Read Who Killed Mr. Garland's Mistress? Online
Authors: Richard; Forrest
Who Killed Mr. Garland's Mistress? (25 page)
Her own voice rang out across the room, she shivered, and turned the machine off. She found earphones in the desk, inserted them into the machine, and pressed the play button.
Octavia Garland's voice issued from the cassette in a drone with an occasional nervous laugh. Tavie felt herself immersed in something she didn't understand, and pressed the stop button of the recorder. Her hands were shaking. She looked at the small machine, and the black plastic took on a life and personality of its own. The circle. She put her hands against her head and wanted to scream.
No. There was enough Maggie left to do what had to be done. She pressed the fast forward button and ran the tape toward the end. She turned the play button and listened to herself again. It seemed an interminable time until she heard Will's voice ask, “Now, tell me what you did the next morning.”
She stopped the machine and tried to remember the mechanics of erasure. All you had to do was record right over the old material, that erased the old, and insert the new in its place. It couldn't be easier. She'd listen to that portion already on tape, time it, try to remember her exact words and repeat the same material, merely changing the dog sequence. It was perfect.
She listened, rewound to Will's opening, and inserted the microphone into the recorder. She thought a moment, and then began to speak into the microphone.
One of Will's hands closed over hers and the other shut off the machine. “What are you doing?”
“You startled me. I didn't hear you come downstairs.”
“My bare piggly-wigglies. What're you doing, Tavie?”
“Oh, I came in here to get a cooking utensil and stopped to look through your note cards. You had a note that said check with Tavie. So I checked with myself and corrected it.”
“I thought I heard the typewriter.”
“It was a minor thing, but I know you're a fiend for accuracy.”
“You changed the card and were going to change the tape.”
“I guess I needn't have bothered about the tape.”
“No, the card's the important one.”
She began to rummage through a carton until she found what she wanted, and went into the kitchen. Will sat at the desk and looked across the bay.
They were going to have one of Will's favorite meals. London broil cooked on the barbecue, salad with heavy Roquefort dressing, and mushrooms with sour cream. Tavie was outside pouring starter fluid on the charcoal briquettes with Oliver sitting near her on a lawn chair. From the kitchen she could hear Will and the children. The salad was his specialty, and he had two pairs of helping hands. She expected that the children, who were presently shaving the cucumbers, would eat more than ended up in the salad.
She put a match to the briquettes and stepped back as the fire blazed up. Picking up a cocktail from the picnic table, she took a sip and turned to Oliver.
“You know, we've really got to do something about Will.”
“How's that?” Oliver said.
“These pink ladies are coming out of my ears.”
“I know, a Tom Collins would be a nice change of pace.”
“Somewhere during our relationship he got the idea I loved pink ladies. Now, I swear, I think he'd serve them to me for breakfast if I'd let him.”
“Don't belittle it, Octavia. Relish each and every one.”
She laughed. “I guess I will. Oliver, when Will was a student of yours, was he a good one?”
“One of the best. I had great hopes for him. I always felt he had a natural talent. After the breakup of his marriage, he could never seem to concentrate on any sustained work.”
“But he worked at the newspaper all those years.”
“And did the job half-drunk during those years. He's healthier now than I've seen him since his student days. You're good for him, Octavia.”
“He's good for me.”
“Need anything out there?” Will called.
“Yes, bring me the red wine from the cupboard,” she answered.
Will and the children came out of the house carrying piled-high salad bowls. Little Rob gave her the wine.
“I'm hungry,” Karen said.
“It won't be long now.” Tavie put the meat on the grill and filled the hypodermic syringe with red wine while Will poured himself a cocktail and sat in a chair next to Oliver.
“What's with the syringe?” Will asked.
“My special secret,” she replied. “You fill it with wine, thusly, press it into the meat, thusly, and voila, permeated meat.”
“Another quaint custom gleaned from island natives,” Will said.
“I learned it years ago, does wonders for meat flavoring.”
Will tilted his chair back on two legs. “I was looking at that stuff you were fooling around with this afternoon. Why did you buy that dog?”
