A Will To Murder (25 page)

“Except possibly Sheila.  I’m beginning to wonder about her and that bottle of dandelion wine.  Sheila could easily have poisoned it and hidden the bottle afterwards, since she works in the kitchen.  And I’ve just realized something else.  You know who was
definitely
on the third floor when Lance was shot?”

“Who?”

“Richie and Briarly,” said Eric quietly.

Smith took another drink from his soda.  “That's pretty rough.  Little kids?”

“What if it was an accident?  Richie playing with a gun, sneaking up behind Lance and pulling the trigger, not realizing it's loaded?”

“If it was an accident,” said Bradley, pondering, “then maybe Phil--if Phil guessed one of his kids had shot Lance, would he run off?  You know, to try to draw suspicion away from the kids?”

Eric shrugged.  “It's a possibility.”

“Where was Phil?”

“I don’t know.  He had to be near the house, because he was there when everyone ran up the stairs.  Since we can’t account for his whereabouts, he’s on the suspect list.  But we still have too many suspects.”

Early the next morning, Bradley received a phone call from Armagnac.  “Heydrick’s told the police he didn’t shoot Lance,” Boyle said.  “I doubt he would’ve said otherwise.  By the way, the evidence people have finished, and the family can move back in.”

“Is everyone doing that?” Smith asked.

Armagnac cleared his throat nervously.  “Letitia and I are.  The Cummingses are staying at their motel, though they’ll be dropping by the house.  Sheila’s on temporary leave, and Jac says she’s continuing to stay at her Bed and Breakfast.”  

“Has she told her kids about their father?”

“No.  My sister’s hoping Phil will turn up, first.  Because of this, she won’t be coming by the house until later today.  Are you two going to move back in?”

“I guess not,” said Bradley, ignoring Eric’s strangled noises and protective wallet-clutching.  “But we’ll be coming by, too.”

After Smith hung up, Eric said, “You could have said ‘yes’.  I don’t like waking up with a cat on my face.”

“You shouldn’t have been so comfortable to sleep on,” retorted the other.

Barksdale greeted the family with glad whines at the front gate when they returned.  The evidence teams had been thorough.  The Mercedes-Knight was back at the police pound again, and the police had cut out the rugs where Colette and Lance had lain, and removed much of the contents of Katherine’s and Lance’s rooms.  Fingerprint dust was everywhere, over the walls, on all the mirrors and nicknacks.  Mrs. Marshpool choked at the sight of it.

“They’ve taken Herbert Maxillamus!” Rose cried from the stairs.

“Oh great,” said Armagnac.  “Now we have to remember where old Herbert came from.  Does anybody know?”

“Your father told me Herbert was actually one of Hiram Boyle’s old business partners, that the elder Mr. Boyle had ordered to be boiled and flensed.  I hope that was a joke,” said Mrs. Marshpool.

“Let me look at the family records,” Armagnac groaned. “Maybe there’s an old receipt for him somewhere.”

“You’re lucky Tig and Mary were buried before this,” said Bert to his wife.  “They would have been hard to explain, too.”

Rose saw her son listening.  “Arthur, go play somewhere out of the way.  We don’t want to be bothered right now.”

A little irritably, the boy went upstairs.  Mrs. Marshpool seemed to be everywhere, prowling into all the rooms, so he went up to the attic.  Once there, he saw his father out the window, standing by the Camry.

Arthur glanced at the cardboard box where he had seen the CD case.  It wasn’t there, but a gun was resting in its place.

Chapter 15

It looked like a real gun.  Carefully, Arthur picked it up.  He couldn't tell whether it was loaded or not, and he tried to peer down the dark barrel, but saw nothing.  Then a thought came to him.

A few minutes later, Bert heard the scrape of a window opening and his name being called.  Arthur's face was mashed against the attic screen.  “Dad?!  Could you come up here?”

Bert grimaced.  That was Arthur's, ‘Uh-oh, I've really done it now and had better call Dad,’ tone.  When Cummings made his way into the attic, he saw Arthur by the window, gulping.  Bert was about to bluster that this had better not be about that damned CD again, when his son held up a hand.  A gun was dangling from the pinky finger, the digit wedged firmly down the barrel.

“Fuck,” said Bert.  

“How?” he added after a moment.

“Well, I remembered that there was something called ‘rifling’ inside gun barrels and was trying to see if this gun had any when my finger got stuck,” said Arthur in a rush.

