Fowl Prey (21 page)

“That's about the only way anybody could shut him up,” remarked Desiree, turning to Alabama. “How come nobody did it sooner?”

Judith continued in a matter-of-fact tone while avoiding Evelyn's gaze. “Spud might have been involved with Helen. At least a case could have been made for that as a
motive for getting rid of her. That same motive would apply to Evelyn as well. Again, Bob-o's silence could be bought with a bullet.”

Spud made a disparaging noise. “Helen was pretty as a picture, but she drank. Lips that touch liquor will never touch mine.” He jostled Evelyn's arm, spilling her diet soda on the rug. “Right, sweetie?”

“You better be,” murmured Evelyn, with a sidelong glance at Desiree's gimlet glass.

“As for Max,” Judith resumed, feeling very tired, “he might have wanted to stop making those payments to Bob-o. Or Maria, if she'd known, might have wanted him to quit throwing money down a rat hole. But in this instance, there was also the matter of the threatening letters which had been sent to Maria.”

Maria went pale and groped at her pearl and ruby choker. “Oh! But I thought you promised…”

Judith interrupted smoothly. “You thought I didn't realize that Doris wrote those notes? I didn't, at first. But it was the easiest thing in the world for her to say they'd suddenly appeared at the hotel desk or under the door. It was also a cinch for her to use the Clovia's master key to get into everybody's rooms. Even if she'd been caught, she could have come up with a plausible excuse. Of course, Doris had nothing incriminating to hold over you, Maria. But human nature being what it is, she calculated that the notes would upset you.”

Maria's white face flooded with relief. “They certainly did,” she acknowledged ruefully.

Judith's gaze flickered over Mildred, who was squirming next to Birdwell. “Somehow,” said Judith, “Doris got a gun. She arranged for Bob-o to meet her on the seventh floor at a specified time. She told Sybil she was going to the rest room, but of course she wasn't. She took the freight elevator, which is in that little alcove, and can't be seen from the desk, then she got out and waited for Bob-o. The passenger elevator door opened, and she shot him.” She paused, pressing her palms together, as if offering a
prayer for the late popcorn vendor's soul. She could only surmise that Mildred's anxious query about the hotel safe had been posed to Doris, who might have guessed there was something more sinister than Krugerrands in Suite 805. “Then,” Judith went on, “she used her master key to get into Birdwell's room and hide the gun outside the window in the ivy.”

“What?” Birdwell all but flew off the black divan. “
My
room?
My
window?
My
ivy?”

Judith noticed that Mildred was growing more distressed. “Doris had made sure the window would open easily beforehand. I assume she chose your window, Mr. de Smoot, just to throw suspicion around and confuse the issue. Then she probably took the freight elevator back down, maybe to the second floor, where she could walk the rest of the way and not be seen as easily coming from the guest rooms.”

Spud was scratching his head. “Where'd she get the gun in the first place? You can't buy one up here.”

It seemed to Judith that Mildred was about to faint. “Where and how she got it doesn't matter,” Judith said blithely. “If she intended to break the law by committing murder, then procuring an illegal handgun wouldn't bother her a bit. That,” said Judith pointedly, “was her downfall. People who thumb their noses at morality should learn to stop before it's too late.”

Judith couldn't be sure if her message had sunk in on Mildred, but the other woman's shrinking attitude indicated that perhaps it had at least made a dent. “Anyway,” Judith continued, “Renie and I found the gun.” This time she ignored Birdwell's expression of outrage. “Then it disappeared again. The leaves were blowing off the ivy during the storm. At this point, Doris might have wanted to plant the gun on Desiree. Or maybe she wanted it to defend herself. She realized the gun would be exposed by morning, took advantage of Birdwell's absence, and found it was already gone. She
must have panicked a bit, not knowing if the police had found it. She started checking the vacant rooms, maybe all of them, or perhaps she got lucky and went to ours first. But she made a special trip to do it. She was off duty that night, and claimed she came back to straighten out the payroll. But Brian said this morning that the staff hadn't been paid.”

Desiree motioned for Alabama to refill her glass, but he shook his head and handed her a smoked oyster instead. “Why did she pick on me?” Desiree demanded. “I hardly even spoke to the blasted woman.”

