Major Vices (9 page)

The detective waited for his assistant to catch up. Foster finished writing, then turned an earnest round face to his superior. “That's true, sir,” he said, pointing to the two closed doors which led out of the dining room. “I checked the line of sight earlier.”

Buck mumbled something which might have been approval. “What happened when the deceased didn't respond to the knocking on the door?” he inquired of Judith.

Judith wanted to be accurate. “Uncle Boo had taken the key into the den,” she recounted carefully. “There was a master key on a ring, but it had disappeared a while ago, according to the housekeeper. The men were about to break the door down—or so it seemed—when I volunteered to try to pick the lock.”

Buck settled back in the chair and sadly shook his head. “How unfortunate. For you, I mean.”

Startled, Judith's black eyes stared. “Huh?”

Buck shrugged carelessly. “If you can pick the lock after he's dead, why not before?”

“Oh, good grief!” Judith twisted around in the chair, making a helpless gesture with her hands. “With what? I had to have somebody go find a crochet hook to do it at
all. And how could I pick a lock in plain sight of the others?”

Buck leaned forward, shaking a finger at her. “But you just said yourself that anybody at the door to the den couldn't be seen because the entrance is recessed.” He nodded abruptly at Foster. “Make a note of that.”

“If somebody walked by, they'd see me,” she countered. “Who'd take a chance like that?”

Buck's expression was impassive. “Somebody took a chance. A big one.”

“True,” Judith allowed. “But I doubt if whoever took that chance did it by picking the lock.”

“You got a better idea?” Sarcasm dripped from the detective's voice as he tipped his big head to one side.

Judith considered. “Well—no. There are windows on either side of the desk, but they're not very big. And they were latched from the inside.”

“Aha!” boomed Buck. “You noticed that, did you?”

Judith ignored his insinuating remark. “Was the key on the desk the one for the den?”

He looked affronted by her temerity in asking such a question. “Sure it was. What else would it be for? You got a noticing kind of nature, lady. How come?”

In the distance, more sirens could be heard. Foster's ears pricked up, but Buck paid no heed. Judith waited until the wailing noise wound down before she spoke again. “Given the circumstances, it would be peculiar not to notice,” she said, sounding a bit cross. “What I didn't check on was whether or not those bookcases hide a secret panel. That would explain everything.”

Buck's mouth expanded across his wide face, a rumbling guffaw emitted from his chest, and then he threw back his head. “Ha-ha! A secret…panel! That's…rich!” He was laughing so hard that he could barely speak. Officer Foster chuckled in a manner that was more embarrassed than amused.

Given the eccentricities of the Major family, Judith hadn't found the suggestion inconceivable. “It's possible,” she began, “if old Dunlop had wanted to…”

Buck's uproarious laughter drowned her out. At last he
regained control and wiped his eyes with a large white handkerchief. “This isn't…some old manor house in…England, or one of those…places where they have manor houses. This,” he continued, suddenly sober and pounding on the table, “is
The Bluff!
If you're looking for a hiding place, what about that big carton?”

Judith frowned. “The…oh, you mean the box the new TV came in? What about it?”

Buck resettled himself. The chair creaked under his weight. He folded his hands across the expanse of his stomach and twiddled his thumbs. “That's right, the box. An adult could hide in that thing. I don't suppose you noticed
that
.”

Judith reflected on the presence of the large carton. Buck Doerflinger was right: It certainly was large enough to conceal a full-grown adult. It could even have concealed one as huge as Buck Doerflinger. But the idea didn't make much sense. Judith decided not to say so. “It's a big box, all right,” she allowed as a knock sounded at the door between the dining room and the entry hall.

The officer with the Texas drawl put a deferential hand to the brim of his cap. “Sir, there's been an accident.”

Buck scowled at the policeman. “So?”

“It happened at the bottom of that steep hill leadin' from The Bluff. New Lexus, went into a lamppost. The driver's kind of messed up. He's bein' taken to Bayview Hospital. Name of Mason Meade. Isn't he one of the suspects we fingerprinted? Sir?”

