Auntie Mayhem (26 page)

“No,” Arthur replied. “I merely thought it might be…helpful. Shall I see you around ten-thirty?”

Judith agreed, but added an afterthought: “Meet us at the gatehouse. Just in case Walter is home, okay?”

Arthur was more than willing to accommodate the cousins. Judith and Renie got their jackets, then went downstairs.

“Let's check on Walter,” Judith suggested. “Just in case.”

Renie looked worried. “Are you sure that's a good idea? In fact, is any of this a good idea?”

Judith gave Renie a crooked smile. “You're the one who wanted to surrender the gatehouse. Are you having qualms, coz?”

“Not about
that
,” Renie replied, obviously still disturbed. But seeing Judith's face set with purpose, she gave in. “Okay, let's get this over with.”

For a split second, Judith hesitated. Renie was right to be cautious. It wasn't wise to act on impulse. Maybe they should put everything off until morning.

Then again, maybe morning would never come.

A
HALF-MOON RODE
high above the river as the cousins started for the gatehouse. Clouds, weighted with the damp chill of the sea, were moving in from Devon and Dorset. More rain, Judith thought, but that was typical of capricious April.

There were no lights in the gatehouse. “Maybe Walter's there, but he's gone to bed,” Renie suggested.

“Maybe.” But Judith sensed that the house was empty. It conveyed an air of being spurned by its longtime resident, as well as its would-be owners. “Desolate,” Judith murmured, more to herself than to Renie.

A gust of wind made Renie shiver. “Let's go. Even if he's there, we don't want to wake him up. There's no telling what he'll do.”

Judith set her mouth in a grim line. “No, not even with good news. Walter may not see things that way, given his state of mind.”

But Judith didn't head back to the house. Rather, she led Renie down Farriers Lane, past the village green. The trees cast long dark shadows, their trunks groaning, the leaves sighing in the wind. The cousins stopped suddenly as a flashlight played through the shrubbery.

Judith grabbed Renie's arm. “Who's that?” she asked, her heart beating faster.

Renie peered into the green. “I can't tell,” she whis
pered. “Somebody's moving around the Dunk memorial.”

“Jeez!” Judith now shuddered. “Let's go to Tinsley's office. He'll have to stop there first to draw up the deed.”

Renie, however, balked. “We said we'd meet him at the gatehouse. Let's go back. This is creepy.”

Taking several indecisive steps in a semi-circle, Judith kept watching the wavering flashlight. At last it became stationary. Judith edged closer to the green, but the moon disappeared behind a cloud. She could see nothing except the faint amber glow.

Renie nudged Judith. “There's a car parked at the end of the lane,” she whispered. “I don't recognize it.”

Judith turned. “Is it the police?”

“No,” Renie replied. “I think I could make out one of those black and white so-called Panda cars.”

The wind had picked up sharply, cutting through the cousins' light jackets. Renie brushed her hair out of her eyes; Judith pulled her collar up to her chin.

“You're right,” Judith said finally. “We'll wait by the gatehouse.”

Judith and Renie had just turned back when another car came down the lane. This time they recognized the gray vehicle as belonging to Arthur Tinsley. He stopped when he saw the cousins, rolling down the window and motioning to them.

Judith and Renie hurried to the car. “Walter doesn't seem to be around,” Judith explained, still speaking in a whisper. “Shall we go back to Ravenscroft House?”

“No need,” Arthur said. “I haven't been to the office yet. Come along and we'll fill out the papers there. It's grown quite chilly. I'll make tea.”

Judith didn't see how they could politely refuse Arthur's offer. She had dealt the hand herself; she had to play it out. Two minutes later, they were in the waiting room where Mrs. Radford presumably held forth during business hours.

“The tea things are here,” Arthur explained, turning on a desk lamp. “So are the forms. This won't take but a minute. I can deliver them to Mr. Paget tomorrow. Assuming, of course, that he'll be in.”

Judith said nothing, but exchanged a quick glance with Renie. Arthur had his back to the cousins as he fiddled with a state-of-the-art tea maker.

“I prefer the old-fashioned method,” Arthur said in a fretful voice, “but Mrs. Radford is all for efficiency. Still, the tea tastes quite good. Is Irish Breakfast satisfactory?”

It was, the cousins assured Arthur. He fiddled some more, apparently not as efficient as his secretary. At last, the tea seemed to be steeping. The solicitor turned to a file cabinet and produced the appropriate documents. Sitting at Mara's desk, he explained the procedure. Either cousin could fill in the blanks, but both would have to sign.

