The Body in the Bouillon ff-3

by Katherine Hall Page

  Eight

  Leandra Rhodes was almost late for dinner. Her husband, Merwin, was in town meeting an old classmate at the Harvard Club, and she'd been struggling with the zipper on the back of her dress for ten minutes. She refused to give in and finally pulled it up triumphantly with the aid of a safety pin and a long piece of string. She hurried out of her room and stopped for a moment at the top of the stairs to catch her breath. She put her hand out and stroked the smooth banister. She doubted whether there were many craftspeople left, even in New England, who could carve such a spiral. But it wouldn't do to dilly-dally now, and she looped the pocketbook that never left her side securely over her arm and started down.

  Down, Down, Down. Tumbling down until she came to dead stopin a heap at the bottom.

  “I don't like it. Sure it's possible that an old lady in a rush to get to dinner could trip over the pocketbook she's dropped, and fall down the stairs all by herself, but it's the timing. Too much going on at that place.”

  Faith agreed with Detective Dunne, who had just called to tell her about Leandra's accident the night before.

  “Leandra was not the type of lady who trips. She would never put a foot wrong, literally or figuratively. Has she been able to say anything about what happened?"

  “No, it's a miracle she's even alive. She's in the intensive care unit over at Mass General and hasn't regained consciousness."

  “Of course, if it wasn't an accident, it means she was pushed, which is a horrible thought. And why would anyone want to hurt her?”

  Faith imagined Bootsie Brennan might have entertained less than charitable thoughts about Leandra from time to time, but as a sparring partner Leandra was without equal, and on some level Bootsie must have recognized that. Besides, noxious as she was, Bootsie didn't seem like the type of woman who attempts murder—unless it was for a very good reason, like someone maligning her son. All these types. It reminded Faith of those old Peck and Peck ads, "There's a certain kind of woman who ..." She and her friends at Dalton had had fun making up all sorts of lewd and, to eleven-year-olds, hysterical endings contrary to the image presented of the woman who chairs a meeting of the SEC but also bakes the best angel food cake in the neighborhood.

  “All these types." Faith realized she was saying it out loud.

  “What's that?" Dunne asked.

  “I was just thinking about the cast of characters we're assembling."

  “Look, why don't you go up again today and see what's in the wind? I'll try to come by your house later this afternoon.”

  Faith had been planning to go to Hubbard House anyway and was happy to have the official blessing.

  “Fine," she replied. "I'll see you later.”

  She broke the news to Tom and set off on her familiar route. The snow hadn't melted much, and it was getting dirty only by the side of the road. If you looked beyond, it was still like a scene from the top of a fruitcake tin.

  Faith walked into the kitchen and headed for the closet to get an apron. Mrs. Pendergast was stirring a huge pot of milk on the stove.

  “Cup custard. That's the kind of thing they'll want today."

  “Comfort food?" Faith remarked.

  Mrs. P. patted her waist. "To me most food could be called that, but that's right. Nice, soothing food. Nothing complicated. Now say hello to Mrs. Fairchild, Gladys." She called over her shoulder.

  Faith hadn't noticed that there was another person in the kitchen. A cheerful-looking, middle-aged woman, her hair imprisoned in a hairnet guarded by several dozen bobby pins, came bustling over with her hand outstretched.

  “Glad to meet you. I hear you really held down the fort while I was sick. Feel fine now, but was I bad. I think I had all those flus at once—Hong Kong, Taiwan, whatever. Sick as a dog. Couldn't keep a mouthful down for over a week. I tell you—”

  Faith wasn't sure she wanted to be told. "It's very nice to meet you. I was happy I could help." She looked at Mrs. Pendergast a bit wistfully. "I suppose you won't be needing me anymore, Violet." The name came easily.

  Violet put an arm around Faith's shoulder while she continued to stir her custard. "Now, Faith, Gladys and I will manage. It's been a real pleasure to get to know you, and you come up whenever you want. I expect you need some time now to do all the things you should have been doing while you were here. Now, scoot and we'll see you Friday night."

  “Friday night?"

  “The Christmas party. It's lots of fun. And I'd say we could all use a little about now."

