by Tyler Colins
Adwin and Aunt Mat seemed energetic if not animated compared to May-Lee, Linda, Rey and myself. Clearly they'd received restful nights of slumber while the four of us had had maybe two hours.
Linda had made two calls to her cousin: one to the number he'd provided years ago and one to a Portland address she'd located courtesy of the Internet. Both netted nothing; he wasn't there or wasn't answering. At the old number, a tinny emotionless female voice had provided a generic “please leave your name and number” message. The Portland number had no answering service, so Linda determined to try again later. In terms of the first one, it would be interesting to see if someone called back. And if they did, would it be Aunt Mat pretending to be Cousin John? Instinctively I gazed across the table.
She and Adwin were laughing over his favorite story: a piggies-in-a-blanket brunch turned food-fight fiasco at the restaurant last year, in which a chairperson had ended up wearing a “piggie” in both ears. I forked up the last piece of pancake and waited for the pastry chef to finish a story he never tired of telling.
Rey caught my eye and was far from discreet with the scrunched nose, questioning brow, and anxious tic. I glared at her and requested Linda pass a fruit basket. Rey rolled her eyes and popped a piece of syrup-heavy waffle past stiff lips as I bit into a tart pineapple spear.
Linda took two more pancakes from a huge platter and casually asked, “Do you think we'll be able to go home today – as in home home?”
“I hope so. Has anyone heard from Lewis?” Adwin looked across the dining area. A burly bear-faced officer of fifty-plus years, who we'd not been introduced to, sat in the opposite corner by the fireplace, sipping coffee and perusing a newspaper.
Aunt Mat glanced at her Tag Heuer. “It's nine-thirty. He should be here soon.”
“Good. Then we can grab our gear and go.” I winked at Rey and she gave an exaggerated wink in return.
Aunt Mat regarded us, but refrained from asking about the exchange.
“I bet you'll be glad to get back to the TV station, my little rhubarb cobbler,” Adwin smiled, squeezing my hand.
“Actually, my darling apple crisp –”
“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Rey snorted. “Will you two fruitcakes knock that off? All this cutesy love talk is sickeningly sweet.”
Linda tried to swallow her laughter, but ended up sounding like a hippo expelling water. Aunt Mat chuckled and Adwin grinned. The reactions were contagious and the corners of Rey's mouth started twitching. “Okay, okay. Whatever turns the cupcake couple's cranks.”
I turned back to Adwin. “I was thinking of staying a while longer, if Aunt Mat doesn't mind.”
“I'd love to have you,” she responded casually, “but why would you want to stay in a house that's seen so much … unpleasantness?”
“I don't mind if you don't,” I replied nonchalantly.
“I'd like to stay, too,” Rey announced.
“And me.” Linda.
“As enjoyable as that sounds,” May-Lee twittered, pouring the last of the orange juice from a thick glass pitcher, “I have a shop and clients to tend to.”
Adwin's eyes grew wider while Aunt Mat's drifted from one face to another, stopping at Linda's. “The more the merrier, but why? If it's down time you're looking for, we'll do West Palm Beach for four days – my treat. I'll call my travel agent when we're back upstairs.”
“That's very sweet,” Rey said, leaning toward her. “Maybe we could do that after.”
“After what?” Adwin demanded, bemused.
“After we check out Pruney's and Percy's place,” she gleamed.
Aunt Mat didn't bat an eye. “Why would you do that? The police went through it yesterday.”
Linda nodded and voiced confirmation. “While I was waiting for the elevator this morning, I overheard the one Jill calls 'Gnarly' talking to Charlie, the officer Roy's hot for. He said something about the roof-to-cellar search of the Sayers' place not yielding anything of note, and joked that it was obvious the owners were sufferers of serious OCD afflictions.”
“There you go. Nothing was found. And there's nothing else to discover,” Aunt Mat declared with a smug smile.
Adwin's fingers started drumming the edge of the table and his forehead developed a few deep creases. “What are you up to?” he demanded.
I gazed at Rey.
She arched a shoulder, feigning indifference.
