Deader Homes and Gardens Part 9

"I'm sure they have. In any case, he didn't spike the vodka with some caustic cleaning solution; the symptoms would have been immediate and obvious. An overdose of a prescription medication takes time to get into the system. The poison was strong, obviously. The lab will identify it sooner or later."

"I've tried my best to figure out who might have had a motive to kill Terry." She held up her palms before I could launch into a tirade. "Yes, you're convinced that everyone out here is so fixated on keeping Hollow Valley in the family that we were lined up at his front door, each with a weapon."

"Why else would someone kill Terry-and Winston? Did either of them express any interest in the nursery business? Did they expect a share of the profits? They must have been in good financial shape to remodel the house with such style. I can't picture them in overalls, with dirty fingernails."

Nattie smiled. "They weren't good ol' country boys. When Winston's parents died, he signed over his interest in the Hollow Valley Nursery to the corporation. He said that he didn't want any responsibility or liability. The nursery's profitable, but a percentage goes to maintaining stock, and the remaining profit's split four ways. Jordan's father sold his interest to the corporation about five years ago."

"Why?" I asked.

She glanced over her shoulder, then said in a low voice, "A midlife crisis named Chiffon. Jordan's mother said that she'd accept either a divorce or a six-bedroom villa in Aruba. Jordan says it has a wonderful view of the beach."

My head was beginning to ache. I put down the gla.s.s and said, "I need to go home and feign sympathy for my daughter, who has a sunburn."

Nattie stood up to give me a hug. "I'm really sorry about the house, Claire. I know how much you wanted it, and I was looking forward to having someone remotely sane to talk to. I loved it out here, but now it feels ... well, menacing. Someone murdered Terry. I don't see how it could be a random sociopath." She gave me a heartrending look. "What do I do, Claire?"

"Let the police investigate before you do anything," I said. "There may be some screwy explanation that we haven't begun to consider." I didn't add that I intended to consider every last screwy explanation, including aliens, delivery truck drivers, and treacherous cave-dwelling mutants from the family tree. I told her that I would keep her informed about the police investigation and went to my car. When I reached the driveway that led to what should have been my house, I couldn't stop myself from turning. If I found a way to get inside, it was not likely that I'd find a confession on the kitchen island. I could, however, take a quick look in the desk.

Dusk was settling in as I got out of the car. I was on my way to the porch when I heard an outraged screech.

8.

I did not go thundering around the corner of the house to rescue some hapless female from the jaws of a bear, nor did I bust through the front door to find an ax before I thundered around the corner of the house to rescue any hapless body. I took the wiser course and stopped where I was. The second screech was more of a yelp. Biting down on my lower lip, I cautiously headed for the back of the house. I heard frantic whispers and splashes. I regret to say that I recognized the voices, so instead of dialing nine-one-one to report a burglary in progress, I merely stepped into sight and said, "What are you two doing here?"

Caron, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, was treading water in the middle of the pool. Inez clutched a long pole with a flat basket on one end. Neither seemed eager to answer me. "Well?" I said.

"Swimming," Caron said blithely. "Does it look like I'm riding a bicycle?"

Inez held up the pole. "This is in case Caron gets a cramp and I have to pull her out of the water before she drowns. We ate hamburgers on the drive. My mother always makes me wait for an hour before I go in the water."

I wanted to take the pole and bop Caron on the head. "Swimming while fully dressed? Isn't it a bit c.u.mbersome? Inez, put down that thing before you poke yourself in the eye." I watched Caron as she swam to a ladder and pulled herself up. "Let me try again. What are you two doing here?"

Caron shook herself like a wet dog and then meticulously fluffed her hair with her fingers while she concocted a plausible story. She has a talent for mendacity that has been honed since the day she filched her first teething biscuit. "I don't see what the big deal is," she began. "I mean, what are you doing here? Aren't you trespa.s.sing?"

"That's the best you can do?" I asked. "Were you and Inez stalking a unicorn when you lost your balance?"

