by Tyler Colins
“Of course I can, but it'll cost you.”
I could see the guy flashing a dazzling white buffoonish grin at everyone in the vicinity before swinging sneakered feet onto a desk and slurping a can of club soda. Three of the station's notorious gossipmongers claimed he'd been kicked in the head with size twelve cleats. Two sometimes gossipmongers claimed he'd gotten whacked with a Titleist wedge. My take? Margarita Boy had drunk one too many of those tart tequila cocktails and sucked on one too many cheap cigars.
“Doesn't it always?”
“Hey, babe, that hurts.”
I bit my tongue, offered a chuckle that probably sounded as fake as it felt, and ran down what I was looking for. It probably wasn't the wisest thing to do – asking Ger to conduct actual research – but maybe it wouldn't hurt. He'd have a chance to use some brain cells (if there were any left).
“You're looking wide awake and ready to tackle the day,” Percival commented across the table before forking fluffy eggs between his lips.
“The workout equaled five espressos,” I said cheerfully, stirring milk into a mug with a character resembling Count Chocula on it and taking a surreptitious glance around to see if any eyes were peering merrily around a corner or through a window.
“Gawd, you're actually eating,” Rey groused, semi-staggering into the room. She was dressed in black jeans, black Roslynn UGGs (same as mine), and a cashmere fern-green turtleneck that would have offset her eyes quite nicely if they hadn't been bloodshot.
“The frittatas are delicious.” Prunella beckoned my cousin to the chair beside her.
“Ugh. I'll just have some java.” She plunked herself down and gazed from one face to another, as if attempting to recollect who each one belonged to and why they were here at the table. She gulped back Linda's coffee, sighed deeply, and nearly smiled. “Any more news on our weird lawyer?”
“Our weird dead lawyer,” Linda said, eyeing her empty cup with a frown.
“There hasn't been any word,” Jensen responded, spreading something resembling mushroom paté on a thick slice of white bread. I'd half expected him to request Marmite.
Rey's brow puckered and she watched Beatrice carry in a bone china coffeepot. “Are we still expected to stay, considering?”
“Yes Miss Fonne-Werde. 'Regardless of what may occur', so our mistress stipulated.” The maid offered a near smile. What an interesting if not unnerving voice she had: a hint of an Ingrid Bergman accent coupled with a Humphrey Bogart timber. The maid refilled more cups and did her lumbering thing across the room, leaving a whisper of rosewater behind.
“Let's hope no one else suffers a fatal accident,” Jensen said with a dry smile.
“What 'accident'? The man was murdered!” Rey was being melodramatic again.
“Come now, young lady –”
“He was murdered!”
Jensen's haunted look was replaced by one of amusement.
“Did anyone hear any singing last night?” Adwin asked, attempting to navigate the conversation into less choppy waters.
“I did, I think.” Rey frowned and peered into her cup as if its steaming contents would confirm her uncertainty. “A happy-go-lucky kind of song. Remember, Linda? You were coming out of the washroom when I mentioned it?”
Hadn't Linda said Rey was passed out? “Was that before or after you complained about the spins and hung your head out the window?” she smirked.
“Fun-nny gir-rl.”
“Now that you mention it, I remember thinking someone had the radio on too loud, but it wasn't on for long, so I turned my attention elsewhere.” Prunella looked at her brother. “Perc, do you recall? You'd been staring out the window and talked about hot cocoa.”
Brother and sister shared a bedroom? How gruesome.
“I didn't hear anything,” the brother responded, the barest crinkling of his forehead suggesting he was perturbed.
What was he staring at out the window? Did it matter?
“What's on the agenda for today?” Prunella asked, pushing her empty plate forward, and starting to finger the bird pendant. “Surely we aren't expected to sit and eat all day?”
“We're not allowed to leave the estate, but that doesn't mean we can't stroll through it. It wouldn't hurt to get fresh air while the weather's still decent.” I replied lightheartedly. I motioned the necklace. “That's most interesting. Is it … a vulture?”
“Why yes. How perceptive,” she twittered.