“Rey, just spill the beans,” Adwin ordered, switching from edgy to irked. “You know you want to.”
She stuck out her tongue and pulled her chair near. “Okay, Jilly's boyfriend, here's the scoop: we're going to locate Prunella Sayers' diaries.”
“She told you she had diaries?” Linda's puzzlement seemed genuine.
May-Lee's, on the other hand, seemed off. “Really?”
Rey slipped into B-movie-actress gear. “We did manage to ask a few questions before she started waving the gun like a demented bad-ass. It was like … like one of those old weekly mystery series endings.”
“That's very true, but once we offered compliments about her talent at deceit and manipulation, she felt a need to brag,” I added.
While we waited for a fatigue-faced waitperson, sporting a bronze name tag that read “Rolphie”, to replace coffee pots and juice pitchers Rey leaned close. “Is this going to work? Last night we were saying that Aunt Mat may have been helping Prunella. What if we're wrong?”
“Let's bank on the fact Prunella is crazy and that she would not have shared everything with Aunt Mat,” I whispered in return. “Let's go with it and see where this all takes us.” I nodded to the waitperson after she refilled my cup and turned to my aunt. “Prunella proudly, if not arrogantly, stated she'd killed Thomas because a) he'd deserved to die for dumping her and leaving her flat, and b) he'd cheated you.”
May-Lee looked dumbfounded and this time the emotion seemed real. “Are you suggesting she was claiming innocence and that it was purely Thomas Saturne switching authentic art pieces and collectibles with forgeries?”
“She diddn't actually discuss involvement in the switches, or swindling Aunt Mat.” My expression changed from grave to earnest. “Maybe we'll learn more about her part, if any, when she's fit enough to speak.”
“If she's ever fit enough,” Adwin murmured.
“What about the other deaths?” Linda asked, leaning forward, her expression intense.
Rey popped a fat ruby-red grape into her mouth and looked from one face to the next. “She didn't discuss that, either.”
“What did she discuss? Other than giving some quick details about needing to kill Jeana and Jensen, she must have mentioned something.” May-Lee was pouring it on a tad thick with the imploring tone and rounded eyes, but at least she was steering the conversation in the direction Rey, Linda and I had hoped it would go.
“Lewis had advised us not to relay any more than we already had about what had transpired in the passageway while he waited for Prunella to provide comment. Based on what the doctor had communicated, he figured she'd likely be available for questioning a day or two after they investigated the Sayers' place.”
“If he wanted you to keep it to yourselves, why share now?” Aunt Mat's tone was cool and her gaze frosty.
“We didn't feel it fair to keep the information from you indefinitely. Besides, Reynalda couldn't keep her lips sealed much longer,” I replied casually.
Rey glowered.
I smiled cheerily, and mentally crossing my fingers, continued. “We thought we should locate the diaries.”
Aunt Mat took a mini bran muffin from a dwindling pile and flatly asked, “Really?”
“Really.” Rey smirked and gazed at me. “Jilly, tell the gang what Pruney said about them.”
Nothing like being put on the spot. Discreetly but not gently, I jammed my foot on hers. “I'll paraphrase. Let's see… . Right. I've been recording dealings and transactions, names and dates, in my diaries. One never knows when one needs insurance or ammunition. Those you trust m
ost are usually the ones to deceive you most.”
Everyone gazed suspiciously around the table. Linda was the first to speak. “To think, if Jeana had been a little less trusting, she might have solved the mystery without having had to die in the process and Prunella might not have ended up in the hospital.”
“Prunella's an odd duck – pardon the fowl reference – but who'd have imagined in their wildest dreams she was capable of multiple murders?” Adwin asked with a pensive brow.
Rey looked grave. “Obviously none of us.”
“Think of all the lives that could have been saved.” Adwin sighed woefully and sipped coffee while Aunt Mat started poking the muffin.
“Poor Porter,” was all she said, and so softly, it was barely audible.
“Poor Percival,” Rey said with a lengthy sigh.
I eyed my aunt. “Did Prunella know you were around and that this get-together was a sham?”
Her smile was lean, her gaze wary.
Rey leaned forward. “Do you think she knew?”
