The Bilbao Looking Glass (23 page)

“Here’s the man to tell,” Max remarked as a familiar face appeared at the side door. “Hi, Jofferty. How’d you get past the sentries?”

“Flashed my clamming permit at ’em. Ol’ Jed’s roped in five or six of his cronies and they’ve got quite a cordon down there. He claims Mike’s gone up on the cliff to bombard invaders with fish heads. I suppose he knew what he was talking about.”

“Oh yes,” Sarah told him. “Two of my cousin’s boys were already there. I don’t know how Mr. Lomax heard about the fish heads, though. That was what you might call an inspiration of the moment.”

“Jed always knows. Understand you folks are having another run-in with the law out here. I’m sorry I wasn’t on duty when they pinched Max.”

“So am I. I did tell Bradley Rovedock to ask for you when he called the station to let them know about Miffy Tergoyne’s being killed, but evidently he didn’t connect. I’m sure you’d have been able to talk some sense into Chief Wilson.”

Sarah felt strange talking to Jofferty in his off-duty uniform of plaid shirt and rubber waders, but she couldn’t have been gladder to see him. “Could I offer you something, Sergeant? We’ve been having tea, but there’s whiskey or beer if you’d rather.”

“Thanks, but I had coffee at the station just now when I dropped in to get the scoop on Max. The chief’s having the time of his life, running up the town’s phone bill making sure you were where you said you were yesterday in New York, Max.”

“I hope to God he’s succeeding.”

“ ’Fraid so. Looks as if he’s got to bait up his lines again and go catch himself another suspect.”

“Sarah’s got one lined up for him.”

Max told him who and why. Jofferty nodded.

“Good thinking, Mrs. Kelling. The only hitch is, on the night Alice Beaxitt was killed, I myself picked Pete up about half-past ten for driving under the influence. We kept him in the lockup till morning. I’m afraid Pete’s got what you might call an iron-clad alibi.”

“H
ELL!” SAID THE PROPER
Bostonian.

Uncle Jake snickered. Sarah turned red.

“I’m sorry, but it was such a lovely theory. I was even going to add that the Bilbao looking glass got here because Pete brought it. I can’t see how we found the thing before the robbery took place, if Alice B. didn’t give it to Pete. She was the only one who could have pretended the glass was still there the next morning when she took inventory for Miffy, as I suppose she must have. Assuming there weren’t two different glasses involved.”

“I snuck a copy of the photograph they had in that album,” said Jofferty, “and went over to the bank and compared it to the mirror we found here in your entry-way. Took a Polaroid of that one, too, while I was about it. They sure look alike to me. Were those mirrors all made to the same pattern?”

“No they weren’t,” Max told him. “Assembly-line production hadn’t been invented in those days. Designs followed the same general scheme, but details could vary a good deal. Even if one particular craftsman tried to make a perfectly matched pair, there’d still be subtle differences in the graining of the marble.”

He studied the two photographs Jofferty handed him. “I’d say they’re identical. You shown these to anybody yet?”

“No, and I’m going to catch hell from the chief because I haven’t. I had a hunch I’d better keep my mouth shut until you gave me the word. This must have been part of the scheme to frame you, eh, Max? I suppose they figured they’d better get the mirror into the house before anybody showed up, what with Sarah’s aunt coming and all. Sorry, Mrs. Kelling. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’d much rather you called me Sarah,” she told him. “I shan’t be Mrs. Kelling much longer anyway, assuming we can keep Max out of jail long enough to get him to the church.”

Jacob Bittersohn’s eyes narrowed. “The church?”

“The whatever will make Max’s mother feel better. I don’t care who performs the ceremony, I just want to keep it simple and get it over. Going back to that looking glass, though, I still say it couldn’t possibly have been here when we arrived unless Alice B. had deliberately tricked Miffy into thinking it was still in their house. If Pete Lomax wasn’t Alice B.’s accomplice, then somebody else was, that’s all.”

“Couldn’t it have been stolen after they’d done their daily check and before you folks got here?” Jofferty suggested.

“I wondered about that, but it would have taken some awfully clever footwork. Alice and Miffy weren’t early risers. It was apt to be almost noontime before Miffy’d recovered from her previous night’s hangover enough to see straight, much less do her inventory. And how could the thief know he wouldn’t run smack into us? We didn’t know when we were coming ourselves, until we got here. We’d meant to be earlier, but things kept coming up, then Max got a phone call from Honolulu. Besides, that would mean stealing the looking glass in broad daylight.”

