AS THE SPARKS FLY UPWARD (9 page)

“Look at him, Maya. Look at the man eat. Is he like that always, or is it the fresh air and exercise?”

“He’s like that always.”

“Is there any more coffee?” asked Bernard.

Snooky shook his head. “You shouldn’t drink so much coffee and tea. It’s bad for you, you know. It makes you jittery.”

“Not me. It calms me down.”

“Really? That’s strange. That’s very strange. What are your plans for today, My?”

“Don’t you worry yourself about us, little one. We both have work to do.”

“Another one of your articles?”

“Yes.”

“What’s this one on?”

“Siberian yurts.”

Snooky brightened. “Yurts? Those tentlike things?”

“That’s right.”

“William would be so proud if he only knew. He always wanted us to grow up to write on things like Siberian yurts. At least one of us has managed to satisfy his ambitions.”

“I don’t know if William is really ever satisfied, no matter what we do.”

“The trouble with William is, he can’t relax. He spends his whole life in one huge spasm of tension. He never lets go. He’s the most constipated personality I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe one day he’ll understand you, Snooks.”

“Oh, yes. One day when he’s about a million years old and his hair is gone and his eyes have fallen out and he can’t
hear anything, and he has to sit in a chair all day long and be waited on by unsympathetic nurses, that’s when he’ll understand me.”

“That’s right, Snooks. You’ll be in the next chair.”

“And you, Maya? Where will you be?”

“Bernard and me? We’ll be in Tahiti, dancing to native rhythms.”

Snooky smiled.

Later, as Snooky was leaving for Hugo’s Folly, Bernard stopped him at the door. “Snooky,” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“I want you to do something for me.”

“Yes, Bernard?”

“I want you to find out what everyone in that family was doing yesterday afternoon. But be casual. Be very casual.”

Snooky leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms in front of him. “I see. You want me to spy for you?”

“Spy is such a harsh word. Such a negative word. Just ask around. Be casual about it. Don’t arouse any suspicions.”

“I think this interest you have in the murder is a little macabre. Unhealthy, you know. I should speak to Maya about it.”

“It would be interesting,” said Bernard, “to know where everybody was. Don’t you think so?”

“Well, that depends,” said Snooky, taking his long red scarf and winding it around his neck several times. “It depends. If it wasn’t really a hunting accident (and we know damn well it wasn’t), and it turns out that everyone in the family was home crocheting in a big group by the fire, all except for Sarah, who happened to be standing over Bobby’s body in the woods with a smoking gun, then, no, it wouldn’t be terribly interesting. At least, not to me.”

“So this is your camera,” Snooky said half an hour later. “A Nikon, eh?”

“Yes,” said Dwayne proudly. He caressed it lovingly.
“It’s not the newest model, but it’s one of the best. Takes beautiful pictures. I could show you some of my work, if you’d like.”

“That would be terrific. So you were out taking photographs yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes. I spent most of the time following this bird around in the trees, trying to get a good shot of him against the sky. It wasn’t easy. I like pictures of branches against the sky, don’t you? Especially at this time of the year. The woods are so beautiful in the snow.”

“So true,” said Snooky, leaning back against the plush red velvet of the chair. They were seated in the living room of Hugo’s Folly. “So very true. Did you happen to hear anything?”

“Hear anything?”

“Well … gunshots, for instance?”

“To tell you the truth, Snooky, I did hear something, but I didn’t pay any attention. There are always hunters in the woods this time of year. None of them sounded very close, so I didn’t look around. I never do. They’re not going to shoot
me
, are they? Of course”—at this point he dropped his voice to a mournful moo—“that’s what Bobby thought, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Terrible,” said Snooky lamely, thinking how insufficient most words were to describe the shock of sudden death. “Did you see anybody else while you were there?”

“Oh, no. Not a soul. I didn’t hear anything, either, except some shots in the distance from time to time. I hope they didn’t get a deer. I love deer, don’t you? So elegant and beautiful.” Dwayne’s face took on a childlike expression. He fiddled absentmindedly with the camera shutter.

“I’m fond of deer myself.”

“I’ve never eaten venison. Have you?”

“No.”

