Creeps Suzette (14 page)

“Sarah?” Judith breathed.

Renie nodded. “It's Mrs. Jones and Mrs. Flynn,” she called out. “May we come in?”

The housekeeper's office was much larger and more fully appointed than the small room off Mrs. Burgess's suite. Sarah Kenyon sat in front of the latest generation of computers, a telephone at her ear. She signaled for the cousins to wait.

“The chateau chart for the eighty-nines is incomplete,” she said into the receiver. “You've included nothing from the area around Chambord. Please e-mail me at once or we'll go elsewhere to replenish our cellars. Thank you.”

Sarah hung up and shook her head. “These wine merchants. They've become so careless since all the young people fancy themselves connoisseurs. Forty years ago, people of that age and class were lucky to drink beer off the grocery shelves.”

Judith gazed around the office, which couldn't have been in greater contrast to the rest of the house. Everything was high tech and cutting edge, including the compartmentalized desk and the adjustable chair.

“This looks very efficient,” she said.

“It is.” Sarah offered the cousins a thin smile. “I couldn't work any other way.”

“Did you hear all the commotion a few minutes ago?” Judith asked.

Sarah looked puzzled. “No. But then I probably wouldn't. This house has such thick walls and I've had this room soundproofed. What happened?”

Judith explained about the raccoon. Sarah dismissed the incident with a wave of her hand. “Kenneth is always trying to bring some animal into Creepers. Once, when he was around ten, he came home with an emu that had escaped
from the zoo. Emus are very large, but they can't fly. Curious, isn't it?”

“Very,” Judith said. “Mrs. Kenyon, we wanted to ask—”

“Ms. Kenyon,” Sarah broke in, though she said it with another faint smile. “I'm not married.”

“Oh?” Judith's expression betrayed her surprise.

Sarah laughed. “Did you think Kenyon was my husband?” She laughed some more. “He's my father. I was virtually raised here at Creepers.”

“Really,” Judith remarked. “Was that a good experience?”

The smile died on Sarah's lips. “It was my only experience. There was no other way.”

For once, Judith was at a loss for words. So, apparently was Renie, who was examining the fax machine. “We have to get in the garage,” she announced. “Can we use that automatic opener?”

Sarah looked apologetic. “You could if I knew where it was. I couldn't find it this morning when I first arrived in my office. That's why I've been on the phone all day. I wasn't able to get the car to run errands.”

“Who else would have used it?” Judith asked.

“No one,” Sarah replied. “Since my father stopped driving, I'm the only one who takes the cars out. Mrs. Burgess never learned to drive and the rest of the family have their own transportation.”

“How strange,” Judith commented. “Did you tell the police?”

Sarah regarded Judith with surprise. “No. Why should I?”

“Well…with the murder and all,” Judith said a trifle lamely.

“I don't think anyone tried to escape in the Seville or the Rolls,” Sarah said in an amused tone. She opened a drawer on the right side of the desk. “I always keep the opener right here, by my purse, and—Good heavens, here it is. Am I losing my mind?”

“You were upset last night after Dr. Moss was killed,”
Judith said in her most sympathetic voice. “Maybe this morning, you still were. Murder has that effect on people.”

“That's a glib explanation,” Sarah responded, “but I don't have a better one. Here,” she said, handing the device to Judith. “Just bring it back as soon as you're finished.”

All was quiet in the hallway as the cousins headed for the front door. Around the side of the house, they encountered a bored-looking Deputy Sorensen.

“How's it going?” Judith asked with a bright smile.

Sorensen snorted. “They could make better use of my time by letting me chase some crooks. What do they expect me to find, some guy running out of the house with a bag marked ‘Loot'? This was an inside job if I ever saw one.”

“You're right,” Judith agreed. “Have the searchers found anything?”

“I couldn't say if they had,” Sorensen replied. “But they haven't.”

Judith kept smiling as she and Renie proceeded to the garage. The remote worked efficiently, and a moment later they were inside the large, neat area where only three cars were sheltered in four stalls.

“Wow,” Judith breathed, “look at that Rolls. It must be a classic. Thirties, maybe?”

Renie studied the dark blue automobile, which shone like a sapphire. “Yes. A Silver Cloud, I think. That Cadillac's pretty spiffy, too.”

Judith glanced at the big black sedan, which was also a vintage model. “Beautiful. Joe would love to see these cars.”

The Subaru looked like a foster child as it stood in the third spot. Judith patted it with affection, then opened the trunk and got out the first aid kit. Renie, meanwhile, was wandering around by the tool bench, which was as well outfitted as a small service station.

