Barbara Graham - Quilted 03 - Murder by Music (12 page)

“I guess that's fair,” said Tony. He watched Art carefully. “It looks like Scarlet LaFleur was murdered some time last night or early this morning either in her room or on the veranda. Then the body was dropped or pushed into the shrubbery.”

“Not in my hotel!” A vein on the innkeeper's forehead throbbed, and his complexion went pale, then red and then chalk-white. “I won't have it.”

Tony was impressed. If Art was acting, he was doing a fantastic job. “Well, we are going to have to determine where she was killed for sure, but her corpse is in your flowerbed decorating one of your bushes. I know this is very disturbing, but we have to cordon off the area and question your staff and guests. All of them.” As he spoke, Tony kept wondering where Art had been during the night. Not for a second did he doubt Theo's account of what she had seen.

While Art Trimble was still staring glassy-eyed at him, Doc Nash came inside through the back door. The raincoat he had tented over his head was not enough to keep him dry, and he wasn't carrying the umbrella any longer. He shook the excess water from the coat and held it away from his body as he tipped his head, calling Tony over.

“I'm not going to do this autopsy. I'm just not set up for something like this, but I'm pretty sure the cause of death is a broken neck and a sophisticated autopsy might turn up fibers or skin fragments I could miss.” He started putting his jacket back on. “It was a deliberate homicide.”

“I appreciate you coming out, Doc.” Tony said as he dodged droplets of water flying off the doctor's jacket. “I'll send Wade along to deliver the body.” Doc's basset hound expression stopped him. “Oh, no, don't tell me he's sick again? There isn't even any blood.”

“He's out there with his head in a bush.” The doctor shook his head. “I've got a patient who is bulimic who spends less time barfing than Wade does. Send him along. Maybe a good autopsy is just what he needs.”

“Along with a bag and some smelling salts,” Tony added.

The doctor was halfway down the corridor when he stopped and turned. “I just remembered. I came up on the ambulance. I guess I'll have to wait for them so they can drop me off.” He plopped into a comfortable chair across from the front desk and yawned widely without bothering to cover his mouth. He began to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands and paused to yawn again.

Tony turned back. He wished he hadn't because standing there next to the doctor was Winifred, the newspaper reporter from hell. From the expression on her face, Tony assumed she had heard every word Doc Nash had muttered. Heaven only knew what kind of story she would be able to concoct. At that moment, Tony wasn't too sure the first amendment had been such a good idea. Without another word, he stalked back out into the rain.

Tony watched Wade begin stringing lights and setting out a stack of scene markers, ready to start his photographs and evidence collection. The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation was on its way to lend a hand with the evidence collection and investigation. He'd have some help inside and outside. Without the TBI, he had no idea how he would be able to conduct an investigation of this nature.

“How'd you find her?” said Doc Nash. The doctor reappeared at Tony's side.

Wade shook his head.

“Theo did.” Tony zipped his jacket up, staring at the doctor. “And she called me. I thought you went inside to wait for a ride.”

“I'm hiding from Winifred.” The doctor confessed, paused and then confronted Tony. “Are you saying Theo was outside in this weather? Tonight? When she should have been sleeping?” Doc Nash's voice rose in pitch and volume with each unanswered question. “Where is she?”

Tony nodded toward the lobby and stepped back to let the doctor storm past.

“Oh-oh,” Wade shook his head. “Your little wife's in trouble now.”

“I wish him luck. She won't listen to me.” Tony pointed to Wade's camera. “Start clicking.”

Theo was comfortably ensconced in the chair with her feet on an ottoman. She was covered from nose to toes with unfinished quilts, making her toasty and drowsy when Doc Nash charged into the room and yelled at her.

“What in thunder do you think you're doing, woman?”

“Getting warm and resting, like I'm supposed to.” Theo barely clamped her teeth down before she said something really sassy she was bound to regret.

“Go to bed.” Furious brown eyes stared at her. “Now.”

“I'm fine here.” No way was she going to admit she wasn't sure she could make it back to her room. She was too exhausted to walk or to argue.

Doc Nash picked up the imaginary gauntlet and tossed it back. “Okay, here's my offer.” He rubbed the back of his neck and dragged a chair around and sat on it, facing her.

