by Parnell Hall
I sprang from the deck chair, went out the gate and across the road. I was walking briskly across the lawn when I heard a jangling sound behind me. The next thing I knew something banged into me and knocked me down.
I instinctively rolled over, and put up my hands to protect myself from my assailant.
And felt something wet on my face.
Licking me.
A voice said, “Prince! Stop it, now!”
I blinked.
Reached up, grabbed his collar, pushed him off. Struggled to my feet.
It was Prince, all right.
And the person whose voice I’d heard, the woman who’d just stooped down to retrieve the leash, was Florence.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s just so excited to be out at night. And he really does take to you.”
I gawked at her, incapable of speech.
I was dimly aware of people approaching us. I looked around, saw Pinehurst and Sad Sack, followed by what appeared to be practically everyone.
Sad Sack was holding a plastic evidence bag. Inside was something white and bloody.
They marched straight up to Florence.
“Florence Baker,” Pinehurst said. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Clara Mclnnerny.”
31.
“WE HAVE HER dead to rights,” Pinehurst said. He didn’t seem particularly happy about it. He leaned back in his desk chair, took a sip of coffee.
Pinehurst and I were in the police station. Florence was in her jail cell, waiting for her lawyer to drive up from Boston. Or rather from someplace halfway between here and Boston—the lawyer had a car phone, and Florence had reached him on his way home. The lawyer had driven up earlier in the day and arranged for bail. Which was, of course, the real reason Pinehurst looked so grim. He’d fought vigorously against her release, only to have another murder occur not two hours later.
“There must be some mistake,” I said.
Pinehurst grimaced. “Yes, you would think that.”
“Can you tell me what you’ve got?”
“Might as well,” Pinehurst said. “She’s not talking until the lawyer gets here, and I doubt if she will even then.”
He jerked open his desk drawer, took out a plastic evidence bag. “What we’ve got are these. A pair of bloody gloves. We can match the blood type to the victim’s, then nail it down with DNA.”
“You’ve done that?”
“No, but we will. And it will match. Why? Because Christine Cobb was poisoned, and there is no other bloody crime it could be.”
“Which doesn’t mean it couldn’t be something else.”
Pinehurst put up his hand. “I don’t want to argue it. Odds are it will match. Even if it doesn’t, the woman gets out of jail, silences the prime witness against her.”
“What prime witness? Mrs. Mclnnerny didn’t know anything.”
“Ah, but she did.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s dead.”
“That’s circular logic, Chief. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe not to you, but it does to me. Anyway, she was snooping around. According to the busboy, Randy. She came around asking prying questions.”
“Indicating she was way off base.”
“Not really. Randy and Christine Cobb were having an affair. That information was accurate.”
“But irrelevant. And shows the woman was on the wrong track.”
“Yes, but she must have gotten on the right one, because she’s dead.”
“Fine,” I said. “You wanna tell me about the gloves.”
“I thought I did.”
“No, you just showed them to me. Where did you get them?”
“Oh, well, that’s the thing. They were in her wastebasket.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.”
“You arrested her on the basis of a pair of bloody gloves found in her wastebasket?”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Give me a break. Your theory is this woman went out and killed Mrs. Mclnnerny. She was smart enough to wear white gloves so she wouldn’t get blood on her hands. Then she’s dumb enough to leave the white gloves in her room?”
“Undoubtedly what her lawyer will argue.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“Everything bothers me. The stupidity defense—which is what you’re arguing—how could the woman be that stupid?—I don’t go for it. Criminals always do something stupid. I can’t go around apologizing for them.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “And the time element?”
“What about it?”
“How does that work out? Did Florence have time to kill this woman?”
“Absolutely,” Pinehurst said. “Her lawyer showed up right after I talked to you. He called ahead, had a judge waiting. Slapped me with a habeas corpus, told me release her or take her before a magistrate. The judge in question is off my Christmas list. He grants her bail, and she commits another murder.”
“Is there any possibility of an overlap?”
“What do you mean?”
“Any possibility Mrs. Mclnnerny was killed before Florence was released?”
“Not according to you.”
“Huh?”
“By your own statement you saw Mrs. Mclnnerny alive as late as eight-fifteen. She was out of here by then.”
“This works for you?”
“It works just fine. The Mclnnerny woman was a snoop. She stumbles on something that’s dangerous to the killer.”
“What about the murder weapon?”
“What about it?”
“Was it from the kitchen like you thought?”
“It appears to be. The chef admits it looks like his. Rather reluctantly, I might add. Of course, he still thinks he’s protecting his son. Plus, no one’s ever too eager to claim ownership of a murder weapon.”
“So your theory is the killer took the knife from the kitchen, which was unlocked?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then this might interest you.”
I told him about following Lucy and discovering the recipes.