“Joint ownership, you see.” He gave Judith and Renie a thin smile.

Renie did the honors and signed off. Judith hesitated, reminded herself that she couldn't miss what she never had, and added her signature, too.

“Well done,” Arthur said, nodding approval. “Most generous. Ah! Our tea is ready. Sugar? Cream? Lemon?”

Renie requested sugar; Judith asked for cream. Arthur produced both, then put a hand to his head. “Oh, my! I almost forgot—do forgive me. Since you're not citizens of the Crown, there's one other document you must sign. It has to do with taxes and such. It's worded in a most complicated manner, but it's a mere formality. Here.” He slid a piece of paper in front of the cousins. Judith tried to read it, then stopped.

“I need my glasses,” she said, reaching for her purse. Her elbow struck Renie's arm, knocking the teacup to the floor. The tea spilled, and the china broke into a dozen shards.

“Oh, no!” Judith cried. “I'm sorry! Let me pick up this mess!” She bent down, then suddenly jerked her head up to fix Renie with angry eyes. “You're such a klutz, Serena! If you ever learned to eat and drink like something other than a pig at a trough, I wouldn't get involved in these embarrassing situations!”

“Hey! Since when did you ever…” Renie paused, blinked, and grabbed Judith by the collar of her jacket.
“I've had enough of your big mouth. Apologize, fatso, or we're taking this outside!”

“
Fatso!
How dare you!” Judith shrieked. “You make Bugs Bunny look like Elmer Fudd was an orthodonist! Okay, let's go! I'll meet you in the High Street.”

Judith and Renie practically fell over each other getting out the door.

“Nice pick-up,” Judith gasped.

“You only call me Serena when you're seriously mad,” Renie said, between gulps of air. “And I'd never
really
call you fatso.”

“Right,” Judith said, now panting hard. “Faster, Bugs.”

The cousins were running toward Farriers Lane when they heard footsteps pounding behind them. Judith turned just where the unidentified car was parked at the end of the village green. Arthur Tinsley was waving his arms, calling for them to stop. As he drew closer, Judith saw that he was also waving a gun.

“Don't do it, Arthur!” Judith called, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “You're already in way over your head!”

“Don't move!” Arthur had assumed a marksman's stance, which ill-suited him. He reminded Judith of a toy soldier who had been knocked askew by his owner.

But that didn't mean that his aim would be false. Judith and Renie sidled closer together, standing nervously by the edge of the green. There was no sign of the flashlight now. The wind moaned in the trees and a few drops of heavy rain began to fall. Judith swallowed hard, then spoke in a voice that was supposed to be loud and clear, but was neither.

“You've already killed two women,” she croaked, leaning on Renie. “Janet Tichborne, twelve years ago, when she rejected your advances. Tomorrow, the police will find her body in the Dunk Monument. Aunt Pet saw it happen from her turret window. She didn't realize it at the time, but a year ago, when you filled in for Charles as Queen Mary, she remembered the last time you played the part. You knocked out poor Harwood, and took his costume. He was sent to the hospital and you partnered Janet's Bothwell.
Her mother told us how Janet danced with her partner, but Harwood couldn't dance—he'd been lame since World War II. So someone had taken his place—you. The old lady saw you carry Janet—”

“Enough!” Arthur's voice cut like a rapier. He lowered the gun slightly, gesturing to his left. “The green,” he said. “Move to the green.”

Holding on to each other, the cousins backpedaled to the walkway which led off Farriers Lane. Arthur was now only ten feet away, gripping the gun with both hands. Judith considered screaming, but there was no one to hear. The shops on the High Street were closed, the almshouses were too far away, and the gatehouse had seemed empty. As for the inhabitants of Ravenscroft House, they were either asleep or too well insulated from any distant noise.

“How did you know?” Arthur Tinsley asked, his voice not only dry, but thick.

Judith summoned up the power to speak. “The new will. Oh, the will was meant to be the motive, to divert suspicion. But nobody knew about it except you. And Aunt Pet. She didn't make a new draft. It was too difficult with her arthritis. The only part she could write was the short paragraph about us getting the gatehouse. She was going to have you redo the old one, from the previous April. But you took the original draft, with the new amendment, and cut off the date she'd written on top. That made the paper shorter than it should have been. You added last Saturday's date at the bottom of the page using her pen and ink, and inadvertently kept the pen. We went through the desk and everything was there—except the fountain pen. I realized that when I saw Dr. Ramsey writing in his office. I remembered how you accidentally took Charles's pen and put it in your pocket. It was a habit, and it betrayed you.” Judith stopped for breath. She also stopped backing up. She and Renie had almost reached the Dunk memorial.

