OUT ON A LIMB (26 page)
After an interlude during which more whispering ensued, Miss Parchester said, “It’s much more complicated than you realize, Claire. You are doing the best you can, but you are not cognizant of the complexities of the situation. If Daphne were to turn herself in, the court would do nothing more than assign an incompetent neophyte to her case, who might make a few halfhearted objections and then nap throughout the trial. Daphne has good reason to doubt she will receive justice. Papa was painfully aware of the fragility of the system.”
It was all I could do not to clutch my own throat and throttle myself. “Miss Parchester, Daphne has been charged with her father’s murder. She was seen running out of the house, and she admitted to me that she had a gun in her hand. If she didn’t shoot her father, then someone else did.” I upped my volume. “She can hunker up there as long as she wants. Eventually, though, the ecology issue will be resolved and the platform will be dismantled. Odds are that KFAR will provide live coverage. Maybe Daphne doesn’t care about Skyler. I can always call social services and hope they’ll find him reasonably clean foster homes for the next eighteen years.”
The ladder dropped, and Daphne followed in a clumsy sprawl. “You won’t let them take Skyler, will you?” she said between gasps. She was wearing civilian clothing, but traces of orange were visible beneath her ankle cuffs.
“He can’t stay in a basket. You’ve put me in a truly precarious position. I’d feel more confident if I were out on the limb with Miss Parchester.”
“But Skyler’s just a baby.”
“And so are you, but you need to clamp down on your lower lip and start acting like an adult, as well as a parent. You obviously weren’t ready for either role, but that doesn’t alter the reality.”
“They’ll put me in prison.”
“They might if we don’t get to the bottom of this. Has a lawyer been assigned to help you?”
“Yeah, this lame guy. He thinks we can cut a bargain and I’ll only go to prison for six years. Do you realize how much of Skyler’s fife I’ll miss? First steps, walking and talking, birthday parties, riding a bicycle, catching a fish, throwing a ball? This so-called lawyer wants me to plead guilty, Ms. Malloy.”
“You have to tell me what happened,” I said.
“I already did. I was upstairs when I heard a gunshot.”
“I need to hear the truth, Daphne. You weren’t upstairs picking up an extra pair of pajamas. You were looking for something.”
Miss Parchester peered down at us. “Howie might return at any moment. I do not think it wise for him to find the two of you.”
“Does he have a gun?” I asked.
“Yes, he became very edgy when Daphne extricated herself from custody. I’m not at all convinced he knows how to employ it, and thus far he’s created more havoc with his cell phone. Miss Whitbred and Louis Ferncliff were arrested yet again this morning. Those three unsavory men who were here the other night returned, too, but when Howie threatened to call the police, they left. Perhaps the backfire was from their pickup truck.”
I looked at the confusion of trees, scrub pines, and thorny undergrowth that only Finnigan Baybergen could love. “Where’s Howie now?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He was very nervous, and has been prowling about all morning. He kept hearing car doors slamming and voices, although I gather most of it has been coming from the direction of the Armstrong house. I tried to tell him that, but he is quite sure the Green Party is plotting an offensive. Howie watches entirely too many movies.”
“I’d better get out of here,” said Daphne. “I want to see Skyler, Ms. Malloy, but I don’t want to go to prison.”
I grabbed her arm. “Do you have the gun?”
“No, I swear I don’t. Just promise me you’ll take care of Skyler until I can figure this out.”
“Until you can find the geological map? What if your mother is wrong and the map no longer exists?”
Daphne gaped at me. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m a bona fide snoop. Did you and your mother think that if you had possession of the map, you could blackmail your father? That’s why you went to the house on Tuesday, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” she said sullenly.
“And why you were in your father’s office?”
“I already told you I was upstairs. My mother said he kept some old files in the guest bedroom closet. You have to believe me when I say I didn’t know he was home. I came in through the conservatory. I figured I’d better search upstairs first, so that if they came back, I could look in his office after they’d gone to bed.”
“And then you heard the gunshots?”
“Claire,” said Miss Parchester, “you are not permitted to badger the witness. Daphne has explained her presence in the house.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said, then turned back to Daphne. “Where have you been staying since yesterday morning?”
“So you can tell the cops?”
“So they can take you back into custody before anyone else gets hurt, including you. Did Arnie find a place for you to stay?”
