Going Out in Style (8 page)

“Susan Whitaker’s financé, George Drexler, wasn’t in town that evening. He was at a community center near Springfield, just as he said. I spoke to the other members of Philo Harmonia, as well as some people who were in the audience that night, and they confirmed that he was there on time and played the entire performance.”

“How far away is that?”

“About an hour and a half. No less.”

“So he was away during the critical time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. What else do you have?”

“Etta Pinsky doesn’t have an alibi. She says she was home that evening, but there’s no one to confirm that.”

“Think she could be in on it, Fish?”

Fish opened and closed his mouth silently as he thought. “I doubt it, sir. Where’s her motive? Mrs. Whitaker didn’t leave her any money. And why would she suddenly decide to kill her niece?”

“I agree. The will was read yesterday?”

“Yes, sir. Everything just as Albert Whitaker told us. The money was split evenly between himself and his sister.”

“Sixty million each?”

“Sixty-four million.”

Janovy leaned back and shook his head. Sixty-four million dollars! “I’d say the motive’s pretty clear, then. What’s the report on the fingerprints, Fish?”

Fish shuffled through some notes. “The only fingerprints on the front door were those of Mrs. Whitaker, Albert Whitaker, and Mrs. MacGregor.”

“And in the hallway? Under the stairs?”

“In the hallway, just those three again. Under the staircase, none.”

“Which is what you’d expect if the killer wore gloves.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about the missing earring, Fish? Any idea where it went?”

“No, sir.”

Janovy regarded him thoughtfully. “Why would the murderer take it? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s incriminating evidence.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“There’s no sign of it anywhere—in her room, on the stairs, in the hallway?”

Fish shook his head in a melancholy fashion. Janovy sighed. “All right. Did you check up on who has a key to the house, Fish?”

“Yes. It was just as Albert Whitaker said. Mrs. Whitaker, her two children, and Mrs. MacGregor. Mrs. Whitaker’s keys were in the evening bag she was carrying when she was killed. The other three showed me their keys, so none of them is missing.”

“I see. That’s interesting. One more thing, Fish. Mrs.
MacGregor says she heard somebody coming in around six-fifteen. But Bella Whitaker wasn’t killed until seven-thirty at the earliest—even though she should have left for New York City by then. Speculation?”

“Someone she knew, sir. Someone who kept her talking for a while.”

“Yes. I agree.”

“Do you think it’s possible, sir,” Fish asked diffidently, “that this murder—well, that it wasn’t planned in advance?”

“Not planned?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been thinking … perhaps someone made an appointment with Mrs. Whitaker that evening. She agrees to see this person before she catches her train. The person comes by and they get into an argument. The visitor pretends to leave, but instead hides behind the staircase. When Mrs. Whitaker comes downstairs and heads toward the door, the visitor comes up behind her and kills her.”

“A sudden impulse after the argument?”

“Well, something like that, sir.”

Janovy sat thinking. It was possible … there was nothing to say that this was a well-planned murder. Just an intuition he had, that this was no hastily executed, ramshackle affair.…

“What would the argument be about, then, Fish?”

“I’m not sure, sir.”

A sudden vision flashed in front of Janovy’s eyes—bright red-gold hair, a glowing face, and intelligent gray eyes on his, while a voice said,… 
when she found out that George and I were thinking of getting married, she had a fit … she said some pretty ugly things
.…

“Thank you very much, Fish,” he said abruptly. “That’ll be all.”

“Yes, sir.”

*      *      *

Mrs. MacGregor grumbled to herself as she got the broom out of the closet. Etta Pinsky said, “What is it, MacGregor?”

MacGregor replied in a surly tone that it was nothing, just her lumbago that acted up every now and again. Etta snorted and said that the only time MacGregor’s lumbago acted up was when she was working. MacGregor bristled and had to be pacified before consenting to sweep the kitchen floor.

She was cleaning Etta’s little apartment, something she did once a week. Etta watched her sharply. “You’ve missed that corner there, MacGregor. Good Lord! I have to keep my eye on you all the time.”

MacGregor looked sour and said that wasn’t true.

“Yes, it is, MacGregor. Look over there, you’ve missed that spot, too. Honestly, you’re impossible.”

MacGregor rested her elbow on top of the broom and remarked that her other clients didn’t give her any trouble the way Miss Pinsky did.

“Other clients, indeed! Who exactly are you talking about?”

It turned out that MacGregor cleaned and cooked a bit for a few other households in town. There were the Whitakers, of course; there was old Mrs. O’Donnell who lived on that road with the name of one of those spices, MacGregor could never remember, parsley or cloves or oregano or something; there were Miss Lowell and Dr. Schneider over on Palomino Grove, and finally there were Mr. and Mrs. Milhausen on Russell Lane. Etta did not think much of this. “It’s not my fault, MacGregor, if you persecute other people, too. And the name of that road is Nutmeg Lane. By the way, did you know that the Milhausens’ son was getting married? Yes? To someone he met in the Peace Corps in Belize? Yes? Did Mrs. Milhausen say anything about it to you?”

The talk turned to topics of mutual interest and amused speculation.

“Letter for you,” said Maya. “From California.”

Snooky groaned. “Another from William?”

“I don’t think so. The return address says Maxwell.”

“Deirdre?” Snooky grabbed the letter and tore it out of the envelope. He scanned it rapidly.

Maya scanned the letter, then put it down on the table. “Fred is the medieval history professor?”

“Yes.”

“She sounds sensitive, Snooks. Really sensitive. One of your better choices. The part about the negative karma brought tears to my eyes.”

“I’m going to scream,” Snooky said despondently. “Excuse me, Maya. I’m going to go upstairs and scream.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Bernard’s in his study, and you know how he is about loud noises.”

