Must the Maiden Die (41 page)

"Was this sent to the constable's office?"
Glynis asked him.

Danny shook his head. "It was delivered to
your boardinghouse, but Mrs. Peartree just now brought it to the
office, thinking maybe the constable could find you, 'cause—" he
paused for breath "—'cause she, Mrs. Peartree, told Liam and me
that the servant, the person who delivered the letter—" another
breath "—said it was urgent you get this right away."

After Glynis sorted out this barrage of
information, she realized Harriet probably wouldn't have heard yet
of the warehouse affair.

"Thank you, Danny. I appreciate your finding
me." She badly wanted to read what the envelope contained, but the
boy deserved a minute. "I've heard about your new job," she said to
him. "Constable Stuart says you're a good scout and I certainly
agree. Perhaps now Zeph can leave his bloodhounds at home."

He grinned at her. " 'Fraid not, cause he
gave 'em to me to take care of while he's gone to Albany, and I
hope he gets back quick 'cause they eat an awful lot."

Danny turned and went running back to Fall
Street. Glynis, going to stand under an elm and leaning against its
trunk, tore open the envelope. She read the short note. Then read
it again.

After she tucked it into her book bag,
lighter now that the crowbar had been commandeered by Cullen, she
considered how she should reply to it. She thought for a minute or
two, then turned to walk quickly toward Boone's Livery. There was
such a thing as striking while the iron was hot. And if she waited
longer, she could lose her nerve. Then there might be no end to
what Roland Brant's murder, like a pebble tossed into a quiet pond,
had set in motion.

To men, glory, honor, praise, and power, if
they are patriots. To women, daughters of Eve, punishment still
comes in some shape, do what they will.

—Mary Boykin Chesnut, 1861 entry from
A
Diary from Dixie

By the time Glynis drove her carriage up the
Brant drive, it was early evening. The house appeared no less
malevolent than usual, but with the summer solstice nearing, the
sun was still high and she would leave long before dark. While it
might have been unwise to come here alone, caution had given way to
the need for haste.

She tethered the gray mare to a hitching
post and had reached the foot of the porch steps when Erich Brant
came through the front doorway. He looked pale, anxious, altogether
unwell. After glancing at the nailed sheriff's notice, he directed
his resentment at her.

"You're not welcome here," he informed her
curtly, as if she might not have known that. "There's no reason to
bother us again."

She kept silent to see what more Erich might
say, since it didn't appear that he knew about the letter. And it
was unlikely he could have heard yet what the warehouse had
yielded.

He stood there looking at her with what she began to
sense was nervousness. Finally, he said, "Just what is it you
want?"

"I was asked to come," she told him, taking
the envelope from her book bag and wondering why she had
relinquished the crowbar. She held the envelope toward him and
said, "I'm certain you recognize the handwriting."

"She can't be disturbed," he said
immediately.

"That's not what her note indicated. She
wrote that she wanted to see me as soon as was convenient. Since
it's convenient now, perhaps you will tell her that I'm here."

Having said this, Glynis briefly questioned
where she had acquired such bravado. It must be Bronwen's
influence. In any event, Erich did not seem impressed. He
continued to stand in the doorway like the sphinx, while Glynis
searched her mind for what she might use to be allowed entrance.
Then, from above her, came the rasp of a window being raised. She
looked up to see Helga Brant.

"Come in, Miss Tryon," she directed.

Glynis noted Erich's chagrin as he moved
back inside. As he had left the door ajar, she waited a short time,
then went up the porch stairs and stepped into the foyer. And found
herself alone. Erich must have gone upstairs to confer with his
mother. But where was Clements? And Phoebe? Was Addie, at least, in
the kitchen? Glynis suddenly had the disturbing thought that the
servants could have been dismissed. It shouldn't come as a
surprise, given the notice of attachment and its indication that
the Brants' financial status had abruptly altered. It was something
she should have thought of before now.

When she had entered, she heard the notes of
a harpsichord, presumably coming from the music room. The sound
continued and she followed it through the parlor's flowers and
greenery, finding it took effort to push aside her uneasiness.
Tirzah, after all, was someone she needed to see.

