The Body in the Boudoir (15 page)

Frances looked disapproving. “I don't believe in this sort of thing, but as the bard says, ‘sleep knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,' and after the way Schuyler's depended on that woman his entire life, he's going to need a lot of shut eye.”

Great-aunt Frances had never married. It would have been hard to find a match for her oversize personality. She was known for always saying what she meant and saying it in a unique manner.

Faith noticed neither woman had asked for their sister-in-law and took it upon herself to mention Tammy. After all, it had been Tammy's boudoir—and Tammy's dressing gown. She wasn't sure whether Uncle Sky had mentioned the latter, but he would certainly have told them where the murder occurred.

“Aunt Tammy is resting as well. She's in one of the guest rooms.”

“Do you think I should go see her?” Faith's grandmother asked hesitatingly, her reluctance confirming what Faith had always observed. The sisters didn't know quite what to make of their brother's colorful spouse.

“Let her be, Eleanor. She'll come down when she's ready.” Frances cast the deciding vote. “Faith, could you make us some tea? And, Jane, come tell us what's happened. Dreadful, just dreadful.”

Faith had everything ready, knowing her grandmother would immediately require a restorative cup of Earl Grey. There was also a platter of sandwiches and another of assorted cookies and pastries. They had arrived from the caterer, who Faith had called earlier to postpone the tasting due to a death in the family. There was no need to get any more specific. In a community this size, it would be all over the place soon enough. Sending over the food had been a much appreciated, thoughtful gesture and Faith was glad she'd chosen this firm for her wedding. The wedding! Should they pick another spot? Get married in her father's church and have the reception someplace in Manhattan?

She brought the tea and food into the living room, where they had moved after the police left. The library had become much too familiar.

“I hope you're not thinking of changing your plans, Faith,” Aunt Frances boomed. “Danny would have hated to cause any trouble, and there's no reason why this unfortunate incident should upset your nuptials.”

“The invitations haven't gone out,” Jane Sibley said. It was clear she was leaving the decision up to her daughter.

“I want to do whatever Uncle Sky wants and I don't want to mention anything about it now.”

Her grandmother nodded. “Of course, but I agree with Frances. I'm quite sure Schuyler will want the wedding to proceed as planned, but let's let it lie for now.”

The front door opened and the voices they heard in the hall were Faith's father and sister.

“There's that yellow plastic police tape all over the back door! Is that how the killer got in? I assume it was all right to come in this way.” Hope walked into the room followed by her father.

Faith was extremely glad to see them. After the Reverend Lawrence Sibley greeted everyone and learned that Sky was sleeping, he went upstairs to Tammy with no hesitation. “The poor woman! Such a shock.”

“Ask her if she wants something to eat or drink,” Faith said. “And would you like me to bring something up on a tray for you?” Like other members of the clergy she'd observed, her father's meals were often sketchy and interrupted, causing him to adopt a grazing pattern for sustenance.

“That would be kind, but let me see how she is first.”

He returned a few minutes later. “Could you make up a tray with coffee and perhaps some sandwiches for us both?” Lawrence said.

Hope went to the kitchen with Faith.

“I'll bet you haven't been outside since you got here, or slept. Which would you like to do—take a walk together or lie down and I'll man the ship?”

“A walk would be heavenly. Take the tray up and I'll tell Mother. They're all set for now. I'll just bring some more hot water for the pot.”

It felt glorious to be outdoors even though the sky was appropriately overcast. A brilliant, sunny day would have been jarring. Without discussion, Faith and Hope headed for the familiar wooden staircase at the top of the cliff that led to the beach. And without discussion they walked along the sand to the large flat rock that had been their favorite spot since childhood, serving as a table for dolls' tea parties, picnic spreads when they were older, and occasionally a refuge—a place to stretch out, look up at the sky, and think. It was a refuge now, and the sisters sat close together. Hope put her arm through her sister's.

“Fay, I hope you're not going to postpone the wedding or move it someplace else. This is where you've always wanted to get married.”

Her sister was right. The Cliff
was
where Faith had always pictured herself as a bride, but first the falling brickwork and now a murder—not exactly propitious omens.

No, she told herself firmly, not omens—coincidences.

“I think it will be all right. It's just too soon to think about anything to do with the wedding now. I'm leaving it up to Uncle Sky in any case.”

“That's all right then. He's so over the moon about having you get married here that you'd think he was the groom.”

