The Rotary Club Murder Mystery (5 page)

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Authors: Graham Landrum

BOOK: The Rotary Club Murder Mystery
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“Oh, yes,” the room clerk said, “Mrs. Hutton was well known. She has been dead now for ten or fifteen years, but the place is run by her niece, a Mrs. Saunders.” He said she had remodeled the place and that it was now very tony, very pricey, but he lamented that she did not pay her help “worth a damn.”
He gave me directions, and I had no trouble finding the place.
Mrs. Hutton's was a two-story frame building with Victorian galleries across the entire front. Green rocking chairs adorned both the upper and the lower level. Although it was only 9:30 when I approached this structure, almost half of these rockers were already occupied.
I went in through the big double doors—open, of course, to catch the breeze coming off the ocean. The interior was very posh, with antique furniture and real oil paintings. At the desk, I asked for Mrs. Saunders and was told to wait.
Within a few minutes, Mrs. Saunders, a woman in perhaps her early sixties, appeared. She was smartly dressed, carefully coiffured, and obviously capable.
“Can I be of service, Mr … .” She consulted the card I had given to the desk attendant. “Mr. Delaporte?”
I explained my mission.
There was a slight pause. “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Saunders said rather brusquely, “I am not likely to forget. What was it that you wanted to know?”
“Well,” I said, “I would like to know exactly when she came and when she left.”
“She came on May 25 and left about four-thirty on May 29.”
“And was she here every day during that period?”
“As a matter of fact, she was not. When we got inquiries from the police and the undertaker and even the Rotary Club, I believe, we discovered that Mrs. Hollonbrook spent the night of the twenty-fifth with us; but on the twenty-sixth, twenty-seventh, and twenty-eighth, although she retained her room, the maid says the lady did not sleep here.”
I don't know what answer to my question I had expected, but I certainly had not expected the answer that I received.
“You have no idea where she was during that time?”
“None whatever.”
I had one other question. “When you finally contacted Mrs. Hollonbrook, what was her reaction?”
“Surprised—certainly. I think
surprised
is the best word.”
“May I take it, then, that her reaction was less than what you would have expected of a wife who had just been informed of her husband's suicide?”
“Something of the sort.”
“And did you tell the Ambrose County sheriff that?”
“The question did not come up.”
Mrs. Saunders's information had been given from personal knowledge and with absolute assurance. There seemed, therefore, to be nothing further to ask. I thanked Mrs. Saunders and returned to my motel.
I confess that up to this point I had cooperated with Harriet Bushrow because she is a friend of my wife and I admire her spirit and intelligence and, quite frankly, because I was curious. But now it occurred to me that there was a very firm basis for suspicion in this case. District governors of Rotary frequently bring their wives with them, and the local Rotary Anns are required to entertain the distaff side of our governance.
It would not be a breach of decorum if the governor's wife did not accompany him. A district governor's wife may work or have home obligations, or she may merely be disinclined to go with the old boy. But even in this day of women's lib, one would scarcely expect a wife to hightail it to a beach resort the minute
her husband leaves the house, rent a room at a high-priced place, and then go off mysteriously for three nights while the expense of the room continued. On the credit company's bill, it would look as though she had stayed in thoroughly proper accommodations during the whole period. How better and more safely might a woman play tag with her marriage?
I did not see how Hollonbrook's death in a locked room could be anything but suicide, but Harriet had assured me that if she found the murderer, she would be able to find how it was done. She had been brilliantly successful once before. Perhaps she could do the same in the Rotary Club Mystery, although I sincerely hoped that our little affair would never achieve such notoriety as to be the
Famous
Rotary Club Mystery.
>>
Maud Tinker Bradfield
<<
 
 
 
 
 