"It wasn't a unicorn," Inez said.

"My mother was being facetious, for pity's sake," Caron said to her. "At least I hope she was." She blinked at me. "You have been acting Quite Odd. Is there something you need to tell me? Does it have anything to do with Peter? You can't divorce him, Mother. He promised me a new car next June, a convertible if I want. All you'd give me is that pathetic thing you drive." She buried her face in her hands as though overwhelmed with grief. Her shoulders actually trembled.

"I was thinking about a used bicycle and a helmet. You'll get to select the color."

Caron flopped down on a chaise. "Inez told me how really cool the house is, so we came here so I could see it. It really is cool. It's kind of far, but if I get the car this summer instead of waiting, I won't care that it takes At Least twenty minutes."

"Which isn't that bad," Inez said, "if you take into consideration the fact that the average commute time for New York City is thirty minutes. In Los Angeles, commuters spend an average of seventy-two hours stuck in traffic every year."

I looked at her for a moment, then at Caron. "There's a problem, dear. We can't have the house. The t.i.tle is unresolved, but it belonged to either Winston or Terry. Sadly, neither of them can sell or even lease it to us. Winston died three months ago, and Terry died this afternoon." I turned back at Inez, whose eyes were wide. "I'm sorry. I know you liked him. He lapsed into a coma and never came out of it."

Caron stood up. "What do you mean we can't have the house? Just buy it from whoever inherited it from whoever owned it. Did you see the size of the closet? I could hide a dozen unicorns in there! And the shower has so many faucets that I'll never figure out how to turn them all on at the same time. You never let a murder get in your way. How many hours till Peter gets back? We need to solve this before he starts ordering you to stop meddling."

"I think we should make a list," Inez said. "We can have two columns-one for the improbable suspects and another for the probable ones. Then we can categorize them by motive and opportunity, and rank them accordingly."

I sighed. "We are not going to use the Dewey Decimal System to solve this, Inez. These people aren't that obliging. Inez, did you tell Caron about Jordan?"

"She sounds egotistical and immature," Caron opined with a sniff. "She's probably in one of those gangs where everybody has the same tattoo. She wasn't here in March when this Winston person drowned. I see no reason to waste time on her."

"She's kind of interesting," Inez countered meekly. "She plays guitar in an all-girls band."

"For all I care, she can play the oboe with her toes."

"You can't even play solitaire without cheating."

"I can count to ten on my fingers."

"Sometimes, if you're lucky."

I intervened before the inane spat escalated. "There's no point in sitting here, debating digital prowess. I didn't see your car when I arrived. Where did you park it?"

"At the edge of the front yard, behind some trees," Caron said. "I figured you'd be lurking around out here. All I wanted to do was have a quick look at the house."

"Why did you jump in the pool with your clothes on?"

She averted her eyes. "I slipped."

"Yeah," said Inez. "You about jumped out of your skin when you saw that creepy old guy and fell over backward. I guess that's like slipping."

"Moses?" I asked Inez. When she looked blank, I added, "The bald man who was here this morning."

"This morning? Who are you talking about, Ms. Malloy? Jordan was here, and then Terry arrived. You and he went inside to talk. After that, there were the paramedics and the two police officers. I'd never seen the old guy until a few minutes ago."

Moses was beginning to seriously annoy me. I would have questioned my sanity had not Nattie seen him, too. His corporeal subsistence did not seem to interfere with his ability to vanish when it suited him. "You both saw him, right? Where is he now?"

"Inside," Caron said. "He sort of popped out of nowhere and scuttled into the house like a hermit crab. Inez and I were going to find him as soon as I recovered from my shock. My heart is still pounding, and I feel weak."

"Put your head between your toes," I said as I headed for the French doors. Moses was not in the living room, nor was he in the kitchen, the master suite, or the delectable library. As I went upstairs, I heard a shower running. This presented a dilemma: I wanted to find Moses, but I most a.s.suredly did not want to find Moses-in-the-raw. My mind recoiled from the involuntary image. I ascertained that he was in what Caron claimed was her bathroom. A pair of trousers and a short-sleeved shirt were piled next to the bed. This implied that when he emerged from the bathroom, he would be wearing a towel-or not.

