Creeps Suzette (21 page)

“Pack?” Judith stared.

Sarah never changed expression. Indeed, now that Judith was watching her closely, she noticed that the housekeeper looked pale, even haggard.

“Yes,” Sarah said in a dull voice, “my father and I are leaving on a six o'clock flight to Boston. There's not much point in going to bed. It's going on two already.”

Clumsily, Judith sat down on the other stool. “I don't understand. Why are you leaving? How can you leave, with the homicide investigation still going on?”

“We're leaving because we should have left thirty years ago,” Sarah said with bitterness. “We're not coming back.”

“But…”

“As for how we can leave,” Sarah continued with a tight little smile, “we're not suspects. My father is too feeble to have killed Dr. Moss, and I have an airtight alibi.”

“You do?” Judith couldn't stop staring.

Sarah nodded. “Yes. I was upstairs in my room screwing the executive hosiery off of Wayne Burgess.”

 

Somehow, Judith managed to keep from falling off the stool. It wasn't the revelation that shocked her so much as Sarah Kenyon's blunt language. But Sarah wasn't a blue-blooded aristocrat. She was a middle-class working woman, and despite being penned up in Creepers for most of her life, her job ensured that the outside world would rub off on her.

Or so Judith figured, but she was only partly right.

“It's late, I'm tired, and I've kept up a façade for so long that I can't stand it,” Sarah declared. “I don't have to do that anymore. I'm leaving, and I should feel like the most liberated woman on earth. Unfortunately, I feel awful.”

“Why is that?” Judith asked, finally regaining her composure and no longer staring unabashedly at Sarah.

“It's a long story,” the housekeeper said with a grim smile. “You've caught me with my defenses down, but holding everything in doesn't matter anymore. It all began with my grandfather, Anthony Kenyon. He and my grandmother, Olivia, lived in Sunset Cliffs. They had a house about a mile from here that was known as The Chateau.”

Nibbling pizza, Judith leaned back against the counter and listened to the Kenyon saga. Anthony Kenyon had been a successful banker until the '29 crash. He had lost everything, and committed suicide with his hunting rifle. Sarah's father, Edward Kenyon, had been away at Bowdoin College at the time. He had to quit school and come home to help his mother, who had been forced to sell The Chateau and move into an apartment. Not only had Olivia Kenyon's health declined after her husband's death, but her mental condition had become unstable. She died exactly six years to the day of her husband's suicide.

“My father had no brothers or sisters,” Sarah explained, her strong, attractive features looking bleak. “It was the Great Depression, and jobs were hard to find. He found work wherever he could, but it was a hand-to-mouth existence.”

In 1939, Edward married a woman named Frances An
derson, a clerk at the Belle Epoch department store. Despite the hard times that Edward had been through since his father's death, he and Frances had been shaped by different worlds. Sarah was born in the spring of 1941, but the marriage was already foundering. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Edward joined the navy the next day.

“My father served in some of the most terrible campaigns in the South Pacific,” Sarah said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “He was wounded twice. I hardly ever saw him when I was small, and my mother had to work despite the fact that she wasn't in good health.”

When Kenyon was finally discharged in late 1945, he came home to a wife who was suffering from kidney disease and a daughter who was almost school-age. He'd hoped to take advantage of the GI Bill to finish his college education, but Frances's medical expenses were piling up. She could no longer work, and jobs for veterans were scarce.

“Mom died two days after I started kindergarten,” Sarah recounted. “It was really strange—I'd grown up so far with only my mother, and then I was left with a father I scarcely knew.”

Judith was sympathetic. “The war took a horrible toll, and not just in battle casualties. I don't think the younger generation has any idea what it was like.”

Sarah nodded agreement. “Anyway, at this point Dad was desperate. You see, he'd always blamed the Burgesses—Maxwell, in particular—for the family's ruin. In the mid-1920s, my grandfather had made a huge loan to Maxwell Burgess so that Evergreen Timber could buy a vast parcel of forest land up near the Canadian border. Maxwell defaulted on that loan, and it helped bring on our family's financial disaster. In Dad's mind, he had not only lost both parents, but the house in which he was raised, his financial security, and a chance for a college education. Consequently, my father went to see Walter Burgess. Maxwell had just died, and his wife had been dead for several years.

“Dad demanded—not asked—that he be given a job,” Sarah continued with a faint smile. “Because of old Mr. Burgess's death, the family was in the middle of a staff upheaval, and Walter Burgess offered Dad the position of butler. He was insulted at first, but then he set out his conditions. He would accept the job if the salary was double what other butlers were being paid, and if I could live with him at Creepers. To his surprise, Walter agreed. Then Leota stepped in, and said that when it came time for my father to retire, he and I should have the cottage out on the grounds. Mrs. Burgess has a conscience, or at least a sense of justice, I'll say that for her. The problem was that my father never wanted to retire. He actually likes being a butler. It's his little joke on the world, bowing and scraping to the nabobs, and knowing inside that he's as good as they are.”