Buck Doerflinger flew out of the chair, which toppled to the floor. The table shook; Buck shook, presumably with rage. “Meade's a suspect, dammit! What was he doing, fleeing the premises?” He whirled on Judith. “Did you know about this? Did you aid and abet Meade's escape?”

Judith gulped. “I knew he left the living room,” she replied in a feeble voice.

Buck's eyes narrowed to the thinnest of slits. He seemed incoherent with anger, glowering at Judith and wagging his finger. At last he composed himself and turned back to the Texan. “Rigby—once this perp gets to the hospital,
have a round-the-clock guard kept on him. I don't want him running off again.”

Rigby nodded, his big ears turning pink. “It's not likely, sir. Meade's got a broken leg and arm. Ribs, too. And probably a concussion. He skidded down that steep hill and really slammed into the lamppost. The car's a mess.”

“Serves him right,” muttered Buck, picking up the chair and sitting back down. Rigby left. Judith was urged to do the same. Buck Doerflinger wanted to see Renie next. Judith hoped Renie had a full stomach. Her cousin could be testy when she was hungry. And with Buck Doerflinger, that wouldn't do. No, thought Judith as she went out through the door that led to the kitchen, that wouldn't do at all.

 

Renie was just sitting down to her steak, new potatoes, and what was left of the cauliflower. Buck's summons was not met with good grace.

“Tell him to screw off,” Renie snarled. “Except for a few samples while we were getting dinner, I haven't eaten since lunch. I'm starved.”

“I don't think you can put Doerflinger off,” Judith coaxed. “He's kind of awful.” Suddenly she gazed around the kitchen. Except for Renie, no one else was present. “Hey, where's Toadie and Vivvie and Trixie?”

Renie gave a slight shrug and tied into the steak. “The old girls went upstairs to bed. I guess Trixie went with them. Or else she's pining for Mason. Who knows? Who cares?” Renie put extra butter on her potatoes.

“Mason wrecked Trixie's car,” Judith said, fretting over how to part Renie from her meal. “He's off to the hospital.”

“Serves him right,” Renie replied with her mouth full. “The food won't be very good there.”

“Coz,” Judith said slowly, “the cops are waiting for you. Don't aggravate Buck Doerflinger.”

Renie tasted the cauliflower. “Why couldn't Woody have gotten this case? He's not working with Joe on this missing-persons thing, is he?”

Anxiously, Judith folded her hands together in a prayer
ful attitude. “No. Woody's been breaking in a new recruit,” she explained a bit distractedly. “He and Joe will be working again as a team in a couple of weeks. But not now. Unfortunately.” Judith knew how much her husband missed his partner, the taciturn, knowledgeable, engaging Woodrow Wilson Price.

“Woody's great,” Renie commented, forking in more steak. “Wee Woody must be going on two. Did you say Sondra was expecting again late this summer?”

“Yes, yes, late July or early August. I forget exactly.” Judith didn't have time to spare for the growing Woody Price ménage. Her head was throbbing, and she knew it was only a matter of seconds before Doerflinger sent his lackeys after Renie. “Coz,” she pleaded, “get in the dining room before Buck busts a gusset!”

“Sheesh.”
Rolling her eyes, Renie got to her feet, plate and utensils in hand.

“You can't eat in there,” Judith said sharply.

“Why not? It's the dining room, isn't it?” Renie huffed her way out of the kitchen.

Judith grabbed her cousin's purse. Her own was in the living room. She knew Renie always carried a small bottle of aspirin. Judith needed some. She had a feeling she'd need more before she left Major Manor.

R
ENIE HAD BEEN
right about Aunt Toadie and Aunt Vivvie: Claiming exhaustion from their ordeal, they had retired for the night. The Lott sisters had commandeered the bedrooms off the main staircase which were directly opposite each other, but shared a common bath with the other two guest rooms down the hall.

Renie had also been right about Buck Doerflinger: When she emerged from the dining room ten minutes later, empty plate in hand, she reported that Buck had been quite amiable.