“She tried to spread the blame, but in your case, it was your hair,” said Judith. “Bob-o had taught Tootle those little rhymes. ‘Wearin' o' the green' indicated a redhead. You wear a lot of green, Desiree.” Judith saw Desiree look down at her blouse. “So, of course, did Doris. To add fuel to the fire, she swiped some of the decorations off your stage costumes and laid a false trail of glitter. But she couldn't be sure that Tootle wouldn't recite verses that might be more incriminating. So she strangled the parakeet, using another trip to the ladies' room as an alibi, or else slipping out in all the confusion after the police were called in. She'd probably finagled a key out of Bob-o which wouldn't have been too hard, given the fact that she was his wife. She also put your picture in the dumpster, to make it look as if you wanted to avoid any connection with Bob-o. And if anyone, such as Mrs. Wittelstein, had seen a tall redhead going into Bob-o's place, you would have fit the description perfectly, Desiree.”

“Aaaaargh!” moaned Desiree, clutching Alabama's arm for support. “Doris looked about as much like me as I look like a lamp-post! Hey, Birdbread, when you get your eyes examined, take Mrs. Wittelstein with you!”

Alabama, lost in thought, idly stroked his wife's hand. “What an irony, that except for Birdwell, none of us had
ever met Doris—ah, Sylvia.” He looked at Max. “Why didn't you meet her in court?”

Max glanced at Birdwell. “We only got to the deposition stage. Birdie handled all that.”

Alabama wasn't quite finished with his ruminations. “I have to admit, I never suspected her. She must have had a split personality.”

“What she had,” put in Max, “was professional training. She'd studied to be an actress. Isn't that true, Birdie?”

The little critic nodded unhappily. “She did indeed. But she was terrible. I wrote her up in a scathing review.”

“Is that how you met?” asked Renie, smearing caviar on a toast point.

Birdwell scowled. “No, no. That was on our honeymoon.”

Judith couldn't prop herself up any longer. She rose, gingerly stretching herself. “That's it. This morning, Max went to the bank and discovered that Robin and Doris O'Rourke had a joint account worth over a million dollars. Any withdrawal required both signatures. Bob-o, being a miser, wouldn't touch it. Doris had to get rid of him to get at the money. Because of the strike, the police had only been able to make a phone call so they hadn't actually seen the bank records. When Max made his discovery, he called the hotel to ask Maria to meet him downtown after he'd gone to police headquarters.”

“But I was out on the Esplanade, sitting on a bench, brooding,” Maria admitted with a little laugh.

Max, seeing how weary Judith had become, took up the tale: “I rang the desk, and told Doris I was at the Bank of Newfoundland, headed for the police station, and not to tell Maria if she saw her before I could call back. I didn't want to worry Maria, of course.” He gave his wife a tender look. “Doris's reaction was unexpected, to say
the least. She must have thought I was threatening her. It dawned on me that the Clovia's Doris and Doris O'Rourke were one and the same. I didn't want to confront her at the hotel, so I told her to meet me at the teahouse in Empress Park.”

“My reckless husband,” sighed Maria, glowing all over.

Max tipped his head to one side. “Just because she was married to Robin didn't mean she'd killed him. But Doris lost her head. She believed I knew everything. She told me right off she was Sylvia Finch-Pitkins. Then she drew her gun.” He bit his lips. “I'm sure she intended to use it.”

Maria gripped Max's arm tight. “Oh, my darling, how did you stop her? I still can't take it all in!”

Max caressed her long fingers. “We were standing by the wishing well behind the teahouse. I jumped her—it was risky, but I had to do it. We struggled; I scraped my hands on the rough stones. The gun fell down the well. Someday, maybe, if the police ever settle this strike, they'll find it. Then again, maybe they won't bother.”

This time, Judith definitely noticed relief flood Mildred's face. But it was Evelyn who spoke:

“Somebody said she'd quit her job. That was a ruse, I take it. Was she going to run away?”

Judith was walking up and down in the open space between the baby grand piano and the semicircle of chairs and sofas. “Yes. I'm sure she thought I was on to her when I asked a dumb question about ducks and drakes. She choked on her coffee. I just thought she was reacting to my inanity. Then the call came through from Max. She must have been convinced the net was closing over her from all directions. I suppose she figured she could get at the money later.”

