No Mortal Reason (33 page)

“Son of a—”

“I suspect any editor worth his salt would kill that story if his reporter were granted interviews with both you and Jack Allen. And I can guarantee that the reporter in question will be fair-minded in what she writes.”

“She?”

“My wife.”

“You’d let your wife to spend time with a killer?”

“I’ve given up trying to dictate how she earns a living. She has a job to do and she’s very good at it. You can ask the police in Manhattan about her if you want references.”

Irvine drummed on the desk some more. “All right. I’ll talk to her. And she can speak with Sailor Jack. For an hour. With two of my deputies in the room with them and him shackled.”

Ben hid the elation he felt. With any luck, this would prove to Diana that he had no objections to her career. He sure hoped so. He couldn’t think of anything more he could do to convince her.

“Getting back to Jonas Riker,” he said. “If he has been pulling the wool over the eyes of the good people of Lenape Springs, then it seems to me that might make him a suspect in Norman Saugus’s murder. A better one, in fact, than Saugus’s wife.”

“How do you figure that?”

“What if Norman Saugus knew Riker’s history? Who better to spot a confidence man than one of his own kind? If that happened, Riker might have killed Saugust to keep him quiet about his past.”

“Kind of a long shot.”

“I keep coming back to the way the body was displayed. It was, to all intents and purposes, hanging on a cross.”

“If your minister, phony or not, is the murderer, wouldn’t he want to avoid calling attention to himself that way? Besides, putting Saugus there sends the wrong message. The man was no martyr.”

“Originally, crucifixion was just another means of executing criminals,” Ben reminded him.

“Seems a stretch to me. And I can’t say I’m convinced of your theory about Mrs. Saugus, either. Not if it depends on there being a connection between Elly Lyseth’s death and Saugus’s murder. I’d be surprised if the two cases are related. The only thing they seem to have in common is that both deaths took place in Lenape Springs. Coroner says he can’t even tell if the girl was murdered or not.”

“It could be coincidence, “ Ben conceded. He hated coincidences. But he could not for the life of him figure out how Pastor Riker could have killed Elly Lyseth more than eight years before he arrived in Lenape Springs.

The man Irvine had dispatched a short time earlier returned to hand the sheriff a slip of paper. “Well, that’s one question answered,” Irvine said. “Looks like Mr. Riker, ordained or not, took the trouble to get himself the authority to perform civil ceremonies.”

Rule out one more, Ben thought. It was progress of a sort.

He had just thanked the sheriff for his time and for the promised interview and was about to take his leave when another telegram arrived. With a word of apology, Irvine ripped it open and read the message it contained. He gave a low whistle and called Ben back.

“Looks like you’ve been barking up
all
the wrong trees, Dr. Northcote. This is from Coroner Buckley. He’s arrested Myron Grant for Norman Saugus’s murder. Wants me to send deputies to Liberty to transport him here to jail.”

Ben swore under his breath. He had to get back to Lenape Springs. Diana would move heaven and earth to free her uncle. And she’d stand a good chance of putting herself in mortal danger from the real killer in the process . . . especially since she didn’t have a clue who that person was!

Unfortunately, neither did he.

* * * *

Diana closeted herself in the writing room, alone with her lists and her thoughts, determined to discover the truth. She was suspicious of Pastor Riker. Obviously he’d lied about seeing Uncle Myron.

But so had Celia Lyseth.

Why would Mrs. Lyseth lie about Myron? To support the minister’s claim? But then why the discrepancy in the time? 

She shook her head, trying to order her thoughts. Celia Lyseth had never been consistent in her statements. Nor was she quite rational about her daughter or her religious fervor. Diana tried reversing the circumstances. Would Pastor Riker lie to support his parishioner’s claim? He’d have been happy to cause trouble for the Grants. Then Mrs. Lyseth could have confused the agreed upon time.

But why would Celia make such a statement at all . . . unless she’d killed Norman Saugus and was trying to shift the blame. It made a perverted kind of sense . . . if Celia Lyseth had also killed her own daughter.

What if she’d struck Elly down during a quarrel and had hidden the body in a panic? The fire might have been a stroke of luck, covering up the crime. Then Celia’d had to dispose of Norman Saugus because Saugus, after the recovery of Elly’s bones, had figured out what had happened. Had he seen something ten years ago, perhaps Celia and Elly together on the night she disappeared? The last verified sighting of Elly Lyseth had been around four in the afternoon in the orchard. Tressa Ellington had remembered because the girl was supposed to be working.

