5 Murder by Syllabub (25 page)

And, of course, Noah and Mildred. Poor Mildred. Elizabeth pushed herself out of the chair and headed for the doorway. She walked like an old woman, stiff and stooped. Her braid hung limply down her back, hairs escaping, giving it the look of a rough rope. She didn’t seem to notice
that her bathrobe was partly unzipped and that her feet, encased in corduroy rubber-soled slippers, scuffed more than necessary. The anger that had flared up in the kitchen had once again been dampened by confusion and exhaustion. She had to be near collapse. She wasn’t the only one.

Aunt Mary
also found the energy to leave her chair. Anxiety had formed smudge marks under her blue eyes. “I might as well go up, too. I’ll make sure Elizabeth gets back down.”

“She’d better hurry. They’ll be here any minute.” Cora Lee paused. Uncertainty crossed her face. “I’m going to have to call Noah. I can’t have the police charge down there, asking Mildred all kinds of questions without giving her some kind of warning. What am I going to tell him?”

There wasn’t much she could tell him except that they thought the body of his father lay buried under an old table in the Smithwoods’ antique kitchen.

“Do you want me to do it?”
I asked. It was an offer I didn’t want to make, but the news might be easier on Noah if it came from me.

Something flickered in Cora Lee’s eyes. Hope, maybe, but it passed quickly. “No. I’d better do it. I’ll do it right now. I want Mildred to hear this from him, not McMann.”

Aunt Mary nodded and headed for the stairs. I followed.

The shower ran in Elizabeth’s bathroom. At least she’d been able to get that far. I stood in the middle of my room and slowly turned around, examining each piece of furniture. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to get into the shower until Elizabeth and Aunt Mary finished and had no intention of going downstairs to meet the police. Instead, I sat on my bed. Could Cora Lee be right? Had Monty been stealing little things from Smithwood and selling them? Had Louis caught him? It was possible, but from what everyone said about Monty, he didn’t seem the murdering type. Blackmail, petty thievery, yes, but cold-blooded murder, probably not. Of course, the most timid animal could be dangerous when cornered. What had it been like for a child growing up in this old house all by himself, his mother drinking herself to death and his stepfather never here, or ignoring him when he was? Couldn’t have been pleasant. Hattie said Payton practically lived here when they were in high school. Had Monty stolen things to help pay for college? No. William paid. Who else? Calvin Campbell. He went to high school with both Monty and Payton and supposedly they’d been friends. Good enough friends that Calvin expected Monty to help him when he was in trouble. Calvin, keeper of the grounds, all of the grounds. Would he know about the old road? No doubt about it. Could he have found out about the secret door? Possibly. Monty had known. Maybe it hadn’t been Monty stealing all those little things. Maybe it had been Calvin.
He’d been around Smithwood then, with Payton and Monty. They were all in their mid to late forties now. Louis must have been dead about thirty years. Elizabeth had said Noah was little, two or three? He was in his very early thirties now, I’d guess. Leo McMann would have been in his early thirties when Louis disappeared.

If Monty pilfered things, how had he sold them? Wouldn’t he have needed help? Maybe that was where Calvin came in. No, that didn’t quite fit. Would he know where to sell them? A picture of Lt. McMann appeared in my head. Why? He was a respected policeman
. Not a particularly well-liked one, but that hardly made him a crook. So, why did he come to mind? Someone said something—right. He got in trouble with Mr. Smithwood when he worked here one summer and was fired, evidently unfairly. What if old Mr. Smithwood was right? What if the teenage McMann hadn’t been above a little petty larceny? Even so, what did that prove? Exactly nothing. However, he knew about the road. The road down by the river that had to start somewhere up by the highway. Mildred said other plantation owners used to bring their tobacco here, to Smithwood, to ship to market. They had to get on that road somehow, and Lt. McMann would know the way. Could he have made a deal with Monty all those years later, helped him sell the things he’d stolen? Why kill him? Blackmail, of course.

