Healthy Place to Die (24 page)

She was still staring at Janet’s face, but all eyes turned toward Leighton as it became suddenly clear that Mallory’s words were addressed to him.

“I’ve let you take the credit for my cooking all these years, and I’ve overlooked your affairs with Rhoda and with Caroline. I didn’t put the poison in the mushroom salad at the Bell’Aurora. I served it, but you prepared it—it surprised me when you wanted to do that. But no more. This is enough. You killed Edward, not because he was always making advances toward me but because you wanted to take full control of the restaurant. You were always arguing with him about it. You used me as a screen for killing Edward, and I know you must have killed Kathleen Evans and now Janet Hargrave.”

Her mildness was evaporating with every sentence, and her voice was rising. “So there’s going to be a new trial! And this time for murder! Well, you’ll be in the dock this time, not me! And the charge will be three murders!”

Leighton was looking at her, stunned. He managed a weak rebuttal. “Mallory, you don’t know what you’re saying!”

“I think she does.” The statement came from Caroline. She had backed away from the group around the body of Janet, and she was taking a small automatic pistol from her purse. “Come on, Leighton, time to go.”

He shook his head, still in shock, then stumbled toward her. She continued to back away toward another door, one with a large key in the lock. She turned the key with her free hand and pulled it out of the lock. She swung the door open and beckoned Leighton through. He followed like an automaton, clearly unable to believe Mallory’s transformation.

The door slammed, and the key grated in the other side of the lock.

“We can’t let them get away!” Elaine called out. “Where does this go?”

Mallory shook her head. “Tunnels go a lot farther into the glacier. They were intended to shelter hundreds of thousands of people if there was a nuclear war. But the canton says they’re not safe any longer.”

“What about that other door?” Carver asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mallory said, shaking her head.

Elaine ran to it and pulled it open. “Come on!”

Carver looked at me uncertainly, then followed, as did Mallory and I.

A large tunnel stretched far out of sight. The subdued lighting made it just tolerable, otherwise none of us would have gone any farther. “Listen!” said Carver.

We listened. A faint clatter of footsteps could be heard, echoing down the tunnel.

“Come on!” Elaine said again.

We reached a bend sooner than we had thought, for the eerie whiteness of the ice walls blended into a uniform pattern that was deceiving. We went on, and a dull sound caused us all to pause. It was the sound of rushing water.

“Some parts of the glacier must be melting,” I said.

“Where do they expect to go?” asked Elaine.

“There is an elevator,” Mallory answered. “It used to go up to a ski station a long time ago, but it hasn’t been used for ages.”

The sound increased as we went on. “This is crazy,” Carver protested. “What can we hope to do?”

“We can’t let them get away,” Mallory said, and in the icy air her face was grim and set. Phrases about “a woman scorned” came into my head, but it was no time for platitudes. We went on until we had to pause for breath. Before us, the tunnel seemed to grow darker.

“I’ve never admitted it until now,” Elaine said in a shaky voice, “but I have claustrophobia. Do we want to go any farther?”

I took her hand. “It’s hard for someone who doesn’t have claustrophobia to offer any advice. Don’t think about it. Does that help?”

“Not in the least,” she replied with disdain.

“Tell me, how do you cope with the subway in New York?” I asked.

“I take taxis,” she said acidly.

Served me right for asking. Still, her typically Manhattan response had momentarily taken her mind off her phobia and perhaps helped stiffen her resolve. She glanced at Mallory. “Want to go on?”

“Yes,” Mallory said, and set off along the icy floor of the tunnel. Carver looked at me helplessly. “Nobody asks me,” he grumbled, and on we went.

Within fifty yards or so, the tunnel swung into a left turn. We all gasped as we came out into a domelike chamber that could have housed a basketball court. From one side, a stream of water, black in the dim light, poured out of the wall and emptied into a large pool. Beyond the pool was a flat area from which rose a black metal tube. Clamps held it to the ice wall, and the tube soared up into an open space and out of sight.

“That must be the elevator,” Carver said.