Faith smiled. There had been ever-widening age differences between her uncle and his wives, but even if Tammy wasn't the keeper she appeared to be, she doubted Sky would be stooping over a cradle as low as hers. She'd asked him to give her away after discussing it with her parents. Hard for her father to walk her down the aisle and then do an about-face at the altar. Tom's brother Craig had asked her what she was going to do, joking that her father would have to be a quick-change artist. Faith could have come down the aisle alone or Tom could have met her halfway—she'd been at a wedding where the bride and groom had done this and it was very moving. Her mother had flatly refused to walk her down. “I'm not that liberated. At least not in this respect,” she'd added. Being given away was an odd notion in many respects, but Faith was a traditionalist. Uncle Sky had been delighted. He'd already ordered full morning coat regalia from his London tailor.

“This has been a nightmare for you,” Hope said. “What did your honey say? You have talked to him, right?”

She filled her sister in, including Tom's offer to drive down, which Hope agreed should be put off.

“You have enough on your plate. Let him come next week, when I'm afraid the shock of all this will hit you. Right now, you're too busy.”

Faith agreed and turned the conversation to Hope's current work dilemmas. She felt a bit guilty at not having gotten back to her sister after the most recent client departure, the one who was not, technically, a client but was in the bag.

“Any more desertions? And any ideas about the sudden concern for your health?”

“Nope and nope.”

Faith needed to express a thought, though, and aimed it carefully.

“Who do you discuss your clients with? I mean, is there someone at work you ask advice from, or maybe Phelps, since he's in the same sort of business?” Phelps was the target.

Hope straightened slightly to look her sister in the face. “Heavens no, Fay! Client confidentiality, duh!”

“So, no pillow talk?” Faith said.

“Not that kind.” Hope gave a slightly wicked smile and they both laughed. Faith was relieved. She was still dubious about Phelps Grant, but at least he wasn't using her sister to poach clients.

“We'd better go back. Uncle Sky might be awake, and the police were going to call or stop by after the medical examiner finished the autopsy,” Faith said.

“Is this really happening? Murder? Autopsies? Here at The Cliff ? I always thought that when people said on the news they couldn't believe something had happened it sounded so fake,” Hope said, “but it isn't at all.”

“No, it isn't,” Faith said sadly, and the two sisters set out for the house over the glistening sand, still wet from the ebbing tide.

I
n their absence both their uncle and aunt had gotten up. Everyone was in the living room. As Hope and Faith entered, Schuyler Walfort stood and went over to Faith, placing one hand on her shoulder. The sleep had done him good. He looked much better, although his face was still pale and drawn.

“I won't hear of any change in plans for the wedding. Jane says the invitations are ready and were to go out at the end of the week. I insist you stick to the schedule. And you were out here for the tasting, which I can understand you needed to postpone, but call them and do it tomorrow. Danny would have been devastated to think her death had done anything to upset what she always called ‘her family.' ”

Faith gave him a quick hug.

“Thank you. It's hard to think about it now, but we won't change anything, and I'll see if Mother and I can go tomorrow.”

Privately she wondered if Mrs. Danforth had ever called any of them other than Sky her family, but it was what he believed—and needed to believe.

“Tamora is finishing a list of stolen items to fax to the police,” Great-aunt Frances said. “There's been no word from the medical examiner's office yet, but the police chief called to say that unfortunately all the fingerprints they found have been identified as some of ours and that the miscreant must have worn gloves.” Frances had appointed herself the town crier.

“There.” Tammy flourished a sheet of paper. “Done. All jewelry. Nothing else. I remembered that my sable is having the lining repaired, so it's accounted for, and there was nothing in Danny's room that didn't belong to her.” As the woman was not here to object, Tammy was using the name she never dared use when the housekeeper was alive.

She continued, “The agency is sending over someone for now and I'll start interviewing for a replacement tomorrow.”

The room grew silent.

“Well, y'all aren't going to do laundry, wash dishes, cook dinner—although, Faith could do that—and everything else that keeps this place running, and I'm not, so the sooner the better.”

“Of course, Tamora,” Frances said. “You are to be commended for your foresight.”

Faith was standing next to her aunt and heard Tammy mutter, “Who talks like that, for God's sake? It's almost the twenty-first century.”

