Crossing The Lion Part 27

"Given the state he was in, it's not surprising that he also began to mistrust the servants. Even Cook, who had been loyal to him and this entire family forever. I know she thought the world of him. I'm embarra.s.sed to admit that I've even thought at times that she had a crush on him."

"Charlotte, did Linus also begin doing things that were ... strange?" I asked cautiously.

"What do you mean?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

I hesitated, wondering how much to reveal about all the papers Nick and I had found stuffed inside the suit of armor--including legal doc.u.ments.

But it didn't take me long to decide that I had nothing to lose. "I understand your neighbors initiated a lawsuit over something he put on the balcony of your apartment in the city."

"Oh, dear," Charlotte said, her face crumpling. "That ... that contraption he built last winter. It was a monstrosity he constructed out of cardboard and coat hangers and aluminum foil. He was convinced it would help keep away the evil forces that were after him.

"I tried every way I could think of to make him understand that what he was doing made no sense. But logic didn't mean much to him over this last year or so." Raising her eyes to meet mine, she said, "The man suffered, Jessica. He was so terrified. It was horrible to witness."

The more I listened to Charlotte describe what Linus's final days had been like, the more compa.s.sion I felt. Not only for Linus but also for her. Charlotte had watched the man who was the center of her world, someone she had loved and shared nearly her entire adult life with, fade away before her eyes.

"Then there were the physical changes," she went on. "He lost the ability to take care of himself in even the simplest of ways. I was afraid that if I brought him to a hospital, he'd be forced to live in a horrible state for a long time. He couldn't stand to be reduced to such humiliation."

"It must have been awful for you," I said, sincerely sympathetic.

"It was," she said sadly. "But it was even worse for poor Linus. He became someone else--or, even worse, nothing more than a sh.e.l.l. He was frightened and unhappy all the time. No one should have to experience what that man experienced. No one. Which is why someone had to do something to help him."

I froze. Those words--and the way she said them--shot through me like an electric shock.

Suddenly everything was clear.

"You killed him, didn't you?" I asked calmly.

For a few seconds, she simply stared at me.

"You have to understand," Charlotte finally replied, "that he wasn't Linus Merrywood anymore. He was already gone."

"She loved him," another voice interjected.

Startled, I looked up and saw that Missy had appeared in the doorway of the boathouse.

"Mother thought the world of him," she continued. "She couldn't bear to watch him suffer."

"You knew about this?" I asked, surprised.

Missy nodded. "Mother and Daddy had a relationship that was truly special. They were practically the same person. The two of them adored each other. In fact, I don't know how she's going to manage without him."

She kept me fixed in an intense gaze for what seemed like a very long time before she said, "Whatever she did, it was only because she loved him so much. She couldn't bear to see him in such agony."

Turning to her mother, Missy said, "Why don't you give me that silly dagger, Mummy? Surely you didn't expect to use such an ancient thing, did you?"

"I don't know what I was thinking," Charlotte said, looking distraught. "I just need everyone to understand."

"Jessie understands," Missy a.s.sured her in a soothing voice. "And we can trust her, Mummy. She's not any danger to us. She's not going to say a word."

Meekly, Charlotte handed the dagger to her daughter.

I held my breath, afraid that Missy might change her mind. For all I knew, she could impulsively decide she needed to do what she believed her mother was incapable of doing.

But I started to breathe again when she leaned over and put the dagger in the corner, out of her reach as well as her mother's.

When she stood up straight again, she turned to face me.

"I finally figured out what you were up to, Jessie," Missy said in a low, even voice. "All those questions you were asking, those private conversations you held with every member of the household ... I tried to discourage you. That's why I wrote that ridiculous note on the wall, hoping you'd get the hint.

"I know that didn't dissuade you, but I think you understand now," she went on, studying me anxiously. "And I'm right, aren't I, Jessie? About Mummy and me being able to trust that you're not going to tell anyone?"

"A nice hot cup of tea--that's what you need," Margaret insisted.

I had to agree. Since I hadn't been wearing a jacket or gloves when I'd followed the yellow brick pa.s.sageway out to the boathouse, I was chilled to the bone.

It was a relief to come back into the house with Charlotte and Missy, the three of us talking loudly about the quick tour of the grounds we were all pretending we'd just taken. Missy had made a beeline for the dining room to let Max and Lou out and put everything back in order, and Charlotte had retreated to her bedroom.

I, meanwhile, headed into the kitchen to find a way to warm up my insides, now that my outsides were coming out of the deep freeze. I also needed time to think about the morning's events.

The cup of Earl Grey went a long way in warming me up. After Margaret had set me up with an entire pot of tea and toddled off to let me recover on my own, I eagerly slurped it down, marveling over its effectiveness. In fact, I'd pretty much shaken off the chill and was deep in thought about what I'd learned in the boathouse when I felt a warm, comforting hand on my shoulder. I also heard the tip-tip-tip of paws against the kitchen floor.

"There you are," Nick said, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek. "When I woke up and found that you were gone again, I didn't know what to think."

Both Max and Lou seemed ecstatic to see me, almost as happy as I was to be reunited with them. Max jumped up and gently placed his paws on my thigh, craning his furry white neck in an attempt to cover my face with sloppy, wet dog kisses. Lou staked his claim on my other thigh, resting his chin on it and gazing up at me adoringly. His tail was in high gear, making me glad there were no antiques in the vicinity.

As the dogs settled beside me, one on each side, Nick plopped down in the seat next to mine. Reaching for my hand, he asked earnestly, "So tell me: What have you been up to?"

"What makes you think I've been up to anything?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

"The look on your face," he replied without missing a beat. "I can read you like a book, Jess, and from what I can see you've been up to plenty."

I was still trying to come up with a creative explanation when I was saved by the bell--the doorbell, in fact, its chime echoing through the otherwise silent house.