Two figures were distinguishable at the base of the tube, trying to force open the door. They seemed to be having trouble, and their attention was fully engaged until one of them, now discernable as Leighton Vance, saw us and pointed. Beside him, Caroline temporarily gave up struggling with the door and reached into her handbag.

A shot rang out. Something clanged against the ceiling above our heads, and shards of ice rained down. The explosion grew in volume as it spread through the dome, rising in echoing rings.

“Don’t shoot in here,” I yelled. “These ice walls—”

The explosion of the pistol was lost in a louder crack that started above our heads. A rumbling sound began in the lofty roof of the dome and grew, spreading everywhere. Then it in turn was swallowed up by the tremendous thunder of hunks of flaking white ice that came falling from the darkness above. Other pieces followed, and the air was thickening as if in a sudden snowstorm while the domed area became a bedlam of unbearable noise.

“Let’s get out of here!” I yelled, but neither Carver nor Elaine needed the counsel. I had a last glimpse of the black tube of the elevator tearing loose from the wall high up and folding down on itself amid a shower of rock and ice and metal clamps.

We raced back into the tunnel, retracing the way we had come, fatigue forgotten.

S
O YOU’RE GOING TO
defend Mallory?” I asked Elaine.

“It won’t get to court,” she said confidently.

It was the following day.

Rescue teams from the Swiss Alpine Patrol were at work in the Glacier Caverns, but an efficient young PR woman had told us that it would take weeks to dig out the domed chamber where the disaster had centered. The damage had been severe but had spread only to a couple of unused chambers, remaining remarkably self-contained due to ice masses a hundred feet thick.

We sat in the dining room after lunch. Business continued almost as usual in the spa. Most of the guests here for the teaching sessions had gone but many of the other guests remained, and newcomers were checking in on arrival. No one seemed unduly concerned and the bulletin released after a night’s work stated that Leighton Vance and Caroline de Witt, both employed at the spa, had been taking a guest, Janet Hargrave, on an unauthorized and potentially hazardous tour of the ice caverns when a tremor of unidentified origin had occurred and torn loose some of the supports of the elevator, unused for some time. All three were presumed to have died, concluded the bulletin. The four of us sitting there had no doubt whatsoever.

We had filled in the gaps of the past week for Carver as he sat placidly sipping coffee. Mallory was pale but self-composed, in fact she seemed to have grown considerably in authority. She had spent the morning supervising the staff and was already carrying out many of the duties of both Leighton and Caroline.

I had waited for one of us to ask Mallory where she had gone after our hurried exit from the caverns. She had insisted we go outside, and she had rejoined us a short time later. When the young PR woman gave her report of the rescue team’s initial examination of the chambers, we had waited with stony faces for mention of the finding of Janet’s body. There had been no such mention.

We had been interviewed individually and then together. A stern-faced captain in a light gray uniform with discreet red epaulets had reprimanded us for being beyond the entry barriers, but upon seeing the furnished chamber in the ice chateau, he showed understanding and reserved his criticism for the reckless three who had embarked on an expedition deeper into the glacier.

I was wondering which of Carver or Elaine was going to ask Mallory the question, but it was not necessary. Mallory stirred her coffee and said, “When I left you yesterday—” and we all leaned forward attentively—“I went to get the wheelbarrow. I—well, I used it and put it back.”

None of us spoke at first. Then Carver said, “I wonder how long it will take the authorities to recover the—the three bodies.”

“A long time I should think,” was my contribution.

“They may never recover them,” Elaine said.

“You think they disposed of Kathleen’s body in there?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Elaine said. “I’m also surprised we haven’t run into your blond bombshell. You don’t suppose she’s yet another corpse, do you?”

Carver looked interested at the “blond-bombshell” description.

“Rhoda,” I said, keeping an eye on Mallory. For Carver’s benefit, I described the incidents in the Seaweed Forest and the mud baths. When I finished, Mallory said quietly, “Leighton had flings with Rhoda too—it was never anything serious but—” She caught herself and her tone became gritty. “She would do anything he told her to do. Why should I make excuses for him?”

