5 Murder by Syllabub (11 page)

“Whoever it was brought the poison with them. He
or she had to know there was going to be an opportunity to use it. I’ll bet Monty told them, said something like they’d have a glass while they talked over whatever it was they were meeting about.”

“Which means, it could have been anybody with Monty.” Cora Lee sounded a little hopeful.

I hated to dash her hopes. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t get us any closer to knowing who wanted Monty dead, or why. It doesn’t tell us why here, in your old house, or how they got in and out.”

Noah nodded. “All questions that need answers.”

“Leo won’t look for them. He’ll just assume it was Elizabeth, or one of us, and that’ll be the end of it.” The bitterness was deep in Mildred’s voice, deeper even than in Cora Lee’s.

“Mom.” It didn’t sound, from the resigned tone of Noah’s voice, as if this was a new sentiment for Mildred.

“Don’t you
Mom
me. The police department, the whole town, will be better off when you pass that test and can move into his job.”

Noah opened his mouth as if
in protest, or to chastise his mother, but she paid no attention. “As for all of you, the police will be here shortly and if you don’t want to get caught in your night clothes, I think you better get yourselves upstairs and into something decent.”

Aunt Mary ran her hands down the front of her flannel robe, the one with the antelope galloping around it. If
“decent” meant being covered, she was as decent as you could get. Still, a shower and real clothes would be better. Those antelope were distracting. I glanced at Cora Lee. Maybe she should go first. That dressing gown wasn’t decent. Elizabeth seemed almost dressed in blue plaid pajamas, but maybe it wasn’t the thing she’d choose to wear to confront Lt. McMann. “That’s a great idea. Why don’t you go first, Cora Lee?”

“Good idea.” Elizabeth pushed back her chair. “Mary, Ellen and I will help Mildred get this kitchen clea
red and then we’ll be up. We have an appointment in the Historic District at ten.”

We did? First I’d heard of it. I glanced over at Aunt Mary. She seemed equally puzzled
.

“You’ll have to cancel it. McMann will want you here.” Noah sounded decisive.

“So he can ask more questions?” Cora Lee stood and picked up her cane. “He can ask all he wants, but he won’t get any answers. We don’t have any left.”

“His questions will have to wait.” Elizabeth dropped her comment into the conversation casually. “I’m taking Mary and Ellen over to the Payton Randolph house in the Historic area this morning. Hattie Culpepper is working there today, and she’s going to help me learn about hearth cooking.”

“Learn about what?” Aunt Mary gaped at Elizabeth.

“You’re going to introduce these two to Hattie? Why would you do a thing like that to friends?” Cora Lee looked like she’d just sucked a lemon
.

“Hattie’s not so bad. Just sort of obsessed.” Mildred didn’t look any more enthusiastic than Cora Lee, who snorted.

“Obsessed with being a Culpepper. She doesn’t have a drop of Culpepper blood, as if it mattered anyway.”

Mildred waved away Cora Lee’s assessment of
Hattie, whoever she was. “Elizabeth, this time I agree with Noah. I’m afraid you aren’t going anywhere. Lieutenant McMann’s going to have a bunch of new questions as soon as he hears about that syllabub. I don’t think he’ll take it kindly if you aren’t here to answer them.”

Elizabeth looked from Noah to Mildred to Cora Lee, and finally to us. There was a set to her chin that didn’t bode well for Lt. McMann’s questions. “I told everything I know last night. I made an appointment and I’m keeping it. Hattie may be a pain in the rear, but she knows about colonial kitchens and I need her. So, you tell Lieutenant McMann he can question me when I get back. Right now, I’m going outside to talk to Calvin. Then I’m going upstairs and take a shower. When I come down, Mary, Ellen and I are going to Colonial Williamsburg.”

She picked up her half-full cereal dish and carried it to the sink, washed it out and put it on the counter. “I think there are clean towels in your bathrooms.”

Mildred leaned over and picked up Cora Lee’s dish. “You finished with this?” She got up
, walked over to the sink, and set the dish in it. It was Elizabeth who had her attention. “Now, listen. If the police want to talk to you, they get to talk to you. Nothin’ makes a policeman madder than to have someone skip out on him. I know. I had a father who was a policeman and have another one in the house right now. Go get your shower. Cora Lee, Ellen and Mary are going up now also. They’ll head over to see Hattie. They can take notes. When they come back, we’ll all go down in the old kitchen here and see what’s left.” She looked thoughtful. “I don’t think anybody’s been in that kitchen for donkey’s years. Probably nothing down there but dead mice and spiders.”

