Blood upon the Snow Page 14

  He took his things from the hall closet and stopped to talk to Violet. She wanted to go with him and cried bitterly when he told her she must stay. He promised to bring someone back to spend the night with her, but she didn’t believe him. She thought he was going away himself and clung to his arm. He felt like a traitor when he finally closed the door and left her only partly convinced. He looked back once and saw her face pressed against the glass of the French window.

  The ladies welcomed him with lamplight streaming out across the snow and with the smell of superior cooking. They had been crying too, but they crackled and chirped in unison and made jokes about the gargantuan highball they set before him. They gave him the softest chair in front of the fire and pulled and pushed a small table into place under his elbow.

  “We’ll have our supper on that later,” Beulah said. She settled herself with a highball as large as Mark’s and handed one to Bessy. “Mostly ginger ale,” she winked. She tossed her grizzled head gaily, but he knew she was whistling in the dark.

  “We’ve had the police,” Bessy announced.

  “Police!” scorned Beulah. “Amos Partridge and that little Perley Wilcox who used to be a thief second to none. His weakness was Concord grapes.”

  “I had him in the fourth. He was bright.”

  “He stole grapes,” said Beulah. “Now you tell us everything you know and we’ll tell you what we know. Begin at the beginning and don’t skip.”

  He complied, up to a certain point. The real reason for his visit he kept until later. They listened soberly.

  “Doesn’t anybody in that house have even the slightest idea about this?” Beulah asked. “Do you mean to say you haven’t any suspicions yourself?”

  “I don’t know who killed Florrie and I don’t know why it was done. I don’t get the point at all but I’m sure there was one. I’m more or less counting on you two for help. You’ve known her from childhood, you knew her friends, her hopes, her possibilities.” He looked at Bessy. “She was one of your pupils, wasn’t she? What was she really like?”

  Bessy said she was a good girl. “Her friends were just the boys and girls she grew up with. The person who killed Florrie must have done it by mistake.”

  Mark took a long drink. “Somehow, I don’t think it was a mistake. She had that same look Mrs. Lacey had the day before she died. I’m almost willing to say they both knew it was coming.”

  “That’s crazy,” Beulah said. “Or maybe it isn’t. You see, I’m so upset I don’t know my own mind. But I’ll tell you what I told Amos and Perley Wilcox. It was somebody in that house. Everybody else around here is above reproach. People like us don’t kill, except in wars.”

  Bessy nodded sagely. “Of course in wars.”

  “That’s nonsense, Miss Beulah—”

  “No more Miss. Beulah and Bessy, please. It saves time.”

  “All right, but you’ve got to be fresh with me too. The name is Mark and I’m pleased to meet you. Now, as I started to say, you were talking nonsense. People like you, and me, do kill. Lots of impeccable ladies have brewed arsenic and wielded the axe with great success. Also a few gentlemen, who got tired of their wives, but they usually got caught. There have been some nasty but well-bred little girls, too, with death in their chubby hands. Everybody kills.”

  “Not me,” said Beulah firmly.

  “You know what I mean. Now, answer me this. You can keep it anonymous, but is there anybody in this neighbourhood who is—a little cracked?”

  Bessy blinked rapidly and looked at Beulah.

  “No,” Beulah said. “I know what you mean; I’ve read books. But I say no. Mark, do you think Florrie’s murder and Lacey’s death are—the same thing?”

  “I do.”

  Bessy gave a little cry. “Then anybody, anybody at all can be killed too!”

  “Not anybody. Only some unlucky soul who knows what poor Lacey and Florrie knew.”

  “What they knew?” shrilled Bessy. “Did they know anything?”

  “They must have. That would supply a motive; unless our man is that good old standby, the homicidal maniac, who kills whenever he gets the urge. But he doesn’t seem to fit in here. Apparently his urge only functions with Morey’s servants. Or could it be Davenport’s servants?”

  “I won’t hear a word against the Colonel,” Beulah said flatly.

  “Poor Ruthie Lacey murdered!” Bessy’s eyes filled.

