5 Murder by Syllabub (18 page)

“The first thing we’re going to do is see how Mildred’s doing. Then we’re going to find Cora Lee and go down in that cellar and examine every square inch of it, until we know how this person is getting in and out. Then we’re going to set a trap for them.” My determination to find out who the prowler was and how he was getting in and out of the house was based partly on wanting to help Elizabeth.

The other part was curiosity. The attack on Mildred had turned that into anger. What was Monty up to in the dining room, dressed in colonial clothes? Who was the ghost and why was he-she-it roaming around upstairs? He had to be searching for something, but what? Where had the syllabub glasses come from? Cora Lee seemed surprised when she saw them. Calvin. Had he returned to Smithwood for some reason other than a gardening opportunity? Then there was Lt. McMann. He fit in somewhere and it wasn’t as a policeman. There were too many people involved in this tangled mess and they all had a motive to want Monty dead. There had to be an answer here somewhere and I was determined to find it.

All of that must have shown in my face.
Elizabeth paused to study me, and then nodded. She looked as if she was torn between amusement, excitement and disbelief.

“What sort of a trap?” Aunt Mary looked dubious.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something. Right now, let’s find out about Mildred.”

W
e’d stayed at the hospital until late. When we finally arrived home all any of us had wanted was a shower, a cup of tea and bed. We laced the tea with a little something to help us sleep. It was even better for jagged nerves.

We
were all up early, even Cora Lee. Elizabeth on the phone to the hospital before she’d poured her first cup of coffee. Mildred was doing well and, no, she couldn’t come to the phone and the nurse couldn’t release details.

“Damn it all to hell!
” Elizabeth exclaimed after hanging up the phone. “How do they expect you to know anything if they won’t tell you anything?”

“Ask Noah.” I stood at the French doors, looking out at the garden and toward the barn. Petal ran that way, barking her fool head off at, it turned out, Max. Did dogs get
embarrassed when they realized they were barking at the wrong people? Or other dogs? Noah appeared, pushing a full wheelbarrow. He tossed hay into the feeders on the fence and pushed the wheelbarrow toward the pasture behind the barn. “He’s feeding. If I run down there, I can probably catch him before he leaves.” I put my coffee on the table. My thin slippers looked inadequate for a gravel driveway, but they would have to do. I headed for the door.

“Call him on his cell.” Aunt Mary set her coffee cup back on her saucer and leaned back a little. “No point in running up and down that hill.”

Elizabeth reached for my cell again and tapped in the numbers. “How is she?” Elizabeth didn’t bother with niceties like “Good morning.” “That’s wonderful. Yes, I’ll bet she does. What time? Why don’t you come up here for dinner? Of course, Felicity, too. Call me when you get her home. Of course, Max can stay. I’ll talk to you later.”

One-sided conversations could be frustrating but they could also tell you a lot. I could
see Aunt Mary already planning a dinner menu.

“She’s coming home today?” Cora Lee leaned forward on her cane a little, eyes bright, a real smile on her face for the first time that morning.

“She’s going to be a bit shaky for a couple of days, but she’s fine. He’s bringing her home this afternoon. They’ll be happy to come for dinner. Felicity will be with them. He wants Max to spend the day up here. I don’t suppose any of you mind.”

Cora Lee paled a little at that. “I don’t mind about Max. I’m not much of a cook, though, and neither are you. I suppose we can get Chinese takeout.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Aunt Mary was an excellent cook. Ask anyone in Santa Louisa. “Nothing too heavy. She’s probably not going to be hungry, but Noah will be. We’ll need to go to the store.”

Aunt Mary
was probably right. I added, “Before we do that, we need to go down in that cellar. We need to find out how whoever has been prowling around here is getting in and out. If we find something, we’ll tell Noah at dinner.”

Elizabeth
balked. “I’ve only been in that cellar twice,” she said. “The first time was with William, right before he … The second time I almost got killed. Going down there isn’t on my bucket list.”

Cora Lee wasn’t any more agreeable. “I was scared to death of that cellar when I was a child and have never seen any reason to change
my mind. You three go and let me know what you find.”

It took
both Aunt Mary and me to finally persuade them. Or, maybe it was the attack on Mildred. After Aunt Mary pointed out that our “ghost” might succeed in killing someone the next time, they finally agreed. Elizabeth was silent and white faced; Cora Lee complained with every step.