“But,” said Evelyn with a shudder, “she killed herself instead.”

A silence followed, broken only by a rap on the door.
“Oh!” exclaimed Maria, “it must be that poor old man to get our luggage. Or that nice young one.”

It was neither. There were indeed two men framed in the doorway. One of them was Angus MacKenzie. The other was Joe Flynn.

J
UDITH HAD NO
trouble closing her suitcase for the return journey. Not only was there no wayward cat to contend with, but it seemed that half her wardrobe was in the laundry bag. So was much of Renie's, though for a vastly different reason. Bringing her luggage out into the sitting room, she took one last look around their quarters at the Clovia.

“Except for a corpse in the elevator and a homicidal desk clerk, I really like this place,” said Judith. “Someday, I want to come back.”

Angus MacKenzie was fingering his battered hat and looking pensive. “You're more than welcome. In fact, I'm thinking of offering you a job.” He glanced at Joe, who was standing by the window, admiring the view of the now fogless bay. “Unless, of course, you Yanks have already signed her up.”

Joe's expression was ambiguous. “It's on my agenda.” He was looking much the same as when Judith had seen him in August, except perhaps a little trimmer around the middle and more rested. His red
hair had a few strands of gray, especially at the temples, and his green eyes, with those dancing gold flecks, were as mesmerizing as ever. “Magic eyes,” Judith had always called them. The spell they'd cast over her twenty-five years ago had never been lifted.

MacKenzie looked faintly bemused, as if he didn't know quite what to make of Joe's reply. Judith thought she did, and suddenly felt giddy. Renie didn't hear the remark, being preoccupied with her concealment of Bill's Cuban cigars in the Royal Doulton teapot she'd bought for her mother as a Christmas gift.

“You gave Mrs. McMonigle quite a lot of help with your information out of London,” MacKenzie was saying. “I take it you've known each other a long time, eh?”

Joe's round face was wearing its most ingenuous expression. “We go way back. I coached her field hockey team. She played under me for a couple of years.”

Judith tried to suppress the choking fit that overcame her. The provocative remark had caught Renie's attention, spinning her around to give Judith a stupefied look. But Angus MacKenzie seemed to take Joe's words at face value.

“Mrs. McMonigle isn't the only one who appreciates your help,” he said. “We're so shorthanded that it would have taken us several days to get around to making those overseas contacts. I hope your department paid for the calls.”

“They're covered,” Joe replied casually. “Frankly,” he went on, now sounding more like a policeman and less like a rogue, “I couldn't see how all that old background would be much use.”

Judith had more or less recovered. At least she'd fought back the urge to choke, though she was still tempted to strangle Joe. “It was the part about Helen's accident that gave me a lot of ideas. I must write to Paul and thank him especially for taking the trouble to contact Scotland Yard.”

Joe looked blank, hands shoved in the pockets of his carefully tailored gray slacks. “Scotland Yard? What are
you talking about? Paul didn't contact anybody at the Yard.”

Puzzled, Judith stared at Joe. “I'm referring to your off-the-record remarks about Bob-o suspecting that…Wait a minute, where's that fax?” She dug into her purse and produced the now-wrinkled document. “Here, see for yourself, the part that begins, ‘Judith: Here's a bit of information that might be of help.'”

Joe, with MacKenzie leaning over his shoulder, read through the message. “Hell, I didn't give you this stuff! All I sent was this first part, the data on Robin O'Rourke and a couple of sentences about his daughter, Helen.”

The cousins and the policemen all looked at each other with curious expressions. It was Joe who spoke up: “Who actually received the fax at the hotel?”

Judith let out a little groan. “Doris. She must have added all that stuff about Helen's death just to make us think there was something fishy. And,” she noted with irritation, “it worked.” She tapped the fax with her finger. “I should have known better. You wouldn't have called me ‘Judith'. You'd have said—ugh—‘Jude-girl.'”

“Of course I would,” Joe replied easily. “Since when did I do otherwise?” He caught her aggravated glance, and held it with those magic eyes.

“Rats!” Judith turned away, crumpling up the fax. She started to pitch it at the fireplace, then changed her mind. “Here,” she said to MacKenzie, “keep this, if for no other reason than it lifts any cloud hovering over Helen's demise. No wonder everybody I talked to insisted it was an accident! It was. I'm surprised the Sacred Eight didn't jump me for assigning them motives which never existed.”

