Auntie Mayhem (16 page)

But neither Judith nor Renie could be sure. “There wasn't any moon,” Renie explained. “It had just gone behind a cloud. I couldn't tell if the figure was a man or a woman. All we saw was a shadowy…
form
.”

Alex resumed his pensive attitude. “Well. This probably calls for a drink. Shall we?” He indicated the drawing room.

Judith didn't feel right about encouraging Alex's propensity for alcohol, but she was still shaken. “Okay,” she agreed in a weak voice and a weaker moment. “I could use a scotch.”

Settling into the drawing room's plush upholstery, the cousins allowed Alex to serve them. The trio had drinks in hand when an ashen Nats made a staggering entrance.

“Oh, my God! Get me a drink!” she cried. “I hate guns!” Nats collapsed onto the Louis XV settee.

Alex jumped in his armchair. “Nats! Did someone shoot at you?”

But Nats shook her head in a frenzied manner. “No, of course not, you ninny! Walter had to shoot Balthazar. He broke a leg. I'm sick—he was my favorite.” She put her head in her hands and kicked off her shoes.

Judith sat up on the sofa. “Oh! Then you were the…and Walter fired the…I see.”

Nats darted a reproachful look at Judith. “No, you don't see anything. How could you? Have you ever ridden Balthazar? He was magnificent.”

A commotion had erupted out in the entry hall. Judith recognized Inspector Wattle's voice, then Charles in response. Nats still held her head, but finally revived when her brother handed her a drink.

“Blast!” she exclaimed, getting up and spilling some of the beverage on the Aubusson carpet. “I have to make a phone call. I'll be right back.”

Alex wore an expression of alarm. “A phone call? Who, Nats?”

Still in her stocking feet, his sister glanced over her shoulder. “To the insurance fellow. Walter gave me his name.” She paused on the threshold, digging into the pocket of her suede jacket. “Doodles. Silly name, but that's it. Doodles Swinford.”

 

The insurance agent's name struck a familiar chord with Judith. It took a few seconds for her to remember why.

“I met him,” she explained to Renie and Alex, “at the IMNUTS cocktail party.”

Renie frowned. “Was he the one who fell out of the chandelier?”

“No,” Judith replied with a shake of her head. “In fact, that's how we got on the subject of insurance. We were talking about the various injuries sustained during the cocktail party. You know, the fall and the explosion and all that. Doodless mentioned that he insured pets. I suppose that includes horses.” She gave Alex an inquiring glance.

Alex, however, was more interested in the cocktail party. “I say, it sounds like a real bash. How did I miss it?”

Before the cousins could explain, Charles entered the room, glowering. “Pushy, that's what the police are. What else can we tell them? Now they're threatening to bring in the Yard. And all because Aunt Pet was rich.”

Refreshing his drink, Alex was unperturbed. “They won't ask for help from the Yard. The local coppers hate to do that. It makes them look stupid.”

An uneasy sensation settled over Judith. “Are they trying to tell us that they haven't any leads?”

Behind the bar, Charles all but shoved Alex out of the way. “That's what I gather,” he muttered, pouring himself a brandy.

Alex's handsome face contorted in what Judith guessed was an effort at deep thinking. “It's obvious, isn't it? The one person with a grudge shows up at Ravenscroft House
for the first time in donkey's years. He brings Aunt Pet a box of poisoned chocolates. The next day, she's dead.” Alex shrugged. “What's so difficult?”

Charles was fingering his chin. “Colonel Chelmsford? I wouldn't put it past the old bugger. But killing Aunt Pet doesn't solve his legal dilemma. The courts must do that.”

Alex gave Charles a patronizing look. “Chummy's disagreeable. He'd been on bad terms with Aunt Pet for years. He wanted to get even with her for causing problems. Maybe he figured that if she was dead, the rest of us wouldn't fight him in court.” Alex draped himself on the Chippendale chair. “Has anybody got a better solution?”

The contempt on Charles's face changed to distress. “No, actually,” he admitted. “You're quite right, Alex. It must have been Chummy. If not…” His entire body gave off a small shudder.

Nats was back in the doorway. Apparently, she had overheard some of the exchange between Charles and her brother. “If not, what? Go ahead, say it—if Colonel Chelmsford didn't poison Aunt Pet, then it had to be one of us.” Her dark gaze roamed from Alex and Charles to Judith and Renie. “Well?”