“Let’s hope they’re dead.” Cora Lee gave a genteel little shudder. Her robe slipped off her shoulder again. She yanked it back.

“I think learning about hearth cooking sounds interesting. I’ve heard women baked pies and cakes in fireplaces. I can’t imagine how. But, Elizabeth, I think you should stay here. I’ll stay with you. Maybe Ellen could go meet this Hattie.”

I stared at Aunt Mary, appalled. She might be interested in cooking in a fireplace, but I wasn’t. Besides, if anyone was equipped to talk to the police, it was me. I was married to one.

“I’m going to stay here. I’ve already called for someone to take over my Sunday school class. I don’t have to go anywhere.” Mildred’s tone left no room for doubt. “I’ve known Leo McMann for years. He’s always been difficult and he hasn’t improved with age. I’ll just stay and remind him that suspicion isn’t the same as proof.”

Cora Lee sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can get out of this one.”

“No, there’s not.” Elizabeth’s face was rigid. “I want to get started on that project and I need some help. Hattie’s an expert. So, for God’s sake, try to be nice for a change. You don’t have to talk to her. Just introduce Mary and Ellen and go stand in the yard or something.”

“If that woman makes one crack about JD and pork bellies, I swear, I’ll brain her with her precious brass pot.”

“Your JD made a fortune on those pork bellies. Her husband ended up in jail for embezzlement. You’re a Smithwood by blood. She’s a Culpepper by marriage. Every time she looks at you, she sees all the things she’s always wanted and never got. Be nice.”

“Being a Smithwood didn’t get me much and JD’s made me pay for every dollar. If she’s envious of me, she’s an even bigger fool than I thought.” Cora Lee pushed her coffee away so hard the cup swayed in the saucer.

That statement shocked me all the way to my toes. It wasn’t the words as much as the bitterness and anger in Cora Lee’s tone. That didn’t last long. Her sarcastic little smile was immediately pasted back in place. “I’ll take them over there, and I’ll try to be nice. But Elizabeth, you’ll owe me.”

“Go on now.” Mildred made shooing gestures with her hands. “Get ready. You, too, Elizabeth. You can talk to Calvin when you’re dressed. Seeing you in your pajamas is a treat he doesn’t need.” She grinned.

Elizabeth looked at herself, nodded and turned toward the stairs.

Mildred turned to face Noah. “If you haven’t gathered the eggs yet, you’d best do it before you leave to go into town. I won’t have time once McMann and all of his troops arrive. I’m not leaving Elizabeth alone with that man.” She gathered the last dish off the table and went toward the dishwasher.

Noah smiled, whistled for Max and headed for the French doors, Petal right on their heels. Cora Lee grumbled under her breath but started toward the stairs. Elizabeth pushed back her chair and followed. Aunt Mary walked over to join Mildred. “Can I help?”

“There’s not much to do. Go get ready. Elizabeth won’t settle down until she knows you’re on your way. She’s decided the kitchen is the next thing we’re going to tackle and she’ll say all the wrong things to McMann if she’s worried about it. I’ll make sure she doesn’t say too much.”

Aunt Mary turned to go then paused. “Are you coming up, Ellen?”

“In a minute. We can’t all shower at once, so I’ll just help Mildred. Then I’ll be up.
”

She looked undecided but finally nodded and headed for the hallway.

“She’s a woman who’s used to getting in and getting things done, isn’t she?” Mildred paused in the act of rinsing a dish to smile at me. It didn’t last long. “This doesn’t look good. Elizabeth’s no murderer, but she hated Monty and didn’t care who knew it.” She scraped the oatmeal out of another dish and ran water over it. “The thought that someone came in here, helped themselves to syllabub, poisoned it and then fed it to Monty is enough to make my skin crawl.”

I took the rinsed dish from her and reached for the door of the dishwasher, ready to pull it open.

“Better wait until you have all finished your showers.” Mildred leaned back against the drain board, as if she needed it to prop her up. “Do you think he’ll be back?”

I set the dish on the drain
board along with the other rinsed dishes. “You mean the murderer?”

Mildred nodded.

I’d wondered the same thing. “I think it was Monty prowling around upstairs, looking for something. Why he was dressed like that, I can’t imagine, but I don’t think he found whatever it was he was looking for. The only reason I can think of for both Monty and whoever slipped him the poison to be here is they were looking for the same thing. I don’t think they found it. So, yes, I think whoever it is will be back.”

