Creeps Suzette (18 page)

“You
are
hallucinating,” Renie said, putting extra butter on her mashed potatoes.

“Maybe,” Judith said, picking up the coin she'd found in Kenneth's room. “I'm feeling lucky. I practically had to
pry this sucker out from between the bricks. It must mean something.”

“You're desperate,” said Renie between mouthfuls of beef.

“I don't think so.” Judith held the penny under one of the candles, then frowned. “This isn't a penny. It's…” She paused, peering in the dim light. “It's a centime, from Haiti.”

“Haiti?” Renie said. “Oh, good grief, now we're into voodoo.”

“This is really old,” Judith said, still gazing at the coin. “It's dated 1928.”

“So sell it to a collector,” Renie said, cutting into her beef Wellington. “You might get a U.S. penny in exchange.”

“I wonder if I should call Edwina,” Judith mused.

“You can't,” Renie said. “The phones are dead, remember?”

“Drat.”

Kenyon reappeared, carrying a flashlight and a tray. “Dessert,” he murmured. “May I remove your soup and salad plates?”

“Yes, thanks,” Judith said, moving a few inches away from the table and speaking in a loud voice. “How did you find us in the tower, Kenyon?”

“It seemed logical, ma'am,” Kenyon replied. “I'd looked everywhere else. Unfortunately, the batteries went out just as you emerged from the second floor.” He tapped the flashlight.

“What,” Judith asked, still speaking loudly, “do you know about Haiti?”

“Haiti? I believe they've had some problems there over the years, ma'am. Dictators and such. At one time, the United States occupied the island, but that was many years ago, when I was quite young.”

“Yes,” Judith agreed, “that sounds right. Do you recall if any of the family ever visited there?”

“Not in my time,” Kenyon replied. “However, Mr. Max
well and Mr. Walter were both world travelers. They might have done. Mr. Walter in particular was always gadding about. East Africa, India, the Argentine. He and his father were both great hunters. The mistress never cared for roughing it, which, I understand, is required when one is seeking okapis and dik-diks. Tents. Mosquito netting. Boiled water. The mistress would be put off. Will that be all for now? I'll bring coffee in a few minutes, and whatever choice of after-dinner beverages you'd prefer.”

“A couple of Drambuies would be nice,” Renie said.

“Very good.” Kenyon bowed himself out.

“He's right,” Renie remarked. “Leota in a tent doesn't ring true.”

“Why Haiti?” Judith said.

“Huh?” Renie looked up from her almost-empty dinner plate. “Why not?”

“Because, as Kenyon pointed out, it's been a trouble spot for quite a while,” Judith explained. “It wouldn't be my first choice as a travel destination.”

“Forget it,” Renie said. “Maybe nobody went there. Maybe somebody found that coin. Heck, maybe there's a numismatist in the family.”

Judith didn't comment. Indeed, her attention was caught by voices in the hall outside the parlor. Apparently Kenyon had not quite closed the door behind him.

“Who's that?” Judith whispered to Renie.

Renie, who had her back to the door, turned around, then shook her head. “I can't see anybody,” she whispered back, “but it sounds like Wayne and Peggy.”

“You wouldn't dare,” Peggy shouted. “Not after all these years!”

“Do you think I want to?” Wayne retorted, his voice also raised, though still under control. “My hand is being forced. I have only two choices.”

“
Maman
won't allow it,” Peggy declared. “Think of the disgrace!”

“
Maman
will see there's no other way,” Wayne said doggedly.

There was a pause, and then Peggy's voice dropped. “Have you talked to her?”

“Not exactly,” Wayne replied, also speaking in a more normal tone. “I tried to bring it up last night, but she was watching one of her programs. This morning, of course, was inappropriate. She was still asleep when I left for the office.”

“She'll never approve,” Peggy said, her voice now further away. “My God, Wayne, how did you ever get yourself into such a…”

Brother and sister passed out of earshot.

“The divorce,” Judith said. “Wayne must know about Dorothy and Jim.”

“Maybe Dorothy knows about Wayne and whoever was in the game room,” Renie said, attacking her white chocolate mousse.

Sadly, Judith shook her head. “They must have been married for over thirty years. Why can't people work things out?”

The lights went on.

“Thank goodness,” Judith said in relief. “I'll call Mother.”

But the phone was still dead. Judith was still staring at the receiver when Kenyon came in with the coffee service and two small balloon glasses filled with Drambuie.

“Why doesn't the phone work now that the electricity is back?” Judith inquired of the butler.

