Once Bitten (A Melanie Travis Mystery) (21 page)

“I
hope we’re wrong,” Aunt Peg said. “I hate to say it, but I hope there really was a mysterious intruder at the Warings’ house last night and we’re running off on a wild goose chase.”

We were in my car speeding toward New Canaan, having left the Poodles behind along with a note explaining where we’d gone in case the fabled fishing trip didn’t turn out to be an all day excursion.

I shifted my gaze from the road ahead and glanced at my aunt. “Do you really believe that?”

“No.” Peg sighed. “And that’s what has me so worried. Lord knows, Delilah can be a difficult woman. But when I think that she’s very likely harboring a murderer in her own home and having no idea of the danger she’s in . . .”

Listening as she spoke, I did the only thing I could do and pressed my foot down harder on the gas pedal.

“If Sara has snapped, there’s no telling what she might do next. She always was rather unpredictable, even as a child. And that incident at Westminster is proof that she doesn’t respond well to stress. Knowing what we did about Sara’s past, we should have guessed—”

“We
did
guess,” I said. “That’s precisely why we’re on our way to New Canaan.”

“We should have guessed sooner!”

Aunt Peg wasn’t happy and neither was I, though for an entirely different reason. Sound as our theory seemed to us, it was just that: a theory. Bearing that in mind, I had no intention of bursting into the Waring house like a pair of Rottweilers with a mission. Instead I was hoping we’d be able to hang back and make a quiet assessment, then pull Delilah aside for a private chat.

“Do you suppose Sara’s still got the gun?” Aunt Peg mused.

“The police didn’t find a murder weapon. Or at least they hadn’t by the time Josh left. He said he and Sara figured the intruder must have taken it with him.”

“Or snuck it back upstairs for safekeeping,” Peg muttered darkly. “Maybe we should have called ahead, just to make sure that Delilah was okay.”

I put on my turn signal, zoomed off the exit ramp, and headed left on Route 106. “We’re almost there now. Five minutes, max.”

Mid-morning on a Saturday, I’d have expected West Road to be nearly empty. It wasn’t. Instead, we joined a line of cars that all turned into the Warings’ driveway. News of Grant’s murder had obviously spread through the quiet town. Delilah’s friends and neighbors were gathering to pay their respects.

“See,” I said as I wedged the Volvo into a small spot along a box hedge. “I’m sure everything’s fine. With this many people around, Sara wouldn’t dare try anything.”

“Let’s hope not.”

Aunt Peg hurried up the wide front steps. She lifted the heavy brass door knocker and let it fall. A moment later, the door was opened by a housekeeper wearing a plain gray dress and a weary expression. Circles under her eyes attested to the fact that she’d probably been up most of the night.

“Miss Bentley is receiving visitors in the living room,” she said.

Aunt Peg and I exchanged a glance.

“We came to see Mrs. Waring.”

“You’ll have to talk to Miss Bentley about that.” The woman took our coats and draped them over an arm that already held two others. As she waved us toward the living room, the door knocker sounded again.

“Come on,” I said to Peg. “Let’s go see if we can find Delilah.”

Like the driveway out front, the living room was jammed. The throng of callers spilled over into the dining room, where a buffet brunch had been laid out on the table. A maid in a uniform that matched the housekeeper’s was serving orange juice and coffee.

Conversation was muted, voices were hushed. People gathered in small groups, looking properly somber. Though many of the faces were familiar to me from the show circuit, I didn’t see Delilah anywhere.

“There’s Sara,” Aunt Peg said, grasping my shoulders and turning me so I could see through the crowd.

She was sitting in a low chair beside the marble fireplace. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her hair was gathered into an untidy knot at the nape of her neck. As we made our way across the room toward her, Sara caught my eye, stood up, and held out a hand.

“Melanie, Mrs. Turnbull, thank you so much for coming. I appreciate your support.” The line sounded rehearsed, but I could hardly blame her. Sara had probably had occasion to use it a dozen times in the past half hour.

“We’re so sorry about what happened—” I began, but Aunt Peg elbowed me aside.

“You poor, dear girl,” she said. “What
did
happen?”