Mildred nodded. “I think so, too. That crate was no accident.” She paused before going on, her voice filled with apprehension. “You know, McMann isn’t going to buy the mysterious prowler story. He’s going to take the easy way out. Elizabeth fed Monty the poison before she left for the airport and we’re protecting her.” She sighed deeply and turned to the dishwasher. “Might as well load this. Can you hand me that bowl?”

She opened the door, pulled out the top rack and froze. “How did that get in here?”

“What’s the matter? Oh no.”

We stood, frozen, staring at the immaculately clean crystal glass, sitting on the top rack in solitary splendor.

“That’s one of the old
syllabub glasses.” Mildred turned around to look at the glasses on the hutch and returned her gaze to the dishwasher. She pulled the rack out all the way but the dishwasher was empty, except for the one glass.

I’d
had a close enough look at the glass next to Monty to know this was from the same set. “It’s the missing syllabub glass.”

“Missing?” Mildred’s hand went out to touch it, but she quickly withdrew. “Where are the others? Cora Lee and I packed these away years ago. There were eight of them. How did this one get in here?”

“Noah didn’t tell you?”

“That boy only tells me what he wants me to know. What was it he should have told me?”

“The set of these glasses were on the sideboard in the dining room where Monty was killed. Six of them. One was beside Monty with the remains of a sticky drink in it. That made seven. One was missing. The one the murderer used.”

We stared at each other then back into the dishwasher. “That’s got to be the missing one, right there.” Mildred took a better look. “It’s clean. Someone’s trying to frame Elizabeth.”

“Yes.” What Mildred said made sense. To me, at least. What would the police think? “How did it get in there? What do we do now?”

“T
his is as close as we can get.”

Cora Lee pulled her car into a small parking lot in back of a row of houses. Deep backyards were sprinkled with low picket fences and little outbuildings.

“What are those?” Aunt Mary walked over to one fence and peered into the backyard. Neat rows of vegetables, set out somewhat optimistically in the early spring weather, were freshly planted in recently weeded beds. There were flowers, too new to tell what kind, around the perimeter or interspersed between the rows. Roses climbed on the fences, their leaves fresh and green. The tiny buds just showed a hint of pink.

“It’s a vegetable garden.”

“I can see that.” Aunt Mary didn’t bother to soften her tone. Evidently Cora Lee’s sarcastic little barbs were getting old. “I meant the buildings. Like that one.” She pointed to one at the end of the property.

Cora Lee grinned. “Life in Colonial Williamsburg was pretty smelly. Those building were the
‘necessaries.’ ”

“The what? Oh.” The white building was small but pretty, painted white with vents close up by the roof. “That was an outhouse?” I looked at the main house then back down the yard. Quit
e a hike. “They came all the way out here?”

Cora Lee’s eyes narrowed as she laughed. “They used chamber pots, and the lady of the house was rarely the one emptying them. The colonists put all the smelly things at the end of their lots. Small barns for animals, outhouses, garbage. Discouraged people from lurking around in alleyways.”

We followed Cora Lee up the side street, looking into the backyards as we went.

“This garden is huge.” Aunt Mary stopped again and walked over to a picket fence. “What is all that stuff? I recognize some of it. That, for instance. What’s that?”

Cora Lee stopped next to the fence. “Potatoes. Just starting to sprout. That pile of dead looking brush is a compost pile. Come on. We’ve still got to cross the square and it’s getting late.”

Aunt Mary didn’t move. She loved gardens. I could tell she wanted to get into this one, wander around and sit on the bench under a tree whose leaves were the palest of green. I would have loved to join her. I hadn’t had one minute
to tell her about the syllabub glass. The sight of it shook me more than I wanted to admit. I’d helped Mildred stuff all the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and close it quickly. “Let’s not mention this to anyone At least, until we figure out what to do.”

Mildred had immediately agreed. “Someone’s trying to frame Elizabeth.” Her mouth had formed a straight line and worry, or possibly anger, creased her forehead.

I nodded. “We’re going to have to find out who, and fast.” I didn’t think anyone would go near the dishwasher. Not Elizabeth, and the rest of us were leaving.

Still, I’d worried all the way to the Historic district, barely listening to Cora Lee’s chatter. Mildred was right. Someone was trying to frame Elizabeth. I wondered when it
had been placed there. It wasn’t running when we got home. We hadn’t opened the thing last night. The only “dirty” dishes had been wineglasses. A smile tugged at my mouth. There certainly had been wineglasses. This morning we’d had coffee, then Mildred’s oatmeal, so the dishwasher hadn’t been opened since we’d arrived. I wondered how long Monty had been dead when we found him. He’d looked gray. Horrible. Rigid? I didn’t know. I tried to remember his hand, his fingers, but I couldn’t. It was cold in that house. He could have been dead long enough for the murderer to go back into Elizabeth’s house, rinse out the glass and put it into the dishwasher. What was it Noah said? Someone searched upstairs. Had the murderer hung around after Monty died, going through things upstairs, looking for whatever it was he wanted to find? Only, how had he gotten out? He’d still been there when we arrived. The candle proved that.