“I don’t think I could bring myself to touch it. Roger keeps telling me it’s delicious, but fortunately there’s not much chance of his bringing home a deer. He’s not a very good shot.”

“I had rabbit stew in France once,” said Snooky.

“Really? Was it any good?”

“No.”

“They eat dogs in Asia, so I’ve heard. I wonder if I should become a vegetarian,” said Dwayne. He twisted around as the door opened. “Oh. Sarah. How’s Aunt Irma?”

“Quiet,” said Sarah, sitting down with them. “Very pale, very quiet. She’s awake now, but she looks to me like she’s still in shock. I wish she’d shout or scream or do something.”

“She’s still absorbing the news,” said Snooky. “Has she eaten anything?”

“No.”

“Can I fix her something?”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wish Bernard was here. He makes a hot toddy that puts you right out.”

The two of them went into the kitchen, leaving Dwayne playing happily with his camera. Snooky gathered together some ingredients from the liquor cabinet and spices from the pantry, and mixed up a hot potion. “Here. Try that. I guarantee you it’ll make her happier. It’s an old family recipe. William used to make it in times of crisis. He never touches alcohol unless he can convince himself that it’s medicinal.”

Sarah gave him a quick kiss and went upstairs. Snooky went prowling for a new victim. He found Gertie standing in the laundry room, next to the kitchen, looking around her in a bewildered way.

“Now where did I leave my—
ah!
” she cried, pouncing on something on the floor. She held it up in triumph. It was, as far as Snooky could tell, a twig with a bit of moss attached to it.

“I suppose you don’t recognize this?” she asked scornfully.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. It’s a twig with a bit of moss on it.”

Gertie snorted. She placed the specimen carefully in a
plastic bag and dropped it into one of the many voluminous pockets of her coat. “Anybody can tell you’ve never studied botany. Not like your sister, for instance.”

“Oh, my sister is the shining intellectual light of the family. We’ve all known that for years. So you’ve been out in the woods?”

“Yes, I’m out every day. Just got back. I’ll go out again this afternoon.”

“Found anything recently?”

Gertie beamed. She rubbed her hands together and marched past him into the kitchen. She sat down at the counter and began to take off her green rubber boots. “Yesterday I saw a lizard,” she said cheerfully. “Adorable. I’m not sure what type it was, it ran away too quickly. Delightful creature. And there were some lovely birds. Not much wildlife around these days, though. Everyone is holed up for the winter.”

“You’re dripping on the floor.”

“So I am. Who cares? I always drip on the floor. A little mud never hurt anyone. Where was I? Oh, yes, yesterday was quite a day. I wish I could have gotten a better view of that lizard. It might have been an unusual type. The markings on it—”

“Did you run into Dwayne in the woods?”

“What’s that? Dwayne? No.” She let out a harsh hoot of laughter. “Dwayne and I have run into each other only once. Literally, I mean. He was pointing his camera at the sky, God only knows why, and I was following a chipmunk in the bushes. Neither of us was looking. I bumped into him and knocked him to the ground. Nearly broke his camera. He was nice enough about it, but I could tell he was upset.”

“So you didn’t see Dwayne. How about anyone else?”

A cautious look came into Gertie’s mud-colored eyes. “Bobby Fuller, you mean? No, I didn’t see him. I heard shots, but naturally you always hear shots in the woods this time of year. Whoever killed Bobby kept away from me. Which is just as well. The less I know about it, the better.”

Snooky regarded her thoughtfully. “Really? Why is that?”

“Don’t want to get involved,” snapped Gertie, standing up and wiggling her toes luxuriously. “Don’t want to know anything I shouldn’t. I figure if there’s some funny business going on in this family, the less I know, the safer I am.”

“Well, that’s true, of course.”

“Glad you see it that way.”

“Still, Gertie, you must admit that nobody’s really upset about Bobby’s death.”

“We’re not hypocrites, young man. We’re an honest lot. My brother, Hugo, had bad taste—look at this house—but it was
honest
bad taste. Nobody here is wasting any time pretending. Bobby’s death means a lot more money, some day, for all of us.”

“Yes. I suppose that’s true.”

Gertie shot him a crafty look. “And if you’ll take my advice, you’ll stop poking around and asking so many questions about what happened. The less you know, the better.”

