Death by Hitchcock (14 page)

Chapter 35

Chaz fixed himself a bowl of cereal for dinner. Afterwards he spent the evening drinking and watching television, or rather, flipping channels without settling on anything in particular for more than a few minutes.

After a couple of hours of this pointless activity he felt hungry again, and shuffled back into the kitchen. He absently scavenged around in the cupboards and freezer for a while, and finally gave up. He sat at the table with a second bowl of cereal, washed it down with a large glass of scotch, and decided to call it a night.

Living alone didn’t suit Chaz, and he was having trouble sleeping. Around ten o’clock he turned on the light and stared at the phone sitting on the bedside table. After a fraught and prolonged inner dialogue, he composed a text message to his estranged wife, Susan.

A gentle ding on Susan’s phone announced the message. 

“Oh, God!” she said. “Please don’t let that be the babysitter.”

“Can’t you just ignore it?” Wallace groaned.

“Someday when you have children of your own, you’ll know what a stupid question that is,” Susan said.  “Now get off of me.”

Wallace reluctantly complied, and shifted his weight onto the seat of the car, where he lay uncomfortably next to Susan, sighing deeply. Susan reached for the phone, and read the text from Chaz.

BB was the biggest mistake of my life. I’m miserable without you and the kids. Can you ever forgive me?

Susan froze. Suddenly she wanted Wallace out of her car, out of her sight, out of her life. She wanted to be alone in order to savor this triumph. She stuffed the phone back in her purse.

“What is it?” Wallace said.

“Nothing,” Susan replied. “Just my sister, asking about getting together for lunch tomorrow.”

“Well then,” Wallace said, his arousal in tact, kissing Susan on the neck.

“Wallace,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling great––I’m probably coming down with the kids’ cold. I think I’d better go home and get to bed.”

Susan showered and dressed for bed in a crisp, white nightgown with tiny, yellow rosebuds all over. A gleeful sensation of single-handedly restoring order where chaos had intervened washed over her. She was feeling powerful, vindicated, and back in control, when the hangdog image of Wallace Duncan popped into her head. Poor, dejected Wallace! Oh well, it wasn’t her fault Wallace fell in love with her. Wasn’t her fault Wallace had ideas about moving to Los Angeles with her and the kids. He’s young; he’ll get over it, she thought, putting him out of her mind.   

Sitting on the edge of the bed she bent over and slowly brushed her thick hair one hundred strokes, purposefully delaying the intense gratification she was about to experience when she would read Chaz’s message again
––the official documentation of her triumph. Completing her nightly regimen of moisturizers and serums, Susan finally slid into bed, shuddering with delight as she felt the cool sheets against her skin. She picked up the phone and reread Chaz’s message over and over with increasing satisfaction. 

She mustn’t text him back tonight
––that would seem too eager. Much better to make him wait. She’d reply tomorrow. Or maybe even the day after that.

She snuggled into the bedclothes, smiling, and wrapped her arm around a pillow. 

I knew he’d come crawling back!

Chapter 36

Will found Honeysuckle in Olivia’s Tea Room, where it turned out she was something of a regular customer. Honeysuckle sat alone over a pot of tea, reading a book with a French title. Will approached the table.

“Miss Blessington?”

Honeysuckle looked up, startled. Her long braid was draped over one shoulder. Her handsome features and flawless complexion hinted at great beauty in younger days.

“Detective Tenney,” she said. “Please, sit down.”

“Thank-you,” Will replied. “I won’t keep you long; I just have a couple of questions, if that’s okay.”

“As long as you’re here, won’t you have a cup of tea?” Honeysuckle said with impeccable politeness.

“No, thank-you.”

Niceties now dispensed with, Honeysuckle’s affect changed abruptly, and she simply glared at Will, openly and unapologetically, as if challenging his decision to confront her. 

“The night of the murder, my officers took down names and contact information of everyone who was present at Hexley Auditorium,” he said. “Your name does not appear on the list, and yet you were there. I was wondering why that is?”

“Clerical error, perhaps?” Honeysuckle said. “I distinctly recall speaking to one of your officers that night.”

“The name ‘Isobel Sedbusk’ appears on the list,” Will continued. “When no one by that name could be located in the area, we looked into it. It seems ‘Isobel Sedbusk’ is a fictional character.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Isobel Sedbusk? Surely, no––oh––dear!” she cried. “Oh, dear me!”

Honeysuckle’s demeanor changed yet again, and she laughed heartily. Will, taken aback by these sharp turns in her mood, waited patiently.

“I really shouldn’t have done it,” she said, “and I hope you’ll forgive my little joke. I suppose I must have been caught up in the moment,” she continued, pulling a tissue from her pocket. “I mean, a real life murder in our own back yard, plonked right into our collective lap, in the middle of a Hitchcock movie––it was just so exciting!” she said.

