Suddenly he shook himself. “Ginnie wouldn't say anything at all for the next year. Nothing. Lucy miscarried that night. She was delirious when they put her in the ambulance. She said it was Ginnie's fault, that she had been playing with matches. She had been spanked for playing with matches a week or so before that. Lucy blamed me for luring her to Ashland, for starting Harley's Theater, for everything. She blamed me for not saving Vic. She hung on for almost a year and then left. She said I'd never hear from her again and I didn't. I owed her and Vic money, a hundred thousand dollars. I didn't have that much cash, but I told her I'd send her money every month until it was paid, as long as she needed help, as long as Ginnie needed things. I gave her the name of a lawyer we had used in San Francisco and told her we could go through his office for the payments. She went to a different lawyer and I paid her through him until she was killed in an automobile wreck. Every month I begged the lawyer to ask her if Ginnie was all right, if she had recovered. It was three years before she responded and told him to tell me that Ginnie was well. Other than that I never did hear from her again.”
Charlie let out a long breath and looked about for the waiter. He came almost instantly. “Three double cognacs,” Charlie said. “Pronto.”
No one spoke until they had the drinks. “Ginnie doesn't remember any of that,” Constance said then.
“And I don't want her to,” Ro said quickly. “You see why I want the past to stay back there where it belongs?” He drank most of his brandy in a large gulp. “When she came to me I thought I was being given another chance, a chance to do things right, not botch it again. She was too quiet, had nothing to say to me. We were strangers. I knew I had to do something, make memories for us to share. That's why I took her on a long trip, so we would have shared memories, something to talk about. Over the years she's become vivacious, happy, and busy. And now this. She's right back where she was then.”
“If only she hadn't left town that night,” Charlie murmured. “To bring our information up to date, will you tell us about that day and night?”
Ro shrugged. “When I heard that Ginnie had left, and I saw Sunshine, I thought it was her fault again. She bugs Ginnie, bugs everyone. I yelled at her to get the hell outâ”
Charlie held up his hand and said apologetically, “Let's do it slower, if you don't mind. When did you last see Ginnie that day?”
“At lunch. She ate with Gray and me in my office. Then Gray talked her into a little walk around the building, to get some sun. It was a glorious day, everyone was up about the weather. Anyway, she went out with him.”
Charlie nodded. “And when did you realize she was gone?”
Ro shook his head. “I don't know. An hour later, maybe more. You know what it's like now, people everywhere. I was here and there and quite suddenly realized that she had left again. She had been doing that. Coming in, staying an hour or so, then leaving. I thought that day that maybe she had come out of her withdrawal phase, and it upset me to have her gone again. I looked around for her then, and saw Sunshine in the costume room. She had orders to keep the hell out, but there she was trying on hats. I exploded at her.
I was sure she had said something to Ginnie. It was pretty public and ugly, my yelling at Sunshine.”
“You didn't try to call Ginnie?”
He shook his head. “I'm afraid I had been hovering too much, getting on her nerves. She asked me and some of the others to please just leave her alone, and I knew she meant it. I didn't call.”
“Okay. Did Sunshine leave?”
“Sure. She grabbed that bag of hers and ran, smiling all the time. That woman is a curse.” He stopped, then continued in a quieter voice. “I worked until six or so, washed up, met friends here for dinner.
“And that's when you saw Laura? Before or after you had dinner?”
“When I entered the restaurant, she was over there in the lounge. I saw her when I came in at seven-thirty. I said hello to my friends at the table, then went over to speak to her.”
“Why?” Charlie asked.
For the first time Ro looked unsure and uncomfortable. He made a slight shrugging motion, then said, “Nosy, maybe. She and Gray were having trouble. She was the outsider, and nothing seemed to make her feel welcome. I don't know why. I didn't stop to ask myself why. I just went over and said hello, asked about her cold. She looked terrible.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh,” Charlie said slowly, and very directly, “as far as the record goes, you're the last person who spoke with her that night, with the exception of her killer maybe. Let's do this word for word, if you can. You say she looked terrible, but how? Unkempt? Bloodshot eyes? Terrible how?”