“It looks old.”
“It's eighteenth-century and belonged to Detlef Huhnfuss, a very wealthy and rather loopy baron who'd been known for elaborate week-long soirees,” Percival explained. “We were quite fortunate to have found it – at a decent price – while in Bavaria twenty years ago. Prunella loves it so much, she's rarely without it.”
“It's my lucky charm,” she grinned, slapping his hand gently. “Just like you.”
“Didn't the baron have at least six huge estates with large, intricate mazes?” Linda asked.
“He had eight and they did indeed have large mazes – outdoors and in,” Prunella nodded. “He loved puzzles and riddles, and parties and galas where hide-n-seek was one of the major 'events'.”
“Didn't he jump off a bell tower?”
“I believe he flew.” She twittered again. “He thought he could fly like an eagle.”
“Or a vulture,” Linda said flatly. “Loopy was right.”
Rey agreed. “Now, how about we check out the property? I'm in.”
“That'll kill three hours if we're lucky,” Linda murmured. “Okay, I'm in, too.”
“Great. We can hunt for clues while we're at it.”
“Clues?” Percival.
“To who and what killed Thomas Saturne.”
“We're back to that, are we?” Jensen.
Rey sniffed. “Someone offed him. Who agrees? Hands up!”
Linda and I exchanged glances and raised ours. Jensen's remained on his cup, Percival's on his fork, May-Lee's on the table, and Adwin's under his chin. Prunella's partially raised limp hand resembled a spent tulip drooping in a breezeless, arid afternoon.
“My dear, you do realize that by suggesting murder you're also suggesting that one of us is the killer.” Jensen's smile was a cross between sour and smug.
Prunella's hand flopped. “I don't think I like that.”
“It could be one of the servants,” Rey pointed out, “or someone hidden away in the house. I never meant to imply it was one of us.”
Cousin Reynalda had never been one to think things through.
“I think I like that even less.” Prunella gazed worriedly at her brother and picked nervously at the pendant. “Good Lord, what if she's right? What if it's one of the servants? Who's to say we won't be poisoned next? Or even worse maybe, what if there's a lunatic lurking in the cellar or leering through a wall?”
“Listen, if Thomas Saturne was murdered, and that's a big 'if', he was killed by someone who had specifically targeted him.” Adwin's voice was as silky as one of his double cream puddings and he took her hand as gently as if it were a Grand Marnier souffle. “If his killer is sitting here, he or she had personal grounds for doing the man in. If the killer is someone outside this little group, he or she has got to be long gone. Look, no one else has been killed. No one's been threatened, have they?”
We all shook our heads.
“Then let's not get panicky. We don't even know for sure that it was murder, do we?
We're getting overly theatrical,” he gazed sternly at Rey, “and assuming the most sensational scenario possible. The man had a rash. He more than likely had an allergic reaction to something he ate or something he came in contact with. Maybe it took a while to get into his system before it killed him. Or he had a simple heart attack. Unless the police tell us differently, let's not assume things. Now, we've got a few more days here. Let's simply go with the flow.” My beau's smile was as serene as his tone. The apprehension that had started to cloak the breakfast party like a heavy cerement
began to lift.
“Let's confirm you're right,” Rey challenged, suddenly bright-eyed and awake. “Let's check out his room and belongings –”
“The police already did that,” Prunella pointed out.
“They checked out what they believed belonged to a man who'd died of natural causes, not someone they believed had met foul play.” Good old melodramatic Rey.
But she had a point. Maybe they'd not been a thorough as they might have been had Thomas Saturne received a bullet or dagger between those eerily darksome eyes.
“What can it hurt?” I asked, draining my tea and standing. “It might be fun – like one of those Aunt Mat's dinner-mystery weekends I've heard so much about.”
“She did have spectacular ones,” Percival nodded, smiling in recollection. “The one with the captain and the mermaid – ah, well, yes.” He cleared his throat and stood. “I'm in!”
And one by one we filed upstairs.