“The timing of Rhoda’s disappearance from the spa gave me an idea,” I said. “I think she flew to Paris using Kathleen’s name so as to divert suspicion from the spa when she was found to have disappeared. It may have been the same when Janet disappeared too. Leighton and Caroline would want to do anything to keep the spotlight away from them.”

“I hated Rhoda,” Mallory said sharply. I was glad to see her toughening up after the experiences she had been through. This was a new Mallory now. “But in fairness,” she went on, “she may have realized that she was becoming involved in a nastier business than she had bargained for and didn’t know it would lead to murder. You’re probably right about her flying to Paris on Leighton’s instructions but at that point, self-preservation may have taken over. She may have torn up the return ticket and disappeared rather than take a chance of being charged with murder.”

Mallory had already told us how she and Leighton had been running the Bell’Aurora when Caroline had appeared. She had found a spa in Switzerland and raised the capital to purchase and modernize it. Now she was looking for a husband-and-wife cooking team. Mallory had blinked away a tear at the memory—not that it was not a wonderful opportunity, she explained, but she saw at once the attraction between Leighton and Caroline. It was instantaneous and electric, she said. Others must have noticed it, but for a wife it was a certain prediction of disaster.

“I was foolish,” said Mallory. “I knew, yet I refused to accept. When Leighton poisoned Edward Lester, his partner, I took the blame for him. I knew he had poisoned him deliberately, but I thought he did it because he loved me and that Caroline was just a passing phase. I had the thought also that taking the blame would bind him closer to me and that he would forget Caroline. I was reluctant to take the job here, but he assured me that Caroline would be just a business colleague from then on. Stupidly, I believed him.”

“You said you thought Leighton had poisoned his partner because of you,” said Elaine.

“Yes,” said Mallory, “but I was wrong. They were continually having disagreements over money, although I was the only one who knew that. Leighton just wanted to take control and get enough money out of the Bell’Aurora to be able to go in with Caroline on the spa.”

“Poor Kathleen.” Carver shook his head. “She should have stayed with her modest blackmail scheme to get free vacations. She obviously didn’t know that evidence would come to light that would declare it to be murder, but Leighton knew it was always possible.”

“Why do you suppose Kathleen came on to you like that?” Elaine asked me conversationally.

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” I objected. Carver looked interested in the answer, and even Mallory turned in my direction. “She must have thought I really was a detective and wanted to find out how much I knew about her blackmail scheme,” I suggested.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this solution?” Carver asked Elaine.

“Of course. It’s so neat.”

“Yes, but it is concealing the truth, isn’t it?” he said.

“You’re not worried it might affect your career if it comes out?” I added.

She shook her head. “No. It may not be correct according to the strict letter of the law, but it’s certainly justice.”

“Elaine,” I said, “with that attitude, you’re going to be one unique lawyer.”

“Speaking of being a lawyer, I’d better get to work as soon as possible and find out what this new evidence is that’s come to light,” she said. “All I know now is that a witness came forward whose evidence was not admissible when the charge was manslaughter but it is now that the charge is murder. I’ve sent for the DA’s new deposition, and I’ll know a lot more when I read that.”

“At least you know for sure that Mallory is not guilty,” Carver said.

“That helps me personally,” Elaine admitted. “But I certainly can’t use the evidence that proves it.”

I turned to Mallory, who was sitting there quietly. “A lot of things about Leighton have come together now,” I said. “I know why he had your staffers make the Austrian dishes. I know why he spent the previous two weeks practicing cooking the pork tenderloins and the soufflé and why he didn’t allow anybody to come in to the kitchen. He refused to do a TV show with Helmut too—it should have been obvious to me then. He relied so much on you, didn’t he? You were really the chef and he took all the credit.”

She nodded resignedly. “I felt sorry for him for too long,” she said in a small voice, “and I loved him. I couldn’t help it, I loved him.”

She rose. “I have to go and make sure of the preparations for dinner.” She seemed taller somehow and more confident.

We said our farewells and Mallory left.

“I should be going too,” Carver said.

“At least you got here in time for the final curtain,” I told him. I hadn’t let him off the hook altogether.