And then the phone calls began. Faith and Hope took turns. The local grapevine had passed along the news faster than the speed of light and they fielded prurient calls disguised as condolences as well as genuinely sympathetic ones. There were also nuggets of information. A house farther down the road had also been broken into last night, albeit unsuccessfully. The glass in a rear door had been shattered, but the thief or thieves had been unable to turn the dead bolt. There had been several reports of a black utility van in the neighborhood on Sunday. A neighborhood noted for luxury vehicles, these vans were around only on workdays. It was because of the possibility that someone might have real information as well as hoping the police would call with some that kept Faith and Hope jumping up at the first ring, although it was tempting after some twenty calls to let the machine pick up.

The family remained in the living room, leaving for various reasons, but returning to stay together. Conversation was determinedly steered to the weather and the various cultural activities the Lennox sisters had recently attended. Both Great-aunt Frances and Faith's grandmother Eleanor were lifelong patrons of both Mets, the opera and the museum.

At about four o'clock the doorbell rang, followed by the sound of the front-door knocker.

“It must be the police. Will you let them in please, Faith?” Frances said. Sky's sisters, especially his oldest, had taken charge.

But it wasn't the police. When Faith opened the door, two elderly people were standing outside. They were carrying suitcases.

“I'm Gertrude Todd and this is my husband, Herbert. We've come for Mabel's things. I always knew you people would kill her.”

Chapter 7

“P
lease come in. Our hearts go out to you at this terrible time of bereavement.” Tammy was behind Faith at the door, and unlike her, not at a loss for words. A Southern gentlewoman through and through, she was dealing with the awkward situation to the manner born, speaking gently and with apparent sincerity.

“Would you like to go straight to your sister's room or may I get you something to eat or drink? It must have been a long drive.”

Herbert Todd opened his mouth. “That would be—” But before he could finish, his wife snapped, “We're not hungry. We just want to pack her things and go.”

She was a terrier of a woman, a bit smaller than Mabel Danforth and, it seemed, younger. Was this rapid appearance on the Walfort doorstep due to grief—wanting reminders of the dead woman—or avarice? Sky had always been generous to his Danny, and Faith had observed the housekeeper had some good, albeit understated, jewelry and dressed well. She may not have had a sable coat, but she had a nutria one that she wore for best. Did her sister covet it? Then again, the venom with which Gertrude Todd had spoken indicated that she did not simply dislike her sister's employers but suspected them of criminal behavior—the way she'd spat out the word “kill” did not suggest “kill” as in “overwork.” Could she really suspect that one or more of the family was a murderer, and her arrival might mean that she believed they were thieves as well?

Uncle Schuyler had said the two sisters weren't close, but Faith wondered whether he was correct. There was more going on here than making sure the nutria didn't get spirited away by someone who was not entitled to it. Or perhaps that was it. Gertrude
wasn't
entitled to Danny's belongings. Sky would have made sure Danny had a will. He was a stickler for detail in legal matters. Who inherited and what did the housekeeper have to leave? Was there another relative, a cousin perhaps, and the Todds were quickly putting the good old “possession is nine tenths of the law” into action?

Sky came forward into the hall from the living room with his hand outstretched. “Mrs. Todd, Gertrude, I cannot tell you how upset we all are, and the police are moving swiftly to find the person who committed this heinous act.” He was starting to cry again.

Gertrude ignored his hand and his sympathy. “Like I said, we want to get her things and get out of here.” Her intonation suggested that any lingering on their part would only be due to the unlawful kinds of duress used to extract confessions—branding irons, splinters under fingernails, waterboarding.

“Her room is upstairs. I'll show you and leave you to it,” Tammy said, still speaking as graciously as if the Todds had dropped by to vet the house for a photo spread in
Town & Country
. Faith was not surprised by the way her aunt was dealing with the situation. Hope and Faith regarded her not just with affection but with admiration—she always seemed to have her bases covered. At the moment, Faith was noting that the offer to leave the Todds to it was not due solely to Tammy's discretion in a time of sorrow, but owed more to the fact that she had gone over the housekeeper's suite with a fine-tooth comb once the police were finished. She'd told Faith that her search had merely yielded some cosmetic bonus samples that Tammy had thrown into her wastebasket. Apparently, Danny made free with Tammy's clothing and other belongings only within the confines of the bath and boudoir.

“She kept some things in a closet in the kitchen, so when you're finished upstairs, I can show you where that is. And at least let me give you some coffee while you're performing this sad task.”

