Auntie Mayhem (17 page)

“This was torn off something,” she said without interest. “It's just a date. The twenty-seventh of April.”

Dora studied the tiny fragment. “That's Miss Petulia's handwriting. Oh, my! To think she'll never write anything again!”

“Hard to do when you're dead,” Renie murmured under her breath. Fortunately, Dora didn't hear her. The maid was now watching Judith go through the drawer in the nightstand next to the bed. Apparently, it finally dawned on the old woman that the cousins were being a trifle forward.

“Pardon,” Dora said in a meek voice, “but are you allowed to do this? That is, wouldn't Mr. or Mrs. Marchmont object?”

Renie obligingly ran interference for Judith. “Now, Dora,” she began, “if they cared, would they let us come up here? They're as anxious to find out who killed Miss Ravenscroft as we are. This may surprise you, but my cousin here is actually
married to a policemen
.”

Dora was aghast. “You don't say! Oh, my!” She gave Renie a tremulous smile. “Had I but known…by all means, do what you will!”

“I'm doing it,” Judith said in a somewhat aggrieved tone, “but it isn't getting us anywhere. There's nothing in this drawer but junk. Uh…
stuff
, I mean. Magazines and odds and ends.” To prove her point, she waved what looked like a broken gold chain at Dora.

Dora, however, was transfixed. “What
is
that? I've never seen it before!” The maid grabbed at the chain, jerking it out of Judith's hand with a surprisingly strong grip.

With some trepidation, Judith sat down on Aunt Pet's bed. Dora either didn't mind or was too mesmerized to notice. “Goodness,” the maid said in a soft voice, “wherever did this come from? It wasn't there Friday.”

Judith dug into the drawer again. “What about this?” she inquired, holding up what looked like a small jewel case or a pillbox.

Dora stared. “Nor that! It's a cufflink case. Miss Petulia never had one of those! It's for men.”

The drawer also revealed brushes, two tie clasps, and a tooth mug. Dora swore she had never seen them before in
her life. When Judith hauled out a double picture frame, the maid finally nodded.

“That belonged to the mistress. But the rest…” Her voice trailed off. “I don't understand. I was in and out of that drawer ever so often. Miss Petulia kept her eyeglasses there when she wasn't using them.”

Judith was opening the picture frames, which had been held shut with a simple clasp. The posed photographs that looked out at her were of the same young woman. Somehow they seemed familiar.

“Ah!” Judith exclaimed, showing the pictures to Renie and Dora. “This is the girl in the entry hall portraits. She must be about my age. Downstairs, she's wearing a dress like my prom outfit, and later a satin gown I'd have killed for in my twenties. Who is it?”

Dora, however, was still frowning at the items she didn't recognize. “This is ever so odd. Why would Miss Petulia have a tooth mug in her drawer? Or these other things? I rummaged through here Thursday trying to find an emery board.”

Realizing that Judith and Dora were talking at cross purposes, Renie intervened: “It seems to me that everything in the drawer that's new belongs to a man. For instance, a cufflink case and what looks like a watch chain. Could those be the items that Colonel Chelmsford had in the brown box?”

Dora's attention was finally captured. “Well…maybe. It was fairly deep. It could have been a boot box. But why?”

Judith was trying to think. “Souvenirs? Something that was borrowed? What ties did the colonel have with this family besides being the next-door neighbor?”

Dora was bewildered. “None, that I know of. He hadn't been near Ravenscroft House in forty years.”

As usual, Judith was applying logic. “But if none of these items was here Thursday, it makes sense to assume that they could have been brought by the colonel on Friday. Something was in that box. And because this stuff is innocuous, the police left it here. They wouldn't consider a tooth mug as evidence.”

Distractedly, Dora nodded. “It's possible. But I can't think why.”

Judith couldn't either. She shoved the framed photographs in front of Dora. “Who is this? She's very lovely.”

Dora gave a start and drew back. “That's Fleur, Miss Natasha and Master Alexei's mother.” Judith started to nod, but the maid hadn't finished. “She's on the right. The one on the left is her twin sister, Aimee. They're both dead, poor things. Or so I've been told.”

Dora began to cry.

