A Will To Murder

by Hilary Thomson

  “Glenwood Tower, this is Cessna 126. We have you in sight. Requesting clearance to land.”

  “Glenwood Tower to Cessna 126. Cleared for landing.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Bradley began to circle towards the end of the runway. “Do we have enough gas to make it?” Eric repeated.

  Startled, Bradley glanced at the fuel gauge. The runway was only a few hundred yards off now, and they were not quite lined up. “By God, we don’t! We’re going dry! Mayday! Mayday!” Bradley yelled into the microphone. That was all Smith had time for. The plane’s engine quit.

  There came a great quiet, broken only by the sound of Bradley saying, “Oops.”

  Three faces whitened and the cat wailed. Smith dropped the nose of the aircraft. The concrete runway was approaching them fast through the windshield. “I just hate landing with a windmilling propellor,” Smith complained. “It makes things so choppy.”

  The front wheel struck the grassy field short of the runway with a spine-jarring bang. A second thud announced the rear wheels had landed. The Cessna bounced insanely over the grass, then smoothed out as it rolled diagonally across the runway. “Stop us! Stop us!” Eric shouted.

  The plane continued to roll, then began to bounce madly again as it left concrete for grass at dizzying speed. “We’re heading for the control tower!” Eric yelled. “Stop! Stop!”

  “I can’t! The brakes aren’t working! They must have overheated!”

  The base of the control tower was rapidly approaching. “Turn!” Eric shouted wildly.

  The view swivelled, revealing a placid scene of grass. But the scene continued to revolve further, and the side of a hanger suddenly filled the windshield. There came a metal singing as the propeller sheared off, and a terrific clang as the plane punched through the side of the hanger, folding metal. The passengers were thrown hard against their seatbelts, and the cat clawed himself loose from Bernie. “Ouch!” said Bernie, sucking her scratches.

  “Oops,” said Smith again. “Crunched Irv’s plane. Well, he deserves it. You little sweetie,” he said to the pathetically mewing cat. “Did you bump your little nosie?”

  “I’m going to bump your little nosie when we get out of this aircraft!” Eric raved.

  “Hey, I just saved your life, okay? Is this gratitude?”

  The reporter only pawed at his seatbelt and shoved the door open. Springing out, he stumbled through the hole in the hanger, went over to the runway, and fell prone on the concrete. Smith and Bernie climbed out more leisurely. The ginger cat was clamped to Bradley’s side, held there by Bradley’s arm, and this seemed to calm the beast considerably. The cat stopped struggling and let its legs dangle limply.

  Flashing lights of emergency vehicles were moving towards them as Eric kissed the runway. “Ground, hard ground,” the reporter mumbled.

  “God, Eric, don’t you know you can glide these things even after their engines quit? You know, wings and stuff?” Smith said. “And wipe those cement crumbs off your mouth. You looked deranged. Hey--media!”

  A TV cameraman from the local station had arrived, and Bradley waved at him.

  “Tire-streaked runway,” said Eric dazedly, sitting back on his haunches.

  “Eric, do me a favor. Go to the airport snack bar and drink a stimulant. You look awful.” Bradley dug a dollar out of his pants and handed it over.

  “WHY THE HELL DID YOU TAKE OFF WHEN WE DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH FUEL?” Eric shouted, ignoring the money.

  “Well, excuse me. There were people shooting guns at me, okay? I didn’t have time to look.”

  Two policemen scooped Eric up and hauled him off in the direction of the airport. “Under arrest, am I?” Eric babbled. “Good. Put me in a nice solid jail cell and I’ll be fine. Solitary confinement, please. I need some quiet.”

  “Drunk, high, or crazy,” one cop said to the other. “Looks like we’ll have to give him a few tests.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t even driving. Flying! I meant flying. He was flying.”

  “It’s cool, I know how to do that,” Bradley told the policemen. “Have you arrested those people at the racetrack yet?”

  “We’ve picked up three persons for questioning. I expect you have an interesting story to tell us.”

  “Sure. Eric doesn’t need that ambulance, by the way. He’s just being silly.”

  “How are you supposed to know? You almost killed me!” Eric tried to shake off the policemen, but they hung on anyway.

  “Hey, I need some help,” said Bernie, holding out her badly scratched arms.

