A Pint of Murder (21 page)

“I should say somewhere around midnight, on the visible evidence.”

“That will do well enough, thank you, Doctor.”

Rhys helped the doctor make his way through the crowd to his car, then came back inside.

“Would you care to view the remains yourself, Inspector, before I get to work?” Potts offered.

“I think not, thank you.”

“Go ahead if you want to,” Mrs. Fewter sniffled. “Don’t hold back on account o’ me.”

She sniffled again. “Dot come home an’ showed me them clothes Miz Druffitt give ’er before she went on up to the Wadmans’. I says, ‘They’re real nice but where do you think you’ll ever get a chance to wear ’em, eh? I’ll find places,’ she says real saucy an’ she put ’em back in ’er grip on top of ’er nightgown. So then I knew she was settin’ her cap for Elmer Bain.”

“Was she, indeed? And why might your daughter be doing that, Mrs. Fewter?”

“That’s kind of a dumb question if you don’t mind me sayin’ so, Inspector. Why would any woman go after a man that’s earnin’ good money, eh? ’Cause she was sick an’ tired o’ scrubbin’ other people’s floors, that’s why.”

“But I thought it was common knowledge around town that Elmer is—er—interested elsewhere.”

“Huh!” Back on the familiar ground of local gossip, Mrs. Fewter began to look almost human. “If you think Elizabeth Druffitt’s goin’ to stand for Gilly marryin’ a Bain, you got another think comin’, mister. Dot told me so herself, sittin’ right there at our kitchen table. She always had a snack soon as she come home from the Druffitts’. I’d have somethin’ she liked all ready an’ waitin’ an’ the teapot keepin’ hot on the back o’ the stove. Lord ha’ mercy, the house is goin’ to feel empty without ’er!”

She mopped at her eyes with the disintegrated wad of tissue. “Dot says to me—was it only yesterday afternoon? Mighty Jehu, it feels like a million years! As I started to say, she come back to show me the dress an’ all, an’ get ’er nightgown, not but what she couldn’t o’ slept in ’er petticoat for one night but she was hopin’ Janet would ast ’er to stay on a few days longer. She says she never et so good in ’er life, an’ Janet talkin’ so nice an’ makin’ her take the biggest piece just as if she was comp’ny.”

Mrs. Fewter blew her nose again. “An’ then o’ course with Elmer right next door, not that a Bain’s anythin’ to write home about but the old man’s got money or ought to have, the Lord knows, an’ Elmer’s worked up to be foreman down at the lumber mill. I never heard anythin’ against Elmer, far’s that goes. Keeps ’imself to hisself, but you can’t hang a man for that, can you? An’ Dot’s goin’ to be thirty-four her next birthday. No, she ain’t, is she? I keep forgettin’.”

Perhaps it was cruel to keep badgering the heartbroken mother with questions, but Rhys had to do it. “Exactly what was it your daughter told you about Gilly Bascom and Elmer Bain, Mrs. Fewter?”

“Sittin’ right there at the kitchen table she was, drinkin’ a cup o’ tea an’ eatin’ one o’ them cimmamon buns she liked. I wisht you could taste Janet Wadman’s doughnuts, Ma,’ she says. I’ll try to sneak you a couple in my grip when I come back.’ So then she told me how Gilly took at Miz Druffitt after the funeral for actin’ so spiteful to Elmer comin’ out o’ the church, which I didn’t happen to see myself but you can bet there was plenty o’ talk about it afterward. You wasn’t there, was you?”

“No, but I heard the story from Janet Wadman. And what did Mrs. Druffitt reply to her daughter?”

“Dot says Miz Druffitt got real mad an’ says Gilly needn’t go gettin’ any foolish notions about Elmer Bain ’cause she wouldn’t stand for Gilly lowerin’ herself an’ the family no more’n what she already done, runnin’ off with that Bob Bascom. I guess I don’t have to tell you about that, eh?”

“No, you don’t,” said Rhys hastily. “Please go on with what you were saying.”

“Well, anyways, Miz Druffitt says Elmer’s father was no better’n a common thief, tryin’ to do Gilly out o’ that patent of Uncle Charles’s that was worth a fortune like as not an’ if she didn’t have no shame she might at least show a little common sense. So then Gilly started bawlin’ an’ yellin’ an’ says she didn’t care what the old man done, her mother hadn’t no call to act so mean to Elmer.”