I walked over to the door. The shower was quiet. Time to get out some clothes, but my mind wasn’t on that. It was still on Lt. McMann. You
shouldn’t suspect someone of murder and robbery just because you thought he was a morose jerk. Dan wouldn’t approve. Okay, not McMann. That brought me back to Monty. He had to sell what he took to someone. I walked over to the dresser, opened a bottom drawer and stared at the contents. The chest wasn’t going to tell me if Monty was a thief or if it really was Louis buried downstairs or who put him there. However, Lt. McMann did seem to wander in and out of this story. It would be interesting to know a little more about him.

I backed up and sat on the bed. Had that crate been meant for Elizabeth? Had someone really meant to kill her or was it merely a distraction, providing time for
the trespasser in the cellar to escape? If Elizabeth died, what would happen to Smithwood? Would it have been easier for Monty to lay claim? It wouldn’t have helped any of the others. Calvin would be out of a job he evidently needed, Noah and his mother wouldn’t stand a chance of getting their deed and—if what Mildred said about old Mr. Smithwood’s will was true—Cora Lee wouldn’t have been able to save a single teaspoon. Keeping Elizabeth alive, at least until they had what they wanted, was to everyone’s advantage. Only Monty stood to gain, possibly, and Monty was dead. Maybe that hadn’t been a deliberate attempt on her life. Then why had that person stood on a stepstool, behind the crate, ready to push?

I unwrapped my robe and tossed it on the bed. Where were the clothes I’d taken out of the chest? The drawer of the chest was still ajar. I hadn’t taken them out. That’s what preoccupation did to you. I walked back over to the high chest of drawers, started to look in the open drawer and stopped. What else was it Cora Lee said? Something about a hidden compartment. I let my fingers run over the drawer, but there was nothing suspicious. I dumped the contents on the bed, pulled it out and felt the bottom. No false bottom. At least, I couldn’t feel one. I put it back, replaced my clothes and opened another one. Nothing. I tried them all, but they seemed fine. I stared at the chest, remembering something I’d seen recently
on
Antiques Roadshow
. A chest of drawers, a lot like this one, and one of the appraisers had done … what? I let my fingers run slowly over the graceful carving across the top of the chest. What looked like crown molding circled a flat top with three small drawers directly below. Four other drawers, each a little deeper than the other, finished off the top piece which rested on a second piece, also with one long drawer and three small, shallow drawers that sat above the carved apron and graceful cabriole legs. I let my fingers trace the edges of the molding around the top, gently pushing on it as I went. My fingers lingered a little on the center. Something gave. I pushed on one side a little harder. The piece of wood at the bottom of the molding moved. I put my fingers under it and pulled. It slid out easily. Shocked, I stared at it then pulled again. The piece obligingly slid out a little more. I wasn’t quite tall enough to see the top of the piece, but it felt as if this might be a shallow drawer, a hidden shallow drawer. Hadn’t I seen a footstool up here? If so, it wasn’t here now. My eyes rested on the Windsor chair. Should I? Yes. I pulled the chair over to the chest and, crossing my fingers I wouldn’t land on the floor, hitched up my nightgown and knelt on it. I got one leg under me and, holding onto the chest and saying a little prayer it was heavy enough not to come crashing down, pulled myself up. I could look straight down into the drawer. It wasn’t empty.

Just as my
fingers touched the contents of the drawer, the door to my room flew open.

“Why aren’t you in the shower?”

I almost fell off the chair.

“What are you doing?” Aunt Mary stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, staring at me as if I’d gone crazy.

“Shush.” I grabbed the contents, slid the drawer closed and knelt back down. “Close the door.”

She stepped in and did as I asked. Her voice was hushed as she hurried over. “What have you found?”

“Cora Lee’s secret drawer, for one thing. What else, I don’t know yet. Come over here.” I scrambled off the chair and headed for the desk. I spread the papers out and started to pore over them.

“What do they mean?” Aunt Mary picked one up and started to read. “I don’t understand one word of this.”

They were some kind of financial statements, but I didn’t have time to figure out what they meant. I did know that whoever had hid them had gone to some trouble. “We need to hide these.”

“We do?”

I nodded.

“They’re important?”