“Interesting,” Judith murmured, and meant it. People's stories always fascinated her. “So what convinced your father to give it all up now?”

“Me.” Sarah set her teacup down with emphasis. “I have to get away. Because of Wayne.”

“But I've heard that he and Dorothy may be divorcing,” Judith noted.

“It's not as simple as that.” Sarah sighed. “Wayne and I fell in love when he was twenty-one and I was seventeen. We'd been raised together, and while I wasn't part of the family, I was part of the household. Do you see the difference? And the affinity?”

Judith did. She could picture the young Sarah joining in the games, sharing the secrets, swimming in the pool, playing on the tennis courts—but never really belonging.

“It wasn't puppy love,” Sarah asserted. “Wayne had dated a number of girls by then, mostly debutantes his mother presented to him. I'd had a boyfriend when I was sixteen, a fellow I'd met in high school. We were pretty serious for a while. I was old for my age, probably because of never having had a two-parent family or much of a real home.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “And then, one
June morning, Wayne came home from college for the summer. It was like I'd never seen him before. He wasn't a boy, he was a man. He told me later he had a similar reaction—I was all grown up and looked like I'd been waiting for him my whole life.”

Judith smiled softly. “I can practically see it. What happened?”

Sarah's mouth turned down. “What you'd expect. By the end of the summer, we wanted to get engaged. His parents wouldn't hear of it. Mrs. Burgess felt rather bad about it, I think, but she held firm with Mr. Burgess. I simply wasn't suitable.”

“But your family had originally lived in Sunset Cliffs,” Judith pointed out.

“Of course. But I hadn't, except as a servant's daughter. I was the granddaughter of a man who committed suicide because he'd been ruined financially. I might have had better luck if I'd been a rollerskating carhop from out on the highway.”

“So Wayne ended up with Dorothy,” Judith remarked.

“Yes, but not right away. Wayne hadn't finished college, so he went off again in the fall, and I tried to get over him. But when he returned for the holidays, nothing had changed. Nothing ever did, not even after he married Dorothy.” Sarah gave Judith an ironic glance. “Most people would scoff, but you absolutely cannot kill true love. You can stuff it in the closet, lock it in a vault, bury it in the backyard—but it's still there no matter how many years and how many obstacles keep you apart.”

“I know,” Judith said softly, thinking of the quarter-century without Joe and how time had changed nothing between them. “I know all about that.”

Sarah surveyed Judith with interest. “Yes. Yes, I think you do. Maybe that's why I'm telling you all this. But what it comes to now, even though Wayne and I have continued our affair off and on for all these years, is that I won't be part of the reason he and Dorothy end their marriage. I've never married, but I consider the union sacred. If I leave
Creepers, and five years from now Wayne is free and asks me to marry him, I might consider it. But this is all wrong now. Wayne's having terrible business problems, Dorothy's hell-bent on divorce, we've had a murder at Creepers—everything's a mess. Dad is unhappy with my decision, but I won't leave him behind. He's so frail, and I'd worry about him constantly. We have distant cousins in Boston, and there'll be an entire continent between us and this place. We're going, and that's it.”

“Does Mrs. Burgess know?” Judith asked.

“No,” Sarah replied, getting up from the stool. “I stopped by her suite earlier this evening, but I just couldn't work up the nerve to tell her. She's had a rough time of it lately. Anyway, I've left a letter explaining everything. I hate leaving the family in the lurch, but if I give notice and wait for my replacement, I might change my mind. I can't do that.”

“I understand,” Judith said simply. “I wish you and your father the best of luck. By the way, you mentioned that he came here at a time of staff upheaval. Were all those changes made only because Maxwell Burgess had just died?”

“That's what I always heard,” Sarah said, looking mildly surprised. “But I was just a little kid when Dad and I moved in.”

“What did you ever hear about Suzette?” Judith asked.

Sarah broke into a grin. “Suzette, the Creepers ghost. She was a nanny to Peggy and Wayne. There was some kind of scandal, I think. They were never sure what it was because they were both so young. In fact, it happened not long before their mother died. You can imagine for kids who were say—three, in Peggy's case, and Wayne wasn't yet two—that scandal didn't mean much to them. In fact, Wayne doesn't remember his real mother at all. In some ways, I think we were drawn together because we'd both lost our mothers so young.”

