Closer than the Bones (6 page)

“Sounds like you’re speaking from personal experience. What did Sukey do to you?”

He expelled more smoke before answering. “Actually, she didn’t do all that much to me, except make my life miserable for a while by following me around like a puppy.” He looked away, staring blindly out at the lawn for a long moment, before turning back to face me. “I’ll tell you now, before someone else, like Alice, does it for me. Sukey was infatuated with me at one point, although I was quite a lot younger than her usual targets. She liked them older and more influential generally. She wasn’t very subtle about it. But I was never attracted to her, and I tried letting her down gently.” He trailed off.

“She refused to be let down?” I guessed.

“Right. I finally had to get brutal with her.” He frowned. “I’m not proud of how I handled it, even now. She was a gigantic pain in the ass about it, but in light of what happened, I feel guilty that I was such a bastard to her.”

“Sometimes, when feelings like this are involved, people are willfully blind, and there’s no way you can let someone down without being brutal, as you put it.”

Shrugging, he drew one last time on his cigar before pitching it into the flower bed below us. “That may be, but I wasn’t too proud of myself afterwards. She wasn’t my type and wasn’t ever going to be. She was just so damn persistent!”

I watched him for a moment while I thought back over an article about him I had read not too long ago, when one of his screenplays had made a splash at the box office. The article had made a couple of coy mentions of a roommate, never named, but obviously male. Now I drew a rapid conclusion about what his type might be, and I spoke before I thought much about the consequences.

“Did you tell her you’re gay?”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Speaking of brutal!” He laughed, a shaky sound which somehow put a barrier between us when before there had been none. Once again, he turned his face away, refusing to look at me.

I waited. He had to be willing to tell me the truth, or else he’d be of no use in my efforts to get at the facts behind Sukey Lytton’s death.

He didn’t try to bluster, as I had thought he might. When he turned back to face me, the naked pain there almost brought me to my feet. But I sat and gazed into his eyes, hoping he would find the reassurance that was there. Slowly, the pain receded, and the beginnings of trust replaced it.

“No, I didn’t tell her I’m gay,” he said, “which is the reason I continue to despise myself for what I did to her. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth, so instead I made her feel it was all her, the reason I wasn't attracted to her.”

“Not a very nice thing to do,” I observed in a quiet tone.

“It was a cheap, shitty thing to do,” he said without heat.

Then he looked chagrined at his choice of words, which I ignored. “But at that point, I was having a hard time facing the truth myself, and I sure wasn’t going to admit it to her, of all people. She could be horribly vindictive. I didn’t think it through very clearly, I’ll admit, but I figured it would be better to brush her off that way than with the truth.”

“Better for whom?”

“How did you suddenly turn into my confessor?” he asked, a trace of his normal humor creeping back in.

“Comes with the job of guardian angel,” I said, smiling. I figured it was time to offer a little of the milk of human kindness, now that we had passed the worst of it. “Brett, dear, you should know that one of the people I love best in this world is a young cousin who is gay. You can be yourself with me without having to worry about it.”

He grinned at that. “Hey, has he got a boyfriend?”

I laughed. “Actually, he does, and they’re very happy together. But they might have a friend who’s looking for a handsome, talented, and successful writer to romance.” I winked at him. “What about your ‘roommate’?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then his face cleared. “Oh, don’t tell me you read that article in
People
.” He snorted. “I guess everybody who read it figured that one out. So much for being in the closet.... Anyway, that’s over and done with. I’m single... Again.” He laughed. “Seems to be my fate.” The sound of his laughter reassured me.

“One of these days, the right one will come along,” I said. “Now, back to business. Who do you think could have wanted Sukey dead badly enough to murder her?”

“Like I said before, Sukey could be really vindictive when someone crossed her. Figure out who pissed her off the most, because she probably pissed off that person even more. Then you’ll have your murderer.”

And that was all I could get out of him right then. I felt sure there was more he could tell me, but for now he was done. He stood and essayed a bow, shooting me an unrepentant grin once he was again upright. He strode toward the door without asking me to accompany him.

