Cozy (Stanley Hastings Mystery, #14)

by Parnell Hall

  “I can show you the house. You will know the street and town.”

  “That’s very interesting. You will understand why I’m not as thrilled as I would have been had I not made an arrest?”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “Then I will apologize. And probably get slapped with a suit for false arrest. Though that will be just a gesture, and won’t hold up when the lawyer fails to establish malice.”

  “What I meant was, if you’re wrong, this man could be the answer you’re looking for.”

  “He could, and I will certainly check him out. At the moment, I’m more concerned with my prisoner’s request. She would like you to walk her dog?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So would I. Like you to walk her dog, I mean. We have a warrant to search the room. I’m reluctant to do so while the dog is there. Perhaps if we were to take a run over, we might kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Could we stop by my friend’s on the way?”

  “Your hiker suspect? Does it happen to be on the way?”

  “More or less.”

  “Then I suppose we could swing by. Not to talk with the gentleman, you understand, just to verify the address.” He looked at me. “Would that satisfy you?”

  “I don’t think satisfy is the right word. But I’d certainly like you to do that.”

  “Then I’d be happy to,” Pinehurst said. “Just let me finish my coffee, we’ll take a run over. How’s that?”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, would you mind telling me why you’ve arrested this woman? Surely it wasn’t on a whim.”

  “I assure you it was not. I arrested her on the basis of the evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Unfortunately, it is not physical evidence, merely circumstantial. That’s why I want to search her room. I don’t think she’d be stupid enough to hang on to the poison, but if it had been in some container, there might be a trace left. That would certainly nail it down.”

  “Nail what down? What do you have on her?”

  “Well, you will admit she had the opportunity, won’t you? Because just before the murder, she got up and went out to walk her dog. At exactly the critical time. The drinks had already been served and were sitting there on the table. Including the fatal one. And, yes, it was the fatal one—that’s come back from the lab. Christine Cobb died of cyanide poisoning. The poison was administered in her drink. The drink was a stinger, which is some god-awful sweet-tasting concoction young people seem to like. Ideal for disguising the poison.

  “Anyway, she went out and came back during the time of optimal access. When Lars was presumably not in the booth. Which, we all agree, is when it probably happened.”

  “So what? So she went out to walk the dog. Anyone actually see her at the booth?”

  “So far, no one did.”

  “So far?”

  “In the first round of questioning, we didn’t know what we were after. So some things slipped by. Such as your wife getting up from the table, which she didn’t mention the first time around. But we hear about later on. Prompted, the witness’ recollection improves. So it’s entirely possible someone saw her and failed to mention the fact.”

  “Fine. It’s entirely possible, but so what? So far, no one did. So what have you got? Yes, she was up from the table, but so was everyone else. I was. My wife was. Half a dozen other people were. And the waitresses, the busboy, and even Louise. So why pick on her?”

  “Well, there’s the motive.”

  “The motive?”

  “Yes. She’s the one with the motive. It took a little doing, but I finally ran it down. Not that easy to do over the phone, but sometimes you get lucky.”

  “Florence had a motive? Are you kidding? She didn’t even know Christine Cobb.”

  “Maybe not, but her husband did.”

  “What?”

  “Florence’s husband. He knew Christine. Knew her well.” Pinehurst shrugged. “As a matter of fact, they had an affair.”

  24.

  PRINCE NEARLY KNOCKED me down. He came bounding out the door, leaped up, put his paws on my shoulders, and licked my face. Before I could grab him he hopped down and took off, his paws skidding a mile a minute on the wooden floor like a cartoon dog, before finally gaining traction and rocketing around the corner and down the stairs.

  “Better get him,” Pinehurst said.

  “Leash. I need the leash.”

  “Yes, yes. Get the leash.”

  It was hanging on the inside doorknob. Pinehurst found it first, thrust it at me before I had a chance to look around. I caught a glimpse of a bare room not dissimilar to mine, before Pinehurst shoved me out and slammed the door in my face.