“He kept asking questions and I kept saying I didn't know. Which I don't,” Renie asserted, rinsing off her dinner plate in the kitchen sink. “I think he's beginning to get tired, too. After all, it's going on eleven-thirty.” To underscore her point, she yawned.

Trixie was now in the dining room with Buck. The cousins tried to listen at the door but could hear only muffled voices.

“I suppose,” Judith mused, “we should make sleeping arrangements of our own. Why don't you check it out while I call Joe?”

Joe had just gotten home after a harrowing drive. He had taken the long way, going to the north end of
Heraldsgate Hill, then creeping through the fog that blanketed the neighborhood's commercial district.

“I left the MG at the top of the hill,” he reported, sounding weary. “I walked the last four blocks, but I almost fell on my butt about six times.”

“How's Mother?” Judith inquired, not quite ready to admit that anything other than the weather was preventing her departure from The Bluff.

Joe chuckled, a bit weakly. “I pounded on the toolshed door. She was watching an old Western and rooting for General Custer. She told me to go soak my head.”

“Oh, good,” Judith exclaimed, “she's fine, then. Say, Joe, we've had a little problem over here with—”

“Corinne Dooley left a note,” Joe went on, apparently not having heard his wife. “She said everything was okay with the guests. They all went out after sherry and hors d'oeuvres.”

Judith frowned. “Did they all come back?”

“Damned if I know,” Joe replied unconcernedly. “They always take a key, so they can let themselves in. Since when did you start worrying about curfew?”

“Since the streets got covered with black ice,” Judith retorted.

“So? If they're marooned somewhere, it's not your fault. You won't have to worry about getting them breakfast.”

Judith rubbed at her head, which was still aching despite Renie's aspirin. “If they
do
come back, can you fix some eggs and bacon and toast and coffee?”

“Sure,” Joe answered, his enthusiasm forced. “Sounds good. For me. I've got to be back at headquarters by seven
A
.
M
.—if I can make it. The Mayor is in a real tizzy. We haven't turned up a single significant lead on his cousin.”

“But, Joe…” Judith ran a hand through her short silvered hair. Irrationally, she felt as if Joe were letting her down. “Have you checked to see if the guests are in their rooms?”

“Jude-girl.” All buoyancy had gone out of Joe's voice. She had a mental image of her husband sitting on their bed in the third-floor family quarters. Probably his tie was undone, his shirt was unbuttoned, and his loafers were already
off. No doubt his sport coat and .38 Smith & Wesson revolver were flung across the back of a chair. “It's going on midnight. I have to be up in six hours. If your guests don't have enough sense to come in out of the ice, I can't help it. I'll give Corinne a call in the morning before I leave. She's a good kid; she'll bail you out again, okay?”

Judith leaned against the wall where the old-fashioned black telephone was situated. She pressed the separate earpiece against her aching skull and tried to think her way through this latest dilemma. Perhaps the guests were safely ensconced in their beds. Maybe Joe was right. Corinne Dooley was always up before seven. She could fix a half-dozen breakfasts without batting an eye. Judith would deal with the next crisis when she felt more rested.

But she still had to tell Joe about Uncle Boo's murder. Or did she? He was worn out; she was feeling ragged. What was the point? He'd be upset, maybe worried enough to risk his neck by coming to rescue her from a murderer—and Buck Doerflinger. It was hard to say which would distress Joe more. The most important thing was to tell him she loved him.

“I love you,” she said into the separate mouthpiece.

“The feeling is mutual,” Joe replied, sounding less frazzled but more sleepy. “Go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow. I hope.”

“Me, too,” Judith said fervently. “'Night.”

“'Night. Miss you,” he added, his voice even lower. “Bed's empty. Cold, too. Brrrr.” He chuckled again, then suddenly gained momentum. “By the way, don't go for any walks. I heard on the scanner that there was a murder tonight over on The Bluff. I don't remember the address, but I think it was kind of close to Major Manor.”

Judith gulped. “I heard about it, too. It
was
pretty close.”

