Shaded Light: The Case of the Tactless Trophy Wife: A Paul Manziuk and Jacquie Ryan Mystery (The Manziuk and Ryan Mysteries Book 1) (31 page)

“I’ve got him tabbed,” Bart said. “He’s the kind that likes to put you at ease till you’re hardly aware of where you are and then, bang, he delivers his bomb. I wonder if he’ll get a confession out of one of us that way.”

“Dad said to shut up!” Kendall said, furious. “None of us killed her and you know it! You probably know a lot more about it than any of us!”

“Touché,” Bart said with a smile. “I wonder if I should go and confess. Would that make it easier for the good Inspector Manziuk,” he nodded toward Anne, “or would it muddy the waters? I—”

“Bart, be quiet!” his uncle thundered. “You seem to find all this a great source of amusement. Well, the rest of us don’t. A young woman has been murdered here. One more word out of you and I will physically remove you from this house!”

Bart’s eyes glinted, but any comment he might have made was forestalled by Manziuk’s entrance into the room.

“Excuse me for barging in,” he said. “Just thought I’d let you know that I’m leaving. I’ll be back tomorrow, probably just after noon. I’d like everyone to remain in the house or on the terrace until I’ve had a chance to talk with some of you again. Perhaps all of you. And I’d like to repeat that if you remember something you haven’t told me, even if you can’t see its importance, I’d like you to tell me now or talk to the officers who’ll stay here tonight. It’s important that we catch whoever did this quickly.”

“Why?” Bart asked insolently. “Will he murder someone else?”

“That’s always a possibility,” Manziuk answered, refusing to be baited.

“Well, we’ll all be very careful.”

“This is no joke,” Manziuk replied. “You’d do well to realize that.”

Bart bowed.

“A few things have been removed from the house. When we’re certain they have nothing to do with the crime, they’ll be returned. Ms. Reimer, could I see you for one moment in the hall?”

As the others all looked at her, she nodded and, without a word, followed Manziuk out.

“Do you have a license for your gun?” he asked quietly.

She lowered her eyes to the beige ceramic tile of the hallway. “No.”

“Then it won’t be returned. Why did you have it?”

“I do a lot of driving at night. There have been a number of women assaulted lately. I was afraid. So I got it to keep in my purse at night.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“In my glove compartment.”

“Do you keep it loaded?”

“It wouldn’t do me much good if I didn’t, would it?”

“Have you ever used it?”

“No.”

“All right. You can go back inside.”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

After Manziuk was gone, the others wandered slowly back to the day room or toward the bar. Somehow it seemed wrong to play billiards or swim in the pool. Yet no one seemed to want to leave the others. Except for Bart, who headed for the bar and picked up a bottle. He took his drink and the bottle onto the patio where he lit a cigarette and nursed a double Scotch.

Shauna’s voice startled him. “You seem to be enjoying yourself. You act like this was all a joke. But she was my sister. I guess you don’t know how to care about anybody, maybe not even yourself.”

Before he could come up with a reply, she had fled back into the house and up the stairs to her room.

Bart stared after her for a moment before finishing his drink and pouring another.

Hildy sat in the games room on a straight-backed Victorian chair with a tapestry hunting-scene cushion and ignored the desultory conversation being carried on by the Brodies and Fischers. Her eyes were fixed on a small painting of a fox hunt. Right now she felt rather like that fox.

She got up and walked out. She went to the study, where she found Peter hanging up the phone after talking to Mrs. Jensen.

“How are they taking it?”

“They’re driving up tomorrow. They seem pretty upset.”

“It’s a shock.”

“Yeah.”

“How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m okay, I guess. I heard the police talked to you again. What did they want?”

“They wanted to know why I had a gun in my suitcase.”

He stared at her. “And what did you tell them?”

She shrugged. “That I’m out a lot at night and I get nervous.”

“Lucky for you she wasn’t shot.”

“Yes.”

She wandered around the room and Peter watched her. “It’s nothing to do with you,” he said at last. “You two didn’t even know each other.”

“No.”

“It’s crazy. Your being here this weekend. Meeting like this. And now the murder. Talk about a quirk of fate.”

She stopped moving and crossed her arms as if she were cold. “I guess you’ll find out sooner or later. The police already know. My being here was no quirk of fate. I came on purpose. I lied about my apartment being redecorated.”

“But—but why? How did you know I’d be here?”

She didn’t answer immediately. At last she said, “Because Jillian mentioned that you were going to be here.”

“Jillian? When were you talking to her? You didn’t even know her!”

“Didn’t I?”