“Arnie?” she said with the wide-eyed gaze of a porcelain doll.
“I know that he helped you escape yesterday. He’s admitted to the note, the clothes, and a lift from the courthouse. Where did he take you?”
“He didn’t take me anywhere. I went down to the basement and out the door.”
Miss Parchester cleared her throat. “I truly think you should be leaving. I don’t know what’s gotten into Howie, but he’s usually very diligent. You. both are likely to find yourselves in police custody should he return.”
“Let me take you to see Skyler,” I said to Daphne. “And then turn me in? I know you’re trying to help, Ms. Malloy, but I have to take care of myself first. If I can just find Joey, I’ll ask him to look after Skyler.”
I wanted to shake some sense into her, but settled for a sigh. “How do you think you’re going to take care of yourself, Daphne? You’re broke, homeless, and have the questionable distinction of meriting an APB. The police will distribute flyers with your mug shot to all the establishments in Farberville, as well as to a certain bar in Waverly. You haven’t found this map that you and your mother are hoping will provide fodder for blackmail— which, by the way, happens to be a felony. Adrienne may well laugh and tell you to give the map to whomever you wish, including Finnigan Baybergen. She’ll be living in the Cayman Islands off the proceeds of your father’s estate long before the lawsuit reaches the court. Your share will be jeopardized, but you won’t see a penny of it for another twelve years, anyway.”
“I won’t?” she said.
“Did you think you would if you killed him?”
“I didn’t kill him, Ms. Malloy. As soon as I got there, I went upstairs. Why won’t you believe me?”
“I wish I could, at least for Skyler’s sake.” A thought as unpleasant as the gathering storm clouds crossed my mind. “Are you protecting your mother? Do you think she went to the house to find this map?”
Daphne jumped to her feet. “No, she didn’t! I don’t trust you, Ms. Malloy. Maybe I’ll be in touch in a few days.”
She ran down the slope to the parking lot of Phase One. A car started seconds later and drove away.
“Goodness,” said Miss Parchester.
“Gracious,” I added.
“Miss Parchester,” I said plaintively, “you have to tell me what you know.”
“If you don’t mind, my dear, I’d like to listen to the radio. News from the BBC comes on at noon, and although I don’t always understand the issues, I am an Anglophile. One of these days I aspire to take a bus tour of Kent and Cornwall. Oh, just imagine the cream teas, the gardens, the cathedrals, the pubs, the vicars… I become misty just thinking of it all.”
Only one word penetrated my mind. “Noon?”
“That is what I said. I’ve put on the kettle so I can have a cup of tea while I curl up with the members of Parliament. Such an elegant group, if a bit rowdy.”
The rope ladder had been retrieved while I’d talked, albeit unsuccessfully, with Daphne. I did not want to encounter Howie and find myself handcuffed in the backseat of a police car, or being obliged to write a check for bail. And it was approaching noon, when Adrienne and her guests would arrive, recuperating from their sorrow and ready for marinated
coeurs d’artichaut,
as I was sure Jacque called them after he’d spilled them out of jars and splashed on a little olive oil and garlic.
“I’ll be back,” I called to Miss Parchester.
“So will Howie.”
I muttered an expletive as I stood up, brushed off my derriere, and hurried up the path to the Armstrong house. Surely Adrienne would be swaddled by her close friends by now, or clinging to her lawyer’s arm as she stumbled to the buffet table. I no longer had a reason to search the house. The geological map was more likely to be at Anthony’s business office than on a dresser in Chantilly’s room or the master suite. Or in Finnigan Baybergen’s pocket. Or long sent blowing in the wind. A treasure map it was not, but only a squiggly hodgepodge of lines that might have indicated the presence of a fault line that might have caused a fire.
If all was running smoothly, I could clutch Adrienne’s hand and offer condolences, then spirit Caron away before she became too enamored of spending time in the company of the rich and pretentious. I much preferred her as she was, a rare combination of childishness and artfulness well beyond her years. She had an impressive repertoire; boring was not part of it.
A limousine drove up as I arrived at the edge of the road. I pasted on a properly sympathetic smile as Adrienne stepped out. I was somewhat surprised when Lieutenant Peter Rosen followed her. She wore a modest black dress; he wore a dark suit and muted navy tie.
