Mum's the Word (32 page)

“Who'll get the money from her book now she's dead?”

Bingo had broken the curse. We were free to speak, to flex our muscles, remove our seat belts, even walk about the room if we so desired.

“Bingo, honey! What a question!” Ernestine Hoffman did her darndest to sound cross; but per usual bubbled over with pride that her boy had asked the Sixty-Four Thousand Dollar question. Her scarlet trouser suit against the burgundy
chair was enough to strike terror in the heart of any interior designer. Even a retired one, such as myself.

Child Prodigy stopped cramming cookies into his mouth. “What am I supposed to do, cry buckets because some old lady, over forty and looks like fifty, is dead? I hate hypocrisy.” He swelled with importance. No small thanks to the cookies.

“Now, Bingo!” Ernestine's eyes said
“Doesn't he have a wonderful handle on life?”
She feathered her Friar Tuck hair. So as to look nice for the police, I suppose. “We sure do respect your honesty—”

“I don't.”

“Ellie!” Ben chided.

He was right. Wives of Mangé candidates should be seen and not heard. I remembered myself at Bingo's age—that time my cousin Vanessa got lost at the zoo and how I had stuffed myself with custard creams to crowd out the fear and guilt because earlier in the day I'd said I hoped the lions would eat her. Subsiding into my chair, I apologized. Bingo smirked. I doubted I would be getting a Christmas card from Ernestine.

“We're all feeling the strain.” Valicia X crossed the room to administer a consoling pat on Ben's arm. He had changed into a black velvet smoking jacket. I had discovered it at a flea market and hadn't really expected him to wear it in public. But how well it became him and this Victorian room. I had changed into dry clothes and still looked like a Before picture in a fashion make-over. Ms. X wore the same flame frock. Nary a mud splatter or a crease. She had freed her hair from its French twist so that it framed her face in waves of sun-ripened apricot.

Small wonder Pepys scuttled his bandy legs when she asked him to pour more tea. Jeffries, bless her, was made of sterner stuff. Giving the frilled brim of her cap a twitch, she stared into space. Was she concerned for Theola Faith? Or did her affection run from pay cheque to pay cheque? Did Pepys mourn the loss of the cabin cruiser more than Mary? Would my American pantyhose provide the emotional and moral support promised on the package?

Ms. X shone her golden smile on Marjorie Rumpson, who sat like a dear old doggie let inside after hours chained up in the rain.

“Bless you m'dear. I'm bloody miserable.” She laid down the paperback book she had been reading—or pretending to read. The
Captive Bride
lay cheek to jowl with
Monster Mommy
on the coffee table. Face ashen, Marjorie accepted the white hanky Ben whipped from his pocket with a flourish reminiscent of the comte and Solange … and our other missing persons. “I never did think when Mary Faith popped up in that coffin downstairs and we said our first how-do-you-do's, that she would be gone so soon, sunk to the bottom of the river.”

“There, there!” I sat next to her and held her paw.

“Not usually such a baby! But after almost losing Mummy, I'm not up to another blow!” She disappeared under the white hanky.

“Honey, you've sure had it hard!” Ernestine's voice was thick with sympathy. “Now don't you go thinking I'm one to interfere, but I do worry about what the strain of competing to be a Mangé may do to you. Especially when you're up against such tremendous competition …” Her eyes were fixed on her boy.

“Madame”—Ben spoke with the icy hauteur conferred by black velvet and braided cuffs—“shall we agree Ms. X is the best judge of who is—or who is not—up to the business of becoming a Mangé?”

The inimitable Valicia. A woman who could simper without looking stupid. Ernestine looked stupid with shock. “Bingo honey, did you hear this male play bunny call your mother a madam?” She rose slowly to face Ben. “Do you enjoy being called a hired hand?” Her tongue curled around the words, making them sound incredibly lascivious “… Mr. Eligibility Escort?”

“Foul!” Marjorie Rumpson shot to her feet.

Silence fell, like a tablecloth over a birdcage. Bingo froze with a cookie half in his mouth, Pepys tilted the teapot over my cup but nothing came out. Valicia X, far from cracking the whip of authority, stood gazing at Ben, her beautiful eyes brimming with distress. He was gazing at me, his eyes brimming with accusation. I shrank in my chair as if it were the dock. How could he think I would discuss his former career with anyone in this house? Setting his feelings aside, the day I rented him from Eligibility was sacred to my
memory. One wondered what was sacrosanct to Ernestine Hoffman.

