Crossing the Lion (a Reigning Cats and Dog) (2010) (17 page)

“What a lovely idea.” Betty leaned forward and in a much softer voice said, “But before you run off, I’d love to get an idea of how things are going with … you know. Winston told me that even though that horrid Falcone person is on the case, he asked for your help.”

“That’s right,” I said, still scarcely able to believe it myself.

Stroking Frederick’s head, Betty glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “Any theories yet?”

“Not yet,” I told her. “But one thing I’m sure of is that this place is absolutely crawling with suspects!”

I immediately regretted sharing such a harsh characterization of the Merrywood household with her—even though it was honestly what I thought. But Betty grimaced in a way that told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.

“I know what you mean,” she replied in that same soft, conspiratorial tone. “From what I’ve seen so far,
anyone in this house could have killed poor Linus. The servants, his business partner, his assistant—and, as much as I hate to say it, even his children.”

“At least he had Charlotte,” Winston commented. “The two of them were inseparable.”

Betty sighed. “It’s true. In fact, I don’t know how she’s going to go on without him.”

I didn’t say anything. That was mainly because I couldn’t bring myself to tell Betty and Winston that, while I found it difficult to believe that Charlotte could be guilty, I couldn’t completely eliminate her from suspicion. But that was only because I still had so much to learn about everyone on Solitude Island—including the mistress of the house.

Speaking of which, I remembered that there was another woman in said house about whom I was curious.

“By the way, do either of you know Linus’s sister, Alvira?” I asked.

The puzzled look on Betty’s face gave me her answer. As for Winston, he looked chagrined.

“I’ve never met her, but Linus did talk to me about her,” he said. “Actually, he was quite concerned about her. It seems Alvira is a bit … off center.”

“That sounds like a good way to describe her,” I agreed.

For some reason, Frederick had suddenly focused on me. He was looking into my eyes and wagging his tail, as if he’d decided I wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Naturally, I reached over and petted him, running my fingers along his wonderfully silky ears.

“Are you saying that
you
know Linus’s sister?” Betty asked, looking more confused than ever.

“We’ve met,” I replied. “She lives right here in the house.” Not wanting to make Alvira sound any more eccentric, I diplomatically added, “In a fairly private room that’s located on the top floor. In fact, she’s the one we heard making those strange noises during dinner.”

“I do remember Linus saying something about her preference for living in isolation,” Winston said thoughtfully. “She apparently chooses to have as little contact with the rest of the family as possible. When Alvira lost her husband a few years ago, Linus invited her to come live with him. She agreed, but somehow she never managed to fit in with the rest of the family.”

“That’s been my impression, too,” I said. “But what I’m wondering about is how credible she is.”

The muscles in Winston’s face tightened. “To be honest, from what Linus told me about her, I got the impression that she’s not particularly … stable.”

Off center. Not particularly stable. In other words
, I thought as I stroked the velvety fur on Frederick’s head,
Winston’s conclusion about Alvira’s state of mind, based on her brother’s comments, was that she really was a nutty relative who kept herself hidden away in the attic
.

And here I’d been hoping that whatever clue she was planning to feed me—as soon as I supplied her with fudge—would help me wrap my head around the question of who had killed Linus. Now I was beginning to wonder if, to use a phrase inspired by Frederick, I was barking up the wrong tree.

N
ick and I lingered over our picnic, which by this point was more of an afternoon snack than something that could qualify as lunch. Eagerly, we wolfed down the leftovers I’d scored in the kitchen, camping out on our soft bed. Not only was picnicking in our bedroom considerably more comfortable than sitting on the ground, we didn’t have to worry about ants.

The rain was still tapping against the windowpanes, but we’d made the room feel extra cozy by lighting a fire in the fireplace and putting candles on the mantelpiece, the night tables, and the dresser. Max
and Lou sat on the floor, watching us with eagle eyes and no doubt hoping that gravity would send a few crumbs their way.