Too close
, Judith thought as she hung up the antiquated phone.

 

On the second floor, Toadie and Vivvie both had their doors closed. Trixie informed the cousins she would join her mother.

“There are two other rooms down the hall, but Derek and Holly will take one, and that little snot of a Jill has dibs on the other,” Trixie declared, not without a hint of pleasure at the cousins' discomfiture. “Maybe you two can sleep in the furnace room.”

Renie gave Trixie a snide look. “That would beat sleeping in Intensive Care, which is where your fiancé is about now. How come he did a bunk? Bad conscience? I hope your car was insured, kiddo.”

Trixie blanched. “Serena! You've got a nasty tongue! How can you talk that way when poor Mason is in Unsatisfactory Condition?”

Renie sniffed. “Upgraded from Unstable? Or was that the condition he was in when you two got engaged?”

Trixie looked as if she were about to pummel Renie. The sight of two middle-aged women facing off on the staircase landing beneath Dunlop Major's luminous stained-glass clipper ships was too much for Judith.

“Knock it off, guys,” she ordered. “Haven't we had enough trouble tonight?”

As the evening wore on, Trixie's carefully made-up face had lost its bloom. She looked haggard and depleted. While Renie retained her belligerent stance, Trixie folded up, like a fading flower.

“Of course I'm worried sick about Mason,” she murmured. “I'm crazy about him.” She ignored Renie's snicker. “But,” she went on with a hint of her usual bravado, “I don't care about the car. It's insured, and in any event, I don't have to worry about money.” Tossing her head, she started up the final flight of stairs. “Uncle Boo's death is a terrible blow,” she said over her shoulder, and for a moment her face took on a fresh, youthful glow. “But everything has its up side. He left all of his fortune to Mummy and me.”

Trixie swished on up the stairs and disappeared at the top of the landing.

 

Derek was the most recent member of the family to be interrogated by the police. He emerged from the dining room shortly before midnight, his long face sallow and his
eyes sunken. Judith and Renie approached him as he walked slowly across the entry hall.

“Excuse me,” he said in a hollow voice. “I must send my daughter into the inquisition. Then Holly and I are going to bed.”

Holly, apparently, had been questioned by Buck Doerflinger in between Trixie and Derek. “What about the Wakefields?” Judith asked.

Derek shrugged. “They're not family. Maybe the police will wait until morning to talk to them. It's very late.” He headed toward the living room.

Renie had started back up the stairs, but Judith detained her. “Where are you going? There's no room left up there. Besides, I want to ask Derek something.”

Renie bridled. “No room? What about the master suite? Uncle Boo isn't using it tonight.”

Judith winced at Renie's apparent callousness. But her cousin wasn't unfeeling so much as she was realistic: Renie was a pragmatist who was also a victim of her own creature comforts. For all practical purposes, she was right. Judith and Renie might as well sleep in Boo's empty bed. It was better than the furnace room.

Jill's shoulders slumped as she trudged into the dining room. “This is silly,” she commented as she went past the cousins. “Why would anyone kill Boo? He was utterly harmless.”

“But,” Judith murmured after Jill was out of earshot, “stinking rich.” She turned to Derek, who was standing in the entry hall with a protective arm around Holly. “Well? Is it true about Uncle Boo's will?”

Both Rushes looked affronted, as if Judith had insulted them. It occurred to her that maybe she had. Certainly she was invading the family's privacy.

“Wait,” she said hastily. “I'm sorry. I'm tired, and so are you. I spoke out of turn.”

Holly smiled wanly. “It's all right. This has been a terrible night. We're all on edge.”

Derek nodded. “Many unfortunate things have been said in the course of the evening. Given what's happened, your question is natural enough. It would be in poor taste for us
to discuss it, though.” He touched Judith's arm; his long fingers were very cold. “You understand.”

“Yes, sure,” Judith replied, though she sounded uncertain.

Renie wasn't inclined to play the agreeable stooge, however. “Understand what? That when it comes to Boo's will, you folks got screwed?”