  I had no time to take offense. The dog was on the loose. I turned, hurried down the steps.

  Prince was cavorting downstairs. He came out of the TV room and shot by me, heading for the front desk. By the time I got there he was in the dining room, where dinner was not yet being served—thank goodness for small favors. Prince circled the room once, then went through the swinging kitchen door. I heard a yowl and a spat, followed by furious barking. I gritted my teeth, sprinted through the kitchen door.

  It was quite a tableau.

  Max the cat, up on the windowsill, appeared twice his normal size. His back was arched, his teeth were bared. His orange fur was standing straight up all over his body. He looked like malevolent marmalade.

  Prince the dog was barking at him ferociously. Yet there was a somewhat plaintive, hurt, surprised quality to his bark. And on closer look, his nose appeared to be scratched.

  Between the two of them, and protecting the cat, stood Louise’s nameless husband, the cook. He was dressed in his chef’s apron and hat, and stood, meat cleaver in hand, poised and ready, if need be, to behead the dog on behalf of the cat.

  I didn’t want that to happen. I slipped up behind Prince, snapped the leash on, turned and pulled him away. It took all my strength to get him out the kitchen door. Fortunately, Prince seemed to believe in “out of sight, out of mind.” Once we were in the dining room he gave up tugging, his tail began to wag, and in no time at all he was leading me outside.

  Alice was waiting on the front lawn. She’d seen us drive up and tried to tag along. Pinehurst hadn’t let her, which, in terms of endearing himself to her, probably ranked right up there with being willing to consider her a murder suspect.

  “What’s happening?” Alice said.

  “I have to walk Prince.”

  “I know you have to walk Prince. What’s happening with Florence?”

  “Let’s take a walk.” The Mclnnernys were on the porch, along with the two businessmen who might be gay—it occurred to me I had to learn their names so I could stop thinking of them like that. “Let’s get out of earshot, shall we?”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Worse.”

  I dropped the bombshell on her. Alice took it about as hard as I’d expected.

  “Florence’s husband had an affair with Christine Cobb?” she said, incredulously.

  “That’s right. Before the divorce too. The way Pinehurst tells it, Christine Cobb was responsible for breaking up the marriage.”

  “It doesn’t mean she killed her.”

  “No, but it sure looks bad. I mean, here she is, following the woman around.”

  “That has yet to be proved.”

  “Alice, what’s to prove? She follows them to New Hampshire, checks in at the same bed-and-breakfast.”

  “You don’t know she followed them,” Alice said. I could tell she was upset because she didn’t issue her usual disclaimer that the Blue Frog Ponds was really an inn.

  “What do you mean, I don’t know she followed them? She’s here.”

  “Yes, but she didn’t have to follow them. Maybe she’s just here.”

  “You mean it’s coincidence?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s too much
coincidence. If two people happen to vacation in the same place, that’s coincidence. When one of them hates the other, and the other one dies, that’s too much coincidence. You see what I mean?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You’ll recall she was also at Champney Falls.”

  “So?”

  “So? Here she is, dogging the woman’s footsteps, following her everywhere she went.”

  “But she didn’t follow her to Champney Falls. Don’t you remember? When we got to the top, she was already there.”

  “Yes, but so were they.”

  “Yes, but they passed us on the way up. Florence didn’t pass us on the way up. She and Prince were already there. Now, you have to admit that. Bad as you are with faces, you would have noticed if a woman had passed us with a dog.”

  “Fine. She didn’t pass us on the way up. But that doesn’t prove anything. Say Florence is following them. The minute they drive into the parking lot, she knows where they’re going. So she parks the car, and she and Prince go up the mountain. While they’re fussing with their gear. Or packing their backpacks. She goes on up and waits for them at the top.”

  “Why?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why would she do that. I mean, what does she plan to do to them at the top of Champney Falls?”

  “She didn’t have to have anything planned. If she’s an obsessive stalker, she just wants to be there. She can follow them for days before taking action.”

