Wading Into Murder (12 page)

“I certainly didn’t see you,” Laura answered. “First, though, I need to tell you the rest of the story about Abdul.”

“Thanks. That really helps,” Violet said when she had finished her account. “But for goodness sake don’t tell anyone else, or let him know you’ve recognized him.

 “I got quite a shock when I realized who he was,” Laura admitted. “I hope it didn’t show on my face. I don’t think he noticed, though.”

“Let’s hope not,” Violet agreed. “Now let’s see that doll.”

“I hid it in the closet so the maids wouldn’t see it,” Laura explained as she went to fetch the doll. “It can’t stay there, though, so I hope you’ll take it.”

“I plan to, as evidence,” Violet agreed soberly.

Laura opened the closet door and dug under her laundry, where she had hidden the doll. It wasn’t there. She rummaged deeper, thinking that it might have fallen behind her suitcase, but it simply wasn’t there.

She looked up at Violet, who had come to stand behind her. “It’s gone,” she said shakily. “Someone must have come in today and taken it.”

“Damn!” Violet’s lips compressed. “Any suspects?”

“Definitely,” Laura answered. “Abdul could have driven back here after the Safari, grabbed the doll and easily been back in time to pick us all up -”

She broke off abruptly. “But then who tripped me in the maze?”

Violet nodded thoughtfully. “Good question. If not Abdul, who?” 

She stood and stretched. “Well, I’d better get moving again. For the moment, don’t say anything to anyone, Laura, even to people you trust. And do take care. We are getting close and someone is getting scared. I will assign someone else to you, but we’re a bit short-handed at the moment.”

“I will,” Laura promised soberly. Finding the doll had been bad enough, but not finding it where she had left it was disturbing in a way that the nasty trick had not been. Fear returned like a knot in her belly. It was not a nice feeling.

Violet gave her a quick hug and disappeared again, and Laura was left alone to wonder who among the tour members might want to get rid of her. She also wondered what Violet would do, if anything, about Abdul. 

She got her answer the next morning when she climbed into the bus to go to Stourhead Gardens. Abdul was no longer in the driver’s seat. Alan sat there instead.

Laura was relieved. Violet must have taken Abdul into custody.

“I shall be your driver for the morning,” Alan announced. “Abdul is sick, so for the moment you will have to put up with me. We head first to King Alfred’s Tower, which is high on the hill above Stourhead Gardens. For that reason it is also called a
folly
, the name given in the eighteenth century to structures that were built for no purpose except to impress the neighboring community. Like this one, they were placed where everyone for miles around could see them.”

Folly might also be an appropriate name for the enormous houses being built on beaches, mountain ridges and other highly visible locales in the U. S., Laura thought with amusement, rather like an adult version of king-of-the-hill the boys in her neighborhood loved to play. It also mimicked the behavior of fifty thousand-year-old males and their primate cousins with uncanny accuracy.

“There is a glorious view to be had for anyone wanting to climb the two hundred and five steps that lead to the top, “Alan went on. “There is also a lovely walk from the base of the tower to the gardens below, as well as a steep scramble for those who prefer more vigorous exercise. I will, of course, drive anyone who wants to the garden entrance as well. We’ll regroup for lunch at the garden Café at one o’clock.”

Only a few tour members wanted to undertake the climb: the Takaras, the Bernsteins and Violet. With some trepidation, Laura decided to join them. Maybe she would have a chance to talk to Violet at the top without arousing suspicion. Besides, the folly looked interesting, and the view sounded wonderful.

Bracing herself, she started up the narrow stone steps that wound around the inside of the tower. Like tunnels, circular stairways held unpleasant memories from her last trip, especially when they were as dark as this one. Violet leaped ahead with her usual long stride and unflagging vigor, and Laura didn’t even try to keep up. She couldn’t keep up with Claudine, either, who turned out to be unexpectedly fit. Of Dr. Bernstein, there was no sign. Maybe he had given up.

Laura finally emerged, breathing hard, and was rewarded by a spectacular view. All of Stourhead Gardens and the surrounding countryside lay below. She stared out for a long time, entranced. When she finally tore herself away, Violet was no longer there. The only people she could see were a stout, red-faced woman, the Takaras, who were snapping away with their cameras, and Claudine. She was gazing out from an opening in the battlements and seemed relaxed and almost peaceful without her husband. Laura suddenly felt very sorry for her. Being married to Dr. Bernstein must be a terrible trial.

