Justice Done (3 page)

“Again, Wishy, I applaud your ability to observe. This is indeed helpful.”

Wishy was spared a response by our arrival.

The Grimes home was an imposing mansion built in the Italian Renaissance style, bordered by Ionic columns that were topped by terraces.

“Much bigger than the original home,” Wishy said, not in approval.

I
can say without hesitation that Susannah Carfield Grimes was one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. That evening—now in the early morning hours—she wore an emerald-green silk dress. Her straight dark hair was cut in a bob. Her butler admitted us and took our hats, but she came down the winding marble staircase almost as soon as we arrived, welcoming us. Nothing in her appearance or her manner indicated that she was affected by grief, by the lateness of the hour, or by the wreckage that is my visage. Her lack of response to my deformities was quite unusual. My looks are typically especially frightening to the beautiful.

The grand foyer included a fountain and, high overhead, a dome of stained glass. She led us to an elegant little parlor and offered us coffee. “Or whatever you prefer to drink,” she added with a smile. The sheriff looked so bedazzled by her smile that if she next indicated she'd like to turn the house into a speakeasy, I felt sure he might volunteer to serve as a bartender.

Slye said, “A hot cup of coffee would be most welcome,” and broke the spell.

She took a seat on a sofa. We took the four remaining chairs. When we were seated and provided with coffee, she said, “You have not told me how Everett died.”

The sheriff glanced at me.

“A medical condition?” she asked. “But he is not very old.”

“We cannot be sure at this time,” I said cautiously, “but he appears to have ingested poison.”

“Poison? How awful!” For the first time, she seemed shaken. “Accidentally?”

“I think not,” Slye said.

The sheriff, perhaps seeing that he had lost control of the situation, began to ask questions. She answered them calmly.

She had last seen Everett Grimes two days earlier.

“You were apart for two days? Isn't that unusual?”

“No. It is more unusual for us to speak as frequently as we did by telephone over the last two days. Often, I do not see him for weeks at a time, especially if he is at the quarry.” She paused. “Did you not know? I thought rumor kept all my neighbors apprised of our situation.”

“I may have heard some such,” the sheriff said, “but I can't base an investigation on rumor.”

“Let me confirm what is true, then. My husband and I are not much together, an arrangement which has been mutually acceptable.” She paused. “Dear me. How difficult to think of him in the past tense.” She was silent for some moments, but what she was thinking or feeling in those moments, I cannot say. She then went on as if there had been no pause. “When he wishes to be here, I find reasons to be in the city, or visiting friends, or traveling.”

“May I ask why?”

“I'll try to explain. He found me at a time when, to all appearances, I was a success. The truth is, I was ready to leave the stage but had no real future outside of the theater. I could see that my career was unlikely to last.

“Enter Everett. He enjoyed having a younger woman at his side, and I could see that he especially enjoyed being envied. A competitive streak that I suppose has served him well in business. He likes to win. I was surprised when he proposed. I never expected an offer of marriage from Everett, but he was set on it. If any of his family had been living, I'm sure there would have been outrage. Even here in the country, the match did not find acceptance. But all I saw was security and comfort, more than I'd ever previously enjoyed. If that sounds mercenary, let me say that I've paid since.”

She took a sip of coffee, then continued. “Before we were wed, I had already become aware that he was the sort of gentleman who enjoyed pursuit more than whatever might follow his conquest. This proved to be the case in our marriage, just as it had been in his previous marriages. He was a man of strong passions. I have often thought that he saved all his cool-headedness for business. Outside that sphere, though, he could be moody, angry—quite difficult to live with.”

“I have witnessed the same of him,” Slye said. “If you have lacked invitations, Mrs. Grimes, I believe his temperament and, er, roving eye had more to do with your exclusion from local society than any thoughts about your former career.”

I wasn't sure Slye was being truthful, given the stuffiness of some of his neighbors, but I said nothing. His opinion, however, was supported by Wishy.

“Indeed!” Wishy said. “Hate to speak ill of the dead, but—well, if I don't, I suppose there's not much to say about him.”

