Owls Well That Ends Well (12 page)

“Is that all?” Schmidt asked.

“I’ll call you if we think of anything else. Show him out, Sammy.”

I heard the folding chair scrape across the floor and a depressing number of boards that squeaked as Sammy and Professor Schmidt walked over them. I wished I had room to take out my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe. I needed to make a note to find out how to fix squeaking floorboards.

“He could have done it,” a slightly hoarse tenor voice said. “He clearly hated the victim.”

“Sammy, Sammy,” the chief chided, softly, in his musical baritone. “Everyone hated him. We wouldn’t have standing room in the jail if we arrested everyone who hated him. But this isn’t an Agatha Christie novel. They didn’t all gang up and stuff him in that blasted trunk. Bring in that ex-partner of his.”

More squeaking. Squeaking door hinges, too, as Sammy ushered the ex-partner in.

“Ralph Endicott,” the partner said, introducing himself to the chief. Again I wished I could scribble in my notebook, as Endicott rattled off his address and phone number. Never mind. Caerphilly was a small town. If he wasn’t in the book, someone I know would know where to find him.

“Tell us what you were doing here today,” the chief said. “And how you happened to be in the barn with the deceased.”

I heard the folding chair creak slightly, and I suspected Chief Burke had leaned back, lacing his hands over his slightly rounded belly and staring at Endicott with halfclosed eyelids. I’d been on the receiving end of the chief’s interrogation technique myself some months ago.

“The yard sale,” Endicott said. “I was here on business.”

“You were selling things?”

“No, buying things,” Endicott said, with just a hint of impatience in his voice. “For my shop. Yard sales are good hunting grounds for anyone who sells antiques, as I’m sure you know. After all, why do you think Gordon was here?”

“For your shop, yes,” the chief said. “This would be a new shop? I understand that when you and Mr. McCoy parted company this past November, he kept the shop the two of you had been running.”

“That’s true,” Endicott said. “His name was the only one on the lease. Careless of me, but what could I do?”

“And you didn’t resent that?”

“Enough to kill him, you mean? Certainly not,” Endicott said. “I resented it at the time, of course, but from what I’ve heard recently, the owner’s planning to jack the rents up sky-high when the leases are up. Ironically, Gordon did me a favor, hanging onto the shop.”

“So where have you opened up your new shop?” the chief said. “The one you were buying things for. I don’t recall seeing it yet.”

“That’s because I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Having trouble finding suitable premises?”

“I can find plenty of suitable premises, thank you,” Endicott said. “Frankly, I don’t want to open my new business until I’m sure I’m well and truly rid of Gordon. Purely in a business sense, of course.”

“Oh?”

“The man was a total sleazeball,” Endicott said, his voice growing slightly heated. “If I’d known what he was like, I’d never have gone into business with him in the first place. I haven’t been actively involved in the shop for two years, and I sold him my interest outright a year ago, and yet every time I turn around someone’s filing another suit against him and naming me as a codefendant. Not to mention the bill collectors.”

“Seems like a motive for wanting to get rid of him,” Chief Burke said. “Dead, he can’t do anything else that’ll get people fired up to sue him.”

“Dead, he’s not earning any more money to pay judgments,” Endicott said. “I suspect some of the plaintiffs will try to come after me instead.”

“So you’re telling me you’re actually worse off with him dead?”

“I could be,” Endicott said.

“So why did you go into business with him, if he’s such a disreputable character?” the chief asked.

Endicott sighed.

“I didn’t realize then how disreputable he was,” he said. “I only saw his good qualities.”

“And those were?” the chief asked.

I was curious, myself.

“He was brilliant, in his own way,” Endicott said, his voice sounding oddly melancholy. “He had an encyclopedic knowledge of antiques, collectibles, and especially rare books. That’s how he started out—in books—and then he added other things as he figured out how to make money out of them. And he didn’t just have academic knowledge. He could walk into a room and sort the treasures from the junk at a glance. A phenomenal eye—and the ability to con the owner of a piece into letting it go for a fraction of its value. If he’d just had an ounce of integrity …”

A pause. I heard the chief’s chair creak.

“So what were you doing in the barn with him?” he asked.