After we’d stuffed ourselves, Nick admitted that he still wasn’t ready to go back to work. Instead, we wandered downstairs to see if we could learn anything new.

We were strolling down the front hallway, nearing the small parlor in the back, when we both heard several different voices trying to talk over one another. That told me the members of the Merrywood clan had gathered once again to enjoy one another’s company. Either that or Charlotte had insisted that her children come out of their rooms to spend some time together.

“Nonsense!” I heard Missy exclaim. “I think it’s the perfect way to keep ourselves entertained on a dismal afternoon like this one. Townie, sweetie, don’t you agree?”

I cast Nick a nervous look. What now? I wondered. Charades? Scrabble? Truth or dare?

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and the electricity will go out again,” Tag muttered as Nick and I walked through the doorway.

That takes charades and the other games out of the running
, I thought,
since they can all be played by candlelight
.

“What are all of you up to?” I asked, glancing around the room.

Sure enough, the entire household was there. Harry Foss sat apart from everyone in a big overstuffed chair that had been pushed into the corner, nursing a snifter
of what looked like brandy. Scarlett sat next to Missy on the couch. Even Betty and Winston were cuddling on a loveseat. The only ones missing were the three servants, who I suspected wanted to spend the few hours they had off doing anything but interacting with the Merrywoods.

“Missy just came up with an interesting idea,” Charlotte told Nick and me. “She suggested pulling our family’s home movies out of storage and watching them together.”

“First step, first day of kindergarten,” Brock said, sounding wistful.

“First fistfight, first time thrown out of boarding school,” Tag added with his usual smirk.

Missy made a point of ignoring her brothers. “We even have some really old ones,” she gushed. “They were originally eight-millimeter home movies, but we had them transferred to a DVD ages ago. They’re mostly of Mummy and Daddy, and they go all the way back to when they were first married.”

I looked back at Charlotte with alarm, wondering if she, too, agreed that taking a trip down Memory Lane at this particular time was such a fun idea.

Apparently she did, since she was smiling and a faraway look had come into her eyes. “Oh, yes!” she cried. “I’d love to see those. Brock, would you set everything up? You’re so good at that type of thing.”

“Right,” Tag mumbled. “Turning on a DVD player with a remote is the next best thing to rocket science.”

Getting geared up for showtime took Brock, Tag, and Townie almost ten minutes, two pieces of electronic
equipment, and three remotes. So much for the convenience of modern technology.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Townie finally announced. “We’ll start at the beginning.”

“They’re actually not chronological,” Missy said with a frown. “Whoever put all our old videotapes and the eight-millimeter rolls onto a DVD didn’t follow our instructions about the order.”

“They’ll be fun to look at, anyway,” Scarlett insisted, pushing her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. “I’ve never seen these.”

“I have,” Tag grumbled. “Believe me, they’re not about to replace
Citizen Kane.”

“Shhhh,” Missy scolded. “They’re starting!”

Everyone in the room focused on the television screen as an image of three young children bearing lunch boxes and big smiles appeared.

“My first day at West Knolls!” Brock cried. “I was five!”

“I was starting third grade,” Missy said with a smile. “I remember that dress. I loved it. We got it at Saks. Remember, Mother?”

“I remember,” Charlotte said, her voice a near whisper.

I looked over and saw that she was wearing the same dreamy smile as before.

This is turning out to be a really good idea
, I thought.
Reminding the Merrywoods of all the good times they had together is helping everyone feel better. Maybe it will even smooth over some of their wounds from the past
.

My theory pretty much fell apart when the next segment came on. Brock and Tag were standing in front of a bicycle, clowning around for the camera. It looked like a sweet moment, until Brock turned and started to climb onto the bike. Tag, probably about twelve, immediately became incensed. He pushed his brother, knocking over both him and the bike. Suddenly everything went black.

Charlotte sighed. “The two of you were always at each other’s throats,” she observed sadly. “You were so competitive, even back then!”

