Summons From a Stranger

by Diaz, Debra

  “Charlotte, that’s enough,” Alan muttered.

  “Alan,” Isabella asked, her face stiff with worry, “how could you do such a foolish thing?”

  “You wouldn’t have thought it foolish if we’d succeeded. Which we might have if Frenchie here knew how to row.”

  “Nonsense,” said Mr. Caldwell. “Jonathan saved your lives. And I can tell you that there’s nothing wrong in waiting until daylight to go for help. It would be suicidal not to, considering the circumstances.”

  Jonathan looked at Mr. Caldwell and seemed to note that the older man’s face was very white. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and let Reba fix you something hot before you go upstairs to change?” he said. Without waiting for an answer he nodded at Reba, who took Mr. Caldwell’s arm and led him down the hall.

  Alan and Charlotte headed upstairs. Jonathan sank down onto a wicker chair, as though he couldn’t stand any longer. His white shirt had turned brown from the muddy water.

  “Are you all right, Jon?” Isabella asked worriedly.

  “Yes, Mother, I’m fine. Would you mind checking on Grandfather and Brianna?”

  She went away. Jonathan looked at Rachel. “Thank you for your help. It was more than we deserve.”

  “I didn’t do much,” she replied.

  “Yes, you did. I’m afraid your clothes are ruined this time. Do you have something to wear?”

  “I still have Brianna’s dress.”

  “Let me see your hands,” he said suddenly. When she hesitated, he took her hands in his, and turned them palm-up. Streaks of red made by the rope marred her smooth skin.

  “You’ll need to put something on that,” Jonathan said. “There may be medications in your bathroom—if not, ask Reba to get you something.” Gently, he released her hands.

  Rachel’s cheeks were pink, whether from the exertion or Jonathan holding her hands, it was impossible to tell. “They don’t hurt. But I’m really tired. Come on, Lindsey, I might need you to pull me up the stairs!” She tugged a blanket over her shoulders and started forward.

  Jonathan got to his feet. “Let me help you.” He followed them to the staircase, where Lindsey took one of Rachel’s arms and Jonathan the other. Lindsey held to the banister with the other hand. Rachel was weak and unsteady. It must have been really hard work to pull people out of the creek.

  They reached the top without mishap, and as before, Jonathan went in one direction, Rachel and Lindsey in the other. “Let’s meet in the kitchen later,” Jonathan said, over his shoulder. “We could all do with something hot.”

  “Hurry up, Rachel,” Lindsey said, and then caught herself. “I mean, are you okay?”

  “What’s going on?” Rachel stopped and looked at her. “Why the hurry?”

  “I want to talk to Mr. Caldwell alone, before anyone else gets to the kitchen, and before he gets finished down there.”

  “About what?”

  “You’ll see. Just hurry, if you feel up to it. Otherwise I’ll go by myself.”

  “Oh, no.” Rachel headed for the bathroom. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”

  She came out in Brianna’s mahogany dress, with her hair still wet. “Let’s go.”

  They went downstairs to the kitchen. Mr. Caldwell was there, wrapped in a blanket and sipping a cup of broth. Reba sat across from him, and Lindsey got the impression they’d been deep in conversation. Reba got up when they came in and busied herself at the stove.

  “How are you, Mr. Caldwell?” Rachel asked, with concern. “You’re looking a little better.”

  “I feel better, thank you, Rachel.” He smiled at her. “People shouldn’t be running around in the rain at my age.”

  Lindsey sat down next to him. “Mr. Caldwell, you were going to tell me what happened to Philip Laramore.”

  “Why, yes, I was, but why are you so interested?”

  “Because of something old Mr. Laramore said. About Jonathan.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Caldwell considered that, and decided to go on without asking any questions. “They were out hunting that day, about thirty miles from here. Philip and Jonathan. I believe Jonathan was around twelve or so — about your age, Lindsey. A thunderstorm came up, very suddenly. As they were leaving, Philip stopped to close the steel gate to the property.” He stopped and glanced at Reba, who looked back at him sadly. “Lightning struck the gate. Philip was electrocuted.”