“I wonder if Kenyon worked on these cars before he couldn't see so well,” Renie remarked, moving toward the empty stall. “Somebody must have used all these tools. Oops!” She took a quick step backward. “Hey, coz, look.
I almost stepped in this puddle of oil. It seems fresh.”

Judith replaced the first aid kit and closed the trunk. “Let's see.” She peered down at the floor. “You're right. There isn't much of it, but it certainly hasn't been here long enough to saturate the cement.” She stood up and gazed at the rest of the floor. “No tire tracks of any kind, no other oil stains. This spot looks as if it hasn't been used lately.”

“Except for that,” Renie said, pointing her foot at the small slick. “Like maybe last night?”

“Like that.”

“Like the killer?” Renie said.

Judith was looking grim. “Also like that.”

A
S THE COUSINS
went up to their suite, they heard shouting from somewhere along the hall. When they reached the second floor, they stopped to determine the source.

“It's coming from Mrs. Burgess's room,” Judith said in alarm. “We'd better see what's happening.”

Nurse Fritz was in the sitting room, her stiff white cap askew and her hands over her ears. She blanched when she saw Judith and Renie. “You'd better leave,” she said, speaking in an abnormally loud voice. “This is a private quarrel.”

“Quarrel?” Judith said. “It sounds like a knock-down-drag-out fight to me. Is Mrs. Burgess okay?”

“What?” Fritz cupped one of her ears.

Judith and Renie brushed past the nurse just as Kenneth came hurtling through the bedroom door.

“You can't do this to me!” he screamed, shaking a fist in the direction of his grandmother. “I can call a lawyer, too!” He gave Judith a hard shove and rushed out of the master suite.

“Well, I never!” Fritz declared.

Judith was already at Mrs. Burgess's bedside. The old lady had gone completely white under her makeup and was breathing heavily.

“Get in here, Twitz,” Renie said, motioning from the
doorway. “Your patient is having the fan-tods.”

“The what?” Fritz gasped.

“That's what we call it in our family,” Renie said calmly. “You'd better earn your pay.”

With an acid glance at Renie, Nurse Fritz went to Mrs. Burgess. “Are we distressed this afternoon?”

“Of course we are,” Mrs. Burgess burst out, her voice shaking. “Where is my television remote? That wretched boy turned off my program!”

“But Mrs. Burgess,” the nurse protested, checking her watch, “it's two minutes after one. Your show is over.”

“My show wasn't over when Kenneth turned off the TV,” Mrs. Burgess asserted. “There was almost ten minutes to go. How shall I find out what happened to Tiffany and the bogus drum major from the Ohio State marching band?”

“Tune in tomorrow,” Renie said, sliding the remote out from under the bed.

The old lady gave Renie a withering look. “On tomorrow's episode, they may switch to Elliott trapped in that hot air balloon, or Dora May, out at the old Johnson farm with Uncle Jasper, who's not her real uncle, and in fact, isn't even Uncle—” Mrs. Burgess stopped, frowning at Nurse Fritz. “Where's Edna? Where's my luncheon tray?”

“I'll check,” Fritz said, and left the room, her starched uniform looking a trifle limp.

“You're certain you feel okay?” Judith asked.

Mrs. Burgess sighed. “Yes, yes. But that set-to with Kenneth was most unpleasant.”

“Was it about the raccoon?” Renie inquired.

The old lady's eyes narrowed. “You know about the raccoon? Well, yes, it was, in a way. Kenneth is so obsessed with animals. I hope he turned that creature out into the woods where it belongs. I simply won't allow them in the house. Why, he once brought a billy goat right into this very room. Imagine!”

Nurse Fritz returned to the bedroom. “Your tray will be up in just a few minutes. Edna had some sort of spell, but she's fine now.”

“Edna.” Mrs. Burgess shook her head. “Such a nervous person, so easily upset. She needs more spunk.”

A knock sounded from the sitting room. Nurse Fritz trudged off again. “It's Kenyon,” she announced. “Mr. Gibbons is here.”

Mrs. Burgess scowled. “I thought I told him to come at two,” she said, more to herself than to the cousins. “Very well, send him in. Shoo, everyone. You, too, Fritz. Have Edna bring up a big pot of coffee and an extra cup.”

Kenyon was holding the door open for a tall, spare man of sixty. He wore a dark business suit and carried a briefcase. A hawklike nose dominated his face, and he seemed to have no lips. Nodding to the cousins, he passed noiselessly through the sitting room and entered the bedchamber.

