Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) (12 page)

I still searched for the product of my imagination, Mister X, Noreen's mythical lover who I stubbornly believed would turn out to be her murderer. Later that day I managed to corner Aunt Alice in the kitchen. I'd asked her for a photograph of Noreen the previous week, and now she held out one that had been taken immediately after Noreen's wedding to Edward.

With a backdrop of wood-paneled walls and flowers, they stood together, Edward tall, white-haired, and slender, like both his brothers. Noreen, about average height, thin almost to the point of anorexia, sported a mass of bottle-blonde hair that made her look like a pencil with a fuzzy eraser. She had large, dark eyes and a wide mouth with the full lips Hollywood stars achieved these days through surgical enhancement. She looked younger than the fiftyish person I'd expected, and I could see why she might turn a few male heads.

This being an official wedding photo, it showed other family members on either side of the bride and groom. Beryl, William, Elizabeth, and Jason stood on Edward's right, while Alice, Chaz, Elizabeth's brother Hans, and her daughter Dorothea stood next to Noreen.

I handed the picture back to Alice, and we sat across from each other at the kitchen table. "So that's Noreen. She was prettier than I imagined."

"Oh, she could be a charmer if she liked. Trouble was, once she married Edward, she no longer felt it necessary to act charming. Cut everyone dead, she did. Holed up with Edward all the time, in their rooms or in the office. Hardly spoke to us except to give orders about how she'd run things now she was mistress of Mason Hall."

"'With Edward all the time'?" I repeated. "What about the rumors she carried on with Chaz?"

Alice sighed. "Ah, well, there were the nights, weren't there? Edward falling asleep the minute the sun went down like he did. I don't like to speak ill of the dead, or the living for that matter, but she might have been having a—a to-do with Chaz. Until near the end, that is."

"And then—?" I coaxed. "What about the end?"

"She and Chaz quarreled a good bit. She avoided him, but if they met you could almost see the anger between them. At dinner their eyes threw daggers at each other."

"Do you have any idea why that happened? Did Noreen take up with another man? Uncle William thinks she did and so do Noreen's card-playing friends."

"It wouldn't surprise me. With Edward asleep, Noreen and Chaz would go out to his club together. Then, after Edward died, Noreen took to going out alone. She certainly could have been meeting someone else."

"Someone she might have met at Chaz's club while his band performed?"

"Makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Do you have any idea who it might be? Did Noreen ever drop a name? Might you have overheard something when she spoke on the telephone?"

Alice glanced at the kitchen clock and got up from her chair. She took an apron from its hook and tied it around her waist. "Even if I tried to listen, it wouldn't have been possible. Noreen used her cell phone in her bedroom or in the office. With the doors closed," she added.

That apron business didn't fool me. She
had
eavesdropped and didn't want to admit it. I'd have done the same.

Then Annie came into the room, nodded to me, and put on her own apron, ready to begin dinner preparations. Assuming Alice wouldn't tell me what she overheard, I felt I'd learned all I could from her for the present. At least she'd confirmed my belief that Noreen probably played footsie with other men.

I'm somewhat tenacious when I decide on a course of action and often impatient, wanting everything to happen immediately. So in my plans to interrogate everyone, I mentally checked Alice off my list and went looking for Beryl. She sat in the small sitting room, watching the early newscast on television, but she obligingly turned it off when I came in.

"Dreadful stuff," she said. "I don't know why I bother to watch. It seems as if good news is no longer news, just the bad. Is it that way in the States?"

"Worse. In spite of that, the broadcasts get longer every year." I'd long since stopped watching local news completely.

I sat next to her on the sofa. Although designated "the small sitting room," it easily dwarfed my living room at home, with a floral-print sofa between end tables, three side chairs, a coffee table, a television set in a large walnut cabinet, and a secretary in a corner.

"I didn't mean to interrupt you," I said.

"Not at all. I've been feeling rather embarrassed that I haven't been more attentive during your visit. This is a very busy time for me. Autumn, you know, when people begin to do things again after a leisurely summer." She patted her steel-gray hair, every wavy strand glued in place from a recent visit to the beauty parlor. "And then I assumed Elizabeth would be entertaining you."

"She has," I assured her, "except school begins soon, and she has had to spend time preparing for that."

"Oh yes, of course." She frowned. "Dear me. We haven't neglected you, have we? Left you too much on your own?"

"No, please don't think about it. I'm having a lovely time." I smiled in emphasis. "With all that's happened, I don't blame you for being preoccupied."

"Still, I don't like to think we've been inhospitable. Is there anything special you wanted to do?"

"No, not really." I paused, and then as if suddenly remembering something, I began my quest for information. "However since you ask, there is something, if you don't mind."

She looked at me expectantly, so I continued. "It has to do with Noreen."