  “You mustn’t say that,” Mark cautioned. “After all. it’s only my idea. You must openly accept it as an accident. . . . Beulah, is there any connection between Florrie and Lacey in the past? Are they related, or were they ever involved with Davenport outside of the domestic angle?”

  “No. No to everything you’ve asked. . . . Why?”

  “I was wondering why Florrie was killed in Lacey’s shed. That’s over a mile from the house. The weather was frightful. Yet she got out of bed in the dark, dressed, and went all the way down to that shed to meet death. You see why I keep thinking there may be a tie-up.”

  “I see all right. And there we were, sitting in Lacey’s parlour the whole time, and we didn’t hear a thing.”

  “I wondered about that too.”

  “I say we didn’t hear a thing. And don’t look at me like that. You know the wind was making an awful racket.”

  “Of course it was. How lucky. A fine strong wind to drown out a little girl’s cries. Who was with you, Beulah?”

  She told him, speaking each name with reluctance and trying to read in his face what he was thinking. She looked as if she were slipping a noose around the neck of one of her friends and she counted on his eyes to tell her which one.

  “Bessy, of course,” she said airily. “And some of the ladies from the Guild at our church. I suppose you want their names. Linder, Pross, Medinger, and Marshall. Two of them left before ten o’clock because of the weather. Their husbands came for them. The other two stayed until six and rode home on the milk train. Amos was there too, all the time, but he was back in the kitchen. I hate to give him an alibi but I could hear him rattling the stove all night. Ella May was there all the time too. She’s got ears like an animal. She took the lamp to the window when she heard your car, but of course she didn’t tell us the real reason then. Said she was looking to see if the snow had let up. She admitted the truth this morning. Said she thought you were all drunk and she was saving it to tell her cousin first. But she didn’t see or hear anything out at the shed. She never could have held that in. And Bittner didn’t see or hear anything either. . . . Anyway, we were all in front of the house.”

  “Beulah. Didn’t anybody leave the room for—anything?”

  “Oh, you don’t go outside for that any more. It’s right at the head of the stairs.”

  “When did Ella May leave?”

  “At seven o’clock, when Bittner blew an old bus horn out of the window and yelled for breakfast.”

  “I haven’t got a bus horn but I’m hungry,” Mark said.

  Beulah fled to the kitchen with alacrity. “You poor thing! Just you wait! I’ll have things ready in a jiffy!”

  That was exactly what he wanted. He turned to Bessy, who was staring into her empty glass. “What did you do all evening, Bessy?”

  “I slept,” she confessed. “I cried myself sick, I really did, so I went to sleep in Ruthie’s bedroom. Do you know we couldn’t have the cake and coffee after the funeral? None of the ladies felt like it, after Florrie. We sent it to the Orphanage in Bear River.”

  Beulah came rustling back with a heavy tray and they helped her set the little table.

  While they were eating a suspiciously fresh and rich coconut cake, which would never be missed by orphans, Mark led up to the reason for his call. He coloured it up.

  “Would you girls like to help catch Florrie’s killer?”

  This caught Bessy at a moment when she was not quite ready to exhale and forced her into a premature action. Beulah wiped away the fine spray of coconut. “Say that again,” she requ
ested.

  He told them about his interview with Mrs. Morey and baited them nicely with a description of the splendours of her room and wardrobe. “I was going to ask you myself, even before she spoke. I’m sure you’ll be perfectly safe—I wouldn’t let you come otherwise. Aside from the possibility that you may help Florrie and Lacey, you’ll be a godsend to those kids.”

  “I understand about the children,” Beulah said slowly, “but Bessy and I could never catch a killer. We simply haven’t had the experience.”

  “Perley, the grape stealer, will do the catching. You will do the looking and listening. Who knows you may see or hear something that will lay a bad old ghost and make this little town a peaceful place again.”

  “Let’s,” said Bessy.

  Beulah had to do something in the face of such heroism. “Fools rush in,” she said grandly, with just enough renunciation. “I don’t mind burning to death myself, but I have to think of Bessy.”