His obvious fatigue and concern made Theo feel guilty. “I promise to be good. Just let me sit here for a bit longer.”

The doctor pretended he didn't hear her. “I'm getting you a wheelchair and an aide. You are going to bed. When you're not in bed, you'll sit and have your aide push you in a wheelchair. If you're hungry, she'll get you food. If you're sulky, she'll throw water in your face. If you argue with me, I'll put you in the hospital until you deliver those babies.”

Theo glanced up and saw Tony walk in just in time to overhear the doctor's diatribe. He paused in mid step. His frown deepened. “Doc?”

Doc Nash stared at Theo until she nodded her acquiescence.

“I won.” The doctor smiled as he stood and faced her husband. “Theo lost the battle.” He walked away from Theo, telling Tony about his plans for her and what he needed.

Truth to tell, Theo wasn't all that sorry to lose. She was tired constantly, and the weight of the babies seemed to increase on an hourly basis.

Tony studied the floor plan of the hotel printed on one of the little black and white information sheets from the front desk. It was the kind a clerk would give a guest after circling the room number.

Scarlet's room was near the stairs on the upper level. No rooms were in the point of the V, just a large veranda. Unlike the lower level rooms, each upper level room had a sliding door instead of a sash window. The door did not open onto a true balcony, but the ledge was wide enough for someone to stand outside and admire the view. An agile person might be able to climb from the veranda onto a ledge and then onto the next ledge.

According to his notes, Eleanor Liston was assigned the room next to Scarlet's. Tony knew he'd better talk to her. He considered several other options he'd prefer, like a nap, or a root canal. Just then he saw her coming toward him. As he waved for her to join him, there was a spot of hope. She might ignore him.

He would classify her response to his gesture as “reluctant” but reasonably timely. She moved smoothly onto the chair he'd indicated and settled her travel mug on the floor near her feet.Unlike most of the quilters, she had combed her hair and applied makeup. Her clothes were finer than those of the other ladies.

“I didn't kill her.” Eleanor's expression gave no clue to her emotions. “What else can I tell you?”

“Well, for starters, did you hear anything coming from her room?” At Eleanor's silent stare, he continued. “A conversation, noises, a shout or scream?”

“Oh. Let's see.” She took several big gulps from her mug and closed her eyes. “There was a squeak, like a desk chair that needs oiling.”

Tony jotted he comment down and waited.

“No scream. No voices.” Eleanor shook her head. “But I took a shower before I went to bed. Oh, wait. I was awakened by something bumping—at first I thought it was thunder, you know, because it kind of echoed and then it went all quiet.”

It wasn't much, Tony thought, but it was something. “Did you check the time?”

“No.”

“Were you acquainted with Scarlet?”

“Knew her all her life.”

“And?”

“She was always a cold-hearted, small-minded tramp.” Eleanor's lips pinched together. “I try not to speak ill of the dead.”

Eleanor's animosity jiggled a faint memory in his brain. “Rumor once suggested your husband and . . .”

“It's true.” The lines around Eleanor's mouth deepened. “He was faithless. I'm sure she, like all his paramours, thought he'd leave me and my money for her. She was just another name on his list.”

Tony didn't understand why she seemed so pleased to keep the man. Her husband had been lower than a worm, and she put up with it. He was thinking about other couples who continued in the same manner.

“It was your aunt who threatened to kill her. Not me.”

“Did you really threaten to kill her?” Tony waved his Aunt Martha into the alcove where he set up his temporary interview station. He had commandeered a couple of chairs, a supply of cups and coffee and a big box of tissues. Theo was near enough to overhear the conversations, but she appeared to be sleeping. After the hours of questioning the staff, the quilters and what he thought of as “normal guests,” his stomach was killing him. It was definitely time for the emergency bottle of liquid antacid he kept in the Blazer. Should he drink it from the bottle or sip it from a coffee cup?

The lobby was filled. Everyone in the hotel seemed to have gathered together of their own accord. The conversations were muted. Tony and Wade had talked briefly with each of them. For the most part, there was not much information, but a few common threads about Scarlet's unsociable behavior emerged. He handed Martha a cup of coffee.

