5 Murder by Syllabub (13 page)

Her little sausage curls bobbed as she leaned over the barrel and her cap slid sideways. She didn’t seem to notice. “This is almost too stiff. Mary, help me lift this thing. We’ll pour the whey off into that shallow pan. There, that one on the table. Yes. Careful. Now we’ll scoop the butter out and put it into a firkin.”

“What’s a firkin?”

“Drat. I forgot to bring it over. Wait just a minute.”

Hattie hurried toward the door and scrambled down the steep stairs without bothering with the railing. I turned to look at Cora Lee, thinking this was a good time to go, but she had taken a seat in the rocking chair beside the table.

She watched Aunt Mary’s annoyance with mild amusement. “Told you, didn’t I
?”

Before she could answer, the doorway filled with a small barrel, Hattie hidden behind it.

“Oh, let me help you.” Early childhood training in politeness rather than concern for Hattie sent me toward the door.

“No, no. Get out of the way. This thing ain’t heavy. It’s empty.” Hattie set the barrel down on the table, next to the butter churn. “I scoured this out last night getting it ready for the butter. Now, if we were really in the eighteenth century, we’d wash the butter, get the curds off. Then we’d cover this with a brine of some sort, salt water you know, put the cover on it and put it down in the cellar to keep cool. We could get months out of it that way.”

Months? Without it going rancid?

Aunt Mary shuddered. “All that salt. It couldn’t have been good for them.”

The corners of Hattie’s mouth twitched. “Kept stuff from spoiling. If it went rancid, you could melt what you needed and let it simmer then dip a toasted crust of bread in it. That’d take the bad taste out. I’ll leave the firkin here, open, so the folks who come through on the tour can see it. They’ll be along soon. After Amy finishes showing them the house.”

Aunt Mary had a smaller version of the butter paddle in her hand, scooping the butter into the firkin. “Is that how they did it back then?”

“Yeah. They layered it just like that. Now sprinkle a little salt over it. More. The best families sometimes made little individual patties. They had special molds with the family crest in the bottom. Like little Jell-O molds. They put those on the table when they had company, which was most of the time. It’s all in those cookbooks up there. They tell you exactly how they made everything, including the lard. Did you know that when you brine meat to preserve it for winter, you have enough salt in the water to keep an egg afloat?”

I didn’t think Julia Child had covered that particular subject and doubted it was a piece of information I’d need in the near future.
Hattie pointed toward a shelf, so Aunt Mary reached up and indicated various books until Hattie nodded her approval. She took down a small paperback,
The American Frugal Housewife
. A woman in period dress graced the cover.

Hattie reached over, took the book and put it back on the shelf. “Go on over to the Colonial Williamsburg Visitor’s Center. They have a really good bookstore.”

Cora Lee observed all this with a carefully blank expression, but it was evident she wanted no part of churning butter, planking fish or making French toast over coals, with wine or any other way. She looked at her watch. “What do you want me to tell Elizabeth? Do you have any kind of list I can take her?”

Hattie set the firkin on the table and wiped her hands on her apron. It looked as if she did that a lot. “I have to take this churn into the scullery and clean it, take the butter to the dairy
, and get food ready for the next tour so people can see how it was done. Some of this has to go to the Governor’s Palace. Besides, I won’t know what she needs until I see what’s there.” She paused a moment then nodded. “She really wants to use that old kitchen?”

Cora Lee opened her eyes wide with surprise. “Of course. What else would she use?”

“Hmm. Tell her I’ll come out as soon as I can. Day after tomorrow? Unless, of course, this business with Monty blows everything to smithereens.”

Cora Lee gave her a disgusted look, leaving no doubt she thought this
entire visit had been a waste of her time. “How about the other stuff, helping her with the main house? I can do some of it, and will. I’m good at decorating, but I don’t know a thing about chamber pots and rope mattresses, and I don’t want to. Do you want to work on that also?”

“Maybe. What’s she done so far?”

“Mostly outside stuff. William had that stroke before they could get anything done but their house. Noah’s worked on the outbuildings and he’s started on one of the slave cabins, but he’s got his precious rare breeds and he’s studying for his lieutenant’s test, plus he has a full-time job. Noah’s busy.”

“Noah. I heard he’s taking the test for lieutenant. That won’t set well with McMann, now will it? I expect Noah’ll need the extra pay since he’s getting married.”

Exasperated, Cora Lee shook her head. “Hattie, that’s not why he’s taking the test. Noah’s got a career.” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m sure they can use the extra money. Anyway, he’s only going to be able to pitch in a little. Calvin’s supposed to start the garden, but we’re going to need lots more help.”

“Calvin! Calvin Campbell? What’s he doing back out there?”

