Creeps Suzette (15 page)

“No,” Judith said. “Renie fell over the hitching post when we got here yesterday morning. We had to straighten it up. I'm sure we'd have noticed it if only because the rest of the grounds are so pristine.”

“Russ Hillman?” Renie suggested.

“Maybe,” Edwina allowed. “I assume he's not the only golfer in this bunch.”

“Russ said he wasn't here last night,” Judith said. “Of course he might have dropped it this morning when he came to breakfast.”

Edwina shook her head. “You can't see too clearly through the plastic, but there's mud on this marker. It stopped raining right after sunrise, at least an hour before the Hillmans arrived.”

“So Russ may be lying,” Renie remarked.

“Possibly,” Edwina said. “Mr. Hillman just jumped to the top of the interview list.”

Another knock sounded at the door, followed by Deputy Sorensen poking his head into the library. “We finally got hold of the guard who was on duty in the gatehouse be
tween six and midnight,” Sorensen announced. “You want to see him? His name's Jack Moody.”

“Take him into the parlor,” Edwina said, getting up from behind the desk. “Leave the door ajar in case Danny needs me.” She winked at the cousins.

As soon as the deputy and the detective left, Judith grinned at Renie. “Edwina is my new best friend. I think she believes we can help.”

“Why,” Renie said in her best middle-aged ingenue's manner, “do I sense that Edwina has talked to Woody Price?”

Judith's eyes widened. “That didn't occur to me. I hope Woody didn't give me too much of a build-up. And I sure hope he hasn't talked to Joe.”

“Woody,” Renie intoned, “is the soul of discretion. Under that walrus mustache of his, nobody keeps a tighter or stiffer upper lip.”

The cousins allowed three minutes before they crept out of the library, went down the hall, and posted themselves outside the parlor door. They had only a splinter view of the room, but they could hear perfectly.

“Okay, Jack,” Edwina was saying, “how long have you been employed by the Sunset Cliffs community?”

“Seven years, come May,” a deep, husky voice replied. “I hired on after I got out of the merchant marine. The six to midnight shift is all mine. I don't like working days.”

“Tell me about the patrol that drives around the community.”

“That's a separate bunch of guys,” Moody responded. “It's a private security outfit that works some of the businesses around here. They drive through once, twice a day to keep an eye out for people who don't belong.”

“How would those people get into Sunset Cliffs in the first place?” Edwina asked.

“It don't happen very often. But once in a while some Nosey Parker sweet-talks a resident or staff member to get 'em inside, just to look around.”

“Do you know if the patrol came through last night?”

“Nope, not on my shift. If they show up at night, which they don't always, it's usually around two, two-thirty, after the taverns close and everything quiets down out on the highway.”

“We tried to get hold of you last night about an hour after you got off work. Where were you?”

“I usually stop for a couple of beers and maybe a few hands of poker at The Ace in the Hole or The Flush Royale. You know, to unwind.”

“You like this job?”

“You bet. It's pretty soft, if you don't mind putting up with a lot of guff from the swells. The pay's not bad, the Christmas bonuses are good, especially the ones that come in a big fancy bottle from the liquor store, and there are some other bennies, too, if you know what I mean.”

“Like what?”

“Oh—I guess you could call 'em tokens of appreciation. No big deal, but it's the thought that counts, right?”

“So tell me about last night. Is that your log?”

“Yeah. The deputy told me to bring it along. Wanna see it?”

“That's the general idea,” Edwina said sarcastically.

There was a pause, apparently for the transfer of the log. Judith twisted around, trying to get a different view. She saw the partial outline of a hefty man in jeans and a denim jacket.

“I see several names I don't recognize,” Edwina said. “Apparently, they went to other homes in Sunset Cliffs.”

“Yeah, visitors. I don't log the regulars, I just wave 'em through.”

“Can you recall which members of the Burgess family came through the gatehouse during your shift?”

Another pause ensued. “Mr. Burgess—Wayne Burgess—came in about six, a little earlier than usual. He works late downtown most nights. He had his driver and the limo. The limo went back out about ten minutes later.”

“Without Wayne Burgess?”

“I guess. It's got those tinted windows. It's hard to tell, especially after it starts getting dark.”

“Who else?”

“The young guy, Mrs. Hillman's son, walked through a few minutes after the limo went out. That must've been about six-thirty.”

