Creeps Suzette (25 page)

They had reached the double doors at the entrance. “You know better,” Judith admonished. “But I don't blame you for feeling down.”

“We're off to question Russ Hillman,” Edwina said. “I want to show him that golf marker again. He insists it could have been there for days.”

“I wonder,” Judith said, walking Edwina and Danny through the front doors. “What do you bet he came by Monday night, looking for Peggy? He might have wanted to know where she was before he headed out on his tryst with Dorothy.”

Edwina cocked an eye at Judith. “Which means Peggy wasn't home when he got back from the golf course?”

Judith's expression grew puzzled. “Russ said she got home first. Maybe I'm wrong about why he came to Creepers so late. If he actually did.”

“That's why we're going to talk to him again,” Edwina said, surveying the front of the house. “Thank God, the fog's lifting.”

It hadn't lifted quite enough for Renie, who once again stumbled over the figure of the footman. Swearing out loud, she regained her balance and made a face.

“I'll be glad when I can see again. This depth perception thing drives me nuts.”

Judith bent down to straighten the small, sturdy little figure. Suddenly, she stood up. “Edwina—what about him?” She jabbed a finger at the ceramic statue whose once-colorful silks had faded with age.

“I told you,” Edwina began, “I have to look at him as part of another era, when the insensitive white community regarded—”

With emphasis, Judith shook her head. “Never mind that. I understand completely. What I'm saying is that maybe you shouldn't look at him as a social statement. Instead,” she went on with a curious expression, “how about thinking of him as a murder weapon?”

“P
REJUDICE CAN BLIND
our eyes in many ways,” Edwina murmured, then gazed at the cousins in embarrassment. “Of course you may be wrong. But we should have checked it out. All I could see when I looked at that little figure was a racial slur.”

“That's okay, Edwina,” Danny said in consolation. “If it had been wearing a long gown and a pigtail, I'd have felt the same way.”

Edwina glared at her partner. “Then why didn't
you
figure it out?”

Danny backpedaled a couple of steps. “Well…I mean…”

Edwina laughed and grabbed Danny by the arm. “Never mind. Just pull the little guy out of the ground and bag him. We'll let the lab see if Mrs. Flynn is right or merely crazy.”

Judith and Renie watched the unmarked county car disappear into the fog. “Which are you?” Renie asked in a wry voice.

“Neither,” Judith replied, turning to go back inside, “but I sure am stupid. I should have figured that out a long time ago. So much attention was called to the little figure, but it always came from a completely different direction and diverted me.”

“Don't feel bad,” Renie said as they closed the double doors behind them. “It put Edwina off the track, too.”

“But I don't have the same emotional response to such things,” Judith said. “I should have been more objective. Of course, we may be wrong. It might not be the murder weapon. Still, it's the last potentially lethal object anyone would see before they entered Creepers. It's also a fixture, and as such, could be overlooked.”

“Lunch can't be overlooked,” Renie said. “It's ten to one. Where do we eat?”

There was a considerable pause before Judith answered. “How about Evergreen?”

“Huh?” Renie stared at Judith. “The company or the house?”

“The house,” Judith replied. “Haven't we been neglecting Dorothy Burgess?”

Renie, however, balked. “She won't feed us. She'll sit there in that jungle solarium or whatever with all those plants and smoke like a faulty fireplace and the next thing you know, I'll be smoking, too.”

Judith's face fell. “You're right.” Again, she paused, then snapped her fingers. “Let's treat her to lunch.”

“Why? She's rich. We're poor. Are you nuts?”

“Right again.” Judith frowned. “Let's go to the country club anyway.”

“Who said anything about a country club?” Renie asked.

“That's where I was thinking we could take Dorothy,” Judith replied, heading up the central staircase. “Let's get our coats.”

“Are we walking? Tell me we aren't walking. The golf course and the country club are clear over on the other side of Sunset Cliffs. It must be five miles away.”

“It's not that far,” Judith countered as they reached the top of the stairs. “A mile, at most. Do you want me to get the car out of the garage?”

Renie stopped and turned to face Judith. “Yes. Otherwise, when on a forced march, I collapse from hunger.”

Sarah Kenyon was on the phone when the cousins went
to get the garage door opener. Judith mouthed the request; Sarah merely nodded, then produced the device.

Five minutes later, they were driving along the winding road that led from Creepers. “It's probably a good thing to start the car,” Judith allowed. “It shouldn't sit for more than a couple of days. I wonder if the detectives ever found out anything about that oil leak.”

“Edwina didn't mention it,” Renie said as Judith slowed the Subaru down through a patch of fog. “But she did caution Danny not to tell us everything.”

