The Body in the Bouillon (16 page)

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Authors: Katherine Hall Page

BOOK: The Body in the Bouillon
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Mrs. P. was giving them beef pot pie today, which Faith had tried to bourguignonnize a bit by adding mushrooms, diced bacon, and wine. It wasn't too bad.
She didn't have to worry about drawing people out. Eddie Russell's death was the topic of the moment. Julia seemed particularly upset that Faith had been in the same room.
“We have a couch that makes up into a bed. I should have had you stay with us.”
“Julia, please don't trouble yourself about it. Who could possibly have predicted something like this would ever happen?”
“I feel responsible too,” Sylvia said. “There are any number of other places you could have slept. I don't know why Leandra took you to that old guest suite—it's so cold and drafty in the winter too. It is where we put our notables though,” she gushed on, “and I suppose she meant it to be an honor.”
Some honor, Faith thought, and stifled the urge she had to giggle or say something naughty that she had had ever since she sat down to eat with all these grown-ups.
“It is so sad,” sighed Naomi Porter. “Danforth and I were very fond of Edsel. He was such a help to us in the greenhouse, carrying sacks of loam and really doing all the dirty work. It was lovely that he took such an interest in horticulture. He even had his own little section. Whenever I water his plants, I'll think of him.”
Faith made a mental note to tell John Dunne to make a surreptitious raid on the Porters' greenhouse. She had a pretty good idea of what Eddie had been growing there, and it wasn't oregano.
“Be that as it may,” Ellery Cabot was saying, “I hope the young man's death doesn't bring all sorts of negative publicity to Hubbard House. Let's hope the police clear it up quickly and we can go about our business.”
Julia looked less sanguine. “I have a feeling finding out who killed Eddie Russell could be very complicated.”
“Why do you say that?” Faith asked.
“Because he was—” The rest of Julia's words were interrupted by Denise's frenzied entrance into the dining room.
“Dr. Hubbard! Dr. Hubbard! Come quickly! Someone's attacked Charmaine and locked her up in the furnace room!”
Roland ran out of the room, closely followed by Muriel. Everyone looked at one another in stunned silence for a moment before a general hubbub broke out.
Faith got up.
“I have to make sure Detective Dunne has been notified.”
She dashed down the corridor to the annex and took the elevator to the ground floor. She assumed the furnace was in one of the maze of rooms across from the kitchen, and as she drew closer, she heard voices. When she opened the door, she saw Donald and Roland Hubbard bent over Charmaine, who was stretched out on the floor. Her blouse was torn and there was a pillowcase lying next to her. She was moaning softly.
“Now, honey, the shot should take effect any minute. Be brave, my darling,” Donald was saying.
“I'll call Emerson and we'll make arrangements to have her taken over there immediately,” Dr. Hubbard said. He was leaning over her, prodding deftly at various parts of her body.
“No!” screamed Charmaine. “I hate hospitals! Don't make me go to a hospital!”
“Honey, it's just to make sure there are no internal injuries. We have to have some X rays.” Donald talked in a soothing tone of voice.
Muriel stepped out of the shadows and spoke to Donald in a low voice. “Why don't we move her upstairs for now until she's less hysterical?”
Donald smiled at her gratefully.
Faith entered the room. She felt slightly awkward intruding on this domestic scene, but somebody had to.
“Has anyone notified the police?”
Donald looked up. “I asked Denise Samuelson to do that immediately, Mrs. Fairchild. We expect them at any moment.”
“I know it's uncomfortable for her here, but I think they would probably not want her moved.”
Nobody likes a know-it-all, and all four Hubbards looked at her with varying degrees of annoyance—Charmaine's deathly pallor displaying the least.
“Do you happen to know if Denise was going to call the state police or the Byford police?” Faith asked.
“I didn't give her a list of telephone numbers.” There was no attempt to disguise the exasperation now. “My wife had just been attacked. I told her to call the police.”
Faith was torn. She didn't know whether she ought to stay to make sure nothing was moved or go find Denise and make sure she had called Dunne. She decided to stay. If the Byford police arrived, she'd have to try to keep Chief Coffin from destroying whatever evidence there was. So far all she could see was the pillowcase and a piece of rope lying next to it. Presumably the attacker had pulled it over Charmaine's bouffant hairdo and tied it around her neck with the rope.
“Water, I need some water,” Charmaine groaned, and tried to get up.
“Don't move, my dear. Mrs. Fairchild is unfortunately correct and we must let the police see exactly what happened,” Dr. Hubbard advised. “I'll get you something to drink.”
It was sweltering in the furnace room, and Faith half-heartedly hoped Roland would appear with a tray of frosty glasses for them all, but he returned with only one tumbler for Charmaine, which he lifted to her parched lips.
A few seconds later John Dunne appeared with Detective
Sullivan and his paraphernalia. The room suddenly grew too small for the assemblage, and Faith found herself wedged next to Muriel. But leaving was out of the question.
Dunne took a stride over to where the victim lay. Faith could have sworn Charmaine's skirt had been hiked up several inches in the interim.
“Mrs. Hubbard, can you tell me what happened?”
Charmaine's accent moved south from the Carolinas to Georgia.
“I arrived here at about ten o'clock. I was meeting my husband, but first I went to find Mrs. Samuelson. We were supposed to have lunch today, and I wanted to tell her I couldn't make it. I thought I'd look in the kitchen when I didn't see her upstairs, and when I came out of the elevator, someone put a bag on my head and everything went black. When I came to, I was in here. I got the bag off, then I must have passed out again. I don't know how long it's been.” She looked up at Dunne piteously. He didn't budge.