“Did he allow you the same freedoms he insisted upon for himself?” Slye asked.

“Oh, no. Everett was a man who would suffer no insult to his pride.”

“Had he experienced such an insult recently?” Slye asked.

“Yes. Perhaps that's why he took poison? I would not have thought it of him.”

“Tell us what happened,” Slye asked, not answering her question or correcting her assumption that Grimes was a suicide.

“He had been doing his best to annoy one of the kitchen maids, Jeannie Lindstrom. We have had trouble keeping young female help for this very reason. I was about to offer her enough severance to be able to support herself while she looked for another position, but as it turned out, she ran off with the chauffeur. Billy's also young, and as handsome as Jeannie is pretty. I could see he was smitten with her, but it has caused a tremendous amount of upset here. Billy's mother is my housekeeper, and she is beside herself. And now we are not only short-staffed, but . . .” She gave us a rueful look.

“What is it?” the sheriff asked.

“I was going to say that Everett can't drive worth a—worth a darn, but I suppose I no longer need to worry about that.”

“What day did the lovers take flight?” Slye asked.

“Two days ago. Everett phoned me in quite a state. It took me a while to understand that he thought Billy had arranged to run away with Jeannie, and furthermore, that Billy had vandalized the Hudson. That was late in the afternoon. He was upset, but made a point of asking me to swear the staff to secrecy. I could tell even then that it was a terrible blow to his pride. He sounded shaken.”

Slye said, “May I ask, Mrs. Grimes, what the arrangements were for staff at the quarry house?”

“He had decided that Jeannie should work as the cook while he was there to do some fishing. Mrs. Huddleson, one of our other maids, was to be there as well, doing cleaning.”

“Did they stay at the property?”

“Oh, no. Mrs. Westley—Billy's mother—does her best to protect the female staff. Billy would come here early in the morning and drive whoever would be helping up to the cottage, then depending on where he or they were needed most, brought them back in the early evening. It's just a few minutes' drive, as you know. Billy stayed there overnight—you've seen the little house?”

“Yes,” the sheriff said.

“That's where Billy stayed when Everett was at the quarry. So if Everett needed assistance or wished to leave, his driver was right there. Billy was a favorite of Everett's—like his mother, he had a way of dealing with Everett that prevented many an upset. And his mother relied on Billy to protect the women.”

“So, if this Mrs. Huddleson was there, how did the young couple manage to elope?” the sheriff asked.

“Everett went fishing. Mrs. Huddleson asked to be brought back here—she had much to do, and Everett's habit was to take a basket of sandwiches and a thermos with him early in the morning and stay out all day. Jeannie was completing some work in the kitchen, and Billy said he'd make a second trip. Mrs. Huddleson thought nothing of it. They were careful not to raise any alarms here—took none of their possessions from this house, although Everett said Billy cleared out all his own things from his quarters at the quarry.”

She hesitated, then added, “Perhaps Mrs. Huddleson knew what was going on and aided them—if true, that wouldn't surprise me. Billy grew up here and is much doted upon by the older staff, who have all adopted him to one degree or another.”

Wishy's brows drew together. “But if the Hudson was still at the quarry, how'd the lovers run off? I mean, not a second automobile missing, is there?”

“Billy wouldn't have stolen an automobile from us,” she said. “Everett was convinced that a friend must have aided them—drove up to the cottage while Everett was out on the water, fishing.”

“Two days ago,” Slye said, musing. “Since Mr. Grimes was then left without help, did he drive himself back here?”

“No. He was in a foul mood and said he didn't want anyone to disturb him, that he had plenty to eat and would just drive the Hudson down to the village if he needed anything more.” She shook her head. “He was emphatic about being left alone, but I swear to you, I had no idea that he meant to do himself harm.”

“Please don't let that trouble you,” Slye said. “You had no way to predict what would happen at the quarry.”

“Yesterday,” the sheriff asked, “who from this household went there?”

“Mrs. Westley. He asked for her specifically, but it would probably have been her anyway—I'm the only other person in the house who drives. She drives as well as Billy, so she took the Ford—we have a Model T that she uses for errands.