Endicott laughed.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said, his voice returning to its normal tone. “Or in this case, made him a suspect. I wanted to see what he’d found at the sale. I waited till he left and then ducked in.”

“Just to see what he’d found?” the chief said. “You weren’t appropriating anything for yourself?”

“Just to see what he’d found,” Endicott said. “One of the few things I miss about having Gordon around was that he had an uncanny knack for spotting trends before anyone else. If he was stockpiling something, that probably meant he expected the value to soar. Or, if he was passing up something that looked hot, it might mean the bottom was about to fall out of that particular section of the market. So I was snooping in Gordon’s stash. He came in and caught me at it.”

“Thought you were stealing, did he?” the chief said.

“Oh, he knew what I was doing,” Endicott said. “Had himself a good laugh at my expense. I said a few unpleasant things in return, and left.”

“And you have no idea who might have killed him?”

Silence, but I assumed Endicott must have shaken his head, because I heard the chief sigh.

“That’s all for now, then,” he said. “I’ll be in touch if I think of more questions.”

“Oh, come now,” Endicott said, over the scraping sound the folding chair made as he stood up. “Don’t you mean
when
you think of more questions?”

It didn’t sound as if he waited for Sammy to show him out. The floor squeaked, the door opened and closed, and Chief Burke sighed again.

“Sad, isn’t it?” he said.

“Sir?” Sammy said.

“For a man to quit this earth in the prime of his life and leave behind nothing but enemies,” the chief mused. “That’s a sad, sad thing.”

“Well, sir,” Sammy said. “Maybe if he hadn’t made so all-fired many enemies while he was here on this earth, no one would have been in such a hurry to help him quit it.”

“An excellent point, Sammy,” the chief said. “And let that be a lesson to us all. So who else have we got out there?”

Sammy answered, but I didn’t catch what he said. Just as he was speaking, the dumbwaiter lurched, banged against the side of the shaft, and jerked up a foot.

Chapter 14

I reached out and grabbed the ropes to stop the dumbwaiter from moving any farther.

“What the dickens was that?” the chief exclaimed.

A good question.

I felt a series of jerks, and the dumbwaiter strained against my hold. Someone was trying to raise it. No, now they were trying to lower it.

“Probably those guys on the roof,” Sammy said.

“That came from the walls,” the chief said.

“You don’t suppose it’s rats?” Sammy asked.

“Give me a hand, Frankie,” piped a voice beneath me. “Pull on this.”

I took a tight grip as the dumbwaiter strained downward, presumably because Frankie had joined Eric’s attempt to retrieve it.

“Sounds too mechanical for rats,” the chief said. “Check that little door over there.”

Damn. With their first tug, Eric and Frankie had jerked the dumbwaiter up so it was squarely in front of the door. The second Sammy opened the door he and the chief would see me. I loosened my hold on the rope so the boys’ tugging would pull me down again, out of sight.

Unfortunately, they chose that moment to give up.

I heard Sammy walking toward the dumbwaiter door.

I was reaching out to grab the ropes and haul myself away when the dumbwaiter lurched and then sailed upward, as the boys reversed their tactics and pulled on the other rope. I banged my hand hard on the side of the shaft, and then my head against the ceiling when the dumbwaiter reached the top of its course.

“Okay, I know what we can do now,” the small voice from below piped.

Something that didn’t involve the dumbwaiter, I hoped. If only they’d start up their protection racket again. But at least I was out of sight when Sammy opened the panel and peered in.

“It’s a toy elevator,” he said, his voice echoing up the shaft.

“That’s a dumbwaiter, you ninny,” the chief said.

“What’s it for?” Sammy said.

“When the rich people who used to live here gave dinners, they’d haul the food up from the kitchen in that.”

“But the kitchen’s on this floor,” Sammy objected.

“Well, maybe it used to be in the basement in the old days. Or maybe they used it to haul wine up from the wine cellar. Shoot, maybe it was just for show. I can just see old Mrs. Sprocket—Edwina’s mother-in-law—making her poor cook run all the way down into the basement to put the food in the dumbwaiter. Mean as a snake, she was. Shut the damned thing and bring in Mrs. McCoy.”