“By then,” said Renie, “they were too relieved to have everything over and done with. For all you know, Bob-o might have suspected foul play. Didn't Mrs. Wittelstein say he yapped a lot about ghosts and cowards and all sorts of things in connection with Helen's death?”

Judith grimaced. “That's right. She did. That's odd.”
Her face worked in cogitation, then she broke into a grin. “No, it's not odd! It's just show biz! Spud was directing Desiree in
Blithe Spirit
, remember? Noel Coward, right?” Judith struck a triumphant pose.

Joe gave Judith a nod of approval. “Clever girl. I still like the part about the ducks.”

Judith was gathering up her shopping bags, allowing Joe and MacKenzie to carry their suitcases. “It came to me in a flash. Of course I didn't know Doris's last name was Teel until this morning when Sybil mentioned it. But that was just after Doris had blown a gasket when I asked her about ‘ducks and drakes.' Earlier, Renie had said something in the cab about ‘fowl.' Finally, along came that pair of teals, waddling out of the fog, just like a dream. It's a good thing they weren't mallards.”

“They usually are,” said MacKenzie as they approached the elevator. Birdwell and Mildred were already there, waiting for the car to come up from the lobby.

“I'm going to write a book.” Birdwell declared, as if the others had come out into the hall for the sole purpose of hearing his announcement. “
I Married a Murderess
. No, no, that's too sensational.
Who Is Sylvia?
No, that's been done.” He turned to MacKenzie. “It's too bad you didn't get to arrest her. If she'd gone to the electric chair, I could call it
Roast Duck
.”

“We don't have capital punishment,” MacKenzie said, more gloomy than usual.

The elevator arrived. Joe scanned it with a professional eye. “It was a cunning plan. She didn't even have to get in, so she could avoid leaving any trace of personal evidence.” He turned to MacKenzie as they all crowded inside. “Do you have any idea where she got the gun?”

MacKenzie looked straight ahead as the doors rattled shut. Judith felt Mildred tense at her side. “Not a clue,” said MacKenzie solemnly.

“I'm going to economize,” Mildred suddenly said, seemingly apropos of nothing. “This trip has made me realize I'm not living strictly within my income.”

“Good for you, Mildred,” said Judith, making an attempt to pat the other woman's arm. “Where will you start? I wouldn't advise investing in Krugerrands. Their sale in the United States was outlawed in 1988.”

Mildred blushed and giggled. “It's a good thing I don't have any,” she replied, ignoring Birdwell's puzzled glance. “I'm starting to conserve right away, by driving Birdwell to meet his train. As a thank-you, he's very generously offered to take me to San Francisco with him for a few days. Mr. Rothside said I could use a little time off after all this stress.” She craned her neck to look at Birdwell, who was humming to himself. “We could save even more money by driving all the way down the coast. Then we could stop off in Sweet Home, and you could meet Mother, Birdie.”

Birdwell did not appear to be wildly enthused about being introduced to Mildred's mother. On the other hand, he didn't take off on one of his customary tirades. Judith found his attitude promising. The elevator jolted to a stop. Sybil was at the desk, looking healthier and heartier than usual.

“I've been given Doris's job!” Sybil exclaimed under her breath to Judith and Renie. “Isn't it lucky she turned out to be a killer?”

“It's…wonderful,” Judith replied, groping for the proper adjective.

Maria was crossing the lobby, swathed once again in her sable. Max stood by the main entrance, apparently waiting for their cab. “You're not paying for your room,” Maria asserted, taking Judith's hands. “Not after all you've done. Max and I—and the others—will never forget it!” She enfolded Judith in her arms, then whispered rapid-fire words: “I'm going to tell Max the truth. I think. Bless you.”

Maria stepped back, smiling with a bit more confidence than usual. At the main door, Max was doffing his fedora and signaling that their taxi had pulled up. Lui scurried across the lobby to help them with their luggage.

“Where's your car?” Judith asked Joe as they headed for the parking garage.

“Downtown at headquarters,” Joe replied, avoiding her gaze.

Judith gave him an inquiring look. “When are you heading back? We're going to stop in Three Rivers for dinner at Pie-Oh-My!. You could meet us there.”