8
Surprise, Surprise
Rey took the lead and assigned everyone something specific to search. I got the carved maple armoire in the far corner, Adwin the Queen Anne maple highboy, Prunella the small adjoining bathroom, Linda the closet, Percival the three-drawer night tables and four-poster bed, Jensen the compartment chest and small kidney-shaped writing desk. May-Lee got the nooks and crannies while, for herself, Rey chose the worn leather luggage and attaché case. Gauging from the animated expressions on everyone's faces, the little game would prove an enjoyable timewaster.
The armoire doors were heavy and stuck, and when I finally managed to force them open, I jumped upon seeing a distorted reflection in a long narrow mirror behind the left door. Inside hung three ugly suits, three beige shirts, a taupe polo shirt, a navy wool sweater, and a mocha cablestitch turtleneck. Nothing save a clean hanky, some coins, and a number of folded and bent business cards were to be found in the pockets of the various articles of clothing that smelled faintly of peppermint and perspiration.
“In addition to the usual toiletries, there are large bottles of Tylenol, Pepto, and Immodium, and a bottle of prescription medication,” Prunella announced when she stuck her head into the room. “Quinapril.” She popped back into the bathroom.
“There's a man who likes to be prepared for any contingency,” I said to Adwin, whose head was buried in a bottom drawer. “Did you find something of interest, sugar loaf?”
“Cream puff, would you have expected him to be the sort of man who,” he pulled out a pair of yellow-and-green polka-dot boxer shorts, “wears these?”
“We all have our secret sides,” Linda giggled, peering over from the closet. She held up racing forms and two Kinky Friedman books.
“More of same,” Jensen murmured, looking bemused as he held up a copy of Horse Illustrated. “Also found: numerous cheap pens and several small notepads. None used.” He returned to the chest.
“This guy was more than a man of many moods,” I said.
“Many moony moods,” Linda said, stepping back into the closet.
Adwin looked at her, then me, and crossed his eyes.
“There's nothing here,” Percival sighed, looking disappointed. Plopping onto a rumpled bed, he casually patted and poked folded wool blankets.
“Did you check underneath the bed? Bugbears have been known to hide there,” I said with a grin and turned back to a pile of socks in a bottom drawer. The man of “moony moods” had an overabundance of argyles. The word weird didn't do him justice.
Percival's shriek startled me and I slammed my head against an armoire door.
Prunella raced into the center of the room, her face as white as an Easter Lily, bumping into Linda and Rey, who'd done the same – raced and bumped, that is.
“Keee-rist,” Percival exhaled, standing shakily and pointing at the bed.
We all looked, but weren't too eager to get an extreme close-up of what he'd discovered. From where we stood, it was clear enough what had been curled within the covers: a rattler. A Sidewinder to be precise.
“What do we do?” Percival asked under his breath.
“Kill it,” Prunella hissed, “before it kills us.”
“And which one of us is going to do that?” demanded Rey.
“Well, don't look at me,” Prunella puffed.
Noticing it hadn't moved or made any odd sounds, I slipped forward slowly.
Adwin's eyes widened, as did Rey's, but no one spoke.
I passed Percival. Eyes the color of Wildwood beach sand held a glazed look and a grimace pulled at lips shaped like those old-time bright red waxy jobs nowadays found at specialty candy stores.
I peered closely at our legless comatose friend. “It's stuffed!” Apparently it had encountered the same talented taxidermist the creatures in the large formal dining room had. The Sidewinder looked very lifelike and very frightening, enough to cause a heart attack under the right circumstances. Why was it here? To make sure that if poison didn't work, its scaly scary presence did?
“I could do with fresh air.” Prunella looked distraught.
“We all could,” her brother agreed. “I say we take a long walk and clear our heads and collect our thoughts.” His smile almost came across as cheery. “Put on your hiking shoes, scarves, and gloves everyone. Last person in the foyer has to instruct Porter to stuff the mushrooms – and not with crab!”
I glanced at Adwin, who glanced at Linda, who shrugged. We dashed from the room.
* * *
Adwin took my hand as we rounded a toppled fountain. “It's a pretty decent-sized property.”