“I wish I knew.” Sara’s bottom lip quivered. “As I’m sure you can imagine, this has all been a terrible shock. Everything feels like a blur to me right now. The police keep asking me questions and I can’t seem to get anything straight in my mind.”

“There, there,” Aunt Peg said soothingly. “That’s a natural reaction to the trauma you’ve been through. You must try to take it easy until everything settles down. Melanie and I were hoping to pay our respects to your mother, but we haven’t seen her.”

“No, I’m afraid Delilah is indisposed. She isn’t receiving visitors.”

“But surely she’d be comforted by the presence of an old friend. . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Sara said firmly. “As I’m sure you can understand, Delilah is quite overwrought. She isn’t seeing anyone.”

“Is she here?”

Sara didn’t answer. Instead, she looked past us into the crowd. “Please help yourself to some food. If you’ll excuse me, there are some people I must see.”

“Baloney,” Peg said heartily when Sara had gone. “So much for doing things the easy way. Now where do you suppose Delilah is?”

“I can’t imagine she’d have gone far. She’s probably upstairs somewhere.”

“I don’t like that at all.” Aunt Peg was frowning. “If you’ll pardon the expression, Delilah Waring is tough as an old boot. I’m sure she’s upset. Under the circumstances, who wouldn’t be? But even under adversity, she’s not the type of person to willingly hide herself away.

“Don’t forget, I was here last week when we all thought that Sara had died in the fire. What could be worse than believing your only child had been taken from you in such a horrible manner? But Delilah was very much in evidence then, greeting her guests, giving orders, running the show, just as she’s always done. I find this sudden disappearance of hers highly suspicious.”

“Me, too,” I agreed. “Let’s go find her.”

Aunt Peg looked delighted by the prospect. “You mean search the house? Do we dare?”

“I don’t see why not. Who’s going to stop us? Sara? With all this going on, she’ll probably be too busy to even notice.”

Since the downstairs rooms were easy to gain access to, we split up and gave the bottom half of the house a surreptitious sweep first. Five minutes later, Aunt Peg and I met back in the front hall.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Me neither.”

I’d just seen Sara, though, and knew she was busy in the living room. The housekeeper had disappeared. Aunt Peg eyed the wide stairway.

“Up we go, then,” she said.

Heads high, shoulders back, looking as though we had every right to explore the rest of the house, Aunt Peg and I marched up the steps. To my enormous relief, nobody paid any attention to us.

The only other time I’d been on the second floor of the Waring home, Sara had led us directly to her rooms. Now, as we paused on the landing, I was dismayed to realize how many doors led off of the spacious hallway. Not only that, but most of them were closed. Despite all the activity below us, the second floor of the Waring house had the hushed stillness of a tomb.

I hung back for a moment, but Aunt Peg wasn’t deterred. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she said determinedly. Marching over to the nearest door, she grasped the knob and drew it open.

“Linen closet,” I heard her mutter as I crossed the hall and started on the other side.

I’d half expected the doors to be locked, but none were. Instead I found myself peering into one beautifully furnished bedroom after another. Considering how few people lived in the house, I found myself wondering what was the point of having so much space, not to mention owning all that furniture. Just the curtains alone must have cost a small fortune— Behind me, Aunt Peg cleared her throat loudly. I turned and looked. Though most of the rooms I’d seen had been bright and cheerful, the one whose doorway she was standing in was only dimly lit. Its shades had been lowered to block the morning sun.

“This is a surprise,” I heard Delilah say. Her voice sounded hoarse and cranky. “Is that you, Peg?”

“Me and my niece, Melanie.”

I went to stand beside my aunt. She moved over so that Delilah could see both of us in the doorway.

“Go away.”

“We need to talk to you.”

“I don’t feel like talking.”

“We’re sorry to bother you,” I said, “but it’s important.”

Delilah was reclining on a chaise longue on the other side of the room. Though Sara had said her mother wasn’t receiving visitors, the woman was fully dressed, right down to stockings and a pair of polished Ferragamo pumps. A small table beside the chaise held a glass filled with a clear liquid. The scent of gin lingered in the air. Delilah was staring off into space.