Beryl's expression changed immediately, and I could almost feel the animosity. "What about Noreen?" Her tone could have caused an ice storm on Waikiki.

"She seems to have been generally disliked by the other family members. Not that she didn't deserve their disdain. At least, so it appears," I added.

Beryl looked down and plucked at a fold in her skirt. Like me, she still wore the black dress she'd worn to the funeral, but hers extended to mid-calf, had a high neck, and both a collar and long sleeves. "I believe in being charitable toward others—"

I sensed her pause didn't mean she'd ended. "But?"

"—but she made it rather difficult to like her."

"In what ways?"

"From the very start, when Chaz brought her to dinner, I could see she was, well, no better than she should be."

"Would you call her a—" I searched for the right words, "—a 'loose woman'?"

"She had a certain, er, personality not attractive to women, at least certainly not to me, but men… Well, you know how men are."

I wanted to say "horny" but restrained myself. "Do you think she might have been unfaithful to Edward?"

She paused again, apparently fighting a battle between her desire to speak ill of the woman and her genteel upbringing, which forbade such behavior. "I really couldn't comment."

"Uncle William is quite certain she not only had an affair with Chaz—"

At this point, Beryl's voice dropped but revealed a hard quality I'd never heard before. "She…she…threw herself at him. Chaz…so young, naive…"

Chaz naive? Not in my book. Yet I let her continue.

As if she'd been waiting a long time to tell the truth, Beryl threw discretion to the wind. Her voice became louder. She plucked angrily at her skirt. "She flirted with him, seduced him. Like a tornado, or an army of locusts destroying everything in its path."

"So, in your opinion, she could have been seeing someone else."

Beryl went on as if she hadn't heard me. "She formed a plot to get Edward's money. She used Chaz, persuaded him to bring her here and then manipulated Edward into marriage. The man didn't know what he was doing. We all warned him, but he wouldn't listen."

I took Beryl's hand, which felt hot and damp, in mine, and she finally turned and looked at me. The fire left her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have…"

"I understand. I'm sure it must have been very painful for you." I tried to get back to my original question. "Do you think Noreen had another lover, someone she might have met at Chaz's club, even before Chaz?"

She remained silent for a time, breathing more slowly, collecting her thoughts. "I suppose she might have done. Not before Edward died, I shouldn't think. She wouldn't have risked his divorcing her but after, yes."

"It seems to have turned out all right after all, because the family fortune is still intact."

"Yes, she's dead now. It's all over." Beryl pulled her hand from mine and again twisted the fabric of her dress as if strangling it, once more speaking her thoughts aloud. "She seduced Chaz, then Edward, even Jason…"

Jason? Stunned, I didn't hear her next words. So far no one, including Jason, had even hinted he ever had anything but contempt for Noreen.

Beryl's voice turned low again, and I could barely hear the words. "She was a very wicked woman."

My thoughts raced around like a mouse in a maze. Did Jason have an affair with her too? Furthermore, did she then dump him for Mister X? If so, that would give him one more reason to hate her. Not only did he suspect she tried to steal from the family, she'd made a fool of him.

I looked over at Beryl and saw she'd calmed down again, but for a few minutes she'd let her anger show. Justifiable anger. Noreen had seduced both Beryl's sons, and no amount of British reserve could totally hide her hatred.

Dinnertime arrived, giving me little time to think about what Beryl said, but I realized Jason now had an additional motive to want to do away with Noreen. So did Beryl, for that matter. Okay, she was short and elderly, but she could have done it. How much strength does it take to strike an inebriated woman on the head with a rock and push her under the water to drown? However, I still preferred not to think any family member had committed the murder, and I brushed those thoughts aside. Mister X had done it, and I would find him and solve the mystery.

My plan had been to approach Jason next, but under the circumstances, I decided not to. If she had dumped him for the other man, he would be embarrassed to be questioned about Noreen's possibly having a lover. I didn't want to embarrass him. Instead, I moved on to Elizabeth and Chaz, planning to query two birds in one night.

"I haven't seen you much lately," I said to Elizabeth at dinner, hoping to work on any possible guilt she might be feeling for neglecting me. "I hoped we might spend some time together this evening."

She answered quickly. "Of course. What would you like to do?"

"I thought we might go to Chaz's club and hear his band perform."

Chaz turned and grinned at me. "Jolly good. We'll run out the welcome mat for you."

The promise of red-carpet treatment apparently meant nothing to Elizabeth. Her face flushed, her forehead puckered into a frown, and her mouth turned down at the corners. After a few seconds' pause, she managed, "Really?"

Beryl spoke up. "What a good idea. You young people probably enjoy such music. When I was your age, I liked the popular singers, Vera Lynn and Frank Sinatra."

I didn't tell her that, as a teenager, I secretly listened to my mother's albums in addition to rock and roll. I remembered breaking up with a boyfriend and listening to Sinatra's album,
Only the Lonely
, after school. Every song seemed written just for me, and I left the album covers splattered with tearstains.