Mrs. Fewter had perked up a good deal. She had a story to tell and a willing audience to tell it to. The artist can forget his private woe in the expression of his art. “So her mother says back real sweet like she does that Gilly was no judge o’ men, which is true enough on the face of it, I guess, though Bob Bascom never had a chance with them so down on ’im right from the start not that he was much to start with. But I wouldn’t o’ kept throwin’ Bob up to Gilly myself, not if she was my daughter.” She was a mother again. She reached for more tissues.

“And then what happened?” Rhys insisted.

“Well, I guess Gilly started in about Elmer again, an’ Miz Druffitt says, ‘That’s enough, Gillian. You’ve made one mistake and that’s enough. If you marry Elmer Bain, it will be over my dead body.”

“Did she, now? Thank you, Mrs. Fewter. Thank you very much indeed.”

R
HYS TOOK MRS. FEWTER
back to her scabrous home and found a kind neighbor waiting to fix her lunch and help her get ready for the visiting hours at the funeral parlor. After that, he couldn’t think of anything to do but go back to the Mansion and wait. He wasn’t surprised to run into a great deal of traffic on the normally quiet hill road. Human nature abounded in Pitcherville as elsewhere, and if it was not possible to get a look at the corpse, the next best move for the sensation seekers was to view the spot where it had lain.

He wormed his way through the stream of cars as best he could and pulled into the drive. Fred Olson was out there with a shotgun cradled in his massive arms, trying to maintain law and order and ignore the smart cracks from passing vehicles. Rhys told him to keep up the good work, and went inside.

As Rhys had hoped, Janet Wadman was there, trying to beguile the waiting by giving Marion a cooking lesson, doing all the work herself while the older woman looked on, not even pretending to be interested. They both pounced on him.

“Any news, Madoc?”

“The Mounties have not yet got their man, if that’s what you mean. Has there been a telephone message for me?”

“No, the phone hasn’t rung once,” said Marion. “Don’t ask me why. I’d expected every snoop in town to be on the line by now.”

“I anticipated that possibility myself,” he explained. “That is why I’ve asked that no local calls be put through. I want the line free in case Gilly or Elmer tries to get in touch. How is Mrs. Druffitt?”

“Still asleep, thank God. She seems all right. I looked in on her a few minutes ago.”

“Have you had anything to eat, Madoc? Can I make you a cup of tea?” Janet, looking charmingly useless in her pink sundress and fresh bandage, was probably the clearest head among them.

“Thank you,” Rhys said with a wistful smile. “I’d like that. Perhaps someone might take a cup out to Olson, too. He looks as if he could use a small act of kindness about now.”

“I’ll do it,” Marion volunteered. “Might as well let the peanut gallery get a look at the next victim.” She picked up the mug Janet filled and took it out the side door.

“Do you think Marion honestly believes Dot Fewter was killed in mistake for her?” Rhys asked Janet.

“That’s hard to say,” she replied, doing a neat one-handed job with the teapot. “Marion’s afraid of something, that’s for sure, but I’m more inclined to think it’s you. I think she really expected to be arrested, and the only thing that’s saved her so far is this strange disappearance of Gilly and Elmer and Bobby. I think what she’s mainly scared of is that if they turn up safe and sound and innocent, you’ll clap the handcuffs on her. You won’t, will you?”

How could any man have walked away from anything so lovely? Decidedly, Pierre Trudeau had known whereof he spoke. “You don’t want it to be anybody, do you?” he teased. “Would you settle for wicked trolls?”

“It’s all very well for you to joke! You’re only doing your job. But what’s it going to be like for me, eh, knowing I’ve helped to get somebody convicted of murder?”

Her lips quivered. Rhys shoved his hands deep in his pockets and reminded himself fiercely that he was on duty. “Shall we worry about that when we get a conviction, Janet?”

She dabbed at her flushed cheeks with the back of her bandage. “All right, Madoc, I’m sorry. I’d better tend to my biscuits, hadn’t I, and leave the rest of it to you. There’s not one solitary bite to eat in this house, and Marion doesn’t even seem to care. Can’t blame her, I suppose. I meant for her to roll them out because I can’t manage the rolling pin, but she’s out there chewing the fat with Fred so I might as well make drop biscuits.”

She began scooping up neat spoonfuls of dough and plopping them on a greased cookie sheet. “Still and all, with a growing boy in the house, you’d think—Madoc, surely nothing’s happened to Bobby, has it?”

“Janet, to tell you the plain truth, I don’t know. I’m going out and relieve Olson for a while. You’d better go over and get Bert’s dinner. Maybe you could bring back a few sandwiches or something if the place is that short of grub.”

“Yes, of course. Tell Marion to keep an eye on those biscuits, eh? She ought to be able to manage that much, anyway.”

