Who'll Kill Agnes?

by Lea Chan

  “Man, I hate days like this,” grumbled Donovan.

  “What do you mean?” asked Metson absentmindedly.

  “The atmosphere is so thick you could slice it with a knife.”

  “Yeah, I bet it storms tonight. Those clouds look like pea soup out there.”

  “This kind of weather makes you think something’s going to happen.”

  “Like what?”

  Donovan laughed, “Damned if I know but the hairs on the back of my neck are bristling like crazy.”

  Metson rolled his eyes yet he had a strange feeling, also, one that he just couldn’t get rid of.

  Donovan brought up the Henley file on his computer and read through it for the umpteenth time.

  “You know, Daryl, let’s just say for argument’s sake that Miz Agnes was murdered. Mark was the last to see her alive.”

  “Yeah, but you been over that again and again. No motive.”

  “That we know of but there’s something else here, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Miss Penelope. She didn’t eat with Miss Audrey and Miz Bernadette. She could have slipped back. And, she sure was awful nervous.”

  “Naw, Chief, that’s pushing it too much. I feel like you do. There’s something about Mark. I just can’t place it. You don’t consider Kevin at all?”

  “Naw, poor kid came out on top but that’s just damn good luck. At the time of the murder, only Lester had any real motive.”

  “Kevin would have if he’d known about the will.”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t.”

  They fell silent and began typing reports into their computers, the mundane reports of traffic violations, domestic disputes, a knifing at the high school, a drug deal at the junior high. Nothing so exotic as an imagined murder in the high society realm of Henley House.

  At noon Metson asked Donovan if he wanted to eat at The Cracked Cup.

  “Naw,” replied the superior officer, “I brought a tuna sandwich. I got to watch my weight.” He leaned back in his chair and patted his ample stomach. “May Belle’s been after me to watch my weight, cholesterol, and blood pressure.”

  “Well, I got to get out of here,” said Metson, smiling at the thought of the plump, although otherwise sensible, Mrs. Donovan chastising the chief about his weight.

  Donovan watched with envy as his muscular young officer put on his cap and walked out the door. Looking down at his belly hanging over his belt, he announced jealously to the empty room, “Them muscles of his won’t last long, especially eating at The Cup.”

  He pulled out his tuna sandwich and eyed it distastefully then set it down, arose from his chair, and walked over to the west window, which overlooked Magnolia Creek, the park, the apartments, and at the moment the most tantalizing of all, Burger Paradise.

  “Damn! I haven’t had one of those in ages.”

  “Did you say something, sir?”

  Startled, Donovan turned and saw one of the younger officers from the outer office standing in his doorway.

  “Oh, I was just thinking I hadn’t eaten a Paradise burger for quite a while.”

  “I’m going over there now, sir, for a bacon cheeseburger. You want one?”

  “Yeah, but hold the cheese. I’m on a diet.”

  After the young man left, Donovan continued staring out the window, subconsciously noting the clouds rolling in. Then he turned his attention to Magnolia Creek. From his vantage point, some of the rocks in the creek created formations that looked like floating dead bodies.

  “Damn!” he said to himself. “I got to get this murder business out of my head. I’m seeing corpses everywhere.”

  Metson pulled into the parking lot of The Cracked Cup Diner, a modest looking small building with a crudely painted sign of a cracked cup in a saucer with steam rising from the cup. He got out of the cruiser and walked in the front door, heading straight for a stool at the counter. Booths lined the windows overlooking the parking lot. Noon on a business day was a busy time and Metson was relieved that there was an empty stool. The patrons were mostly masculine although there were a few women there, probably tourists who had pulled off the highway for a bite to eat. Metson laughed to himself thinking that if Donovan were there he’d more than likely comment on what good taste those ladies had by avoiding Lottaburger. The only other females were two waitresses who busily trekked back and forth from the counter to the booths.

