by Parnell Hall
“You must have noticed. She has problems.”
Of which you’re the biggest one, was the phrase that came to mind. I did not voice it.
“She’s very neurotic. Very fearful. She imagines things.”
“Like what?”
“She thinks someone’s trying to kill her.”
“If turns out Alice was killed, that’s not necessarily neurotic.”
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. That’s not the only thing that worries her. At the moment it’s uppermost in her mind.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
She clung to my arm, looked up into my eyes. The effect was disconcerting. “You’re the detective. You’re the only one who knows what’s going on here. You’re the only one with any chance of figuring it out. Basically, you’re our only hope.”
“You want me to solve the crime so your sister won’t be nervous?”
“You make it sound ridiculous.”
“Well, you say it so it’s not ridiculous.”
“I saw you questioning everybody, trying to find out what happened.”
“So?”
“Take it easy on her. If you push her too hard, she’ll break. Then where will we be?”
“Relax. I’m not going to hound your sister.”
“You may not think so. What you think are casual questions she may take as an interrogation.”
“I think you’re exaggerating a little.”
“You don’t know her. She has crazy ideas.”
“If she’s so hard to get along with, why do you travel with her?”
She made a face. “She’s my older sister. She controls the money.”
“Until you’re of age.”
“Please. I’m twenty-six. She’s thirty-five. She came into her money. I don’t come into mine until I’m thirty-five. Till then, I have a trustee.”
“Don’t tell me.”
“That’s right. We had the same trustee until she reached maturity. At which time she became mine. I can afford to travel with her. I can’t afford to travel alone.”
“And I assume there’s no way to break the trust?”
“Not according to Fitzhugh, Rozan, and Billheimer. Or Phillips, Brewer and Burcell. The trust is judgment-proof. Even Randisi and Stilwell won’t touch it.”
“Poor little rich girl.”
“Yes. So that’s why I’m traveling with her even though it’s not easy. But don’t get the wrong idea. Just because she’s difficult doesn’t mean I don’t like her. I don’t want anything to happen to her, and I don’t trust her to take care of herself.”
She pulled me closer, looked up into my eyes and said earnestly, “Can I count on you?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Alice bearing down on us just in time to see her clinging to me like a vine.
“Of course,” I said.
23
BAD BOY
“WHAT DID I TELL YOU?”
“I know what you told me, Alice.”
“I leave you alone for five minutes, you’re making a play for a nymphomaniac.”
“She’s not a nymphomaniac.”
“Yeah, right.”
“She’s not promiscuous. She’s just uninhibited. She’s worried about her sister.”
“Of course she is. Her sister’s trying to squelch her action.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Stanley, it’s a relationship thing. You’ve not good with relationship things.”
“And yet our marriage endures.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“Alice, it’s not what you think. According to her, her sister’s emotionally disturbed.”
“You think that’s news? A child of four can see she’s emotionally disturbed. It doesn’t alter the fact her sister’s a nymphomaniac.”
“That’s what her sister claims. If the sister’s not right in the head—”
“Stanley, she was climbing all over you.”
“She was upset.”
“She was horny.”
“If she was horny, she’d be making a play for Keith.”
“She is making a play for Keith.”
“Oh?”
“She was trying to flirt with him all morning. Her sister kept interfering.”
“You didn’t mention that.”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t I get my priorities straight? I thought you were interested in the murder.”
“I’m interested in the motivations of the suspects.”
“And one in particular.”
“You’re just upset because I’m interviewing the same people you talked to.”
“Oh, that’s what you call it.”
“Alice.”
“Stanley. Is that what you think? That I’m upset that you’re interviewing the people I did? I’m not upset you’re interviewing the same people I did. That’s what you should do. That’s how you’re going to solve it.”
“Solve it?”
“Of course you are. You’re very good at this.”
“Alice, we’re not in New York. We’re out in the bush. I don’t know the people, and I haven’t got a clue.”
“Exactly. That’s why you have to talk to people. So who’d you talk to at lunch?”
“The two librarians and the other married couple.” I struggled to recall their names, figuring that would win me some points. “Simon and Trish,” I said triumphantly.
Alice wasn’t impressed. “Is that all? What about Keith and Jason? What about Annabel? Did you talk to them?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Alice nodded knowingly. “So. The only one I talked to that you talked to was Victoria. When you say I’m upset that you’re talking to the same people I did, what you mean is I’m upset that you’re talking to Victoria, the woman who was clinging to you like Saran Wrap.”
“Actually, Saran Wrap doesn’t cling as well as that stuff you get from Costco.”
“Stanley, you have no idea when it’s a good time to joke.”
Actually, I do. With Alice it’s never a good time to joke. I just can’t help myself.
“I’ll talk to them on the afternoon walk.”
“They won’t be on the afternoon walk. Clemson will mix it up again and we’ll wind up walking with the librarians.”
“No problem. I’ll just say, no, no, I want to walk with the sexy nymphomaniac.”
One look at Alice’s face told me I’d found another bad time to joke.
