A Pint of Murder (12 page)

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” She did look sick. That was what made Rhys tend to believe Janet Wadman was as innocent as he wished her to be. It was always the innocent who suffered. The murderer—Rhys didn’t believe in coincidences, either, especially since that second jar Olson had brought to headquarters was in fact contaminated—was no doubt happy as a clam at high water.

“I feel a little better now you’re here,” Janet told him. She was changing her mind about Rhys, though she wasn’t yet sure why.

Marion, as expected, was waiting at the door in her new outfit, all smiles. Janet performed the introduction, and the lady of the Mansion couldn’t have acknowledged it more graciously.

“Come right in, Mr. Reese. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Miss Emery. You’re kind to take pity on a stranger.”

“Listen, the pleasure’s all mine. We don’t get many good-looking men up here.” Clearly Marion didn’t intend to lose one golden moment. “You coming in, Janet?” she asked not very cordially.

“No, I’ve got to get back and try to straighten out that hogpen over there. I was ashamed for Madoc to see it. You don’t suppose Dot Fewter could tear herself away from the excitement down in the village, do you? Is your cousin’s company still here?”

“They’ve cleared off. Trust Elizabeth not to keep the welcome mat out any longer than she has to. Gilly’s with her now, writing thank-you notes.”

“Where’s Bobby?”

“Elmer took him fishing. So I’m here alone.” She gave Rhys a meaning look.

As a Mountie, he had to be pleased that Janet took the hint and left. As a man, he couldn’t help wishing she hadn’t. At least getting Marion Emery to talk wasn’t going to be a problem. Within minutes she was calling him by his first name and flaunting her own prospects by inviting the wealthy bachelor’s opinion of Uncle Charles’s self-emptying washtub.

“You’re a businessman, Madoc.”

He didn’t say he wasn’t, so she pursued the subject. “Do you think a smart old bird like Bain could be hounding us about this patent unless it’s pretty hot stuff?”

Rhys scratched his red mustache. “There must be more to it than meets the eye,” he ventured. There could hardly be less. Charles Treadway’s patent washtub appeared as unlikely a motive for murder and arson as he’d ever come across. However, it was Madoc Rhys’s mystical faith in the possibility of the improbable that accounted for his spectacular work in the field and kept him in mortal fear of being promoted to a desk job. “I’d like to meet this man Bain.”

“You will if you stick around here,” Marion assured her guest. “The minute he finds out we’ve got the patent, he’ll be after us like a bloodhound. Bain’s even got his son staying here to spy on us.”

If the patent had been found yesterday afternoon and the old man still hadn’t shown up, either Marion was exaggerating or else the son’s heart was not in his work. Rhys recalled the scene Janet had described to him. Perhaps it was a genuine fight. Perhaps young Bain was righteously indignant for this Gilly Bascom’s sake. Or perhaps he’d decided to play his own game.

“My cousin doesn’t know about the patent, either,” Marion went on. “I haven’t had a chance to tell her because Henry’s brothers were there. I suppose Janet told you Elizabeth just buried her husband.”

“She did explain that you’d had a death in the family,” he replied cautiously. “An accident, was it?”

“That’s right. One of those crazy freak things. Slipped on a rug and fractured his skull on the edge of the desk. A doctor, in his own office. Can you beat that? I should think Janet would have told you all about it. She’s the one who found him.”

“I’m afraid Janet isn’t up to talking much just now. If that hand isn’t better in a day or so, I told Bert I’d run her down to the hospital.” It might be a good idea to get Janet out of Pitcherville. But he wasn’t here to talk about Janet. “Then this Gilly is your first cousin once removed? How is it that she’s your coheiress instead of her mother, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

Marion’s glance implied that Rhys might be a lot bolder than that. “Elizabeth never got along with Aunt Aggie. I never quite understood what they fought about. It was long before my time. Elizabeth is a lot older than I am, of course. I was always the favorite, actually, so it would probably all have come to me, but Aunt Aggie knew Gilly needed a helping hand. She’s about as useless as an old wet sock when it comes to looking after herself. Oddly enough, Gilly’s house burned down the same night Henry died. That’s why I’ve got her living up here with me.”

“You have a kind heart, Miss—er—Marion. So Gilly lost her father and her home together. Misfortunes never come singly, do they?”

“Three in a row, that’s what Dot Fewter says. Dot’s the so-called hired help Janet was talking about. Dot claims Gilly’s fire doesn’t count with Aunt Aggie and Henry because nothing got killed in it but a bowlful of goldfish. Isn’t that a howl?”

