John reported that he had a late lunch, felt sleepy and tried to take a nap, but the bathroom faucet had a persistent drip, so he went out to their luxuriously equipped van and fell asleep there. He woke when he heard someone walking by, whistling, and went inside the cabin, where Eileen found him reading the paper.
Benson had a detailed account and collaboration from the staff, except for a brief period between two and three when he said he went for a walk, just for the sake of peace and quiet.
Allison said she hadn't left their private quarters all afternoon.
The kitchen staff all backed each other up for the entire afternoon.
Edna had apparently been difficult and refused to go into detail on her activities except to say that she had already confessed to her foolish tricks and had nothing to do with anybody getting killed. She also pointed out that she didn't have to talk to the police without an attorney present.
“You don't find that suspicious?" Shelley asked. Taylor shook his head. "She'd already embarrassed herself in front of me, and I think she was angry with everyone else about it. I could be wrong, of course, but I've known Edna for a couple years and this is typical of her haughty act she puts on from time to time when things aren't going her way." Jane waited until Shelley had finished reading the last sheet, then said to the sheriff, "I'd have to study this again to be sure, but it looks to me like nobody is very reliable about what went on between two and three.”
Taylor nodded. "That's true. That's why I was hoping you could substantiate any one of these stories."
“Only Eileen," Shelley said. "She was in a class with me at two o'clock."
“But you left not long after it started — when Mrs. Jeffry came to get you, right?" Taylor asked.
“Yes, and she could have left right afterwards as far as I'd know.”
Jane flipped back through the pages. "During that time, Liz and Bob are getting lost and having adventures with the falcon person — or people. John Clay-pool's sleeping in his van. Eileen left the class at some point and went to soak in a hot tub. Benson's taking a solitary walk. Allison is fixing my laptop, though it could have taken her only a few minutes. Al's lost in the woods. Edna's not saying where she was.”
Taylor nodded. "Right. About the only people who weren't 'missing' in some fashion were you and Mrs. Nowack. And the kids working in the kitchen.”
Twenty-two
"what What about
Marge?" Shelley
asked.
“She didn't write it out, but says she and Henry McCoy went back to their cabin and he went off on a mysterious errand, promising to return in a few minutes. He never came back, she never left. According to her, that is.”
Jane handed back the papers. "I'm really sorry we're not more help."
“Not half as sorry as I am for not taking you seriously when you claimed you'd found a body the first time." He rose wearily from his chair and said, "If you're ready to go, I'll have my deputy see you home."
“Speaking of home — our real home, that is," Jane said, "any chance of us leaving tomorrow like we were supposed to?”
He nodded. "Possible. Got a National Guard group putting in an AVLB."
“A what?" Jane asked.
“An Assault Vehicle Launched Bridge. It's more or less a tank with a folded-up bridge on top. They drive it into the creek bed and unfold the bridge. Two murders are officially considered an emergency. It'll take months to clear up the paperwork on the bridge, and the deaths will generate official forms for years." He put his head in his hands, muttering.
The deputy led them out of the room and waited while they picked up their belongings, with the rest of the group watching. "They probably think we're being hauled off to jail," Shelley said under her breath.
“Good. Let them think whatever they want," Jane said. "I think I'd rather be in a nice, safe jail than here. I want Aunt Bea to bring me breakfast on a tray.”
The deputy tried to hide his smile.
He checked out their cabin so well, they nearly went mad, looking in closets, under beds, even in drawers, as if he suspected a bomb. He went out on the deck and examined the surroundings with a monster flashlight that could have done duty in a moderate-sized lighthouse.
“Is he ever leaving?" Shelley hissed.
Finally, mercifully, the deputy departed. "I never thought I'd wish for a television," Shelley said. "I want something mindless. Trashy, even. Something set in a city with lots of funny people who never heard of Wisconsin."
“I brought a bunch of books along," Jane said, fetching a backpack from the storage room. "They'll probably smell fishy forever. Take your pick.”
Jane got herself set up with the laptop on the floor of the bathroom doorway — electrical plug for the modem going one way, telephone cord going theother — while Shelley rummaged through the books.
She rejected the mysteries and found a beat-up paperback historical novel. She started a new fire in the fireplace and got her coffeemaker going. In other circumstances, it would have seemed like the coziest of evenings.
And they were both determined to pretend that was the case. "What are you doing with the computer?" she asked Jane.
“Just checking my E-mail and some internet addresses Allison gave me.”
A little later, Shelley brought her a cup of coffee and hunkered down to look at the small computer screen. "What's that?"
“Real estate ads."
“You're kidding. There are real estate ads on your computer?"
“Mmm. These are things for sale in England. Look at the gardens on this one.”
Shelley squinted. "Let's look closer to home.”
“Planning to move?" Jane asked.
“I couldn't move. I'd have to clean the closets. I'm leaving that to the kids when I'm gone.”
Jane punched some buttons, waited for another screen to assemble itself. "Okay, here's Illinois. What do you want to look— Oh, here's a listing for Spring Oak. Isn't that where the Claypool brothers' parents are?”
Shelley made a cross with her index fingers. "Do not speak that name to me!"
“Well, I'm curious," Jane said.
“I'm not. I hope I never hear of them again," Shelley said, wandering off to prod at the fire, which was creating far too much smoke and no warmth at all. "Paul says I should have been a firefighter since I'm so much better at putting them out than starting them.”
Jane wasn't listening.
“Uh. . Shelley. Take a look at this.”
