by Kate Wilhelm
“They think Stuart killed Pamela,” Tricia cried. “They have a search warrant for his camper and they’re questioning others camping in the park. Media people were here taking pictures of all of us, yelling questions at us.”
Stuart said not a word, but he looked haunted and, if anything, in worse shape than Tricia, who looked ready to collapse. Ted was hovering near her, as if afraid she might need support any minute.
“They ordered us all to stay here where they could find us later,” Ted said.
“They didn’t order us. They asked us,” Lawrence said.
“You don’t know an order when you hear it.”
“Please, everyone, is there any coffee? I’ll tell you what little I know over a cup of coffee,” Constance said and started to move toward the kitchen.
“No Alice today,” Lawrence said. “She’s too scared of us to ever come back. Don’t much blame her.”
“I made coffee a few minutes ago,” Tricia said. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? When the sky’s falling, you find yourself making coffee or scrubbing a floor or something.”
In the kitchen, Constance helped herself to coffee, and then, seated at the big worktable cradling her cup with the others sitting or standing nearby, she told them what had happened the night before. “She was dead, and Charlie said she had been dead at least an hour. That makes it around nine thirty or a little earlier, probably. That’s all I know about it.”
“She asked you to meet her?” Ted demanded suspiciously. “Why?”
“We didn’t get to find out why.”
“She hinted more than once that she knew something about the checks,” Lawrence said. “And she said she was done with the house, with all of us. Did she have those checks?”
Constance spread her hands. “If she did, then the police have them now. But I don’t believe she did.”
“Alice will tell them I hated her, that I yelled at her a lot, and probably a hell of a lot more than that,” Stuart said. “That’s why they’ve come after me.”
“When she starts blathering about a curse, they’ll see how reliable she is,” Lawrence said.
“Have you all accounted for your whereabouts for last night?” Constance asked.
“Sure,” Ted snapped. “And for all the good it did, we might as well have said we were on the moon. We were all alone in our rooms, apartments, at the camp. In no mood for more soothing music or crowds on the commons. Crap! If we’d known we’d need an alibi, we would have arranged one in advance.”
“Well, there’s little any of you can do now. Since Alice isn’t coming around, have you thought about what you want to do about dinner? You wouldn’t want to go out to face the media even if the sheriff hadn’t asked you to sit tight.”
Tricia’s face was so blank she might not have heard and Lawrence barked a bitter laugh.
“What I suggest is that I can shop for you,” Constance said. “Fast food, real food, pizzas, whatever, and you can do with it what you like. Is Mr. Paley around?”
“In his bat cave,” Ted said. “Twitching, moaning, wringing his hands, ready to fall apart.”
“I’ll have a word with him,” Constance said. “Be thinking about food for later. Make me a list. At least, it will give you something to do,” she added, rising.
“What about you and Charlie? Where were you all morning? What the hell have you been doing?” Ted said.
“Our job,” she said and walked out of the kitchen.
Ted’s description of Paley had been accurate, she thought when she entered the breakfast-room office. He seemed to have aged ten years overnight and his pallor was alarming. She closed the door and went to his desk.
“Mr. Paley, our conditions are still operative,” she said. “You have to pull yourself together and get through this for another few days. Nothing has changed as far as you’re concerned.”
“Everything’s changed,” he said, sounding close to tears. “Another murder, more investigators. That stupid woman didn’t deserve this. Who killed her, Dr. Leidl? Who? One of the family? Who will be next?” His voice rose to a near falsetto. He apparently made a great effort to control himself, but a pencil he was holding suddenly snapped. He stared at it hypnotically, then dropped it as if it had burned his hand.
“Put an end to it,” he begged. “Have your little show, let me go back to the city, let them all go home.”
“Mr. Paley, you know as well as I do that the police won’t let that happen. They won’t allow anyone to leave, including you. Have they even taken formal statements yet? They will, you know. From you, from everyone. We have to let this run its course, and you have to play your part exactly as we talked about. Do you have any tranquilizers? You may need one.”