"Here again, Miss Tryon?" Tirzah struck a
jarringly unpleasant chord. "Like a nosy neighbor, you just keep
intruding where you're not welcome." She shifted on the music
bench to face Glynis.

"But surely you expected someone to come
after taking such pains the other day to ensure it."

"What pains were those?" Tirzah's expression
was all innocence. "I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Oh, I think you do. You made certain I was
forced to look into your mother-in-law's bedroom. In fact, you
insisted upon it. Trailing, as it were, a red herring across my
path."

Glynis almost didn't catch the flicker in
the dark eyes, but she had been watching for something to confirm
she was right.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
Tirzah insisted. "Are you quite well, Miss Tryon? Perhaps the
strain of having a wild imagination has clouded your reason. Either
that," she went on, her face flushing, "or the labors of this
morning's discov—"

She stopped too late. So she, and presumably
Erich,
did
know the rifles had been found.

"I have nothing more to say to you," Tirzah
stated, turning back to the keyboard.

"You've already said enough," Glynis
responded, and was rewarded with a faint twitch of Tirzah's
shoulders. "Whom did you mean to protect with that diversionary
tactic? Yourself? Your husband?"

Tirzah's fingers were poised above the keys,
but they didn't resume play. Instead, she turned again to Glynis,
and said, "Protect from what?"

"As you well know, from a charge of
murder."

"And just how was I supposedly doing
that?"

Tirzah was rattled and Glynis debated whether to
leave it at that for now. But the woman rose from the bench and
stood with hands on her hips, apparently thinking an aggressive
stance might work more successfully than a disdainful one.

"Tell me what you imagine I've done, Miss
Tryon. Do you think that
I
killed my father-in-law?"

"The better question might be, why do you
think your husband killed him?"

As Glynis had always supposed, highly
emotional people who lacked self-discipline did not make good
actors. Tirzah's face alone was proof of this. She sank back onto
the bench, her eyes wide with alarm. "Does Constable Stuart believe
Erich killed his father?"

"The fact that you believe it is more important,"
Glynis said, listening carefully for the sound of Erich's footsteps
in the parlor. "Isn't that why you relocated the Millville Rose
paperweight? Moved it from your mother-in-law's bedroom into the
library to shift suspicion from your husband to her?"

"I was afraid," Tirzah said, tears threatening.
"Afraid the paperweight could have been the murder weapon."

"That was an odd thing to fear," Glynis
said, "considering the knife in Roland Brant's chest. Unless you'd
heard a violent argument between him and his son—and then, when his
body was found in his library with a head wound the next day, you
assumed your husband struck him with the paperweight. His father's
Baccarat crystal paperweight.
Since it had disappeared from
the library by the time the body was discovered, I imagine you
thought Erich had permanently disposed of it. But the knife...did
you think Erich had stabbed his father after striking him? While
Roland was unconscious?"

"I don't know. And I don't know anything
about the knife," Tirzah cried. The tears running down her cheeks
made furrows in her face powder, and Glynis wished she didn’t feel
some sympathy for the woman. But she couldn't retreat now.

"It must have been a shock for you," Glynis
said, "when I showed up with that crystal paperweight. It was you
watching from an upstairs window that night, wasn't it? So while
Konrad and his mother were in the parlor, and your husband was
occupied on the porch with the constable and Dr. Cardoza-Levy, you
took the Millville Rose paperweight from your mother-in-law's
bedroom. You brought it down to the library and put it under the
desk—where you knew it would eventually be found."

"No, I did not!"

"I think you did. When I first came into the
foyer that night, I saw you, Tirzah, rushing down the hall away
from Roland's library. You assumed the Millville Rose paperweight
would be traced to your mother-in-law. And that would have been
convenient, wouldn't it? She alone stands between you and the sale
of this house—because one-third of it, by her dower rights, belongs
to her. So, when the murder investigation wasn't moving quickly
enough, and your mother-in-law didn't appear to be a suspect, you
helped things along the other day by calling me upstairs—"

"What the hell are you saying?" Although she
had been expecting it, Erich's voice from the parlor made Glynis
start. She hadn't heard footsteps, and she wondered how long he had
been standing there.