"Falcone," Nick said, stating the obvious.

My feeling of dread about his arrival on the scene was even greater than it usually was.

Less than two minutes pa.s.sed before Margaret reappeared. "Sorry to interrupt the two of you," she said, "but that detective is back again--and he wants to talk to you, Jessie."

I rose from the table with Max and Lou flanking me like the Secret Service, and Nick close behind. As soon as my entourage and I stepped into the hallway, I spotted Lieutenant Falcone standing by the door.

He was bent over, pulling a pair of rubber boots off his shoes. For balance, he was holding onto the suit of armor, clinging to the knight's shoulder as if he was a close friend. He was also muttering to himself, no doubt taking it personally that the rain still hadn't let up.

"Lieutenant Falcone!" I greeted him heartily, trying to hide my nervousness.

He nodded at me, then Nick, peering at us both with his dark, piercing eyes. "Sounds like you had some excitement around here this morning. I understand a coupla the people I tol' not to leave the island didn't take me seriously."

"Gwennie and Jonathan," I agreed, nodding. "I found them heading to the dock early this morning with their clothes and their pa.s.sports."

"Seems to me that doesn't do much for their claim that they had nothing to do with Linus's murder," Nick commented.

"I'll question them again, but I still got nothin' on 'em," Falcone said with an air of resignation. "No hard evidence, not on those two or any of the other suspects."

Turning to me, he said, "What about you, Docta Poppa?" he asked. "Did you get anywhere with figurin' out who killed Linus Merrywood?"

I remained silent. I could feel Nick's eyes on me, as if he, too, was eagerly awaiting my answer. But I wasn't just stalling. I was giving the question serious thought.

Ever since my encounter with Charlotte and Missy in the boathouse, I'd been dreading this moment. There was a part of me that was anxious to show Falcone the stuff I was made of. That part wanted to reply with a resounding yes, then launch into all the details.

Yet there was also another part of me that wasn't prepared to turn Charlotte in. I had lots of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that even imagining her spending the rest of her life in prison was horrifying.

But that wasn't the real issue. I believed in my heart that she had not committed cold-blooded murder. She had loved Linus with all her heart, which was the only reason she had done it.

As I replayed in my mind the conversation she and I had in the boathouse, I realized that, when you came right down to it, I didn't know for sure that Charlotte had killed her husband. Not really. After all, she hadn't actually admitted to anything. She certainly hadn't come out and said that she was the one who'd brought a birthday cake into the house that was made with the one ingredient that was guaranteed to put an end to her husband's life.

And I couldn't rule out Missy as the murderer. After all, she, like Charlotte, had been torn apart by what was happening to Linus. And while she was a far cry from Betty Crocker, I remembered her mentioning that when she was a Brownie, Cook had taught her and the rest of her scout troop how to bake. It was possible that she had whipped up two egg-laden chocolate cake layers in her kitchen at home, then brought them with her to Solitude Island. Or perhaps she'd simply brought two ready-made layers of chocolate cake to Solitude Island after picking them up at a bakery or supermarket on Long Island.

If either of those scenarios had occurred, Missy's reasons could have been merciful. Like her mother, she could have wanted to put an end to Linus's suffering. Then again, she could have done it for some entirely different reason. Maybe Charlotte was protecting her daughter.

The bottom line was that neither woman had confessed. And I had no other proof.

My silence lasted long enough that Falcone opened his mouth one more time, as if to remind me that he didn't have all day, or something along those lines.

But before he had a chance to speak, I looked him in the eye and said, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Falcone, but, no, I didn't."

Beside me, Nick exhaled, making me realize he'd been holding his breath.

As for Falcone, his response was a smirk. "So, Docta Poppa, this turned out to be one case even you couldn't figure out."

"I'm afraid you're right."

He sighed. "Too bad. You were kinda my last hope, believe it or not. I've been in this business long enough to know that this is one of those difficult cases that has too many suspects and not enough hard evidence. It's possible that even if I put my best people on it, we'll never get to the bottom of this."

"I guess sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles," I said with a shrug.

He looked at me with his beady little eyes. Somehow, I got the feeling he could see right through me.

But I did a pretty good job of staring right back.

The sound of footsteps finally caused me to turn. Betty and Winston came into the hall, their faces tight.

"Jessica, is everything all right?" Betty asked.

"Everything's fine," I a.s.sured her. "Lieutenant Falcone just stopped by to make a routine call."

"Yeah, I was hopin' our little amateur sleuth here would have cracked the case," he told them. "But I'm afraid she let us down."

There was that smirk again, the one that usually made my blood boil. For some reason, it didn't bother me in the least this time.

"Now, if you'll all excuse me," he said disdainfully, "I'm gonna take a look around."

I waited until he'd walked off before turning to Betty and Winston.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you," I told them.

Betty grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. "Jessica, you could never disappoint me."

"Hear, hear," Winston seconded. "You know we both think the world of you, Jessica."

I squeezed Betty's hand in return. "I think it's time we packed up our things and went back to our own lives," I said. "The best thing we can do at this point is to leave this family alone to mourn."

The other three nodded, all of them muttering their agreement.

Even though I was suddenly overcome with a desire to go home, I lingered in the hallway for a few more seconds. I studied Betty and Winston's faces, then fixed my eyes on two of the members of my beloved menagerie, Max and Lou. Finally I focused on Nick, trying to freeze this moment in my mind and hold on to it as something to cherish forever.

It really was time for all of us to get back to our own lives. And I was looking forward to sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner in a few days with this family of mine, one that consisted of dear friends and beloved animals and most of all a man I truly loved. After all, I knew that I had plenty to be grateful for.

Crossing the Lion is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fict.i.tiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Also by Cynthia Baxter.

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