“I’m afraid it simply seemed like the thing to do,” Honeysuckle went on. “But it
was
silly of me, and I
do
apologize. You see, Detective, another Hitchock film––
Suspicion
––is a real favorite of mine, and Isobel Sedbusk is a character in it. So when your men were taking down our information, I said my name was Isobel Sedbusk. I really don’t know why I said that.”

Honeysuckle smiled at Will expectantly, as if he would congratulate her on the joke. Instead, Will began to wonder if Honeysuckle was completely sane.

“You told me at the Farmer’s Market that you didn’t know the murdered girl,” Will continued, “but it has come to my attention that you are well acquainted with her roommate, Mary Buttery. The two of you are seen regularly here at Olivia’s Tearoom.”

“Oh, yes, Mary is a delightful girl,” Honeysuckle beamed. “Poor thing suffers dreadfully from monthly discomfort, if you take my meaning, and I made up an herbal remedy that seems to help her a great deal. Mary’s an avid student of homeopathy and herbal healing methods, you see. She came to hear a little talk I gave recently at The Garden Club, and that’s how we became friends. She’s something of a protégée.”

“Were you aware of Mary’s feelings toward Bunny Baldwin?” Will asked.

A flicker of recognition passed over Honeysuckle’s face.

“I’m sorry, Detective. Mary and I don’t spend our time together discussing personal things. Ours is more of a student-teacher relationship.”

“One more question for now, Miss Blessington. Where were you on the Friday night of the murder, before you arrived at Hexley Hall?”

“Let me think for a moment,” she replied, absently fiddling with her long braid as if it were a rosary. 

“Oh, that’s right; I remember now. I was at home, preparing dinner. I made a delicious terrine of sweet potato, black beans, and quinoa, and apple crumble for dessert.”

“Can anyone corroborate that?” Will asked.

“I’m afraid not. Auntie Nedda was taking a nap, I believe,” she answered, pouring from the teapot.

“I see the tea is finished,” Honeysuckle said. “I think I’ll just get a refill, if you don’t mind. You did say that would be your last question,” she said, getting up from the table with the empty teapot in hand.

Chapter 37

Milo lay sprawled across the sofa in Louis
’ office, reading a 1946 issue of
Photoplay
with Loretta Young on the cover. Louis sat working at his desk.

“
The Stranger
is an underrated movie, you know?” Milo said without looking up.

“Edward G. Robinson is great in that,” Louis replied. “Great actor, one of my all-time favorites. It’s a perfect
noir
picture.”

“You know who else I like in it
––Richard Long,” Milo said. “You should show that movie sometime.”

Half an hour passed quietly. Milo lay the magazine down and stood up to stretch.

“Done!” Louis announced, pushing back his chair and putting his feet up on the desk.

“Hey, Milo, what’s going on with the investigation into that girl’s death? Have you heard anything?” Louis said.

Milo shoved his hands in his pockets and plopped back onto the sofa.

“As a matter of fact, I was questioned by the police,” Milo said.

“No kiddin’? And you’re just mentioning it now? When were you gonna tell me?” Louis asked.

“It was no big deal,” Milo said. “They’re talking to everyone in the Film Studies Department.”

“Wow. What’d they ask you about?” Louis said.

“They wanted to know if I knew Bunny, and what sort of person she was. Stuff like that. Routine questions.”

“I thought you told me you didn’t know her,” Louis said.

“Nah, I didn’t say that,” Milo replied. “I knew her, but not very well. She was in a couple of my classes, that’s all.”

“I saw a picture of her in the paper,” Louis said. “Pretty girl. Geez, her poor parents––can you imagine what they must be going through?”

“Yeah, I know,” Milo muttered from behind the pages of a
Photoplay
.

“So, what’s the scuttlebutt on campus about who might have killed her?” Louis said.

“Hm?” Milo said distractedly, engrossed in an article about Gene Tierney’s mental health struggles.

“The murder,” Louis repeated. “Any suspects?”

“Oh, that. I haven’t really been following it too much. All I know is that Bunny Baldwin was having an affair with the head of the Film Department.”

“Chaz Winner?”

“Yeah. And I guess it was all pretty scandalous,” Milo replied. “Professor Winner being a married man and everything, and Bunny, a student of his.”

Louis rolled a pencil rapidly up and down between the palms of his hands.

“I wonder if
he
killed her?” Louis speculated. “Or what about his wife?”

“Beats me,” Milo said. 

“Boy, Milo, you don’t seem very interested! There’s a killer roaming around New Guilford, and you couldn’t care less!” Louis clucked.

Milo peered over the top of the magazine.

“I just don’t believe the guilty party would stick around, that’s all,” Milo said. “I bet you anything the guy’s a million miles away by now.”

The two fell back into a companionable silence for some minutes, Milo reading
Photoplay
, and Louis straightening out papers.

“I saw on the schedule you’re doing a double-feature next month of
Rope
and
Vertigo,
” Milo said.