“Four acres, give or take,” Percival said. “It used to be much bigger, but parcels were sold off over the decades.”
He and his sister were alongside us, Rey and Linda ahead, Jensen and May-Lee behind. We had dressed appropriately for the day: jeans, thick sweaters under heavy jackets, decent walking shoes or boots, and hats, gloves and/or scarves. It had gotten much colder since yesterday and even colder since early this morning. The mist that had veiled the area last night had disappeared before dawn. Considering all that had transpired, everyone appeared in relatively good spirits, but then a lemon sun, the crisp smells of fall, and the tranquility of a countryside afternoon could do the soul good. A distant train rumbled and sounded, a couple of horns honked like cross Canada geese, and a trio of playful dogs raced along a neighbor's property line.
“Too bad it's gone to seed,” Rey said over her shoulder.
“Gone to seed?” Percival laughed. “My dear girl, it bloody well always looks like this.” With each passing hour, the man was sounding more and more artificially British.
My cousin stopped in her tracks and turned. “You're joking?”
“Not in the least. The Moones have always had eclectic tastes.” He laughed again and motioned her onward, down a winding fine-pebbled path that lead to the rear of the property. Wizened shrubs and weeds – or maybe the desiccated things had been flowers at one time – lined the length.
With a creased brow, she looked from him to Prunella, who had Swarovski Pocket Tyrol binoculars focused on some trees, to the fountain and back. “Uh yeah, whatever. Okay, I say we walk to the fish pond at the far rear. Or is it a swamp?”
“A fish pond,” May-Lee confirmed, adjusting a silk twill scarf with an Inuit motif over auburn waves.
She smirked. “With piranha, no doubt.”
“We-ell, there –”
Her hand flew up. “Man, I do so not want to know, thanks.”
“Oh my!” Prunella grabbed her brother's arm and pointed. “Look Perc, a Western Kingbird!” She nearly jammed the optical instrument into his eyeballs.
“A Tyrannus verticalis? You're sure?” He didn't sound half as excited, but trained the binoculars where she'd pointed.
“What?” Adwin asked under his breath. “No yellow-bellied Sapsucker?”
I jostled him gently.
“It's gone now.” Percival passed back the binoculars.
“But I saw it!” she shrilled.
Linda asked what that was.
“A yellow-bellied Sapsucker.”
Adwin did a Rey thing and snorted, and sent an elbow not so lightly into my ribs. I reciprocated. Linda bah-hah-hahed (I thought only cartoon characters and drunken barrel-bellied frat boys laughed like that) while Prunella returned to her binoculars.
“Did you know pigeons pop?” Linda asked, her expression one of young Lindsay Lohan I-did-no-such-thing innocence.
Okay, I'd bite. “They 'pop'?”
“Yes,” she twinkled. “Once, right beside me, a cab ran over one. Pop the pigeon went – pop! You know, like that fun bubble-wrap packaging you squeeze for fun.” She demonstrated with her fingers. “Pop, pop!”
Rey laughed like a kid embarking on her first rollercoaster ride. I grinned like I'd received the compliment of my life while May-Lee turned to the horizon, biting her lip. Prunella lowered the binoculars and appeared appalled, her face as pale as ostrich down.
Linda winked and Jensen gave a you-little-vixen look.
“Okay, let's move forward fellow detectives! We'll double back around from the swamp-pond.” Rey indicated a path and moved on like an excited Scouter, Linda in firm tow.
The rest of us were about to follow when something extraordinary occurred. A bird circled nigh.
“Look Perc, look! A Harris sparrow!” Prunella shouted, pointing excitedly.
“Are you sure? They're very rare around here.”
She gave him a withering look and he held up his hands in a gesture that suggested: you're-right-I'm-wrong, it-was-a-Harris-sparrow. Maybe her raspberry beret (one that would have inspired Prince to sing about a trilby instead) annoyed the winged finch, or maybe her gawking did. Damn if it didn't fly close with amazing speed … before landing on her head. It let out a loud chirp, pecked twice, and flew off again.