He slumped in his chair. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “Just leave me alone.”
She studied him for a moment, then went to the door. “I know you’ll be fine,” she said, “and in a few weeks you’ll be in Paris or Rome, or somewhere like that and this will be like a bad dream you had.”
Outside the door, Constance checked her cell phone for messages. Out of range for much of the day while driving in mountains, she saw that several calls had been sent to her voice mail. Jenna’s was the first. Desperate-sounding, begging for a call back. She skipped two from Debra Rasmussen and headed for the nearest bathroom where she could lock herself in and call Jenna without interruption. Jenna answered almost instantly.
“Please, Constance, I have to talk to you. I can’t leave the apartment. Someone’s parked outside waiting to ask questions and there was a cameraman out there earlier who might still be there. Someone keeps knocking on the door.”
“I’ll come right over,” Constance said. “Hang in there. Keep your door locked. Give me fifteen minutes or so.”
She hesitated before going back to the kitchen, where the family was still at the table in what appeared to be a heated conversation.
“Have you decided what to do about dinner?” she asked at the door.
“Pizza,” Lawrence said. “A lot of pizzas, for tonight, tomorrow, on into next week. And I’m not going out there at eight. Those buzzards know we’re supposed to leave at eight and they’ll be back in force wanting to know all about the Bainbridge curse. I’ll sleep on the floor first.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tricia said. “Eggs. At least we can have an omelet or something.”
“Beer,” Ted added.
“I get the picture,” Constance said. “I have to go, but I’ll be back later, as soon as I can.”
She waved and left, hoping that she would not have to throw anyone down the stairs of the apartment in the Hammond house.
18
NEITHER THE DEPUTY NOR CHARLIE SPOKE A WORD as he was driven to the jail, where they entered through a back door and he was escorted to a small room with a single table and two chairs. Home sweet home, he thought, with a slight reversal of roles. One window had a view of what appeared to be a common room with some people coming and going, a couple of men at desks talking on telephones, a door that he assumed was to Chief Engleman’s office, and little else. Most of the people making busy were in uniform.
“Wait here,” the deputy told him, and he sat down and prepared to wait. He unwrapped the cellophane from the deck of cards, shuffled, and started to play solitaire. Now and then he stared at the wall that was more seriously in need of paint than the outer office and the chief’s office. Now and then someone appeared at the window to look in on him. He ignored them.
After a time someone brought in a cup of coffee and Charlie thanked him politely, played a nine of hearts, shook his head, and gathered the cards to shuffle again.
Proof, Charlie was thinking. That was the pisser. If A, then B, then C and so on, but the alphabet could be stretched to its limits and without proof, it was still just a bunch of
letters. He laid out a new row of cards. Okay, he thought, from A to D or even L, just skip around a little bit… Or try A to A plus… He dealt out three cards, had no play, and gathered them all together again.
Eventually the door opened and a thin-faced man entered with another deputy. “DeLaura,” the sheriff said and took the chair opposite Charlie. He didn’t offer to shake hands and neither did Charlie. The deputy stood with his arms crossed. Both men looked tired.
DeLaura was about five nine, with a wiry build, a bony face, a receding hairline and in need of a shave.
“Where the hell were you all day?” he demanded.
“Riding around.”
“Give it to me. Last night, where you were from seven until you called Engleman out to the motel?”
“You mean he hasn’t told you? I thought for sure he would,” Charlie said and began to gather up the cards again. He shuffled them and laid out a new row.
“Look, Meiklejohn, I’m in no mood for fun and games. Cut the crap.”
“Sure. Seven. I’m trying to think of specific places and times. Millie Olaf’s bed-and-breakfast for a starting point. Sooner or later at Joey’s Hamburger and Steak House on the highway. I don’t recommend it. Too greasy. The Bainbridge place to confer with Mr. Paley. Then on to the motel. Sorry I didn’t keep a time log, but that’s how it goes. I seldom do and there can be serious regrets later, but I keep forgetting. I do know that it was ten forty when we got here. I checked. You do, you know, when you stumble across a homicide victim.”