“Walked through?”

“Right. He don't drive. He takes the bus when he comes from his place in town. Hell, the bus stop ain't that far from here.”

“Did he go out again last night?”

“Nope.”

“Who was next?”

“Um…the redheaded kid with the pizza truck. That was later, eight, eight-thirty. Bop, they call him. Real friendly, not all snooty like the rest of 'em. Oh—and the girl. She lives up north. I forget her name.”

“She drove?”

Jack chuckled, a rumbling sound that ended in a cough. “Would you believe it? She doesn't drive, either, so she hitchhikes. I always wonder if somebody who picked her up would find out how much money there was in the family and hold her for ransom.”

“Hitchhiking is dangerous,” Edwina allowed. “But it does explain why we never found her car. What time did Caroline Flaherty arrive?”

“That's her name? I guess I still think of her as Carrie Ward. I remember when her dad got killed by that hit-and-run driver. She was real tore up.”

“The time?” Edwina persisted.

“Time? Oh—Carrie. Ten, ten-thirty, maybe? I'm not real sure. I was getting kind of beat.”

“Anyone else?”

“The doctor. He don't live here, but he might as well. I always wave him through, just like family.”

“What time?”

“Uh—eleven-thirty, eleven-forty-five?”

“No. That's wrong. Dr. Moss was dead by then. Think again.”

“Well, then it must have been more like eleven-fifteen.” A truculent note had edged into Moody's voice.

“Do you recall anybody else?”

“The cops. The medics. All those emergency types. Then Hank Ferguson came along for the midnight to six shift, so I took off.”

“Mr. Moody, there are no entries in your log after ten-thirty. Was it really that quiet?”

“I don't log people goin' out.” The mulish tone was still in Moody's voice.

“You didn't log the emergency personnel, either.”

“That's different. They ain't visitors as such.”

Edwina's sigh was audible in the hallway. “Okay, just a couple more questions. Who, if anyone from the Burgess family, left Sunset Cliffs while you were on duty?”

“The pizza guy. He went out around nine and came back later. He gets off after eleven when the place closes down.”

“And?”

“Nobody.”

“What about Mrs. Hillman?”

“Never saw her.”

“Come on, Mr. Moody, Peggy Hillman told us she went over to the mall. You must have seen her, both coming and going.”

“Maybe I was taking a leak.”

“Do you always take a leak when Mrs. Hillman comes and goes?” Edwina's voice had turned harsh.

“Hell, I don't know. Look, sometimes I get sleepy. A half-hour, an hour'll go by and no action. I nod off. So what? The folks who live here know how to trip the barricade. I ain't no cop.”

“You certainly aren't,” Edwina said. “For the last time, do you recall Mrs. Hillman leaving or returning to Sunset Cliffs last night?”

“Aww…Okay, maybe she did come through around seven or so. Maybe she didn't come back till after midnight.
Yeah, that must have been it. Check with Fergie. He'll know.”

“We have. He didn't.” There was a brief pause before Edwina spoke again. “Okay, you can go. But not too far. Get it?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Anyways, I gotta work tonight.”

As Judith and Renie heard the movement of a chair, they scooted out into the entry hall. Russ Hillman, looking tired and bewildered, was pacing the floor.

“What's going on?” he asked. “That young detective called to say I had to get over here pronto.”

Jack Moody came stomping through the entry hall, muttering to himself. He barely looked at the cousins or Russ before he slammed out of the house. Edwina strolled in and greeted Russ.

“Let's talk,” she said, and beckoned the newcomer in the direction of the parlor.

Judith and Renie waited until they were sure that the pair had settled in for the interview. But this time when they went to the parlor door, they found that it was closed tight.

“Drat,” Judith breathed. “I guess she doesn't like us anymore.”

“This interrogation is different,” Renie pointed out. “Moody wasn't a suspect.”

“True. All the same, I wouldn't mind chatting with him. He might be more forthcoming when he's not talking to a cop,” Judith said as they headed back to the entry hall where Kenyon was showing Gaylord Gibbons out and letting Dorothy Burgess in.

Dorothy took one look at Gaylord and grabbed him by the lapels. “Let me warn you,” she said in an angry voice, “if you make trouble for me, I'll sue your ass.”