J
UDITH SHOULD HAVE
known. In alluding to her own two sons, Claire had mentioned that twins ran in the family. Yet there had been no other reference to them. Certainly Margaret's letters had never mentioned twins as a Marchmont phenomenon. But they had shown up in the Ravenscroft line, and not just in the youngest generation. Fleur Ravenscroft Karamzin had had a twin sister, Aimee, and apparently both women were deceased.

“What happened?” Judith asked when Dora had finally wiped her eyes and becalmed herself. “No one has ever mentioned Aimee.”

“I'm not to tell,” Dora said in a miserable voice. “It's a family secret.”

Briefly, Judith recalled the two portraits in the entrance hall. She had assumed they were of the same young woman. But now she realized that one of the sisters had been painted in adolescence, and the other a decade later.

“Aimee,” Judith breathed, recalling Claire's eagerness to move away from the paintings. “Aimee ran away as a teenager.”

Dora was startled. “How did you know?”

Judith shrugged. “Because she isn't more than sixteen in either of the two pictures I've seen. Fleur is. And since she's Nats and Alex's mother, I know she stayed around until she and her husband, Viktor, were killed in
the car crash. So it must be her twin, Aimee, who took off. Just like Janet Tichborne.”

But Dora shook her head. “No, not like Janet. Not in the least. Miss Aimee eloped. She was fifteen. Miss Petulia didn't approve of the match. Miss Aimee and her young man left the country. They became Bohemians.”

“What?” Renie made a face. “Legally? Or do you mean spiritually?”

Dora seemed confused. “I mean, they went to Paris. They lived in an attic or something like that. They were poor. Isn't that what Bohemians do?”

Slowly, Judith nodded. “They did that mostly in the nineteenth century. But in the mid-twentieth, they were called Beatniks. At least they were in the States. What happened to Aimee and her husband?”

Dora dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I don't know. I heard they died. Strong wine, I suppose. Isn't that how Bohemians meet their untimely end?”

“Drugs,” Renie stated. “This isn't Puccini, it's Kerouac.” Noting Dora's blank expression, she waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. I don't suppose this has anything to do with Aunt Pet being murdered. How long ago did Aimee and Mr. Pot-Zen croak?”

“Potson?” Dora had gone beyond bewilderment. “There never was a Potson in Little Pauncefoot. He was a Somerset lad, but I didn't know his name. It wasn't my place to ask.”

Feeling somewhat at sea, Judith also felt obligated to sort out the family tree. “But you must know when Aimee and her husband passed away.”

Dora's vague expression sharpened a jot. “It was ten years ago. No, more than that—fifteen or twenty, even. Time goes by ever so quick. Miss Petulia got a letter from Paris. She said it served them right. Miss Aimee had stolen from the family. Jewels, to finance her Bohemian life abroad.”

Judith recalled the robbery which had been claimed by Genevieve Ravenscroft. Aunt Pet had argued otherwise. Perhaps she had known that Aimee had stolen from her own mother. The truth might have been too cruel for even Aunt Pet to admit.

“Interesting,” she remarked, finally closing the drawer to the nightstand. “So this is also where the box of chocolates was found?”

Dora grew chagrined. “They were underneath the other things,” she asserted. “I wouldn't have seen them. All those magazines were on top. You can't accuse me of
snooping
.”

Judith patted Dora's small hand. “We wouldn't think of it,” she said, suppressing a yawn. The fright at the stables and the session in Aunt Pet's bedroom had not only frustrated Judith, but made her tired. “We'll leave you in peace now. It's getting late, and we've all been up since before dawn.”

Dora didn't argue, though she seemed eager to quit her mistress's bedroom. A few moments later, the cousins were back downstairs, seeking their guest quarters.

“I hope Dora's not too upset,” Renie said in a worried tone. “I don't like the idea of her starting a fire in the middle of the night. Aunt Pet's not around to raise the alarm.”

Judith acknowledged the fact with an apprehensive look. “Something was burned in that wastebasket. Recently, too.” She held up a smudged index finger. “I wonder what it was?”

Renie raised both eyebrows. “Chummy's box?”

But Judith shook her head. “Dora may be a pyromaniac, but she's not a liar. Or an amnesiac. She was sure the police took the box away, and I believe her.” Judith yawned. “I'm beat. It's only ten o'clock, but we didn't get much sleep last night. I'm turning in.”