“So she did,” Judith replied. “It's a long-shot, though. I'm not sure if you can match oil to a specific…Oh, no!”

Judith braked for a figure that had darted out through the fog. The car didn't quite stop in time: There was a sickening thud, a piercing scream, and a flurry of motion across the Subaru's hood. To Judith's horror, Dorothy Burgess's face stared at her through the windshield.

“Are you okay?” Judith cried, leaping out into the road.

Dorothy, clad in an off-white raincoat and matching slacks, clung to the hood. She made no response. With her heart sinking, Judith put a hand on the other woman's shoulder.

“Dorothy…?”

“You moron!” Dorothy shouted, rolling over and slipping to the ground. “You could have killed me!”

“I'm so sorry,” Judith apologized. “I was just creeping along and…Oh, please, I don't know what to say. Are you sure you're not hurt?”

Apparently, Dorothy wasn't sure. She wiggled both arms and both legs in turn, then twisted her torso around. Finally, bobbing her head up and down, she declared herself whole.

“But,” she added, still angry and shaken, “I could have injuries that'll develop later. I hope you're insured up to your somewhat less than first-class haircut.”

“Of course,” Judith said, too upset to be indignant. “Believe it or not, we were thinking of inviting you to lunch.”

“I don't believe it,” Dorothy said angrily. “But as long
as you're here and I'm still shaking like a leaf, you might as well drop me off at the country club.”

“You know,” said Renie, who had gotten out of the car and was leaning against the roof, “you might consider not dressing up like Casper the Ghost when you walk in the fog. That outfit is kind of hard to see.”

Dorothy didn't deign to respond, but with a swing of her head got into the backseat and slammed the door. In the few minutes that it took to reach the country club, she spoke only to give terse directions.

The clubhouse itself was what Judith would describe as California Missionaries Retire to Beverly Hills. The two-story cream-colored stucco building had a traditional red tile roof, arched windows, and a large verandah.

An attendant in a white jacket raced down the stairs when Judith pulled to a stop. He paused in mid-step when he saw Judith and Renie in the front seat. Before he could ask any embarrassing questions, Dorothy Burgess got out of the car.

“It's all right, Jason,” she said. “They're with me. Why don't you park this crate where nobody can see it?”

Judith and Renie stared at each other in surprise. “We're allowed?” Renie said in her meekest voice.

“I guess.” Judith left the key in the ignition and gave Jason a big smile.

“Sorry,” Renie called to the attendant as she got out of the passenger seat. “We left the Edsel parked with the rusty pickup in the front yard.”

Dorothy was already on the verandah. She didn't look back until the cousins had joined her in the clubhouse lobby.

“Well?” she demanded, handing her raincoat to a young woman dressed in maid's attire. “Are you satisfied? I assume you want to see every nook and cranny of Sunset Cliffs before you get thrown out.”

“Very impressive,” Judith murmured, glancing around at the wood and leather Spanish-style furniture. “But really, we wanted to talk to—”

Dorothy waved a hand, silencing Judith. “Come along, I
have a table that overlooks the seventh green. We can watch some crazy fools try to sink a six-inch putt in the fog.”

“You don't golf?” Judith asked as they headed for the dining room.

“Actually, I do,” Dorothy replied, nodding at the platinum-haired hostess and marching straight to a corner table. “But not in this kind of weather. I work out for exercise.”

“I heard you were going to open a gym,” Judith said innocently as the three women sat down.

Dorothy's fine eyebrows lifted. “You did, did you? My, but you do pick up the scuttlebutt.”

“I think it's a great idea,” Judith enthused.

“It is,” Dorothy said. “I could make a go of it just off the women who live in Sunset Cliffs. Most of them sit around on their dead butts all day anyway.” She paused as a chubby young waitress with perfect skin came to the table. “We'll have the Dungeness crab louies, thousand island dressing on the side, rolls, coffee, and three glasses of lemonade. Thanks, Melanie.”

“It's a good thing we like crab louies,” Renie murmured.

“Most people do,” Dorothy said in a brisk voice. The bored, almost languid air that she had exuded upon her first meeting with the cousins seemed to have been put aside. “I don't like to waste time, especially with people I don't know well.” She brushed the graying red hair away from her face and leaned forward in the chair. “Now tell me what you're up to. Why lunch? Why me?”

Judith fidgeted a bit, then decided to be candid. “You're an intelligent woman, Dorothy. Observant, too. Who do you think killed Dr. Moss?”

The green eyes, which were so much like her son Bop's, grew wary. “How should I know?”

“You must have a theory,” Judith said, “especially since the suspects are pretty limited to Creepers.”

Dorothy sighed heavily. “That's why I don't try to think about it. The possibilities are frightening.”