Kenyon cleared his throat. “We have an auxiliary generator out back, ma'am. Mr. Jeepers has managed to turn it on. Unfortunately, it doesn't restore the phone lines.”

“Oh.” Judith looked disappointed.

The butler staggered out with a tray filled with glasses, silver serving dishes, dinner and butter plates, and eating utensils.

Judith winced. “That poor old guy. It's a wonder he and Edna don't collapse, what with all the fetching and carrying they have to do. There's a lot of ground to cover in this house.”

“I don't think there's a retirement plan at Creepers,” Renie said cynically.

“Why did they all come at once?” Judith said, seemingly from out of nowhere.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“The staff. Remember, Bev said that Kenyon and the rest of them were hired about the same time, after World War Two. Which,” Judith continued, “means that the rest of the servants, including Nanny Brewster, must have all left at the same time.”

“That's not too hard to figure,” Renie reasoned. “The war was over, it was a time of great transition. They probably found other jobs.”

Judith shook her head. “All the veterans were back. There was inflation and strikes and, as Mother so often tells me, if Harry Truman hadn't given 'em hell, there wouldn't have been any boom during the Eisenhower years.”

“That's true,” Renie remarked. “How easily we forget. So what's your point?”

Judith gave Renie a sheepish grin. “The more I hear about this house and this family, the more I think of the period from the mid-1930s to the late 1940s as the Dark Ages. What really went on here?”

“Specifically, you mean what went on with Margaret Burgess,” Renie said. “Is that the key?”

“Now that you mention it,” Judith responded, “maybe it is. But I'll be darned if I know what it has to do with Dr. Moss's murder.”

“Where's your logic?” Renie asked, sipping Drambuie.

“What?”

“Your logic. Why would anyone kill a doctor, especially an old guy who's been devoted to this family for sixty years?”

“We've been over that,” Judith said, but caught the gleam in Renie's eyes. “Okay, because he knew something. He had something in his medical records or private papers that someone couldn't afford to have exposed. Maybe he
took Leota's fears seriously, and he knew who was trying to kill her.”

“Go on.”

“But why wait all these years if it goes back to Margaret, who died circa 1937? What happened in the last few days to goad someone into killing Dr. Moss? Frankly, the connection with Margaret makes no sense. And yet I feel there must be something.”

“The next time I talk to Bev,” Renie said, “I'll ask her how her father's first wife died.”

“Good,” Judith said. “The next question is, why try to kill an old lady like Leota?” Judith was on her feet, circling the parlor, glass in hand. “This old lady is in excellent health, but she has tons of money. She could live another ten, even twenty years. Money is always an excellent motive. Who desperately needs money? Dorothy and Jim? Who else?”

There was a rap at the door, which was still ajar. Dr. Stevens peeked in. “May I?” he asked.

“Of course,” Judith said. “What brought you out on such a stormy night?”

Theo Stevens smiled. “The storm.” He sat down in the chair Judith had pulled out for him. “Since the phones were out, I thought I'd better check on Mrs. Burgess in case Nurse Fritz had been trying to reach me. She wasn't, and my patient is better this evening, though she's had a rough twenty-four hours.” He paused to gaze at Judith. “Mrs. Burgess said you got a nasty bump on the head last night.”

Judith's hand automatically touched her scalp. “I did, but it's better.”

Dr. Stevens got up to examine the slight swelling. “You're right, it's coming along. Headache? Double vision? Dizziness? Nausea?”

“Just a headache,” Judith replied.

The doctor turned to Renie. “How's the Bell's palsy, Mrs. Jones?”

“Droopy, still a little numb by my ear, but improving,”
Renie said. “This is the first day I haven't had to patch the eye.”

Dr. Stevens smiled. “Good. It just takes time. By the way, Dr. Moss's funeral is set for Thursday at eleven in the chapel. Will you attend?”

Judith and Renie exchanged glances. “We don't know,” Judith finally said. “It depends on the police—and other things. About our staying on, I mean. Will Dr. Moss have any family at the services?”

Theo Stevens shook his head. “His only relatives are distant cousins who live in California and the Midwest. I don't think Aaron had seen any of them in years.”

Renie uttered a little snort. “So some shirttail relations will inherit whatever the poor man saved up all these years, and count themselves lucky because he had the grace to get himself killed. I've seen that often—my mother was a legal secretary. Let's hope Dr. Moss left everything to charity.”

Theo Stevens's dark skin grew even darker. He coughed in a nervous manner. “Actually, Mr. Gibbons told me today that Aaron left everything to me. It's no secret, of course. The will has to be made public when it's filed for probate.”