She turned the meat over slowly with a large grill fork. “For protection, silly.” She turned back to him. “You know, in September when we return to Hartford, we should get another dog. The kids just loved Neal. This time a small variety. Real small.”
“When are you two going to get married?” Oliver asked.
“Eugene Gordon tells me the divorce will be final in September. You'll have to stay here as chaperone, Oliver; Otherwise we'll scandalize the island,” Tavie smiled.
“For protection from Helen?” Will asked.
“My home is in a secluded area, many of my neighbors bought watch dogs after the killing,” Oliver said.
“Then protection because of Helen's death,” Will said.
“Yes. If you remember, at first they said it was a sex crime. Rob was traveling a lot at the time, and I didn't like being left alone.”
“But Jack Warren told you Rob was arrested. If you bought the dog after that ⦔
Tavie laughed. “You're being silly.” She poured a few drops of her drink on the top of his head, but he didn't smile. “I don't remember exactlyâthat was a trying time for me, in a lot of ways.”
“I know. Tavie, afterwards when you came to my apartment, you had scratches.”
“From that beast Neal.”
She refilled the syringe with wine and went over to the grill. “Are you reneging on me, you lummox? You told me just this afternoon that I wasn't capable.” She jabbed the needle deeply into the meat. “That Helen was capable, oh yes, Helen was.” She jabbed the meat again. “That Rob was capable.” Gripping the needle tightly in the palm of her hand, she stabbed the meat again. “They were capable ⦠but I wasn't. You said I wasn't!”
Tavie turned to the two men. Will was standing, the lawn chair on its back behind him. They looked at each other, and then his eyes moved downward to the hypodermic syringe still clutched in her hand. It dribbled droplets of red onto the grass.
The hypodermic dropped to the grass between them, and his eyes never left it. Tavie started to run. She ran past the partially framed house, and through the bushes onto a strawberry hill. Her chest heaved and a faint cry seemed to come from someone else.
In the deserted naval base, voices called from gaping windows. A thousand gray men surrounded her and she pushed through them. Drums rolled on the parade ground and then changed to distant thunder.
She held onto a small branch and scrambled down the short cliff to the small cove. The branch broke in her hand and she fell, to roll over and lie face down in the sand. The heaving began to subside and her cry was muffled. Slowly, she got to her feet and walked along the beach.
Light from a low, red sun splayed across the smooth water. Tavie sat near the water's edge and pulled her knees up to her chin. Tiny waves reached the edge of her toes. She heard the sound of small pebbles being scattered behind her as someone climbed down the cliff, and then the crunch of footsteps, and finally his heavy breathing as he stood near her.
“I thought you'd be here,” Will said.
“There was no place else to go. I suppose that's a problem with islands.”
He sat next to her and their knees touched. They were silent as the sun disappeared and shadows lengthened over the water. In the distance a fishing boat moved toward the sea, too far away for engine sounds to reach them.
“It was you,” Will said.
“It doesn't matter, does it?” Her voice was low, almost inaudible.
“No, I guess not. You zonked me that night.”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was one hell of a hangover. My gun too.”
“Yes. Do you like it here at the cove? I thought that perhaps tomorrow we could bring a picnic.”
“That would be nice.”
“We'll give up writing about it. We'll forget about them, both of them. They didn't deserve to live.”
“I guess not.” He stood up and kissed her on top of the head.
She heard him slowly walk back to the cliff, climb up, and then he was gone. The water before her shimmered as a cool breeze came in from the sea, and she hugged her knees tightly.
The boom of the shotgun rolled over the island and faded across the water.
With Will gone, Tavie began to think about Oliverâand how Oliver couldn't swimâfor there was always an answer if you thought about it long enough.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Forrest (1932â2005) was an American mystery author. Born in New Jersey, he served in the US Army, wrote plays, and sold insurance before he began writing mystery fiction. His debut,
Who Killed Mr. Garland's Mistress
(1974), was an Edgar Award finalist. He remains best known for his ten novels starring Lyon and Bea Wentworth, a husband-and-wife sleuthing team introduced in
A Child's Garden of Death
(1975).
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1974 by Richard Forrest
Cover design by Andy Ross
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3795-2
This 2016 edition published by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
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