“But you know these people,” Judith pressed. “You've been in the family for—what? Almost forty years?”

“Almost,” Dorothy said. “You think you know people after all that time. But do you—really?”

“Good point,” Renie allowed. “Are you talking about a dark horse?”

Dorothy uttered a sharp little laugh, but didn't respond immediately. Melanie had arrived with the lemonade and a sunny smile. Judith glanced around the dining room with its open rafters and whitewashed walls. At a few minutes after one, there were only a handful of other members still eating. They looked prosperous and self-satisfied, a far cry from the rag-tag clientele to whom she once served well drinks and rib-eye steaks at the Meat & Mingle.

“Dark horse?” Dorothy repeated after Melanie had left. “If you mean someone who would be the last person I could imagine killing someone else, no. Edna, for instance. Kenyon. My mother-in-law. It's not just because they're old and physically hampered. It sounds as if this murder was planned, and if any of them wanted to kill somebody, they could use poison. Whoever struck down Dr. Moss was making a statement. Subconscious, maybe, but a statement nonetheless.”

Judith was impressed by Dorothy's reasoning. “You may be right. But what kind of statement?”

“In-your-face,” Dorothy replied. “Revenge. Righteous anger. Whatever. Not knowing who, I can't say what.”

Finality
. The word sprung to Judith's mind. Nothing was more final than death. She became lost in thought, and only a phrase from Renie brought her back into the conversation:

“…not going to sue us?” Renie was saying to Dorothy.

Dorothy regarded Renie with a wry smile. “Probably not. But it was a stupid stunt. And not just on your part,” she added, wagging a finger at Judith. “I should have been walking further off the road.”

“I really do feel awful about it,” Judith said earnestly. “I honestly thought I was just creeping along.”

“You probably were,” Dorothy acknowledged, “but I was
woolgathering. I've had a lot on my mind lately.” She paused and eyed the cousins with an ironic expression. “No doubt you've heard something about that, too.”

“There was a mention of some…domestic dispute,” Judith hedged.

“We heard you threaten Mr. Gibbons,” Renie put in. “It's also hard to keep a secret when you announce in front of God and everybody that you're leaving forever.”

“True.” Dorothy expelled another sigh.

The crab louies arrived, and Renie dove into hers like a rabbit let loose in Falstaff's produce section.

“Anyway,” Dorothy continued, looking askance at Renie, who had an olive slice on her chin, “at least I was sober.”

The forkful of crab that Judith was holding stopped midway to her mouth. “Sober? I don't understand.”

“Oh.” Dorothy smiled weakly. “I was thinking of Charlie Ward. I don't know if you've heard about him, but he was Peggy's first husband.”

“Yes,” Judith said, hastily swallowing the mouthful of crab. “He was killed in a hit-and-run accident.”

Dorothy gave a little shrug. “I've heard that he was drunk at the time. It's plausible. He and Peggy used to get sauced fairly often. You'd almost have to be drunk to get killed along that stretch of road by the other side of the golf course. There must be ten, twelve feet, including a little gully for runoff, between the road itself and the golf course fence.”

“Who told you he was drunk?” Renie asked, unaware that the olive slice had slipped onto her bosom.

Dorothy averted her gaze. “I forget. The accident happened a long time ago.”

“Did you like Charlie?” Judith asked.

Dorothy hunched her shoulders. “He was passable.”

“But not one of you,” Renie remarked, finally discovering the stray olive and popping it in her mouth. Two older women, one with upswept silver hair and the other with a platinum pageboy, stared in distaste. Renie stared back and stuck out her tongue.

“No.” Dorothy's expression was ironic. “Definitely not one of us. Charlie was strictly middle-class, and frankly, on the make. That roguishness appealed to Peggy. In fact, Leota found him fascinating, in a raffish, scapegrace kind of way. She's never taken to Tom Ohashi like that, though. To be frank, he came from a better class of people, and—unlike Charlie—is ambitious and hardworking. But he isn't a WASP. That puts him on a whole different level.”

“That's too bad,” Renie said, ducking around Dorothy and making an obscene gesture at the women who were whispering behind their bejeweled hands. “Tom's the perfect mate for Bev. I take it that the only marriage the Burgesses endorsed wholeheartedly was yours.”

Dorothy smiled rather grimly. “I was a Prescott. My father was Judge Joshua Cole Prescott. Perhaps you've heard of him.”

Judith hadn't, but Renie nodded. “He almost made it to the Supremes. My mother—she was a legal secretary—held him in high esteem.” Again leaning to one side so Dorothy couldn't see her, Renie put both index fingers in her mouth and made a hideous face.