“What's that?" Mel asked.
“Shelley's just kidding, Mel," Jane said a bit too forcefully.
“So Mrs. Crossthwait says to someone in the family, 'My goodness, that wagon in the yard outside looks just like the tumbril that took Marie Antoinette to the guillotine.' And if that person has been waiting quietly for years to make off with the wagon, knowing the same thing, Mrs. Crossthwait is suddenly, and stupidly, a big threat to them."
“That surely eliminates the aunts, doesn't it?" Jane asked. "It seems that they're still trying to find out what and where the treasure is.”
Shelley nodded. "But only if we're right that they were the ones roaming around last night stealing pictures and taking them apart."
“The most likely person to know, next to Uncle Joe, is Jack Thatcher," Jane said. "He's spent the most time here."
“Or Livvy herself," Shelley said. "She's probably had an excellent education. Even if all she wanted to study was business, I'm sure Jack expected her to have all the social graces. Know about history and art and such.”
Mel had been listening to this conversation without contributing. Now he did. "Ladies, this is all nuts. You're letting your imaginations run away with you. And it's not your problem or even mine. Just as long as you're careful to keep yourselves safe for another few hours, it's up to John Smith to figure it all out. And it might not have even been murder, come to that."
“But what about the 'push' marks on Mrs. Crossthwait?" Jane said.
Mel shrugged. "Good point, but maybe when she tumbled down the stairs, she fell on something that made that sort of marks."
“Mel, your imagination is as vivid as ours are," Jane said. "What else could have made them? Falling against the outstretched hand of a marble statue? There aren't any of those around.”
Mel looked embarrassed. "Okay, okay. But maybe someone else was roaming around in the dark, ran into her, and just out of fright and alarm, gave her a shove? Not even knowing who she was."
“It won't play, Mel," Jane said. "First of all, she wouldn't have been anywhere near the stairs in the dark without having been deliberately lured out of her room. She was already afraid of going up and down those stairs in full daylight."
“I learned a couple things from John Smith, too," Mel said. "Apparently she made Marguerite Rowe's wedding dress sometime back in the Dark Ages."
“She claimed that, and Marguerite brushed her off," Jane said.
“She also has an accountant in common with Eden's father."
“What could that mean?" Jane asked.
“Almost certainly nothing," Mel said. "And she once had a sewing class that a Mrs. Hessling attended."· "You're just a wealth of information," Jane said. "But how does any of it help?"
“I'm not claiming it helps. Just reporting.”
“What about Dwayne? Did they find out anything about him?" Jane asked.
Mel decided the teenaged shoplifting charge wasn't something he should discuss. "Not much. His boss was pretty closed-mouth about him. Whether he was concealing something the company didn't want talked about or he simply doesn't like the kid very well wasn't clear. He said Dwayne was going to work for Livvy's father and didn't express any regret at losing him.”
Shelley suddenly gasped.
“What's wrong?" Jane asked.
“The seam binding! We forgot to tell Mel about the seam binding!”
Jane nearly slapped her own forehead. "How could we forget!" She explained to him about the fresh, non-dusty seam binding they'd found in the attic while he was out to dinner and their theory that it had been tied across the stairway to make quite certain Mrs. Crossthwait would take a serious tumble.
“Where is it now?" he asked in a low voice. "I think we left it in the attic," Shelley said. "You haven't mentioned this to anyone else, have you?" Mel asked.
“Of course not," Jane said.
“Then don't. Stay here. I'm going to call Smith and have him take a look.”
He got up and strolled away with seeming casualness.
“He's taking us seriously for once," Jane said with surprise.
“What are you two plotting?" Eden Matthews said from behind Jane. Neither she nor Shelley had seen her approach and Jane wondered if she'd overheard any of their conversation.
“Nothing much," Jane said. "Just chatting about the plans for tomorrow.”
Eden took the chair Mel had been sitting in. She was still in her dinner dress, a slinky black number with a plunging neckline and what looked like a real diamond brooch to draw the eye to the extent of the plunge. She really was a gorgeous, voluptuous woman. "Your boyfriend is very good-looking," she said to Jane.