Presumably he meant the disgruntled soon-to-be-ex-wife, Carol. I waited a few seconds for Sammy to shut the dumbwaiter door, and then began carefully lowering myself again.

Carol had taken her seat by the time I had returned to my listening post. I peered through the cracks in the dumbwaiter door and then nodded. Carol was the slim, elegant Gypsy I’d seen going into the barn. While I’d largely gotten over being jealous of slender women, in no small part thanks to finding Michael, who appreciated my more normal female shape, I had no trouble understanding why the plump Marie Antoinette and the stout older Gypsy disliked her. She looked rail-thin; remarkably self-possessed for someone who had just lost a husband (even an unwanted one); and altogether too chic to have anything to do with Gordon in the first place. I wondered how such an odd couple had ever gotten together.

“No, I don’t remember exactly what I said,” she was saying. “It was just like a thousand other conversations we’d had since we began the divorce proceedings.”

“Give me the general gist, then,” the chief said.

“I think I started by asking him why he hadn’t returned some papers he was supposed to sign. Of course, the bastard never has done anything on time or right the whole time I’ve been married to him, so I don’t know why I expected him to change after we filed for divorce. But usually, if I nag him enough, he eventually signs things. So we exchanged a few insults, for old time’s sake, but I could see his heart wasn’t in it. He was up to something—some deal, some bargain—so I left him to it.”

Just then, I felt the dumbwaiter jerk up slightly. Damn, the boys were trying to haul it up from above. I reached out and grabbed the ropes to keep myself in place.

“I take it you parted on unfriendly terms?” the chief asked.

“We’re getting a divorce, aren’t we?” she said. “Oh, you mean today? No more than usual.”

The boys were pulling more strongly—it was all I could do to stay in place.

“Did you see anyone else there in the barn?”

“Not that I remember,” Carol said.

The pulling stopped, but the dumbwaiter began jerking oddly. What was going on?

The chief wasn’t saying anything. I peered through the cracks. I could see his glasses, lying on the card table, and one elbow, moving up and down as if he were rubbing his face.

Just as he picked up the glasses, I heard—and felt—something land on the top of the dumbwaiter.

“What was that?” Sammy said.

“This is cool,” came a small voice from above me, as another small thud hit the top of the dumbwaiter.

“What in tarnation?” the chief said.

I heard footsteps. I reached over, grabbed the ropes, and pulled the dumbwaiter down. I’d just gotten myself below the level of the door when I heard it open.

“What the Sam Hill are you boys doing in there?” the chief demanded.

I remained motionless while the chief chewed out the two boys and sent them packing with orders to stop fooling around with the dumbwaiter and stay out of trouble.

Luckily for me, he didn’t inspect the dumbwaiter to see if anyone else was fooling around with it.

I inched the dumbwaiter back up after he’d dismissed the boys, but the rest of his interview with Carol was pretty tame, and I was wondering if I should try to sneak the dumbwaiter back up to the bedroom and leave when, after escorting Carol out, Sammy ushered in Cousin Horace.

“So, have you found anything interesting?” the chief asked.

“Nothing we didn’t expect,” Horace said. “Professor Rathbone’s fingerprints are all over both bookends, but then he admitted that he’d been carrying them around half the morning. He tells us we’ll probably find his fingerprints on that half-burned book, too.”

“How very forthcoming of him,” the chief muttered. “Anything else?”

“Well,” Horace said, sounding sheepish. “Turns out the spatter marks on the book weren’t blood spatter after all.”

“What were they?”

“Barbecue sauce,” Horace said. “Sorry. It was definitely spatter, and I was right about it being organic, but it wasn’t blood.”

So did this help Giles? I couldn’t decide.

“Hmph,” the chief said. “Any sign of the missing items?”

“Not yet,” Horace said. “We’re still looking. It’s a big yard sale.”

Dammit, why couldn’t they name the missing items? And missing from whom?

“What about the trunk?” the chief asked.

“Only prints we found were from Dr. Langslow and that couple who wanted to buy it,” Horace said. “Apart from that it was remarkably clean.”

“Maybe someone polished it up nice for the sale.”

“Yeah, but at least we would have found Gordon’s prints, from when he dragged it into the barn. And there are those marks on the key plate. Someone was definitely trying to pick the lock.”