“Well, yes.” Accepting the cup, his aunt settled into the comfortable chair. This morning she wore a lavender sweatshirt bearing the slogan “Quilters keep you in Stitches.” Her curls were standing straight up in the air on one side and were smashed close to her head on the other side. The hairdo gave her a comical appearance, but Tony wasn't smiling. “It was a joke.”

Tony glared at her in response. “No one's laughing.”

Martha sighed. “I said something like if she saddled me with another UFO I'd have to kill her.”

“UFO?” Tony thought he should know what it meant.

“Unfinished object.” His aunt lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure you live with a quilter? I know Theo has at least twenty UFOs. I meant nothing by it. It was just, you know, the kind of comment everyone makes from time to time.” When he didn't respond, she sipped her coffee and watched him. “You look awful, kid. Can't you take a break?”

Tony flipped back in his notebook. “When did you go to bed?”

“It was a little after midnight. I told you that already.” She tried to squirm around until she could read what he had written but to no avail. “Us late ones went up at the same time.”

Tony nodded. “And did you leave again?” His eyes met hers. If he was a decent judge of anything, she was telling the truth, but he knew she was lying to him.

“No.” Setting the empty cup on the floor, she crossed her arms over her chest and sank deeper into the chair.

“No?” Tony's eyebrows jumped and he leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I'm sure.” Her tone no longer seemed so certain. “You don't believe me. Why don't you believe me?”

Leaning back in his chair, he frowned at her. “I want to. I really do, but the facts are just not lining up.” He looked in his notebook and sat fanning the pages. “You're sharing a room with Mom?” She nodded, and he asked, “Did she leave the room at any time after the two of you went up?”

“No. We talked for a little while and then we went to bed. If she left, it was after I fell asleep, and I didn't hear her go out, and besides, she barely knew Scarlet. I can't see her pushing her off the veranda.”

Tony's felt his frown deepen. He did not correct her assumption about the cause of death. Even he wasn't sure if it was the fall or strangulation that killed the woman. Everyone in the hotel had seen the investigators combing the area around the railing and also knew Scarlet had been found in the bushes underneath. “Did you go to sleep right away?”

Martha glared at him and snapped, “Yes. And just for your information, I didn't hear anything but Jane snoring. She makes a world class racket when she gets rolling, so I know she was in there.”

Tony glanced at his notes again and looked up. “Mom said she woke in the night and went to the bathroom.” He stopped talking and adjusted his watch and pulled his shirt cuff down. Then he flipped through the notebook. Exhaling loudly, he leaned forward. “She says you were not in the room. Would you like to tell me where you were?”

“What?” Martha jumped to her feet. “Why would she say such a thing?”

He just stared at her. Finally, Martha plopped back into her chair. Running her hands through her gray hair, eyes closed, she mumbled to herself. “I don't understand. We went up to the room. I put on my pajamas and brushed my teeth. We talked for a little while about this and that. I read a few pages in my book while Jane was doing her thing—you know, brushing her teeth and slathering cream on her face. I turned out the reading light just minutes later and fell asleep right away and slept until I was awakened by the commotion in the hall this morning.” She stopped suddenly and frowned. Her eyes squeezed even more tightly closed. “No, that's not right.”

“What do you mean?” Tony shifted in his chair.

“I mean, I did get up.” Martha's eyes flew open and she bounced on her chair. “I thought I dreamed it, but I woke up and thought maybe I hadn't unplugged my iron downstairs. It really wouldn't do to burn down The Lodge, certainly not before the retreat is over.” She flashed a smile at him. “Anyway, I didn't bring a robe so I tiptoed into the lobby in my pajamas, checked the iron, and was back in bed and asleep without ever fully waking up.”

Somewhat relieved, Tony made note of her story. “I really wish you had remembered to tell me that before I found an error in your story.”

A light touch of her hand on his arm drew his eyes back up to meet hers. “I know it sounds improbable, Tony, but I really did forget it. It was so brief, and I was sleeping so soundly. This past week has been so busy I hardly know my own name anymore.”

Tony sighed. It was a great exhalation of air with a hesitation in the middle. “I don't suppose you suddenly remember seeing someone else on your excursion.” His tone and expression both felt sour.