MURDER at CRAWFORD HOUSE (Allie Griffin Mysteries Book 3) Page 7

  "Don’t worry. But yeah, that's most likely the reason why he doesn’t trust Larry."

  They watched the snow fall for a moment.

  "So peaceful," said Allie. "And yet... Rachel, what was it like here when you arrived? Did you feel like it was haunted?"

  Rachel thought for a moment. "I wouldn’t say that, but it was a little uncomfortable. Bertie was sitting in that big comfy chair in the drawing room, not drinking anything, just sitting there looking like a stick-in-the-mud. He didn’t even get up when I greeted him. Maybe his heart was troubling him then. Who knows?"

  "What happened when Jürgen arrived? That must have been awkward."

  Rachel laughed. "Awkward doesn’t even do it justice. There was this silence that you could cut with a knife. Then this cold greeting between the two of them. No handshake or anything. Then Larry tried to diffuse the situation by saying that the past was the past and all that, and that we all bonded in college and this weekend was about revisiting those happier times."

  "Ugh."

  "Yeah, no kidding. I was very happy when you and Del finally showed up to lighten up the place a little bit."

  "I had no idea. Larry seemed so jovial."

  "He's good at hiding his emotions. Not so with Molly."

  "What about Molly?"

  "She got very angry with the two of them after Larry's little happy speech. Accused them of spoiling the weekend before it even began. I think she'd already been drinking a bit by that point."

  "Whom do you suppose she was more angry with?"

  "I don’t follow."

  "Well, here are two guys creating all this tension, meanwhile her husband was the one who invited the two of them to begin with."

  "I didn’t think of that. If she was mad at Larry, she certainly didn’t show it. She seemed like she was directing her anger at Bertie."

  "Really? Why do you suppose that?"

  "Well, you've known Bertie. You know how he was. And you saw how he was. He's very unemotional. Kinda cold. Any hot-tempered individual confronting that sort of personality finds it frustrating. And both Jürgen and Molly are hot-tempered individuals, wouldn't you say so?"

  "I would say so, yes. And what about you?"

  She shrugged. "Me? I just wanted either to get drunk or go home."

  Allie chuckled at the little joke that had a pathetic ring of truth to it. "I know what you mean."

  "Yes, but I didn’t have a problem with either one of them. It's Molly I don’t like."

  "Really? Why's that?"

  "I don’t know. I guess she just rubs me the wrong way. That temper of hers, and that phony attitude when it's obvious she doesn’t like you. Anyone can see right through it and she knows it. It's as if she knows it cuts deeper if it’s hidden beneath this paper-thin veneer of niceness."

  "I know exactly what you mean."

  8.

  "First, let me just say that I've known Bertie for as long as all of you have and I always liked him. He was a good person. We kept in touch and I saw him regularly at the antiques store. After a while, we became closer. He wound up coming to our wedding. Gave us a wonderful gift. Sure, he's a little eccentric, but I consider people like that a breath of fresh air. I just wish my wife liked him."

  "Explain."

  He took a hesitant breath. "I don't know if she'd appreciate my telling you this. So I'm going to ask you to keep it under your hat."

  "Done."

  "Well then. I guess I don’t have to tell you that there are some folks who just happen to be incompatible with one another."

  "I guess so."

  "I gather everyone knows someone like this, I think. A person who just rubs you the wrong way. For Molly, that person was Bertie. At first, it wasn't anything specific. She would just roll her eyes or huff quietly in his presence. Maybe it was his demeanor. You know, he could be a bit condescending at times. He was so damned calm about it. A minor disagreement would bring out the Bertie no one liked. This very calm, irritatingly calm, debater who would cut you down cleanly and ruthlessly."

  "I don’t understand. Was he abusive to Molly?"