  “Oh, how horrible!” cried Rachel. “Did Jon—I understand Jonathan was very affected by his father’s death.”

  “Come here, Mrs. Shaw,” said Mr. Caldwell, and added to Rachel, “She knows the details better than I.”

  Reba dried her hands and came reluctantly to the table. She sat down and regarded them somberly. “Philip was still alive, but in severe pain. Jonathan had to leave him and go for help. They’d gotten there in a pickup truck. Philip wouldn’t let Jonathan touch him. I don’t think there’s any danger in touching a person who’s been struck by lightning, but Philip may not have known that. So Jonathan got in the truck and tried to drive it, but only made it a short distance before it slid off the road. He had to walk for miles in the downpour. But Philip was dead when they got back to him.”

  There were tears in Rachel’s eyes. “How awful for a little boy.”

  “Jonathan always felt that if he’d been able to get help sooner, his father might have lived. But he wouldn’t have. He was too severely burned.”

  Rachel asked delicately, “Is it true that Jonathan had to have—psychiatric help?”

  Reba looked surprised by the question. “Why, no. He was disturbed—upset—for a while, of course. His real father died when he was a baby, so Philip was the only father he ever knew. They went everywhere together. His mother consulted the family doctor as to the best thing to do for Jonathan. The doctor advised a change of location. The Laramores have property in England, you know. So he went away to school there.”

  Mr. Caldwell took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with Jonathan. It’s all something Mr. Laramore has gotten in his head.”

  Lindsey felt greatly relieved. So that explained the strange, intense look on Jonathan’s face when the tree had been struck by lightning. It had reminded him too acutely of his father’s death, a violent death that probably haunted him to this day—as it would anyone. There was nothing abnormal about that.

  Rachel looked stricken. She was taking it awfully hard, Lindsey thought. But then, Philip was her half-uncle, right? (She’d have to think about that one.)

  Jonathan came into the room, dressed in jeans, a casual shirt, and dark brown work boots. His black hair was still damp and combed back from his face. When he saw Rachel, he asked immediately, “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just tired, I guess.”

  Jonathan walked over to the stove and put his arm around Reba. “I hate to ask you—when all this is over I’ll give you a week off with pay, Reba. Would you help us cook some breakfast? It’s after four, and I think we could all use some food.”

  “Of course, Mr. Jonathan. It’s my job, after all.”

  “I already mentioned it to the others. Where’s Barlow?”

  “I don’t think he feels well. He’s in his room.”

  “I’ll just go check on him.” Jonathan sprinted up the back stairs, and returned a few minutes later. “He’s all right. A case of over-exertion, he says. How do you feel, Mr. Caldwell?”

  “Much better, thanks.”

  Rachel went to help Reba butter bread for toast, and got out plates to set the table. The fragrance of coffee again filled the kitchen. Jonathan started frying bacon. This middle of the night breakfast would actually have been fun under different circumstances, Lindsey thought.

  Reba placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of Mr. Caldwell, saying, “You might want to get out of those wet things, sir.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” He drank half the coffee and stood up. He removed the blanket from around his shoulders, and the
n his hand suddenly clutched at his back pocket. His face went pale.

  “My wallet,” he said loudly. “My wallet’s gone.”

  Jonathan turned, struck by the tone of his voice. “It probably fell out of your pocket while you were outside.”

  “I’ve got to find it.”

  Jonathan put down the spatula and wiped his hands on a paper towel. “I’ll go. It’s stopped raining, but it’s dangerous to be anywhere close to the creek.”

  “No, I’ll go. It’s probably close by the house.”

  Reba stepped toward him. “You keep on frying the bacon, Mr. Jonathan. I’ll go and watch him from the porch. He’ll be all right.”

  The two of them vanished down the hall. Lindsey thought it strange that Mr. Caldwell should be so upset over the loss of his wallet. But, maybe he had a lot of money inside it.

  “Lindsey,” said Rachel, “why don’t you carry the plates and silverware into the dining room? Just set them on the sideboard. We can eat buffet style.”