For a moment Ro seemed ready to protest, then he sagged back against his chair and drew a deep breath. “It's just that we keep going over the same ground, over and over. She looked ill, feverish even. And she was staring at her glass as if at a crystal ball. When I spoke, she started and nearly knocked her glass over. Nervous, distraught even. That kind of terrible.” He was watching Charlie closely; at his nod of encouragement, he went on. “I said I hoped she was feeling better, and she said this medicine was helping. She meant the booze, held up the glass when she said it. And she said she had rose-hip tea. A and B, she called them.” He closed his eyes a minute in thought, then went on. “I think that's when she said the rose-hip tea was one of Sunshine's many cures. And then she said did I know Sunshine was rewriting the play yet again.” He rubbed his eyes now and shrugged. “I'm afraid I lost the rest of whatever conversation we had at that point. I was seeing red.”
Charlie sighed. “I suppose you've tried to recall what else was said.”
“I have. It couldn't have been much. All I could think of was that damn woman and her damn play and the trouble she was causing all of us. I cut my dinner short and left the restaurant early, I was so furious. At eight-thirty,” he added with a grim laugh. “Trevor, the bartender, noticed the time. He said Laura left at ten after eight.”
“So you were home again what, five, ten minutes later?”
Ro shrugged. “I just know I called Gray at a quarter to nine. I asked him if it was true. I didn't tell him where I heard it. I knew he hated for Laura to be chummy with that woman. He said he had threatened mayhem if she even hinted that she wanted to rewrite again. I didn't believe he could handle her. No one had been able to keep her out of our hair yet. Still haven't. She turns up everywhere, always underfoot. Anyway, I called William and Eric and asked them to come over. I wanted contingency plans if we had to yank the play at the last minute, and I was ready to do just that if that woman was driving Ginnie away. William and Eric came and we talked for a couple of hours. I wasn't paying much attention to the time. Eric said he left at eleven-thirty and that's probably about right. I had a nightcap and went to bed.”
“And she was killed at about nine,” Charlie said. “Do you know for sure what time you were making those phone calls? What time you called Gray?”
“A quarter to nine. I realized when I was dialing that he might not be home yet. He and Eric had dinner together to discuss the auditions. When I got him I knew I'd be able to reach Eric.”
Charlie sipped his cognac, his expression unhappy.
“Look,” Ro said. “She was in a bar, drinking alone. She was good-looking, lonesome. So someone picked her up and later on they fought. I just don't see the mystery about it.”
“And Peter Ellis?”
“He walked in on a burglar, obviously. No one on earth had a reason to kill him.”
“You may be right,” Charlie said, even unhappier. “But if you are, Ginnie's in for a hell of a time. Unless those two unrelated murderers come forward and confess.”
He glanced at Constance, who had been silent and watchful throughout the questioning. She was regarding Ro thoughtfully. “When you were talking to Laura,” she said then, “what was her attitude? Was she still staring, looking at you, what? You said she was startled at first. More than you might have expected?”
He nodded. “I hadn't really thought about it, but yes. It was as if she had been so deep in her own thoughts that my voice was a wrench to her. Yes. And then she looked at me almost as if she was studying me, you know the kind of intent look people can assume. That didn't last long. She began to play with her glass, moved it back and forth, back and forth, and didn't look at me again. She might have glanced up when I left. Probably did, but no more than that.”
“Moved her glass how?” Constance asked.
Ro glanced at Charlie, who looked as at sea as he felt. Constance watched as he picked up his brandy glass and put it down softly, picked it up and returned it to its original position, then repeated the action several more times. She smiled her thanks and looked at her watch.
“What was that for?” Charlie asked as they drove back to the inn a few minutes later.
“She hadn't made up her mind yet about A and B,” Constance said. “It was evident in her earlier remarks about the drink and rose hip tea, referring to them as A and B. And the glass, back and forth, not making idle circles or just for something to do. Still going from A to B, back to A. What do you think?”
“I think it's funny that Ro keeps threatening to toss Sunshine out on her ear and Sunshine keeps hanging in there. Smiling.”