“Did you get any impression at all of your assailant? Did he or she say anything?”
“Not a word. Whoever it was was taller than I am, though. I think it was a man. I tried to grab at the bag and I believe I hit a shoulder. I was knocked out right after that.” She touched her head gingerly. “This is where I was hit.”
“She has a sizable contusion and there may be some concussion,” Donald said. “There don't appear to be any other injuries, thank God,” he added.
“No indication of …” Dunne glanced tactfully a little north of Charmaine's knees.
Donald choked slightly. “Absolutely not.”
“Who found her?” He looked around the room.
“I did,” Donald said. “Mrs. Samuelson and I were both beginning to get alarmed and were making a thorough search of the premises. My wife had made plans to meet each of us here, and her car was in the parking lot. And she's not a woman who breaks appointments.”
Faith bit her lip.
Donald continued, “I was checking all the rooms—just opening the doors and looking in. Of course I didn't expect she would have any reason to be here, but there she was—unconscious on the floor.”
Dunne looked tired. Faith was surprised. Obviously the attack on Charmaine had to be connected with Eddie Russell's murder, and Dunne should have been pleased that more clues were turning up. Although, she reflected, this meant more questioning and investigating, and the most obvious tie-in was the suggestion that some sort of maniac was on the loose. Not an appealing thought.
Dunne cleared the room and told the Hubbards Charmaine could be moved in a few moments. He motioned to Faith outside into the hallway.
“Go home.”
She was indignant. “Well—”
“I'll see you later.”
His left eye twitched. It might or might not have been a wink.
Faith went upstairs and got her coat. She still wanted to find out what Julia Cabot had to say about Eddie Russell, but she could see her tomorrow. Tom's “chestnuts roasting on an open fire” would have to wait a bit.
Chief Francis Coffin, supported on either side by trusty minions, was coming in the door as she was leaving. He stopped dead in his tracks. “Now don't tell me you were snuggled up with this one too!” He laughed so hard, he had to sit down to recover his breath.
“No,” Faith replied frostily, “I did not find Mrs. Hubbard. Her husband did. I was merely here to help in the kitchen.” He shook his head and his cap fell off. “Seems you have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Better stay in your own kitchen. Bake some Christmas cookies.” He heaved himself out of the chair and tottered out of the room. It was impossible to be angry at something so ludicrous.
She left quickly, got into her car, and was starting to
back out of the space when Denise knocked at the window. Her face was blue with the cold and her teeth were chattering. She looked even worse than she had that morning.
Faith braked quickly and leaned across to open the door.
“Get in quickly. You must be freezing!”
“I am.”
Denise was immobile for a moment, staring ahead through the windshield. It was a beautiful winter landscape. The evergreens were frosted with snow, and in the distance the frozen Concord River slid like a silver ribbon under an old stone bridge. But Faith was certain Denise wasn't transfixed by the scene.
“Why don't you tell me about it?” she said gently.
Denise turned her head and considered.
“I suppose that's why I've been waiting. Is Charmaine badly injured?”
“I'm not a professional, but I'd say she was going to be fine.” Surely Denise couldn't have been Charmaine's attacker, yet she was obviously relieved at Faith's words.
She shook her head slowly. “This whole thing is like a nightmare. And I didn't see how my life could possibly have gotten any worse.”
The car was warm and the windows had steamed up, making a kind of cozy cocoon, but the parking lot at Hubbard House didn't seem the best place for true confessions. “Look,” said Faith, “let's go to my house and we'll get something warm to drink and sort things out.”
“If we only could—but I'll come to your house, Faith. I have to do something.”
She slumped back in the seat and they drove to Aleford in silence. At one point Faith thought Denise might be asleep, but she opened her eyes again almost immediately.
Tom was in the kitchen. He started to say something jokingly to his wife when he saw Denise's face behind Faith and quickly pulled out a chair for her.
“Denise has come for some tea and sympathy,” Faith told him.
“Then I'll leave you to it,” he said tactfully.
“No, please stay, Reverend Fairchild. I'd like to have you here. I need—” She had trouble finishing her sentence. “I need some spiritual help.”
Faith put the water on, and soon a steaming pot of tea was ready. Denise was too. She sat up and looked better than she had since her arrival at Hubbard House earlier in the day.
“I have a problem with drugs.” It was a bald statement and seemed to exhaust her, but she kept going.
“When I was married, my husband was heavily involved with cocaine—the recreational drug, you know,” she said caustically. “It was one of the reasons I divorced him. His son, Joel, knew, and it was mainly why he wanted to stay with me, I believe.” She took a large sip of tea. “Joel doesn't know about me. But Eddie Russell did. He was my supplier. I'm addicted to diazepam—Valium. My husband used to take it with the coke and there was always plenty around. At first I just took one or two when I felt stressed, and believe me there was a lot to be stressed about in those days. Then my dependency increased, and even after he was gone I couldn't function without it. I'd try to keep myself from taking one; then I'd have terrible anxiety attacks. I couldn't leave the house without my precious vial of pills. I had kept my eyes open at Hubbard House, so I knew Eddie.” She looked straight at Faith. “And no, it is not why I went there as a volunteer—to score drugs. I went because I was trying hard to find some meaning in my life—through the temple and through my volunteer work. But things were too out of control. Eddie actually approached me. Maybe I looked like a user. Anyway, he said we could have a good time together and he had ways to make it even better. I wasn't interested in him romantically, but we did have a brief affair. Then the relationship was strictly business.”

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