I went downstairs at a brisk clip. Caron and Inez were poking around the kitchen cabinets, commenting on the alphabetized spice bottles and the obscure gourmet accoutrements. "He's taking a shower," I told them. "You need to run along before he comes down to give you big, fat, s...o...b..ry kisses. He's very affectionate."

Caron slammed a cabinet door. "Let's go, Inez. I can't wait to tell Joel about all of this. It is such a hoot." Inez shrugged and put down what appeared to be olive tongs.

I walked with them to the front door. "One question before you leave. Did Moses use a key to get inside?"

Inez shook her head. "He came out of the orchard, singing a crazy song like he was drunk. When he saw us, he shouted something and then just went inside. That's when Caron ... slipped."

I waited on the porch until they left in Caron's car. It was tempting to follow them, but I squared my shoulders and went back inside to wait for Moses. I busied myself turning on lights and opening stray drawers. I wanted to search the library, but I didn't want Moses to amble out the French doors before I talked to him. It was well past my dinner hour, and I couldn't remember if I'd eaten lunch. I found the half-wheel of Brie in the refrigerator and a box of crackers on a counter.

I perched on a stool and began to eat. Eventually, I heard a door open in the room above me, followed by a series of thumps. Moses might be an expert in the gentle art of picking locks, but it sounded as though he were less adept at putting on his trousers. When I heard his footstep in the foyer, I called, "Moses, come join me for a snack."

"Snick-snack, paddywack," he said cheerfully as he materialized in the kitchen doorway. "Shall we have a little snort?"

"Help yourself. It might be prudent to stick to unopened bottles. You saw what happened to Terry."

"d.a.m.n shame." Moses ducked behind the counter and reappeared with a bottle of peppermint schnapps. He smacked his lips as he wiggled out the cork and poured several ounces into a gla.s.s. "Want some?" he asked as he lunged for the cracker box. "It'll put some pep in your schnapps, that's for sure."

I shoved the box within his reach. "I saw you here this morning when the paramedics and police arrived."

"Nothing like a grand brouhaha to get the juices flowing. Yep, I saw it all. I was in the orchard when that pretty little miss with the spectacles walked down to the stream. She was talking to herself something fierce. Then along skulks Jordan, acting like she was a Russian spy. I was hoping to see a real hissy fight, but they went across the stream and into the woods. I thought real hard about following them."

"Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to get briars all over my britches. Nattie doesn't like to pluck 'em off before she does laundry." He took a gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "The other reason I didn't go after them was that I wanted to have a word with Terry when he got back from wherever he went. Turns out I was too late. Too late for a date, too late for Miss Prissy. She said if she caught me inside this house she was gonna get me in trouble. I reckon at my age there ain't no trouble I haven't already been in-up to my neck. I can't recall the number of nights I spent in jails over the years. When I wasn't but thirteen, I got caught stealing a pack of cigarettes at the general store. If the doctor hadn't made me swear I'd give up smoking, I'd be smoking three packs a day."

I tried not to smile. "You might be surprised at the cost these days. One of my friends had a fit when the price for a pack topped six dollars. After she calculated that one pack a day would cost nearly two hundred dollars a month, she quit cold turkey."

Moses chortled. "Wouldn't cost me a dime a month. Did you see any cookies in a cabinet? Peppermint schnapps always gives me an itch for chocolate chips."

"I'll try to find a box if you answer my question. Who's Miss Prissy?"

"Don't know her right name. You're the one who ought to be answering my questions. Who's Miss Prissy?"

He knew the names of all the distaff members of the Hollow family. Caron and Inez had not said a word to him. "This woman drives a silver SUV, right?" I asked him. "She has short, dark hair and carries a leather briefcase. Angela Delmond is the real estate agent who showed me this house earlier in the week. Do you know where she is?"

