Who'll Kill Agnes? (15 page)

A collective gasp escaped from his little audience. Was it a gasp of relief or something else? Suddenly, the hairs on Donovan’s neck bristled, a personal phenomenon that occurred when things weren’t just quite right. Or were they reacting the way normal people would react when informed of a loved one’s death? But then, he wasn’t informing them of the death. He knew grief and shock can cause people to act in odd ways. He’d had plenty of experience in informing families about relatives who had died in accidents but the expressions facing him were not like any he had experienced before. What had he said that had provoked them so? Accident? Autopsy? What had they been expecting?

“Accident? What kind of accident?” demanded Lester.

Relieved that they weren’t going to protest an autopsy as some families did, not wanting their loved ones cut up, he responded, “Something she ate or so it seems. I can’t say anything else until we get the autopsy results.”

Horror appeared on the faces before him, causing him to realize that his relief had been premature. He knew he was going to have to tread lightly. This was a family in mourning but there were questions he wanted to ask.

At that moment Metson entered the room. Donovan motioned him to sit down and to continue to take notes. Metson, wondering what his boss was up to, complied but thought that was a strange way to act in front of a grieving family. It looked like the poor woman had accidentally put weeds in her salad. Well maybe the chief did need to ask some questions.

“Now,” continued Donovan, “I don’t want to upset you anymore, and I want you to know that this is just normal procedure. Even though you’re hurting bad, I got to ask you some questions.”

There was silence from the group as they waited expectantly.

“I’d like to know where each of you was during the past couple of hours.” He wanted to add that maybe if someone had been here, the accident wouldn’t have happened. Someone would have prevented her from eating those weeds
but he felt giving his opinions might not be prudent and none of them yet seemed to know what had killed her. He turned to Lester, “Mr. Henley, your whereabouts?”

Lester sputtered, tried to clear his throat, and croaked, “I-I was downtown. As I was coming home, the paramedics drove right up behind me. Sc-scared me to death.” He was still scared to death but glad that he had not gone in search of Kevin. He wanted to keep a rein on the women and watch and monitor what they said.

“How long were you downtown?”

“About two and a half hours,” he almost said he had plenty of witnesses but he’d read in one of Agnes’ mystery books that it was incriminating to voluntarily give away unsolicited information. Of course he didn’t think he needed to worry. That fool Donovan seemed to think it was an accident but yet why the autopsy? Anyway, if he asked him he would gladly give him the information.

“Hmmm, Miss Audrey?”

“Uh, Bernie, Penny, and I went shopping this morning and we got back shortly before Mark found her.”

“None of you went into the kitchen or the-uh-breakfast nook when you got back?”

“No, there was no reason to. Bernie and I had eaten at the Deli. She and I went straight to our rooms. Penny didn’t even come inside.”

Donovan turned to Penny, “Where did you eat?”

“I-I didn’t. I skipped lunch. I had a big breakfast.”

“Then what did you do when you came back from town?”

“I-I went for a walk in the gardens. It’s a lovely day,” she added in a timid little voice.

The mention of gardens startled Donovan. Yet Miss Audrey had said they arrived just before Mark discovered the body. So Miss Penelope was allegedly in the gardens
after
the death.

“Where did you eat, Mr. Henley?”

“Lottaburger.”

“What?” sputtered Donovan. “You passed up Mark’s soup and sandwiches or his dad’s cheeseburgers?”

“I happen to be partial to them big double-deckers. They don’t call then Lottaburger for nothing,” stated Lester calmly, wondering why Donovan should care one way or the other what and where he ate.

Donovan immediately realized he shouldn’t let personal feelings regarding food, in particular hamburgers, interfere with a possible investigation. However, he felt that Lottalettuce would be a more appropriate name than Lottaburger. He turned to Bernie.

“After you got to your room, what did you do, Miz Bernadette?” He almost choked, addressing her that way.

“Tried on some new clothes.”

“And you, Miss Audrey?”

“I started to read, then dozed off just as Mark called out.”

“Miss Penelope, what did you do downtown while Miss Audrey and Miz Bernadette was eating?”

“Shopping.”

“What did you buy?”