  “I'll try to come. It depends on what my husband's commitments are. This is a busy time for him."

  “Of course, but just come for a moment. I'm making all my specialties.”

  Faith wasn't sure how much of an incentive Violet's specialties were—probably confections from the trusty cookbook like peanut penuche, marsh- mallow tea cookies, and mosaic finger sandwiches, besides all the regular Christmas favorites like nut balls—these last unknown to Faith until a parishioner had offered her one last Christmas saying ingenuously, "Have a nut ball? They're my husband's and they're delicious.”

  She wandered upstairs in search of Julia Cabot. She'd talk to her, then get home before lunch. Tom would be pleased. What was in the wind was boiled dinner, and she didn't think she'd add to her knowledge of what was going on at Hubbard House by eating there. It would be more productive to sit down with John later and go over everything they knew so far—and she was pretty sure there was a lot he hadn't shared. Plus she had something to tell him too. She'd figured out a motive for the attack on Leandra.

  It was possible that Leandra had dropped her pocketbook as she hastened to dinner, then lost her balance as she reached down to pick it up from the stair. But it was more likely that someone had grabbed the purse from her arm and pushed her. It would have been the only way to get it and its contents. Faith realized the unfortunate relevance of Leandra's kleptomania now. She had taken something that incriminated someone, and that person was prepared to murder again to get it back. Leandra never let the old black calfskin satchel—circa 1952, a testament to the importance of buying quality merchandise—out of her sight. It would have been too risky to try to get it at night with her husband in bed by her side, nor could the killer do what everyone else did, which was to ask Merwinfor whatever they were missing. "Have you happened to see my fountain pen lying around?”

  So the murderer had to be someone who was at Hubbard House both nights. It was slim, but it was the only thing that made sense so far.

  Faith decided to call Tom and tell him she would pick Ben up. Humming a few bars of "Deck Us All with Boston Charlie," her Pogo-loving father's favorite carol, she pushed open the door of Sylvia Vale's office. Muriel was on the phone.

  “Now, James, you've got to go—" She looked up, startled. "I'll have to get back to you on that, I'm afraid. Why don't you give me a number where you can be reached?" She jotted the number on a pad. "Thank you very much. I'll call you as soon as I can. Good-bye." She hung up. Her cheeks were flushed. She tore the paper from the pad and pushed it into her pocket.

  “I'm sorry to be interrupting," Faith said. "I wanted to use the phone, but I can find another one."

  “Oh no, you're not interrupting at all. Just one of those hospital supply salesmen. They're so persistent. How are you, Mrs. Fairchild?"

  “I'm fine, but I'm sorry to say this is my last day at Hubbard House. The kitchen staff is back in full force."

  “Oh, yes, I heard Gladys was better. We're terribly grateful to you for pitching in, and I hope you'll join us on Friday for the Christmas party here."

  “I'm going to try to come for at least a little while. I remember the last time I saw Farley, you were talking about it."

  “Yes." Muriel's face darkened. "I miss Farley. It's always a problem with this job. You get so fond of people and then they go. But, of course, you will be back to see us often, I hope."

  “Of course."

  “I'll leave you to your call, then. See you Friday."


  “Oh," Faith remembered as she was leaving, "I was sorry to hear about Leandra Rhodes' fall. Have you heard how she is getting on? And Mrs. Hubbard too?"

  “It has been a dreadful week," Muriel said, obviously not a woman prone to exaggeration even when life around her was. "Charmaine is fine. Donald took her for X rays, but we don't have good news about Leandra. She's still in danger."

  “Oh dear," Faith said.

  “Perhaps we'll have better news by Friday." Little Muriel Sunshine brightened and left, closing the door behind her.

  Left to go call James back, Faith thought. She took a pencil from the desk and drew lightly across the impression made on the rest of the pad when Muriel had written the telephone number on the top sheet. Faith had seen Cary Grant do it in North by Northwest about sixty times, and she was pleased to find it worked just as well for her as it did for him. She'd have to hope James was not holed up in Mount Rushmore or its equivalent.

  Then she called Tom and left a message with the parish secretary. She'd wait until she got home to try to find James. The Hubbard House office was all too public.