H
arriet Gardner and I were chums and roommates at Catawba Hall—oh, so many years ago! Never did I have such a friend, and never did we have such times as then—when women were denied all forms of equality and freedom. But the beauty of it was that we were young and having so much fun that we didn't think much about other things.
In those days at a girls' school, there were no men around except on designated occasions. And we thought those occasions were unduly rare. We weren't told about it, but one of the reasons why our parents sent us to schools for girls only, was that they
wanted
us to marry and they hoped that the instruction we received at such schools would help us do it. So we were taught things that would make us the right kind of companions for men of the sort that our parents hoped we would find and marry.
What fun it was when the men
did
come to us! The Nuthaw Military Institute was only seventeen miles away from us, and a train from Nuthaw arrived in Catawba in the evenings at 7:09 and a train from Catawba arrived in Nuthaw at 10:15. That did not leave much time for us to see our beaux on “permitted”
evenings, but oh, what good use we did make of those three hours!
Jay was a cadet at Nuthaw, as was Lamar Bushrow, and those boys managed to see us, permitted or not, at least once every week. I won't talk about Jay except to say that he was mine and quite satisfactory; but since Harriet is the subject of my tale, I will say something about Lamar.
He was just about the handsomest thing anyone ever saw. He stood six feet tall and was slim in the hips and broad in the shoulders. He had beautiful blond wavy hair and a tiny mustache. All the girls swooned over him. But he had eyes only for Harriet.
Now don't get the notion that Jay and Lamar were our only beaux. That would be entirely wrong. Harriet was quite a popular girl. There were always three or four cadets who called on her at the same time. I had several beaux, too, but never as many as Harriet had.
Actually, I feel sorry for girls now, who usually seem to have just one beau. When we were besieged with two or three at a time, we had no opportunity to get serious (until the right time came along) or to get into trouble. But did we mind? Not at all. To sit on a veranda on a May evening with three or four young men trying their best to please while each attempted to outdo the others is very pleasant to a young woman.
So it all came back to me when I got Harriet's tetter—dear Harriet, who was always so much fun! She was taller than I and looked like a princess, and there was no mischief she and I did not get into. How well she played the part of Tony Lumpkin in the class play! I was Miss Neville, but Harriet got all the applause. And I admit that she deserved all of it.
But back to Harriet's letter.
It was so good to hear from Harriet; we had always corresponded at the necessary times—such as birthdays, special occasions, and, of course, whenever one of the old girls of dear
old Catawba passed on. But I was really surprised when Harriet proposed a visit, and even more surprised and thrilled when she explained her reason for coming.
Harriet had written to me about the DAR business, and I had read all about it in the papers and in
Time
magazine, and then, too, she had sent me the book when it came out. But now she was on another detective case and she was asking
me
to help her!
Don't think that I have been exactly comatose all my life. Jay and I had three children, a son who lives in California, another in Kentucky, and a daughter who lives here in Stedbury. We all had a very happy life. Jay did very well in insurance, and we got to do a lot of things that were interesting. We went to Europe three times. And we had enough money that I could collect old silver in a modest way. And then, too, I had my painting, and it was lots of fun when one of my pictures took a ribbon in a competition. But I am too shaky now to paint anything but daubs. Since Jay has been gone, it didn't make sense to hang on to all of that silver, and I sold it. I got rid of our big house, and now I have this little place that is just right for me.
So my life has been less exciting during the last few years. I had just decided that the only career left me was that of “old lady.”
Now Harriet was opening a vista of intrigue and excitement, and I could hardly wait.
The appointed day and the estimated hour came, and, sure enough, pretty soon I heard a car draw up in front of the house. Someone got out, and I heard “Yoo-hoo!”
I tell you it took years off my age. I ran to the door, and there was Harriet coming up the walk—no longer so tall and by no means so slim—but Harriet nevertheless, still with the spring in her personality, if no longer in her step.
Lord, how we hugged and kissed! It knocked her hat catawampus.
I showed her my guest room. We brought her things in, and I gave her a few minutes to use the powder room. Then we sat down together in the living room.
“It was such a thrill to get your letter!” I said. “And I have been thinking every day about what you wrote in it.”
“I'll tell you,” Harriet said, dabbing at her forehead with a little lace handkerchief—the air conditioning in her car had gone bad on her. “I wouldn't have taken on this little matter if I hadn't thought, Well now, Stedbury, North Carolina! Won't I have fun down there with Maud, and won't we work on this together. You have been sniffing around, haven't you? And you can tell me all about this Hollonbrook?”