“But if Miss Tergoyne and her companion went grocery shopping for the party—”

“Miffy never went anywhere if she could help it, except down to the yacht club. Alice B. would have done the shopping, either the day before or while Miffy was on the phone rounding people up. Come to think of it, I suppose she could have brought the looking glass herself, if she’d had any way to get into the house. No, she wouldn’t have done that because she didn’t drive. Miffy wouldn’t go to the expense of keeping a car, so they either bummed rides from their friends or used the station taxi. Besides, being in the village as they were, Alice B. could walk to the store and back easily enough. She’d have trotted around on her errands alone and gone back to make her clam puffs.”

“While she was planning a murder?” Jofferty was having a hard time with this.

“Alice B. wouldn’t have been planning a murder,” Sarah reminded him. “She’d have been planning a robbery and she’d have been feeling pretty cocky about it because she’d think she had a foolproof setup. One doesn’t go around suspecting little ladies who make hot clam puffs, does one?”

“Okay, Sarah, I’ll hand you the clam puffs. But if she had an accomplice and it wasn’t Pete, who’s your next candidate?”

“One of the Beaxitts, I suppose, since they were her next of kin. My cousin’s wife Vare did come to mind, or rather her girl friend Tigger. She’s the woman they practically had to chloroform before she’d let her fingerprints be taken.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that one. They’re checking to see if she has a record. And she’s a niece or something, right?”

“Vare is, but it appears to be Tigger who’s after money. And then there’s Lassie Larrington, who’s one of Miffy’s heiresses. On account of the tomato juice, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You see, at the funeral, or rather afterward at Miffy’s, most of the crowd were clustered around Miffy and Max. I was standing apart trying to think of a way to rescue him and chatting with Lassie. She was complaining about how flat the Bloody Marys were. I told her she must have taken a glass of plain tomato juice, which I myself was drinking. Naturally Lassie threw a fit and rushed over to the bar. She got two martinis. Biff Beaxitt claims she gave one of them to him, but I have the impression he’s lying.”

“Would he cover up for her in a case of murder?”

“Probably, if he thought it was worth his while. Biff and Lassie are cousins or something, and he’s married to a relative of Lassie’s husband. She’s the Priscilla Beaxitt who’s another of Miffy’s heirs. He’d be protecting the family name, you see, and also the inheritance. It was really most unlike Lassie to make a mistake about a drink. What if Biff knew she’d used that bit of byplay to bring Miffy a poisoned drink while she was crowding in among the others?”

“Always what if?” moaned Jacob Bittersohn. “How about evidence?”

“How about motive?” said Max “Are the Larringtons hard up?”

“I don’t know. Don was complaining yesterday on the boat about the terrible state of the stock market, if that means anything.”

“Would Lassie be up to braining Alice Beaxitt with an axe?”

“I should think so. She’s one of those big outdoorsy types, like all the yacht club crowd. It might actually be easier to swing an axe than poke a knife into someone, mightn’t it? You wouldn’t have to be so particular where you hit, and the axe itself would do more of the work because it’s so heavy and sharp.”

“Cripes, I hadn’t thought of that. I mean, when you think of an axe you automatically think of a man.” Jofferty shook his head in chauvinistic wonderment.

“Look at Lizzie Borden,” Max offered helpfully.

“Never mind look at Lizzie Borden,” snapped his uncle. “Look for evidence that might stand up in court. Go on, Sarah. Anybody else you could make a case against?”

“Fren Larrington would be a likely starter. He’s Lassie’s brother-in-law. Fren’s a stupid lout with a really dreadful temper. He’s been divorced not long ago, and there might have been some fairly raw stuff they managed to suppress at the trial. Being the sort of person she was, Alice B. could have got hold of the inside facts and used them to blackmail him into helping her.”

“Facts?” said the elder Bittersohn inexorably.

“Well, I suppose there’s the fact that Fren’s started paying me attention all of a sudden. For instance, he barged in here day before yesterday while Max and I were eating breakfast and ordered me to meet him at the yacht club that night for dinner. Yesterday on Bradley Rovedock’s boat, he went through the motions of throwing a snit because I hadn’t gone. It wasn’t very convincing, but I suppose if he’s been planting false evidence here, courting the widow would give him some semblance of an excuse to be hanging around if anybody saw him on the premises.”