Shauna was packing her suitcase. She looked up guiltily when Lorry opened the door a crack. “Oh, it’s you. I’m just—I—”

“I wondered how you are. Is there anything I can do?”

Shauna walked over and opened the door wide. “It’s okay. You can come in. I have a lot of her clothes. I don’t want them anymore. I’ll wear my own.” She had removed the dark glasses and was wearing her normal, black-rimmed ones. Her eye was still quite bruised, and there was a yellow mark on her cheekbone. Both eyes were also rimmed with red, and her nose was red and shiny.

“Can I help?”

“I only have a few things left. I want to take them to her room. I don’t want them here.”

“It looks heavy. I’ll help you carry it.”

Shauna put in the last items and Lorry helped her close the suitcase. Together, they carried it to Peter’s room.

“I hope Peter isn’t here,” Shauna whispered as Lorry knocked on the door.

There was no response.

Lorry opened the door and they put the suitcase inside. Shauna was quick to step out into the hall again. “I don’t want to see her things. I don’t want to touch them again.”

“I’m sure you won’t have to,” Lorry said calmly.

“I don’t know. We wore the same size. Exactly. Except she filled them out better. On me, things just hang.” She shivered. “I don’t want to think about her.”

They returned to their own room and Lorry shut the door. Shauna’s bed had clothes strewn over it.

“Can I help you hang these up?” asked Lorry.

“They’re mine,” Shauna said defensively.

“I guess you don’t have anything to put them in now?”

Shauna shook her head.

“Shall I see if Mrs. Winston has a shopping bag or something you could use?”

Shauna nodded.

“Would you like me to get you anything else?” Lorry asked. “A cup of tea or maybe hot chocolate? You seem cold.”

Shaking her head impatiently, Shauna said, “You saw her, didn’t you? You found her body.”

“Yes. Nick and Kendall and I had gone for a walk in the garden, and we found her.”

“She was strangled, wasn’t she?”

“I believe so.”

“When you’re strangled, what does it look like? I mean, you can’t breathe, right? It’s like choking. Does—what does it look like? I mean, she didn’t look like she was sleeping, did she?”

“No.” It was Lorry’s turn to shiver. “She didn’t look like she was sleeping.”

“Was it awful? Ugly?”

Lorry swallowed as the memory of Jillian’s face returned vividly to her mind. “It’s not very nice.”

“I’m glad,” Shauna said.

Lorry turned white. “You’re glad?” she repeated.

Raising both hands to the back of her neck, Shauna took a deep breath. “She was always so proud of her looks. She thought she was something special because she was so pretty. I’m glad she isn’t pretty anymore.”

“But Shauna, I—”

Lowering her hands, Shauna looked straight at Lorry. “You thought I loved her, didn’t you? You thought I worshipped her. She told Peter that, you know. That I worshipped her. When we were younger, she used to make me her slave. I had to do things for her all the time. Because she was beautiful and I was ugly. And now she’s not beautiful anymore. She’s ugly! And she’s dead.” Her voice began to rise to a shrill pitch. “She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s—”

Lorry grabbed Shauna’s shoulders and held her firmly until Shauna pulled away and crumpled onto the bed in a sobbing heap.

Back in the games room, George Brodie gave up trying to make small talk with his wife and the Fischers. They had exhausted the weather, the traffic, the difficulty in getting servants, and the interior of the house, being careful not to mention the gardens.

“Well,” he said now, stretching his legs forward and crossing his ankles. “I guess we’re going to be spread across the papers.”

“Yes,” Douglass agreed. “We’ll have reporters all over the place soon.”

“They’re waiting outside,” Ellen remarked. “They can’t get at us because the gate is shut. And if anyone should manage to get in, there’s a policeman on guard outside. But tomorrow, when the police leave, the reporters will still be there waiting.”

There was a collective sigh.

“I think I should check on my kids,” Anne said.

“Peter was phoning,” George told her. “Better wait till he comes out of the study.”

“Oh.” Anne relaxed back into her chair. “Yes, I guess he’ll have a lot of arrangements to make.”

“Yes,” George agreed. “There’s always a lot to do when someone dies.”

“Well,” Douglass said, “I guess we’ll have to meet with Peter and decide how we can cover for him this week. Do you know what he’s working on?”

“Yes.” George stood up. “If you ladies will excuse us, we’ll get some drinks and talk about the firm for a few minutes.”

When the men were gone, Anne turned to Ellen. “So dreadful this had to happen in your home, dear, but she sure got what she deserved, didn’t she?”

Ellen took her time answering. “You and she, er, didn’t get along, did you?”