Who'll Kill Agnes? (25 page)

Still waiting for Bernie to return, his mind wandered to the members of his household. First of all, Lester could stay. He was fond of him and enjoyed his company. And Agnes had betrayed Lester. Aunt Audrey? Give her the jewels?

“Hell no, she’s not my real aunt. Maybe the jewels should have been hers, but they’re legally mine now. No, she and that wallflower Penny have to go. No more freeloaders. They should leave and get a life of their own. And Bernie? I’ve done it all for her. I’ll adorn her with Aunt Hilda’s jewels, buy her furs, the latest fashions.”
He’d show the town that a Tucker girl could become a worldly sophisticate.

“And she’ll never leave me. Why would she, anyway?”
Inexplicably a horrible notion popped into his mind. “If she did try to leave me, I’d kill her. I swear I would. Bernie is mine.”

But she’d have to die an accidental death if she ever did attempt anything. He had become quite fond of fatal accidents, fatal accidents that would go undetected.

His momentary rage subsided and his reflections turned to Mark. Should he let him stay on? Well, why not? There was no point in giving up good food. Mark could bring his dad over if he wanted. There’d be plenty of room here with Audrey and Penny gone. Lester could have companionship with ole man Robeson and he and Mark could join them for beer and ball games. Bernie could preside over the male assemblage like some kind of royalty. Kevin thought some more and decided that from now on life was going to be very simple and very pleasant at Henley House.

Bernie returned, breaking his reverie.

“Well, what did the cops want?” he asked.

“Mark said they wanted to talk to Audrey.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t know. He also said they wanted to sample his cooking.”

“For what possible reason? Do they think Mark poisoned my mom? The case is supposed to be closed.”

“The case? No, he didn’t say anything about that. Mark just said they came to talk to Audrey and wanted to sample his fancy cooking. He used some big word but I can’t remember what it was.”

“So, did he give them anything?”

“Yeah, but it don’t make sense to me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She told him what Mark had said about caviar and a can of peas. Kevin howled with laughter. Like the policemen, Bernie didn’t understand canapés or hors-d’oeuvres and was confused at Kevin’s mirth.

“Oh, that Mark is fun to have around! Like Dad says, those hayseed cops don’t know nothing.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Tuesday, June 11
^th

At the police station the next day, Donovan and Metson couldn’t concentrate on their work, both mentally preoccupied with the supposedly closed Agnes Henley case. The hairs on Donovan’s neck continued to bristle whenever he thought of Mark Robeson’s presence at Henley House. Metson, on the other hand, had a nagging feeling that he knew something important but couldn’t put his finger on it. He wasn’t even sure when that feeling had begun.

“Man, I hate days like this,” grumbled Donovan.

“What do you mean?” asked Metson absentmindedly.

“The atmosphere is so thick you could slice it with a knife.”

“Yeah, I bet it storms tonight. Those clouds look like pea soup out there.”

“This kind of weather makes you think something’s going to happen.”

“Like what?”

Donovan laughed, “Damned if I know but the hairs on the back of my neck are bristling like crazy.”

Metson rolled his eyes yet he had a strange feeling, also, one that he just couldn’t get rid of.

Donovan brought up the Henley file on his computer and read through it for the umpteenth time.

“You know, Daryl, let’s just say for argument’s sake that Miz Agnes was murdered. Mark was the last to see her alive.”

“Yeah, but you been over that again and again. No motive.”

“That we know of but there’s something else here, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Miss Penelope. She didn’t eat with Miss Audrey and Miz Bernadette. She could have slipped back. And, she sure was awful nervous.”

“Naw, Chief, that’s pushing it too much. I feel like you do. There’s something about Mark. I just can’t place it. You don’t consider Kevin at all?”

“Naw, poor kid came out on top but that’s just damn good luck. At the time of the murder, only Lester had any real motive.”

“Kevin would have if he’d known about the will.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t.”

They fell silent and began typing reports into their computers, the mundane reports of traffic violations, domestic disputes, a knifing at the high school, a drug deal at the junior high. Nothing so exotic as an imagined murder in the high society realm of Henley House.