It was a warning.

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Gertie.”

“You do that. Now I have to go catalog this specimen. Got to keep up to date on my journals.” And she was gone, thumping through the house in her stocking feet. Snooky could hear her bedroom door slam shut overhead.

Snooky left the kitchen, his brow furrowed in thought, and made his way down the hall. He was standing in the foyer, gazing absently at the evil-eyed portraits on the walls, when the doorbell rang.

“Why, Detective Bentley. What an unexpected pleasure.”

“I’m here to interview Irma Ditmar.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that will be possible. She’s not in very good shape. Her heart, remember. Why don’t you arrange to come back tomorrow, or maybe next year?”

“I’ll wait for her in the living room.”

“No, you won’t,” said Sarah sharply, coming into the foyer. “As I told you yesterday, my aunt is in no shape to be harassed by the police. I’ve given her something to drink, and she’s going back to sleep again. She’s had a great shock to her system, and I’m not going to let anyone disturb her.”

“All right,” said Bentley, suddenly amicable. “While I’m here, Miss Tucker, where were you that afternoon?”

“That Bobby was killed? I’ve told you a hundred times, Detective. I was home all day. I made dinner for everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Gertie, Aunt Irma and myself.”

“Can anyone corroborate where you were?”

Sarah looked at him frostily. “My aunt can, when she wakes up. You can see her tomorrow, but not before then.”

“Thank you. By the way, Mr. Randolph, how about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Where was I when Bobby was killed?”

“Yes.”

“I’m flattered to be considered a suspect, Detective. What exactly do you think my motive is?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“Let me think. I was home in the cabin all day.”

“Alone?”

“No. My sister was there. She can corroborate what I say.”

“All right.”

“Of course,” Snooky said mildly, “I’m her favorite brother. She has a soft spot for me. She’d say anything I told her to. And my memory is so bad these days. Now let me think—was I home in the cabin, or was I out in the woods, hunting game with Roger’s Winchester rifle?”

“Good-bye,” Bentley said to Sarah. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning around nine o’clock to interview Mrs. Ditmar.”

“Good-bye, Detective.”

“And as for you, young man,” the detective said, “I’m glad you think it’s so funny. Murder is no laughing matter.”

Snooky, sobered, shut the door behind him. The little detective was right, he thought.
Murder is no laughing matter
.…

Bernard tapped absently on the typewriter keys as he listened to Snooky’s report. “All right,” he said. “So Dwayne and Gertie admit that they were in the woods, in the right spot at the right time. Roger and Sarah say they were home. Irma was home as well.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Snooky.”

“Is that all, Bernard? Can I relax now? My spying duties are over for the moment?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Snooky stood up, stretched like a cat and disappeared into his bedroom. Bernard looked at the page in the typewriter. His random typing spelled out:

His eyes took on a dreamy, faraway expression. He sat quietly for a few minutes, gazing at the hearth, then turned back to his typewriter.

GN?

This, in his own special shorthand, stood for “Gun?” Underneath he typed,

MTVE? (Motive?)

WLK N TH WDS (“walk in the woods”)

NGGMNT (“engagement”)

FMLY (“family”)

He was looking in sleepy satisfaction at these notes when Snooky came back in and settled down on the sofa with a book.

“You don’t mind if I read in here, do you? It’s too cold in my bedroom. Where’s that blanket? By the way, Bernard, I’ve decided we’re having chicken à l’orange tonight. How’s that?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll go shopping a little later on.” Snooky leaned back on the cushions with a sigh. “It’s good to be young, and have nothing to do. You don’t understand that, do you, Bernard? Were you ever young?”

“I was young,” Bernard said shortly.

“I can’t imagine it. I can’t see it, personally. It’s not something I can picture. You, young.” Snooky put his head on one side. “Nope, I can’t visualize it.”

“I was young. I was your age once. I was your age only seven years ago.”

“What was it like for you then? You hadn’t met Maya yet, had you? What was it like?”

“It was,” said Bernard, “a barren wasteland.”

“Because you hadn’t met my sister?”

“Yes.”

“That’s touching, Bernard. A little nauseating, but touching. Where were you living then?”

“In New York City.”