24
DRIVE-HIKE
CLEMSON MIXED IT UP IN more ways than one. The afternoon walk was a drive-hike, which consisted of one of the jeeps dropping us off in the middle of nowhere and our having to find our way back to camp. I didn’t know if that had already been on the schedule, or was just something Clemson made up on the spot.
He also mixed it up by coming along in our jeep. Alice and I had lucked out by being matched up with Victoria and Annabel and Keith and Jason again. It would have been the perfect situation for me to interview the suspects, with Alice helping out by distracting the other hikers when I wanted to get someone alone. Clemson scotched that by coming along. Duke was busy solving the Alice 2 murder, and Clemson was filling in for him. He carried a rifle and wore a ranger’s uniform. I wondered if he was actually a ranger, or had just bought the outfit.
Our jeep was crowded. Lolita and her mother—excuse me, Victoria and Annabel—were in the front seat behind the driver. Keith and Jason had piled in behind them. Alice and I were in the back. John sat up front with one of the staff. I didn’t know his name, but I knew he was one of the two who brought the hot water for the shower. He was along to drive the jeep back to camp. That left no room up front for Clemson, who sat with Victoria and Annabel. Daniel’s replacement sat with Keith and Jason.
The drive was uneventful. We didn’t see a lion, and no one got killed. Kind of a glass-half-full situation.
I have no idea how
many kilometers we drove. I always convert them inaccurately to half-miles. Sorry, but I’m too old a dog to go metric.
After a good forty-five minutes, which included stopping too long for a few pedestrian sights—which was something in itself: the elephants and warthogs I had been so fascinated with a few days ago I now dismissed as commonplace—we pulled to a stop in a little clearing and all piled out.
The other jeep was nowhere in sight. No doubt it was because they were distracted by the sight of a lion standing over a fresh-killed zebra.
The water-bearing staff man hopped into the jeep and drove off with a bright smile and a cheery wave. I wondered if he had the faintest idea where he was going. I knew you could take your bearings from the sun, but the sun was never in the same spot. It was a good thing that responsibility was not mine.
John and the spotter conferred and then addressed us. At least John started to. Clemson jumped in and took charge, which as the ranger he had no right to do. But John wasn’t about to protest.
“All right,” Clemson said. “This should be fun.”
I thought that was pushing it a little, what with a dead woman for breakfast. I wondered what Clemson thought would constitute merriment.
“This is farther from camp than we have ever been. It’s virgin territory. If we find tracks, we will be the first to see them.”
That was all well and good, but if we found tracks of a lion, all I cared about was whether they were two days old or fresh, not who saw them first.
I wondered if I’d be thinking such grouchy thoughts if there hadn’t been a murder.
An alleged murder.
“Okay,” Clemson said, “we’re in a different location, but the same rules apply. John and I will go first, you follow in single file, you walk where we walk. And keep up. Phillip will be behind you. He doesn’t have a cattle prod, but it’s his job to make sure you don’t lag behind. If he tells you to catch up, you do it.”
“Do you know where camp is?” Annabel said.
Clemson smiled. “I ought to. It’s my camp.” He made a face, waved his hand self-deprecatingly. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I know where camp is, and so does John, and so does Phillip. We ought to be able to find it. If we don’t, it will be your chance to find out what sausage fruit tastes like.”
An impala trotted into the clearing, saw us, and froze. I could almost see the word “oops” forming on its rounded lips. It turned and bolted away.
“Gee, was it something I said?” I ventured.
Everyone looked amused but Clemson and Alice. Alice I’m used to, but Clemson was a bit of a surprise. Ordinarily, he’d be humoring the guests. I figured the situation was stressing him out. Of course I hadn’t exactly been ingratiating myself with my suspicions of murder.
We set off through the underbrush, Clemson in the lead. He carried his rifle in his right hand, sticking out in front of him like a cutlass, as if he wouldn’t have to shoot an attacking animal: he could dispatch it with a single thrust.
John was right over his shoulder, not willing to concede the leadership of the hike without at least a token resistance. Victoria and Annabel came next, followed by Keith and Jason, and Alice and me. Phillip brought up the rear.
We came into a clearing. Clemson held up his hand. We stopped. Looked around. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. What was Clemson doing? No one wanted to break the silence by asking. Clemson still had his hand up, his finger to his lips.
A cow on steroids came crashing through the bush. Not a cow-cow, but a steer, a bull, some big black horned animal the size of an SUV. The type that could trample you to death before you could figure out what it was.
I took a step back, looked to Alice. She was not only safe, she was calmly getting out her camera. The charging bull had missed us and was stampeding through the clearing. I whipped off my backpack, grabbed the video camera, flipped the screen out, switched it on. Hoped it warmed up before the animal was out of sight. A shot of the retreating bull would go a long way toward demonstrating I was not brain-dead, which, as I get older, is more and more important. A picture appeared on the screen. I hit the Record button, caught the rear end of the animal as it galloped triumphantly into the underbrush.
In the viewfinder I could see Clemson, rifle in hand, looking not after the departing bull but into the thicket from whence it had come. The word herd leaped to mind. Herd of cattle. That’s what stampedes, not one cow, a whole bunch.