“Oh, how charming.” The small building that had caught Aunt Mary’s attention was white, two stories, with green shutters open to let light and air into glassless windows. A tall chimney ran up one side of the building and a thin stream of smoke made its way out of the chimney pot. A Dutch door was closed against the midday sun. “I always wanted a Dutch door.”

Cora Lee came back to get her.

“What is this, anyway?”

“A kitchen. Will you come on? Hattie is difficult enough at the best of times, but if we’re late, she’ll out and out grumble the whole time and we’ll never learn anything.”

“The kitchen? Way out here? Why isn’t it in the house?” Aunt Mary stood, transfixed, looking from the small house to the large house at the front of the long lot.

“Kitchens were hot and smelly from the constant fire, and they sometimes burned the house down. Will you come on?”

Aunt Mary let herself be dragged out onto the main street, but there she stopped again. “Look at that.” A man dressed in brown knee britches, his voluminous white shirt tucked into the wide leather belt that held them up, walked alongside a wooden cart slowly pulled by two large
cattle with horns. “What are they?”

“Oxen. There were a lot of them back then. Mary, you can look at this later. The Payton Randolph house is right across the square.” Cora Lee pointed to a two-story reddish house across from a large park; one with no tennis courts or children’s play equipment. Instead, it
was flanked by a round brick building with a heavy wooden door, fences made of crisscrossed pointed stakes and paths covered with crushed white something.

“Ouch. Are these pebbles?”

“Oyster shells. The colonists used them for all kinds of things. After they ate all the oysters, of course. The Indians showed them how. The Indians helped the settlers a lot and their only reward was smallpox and starvation.”

“What?” I stopped and stared at Cora Lee. “What are you talking about?”

Cora Lee sighed. “Never mind.”

I decided Cora Lee had more sides to her personality than a Rubik
’s Cube and was just as hard to figure out.

We crossed the street and walked around the side of a large house. A woman
—dressed in a colonial full-skirted blue dress that ended just above the ankle, white stockings and a white apron—sat on a chair while she talked to several people seated on benches. She looked up and smiled broadly.

“Why, Cora Lee, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Haven’t seen you since William’s funeral. You doing okay? We were all so sad when he passed. I tried to speak to you, but there were so many people. Is Elizabeth doing all right?”

“It’s been hard, but she’s making it. I thought I’d stay on for a while, help out with things.”

The woman smiled, a knowing kind of smile. “Well, honey, I think that’s a good idea. You both could do with a little family right now.” She kept her eyes on Cora Lee as if trying to gauge her expression. “I hear your granddaughter’s graduating next month. Stanford, isn’t it? I expect you’re going out to California for it.”

“I’m planning on it.”

Startled, I glanced at Cora Lee. There hadn’t been any mention of a granddaughter. Why? Not everyone graduated from Stanford. Most never got in. Cora Lee should be crowing. She wasn’t. Of course, we’d had a few distractions since we arrived.

“CJ is going to be there?” There was a hint of sympathy in the woman’s voice.

Cora Lee nodded.

“Hmm. Well, I hear Elizabeth’s going ahead with the project, so you tell her to call me. Sounds like fun.”

“That’s real sweet of you, Amy. I appreciate it. Is Hattie back in the kitchen? I’m supposed to ask her a bunch of questions
. Elizabeth can’t make it.”

“I heard about Monty getting himself killed out at your place. I expect Leo McMann’s handling the investigation. Poor Elizabeth.” She stood, smoothed down her skirt and walked over to the waiting group. “Good day, all.” She started her pre-tour lecture.

Cora Lee took Mary’s arm and pulled her forward a little. “We go this way.”

“What’s that cap she has on?” I’d had seen pictures of them and wondered. “They look pretty useless.”

“It’s a mob cap. People back then wore wigs and in order for them to fit and not make your head sweat, they shaved their heads. Women wore those caps when they didn’t want to wear a wig. It was better than going around baldheaded. Can you imagine shaving all your hair off so you could wear a scratchy old wig? There weren’t any showers back then. Washing your hair would have been a real challenge, so maybe it made sense. Through this gate.”