Rolling my eyes at his retreating back, I got to my feet and followed him inside. The cool dimness brought blessed relief from the humidity I had been ignoring while we talked on the verandah. Ahead of me, Brett disappeared through the door to the kitchen, probably seeking refreshment of some kind. I was tempted to follow him but decided that he could be allowed to get away from me for the moment.

As I made my way to the stairs and started to climb, I glanced at my watch. Luncheon would be served soon, and I might as well freshen up a bit before having to face the assembled guests at the dining table.

The house seemed oddly quiet as I moved up the stairs, except for the whisper of my shoes against the runner covering the steps. Then, as from a distance, I could hear faint sounds of conversation and the chink of crockery and cutlery. The staff must be preparing the dining room for the coming meal. Someone laughed, and the sound faded as I emerged from the stairs onto the second-floor landing.

The door to my right opened as I was passing by, and Lurleen Landry stepped out. She closed the door behind her before she spoke. “Shall I see you at lunch, Miss Carpenter?” Her face had stretched into a polite smile.

“Certainly, Miss Landry,” I said, stopping before her. “Did you have a chance to rest a bit?”

“Why, yes, thank you,” she said. “The heat of summer fatigues me so. But now I feel refreshed and ready to face the rest of the company.” She made a small moue of distaste, quickly suppressed.

I had to grin. “Yes, I’ve met the Bertrams.”

She permitted her face to crease in a quick smile. “Dear Alice,” she said. “She does find life such a trial, doesn’t she?”

“I can just imagine how it must feel, to be in constant pain like that.”

“Yes, I don’t know how poor Russell abides it.” She giggled at her own cattiness. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that! Whatever must you think of me, Miss Carpenter?”

“Perfectly understandable,” I said.

She glanced down the hallway before moving a step closer to me. “Tell me,” she said, her voice dropping to little more than a whisper, “do you find it interesting to work for dear Mary Tucker? I know these memoirs of hers must be fascinating. She’s known so many of the important writers of several generations, after all.”

I wondered just what it was she was fishing for, but I decided to enlighten her on one thing. “I’m afraid I’ve not worked for Miss McElroy that long, so I haven’t had a chance to read any of the memoir yet.”

The calculating expression on her face made her look, for the moment at least, less like an overstuffed dumpling and more like the successful best-selling writer. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find out all sorts of fascinating little tidbits about all the people Mary Tucker has known in her long life. Once you get to working on the memoir, that is.”

“No doubt you’re right,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better just go freshen up before lunch.”

“Certainly,” Lurleen said. “I’ll see you downstairs, Miss Carpenter.”

I strode on down the hallway, speculating with every step. I recalled the fragment of conversation I had overheard earlier, between her and Miss McElroy. There was tension between them, that much was obvious. But what was the cause? What could Lurleen have to threaten Miss McElroy with? Or was it the other way round?

Opening the door to my room, I was still lost in thought and not completely aware of my surroundings for a moment. Then I stared in horror at what I glimpsed, stretched out across my bed, on top of a pillow.

Someone had taken my good red silk dress, spread it out over the pillow, and impaled it there with a large butcher knife.

Chapter Six

I drew a deep breath and let it out. Someone had underestimated me—badly—if he or she thought I would be intimidated by such a tactic. The sight of my good red silk defiled in that way made me not only uneasy, but also angry. Someone was obviously concerned about my presence at Idlewild—someone who had a shrewd idea that I was here for something other than assisting Miss McElroy with her memoirs.

At the moment, the only person I could exonerate from this nasty little trick was Brett Doran. He had been downstairs in my sight the entire time since he had arrived at Idlewild today. Anyone else could have done it. Anyone who had either brought along a butcher knife as part of the luggage or who had sneaked into the kitchen here and taken one.

What should I do with it now?
I wondered. For the moment, I turned my back on the bed as I thought it through. I could go downstairs and pitch a big fit, insisting that Miss McElroy do something about it. Just what she could do, I wasn’t certain. No one would admit to having done it, and I doubt the party responsible would have been clumsy enough to let anyone see the knife being taken from the kitchen, if indeed it had been.