“Yeah. I figured since the college had to cancel the film festival it would probably be good for business if I
ran some Hitchcock. After
Rope
and
Vertigo
, I think I’ll do the other two movies Jimmy Stewart did with Hitch,” Louis said.

“Great idea,” Milo said, adding, “Boy, I could watch
Rope
every night, you know? What a brilliant movie. And what a genius that gluttonous, old prankster was!”

Chapter 38

Once again Will approached the imposing profile of Hexley Hall
––its concrete forms and shapes somehow evoking both modern technology and classical antiquity. He entered through the massive glass doors, and walked up to the second floor.

Rita Clovis
sat at a stark, aluminum desk inside the vast reception area. Will wondered if she got nervous sitting at a metal desk in front of such a large, trapezoid-shaped window during lightning storms. He inquired where he could find Wallace Duncan, and she pointed him in the direction of the editing lab.

The editing facility was on the third floor. The door was ajar. Wallace was seated at a computer, making sound adjustments on what would be the final version of his documentary.

“Wallace Duncan?” Will said, knocking on the open door.

Wallace turned to see who was addressing him.

“Yes?”

“Detective Tenney. I’m investigating the death of Bunny Baldwin. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if now is a good time.”

“Absolutely,” Wallace said pleasantly, spinning his chair around. “How can I help?”

“You knew her, is that right?” Will said.

“Y-yes. Yes, I did,” Wallace replied.

“Do you know of anyone who might have wished her harm?” Will said.

Wallace glanced away, shifting in his chair.

“How shall I put this?” Wallace smiled uncomfortably.

“Take your time, sir,” Will said.

“It’s just that
––Bunny did not exactly endear herself to her fellow film students,” Wallace said.

“How is that?” Will asked.

“She was a highly ambitious person,” Wallace replied, “not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just that Bunny was one of those people who conducted her life more in the spirit of competition than cooperation. Because of that, she didn’t put much value on trying to get along with people. I’m not sure anyone liked her much.”

Will nodded sympathetically and took notes.

“And then, of course, there was her relationship with Professor Winner,” Wallace continued. Most of us saw that as a career move on her part. Professor Winner has contacts in Hollywood.”

“What did you, personally, think of her?” Will said.

Wallace folded his hands in his lap, and thought for a few moments.

“Bunny knew what she wanted; I give her credit for that. She was definitely a girl with a plan. Possibly not the brightest bulb on the tree, but she had other qualities,” Wallace said.   

“Such as?”

“Such as drive and determination, I’d say. Such as the ability to keep her eyes on the prize, and work toward her goals,” Wallace replied. “You had to admire her for that.”

“Did you like her?”

“Not particularly,” Wallace answered. “I found Bunny hard to like. She had what I would describe as a hierarchical view of the world, with herself on top
––in the royalty category––simply because she had the good fortune of a privileged, wealthy upbringing. Bunny lacked grace, and it’s hard to like someone like that––she put a lot of people off. I suppose people might describe her as spoiled.”

“Yes, that word keeps popping up,” Will said.
“I do have to ask, sir, where you were on the night she was killed.”

“Understood,” Wallace said. “I was in Hexley Auditorium for the screening of
Spellbound
.”

“And before that, let’s say between four-thirty and six-thirty?”

“I was at Lattimer’s Pond shooting some extra footage I needed for the documentary I’m working on,” Wallace said, indicating the image on the computer screen.

“From four-thirty to six-thirty?”

Wallace hesitated.

“I may have briefly met a friend in town before I drove out to Lattimer’s,” Wallace replied.

“And the friend can verify this?” Will asked.

“Y-yes,” Wallace said, “if it’s absolutely necessary.”

Will sat quietly, casting a neutral, non-judgmental air. He gave Wallace a look of understanding.

“The friend is married,” Wallace continued. “We meet when we can, where we can. That afternoon I met her for half an hour or so, and then I drove out to Lattimer’s Pond.”

“Am I right in saying this would be Susan Winner?” Will asked.

Wallace stared at Will.

“Yes, that’s right,” Wallace said. 

“Is the relationship serious?” Will asked.

“I’m in love with her, if that’s what you mean,” Wallace replied.

“Is she in love with you?” Will asked.

Wallace hesitated.

“I thought she was, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Why is that, Mr. Duncan?”

“Because when we were together that afternoon, I brought up the subject of us moving to California. She shot it down without even giving it any thought.”

“What was the reason?” Will asked.

Forlorn, perhaps heartbroken, Wallace suddenly looked ten years younger, like a dejected schoolboy.

“When I asked her,” he replied, “she talked about her kids being happy at their school, and how it would be unfair to transplant them to a brand new school system so far away from all their friends. But honestly, I’ve started to wonder if maybe she has some idea about getting back with her husband, Professor Winner.”

“Did she tell you that?” asked Will.

“No,” Wallace sighed. “It’s just a feeling.”