“Why did you go to the motel?” DeLaura snapped, “And just tell it straight.”
“She asked me to.”
DeLaura seemed intent on outstaring him, and Charlie played his three cards, put down a jack, and waited.
Abruptly DeLaura jerked up from his chair, told his deputy to beat it, and stood at Charlie’s side for a moment as if he wanted to smash his face down to the table. “I could keep you on ice as a material witness,” he said. “I might even do it.” He walked to the door, back to his chair, and sat down again. “You played Engleman for a patsy last night. That fool didn’t even search you. Then you took off today for parts unknown.” He leaned back and said, “Let me tell you a story, Meiklejohn. The Bainbridge woman hinted more than once that she either knew who had the checks, or how to get her hands on them, but she didn’t know how to go about getting away with keeping them and needed your help. She got them and offered big money, maybe even to split the money with you and you jumped at the chance. You left the steak house and went to the motel, bashed in her head, and took the checks, then went on to the Bainbridge place. No one had to search you there, and you needed an alibi and saw to it that Paley and the watchman provided one. Then you roped in Engleman and walked out of there with five million dollars worth of cashier’s checks, and today you stashed them somewhere.”
#
Charlie whistled softly. “Wow! You did that all by yourself? I’m impressed.” He played a queen, laid out three more cards, and played a three. Without glancing at DeLaura, he commented, “I suppose you had forensics take the note pad by the telephone. We used to do that all the time, and as often as not they could recover the last number jotted down. Idle curiosity, of course, wanting to know who the victim might have called.”
After a moment of silence, he said, “Damn, I thought I had it this time. Hard to beat solitaire with a single deck.” He began to gather up the cards again. “I suppose that room is still sealed,” he said. “Oh, another thought came to mind. You probably already thought of it, though. Making sure pathology checks to see if any DNA from Eve Parish magically appeared in Pamela Bainbridge’s head wound. I assume it was the same length of rebar that did her in, don’t you? Almost impossible to clean something like rebar, don’t you think? I imagine the killer still has it tucked away somewhere. With so many deputies and media around, it would be risky heaving a bar like that into the lake. And our murderer might need it again, best to keep it handy.”
“If DNA tests out, we nail Bainbridge for two homicides,” DeLaura said.
“You’re already giving up on me? That was quick. He didn’t kill either one of them, of course, and you haven’t found the rebar yet, but what the hell.” He looked at DeLaura sympathetically. “So much to think about, isn’t it? That’s how it always goes. Too many things to keep track of.” He made a neat stack of the cards, put them back in the box and slipped it into his pocket. “Are we done here? You want my home address or phone number or anything? A reference or two? Or you might charge me with something and I’d call my lawyer and risk having a pretty damn mad attorney show up with his holiday weekend messed up.”
“Get the hell out of here.”
“Be seeing you,” Charlie said, rising. He walked through the common room, waved to a couple of deputies, and continued out to the street. He paused there to listen to his voice mail message from Debra Rasmussen. It was a brief, brisk message: “Mr. Meiklejohn, since the sheriff assures me that he’ll announce the conclusion of his investigations with an arrest very soon, there is no further need for you to continue your inquiries on behalf of Stillwater College.”
He whistled softly, then started a leisurely walk to the gingerbread house. He needed the exercise he told himself, and he still had some thinking to do.
#
When Constance pulled up at the Hammond house and got out of her car, she spotted a young man in a dark Ford also parked on the street. He left his car hurriedly as she turned toward the stairs to Jenna’s apartment.
“Is Ms. Parish going to make a statement?” he asked, rushing to get in front of her, snapping pictures with his cell. “What’s your name? Are you with the college?”
She didn’t speak or change her steady pace as she drew nearer to him, and at the last possible moment he moved aside.
“What do you think about what the curse?”
“Will there be a spokesperson for Ms. Parish?”