“I can't.” Joe plucked a piece of lint from his navy blazer. He glanced at MacKenzie, then turned to Judith as they reached her car. “I've had some experience with labor negotiations over the years. Since I've got the week off with nothing else to do, I decided to offer my services to MacKenzie as a gesture of international cooperation. I'm staying over for a few days. I'll meet with one of the guild representatives tomorrow. It isn't a holiday here.”

Judith's black eyes narrowed in anger. She had assumed that Joe had traveled the one hundred twenty miles for the sole purpose of lending her moral support. Or something. She could hardly believe that he'd use his hard-earned—and rare—time off to volunteer his expertise in a labor dispute on the other side of the border. Then she saw the hint of the little lost boy that still resided somewhere deep inside Joe Flynn, even at the half-century mark.

“You can eat Thanksgiving dinner with us,” she blurted.

But Joe gave her his half smile, and shook his head. “No, I can't. Gertrude would see to it that the turkey wasn't the only thing getting stuffed.”

Judith considered, while Renie twitched anxiously, waiting for the trunk to be opened so that she could safely stash her illegal loot. “The keys, coz,” murmured Renie.

Judith handed them over to Renie, but kept her eyes on Joe. “It's holiday time. Mother will be ticked off, but she won't physically harm you. I promise.”

Joe was dubious. “My job's dangerous enough, but it's never prepared me for coping with Gertrude,” he said with a grimace. “Give me a good old serial killer every
time. I'll bet she even threw the hibiscus I sent her into the garbage.”

“You sent that plant?” Judith laughed. “Oh, dear! That's funny!” Suddenly she sobered. “Oh! I don't want to leave those flowers you had delivered to the hotel. Maybe I can get Brian to bring them down.”

But MacKenzie was dolefully shaking his head. “Sorry, fruit and flowers and such can't be transported across the border. Apple maggot quarantine and all that.”

Judith looked momentarily crestfallen, even as MacKenzie lifted Renie's suitcase into the trunk. “Well, have them sent down to Sybil as a present on her promotion,” said Judith.

“A nice idea,” agreed MacKenzie, then peered more closely into the trunk. “What's this?” he inquired, holding up a clump of sod.

Renie jumped. “Nothing! I'm under my legal limit of purchases! We were here three days! I only bought cheap stuff! I never buy Cuban cigars!”

But MacKenzie was lifting the lid of the shoe box. “Dahlias? Peonies? Begonias?” He poked about among the tubers. “Oh, my, you shouldn't be carting this sort of thing across the border.” He cocked his head at Judith. “Why
are
you hauling them about in your car, eh?”

Judith leaned on the roof of her blue compact. “It's a long story.” She shot a look at Joe. “It all began when I was playing field hockey under Lieutenant Flynn. I got ejected from the game.” She saw Joe actually blush, and turned her gaze back to MacKenzie. “Let's just say that you ought to post a travel advisory that reads as follows: ‘Do not attempt to bring live plants or dead husbands into Canada.'”

 

Begonia tubers, Cuban cigars and all, the cousins were back in the States an hour later. Traffic had been heavy at the border, due to the American holiday coming up. Harried U.S. Customs and Immigration officers waved on all but the most suspicious-looking types, mainly from
Southern California. Thanks to Angus MacKenzie's decision to overlook Judith and Renie's peccadilloes, they were home free. Or at least headed in that direction.

“Do you think he'll come?” Renie asked Judith from out of nowhere.

Judith knew what her cousin meant. “No.” She kept her eyes on the crowded freeway, the waning sun striking the left-hand side of the windshield. “I'm still not sure why he came up to Port Royal in the first place.”

“Maybe he thought you were in danger,” Renie suggested. When Judith didn't reply, she changed the subject. “Tell me,” she inquired as they wound through the dense forests that formed the foothills of the great mountain range to the east, “how did you really figure out it was Doris? Was it her unprofessional manner in hanging up on a guest, or getting our reservation screwed up in the first place?”

Judith gave Renie a sly, sidelong glance as she clicked on the turn signal for their exit to Three Rivers. “Alabama asked me the same thing, being deep into character analysis,” said Judith. “I told him what I intended to tell CLIP-TV, had they asked me. Which,” she added, slowing the car down to forty miles per hour on the off ramp, “they thankfully did not.”