“I think so, too," Jane said.
“Where's he gone?"
“I'm not sure. He didn't say." Jane wondered fleetingly whether Eden was really asking if he'd gone to bed and intended to pursue him there. Rather than let herself follow this line of thought, she asked, "How was the rehearsal dinner?"
“Wonderful. Excellent food. Nice surroundings, but not the best of company, I have to admit. Dwayne was in a bit of a rage about his room being messed up. He couldn't quit complaining about it. Didn't make for scintillating conversation."
“That's too bad," Shelley said. "Was he blaming anyone in particular?"
“Oh, just about everybody in turn. Not blatantly enough for anyone to justify taking offense — quite. But he was very annoying. Set everyone's teeth on edge."
“What does he do for a living?" Shelley asked.
“I have the impression he's been a very insignificant clerk in a very large mortgage company. Researches deeds or something boring like that. But he's coming into the family firm when he and Livvy get back from their honeymoon. I can't imagine what he can contribute."
“Besides sons for Livvy?" Shelley said.
Eden grinned. "It probably is just a ploy to keep him close at hand and under Jack's control. I never thought about it that way, but you're probably right. Keeps him under Jack's watchful eye and prevents him from advancing elsewhere and having a job if he even thinks about getting out of the marriage eventually. That's very perceptive of you."
“Who do you think messed up his room?" Jane asked, inadvertently cutting short Shelley's appreciation of the compliment.
“I'd have done it if I'd thought of it, just to provide an irritant," Eden said with a wicked smile. "But I didn't. I don't know. His own chums are the best possibility. They're all a tad low-rent, don't you think? And it's such a male thing."
“Actually, I'd guess they're all pretty ambitious," Shelley replied. "They're obviously in awe of Jack Thatcher and his successful friends. I think some of them harbor the illusion that one of these rich businessmen will recognize their sterling qualities and pluck them out of the abyss of lower management.”
Eden stared at Shelley for a moment with a look of surprise. "Yes. Yes, I can see that. But who would that leave? Not me. Not you two. You don't want anything messing up the wedding."
“The aunts?" Jane suggested.
Eden shook her head. "No, they live for tidiness. Both of them have three-times-a-week cleaning ladies. And besides, why would they want to make him miserable?"
“Maybe just because they don't approve of him marrying Livvy," Jane said, thinking this was pretty thin reasoning, but unable to come up with anything else.
Eden stirred in her chair and yawned. "I guess we'll never know. I'm giving it up for the night. Have to get my beauty sleep.”
Jane and Shelley sat silently watching her leave. Then Shelley said, "It's odd. Nobody seems to have much affection for Dwayne. Not even his own mother. And if Livvy is passionate about him, she certainly doesn't show it."
“And at least one person seems to actively dislike him. The one who wrecked his belongings," Jane said. After another few minutes of thought, she added, "And it's very possible that someone in this wedding party is capable of murder. If I were Dwayne, I'd be worried. In fact, I
am
worried.”
Sixteen
uncle Joe turned up about ten minutes before the bachelor party ended. He wandered into the side room where it was being held and wandered back out a moment later with a cold beer in one hand and a fistful of pretzels in the other. Jane wondered if he'd appeared just to show he was entitled to attend, but chose not to participate. Or had he just wanted a free beer? He sat down near Shelley and Jane, but not close enough to encourage conversation. Jane nodded at him politely and he nodded back.
Aunt Iva and Aunt Marguerite had been seated at the far end of the room, sipping sherry and holding an animated, but whispered chat, and now rose and approached Jane and Shelley. "What is the schedule for tomorrow?" Iva asked.
“Breakfast from seven to eight. A light lunch at twelve and the wedding itself at two," Jane said. She'd prepared and handed out this information, nicely printed out on pink card stock, to all the family members as they arrived, but apparently Iva and Marguerite had lost theirs or simply ignored them.
“We think we'll just stay on here for a bit after the wedding," Marguerite said, poking ineffectually at her snowy white wig, which seemed to be slipping off center again. "After all, the lodge will be gone soon and this is our last chance to stay here.”