Tammy's accent had migrated from the Delta to someplace in the British Isles. It seemed to have a positive effect on the Todds. Gertrude said they
could
use a cup of coffee and Herbert looked positively genial as they followed her up the stairs. Sky, having been so brusquely ignored, stood staring after them until Frances came out from the living room, took him by the arm, and said they should all take a walk.

Faith rightly assumed the coffee was her job and she added a plate of sandwiches with a few cookies, the ones sent by the caterer. The jars in the kitchen were still filled with Danny's handiwork, which her sister might or might not recognize.

She knocked on the door and Herbert answered, opening it just wide enough to admit the tray, which he took from her hands with a quick thank-you. She had time before he shut it, however, to catch a glimpse of the room and suppressed an audible gasp. It looked as if it had been tossed. Clothing and a number of pocketbooks were spread helter-skelter all over the bed; the drawer from the nightstand and one from the bureau were upside down on it. Gertrude was by the desk at the window and taking some papers from an accordion file.

Faith seldom had an occasion to be in this part of the house. Mrs. Danforth wasn't the type to invite you up for a cozy chat. She did know, though, that Danny's quarters weren't a shoe box of cast-off furniture—a Spartan straw mattress on an iron bedstead. The rooms—there was a separate small sitting room with a balcony off the large bedroom—were beautifully furnished and looked out over the ocean. But then, Danny had been at The Cliff for many more years than Faith had been alive and it was appropriate that she had such a nice place to live.

She stood for a moment staring at the door that had been firmly closed. Gertrude's activity suggested that what they were looking for so frantically was some sort of paper—a letter, a document, maybe a photograph? And the fact that they were searching the room with such thoroughness must mean they suspected it had been hidden.

On her way downstairs she continued to run through the possibilities—what could the housekeeper have had of such value? And whatever it was, its existence was known to her sister, but not its exact location.

The group had moved back to the library, where Sky kept his liquor cabinet. He had opted for more scotch instead of a walk. His sisters were drinking sherry. Faith was struck by the realization that times of crisis alternated between intense periods of activity and equally intense stretches of inactivity, which was unsettling—like not knowing whether you were stepping onto firm ground or quicksand.

Faith's father got up when she entered the room.

“I'm afraid I have to go soon. I promised Dan West a game of chess this evening. There won't be too many more.”

Faith gave her father a hug. “Of course.” Daniel West was not only a parishioner but also one of her father's closest friends and had refused further treatment for the pancreatic cancer that was killing him. He wanted to die at home surrounded by his books, listening to his favorite operas, and, he'd told Lawrence, losing one last chess game, but only to the grim reaper, no one else. When Faith had heard this she'd pictured Daniel in the Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman's
Seventh Seal,
courageously facing Death's final checkmate.

Her sister came over to her and said softly, “I can stay if you like.”

“No, Mother's here, and everybody else. You need to get back to work. Circle your wagons and make sure no one raids your client list. I expect I'll be busy supplying everyone with food and drink, although the drink part doesn't seem to be a problem at the moment. I'll go see if the Todds want more coffee in a little while.”

Faith had debated telling her family about the search going on over their heads and decided it wasn't something she ought to keep to herself. And maybe Uncle Sky knew what it was they were after, Danny's will most likely.

“The Todds seem to be making a very through search of Mrs. Danforth's belongings before packing them.”

“What do you mean?” Tammy said. “Searching how?”

“Turning over drawers, going through papers, and her clothes were scattered all over. I thought it could be that they wanted to find her will.”

“Nonsense,” Sky said. “Her will is with my legal documents in a safety-deposit box at the bank and the lawyers have the other copy. Her sister gets everything, and she's known that for years. Danny doesn't have a large estate, but I've always advised her on how to invest prudently and the Todds won't be disappointed.” He said this last acerbically.

“Maybe they're looking for money,” Tammy said. “When Aunt Sister died, we found hundred-dollar bills all over the house—tucked between plates, in books, even a bunch at the bottom of her sewing basket. We didn't dare give a single pot or pan to Goodwill until we'd examined everything. 'Course it was all Confederate currency. Her granddaddy told her it was a fortune and the poor thing would just
not
believe otherwise. Fortunately her husband believed in the other kind of moolah and kept it all in the bank.”

“Which is where Danny's is, too, so what that harpy and her husband are doing is a sacrilege.” Sky was fuming and made for the door. “Rummaging through her things before she's even cold in the ground.” The sudden change in tone from grief to fury was startling. Even his face looked completely different, Faith noted. She repressed a slight Jekyll and Hyde shudder.

