Closer than the Bones (16 page)

“I shall certainly reimburse you for the dress, Miss Carpenter,” Miss McElroy said. “The very idea! I trust that this hasn’t intimidated you?”

“Not in the least,” I assured her. “It would take more than that to get rid of me. Somebody miscalculated very badly. The only way I’d leave now is if you told me to leave.” I grinned. “And even then, I’m not sure I’d go.”

Miss McElroy smiled. “That’s the kind of determination I admire. I chose well. Miss Carpenter, I am more and more convinced.” She looked up at her husband. “Why don’t you see about that key, Morwell?”

Taking this for the dismissal it was, he inclined his head.

“You’ll have it right away. Miss Carpenter.” Nodding at me, he departed the room.

“Now, come sit down here by me”—with a wave of her hand, Miss McElroy indicated the chair her husband had vacated—“and tell me what you’ve learned.”

I had debated how to broach the point of her marriage. I decided that head-on was the best way. “I had no idea that you and Mr. Phillips are married, Miss McElroy.”

“Ancient history, Miss Carpenter.” She shrugged. “We’ve been married so long, neither one of us thinks twice about it. I kept my maiden name, and Morwell didn’t want to change his, despite my father’s wishes and very forceful attempts to persuade him to do so. It caused a bit of a scandal when we were much younger, but I’ve never let a little bit of talk stop me from doing what I think is best.”

I didn’t doubt that for a moment, but I also thought, somewhat cynically, that it hadn’t hurt her to have her family’s money and their background behind her. A poor woman of lesser social standing couldn’t have carried it off, at least not fifty years ago.

“All the same, I do wish I had known. It was a bit of a surprise, having to find it out from someone else.”

Miss McElroy looked affronted. “I can’t imagine that it should make any difference to the situation here. If I had even thought about it, I would have presumed that you knew before you ever walked through the door.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” I said, withdrawing a bit in the face of her vehemence. “I just thought it curious.”

She took umbrage at that. “My relationship with my husband is my own business, and no one else’s. It has nothing to do with the matter at hand, and I’ll thank you to remember that.”

“Certainly,” I said, in as pacific a tone as I could manage. All the same, her defensiveness piqued my curiosity. There was something, some story, behind all this. If it was pertinent to the current situation, I’d have to winkle it out somehow.

I reported as much of my morning’s activities as I thought necessary for her to hear at this juncture. I held back on telling her about Katie’s visit to Brett Doran, my subsequent visit to the summerhouse, and my own speculations about the typing paper I had found in the desk in my bedroom. Since I hadn’t seen them on my tour of the house, I did ask her whether all of the guest rooms had desks, and she replied in the affirmative.

“What kind of supplies do they generally contain?”

Miss McElroy frowned, obviously puzzled at the point of my question. “A few pens, some stationery bearing the name and address of this house, that’s about it.”

Before she could say anything more, I interposed, “I was just wondering if I could get some ordinary paper. I’d like to make some notes, and I hate to use that expensive-looking stationery.” I gave a self-deprecating smile as I lied to her. “I forgot to pack a notebook, and I didn’t think about getting one when I was in town this morning.”

“I’m sure Morwell can find you what you need. Just ask.” Morwell Phillips saved me from further inquisition by reappearing then to announce that lunch was ready to be served. He handed me a key, then offered his arm to his wife. He escorted her to the dining room, and I trailed behind.

The others were all assembled in the dining room, waiting for us. Alice Bertram and Lurleen Landry had sat down, but the two men had waited, standing, for Miss McElroy to be seated. Brett pulled out my chair for me, and I smiled my thanks up at him. He still wouldn’t quite meet my eyes, and I vowed to myself that I would get him sorted out soon.

Miss McElroy said grace, then Phillips summoned Katie and Betsy. The menu today consisted of pork chops, biscuits and redeye gravy, and an assortment of vegetables. This was cooking like my mother and grandmother knew, passed down from one generation to another of Southern women for well over a century. There’s nothing like it. I sighed in happy anticipation.