Rhys obediently turned on his wistful smile. “At least Gilly must be somewhat consoled by the fact that you’ve found the patent.”

“Gilly?” Marion snorted. “I tried to show it to her this morning before she went down to her mother’s, but she just shoved it away and said, ‘For heaven’s sake don’t bother me with that foolishness now.’ Gilly’s got no push at all, that’s why I want to get Elizabeth in on it. You can bet Elizabeth would straighten Bain out in grand style if he tried any funny business on her.”

“You wouldn’t care to run down to your cousin’s now?” Rhys offered shyly. “You and she could discuss your business while I see if that Dot woman will come up and give Janet a hand.”

“Say, that would be swell! I’d love to have you meet Elizabeth.” Marion must think her cousin would add a desirable touch of class to impress a wealthy bachelor. She was ready in seconds, but stopped short as they were going out the door. “Oops! Forgot to take this off.” Quickly she untied the bright scarf with which she’d added a bright accent to her new black suit.

“But why?” Rhys murmured. “The color was so becoming to you.”

“Think so?” she flashed him a smile, which was a mistake, as her teeth were not good. “I’m afraid Elizabeth might be offended if I wore it in a house of mourning. They’re a lot more careful about appearances up here than we are down in the States.”

They could also be a great deal more forthright. Elizabeth was perfectly capable of reminding Marion who’d paid for the outfit.

Rhys went to get his elderly Renault out of the Wadmans’ driveway. He was going to be one of those eccentrics, rich enough so that he could afford to look poor. The best that could be said for his dark suit and half-soled black shoes was that they were not inappropriate for a house of mourning.

One thing Janet had forgotten to mention was that being Annabelle Wadman’s cousin wasn’t going to put him in favor with Elizabeth Druffitt. She received the introduction with no enthusiasm. However, she thawed noticeably after Marion managed to draw her aside and whisper something in her ear. She even called her daughter out to meet him.

Gilly was looking considerably better than she had a few days ago, although Rhys could not know that. He merely thought her a rather pleasant change from Marion and wondered if there could be brains enough behind that pale little face to plan two clever murders and a successful job of arson. She looked demure enough for any villainy in her simple black dress, with her light hair tucked back under a wide black velvet ribbon and her slim feet in ladylike medium-heeled pumps. Gilly must take after her father. There was no look of the Emerys about her, though the resemblance between Marion and Elizabeth was strong.

“I don’t know how Gillian’s going to manage without her dear old daddy,” Mrs. Druffitt was saying. “She relied on my husband for everything after”—the well-bred voice was discreetly lowered—“her unfortunate marriage was dissolved. Poor little Gilly was only a child then, and too innocent to know—but these things are sent to test us, I suppose. My only hope now is that I may be spared long enough to see my girlie settled and happy. Gillian would make such a fine wife for the right man.” This was nimble footwork for a newmade widow, but of course Mrs. Druffitt had no way of knowing how long the rich bachelor was going to be around.

Gilly gave her mother a dirty look, but all she said was, “How’s Janet?”

“Not well at all,” Rhys answered in a tone of gentle melancholy. “From the snapshots I’d seen, I expected a blooming young woman. It was a shock to find her looking so poorly. I understand Janet had come to consult the doctor, in fact, when—” he hesitated, as a man of delicacy might.

“Janet was here,” said Mrs. Druffitt, adding a touch of frost. “I’m afraid I never did find out why. This has been such a dreadful time for me that I’m afraid I haven’t been much aware of anyone’s misfortune but our own. I’m sorry to hear Janet isn’t well.”

“In a pig’s eye you are,” thought the Mountie. However, he awarded her one of his fleeting, nervous smiles. “I will tell her so. I came hoping, as a matter of fact, that you could spare your—er—hired help for a day or so to give Janet a hand.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll be glad to, though I must say I can’t promise Dot Fewter will be of much use to Janet. She certainly isn’t to me. I told her I particularly wanted my upstairs bedrooms done after the guests left, but she’s nowhere to be found. I daresay you might find her over at the Busy Bee. That seems to be where Dot spends most of her time.”

“I’ve invited Madoc to stay at the Mansion till Janet’s sore hand heals,” Marion put in.

Mrs. Druffitt blinked. “Why, how thoughtful of you, Marion. I’m sure Gilly will do all she can to make his stay a pleasant one. Won’t you, dear?”