I nodded again. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Then, where?”

“Under your mattress. Here. You take them.” I thrust them at her.

“What are you going to do?” She took them with no evidence of enthusiasm.

“Call Dan.”

T
he place was crawling with police. There was no other way to describe it. There were at least half a dozen assorted police vehicles parked outside. Through the windows beside the front hallway door, uniformed police, as well as people dressed in street clothes, milled around. There was even a squad of paramedics. It seemed a little late for them. Thirty years too late.

Noah and Mildred sat at the kitchen table talking to Lt. McMann. The bones were spread out on a piece of newspaper, but none of them were looking at them. That rather dubious privilege was
accorded to a bald heavyset man. I watched him for a minute, fascinated. He placed each bone in a specific place. They were beginning to form a hand. Someone’s hand. Probably someone named Louis. Who was married to Mildred. Who, in all likelihood, had been murdered and buried in that antique kitchen thirty years ago. That thought left me a little lightheaded. Coffee. That was what I needed. I headed for the cupboard where the mugs were kept, took one down and picked up the coffeepot. Enough left for one cup. I poured before I turned around to see what was happening at the table.

The ring, sans the bone it
had encircled before, lay in front of Mildred. She didn’t seem to be able to take her eyes off it, except when she touched her matching ring. Lt. McMann spoke to her in a low voice, but I wasn’t sure Mildred heard him. She kept staring at the rings.

Noah heard him, though. His face was dark with fury and his eyes could have bored holes in the lieutenant. What was McMann saying? I sipped my coffee, trying to do
so quietly. It didn’t work. Lt. McMann glanced over at me and glowered. I set down my mug, picked up the now empty pot, rinsed it, filled it and reached for the filters. Unfortunately, the water drowned out most of what Lt. McMann said and all of Mildred’s replies. Not, of course, that I was eavesdropping, but from the questions I heard and Mildred’s demeanor, I had to conclude it was Louis buried in the kitchen. Lt. McMann suggested, somewhat strongly, that Mildred knew he was there. No wonder Noah was furious. I leaned against the counter and picked up my mug.

The man examining the bones pushed his chair back and got up. “Don’t none of you touch these. Hear?”

Lt. McMann watched him leave. “Damned know-it-all.” He seemed to take notice of me once more. “Anything we can do for you?”

I probably didn’t belong here, but I also knew rudeness and sarcasm when I heard it. Dan would never treat someone like this, and I saw no reason to tolerate it from Lt. McMann. Police or not, rudeness wasn’t necessary. “I’m waiting for the coffee to perk. Would you like some when it’s done?”

Lt. McMann motioned toward his mug, which sat in front of him, steam curling lazily upward. “I have some.”

“So you do.” I continued to lean and sip. “Noah, do you have coffee? Mildred? Aunt Mary, would you like some?”

She stood across the room, looking outside through the French doors. She turned and walked back over to the table. “Coffee is just what I need.”

Noah studied her for a minute, then smiled. “Actually, I’d love some, too. Can I help?”

“Oh, no. It’ll be a minute anyway. Well, you can get the cream.”

Noah pushed his chair back and headed for the refrigerator. “I see you dressed for cool weather. Forecast says rain. Great sweatshirt.”

Aunt Mary looked at her shirt. For the first time, I did too. We’d been too preoccupied to take stock of what she had on. It was a chilly morning and evidently she’d grabbed the first warm thing she’d laid hands on. That happened to be her bright green sweatpants, the ones she got at St. Stephen’s rummage sale, and her Santa Louisa Wine Festival sweatshirt. An image of a large bottle of bright red wine took up most of the front; the green grape vines with their ready-to-harvest grapes twining around it took up the rest. She got it because she helped my niece, Sabrina, in the Silver Springs winery booth at last year’s Festival in the Park, and these sweatshirts didn’t sell well. She said she’d chosen the extra-large size in case it shrank. It hadn’t. She tried to roll up the sleeve cuffs. They didn’t cooperate. She gave up and pushed the sleeves as far back as she could and reached for a clean mug. “Um. Where’s Elizabeth?”