"No," Moses whispered, staring at me. "Where is she?"

He was more than seriously annoying, I thought as I cut a sliver of cheese. He was extremely annoying-and then some. There was something cagey about him. Interspersed with his seemingly random remarks were nuggets of truthfulness. All I needed to do was identify them. "You said that Miss Prissy, also known as Angela, warned you not to come inside. When did she do that?"

"Morning, noon, and night. She's a tough little broad, a real spitfire. One time she bristled like a darn hedgehog. I laughed so hard that I split my britches. Nattie st.i.tched them up, but she was testy for a week. I told her that she was being stupid, since I have enough money in the bank to buy a rack of trousers. I reckon I could have more shoes than Winston and Terry had in their closet, and lemme tell you, their shoes didn't come from a discount store. What's more, they had so many silk ties that they could wear different ones every day of the month."

"You were in their closet?"

"Are you accusing me of something?" His hand clasped the neck of the liqueur bottle.

"No," I said, "and let go of that before you knock it over. Did you run into Angela when she came here to visit Winston and Terry?"

"Did I run into her or did I run over her? I may not be the saltiest peanut in the bag, but I ain't senile. I used to see her after Terry ran off to Florida, and I saw her the day that you were here with her. She was real upset when she got out to the porch. She was still jabbering on her cell phone when she drove off." He dribbled the last of the peppermint schnapps into his gla.s.s. "What we need is some wine, 'specially if you're gonna keep on whining all night. I was thinking a pinot blanc might be tasty. Sit a spell while I go look in the cellar."

"Moses, please let me ask you one more question. You told me that you've seen Angela in the last couple of months. What was she doing here?"

His lips parted as he gazed blankly at the ceiling. I was ready to shake him back into reality when he blinked and said, "Laundry."

"She came all the way to Hollow Valley to do laundry? Think, Moses. Did anyone come with her? Did she bring an overnight bag?"

"Who'd you think brought the cheese and fresh fruit? Once there was half of a cheesecake, covered with plastic wrap. It wasn't as good as Nattie's, mind you. She puts fresh blueberries on top. Another time there was leftover steak."

My lips may have been slightly parted as I considered what he'd told me. "You never saw her with anyone?"

"I thought you said you had one more question. You're up to four, and I'm in the mood for pinot blanc, not some goosey game show. Next thing I know, you'll be demanding my Social Security number and date of birth." He left the kitchen and opened a door in the hallway. "See you later, crocodile!"

I reexamined the contents of the refrigerator. In the drawer where I'd retrieved the Brie, there were sealed packages of Gruyere and Gorgonzola. Moldy cherries were in a plastic container in a corner of a shelf, and apples were in the bottom drawer. I couldn't tell the age of the condiments in the door shelves. The collection of condiments in my refrigerator might well have been served at the picnic after my wedding to Carlton. I moved on to the freezer, where I found st.u.r.dily wrapped filet mignons, a pair of lobster tails, and an a.s.sortment of frozen appetizers. I looked at the grocery label on the package of steaks. They had been purchased not in January or February but in May. Steaks, cherries, and imported cheeses were not the makings of a business lunch.

It seemed likely that Angela, who'd carried on for hours about Danny's infidelities, was having a cozy affair of her own. I had no way to identify her lover, who could be any suitable male in her social circle or in a much wider circle. I toyed with the possibility that the culprit was Bartleby, but it was a stretch to envision them closing a real estate deal between silk sheets. The house was an ideal place for a tryst. It wasn't visible from the blacktop road, and none of the Hollows had a reason to encroach. The exception (a glaring one), was Moses, who seemed to be a master of random acts of insignificance. He might have seen Angela and her lover arriving, cavorting, or leaving.

I would have questioned him had I not heard the front door bang closed. By the time I reached the veranda, he had disappeared into the darkness. I felt a twinge of pity for Nattie, who was obliged to hunt him down on a daily, if not hourly, basis. If I were in her position, I'd make him some sandwiches for the road. Luckily, I was not in her position, nor did I feel any responsibility to go after him. I returned to the kitchen to finish the Brie while I pondered Angela's a.s.signations in the house that was meant to be mine.