  “I think that’s stretching.”

  “Stretching? Alice. Pinehurst found the motive. Just who is stretching things here?”

  “Pinehurst found the connection. It doesn’t have to be the motive.”

  “So now we’re into semantics? Alice, look how far you have to go even to plead your case.”

  We had reached the road. Two figures coming back from the direction of town called out and waved their arms.

  “Uh-oh,” Alice said. “Jean and Joan. They’re gonna want to hear.”

  I knew they would. And I didn’t feel like going through it again. “You tell ’em,” I said. “I gotta put the dog away.”

  I headed for the Blue Frog Ponds. The Mclnnernys came down off the porch and cut me off.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Mclnnerny demanded.

  I was in no mood for them, either. “You know as much as I do,” I said.

  “Well, now, that can’t be true,” Johnny said. “We don’t know about the affair.”

  “The affair?”

  “Yeah. From what I hear, that woman was having an affair, and—Hey, watch that dog, willya?”

  Prince had started to sniff Johnny Mclnnerny’s crotch. A bad move if ever I saw one. I tugged him away, and he aimed at Mrs. Mclnnerny, with an unexpectedly fortuitous result. When she said, “Get that animal away from me,” I was happy to comply, and guided Prince in the front door.

  Lars was coming down the stairs. I had to admit, I’d forgotten all about him. The fact that he was there, I mean. The grieving boyfriend, former suspect. Living right there in the main building. But seeing him come down the stairs reminded me that, not only was Florence staying at the same bed-and-breakfast, she was right there on the same floor. The odds of winning the lottery began to appear better than the odds that this was just coincidence.

  While I was thinking that, Prince took off for the kitchen. He was still on his leash, but it didn’t mean anything except that he pulled me right through the dining room door. I stopped him, turned him around, and walked back out, just in time to see Lars leave by the front door.

  Prince and I went on up the stairs. When we reached the landing, I realized I didn’t have Florence’s room key. Pinehurst was gone, the door was closed, and I couldn’t get in. A fine state of affairs.

  Just on the off chance, I tried the knob, but of course it was locked.

  I looked ruefully at the door. Looking back at me was Fenwick Frog. Fenwick was a happy-go-lucky sort, depicted flipping a coin in the air, a là Cyd Charisse and Gene Kelly in the “Gotta Dance” number from Singin’ in the Rain. Looking at Fenwick Frog, one wouldn’t expect the occupant of his room to be in jail for murder.

  Florence’s room was number three. The door across from it was number four. They were the only two doors on the landing. So rooms one and two must have had a separate staircase.

  And room four must have been Christine Cobb’s.

  I looked at the door for no other reason than to check out her frog. Silly, I know, but I was curious. I wanted to know who the decedent’s frog was.

  It was Felicity.

  Felicity was a decidedly female frog, with a pink bow on her head, and long eyelashes. If you’ve never seen a frog with long eyelashes, it’s impossible to describe the effect. But trust me, this was one attractive frog.

  I swear I had not had the intention, and I don’t know what it was that possessed me, but I had just tried Florence’s doorknob and found it locked, and now unconsciously I found myself trying Christine’s.

  It was locked. Thank goodness. I mean, what was I thinking? Had it clicked open, what would I have done? Taken the dog in and let him sniff around? Somehow, I don’t think so. It had been a long day, I was tired, I was not thinking clearly, I needed to put the dog away and get out of there.

  I went downstairs, found Louise, asked her for the key. Tried to forestall the barrage of questions she wanted to ask me. Louise was naturally excited by the arrest. Not that she had anything against Florence, I’m sure, it was just the thrill of having her son in the clear.

  “It’s a relief,” she said. “You can’t imagine what a relief.”

  “I know how you feel.”

  “Do you? I don’t think so. Unless it’s your son, you just can’t know.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m glad it’s off your mind. Anyway, could I have the key?”

