Cruel as the Grave (17 page)

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve thought a lot about that this afternoon, and it just seems like a very strong possibility. We know that someone had to have told her about your argument, someone who came in on you and Grandfather arguing. That someone went and told my grandmother to get out of her bed. Do you really think that that was done without malice? It seems to me someone was setting her up for just such an accident. The fact that you and Grandfather happened to witness it was probably luck on the murderer’s part. Either way, it could have been—and was, until now— dismissed as a tragic accident.”

“But no one hated my mother that much,” Gerard protested weakly. “No one.”

Maggie moved uncomfortably in her chair. “What about Lavinia?”

Gerard shook his head in denial. “I knew as well as anyone that Lavinia and Mother didn’t get along at all, but Lavinia would never have done such a thing to Mother. I could almost see her doing something like that to Father—in fact I think she did push him down the stairs one day, Helena told me— but I don't think she hated Mother enough to do something like that.”

“But would you say she was malicious enough to go to your mother and tell her about the argument?” Maggie persisted.

Reluctantly Gerard nodded. “Probably so.” He threw up his hands. “I just don’t know. Even after all these years away from them, I thought I knew my family, but now...”

“I know this is awful for you,” Maggie said as she moved from her chair to kneel in front of her father’s chair. She clasped his hands in hers and squeezed tightly. “And I hate dredging all this up, but if Grandmother really was murdered, then I think that the same person must have murdered Grandfather. He must have revealed something to his killer, or somehow made the killer suspicious. Otherwise, why the sudden decision to change his will?”

“You’re probably right,” Gerard agreed, gently disengaging her hands before standing up. He retrieved his pipe from the table and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “It all makes rather macabre sense. If Father had decided he knew who was responsible for Mother’s death, he wouldn’t have waited to do something about his will. He told me yesterday that everyone in the family was well provided for, so I’ve no doubt he intended to cut someone out. Just what he planned to do after that we’ll never know.”

Maggie had stood up with him, and now she encircled his waist with one arm. “The murderer obviously didn’t want to wait to find out. Although,” she mused, “Grandfather probably couldn’t have proved anything and would have had to settle with disinheriting whoever was responsible and kicking him or her out of the house.”

Gerard nodded. He moved toward the door, and Maggie followed. “I’m going up to my room for a while, I think. What about you?”

“I’m going to find Helena and Ernie, I guess.”

“Well, just be careful, all three of you.” So saying, Gerard ambled tiredly away from her. With concern, Maggie watched him go, wishing she could do something more to console him and silently castigating herself for not approaching the topic of her grandmother’s murder with a little more tact. But how else could she have done it?

As Gerard disappeared around the foot of the staircase, Maggie at a slow pace followed in his footsteps until she stood at the foot of the graceful, but solid marble structure. Gazing up, she forced herself to visualize a figure standing upon the top step, leaning against the baluster. On either side of the head of the staircase were waist-high balustrades of marble, each about ten feet long. These ran flush against the walls of the corridors which ran the length of the house on either side. Hidden from the view of anyone below, someone could easily have crawled along the floor and hit Magnolia McLendon in the knees, causing her to jerk forward and then fall down the stairs. Only a slight blow would have been necessary to topple the woman from her weak hold of the baluster.

Hurriedly Maggie turned away from contemplation of what she was convinced was the scene of her grandmother’s murder. Her reconstruction of it, though circumstantial, seemed horribly plausible.

“Maggie.”

She whirled around to face Adrian Worthington. Though he had spoken softly, nevertheless he had startled her. “Sorry!” He grinned at her, and Maggie’s irritation faded.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’ve still got eight lives left.”

Adrian grinned again, and she wished she could think of something else amusing to say. He had a most attractive grin, especially when it was directed at her.

“About what happened a little while ago,” he said.

For the moment, Maggie had forgotten the tense scene she had interrupted. The memory of it made her uncomfortable. It had been a private moment, and she was embarrassed that she had intruded upon it, even inadvertently.

“Don’t worry,” she said, embarrassment making her voice cooler than she intended, “it’s really none of my business.”

