Untimely Death (15 page)

Lady Deborah entered the room from the bedroom end, and perched gracefully on the edge of the chair that matched the sofa. She was wearing a soft beige cashmere sweater accentuated by pearls, a pair of dark brown trousers in a small, tasteful check, and a pair of brown loafers with the Gucci horsebit. Charlotte had to hand it her; she looked the part. If she were designing a costume for an aristocratic woman of Deborah’s age, she’d dress her just like that. The effect was perfect.

“Why don’t you pour?” suggested Lady Deborah. Charlotte reached for the teapot and filled two cups. “I
take mine clear,” said Lady Deborah. Charlotte handed her the cup and gestured at the biscuits. Lady Deborah shook her head and took a sip of tea.

“That’s better,” she said, with a watery smile. “Now why don’t we start again, and you tell me what all this is about.”

“We found Brian this morning in the grounds. He appeared to have fallen and hurt his head. He’d been out there most of the night and has been taken to hospital. I can’t tell you his condition, because I don’t know. The police will take you to see him, and then they will want to ask you a few questions.”

“They’ll probably want to know why I didn’t realize he was out there,” she said. “Well, that’s simple. We don’t sleep together and haven’t for some time. Brian usually passes out on the sofa. Or the floor. Sometimes he gets himself up and sometimes he doesn’t. So I didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t come to bed last night, because he never does. And when I didn’t see him this morning, I reckoned he’d managed to get himself over to the theater for an early rehearsal.” She took another sip of tea. “Theater people keep irregular hours, as you well know. Evening performance followed by hours in the bar, sleep late, get up midafternoon, do it all again.” She sighed. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble Brian’s got into over the years because of the drinking. Countless times I thanked God the police didn’t charge him, or
I don’t know where we’d be. But sometimes I think it would have been better for him if they had charged him.”

“Do you like it here?” Charlotte asked.

“Here? Of course not,” said Lady Deborah, who seemed a little taken aback by the sudden change in topic. “It’s in the middle of nowhere! The only good thing about it is the access to the city, but I’d much prefer to be in the city itself. I never did like the country, although of course, I grew up there.”

Of course you did
, thought Charlotte.
In a beautiful, stately home filled with priceless treasures and objets d’art that your younger brother and his wife will one day inherit
.

“I’ve been wondering,” said Charlotte, “what you would like me to call you. Lady Deborah seems a bit formal, given the circumstances.”

“Yes, these days it is,” Lady Deborah agreed. “Call me Deborah, if you like, but not Deb or Debbo or any of those awful nicknames. And only you. I expect everyone else to call me Lady Deborah. Besides,” she stifled a yawn, “the Americans seem to like it, although they can be overly familiar at times. They have no idea about British titles and seem to think I’m royalty! Practically the Queen, someone said! But as old-fashioned as a title might seem, it still helps if one wants to get a good table in a decent restaurant.” She pronounced the word
res-tron
, like an odd English-French hybrid. It had been some time since Charlotte had heard that.
You’re very close to overplaying the Brit abroad, Deborah
, she thought.

“Do you have lunch often in New York?” Charlotte asked, wondering if she should refer to it as
luncheon
.

“Two or three times a week, at least. I like to meet up with wives from the consulate. Apparently they’re planning to hold a little reception for Brian and me to introduce us to New York society. He’d like that.”

Charlotte smiled and nodded.
He’d like that? Really?
“Oh, very nice.”

At the sound of an approaching vehicle, Lady Deborah stood and peered out the window. “Oh, aren’t we lucky? It’s that nice policeman I’ve seen you talking to.” She reached for her handbag and pulled out a Chanel lipstick. “Let him in, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Charlotte opened the door and stood aside as Ray entered. He stood in the center of the room, looking from one woman to the other. “Let’s all sit down for a moment,” he said. “Has Charlotte filled you in?”

“Yes, she has,” said Lady Deborah. “Brian was wandering around in the woods, drunk, and got himself into trouble.”

“He’s severely dehydrated and hypothermic,” said Ray. “They’re still working on him and doing their best. He’s in the hospital in Kingston, and I’d be glad to drive you there, if you wish. Afterward, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Deborah made an exasperated little lip-smacking sound. “Oh, very well. Leave it to Brian to put everyone
to all this trouble. It’s all just too upsetting,” she muttered. “I can feel one of my headaches coming on.”