It had undoubtedly been Celia Lyseth who’d come up with the story about her daughter running off with a peddler. She was the one who’d said Elly’s belongings were missing, too.

There was one person, Diana realized, who might have the answers she sought. Floyd Lyseth had thought for ten years that his only daughter had run away from home. Now he knew better. Surely he could be persuaded to help bring Elly’s killer to justice.

Chapter Sixteen

“Mr. Lyseth, may I have a word with you?”

“I got work to do, Mrs. Northcote.” He carried a carpenter’s tool box and several pieces of wood.

“It’s late afternoon. The painters have already quit for the day.”

“Don’t mean my work’s done.”

“Then I’ll just tag along, shall I? I’ve only a few questions to ask.”

He scowled at her. “Boss said I was supposed to cooperate with you. Then again, he’s in jail for killing Mr. Saugus. No mortal reason I got to put up with foolish questions.”

“I know how your daughter died.”

That seemed to startle him. Eyes narrowing, he studied her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Come on, then. Talk while I work.”

Taciturn as ever, he led the way to the gazebo Howd had shown her and started repairs. Diana settled herself on one of the benches. She sat and watched him for a moment, uncertain how to begin. How did one tell a man that his wife had probably killed their daughter?

A section of the old railing gave a shriek as Lyseth wrenched it free. At the sound, Diana felt a chill pierce her heart. She stared at the broken wood, suddenly as certain of what had happened as if she’d been a witness to Elly’s death herself.

The young woman had come here that day with Howd. Tressa Ellington had seen her after that, so he hadn’t murdered her. But Elly had come back.

Why? With whom? Diana didn’t have all the answers, but she was sure now that Elly had been shoved or thrown into that railing with so much force that she’d broken it. Either the wood, as it splintered, or a rock on the hard ground below, had dealt her death blow.

“This is where it happened,” she whispered.

Slowly, Floyd Lyseth turned, hands fisted at his sides, the usual glower on his face. “So, you did figure it out.” Thin and stoop-shouldered he might be, but in the confines of the gazebo, he seemed to loom over her.

Diana blinked at him in confusion. How long had he known that his wife had killed Elly? “I—”

“Guess that means I have to kill you, too.”

For a moment, Diana couldn’t take in what she’d heard.
Lyseth
was the murderer? She swallowed hard and thought fast. It would only take a moment for him to reach out with those strong, work-hardened hands and strangle her. Her back was against the railing. She couldn’t bolt from a sitting position. That left her no choice but to survive by her wits.

“It’s traditional to grant a dying prisoner one last request.”

“That’s a last
meal
,” he corrected with a rough laugh.

With all the false bravado she could muster, she said, “I’m a newspaper reporter, Mr. Lyseth. I gather information, not nuts and berries.” And if she could keep him talking long enough, she might think of a way to escape his clutches. At least she hadn’t been knocked out or tied up and Mr. Lyseth didn’t have a weapon.

On the other hand, he didn’t need one. Anyone who could effortlessly cart heavy trunks up several flights of stairs was stronger than he looked. And they were well off the beaten path here. Was Ben back from wherever he’d gone? Did it matter? He wouldn’t have a clue where to look for her.

“I thought your wife killed her.” She really should have been clearer about that from the beginning.

Lyseth snorted. “That silly cow wouldn’t have had the sense to hide what she’d done.”

      “I don’t suppose she’d have known about Saugus’s plans to burn down the hotel, either.”

It was a guess, but the deepening of Lyseth’s scowl told Diana she’d hit the nail on the head.

“Did Elly find out? Is that why you killed her?”

Lyseth glared at Diana. “You want to know what happened? Fine. I’ll tell you what happened. Makes me mad all over again just thinkin’ about it. Elly asked me to meet her here that day. Meant to taunt me. Told me what she’d been up to in this here gazebo with Howd Grant. Said she was goin’ to marry him and lord it over me and her mother at the hotel. She’d be my boss, she said. Little slut.”

With a snarl, Lyseth flung off his hat and stomped on it. Diana hadn’t dared move during his tirade, and was terrified of his temper, but she took heart from the fact that, in his agitation, he had moved farther away from her.