“Standing in the old kitchen, watching the police dig up my father.”

Mildred shuddered.

The door opened and a uniformed policeman stuck his head in. “They need you out here, Lieutenant.”

Lt. McMann grunted something, pushed back his chair and got up. He paused, glared over at Aunt Mary and then at me, picked up his mug and left.

“He’s in a good mood this morning.”

“About as good as it ever gets. He’s not noted for his sunny disposition.” Noah set the carton of cream down in the middle of the table and sat. He reached over and took his mother’s hand.

She smiled
weakly. “I’m all right. Just a little shaken. This is going to take some getting used to, but I’m all right.”

I checked the coffee. It gurgled to a stop. I took down another mug, filled it, walked over to the table and set it in front of Mildred. “Of course you are. Cream?”

Mildred seemed to see me for the first time. She smiled then looked over at Aunt Mary. She blinked at the sight of her sweatshirt and smiled a little wider. “Yes, please.”

Aunt Mary poured cream liberally into both their mugs and took Lt. McMann’s chair. I leaned against the counter. “How old was Payton when he spent so much time out here?”

“What?”

“How old were the boys? High school? Had they started college?”

That was a question Mildred apparently hadn’t been expecting. “All the way through high school.”

“Was Calvin here also?”

“Calvin? Sometimes. He was a funny kid. He idolized Monty. Why, I can’t imagine. Monty treated him like a pet dog. It was Payton who didn’t like him.” She stopped.

Aunt Mary motioned her to go on.

“Poor Calvin. He was a shy kid, didn’t seem to be able to make friends. I don’t think he realized Monty was playing with him. Not then, anyway.”

“How old were the boys when Louis was—” this was difficult— “disappeared?”

Mildred didn’t say anything for a moment, but the expression on her face registered a mixture of emotions. “Louis … was killed the summer before the boys went away to college.”

“I don’t remember any of that.” Noah frowned. He sounded as if these were facts he should have known or at least been told.

“Of course not. You were little more than a toddler. Those boys didn’t even know you were alive. They went off to different colleges. I didn’t see Calvin until he came back to take charge of the grounds. We didn’t see much of Payton after that, either. Monty was in and out, but after he finished law school, he didn’t come around much, and after Virginia died, not at all. Hattie, of course, was a different matter.”

“Hattie. Was she out here a lot?”

Mildred nodded. “She and Virginia were friends, sort of. They both loved the ‘lady of the manor’ kind of thing. Except Virginia had no interest in how people lived years ago. Her only interest was in how she lived here and now. She loved getting out the silverware, the linens, the candles, all that kind of thing, and she’d serve tea. She couldn’t cook a lick, but Hattie always brought more than enough, and they put on airs, just the two of them. Silliest thing I ever saw.”

“She used the Smithwood things?”

Mildred’s voice had a hard edge. “Everything Cora Lee and I hadn’t either packed away or hidden. Luckily, she hadn’t gotten to most of the antiques because she broke almost everything she touched. She touched some nice things. It really was a shame.”

“Hattie quit coming after Virginia died?”

Mildred nodded. “There was no reason for her to come. Or Monty, either. William paid for law school for Monty, but as soon as he passed the bar, he was on his own. I don’t think Monty ever quite forgave William for that. He was so sure he’d be able to come back here to live, bring his wife, manage the ‘estate.’ Poor boy. It was quite a shock when he had to go to work.” It wasn’t hard to figure out how Mildred felt about Monty.

“Why? Why are you asking all these questions?” Noah managed to
pack a lot of suspicion into that sentence.

“Just trying to get some things straight in my mind.” I ducked my head to take a sip of coffee and hide my face. So, I’d been right. Calvin had been a visitor to Smithwood long before he became its head gardener. How I’d find out if I was right about a few other things, I wasn’t sure.

“Ellen, if you know something, you have to tell the police. Withholding evidence can be a prosecutable offense.” Noah had on his policeman face, but underneath there was a layer of concern, as well as strain.