She opened her handbag and began scrabbling around in it. “Charlotte, fetch me a glass of water whilst I get ready to leave, would you?”

Charlotte returned from the kitchen with a glass of tap water just in time to catch the tail end of what Lady Deborah was saying, “—seat ’em all.”

She raised an amused eyebrow in Ray’s direction and sent a silent message.
Did I hear that right? Does she really think Brian’s such a draw that the theater’s going to sell out?

Ray opened the door and stood to one side as the women left and then closed it behind him. As Lady Deborah started toward the car, he called her back.

“Have you got your key? I’d like to see this door locked.”

“There’s nothing of much value in there, but fine, if it makes you happy,” she replied, pulling a key on a Statue of Liberty keychain out of her handbag and doing as he asked.

“Well, Charlotte,” she said as she scanned the mountains, and then turned back to the car, “let’s get together soon and go for a swim. I’m still intending to pick up a bathing costume.”

Charlotte stood in the road, watching them drive off, and then, her mind working overtime, walked slowly back to her workroom, where Simon and Aaron were waiting for the latest news. Simon, worried about having
to recast another actor, desperately hoped Brian would recover quickly, while Aaron went quietly back to his dress form, muttering to himself as he pinned pieces of paper on it. Finally satisfied, he stood back, folded his arms, and smiled.

“Well, that is good news,” said Charlotte into her telephone the next morning. “Yes, I’ll let everyone know.” Aaron glanced up from the sewing machine and then returned his attention to the pink fabric he was feeding with both hands through the machine.

“That was Ray,” Charlotte said, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the steady stitching sound. “It looks as if Brian’s turned a corner and he’s going to be okay.” Aaron stopped the machine.

“Well, that’s good news for Simon,” said Aaron, leaning forward slightly to check his work. He picked up the scissors that were meant to be used for cutting paper, gave them a skeptical look, and snipped a piece of thread. “He said the plays are coming together nicely and he dreaded having to find another old British guy to take over, because we’re opening in a couple of weeks.”

“I doubt those were his exact words,” laughed Charlotte.

But the rapid whirring sound of the sewing machine as the needle clicked up and down drowned out her voice.

She watched for a few more minutes as Aaron finished a seam and got up to press it. She’d showed him how to do it the old-fashioned way, with a damp cloth that gave up a fragrant cloud of warm steam when the dry iron touched it. She’d explained that this method was much kinder to the fabric than placing a steam iron directly on it and provided better protection against burning the garment. He’d studied the result for a moment and decided it also gave a sharper, cleaner look. It worked especially well on a hemline, she’d told him, if you were looking for a crisp, defined look.

“Do you know who taught me that?” she’d asked.

He had grinned and replied, “No, who?”

“My grandmother. That’s the way women of her generation did it.”

After giving it some thought, Aaron had decided to tell Ray what he’d really been doing during the time when Lauren had been stabbed. Ray had just smiled when a nervous Aaron told him he’d been afraid to be honest about what he’d been up to because he’d been smoking a joint.

“Son, we’ve got a rock star drummer lives down the road, and he and his friends have been smoking Hawaiian Gold up here since the 1960s. If we won’t touch him, we won’t touch you. I’ll tell the state police investigators what you just told me, and they may want to speak to
you again at some point. We don’t care that you were smoking, but the fact that you were out there does interest us. Did you see anything? Anyone who shouldn’t have been there?”

Aaron had shaken his head. “No,” had been all he said.

“Sure?” Ray had asked. “You just keep thinking about that. Try a little harder, and maybe you’ll come up with something.”

*

Charlotte smiled at the young woman behind the counter of the community swimming pool, set down two dollars to cover the cost of her swim, and moved into the women’s changing room, to be greeted by the smell of chlorine and warm, humid air. She ducked into a cubicle, slid the lock closed, and started peeling off her outer clothes. The lane swim had started about ten minutes ago, and except for the cubicle beside hers, whose door was also locked, the changing room was empty. As she sat on the bench and bent over to take off her boots, a familiar voice coming from the next cubicle made her stop what she was doing and hold her breath.