She flashed her dimples, and he turned and fled from temptation. He then spent a tedious hour or so waving his arms and shouting at motorists to keep moving. After a while, word must have got around that there was really nothing to see. The line dwindled, then evaporated.

Rhys went back into the house, found Marion and Olson playing euchre, kibitzed a minute or two, wandered into the library and noted that Mrs. Druffitt was still peacefully asleep, phoned headquarters and learned as he’d expected that the road patrol had not picked up Bain’s car yet, went back to the kitchen and ate a few of Janet’s biscuits, which Marion had let get much too brown, phoned Ben Potts for no particular reason, then cut the undertaker short in case his own colleagues might be trying to reach the Mansion.

Janet came back about one o’clock with a basketful of sandwiches and fresh vegetables. After giving Marion a few terse words on the subject of overdone biscuits she brewed a pot of tea and fed the rest their lunch. She made Marion clear up, showing great force of character, then let herself be talked into a game of euchre. She was holding high trumps, awkwardly because of her bandaged hand, when the call came through. When Rhys came back from talking into the phone, her cards were lying face up and unheeded on the table.

“Did they—is Bobby—”

“Bobby’s fine and so are the others,” Rhys reassured her. “They were picked up at a restaurant in Moncton, eating chicken and ice cream. They’re on the way back here now.”

Marion and the marshal broke in with excited questions. Their raised voices at last woke Elizabeth Druffitt. She appeared in the doorway looking only a little bit less immaculate than usual, but with dark-purple half moons under her eyes.

“It’s okay, Elizabeth,” Marion shouted. “They’ve been found and they’re coming back.”

Mrs. Druffitt wheeled on Rhys. “Have you arrested him?”

“Whom would you mean, Mrs. Druffitt?”

“Elmer Bain, of course. The man who tried to murder me.”

“Why, no. You see, he is not here yet,” Rhys reminded her gently. “In any case we are not allowed to arrest anybody unless we can lay a charge against him.”

“But I’ve just told you—”

“Ah but you see telling is not quite good enough. There is that troublesome business of having to present evidence.”

She started to say something more, then clamped her lips together and glared. Janet got up from the table. “Let me get you a cup of tea, Mrs. Druffitt.”

“No, thank you. I couldn’t touch a thing.” Nevertheless she drank the tea and ate several of the overbrowned biscuits with it.

Janet, glad of something to do, hovered at her elbow refilling the teacup and offering to scramble some eggs. “You must be famished. I’ll bet you haven’t had a bite to eat since yesterday.”

“Probably not. I don’t remember. I’m much too upset. When a public servant refuses to do his clear and simple duty—” She continued to glare at Rhys until she had the satisfaction of seeing him turn red and begin to nibble at the left-hand corner of his mustache. Then she turned on Marion.

“Can’t you do something about this dreadful kitchen? What if somebody were to come in? I hate to think what people would say if they could see this beautiful old family home turned into a gambling saloon.”

“Don’t be funny, Elizabeth,” said her cousin. “You know damn well Aunt Aggie used to sit here playing high-low-jack with Sam Neddick for a penny a point about five nights out of the week. You’re a hell of a one to talk about gambling in the first place, considering how Henry spent his time whenever he managed to get off the leash.”

“At least my husband didn’t go chasing after every skirt in town.”

“Damn right he didn’t. The woman he had was one too many for him as it was. And if you’re trying to get at me about my old man, let me remind you that he at least knew which sex was which. Don’t think everybody wasn’t wise to what your dear, saintly father tried to teach those boys in his Sunday-school class.”

With deliberate offensiveness, Marion stubbed out her cigarette in the already overflowing ashtray, scooped up the scattered cards, and began dealing a euchre hand. Elizabeth Druffitt sniffed, gathered together the remains of her dignity, and went back to the library. Janet touched Rhys diffidently on the coat sleeve.

“I hope you didn’t mind what she said about not doing your duty.”

“No, my dear—cousin.”

“Anybody else would have at least said, ‘Thank you for getting Gilly and Bobby back safely.’”

“One must take people as they are. Would there be another cup of tea?” He’d have preferred a little more sympathy, but he couldn’t risk having Mrs. Druffitt suddenly reappear and report him for lewd and lascivious behavior.

It was almost five o’clock and Janet was beginning to worry out loud about Bert’s supper when a caravan at last pulled into the yard. Elmer’s green Ford was first, then a police car, then a delegation of sports from the village tagging along to see what was up. The uniformed Mountie who had been driving the second car got out and escorted the runaways into the Mansion.