Shelley looked wary and she sat down on the floor next to Jane, who tilted the screen of the laptop. "Wow!" she finally said. "This can't be right.”
The ad was for "The Claypool Estate: a historic 12-bedroom, 7-bath Tudor-style mansion. Built in the 1920s by the grandfather of the current owner, this gentle old aristocrat of a home was fully updated in the 1960s, but needs renovations. Sited on 30 lush acres of woods, with a year-round stream and extensive gardens. Detached 4-car garage, with living quarters above; 6-stall barn.”
Jane dragged the cursor down and pictures appeared. The photographer had obviously done his best, but even the soft focus couldn't hide the cracks in the walls, the broken limbs on the trees, the general neglect and dinginess. "Notice what they
don't
say about it," Shelley said. "No mention of a kitchen, for instance. Real estate agents can wax rhapsodic at the nastiest kitchens. This one couldn't think of a single good thing to say. What's the price on this puppy?”
Jane cursored down again. Gasped. "Four million dollars."
“No wonder they can't sell it. It would take that much to clean up the place."
“Shelley, I think you're missing the point here. These people are probably rich. The house is a mess because they've been too stingy to fix it up."
“Oh. You're right. The way Eileen described it, I was picturing a run-down two-bedroom bungalow with a green plastic carport.”
Jane thought for a moment, trying to resurrect Eileen's many gripes. "She didn't
say
it was small. We made that assumption.”
Shelley shrugged. "Well, Marge is now half owner of a big, run-down house."
“No, she isn't," Jane said. "She had every right
to
inherit from her husband. But he's dead and his parents aren't. That we know of.”
Shelley opened her eyes very wide. "Sam's death doubled John's inheritance, didn't it?"
“Unless they're planning to leave the whole bundle to an animal shelter," Jane said wryly.
“They could be very, very rich," Shelley said after a moment's thought.
“And they're very, very old and frail," Jane added.
“Where's that deputy?" Shelley said. "We have to tell Sheriff Taylor about this."
“Just call the lodge," Jane said.
“Jane, you're
on
the phone line."
“Oh, right. Okay, I'll write down where I found this.”
She did so and logged off. Then she called the lodge and asked for Taylor. "We need to talk to you," she said.
“First thing in the morning, Mrs. Jeffry," he replied, sounding very tired.
“I–I think it should be now.”
There was a moment's silence before he said crisply, "I'll be right there.”
When he arrived, Shelley explained the background of their discovery while Jane booted up the computer again. "Eileen complained a lot about John and Sam's parents before all this happened. She said they lived in an old, falling-apart house that was for sale. We assumed it was a little house. Not that she actually said so. Then John Claypool told us that he wasn't an owner of the car dealership, only an employee—”
Taylor nodded. "He told me that, too."
“So we figured he had no financial interest in his brother's death—"
“Here it is," Jane said. "I'm afraid you'll have to sit on the floor to see this.”
Taylor wheezed as he sat down, and his knee popped when he tried to fold himself into a comfortable position. He read the real estate ad. "This belongs to John and Sam's parents?"
“It must. It's the right town and family name."
“And the only child left is John," Sheriff Taylor said, struggling to get back up. "I'll check this out tomorrow.”
Jane hadn't expected him to yodel or turn cartwheels, but she was disappointed in his matter-of-fact tone.
“But this is probably his motive," Jane said. "And he certainly had the opportunity. There's nobody to corroborate his story about taking a nap in the van.”
Taylor sat down on the edge of Shelley's bed, massaging his knee. "You could be right. But motiveisn't enough to convict. Any number of other people might have a motive that we either don't know about or wouldn't make sense to us. And nearly everybody here had the opportunity. You've seen the time schedule."
“But — he admitted he'd gone back to the campsite the night we found Sam's body," Shelley said.
Taylor put his hands out helplessly. "Doesn't mean anything. Not legally. Ladies, I appreciate this information. It may help. But I'm not making an arrest until I have some kind of proof.”
Jane shut down the computer. "Do you think we're right, though?”
He folded his arms, looked down at the floor, and nodded. "I've thought so from the minute we found the first body. Unofficially, I'm positive of it. But this is the first murder — the first and second — in the last twenty years in this county, and I'm not making a move until I'm sure I can get a conviction." He stood up and headed for the door. "Lock up carefully."
“He's right, you know," Shelley said when he'd gone. "John Claypool could be playing golf with D.J. next year if Taylor doesn't handle this extremely cautiously.”
Jane couldn't get to sleep.
She was about to drop off once when the smell of the dying embers of the fire took over her subconscious and she started half dreaming, half thinking about the huge wreck of a mansion burning down. Heart pounding, she got up and got a drink of water. Shelley mumbled in her sleep.
Jane went back to bed and minutes later was having another bad dream. She was walking in the woods around the camp, but everything had moved and changed. The Conference Center had turned into the Claypool mansion, with incongruous Spanish moss hanging from the trees in tatters. She tried to find the lodge. There were shuffling footsteps somewhere behind her. She'd be safe at the lodge, she thought. She could see lights in the distance and struggled through the underbrush, trying to get closer to them.
Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and found herself facing a huge falcon. Its eyes lit up like a Halloween pumpkin. She tried to turn and run, but her feet wouldn't move. The creature reached up with human hands and — horrors! — removed its own head and stuck it in her face.
Jane came suddenly awake, thrashing and trying to push the itchy, feathered monstrosity out of her face. Her watchband had caught in her hair and she pulled a chunk loose.