“Close the door, Gaylord,” Mrs. Burgess commanded.

Gaylord Gibbons did as he was told, but before the door was completely shut, Judith saw Mrs. Burgess reach for the drawer in the nightstand.

“Don't tell me,” Judith said to Nurse Fritz when they were out in the hall. “Mr. Gibbons is an attorney.”

“Yes,” the nurse responded as the three women circumvented Kenyon, who was shuffling along at his own rate of speed, or lack thereof. “Gaylord Gibbons of Gibbons, Gibbons, and Crump. The family has retained the firm for over a hundred years.”

Renie, whose mother had been a legal secretary, recognized the names. “I didn't know any of the Gibbonses were still around. Gaylord must be—what? The great-grandson of the founder, Garrison Gibbons?”

“I believe so,” Fritz said grudgingly. It was clear that she still didn't care much for Renie.

“When did Mrs. Burgess summon him?” Judith asked as they proceeded downstairs.

“I don't know,” the nurse responded. “She must have called him when I was out of the room.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Danny Wong was removing the crime scene tape. Edwina Jefferson, sipping from a
large convenience store cup, watched her partner from the entry hall.

“Hi, gals,” she said, raising the cup in salute. “Junior and I just got back from lunch. Did we miss anything?”

“Just Kenneth, hosting Wild Kingdom,” Renie said. “We, however, missed lunch.”

Judith hastily explained about the raccoon, then humbled herself to ask Nurse Fritz if she'd mind having some food brought to the library.

The nurse wasn't pleased. “I'm an RN, not a lackey,” she huffed.

“Sorry,” Judith apologized. “I'll do it myself.”

“Never mind.” Fritz sighed. “I wouldn't mind a little something myself. I certainly hope they didn't bake the raccoon.”

Turning to Edwina, Judith was still in her humble mode. “I don't want to interfere, but could we talk?”

“In the library?” Edwina grinned. “Sure. Junior here can keep himself occupied.”

Seated in a circle near the desk, Judith related everything she knew to the detective, including the recent arrival of Gaylord Gibbons. “My cousin and I want to help,” she said in conclusion. “We know the homicide has been kept out of the media.”

“And,” Edwina said with a bemused expression, “your sense of justice demands that rich folks should pay the piper? Honey, the problem is that rich folks can
pay off
the piper. I don't necessarily mean with bribes, either. When was the last time that anybody with money in this country got the death penalty or even a really stiff sentence?”

Judith's expression was unusually stubborn. “I know that. My husband's a retired cop, remember? I don't see you giving up. Why should the rest of us?”

Edwina rocked back and forth in the Chippendale-style chair behind the desk. “You're serious. I'm impressed.”

After a timid knock on the door, Edna arrived with the food. She took one look at the detective and started to tremble. “Oh, dear. Are you arresting these ladies?”

“Not yet,” Edwina replied with a twinkle.

Edna skittered out of the library, wringing her hands.

“She's been very helpful,” Edwina said. “She hasn't meant to be, but she can't stop talking.”

“I know,” Judith said. “I've got some questions for her, too. By the way, did you check the safe in here?”

Edwina nodded. “Yes, and we found a trace of strawberry pie. As far as we could tell, the safe was in order. Several people had pie, including Wayne Burgess, Kenneth Ward, and most of the staff.”

“Kenneth?” Judith said in surprise. “He didn't show up at Creepers until nine or later, and we found the pie traces some time after seven.”

Edwina looked smug. “I know that's what he said. But Dietz, the cook, insists he was here a few minutes before seven. That's when he ate the pie. He wanted to see his grandmother, but her TV show was on.”

Judith recalled Kenyon's remark to Kenneth about mislaying his key. “Did Kenneth come in via the back door?”

“I don't know,” Edwina said, “but he was definitely here.”

Renie gestured at the desk. “How about that note my cousin found on the tablet? Do you know who wrote it?”

“Not yet,” Edwina replied. “We haven't got all the handwriting samples. We have, however, eliminated Caroline's husband, Brett Flaherty. He has an airtight alibi. Brett was attending some literary reading at a bookstore where he lives down on the ocean. They had a discussion afterward, and he didn't leave until after eleven. That's a two-to three-hour drive. He's out of it.”

The three women turned silent for a few moments. Judith and Renie ate their shrimp salads and more of Ada's hot rolls. Edwina finished her soda with a slurp that sounded like a flourish.