“Oh,” Adrian said, his own face coloring slightly, “well, I just wanted to tell you Helena’s out by the pool, and she thought you might like to join her. I believe she expects Ernie to join you, too."

"Sounds good to me,” Maggie responded in a voice that was too bright. "I haven’t been outside the house at all since I got here.”

“Then follow me,” he said abruptly as he turned away.

Feeling even more awkward, she followed him down the hall and into a short corridor on the west side of the house. At the end of the corridor was a small room—Maggie had already decided that, with this house, “small” was always a relative term—which Adrian called the “sunroom.” He pointed toward several doors on one side of the room near the outside door and explained that these were changing rooms which were also accessible from the outside. “Every convenience,” he assured her at his most polite.

Opening the door, Adrian ushered her out onto a large patio. Straight ahead of them was an Olympic-sized pool. Scattered around the expanse of the pool were wrought-iron chairs and chaise lounges, all covered with gaily colored, water-resistant cushions. Sitting comfortably beneath a large beach umbrella whose fabric matched that of the chair cushions was Helena. She waved a languid hand at Maggie, who skirted one corner of the pool to join her.

Maggie turned to speak to Adrian, but he was heading back into the house, the door closing upon him even as she turned. It doesn’t really matter, she told herself. Just forget about it. So she sat down in the chair Helena indicated and poured herself a glass of iced lemonade from the pitcher on the table.

“This is nice,” Maggie commented after taking a long sip from her glass of lemonade. She cast approving eyes at the scene around her—gently sloshing, sparkling water in the pool, neatly trimmed lawn around the patio, a breeze with a more-than-welcome hint of coolness, and ample protection from the hot sunshine. “Nice,” she repeated.

“It certainly makes a pleasant change,” Helena agreed. She shifted in her chair so that she could look directly at her grandniece. “This wasn’t the sort of homecoming we had planned for you.” She shook her head dolefully. “Jackson is a lovely little city, and there are places I wanted to show you and people I wanted you to meet, but the time really isn’t right for all that now.”

Maggie patted her hand in a consoling manner. “I know.”

Helena squinted into the sunshine as they heard the door to the sunroom close with a slight bang. “Here’s Ernie,” she announced, and Maggie turned to smile a welcome at her cousin.

“Lord, it’s hot,” Ernie grumbled as she plopped down into a chair beside Maggie. She moved her chair a little farther into the shade of the umbrella. “I feel like jumping into the pool. Anyone want to swim?” she asked hopefully.

Smiling, Helena and Maggie shook their heads. “Maybe later,” Maggie said.

“You’re right—we really should get down to business.” Ernie sat up straight in her chair and nodded at Maggie. “Let's hear your report first.”

Suppressing the urge to salute, Maggie did as requested, giving the other two women a detailed outline of her conversation with her father.

Helena gasped and Ernie narrowed her eyes when Maggie repeated her theory that Magnolia's death was murder, rather than accident. She gave her reasons for thinking so and was relieved when Helena and Ernie nodded vigorously at her conclusions.

“That explanation makes sense of a lot of things,” Ernie said, “although it raises a whole other set of questions.”

“We may not have to look too far for some answers.” Helena’s eyes gleamed as she looked back and forth between her companions.

“All right, give,” Ernie ordered. “What have you found out?”

“Well,” Helena said in an arch tone, “I talked to Harold after lunch today, and I asked him what he was doing the day Magnolia died. He told me that Henry had asked him the same question, just as we thought. Anyway, Harold had spent most of his time that day in the library. He came out for lunch, but he went back right afterward. He said he knew Henry and Gerard looked like they were spoiling for a fight, and Harold’s policy was to stay out of Henry’s way as much as possible.”

“Get on with it, Helena!" Ernie urged as Helena paused to take an unnecessarily long sip of her lemonade.

Helena grinned. “Okay. Harold did come out of the library once that afternoon before Magnolia’s accident. He was going up to his room for some notes or something, and as he was about to come around the foot of the stairs he saw someone coming out of the drawing room. Before the door closed he heard a snatch of the conversation and knew that Henry and Gerard were still in there, arguing. Harold had stopped where the person coming out of the room couldn’t see him, but he could see who it was who had just come out.”