The bald truth didn't elicit any response.

 

Renie wanted to know why Judith had insisted on leaving the drawing room and going upstairs. Judith refused to explain until they had reached the sanctuary of her guest bedroom.

“Things are looking bleak,” she announced, putting her feet up on the canopied bed while Renie collapsed in a curved Italian armchair. “Alex may not be the swiftest blade on the ice, but he's right about the police—if they're talking about the Yard coming in on this case, Wattle and Daub don't have a clue. Literally.”

“Jeez!” Renie was more angry than upset. “What's wrong with Alex's theory? You're the one who said Chummy was carrying some kind of parcel when he called on Aunt Pet Friday. What, if not chocolates?”

Judith didn't respond immediately. She was writing something in the haphazard journal she had determined to
keep for the trip. So far, the only entries were “Lined tartan slippers for Mother—sole grippers,” “Mike—Jaeger corduroy blazer?” and “Dead ringer for Sweetums, stalking birds in vicinity of Marble Arch.”

“I'm making a note of Doodles Swinford,” Judith explained. “His real first name was Woodley. I remember it because it was like Joe's partner, Woodrow Price.”

“Woodrow isn't like Woodley,” Renie countered. “And Joe's partner is called Woody, not Noodles or Poodles, or whatever track your suddenly illogical train of thought is taking. Why do you care anyway?”

Judith refused to be nettled. “I don't know. But that episode at the stables was upsetting. I'm merely filing Doodles Swinford's name away for future note.” Slipping off the bed, she poked Renie. “Let's go see Dora. It's not yet nine o'clock. She'll still be awake.”

With a put-upon air, Renie followed Judith to the third floor. While still up, Dora was attired in a dark blue flannel bathrobe. Her gray hair hung in a single braid over one shoulder. She seemed startled, but not displeased, to see the cousins.

“It's so lonely up here,” she lamented, inviting Judith and Renie to sit down in Aunt Pet's overcrowded sitting room. “I can hardly bear to go into the mistress's bedroom. But I must, eventually. I'll have to arrange her things for the funeral.” Tears glistened in the maid's tired eyes.

Judith had assumed her most sympathetic expression. “You'll have to be very strong over the next few days,” she said. “Miss Ravenscroft depended on you while she was alive, and so she will do even in death.”

The doleful words actually seemed to buoy Dora. “Well, yes, now isn't that the case? My usefulness isn't over, is it? Hester said much the same thing earlier.”

“Hester?” It took a moment for the name to register with Judith. “Oh—Mrs. Tichborne. That's right, you have a lot of responsibility. It's a good thing you're accustomed to it. Miss Ravenscroft must have been very dependent on you.”

Despite herself, Dora preened just a bit. “Well now, I must admit she was fairly helpless. Getting her dressed, fetching her meals, doing her hair, helping with the bath—
yes, it was all on my shoulders. Not that I minded. That was my job, and as the good Lord knows, I'd done it since I was a girl. But then what else could I do?” Her gaze shifted into the shadows and her small face sagged.

Renie, for whom sentiment was a wasted emotion, tapped the arm of her mohair chair. “Teacher? Nurse? Secretary? Brain surgeon?” Noting Dora's astonished reaction, she offered a self-deprecating smile. “My mother's older than you are, Dora. She was a legal secretary for more than forty years. Judith's mother was a bookkeeper for some doctors. Even a half-century ago, there were choices.”

Though true, the declaration didn't sit well with Dora Hobbs. “Your mothers are Americans,” she said in a defensive manner. “It was different here. Especially for me.” Again, the maid looked away.

Judith was about to intervene, but Renie never gave up easily. “Why was that?” she asked. As usual, her sympathy seemed forced, even when it was sincere.

Backed into a corner, Dora lifted her chin. “Because it was charity, pure and simple. I was brought into this house under a cloud. Miss Pet took pity on me. She gave me a post as her maid. And why not, I ask you? I've done my job, and done it well. Should I be ashamed?”

If not always compassionate, Renie was basically reasonable. “No. Of course not. But I get annoyed by women who pretend that until the last twenty years, their only job opportunities were being a housewife or a hooker.” Seeing Dora blanch, Renie waved a hand. “No offense. I was curious, that's all.”