The grande dame frowned. “How could she? I kept myself well hidden. No, no one knew, not even the servants. If she'd had a hunch or suspicion, she'd have come looking. Remember how she appeared when I first walked in? She was genuinely surprised.” The frown deepened and she stared into the street, where a courier and shopkeeper were conversing. “Of course, she could be one outstanding actress.” Placing a hand to her chest, she appeared distressed.
I restated, “We can't be sure of anything at this point … other than she kept transaction-based diaries.”
“What about another angle? Maybe this was nothing more than Prunella wanting the entire inheritance for herself and that's the reason for the killings,” Adwin proposed. “She killed Jeana because she had to – what with the piece of chain having been found – but maybe she'd planned to take out each and every one of us.”
“Porter wasn't part of the inheritance-collecting crowd,” Rey pointed out.
“But he was proving to be a problem,” Linda stated with a tense frown. “Porter and Jeana aside, it's not as if she'd collect ten million dollars. The full amount – if she were the last one remaining to collect – wouldn't be enough to live in luxury for more than a year, at best… . No, I don't see the inheritance serving as motivation for Prunella Sayers committing murder.”
May-Lee exhaled slowly. “This is becoming all so complicated.”
“And vague.” Adwin.
“And odd,” Aunt Mat scowled.
“She was an odd woman,” I reminded her.
“A real nut job,” Rey said emphatically.
“Certifiable, certainly,” May-Lee agreed.
“No question. That woman was a few feathers shy,” Linda said, struggling to contain a smile.
Rey and I chuckled.
“What about Percival? Any new theories there?” Adwin asked, reaching for a slice of peameal bacon.
I took a stab, but it wasn't a terribly original theory. “He confronted his half-sister about what he suspected. He presented her with an ultimatum: confess or pay the consequences. Remember: he knew her extremely well. They'd been living together for years, and had had an intimate relationship. He believed she'd do the right thing and tell all.”
“Or wanted – hopelessly – to believe that she would, the stupid fool,” May-Lee said quietly.
“How wrong could one lovesick brother-lover be?” Rey.
Aunt Mat grimaced while Adwin's expression grew sour and he took a long sip of water, as if the action might wash away an acrid taste in his mouth.
“But Prunella didn't admit any of this, did she?” May-Lee asked.
Rey shook her head.
“Unfortunately, there are a lot of uncertainties when it comes to who did what and when,” I added.
“And to who. Or is that whom?” Rey looked confused.
“Hopefully these many unexplained details will be clarified soon,” May-Lee murmured over her coffee cup.
“Her diaries should clarify some of them,” I said. “She'll be able to wrap up the rest when she's compos mentis.”
“Huh?” Rey looked dumbfounded.
“Lucid.”
“If she's ever lucid,” Adwin said. “And only if she wants to.”
“True. She doesn't seem to have much of a conscience. I could see her taking great pleasure in having everyone coax and beg for answers and her never providing any,” Linda declared.
Adwin jabbed the crisp slice of meat with a fork. I could tell he was extremely upset and angry, even if it didn't register on his face or in his tone.
“I'm still puzzled by the diaries. Why would Prunella need to keep records?” Aunt Mat's tone suggested she didn't believe her former best friend would be so imprudent.
“Maybe she wanted to make sure she wouldn't take the fall alone should she ever be caught.”
“Why detail your own involvement?” Aunt Mat demanded. “Why risk having someone find damaging evidence?”
“Who's to say she detailed her own? Maybe the purpose behind the diaries was to detail others, to hold something over them. Until we see what she's written, we can only surmise,” I replied. “Maybe she simply listed names and transactions. November 1st: Thomas Saturne replaced bone saint applique with fake. March 23rd: Thomas pocketed £4500 from sale of Tang Dynasty camel.”
“And you're sure she didn't bring these journals to the house?” May-Lee asked.
Rey and I exchanged glances, and my cousin offered, “We didn't ask, but can you see her risk having a diary fall into the wrong hands?”
“That couldn't happen at her own place?” Aunt Mat mocked.