I could hide the knife somewhere, in case I needed it later for the sake of evidence, but again I doubted that the person who had done this would have been foolish enough to leave his or her fingerprints on it.

Going into the bathroom, I washed my hands, checked my face, and decided to touch up the bare minimum of makeup that I wear. The dress I was wearing was presentable enough, though I might have to change for dinner later on. My hair, which is short, thick, and with just enough body to curl a bit on the ends, looked as close to tamed as I can get it. Satisfied with my appearance, I went back into the bedroom.

I went over to the bed and pulled the knife out of the pillow, freeing my dress and scattering some of the feathers from the pillow. I grimaced at the desecrated red silk as I did so. I had paid more than I cared to admit for that dress, and now it was ruined. Miss McElroy might have something to say about the holes in her good pillow as well.

Slipping the knife into my handbag, I went to the door and opened it with care. I peered outside, but I could see no one in the hallway. More than likely, everyone else was downstairs waiting for me to show up so lunch could be served. I might look a bit odd, bringing my handbag with me, but it wouldn’t hurt if Miss McElroy’s guests thought me a bit eccentric.

My mood was not its sunniest as I marched down the hall and down the stairs. I stood at the foot of the steps for a moment, trying to figure out where the dining room was. A door to my right opened, and Morwell Phillips came out into the hall.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Carpenter. I was just about to come to call you for lunch.” He motioned with his right hand. “Please join us.”

“Thank you,” I said as I approached him. “I was just wondering which might be the right door.”

“Sometime after lunch, if you like,” he said, “I’ll give you that tour I offered earlier.” He had thawed marginally; he no longer sounded grudging, at least.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” I said, walking into the room before him.

The rest of the house party were already at the table. Miss McElroy was seated at the far end, at the head, with Brett Doran on her right hand and Russell Bertram on her left. Alice Bertram occupied the seat next to her husband, and Lurleen Landry sat next to her. The seat next to Brett was empty, so I decided that was where I would sit. Miss McElroy nodded as I took my place. I set my handbag down on the floor beside my chair.

“Please ask the girls to serve now, Morwell,” Miss McElroy said.

He inclined his head, then went to the sideboard. He pressed a button in the wall before coming back to the table and sitting down beside Lurleen. Moments later, a door in the corner near Miss McElroy opened, and a smiling young woman in uniform came in bearing a tray with several dishes on it. She was followed by another young woman, similarly attired, who also bore a tray. Without speaking, they set their trays down on the sideboard and commenced setting bowls of various vegetables and one large platter of fried chicken on the table in front of us. Still smiling, they departed with their empty trays.

We bowed our heads as Miss McElroy said grace—a brief prayer to the Deity, invoking His good will and protection— then she urged us to help ourselves. “We are somewhat informal at mealtime, as you will see, Miss Carpenter,” she explained to me as I began helping myself to the mashed potatoes sitting in front of me.

For a few minutes the only conversation consisted of inquiries as to whether someone needed the creamed corn or fried okra or corn bread or variations thereof. I soon had a heaping plate, vowing to myself that I’d take a walk later that evening, when the heat of the day had receded a bit. Too much of this cooking and I’d not fit into any of the clothes I had brought with me.

I waited until everyone had full plates, then I reached for my handbag. I pulled the butcher knife out and into my lap where no one could see it yet, covered as it was by the exquisite linen of the tablecloth, and placed my bag once again on the floor.

Waiting for a lull in the conversation, I scanned the table briefly. No one looked nervous or anxious. Alice Bertram was scowling at something, but that was hardly unusual, I decided. If the woman ever smiled, I’d think the Day of Judgment was upon us. After a couple of minutes, I had the opportunity I needed.

“I believe I’ve found something that one of you must have mislaid in my room,” I said, my voice loud. With a flourish, I pulled the knife from underneath the table and dropped it with a clatter onto the table beside my plate.