“Wasn’t about to stand for that,” Lyseth muttered, raking dirt-stained fingers through his greasy hair. “Told her I’d tell Howd how she’d been carryin’ on with Racy Darden. I seen the two of them sneak off together more than once. I knew what they’d got up to. That’s when she attacked me. Tried to dig up my face with her fingernails, but I pushed her away before she could do any damage. She went right through that railin’.” He turned and pointed. “Hit her head when she landed.”

“A tragic accident, “ Diana murmured.

When he didn’t look her way, she slowly rose from the bench and inched toward the opening at the side of the gazebo.

“Think so?” His head whipped around and she froze. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He shrugged. “She deserved what she got and I wasn’t about to chance a jury deciding I’d wanted her dead.”

There’d been no guarantee he’d have been believed if he’d confessed to accidentally causing her death during a quarrel, Diana supposed. He might have been spared execution, but found guilty of manslaughter and been sentenced to a long term in prison.

They stood in silence, watching each other as she pieced together the rest of what must have happened. He’d have waited until after dark, then put Elly under the floor in the west wing of the hotel, knowing the building was going to be set on fire. He must have thought the blaze would destroy the body.

Diana’s desire to know the truth momentarily overwhelmed her sense of caution.  “Did Norman Saugus hire you to burn down the hotel?”

For a moment she thought he’d refuse to answer. He became downright loquacious instead.

“Saugus was payin’ me to help him. I knew what he had planned. Him and the missus.” His eyes looked unfocussed, but Diana did not dare move so long as he faced her. “Came to my house,” he continued. “Woke me up. Said to come with him. He’d been drinkin’. Brought whiskey with him and we both had some. Been a long time since I tasted whiskey. Damn woman won’t have it in the house. Saugus said he knew I killed Elly, but he’d forget all about that if I’d set fire to the hotel again.”

Diana shivered. He wasn’t talking about the day he killed Elly anymore. He was remembering the night he murdered Norman Saugus.

She understood now. After the bones were found, Saugus must have realized how Lyseth had taken advantage of the arson scheme to hide his own crime. Saugus couldn’t tell the authorities what he suspected without incriminating himself. At first he must have had sense enough to be afraid of Floyd Lyseth. Had indulging in whiskey changed that? Or had it been the fight with Myron? She wondered, too, if he’d confided in Belle. He might have let on that he knew who’d killed Elly without giving Belle a name. That would have given her a reason to run.

“Meant to kill him,” Lyseth muttered, “but I didn’t think it through. Should have realized I’d have to get rid of his wife, too. She’ll be next. After you.”

Keep him talking!
Diana thought in desperation. “What made you put him on that pole in place of the scarecrow?”

“Didn’t start out to do that. Meant to bury him in the field. Figured nobody’d notice fresh diggin’ there. Got him out there, then polished off the rest of the whiskey Saugus brought. Mighty good whisky. I was looking at the scarecrow while I drank and all of a sudden it seemed like a good idea—funny, you know?—to dress Saugus up in those rags instead of the fancy duds he favored. Buried the clothes, though. Just like I buried Elly’s stuff all those years ago.”

Cautiously, Diana crept a few steps closer to the opening. Her hand, sliding along the railing, touched a piece of the shattered section and she caught hold of it to keep it from falling and alerting Lyseth to her movements.

He jerked at the tiny sound and his eyes came back into focus, finding her an instant later. “Hold it right there.”

Diana bolted, taking the piece of wood with her. It was a poor excuse for a weapon, little more than a pointy stick, but it had jagged ends and was better than nothing. She fled back along the overgrown path. By the time she broke into the next clearing, Lyseth was only a few steps behind her.

She knew she’d never make it up onto the boardwalk and back to the hotel without being caught. Instead she sprinted toward the two fallen trees at the far side of the glade, grateful that she’d worn a divided skirt. The tangled roots and branches promised protection if she could just squirm in among them ahead of her pursuer.

She reached her goal with only inches to spare and flung herself forward. Twigs scratched her face and arms as she crawled deeper into cover. Her hands and knees collected bruises. She felt a jerk as her skirt caught on a tree limb but a moment later it tore with a rustle of branches and a rip of fabric, setting her free.