The startled lawyer reeled on the threshold. “But Mrs. Dorothy…”

Throwing Gaylord one last stinging look, she marched into the house and headed straight for the main staircase. “Don't worry about announcing me, Kenyon,” she shouted.
“By the time you get upstairs, I'll be leaving this place. Forever.”

“Ma'am?” Kenyon said, cupping his ear.

But Dorothy was already out of sight.

T
HE RAIN WAS
slanting down against the old wavery glass in the guest suite windows. Judith sat on a Regency bench and stared outside. She could see two uniformed deputies wearing dark slickers and heading in the direction of the garage.

“We're not doing our job,” Judith stated, turning away from the window. “We hardly see Mrs. Burgess, and we haven't any idea if she was the intended victim, let alone who killed Dr. Moss. There has to be a connection of some kind between his death and the attempts on Leota's life, either by accident or design.” She sighed in frustration. “I'm more confused than when we got here.”

“That makes two of us,” Renie said, tossing aside the magazine she'd been perusing on the settee. “What did you think of Moody?”

“He's either lying about who he saw or didn't see, or he sits in that gatehouse and gets drunk. Both, maybe. Those ‘bennies' he mentioned are probably bribes,” Judith declared. “Think about it—you live in Sunset Cliffs, and your every move is monitored. These people don't lead blameless lives. If you've got a vice, especially if it's sex, you don't want anyone to know all your comings and goings.”

“This whole place gets more prisonlike all the time,” Renie said.

“You bet it does,” Judith responded, getting up from the bench. “I honestly don't know why people would want to live here. Oh, it has privacy, it has snob appeal, and it's a beautiful setting, but I'd go nuts.”

“It's not normal,” Renie agreed. “It reminds me of a big castle, where you have to pull up the drawbridge.”

“And what's up with Dorothy Burgess?” Judith asked. “What was she talking about when she said she was leaving here forever?”

“Leaving here means leaving Wayne, wouldn't you guess?” Renie also stood up and went over to the fireplace. “It's cold, since the wind's come up again. I wonder if we could get somebody to build us a fire?”

“Like Kenyon? It'll be summer before he can do it. Besides,” Judith added, going to the door, “we need to do our own interviewing. I still want to get Edna alone.”

“Call for her,” Renie said, pointing to the speaking tube by the bedroom door. “Tea would be nice, especially with some lovely finger sandwiches.”

Judith sniffed the air. “This place doesn't smell like a pool hall anymore. You haven't had a cigarette since we got back here twenty minutes ago. How come?”

“I thought about what you said,” Renie replied. “I'm fond of food. When my eggnog diet failed me at Christmas a couple of years ago and I gained a few pounds, I started smoking instead of eating so much. I lost the weight, but now I keep losing it. Instead of being just right, I've gotten too thin. As of now, I'm a pig again.”

“Hooray!” Judith cried, rushing over to give Renie a hug. “I thought there was less of you, but I hated to mention it.”

“I know, I know,” Renie said, hugging Judith back. “It's always galled you because I don't have to watch my weight. But maybe my metabolism has changed, and I
will
have to cut down a bit. For now, though, I'm going to give it my best shot. Hand me that speaking tube.”

Ada Dietz was on the other end, taking Renie's order in a less than gracious manner.

“Heck,” Renie said, putting the speaking tube aside, “it's after three, a good time for tea. Why should she be grumpy?”

“It's her nature, I guess,” Judith replied, back at the window. “There's Danny Wong. They must be checking that oil spot. At least we found out why Caroline's car wasn't parked around here.”

“I hadn't thought about it,” Renie admitted.

“I had,” Judith said, moving away from the window. “But from what I know of Caroline, she might have parked it anywhere along the road and walked here in a daze. The storm didn't start until after she arrived.”

Fifteen minutes later, Edna showed up with the tea cart. The cousins oohed and aahed over the finger sandwiches and admired the Royal Worcester teapot and matching cups.

“I hope this wasn't a bother,” Judith said to the little maid. “Did you have to bring tea up for Mrs. Burgess and Dorothy as well?”

“Oh!” Edna put a hand to her lips. “I shouldn't think so. Mrs. Dorothy has already left. In such a temper, too. Nurse Fritz had to give the mistress a sedative.”

“Really,” Judith said in surprise. “Do you know why?”

The maid shook her head. “My, no. I just happened to be going by the mistress's suite when Mrs. Dorothy came out. She seemed very angry.”