“Nothing’s that important anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Aunt Peg said gently. “I know things seem bleak now—”

“Bleak?” Delilah very slowly turned her head so that she was facing us. Even so, her gaze seemed to be turned inward. “Bleak doesn’t begin to describe the depths I’ve sunk to. Please close the door.”

Of one accord, Aunt Peg and I stepped forward. We shut the door behind us.

“So you’re staying.” Delilah frowned. She didn’t look as though she had the strength to argue with our decision. “You’re braver than my daughter, I’ll give you that.”

“Actually,” I said, “it’s Sara we wanted to talk to you about.”

“We’re afraid you might be in danger,” Aunt Peg added.

“Danger?” Delilah cocked her head to one side as though considering the notion. Watching the studied cadence of her movements, I wondered if her doctor had given her a sedative, and if so, how many extra pills she’d taken. “No, I don’t think so. Sara’s a disappointment to me on many levels, but she hasn’t got the guts to be dangerous.”

“We think she may have a gun,” said Peg.

Delilah didn’t respond. She didn’t look surprised either.

“There was no intruder in this house last night, was there?” I asked.

“There was death and destruction.” Delilah’s voice shook. “Isn’t that enough?”

“Destruction?”

“Yes, destruction. That’s the only way to look at it. Everything I loved, everything I believed in, was destroyed in an instant. After that, there was no turning back.

“I’m not a forgiving woman. Nor am I an easy one. The only thing I can say in my own defense is that I’m just as hard on myself as I am on everyone else.”

“Delilah,” Aunt Peg said smoothly, “no one’s blaming you for what happened.”

“Then you’re a pair of fools, both of you.”

Uh oh.

“Are you . . .” I stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Are you saying that you’re the one . . . ?”

Delilah’s hard eyes nailed me. “For someone who fancies herself a detective, you’re rather out of the loop, aren’t you?”

Apparently so.

“I’m just surprised,” I said. “I can’t imagine why you would have wanted to burn down Sara’s cottage.”

“Oh, that.”

Delilah waved a hand and her fingers smacked against the highball glass on the table. She peered at it owlishly for a moment, then picked it up and took a long swallow.

“I’m having a drink,” Delilah announced. “Would you like one?”

“No,” Aunt Peg and I replied in unison.

“Suit yourselves.”

“ ‘Oh that,’ as you call it,” Aunt Peg said grimly, “resulted in the death of an innocent young woman.”

“Bad luck.” Delilah shrugged. “And you two needn’t look so disapproving. As it happens, I had nothing to do with that stupid fire.”

“Who did?”

She lifted her glass again. Her perfectly aligned white teeth played along the rim. “That was Grant’s doing. Imagine. I had no idea. I was right in the house, living with both of them, and I didn’t have a clue.”

She seemed to have shifted topics. I grabbed on and tried to go with her. “About Grant and Sara, you mean?”

“Grant and Sara, Sara and Carole, Grant and Carole . . .” Her voice faded away, then came back. “I suppose I must have been rather obtuse.”

“Grant and Carole?” Now she’d lost me.

“Bound together by death, you might say. Murderer and victim.”

“So Grant set the fire that killed Carole?” Aunt Peg repeated, hoping to confirm what we suspected.

Delilah stared off into a distance that only she could see. “He seemed to think he had his reasons. I don’t suppose I’d have agreed, but there you are. The girl’s death was an accident. Grant swore that was so. He’d never have set the fire if he’d known she was there.”

“When did you discuss that with him?” I asked. “Did you know about it at the time?”

“No-o-o. . . .” Delilah drew the word out, letting her lips and tongue linger over the denial. “They say the wife is always the last to know, don’t they? I guess I’m proof of that. It was all going on right under my very nose, and I had no idea.”

“But you do now,” said Aunt Peg.

“Yes, I do,” Delilah agreed. “Rather unfortunate, isn’t it?” Her hand slid gracefully beneath the cushion of the chaise and reemerged holding a small gun. “I’ve seen too much. I’ve done too much. And I’m quite certain that I know much more than I ever wanted to. I’m afraid there’s only one thing left for me to do.”

