed. “Any suspects?”

  “Definitely,” Laura answered. “Abdul could have driven back here after the Safari, grabbed the doll and easily been back in time to pick us all up -”

  She broke off abruptly. “But then who tripped me in the maze?”

  Violet nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. If not Abdul, who?”

  She stood and stretched. “Well, I’d better get moving again. For the moment, don’t say anything to anyone, Laura, even to people you trust. And do take care. We are getting close and someone is getting scared. I will assign someone else to you, but we’re a bit short-handed at the moment.”

  “I will,” Laura promised soberly. Finding the doll had been bad enough, but not finding it where she had left it was disturbing in a way that the nasty trick had not been. Fear returned like a knot in her belly. It was not a nice feeling.

  Violet gave her a quick hug and disappeared again, and Laura was left alone to wonder who among the tour members might want to get rid of her. She also wondered what Violet would do, if anything, about Abdul.

  She got her answer the next morning when she climbed into the bus to go to Stourhead Gardens. Abdul was no longer in the driver’s seat. Alan sat there instead.

  Laura was relieved. Violet must have taken Abdul into custody.

  “I shall be your driver for the morning,” Alan announced. “Abdul is sick, so for the moment you will have to put up with me. We head first to King Alfred’s Tower, which is high on the hill above Stourhead Gardens. For that reason it is also called a folly, the name given in the eighteenth century to structures that were built for no purpose except to impress the neighboring community. Like this one, they were placed where everyone for miles around could see them.”

  Folly might also be an appropriate name for the enormous houses being built on beaches, mountain ridges and other highly visible locales in the U. S., Laura thought with amusement, rather like an adult version of king-of-the-hill the boys in her neighborhood loved to play. It also mimicked the behavior of fifty thousand-year-old males and their primate cousins with uncanny accuracy.

  “There is a glorious view to be had for anyone wanting to climb the two hundred and five steps that lead to the top, “Alan went on. “There is also a lovely walk from the base of the tower to the gardens below, as well as a steep scramble for those who prefer more vigorous exercise. I will, of course, drive anyone who wants to the garden entrance as well. We’ll regroup for lunch at the garden Café at one o’clock.”

  Only a few tour members wanted to undertake the climb: the Takaras, the Bernsteins and Violet. With some trepidation, Laura decided to join them. Maybe she would have a chance to talk to Violet at the top without arousing suspicion. Besides, the folly looked interesting, and the view sounded wonderful.

  Bracing herself, she started up the narrow stone steps that wound around the inside of the tower. Like tunnels, circular stairways held unpleasant memories from her last trip, especially when they were as dark as this one. Violet leaped ahead with her usual long stride and unflagging vigor, and Laura didn’t even try to keep up. She couldn’t keep up with Claudine, either, who turned out to be unexpectedly fit. Of Dr. Bernstein, there was no sign. Maybe he had given up.

  Laura finally emerged, breathing hard, and was rewarded by a spectacular view. All of Stourhead Gardens and the surrounding countryside lay below. She stared out for a long time, entranced. When she finally tore herself away, Violet was no longer there. The only people she could see were a stout, red-faced woman, the Takaras, who were snapping away with their cameras, and Claudine. She was gazing out from an opening in the battlements and seemed relaxed and almost peaceful without her husband. Laura suddenly felt very sorry for her. Being married to Dr. Bernstein must be a terrible trial.

  Laura glanced once more at the panorama and started down the steep stairs again. The circular pattern made her dizzy, so she went slowly. She hoped Dr. Bernstein wasn’t on his way up. She couldn’t get past him without another belly to belly confrontation, and this time she definitely would throw up. It would be a great revenge but extremely smelly and uncomfortable, for her as well as him.

  She heard the Takaras behind her and quickened her pace. They were moving with surprising speed, and she didn’t want to hold them up.

