“You’re suggesting her death was not murder, but rather due to an accident during a quarrel?”
“Why not? You said yourself that it was possible Elly fell and struck her head.”
“Yes, but if that were the case, why hide the body? People die from accidental falls all the time. Husbands whose wives tumble down the stairs and parents who strike their children too hard aren’t usually hanged for it.”
Diana’s brow furrowed. “I can imagine hiding the body in a moment of panic. I wonder—did Mrs. Lyseth get religion before or after her daughter disappeared?”
“I don’t know, but it was years later before Pastor Riker came on the scene.” A pity, he thought. The preacher would have made an excellent suspect.
Diana penciled a note to herself. “I will find out. As for Floyd Lyseth, we already know he is no prize.”
“Being ill-natured doesn’t make a man a murderer, Diana.” He was too far away to see what she had written. Rising, he went to stand beside her, one hand on her shoulder.
“I suppose not. And, as you say, he’d have no need to hide the body if her death occurred by accident during a quarrel.”
Suspect number four on Diana’s list was Myron Grant. Would he have killed to protect his younger sibling? He might have. Ben knew he’d go to great lengths for his own brother, Aaron.
“Keep him on the list?” Diana asked, correctly reading his expression.
“Keep him on.”
“And fifth,” Diana continued, adding one more name, “is Cousin Mercy.”
“She was just a child ten years ago,” Ben objected.
“And she’d had her father’s full attention all her life. What if she resented Elly Lyseth for taking him away from her? She’d have wanted to prevent them from marrying. I think it unlikely she’d resort to murder at such a tender age, or have the strength to kill a grown woman, but you never know. For the moment, she too must remain a suspect.”
“Any others?” His wandering fingers found a knot of tension at the base of Diana’s neck.
“I’m sure there must be more,” Diana murmured, letting her head fall forward as he began to massage the spot with his thumbs, “but I don’t know enough yet to add other names. It would have to be someone who was here in Lenape Springs ten years ago.”
“Saugus and his wife were.” As Ben gently kneaded Diana’s neck and shoulders, he told her what he’d learned in town.
“I wonder if Saugus might have come back because he’d heard about plans to enlarge the hotel.” She sounded more relaxed, but her thoughts were still fixed on murder. “If he knew where the body was, he’d want to make sure it wasn’t found.”
“Saugus apparently objected to Grant’s plans to rebuild the west wing. That is suspicious, I suppose, but only if he had reason to kill Elly Lyseth in the first place.”
“Maybe Howd wasn’t the only one courting her.”
“Saugus was married, Diana.” He lifted his hands from her shoulders. His thumbs had given out.
Diana didn’t seem to notice. “Then there’s Mrs. Saugus. Belle. I suppose she might have been jealous, if she thought the girl was carrying on with her husband.”
“You’re grasping at straws,” Ben warned.
“What about the quarrel we overheard last night?”
“They were discussing the discovery of the remains, just as we were.”
“Discussing? Shouting at each other, you mean. And Saugus called someone a whore. Elly Lyseth, do you think?”
Ben considered her reasoning, then shook his head. “You haven’t enough to go on.”
“It’s early days yet.” She tapped the end of her pencil against her teeth. “The fire
has
to be connected, even if it did occur a few days later. We need to know more about everything that happened back then. Elly’s life. Howd’s. The hotel.”
“For a newspaper story?”
His sarcasm earned him a glare. “For myself. For my
family
.”
Ben told himself to behave. She believed what she said and she needed to find the truth, even if her quest led her straight into trouble. Just as he needed to stay by her side, helping her . . . keeping her safe from harm.
“Why don’t you divide up your list?” he suggested. “Each of us can talk to half the people on it.”
“An excellent idea.” She took another sheet of paper, pondering a moment before she wrote three names on one half and four on the other. Then she tore the paper neatly in two and handed the top section to him.
She’d given him Myron Grant, Floyd Lyseth, and Norman Saugus. She’d kept the women . . . and Howd . . . for herself.
“Any questions?” A slightly outthrust jaw warned him not to challenge his assignment.
“Not a one,” he lied.