  “I’m thinking of you both. You’ll be all right, just as I have been. We three are strangers to that family up there, we’ve had no previous contact. I think that’s important.”

  “Lacey and Florrie were strangers to them too. They hadn’t any previous contact.”

  “They hadn’t any with the Moreys, but they’d worked in that house before.”

  “House! Are you crazy? What’s the house got to do with it?”

  “I don’t know. But it gives me the creeps, that’s all.”

  “But Violet! She’s alive, and she’s worked there before. Not often, but a couple of times. To help Mrs. Lacey when the Colonel had a party.”

  “Violet is a darling little dummy. Neither Lacey nor Florrie was that. They could put two and two together, which Violet could never do, and that was their downfall. I’ll bet you on it.”

  “My church forbids it. If we came, where would we sleep?”

  “With Violet, in the wonderful morning-glory room. We’ll move in another bed. Is it a deal, Beulah?”

  “Yes. . . . Mark, you’re giving a lot of time to this mess. I know you’re working for Stoneman, but for who else?”

  “Justice. A lot of people work for justice in their spare time. Not only policemen, but people like you and me and Bessy. We don’t want money, we only want to clean up. If we can clean this up, we’ll snore happily. If we don’t, maybe we won’t snore at all. I’m not kidding you, it may be dangerous. But if we keep our eyes open we may find out why Florrie went out to meet a killer and then couldn’t bear to look at him.”

  Beulah stood up and began to collect dishes. “I’ll take these out to the kitchen. You go get your bag, Bessy. Thank heaven you were in no condition to unpack. We won’t be a minute, Mark. I’ll just throw some things together for myself.”

  He waited by the fire while they tramped firmly over his head.

  When they came down, there were bits of pink and white trailing out of Beulah’s bag and her hat was worn as its maker never intended. She bulged on one side.

  They raked out the fire and took a last long look.

  “Ready?” Mark asked.

  “Ready,” said Beulah. “I stacked the dishes in the sink. They’ll draw bugs, but I’ll probably never live to know it.”

  Going up the mountain, Bessy examined the present and the future. “I don’t know what the future holds,” she said, “but I do hope it doesn’t hurt. You know, I can’t get that poor woman’s face out of my mind.”

  “What woman?” Mark asked.

  “Mrs. Morey. I saw her at the station the day she came. Sables, and sad eyes. My grandmother had a picture in her parlour that looked like that. A female figure, clinging to a rock. A very haunting figure. My heart aches for that woman.”

  Mark tucked her arm under his. “Look here, Bessy. Don’t you go letting your heart ache for anybody in this piece until the curtain comes down on the last act. You may pick the wrong character.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  VIOLET had the door open before Mark could get out his key. She was overjoyed to see Bessy and Beulah; and when she heard they were going to help her with the children and even sleep in the same room, she almost smiled.

  “I’ve got a poker under my pillow,” she said, “but I won’t need it now I’ve got you, Miss Pond.” Beulah looked pleased, though she had never cared for Violet.

  Mark wanted to know if everything was under control. Everything was. Nothing had happened at all. The children had gone to bed without any fuss although they had asked for Florrie. Violet told them Florrie had her appendix out, which was what Perrin said to tell them. Nobody had come to call except that Partridge. “Calling himself police,” she added gloomily. “And taking all of Florrie’s things away. Her uniforms and all. Her diary and even the old market lists she always saved in case the butcher tried to pull something funny. Even her nail polish. Everything. Calling himself police.”

  Perrin and Morey both helped with the extra bed. It came from the rose room and was very properly covered with rose-patterned chintz. The ensuing horticultural riot gave Violet much pleasure.

  “A red cabbage rose, I’d say,” she deduced admiringly, with one finger laid thoughtfully against a round cheek. “If it’s just the same with you ladies I’d like to sleep in it myself. I haven’t got the heart for morning glories.”

  “Everything in order here? Got everything you need?” Morey stepped around briskly. “Haven’t overlooked anything, Violet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I’ll get along. I want some chess with Stoneman.”

  “Where is he?” Mark asked.

  “Locked himself in again. He’ll come out now that you’re home. Perrin, bring some ice to the library. What are you going to do, East?”