Now, however, I tried to convince Elizabeth that Chaz's music would be exactly what we needed. "Come on, it'll be fun. We need a night on the town, and I've bought a new dress I'd like to try out."

She didn't give in gracefully, but she did give in, probably didn't want to seem churlish in front of the others. So, immediately after dessert, I returned to my room and put on the slinky black number. The neckline revealed rather more cleavage than I remembered when I tried it on in the shop, but I reasoned cleavage was "in," and I'd have no other chance to wear the dress anyway. Plus, I didn't want to have spent all that money for nothing.

After putting on my one pair of heels, I knocked on Elizabeth's door. She called to me to come in, and I found her sitting on the edge of her bed, still in the black dress with long sleeves and high neckline she'd worn to the funeral.

"You're not going to wear that?"

"I'm not going. Please don't ask me."

"Why not? And don't tell me it's because of the music they play. I'm sure you grew up on something very much like it."

"I'd feel… Go without me. You can take my car."

"And kill myself driving on the wrong side of the road? No thanks." I sat beside her and tried to think. Not only would I have difficulty staying to the left, but, being directionally challenged as well, I wouldn't necessarily reach my destination the same day I started out. I needed a driver. Besides, the idea of solving Noreen's murder had bitten me like a snake whose poison I had to remove, and I wanted to see if anyone at Chaz's club had also attended the funeral. At the same time, I hoped to glean more information from Elizabeth on the way. I'd have preferred to take Elizabeth into my confidence, but it didn't seem prudent then. But how to convince her to go? Play on the guilt thing again?

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, but it has been such a long time between visits. You're my sole relatives on my father's side, and I feel as if I hardly know you." I lowered my head, slumped my shoulders to look as dejected as possible. "It would have been nice to get better acquainted with Chaz and see where he works and listen to his band. At least for an hour. Or less," I added.

She sighed. "Well, for your sake, I guess I could, for a little while."

"Good." I got up, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. "Now change."

"Why can't I go like this?"

"I don't know what people wear to the club, but I hope it's more like what I'm wearing. Don't you have anything similar?" I went to her wardrobe and searched among the garments, finding several quite attractive dresses, making me realize her dowdy appearance must be a recent choice. Judging by the style and skirt length, she must have worn these brighter, fancier things in the not too distant past.

I found a red dress with a low, square neckline. "Here."

"No, not that." She snatched it from me and returned it to the wardrobe. Pushing garments aside, she finally chose a dark blue number that, while not sexy, at least didn't look like a restroom attendant's uniform.

While she changed, I found some high-heeled shoes on a rack and then suggested she put on some bright lipstick and do something with her hair besides tie it back severely.

She sat at her dressing table to apply makeup, then brushed out her hair. I've never been good with hair, mine choosing to do its own thing no matter what, so I couldn't help Elizabeth with hers, but fortunately it looked quite nice hanging rather loose and wavy, slightly below her ears.

"Now remember," she said, getting up from the bench and reaching for a purse, "we're not going to stay long. All that loud music and smoke will bring on a splitting headache sooner than you can say, 'Primal Scream.'"

"Then you've been there before?"

"I think we've some cotton balls in the lav." She left the bedroom but not before I noticed she didn't deny having visited Chaz's club before. Good, that would be a big help.

While she headed for the garage to bring her car around, I took Mr. Tarkington for a short walk in the garden then let him back into the kitchen. I met Elizabeth at the front driveway and climbed into the passenger seat.

I forced myself to observe a two-minute silence then launched into my investigator role. "What good news," I began, "that Noreen didn't inherit anything after all. I'm sure you're all relieved."

"Quite. No telling what harm she might have done if she hadn't drowned so soon after Uncle Edward's death."

"I gather she did enough damage in those three weeks."

"Mum is rehiring all the servants, so I won't have to pitch in and help anymore. Not that I minded," she added, "but the Hall is very large. It takes more than two people to keep it tidy. We appreciate your help."

"Uncle William thinks Noreen instigated more mischief than that." Elizabeth didn't comment, so I went on. "He thinks she had a lover."

"Someone besides Chaz?"

So, everyone knew about that affair. "William heard Noreen and Chaz quarreling, probably for that reason."

"'William heard'?" Elizabeth repeated. "I can't believe he
heard
anything."

I didn't want to reveal William's ability to read lips, in case he wanted to keep his talent a secret, so I said, "I meant he
saw
them arguing. And then he noticed Noreen stopped going to the club and other places with Chaz. Your mother thinks she was meeting another man, as well."

"I wouldn't put it past her."

"But you don't know who it might be?"

"No, why should I?"

"No reason." I let the conversation lag for a while. "I understand she met Chaz and his band at the club. I wondered if she might have been carrying on with one of the other band members before him."