  Julia Cabot was not one of the people whilingaway the time before lunch reading m front of the fire in the living room. Faith remembered that she had said she was still working, but it might not be every day. There was a list of room and cottage numbers in the office by the phone, and Faith returned to see where the Cabots were. Number 20 in Nathaniel's house. She walked back to the staircase. It was hard to climb, knowing that Leandra had so recently made her descent here. Faith tried to block the picture from her mind of the old lady falling helplessly down the stairs, a well-groomed, well-bred rag doll.

  Faith was glad to reach the corridor and soon found number 20, in the front of the house. She knocked on the door, which was immediately opened by Julia. "Why, Faith, how nice to see you. Please come in. Can you join us for lunch?"

  “No, thank you, I have to pick Benjamin up soon. I just wanted to stop and say good-bye. The kitchen is up to full muster again.”

  Faith entered the room. It was large and partially divided by open shelves that were filled with Staffordshire figures. One side of the room was furnished as a living room with beautiful antiques. On the other side Faith glimpsed an IBM PC perched on top of an ornate Louis XIV desk. Julia followed her gaze.

  “It is a little mismatched, obviously. But it means I can work at home when I want to. And the china is a passion we share, although I think Ellery mostly likes to use it as an excuse to go to England." She glanced fondly at her husband, who had been sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair by the window reading the paper. A pretty little tree decorated with small colored lights and blown-glass ornaments was at his side. He'd sprung to his feet as Faith came in.

  “I'm sorry you're leaving," Julia continued, "but I'm sure we'll see each other again. You and your husband."

  “We'd like that."

  “But do sit down for a moment, can you?"

  “Yes," urged Ellery, indicating a chair. "Come here by the window. The view is splendid.”

  Faith walked toward him. "I do have time to stay a few minutes.”

  The view was wonderful, and Faith had a sudden desire to see what the fields and woodlands in front of her looked like with each season. In her other life she had been more than content to chart the changing solstices and equinoxes by Bergdorf's window displays. If she wasn't careful, she'd soon be taking long walks and starting a life list of birds.

  “I suppose you've heard the terrible news about our friend Leandra Rhodes," Ellery commented.

  “Yes," said Faith. "It's hard to imagine how such a thing could have happened.”

  Ellery shook his head. "Fortunately she has a very strong constitution. Never known her to be ill a day in her life, and we have to pray it will carry her through."

  “Darling," Julia said, "would you mind going to get the mail? I'm expecting A rather important letter.”

  There was no question. Julia wanted to get her husband out of the room. He looked at her curiously and went.

  “Not too subtle, I'm afraid, but it upsets Ellery to hear about all this, and that is why you came to talk to me, isn't it?”

  Julia was wearing a red cashmere sweater and well-cut charcoal-gray pants. She crossed one leg elegantly over the other and folded her hands loosely in her lap. She looked more likely to be about to discuss the latest play at the Loeb or Ozawa's last performance—or from the look of her trim figure, the best time to go to Canyon Ranch—than murder.

  “Yes, it is. You said the other day that Eddie Russell's murder would be a complicated one to solve. I wondered if you were thinking of something specific."

  “You're working for the police, aren't you?" Julia said.

  Faith's mother, Jane Sibley, was a lawyer too, yet Julia's manner, though equally direct, didn't have the same effect on Faith. Tête-à-têtes like this with Mom usually resembled the talking-tos of Faith's childhood. She had often wondered if it was why Jane was so successful in court. The old "Can you look me straight in the eye and say that" approach. Nevertheless, Faith felt compelled to answer Julia truthfully.

  “I'm not really working for them, but I do know Detective Lieutenant Dunne, who's in charge of the investigation, and I've told him some of my impressions of Hubbard House. That doesn't mean that I have to tell him everything you choose to tell me." Faith spoke reassuringly. "Unless I confess I did it."

  “You're one of the few people who have an unbreakable alibi. You and your husband. Both of you knew I was sleeping in the guest room."