  "I don’t know if you could characterize it that way. She certainly saw it as abuse. But that's just the way Bertie was. He was the typical man that kept everything bottled up in a tiny place inside him. That kind of suppression eats away at you, you know. It can generate the kind of inner hostility that gets a person so wound up internally that he winds up having a heart attack; and, as we can plainly see, wound up being poor Bertie's very fate. Any way, Molly hated him. And the more we saw him, the more she would express her dislike for him openly. A disdainful tone here, a dismissive gesture there. Never a pleasantry from her toward him. So one day we were talking in his store – idle chit-chat, nothing serious – and Molly says something about snails."

  "Snails?"

  "That's right. Some silly little fact she’d read about mud snails. How they bury themselves when in the vicinity of a dead member of their species."

  "Interesting."

  "Yes, it sounds like one of those silly facts you read under the caps of soft drinks. Still, I have to hand it to Molly. She was really making an effort to be genial to Bertie. On reflection, it seems like she was only doing it for my sake. Dear woman. But Bertie laughed it off and called it a preposterous tale, and said something to the effect of, 'Only a fool would believe such a thing.' That it was a thing for audiences of the Oprah Winfrey Show, the credulous. He was downright insulting about it. Now, you know Molly. She doesn’t hold her tongue for long. She lost it. The two of them went at it tooth and nail. But you see, Bertie was as calm as ever. That's his way. And the calmer he was—and the calmer he remained—the angrier my wife got. She's been very open about her hatred of Bertie. I don’t know if you noticed, but the two of them didn’t speak at all. Did you notice?"

  "As a matter of fact, I did."

  "Yes, well you probably thought it was awkward. I certainly would. I was angry with Molly for behaving that way. We argued about it. We've been arguing about it. It started the moment I mentioned my wanting to invite Bertie to this little get-together. Please don’t tell anyone this, but she threatened to leave me."

  "No."

  He nodded his head. "I'm not proud of this fact."

  "How did you get her to come around?"

  "I called her bluff. I told her she could leave. She'd signed a pre-nup. She gets nothing of mine if she were to leave. Silly girl was banking on the notion that my longing for her would weigh more than gold. Well, it doesn’t and— I'm sorry, I've gotten off on an ugly tangent. I told her to go ahead and leave. I was tired of giving in to her demands."

  "Well, Larry, I have to say this has been an enlightening discussion."

  He chuckled. "I'm sorry to lay this on you like this. But I trust you, Allie. You're a good soul."

  9.

  "What do we know about Bertie Sommersville?"

  It was a serious question, intended to spark a dialogue. Del didn’t seem to want anything to do with it. Ever since the nighttime visit to Bertie's dead body, she'd been somewhat aloof to Allie and her confidence.

  She looked up from her phone. "Still no service, but at least I can play a couple of games."

  "Did you hear what I said?"

  "You said 'What do we know about Bertie?'"

  "Do you have a problem with this?"

  Del put down her phone. "Yes. Yes I do. You can’t leave matters well enough, can you? You're meddling where you shouldn’t be, having forgotten that it once almost got you killed and another time probably could have gotten you killed. If you don’t mind, I'd rather not aid and abet my friend in her suicide, that's all."

  She picked up her phone and resumed her game.

  "I didn’t know you felt that way."

  Del threw her phone down. "Battery's almost dead. I forgot to charge it last night. At least we have electricity."

  "I really didn’t know you felt that way, Del."

  "Yeah, well I do."

  "
I can’t help it. You know, after Tom died, I was lost. I really was. I thought I could be the Martha Stewart of Verdenier. How could I have been so foolish as to think that would ever fulfill me in any way? Lately, I've been getting the feeling that I somehow missed my calling in life. I care about people, and I like to be of some use to them. If you aren’t of any use to anyone, you may not be leading the fullest life possible. Anyway, that's my theory. You can take or leave it. All I know is, right now I need you by my side. I have no one else. I'm stuck here in this haunted house and there's a crime that has been committed, I'm sure of it. I need your help."

  Del stared at her friend.

  "What do we know about Bertie?"

  Allie smiled at her. "Yes."

  Del pursed her lips and thought. "According to you, he's fallen on hard times."