Conversation at first was desultory. No one seemed much in the mood to talk, and with the pall of violent death hanging over us, I wasn’t surprised. Alice Bertram was uncharacteristically silent. I found it hard to believe she didn’t have something to complain about, but even she was subdued today. Her face was haggard, and I doubted she had slept well last night. Then again, I could say the same for each and every one of us, as I made a quick survey around the table. No one looked well-rested.

But which one of them had sneaked into my room and shredded my dress? Brett I could rule out, since he had been with me the entire time; but any of the rest of them could have done it, even Miss McElroy. I couldn’t imagine why she would do such a thing, when she had employed me in the first place. But you never knew. I couldn’t rule her out completely, just in case.

I was still debating how to proceed with my investigation after lunch, when Miss McElroy solved the dilemma for me. Without warning, she tapped her spoon on the side of her iced-tea glass. Everyone looked at her expectantly.

“In view of what has happened here,” she began, “I have decided to tell you all the real reason that I invited you here this week. I am working on my memoirs, true enough, but that wasn’t why I asked you here. The murder which occurred in this house last night wasn’t the first one to take place at Idlewild. Sukey Lytton was murdered, I am firmly convinced, and that is why you are all here.”

She paused, taking time to look for a long moment at each of her guests, except for me.

Her survey completed, she spoke. “One of you murdered Sukey, and I am determined to find out which one of you did it.”

Chapter Twelve

I think I was as taken aback as everyone else at Miss McElroy’s little speech. The last thing I’d expected was for her to offer such a direct challenge to her guests. I sat back and waited for the fireworks.

Alice Bertram was first out of the starting block, as I might have predicted. “Mary Tucker, the Good Lord knows you have always had enough nerve for any three people, but I cannot believe the colossal effrontery of what you just said! How dare you say something like that to Russell and me? Heaven knows, I’m glad the little bitch is dead and gone, but I sure as hell didn’t have anything to do with getting rid of her, and neither did Russell.” Her glance at her husband spoke volumes. “He doesn’t have the nerve to do something like that.”

“Your wifely loyalty does you credit, Alice dear,” Lurleen said. She looked ready to spit nails, but whether at Alice Bertram or Miss McElroy, I couldn’t tell. “Mary Tucker, you’ve always had an unusual sense of humor, and I expect you think this is some kind of macabre joke. But for once I have to agree with Alice, though it pains me mightily to do so. Are you out of your cotton-pickin’ mind, my dear?”

“Holy mother of...” Brett choked out. “Just how dumb can y’all be? Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that one of us sitting here at this table, with the possible exception of Ernie, stabbed ol’ Hamilton in the back yesterday?” He snorted in disgust. “Who the hell do you think did it? It has to be one of us! And if one of us killed Hamilton to get their hands on Sukey’s manuscript, the odds are the same person probably killed Sukey too. She was too self-involved to kill herself.”

“Brett’s right,” Russell said, surprising us all. He spoke so seldom that I tended to forget he was there or capable of speech. “We have to look at this logically; and logically, one of us who knew both Sukey and Hamilton well has to be the killer.”

His wife emitted such a shriek of rage I thought she’d keel over from a stroke. “Russell! There are other people in this house. What about the cook? You know those blacks know all about using knives. And those two little tarts who call themselves maids! They’re both sly and probably no better than they should be. No telling what either of them might take a mind to do.”

“Alice!” Miss McElroy’s voice lashed out like a bullwhip. “You will apologize at once for that insult to Mrs. Greer, or, the Good Lord give me strength, I will slap your face seven ways from Sunday. I will not abide such trash talk in this house!”

Alice realized she’d gone too far. Her eyes wide with shock, she began mumbling an incoherent apology.

Miss McElroy let her babble for a moment, then cut her off. “Don’t forget yourself again, Alice, or you won’t ever be welcome in this house. You will not speak about Mrs. Greer, or any member of my staff, like that.”

“If I might just interject a note of sanity here,” Phillips said, his voice dry and detached, “I don’t think anyone need worry about either Katie or Betsy. They’re good girls—I chose them myself. They only started working here last fall, just before Christmas. Neither one of them knew Sukey long enough to want to harm her, and the same goes for Hamilton. They would have seen him only twice in their lives.”