“Harriette, hello, darling, it’s me.” Lady Deborah paused and then spoke. “No, dear, I’m not coming into town today. Well, here’s the thing. I’ve been asked to go in and have a little chat with the police about that dreadful
girl’s murder and it’s all just too tiresome. They’ll want to know where I was a couple of weeks or so ago—as if I can remember—but it’s a Wednesday they’re interested in, so I must have been having lunch with you. That’s what’s in my diary, anyway, so that’s what I’ll tell them. Just telling you this in case they call you.” Something about her tone puzzled Charlotte. The usual imperiousness was missing, and although the words were spoken with a certain breeziness, there was an underlying hint of . . . what? Coaxing?
No
, thought Charlotte,
close but not coaxing. More like coaching
.

“No, I can’t remember the exact date, but it’ll have been one of the days we were shopping at Barneys and had lunch.” During the next pause, someone turned on the shower.

“No, Harriette, I don’t think you were at the hairdresser that day. Look, just to keep things simple, no matter what day it was, if anyone asks, we had lunch. That’s all you have to say. All right? Speak to you soon.” The conversation ended, and a moment later, the lock on the cubicle door slid back. The door banged softly, and then there was silence.

Charlotte realized she was now trapped in the cubicle. She couldn’t risk coming out until she was sure that Lady Deborah had left the changing room. If she did, Lady Deborah would know she’d overheard the conversation. She finished removing her street clothes, and when she was ready for the pool, she sat on the little bench
in her bathing suit and flip-flops as five endless minutes ticked by.

Finally, she cautiously slid back the lock on her cubicle door. The changing room was empty. She deposited her bag of clothes in a locker, shut the door, and headed to the pool.

She slipped into the warm water, reveling in that first moment of buoyancy, and struck off with a vigorous crawl stroke down the length of the pool. She passed Lady Deborah in the slow lane, her blonde hair piled on top of her head, bobbing along in a sedate breaststroke, but ignored her and plowed on.

Charlotte loved the swimming sessions and wondered why she hadn’t been in such a long time. As her arms and legs moved effortlessly through the calming water, she often used the time in the pool to think about work problems, what she would have for dinner, what she would say to her mother the next time they spoke, or what film was coming to the local cinema that she and Ray might see on a Saturday night. Today, though, her mind was filled with thoughts of Lady Deborah, who had obviously been firming up her alibi.

But why? On her little day trips into New York City, was she heading for the cheating side of town? Is that why she was asking her friend to cover for her? Because she was seeing another man? Was that what she didn’t want the police to know?

Charlotte kicked off against the side of the deep end of the pool and headed back toward the shallow end, enjoying the pace she’d set for herself. She’d do a couple more lengths at this speed and then take it a little slower.

Her thoughts returned to the Lady Deborah problem. No, another man wouldn’t be an issue. The Prentice marriage seemed well over; they just hadn’t given it a decent burial. So if she was seeing someone in New York City, why not just tell the police, if they asked, where she was? Why bring her friend—what was her name—Harriette into it?

And the rings. What was the significance of them? And that jeweler. Did he know something? What did he know?

The ring. Something about the ring was starting to bother her. It was something someone had said. Ray? Well, he’d said lots that had bothered her, but then she’d asked for every bit of what she’d gotten. She still didn’t understand how or why she’d taken the ring.

She reached the shallow end where Lady Deborah was waiting for her. Charlotte didn’t want to stop her workout to talk to her, but to simply turn around and swim off would seem very rude. So she stood up in the waist-high water.

“Hello, Charlotte! I didn’t wait for you to contact me, but found out the swim times for myself, and here I am. What fun!”

“Hi, Deborah.”

“Are we going for a coffee?”

“I’ve only done two lengths, so it’s too soon for me to leave. I haven’t been here in ages and really want to get in a good swim.”

“Oh. That’s too bad.”

“Sorry. Another time perhaps.”

Lady Deborah, perhaps not used to being turned down, pursed her lips in a little moue of disappointment. Charlotte turned and launched herself once again into the pool and, with a nice strong kick that she hoped hadn’t splashed Lady Deborah too much, disappeared toward the other end of the pool. When she returned at the end of the next lap, Lady Deborah was gone.

I guess the swimming wasn’t for her
, Charlotte thought.
And after all the trouble she must have taken to find a nice bathing costume
. She kicked off, headed back down the pool, and swam until she was pleasantly exhausted.