  "Go on."

  "I'm going on. Even though he's fallen on hard times, his manner of dress and his hygiene appears as though it's all part of an effort to disguise the fact that he's fallen on hard times."

  "Right."

  "He's suspected of being a fence."

  "Go on."

  "That's all I got. Oh, and he and Jürgen had this big falling out."

  "How'd you know that?"

  "Simple deduction."

  "Tell me."

  Del rolled her eyes. "I read your journal when you were in the shower."

  Allie laughed, a genuine, heartfelt, oh-so-needed laugh.

  "Glad to see I still amuse you."

  "I could hug you right now."

  "Don't. I think I still have garlic breath, despite having brushed my teeth."

  Something clicked in Allie's mind. It was a remnant from the previous night's stream of consciousness thought processes.

  "Garlic."

  "Yes, garlic."

  "I don’t know if I told you this or not. I can’t remember. But Bertie's mouth smelled of a combination of garlic, mint, and cinnamon."

  "Ok, gross, and you didn’t tell me. And, gross."

  "It may be gross, but it's a fact. And there are clues there."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as each dinner course had a variety of flavors, but not one of them had mint or cinnamon. Not even the desserts."

  "Ok."

  "We know he brushed his teeth. That accounts for the mint. What accounts for the cinnamon?"

  She squinted at Del as if trying to see an answer somewhere in the woman's features.

  "Breath freshener?"

  "That's what I was thinking," said Allie, a nervous twinge tightening her gut. "I knew that room was too empty. I felt around in Bertie's pockets and there was nothing there. So now I'll ask: Where are the breath mints? Or in this case, the breath cinnamons?"

  "You're asking me?"

  "I'm asking everyone. Where are they? They weren't in the bathroom garbage. You want to know what I think? I think someone got rid of them. I think there was a space in Bertie's little grooming kit that would have held a package of breath fresheners. And I think someone went into it and took them out so they wouldn’t be discovered."

  "Why?"

  "Duh! Because they were poisoned."

  It was at this precise moment that they heard a bloodcurdling scream come from some room down below.

  With adrenaline shooting her veins, Allie went downstairs to investigate, with Del following right on her heels. It took them a minute or so to find their way through the downstairs maze of rooms, but they finally found the source: It was Molly. She was in the greenhouse.

  And Brother Al's body lay amongst the flowers.

  10.

  The body lay on its side in what looked like a fetal position, only more rigid than that. It looked to Allie as though the man had died in a crouching position. He looked the way Bertie had looked: like he'd not gone peacefully.

  There was nothing in his pockets, Allie discovered. But he did have a cell phone on him. She swiped it open. No password required.

  "What are you doing?" said Jürgen.

  She continued without looking up. "Looking to see if he'd tried to call anyone. The last call he made was about fifteen minutes ago. The contact is 'MB'. Anyone know who that might be?" She looked up at her audience.

  No one answered.

  She thought for a moment. "Marianist Brotherhood," she said, and tapped the number to call it again. No service. She looked back at the previous call Brother Al had made. "It only lasted twelve seconds. He may have gotten through. We should keep trying."

  She took another look at the number of the Marianist Brotherhood.

  "He couldn’t have gotten through," said Larry. "I've been trying 911 ever since last night."

  "The snow," Allie said with sudden insight. "We could leave a message in the snow. Brother Al's snowshoes are just outside the door. One of us could put them on and tramp a message, something like 'Call 911' in letters big enough for a helicopter to see."

  "That's ridiculous," said Molly. "Are you really serious? You are, aren’t you?"

  Allie stared at her, and then shifted her gaze toward the rest of the guests, making eye contact with each. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing and hearing – or not hearing. A great suggestion and no one was jumping at it. Was this the Orient Express? Were they all guilty?"

  "I'll do it," said Del, raising her hand.

  Allie felt like jumping up and hugging her. "The shoes are right outside. They'll be a little awkward, but they should at least have adjustable straps on them. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to call 911."