“Not much. I was just looking.”

Metson groaned. What the hell did any of these questions have to do with anything? Putting this poor family through the third degree for no good reason. Donovan was acting like he was out in the trailer park instead of with a grieving high society family
.

Looking at the three women, Donovan asked, “If Miz Agnes had called out for help, would any of you have heard her?”

Metson groaned again, more loudly this time. What the hell did he think he was doing?

Donovan himself knew he had asked an improper question the minute he said it. In a court of law it would be objected and sustained. He was getting out of control here. He had to put an end to this interrogation-investigation.
But he noticed how startled the three women and Lester were at the question. What was going on? Fear? Guilt? Did they hear something but didn’t go to her rescue?

“We didn’t hear anything,” said Audrey who regained her composure first. “Or, at least, I didn’t. As I said, we arrived shortly before Mark did.”

And, of course, she was dead before Mark found her, thought Metson, if they were all telling the truth. And why wouldn’t they be? Donovan needs to let up on them. Poor family. Poor Miz Agnes
.

“Ch-Chief Donovan,” injected Penny shyly, “you said she died from something she ate. Do you know what it was?”

“We’re not definite on the cause of death. I have an idea but can’t say anything for sure, like I said, until I get the autopsy results. Now then, we need to find Kevin. Mark said he had lunch with him downtown, and I suppose he’s still there. He should be informed of his mother’s death.”

Metson sighed with relief. Finally he was acting the way he should have all along. Interrogating these people, the very idea.

At that moment, the front door opened and Kevin’s voice was heard, “Hey, what’s going on? An ambulance just pulled out of the driveway.”

Donovan wasted no time in informing Kevin of his mother’s death. It was a part of his job that he hated and it was a part he tried to do quickly and efficiently with as much sympathy and compassion as he could muster, which in this case was quite a bit. He had always liked Kevin in spite of the fact that he was a spoiled, rich kid but Kevin had always seemed fond of his mother.

Devastated, Kevin collapsed on one of the library sofas and was consoled by Lester and Bernie. Penny and Audrey, with stricken faces, stood mute like statues behind the sofa.

Donovan informed the grieving family that he and Metson were leaving but would return the next day with the autopsy results.

As Donovan and Metson drove back to the station, the chief commented, “Ya know, I feel sorry for the Henleys, but I get a weird feeling from them.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. They seemed genuinely grief-stricken but something else, too, fear maybe, and they were awful nervous.”

“Ah, come on, boss, you’re letting your imagination get away from you.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” agreed Donovan. “This is Magnolia Creek, just a small southern town. No way we could have some fancy complicated crime here.”

“Of course not. Their reactions are normal. At least probably for people like them.”

“How so?”

“Rich people hold in their emotions more than us plain folks.”

“That’s ridiculous! Besides, they weren’t holding anything in. Like I said, they were grief-stricken. Of course they weren’t crying and carrying on like some people would over at the trailer park. They’re too well bred for that, except for Miz Bernie, and you got to admit she was behaving like she should. Besides ole Lester ain’t exactly high society. The one I can’t understand, though, is Miz Agnes herself.”

“Huh? How do you mean?”

“Why would she eat poisonous weeds?”

“Do you know for sure that she did?”

“No, but it sure looks like it. If she didn’t then why were they in her salad? No use speculating though till we get the autopsy report. I think Mark’s the only one that saw her dead in her salad. I wonder if he knew what those weeds were.”

“Probably not. I wouldn’t have known, at least not until the medical examiner said so.”

“Mark was the only calm and cool one in that house,” said Donovan.

“Well, he didn’t have any reason to mourn. He don’t have any emotional ties to Miz Henley.”

“Yeah, but will he stay on as Marcel, French chef? He and Kevin were classmates for gawd’s sake. I feel sorry for Miz Henley and her family but this Marcel business is damn strange. I’ll be curious to see if Mr. Lester Henley keeps him on.”

“I guess he gets the whole shebang.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Lester, as the husband inherits, don’t he?”

“I imagine.” Donovan fell silent for a few minutes, and then said, “In that case not only am I curious as to what happens to Mark but also to Lester’s sister-in-law and his dead wife’s companion.”