“Shaved heads?”

Cora Lee nodded absently. “Both men and women. Pretty stupid custom, if you ask me.”

I thought about long heavy hair and no showers. Maybe not that stupid. Aunt Mary and I followed Cora Lee into a fenced yard, which held a cluster of small buildings.

“What are those?”

“Smokehouse, dovecote, woodshed, dairy—watch your step. The kitchen is over here.”

A long shed-looking building sat on the left side of the yard. There were several open doors, all with shallow wooden steps leading up to them. Each door had a sign on it. I walked closer. The far one said “Laundry.” It contained nothing but several large tubs, a fireplace and a long table. A black iron sat on the table.

“That iron looks heavy. How do you suppose they heated it?” Aunt Mary spoke from right behind me.

“Ben Franklin hadn’t invented electricity yet. The fireplace?”

“Surely not.” There was horror in her voice.

“Over here.” Cora Lee peeked out of a doorway two doors down. The sign said “Kitchen.”

The doorway in the middle was marked “Scullery.” I wanted to look into that one. I’d read about sculleries but had never seen one. I wasn’t going to now, either. Cora Lee disappeared into the kitchen and the murmur of voices was clear. Aunt Mary climbed the stairs and stepped inside. I followed.

I wasn’t sure what I expected, but not this. The early spring day was pleasantly warm, but in this small room, it was hot. A fireplace took up almost one side of the room. The fire was small but appeared to have been going for some time. Coals burned red and the smell of smoke hung in the air. The windows on the opposite wall were open; under them was a shelf piled with bowls, copper pots, ceramic platters, mugs and a mortar and pestle. The shelves at the back of the room held platters filled with food. Aunt Mary was already down there examining the contents. The spinach salad, topped with finely chopped hardboiled eggs, looked a lot like the one she served. The tarts didn’t. The crust was thicker, but it didn’t look tough. It was brown and flaky. A plate was heaped high with fluffy biscuits. Platters held meats; bowls were full of puddings. Where had all this food come from? There was nothing in the room but a wooden table in the middle of the floor and a rather sour-looking woman standing by the fireplace, tongs in hand, watching us with an expression of equal parts amusement and disdain.

“Guess you’ve never seen an eighteenth-century kitchen before.”

Hattie. The small, round woman had piercing blue eyes and faded yellow hair twisted into sausage roll curls that stuck out from under her not very clean mob cap. She wore a full-sleeved white blouse that came down over her light blue skirt, held in place around her waist with a wide belt. Over it was a faded blue plaid apron, pinned to her blouse at the top and tied at the waist. She picked up a corner of the apron and wiped greasy hands as she continued to study us. There was nothing welcoming about her arrogant smile. There was nothing welcoming about Hattie. I knew I wasn’t being very charitable, but her attitude made that easy. Besides, the color of hair dye she used was all wrong. It made her look like a stuck-up canary.

“You must be Mary McGill, Elizabeth’s friend.”

There was a lack of enthusiasm in that statement that didn’t bode well for a future relationship. Aunt Mary nodded and smiled. A speculative kind of smile.

“Where’s Elizabeth?” Hattie turned her back on us and leaned into the fireplace. She dipped a rough-looking brush into a pot, took the end of her apron and moved back a plank that was propped in front of the open fire. A large fish was tied on it. A whole fish. Head, tail, fins,
and all. Hattie dabbed some clear liquid on it and then turned the board back toward the fire.

Aunt Mary sniffed. “Butter?”

Hattie nodded with what might have been approval. “Yep. That’s what a cook back then would have used, butter being plentiful and all. Of course, so was fresh lard.”

“Lard?” Ever since Uncle Samuel dropped dead of a heart attack, Aunt Mary had been vigilant about cholesterol. She was an excellent cook and she knew it. So did all of Santa Louisa. Only now, she served more vegetables, fruit and salads. Muffins, potatoes, steamed puddings and lemon meringue pie were no more. She still believed firmly in butter, though. So had Julia Child
, who lived to a ripe old age. But lard? She didn’t seem too sure about that.

“See those crusts over there?” Hattie pointed to the shelves that held the finished platters of food. “Made with lard. Not that grease you buy in tins, but good fresh lard made from a recently butchered pig. I should know. I made it. Want to see?” She walked over to a barrel and removed the lid. A pungent smell crept into the room and mixed with the smell of fish and smoke.

Aunt Mary looked in. I peeked over her shoulder. Cora Lee didn’t bother to move. The lard had a congealed look but wasn’t artificially white like the shortenings I used.