SIXTEEN
Charlie, come look,”
Constance called. She was in their sitting room before one of the wide windows.
The clouds of the day before had left; today the sun was brilliant, and on the hills across the valley the clouds had deposited a dusting of snow. On the higher mountains the snow was dazzling in the oblique rays of the morning sunlight. She turned to look at the mountain behind the inn; there the snow was whiter, deeper-looking, and closer. The evergreen trees were startlingly green; the grassy meadow that was the backyard was summer-green.
Charlie joined her and put his arm around her shoulders. He made a grunting sound of approval at the view.
“Oh,” she said softly, and pointed. At the edge of the meadow a deer was grazing.
Charlie squeezed her shoulder and went to the table for coffee. It had been delivered a few minutes earlier and in another few minutes breakfast would follow. They could sit and watch the deer while they ate their own foodârainbow trout, croissants, poached eggs, melon⦠Too much, Constance thought with contentment. The phone rang.
Charlie answered it. He said uh-huh several times, then, “Have you called Ralph? He'll want to go with you⦠I'm sure, Ginnie. Don't go alone. Okay? Give us a call later. We'll check in often and call back if we miss it. And, Ginnie, take it easy. We'll see you at the end of the reading.” He listened and nodded. “Don't let them scare you, that's the main thing right now.”
There was a soft tap on their door and they went into the bedroom while their breakfast was being laid out.
“The detective from the sheriff's office is taking her for a ride right after the reading,” Charlie said. “He says maybe retracing her path will make her remember where she went. And just incidentally let him try to find anyone he can who can put her in any definite location at any definite time.”
“Poor Ginnie. What will she do?”
He shrugged. “Probably say maybe this way, maybe that way. She'll have to tell eventually. Not that it will make much difference. Out in the wilderness, no witnesses, no alibi. They'll be able to say she saw those trees last month, last summer, sometime.”
They returned to the other room and started breakfast. Neither spoke for several minutes until Constance said, “I think we're having some of the best food I've had in years. And the prettiest scenery.” The deer had been joined by two does. It was like a picture from a romantic illustration.
“It's okay,” Charlie said. “But that damn snow is too close.”
She laughed and pushed her plate back a bit.
“You going to finish that fish?”
“Can't.”
He slid it off her plate onto his. “I think I'll skip the reading this morning. I want to catch Spotty, and have a chat with the police chief. Want to tag along?”
She shook her head. She knew it would go better without her. Spotty had been a police officer years ago, Gus Chisolm was still a policeman. They would establish credentials, exchange stones a few minutes, test for mutual acquaintances, and then Charlie would ask his questions, and more than likely get full answers. The phone rang again and this time it was Sunshine calling Constance.
“She's read your cards,” Charlie said with a grin, his hand over the mouthpiece. He gave the phone to Constance.
“Hi, Sunshine.” She listened for a long time, then said, “This morning? I can give you a lift back into town afterward. Okay?”
Charlie had cleaned both plates and now emptied the coffeepot, dividing the coffee equally between the two cups. Yesterday morning they had eaten everything, and this time there had been quite a bit more. Tomorrow would it all be increased again, and then again? He hoped so.
“Well,” Constance said thoughtfully after hanging up. “It seems that Shannon Tessler would like to talk to me, alone.”
He laughed. “Thank you, Sunshine.”
“So, you want to drop me and then pick me up again? Or have me drop you off?”
“I'd better walk,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe even run.”
Shannon Tessler was in her early sixties, twenty-five pounds overweight, and very pale with black hair that waved softly about her ears in an old-fashioned style that became her. Her eyes were bright blue and lively. Only her unhealthy pallor betrayed her illness. She must have been stunning as a young woman, Constance thought; even now she was quite attractive. There was a dimple high on her cheek.
“I made some blackberry-mint tea,” Sunshine said softly. “It's a good spring tonic, you know? Do you want some?”
“No, thanks. I'm just up from the breakfast table. This is a lovely house, Mrs. Tessler.”