  “You probably have blood poisoning,” said Eric. “That cat’s vicious.”

  “You bastard!” said Bradley. “You threw this sweet little kitty, but he forgave you and even licked you back to consciousness after you fainted. Eric, you’re a jerk. I really don’t think he needs that straightjacket,” Smith told the paramedics.

  Chapter 18

  “She did it for money,” said Hamilton. The lawyer was standing in the living room of Rollingwood, facing Armagnac, Mrs. Marshpool, Rose, and Bert.

  “No!” cried Rose. “Jac and Phil were rich.”

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Cummings. The Salisburys were actually in debt. Your sister owed ninety thousand dollars because of her gambling at the racetrack.”

  “She’d been betting at the Green Mountain for years,” Armagnac interrupted. He did not meet anyone’s eyes. “I knew, and so did father, because he always paid off her debts. But last month he said no more. Jac refused to believe it.”

  “The Salisburys had plenty of other debts as well, all caused by Jac’s spending,” the lawyer continued. “Phil was not even aware of the ninety thousand. Jac, unfortunately, didn’t learn until the will reading that her father had disinherited her, and I didn’t know that James had quarreled with his daughter about her gambling until Mr. Boyle here mentioned it.”

  Boyle’s eyes flickered uneasily in Hamilton’s direction. “I hadn’t thought it pertinent to tell anyone while Father was still alive--private family business and all--and after Father was dead, it was too late.”

  Yeah, Bert thought cynically, you would have inherited a bundle with both your sisters out.

  “Mr. Salisbury had taken out a huge loan to pay down several of his wife’s other debts. Jac could have sold some of her jewelry--I believe she had a valuable sapphire necklace--but Mr. Salisbury said the amount wouldn’t have cleared even a small part of her debts. Also, he said your sister went berserk when he suggested they sell some of their belongings. Your sister had a horror of appearing poor, I take it.”

  “Yes,” Rose said sadly.

  “After learning her father had disinherited her, Jac remembered she was still in her aunt’s will. She called Irv that day and explained her new plan to kill Katherine. After Katherine’s death, Jac called Irv again and said her aunt’s estate had to go through probate court before she would receive any cash from it. Irv became suspicious that she was trying to dodge him and demanded his money quickly.”

  “That was the whole point to killing Father and Aunt Katy?” said Rose, staring at the rug, “To pay off a stupid ninety thousand dollar debt? I can’t believe it.”

  “How did Jac and Willowby manage it?” Armagnac asked.

  “Willowby had been having an affair with Jac, and she had promised to divorce her husband and marry him. Of course, if Jac had inherited, your chauffeur would have become quite a rich man.”

  Boyle made a dying fish noise at the thought of Willowby becoming his brother-in-law. Rose bit her knuckles.

  “Willowby’s been cooperating as part of his plea bargain,” the lawyer said. “Jac admits nothing. We think Willowby installed the CD player before he left on vacation. The day after your father died, Heydrick, who was out mowing, noticed some smoke coming from behind a knoll. He found a pile of partially burned papers with the flames guttering out and saw Willowby running towards the carriage house. Your gardener knew about the chauffeur’s affair with Jac and became suspici
ous. Heydrick found the still-undamaged CD case and inserts and removed them, then used a pocket lighter to get the fire going again to cover his theft. Then he hid himself. Willowby returned with some lighter fluid, apparently after realizing he needed a hotter fire. He added the fluid and stayed to break up the ashes.

  “Unfortunately, Heydrick didn’t tell the police. Your gardener has been in jail, and he was afraid the police would accuse him of installing that CD player inside the Mercedes-Knight. I also suspect he did not find your father’s demise very regrettable.

  “Heydrick intended to hide the CD case in his work shed, but needed to buy a padlock for the building. He didn’t want to use the carriage house as a temporary hiding place because Willowby lived there too, so he left it in the attic. Heydrick felt it would be safe, since practically no one ever went up there. Thus it stunned him to see Arthur in the attic window just as the gardener was returning from buying the padlock. Heydrick ran up the back stairs and retrieved the case, then locked it inside the shed.