"I want an answer, Miss Tryon," he said.
"Are you accusing my wife of murder?"

Before she could answer, Helga Brant's voice
came from the upstairs. Glynis started to walk through the parlor,
but Erich blocked her path. "Are you saying that Tirzah killed my
father?" he repeated angrily.

"No, I didn't say that," answered Glynis.
And realized, when she saw unmistakable relief cross his face, that
he cared very much for this difficult woman. Which only complicated
matters further.

"If my mother didn't insist upon seeing
you," Erich told her, "I would have you thrown out of this
house!"

"That reminds me," said Glynis, trying to
stave off her nervousness. "Where is Clements?"

"It's none of your business."

Helga Brant's voice now sounded more
emphatic. She must be on the stairs, Glynis thought, and apparently
Erich thought the same thing because he moved aside. When Glynis
passed him she could feel his intense animosity. But she had
started this and would have to see it through.

When she emerged from the parlor, Helga
Brant was halfway down the steps, gripping the staircase banister.
"Will you come upstairs, Miss Tryon," she said, her peremptory tone
indicating it was not a question.

Glynis nodded and followed the woman up the
steps. She couldn't help but note that Mrs. Brant was considerably
steadier on her feet than she had been on previous occasions.
Perhaps Neva's remark about the self-professed frailty of some
wives was not merely speculation. When they reached the landing,
Helga Brant turned and went to her bedroom. Once inside it, she
firmly closed the door behind Glynis.

"You may sit down," directed Mrs. Brant,
gesturing to a wing-back chair covered with flowered chintz.

Glynis tried not to glance around, as the
cluttered, flowery furnishings made her even more uneasy. It was
by no means a restful room, but looked rather as if the occupant
had purposely exaggerated the impression of a garden. It was even
more evident here than in the parlor. Glynis recalled the woman's
words:
My husband did not like flowers.
She also recalled
the tightness of voice with which the words had been spoken.

Mrs. Brant went to stand at the window, her
hands quiet at her side, her profile serene. Thus Glynis was not
prepared when the woman said, "I despised my husband." She turned
to face Glynis. "Does that shock you, Miss Tryon?"

Glynis strained to find an answer. Helga
Brant did not seem disposed to help her, but just stood there,
waiting.

"I suppose," Glynis answered, "that it
should
shock me. But in the past days I have learned some
facts about your husband. And now I doubt that anything you say
would shock me. Assuming, that is, that you knew of these same
facts."

"Oh, I knew. I knew within days of our
marriage. He immediately started spending my dowry money. Then he
harassed my father for more. It was my family's money, Miss Tryon,
including my inheritance, that paid for everything you see here.
Paid for everything Roland owned. Even his many financial ventures,
which returned little of it."

"Were you aware of the nature of his
investments?" Glynis asked.

Helga Brant looked amused. "If by that you
mean," she said dryly, "was I aware of his latest scheme of
gunrunning to the South, yes. But I only discovered it a week ago.
Last Sunday, Derek Jager came here, demanding his share of the
payment, or so he said. He must have discovered the well had run
dry. The argument that resulted was rancorous, and loud enough to
be heard by anyone who cared to listen."

"That was in the afternoon?" Glynis
asked.

"Yes. However, the reason I requested that
you come here, Miss Tryon, was in response to your letter. You
wrote that you had certain questions to ask of me. You are an
intelligent woman and I think you've come to some conclusions
about my husband's death—servants do talk, as I know you've
learned. I also believe you have compassion, and might understand
better than Constable Stuart what I'm about to tell you."

Helga Brant walked with only the trace of a
limp to her writing desk. She lifted the heavy glass dome of the
Millville Rose, her hand dipping slightly with its weight, and drew
from beneath it a piece of cream-colored vellum. When she returned
to stand by the window, a faint tremor in the blue-veined hands
made the paper quiver.