To what lengths would she go in the name of Motherhood? She strove to remain staunchly upright, but her knees buckled and her mouth twitched. I pictured a paddlewheel going around inside her head, desperately trying to churn up some—
any—
excuse. She knew she had just dimmed her chances of ever being mother to a Mangé. Should I strike while her face was hot and suggest that the ghost Bingo claimed to see on our first night here may have been his very own mother, spiriting a look at the candidates' files?

She who hesitates … Ernestine was babbling an excuse in which PMS figured strongly.

“Is she talking about post mortem shock?” Pepys quavered.

Silence stretched to breaking point. Then Jeffries let rip a scream, almost taking the ceiling off, and the door flung open wide. Sheriff Tom Dougherty filled the entrance, gun at the ready, eyes smoking. “Heavens to Betsy, what's going on here?”

I really must get busy with my postcards and send one off to Dorcas and Jonas saying, Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here.

Amazing how a police inquiry can bring people together! Even Pepys and Jeffries managed to look as though they had been serving our little clan for years, and loving every minute of it. Sheriff Tom asked all the anticipated questions—names, addresses, whereabouts at the time of the explosion. I expected him to probe into my encounter with Theola Faith. I wanted to know if he had spoken with her and if so how she was, but he doubled back to the Mangé Society.

“A secret cooking society!” Patting his broad tum, he smiled guilelessly. “Now that sounds mighty interesting.”

“We think so,” Valicia X responded curtly. She had not taken kindly to his insistence on having her last name, or the way his pouchy cheeks had filled with a smile when she handed it over on a folded piece of paper.

Jeffries, throwing servility to the winds, perched on the sofa arm. “For your info, we're an ancient and venerable
institution. And woe to those who meddle with us. Last year we wrote a very strong letter to
Gluttonfest Magazine
denouncing their continued use of the glacé cherry.”

Bingo sat Buddha-style on the heartrug. His derisive smirk didn't reach his eyes.

Pepys pulled out his pocket watch, shook it, held it to his ear and cackled, “Time for my break.” Hobbling to the window bay he laid himself out, hands folded on his chest. His bald head shone like an Edam cheese; from where I sat I could see his lids cracked open to yellow slits.

Ah, timing! He was about to be upstaged. The air was rent with the rush of wings and a pigeon slam-dunked atop the urn on the mantelpiece, the one positioned under the portrait of the Cat Cadaver. Head cocked, beady eye intent, the bird urged the sheriff to proceed.

“Howdy doodee, big fella! Now haven't I always said Mendenhall's a charmer! Can't say as how I blame Miss Mary Faith for staking her claim.” Brushing against a whatnot table Sheriff Tom caught it before it went over. “Imagine you were happy as catfish on Christmas Day when she offered this place for your meeting?”

“We were pleased.” Valicia X resettled in her chair and crossed her golden legs.

“Sure couldn't find many a place more isolated.”

“You're darn tootin'.” Jeffries winked.

Sheriff Tom moved up closer to her. “You think Mary Faith was showing appreciation to you and Mr. Pepys for your years of faithful service to her ma?”

Jeffries' jeer sent the pigeon sailing up in the air to land on a crimson lampshade. “You put that thought right back in your pocket, mister. Ms. Mary never did nothing to suit no one but herself. She met one of our members at some cocktail party and jumped three foot in the air at the chance of filling the house with people. Wanted to look like she had friends.”

I couldn't look at her. I couldn't look at Ben. I was afraid I might start crying. Poor Mary! What misfortunes having a bad mother had brought her!

The sheriff's eyes roved the room. “Word around town was as how there were more of you.”

“Six of our number have departed,” supplied Marjorie Rumpson.

“Not including Mary Faith.” That was Bingo.

“Sheriff Dougherty,” Ernestine said, clutching her beads, “I ask your kind permission to remove my boy. You see how pale he looks!”

Valicia X rose from her chair. Face flushed a dusky rose, hair frothing about her shoulders, she stood with arms folded, fingers tapping. “Bingo Hoffman—like the rest of us—is hungry. Sheriff, you do understand the explosion occurred just as we were about to dine?”