While some sort of minor alarm bell had gone off in Judith's head, she felt it was imperative to rescue the conversation. “I'm curious, too,” she put in, smiling at Dora and wishing Renie would stick her head under the mohair cushions. “On Friday, when Colonel Chelmsford came by, what did he bring for Miss Ravenscroft?”

Dora was clearly puzzled. “The colonel? Why, nothing. He wouldn't bring the mistress anything but trouble!”

Judith persisted. “He was carrying a parcel when Claire let him in.”

Dora's frown deepened. “So he was. I'd forgotten.”
Her pinched face grew stricken. “Oh, my! You don't think…? Surely not!”

“Anything's possible,” Judith said evenly. “Could it have been a box of chocolates?”

Dora floundered in the wingback chair. “How horrible! But somebody must have done…No, not Colonel Chelmsford! I remember now, I threw the empty box away myself.”

“
Empty
box?” Judith echoed. “What sort of box?”

Calming herself, Dora reflected. “It was…just a box. Brown or tan. Unless the police took it, I suppose it's still in the wastepaper basket in Miss Petulia's room. The daily doesn't empty the trash until Monday.”

“Let's look,” Judith suggested, getting up. She noted Dora's hesitation. “Do you mind?”

Dora put a hand to her head. “But why?”

Judith admitted she didn't know. “It could be important. If nothing else, it might prove that Colonel Chelmsford didn't poison Miss Ravenscroft.”

Without Aunt Pet's presence, the bedroom seemed not only empty, but a little shabby. Dora went over to the wastebasket that stood next to an escritoire. The contents had been removed from the basket, presumably by the police.

“I know the box was empty,” Dora insisted. “Miss Petulia said as much. She wanted to be rid of it.”

Judith nodded, noting that the inside of the metal wastebasket was badly scorched. “But the box wasn't empty when Colonel Chelmsford arrived. I wonder what it held?”

Renie was examining the escritoire, which was from a somewhat earlier era than most of the other furniture in the suite. “You didn't stay in the room after the colonel arrived?” she asked Dora.

The maid looked vaguely affronted. “My, no! It wasn't my place. Not that Colonel Chelmsford stayed long. Miss Petulia sent him packing after about five minutes.”

“I don't suppose,” Judith said innocently, “you happened to hear any of the conversation. The colonel speaks rather loudly sometimes.”

Dora looked pained. “Well…that he does. Quite the
shouter is the colonel. I was in the sitting room, mending. It would have been impossible
not
to catch a word or two.” Dora looked rather defensive.

“Such as?” Judith said encouragingly.

Dora's pained expression grew more pronounced. “That's the problem. It didn't make sense. The police already asked me. And of course, I am a wee bit hard of hearing. The only words I heard Colonel Chelmsford say were ‘clutches' and ‘moonstruck' and ‘ingratitude.' The mistress said something about ‘duty' and ‘betrayal.' I can't think what either of them could have meant. Can you?”

Neither Judith nor Renie could. “Whatever it was,” Judith said, “it doesn't sound like a property dispute. You didn't hear anything about boundary lines or fences or variances?”

Dora slowly shook her head. “No—not that I was
listening
, of course. Still, one couldn't help but overhear.” Her eyes widened. “What was it you said? Valences?”

“Variances,” Judith repeated. “They have something to do with property, at least in the States.”

Again, Dora grew puzzled. “That wasn't the word…It was like that, though. Cadence, maybe.”

Now Judith was looking mystified. “I don't get it.” She turned as Renie scraped open a drawer in the escritoire.

“Excuse me, Dora,” Renie said with an apologetic smile. “I'm saving my cousin the embarrassment of being a sneak. Maybe there's something in this desk that will enlighten us about the new will.”

Judith shot Renie a wry look. “If there is, Wattle's got it. Why do you think I'm not already pouncing on the furniture?”

But Renie wasn't giving up. Judith and Dora joined her. The drawers yielded very little. Unused stationery, postcards saved as keepsakes, a book of spiritual devotions, bottles of ink, Scotch tape, scissors, stamps, a tablet of lined paper, and unsharpened pencils seemed to be all that was left from the official police perusal. The only thing that seemed out of place was a tiny scrap of paper, caught between the side and the bottom of the lower right-hand drawer. Renie tugged it free.