“All right. I’ll go into the living room and scream. I’ve never felt this bad in my entire life. Excuse me.”

A little while later Bernard came downstairs and poured
himself a cup of coffee. He cocked his head toward the living room and said, “What’s that thin wailing sound, Maya?”

“It’s Snooky screaming.”

“Really? Why is he doing that?”

“His girlfriend just wrote to tell him she’s getting married.”

Bernard read the letter, then checked his watch. “Do you think he’ll be done soon? There’s a program I want to watch at eight o’clock.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. You could go ask him yourself.”

“Never mind. I can watch upstairs on the little TV.”

“You could get him to move if you wanted.”

“No. It’s good for him. Get his feelings out and all that.”

“Very liberated of you, Bernard.”

Bernard motioned toward the letter. “This girl doesn’t seem to be much of a prize, does she?”

“No, but then, you know I never think anybody’s good enough for him.”

“Do you think you could maybe get him to tune down the high frequencies? Misty’s upstairs in my study, and her hair’s all standing on end.”

“I don’t know. I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve made a decision,” Snooky said.

Maya passed him the bowl of mashed potatoes. “What’s that, Snooks?”

“I’ve decided that I’m doomed never to have a successful relationship with a woman. Don’t you agree, Bernard?”

“Yes.”

“Therefore, I’ve decided to get a pet. You know. Like animal therapy. Someone to share my life with.”

“Sounds pathetic,” said Maya. “Any particular kind of pet in mind? Lions or tigers or bears?”

“Snakes,” said Bernard, “are supposed to be extremely affectionate creatures.”

“I don’t want a snake.”

Bernard heaped a mountain of mashed potatoes next to his teepee of green beans. “Tarantulas,” he said mildly, “have very giving natures.”

“I don’t want a tarantula, thank you, Bernard.”

“Why not? It would be so easy to pack up with the rest of your possessions when you leave this house, as I presume you will some day.”

“Some day, Bernard.”

There was a short silence, broken only by the sound of chewing.

“Gila monsters,” mused Bernard, “have a bad reputation, but—”

“I’ve decided on a cat.”

Maya cast a frightened glance at her husband. “Oh, Snooky, you
can’t
.”

“Why? What do you mean? Of course I can. I’ve always loved cats. You know that, Maya. I’m going to go out to the pound and get one tomorrow. I just thought I should warn you.”

“Snooky, you don’t understand. Bernard hates cars. You can’t have a cat while you’re staying here. How about a dog? Maybe Misty wouldn’t be too jealous.”

“I don’t want a dog,” Snooky said stubbornly. “I want a cat, and a cat I will get. Do you have a problem with that, Bernard?”

“No.”

“Good. I mean, I wouldn’t want to do anything that would upset you.”

“It won’t upset me.”

“Good.”

“I think you should get yourself a cat. It would suit you, Snooky. You’re a cat kind of person.”

“Thank you, Bernard.”

“The only thing is, Snooky—”

“Yes?”

“Don’t come back here with it.”

Snooky looked hurt. “This is ridiculous. I mean, I’ve accepted that you can’t stand people, but why cats? What have they ever done to you?”

“Nothing.”

“So?”

Bernard did not reply. Maya said, “We’ll talk about it later, okay, Snooks? Anyway, why do you have to have it right now? Why can’t you get one when you leave?”

“I thought it would be nice to have one now. It’s now that I need a little companionship, you know. Anyway, you love cats, Maya. Remember Snuffles?”

Maya’s face melted. “Of course I remember Snuffles.”

Snuffles had been her cat when she was little, a gray-and-white striped tiger cat with long fluffy hair that she had found wandering the streets near their home. Snuffles, under Maya’s care, had been terribly spoiled and gotten unbelievably fat and lived to a dignified old age of eighteen. Even now the sight of a tiger-striped kitten could bring tears to Maya’s eyes.

She cast an appraising look at her husband. “We’ll talk about it later, all right, Snooky? Maybe Bernard will come around.”

Bernard reached out a hand for the bread plate. “Clever of you to think of using Snuffles’ memory,” he remarked to Snooky.

“Thanks.”

“You knew how she’d react, of course.”

“Of course.”

Bernard nodded thoughtfully and bit into a piece of bread. “Clever.”

“I’m not saying yes,” Maya said, bristling. “I just said we’d think about it.”

“Thanks, Maya. One more thing. Is it okay if I invite Albert and Susan over for dinner sometime soon? I feel like I should do something for them, after Bella’s death and all. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Bernard’s head snapped up. With a sound like a muffled roar, he shoved back his chair and left the room.

Maya watched him leave. “Snooky, honestly, your timing is terrible. First this crazy thing about the cat, and now inviting total strangers over to the house? Are you out of your mind?”

“I can’t help it, My. I just like to push Bernard over the edge. It’s so fascinating to see him react.”

“You know he hates having people he doesn’t know here.”

“Maya, I have news for you. Bernard hates having people he
does
know here. Everybody except for you, as far as I can tell.”

“But he doesn’t even
know
the Whitakers.”

“He met them at the funeral, didn’t he? Maybe I should invite Aunt Etta too, he seemed to actually hit it off with her. What do you think?”

“I think,” his sister said primly, “that you’re just a hair’s-breadth away from being packed up and evicted, Arthur Randolph.”

Susan and Albert were standing in their mother’s pink-and-gray bedroom, sorting through her possessions. They had put this task off for as long as possible, neither of them wanting to do it, but finally Susan came over and they spent the day putting clothes in Goodwill boxes and going through her correspondence. Albert, normally so good-tempered, was morose, and Susan, normally so energetic, looked tired and drained. They nearly had a shoving match over their mother’s jewelry.