“Sure,” sighed Gilly.

After that, nobody could think of much else to say. As they were all waiting for each other to break the silence, the front doorbell rang.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Druffitt, “would you excuse me a moment? We’ve had a steady stream of callers ever since—” she headed for the door, then froze. “Marion, that’s Jason Bain out there.”

“Jesus! Gilly, did you tell your mother we found the patent?”

“What? Of all the stupid—” Mrs. Druffitt caught herself. “Gilly, why don’t you and Mr. Rhys go see if you can find Dot Fewter and take her straight up to the Wadmans’? Go along, don’t stand on ceremony, please. Poor Janet shouldn’t be left alone, in her sad condition.”

The bell jangled yet more insistently. Mrs. Druffitt nodded a fluttered good-bye and practically shoved them out the door. Rhys caught only a glimpse of an incredibly gaunt, grotesquely spiderish figure before Mrs. Druffitt hustled Bain into the house.

“Too bad Mama gave us the bum’s rush,” Gilly remarked, friendly enough now that she’d got away from her guardian angel. “There ought to be one grand free-for-all when those three start grabbing for each other’s throats.”

“Your—er—mother’s cousin did say something about a patent right,” Rhys answered carefully. “She showed me the papers before we came down here.”

“Did she?” Gilly replied as if she couldn’t have cared less. “You can park right over there. I’ll run in and see if Dot’s around.”

“I’ll come with you.” Rhys was already out of the car and holding the door for her. “I don’t want to miss any of Pitcherville’s historic spots.”

She gave him a doubtful grin and led the way into the Busy Bee, as depressing a hovel as Rhys had ever set foot inside. The air was blue-purple with stale smoke, heavy with the reek of rancid fat. The walls were spattered with layer upon layer of grease stains. A radio blared ear-shattering noise into the murk. A blobbish creature in a filthy apron made discouraged swipes at the counter with a loathsome rag.

There was just one customer, a woman. For one incredulous second, Rhys thought it was the doctor’s widow. She was sitting contentedly in the midst of the squalor, wolfing down a bright-yellow pastry with every appearance of enjoyment. When she saw Gilly, she waved.

“Hi; haul up an’ set.”

“No, thanks,” said Gilly. “I may tend counter here once in a while, but I haven’t sunk to the point where I’d hang around for the fun of it. This is Mr. Rhys, Dot Fewter. He wants you to go up to Janet’s with him.”

“How do you do, Miss Fewter,” said Rhys politely.

“Hi,” said Dot with her mouth full. “You must be the Mountie.”

“The what?” Gilly gasped.

“The Mountie. Sam told me the Wadmans got a Mountie up there makin’ out to be Annabelle’s cousin. You’re him, ain’t you?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Rhys unhappily, “I am.”

“D
ON’T AST ME,” SAID
Dot. “He knew, that’s all. Sam always knows.”

“Did he tell you why I’m here?” Rhys looked sadder even than usual as he steered the battered Renault up the hill road with Gilly beside him and the human bombshell in the back seat. Through the rear-view mirror he could see Dot shake her disheveled head.

“He ain’t sure yet.” He would be. Dot obviously had every confidence in Sam. “He thinks maybe it’s them patents o’ Jase Bain’s. Jase has been spreadin’ it around about how they’re his o’ right now that Miz Treadway’s gone. Sam thinks maybe the Wadmans snuck ’em out o’ the Mansion an’ Jase sent you to get the goods on ’em.”

“That’s some fine way for that lowdown weasel to be talking about the people he works for!” cried Gilly. “If I were Bert Wadman, I’d break Sam Neddick right square in two and feed him to the pigs. I’ve a good mind to tell Elmer!”

There was plenty of color in that pale face now. Gilly railed on. “The Wadmans have always been a darn sight more decent to Aunt Aggie than any of her own flesh and blood, me included. The last thing they deserve is to get spied on and talked about. I expect you think you’re pretty smart, Mr. Rhys or whatever your name is, worming your way in there, making believe you’re Annabelle’s long-lost cousin just because she’s flat on her back in the hospital and can’t show you up for a liar. Well, let me tell you one thing—”

She had to pause for breath, and Rhys got his word in. “I’m here at Janet Wadman’s request.”

“But—but why?” Gilly stammered.

“I’m sorry, but I’d really prefer not to answer that question just now. And I’d greatly appreciate it if you could manage not to tell anybody else who I am. Miss Fewter, have you repeated what this Sam Neddick told you?”