I was relieved when a new image appeared on the screen. However, this footage turned out to have been taken more than a decade earlier, during the 1970s, from the look of the clothes everyone was wearing: fabrics with big flowers and paisley designs in bright oranges and hot pinks for the women, wide neckties for the men. The hairstyles were similarly dated.

Not so with Charlotte. While her hair was longer and her dress definitely styled to reflect the period, it was clear that she’d never been one to blindly follow the latest trends. She held herself with the same dignity and pride she exhibited today, even though her flawless skin made it obvious she was barely into her twenties.

“These were taken back when Linus and I first got engaged,” she said, filling in the silence that accompanied these early films, made before home movies included sound. Her voice was soft; yet, rather than being filled with sadness, she sounded almost exuberant.
“Right after he popped the question, we had a huge party for all our friends. It was in the backyard, right here at the house. Everyone came over for the entire weekend. We had a barbecue, and for dessert there was the biggest cake I’d ever seen in my life.… It was such fun!”

Everyone in the room, including her three children, had grown quiet. It was as if we were all equally nervous about her reaction to seeing herself and her recently deceased husband together, back at a time when it had no doubt been impossible to imagine that they’d ever be where they were now: Linus gone, Charlotte alone.

Only she seemed immune to the sadness of it all. “Oh, look!” she cried. “Our wedding day! This was long before video cameras, of course, but one of our friends brought along his eight-millimeter movie camera. Goodness, look how young we were!”

And how happy
, I thought, examining the exultant looks on both their faces. The younger version of Charlotte I’d seen before floated down the steps of a gray stone church. She held up the skirt of her long white dress with the same hand in which she clutched a bouquet of white roses interspersed with delicate baby’s breath. At her side was a young man in a tux. While he wasn’t exactly handsome, his eyes were intelligent, his smile was wide and genuine, and it was clear that he absolutely adored the woman whose arm he held onto as if he intended never to let go of her again.

“You look beautiful,” Missy said breathlessly.

“And so happy,” Scarlett added.

“We were both incredibly happy,” Charlotte said, her eyes still fixed on the screen. Her voice even softer than before, she added, “That’s the one thing that’s gotten me through all this: the fact that Linus and I had so many wonderful years together. Even at this terrible time, I can’t let myself forget that my marriage to Linus made me the luckiest woman in the world.”

•  •  •

For more than an hour we sat in front of the TV, watching the Merrywoods’ entire history unfold. There were only a few short reels of Linus and Charlotte, so we quickly moved back to the age of video cameras.

Frankly, I saw more of Tag’s, Missy’s, and Brock’s graduations, awards ceremonies, birthday parties, sporting events, and summer vacations at the family’s house on Nantucket than I really needed to. Still, the more I saw, the more I understood that the dynamic that existed among Charlotte and the next generation of Merrywoods had been pretty much the same all along.

But the next person on the list of murder suspects I wanted to interview wasn’t a Merrywood. It was one of the Merrywoods’ servants.

While Falcone had already questioned Cook, aka Margaret Reilly, I was still anxious to speak with her myself. True, Falcone had decided that the Merrywoods’ longtime employee wasn’t a very likely suspect. Yet when it came to reading between the lines,
the man struck me as someone who moved his lips when he read. I couldn’t ignore the fact that Margaret Reilly was the one who reigned over the kitchen, handling all the food in this house—including the birthday cake that appeared to have been the murder weapon.

And even if Falcone was right and she was a long shot, there was another good reason for me to talk to Margaret. While I certainly didn’t have much experience with servants, I’d watched enough British television to realize that when it came to knowing everything that went on within a household, there was no better source. So I was glad that Alvira’s request for some of Margaret’s homemade fudge had provided me with the perfect means of getting my foot in the door—in this case, the kitchen door.

I waited until late that evening, when the Merrywoods and their entourage were beginning to drift into their bedrooms and out of the way. Even Nick was holed up in our room. After dinner, he’d headed right back upstairs for another session, bringing Max and Lou to keep him company. After walking through all the rooms on the first floor to make sure no one else was around, I wandered into the kitchen.