Renie nodded. “Me, too. We should get up for the inquest tomorrow, I suppose.”

Judith sighed. “Right. It won't help much, though.”

“No,” Renie agreed. “But it'll be a new tourist experience.” She tried to give Judith a bright smile.

Judith couldn't quite manage to reciprocate. Twenty minutes later, she was in bed. Twenty seconds later, she was asleep. It was shortly after 2
A
.
M
. when Harwood banged on her door, wheezing his way through an announcement of an overseas call for Mrs. Flynn.

Mentally fogged in, Judith struggled to put on her robe and stagger down the hall to the library. Despite her semiconscious state, a sense of disaster crept up her spine. Grabbing the receiver, she expected the worst of news.

She was almost right. The voice at the other end of the line belonged to Gertrude.

“Say,” Judith's mother began, sounding far too sprightly for the middle of the night, “if you're going to Sweden, how about picking up some of those Christmas chimes. You know, the little angels that fly around the candles and look like they're setting their nighties on fire.”

Judith knew she must be dreaming. Her mother couldn't possibly have called her at 2
A
.
M
. from nine thousand miles away to ask her to buy Swedish Christmas chimes.

“Since this isn't real,” Judith said in a wispy voice, “let's pretend I already bought them. They're in your refrigerator, next to the blue ham and the rusty lettuce.”

“Listen, fathead,” Gertrude rasped, “I didn't make this phone call to joke around. I'm eating ham right now, for my supper. Want to hear me snap my dentures?”

Sinking down behind the mahogany desk, Judith blinked against the light from the green-shaded lamp. “This is truly you and not my worst nightmare?” Or, she asked herself, is it both?

“Who else would it be, dummy? I got the number from Deb. Renie gave it to her. Deb said the rates are down all day Sunday, so I'm saving money. What are you having for supper? I'll bet you a quarter it's not as tasty as this ham.”

Briefly, Judith considered enlightening her mother. It wasn't suppertime in England. It was no longer Sunday. But Gertrude refused to accept the eight-hour time change.

“Mother, we're not going to Sweden,” Judith said at last. “I can get those chimes for you at home. How are you…otherwise?”

The pause that followed was almost imperceptible. “Well—now that you ask, I guess I'd better tell you.” Gertrude sounded unusually solemn. “My butt fell off.”

“
What
?” Judith jiggled the phone as if she could correct what she'd just heard.

“I don't mean it fell off of
me
,” Gertrude explained. “It fell off of the couch. Unfortunately, I was still attached to it. I cracked my tailbone. I'm in the hospital. They brought my ham supper twenty minutes ago. Breakfast and lunch were pretty good, too.”

Now shocked into full consciousness, Judith was upset. “Mother, are you okay? Exactly what happened?”

Gertrude's chuckle was faintly subdued. “It was about ten-thirty last night, and I was watching John Wayne in that movie where the Japs get so nasty and then he wipes 'em all out at the end and we win the war. You remember that?”

“I remember the war. Barely. I was two at the time.” Judith wondered if Charles kept any scotch in the library.

“You'd turned four by V-J Day, dopey,” Gertrude reminded her daughter. “Anyway, they got to the part where the Duke—I forget the name of the guy John Wayne was playing—is in the bushes and these Japs are sneaking up behind him and they're about to riddle him with their machine guns, and I yelled, ‘Look out, Duke!' and I sort of jumped up and the next thing I knew, I fell off the couch.”

“Off the couch,” Judith echoed. The short fall shouldn't have done more than shake up Gertrude. But of course she was old and her bones were brittle. “So how did you get up?”

“I didn't,” Gertrude replied. “My butt hurt too much. Besides, I had to make sure that the Duke would shoot all those Japs. Then I tried to call Arlene Rankers, but I couldn't find the phone.”

Judith was puzzled. “You couldn't…? How come?” Over her mother's protests, Judith had recently bought her a cordless phone which she could carry along with her cigarettes in a small bag on her walker. When Gertrude watched TV, she always kept the phone next to her on the couch.