Of course I knew something about Charles Hollonbrook and his marriages and shenanigans of various kinds. Stedbury used to be so small, hardly anybody knew where it was, and so we mostly knew what everybody in town was doing. But then the Second World War came along, and we really grew because we had our own war plant. When the war was over, our prosperity kept up for quite a while. We are much larger today than we used to be. So, while I knew something about the Hollonbrooks, it is harder to keep up with what goes on now, and I am out of so many things in which I used to be quite active.
I knew, of course, that “Holly” Hollonbrook—that's what they call him—came here right from Vietnam. We all thought he and his wife were such a sweet couple. And then there was the Hollonbrook divorce and another marriage—to his secretary, a very pretty young woman, whom I have seen many times at the club. And, of course, Holly came into Rotary, and Jay knew him in that way.
I know more about Linda, the first wife, than I do about Alice, because Linda and I use the same beauty shop. Nothing ever goes right for poor Linda. Whether or not she is justified, I cannot say, but she constantly complained that Holly did not give her enough money.
There was, I believe, an original agreement, but as Holly
became more and more successful, Linda was always insisting that he owed her and the children more and more. It had been arranged that the children were to spend so much time with their mother and so much time with their father. But before long, they spent almost all their time with Linda.
The children did not like Alice. I dare say Linda had something to do with that. There were all kinds of problems, and I don't remember the details. But there was a time there when I couldn't go to the beauty parlor without hearing the whole thing, beginning to end, two or three times.
The upshot was that Holly agreed to increase the support if Linda would take sole responsibility for the children. Holly got it in writing, and, according to Linda, he never raised it above the agreed amount from that time on.
It was only to be expected that the children's expenses would increase as they got older and went into high school; and with college coming on, Linda probably has grounds for complaint.
I understand that Linda's people had a little money. But her father became an invalid, and I get the impression that there is very little left there. So Linda started a dress shop and carried it on for a few years. Then she tried a health-food store. It did very well as long as the health-food fad was strong, but I guess people are getting a little tired of that now, because she closed her shop about a year ago.
Now, Linda is fairly active in the Methodist church. I have friends who think that she is very much put-upon. But I can see why she might not be just the wife that Charles J. Hollonbrook wanted.
After Holly and Alice were married, they joined the Episcopal church, and they seem to fit in over there. (I am just a good old Baptist.)
I told Harriet all about this. When I had finished, she said, “Now let's look at the people who don't like him. I have written down his first wife. I guess she goes by Linda Hollonbrook.” Harriet had her little memorandum book out, and a pencil.
“And you say the poor woman is bitter?”
I have always tried to see the best side of Linda. I don't approve of men who shed their wives and children just because their family no longer pleases them. But I must admit that I had painted Linda Hollonbrook as a bitter woman.
“Surely you don't think Linda could have killed Holly!” I said.
Harriet tilted her head back and gave me that look I know so well. “That depends,” she said. “Now tell me some more. Did he have a secretary?”
“Well, yes.”
“What about her?”
“Just a secretary, I would say. Do you think Holly may have been playing around with her the same way he did with Alice?”
“You know what the Bible says,” Harriet replied. “‘The dog shall return to his vomit and the old hog to his wallowing in the mire.'”
Well, I couldn't visualize Charles J. Hollonbrook with his pretenses having an affair with Paula Stout. You see, I know her. She is a sweet little mouse of a person and a pillar of the Baptist church.
So I said, “Just wait until you see her, and make up your own mind about her.”
“Good enough,” said Harriet, and she wrote down Paula's name. Then she said, “Now tell me about his business.” Of course I remembered when he and his partner, Vic Douglass, came to town. But they broke up.
I really couldn't remember just how that went. I knew that after the split, Victor Douglass didn't do very well, and Arlene, Vic's wife, sniffs whenever Holly's name is mentioned.
Harriet looked at her notes and underlined one or two things.
“Is there anything else that you can think of?” she asked.
There wasn't. I had told her everything I could think of just at that moment—though it did seem that I ought to know more.
We sat there for a while, both of us trying to think what else there might be.
“What's the name of your paper here in Stedbury?” Harriet asked.
It is the Gazette.
Harriet said, “I think I'll go to your public library tomorrow and see what I can find in their files.”
It was a good idea. You see, Charles Hollonbrook was so much younger than Jay and I that he and his wives didn't mean anything to us except for Rotary. And now that Jay is gone, I don't really keep up with Rotary the way I used to. So all I know about the Hollonbrooks is just whatever gossip drifts somehow into my world, which has become smaller—oh so much smaller without Jay.

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