At noon Metson asked Donovan if he wanted to eat at The Cracked Cup.

“Naw,” replied the superior officer, “I brought a tuna sandwich. I got to watch my weight.” He leaned back in his chair and patted his ample stomach. “May Belle’s been after me to watch my weight, cholesterol, and blood pressure.”

“Well, I got to get out of here,” said Metson, smiling at the thought of the plump, although otherwise sensible, Mrs. Donovan chastising the chief about his weight.

Donovan watched with envy as his muscular young officer put on his cap and walked out the door. Looking down at his belly hanging over his belt, he announced jealously to the empty room, “Them muscles of his won’t last long, especially eating at The Cup.”

He pulled out his tuna sandwich and eyed it distastefully then set it down, arose from his chair, and walked over to the west window, which overlooked Magnolia Creek, the park, the apartments, and at the moment the most tantalizing of all, Burger Paradise.

“Damn! I haven’t had one of those in ages.”

“Did you say something, sir?”

Startled, Donovan turned and saw one of the younger officers from the outer office standing in his doorway.

“Oh, I was just thinking I hadn’t eaten a Paradise burger for quite a while.”

“I’m going over there now, sir, for a bacon cheeseburger. You want one?”

“Yeah, but hold the cheese. I’m on a diet.”

After the young man left, Donovan continued staring out the window, subconsciously noting the clouds rolling in. Then he turned his attention to Magnolia Creek. From his vantage point, some of the rocks in the creek created formations that looked like floating dead bodies.

“Damn!” he said to himself. “I got to get this murder business out of my head. I’m seeing corpses everywhere.”

Metson pulled into the parking lot of The Cracked Cup Diner, a modest looking small building with a crudely painted sign of a cracked cup in a saucer with steam rising from the cup. He got out of the cruiser and walked in the front door, heading straight for a stool at the counter. Booths lined the windows overlooking the parking lot. Noon on a business day was a busy time and Metson was relieved that there was an empty stool. The patrons were mostly masculine although there were a few women there, probably tourists who had pulled off the highway for a bite to eat. Metson laughed to himself thinking that if Donovan were there he’d more than likely comment on what good taste those ladies had by avoiding Lottaburger. The only other females were two waitresses who busily trekked back and forth from the counter to the booths.

Metson ordered two double cheeseburgers, double order of large fries, and a large root beer float from Mr. Robeson himself. Thinking about what he was trying to remember had given Metson a large appetite. Normally he would have gone to the deli, especially since Donovan wasn’t accompanying him, but he hoped that maybe something at The Cup would jar his memory.

Mark’s father wiped the counter in front of Metson before he set down the burger basket. Metson considered that Mr. Robeson was still a fine-looking man and could see quite a resemblance between father and son.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked the proprietor of The Cracked Cup. “You look kind of worried.”

“Ah, it’s that Henley case,” realizing as soon as he said it that he shouldn’t have because more than likely Ole Man Robeson would spread it all over town if he thought the police were still investigating Agnes Henley’s death
.

“What Henley case? You don’t mean Miz Agnes, do you? Thought that was an accident. Wish to hell my son was out of that place.”

“Why’s that?” asked Metson cautiously.

“Don’t like him being in no house where that Bernadette Tucker lives.”

A bell went off in Metson’s head. Suddenly he remembered what it was that had bothered him. He jumped up, threw money on the counter, and started to leave.

“Hey, you’ve hardly eaten!”

Glancing back Metson said, “Oh yeah,” and grabbed the basket. “I got to get back to the station. I’ll bring the basket back later.”

“Don’t worry. I got plenty of them things.”

Metson entered the office flush with excitement, not noticing that Donovan was hastily stuffing the remnants of his burger into his tuna sandwich bag. Donovan pulled out the sandwich and pretended to nibble at it.

“Chief, I finally remembered what’s been nagging at me.”

“Yeah, what?”

“It-it’s Mark and Miz Bernadette.”

Donovan sat straight up and dropped the sandwich in his trashcan. “What about them?”

“Well now, I remember about four or five years ago, Mark was dating her on the sly.”

“Say what?”