“William planned on hiring him as soon as he got out of jail. Elizabeth wanted to honor William’s wishes. Besides, no one knows more about eighteenth-century gardens than he does.”

Hattie didn’t say anything for a moment but her pursed lips and rigid stance
expressed strong disapproved. “I’m going to have to have Elizabeth out to my house in Yorktown. She needs to see a real Colonial garden.”

Cora Lee sighed. “Tomatoes, spinach, yams, none of them have changed much.”

“It’s the herbs she needs to see. They used things most people have forgotten about.”

Cora Lee glanced again at her watch. “Well, maybe she will. We have to go. I’ll have Elizabeth call you.”

A cellphone rang. I fumbled in my tote bag but it was Cora Lee’s. She pulled it out and read the screen. Her mouth got tight and she flipped it open immediately.

“Mildred. What’s wrong? Oh. Oh, no. They can’t. They found what? Where’s Noah?” She listened a minute. Her face got white and her mouth more pinched. “All right. We’re on our way.”

Something was burning. The arid smell finally made its way through the growing tension that came from Cora Lee’s one-sided conversation. I wheeled around. Smoke rose from the cast iron frying pan. The toast was on fire, smoke and small tongues of flames reaching for the ceiling. Hattie, who’d been listening intently, swiveled about and, with a corner of her apron, grabbed the frying pan off the little fire.

“Dad gum it.” She shook the pan a little and flung the offending piece into the main fire then walked back over to the table and set the frying pan down on another trivet to cool.

“‘What’s wrong? Is it Elizabeth?”

Cora Lee didn’t seem to hear. She trembled slightly as she shoved the phone back into her pants pocket. I wasn’t sure she even noticed the toast burning.

“Mildred says Lieutenant McMann just read Elizabeth her rights and is going to take her down to the police station. They’re charging her with Monty’s murder.” Cora Lee paused, and the breath she took in seemed labored. “Ellen, she said to tell you they found the syllabub glass.”

A
small cluster of cars and people huddled around the closed front gates of the plantation. One was a white van, antenna on top, call letters from a local TV station on its side. A heavily made-up, very shapely young woman stood beside it, watching a skinny young man in jeans and a sweatshirt with a Washington Redskins logo try to mount a camera on a tripod. The small SUV next to them had a Newport News Press logo on the front door with two men in the front seat. The press had arrived.

“Thank goodness.” I stared at them.

“You’ve got to be kidding. What’s good about them?” Cora Lee stopped the car and narrowed her eyes. 

“Just wait. If Fox or CNN thinks this is important, we’re in for an avalanche of reporters, and they’re not shy about sticking those things in your face.”

“What things?”

“Microphones. Cameras. Their faces.”

Cora Lee edged the car through the few reporters up to the gate and stared at the chain that held it closed. “Who put that there? Ellen, would you mind?”

I did mind. I was tired, confused and upset at the thought Elizabeth might actually go to jail. How had they found that blasted glass? Who had? I didn’t want Aunt Mary to brave the reporters so I opened the passenger side door and swung my legs out. They were around me before I could stand up.

“Who are you?” A middle-aged man in a rumpled-looking sports jacket got there first, notepad and pen ready.

“Are they going to arrest Mrs. Smithwood?” The voluptuous young reporter blocked my way with a microphone. The cameraman stood right behind her, camera raised to his eye, ready in case I said anything interesting.

“Leo McMann went in there a while ago. Then we saw Payton Culpepper. What’s happening? Is Culpepper going to defend her?” Another one of the reporters tried to block my way to the gate. I skewered him with my eyes and pushed my way through to stand in front of it. The press formed a half circle around my back and continued to bombard me with questions, which I ignored. The gate wasn’t locked, just secured with a chain held in place with a snap, which had no intention of giving up its job easily. I muttered a word not usually in my vocabulary and pushed on the thumb latch again.

“Do they know what killed him yet?” Why was the cameraman asking questions?

“Do you think there really is a ghost involved?” Surely the female reporter wasn’t serious.

The latch came loose. I slipped off the chain, pushed the gate open and waved Cora Lee forward. I held the gate open only enough for her to get the car through.

“Hey. That’s Mrs. Wittingham. CJ Wittingham’s wife. She used to be a Smithwood. Hey, Mrs. Wittingham, is it true you and CJ are estranged? Did he have one too many floozies?” The reporter tried to slip through the gate, obviously prepared to chase after the car.

“You can’t come in here.” I stood just inside the gate and started to push it closed.

The man tried to slip through anyway.

“I told you. You can’t come through.”

The reporter didn’t even glance at me. He pushed at the gate and managed to get halfway in.