“That's what
I
wanted to know,” Gertrude answered indignantly. “Your dumb cat's never figured out how to use the phone, so who else would've taken it? It isn't like I've got a steady stream of people coming through my so-called apartment to howdy-do me. How many could I fit
into a hatbox anyway? I'll tell you one thing, kiddo, when my time comes, you won't have to buy a coffin. Just nail up the door to this place, tip it over, and slide me down Heraldsgate Hill. 'Course you better make sure you've dug a hole at the bottom first. I don't want to end up out in the bay.”

“Mother…” While too familiar with Gertrude's self-pitying diversions, Judith could practically hear the phone bill mounting. “How did you reach Arlene? Did you yell?”

“You bet. And bless her heart, she heard me because she was just coming home from a wedding reception at church. Well, you know how she fusses over me—she insisted I see a doctor, just in case I'd busted something. So she and Carl got me into their car and we went to the emergency room. They took some X rays, and along about midnight, they told me I'd broken my tailbone. Then, seeing as how I'm old and infirm and my only living daughter is off gallivanting around Finland, the doctor thought I should stay here for a couple of days. Unless you and Lunkhead want to fly home and nurse me, of course.
Do you?
”

The question caught Judith off-guard. “Ah…well…we can't…even if we wanted…I mean, our tickets were prepurchased for certain dates. And besides, Renie and I are sort of…stuck.” There was no scotch in any of the desk drawers. Judith decided to skip telling her mother about Aunt Pet's murder.

“Aha!” Gertrude cried. “I knew it, you won't come back to take care of me! Off to the pest house! I can just lie here and rot, right? Did I say this ham was good? I lied. It stinks. I think it's made of wrapping paper. You know, the plain unmarked brown kind your Aunt Ellen uses for her Christmas presents.”

“Mother—if you're really in a bad way, maybe I could fly home tomorrow or the day after. I mean it, I won't let you suffer alone.” Judith paused as she noticed a handwritten sheet of paper in the last drawer she'd opened. The spidery text in deep blue ink looked very old-fashioned. Judith slipped the single sheet under the desk lamp. “Let me talk to the nurse. Are you in pain?”

“Am I a pain? Very funny, Judith Anne. And no, you
can't talk to the nurse. She's busy.” Gertrude's voice suddenly became muffled, as if she'd put her hand over the receiver.

“When will they send you home? Can you take care of yourself? What kind of medication are you on?” Judith's voice grew more frantic as she tried to divide her attention between Gertrude and what was obviously the original copy of Aunt Pet's handwritten will.

“They're giving me something—something with codeine. I forget, it's a long, goofy name.” Gertrude was again coming through loud and clear. “Listen, rumdum, I've got to go. The nurse needs me.”

Judith gave a start. “The nurse needs
you
? What for?”

Gertrude chuckled, a faintly evil sound. “It's my turn to shuffle the cards. We're playing crib. I'm winning.”

Judith held her head. “Mother! What about the phone? Did you ever find it? You can page it, you know, by going to the base and pushing the button that says—”

“Of course I found the phone,” Gertrude snapped. “That's how I cracked my tailbone. I sat on it when I fell off the couch.”

“Oh.” Judith's voice had grown faint. “I see. I guess. Okay, Mother, I'll check back with you later today. I'm glad you told me about your accident, but you shouldn't have spent the money to call.”

“What money?” Gertrude replied in a testy voice. “It's not
my
money. I called collect. So long, sucker. Fifteen-two, fifteen-four, and a pair is—” The phone clicked in Judith's ear.

Judith leaned on the desk. It wouldn't be right to wake Renie up at two-twenty in the morning. It wouldn't be smart, either. Disturbing her for the second night in a row might provoke Renie's violent tendencies. The news about Gertrude could wait. So, Judith realized, could Gertrude. Obviously, she was not seriously harmed. For all Judith knew, her mother might have fallen off the couch on purpose. The Rankerses would supervise Gertrude's well-being. And that of Sweetums. Or so Judith hoped. Given the circumstances, she couldn't do much else. Carl and Arlene had earned a lavish present. Vaguely, Judith wondered
how they'd like a bone china meat platter. But after thirty-seven years of marriage and five kids, they probably had at least three of them. Judith would shop for something else in Edinburgh. If she ever got there.