“Suzette was French, right?” Judith said, not wanting to get sidetracked.

“French-speaking,” Sarah replied. “She was Haitian.”

Judith recalled the coin. “Was she black?”

“I believe most Haitians are,” Sarah said dryly.

“Yes, of course.” But Judith's mind had raced ahead. “You don't know what happened to her?”

“No. The kids used to tell each other terrible tales about her. Voodoo and all that. I used to feel sorry for Beverly, because they were always trying to scare her to death. For all I know, Suzette quit in a huff and went to work for the Boring Airplane Company.”

Judith smiled at the suggestion. But she didn't believe it.

“I've got to pack,” Sarah said. “I feel better. Thanks for hearing me out. Maybe, since I'm about to turn my back on all this, I needed to tell my story.”

“I was glad to listen to it,” Judith said. “I think you're very brave.”

“Am I?” Sarah gave Judith a half-smile. “Or am I a coward? By the way, that was you and your cousin who came into the game room today, wasn't it?”

Judith grimaced. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Don't be. It was our farewell fling. The rest of the leave-taking is mundane. Now I'll have to find some suitcases.”

Sarah disappeared into the hall. No doubt she'd find suitcases easily enough, Judith thought. The problem was that Sarah Kenyon was carrying more baggage than one person should bear.

S
O MANY THINGS
were darting around in Judith's brain that she thought she'd have trouble getting to sleep. At precisely two
A
.
M
. she switched off the bedside lamp and climbed under the covers. Renie was just a mound in the bed, dead to the world. Judith envied her cousin's ability to sleep so soundly.

The next thing she knew, it was ten minutes after nine. Renie was still a mound in the bed. Hurriedly, Judith got up and headed for the bathroom. After a quick shower, she went into the sitting room and called Joe.

Arlene Rankers answered the phone. “Goodness, Judith,” she said in a breathless voice, “I'm just serving the last batch of guests. Can you call back later?”

“Where's Joe?” Judith asked.

“Joe?” Arlene said in a voice that sounded as if she'd never heard of him.

“Where did he go?” Judith persisted.

“I've no idea,” Arlene said crisply. “Call me back. The scrambled eggs and ham are about to scorch.”

Vexed, Judith clicked off, then dialed her mother's number. As usual, Gertrude didn't answer until the ninth ring.

“Where are you now?” her mother demanded in a crabby voice. “Pismo Beach?”

“Of course not, Mother,” Judith said. “Why would I be in Pismo Beach?”

“Because somebody on TV is from there,” Gertrude said illogically. “It sounds like the kind of place you'd go.”

“I'm out in the north end of town,” Judith responded. “Renie and I are staying with friends.”

“That's dumb,” Gertrude grumbled. “Why would you stay with friends in the north end when you can be with your family in your own house? Or,” she asked, a sly note creeping into her voice, “are you and Lunkhead separated?”

“Of course not,” Judith retorted. “I explained all this to you before I left Monday. We're helping out. One of Renie's friends has a problem.”

“Any friend of Serena's is a problem,” Gertrude snapped. “That girl has no sense. What does she do with all her time? Draw stupid little pictures, right? Cartoons, I bet, like the Katzenjammer Kids and Maggie and Jiggs.”

“Not exactly,” Judith said, running an agitated hand through her wet hair. “Look, I just wanted to see if you're okay. We might be home today or at the latest, tomorrow.”

“Okay? Are you kidding?” Gertrude huffed. “Three of my ten toes fell off. My chest feels like an elephant sat on it. I'm so stiff from arthritis that the St. Vincent de Paul thought I was a hat rack.”

“Yes, Mother.” Judith sighed. “Have you had breakfast?”

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Gertrude said smugly. “Arlene knows how to treat me. She made little pigs.”

“That's nice,” Judith said. “Arlene's a terrific cook.”

“Better than some,” Gertrude said in her raspy voice. “I gotta go, kiddo. The exterminator's here.”

“What exterminator?” Judith asked, feeling an onset of panic.

“His name's Marbles,” Gertrude replied. “He's here to get the possums. So long, Toots.”

Gertrude hung up.

Renie was staggering out of the bathroom when Judith returned to the bedroom. “Whazzup?” she mumbled.

“Have you ever had possums in your yard?” Judith asked.

“Sure.” Renie focused her eyes. “Twice. Found one on the back porch a year ago. Ugly suckers.” She blinked and made an effort to become alert. “I told you about it at the time.”

While the cousins dressed, Judith recounted the phone calls she'd just made. “I wonder where Joe went,” she said, going over to the speaking tube.

“Out for breakfast, maybe,” Renie said. “Bill does that every so often, especially if he attends weekday Mass. What are you doing?”