Jane didn't know why they were telling her this or how she was expected to respond. They were free to stay until the bulldozers came up the driveway as far as Jane was concerned. She settled for a simple, "I see."
“We spent a lot of time here as girls, you see," Iva explained. "And we think we'd like some time to relive a few memories.”
And search more thoroughly without interference,
Jane thought.
“Take some nice walks in the fine weather…" Marguerite added.
Maybe they were just rehearsing their explanation to Jack, Jane speculated, and wondered if he was going to buy their story or pitch them out so
he
could have a last look around the place.
“That will be pleasant for you," Jane said mildly.
Uncle Joe had finished his beer and pretzels. He left the empty beer can on a side table and walked away.
“Well… good night," Iva said. She seemed dissatisfied with Jane's reaction to their plan.
“I think they expected you to argue with them," Shelley said when the elderly, bewigged pair had gone.
“I had that feeling, too. But why would I care? We'll be leaving after the wedding and the whole family can stay on if they want. I think they were practicing their story to tell Jack."
“It appears they haven't found what they're looking for yet," Shelley said.
“And they think they can really tear into the place when everyone else leaves," Jane agreed. "I wish them luck, I guess.”
The bachelor party was breaking up. Jack and his friends were moving through the room to the front door and saying their good nights. Dwayne and his friends followed respectfully. Jane spotted one of the young men wiping his hand across his forehead in a "Whew! Thank God that's over!" gesture. Errol saw it, too, and laughed.
As the crowd was about to surge out the front door, Officer Smith came in. In full uniform. A silence fell on the whole group.
Smith smiled disarmingly and said, "Just checking on some loose ends, gentlemen." Mel emerged from the hallway to the small bedrooms and greeted Smith amiably. The two of them moved against the tide of departing guests, chatting casually. "Awfully late, isn't it?" Mel said.
“Just thought I'd stop by on my way home," Smith said, as though it were perfectly natural for him to be on his way home well after midnight.
But Jack Thatcher was furious. He glared at the two representatives of the law, then said to his coterie of friends, "Sightseers!" with a sarcastic laugh.
“I think it's time for us to go to bed," Shelley said.
“Absolutely," Jane said. She didn't want to be around when Jack's pals had left and the man had the leisure to let fly with his obvious outrage. "You don't need us for anything, do you?" she said to Mel in passing.
“Nope," he said.
Jane and Shelley fled to the relative safety of their adjoining rooms. "I wish there were locks on these doors," Shelley said, trying to shove a chair under the doorknob of her room. The chair was too short to be an effective wedge.
“You don't really think we're in danger of being murdered in our beds, do you?" Jane asked nervously.
“No, we don't know anything that's a threat to anyone, but I'd feel better if we were locked in."
“How do you know we're not a threat?" Jane asked. "We don't even know how Mrs. Crossthwait was a threat to somebody and we know a lot more about these people than she did."
“But we don't really know that, Jane. She could have had a long-buried history with someone in the family. Keep in mind about Marguerite and the wedding dress. Mrs. Crossthwait's story was true and Marguerite made much of not knowing her. She might have just forgotten because Mrs. Crossthwait was nothing but a minion, or shemight have been in a full-fledged panic at running into her again after so long.”
Shelley paused, thinking, then went on, "And for that matter, we aren't certain that she was killed because of something she knew. Maybe she just annoyed someone seriously unstable to the breaking point. Or reminded somebody of someone they loathed.”
Jane went to her room and put on her nightgown. She was nervous about the final day of the wedding, which was looming only hours away. And she was sick to death of speculating about Mrs. Crossthwait's death. But it was like a hangnail on a grand and tragic scale. She couldn't make herself stop wondering and worrying about it and trying to pick at it. When she'd combed out her hair and brushed her teeth, she went into Shelley's room and perched on the end of the bed.
“We've been involved in murders before," she told Shelley, rather unnecessarily. "And we've figured them out. There were always suspects with good motives. But we've yet to come up with any motive for why someone would kill Mrs. Crossthwait. It's driving me slightly mad.”