I led the way, turning on every light switch I found. Cora Lee was right behind me
, with Elizabeth following. Aunt Mary brought up the rear. Cora Lee perked up when the lights I’d managed to turn on showed the cellar was surprisingly free of spiders and completely free of ghosts. However, she paled when the packing crate came into view. “Dear God in heaven. Is that what almost hit you?”

Elizabeth made it halfway down the stairs before she stopped
and gasped. I turned to see if she was all right. Her eyes were fixed on the debris on the cellar floor. Her breath came fast and shallow and her fingers clasped the stair rail so tightly her knuckles were white. “That’s it. If it hadn’t been for Petal, I’d have been almost to the bottom, right under that crate when it fell.”

Aunt Mary edged past Elizabeth to get a better look. A pile of crates was stacked up by the stairs, but they were different than the one that had fallen. They were larger, made of sturdy wood and each had what appeared to be a content list taped to the side. The one that fell wasn’t as big
, and it seemed to have been made of soft wood, pine maybe. It had been filled with pots. Iron pots and frying pans. Kettles and trivets, little iron trivets with cute little iron feet that would fit neatly into a skull. The fall split the crate open and its contents were scattered over the stairs and floor at the base of the stairs. Aunt Mary picked up a saucepan. “This thing is heavy. Where did it all come from?”

Cora Lee joined Aunt Mary. She leaned on her cane while she surveyed the wreckage. “I think that stuff all came from the old kitchen. I remember playing there as a kid before Mother dragged me out. Told me the black widows would get me. I haven’t been in it since.” She reached out with her cane to turn over a trivet. “I don’t know who packed that.”

Elizabeth edged by Aunt Mary to look at the lists taped to the sides of the large crates stacked by the stairs. “Duke of Gloucester table setting for twenty-four?” The expression on her face was almost reverent. “That’s not original?”

Cora Lee sighed. “As far as I know, it is. There’s sterling silver in there, also a setting for twenty-four. There are lots of extra pieces, as well. Mother hated it.”

Elizabeth looked stricken. “She what?”

Cora Lee sighed again. “Mother liked Danish modern. It was my father who loved all this.” She waved at the stacked crates. “It went along with his image of being a Smithwood.” She walked around t
o the other side of the crates, leaned on her cane and stared at them as if what they really contained were memories. “I came back after he died. Mother wanted to move out, and she wasn’t wasting any time. She wanted to have a garage sale. Can you imagine? A garage sale.” She sighed again. “CJ didn’t turn out to be good for anything but making money but I learned a lot about really nice things while I was spending it.” She turned and walked over to the pile of crates and tapped one of them with her cane. “Mildred helped me. We brought in professionals and had everything that was valuable packed away and moved down here. That old kitchen stuff wasn’t part of it.” She shivered. “I wasn’t about to fight off black widows for a lot of old kitchen junk.”

Elizabeth squatted down to take a better look at an iron kettle, more than heavy enough to do some real damage. “I don’t think this is junk.”

Cora Lee dismissed that with a sniff. “That alcove down there,” she pointed to one of the alcoves at the far end of the cellar, “is full of furniture. One of those boxes contains portraits of original Smithwoods. Pretty ugly bunch, but we kept their pictures. These crates,” she pointed with her cane toward the pile, “contain just household stuff. Linens, crystal, silver, beautiful old things.”

“But you didn’t pack that crate?” Aunt Mary pointed to the box that had fallen.

“No. I’ve never seen that one before.”

“It was on top. I’m sure of that.” Elizabeth got up off the steamer trunk where she squatted and walked over to investigate the shattered crate. “I saw it move. Petal started barking and ran back up the stairs, right through my legs. I turned and followed. That’s when I saw the figure. It had on a cape and I think it was tall.”

“Or standing on a stepstool.”

“A stepstool. What gave you that idea?”

“The one beside the crates.”

A stool stood close beside the bottom crate, almost hidden. It would have been easy for someone standing on it to maneuver the top crate just enough so it could be tipped off the top. The rough edges of the crate, the heavy pots inside it, and the force created when it fell were almost guaranteed to do real damage. Possibly permanent damage.

Elizabeth turned white. I could hardly blame her. She’d had a narrow escape.

“All right.” Aunt Mary looked around. “We know how the crate fell. I’d like to know how it got up there.”

She turned toward Cora Lee, who shook her head. “I’ve no idea.”

“How about that one?” I pointed to
a crate identical to the ones stacked by the stairs, but this one sat on the cellar floor, pushed back in the corner, its top not quite back in place.