“The Robesons may not have been society people but they sure didn’t hold with their son dating no Tucker. I don’t know how long they dated but lots of people whispered about it. Then Miz Robeson died and Mark had to help his dad with the diner. Mark didn’t go out much after that, and Miz Bernadette, of course she was Miss then, helped her mama with raising her brothers and sisters.”

“And after all that’s happened you’re just now remembering this?”

“Yeah, it was something that Ole Man Robeson just said to me. Do you think it’s important?”

Donovan exploded. “Damned if I know! But I think that explains why Mark went to work there. To be near her.” He paused for a few minutes. “But what the hell do they see in her?”

“Huh? Who?”

“Mark and Kevin. Miz Bernadette’s got the scrawniest figure I ever seen. She looks like a starving puppy. But why would Kevin allow Mark to work in his home if he thought Mark was panting after his wife?”

“Maybe he didn’t know, leading a sheltered life and all.”

“Maybe. I don’t know, Daryl.” He paused a moment and said, “Tell you what, let’s pay that household another visit tonight when we get off. I kind of want to chat with those three young people, especially Mark.”

“So you think that if Mark was panting after Miz Bernadette that he might have had something to do with Miz Agnes’ death?”

“Well, I’ll admit that don’t make too much sense. Looks like if Mark was the killer he’d go after Kevin.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too.”

Clouds had continued to form all day over and around Magnolia Creek. Walking to the patrol car that evening, Metson asked Donovan if he thought it might rain.

“Damn, I hope so,” said the chief. “I thought it would start storming long before this, but now I got a feeling we’re just going to get lots of lightning and thunder and you know what that means.”

“Huh? No, I don’t think I do.”

“Hell, Daryl, that’s when grass fires start. All that lightning and then the wind picks up. Can’t you feel how ominous the atmosphere feels?”

Metson didn’t respond because he wondered if the chief was really thinking about grass fires or about the Henleys and Mark Robeson in particular. They got in the car and drove off in the direction of Henley House.

Finally Metson asked, “What’s our excuse this time?”

“What do you mean?” asked Donovan as the patrol car approached the driveway of Henley House.

“What’s our excuse for dropping in on them again so soon?”

“We’re still concerned about their well-being.”

“Well-being? They’re filthy rich and that’s sort of the excuse you gave Miss Audrey last night.”

“Kevin will soon be filthy rich but it ain’t him I’m concerned about. I’m still pondering if Mark’s after Miz Bernadette and somehow plotting to get her back. Anyway, we’re not going there to talk to Miss Audrey this time. What I’m thinking is, let those three young folks know we’re concerned about them losing Agnes and maybe let the murderer, if there is a murderer, know the police are still nosing about.”

“You think Mark might kill Kevin?”

“Whoa, boy, that was my original thinking. But let’s not get way ahead of the game. I got a couple of angles concerning Mark. First, say he came here to work because he still had the hots for Miz Bernadette. But how would she feel about that? Not to mention Kevin.”

“Maybe they didn’t know his real reason for coming.”

“Maybe, but like I said this afternoon, he still wouldn’t have any reason to kill Miz Agnes. Second, you ever hear about something called a menage-a-trois?”

“A what? Manage a troyz?”

“It’s something French. I heard it in a movie once. Three people getting it on at once.”

“Chief, that’s sick. But how does that figure in with Miz Henley’s death?”

“Maybe she found out what was going on in her house and tried to put a stop to it.”

“Dang! You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Donovan grinned, “Naw, it’s just an idea that popped into my head. Unless, Mark killed her hoping that Kevin and Miz Bernadette would share the family fortune with him. Those three now seem to be awful good friends and maybe they are getting it on together.”

“Chief, none of them knew Kevin was going to inherit.”

“Yeah, it always comes back to that, don’t it?”

“And it ain’t none of our business if they are getting it on together.”

“It is if it contributed to Miz Henley’s death.”

Damn, thought Metson, Donovan had a one-track mind. They had no business sticking their noses into the private affairs of this family. Why did he have to mention that business about Mark and Miz Bernadette? He supposed he had only himself to blame for what they were doing tonight.