“I guess we’ll find out sooner or later. Uh, you think when we go back there we’ll get served any of those horse-uh-doves?”

“Now what the hell kind of oar-doves would Mark Robeson serve us? Chips and cheese-dip?”

“He might add some chili. That’s what’s he’s going to fix for dinner tonight.”

“Good lord!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Mark quietly entered the library and beckoned to Lester, who reluctantly left his grieving son.

“Uh, sir, do you want me to go ahead with dinner as planned? It was-uh-chili, you know.”

“Of course, Mark,” he said distractedly. “We still have to eat.”

“Please accept my condolences, sir. Miz Henley was an-er-exceptional woman.”

Lester stared at Mark, suddenly wondering if he were sincere or merely putting on an elaborate act, something he was quite good at. Or was it something more sinister? Did he suspect anything? But staring at the young man’s complacent face, he convinced himself not to let paranoia take hold.

“Uh yes, Mark, thank you. And the chili will be fine. It’ll be just the thing we need to perk us up.”

“Very good, sir.”

Mark withdrew from the room leaving Lester puzzled at his behavior, which, although he dropped the French accent, was more Marcel than Mark Robeson. There was no longer any need for the French chef routine.

He returned to his son. “Bernie, let’s get Kevin upstairs. Son, do you need a sedative or something’?”

“No, Dad, I’ll be okay. But how could this have happened? She wasn’t that old!” He began shaking and quivering as he embraced his father.

“We never know when we’ll be called, son. It was her turn, I guess.” He heard Audrey stifle a gasp behind them. Or was it a giggle? Damn, he thought. So far they had played their parts perfectly. If only he could get Kevin upstairs before someone cracked
.

“I hate to mention this, son, but it has to be done.”

“What, Dad?”

“About the arrangements. The funeral. You want me to take care of everything?”

“Oh lord, yes. I can’t bear to-to think about it.”

“Uh, Lester,” murmured Audrey.

“What?” he snapped.

“Don’t forget the autopsy.”

“What?” wailed Kevin. “But why?”

“It-it’s standard procedure, son. They think her-uh-death might’ve been accidental-like.”

“What? You mean it could’ve been prevented? What kind of accident?”

“Uh, we-we don’t know. Donovan says it was something she ate but didn’t say what.”

“Oh no! You mean food poisoning? But Mark uses only fresh ingredients! I mean, he grew up with food preparation.”

“Son, we don’t know what happened. She was found in uh-the breakfast nook. She must have died during lunch.” Lester felt this was not the time to inform his son of the incongruous position of the body, especially the head.

“Who-who found her?”

“Mark did.”

“Mark? But-but I had lunch with Mark.”

“He found her when he got home.”

“But where were the rest of you?”

“We’d all gone to town.” Lester didn’t want to go through the makeshift alibis with Kevin. The less he knew, the better, at least for now.

“She died all alone?”

“Looks like it, son.”

Kevin was silent a few moments, burying his face in his hands. Suddenly he jerked up, “But an autopsy, cutting and slicing my mama. Ohhh.”

“They’ll put her back together,” said Audrey rather morbidly. “It’s done rather well, I think.”

Ignoring her, Lester continued to console Kevin, “Don’t you fret, son. Get some rest. Come on, Bernie, let’s get him up to your room.”

After the three of them had left, Audrey turned to a very silent Penny and studied her for a few moments, then said, “Let’s certainly hope the verdict is that dear Agnes died accidentally.”

“Of course. They mustn’t think anything else.”

“Very good, Penny. Keep thinking that way. Now, I think we should both go to our rooms and rest and not say anything else.”

“Yes, later, but I’m starving. Dead Agnes or no dead Agnes. I’ve got to have something to eat.”

“At a time like this?”

“Audrey, I didn’t have lunch!”

“Oh. Come to think of it, I’m hungry, too. We ate very early. Let’s go see if those sandwiches are okay.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Well, lying in close proximity to the corpse and all.”

“Oh, Audrey, surely not! Perhaps the soup?”

“Soup would be better anyway. We need something light since we’re having Mark’s chili tonight. Isn’t that the reason you skipped lunch?”