I
was already guilty of that, but I wasn’t about to share my discovery with Noah. Not when I hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with Dan, first. For some reason he wasn’t answering his cell. Maybe the battery was out. Or he’d forgotten to put it on the charger again. “All I’ve got are a whole lot of unconnected ideas.” I smiled. “Don’t worry. If any of them connect, I’ll tell you immediately.”

“Not Leo?” Noah’s face softened and a hint of a smile appeared.

“Oh, I don’t think so. You’re so much closer.” I smiled back. We’d just made a bargain. I was satisfied. I hoped Noah was also.

The door opened and Elizabeth walked in, followed by two dogs and a very elegant older man. The dogs plopped down in the middle of the room.

The man walked over to the table and held his hand out to Mildred. “Are you all right?”

“Good morning, Aaron. I guess so. Things have been coming at us so fast these past few days, I’ve lost track.”

The man smiled, let go of Mildred’s hand and nodded to Noah. “How are you doing?”

“Holding together. What are you doing here? Is it about Elizabeth again?”

“I’m afraid so.” He seemed to see Aunt Mary and me for the first time, started to nod, took another look and smiled. “You must be Mary McGill. Elizabeth’s been talking about you.” He paused and looked at me inquiringly. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“I’m Ellen McKenzie Dunham. I’m Mrs. McGill’s niece.” I smiled. Enlightenment had come. “You must be Mr. Glass. She’s told us a lot about you as well.”

He smiled and nodded.

So, this was the famous Mr. Glass on whom everyone seemed to rely. I could see why. He was dressed in a beautifully cut, expensive dark charcoal gray suit
. His white shirt gleamed, and his black shoes gave off a shine that made Payton Culpepper’s highly buffed ones look dull. It wasn’t the clothes or the mane of meticulously styled, thick white hair that gave him his gravitas. It was the air of quiet confidence, of control without being overbearing. Old-world manners without the condescending manner that often went with them. This was a man who knew what he was doing, a man you immediately felt you could trust.

He examined us closely. He evidently liked what he saw because he smiled.

Aunt Mary smiled back, briefly. “Do we have a problem?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What kind of problem?”

“An English Yew problem.” Elizabeth filled a mug with coffee and leaned back against the kitchen counter, next to me. “It seems Monty died of English Yew poisoning. It also seems my
syllabub contained nothing I hadn’t put in it, but that doesn’t get me off the hook. There’s a rather large amount of English Yew flourishing in my garden. So, according to Leo, I’m guilty.”

Her tone was light, but the stress lines around her eyes and lips told another story. So did the hand that held her coffee mug. It shook so
that she had to bring up her other hand to help hold it.

“Aaron, you can’t let him arrest her. She isn’t guilty, and we all know it.
” Mildred twisted around to confront him, equal parts alarm and anger in her voice and on her face.

“Don’t worry. She’s not going to jail. All they really have is suspicion.”

“That and the fact that Monty was trying to blackmail me. That’s motive. I had means and opportunity. Aren’t they the three things the police look for?” Elizabeth sat, rigid from both anger and fear, her hands clasped together.

“Leo McMann is an idiot, and I just told him so. Arresting Elizabeth. I’ve never heard anything so stupid.” Cora Lee pushed her way into the room, her cane making little staccato noises
that kept time with the tap tap of her heels. “He needs to pay attention to what’s going on down in that kitchen and find out who killed poor Louis. These two murders are connected, and not through Elizabeth.” She patted Mildred on the shoulder and opened her mouth as if to say something then thought better of it. She tapped her way over to the cupboards, took down a mug, filled it and made her way back to the table.

“Is cream the strongest stuff we’ve got to put in this?”

“At this time in the morning? Yes.” Elizabeth shook her head in disgust, whether at Cora Lee’s suggestion or at the whole mess, I wasn’t sure.

Cora Lee was using her cane a lot more this morning. Tired? Or was she hurting?
Leaving her coffee where it was, she started around the table. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, and after the night we’ve had, I need something to get me going.”

“There’s some Tylenol in the cupboard.” Aunt Mary pushed her chair back. “I’ll get it for you. Some water, also.”