  Lindsey did as she was told. When she came back she paused in the doorway, watching Rachel and Jonathan. He was still frying bacon, and she stood close by, scrambling eggs. She’d put on an apron over the expensive dress.

  It was quite a domestic scene.

  She guessed Alan thought so, too, for he was coming in from the other doorway leading into the hall, and he was watching them with his lip curled up. But he didn’t say anything. Charlotte came in behind him. Unluckily, her hair was one big ball of frizz.

  “Breakfast ready?” he asked, coming in and plopping down at the kitchen table.

  “Almost,” Jonathan said, barely glancing at him. “Where’s Mother?”

  “She said she’d be down in a minute.”

  Gerard entered the room and poured himself some coffee. He and Alan looked a little subdued, but Charlotte was still defiant. She glared at anyone who looked at her, as if daring them to mention the fishing boat fiasco.

  Reba came back into the kitchen. “He found the wallet,” she said to Jonathan. “I’ve given him something of yours to wear until his clothes dry, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course.”

  She began putting the food on trays and moving them to the dining room. Soon everyone had gathered around the long table. Isabella and Mr. Caldwell came in together.

  Clearly the Laramores enjoyed discussing unpleasant subjects around the dining table, or at least some of them did. Fortunately, Alan was hungry, so he waited until he’d just about finished eating before letting everyone know what was on his mind. And by then, Lindsey was on her last piece of toast.

  “So,” Alan said darkly, leaning back in his chair. “You always get what you want, eh, Jonathan?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jonathan merely looked at his brother and raised his black eyebrows.

  “What do you care what the old man does?” Alan said bitterly. “You still have your own money, and your position.”

  “Alan, please,” Isabella pleaded, with a despairing look. “How can you, after he risked his life—”

  “No, let him talk,” said Jonathan, an odd gleam in his eyes. “Go on, Alan.”

  Alan needed no coaxing. “You’ve always had everything. You’ve always tried to get everybody’s affection. My father could do nothing without you, and you’re not even his real son! You didn’t like hunting, and yet you went every time he wanted to go.”

  “I went because I enjoyed being with him.”

  “If you loved him so much why didn’t you—”

  “Alan!” Isabella cried.

  “Better watch it,” Charlotte warned, “or Miss Manners over here will be chewing us out again.”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at her,” Alan said. “It’s very convenient that Brianna decided to take a fall.”

  “Look at whom?”

  “Her.” Alan jerked his head toward Rachel.

  “Leave Rachel out of this discussion.” Jonathan warned, an ominous glint appearing in his dark blue eyes.

  “Why? Everything revolves around her!”

  “Alan, Jonathan, that’s enough!” There was no mistaking the authority in Isabella’s voice. “I won’t listen to anymore!”

  Well, Lindsey thought, I didn’t know she had it in her.

  “Has anybody considered the fact,” Isabella went on, “that sometime today the police will be here questioning all of us about Brianna’s—accident. I suggest we all start thinking about what we’re going to tell them.”

  “You mean, establish our alibis?” Gerard looked incredulous. “Are you suggesting we all ‘get our story straight’, as they say?”

  “Nothing of the sort,” Isabella answered coldly. “Brianna said someone pushed her. I think that’s nonsense. But she can ruin this family with her outrageous claims, and I don’t intend to let her get away with it.”

  “She says it was a man,” Charlotte said, biting her lower lip. “That means Jonathan, Alan, Frenchie, or Mr. Caldwell.”

  “You’re forgetting the butler.” Alan forced a laugh. “And my grandfather, and his nurse, come to think of it.”

  Isabella turned to Mr. Caldwell. “You know the sort of questions the police will ask. Could you lead us in some sort of discussion?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Well, I’m no criminal lawyer, but I can try. However, I think it’s a mistake to confine suspicion to the men only. Brianna, if she was pushed, must not have seen who it was or she would have said so. Therefore, it could have been a woman.”

  Charlotte grimaced. “Just because I don’t like her doesn’t mean I tried to do her in!”

  “Nobody called your name,” Alan said sardonically.