“Aunt Pet confronted you with her realization about Janet's death,” Judith said, now sounding hoarse and tired. “Maybe she mentioned it as early as last April. Maybe she taunted you. Maybe—”

“She tormented me!” Arthur shouted. “Hints, innuendo,
skirting the issue! It amused her, like pulling the strings of a puppet! Finally, during this year's All Fools Revels, she accused me outright! Imagine! After all these years!” The hands that held the gun shook. Judith flinched and Renie let out a small, stifled cry.

“You set it all up,” Judith said, barely above a whisper. “You had started bringing her chocolates, to placate her and hope that she'd stop talking about what happened to Janet. But she wouldn't. In fact, she finally accused you of Janet's murder. So when you found out that the family would be here while she made a new will, you used the Jimsonweed to poison her chocolates. She claimed to have a keen sense of smell, but that's dubious. It was Claire who first noticed the smoke last Friday afternoon. Aunt Pet wouldn't admit to losing any more of her powers.”

Judith paused, trying to rally her voice. “You couldn't know when Aunt Pet would eat the fatal dose, but you had the original will from last April. After she was dead, you were in her room, hiding the handwritten version where it could be found and everyone would assume that it was new. The will she made in anger last August was never lost—you burned it in the wastebasket to make it look as if Dora had started another fire. But she swore she didn't. She may be a pyromaniac, but she's not a liar. You had to be sure the new will would be valid to provide a motive for the heirs. Only you could have done all those things. That's why I had to eliminate everybody else as a suspect. You thought your secret would never—”

“Stop!” Arthur was close to hysteria. Somehow he managed to steady the gun. It was pointed straight at Judith. “I'd hope to make this easier. Mrs. Tichborne told me about the police planning to dig into the Dunk Monument. The fool had listened in on your phone conversation with Inspector Wattle. She had no idea that when she repeated the information, your fate was sealed. If you'd signed that second paper and drunk the tea, everyone would have thought you were overcome with remorse for killing Miss Ravenscroft to get the gatehouse. But no, you had to spoil a tasteful exit! Now I'll have to shoot you, just like in those miserable American gangster films!”

Shaking with fear, Judith and Renie held on to each other. They heard a click. And then a shot. Each of them expected to feel terrible pain. But it was Arthur Tinsley who fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

The cousins collapsed against each other, rocking to and fro. They were oblivious to the rain that was now pelting down, and to the wind that howled among the trees. They were only barely conscious of the two dark figures who rushed past them.

“Coz!” Judith gasped.

“Coz!” Renie squeaked.

“Fuzz,” said a familiar voice.

One of the two figures started walking back toward Judith and Renie. He shoved a gun in a shoulder holster under his dark canvas jacket. Then he grinned and hurried to Judith.

It was Joe Flynn.

The man who was still bending over the fallen solicitor was Bill Jones.

Both cousins threatened to faint. Instead, they started to laugh and cry at the same time. Renie rushed to her husband's side, choking on tears and laughter. She fell in his arms just as he stood up and almost toppled both of them.

“Hi, Bill,” she said, sounding almost normal. “Catch anything?”

Bill glanced down at the unconscious Arthur Tinsley. “I think so. But so did you.”

 

In a relatively quiet corner of the Waverly Bar just off the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, Joe Flynn and Bill Jones were threatening to kill their travel agent.

“I told you, we never got as far as King's Cross Station Friday morning,” Joe said, still in wonder. “Paul called me just after you left for Little Pauncefoot and said he'd forgotten to ask how much we were paying for the privilege of fishing in Scotland. I thought he meant our lodgings.”

“But he didn't,” Bill put in, shaking his head. “Joe's brother was referring to the fees that are charged on most Scottish rivers because they run through private property. You wouldn't believe what they ask. Our whole trip didn't
cost as much as the fee for just four days of fishing.”

Judith and Renie both looked suitably flabbergasted. In the past twelve hours since leaving Ravenscroft House, they hadn't yet had the opportunity to hear a coherent version of their husbands' aborted fishing adventure.

Joe sipped at his glass of ale. “When the travel agent mentioned—in passing—that we would pay a fee once we got to Scotland, I thought he was talking about a license, like at home. But that was just the beginning of what turned out to be way beyond our means.”