Ken and Barbie, returning from Barbie’s Dream Cemetery.
“Bless you, my dear friend Claire,” said Adrienne. “Is everything set for the luncheon? There was just an absolute crush of people at the funeral, and I have no idea how many of them will be coming.”
I forced myself to join them. “Oh, yes. Jacque is adamant that he has it under control. The tables in the backyard are set with linens and silverware. Randy arrived two hours ago to prepare the bar.”
“And Chantilly? Is she here?”
Ignoring Peter, whose eyes were flickering in a somewhat ominous fashion, I said, “No, I assumed she was with you. I didn’t go upstairs, but I will now.”
“She didn’t come back last night,” said Adrienne, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t understand how she could do this to me. She must know how much I needed her at the funeral. If it hadn’t been for Peter, I would have totally lost it and humiliated myself in front of all those hundreds of people.”
I was trying to come up with a suitable response when the back door of the KFAR van opened and a cameraman appeared, accompanied by a man balancing a boom mike, and the omnipresent Jessica Princeton, dressed in an appropriately conservative outfit and ready to wrench a display of raw emotions from the widow.
“Mrs. Armstrong,” she began, “I’m Jessica Princeton from KFAR. As I’m sure you know, your stepdaughter escaped from police custody yesterday. Were you worried that she might show up at the funeral this morning?”
“No, but Lieutenant Rosen offered to escort me just in case.”
Jessica turned on Peter. “Then you are concerned for Mrs. Armstrong’s safety?”
“We are concerned about every citizen’s safety,” he said tightly.
“Have you made any progress in locating Daphne Armstrong?”
Peter glanced at me, and then said, “No, we haven’t, but we are continuing to investigate possible locales and interview those who might have knowledge of her current whereabouts. Anyone with information should call the police department immediately.”
Jessica raised her eyebrows, although not far enough to tempt a wrinkle. “Is she still considered armed and dangerous?”
“No comment.”
“Mrs. Armstrong, do you have any reason to fear that Daphne may attempt to cause you harm? You are, after all, a key witness.”
“I am also a widow who has just now come from the cemetery. I’m sure you and your viewers will understand if I decline to make further statements. Please address any other questions to my lawyer.” She slid her hand beneath Peter’s arm. “Lieutenant Rosen, will you be so kind as to help me inside? I’m a little unsteady on my feet.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, then looked at the reporter. “Uniformed officers will be arriving at any moment to provide security. You and your crew need to vacate the premises or risk being cited as a public nuisance. Do I make myself clear?”
“Are you familiar with the concept of freedom of the press?” she countered.
“Would you like to film a documentary from inside the cellblock at the Farberville Police Department?”
My lips may have quivered as Jessica reeled around and gestured to her crew to follow her to the van, but I maintained my composure and trailed Adrienne and Peter into the house. Once inside, I scurried upstairs, tapped on Chantilly’s door, and when I received no response, went into the room.
Some of the clothes might have been shifted from this chair to that, but they hadn’t been stuffed in suitcases to be transported home to Atlanta via airplane or Adrienne’s Jaguar. The array of makeup on the vanity in the bathroom defied description, and there were at least two dozen bottles of shampoo, conditioners, and other esoteric hair products on a shelf by the shower. After some hesitation, I opened the closet door, looked under the bed, and quickly searched all the other upstairs rooms without finding anything more telling than a used condom under Daphne’s bed and a titillating array of sex aids in the back of a cabinet in the master bathroom.
It was likely that Chantilly was still in Farberville, possibly shacked up with some muscular college boy she’d met the previous afternoon. But she wouldn’t have blown off Anthony’s funeral, I decided. Adrienne was stressed, if not stricken with grief. Chantilly wouldn’t have left without explanation, and she’d had nearly twenty-four hours to resurface. Or sober up, or return impulse purchases at the mall, or whatever.
There was definitely something rotten in the ministate of Oakland Heights. I went downstairs and out to the backyard, steeling myself to yank Peter away from the poor little widow. He could be persuaded to send a bulletin to officers on patrol to watch for Adrienne’s car, even though Farberville had more apartment complexes and motels-by-the-hour than it ever would migratory hawks. Chantilly would not be pleased should she be found in a scurrilous situation, but I really didn’t care.