  There was a scuffle behind her and a muted cry, and then Mrs. Takara suddenly plummeted into her, knocking her completely off balance. Laura tried to brace herself against the wall, but something hit her hard on the back, and she hurtled headfirst down the steep stone stairs.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Laura flung out both arms to stop her headlong descent. Her flailing hands touched a large soft mass, which turned out to be the well-padded stomach of a rotund tourist who was taking a break beside one of the tiny windows that provided a small amount of light.

  “Steady there,” he said, grabbing her arms and pulling her upright. “These steps are dangerous if you lose your footing. Take a bit of a rest like me and get your breath.”

  “Thank you,” Laura gasped, and looked behind her for the Takaras. They weren’t in sight and didn’t seem to be moving, so she decided to get down the rest of the way before they caught up. Intentionally or not, they were bad for her health.

  “I’m all right,” she assured her savior. “I’ll just go on down before I lose my nerve.”

  “Slowly,” he cautioned. Laura nodded sagely but ignored the sound advice and scuttled down as fast as she could. Her thoughts raced. Had Mr. Takara pushed his wife into her? Maybe he was the person who wanted to get rid of her. If so, he must be the criminal in the group, or one of them. Maybe he wanted to get rid of his wife as well. Two birds with one stone, so to speak - the nosy lady and the dowdy wife who could then be replaced with a young bimbo. He might have pushed his wife into her in Glastonbury, too. But then what about Abdul and the clothes she’d found in the garbage bin?

  She was even more confused when the Takaras emerged. Mr. Takara came out first, looking angry and upset, behind him was Mrs. Takara, looking even more upset, after them came the stout woman she had seen at the top, behind her came Claudine.

  “This has happened again!” Mrs. Takara moaned. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That woman, the heavy one, she lost her footing and stumbled into my husband and he fell into me and then I fell into you, and I am so sorry, so very sorry…” She covered her face with her hands, distraught.

  Mr. Takara watched her, stony-faced, then he walked rapidly toward the steep short-cut to the gardens. Mrs. Takara sent a last pleading look in Laura’s direction and scurried after him.

  As soon as the stout wo
man had left and the Takaras were out of earshot, Claudine exploded. “That was bullshit!” she said succinctly. “A load of bullshit.”

  Laura stared at her, open-mouthed. This wasn’t the Claudine she knew, or thought she knew. She didn’t even sound French any more.

  “I don’t know who pushed who; I was too far back to see for sure, but I do know the fat woman didn’t bump into anyone. That Takara woman would say anything to protect her bastard of a husband,” Claudine went on vehemently. “If you ask me, he did it, and he did the same thing when you got pushed into the street in front of that car.”

  Laura couldn’t reply. Claudine’s accent was pure New York – tough New York. Who was this woman?

  “Yeah,” Claudine said with a sigh, seeing Laura’s stare. “I grew up in Brooklyn, pretty much on the streets, and it pops out again when I’m mad. Taught myself to speak the King’s English, and French and anything else that came in handy. I’m good at it, too. Should have been an actress. I can talk any which way I want.”

  “How did you get here, like this?”

  Claudine’s laugh was cynical. “Not that hard really, if you look like me. Or like I did. I was a model at first, the way aspiring actresses always are unless they wait tables.” She laughed again, the same bitter sound. “It’s not glamorous like people think - mostly underwear or less. It’s a nasty business. Everybody gropes and not only the men.”

  She shrugged. “Anyway, I waited tables too, and that’s how I met the good doctor. Wanted to rescue me. Kind of like that movie, My Fair Lady, where he teaches her how to behave. Except I already knew how to talk right – how to act right for that matter. Still, I was pretty naïve, for someone like me. Romantic underneath I guess. Even thought I could make him happy. I forgot the other side of that coin. That man couldn’t make a… a flea happy.”

  For the first time she looked at Laura. “So here I am. Great clothes and all the rest. Lousy marriage. And not even any kids,” she added, almost under her breath. “I did think I’d get that at least. Oh well. Not to be now.”