“Everett was so upset when I spoke to him, and behaving so oddly, I told her to take Mrs. Huddleson with her, even though that left us very shorthanded here. I asked them to work together and to try not to be out of each other's sight. Everett wanted to have someone clean the place thoroughly, and the small house, too. They spent most of the day there. It was rather cruel of him, I think, to take his frustrations out on Mrs. Westley. She'll eventually come to accept Billy's decision, but right now she's unhappy about it.”

“What time did the women come back?”

“About four, I think. Then they drove back later, to take his dinner to him.”

The sheriff looked to Slye, who said, “Mrs. Grimes, may we please speak to Mrs. Westley?”

“She is so upset—”

“Please. It is important.”

She watched him warily for a moment, then rang for the butler and asked that the housekeeper be brought to the parlor.

Mrs. Westley's face bore the marks of grief in more than her swollen eyes, reddened nose, and trembling lips. A sturdily built woman of a certain age, she nevertheless seemed to me a fragile being, lost in some fog of remembrance, nearly unresponsive to her environment. I offered her my chair. She suddenly seemed to see me for the first time and cringed away from me, but when I moved aside from the chair, she collapsed into it.

“Mrs. Westley,” Mrs. Grimes said, “you must answer the questions these gentlemen put to you. And thank you, Dr. Tyndale. I apologize for my housekeeper's lapse in manners. Forgive her—she is not herself. Please, have a seat here by me on the sofa.”

This speech had a fortifying effect on Mrs. Westley, who offered her own apology.

“Mrs. Westley,” the sheriff asked, “did anything seem unusual when you were at the cottage yesterday?”

“Mr. Grimes was in a strange mood, and behaving as if he was angry with me, telling me I had done a poor job of raising my son to have him run off with Jeannie. I expected as much of Mr. Grimes.”

“Anything else?”

She twisted her hands together in her lap, then said, “I saw that he had been moving the furniture about, which was unusual. He seldom does things for himself, but if he gets a whim, there's no telling what he'll be up to. He had got rid of one of the headboards—in his room, that is. And the room smelled of patch and paint, but we didn't dare ask him about it. Mrs. Huddleson and I just did our work and tried to stay out of his way. He upset me, I admit it. I am sorry that things have—have come to this. Truly sorry.”

“Did you prepare Mr. Grimes's dinner?”

“No, sir, our cook did.”

“Did Mr. Grimes eat the same food as was served here?”

“Yes, sir. No one wanted to eat much, with everything and everyone so upset. The cook had made a lovely carrot soup and soft dinner rolls. Mr. Grimes said that would be plenty for him.”

“Who prepared the soup for transport to the quarry house?”

She frowned in concentration. “Cook ladled it out of the pot and into a jar. I drove and Mrs. Huddleson carried the jar into the house and heated it up. Mrs. Huddleson was in the kitchen with me. We had brought a tureen with us. I poured the soup into it and helped her serve the meal.”

“And you were not in the house while he ate?”

“No, sir. We asked if he needed anything else, and he said he wanted us to hurry up and finish cleaning the servants' quarters, and let him be. It had been a long day already, so we didn't mind getting back to work in the other house.”

“Has anyone here who ate the soup become ill?”

“No, sir.”

“You had some of this soup yourself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was there anything strange in the taste of it?”

“No, sir. It was very good, spicy and sweet.”

Mrs. Grimes said, “I had some as well. It's as she said.”

The sheriff hesitated, then glanced at Slye.

Slye smiled, then said to Mrs. Grimes, “May we look through the kitchen area?”

“Of course.”

“And perhaps you could ask Mrs. Huddleson to join us there?”

“Unless she's gone to bed, I'm sure she'll be there now.”

I
t was as she had guessed. Mrs. Huddleson, who proved to be of an age with Mrs. Westley, had a kindly face and easy manner. She was sitting with the cook, who was feeding a substantial breakfast to one of the sheriff's deputies. The man was startled by the advent of his boss, and stood to attention. The sheriff waved him back to his seat and told him to finish his meal.