“Here, Edna,” Judith said in her most kindly voice, “sit for a minute. Perhaps you'd enjoy one of these lovely sandwiches your sister made for us.”

“Oh, no, I couldn't,” Edna protested, though she gingerly sat down on the edge of the settee. “I'll rest my feet for a minute, though.”

Renie, who had scooped up four of the sandwiches, nudged Edna with her elbow. “Come on, dive in. The salmon ones are really terrific.”

“Tea?” Judith proffered the pot.

Edna held up her hands. “Thank you, but I—”

“M-m-mm,” Renie sighed, licking her lips as she gobbled up a cucumber sandwich. “Sinfully delicious. Here, take one. I insist.”

“Well…” Edna's small body seemed convulsed by a mammoth struggle. “Dear me, I suppose it would be rude to refuse.”

“Very rude,” Renie remarked with a devilish smile. “Take two.”

“Poor Mrs. Burgess,” Judith said as she sipped her tea. “She's had nothing but trouble the last two days. I wonder what Dorothy said that was so upsetting.”

Edna daintily chewed her sandwich. “I couldn't say, of course. Though about a quarter of an hour before I saw Mrs. Dorothy leave, I came up the back stairs to fetch the mistress's luncheon things. It seemed to me that they were arguing. Just as I was about to enter the mistress's bedroom from behind the Chinese screen, I thought I saw a pin on the floor. You know what they say, ‘Pick up a pin and have good luck all day.' Or something like that.” Predictably, Edna was turning pink. “While I was searching for the pin, I couldn't help but overhear. They were rather loud, you see.” The little maid gave the cousins an apologetic glance.

“Of course,” Judith soothed.

“Anyway,” Edna continued, “Mrs. Dorothy said something about the mistress refusing to give her money for her Jim. Naturally, I was shocked. I've never heard of anyone named Jim, and it occurred to me that Mrs. Dorothy was talking about another man.”

“My, my,” Judith exclaimed.

“Have another sandwich,” Renie offered.

“Thank you.” Edna paused to take a bite and chew very slowly. “The mistress was horrified, and said she'd have no part of such folly. Then Mrs. Dorothy said if that was so, then she'd have to file for divorce. The mistress got very distressed, saying in no uncertain terms that Burgesses did not divorce. Then Mrs. Dorothy said they did so, too. Mrs. Peggy had divorced Mr. Charles, and Miss Caroline was
going to divorce Mr. Brett. The mistress said that was different, Mr. Charles was no good, and Miss Caroline was only separated. That's when I bumped my head on the screen, and they realized I was there. Naturally, they stopped arguing.”

“Did you find the pin?” Renie asked with a straight face.

Edna looked away. “No. It must have been a trick of the light. So shadowy by the back stairs passageway.”

“Are you sure you don't want some tea?” Judith asked.

“No, please,” Edna responded, rising from the settee. “I must get back to the kitchen. Ada will wonder why I've been gone so long. She doesn't like me chatting with people. Please don't tell her that we had a little visit.”

“Of course not,” Judith assured her. “One small question, Edna. Why is the top floor of the north tower sealed off?”

The little maid looked stricken. “Oh, Mrs. Flynn, you don't want to know! Not that I can really tell you, but it's something terrible that happened a long, long time ago. I swear, it's better not even to think about it.” With a jerky little curtsy, Edna left the room.

“Who's Jim?” Renie asked, eating the last sandwich.

“Dorothy's boyfriend, I guess,” Judith replied. “I wonder if Wayne knows about all this?”

“It sounds as if he'll soon find out,” Renie remarked. “I suppose this explained Dorothy's threat to Gaylord Gibbons. She doesn't want him messing up her divorce settlement.”

“Bop might know what's going on with his parents,” Judith said. “Would you like to order a pizza?”

Renie groaned. “It's four o'clock, and dinner's at six. Even I don't want to gorge.”

“Dinner needn't be at six,” Judith pointed out. “Leota will have a tray sent to her room. Plus, we could save the pizza for later, and have Ada Dietz microwave it.”

“Let's wait,” Renie said, puffing out her cheeks. “I feel like a blimp.”