It was turn-of-the-century clapboard, with high ceilings, lovely mellowed paneling and floors, and crisp white curtains. And not a single reminder of theater to be seen.
“It's too big for us now,” Shannon said, “but we're used to it and don't want to move. We just closed doors to rooms that we don't need anymore. Please, sit down. I'd like some of your tea, Sunshine, and then maybe you would leave us alone for a few minutes?”
Constance sat in a high-backed damask-covered chair, Shannon in a straight chair; she sat almost rigidly upright. She did not speak for several moments.
“Sunshine has been a blessing,” she said finally. “I really think there may be something to all those herb teas that she serves. And, of course, she's company.” She sighed deeply. “We're six miles from town here, but sometimes it feels like the end of the earth.”
Sunshine brought a single cup and put it on a table at Shannon's elbow.
“Thank you.”
“I'll go upstairs and work on my new play now.” She turned to Constance. “My first one's so good I'm going to do a lot of them. I have a lot to write about, you know?”
“I'm sure you do,” Constance said.
She left without a sound. Shannon picked up the tea and tasted it, nodded, and sipped. “It's very good. Are you sure?”
Constance smiled and shook her head. “What did you want to see me about, Mrs. Tessler?”
“Please, call me Shannon. Everyone does, always did. When I was a girl they called me Irish and I had to fight a dozen fights to make them stop. Aren't children foolish, fighting over things like that?”
Constance said nothing, waited.
Shannon put down the cup and folded her hands in her lap. “Forgive me,” she said. “It's Ginnie. I wanted to tell someone about Ginnie and the fire. I know what the gossip is and it's all a lie, you see. But I didn't know who to tell, or what I should say. It's so difficult to refute gossip, so difficult. And I doubt that anyone would bring it up in any official way, but it influences the way people think about other people.”
“Are you talking about the fire that killed Ginnie's father?”
She looked surprised. “Yes, of course. They're saying Ginnie started it and she didn't. The fire started in the kitchen, where Vic died, and she was in bed, nowhere near that end of the house. She was still in bed when Ro ran in and carried her out. They say that she had been playing with matches before and was spanked once, so she must have done it again. But that's wrong.”
“How do you know?”
Shannon sighed even deeper. “A week or two before Vic was killed in the fire, the children were out back, here in our yard, and my son Jackie started a fire that almost got out of control in the woods. Everyone around here is terrified of wildfires, naturally. There have been some very dangerous ones from time to time. Lucy was here with Ginnieâthey just lived a mile up the roadâand together we got the fire put out. We were both very frightened. Four children, Lucy pregnant⦠It was a bad experience. But Jackie was responsible, not Ginnie. He was six.”
“How did such a rumor start? Didn't you tell William?”
“No.” Her voice was faint. “We were having a bad year, one of several bad years. ⦠I hardly ever saw him, and when I did⦠we had little to say to each other.”
Constance frowned. “Ginnie's mother must have told her husband, and Ro.”
“I know she told Vic. They were both so frightened that they searched the house and threw out every match they found. They didn't smoke and there wasn't any reason to keep matches, so they got rid of them. I don't know if she ever told Ro. They'd had a fight over something and she swore she'd never speak to him again. Vic wasn't talking to him, either.” She shook her head. “Those were very bad years in so many ways. That damn theater nearly killed all of us in those years. Every cent, every minute, ever}' thought was for the theater, nothing else.”
“What happened to Ginnie afterward? We've heard that she stopped talking.”
“Yes. Ro moved her and Lucy into town, rented a house for them, and he brought in one specialist after another for Ginnie.
Nothing helped. He was nearly demented himself. Lucy blamed him for everything, everything. She turned on him in a way I wouldn't have thought possible. They had been so close before. At first I thought it was just what he deserved finally, but then even I had to feel sorry for him, the way she turned.”
“Why do you say even you? Did you blame him for your problems with William?”