  Metson ordered two double cheeseburgers, double order of large fries, and a large root beer float from Mr. Robeson himself. Thinking about what he was trying to remember had given Metson a large appetite. Normally he would have gone to the deli, especially since Donovan wasn’t accompanying him, but he hoped that maybe something at The Cup would jar his memory.

  Mark’s father wiped the counter in front of Metson before he set down the burger basket. Metson considered that Mr. Robeson was still a fine-looking man and could see quite a resemblance between father and son.

  “What’s the matter with you?” asked the proprietor of The Cracked Cup. “You look kind of worried.”

  “Ah, it’s that Henley case,” realizing as soon as he said it that he shouldn’t have because more than likely Ole Man Robeson would spread it all over town if he thought the police were still investigating Agnes Henley’s death.

  “What Henley case? You don’t mean Miz Agnes, do you? Thought that was an accident. Wish to hell my son was out of that place.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Metson cautiously.

  “Don’t like him being in no house where that Bernadette Tucker lives.”

  A bell went off in Metson’s head. Suddenly he remembered what it was that had bothered him. He jumped up, threw money on the counter, and started to leave.

  “Hey, you’ve hardly eaten!”

  Glancing back Metson said, “Oh yeah,” and grabbed the basket. “I got to get back to the station. I’ll bring the basket back later.”

  “Don’t worry. I got plenty of them things.”

  Metson entered the office flush with excitement, not noticing that Donovan was hastily stuffing the remnants of his burger into his tuna sandwich bag. Donovan pulled out the sandwich and pretended to nibble at it.

  “Chief, I finally remembered what’s been nagging at me.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “It-it’s Mark and Miz Bernadette.”

  Donovan sat straight up and dropped the sandwich in his trashcan. “What about them?”

  “Well now, I remember about four or five years ago, Mark was dating her on the sly.”

  “Say what?”

  “The Robesons may not have been society people but they sure didn’t hold with their son dating no Tucker. I don’t know how long they dated but lots of people whispered about it. Then Miz Robeson died and Mark had to help his dad with the diner. Mark didn’t go out much after that, and Miz Bernadette, of course she was Miss then, helped her mama with raising her brothers and sisters.”

  “And after all that’s happened you’re just now remembering this?”

  “Yeah, it was something that Ole Man Robeson just said to me. Do you think it’s important?”

  Donovan exploded. “Damned if I know! But I think that explains why Mark went to work there. To be near her.” He paused for a few minutes. “But what the hell do they see in her?”

  “Huh? Who?”

  “Mark and Kevin. Miz Bernadette’s got the scrawniest figure I ever seen. She looks like a starving puppy. But why would Kevin allow Mark to work in his home if he thought Mark was panting after his wife?”

  “Maybe he didn’t know, leading a sheltered life and all.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know, Daryl.” He paused a moment and said, “Tell you what, let’s pay that household another visit tonight when we get off. I kind of want to chat with those three young people, especially Mark.”

  “So you think that if Mark was panting after Miz Bernadette that he might have had something to do with Miz Agnes’ death?”

  “Well, I’ll ad
mit that don’t make too much sense. Looks like if Mark was the killer he’d go after Kevin.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking that, too.”

  Clouds had continued to form all day over and around Magnolia Creek. Walking to the patrol car that evening, Metson asked Donovan if he thought it might rain.

  “Damn, I hope so,” said the chief. “I thought it would start storming long before this, but now I got a feeling we’re just going to get lots of lightning and thunder and you know what that means.”

  “Huh? No, I don’t think I do.”

  “Hell, Daryl, that’s when grass fires start. All that lightning and then the wind picks up. Can’t you feel how ominous the atmosphere feels?”

  Metson didn’t respond because he wondered if the chief was really thinking about grass fires or about the Henleys and Mark Robeson in particular. They got in the car and drove off in the direction of Henley House.

  Finally Metson asked, “What’s our excuse this time?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Donovan as the patrol car approached the driveway of Henley House.