“Who?” Maggie and Ernie demanded in unison.

“Lavinia!” was the joyfully malicious answer.

Chapter Twelve

Maggie expelled the breath she had been holding. “I knew it!” She slapped a hand down on the table, nearly overturning her glass of lemonade. She steadied the glass before it emptied its contents across the table.

“I’m not surprised,” Ernie admitted. “But we know that two people stumbled into that argument—rather,” she corrected herself, “we know the argument was nearly interrupted twice. Though I suppose it would be slightly odd if the same person had stumbled in twice. So there must have been two people. Right?” she demanded of her companions.

“I can put your minds at rest on that score,” Helena said wryly. “I was the other person. I knew Henry and Gerard had gone into the drawing room to talk, but I’d say at least half an hour had passed by the time I went to the door. If I’d been paying much attention, I guess I’d’ve heard them talking as I opened the door. But I wasn’t paying attention, so I just blundered in. Henry just waved me away, and Gerard had his back to me, so he didn’t even know who it was.”

“What about the timing?” Maggie asked.

Helena cocked her head to one side and thought for a moment. “According to what Harold told me, Lavinia must have gone into the room after I did. He stood and watched her go back upstairs, then he followed and went to his room. About fifteen minutes later, when he came out of his room, he walked down the hall to the stairs where he found Henry and Gerard bending over Magnolia hallway down the stairs.” She shuddered. “Anyway, as near as I can recall, it must have been about thirty minutes after I walked in on that argument that Retty called up to my room to tell me to get downstairs because something had happened.”

Ernie sat back in her chair, letting her shoulders slump against the plump cushion. “What do we do now? Confront Lavinia, I guess.” She looked from Maggie to Helena and back again. “Who wants to volunteer?”

“I’m not doing it by myself this time,” Maggie protested. “I vote for a committee of three.”

“Yes, I think so,” Helena agreed. “She’ll have a harder time denying it if all three of us talk to her together.” She stretched her arms out in front of her, then over her head. “I know I didn’t run upstairs to tell Magnolia that Gerard and Henry were arguing, so Lavinia must have done it. And we’ll make her admit it.” She picked up the pitcher. “Lemonade anyone?"

Both Maggie and Ernie held out their glasses for a refill. As she poured out the remainder of the lemonade, Helena asked, “Well, Ernie, what did my big sister have to say about all this?”

Ernie took a long swallow from her lemonade before she replied. “The whole conversation was kind of strange,” she finally remarked. “I wouldn’t be completely surprised if Retty had suffered some sort of mild heart attack, because I’ve never known her to be so dithery.” She looked sideways at Helena.

“Unlike me, you mean,” Helena supplied without rancor.

“Well, yes,” Ernie admitted. She laughed softly. “You haven’t always been the most direct or decisive person in the world, while Retty has. That’s why it disturbed me to see her this way.” She sighed. “But I guess age just catches up with all of us sooner or later.”

Ernie took one final, long drink from her glass, then put it aside. “But that’s not really what you wanted to hear about. Anyway, it took me a little while to get Retty to the point, because she kept letting herself wander off on tangents the whole time we talked. I finally got her to talking about the day Magnolia died, and she wasn’t very helpful—just mentioned what we already knew. That Lavinia and Claudine had been taking turns reading to Magnolia while she was recovering. Retty didn’t see anything that day, because she spent most of the afternoon in her room writing letters. She didn’t know anything had happened until Sylvia came tearing in to tell her about it.”

“That’s when Retty called me,” Helena reminded the other two.

“What about Sylvia?” Maggie asked suddenly. “Where was she while all this was going on? And how old was she?”

Ernie answered first, frowning slightly. “According to Retty, Sylvia had been in her own room, playing, but she was leaving her room to go outside to play, when Claudine came running down the hall. Claudine told Sylvia something had happened to Magnolia, then Sylvia went to her grandmother, then I guess Retty went to Helena?” She looked at Helena for confirmation.

Helena shrugged. “That’s correct, as far as I know. But I hadn’t ever given much thought to where Sylvia was during all this, because I guess she was only about seven or eight at the time. And Claudine is only about five years older than Sylvia.”