  “Talk to these people for a bit. Play the genial and grateful host, if you’ve no objection.”

  “I get it!” Morey went up to Bessy and Beulah with outstretched hand. “Forgive me. I haven’t said a word about how I appreciate this. You’re helping us over a bad time. Mrs. Morey will see you in the morning and tell you herself. Can I send you anything? A sandwich, a drink?”

  “No,” Mark said quickly and flatly. “I’ll see you later perhaps. If I don’t, will you send Stoneman up fairly early? I think he needs rest.”

  Morey nodded and left.

  Violet burst into sudden activity, turning down beds, plumping pillows, opening and shutting closet doors. “I’ll help you get settled,” she said. “There’s that big bureau, nice and empty, with clean paper in the drawers and never been used. Here Miss Pond, give me that bag. Oh, what an awful mess! You’re no packer. My land, have you got something in your coat pocket too?”

  “Leave me alone,” Beulah said crossly. “I’m keeping this coat on. I’m cold.”

  Mark seized his opportunity. “Violet, you help Miss Petty. I want to talk to Miss Pond privately.” He led Beulah to the far end of the hall, safely out of earshot. They sat on a window seat and he faced her with some trepidation.

  “I’ve got to confide in you because I’ve nobody else,” he said bluntly. “I hope I’m not making a mistake. . . . Can you keep your mouth shut?”

  She examined him thoughtfully. “That depends. I can keep it shut if you tell me how I can help solve this dreadful business. But if you tell me you did it yourself they’re going to hear me up in Canada.”

  He told her the whole story, as far as it had unrolled. He began with Stoneman’s letter to his agency and the old man’s insistence that he hadn’t known Mark’s real work. “So, having nothing else to do at the time, I accepted. Partly curiosity, partly because I needed a change. I knew I could always back out legitimately. I didn’t tell him what day I was coming. I wanted to surprise him. Then at the station I had a hunch about walking in unannounced. Somehow I knew that limousine came from here, so I just watched it leave the station. Then I deliberately walked up the lane, knowing it was the wrong direction. I wanted to meet a resident, someone I could pump later if I had to. I have pumped you a little but fr
om now on I play straight. See?”

  “That was a good hunch,” Beulah said enviously.

  “Yep. I hadn’t talked to Stoneman for one minute before I knew something was wrong. Maybe I’m psychic, like you!”

  “God forbid,” Beulah said. “Go on.”

  “Stoneman was afraid of something. Mrs. Lacey was frankly terrified. Florrie was uneasy, Perrin too restrained. Mrs. Morey in a definite state of collapse. Violet was the only normal person in the outfit. Morey seemed all right, but under close observation even he wasn’t as gay as he looked. What upset me most, and this came later, was one of the little girls. The baby doesn’t count, of course; I mean the older one. She was holding herself in check, a very unchildish thing. That child, plus Mrs. Lacey’s death, decided me. I stayed. And now we have this new terror.”

  “What do we do first?” asked Beulah.

  “We install a dictograph.”

  “G-man?” asked Beulah, blanching slightly.

  “No. But thanks just the same. . . . I brought the thing with me—hunch again. But I didn’t want to look like a fool in case I was wrong, so I hid it in a closet down the hall. This is the time to drag it out. But where to put it and how to listen is the problem. That’s where you come in.”

  Beulah leaned her forehead against the window and looked at the black night. After a bit she said, “If I had any sense, this is where I’d go out. . . . You don’t want Bessy to know about this?”

  “No. This is one of those times when ignorance is bliss. If Bessy knew, her nice old face would be sure to give us away. Maybe to the wrong person.”

  “You—you think it’s somebody in this house?”

  “I don’t think anything, yet. First of all, where to put the dictograph. I want two locations, one for the sender and one for the receiver. The first must be some room where everyone goes and where two people can talk together, without fear of being overheard. Where their presence will cause no comment. Where they will feel safe—to talk. The second room must adjoin it, or be over or under it. And that must be a room off the beaten track, a nice lonely room. Where will we find those?”