I swung around to Alice, who suddenly seemed exposed. She wasn’t, she was as out of the way as I was, but these things are relative.
“Stay back!” I said.
She gave me a look that might have felled the charging bull.
Belatedly, Clemson found his voice. “Careful! There may be more.”
I checked out my fellow travelers. Victoria was on the ground. Keith had knocked her down, either in a movie star’s heroic leap to save her, or in an opportunistic attempt to plaster his body against hers.
Victoria was squirming out from under him and did not look particularly pleased.
Annabel, who had not been knocked down, was shrieking as if her sister were being raped.
Jason looked the way he always looked, aloof and detached, though in his aviator shades it was hard to tell.
John looked completely relaxed. So did Clemson, aside from having the gun at the ready in case any more horned devils emerged from the bush.
None did. It was a frustrating hike. By the time we stopped for sundowners, we hadn’t seen anything else of note, and I hadn’t had a chance to question anyone.
I’d have liked to talk to Keith, but he was drooling over Victoria, and Annabel was having her usual tizzy and trying to break them up.
That left Jason, who was standing off to one side drinking a Coke Lite. He looked like he wanted to be left alone. I snuck up behind him, said, “Pretty exciting, eh?”
He turned, saw me, said, “What?”
“The bull, I mean. I don’t mean the murder. That would be pretty ghoulish, calling the murder exciting.”
Jason seemed annoyed that I was talking to him. “What murder? The woman died in her sleep.”
“It still counts,” I said. “They don’t have to be wide awake when you kill them. You give a woman poison and she dies in her sleep, it’s still a murder.”
“No one gave her poison.”
“How do you know? You know you didn’t give her poison, but you can’t speak for anybody else. Except maybe Keith. If you plan to provide him an alibi.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jason took a sip of Coke, made a face, dumped the rest out on the ground, and went over and set it on the table. I wasn’t sure if he really hated the Coke, or if he’d just done it to get away from me. Granted, Coke Lite, the African version of Diet Coke, didn’t taste exactly the same, but he’d been drinking it before I came over.
On the other hand, maybe he just wanted his hands free. He’d rolled up his sleeves to wash them in the bowl of water Phillip provided, and neglected to roll them down. Jason was obsessive about long sleeves and pants, probably because of bug bites.
His water bottle was slung over his shoulder and hung down his side. Naturally, now that I knew his name and didn’t need to see it, it faced out and said Jason.
I wondered if I should make another pass at him. I hadn’t really asked a damn thing, and I was getting a guilty reaction.
I didn’t. Bringing the murder up once could be casual. Twice would show a purpose.
Phillip was making Alice tea. I joined her in a cup, nibbled on a cookie that turned out to be largely sugar. Alice looked askance, as if I were committing sacrilege against the gods of nutrition.
I considered bothering the other hikers, but I just didn’t have the heart for it. I marked my territory instead. I figured that was about as useful as the rest of my investigation.
It was getting dark, so we headed back, hoping to see something on the way.
We didn’
t. The bull was the only highlight of the whole hike. I figured Alice would be pleased with me for getting a shot of it.
She probably would have been if I’d remembered to turn off the camera instead of shooting forty-five minutes of my leg.
25
AUTOPSY REPORT
“YOU’RE AN IDIOT.”
“Thank you.”
“Couldn’t you remember to turn the camera off?”
“Don’t I get any credit for turning it on?”
“I don’t know. Did you shoot anything besides your leg?”
“Hang on. I gotta rewind.”
When we got back to camp I had been surprised to find the video tape at the end. Rewinding a few minutes had told the story. My leg looked good, but probably wasn’t worth forty-five minutes. In an act of cowardice, I had put the camera away until after dinner without telling Alice. We got back late and I was hungry. Once fed, I had confessed all.
I put the camera on rewind, waited impatiently for it to run through the entire tape.
“You’re going to run down the battery.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You filmed for an hour, now you’re rewinding without the camera plugged in. You’ll be lucky if you have any battery left.”
I looked at the gauge. The battery was low. I cursed Alice’s rightness. How dare she be so damn right. The battery was going to run out and it would be my fault.
I stopped the tape, even though it had not completely rewound. The charging bull was not the first thing I’d filmed. The problem was I didn’t know how many minutes I’d taken. If I’d shot around a half an hour, the charging bull would be right here. It wasn’t. I had a nice action shot of my right leg walking along the trail.
I stopped, hit rewind again. Wound it back about five minutes, stopped and hit play. Another leg shot. This one had a better view of my boot, probably not significant.
“If you keep looking at footage, you’re going to run down the battery,” Alice said.
“You want me to go charge it?”
“Of course not. You’d get eaten by a lion.”
I sighed, hit rewind.
“Did you take your Malarone?” Alice said.
I had not taken my Malarone. I set the camera on the bed, dug deep in my backpack, pulled out my daily pill minder, a rectangular plastic pill case with seven compartments labeled Sunday through Saturday. Without it, I might suspect I had taken my Malarone, but I wouldn’t really know.