  “What’s our excuse for dropping in on them again so soon?”

  “We’re still concerned about their well-being.”

  “Well-being? They’re filthy rich and that’s sort of the excuse you gave Miss Audrey last night.”

  “Kevin will soon be filthy rich but it ain’t him I’m concerned about. I’m still pondering if Mark’s after Miz Bernadette and somehow plotting to get her back. Anyway, we’re not going there to talk to Miss Audrey this time. What I’m thinking is, let those three young folks know we’re concerned about them losing Agnes and maybe let the murderer, if there is a murderer, know the police are still nosing about.”

  “You think Mark might kill Kevin?”

  “Whoa, boy, that was my original thinking. But let’s not get way ahead of the game. I got a couple of angles concerning Mark. First, say he came here to work because he still had the hots for Miz Bernadette. But how would she feel about that? Not to mention Kevin.”

  “Maybe they didn’t know his real reason for coming.”

  “Maybe, but like I said this afternoon, he still wouldn’t have any reason to kill Miz Agnes. Second, you ever hear about something called a menage-a-trois?”

  “A what? Manage a troyz?”

  “It’s something French. I heard it in a movie once. Three people getting it on at once.”

  “Chief, that’s sick. But how does that figure in with Miz Henley’s death?”

  “Maybe she found out what was going on in her house and tried to put a stop to it.”

  “Dang! You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  Donovan grinned, “Naw, it’s just an idea that popped into my head. Unless, Mark killed her hoping that Kevin and Miz Bernadette would share the family fortune with him. Those three now seem to be awful good friends and maybe they are getting it on together.”

  “Chief, none of them knew Kevin was going to inherit.”

  “Yeah, it always comes back to that, don’t it?”

  “And it ain’t none of our business if they are getting it on together.”

  “It is if it contributed to Miz Henley’s death.”

  Damn, thought Metson, Donovan had a one-track mind. They had no business sticking their noses into the private affairs of this family. Why did he have to mention that business about Mark and Miz Bernadette? He supposed he had only himself to blame for what they were doing tonight.

  “So,” he said, “how are you going to find out?”

  “I don’t know, Daryl. I don’t know. I just got a funny feeling about that house, like maybe it’s not over, that something else is going to happen.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just cops with overactive imaginations.”

  Well, Donovan was anyway, thought Metson who remained silent.

  “I’m telling you, Daryl, there’s something about the atmosphere tonight, in fact the whole damn day has seemed strange.”

  Metson chose to ignore the chief’s premonitions, if that’s what they were. He himself had had a nagging feeling earlier in the day and thanks to Mr. Robeson had figured out what it was. He hoped that whatever Donovan thought he was experiencing was just related to the weather and not to Henley House.

  After Donovan parked the car in front of Henley House, the officers got out and looked at the almost darkened house. They could see a dim light shining on the second floor

  A bolt of lightning streaked downwards followed quickly by a loud clash of thunder causing both officers to jump.

  “Damn,” said Donovan, “that’s just a little too close for comfort. I hope we don’t get any power lines out tonight.”

  “Think anyone’s home?” asked Metson.

  “Well, there’s a light on just above us. I think that’s Kevin and Miz Bernadette’s rooms. Be perfect if they’re the only ones at home.”

  “And Mark.”

  “Especially him. I’m betting they’re all three upstairs.”

  Donovan rang the doorbell. He waited a few minutes then rang it again. Suddenly the door opened and a flustered, red-faced Bernie stood before them.

  “Miz Bernadette, evening. May we come in?”

  “I-I guess so,” she replied nervously.

  The officers entered and Donovan commented, “I take it that Marcel ain’t answering the door tonight?”

  Unaware of his sarcasm Bernie said, “Oh no. He’s gone home tonight. Everybody’s out except-uh-Kevin and me.”

  “Is that so? And where did everybody go?”

  “Audrey and Penny went to the movies. I’m not sure where Lester went but I think he was planning to drive over to Connor’s Corner to see some old friends.”