“Interesting,” Pinehurst said. “Your wife told me she left during the movie. Your theory is she went out to make copies?”
“I think so. There’s a copier behind the front desk. I figure she went to the kitchen, got the things she needed to copy, went to the front desk, copied them, and went back to the movie.”
“And returned later to put them back?”
“Exactly.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I assume because of the crime.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean because Mrs. Mclnnerny was killed.”
“Oh, really?” Pinehurst said. “I was going to point out it seemed strange to me she’d bother to put them back with all that going on.”
“I can give you a theory.”
“By all means do.”
“I would say Lucy had no intention of putting the recipes back, and she would have gone home after the movie and brought them in tomorrow. When the body’s discovered, she hangs around like everybody else. So she’s hanging around with the copies in her purse. And she knows there’s going to be a police investigation. She doesn’t want to have to explain the copies, so she puts them back.”
Pinehurst frowned. “I suppose that could be it.”
“I can only think of one other explanation.”
“What’s that?”
“That she’s guilty of the crime. Of the murder, I mean. She left the movie, not to make copies, but to go to the kitchen, get the knife, and kill Mrs. Mclnnerny.” I shrugged. “Either that or it’s both.”
“Both?”
“Yes. Lucy goes to the kitchen to make copies. Mrs. Mclnnerny finds her, demands to know what she’s doing. She kills her to shut her up.”
“Over a bunch of recipes?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Not in my li
fetime. Not if you tie it in to the murder of Christine Cobb. Then you have two, separate, unrelated murders in one week at the Blue Frog Ponds, which I cannot credit. Or, Christine Cobb was also killed over these recipes. Which I credit even less, I’m very glad you told me this, however.”
“Why?”
“It makes talking to Lucy my next order of business. It wasn’t important when your wife told me. Not with Florence on the loose. Now she’s important, not as a suspect, but as a witness. If she really went to the kitchen when she left the movie, there are only three possibilities. The knife was taken before she got there. After she left there. Or while she was there. It becomes very important whether she saw that knife.”
“It’s also possible she saw the killer.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because she didn’t mention it. Everyone thought Florence was in jail. If Lucy had seen her, she’d have said so.”
“You’re assuming the killer is Florence.”
“Yes, I am.”
“If you’re wrong, and the killer was someone else, Lucy might have seen them and not have mentioned it.”
“I’ll certainly ask her. Not that a response is likely to vindicate the suspect. Still, if anyone was prowling around, I would certainly like to know.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Might I ask if you’ve pursued any other avenues that might tend to vindicate the suspect?”
“Such as?”
“How about the phone call?”
“The phone call?”
“Yes. Your phone call to me. Someone listened in on the line. That person obviously wasn’t Florence, because she was in jail at the time. So, are you assuming that was Mrs. Mclnnerny?”
“It would seem likely.”
“Maybe so, but have you any positive indication that it was?”
“Only that after dinner she began snooping around.”
“By that you mean talking to Randy. Aside from that, the only indication she was snooping around is the fact she wound up dead. Or is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, that’s really all I have.”
“What did Randy say?”
“Just what you’d expect. Mrs. Mclnnerny wanted to know about him and Christine Cobb.”
“And that’s all?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did she ask about anything else?”
“Not according to him. Of course, the boy’s not particularly forthcoming. Just getting him to admit she was there at all was like pulling teeth.”
“But he admits she was asking about him and Christine Cobb?”
“Rather grudgingly. And only when specifically asked.”
“Did you specifically ask about anything else?”
“Like what?”
“Did you ask him about drugs?”
“Drugs?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Well, wouldn’t that be a logical question? I mean, if we’re taking the premise Mrs. Mclnnerny began snooping because of the phone call, the phone call was about drugs.”
“True.”
“You didn’t ask him about that?”
“It’s a side issue.”
I smiled. “You’ll pardon me, but that’s never stopped you before.”
“I admit to taking great pains to see which suspect to arrest. Having made that determination, I do not hesitate to act on it.”
“I suppose that’s commendable. But just on the off chance that you’re wrong, you want to follow this thought process through? If Mrs. Mclnnerny overheard our conversation, and started snooping because of it, then we both agree Randy was the wrong track. She got on the right track and she got killed. Well, that conversation she overheard was about drugs. They were Lars Heinrick’s drugs. So, if she got on the right track, it would lead to Lars Heinrick, and not Florence.”
“Yes, but how would she know?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How would she know that? About Lars Heinrick, I mean. She didn’t find out from our phone conversation. I am rather careful talking on the phone. I am sure I didn’t mention his name.”
“You mentioned Delmar Hobart’s.”