A
unt Peg’s gasp seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “Delilah,” she said reprovingly, “you aren’t threatening to shoot us, are you?”

“Oh dear, you must really think I’ve taken leave of my senses.” Delilah laid the gun down in her lap, but kept her fingers twined around the grip. “Of course I’m not going to shoot you. I’m going to shoot myself.”

It was amazing how civilized the two of them sounded discussing what was, essentially, a very uncivilized topic. The only thing I could think to do was to keep everybody talking until I came up with a plan.

“So you’re the one who ended up with the gun.” I matched my conversational tone to theirs.

“Ended with it, began with it, used it.” Delilah sighed. “It was all a terrible mistake, of course. I knew that right away. It wasn’t as though I’d made a decision to act. The whole thing just sort of . . . happened.

“I hadn’t even tried to pull the trigger and the gun went off. I never imagined it could happen just like that. But you can’t say that I don’t learn from my mistakes. If it was that easy to use the gun once, it will be just as easy to do so again.”

Delilah’s fingers toyed idly with the weapon. “That’s all I’m left with now, isn’t it? One final act to bring the whole sad story to an end.”

“It was an accident,” said Peg, sounding relieved. “You shot Grant, but you didn’t mean to.”

“In truth, I’m not sure what I did or didn’t mean. I was certainly very angry. It wasn’t so much the act itself, but the betrayal. My husband and my daughter together, I could never have forgiven that. I’m sure Sara knew it. I’m sure that’s why . . .” Delilah shook her head wearily. “It doesn’t make much difference now, does it?”

“Of course it does,” Aunt Peg said stoutly.

Delilah didn’t seem to hear her. “My husband is dead. My daughter hates me, she’s made that clear enough. There’s nothing left for me anymore.”

A sudden flicker of movement caught my eye—a brief flash of blue in a doorway that led to . . . what? A bathroom? A sitting room? I stared at the opening for a minute but didn’t see anything else. Maybe I’d only imagined it.

In the meantime, Aunt Peg was trying to get my attention. Behind her back, her hand was cocked in my direction, fingers beckoning, gesturing for me to do something. To do what? I wondered.

“This isn’t the end, Delilah,” Aunt Peg was saying. “You can get help.”

Her hand was flapping now. Urging me to act. As if she had a plan. As if she thought she was a mime and I could understand what she was trying to convey.

“All of us, all your friends will pull together—”

“And what?” Delilah’s tone was bitter. “Hire me a good lawyer? Find a psychiatrist willing to testify that I’m crazy? I am, you know. I must be, don’t you think? Otherwise, why would I be sitting here with a gun in my hands?”

“This has all been a tragic misunderstanding,” said Peg. “Grant killed Carole by accident, you killed Grant by accident. There were mitigating circumstances; anyone can see that. I’m sure something can be worked out.”

“Worked out?” Delilah snorted.

As she reached for another sip of her drink, I began to inch slowly toward her. If Aunt Peg expected me to grab the gun, she needed to come up with a better diversion than she’d managed thus far. Delilah was staring into space again. Though she was speaking aloud, it was almost as though she’d forgotten anyone was listening.

“Worked out?” she repeated. “That’s just what I kept telling myself every step of the way. When I found out Sara thought she was gay. When she told me Carole was her—what was that term she used?—life partner. When she said she was pregnant and that she and Carole were planning to raise the child together.

“Every life has its ups and downs, I told myself. We’ll get through this. Everything can be worked out. And then Sara told me who her baby’s father was.” Tears gathered in Delilah’s eyes and began to trickle down her cheeks. “At first I thought she was lying. Then I thought my whole world had come to an end. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

“No,” Aunt Peg said softly.

“The worst thing was that Sara was happy about what she’d done. Defiant. So filled with satisfaction in the face of my despair. She wanted to destroy me and she succeeded.”

“So you went and got Grant’s gun,” Aunt Peg prompted, trying to keep Delilah talking. Three more steps and I’d be there.