The call that she'd received had led to my abandonment. Danny claimed that he hadn't called her, and I had no judges stashed in my back pocket who could be cajoled into signing a subpoena to have his phone records examined. From what she'd told me, the two of them communicated through their respective lawyers. If one of her friends had called to remind her of a social engagement, she wouldn't have reacted with such urgency. Even a call about a relative's health crisis, as distressing as it might have been, was not enough to send her racing away without a word to me.

That left the theory that her nameless lover was the caller. For reasons known only to her, Angela felt as though she could not offer me even a curt explanation. She'd jumped in her car and driven to ... Maxwell County. It made no sense. Her car was found by an airstrip, but she had not leaped into a jet to be whisked away for a romantic interlude on a beach. The sheriff's dogs had not been able to follow a trail from her car. a.s.suming the dogs hadn't been smoking Maxwell County's number-one cash crop, the obvious explanation was that Angela had not gotten out of the car on her own two Gucci-clad feet.

I crammed a cracker in my mouth and crunched fiercely. Someone had driven her car to Maxwell County, and a second someone had been there to collect the driver. If Angela had been a willing partic.i.p.ant, she'd chosen a peculiar moment to launch the deception. Had she wanted me to a.s.sume that she'd been kidnapped? If that was the case, why hadn't there been a ransom demand or some sort of communication? It was a very poor way to go about it, I thought as I dug another cracker out of the box. Danny worked in an office, so he probably had an alibi for the afternoon. On the TV cop shows, the prime suspect was always home alone on the pertinent night. I had a feeling Danny was rarely home alone. With a sigh, I scratched him off the list.

Coconspirators are not easy to find, particularly in matters of murder. They don't advertise their credentials and availability, or even their fees. They don't gather on corners in hopes of picking up odd jobs. Very few of us have friends who are obliging enough to commit a felony as a favor. I decided that Angela's lover had to be one of the partic.i.p.ants, although I lacked a compelling argument, much less proof. There was no way to slap a name on him, much less handcuffs. The only person who might have the information was Moses Hollow.

I put my cell phone in my pocket, locked my purse in my car, and started walking in the direction of the Old Tavern. I could have tried to follow Moses, but I was not inclined to risk encountering anything that growled, hissed, or nipped. As I pa.s.sed the Finnellys' driveway, I caught a glimpse of light through the dense foliage. I doubted they were rollicking on the floor or even watching depraved TV shows in which people behaved in an indecorous fashion (which eliminated ninety percent of them). No, Charles would be reading scriptures while Felicia knitted scarves for missionaries in Africa. I wished them both a sleepless night of heartburn and flatulence.

I slowed down as I remembered what Nattie had said about their daughter. Esther had run away from home, which was hardly astonishing. She and Ethan had been about the same age, so she was now in her midthirties. I wondered if she'd rebelled so vehemently that she joined a circus or took up with a motorcycle gang as her aunt had done. An unpleasant thought came to mind. Had she run away from home, or was that a cover story for something appalling? If she was incarcerated somewhere in Hollow Valley-or buried somewhere in Hollow Valley-it would explain why the family was so determined to keep their domain intact. Ignoring the inexplicable small noises coming from the woods on either side of the road, I stopped to examine the idea. Winston had known her when they were growing up. She could have confided in him, since they were both alienated from the clan. Later, he had begun to question the more benign account of her disappearance. Maybe after his return three years ago, he'd asked some uncomfortable questions and eventually found evidence that would lead to an obtrusive police investigation. Nattie had described how she'd encountered him in the woods one day, and how he'd been too distracted to acknowledge her. Stumbling across an unmarked grave would explain his reticence to speak. If Nattie had mentioned it to a family member, someone had a strong motive to murder him. His death had been staged as an accident, with the empty wine bottles handy should a second version be needed.