  “That's true. But I did want to kill Eddie. Many times. Fortunately—or unfortunately—I also believe in a few higher things that prevented me from acting on my impulses." Julia spoke very matter-of-factly. Faith didn't want to interrupt her train of thought and kept silent.

  “Do you know that Eddie was a blackmailer?" Julia asked. Faith nodded.

  Julia leaned back in her chair. "I don't know why it should seem so much worse to blackmail elderly people than another age group. It's the same crime. Yet somehow, preying on people who are at the ends of their lives does strike me as more reprehensible. They don't have time to recover. I know of three people Eddie was blackmailing here and I don't doubt there were others. You might be able to guess who one of them is—Merwin Rhodes. Eddie knew about Leandra's habit. When Eddie first approached him, Merwin confided in Ellery. Ellery has been his lawyer for years. Poor Merwin. He was afraid the knowledge would get beyond Hubbard House. People here have always been very understanding. Eddie was talking about telling the head of the Pink Ladies, Mrs. Brennan. Merwin feared she would insist that Leandra resign as head of the Residents' Council, and Leandra loves being in charge. He also thought thepapers might pick it up and make sport with it—'Brahmin Deb Turns to Pilfering in Old Age'—that sort of thing. Ellery advised him not to pay, but he did. He said it wasn't much money."

  “And the others?"

  “One of the others got out of it by dying. It was a man named Jim Keiller, a Scot, and very keen on golf. He and Eddie played together often and became friends. Eddie introduced him to a very nice, sympathetic young lady and then revealed she was a prostitute. Eddie had some naughty pictures and threatened to hang them on the bulletin board by the mailboxes downstairs."

  “How did you find out about it?"

  “After Jim died, a man who was here for only a short period of time told me."

  “Not Howard Perkins!" Faith gasped.

  “Why, yes, did you know him?" Julia was clearly puzzled.

  “That's how all this started. He was a friend of my aunt's and wrote to her just before he died that he was uneasy about something that was going on here. She got in touch with me."

  “And you turned up in the kitchen."

  “Exactly."

  “I knew Howard years ago when I was first practicing law in New York. The ad agency he worked for was one of our clients. We were very surprised to find each other here. He was a dear man."

  �
��Yes," agreed Faith, "and a smart one. After Jim Keiller told him what Eddie was doing to him, he may have found out about some others."

  “That's possible, yes."

  “And who's the third?" Faith had a feeling she knew.

  “Me. Or I should say Ellery.”

  Faith had been prepared for what Julia was going to say. The whole conversation had had confessional undertones. Now she waited to hear what Eddie could possibly have unearthed about this nice couple.

  “Eddie had a kind of sixth sense for certain kinds of behavior. Perhaps because he was so weak himself, he knew how to ferret out others' weaknesses. It was as if he was tuned in to some sort of special world cable channel broadcasting signals that indicated who would want to have an affair, who wanted to use a particular drug, or who wanted to look at smut. Because he was scum, he only saw the same.”

  This was interesting and morally uplifting, Faith thought, but it wasn't telling.

  “Ellery has always had a bad back. Disc trouble, and when the pain is too excruciating, he takes codeine. A year ago he developed a mild addiction to it, and I made the mistake of getting some from Eddie. I knew Dr. Hubbard was monitoring Ellery's drug intake carefully, and I couldn't get an increase from him. Ellery was begging me for more of the drug. It was incredibly stupid, but I was tired and strung out myself from taking care of Ellery. After it was all over, Eddie demanded payment. I had a choice." Julia's lip curled. "I could pay in cash or in kind. I suppose at my age he meant me to be flattered."

  “What a creep!" The last vestiges of any sympathy she had entertained for Eddie slipped silently away.

  “I didn't agree, though. Frankly, I told him to go fuck himself, because it was the only sex he was going to get—with me anyway. But I couldn't tell Roland without revealing Ellery's problem, and that was not my story to tell. He would not have been able to stay here if he'd thought Roland, who has been his close friend all these years, knew. He is very ashamed. Of course Eddie couldn't tell Roland either without revealing how he knew. If he told anyone else, I planned to deny the whole thing. I started watching him very carefully and told him if he didn't stop his activities, I'd go to Dr. Hubbard. This was last month."