Laura glanced once more at the panorama and started down the steep stairs again. The circular pattern made her dizzy, so she went slowly. She hoped Dr. Bernstein wasn’t on his way up. She couldn’t get past him without another belly to belly confrontation, and this time she definitely would throw up. It would be a great revenge but extremely smelly and uncomfortable, for her as well as him.

She heard the Takaras behind her and quickened her pace. They were moving with surprising speed, and she didn’t want to hold them up.

There was a scuffle behind her and a muted cry, and then Mrs. Takara suddenly plummeted into her, knocking her completely off balance. Laura tried to brace herself against the wall, but something hit her hard on the back, and she hurtled headfirst down the steep stone stairs.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Laura flung out both arms to stop her headlong descent. Her flailing hands touched a large soft mass, which turned out to be the well-padded stomach of a rotund tourist who was taking a break beside one of the tiny windows that provided a small amount of light.

“Steady there,” he said, grabbing her arms and pulling her upright. “These steps are dangerous if you lose your footing. Take a bit of a rest like me and get your breath.”

“Thank you,” Laura gasped, and looked behind her for the Takaras. They weren’t in sight and didn’t seem to be moving, so she decided to get down the rest of the way before they caught up. Intentionally or not, they were bad for her health.

“I’m all right,” she assured her savior. “I’ll just go on down before I lose my nerve.”

“Slowly,” he cautioned. Laura nodded sagely but ignored the sound advice and scuttled down as fast as she could. Her thoughts raced. Had Mr. Takara pushed his wife into her? Maybe he was the person who wanted to get rid of her. If so, he must be the criminal in the group, or one of them. Maybe he wanted to get rid of his wife as well. Two birds with one stone, so to speak - the nosy lady and the dowdy wife who could then be replaced with a young bimbo. He might have pushed his wife into her in Glastonbury, too. But then what about Abdul and the clothes she’d found in the garbage bin?

She was even more confused when the Takaras emerged. Mr. Takara came out first, looking angry and upset, behind him was Mrs. Takara, looking even more upset, after them came the stout woman she had seen at the top, behind her came Claudine.

“This has happened again!” Mrs. Takara moaned. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That woman, the heavy one, she lost her footing and stumbled into my husband and he fell into me and then I fell into you, and I am so sorry, so very sorry…” She covered her face with her hands, distraught.

Mr. Takara watched her, stony-faced, then he walked rapidly toward the steep short-cut to the gardens. Mrs. Takara sent a last pleading look in Laura’s direction and scurried after him.

As soon as the stout woman had left and the Takaras were out of earshot, Claudine exploded. “That was bullshit!” she said succinctly. “A load of bullshit.”

Laura stared at her, open-mouthed. This wasn’t the Claudine she knew, or thought she knew. She didn’t even sound French any more.

“I don’t know who pushed who; I was too far back to see for sure, but I do know the fat woman didn’t bump into anyone. That Takara woman would say anything to protect her bastard of a husband,” Claudine went on vehemently. “If you ask me, he did it, and he did the same thing when you got pushed into the street in front of that car.”

Laura couldn’t reply. Claudine’s accent was pure New York – tough New York. Who was this woman?

“Yeah,” Claudine said with a sigh, seeing Laura’s stare. “I grew up in Brooklyn, pretty much on the streets, and it pops out again when I’m mad. Taught myself to speak the King’s English, and French and anything else that came in handy. I’m good at it, too. Should have been an actress. I can talk any which way I want.”

“How did you get here, like this?”

Claudine’s laugh was cynical. “Not that hard really, if you look like me. Or like I did. I was a model at first, the way aspiring actresses always are unless they wait tables.” She laughed again, the same bitter sound. “It’s not glamorous like people think - mostly underwear or less. It’s a nasty business. Everybody gropes and not only the men.”

She shrugged. “Anyway, I waited tables too, and that’s how I met the good doctor. Wanted to rescue me. Kind of like that movie, My Fair Lady, where he teaches her how to behave. Except I already knew how to talk right – how to act right for that matter. Still, I was pretty naïve, for someone like me. Romantic underneath I guess. Even thought I could make him happy. I forgot the other side of that coin. That man couldn’t make a… a flea happy.”

For the first time she looked at Laura. “So here I am. Great clothes and all the rest. Lousy marriage. And not even any kids,” she added, almost under her breath. “I did think I’d get that at least. Oh well. Not to be now.”

 “Oh Claudine, I am sorry. He must be very hard to take sometimes.”