“It was in his office. Loaded, and locked in his desk for emergencies. We all knew where it was kept. I’m not sure what drove me to take it out. I know I never meant to use it. I was just going to threaten Sara with it—”

“Sara?” I gasped.

Delilah turned and looked at me, standing so close. Too close, she could see that right away.

“Do step back,” she said, lifting the gun and pointing it in my direction. “I’m afraid I don’t have to tell you that I’m perfectly capable of using this.”

I retreated a step. The gun wobbled in Delilah’s grasp. I stepped back again, and over to one side. The barrel of the pistol didn’t follow and I relaxed slightly. It was much easier to breathe when it wasn’t aimed in my direction.

“Where was I?” Delilah asked Peg. Under the circumstances, her steely composure was more unnerving than hysterics would have been.

“You went to get the gun. . . .”

Aunt Peg’s tone was mild, but she shot me a glare. I’d blown the best chance we were going to get, her eyes said. I hoped she wasn’t right.

“Well, yes, I did, didn’t I? That’s how things went. I was only going to use it to show Sara that I meant business. She was to leave this house and never return. Leave Grant and me in peace to see what we could salvage of our marriage.

“It had to be done. The break had to be made. There’s always been something the matter with my daughter. I’ve known it from the time she was small. She’s always been weak, unfocused. Well, frankly, I’d had enough.”

“What about Grant?” I asked.

“Grant.” Delilah sighed as she said her husband’s name. “He must have heard us yelling. Sara’d had a visitor in, some young man. I don’t mind telling you that they’d been shouting, too. Somehow, the fact that someone else was angry at her strengthened my resolve. As soon as he left, I went to Sara’s room.

“You can’t imagine the things my daughter said to me—horrible, hurtful things. I couldn’t stand to listen anymore. No mother could. I left and went down to Grant’s office to get the gun. He must have heard the commotion, because he followed me there. Grant tried to take the gun away. . . .”

Delilah’s voice faded as she relived the horrible moment. Or so it seemed at first. Then abruptly I realized she’d stopped talking because she was listening to something.

Some sort of disturbance was going on downstairs, accompanied by enough noise that it was audible through the closed bedroom door. I heard the sound of dogs barking, several startled shrieks, and pounding footsteps.

“What on earth . . . ?” Peg muttered, glancing toward the door.

There was more barking, followed by a series of excited yips. Delilah’s lips curved in a small smile. An odd reaction, I thought, but at least she hadn’t lifted the gun again. Instead she was listening, her expression intent. If she’d been a dog, she’d have had her ears pricked.

I strode to the door and opened it, intending to look out onto the landing. Instead I found myself jumping back as a horde of galloping Shetland Sheepdogs came flying up the stairs and racing down the hallway. There must have been at least a dozen of them—sables, blue merles, tricolors, in a happy jumble of wagging tails and lolling tongues—and Sara was leading the charge.

The dogs came pouring into the bedroom like a herd of stampeding buffalo. They scattered across the carpet, jumped up on the bed, then finally found Delilah on the chaise and leapt up into her welcoming arms. Deftly Aunt Peg navigated through the melee, reached around the wriggling bodies, grabbed the gun, and slipped it into her purse.

“My babies, my babies,” Delilah crooned, surrounded by her beloved Scotchglen Shelties.

The throng of eager dogs vied for position on her lap, their tongues licking away her tears as soon as they appeared. Delilah spread her arms wide and tried to gather them all in. Her voice, soft and sweet as a lullaby, murmured each one’s name.

On the other side of the room, Sara stood perfectly still in the doorway and watched the scene. I tried to read her expression but couldn’t quite decide what emotion I saw there. Sadness? Relief? Pity? Perhaps a combination of the three.

She was wearing a blue sweater, I realized, the same shade as the flash of color I’d seen in the doorway. Sara had overheard what Delilah was saying, had seen how despondent her mother was, and had gone to get help. Delilah might not have known her daughter very well, but Sara clearly had understood exactly what her mother needed.

“You saved her,” I said.

Sara’s mouth was a flat line. When she spoke, her voice so low I almost couldn’t hear her.

“Some women should never have children,” she said with a small sigh. “Only dogs.”