“And no matter how obnoxious he could be,” Lurleen added, “even he couldn’t have offended them badly enough to earn a knife in the back! You’re even stupider than I realized, Alice.”

“That’s quite enough,” Miss McElroy said, her patience clearly worn thin. “I don’t want to hear any more of this sniping and name-calling, do you hear me?”

A chorus of “yes, Mary Tucker” followed her declaration. The viciousness of the exchange had made me uncomfortable, but it hadn’t surprised me. Emotions were high, and resentments and prejudices were bound to expose themselves. I just hoped Miss McElroy hadn’t chastened them all to the point that they wouldn’t talk. I wanted them all feeling a bit raw and edgy in order to get what I needed. Otherwise I wouldn’t be much use in trying to sort out this mess. Nor would Jack Preston, come to think of it.

“Mr. Preston of the sheriff s department will be back sometime this afternoon,” Miss McElroy said, “after the press conference the sheriff is holding in town. I expect he has more questions to ask each of us, so you will make yourselves available to him.” She spoke with her accustomed air of command, and no one said a word in response. “I will also be speaking with each of you, at some point today or tomorrow, to clarify points about what I’m writing in my memoirs. I also expect you to make yourselves available to me, when you are not needed by the investigators.”

After mulling it over for a few minutes, while I continued to eat my lunch, I concluded that Miss McElroy was playing some kind of mind game with her guests. Surely as we were all sitting here, they must know she intended to interrogate them about the events surrounding Sukey Lytton’s death, under the guise of writing her memoirs. Yet not a single one of them, at least at this point, offered any kind of refusal or rebellion. I didn’t know enough of the history of any of their relationships with Miss McElroy to understand precisely why they would allow her to dictate to them in this manner. I had seen evidence of her powerful personality, but there were other reasons, deeper and more compelling, most likely, which allowed this elderly woman to ride roughshod over them in this fashion.

Perhaps it stemmed in some ways from the fact that they were all Southerners, born and bred. Though they came from different parts of the South and from different backgrounds, they had that indefinable link that being a child of the South creates in all of us who are born here. I sometimes think that we imbibe, along with our mothers’ milk, a respect for tradition and certain kinds of authority that we find difficult to cast aside or to overthrow. Miss McElroy embodied both tradition and authority; moreover, she had bound these people to her with a deep sense of obligation for her patronage over the years. Such ties would be difficult for them to ignore, no matter how they might chafe at the restrictions imposed by them.

Yet one of them had violated, in the most ugly way possible, the bonds which linked them all together. By striking not once, but twice, the killer had treated the sanctity of Miss McElroy’s home, her generosity and hospitality, as nothing. I understood the outrage Miss McElroy undoubtedly felt, the same way I understood the ruthlessness which now drove her to identify the person responsible.

The rest of them, who knew her better and longer than I, must have understood it, too. They would do as she said, and only the killer would try to outwit her. I didn’t doubt that Miss McElroy would emerge victorious at the end, though I didn’t want to estimate the cost.

Conversation after Miss McElroy’s royal decree was desultory, at best. No doubt every one of us at the table wished to leave the room as soon as possible, but good manners held everyone in place until the dessert course had been served and eaten. I must confess that Mrs. Greer’s homemade peach ice cream was well worth the delay.

As we were leaving the dining room en masse, Jack Preston appeared in the hallway from the back of the house. Miss McElroy moved forward to greet him.

“We have just finished our meal, Mr. Preston,” she said, after they had exchanged the niceties, “and we are all at your disposal. What would you like for us to do?”

If Jack was startled by her pronouncements, he didn’t show it. Years of experience had schooled his features into a polite, uncommunicative mask. ‘Thank you, Miss McElroy,” he said. “My men and I will be continuing to examine the crime scene, and I do have more questions to ask all of you, I’m afraid.” He glanced at his watch. “If I could have about fifteen minutes or so with my men. I’ll start talking to y’all then.”

“Certainly,” Miss McElroy said. “I’ll be in my sitting room, and anyone who cares to join me there is welcome.” She turned to face us. “If anyone wishes to wait somewhere else, you will inform Morwell where you will be, and he will summon you when Mr. Preston requires you.”