“It's not as likely,” I replied. “She'd know where to conceal things in her own home so they couldn't be found.” It was hard to tell if she was buying any of it. Now that I heard it being vocalized, drama included, it did lean toward the fanciful – not impossible, but definitely fanciful.
“Pruney did seem to enjoy talking about how brilliant she'd been,” Rey added.
Aunt Mat's head tilted one way and then the other, and then she smiled. “Yes, that's Prunella Sayers. If you get her started talking about herself or her charities and hobbies, she'll natter your ear off.” She studied Rey. “You intend to locate the diaries, you said?”
My cousin leaned back and a trace of arrogance crossed her face. “Her plan was to zip home, pack a quick bag, and leave the country. Movie-time agenda. This means they have to be easily accessible, so how hard can they be to find?”
“If they are that accessible, my dear, why didn't the police find them?”
Rey smiled prettily. “They wouldn't know what they're looking at. Neither would you, if we hadn't told you. You'd see diaries and assume they're just that: dull daily journals.”
“Interesting,” our aunt murmured, eyeing her closely. “Just why do you want to find them? I believe it's illegal to tamper with or steal evidence.”
“Who's stealing?” I asked simply. “We're merely helping prove that you were the victim of long-term theft and that Linda didn't kill those Moones.”
Rey patted her longstanding friend's hand. “We realized that there was simply no way Linda could be a conniving murderess. Sure, she's held a long-time grudge against the Moones for what happened decades ago, because the property did once belong to some great, great relatives of hers. She was bitter when it came to the Smiths. With the curses and all that bad luck – and her mother's unexpected death – a person would want payback, wouldn't they? Not that they'd necessarily act on it. But they'd sure think it. No, we couldn't imagine she'd be so riled or that brainy to plot the murders.”
“And successfully make them look like accidents,” I put in.
“Thank you ladies,” Linda said with a touch of brininess.
Rey extended both hands apologetically.
“Never mind.” The scriptwriting assistant's tone and gaze were as icy as the recent storm. She was definitely not a bad actress by half. “What else did you talk about down in tha
t dark, clammy corridor?”
I appeared suitably distressed. “Rey was distraught and on the verge of tears, and asked Prunella what she planned to do with everyone – us, and then the three of you.”
Rey didn't care to be painted as emotional or sensitive and shot a you-bitch look.
“What did she say?” May-Lee pressed.
Rey's expression turned overly dramatic. “Not much except that people and circumstances were not necessarily always what they seemed.”
“How curious,” Adwin murmured, appearing perplexed. “Well, anyway, thank the Good Lord you two stopped her before anyone else died or suffered.”
Aunt Mat drank coffee, her thoughtful gaze on the table. Suddenly, her face brightened. “When do we go find that bizarre woman's incriminating diaries?”
Rey and I grinned. “As soon as possible.”
29
It Always Works Different in the Movies
The preceding hour had been spent touring an immaculate six-bedroom house that confirmed a taste for quality furnishings but not quality taste. Almost everything was dark and oppressive and heavy, perfect for an old English manor owned by a lineage of dreary lords. The only room that offered color and light was the solarium, Percival's domain and, according to Aunt Mat, his unequivocal pride and joy. It was filled with beautiful orchids, lush ferns, numerous herbs, and an abundant array of geraniums; it seemed out of place in the somber house. When I commented about the plants being left unattended for the week my aunt explained that Percival had hired a local professional and writing associate named Parr S. Lee to tend them. From the look of things, he'd done an ace job.
An officer had dropped us off at the Moone manse, courtesy of a crabby sheriff's terse request. After a tense conversation about meddling and foolhardiness, my beau had packed the rest of his stuff, gathered Fred and the feline's food, litter items and bell-filled toys. Taking the Sebring, he drove May-Lee home and himself back to the hotel, where he'd spend another night. I'd collect him and his new pet the following day and we'd return to Wilmington. Boyfriend and cat had bonded for life, which meant a visit to an allergist topped Jill Fonne's to-do list back home. Aunt Mat would miss the “fuzzy gent”, but he did seem to prefer Adwin's bony lap to hers.