“Pretty much all the time. He wasn’t that bad at first, though, and it’s no use complaining. I found that out a long time ago.” Her voice was resigned now.

“No,” Laura agreed, “but I do think you have a right to let off steam. I would if I were in your shoes.”

“I guess that’s why I talked to you. You being American. It’s a different attitude there. People are… franker, not so stiff upper lip. That’s not just a term, by the way. You may not have noticed, but Englishmen really do have stiff upper lips. That’s why they talk so funny. I should know – I had to practice and the only way I could sound like a nob was to keep my top lip from moving at all. Try it sometime.”

She sighed. “So here I am, griping away. Sorry. Not your problem.”

Laura wanted to hug her but dared not take the chance. “I don’t mind listening at all,” she said instead. “And I think it’s about time you did some grumbling. It can’t be easy being married to…” She hesitated. Did Claudine actually call her husband Ludwig?

Claudine seemed to read her thought. “Ludwig!” she exclaimed. “Can you imagine saying that at the altar? Except it wasn’t an altar, just a magistrate’s office, or whatever those guys are called.

“You’ve got no idea what it’s like being married to a shrink,” she went on explosively. “Every word I said got analyzed to death and thrown back at me, all twisted around. He said he was helping me find my repressed past so I could forgive… How the hell can you forgive someone you never knew?

“When that didn’t work he decided I was a repressed lesbian,” she went on fiercely. “Can you believe? Him, who can’t keep his eyes off the little boys. The only way he gets his kicks is to eyeball them. What a joke!”

That was an interesting perspective on Dr. Bernstein, Laura thought, and filed it away for future reference. Pornography maybe? Did Violet know that, and was that why she disliked him so much?

Claudine shook her head in bemusement at Dr. Bernstein’s deviant tastes, but her eyes held despair. “After that, I learned to keep my mouth shut,” she added succinctly. “It’s got so shut now it never opens.”

“Well you can open it to me,” Laura assured her with genuine sympathy. Nobody deserved night and day doses of Dr. Bernstein.

 “Uh oh, speak of the devil,” Claudine muttered. Laura followed her gaze and saw Dr. Bernstein hurrying toward them from the path below. Even from here she could see he looked winded, as if he had been walking fast ever since she had last seen him near the bottom of the folly. 

“Claudine,” she said quickly, “I would love to talk to you some more. There might not be much I can do, but I would like to hear.”

  “Thanks. I will, if you really mean that. I guess you get defensive when you grow up like me, so you don’t trust anybody.”

“I’m not the gossipy type,” Laura assured her. “And I like to listen.”

Claudine gave her a tight smile of thanks before she started toward her husband. It was as if those perfect lips no longer knew how to stretch far enough for a wide smile, Laura thought sadly. How badly she had misjudged this woman!

Claudine turned to face her again. “I’m… I’m kind of spooked, to tell you the truth,” she admitted grudgingly. “Don’t know why really, it’s just that I think he’s into something odd, only I don’t know what… It’s the same feeling I used to get when the mafia, guys like that, came around. They were all over the modeling business, the sleazy part of it anyway, and the skimpy clothes cocktail bit. I used to have a kind of sixth sense if they started taking over. Then I’d get out, and now it’s like that...”

She stopped abruptly as Dr. Bernstein called to them. “Don’t tell him I said anything. Don’t tell anyone,” Claudine pleaded, looking frightened now.

“I won’t say a word,” Laura promised. “Not a word to anyone.”

“Watch out for him,” Claudine warned suddenly, looking into Laura’s face. “He’s got his eye on you now. I’m not sure why, except…”

“Claudine, my dearest, where have you been?” Dr. Bernstein’s voice was plaintive. “I have looked everywhere!”

“Damn!” Claudine said under her breath. Laura watched her walk away, wishing she had asked Claudine more questions while she could. She hadn’t even asked for more details about what she’d seen on the tower stairs. She stiffened as another realization hit her. If Claudine was as good an actress as she had said, she could have put on that act, accent and all. But why would she do that?

Laura shook her head. She refused to be that cynical. For the moment, she would believe what she had been told. On the other hand, there was little doubt in her mind that Claudine could have been both Maisie, if Violet hadn’t, and the woman who had led her on that fruitless chase through the alley – and whoever else she chose to be.

Laura glanced at her watch. Time to meet the others at the garden café. Two of them, so far, were hiding another identity. How many more would there be?