A heavy sigh. “This is a small town, ma'am. We do our thinking slow, but we get there.”

No one took the Mangé boss lady down a peg in the presence of Bentley T. Haskell. His black brows became one long slash mark; however, he did remain sufficiently in command of himself to press my shoulder. “Sir, surely the person to be put under the microscope is the victim's mother.”

“Now which one are you—the boy wonder or the one who makes love potions?” The sheriff's smile was cozy, but he didn't give Ben a chance to answer. “I may be a bit of a backwoodsman but, cross my heart, I know enough to talk alleged victim till we've finished dragging the river and come up with a body.”

Thank God I wasn't facing the window. Gripping the arms of my chair, I said, “Sheriff Dougherty, does Theola Faith know?”

He cleared his throat. “Went round to her place and Laverne Gibbons came to the door—said Ms. Faith was in bed, not well. Won't harm to wait until there is something to tell.”

“Tell!” Ernestine grabbed Bingo's plump hand and hauled him over to be rocked in her arms. “That monster doesn't need to be told! For crying out loud, she
knows
her daughter's dead! Mary Faith was living in terror. She said so on TV! And again to Ellie, here, and me yesterday. What more do you need—a signed confession?”

Pepys, still lying flat out on the window seat, croaked a “Hear! Hear!”

“How can you?” I marched over to him, strongly tempted to draw the curtains shut.

“Ain't easy!” Jeffries hopped up and down. “He ain't saying Miss Theola hasn't treated him and me decent—when
she's sober. But our first loyalty is to the Mangé Society. Or would it suit you better, Ms. Goody Gum Drops, to have our dandy sheriff here suspect one of us?”

“Why not?” I heard someone cry, and that someone was me. “We all had opportunity, and there have been some very strange goings-on here.”

All my gothic fantasies fulfilled. Trapped in a gloomy bedchamber, while wind and rain hurled themselves against the window panes; and the black-browed stranger hurled insults upon my head.

“My God, Ellie!” Ben threw himself back on the bed and beat his forehead with his clenched fists. “Admit to temporary insanity, and I may be able to understand.”

He had been this way for hours. I kept expecting him to wind down, but he was like a hurdy-gurdy going round and round—
dum-de-dum-dum
—so that even when he paused for breath the sound went on inside my head.

“For the hundredth time”—I rocked back and forth in a chair that wasn't a rocker—“I was in full possession of my faculties when I pointed out to the sheriff that he might not be looking at an open-and-shut case.”

“I'm not surprised to see you left the meal Jeffries brought up untouched,” he said nastily.

My hand went to my throat. “You think the ragout may have been poisoned?”

“Good grief, no! I'm talking about
guilt
, Ellie.”

“Thank you. I was beginning to lose the thread of this conversation. At the risk of one of us repeating ourselves, I will state, for the record, I am not sorry for suggesting that anyone of the Mangé contingent could have blown up the boat. The sheriff isn't a fool! And the only person I pointed the finger at directly was myself. Remember! I stressed that I had been behaving strangely! Rowing over to Mud Creek! Having my hair done in a wild new style! Did I not own up to the grotesque cravings which led me to gate crash the bowling banquet?”

Ben rammed a pillow between him and the headboard. “I suppose I should be grateful, Ellie!”

“Think nothing of it. Lucky you're not handy. How
could I convince anyone that you'd blow up a boat, when I know you need an electrician to replace light bulbs?”

“All your charming forthrightness accomplished was to force everyone else to come out with some reason why they too might be guilty. Rather than look like a member of the Theola Faith lynching party.”

I stopped rocking and ground my chair round to face him. Tears stung my eyes. “Ben, I was
proud
of Miss Rumpson when she volunteered the information that she had always lived by water and knows boats. Such a love! She certainly went beyond the call of duty in reminding me that she had mentioned her conviction that putting a person to sleep can be a noble and loving act.”

“The sheriff must have thought us all a bunch of loonies. Especially when Bingo suggested, straight-faced, that Mary may have discovered that he is really a short man of forty-five. Providing a motive for him or his mother. And then we had Valicia X hinting that she, Pepys and Jeffries, might—singly or together—have done away with Mary Faith because she knew about the medicine cabinet mirror and could have used it to spy on the Mangé Meetings.”