“Husbands and possums aren't the only things I have to discuss,” Judith said, switching on the tube. “Let's eat up here, so we don't have eavesdroppers. What do you want?”

Renie recited a long list, which, to Judith's dismay, included lamb kidneys. “Good luck,” said Judith. “This isn't England.”

Judith considered waiting to divulge her information until after Renie had her first cup of coffee, but couldn't contain herself. She disposed of Jack Moody before Kenyon delivered their trays.

“Kenyon!” Judith exclaimed in surprise. “I thought you left.”

“Haven't you heard, ma'am?” the butler replied. “The heavy winds blew away the rain and brought in a thick fog. The airport is closed, at least until this afternoon.”

Renie, naturally, was bug-eyed. “What was that all about?” she demanded after Kenyon had toddled off.

“I was just getting to that,” Judith said, and promptly went into the story about Edward and Sarah Kenyon. She paused only when Renie lifted one of the silver lids and uttered a delighted cry at the sight of four lamb kidneys on the plate.

“But now,” Judith said in conclusion, “it seems the Kenyons are stuck at Creepers, at least for a while. Coz, how can you eat innards?”

“Easy,” Renie responded. “I already ate them.” She
pulled back from the table and patted her stomach. “Yum, yum.”

“Innards and carrots mashed up with rutabagas,” Judith murmured with disgust. “You have some queer tastes.”

“What do you mean?” Renie countered. “You eat liver and onions. Liver is—are?—innards. I can't stand liver. Giblets are good, though.”

“Giblets are good,” Judith agreed. “Giblets in dressing, giblets in gravy, just plain giblets. And speaking of food, hear me out on the pizza issue.”

“Huh?” Renie looked up from her almost-empty dishes. “Pizza?”

Judith recited the information Sarah had given her about the pizza box markings. “One letter for each specialty item—got that?” She saw Renie nod. “But there was an ‘M' on Nurse Fritz's box and another ‘M' on the one we saw in Mrs. Burgess's bedroom. How come? They were two different kind of pizzas.”

Renie looked blank. “A simple mistake? Or,” she said, gathering steam, “you were looking at one of the boxes upside-down. One of the ‘Ms' might have been a ‘W.'”

“Brilliant, coz,” Judith said excitedly. “Your designer's eye has done it again. So, do we conclude that the boxes got mixed up, and the pizza for Nurse Fritz was the one intended for Mrs. Burgess?”

“As in an attempt to poison the old girl?” Renie said with a skeptical expression. “We don't know that the pizza was poisoned. Nurse Kitz ate and drank some other things last night. Besides, wouldn't it be extremely stupid of Bop to poison his own pizza?”

“Bop's a risk taker, remember?”

“But,” Renie put in, “according to Jack Moody, Bop has no killer instinct.”

Judith grew solemn. “I know. That bothers me. Of course Moody was referring to playing cards, but poker is often a metaphor for life. All the attempts—if they were real attempts—on Leota's life have failed. Is that by accident or by design?”

“In a really weird, oddball kind of way, you're making sense,” Renie declared. “Will you mention this to Edwina and Danny?”

“Sure,” Judith said, finishing her coffee and standing up. “Let's find out what's happened while we slept.”

“What about Leota?” Renie asked. “Shouldn't we check on her?”

Judith snapped her fingers. “You're right. I'm being derelict in my duty. Let's go.”

Mrs. Burgess had long since finished breakfast and was sitting up in bed reading a romance novel. Caroline was nowhere to be seen, though the remnants of a meal for two remained on a large tray by the Chinese screen. Apparently, Leota's rule against others eating with her in the boudoir didn't apply to kin.

“Nurse Fritz is improving,” Mrs. Burgess announced. “Food poisoning can be dangerous, though.”

“Do you know what they think caused it?” Judith asked.

“If so, I haven't heard,” the old lady replied. “I do hope Fritz can come back on duty soon.”

Renie had sat down in a chair next to the bed. “You feel okay, though? I mean, it wasn't the pizza?”

“Of course not!” Mrs. Burgess huffed. “Bop wouldn't use substandard ingredients. He and I both ate all of ours, and as far as I know he's fine. So am I. Except for my ankle. It still pains me.”

“Bop certainly has a flair for naming his pizzas,” Judith remarked. “What was yours called?”

“Wild something-or-other,” Mrs. Burgess answered. “The names are clever indeed. I believe I haven't given Bop full credit for his business acumen. But all things considered, that's understandable.” She frowned and looked away.

Judith started to say something about the Kenyons' imminent departure, but thought better of it. Perhaps Mrs. Burgess didn't yet know.