When she continued to ignore him and started up the stairs, he turned and went back to the street to snap pictures of the license plate on her car. Soon enough they’d know who she was, she thought, and knocked on the apartment door.
“It’s Constance,” she said and the door opened. She stepped inside and Jenna closed the door fast. She had been afraid that Jenna would be in tears again, but she wasn’t. She looked furious and defiant.
“It’s too damn much!” Jenna said, speaking fast. Her face was flushed. “Too goddamn much! He came here. Earl Marshall came here. I didn’t let him in, but he held the door long enough to say he wanted to extend his condolences, he was sorry for my loss, and would I please let him in to talk for just a minute or two. He said he wanted to explain something. I told him no, to leave me alone, and I pulled the door open a little and then slammed it hard. I hope I broke his toes. He kept knocking and talking through the closed door. I yelled at him to go away or I’d call the police.”
“Good for you,” Constance said. “That was just right.”
“Then, later,” Jenna said, as if Constance had not spoken, “Eve’s cell phone rang and it was him! He had the nerve to call on her phone! I didn’t answer and he left a message. How could he do a thing like that?”
“Is the message still there?” Constance asked.
“Yes. He doesn’t have a clue about anything. Didn’t he stop to think for just a second that doing that was inappropriate, even inhuman?”
“It appears that he seldom stops to think much about anything,” Constance said. “Let’s listen to the message.”
“Wait,” Jenna said. “There’s more. His sister called me on my cell phone. How did she get my number?”
Debra Rasmussen, Constance thought with regret. “I image she asked Dr. Rasmussen, and she didn’t see any reason not to tell her. Something like that. Did you speak with her?”
“No. There’s a mess
age in my voice mail.” She had not moved from the kitchen yet, but now she walked ahead of Constance to the study where she turned. “You have to tell me what’s going on here. When I tried to go out this morning, there were a couple of reporters waiting, yelling questions at me, taking my picture. Did I think the curse was responsible for my sister’s death? Wasn’t I afraid here alone? How well do I know the Bainbridge group? More. I don’t even know what they were asking, what they were talking about. I ran back upstairs and closed the door. I feel as if I’ve blundered into someone else’s nightmare.”
“Jenna, let’s gather up all the tapes, Eve’s journal, her notebooks, that marked-up book, all of it and go to our room to talk. I’ll tell you what I know, and we’ll listen to the messages. At least you can get some fresh air without being set upon by reporters once we get there. And you certainly could use a glass of wine or something.”
Ten minutes later they went down the stairs, ignored the reporter, and got into Constance’s car. When she pulled away from the curb, the reporter followed.
In the mini-suite, Constance went straight to the table and poured two glasses of wine. “Fortify ourselves in order to listen to the messages,” she said, handing a glass to Jenna. “Let’s sit on the balcony.”
A breeze was rippling the water of the lake, and an occasional stronger wind gust created small waves. An ever-changing water dance, Constance thought, sipping wine as Jenna got out her the cell phone and turned on the voice mail. Earl Marshall’s voice was low, beautifully modulated with just the right balance of pleading and reasonableness.
“Ms. Parish, please just listen to me for a minute. When I agreed to be interviewed by your sister, it was because I found her very charming, young and eager to do a good job, and completely lacking a certain kind of fake sophistication that many young people assume is cool. She urged me to be candid, to speak openly, and we agreed that when she wrote her paper, she would submit it to me for any editing I felt appropriate. She expressed gratitude that I would be willing to read her final paper and edit it. I’m afraid that I took her at her word and I quite possibly was indiscreet at times. Now, with such tragically changed circumstances, I think it would be prudent to recover those taped interviews. With no control over who might hear them, who might use them for purposes I never intended, it would only be fair and just if you allow me to take the tapes, and most likely destroy them. I would be more than happy to pay you a reasonable sum for them. Say five hundred dollars, and if you think that is insufficient, I’d be quite willing to discuss other terms with you. Please, if we can meet and talk about this, let me make my case in person, I’m certain that you would understand my position and be sympathetic to it.”