  “We think the CD was Willowby’s inspiration, for your sister called the idea ‘idiotic’ when the police questioned her. The chauffeur was noncommital. Escott thinks that the CD was a try-it-and-see attempt, with others to follow if this one failed. After James died in the car, Willowby entered the Chichiteaux Bagel Shop to call an ambulance, and tossed the remote he had used for the player into a trash can there. His fingerprints weren’t on the remote since he was wearing motoring gloves.

  “As for your aunt, her death was a dreadful mistake. Jac didn’t know that James had left the money to Katherine in a trust, drawn up so Jac couldn’t inherit any of it even after Katherine's death.”

  Rose sobbed softly. “What about Colette, Lance, and Richie?” she asked when she recovered herself. “She couldn’t have killed them.”

  “She did,” replied Hamilton bluntly. “First, I need to describe how your aunt died, because it explains Colette’s death, and ultimately Lance’s. Jac decoyed Sheila out of the kitchen by telling the cook to buy some strawberries, then dropped some sodium cyanide powder in a bottle of dandelion wine. Irv had given her the cyanide.”

  Rose let out a sickly gasp. Armagnac almost made a remark about her abominable dandelion wine, but thought better of it.

  “Because Katherine was the only one who ever drank Mrs. Cummings’ brews, Jac knew this was a clever way to poison her victim. After Katherine died, Jac stole downstairs in the night to retrieve the wine bottle. But she didn’t notice Colette sleeping on the couch. When Jac picked the bottle off the tea cart, she made a noise and Colette woke and saw her. Ms. Wiley asked what she was doing. Flustered, Jac replied, ‘Getting a nightcap.’

  “Colette probably believed this, but your sister knew that Colette could incriminate her--if the cyanide and the dandelion wine were found together inside your aunt’s stomach.”

  “So when Colette asked for a vaporizer, Jac saw how to kill her. Your sister put some cyanide powder in the vaporizer, filled a plastic watering pitcher part way with water, then added lemon juice to the water. Unknowingly, Colette poured the mixture into the cyanide. The acid in the lemon juice wasn’t very strong, but there was enough of a chemical reaction that Colette got a dose of cyanide gas right up the breathing tube she was using. She could not have escaped the room because Jac had locked the door. The chemical reaction weakened after the potency of the acid declined, and the vaporizer stopped working after the water level dropped below the heating element. Jac put on a gas mask Irv had given her, and went back into Colette’s room to open the windows. After draining the vaporizer in the third floor bathroom, she rinsed it out thoroughly, added more water to it, and put it back inside Colette’s room. Then she spritzed the room with some of Colette’s potpourri spray to cover any smell. Later, Jac drove off into the woods and threw the vaporizer away, along with the dandelion wine. No one was on the third floor that night to hear any outcry except Jac’s children, and Jac had ordered them to ignore any noises they heard. Lance was off at a bar, and Mrs. Marshpool was staying in Armagnac’s room.”

  “I could have prevented Colette’s death,” said Mrs. Marshpool harshly, “if I’d had my keys.” The housekeeper gave Bert a venomous look.

  Bert stayed silent. After taking the keys from Mrs. Marshpool, he had given them to the one person he was positive would not return them to the housekeeper--Jac. Cummings swallowed. He decided he would never, ever, tell anyone about this. But he was afraid Mrs. Marshpool had already guessed.

  “What about Lance?” Rose asked weakly.

  “Before she died, Colette told her brother that she’d seen Jac retrieve the bottle, and Lance stupidly mentioned it to Jac. On the night after Colette’s death, I understand a ruckus took place here just as everyone was going to bed. Am I correct?”

  “Something of the sort,” Armagnac answered stiffly.

  “Briarly said Lance chased Richie and herself up the stairs, and Jac followed. Lance said, ‘Are you crazy or something? What are you prowling around in the middle of the night for? My sister saw you. What are you up to?’”

  The lawyer sighed. “Lance was drunk. I doubt he understood how Mrs. Salisbury would react.”

  “Goddamn!” Bert yelled. “That’s not possible! Jac came downstairs laughing! Not like she had another murder to commit.”

  “She’s like my grandfather Hiram,” said Armagnac, “and he was one tough son of a bitch.”

  “Army!” Rose exclaimed.

  “Don’t pretend he was a sweet guy, dammit.”