  Mr. Caldwell ignored them. “Did anyone hear anything? Voices, quarreling, anything at all?”

  There was no reply. Lindsey cast a quick look at the faces around her: Alan moody, Jonathan enigmatic, Charlotte resentful, Gerard contemptuous. It seemed impossible that people you ate breakfast with at five in the morning might be guilty of attempted murder! What if Brianna really had been lying?

  Reba walked in carrying another pot of coffee. As she set it on the buffet, Mr. Caldwell said, “Come and join us, Mrs. Shaw. We’re talking of the accident.”

  Reba glanced at Jonathan, who nodded, and sat down at the end of the table, where Brianna had sat the previous evening.

  “I repeat, did anyone hear anything?”

  “I heard her scream,” Charlotte said finally. “We all heard it.”

  “Who was the first to reach her?”

  “I suppose I was,” Jonathan said.

  “Tell us how it came about, please.”

  Jonathan sighed a little. “I hadn’t gone to bed. I wanted to finish reading today’s newspaper, so I was sitting in a chair. I had some music on. But as soon as I heard her scream—it sounded different than before. I ran out into the hallway, turned on the lights, and saw her.”

  “What about you, Lindsey?” The lawyer turned unexpectedly toward her. “What did you see?”

  “It was just as Jonathan said. I ran into him.”

  “So he was already there when you got to the staircase. Did anyone get there before Jonathan or Lindsey?”

  No answer. Lindsey didn’t like the direction he seemed to be going in. Was he implying that since Jonathan was already there, that he had done it? She wanted to say, “But the attacker thought he or she was killing Rachel!” That would more or less clear Jonathan, or so it seemed to her. But, of course she couldn’t say that.

  Mr. Caldwell continued. “Mrs. Shaw, could you possibly have heard anything that could not have been heard by anyone upstairs?”

  Reba shook her head. “I was much too far away. I didn’t hear anything but the scream. Barlow and I both left our rooms at the same time.”

  “But Barlow isn’t here to corroborate that,” Alan stated.

  Reba didn’t even look at him.

  “What about you, Rachel?”

  Rachel wasn’t going to implicate Jonathan either. �
�I didn’t hear anything. I don’t even remember who was already there when I got to the staircase.”

  “Isabella?” asked the lawyer.

  “As I recall, I came out of my room and saw you standing in the hall, looking very upset.”

  Alan didn’t wait to be interrogated. “Well, I was sound asleep. All the noise woke me up.”

  “And I was right beside him,” Charlotte said. “Only I was awake. So I know Alan didn’t leave the room before Brianna screamed.”

  Lindsey saw the faintest twitch on Alan’s face and felt sure Charlotte was lying. She’d probably been snoring away! Or—maybe not even in the room.

  “And you, Mr. Barrey? What is your recollection?”

  “Of course I was startled by the screaming, but I thought perhaps it had something to do with—that woman.” Gerard’s glance at Charlotte couldn’t have been more distasteful had she been a large furry spider. “I did not at once believe it was anything serious. I think I was the last to arrive at the stairway.”

  “We’re forgetting the portrait!” Charlotte said suddenly. “The attacker had to have slashed the portrait, then hidden it, then gone after Brianna.”

  Lindsey met Jonathan’s eyes. In a moment they would all see, they would all realize that the attacker had meant to kill Rachel, not Brianna. And that would change everything—or at least, motive.

  But no one made the connection. Or if they did, no one said anything.

  “It seems clear,” Mr. Caldwell stated, with an air of approaching his closing argument, “that the attacker had plenty of time to run back to his room after pushing Brianna, if indeed she was pushed, and then to pretend to come out again, full of surprise and dismay. And since no one has an alibi, it could have been any one of us.”

  Silence fell on the dining room like a blanket. Then Alan said, as if just remembering, “Charlotte and I were together in our room.”

  It seemed that no one felt the need to reply. Lindsey started to say that she and Rachel were together, too, but she didn’t think it was really necessary. No one could seriously think one of them had tried to kill Brianna.

  “Jonathan, what time do you think you’ll be leaving?” Isabella asked, a look of concern on her face.