The route took her past the Gothic Cottage, a small stone building romantically set in flowering bushes. A sweet-smelling vine covered one side. Laura stopped to sniff the blossoms and to peer in the ancient, multi-paned windows. There were figures inside, standing perfectly still. Maybe they were wax figures, she mused, put there to show how the people who had inhabited the cottage might have lived years ago.

Intrigued, Laura ducked through the low doorway and took a step inside. Her eyes widened in horror and she stopped abruptly. Not wax figures; these were people, people she knew. They didn’t look normal now. Amy was slumped lifelessly against a low stone bench, her eyes wide open and her pretty face set in an expression of bewildered surprise. A thin trickle of blood stained her pale forehead. Margaret stood frozen-faced beside her, staring fixedly down at an object in her hand. Lady Longtree stood next to Margaret, her umbrella raised high to strike.

***************

For a terrible moment Laura thought Lady Longtree had gone mad, that she had hit Amy over the head with her umbrella and was about to hit Margaret. Then she saw the object in Margaret’s hand that so fascinated her. It was a gun.

“I sent William for help,” Lady Longtree said in a low voice. “Best not to do anything else for the moment I think. Margaret is in shock. There’s no telling what she might do if she gets frightened.”

Laura nodded. She swallowed hard, trying to absorb the horror. The small sound of her throat moving was loud in her ears.

Moving slowly, she took the few steps back to the door and stood guard so no one else could enter. It was all she could think of to do.

Silence fell. It seemed to Laura to last forever, and then she heard voices outside. Tourists, only tourists. They stood admiring the cottage and sniffing the fragrant vine, chattering eagerly before they moved away. How incongruous, she thought – this tragedy inside and inconsequential chatter outside.

Different voices came next, official sounding voices. A young policewoman appeared in the doorway. Laura moved aside to let her pass.

The young woman stood still for a moment, taking in the scene; then she walked slowly over to Margaret.

“I’ll take it now,” she said soothingly, holding out a gloved hand. “It’s all right. I’ll take it.” Laura noticed that her other hand rested on the stout club at her belt.

Margaret’s eyes didn’t move but she slowly extended the gun toward the policewoman. No one breathed until the small act was completed.

“Thank you, dear,” the young woman said gently, handing the gun on to another officer who had followed her in. “Now I think we’ll leave here and see if we can find somewhere comfortable for you to rest for a bit.”

Margaret suddenly raised her head to look at the policewoman. “She had it,” she said pathetically. “Amy had the gun in her hand. Why did she have it?”

The policewoman was startled but hid it quickly. “We don’t know, dear. We don’t know. But we’ll find out,” she said placidly. “I’ll take you outside, shall I?”

“But I told her everything would be all right now,” Margaret protested. “She was happy again.”

“Yes, dear, I’m sure she was,” the young woman agreed smoothly. Her eyes met the eyes of the other officer, who nodded quickly and pulled out a notebook.

Talking quietly about a rest and maybe a nice cup of tea, the policewoman led an unresisting Margaret out the low door. Laura saw that Margaret’s eyes were fixed on her hand again, as if she didn’t realize that it was empty now.

Suddenly the small room was full of police. Alan came in, Violet too. She looked pale but composed. William came in behind them. He looked terrible, as if he were about to be sick, and Laura saw Violet go to him and take him outside.

Lady Longtree sat down abruptly on a narrow stone ledge. Laura went to her. “Let’s go outside for some air,” she suggested quietly.

The old lady looked up. “Yes, thank you my dear. Just give me a moment. Rather a shock, all this. I must find William, too.”

“Violet is with him,” Laura reassured her. “They are just outside.” Lady Longtree nodded and closed her eyes for a long moment, her hands still firmly clasped around her umbrella. Then she rose, took Laura’s proffered arm, and they slowly left the cottage. No one seemed to notice except Alan, who sent Laura a grateful glance.

Violet and William were seated on a bench, and Lady Longtree and Laura joined them. William looked marginally better, or at least less ill, Laura thought, and struggled to contain a torrent of useless tears. If only she had tried harder to talk to Amy, even insisted that they meet. Maybe then Amy would still be alive.

The tears came harder. She must not let them. Not now, she told herself. Later, there will be a time.

At least she was happy again, she thought, remembering Amy’s face as she talked about the baby wallabies. A pang of grief so sharp she gasped shot through her, and Laura forced that thought away too.

Alan’s voice came from the cottage. “Violet, could you join us for just a moment?” Violet stood up and went inside.