Shannon nodded and let her gaze slide past Constance, out the window. “We all loved him, you see,” she said in a low voice. “Every woman he met must have loved him, and he just thought of the theater, Lucy, and Ginnie, in that order. It was all he cared about. He made me feel⦠I thought at first that he cared about me, but I was wrong. I was so wrong. So wrong. I was glad he finally was getting some of it back, some of the hurt, the pain, the loneliness. I was glad at first, but then I had to feel sorry for him, and even sorrier for him when Lucy went away and he really lost them both. But he's so lucky, isn't he? Now he has Ginnie back.” She looked at Constance again. Tears were making her eyes glisten. “I was so sorry that Lucy didn't keep in touch. We had become friends, our children were playmates. I thought she would let me hear from her, but she never did. I was with her the night she miscarried, the night of the day Vic died. She was hysterical, out of her mind. She seemed to think that Ginnie had died in the fire, too. She kept saying he's gone and I lost his child and there's nothing left. I was afraid she would try to kill herself that night.”
“Was Ginnie actually burned?”
“No. She was treated for smoke inhalation and shock. I saw her, poor little thing, drawn up like a baby, sleeping. I had baby-sat her so many times, she was almost like one of my own children, and she looked as if she had never seen me before, wouldn't say a word. She didn't cry either. I always thought that strange, that she didn't cry.”
“I never worked with children,” Constance said, “but I've read that shock and grief affect them like that sometimes. Does she know that they say she started the fire?”
“I'm sure not. Not unless it's come up now, since those terrible murders. All that was twenty-six years ago, and until now no one would have thought to bring it up, I'm sure. Hardly anyone around here was even here then.”
“I don't want to tire you,” Constance said, “but could you tell me how it was when Ginnie came back? Did you see her then?”
She nodded. “I saw her but she didn't know me. She had forgotten everything about Ashland, Ro, all of us. She was silent again. Not completely like before, but almost. She would say yes and no and things like that, but nothing else. No real talk, if you understand what I mean. It was heartbreaking to see her like that again.”
“And Ro took her on a long trip,” Constance said. “How was she when they got back?”
Shannon smiled. “Almost like a normal girl, not quite, not that fast, but almost like any thirteen-year-old, fourteen by then, I guess. Ro did a good thing. I've always wondered if he would have done that if the season hadn't already begun, if things hadn't been well started. We'll never know. She comes to visit pretty often, makes me think of Lucy when she was young. Our children are all grown, moved away to big cities. Not a one of them is interested in theater,” she added, almost proudly.
“Look, Charlie,” Gus Chisolm was saying, “I know Draker's an asshole, but he's a good detective. He doesn't like loose ends and he works to tie off each string thoroughly.”
They were in his office; his feet were on his desk, his chair tilted back. Charlie had turned a straight chair around, was astraddle it, resting his chin on the back.
“Suppose you knew for a fact that Ginnie didn't do either one,” he said. “Where'd you look then?”
“That's the problem,” Gus said. “There isn't anyone else, I'm telling you. The only one of them who could have done it, besides Ginnie, is Gray Wilmot. He left the high school a few minutes after nine and no one knows when he picked up Laura in the bar. Why?
There's no reason that anyone's come up with. Because Laura and Ellis were having lunch now and then? It's a laugh. They were splitting. She was getting ready to go back East. What difference would it have made if she'd been having late-night dinners, all-night dates with Ellis? Wilmot didn't seem to give a damn one way or the other. But even if that could work as a motive, there's no way he could have killed Laura in that park. He was on the phone with Ro Cavanaugh just before nine. Now, unless you want two killers instead of one, that lets him out.”
“Maybe she wasn't killed in the park,” Charlie said.
“Yeah, I thought of that. But that's even worse. How'd he get her body to the river? Their car, or her car, was in the garage being repaired. The only way from their place to the river is through town. I don't think he hauled a body through town that night or any other night.”
“And the other alibis check out,” Charlie muttered, scowling at the floor.
“They sure do. William was seen dropping off Sunshine, and he was in that store all right. The kid who works there had his girlfriend in visiting, they both back him up. The store closes at nine, he was the last customer, chatted a few minutes. Eric was by his neighbor all night, gave him a ride home. Ro was in the high-school auditorium until he got a ride to Jake's Place.”