Holly's expression was startled. Derek arched his thick dark eyebrows. “What?” he said in a very soft voice. “No, no. Hardly that. My uncle left me everything. Rest his soul.”

Holding Holly close, Derek led the way upstairs. Judith and Renie watched them go out of sight, then stared at each other.

“Weird,” breathed Renie.

“Crazy,” muttered Judith.

Renie tapped her chin. “I wonder who Boo's attorney is.”

Judith reflected. “Years ago, when some neighbor's kid jumped in the lily pond and concussed himself, Aunt Rosie hired Ewart Gladstone Whiffel,” she said, referring to the lawyer who had served not only the entire Grover clan, but many of their friends and relations as well. “I suppose whoever took over his practice also took over Uncle Boo.”

“Mom would know,” Renie said, relying as she often did on Deborah Grover's legal background. Renie's mother had worked for years as Whiffel's legal secretary.

“Call her in the morning,” said Judith as they started up the stairs. “Money is such a wonderful motive, and in this case, there seems to be some…ah…confusion.”

The door to the master bedroom was just off the upstairs landing. Judith felt for the light switch. Overhead, a brass chandelier went on, its amber bulbs bathing the room in a soft golden glow. The suite was furnished with more Philippine mahogany, including a bed with a carved sunburst on the headboard, a chaise longue covered in rust-and-bronze-striped satin, a dressing table with a triptych mirror, and a bureau with brass nautical accents. There were two closets faced in etched glass, and an ironing al
cove where the new, large-screen TV now stood. A fireplace decorated with wildlife mosaics stood on one side of the room, presumably directly above its mate in the living room. The master bath featured mahogany steps to the tiled tub and a separate shower with a frosted glass door depicting King Neptune. The cousins were charmed.

“Nice,” Judith remarked, closing the door to the master bathroom. “But it's cold up here. This whole house is drafty. It's too bad there's no wood or kindling up here. I'll bet Boo hasn't used the fireplace in years.” She peeked out through the drawn beige drapes. The fog was right up to the windows.

Renie, who was admiring the handsome but faded floral wallpaper, shivered. “You're right. If we got wood for a fire, we'd probably burn the place down. Maybe we should have slept in the furnace room. It would have been warmer. I'm wearing my socks to bed.”

Judith had gone to the big bureau, searching for sleep-wear. “I feel ghoulish,” she said, sorting through orderly piles of shirts. “Maybe we could sleep in all of our clothes.”

Pajamas were found, however, as were robes. The bathroom was so large that the cousins could both use it at the same time. Emerging in a quilted maroon robe, Judith eyed the door. “We'd better lock it. This house isn't exactly safe.”

Searching in the pockets for the tie to her silk paisley robe, Renie came up empty and grimaced. “It
should
be safe. It's full of cops.”

Judith's expression was skeptical. She turned the old-fashioned latch. “Does every room have a separate lock? Who has the master key? The resident space-case, Weed Wakefield? If I could open the den with a crochet hook, how hard would it be for a determined killer to get in here?”

Renie, however, scoffed. “Who would determine to kill us? We're hired hands. We're the people who get ‘friendly reminders' from our creditors. We're poor, coz. We're not worth killing.”

The argument was convincing, but nonetheless, Judith
insisted on putting a heavy nightstand in front of the door. It took some doing for the cousins to shove the solid piece of furniture across the floor, but they finally managed to get it in place. It was almost twelve-thirty when they crept into the big, comfortable bed. They felt safer, but they were still cold.

“Good night,” Renie said, tugging the handmade quilt up around her chin. “Wake me if I turn blue.”

“Right,” Judith replied. “It's not bad under the covers. 'Night.”

“Uh-huh,” Renie replied, apparently already half asleep.

Silence had enveloped the big old house. Judith wondered if Buck Doerflinger had finished his interrogations for the night. If so, she speculated about where the policemen would sleep. Perhaps some of the officers would try to get off The Bluff. But Buck, she reasoned, would have to stay on for fear of not being able to return in the morning. Unless the temperature began to rise, the black ice would remain on the streets until the following day.