* * * *
After luncheon, dressed in somber hues, Diana made her way to the little house occupied by Floyd and Celia Lyseth. “Mrs. Lyseth?” Diana inquired when the woman opened the door. There was no doubt it was she, although she looked years older than she had the previous day. “I have come to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”
Celia Lyseth stayed where she was, firmly blocking the entrance. Behind her Diana caught a glimpse of
a cluttered hallway and the stairs leading to the second floor. “I don’t know you,” she said after she’d examined Diana from head to toe. “Who are you?”
“My name is Diana Sp— Northcote.” Diana felt warmth rushing into her face but soldiered on. “I am a guest at the Hotel Grant.”
“Oh,” said Celia Lyseth. “Doctor’s wife.”
“May I come in?”
“Why?”
For a moment Diana could only blink at her. Was such rudeness common among country folk? That she was herself being rude and intrusive was beside the point. Whether it was regarded as an act of charity or a neighborly gesture, a formal condolence call on a bereaved family was an acceptable social practice.
“I . . . I just thought you might want company in your . . . time of sorrow.”
“Pastor’ll be by to pray with me later.” Diana got the message. Mrs. Lyseth didn’t want anyone else consoling her, certainly not a stranger.
“If there’s anything you need, I—”
“I have the Lord.” She started to close the door, then added in a grudging voice, “Funeral’s after church services tomorrow if you’re of a mind to attend.”
Diana stared at the wooden panels for a long moment before retreating from the Lyseths’ tiny front stoop. Such odd behavior, but did it mean anything? Elly had disappeared ten years ago. Perhaps her parents had done their grieving then.
Diana had walked to the Lyseth house from the hotel, a matter of perhaps a half mile. On her way back, she spotted Belle Saugus inside the village’s general store. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she went in.
The place smelled wonderful. The agreeable fumes of freshly roasted coffee almost blocked the heavy, less amenable odor from the wet spot under the kerosene barrel. Pails filled with fine-cut, aromatic tobacco and the scents emanating from a half dozen gleaming glass jars atop the counter added to the pleasant atmosphere.
Mrs. Saugus didn’t notice Diana at first, being intent on the selection of teas. It was sold from tea chests, in the original straw matting. Chinese characters decorated the sides of the containers, which sat in a row on the floor.
The proprietress, a robust countrywoman wearing blue-tinted glasses, the sleeves of her calico dress rolled up to her elbows, was wrestling an empty barrel through the back door. “Never fails,” she grumbled. “Not another soul in sight when I start a job and the moment I’m in the midst of it, the whole world wants service.”
“Don’t bother about me,” Diana hastily assured her. “I’ll just look around till you’re free.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Northcote,” Belle said.
“Mrs. Saugus.” Diana pretended to be interested in a container of Towle’s Log Cabin maple syrup. “How clever,” she murmured. “The tin is shaped like a log cabin.”
It was an inane thing to say, but she could hardly come right out and ask Belle Saugus if she’d killed Elly Lyseth. She turned to the dry goods counter opposite the one with the glass jars. A row of upholstered cast iron stools for ladies had been arranged in front of it and on top was a dispenser cabinet for thread. It was shaped like a great cylinder and whirled around to show off all the gauges and colors of Merrick’s Six Cord Soft Finish Spool Cotton.
“Now then,” said the shopkeeper, dusting her hands as she returned to the store. “What can I get for you, ma’am? The only thing we’re out of at the moment is whiskey.”
That was what had been in the empty barrel, Diana supposed. There were a great many barrels in the store, large ones for beer and vinegar and smaller ones to hold pickles, sugar, and crackers. Through the open door to the back room, she could see a great hogshead of molasses in a sturdy frame and a large cask marked “beef in brine.” A smaller cask carried the label “pickled mackerel.”
“We’ve an iced meat box for fresh meats, too,” the shopkeeper said, seeing the direction of Diana’s gaze.
Diana turned back to the counter that ran the length of the store. On top were the showcases for candy, cigars, and cutlery. The store cheese sat under glass. Behind the counter were shelves full of light groceries, chewing gum, and patent medicines.
Once more drawn to the gleaming glass jars, Diana studied a selection of corn kisses, Gibraltars, cinnamon red hots, lemon gumdrops, Zanzibars, and conversation candy—small, crisp candies made of sugar and flour that contained little slips of tinted paper printed with rhymes and sentiments.