Judith gave in. “Okay.” Restless, she began to prowl the room, finally stopping by the magazine rack. “Not much
choice here. Mostly business magazines, and a
Country Life
I've already seen. The only thing left is what looks like a community newspaper.” Fishing the tabloid out of the rack, she noted the date. “Last week's edition. What do I need to know about the north section of the county?”

“Nothing you couldn't read in the daily papers,” Renie said, pouring more tea.

But Judith was transfixed by the front page. “Speaking of Bop, here he is. ‘Bop Burgess,'” she read from the caption under the young man's photo, “‘founder of one of the community's most successful new businesses.' It says here that three local entrepreneurs were honored at a Chamber of Commerce dinner February twentieth for their contribution to the local economy. Listen to this—‘Burgess's Bop's Pizza Palace began turning a profit after only four months. The youthful owner has been credited with astute management, innovative advertising, and shrewd financial skills.' Here's a quote from Bop—‘That's high praise, but I honestly believe that the reason we're making money is because we don't stint on ingredients or service. We also use imagination, not only in how we make our pizzas, but what we call them. Mozzarella Bella, Fisherman's Friend, The Wild Side—we think these names add a lot more excitement than just saying cheese, anchovies, or mushrooms.'”

Renie sat with her chin on her hand. “Who said Bop had no business sense?”

Judith thought for a moment. “Peggy? Mrs. Burgess?”

“Whoever it was, was wrong,” said Renie.

Replacing the newspaper, Judith went back to the window. “The wind's really blowing. We must be in for another storm.” She walked to the fireplace and leaned down. “I can hear it in the chimney. It almost sounds like someone crying.” Pausing, she listened more closely. “It
is
someone crying. It's very faint, but I'm sure of it.”

“Caroline,” Renie said, getting up. “She's in the room next door.”

Without another word, the cousins went out into the hall
and knocked on Caroline's door. There was no answer.

Judith knocked again. “Caroline?” she called.

Renie reached around Judith and turned the knob. The door was unlocked.

The suite in which Caroline was staying had been designed to accommodate the dual fireplaces and shared chimney. Caroline was lying on the rug in front of the hearth, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Caroline,” Judith repeated, touching the girl's shoulder, “stop, please. You'll make yourself sick.”

“Should I get Nurse Fritz?” Renie asked as Caroline sobbed on.

“Wait,” Judith said, firmly grasping Caroline's arms and hauling her into an upright position. “Hush! You're hysterical. What's wrong?”

Caroline began to hiccough between sobs. Renie went off to fetch some water.

“Shh, shh,” Judith soothed, propping Caroline up. “If I help, can you get to the sofa?”

“I…should…have…died…too,” Caroline gulped.

“What?” Judith struggled to get some leverage under Caroline's arms.

“Death…is…sweet,” the girl gasped.

“Speak for yourself,” Renie snapped, holding out a glass of water.

Caroline, still hiccoughing, tried to push the glass away. “No…no…”

“It's poison,” Renie said in a cheerful voice. “Cyanide. Yum, yum.”

“Please, Caroline,” Judith begged, “you really are going to be ill. We'll have to call Dr. Stevens.”

The sobs began to subside. At last, Caroline accepted the water. “Is it really poison?” she whispered.

“No such luck,” Renie said. “Just drink the damned thing.”

To the cousins' relief, Caroline drank half the water, then shifted her weight away from Judith but remained seated
on the floor. “Four years ago tomorrow,” she murmured. “March fourth. It was stormy then, too.”

Puzzled, Judith tried to make herself comfortable. “What are you talking about?”

“My daddy. He was killed March fourth, four years ago, the night
Gran'mère
had her gall bladder attack.”

“Is that why you said you should have died, too?” Judith asked gently. “To be with your father?”

Caroline nodded. “Nothing's gone right for me since. He was my anchor. That's why I married Brett.”

“You mean Brett was a father figure?” Renie inquired, taking a big fringed pillow from the sofa and sitting down on it next to Judith. “Was he much older?”

“Not really,” Caroline replied. “Only eight years. But he was someone I could lean on. Brett's smart, talented, clever. He's published two novels already. I thought because he was a writer, he could help me with my poetry. But Brett doesn't know anything about poetry. And I guess I never really loved him.”

“That's a terrible shame,” Judith said with a pang. She remembered all too well her rebound marriage to Dan McMonigle. Unlike Caroline, Judith had managed, at great cost, to hold on until Dan's death nineteen years later.