“Speaking of hanging,” said Jake, “how come he’d have hung that Bilbao looking glass you kids keep talking about in plain sight? Is he that stupid?”

“But he didn’t,” Sarah contradicted. “That is, he did but it wouldn’t normally have been, if you follow.”

“I don’t.”

“Then come with me.”

She led him into the cramped little front entry. “The glass was hanging here, on this wall. You couldn’t help noticing it when you came in the front door, but the point is, we almost never do. The side door into the living room is much more convenient, and that’s the one everybody always comes to. It just happened the day Max and I arrived, I had my purse full of junk and the key to this door was the first one I found, so I used it. Otherwise, the looking glass might have hung here for days, maybe even weeks, without my noticing.”

“And these Beaxitts and Larringtons would have known that?” Jake was asking as they went back to join Max and Jofferty.

“Alice B. would, at any rate. She knew I never got around to cleaning the entryway because it wasn’t used, so she always made a point of coming to the front door. Then we had to race around and find the key.”

Jofferty stood up. “I’m beginning to wonder why somebody didn’t clobber that Beaxitt woman long ago. ’Fraid I’ve got to beat it, folks. The wife’s expecting me with a bucket of clams for supper. Hey, Sarah, you want some nice steamers?”

“I’d adore just a few. I’m the only one who’ll eat them. Here, take this bowl to put them in.”

“Okay. It’ll take me a minute or two. I left my car down by the road so Jed wouldn’t have to move his barricade.”

“I’ll drive you down,” Max offered. “I expect Uncle Jake wants a lift back to Miriam’s.”

“He’s welcome to stay and eat with us,” said Sarah.

“Thanks, but if I know Miriam she’s been cooking all afternoon and she’ll be sore if I don’t show up.” The older man dragged himself out of the chair he’d just got settled back into. “You want to ride over with us, Sarah?”

“No, I’d better wait for the clams.”

Sarah had a feeling she might not be received with open arms at the Rivkins’ just now. Besides, she had her own cooking to start. She was out in the kitchen puttering around when she heard, “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”

“Aunt Appie!”

Sarah rushed back to the living room. “How did you get here?”

“Pussy and Biff came over to house-sit, so Bradley and I decided we’d play hooky and here we are. Though I must say we had quite a time getting here. What’s all that fuss down at the end of the drive? I actually had to speak sharply to Mr. Lomax before he’d let us through.”

“Lomax does seem to be taking his responsibilities as caretaker somewhat overzealously, we thought,” Bradley drawled.

“I couldn’t agree with you less,” Sarah informed him rather crisply. “If it hadn’t been for Mr. Lomax, we’d be overrun by television crews and souvenir hunters by now.”

“Great Scott, I hadn’t realized. One doesn’t really expect such things to happen, but we did collect a mob down at Miffy’s, come to think of it. Luckily there was a policeman outside moving them on. Your problem is on account of that scoundrel who tricked you into renting him the carriage house apartment, I gather. He’s been arrested, they tell us. That must be a load off your mind, at any rate. Pussy had some yarn about the police having found the murder weapon and one of Miffy’s paintings hidden among his socks or whatever, but I expect she got it wrong as she so often does. Surely the man wouldn’t have been that stupid.”

“No, Max is far from stupid,” Sarah answered, “and I’m surprised whoever planted that evidence against him thought such a silly trick would work. Pussy was right about the police finding the axe and the painting, but they weren’t in Max’s apartment. They’d been hidden behind a loose board in the staircase.”

“How ingenious,” said Aunt Appie. “I knew he was clever. What a pity he was never taught not to go around killing people. I blame the parents, myself. Dear, shall I make you a nice cup of tea?”

“I’ve just had one, thanks, with Max and his uncle. Would you please try to get it through your head that my fiancé hasn’t killed anybody? As for his parents, they’re furious with me for getting him in with the wrong crowd.”

“Well, dear, I’m afraid that’s what happens when people don’t stick with their own kind. For a truly happy marriage—”

“Like Lionel and Vare’s?”

That wasn’t kind and Sarah was sorry she’d said it, but not very. Appie and Bradley exchanged looks.

“Appie, didn’t you say you wanted to get some things out of your luggage?” said Bradley.