“Just hold still,” said his father.  Grimly, he stepped forward and studied the problem.  “Is it loaded?”

“I don't know.”

Bert's jaw worked.  “All right.  Now stay absolutely still.”  Keeping an eye on the trigger, he held the gun barrel with his right hand, and grabbed Arthur's cold little hand with his left.  Then he tugged. The finger wouldn't budge.

“Jesus kid, you got it down there tight.”  Bert yanked harder, and Arthur yelped with pain.

“Just bear with it, kid.  You can't have pushed your finger in there harder than I can pull it out.  Just hang on.”  Cummings eyed the trigger.  He seemed to have broken out into a sweat all of a sudden and was afraid his hands would grow slippery.  Then he yanked hard.

Arthur screamed.  There was a loud pop and a deafening
boom
.  Bert swore and dropped the gun.  Arthur burst into tears.  “Did you shoot your finger off?” the boy asked interestedly.

“No!” his father yelled.  “No, thanks to you!  I just burnt my fingers on the goddamned barrel when the goddamned gun went off, God damn it!”

Bits of dust and wood were fluttering down from the rafters.  “Christ,” Bert groaned.  “I just shot a hole in the roof.  And that swine Armagnac will probably make me pay for it.”  He gave his son a murderous look.  Arthur eyed him apprehensively.

By the time everyone had rushed into the attic, Arthur was emitting the wail of a spanked child and Bert was yelling, “The next time you find anything dangerous like this, you tell me immediately!  You don't stop to play with it!  Do you understand me!?  
Do you understand!?
”

“Bert!” Rose gasped.

Her husband ignored her.  “Do you understand!?”

“Yes,” whimpered the boy.  He shoved past the grownups and leapt down the attic stairs, passing Eric and Bradley on the way up.

“Bert!  Did you spank him?”  Rose exclaimed.

“Damn right.”

“Why!?  You know we always try to punish him some other way!”

Her husband was unmoved.  “He'll remember he loves me when he wants his allowance.  I caught him playing with
this
.”  Everyone ogled the gun.

“Is that what went off?” Eric gasped.  “We heard a shot when we were driving up and thought there'd been another . . . .”  He fell silent.

“We're fine,” said Cummings dryly.  “I think Arthur found the gun that killed Lance.  What's the number for that detective?”

“It’s written down by the telephone.  Letitia, will you make the call?  I think the rest of us are rather frayed right now.”  The housekeeper hurried away.  “And what’s this blasted light that's shining in my eye?”  Boyle flapped a hand as if to swat the beam away.  Bert winced.  Armagnac stared blankly at the hole in the roof.  

“Fuck,” said Armagnac.  

“How?” he added after a moment.

“The gun was stuck on the kid's finger and it went off while I was removing it,” said Bert quickly, wanting to get this over with.  Rose whitened.

“Spank him!  Spank him!” Arthur chanted at his uncle.  The boy had snuck back into the attic, unable to stay away.  He was thrilled to find his father in trouble.

“Kid!” Bert threatened, shaking his fist.

“I think everyone should go downstairs to wait for the police,” said Eric gingerly, trying not to make tempers worse.  “We shouldn't disturb this room if the murderer's been here.”

“I forgot about that,” Armagnac sighed.  “We've probably spoiled the evidence already.”  After a queasy look at the hole, Boyle led them back down.

The police arrived, questioned people again, searched the attic, and bagged the gun.  Arthur answered their questions sullenly.  He had, after all, found this vitally important gun and if his father hated him for it, Arthur was going to sulk for the rest of his life.  Then he thought about the bullet hole in the roof.  If it rained really hard, would it flood the house and destroy everything?  He began to worry about the hole.  

Directly after the police left, a woman by the name of Mrs. Higgins arrived from the State Social Services Department, Child Protection Division.  She was here to see Bert.  Mrs. Higgins questioned Cummings closely about this gun that had gone off in the presence of a child.  Bert was startled to hear her say the words, ‘child endangerment,’ and to discover Mrs. Higgins hinting that he was unfit to be a parent.

“He spanked me,” Arthur told her helpfully.

“Shut up, kid,” said Bert, glowering at his son.  “I was trying to get the gun off his finger!  I wasn’t shooting at him or anything like that, tempted though I was.”

“Yet you are involved in this
peculiar
multiple murder case,” replied Mrs. Higgins with a sneer.  “I’m seriously inclined to take this child away for his own safety.”