“That I did. And if you would like to point out to me how Mrs. Mclnnerny could trace the drugs from Delmar Hobart to Lars Heinrick, I would be delighted to listen. She overheard the phone call during dinner, right after dinner she’s out talking to Randy, right after that she gets killed. Now, how did she manage to track this down? Even if Delmar Hobart is listed in the phone book—I’m not sure he is, but let’s say so just for the sake of argument—well, then she gets him on the phone, says, ‘Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you, but could you tell me just who you sold drugs to at the Blue Frog Ponds?’” Pinehurst shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t fly.”
“You wanna make the connection to Florence work?”
“I don’t have to. The connection is there. The woman’s a busybody, she’s snooping around. In the course of her investigations what does she find? The person the police have accused of the crime. You think she’s not going to ask some probing questions? Maybe insinuate she knows something the police might like to know?”
“That’s all speculation. You’re making it up.”
“Yes, but it’s certainly logical.”
“Maybe so. Tell me something, Chief. Aside from the bloody gloves, is there anything to connect Florence to the crime?”
“You mean aside from the fact it was committed to cover up another crime I have her dead to rights on?” Pinehurst’s smile managed to seem both smug and pained. “No, probably not.”
32.
THE NEXT MORNING we did not hike. Alice woke up with a severe headache, and right after breakfast she went back to bed. Not that we would have hiked in any case. What with everything that had happened, no one was in the mood. Nonetheless, there I was, on a beautiful sunny morning, with a sick wife, and nothing to do.
Except walk the dog. With Florence back in jail, that duty had once again fallen on me. After breakfast I got the passkey from the desk, went up to the room, and let him out.
He nearly knocked me down again, but this time I saw him coming. I was able to sidestep him, grab his collar, and attach the leash. He actually pulled me down the stairs in his eagerness to get out the door.
We walked everywhere. Around the grounds, along the road, and down to the stream.
Randy was there, sitting on a rock. I gave Prince his head, let him pull me along. He bounded to the rock, dog tags jangling, looked up at the boy.
“Hi,” I said. “How you doing?”
As usual, Randy didn’t answer.
“It must be rough,” I said, “to have this happen on top of everything else.”
“A lot you care,” Randy said.
“Huh?”
“You’re the one who told him. Again. You told him again.”
Randy was right, of course. I’d told Pinehurst about seeing him with Mrs. Mclnnerny. Just like I’d told Pinehurst about seeing him with Christine. I’d seen him with both of the victims. Reported it to the police. It was a little much.
But totally irrelevant.
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “No one thinks you did it. No one suspects you of either crime. It’s just you happen to be the last person to see Mrs. Mclnnerny alive. Usually that’s suspicious to a cop, but not in this case, because he’s already made an arrest. Yes, you’re important, but as a witness, not a suspect. Don’t you understand?”
“Sure, I understand. They let that woman out of jail. The woman who killed Christine. And what does she do, she kills someone else. Is that supposed to make me happy, that it wasn’t me? Well, guess what? This is not big news. I knew it wasn’t me.”
“What if it wasn’t her?”
“What?”
“What if it wasn’t her, either? What if the woman happens to be innocent?”
“You trying to pin this on me?”
“Not at all. I’m trying to keep you out of it. But if the case against Florence blows up, the police will pick on you. I’d like to head that off. I promised your mother. Besides, the person who did this should pay. The police think they know who did it. They’re not going to look any further. I am. So I put it to you. Do you want the killer caught?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“That’s not silly. You might have reasons to want the killer to get away.”
“Oh, yeah? Why would I want that?”
“What if it was someone you knew?”
“It isn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then you must want the killer caught.”
Randy refused to dignify that with an answer.
“If you do, help me.”
He didn’t answer that either. I let it lay there, waited him out.
After a while he said, “How?”
“Tell me about Mrs. Mclnnerny. When she called on you last night, what did she want?”
“What do you think?”
“Yes, I know. You and Christine. I don’t care about that. I mean aside from that. Did she mention anything else?”
“Like what?”
“You tell me. What did she ask about?”
“Nothing,” Randy said.
But his eyes shifted.
I shook my head. “Randy, you’re no good at this. Every time you lie, I can tell. And if I can tell, the police can tell. Did you lie to Chief Pinehurst when he asked you?”
Randy looked away, refused to answer. I could see him set his jaw.
“Right. You didn’t tell him anything. Because he didn’t ask you. He asked you about Christine Cobb. And that’s what you told him. Mrs. Mclnnerny wanted to know about Christine Cobb. So that’s all you talked about. With Pinehurst, I mean. The other subject never came up.
“And you weren’t going to bring it up, were you?” I smiled, lobbed it out there. “It’s hard to talk to a policeman about drugs.”
Bingo.
Bull’s-eye.
Randy’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. He turned and stared at me as if I were some weirdo psychic who could read his mind.