Renie beamed at the doctor. “That's great. Certainly you should get the house because you and Dr. Moss shared both living and work quarters there.”

“Congratulations,” Judith said, putting out her hand. “Not having to find a new situation must be a big help when you're just starting your practice. Dr. Moss must have thought a great deal of you.”

Dr. Stevens avoided Judith's gaze. “It seems so,” he murmured.

Renie was nodding agreement. “Whatever savings he had will come in handy. Somehow, though, I don't see Dr. Moss charging enormous fees, even if his patients were rich.”

“You're right,” Dr. Stevens replied, once again looking at the cousins. “Aaron began his practice in the Depression when even some of the wealthy residents of Sunset Cliffs were facing financial disaster. He was grateful to the ones
who could afford to pay him, and he never felt right about raising his fees the way other doctors did over the years. That's why,” he went on, as if in a daze, “I can't believe his estate is valued at over three million dollars.”

J
UDITH AND
R
ENIE
couldn't quite believe the size of Aaron Moss's holdings, either. The amount was actually closer to four million, Dr. Stevens explained, because it didn't include the house.

“It's not a large or lavish house,” he said, “but it's very nice, and of course any property that abuts Sunset Cliffs is expensive. Mr. Gibbons estimated that it was worth another half-million on today's market.”

“Did Dr. Moss play the stock market?” Renie asked.

“No,” Theo Stevens replied. “But he lived a rather spartan life, especially after his wife died. Like all doctors, Aaron had to pay huge premiums for malpractice insurance. Frankly, I can't figure out how he accumulated so much money. In all the years I've known him, he never even hinted at such a thing.”

“Does Mr. Gibbons know?” Judith inquired.

“I'm not sure,” Dr. Stevens said. “Lawyers are so closemouthed. I got the impression, though, that he might know more than he let on.”

“Maybe,” Renie said, draining her glass, “some grateful patient either gave or left Dr. Moss the money. Maybe several of them did, and he invested it.”

Theo Stevens frowned. “I don't think so. Just three or four years ago, while I was completing my residency
and living with Dr. Moss, he complained about the high cost of new equipment. In fact, he didn't replace most of the items he already had, because he felt he wouldn't be around forever, and that when I took over, I could choose what suited my needs best.”

“Do you have a nurse or a receptionist?” Judith inquired.

“Dr. Moss's wife, Isabel, was a nurse,” Dr. Stevens replied. “She did everything until she became ill about five years ago. Dr. Moss hired an older woman to replace her, but I think it was too hard for him to make the adjustment. He let her go, and then there was a series of younger nurses, none of whom cared much for such a restricted practice. After I joined him, we got Ms. Parker. She's middle-aged, very capable, and a recent graduate of the local community college. She'd gone back to school after her divorce. Of course she's an LPN, but that's all we really needed. The receptionist work is the biggest part of her job.”

“Does she know about Dr. Moss's death?” Judith asked.

“No.” Dr. Stevens gave Judith a rueful smile. “She's in Hawaii for two weeks. Aaron is—was—very good about giving her time off. She'll be back Sunday. Laura—Ms. Parker—will be devastated.”

“So she wouldn't know where Dr. Moss got all his money,” Renie commented. “If it was a recent windfall, wouldn't he have told you, especially since you're his heir? How long have you known Dr. Moss?”

Dr. Stevens took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “Since the day I was born. He delivered me.”

“Oh.” Renie looked a little embarrassed. “Your mother lived in Sunset Cliffs?”

“No,” Theo Stevens replied, standing up. “My parents lived in the city. Excuse me, I'd better head home. I'm pretty tired myself. Good night.” Ducking his head, he hurried out of the parlor.

“Logic,” Judith intoned, “tells me something odd is going on with Dr. Stevens and his background. He's at least a quarter, maybe half, African-American, which means he's the product of an interracial marriage. His mother and fa
ther were inside the city, and since it was going on forty years ago, they may have lived in a primarily black neighborhood. As I understand it, Dr. Moss's practice was restricted to Sunset Cliffs and part of the adjacent upscale neighborhood. Now why was Dr. Moss attending a mixed-race couple ten miles away?”

Renie looked guileless. “Because they lived somewhere else since our city is usually ahead of the times when it comes to social issues? Because plenty of minorities have lived wherever they wanted including in our own neighborhood? Because it was around 1960, and Dr. Moss was making a civil rights statement?”