“That’s one of ours. Only, that’s not where it should be.”
Cora Lee walked over to look at the crate. “I wasn’t down here when the movers stored all these, but I told them to put them all together. Evidently they didn’t get any further than the stairs. This one’s been moved.”

Aunt Mary walked over to stand next to her. They both stared at the crate. “It’s been opened. Oh.”
Aunt Mary reached out to push the lid back further. “Look at this piece of embroidery. It’s lovely.”

It didn’t look lovely to me. It looked old and faded
. Something with teeth had been chewing on it and it smelled of mice.

Elizabeth knelt down beside the crate, peering at the inventory list taped to the side. “Look.” She
straightened up and motioned for all of us to come look. “See? Right here. Eight crystal syllabub glasses.” She rocked back on her heels, looked up at us a little ashen faced, then leaned forward to check the list again.

“The
y’re not in there anymore.” Cora Lee tapped the side of the crate with her cane, then withdrew it to lean on it. “I wonder what else they took.”

“I wonder who took it
,” said Aunt Mary.

I
knew what she was implying. It was a safe bet whoever took the glasses also murdered Monty. Only, how did the murderer know where to find the glasses? Or, had Monty pulled them out? A larger question loomed. How did we find out who the murderer was? I looked around the cellar as if something would somehow jump up and provide an answer. All I saw was an old steamer trunk, pushed back behind the crates. It was what hung out of the trunk that caught my attention. “There.”

Everyone turned toward me. “
What?”

I pointed. “That trunk. There’s something hanging out of it.”

“So there is.” Cora Lee glanced over at it, showing no interest whatsoever. “So what? It’s just another old quilt or something.”

“That
old quilt confirms it. Someone’s gone through that trunk. Whoever’s been prowling around this house is looking for something.” Aunt Mary walked over and looked down at the quilt, hands on her hips. She turned and once more surveyed the cellar. “Now all we have to do is find how they’re getting in.”

“And out.” Cora Lee’s voice was soft as she, too, examined the cellar.

So did I.

I
was sure that, as soon as we started to look, we’d find a door, perhaps hidden behind the empty wine racks, or in back of the grain barrels. The staircase we’d descended was along the far wall of the cellar. There was nothing next to it except a light switch and some electric cables. Opposite the last step was the outside door Elizabeth had spoken of—the one padlocked on the outside. The stacks of crates were piled three to four high along the open part of the staircase, the step stool against the pile closest to the last step. The cellar wasn’t very wide but it had three alcoves along both sides, and the far wall was covered with floor to ceiling cupboards. It was time to start looking.

I
went down into the cellar, peering into each alcove as I passed it, the others following close behind. We examined the wall, looking for a crack that might mean a door, pushing into the alcoves and running fingers across walls that might yield to pressure. Nothing. Most of the alcoves were filled with things too good to toss, yet not good enough to bring upstairs. I paused in front of the one used as a wine cellar. A single bottle lay on one of the racks. Cora Lee suggested we bring it upstairs to see if it was still good. Elizabeth and Aunt Mary vetoed that suggestion. This would be the most logical alcove to hold a hidden door. Its back wall was plaster; the wine racks that remained were screwed into it with large bolts but there was no evidence of a door. Another alcove contained old trunks, boxes of books, records from the 70s, all layered in dust. None of it had been moved in years. Another held a couple of empty barrels. The remaining three spilled over with bicycles, ski equipment, fishing poles, a set of golf clubs hopelessly out of date ... Nowhere did we see an indication of a way in or out, let alone a way through it all. I stopped at the end of the cellar and studied the cabinets. One was spacious and tall enough to nearly touch the ceiling; no shelves. The door opened easily to disclose absolutely nothing. The cupboards next to it were equally bare except for a small mouse corpse on a middle shelf. I closed the door.

“I don’t know where else to look.” We were missing something. No ghost pushed over that crate; no ghost drove the car I heard. Someone was getting in and out of here, and like so many
riddles, the answer would probably turn out to be incredibly simple.

“What time is it?” Elizabeth wiped her sweaty forehead and glanced at her wrist
—at the watch that wasn’t there. “I’ve an appointment with Mr. Glass at one. He’s making a special effort to fit me in because of all this. I can’t be late.” She headed for the stairs. “We’ll have to come back later.” She stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked at the pile of packing crates. “I want to bring that old inventory list down here and check it against the contents of these crates. I can’t wait to get the dust covers off the furniture and see what we’ve got. The upholstery is probably beyond salvaging but the wood pieces should be fine.”