I told everyone later he must have been off balance or I never would have been able to catch him mid-stride like that. I hadn’t realized he was caught on the gate. He certainly made a fuss. It wasn’t my fault his leg was still inside while the rest of him was out. I quit pushing so he could pull his leg out. As for the tear in his pants, well, I told him not to come in.

“Ouch. Damn. Oh, pain.” He leaned against the gate pillar holding his leg. “You’ve broken it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” I checked to make sure he really was out and we were safely in before I slipped the chain back on. This time the snap was more than ready to do its job. “Don’t even think of opening this gate. The police are here and I wouldn’t hesitate to have them remove you for trespassing.” I deliberately raised my voice so everyone heard. “When Mrs. Smithwood is ready to make a statement, she’ll call a press conference and include all of you. In the meantime, do not enter this property. And, young man, you might try Neosporin on that leg. I’ve found it’s good for all kinds of things.”

I turned back toward the car.

He muttered, “
Not if the damn thing’s broken.”

I smiled broadly as I slid into the backseat. “Ready.”

The car didn’t move.

“What’s the matter? If we don’t get going, those blasted reporters will scale the gate to get at us.”

“Where did you learn to handle the press that way?” Cora Lee looked torn between amusement and awe.

“
I’ve had a couple of run-ins with them over the years.” I settled myself as the car started to move forward. “Isn’t Payton Culpepper Hattie’s son?”

“He is, and he’s one of DC’s famous lobbyists. He and Monty were friends when they were in high school. He hung around here all the time, but that was years ago. Why?”

“That newspaper man said he entered through the gate a short time ago. He asked if he’s going to defend Elizabeth.”

“Payton?” Cora Lee slammed on the brakes and twisted in her seat to stare at me. “Are you sure he said Payton Culpepper?”

“Yes. I’m positive. If he’s a lobbyist—I guess a lot of them are attorneys.” I didn’t know much about lobbyists. To the best of my knowledge, I’d never met one, but I didn’t think they did criminal law. Not that Elizabeth was a criminal, but she might need an attorney. A criminal attorney. My fists tightened.

Cora Lee continued to stare at me. “I can’t imagine why Payton would be here. Unless Hattie called him. That can’t be right. She wouldn’t call and he wouldn’t come.” She started the car, moving a little faster than the uneven road allowed. “We need to see what’s going on.”

Not much. A small knot of people stood on the front porch of the west house. Elizabeth was among them and she wasn’t wearing handcuffs. Mildred stood beside her and Noah behind them both. Lt. McMann, a bald man with a bulbous nose and florid cheeks, stood more or less in the middle. His pants, easily visible under his unbuttoned sports jacket, sat a little below his stomach in a manner I thought most unbecoming for a policeman. At least he was talking, not yelling as he had last night. A tall man in a beautifully cut charcoal gray suit, almost blindingly white shirt and maroon stripped tie stood on Elizabeth’s other side. Payton Culpepper? We crept closer and came to a stop behind two police cars. One was marked Crime Scene Investigations. The other was identifiable only because of the uniformed officer sitting in the driver’s seat.

A young man dressed in khakis and a polo shirt came out the front door carrying a large carton with a small brown paper bag on top. He walked carefully, putting one foot deliberately in front of the other as if
worried he might spill its contents. He nodded to the group on the stairs, said something to Lt. McMann and started carefully down the stairs. Everyone was watching him. The attorney turned full face toward me.

I gasped. “Aunt Mary, look. That man.”

I heard a quick intake of breath as she leaned on the dashboard to stare at the man. “That’s him. I know it’s him.”

“What’s the matter?” Cora Lee twisted the other way. The young man walked toward the car. “That’s the crime scene man. Look, he’s putting a box in the back of that SUV. I’ll bet that’s the
syllabub.” Her expression changed. “You don’t think that’s our punch bowl, do you? He wouldn’t. Would he? That punch bowl is over two hundred years old. He has no business touching it. If he breaks it—what do they think they’re doing?”

I wasn’t looking at the crime scene man or his SUV. Instead, I stared at the attorney. “That man, the one standing by Elizabeth. Is that Payton Culpepper?
”

“That’s him.”

“That’s the man we flew in with yesterday.”

Cora Lee had her door open and was struggling to unhook her seat belt, but she stopped, twisted again to look at Aunt Mary, then back at me. “Flew in where?”

“From L.A. to Philadelphia. He sat next to Aunt Mary. We changed planes there and flew to Newport News. So did he.”

Cora Lee paused, the door half opened. “He did? I thought he and Hattie had—I wonder why he came here. Never mind. I’m going to rescue my punch bowl.”

She edged out of the car, slammed the door and, jamming her cane into the ground with every step, started toward the Crime Scene vehicle. I climbed the stairs behind Aunt Mary to join the group standing on the porch watching them.