"That's possible, but I doubt it."

"Did she ever mention anyone else's name?"

"No. Fact is, she rarely spoke to any of us except Edward and Chaz, of course. Truth to tell, I preferred it that way. Not to speak ill of the dead, but I couldn't stand the woman."

I found it interesting that everyone insisted they didn't wish to speak ill of the dead but then did so anyway. Since I needed all the information I could get, I was pleased they did. However, I expected to get nothing worthwhile from Elizabeth at the moment. She volunteered none, and we arrived at the club.

The building looked like what I would have called a "roadhouse." Long, low, built of stone, with a wavy roof consisting of some substance I couldn't identify and surrounded by trees. The parking lot in front held few vehicles, but two more pulled in before we'd locked up the car and walked to the front door.

The room we entered was smaller than I'd expected and looked rather like a cozy pub. Low-ceilinged, paneled in dark wood, its left side held a small stage containing a few instruments and two loudspeakers. Floor-to-ceiling dark red curtains hung behind the stage, providing some color in the room, and recorded background music provided the sound. True to Elizabeth's prediction, cigarette smoke clouded the air, and the odor mixed with the stale smell of beer. A bar, the four stools in front occupied, took up most of the right-hand side of the room. Round tables with scarred tops and small wooden chairs with curved backs surrounded a tiny dance floor in front of the stage, but no band members occupied the stage at the time. Elizabeth led me to a booth padded in worn brown leather at one side.

A slim young waiter in white shirt, bow tie, and a small white apron around his waist came over almost at once and inquired what we'd like to drink. Elizabeth named something that sounded as if it must be beer or ale, but I don't like beer, so I asked for white wine and hoped it would come chilled.

I removed my jacket, leaving it on the seat beside me, and glanced around the room. Most of the other patrons, I had to admit, sported jeans and sweaters, but a few women, like us, wore dresses, and even some of the men looked a tad formal in coats and ties.

My eyes having adjusted to the room's low light level, I noticed two men at the bar had swiveled around and faced in our direction, but if they'd come to Noreen's funeral that morning, I didn't recognize them. They got up, retreated behind a doorway next to the stage, and about ten minutes later, after the waiter returned with our drinks, four men appeared from that doorway.

At least I assumed they were men. They wore furry jackets with animal tails hanging from the back, wigs with pointy ears on their heads, and a lot of fake hair partially covering their faces.

One, on spotting us, came to our booth, a grin spreading across his face. When he got close, I realized it was Chaz made up to be some sort of scary creature. He even had fake fangs, which he removed before speaking.

"You made it. Began to think you wouldn't." He pulled the chair from in front of our table, turned it backward, and straddled it, arms across the backrest. After a slight hesitation, another band member arrived and did the same.

I acted as if seeing men dressed up like animals was no big deal. "Is that your music they're playing?"

Chaz glanced at Elizabeth, who seemed to be staring at the table top, too embarrassed even to look up, then back to me. "Yeah. They're playing the CD we made last year. Not as good as when we're live, of course."

"Are you on a break?" I asked.

He glanced at his watch. "And time's up." He turned his head to his companion. "Give 'em a good set, shall we?" He turned back to me.

"Randy's our drummer. Randy, these are my cousins, Elizabeth and," he hesitated, "Olivia. Whadda they call you 'sides Livvy?"

"Sorry. That's been my nickname since the age of four."

"That's all? Really?" He curled his fingers in a "come on" gesture.

"You don't need to know."

He laughed, throwing his head back, the strong cords in his neck standing out. "Come on, boy-o, time to put on a show."

They got up simultaneously and joined the other two men on the bandstand. As they took their places and tuned their instruments, Elizabeth reached into her purse, pulled out a cotton ball, and handed it to me. "Here, you'll need this."

I held it in my hand while I focused on the stage. Chaz sat at what appeared to be a sound console where he pushed levers. Randy sat behind a massive drums arrangement, and the other two men stood in front of twin microphones, one with an electric guitar at hip level and a wide strap slung over his shoulder, and the other with a bass. Chaz then swiveled around to the keyboard and, with a nod to the others, began to play.

I hadn't been to a rock concert in more years than I cared to remember, but when a blast like a space shuttle taking off hit me, I ripped the cotton ball in half and put the pieces in my ears. Subconsciously, I felt nagged by my mother. Even reduced to an almost bearable level, I didn't recognize what they played, but its unfamiliarity didn't surprise me. Besides being in a foreign country, I knew most musicians wrote their own music.

Conversation being out of the question, Elizabeth shrugged and gave me a what-did-I-tell-you look. Midway through the number, however, the other players stopped, and Chaz did a solo. His head lowered in concentration, his hands flew over the keys, and I imagined William and Beryl arranging for his lessons, picturing him as a concert pianist, playing Tchaikovsky, not heavy metal rock.