“Hey!” said Bert.

“But he wasn’t trying to kill me,” Arthur said with sudden anxiety at the thought of spending the rest of his childhood in an institution with Mrs. Higgins.  

It was some time before Bert could get rid of her.  Armagnac gloated the whole time, which did not improve Cummings’ mood.  

Jac and Richie arrived in a taxi soon after the social worker left.  “Has anyone heard from Phil?” Jac asked wearily when she entered.  

Richie's face wore a fearful expression.  “Richie,” said his mother briskly.  “Go find Arthur and play.  We don't want to be disturbed right now.”  

Obediently, the boy ran out of the room, yelling, “Hey, Arthur!  C'mere!”

After he left, Jac said, “I called the Sheriff’s Department for news, but they wouldn't tell me anything.  Is it true you found a gun in the attic?”

Rose nodded.  “Have you told your kids about Phil?”

Jac's eyes flared for a second.  “I've told Richie, but not Briarly.  That's why I left her back at the B & B.  Richie's older and can handle the news better.  Could you tell Briarly for me?  I can’t do it.”

Rose, though surprised, nodded.

“Good,” said Jac.  “Tell me about this gun.”

Arthur was climbing over the iron railing of the observation tower with a roll of scotch tape in his hand.  He was planning to cover the bullet hole so the house wouldn’t flood.  The thought had been bothering him endlessly.  

He began to make his way quietly down the roof.  Fortunately the shingled roof was convoluted and had many curious dips that hid him from sight.  He searched timidly awhile, but couldn’t locate the hole.  Finally he sat down, pressing his soles hard against the shingles, and tried to think.  

Someone yelled, “Hey, Arthur!  Where are you?”  

It was Richie’s voice.  His cousin was climbing up to the observation tower, the metal risers ringing with his footfalls.  

Uh-oh
, thought Arthur.  He was about to be caught.  The boy lay flat, hoping this would hide him.  It didn’t.  He heard a noise of harsh breathing as his cousin reached the tower, then a cry.  Grimly, Arthur sat up and climbed towards the tower.

His cousin’s face was oddly serious for once.  As Arthur approached, this expression molted off and became one of pure, hate-filled threat.  “I hear you have a penny from Grandad that’s worth a lot of money.”

Uh-oh
, thought Arthur again.  He looked out over the grounds, hoping someone could see him, then began to ease sideways.  “Yeah,” he replied nonchalantly.  He couldn’t deny he had the penny, since Aunt Jac and Briarly already knew about it.  

“Let’s see it.”  

“My father has it,” Arthur lied.  “I gave it to him earlier today.”

“Then you go get it from him,” said Richie, climbing over the railing of the tower.

Arthur tried to circle to the other side.  “He won’t give it back.  He says it’s too valuable for me to carry around.”

“I think you’re lying.” His cousin was circling also, his back towards the tower.  “You haven’t told your parents at all.  Let me see it or I’ll shove you off the fucking roof.”

“If you shove me off, you’ll never get to see it and you’ll go to jail!” Arthur yelled, bolting towards the tower.  He didn’t doubt his cousin’s threat.  

Richie grabbed for him, and Arthur scrambled sideways.  He couldn’t run very fast on this uneven surface, so he made his way downwards and heard Richie thudding after him.  From somewhere he could hear Barksdale yapping frantically, but no one was in sight on the grounds.

Arthur tried to circle back up.  Then Richie jumped on him, face crazy with rage.  Both boys slid towards the gutter, and Arthur screamed, thinking they would go over the edge.  He pressed on the wooden shingles with his hands and feet, trying to stop their slide.  Richie was punching him, snarling, “He should have given it to me!  He should have given it to me!”  

His cousin didn’t seem to care if they fell off the roof or not. “Let go!” Arthur howled.  Their struggle was jouncing them closer and closer to the edge.  Frantically, Arthur tried to kick him off.  

Then Richie was jerked backwards by the collar, and Bradley was standing behind him, hanging onto the struggling boy’s shirt.  Weirdly, Smith was also holding some roses.

“What are you two doing?  Don’t you know it’s dangerous to play on the roof?” Smith asked guilelessly.

This, thought Arthur, was one stupid adult remark too many.  “He was trying to kill me!  He wanted my penny!”  

“Oh, for God’s sakes, what a stupid thing to do, fighting over a penny.  “Here,” Bradley said to Arthur, “hold this.”