“Where’s Cora Lee going?” Elizabeth
said, as she watched Cora Lee tap her cane forcefully on the closed window of the SUV.

“To rescue your punch bowl.” Aunt Mary nodded at Payton Culpepper.

He nodded back. “We meet again.”

“Yes.”

There wasn’t time to say anything more because both Lt. McMann and Elizabeth started down the stairs.

“Cora Lee, it’s all right. He doesn’t have the bowl.” Elizabeth was in the lead, almost to the car. “I gave him a glass jar.”

“Cora Lee, you’re interfering with police procedures.” Lt. McMann edged past Elizabeth and grabbed Cora Lee’s arm. “You’re going to break that window.”

“Leo McMann, take your hands off me at once.” The look she gave him would have blistered paint. “Is there some reason you’re accosting me?”

Lt. McMann’s face reddened, but he took his hand off her arm. “Cora Lee, you’ve been a pain in the ass ever since I met you. We didn’t take your damn punch bowl. Mrs. Smithwood explained about its ‘historic value’ and, frankly, I’d rather face a python than have one of you women after me if we broke it. We got fingerprints off it and put the contents in a glass jar. That all right with you?”

Cora Lee dropped her cane from the car window and brushed at her sleeve, as if to brush off his touch. The insult apparently wasn’t lost on Lt. McMann. His already florid face turned beet red.

“Leo, you are the rudest man alive. You’ve been practicing rudeness since you were a kid and I had to babysit you.” She turned back toward the house but paused. “Or did you learn it in police school. If so, you passed with flying colors.”

With that, she walked to the stairs, leaning on her cane with each step, followed by an obviously unhappy Elizabeth.

I watched Cora Lee’s impertinence with foreboding. Provoking the police was, in my opinion, never a good idea. It was especially dumb right now, with so much at stake. I looked over at Aunt Mary. She looked equally grim.

Cora Lee reached the top of the stairs, paused and addressed Elizabeth. “Just what is going on? Mildred called and scared us near half to death. Hello, Payton.” She nodded to him.
“The way she sounded, I thought you were halfway to the electric chair.”

Elizabeth sighed. “You do have a way with words, don’t you
?” She sighed again. “If Payton hadn’t shown up, that might have been the case.”

Cora Lee turned to Payton. “Why? What did you do?”

“I’m glad to see you, too.” He gave her a small bow.

“Oh, stop that. How did you keep Leo from arresting Elizabeth?”

Icicles dripped from every word of Payton’s answer. “I merely pointed out that he didn’t have enough evidence.”

“What he actually said was
, Leo couldn’t make spaghetti stick to the wall with the evidence he had and he didn’t have a warrant. If he arrested me, Payton would make sure all hell broke loose.”

Elizabeth
was clearly furious but trying not to let it show. With Lt. McMann? My eyes shifted behind Elizabeth to where Noah stood beside his mother. He hadn’t said a word but he seemed equally as angry. Mildred just looked miserable.

Payton Culpepper didn’t seem to notice. He pushed back the sleeve of his immaculate white shirt to reveal a beautiful gold watch, which I thought he exhibited a little too long. “I
’m booked on the last flight out to DC and have to leave now if I’m going to make it.” He turned to address Lt. McMann, who had followed Cora Lee up the stairs. “Leo, I’m glad you’re being sensible about this. We both know your evidence is insufficient to arrest Mrs. Smithwood. I’d hate to see you embarrass yourself by trying. If you have more questions, her attorney will be happy to accompany her.” He took Elizabeth’s hand. “Elizabeth, Harrison Silverstein will call you tomorrow, or his secretary will. He’s the best criminal attorney in the state of Virginia. I’ll call him and fill him in. You don’t have to do a thing.” He scanned our little group, nodded once to Noah and let his eyes rest on Aunt Mary. They narrowed in an expression of … what—speculation, recognition, suspicion? A difficult man to read. In an instant he had regained the air he had presented in the airport, one of calm command. This man knew he was in charge.

A car slowly drove around the circle toward the steps. “I’ll be in touch.” He walked down the stairs, ignoring the remaining police car, and waited until the driver had the rear door open. If he looked back, no one on the stairs knew it.

“Do all limousines have black windows?” Aunt Mary watched the car navigate the bumpy road. Santa Louisa didn’t have many stretch limos, only ones used for wine tasting tours. They didn’t need black windows.

“Lots do. People around DC like their privacy.” Mildred’s voice was
flat.

“Harrison Silverstein.” Lt. Mann muttered another word under his breath I couldn’t quite catch but I thought it started with an “s.” He, too, watched the car until the trees hid it from sight. No one had trouble hearing what he said this time. “Arrogant bastard.”