  “Yes, of course,” Louise said. She popped behind the desk, checked the board. “Let’s see, room three? No, it’s not here. That’s funny. There should be one here.”

  “There has to be,” I said. “The police were just there. I took out the dog.”

  “And they’re not still here?”

  “No. They’re gone. I was just up there. The door is locked.”

  “Then they must have the key,” Louise said. “They must have forgotten to turn it in.”

  “There’s only one key?”

  “No, there’s two. Florence has one.”

  “You mean both keys are at the police station? Great. So what do I do with the dog?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll give you a passkey.”

  “You have a passkey?”

  “Sure. For emergencies like this. Let’s see. Here it is. Just don’t lose it. And be sure to bring it back.”

  “Thank goodness,” I said. “He’s a nice dog and all that, but we hadn’t planned on keeping a dog, and he doesn’t really get along with the cat.”

  “No, Max isn’t big on dogs,” Louise said.

  I took the passkey upstairs, unlocked Florence’s door, and let Prince in.

  And remembered I had to feed him.

  His water and his bowl were on a newspaper near the bathroom door. Dry and canned dog food was on the floor beside it.

  Florence hadn’t told me how much to give him. I guess she must have had other things on her mind. I put dry food in the bowl, opened one of the cans, scooped about half of it out on top. Looked critically at Prince, added the other half.

  Prince was not one to stand on ceremony. While I was still filling the bowl he nosed his way in, and began chomping the dog food down,

  I stood up, looked for a place to get rid of the can. I rinsed it out in the sink, and put it in the wastebasket. I washed the spoon, put it back next to the canned food. Prince was still merrily chomping. I stood there and surveyed the room.

  What, if anything, had the police found? I had no idea. The room looked exactly as it had when we’d first entered it. There was no indication anyone had even been there.

  Oh, w
ell.

  I told myself it was for Florence’s own good. I went over to the dresser, began pulling out drawers.

  Found nothing. Just clothes.

  The closet yielded only more clothes and an empty suitcase.

  The bathroom only cosmetics.

  Nothing in the end table. Nothing under the bed. Nothing under the chair.

  Nothing.

  Had the police taken it?

  Taken what?

  The vial with the poison?

  Had I been reading too many mystery stories?

  No, there was nothing here. It was time to go.

  I debated turning out the light. Would Florence leave Prince in the dark? I figured she wouldn’t sleep with the light on. But she wouldn’t turn it off this early, either. I finally compromised by turning off the overhead light and leaving the bedside light on.

  Prince was still eating. Had I overfed him? The least of my worries.

  I let myself out, took out the passkey, and locked the door.

  Turned and looked.

  Across from me was Felicity Frog. She of the long eyelashes. She whose occupant was dead. One of whose occupants was dead. The other I’d seen going down the stairs.

  Had Lars come back? No, surely I would have heard him. Surely he was still gone. Surely the room was empty.

  The passkey. I held it in my hands. What Louise had described as a passkey.

  Uh-oh.

  Don’t be a fool.

  I walked to the door, put the passkey in the lock. It fit.

  Of course it fit. It was the passkey. That’s what they do.

  I turned it. The lock clicked back. I turned the doorknob, and the door opened. Had a moment of absolute panic that I hadn’t heard Lars come back, and when I opened the door he would be standing there.

  He wasn’t. The room was empty. I hesitated a moment, and stepped in.

  Next decision—did I close the door for privacy, or leave it open so I could hear him coming? I decided to leave it open. So I’d at least have a chance of getting out. Short of diving out of the second-story window.

  All right, enough thinking. This had to be done fast.

  I marched to the closet door, threw it open.

  Felt a pang. The clothes in the closet were largely hers. There were a jacket and pants that belonged to Lars, as well as a dress shirt. But mostly there were dresses, skirts, shirts, sunsuits, pullovers, and shorts that had belonged to Christine. Lars hadn’t packed them up, and why would he? Why would he want to, why would he care, and how could he bring himself to do it?