“I’ve a craving for gumdrops,” Diana said.
“Anything else?” The woman measured them out into a cone of paper and crimped the top to keep it closed. “I’ve raisins. Fruits both dried and fresh. Cheese, perhaps?”
“Thank you, no. Just gumdrops.”
“And anything else for you, ma’am?” she asked Belle Saugus. Diana saw there was a parcel already on the counter, wrapped in heavy paper and tied up with string.
“Is this all you have for store tea?”
“Straight from China, that is.”
Belle looked doubtful, but indicated she would take some. “I suppose anything is better than homemade brews. Mrs. Ellington offers nothing but sage, sassafras, and crop-vine teas.”
“Makes them from her own yarbs,” the shopkeeper agreed. “Healthier than drinking water from that spring if you ask me.”
“You don’t approve of taking the waters?” Diana asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
The woman grinned at her. “That’s because I didn’t throw it. I’m Emma Castine, and no, I don’t hold with that nonsense. Neither does my husband.” She made change for Belle Saugus, watching the other woman through narrowed eyes.
Mrs. Saugus snatched her parcels, the tea and something that sloshed. A flask, Diana decided, which might account for the empty whiskey barrel. “Some people wouldn’t know an opportunity to make a profit if it hit them in the fanny.”
“Oh-ho! Fine talk! My Elmer’s got a head on his shoulders, he has.”
“Is that why he leaves you to do all the work while he spends his time gossiping at the livery stable?”
“That’s his brother’s place,” Emma Castine shot back. “They get together to discuss town business, not that it’s any of
your
concern.”
Ordinarily, Diana would have left. Or attempted to make peace between the two women. In this instance, she thought it might be more useful to let them argue. That Horatio Foxe would approve of this method of getting information gave her pause, but she still refrained from interrupting.
“Come here all hoity-toity, thinking you’re better than the rest of us,” Mrs. Castine complained. “Well you’re no better than you should be, I say.”
“You miserable old hag. What do you know about anything! I don’t have to listen to your insults.”
“Leave then. We got along very nicely, thank you, before you and that husband of yours came here.”
“Did you? This place hasn’t changed a bit in ten years. It’s still a cesspit in the back of beyond.”
“Why are you here then? That’s what I’d like to know.” Hands on hips, she glared at her opponent from behind the counter. “Why don’t you just go back where you came from?”
Instead of answering that question, Belle Saugus tossed her head and declaimed: “I hate ingratitude more in a man than lying, vainness, babbling drunkenness, or any taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits our frail blood.” Then she whirled and strode out of the shop.
Diana had to hurry to catch up. “That was a superb exit line,” she gasped, breathless from chasing after the other woman. She wasn’t sure it had suited the situation, but it had certainly been delivered with flair. And it had left “the enemy”—Mrs. Castine—in a state of confusion.
“She irritates me,” Mrs. Saugus said. “Her husband hasn’t the sense to come in out of the rain, and yet she dares criticize my Norman.”
Diana gave the lowering sky a wry and wary glance and quickened her pace even more. Belatedly, she realized they might have done better to remain in the store.
“My Norman is ten times more clever than anyone else in this god-forsaken town,” Belle Saugus continued, apparently oblivious to the scattered drops of moisture already beginning to fall. “He’s proven that before and he’ll do it again.”
Proven how? Diana wondered.
Abruptly, Mrs. Saugus came to a halt in the middle of the road, hands fisted at her sides. “Give me a moment. I must regain control of myself.”
She’d seemed in excellent control to Diana, who knew very well how easily temper could overcome common sense. Hard upon that thought came another. This woman’s self-possession, her customarily blank expression, her dramatic departure from the general store—all these things suggested theatrical experience. So did the word “stage,” overheard during the previous night’s argument.
It might be that Belle Saugus was simply a natural actress, that she’d grown accustomed to “performing” in certain ways. Most women did, to some degree. But there had been a level of skill, a certain projection of the voice and an attitude evidenced in the lines she’d delivered from Shakespeare’s
Twelfth Night
that made Diana, who knew something of actors, think this particular woman must once have trod the boards.
She contemplated coming right out and asking, but there were pitfalls in such directness. In some circles, actresses were considered only a step above whores. She’d get nothing out of Belle Saugus if she insulted her.