My brilliant theory explained several things. Nattie had misinterpreted Winston's behavior as depression (although it would be depressing to discover that someone in one's family committed murder). Terry had been correct when he claimed that Winston had been murdered. I felt as if I were in a haze of means and motives that needed to be dissected carefully. It took no leap of imagination to picture Charles Finnelly a.s.saulting his daughter with such sanctimonious fury that her skull cracked against the hearth. Rather than calling for an ambulance, he'd chosen to conceal his crime. Had Felicia held the flashlight while he dug the grave? Charles had brainwashed his wife. Could he have brainwashed the entire family? Certainly not Nattie, I told myself, and Pandora and Moses would have been problematic. As for Ethan and Margaret Louise, I had no clue. Charles might have concocted a plausible reason why outsiders posed a risk to the family business. For all I knew, he had persuaded Ethan that the exotic plant collection would suffer from the proximity of anyone lacking the proper genes.

I was so impressed with my acuity that I felt radiant. I resumed walking while I tossed around scenarios. Clearly, the first order of business was to find the grave. I doubted that Jorgeson would send a convoy of CSI officers to start digging up the hundreds of acres of woods, nursery plants, and greenhouse floors. Peter would go so far as to imply that I was flinging about random accusations to compensate for the loss of the perfect house. I was quite sure I wasn't.

As I approached the statue of Colonel Hollow, I heard droning noises and voices from the direction of the greenhouses. There was enough moonlight to make out the path, but I had no interest in watching ornamental trees and shrubs being loaded onto trucks that would drive through the night to retail nurseries in the adjoining states. If I was spotted, I would be required to defend myself from allegations of nosiness.

I turned toward the Old Tavern, hoping that Moses would be more cooperative with Nattie there to prod him. Someone coughed from behind the house. I detoured across the yard to the table and chairs. A small red circle was visible, and the redolence of tobacco smoke reached my delicate nostrils. Jordan's silhouette was impossible to misidentify. She was draped in a chair, her bare feet crossed.

"I thought you didn't smoke," I said.

She scrambled to her feet and stuck the cigarette behind her back. "Who said I was smoking?" she asked, managing to sound both startled and surly. She needed lessons from Caron, who could convey a plethora of unspoken criticisms in a single word.

"My mistake," I answered politely. "I smelled smoke. There must be a fire in the tobacco field. Should we try to find fire extinguishers?"

"There's no reason for sarcasm." She stubbed out the cigarette and placed the b.u.t.t in the pack. "I wanted to find out what it's like, that's all. It's really nasty, but it'll be worth it when I light up in front of Aunt Margaret Louise. Do you know what she did? She screwed up my cell phone. Now I can't call anyone on the outside. They might as well put me in solitary confinement for the rest of the summer."

"In chains, while the rats gnaw on your toes," I said as I sat down. "Where'd you get the cigarettes?"

She sat down in the chair farthest away from me. "I stole them from one of the workmen, an ugly old dude named Rudy. He's usually drunk by the middle of the afternoon, so it's not like he'll figure out what happened. Why are you still here?"

I was surprised that Ethan would tolerate a drunk handling his precious azaleas and rhododendrons. However, experienced drunks could be deceptive. "I want to talk to Moses. Have you seen him?"

"No, but that doesn't mean he's not crouched under that table. He's creepier than Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. He's the one who should be in solitary confinement-for the rest of his life." She coughed again. "Why do you want to talk to him? You must be really desperate for conversation."

"I need to ask him some questions," I said as I gazed at the stars. Without the light pollution from streetlights and neon signs, the stars were vivid. Had I any knowledge of constellations, I would have had a wondrous view of scorpions and horses and whatever else was up there. A meteor streaked across the sky. I felt sad that Peter and I would never sit on our terrace, commenting softly on the vastness of the universe and speculating about life on distant planets. Whoever had s.n.a.t.c.hed away my dream would pay the price, I thought as the sadness gave in to anger. "You prowl around, Jordan. Did you ever see a short woman with dark hair at Winston's house?"