“That's interesting about the oil stain in the garage,” the detective finally said. “I'll have Danny check it out. Assuming, of course, that the opener hasn't disappeared again.
None of you should have handled it,” she added with a reproachful look.

Judith grimaced. “You're right. But my head was pounding so hard at the time, all I could think of was getting to my aspirin. Anyway, don't you suspect whoever took it—if it was the killer—wore gloves?”

“That's likely,” Edwina admitted. “Let's hope that there isn't more than one vehicle in the family with an oil leak.”

Though she knew she might not get an answer, Judith had to ask the question “Is there any progress?”

Edwina made a face. “The only thing I can say is that some of these folks aren't being candid. Some, like Kenneth, are lying. And then there are those who are covering up for themselves, or somebody else.”

“So you're stuck,” Renie said.

“No,” Edwina replied, very serious. “This case is only fourteen hours old. We're collecting evidence; we'll be conducting more interviews. The worst part is that the higher-ups insist we treat these people with kid gloves. That means it's going to take longer to wear them down.”

“Dare I ask,” Judith began, “if you believe the intended victim was Dr. Moss?”

Edwina took a deep breath. “What do you think?”

Judith didn't know whether to be flattered or to feel put off. “I'm leaning toward Dr. Moss. But it may have been necessary to get rid of him first before killing Mrs. Burgess. How seriously do you take the alleged earlier attempts?”

“When Danny and I talked to her this morning, we felt Mrs. B. was very sharp,” Edwina said in a careful voice. “She reminded me of my Aunt Laura Lou. Ninety-four, and she can give you the roster of every baseball team in the American and National Leagues, plus the Atlanta Braves' farm clubs right down through Single A. The only weird thing she ever did in her whole life was to send love letters to Henry Aaron.” Edwina laughed. “She lives in Columbus, Muscogee County, I might add. Anyway, I didn't get the impression that Mrs. B. was imagining things. Sure, she watches TV, but who doesn't?”

“I gather,” Judith said, pouring more coffee, “that none of these alleged attempts was reported to the sheriff?”

“That's right,” Edwina replied. “It's not surprising. We spoke earlier about how these people hate intrusion and despise publicity. Not to mention that Mrs. B. might be afraid of looking like a crank in the eyes of her peers.”

“I wonder what they think of the family now?” Renie mused. “The word must have spread all over Sunset Cliffs that Dr. Moss was murdered here.”

“I understand there've been quite a few calls, though not many visitors,” Edwina said. “It's as if the other inhabitants think murder is contagious.”

“I imagine Wayne Burgess has fielded a bunch of queries,” Judith said. “Despite the media blackout, the homicide investigation must have leaked all over the city, including the corner offices downtown.”

“Even snobs like to gossip, especially about each other,” Edwina noted. “We're interviewing the neighbors, but nobody lives close by. That's the way it is in this place. Sunset Cliffs dwellers have acres of property and plenty of privacy. The closest house is Evergreen, which belongs to the Wayne Burgesses.”

“You won't get much out of the other residents anyway,” Renie said. “They'll close ranks, too. The only way they'll tell you anything is if they have a grudge or an old rivalry.”

“Which,” Edwina said, “is what we're hoping for. The rich may band together, but it doesn't mean they have to like each other. Since the Burgesses originally owned everything around here and still have a large amount of unsold property, there are bound to be some hard feelings. We'll just hope for a break. It's too bad so many of these people are vacationing someplace else this time of year.”

“You mentioned evidence,” Judith said. “Is any of it tangible?”

Edwina laughed. “You know better than to ask. You mentioned walking around the grounds yesterday. I didn't notice that hitching post out in front last night—it was too dark and stormy. Usually, those old-fashioned stereotypical
representations of black people don't bother me. But this morning the first thing I saw was that poor little black footman, holding out his hand. He's there to do his master's bidding, but it looks as if he's begging. Which, of course he is.” Edwina paused, her expression ironic. “Walking into this house, you can feel the prejudice, the hostility, the overwhelming sense of superiority. It's like the air is poisoned. Anyway, I stopped to look at the little guy. I wanted to tell him that the most recognizable face on the planet is a black man named Michael Jordan.”

She stopped, looking sheepish. “Silly, huh? But while I was looking down, I spotted this.” Edwina fished into her briefcase and displayed a plastic envelope that contained a tacklike object. “It's a marker, to show where your golf ball lands on the course. The uniforms didn't see this last night because it was probably covered by leaves and branches that blew down during the storm. Do you recall it from yesterday?”