  “Where did you say Mark was?”

  “He’s visiting his dad.”

  “Hmmm. So, it’s just you two newlyweds here, is it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, that’s just fine. I’d kind of like to talk to the two of you. See how you’re getting along, handling the tragedy of Miz Henley’s death. We’re just being concerned citizens, you know.”

  Metson thought his chief was pouring the syrup a little too thick, but Bernie seemed too distracted or too dumb to notice.

  “Uh, well, Kevin’s upstairs. Asleep, I think.”

  “This early? It’s just after eight o’clock.”

  “Yeah, he’s tired, busy day and all.”

  “Miz Bernadette,” Donovan’s syrupy tone had vanished, “I don’t mean no disrespect to your husband but Kevin Henley has never had a busy day in his life.” Since she was a Tucker, he expected an indignant outburst from her. Tucker females turned into spitfires when the police insulted their menfolk.

  Metson was aghast. What had happened to the Chief’s concern? Besides, he liked Kevin. Why was he talking like this?

  To Donovan’s astonishment, she shrugged morosely and agreed, “Yeah, tell me about it.”

  “Well, we’d like to talk to him anyway.”

  Her mood changed, almost to a panic. “Right now?” she gasped.

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s what I mean.”

  “But, but I can’t wake him. I mean, he gets upset. No, really, I’ll have him call you tomorrow. I mean if it’s important. But really, he’s handling his mama’s death just fine if that’s what you want to know. We all are.”

  The hairs on Donovan’s neck bristled as he wondered what was going on. What was Kevin hiding? Why was his wife trying to protect him?

  “Tell you what, ma’am. Since you don’t want to disturb your husband and upset him then I’ll go upstairs and wake him. I’ve kind of wanted to see what that upstairs looks like anyway.”

  Metson was now positive, and appalled, that Donovan had gone too far. What did he think he was doing? Telling a young woman that he wanted to wake her grieving husband to offer condolences? Sure, he wanted to grill the kid but this wasn’t the way to do it.

  “No, no!” Bernie shouted.
“I mean, no, let him sleep!”

  Donovan stopped and stared at her.

  “Tell me, Miz Bernadette, what were you doing when we arrived?”

  “Watching TV.”

  “Where?”

  “In the library.”

  “In the dark?”

  “Huh?”

  “The house was dark downstairs when we arrived. It took you a long time to answer that doorbell.” He turned to the library door and opened it. The room was dark. “There’s no light on in here, no TV flickering.”

  “I turned everything off when I went to the door.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Just did.”

  “I think you were upstairs with Kevin. There was a light on when we drove up. The downstairs, including the library, was dark. Come on, Daryl, let’s go see Kevin,” turning to Bernie he added, “I think I know the way to his rooms, where the light was shining, huh?”

  A loud clap of thunder seemed to shake the house.

  “And you say he’s sleeping through this racket, Miz Bernadette?”

  “He’s a heavy sleeper. I tell you when he goes to sleep nothing wakes him up,” said Bernie nervously.

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” said Donovan walking up the stairs.

  Metson followed Donovan, still puzzled by his insistence on waking Kevin. So the two of them were upstairs, so what? They were married. They were alone in the house. Sure, Miz Bernadette was acting strange but she was a Tucker. Tuckers always lied to the police, whether there was any reason to or not.

  When the two officers reached the balcony, Donovan looked around. “Only three doors up here.”

  To Metson’s horror he opened the one that was nearest the staircase and flicked on the light. “Uh, sir, that couldn’t be Kevin’s room.”

  “Yeah, I know but I was just kind of curious. I guess this belongs to one of the ladies, Miss Audrey or Miss Penny. Mighty big room with big furniture. I think I’ll just glance in the other one.” He walked over to the adjoining room and opened the door. “Yeah, much the same. I bet they each got their own private bathroom. What a life. Well, let’s see what Kevin’s lodgings are like.”