  "How did he die?" said Rachel Forrester.

  "I don’t know. Heart attack?"

  "Two heart attacks in twenty-four hours?" said Larry Gordon.

  "It's not impossible. Improbable, maybe, but not impossible. It looks like he took a midday stroll through the garden, stooped down to have a look at the flowers down here on the ground, and then...fell over."

  "I think I need a drink," said Jürgen.

  "Yes, I think there's no need for all of us to be hanging around here," Larry said. "The only thing we can do is pass the time until we're able to get help. Sun's out now. No doubt the plows are running. Cell phone service will return soon, I'm sure."

  "Right," said Allie, "but in the meantime, perhaps it's best if we..." she shuddered to think of the implication of what she said next. "...if we all remain together, within sight of one another."

  "Are you serious?" said Molly, using the same tone of incredulity she'd used before.

  "Deadly serious," Allie said. "Wait till Del gets back, then we'll all go into the drawing room together."

  #

  The drawing room turned out to be the perfect place to meet. Out of all the rooms in Crawford House, it was certainly the least claustrophobic, unless you were a T-Rex.

  They sat around sullenly.

  "Can we at least maybe get some books?" asked Jürgen.

  "Of course," Allie said, "but take a buddy."

  "The buddy system?" said Rachel Forrester. "That's ridiculous. No one here's a murderer, Allie."

  "I didn’t say anyone was. I was merely implying that there may be danger somewhere in this house and we all had better watch out for one another."

  It was a good save. Given her history with Rachel, the last thing she needed was for the woman to think she was under any suspicion. She could see it happening like a domino effect: Rachel flies off the handle at being accused, brings up the past when Allie suspected her in Tori Cardinal's murder; then the rest of the guests quietly turn away from her, and the real culprit gets lost in the silence.

  "Can we bring something back for anyone?" said Jürgen.

  No one answered. Allie herself sat silently while he and Rachel went off to the library.

  Silent, but not idle.

  When she caught a glimpse of the brotherhood's number, she'd used an old mnemonic trick she'd learned when she was younger. The exchange was the same for all of this area, so that was easy to remember. The last four digits were 5679. She'd gotten two pictures
in her head: Don Larson of the Brooklyn Dodgers, and the movie, Tess. Her husband having been a rabid baseball nut, she knew a great deal about the game's history, particularly the records. 1956 was the year Don Larson pitched the first no-hitter in a World Series. 1979 was the year Tess, with Nastassja Kinski, came out. Put the two dates together and you got 5679. She plugged the number into her own phone and saved it under 'MB'.

  She called it. Nothing. No service still.

  Allie cursed under her breath.

  "This is utterly useless," said Molly Townsend. "I don’t see why I have to be a prisoner in my own house. No one has been murdered. An unfortunate coincidence is what we have here and nothing else."

  Allie said calmly, "That may be true, but—"

  "Maybe true? What are you? The police?"

  "No, ma'am."

  "Well then stop acting like the police!" Molly's furor was passionate to say the least, terrifying to say the most. Her eyes were wide and stabbing, her mouth tight and her teeth just barely clenched.

  "Very well," said Allie. "Then we'll all just proceed with caution from here on in. Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

  Molly left with an indignant huff. The rest of the guests stood up, looking carefully at one another.

  #

  It was the universal consensus that sticking together was useless. The guests had dispersed, one choosing to remain in the general vicinity, another going off to the library, and Allie and Del going back to their room.

  This corner of the upstairs was a safe haven. Something about the décor, the placement of the room, and the openness of it – it was relaxing and stimulating at the same time.

  Allie paced as Del tried her phone.

  "It's high time we paid a visit to Brother Al."

  Del looked up in anguish. "Not again."

  "Oh calm down. You're not going with me."

  She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

  "You're going to be the diversion."

  "Oh, terrific."

  "It's an improv gig."

  Del's face lightened. "Well why didn’t you say so in the first place?" Del, as an actress, was nothing if not an authentic ham.