“The last reason isn't as dopey as it sounds,” Judith said. “And yet,” she continued, going over to the window and peering through the damask draperies, “I don't think it's the explanation. No matter where they lived, Dr. Stevens's parents were singled out, not just then, but later, when Theo was finishing his medical studies. Where's the link?” She paused, noting that the wind had died down, but the rain was still pouring. “Intervals,” she said, turning back to Renie. “What we were talking about before Dr. Stevens showed up. We've got something strange going on sixty-odd years ago with Suzette, the French-speaking nanny. We've got something else that happened here after the war. Then Theo Stevens is born thirty-five or more years ago, and Dr. Moss treated him like his son and heir.”

“Dr. Stevens is his heir,” Renie put in. “Could he also be Dr. Moss's son?”

Judith stared at Renie. “It's possible—but I don't quite see it. Or do I? Dr. Moss is then in his fifties. He and his wife have no children. Maybe Mrs. Moss was incapable of child-bearing. Aaron Moss meets an attractive black woman and has an affair. She gets pregnant, and he takes care of her. Yes, it could fit, but it'd mean that Dr. Moss didn't mind flaunting his illegitimate son in the face of Sunset Cliffs. That's the part that doesn't ring true.”

“I kind of like it,” Renie said.

Judith looked doubtful. “Let me get back to my chro
nology. Thirty-five or so years later, Dr. Moss is murdered. What does that suggest?”

“Confusion,” Renie replied, putting the Drambuie glasses and coffee cups on the tray that Kenyon had delivered. “Does it do something for you?”

Judith grabbed the sugar bowl, the cream pitcher, and the silverware. “Yes, it does. Generations, that's what. Not all precise, but if you skip the postwar episode, you've got three generations.”

“So?” Renie said, opening the parlor door with her elbow.

“Calamitous events,” Judith said, following Renie out into the hall. “Suzette, who worked for Walter and Margaret Burgess. Kenyon, arriving with a whole new passel of servants circa 1946. Dr. Moss delivering Theo Stevens. The threats to Leota and Dr. Moss's murder.”

“You forgot something,” Renie said as they headed for the kitchen. “Charles Ward's hit-and-run death. Doesn't he count, too?”

Judith wrinkled her nose. “Should he?”

“Maybe,” Renie said. “All the usual suspects were involved, including Dr. Moss.”

“But he was at Creepers to see Leota,” Judith reminded Renie. “Her gall bladder attack, remember?”

“I know,” Renie said as they entered the kitchen. “But it's still a tragedy involving this whole crew. Hi, Ada,” she said brightly.

To the cousins' surprise, Ada Dietz was crying. She looked up from a stool next to the work island and stared dumbly at Judith and Renie.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a hoarse voice.

“Helping,” Renie replied, setting the tray down. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ada barked. “It's almost ten, I've had to do without power for half the evening, this household is in chaos, and I won't be finished here until midnight. The dishwasher's backed up by three loads.”

“Then we'll pitch in,” Judith said. “What needs to be done right now?”

Grudgingly, Ada indicated a stack of plates in the sink. “They need to be scraped. The garbage has to be taken out. I wouldn't do it during that storm. I have to box up some leftovers to send to Mr. Bop when he gets off work. Between all the visitors and the police, I feel like I've been feeding an army. No offense,” she hastened to add, apparently remembering that Judith and Renie qualified as guests.

“I take out the garbage at home,” Renie said. “Where does it go?”

“There's a brown Dumpster off the back porch,” Ada said, then got down off the stool and wiped her eyes. “See here, there's no need…”

“Ta-da!” Renie shouted, picking up a plastic bag in each hand. “I can use the fresh air. Be right back.”

“You're guests,” Ada said, looking worried. “The Mrs. better not hear about this.”

“Don't tell her,” Judith said, turning on the sink and rinsing off plates. “You and Edna must have been very young when you came to Creepers. How long has it been, Ada?”

Ada sighed. “Close to fifty years. I was barely twenty, but my husband was killed right at the end of the war in the Pacific. Edna had been in service with a family in the city. They divorced and broke up housekeeping, so she had to find another position. The Burgesses needed a maid and a cook, and I'd been working at a restaurant downtown. Edna's always been timid, and she was afraid to take on a big place like Creepers, so she insisted I come along, at least for a while.”

Ada stopped, and scowled at Judith. “Why am I telling you all this? I don't even know you.”

“Yes, you do,” Judith replied cheerfully. “I cook for a living, too. It's a big part of my job as a B&B hostess. We're both working girls, Ada. The lifestyle at Creepers is as foreign to me as Xanadu.”

“You have a kind face,” Ada murmured. “It isn't often
I get to talk to somebody of my own class who's sensible.”