  Rose did not reply. After a pause, Hamilton spoke again. “According to Briarly, Jac said something about how Lance needed some comfort. Then she opened her dressing gown and rubbed up against him. Briarly wasn’t sure what was happening, as she could only see her mother from the back, but she said Lance just stared blankly. Then Jac closed her gown and went downstairs. Briarly said Lance seemed dazed, and went off to his bedroom. The children did not discuss the incident. Mrs. Salisbury had sealed her kids’ lips about Mom’s activities long ago, it seems.

  “Anyhow, Jac seduced Lance by the end of the next day. Then she told her husband about it, boasting to Phil about Lance’s sexual prowess and sneering, ‘You wouldn’t dare shoot him, you’re not man enough’. Phil went out and bought a gun exactly as Jac had been hoping. She seems able to manipulate her husband quite deftly. However, he balked at killing Lance, and when he did, Jac shot Lance herself. Then she tried to frame Phil.”

  “Jesus,” said Bert slowly. “I’m having a hard time believing this. That’s really evil.”

  “It’s not true!” cried Rose. “Willowby must have shot Lance. After all, he was a rival for my sister. And,” she continued shakily, “there was no way she killed Richie.”

  The lawyer looked at her soberly. “Ma’am, all the evidence implicates her in Lance’s death, not Willowby. To return to his death, just before Jac shot him, she scouted to see where everyone was. She listened at your bedroom door, Mr. Boyle, and realized that neither you nor Mrs. Marshpool were in a position to respond quickly.”

  The housekeeper gave a twitch, and Armagnac’s gaze dropped to the carpet.

  “The Cummingses were in Chichiteaux, and Mr. Maxwell and Mr. Smith had gone for a walk. Sheila was in the kitchen. Phil was smoking in the basement, Heydrick was outside gardening, and Willowby was in the carriage house. The only two near Lance were Richie and Briarly, and Jac had told them not to open their bedroom doors.

  “Jac was in her nylons, partially to quiet the noise of her footsteps, and partially to support her excuse of ‘being napping’ while Lance was shot. She had the gun inside her purse, and she donned a pair of surgical gloves. Lance was lifting weights with his bedroom door open, his back towards her. Jac shot him in the head, dropped the gun inside her purse, and stripped the gloves off while running down the hall. She went down the back stairs to her bedroom, and since her room is right next to the back landing, and yours, Mr. Armagnac, is at the opposite end of that floor, it would have
taken a few moments for you and Mrs. Marshpool to don bathrobes, go down the hall, and turn the corner. Jac had enough time to run undetected into her room. Once there, she tossed her purse on the floor, partially closed her door, but kept hold of the handle. Then she mused her hair and waited. When she heard you two approach, she opened the door as if she had just risen and shouted, ‘What the hell was that?’

  “After the body was found, Jac said she would call the police. That was her excuse to get away from you. First, she stopped by her bedroom and fetched her purse. Then she went into the bathroom, weighed down the surgical gloves with a lipstick inside each, and flushed them down the toilet. Everyone must have been so preoccupied with Lance that no one noticed the sound of a toilet flushing, if they could hear it at all. Mrs. Salisbury, I’m afraid, boasted of having practiced this disposal technique to Willowby. Then she washed her hands and arms of any gunpowder residue and dried them on a towel.

  “She put her purse back in her bedroom, and called the police. Escott said they received a second call about ten minutes after the first one. The gap wasn’t significant enough to have alerted them.”

  Bert interrupted. “What about the gun? You’re not telling me she called the cops with the gun still in her purse?” Cummings was dumbfounded.

  “So it seems,” the lawyer said. “Your sister-in-law appears to be fearless. I believe Mr. Maxwell suggested you all go down to the living room, and there Jac asked about her kids. If Richie and Briarly had been with the rest of you, she undoubtedly would have produced another excuse to slip away again. She returned to her bedroom for her purse and shoes, and went up to the attic to place the gun there. She lifted it out of her purse with a pair of kleenex layered on top of each other, dropped the tissue that had touched the gun into a corner, and simply disposed of the other in a trash on her return. Briarly said she heard her mother’s heals clicking rapidly on the wooden stairs. Phil, of course, guessed whose gun had killed Lance, and knowing his own fingerprints were on it, panicked and fled the house. He didn’t know who had shot Lance, and didn’t suspect his wife.