“Sit down, Schuyler,” Aunt Frances said. “You can't stop them now. They're in the house—we let them in, as was proper—and getting yourself into a tizzy won't change anything.”

Her sister added, “Tamora is no doubt correct that they suspect Danny had a rainy-day fund tucked away under the mattress or somewhere like that. Older people sometimes do this.” Her tone made it clear that she was not one of them.

Sky sat down again. Faith walked her father and Hope out the front door. As she waved good-bye, Faith suddenly felt very alone, enveloped by the bizarre nature of the last twenty or so hours. She'd found a corpse in the ancestral home from which she would soon be married, after which horror it had been crawling with police and now was host to relatives of the deceased who seemed to be putting a new twist on Kübler-Ross's anger stage of grief. Time to bring another carafe of hot coffee and see what they were up to.

She knocked on the door before entering, but it wasn't necessary. They were gone. The room was empty and still a mess, although the pile of clothes was diminished. There was no sign of the nutria coat—or of any of the housekeeper's pocketbooks. Shoes were another matter—dumped out of their boxes and the wooden shoe trees removed, they were in a heap by the closet. Faith went over to the windows and was in time to see the Todds pull out into the road. They were traveling fast, but not, she suspected, light. They wouldn't have left this soon if they hadn't found what they were looking for—
and
they had wanted to slip away with whatever it was without the family's knowledge. They must have gone down the back stairs and come around the house from the rear to their car parked in front.

Faith picked up the tray—every last crumb had been consumed—and went downstairs to tell the others. The harpies, if that was what they were, had flown away.

“I
see, yes.” Uncle Sky was on the phone and the room was quiet, all ears intent on what he was saying—and hearing. “Yes, yes. No, we had no idea. Most unfortunate. Yes. Thank you. I'll let my wife know. Good-bye.”

He turned wearily. “That was Matt. He's received a preliminary report from the medical examiner's office, emphasis on ‘preliminary,' but it's clear that Danny died instantly from a blow to the back of the head.” He paused to pull himself together. “She . . . she had an unusually vulnerable skull, possibly they think because of something called osteogenesis imperfecta, brittle bone disease. It's hereditary and she must have had it all her life. I never knew,” he said sorrowfully. “Matt thinks the blow was just meant to knock her out. When it was apparent they had killed her, they took off with what was on the dressing table without going through the rest of the house.”

“Oh dear,” Faith's grandmother said. “Danny wasn't one for the outdoors, not active in that way—and she did break a bone at least two times that I can recall, but she
looked
fit.”

“She was,” her brother retorted. “This other business was an anomaly. Anyway, they may be releasing the body as soon as tomorrow.”

“We have to let her sister know, Schuyler,” Aunt Frances said sternly. “I know how you feel about keeping Danny with us, but it's Mrs. Todd's decision as next of kin.”

“I am
not
calling that woman!” he shouted. His emotions were appearing not just close to the surface but on it.

“I didn't say that, dear. I'm sure Faith will do it. She called earlier, didn't she?”

I seem to be having all the fun, Faith thought as she said, “I'll call in a while. They won't be back in Connecticut yet.” It would give her time to think about how she should phrase this latest news—“Your sister would be alive if she hadn't been soft in the head” didn't sound right.

“Matt also said they're finished with the house and we can use those rooms now.”

Tammy jumped up. “I'll call the cleaners. They can be here in the morning and get rid of all that nasty black powder! I'll sleep in the blue guest room. You're staying, Frances and Eleanor, I assume, I mean, we hope?”

They were, and after a flurry of assigning beds, Tammy left.

The day crept on in its petty pace into evening. Faith put together a hearty soup from chicken broth she found in the freezer; kale, onions, and chorizo that were all in the fridge; plus cans of chickpeas and stewed tomatoes and some orzo in the larder. No one seemed to want to eat at the same time, so she was kept busy ladling it out and serving it with Parmesan grated on top until close to nine o'clock, when Sky announced after consuming two bowls that he was going to bed.

“I doubt I'll sleep, but I'll see you all in the morning,” he said, making it clear he needed to be alone. Faith hugged him hard. “I'm so sorry, Uncle Sky,” she told him, producing another onslaught of tears. The soup would help, but she grabbed two of the water bottles the caterer had included, placing them in his hands. Dehydration was a definite possibility.