“You're staying on for the funeral tomorrow, I trust?” Mrs. Burgess's gaze shifted away from the window where
the outer world was shrouded in heavy fog. “I'm sure Beverly would want you to stand in for her.”

“Yes,” Renie replied, though there was a reluctant note in her voice. “We'll be there. To be honest, I'm not sure the police want us to leave just yet.”

“Twaddle,” said the old lady. “You're scarcely criminals, and they know it.” She paused as Edna entered the room, announcing Dr. Stevens.

“Good morning,” he said in greeting as Edna bustled around the room and collected the big tray. She could barely balance it as she passed behind the Chinese screen to the backstairs area.

“Well?” Mrs. Burgess said to the doctor. “How long am I to be incapacitated?”

“Through the weekend, at least,” Dr. Stevens replied with an encouraging smile. “Don't worry, we'll get you to the funeral in a very comfortable wheelchair.”

Mrs. Burgess made an impatient gesture with her right hand. “I'll hate that. It shows weakness. Don't you think I could put my weight on it just long enough to get in and out of the chapel?”

The cousins decided to withdraw. Murmuring excuses, they left the master suite.

“Where do we find another crowbar?” Judith asked when they reached the hall.

“Huh? Oh—you mean to get into the tower room?” Renie considered. “Are you sure you want to go up there again?”

“Yes,” Judith declared. “I don't know who's trying to warn us off, but we can't give up.”

“Your call,” Renie said without enthusiasm.

“Sarah Kenyon referred to Suzette as a ghost haunting the place,” Judith said. “That's nonsense, of course. I don't think Sarah meant it seriously.”

Renie looked askance. “I suppose not.”

“You don't believe in ghosts,” Judith said, surprised at her cousin's reaction.

“No,” Renie said after a pause. “Not really. But if ever a house had them, it'd be Creepers.”

“True,” Judith admitted. “Let's forget about ghosts and get some tools.”

“Kenyon will know where they are,” Renie said. “Let's ask him.”

The butler was in the dining room, polishing silver.

“You don't seem to be surrendering your duties even though you're leaving,” Judith remarked with a smile.

“As it turns out,” Kenyon said, squinting at a silver cream pitcher with his half-blind eyes, “we won't be leaving now until Friday. I felt quite strongly about staying on until after Dr. Moss's services. Naturally, my daughter is disappointed. She had her heart set on leaving this morning.”

Renie inquired about tools. Keeping his expression impassive, the butler suggested they try the shed nearest the house.

“Mr. Jeepers is doing some repair work necessitated by the storm,” Kenyon said. “I believe you'll find him nearby.”

Mr. Jeepers's real name was Arnie Norberg. “Bop nicknamed me when he was a kid,” Arnie explained. “It stuck. I suppose anybody who was called Bop felt everybody else should have a nickname, too.”

In the well-organized toolshed, Arnie supplied the cousins with another crowbar, a hammer, a chisel, and an axe. He couldn't resist asking to what purpose the tools would be put.

Judith opted for candor, explaining that the top floor of the north tower was sealed. They were curious. Arnie merely smiled.

“Friends of Miss Bev's, huh?” he remarked. “She's a peach. I've been working at Creepers off and on since she was in college.”

“But not full-time?” Judith said.

Arnie shook his clean-shaven head. “No thanks. I started out doing odd jobs for the Van Burens, then some of the other families asked me to work for them. I like it better if
I'm not tied down to just one household. Frankly, these people give me the creeps. Excuse the expression.”

“‘These people'?” Judith quoted. “You mean the Burgesses?”

“All of them.” Arnie waved a hand, taking in the expanse of Sunset Cliffs. “They aren't like other people. They aren't real.”

Judith didn't disagree. The cousins cautiously made their way through the thick fog to the rear of the house. At one point, Renie collided with the wishing well.

“Look out, coz,” Judith said, unable to help because her hands were full. “Is your eye worse this morning?”

“No,” Renie replied, rubbing her knee. “It's better. It's just the fog and my depth perception. I guess I should throw a coin in this thing and wish for improved vision.”

Judith paused to smile at what she could see of the charming little stone well with its wooden bucket and lacy wrought-iron arch. “You wouldn't get your wish,” she said. “The well's been sealed off, probably to keep kids from jumping into it.”

The cousins were lucky in one respect, however. They didn't encounter anyone who might express curiosity about the clutch of tools they carried. The passageways were empty as they walked to the door that led to the north tower.

“Maybe we should have asked Arnie to help us,” Judith said as they ascended the winding staircase.

“Let's see how we manage on our own,” Renie replied, then stopped. “What's
that
noise?”