“You mean solid middle class.” Judith smiled.

“Do I?” Ada's own smile was grim. “I guess you're right. I used to get out more when I was younger, but these days, it's all I can do to keep up with everything around here. You'd think that once the children were grown, they wouldn't be around so much.”

“Ha!” said Renie who had reappeared in the kitchen. “Our kids are never leaving. When Bill and I die, they'll just stick us somewhere down in the basement, along with all their other castoff belongings. They're not much younger than these kids, either.”

Ada regarded Renie with curiosity. “Who's Bill?”

“My husband,” Renie said. “Our three are in their twenties.”

“I wasn't talking about the younger generation,” Ada said. “I meant the older ones. Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Peggy. Mrs. Beverly is the only one who had the nerve and the ambition to get away from Creepers. Oh, Mr. Wayne and Mrs. Peggy may have separate houses, but they're so close you could spit on them. Now I could see it if Mrs. B. had all the money. But Mr. B. left them each a tidy sum. And still they never move away. It's like they're chained to Creepers.”

“But not Bev,” Renie noted.

“No,” Ada said thoughtfully. “Not Mrs. Bev. She's different than the other two. Always was independent. And always a bit of an outsider. She was about ten when I came here, and I felt sorry for her. Wayne and Peggy were so mean to her. It was always like they knew some big secret and they weren't going to let her in on it. I don't care if she did marry a Japanese man, he's a fine fellow, and it just showed them all up. It serves Wayne Burgess right. Now the Japanese are all over him.”

“They are?” Judith said in surprise.

“You bet,” Ada said with a decisive nod. “They want to buy out Evergreen Timber, and judging from what I hear—not that I'm one to eavesdrop, that's Edna's style—I say, good. And never mind that the Japanese killed Homer—
that was my husband. These big shots didn't sink his ship, they were still in diapers, or whatever Japanese babies wore back then. Wayne is no businessman, and never was.”

Judith perched on the stool that Ada had vacated. “So a Japanese company is trying to buy out Evergreen Timber?”

“That's right, you heard it here,” Ada asserted. “He's gotten himself and the company in a real hole, and the Mrs. is wild. She won't hear of such a thing, but it's either that or go bankrupt.” Ada gave the cousins a sly look. “The phone rings in here, you see, and sometimes when Sarah isn't around to answer it, I have to pick it up.”

And sometimes when Sarah
is
around, Judith thought, and stifled a smile. “I can see why Mrs. Burgess is upset. Evergreen was founded by Maxwell Burgess. It's been around for over a hundred years.”

“They should have let Peggy run it,” Ada averred. “Peggy was the firstborn, and might have had a better head for business than Wayne. But Mr. Walter couldn't see a woman being an executive, not in those days, and Wayne got the job. Then Wayne passes over Mr. Bop, his own son, who has twice as much business sense. Though,” she added, “I don't think he wanted to do it. He'd rather have his little pizza parlor. I've often wondered why.”

“Pressure,” Renie suggested. “It's one thing to own a small restaurant, and another to run a huge corporation like Evergreen Timber.”

“I suppose,” Ada allowed.

“Poor Wayne,” Judith said, feigning sympathy. “This certainly comes at a bad time for him. Or maybe it's the reason for his…domestic troubles?”

Ada's gray eyes widened. “You know about that?”

Judith gave a sad shake of her head. “Oh, yes.”

Ada uttered a little snort. “A long time brewing, if you ask me. Mrs. Dorothy has never been a happy woman. She never wanted to stay home and just be an executive's wife. If he'd let her have that gym, they wouldn't be in this mess.”

Renie was frowning. “Do you mean Jim—or gym?”

“A gym,” Ada replied. “You know, one of those health clubs. Dorothy has been wanting to start one out on the highway for the past several years. Wayne was dead-set against it, and the Mrs. wouldn't give her a dime for it. ‘Common,' that's what the Mrs. called it.”

Judith and Renie exchanged quick glances. “So that's at the heart of this divorce?”

“Partly, anyway,” Ada said. “I'll be frank, I'm on Dorothy's side. She's had a bad time of it. I didn't much mind telling the police that Wayne was here last night.”

“They knew that,” Judith put in.

“I don't mean early in the evening,” Ada said. “I mean late, around eleven-fifteen. Not that that's unusual for him.” She paused and the corners of her mouth turned down. “Anyway, I saw him come to the house. I was getting ready for bed and watching the TV news. They said a storm was coming, so I went to the window to see if it had started to rain. It hadn't yet, but I saw him, sneaking around out front.”