AS THE SPARKS FLY UPWARD (8 page)

Charlotte was towed back into the room by a vigorous white-haired gentleman with a still-handsome face and bright blue eyes.

“Frank,” Alicia greeted him. “Have a seat. Some tea?”

He accepted a cup. “You’ve heard the news?”

“About poor Irma’s friend? Sadly, yes.”

“Knock it off, Alicia. You and your sister here have been plotting Irma’s death for years. You’ve never liked her, and you’re not sorry for her now.”

“That’s not true. Irma is one of my dearest friends.”

The elderly man snorted. He drank his tea in a gulp and stood up. “If it makes you feel any better, the rest of the town’s old biddies are the same way. Every one of them was jealous of Irma and her catch.”

Charlotte sniffed loudly. “It was indecent. The man was thirty years younger.”

“Yes, well, somebody took care of that.” The old man’s glittering blue eyes swept over the two sisters. “Somebody took care of that, didn’t they?”

“Don’t look at us that way, Mr. Frank Vanderwoort,” said Alicia stiffly. “It was an accident—a hunting accident. I heard that on good authority.”

“Gertie, huh?” said the old man shrewdly. “I saw the two of you whispering out back a little while ago. Gertie’s not that stupid, and neither are you. I don’t think it was an accident.”

“Not … not an accident?” faltered Charlotte.

“No, my dear girl. It was murder, plain and simple. I’d watch what you say for the next few days. The police are sniffing all around town, looking for clues. Not that the two of you know anything. You may be old dried-up spinsters, but you’re not murderers, that’s for sure.”

“There’s no need to be offensive, Frank,” said Alicia mildly. “You’re not exactly in the bloom of youth yourself.”

He let out a snuffling snort of laughter. “No, by God, but if I were, I’d give you a runaround, kid!” He slapped her familiarly on the back and left. It was as if a whirlwind had swept through the parlor. Alicia found her hair was disarranged. She tucked it neatly behind her ear and turned excitedly to her sister.

“Charlotte, he’s right! It was a murder—a
real
murder—not an accident!”

There followed a small sensation in the sitting room of the Grunwald house.

Snooky had been at Hugo’s Folly during the afternoon. Now, as the light faded from the sky, he sat in the living room of the cabin, hugging a pillow to his chest, and told Maya and Bernard all about it.

“Sarah’s fine. She doesn’t seem very upset. None of them do, actually, except Irma. She had to be put to bed with an elephant dose of tranquilizers. Poor woman. She wanted to come and see the body, but she was too weak. I didn’t think it was a good idea, myself. Letting her see the body, I mean. She’s had enough of a shock as it is.”

“Who else is at the house?” asked Maya.

“The whole family. Dwayne and his stepfather and Sarah and Gertie. Dwayne and Roger came over as soon as they heard. And some friends from the village have been stopping by.”

“Do they still think it was a hunting accident?”

“I don’t know, Maya. Detective Bentley hasn’t told me.”

“Very convenient that he would be murdered right after the wedding announcement,” said Bernard.

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t look too good for the family.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Of course,” said Bernard, “with Detective Bentley on the case, whoever did it doesn’t have to worry much about being caught.”

“True.” Snooky leaned back thoughtfully on the sofa. “I’m worried about Sarah. She’s close to her aunt, and once
Irma wakes up there’s going to be a scene. I wouldn’t be surprised if this killed her. Irma, I mean. Her heart isn’t very strong.”

Bernard recalled the layers of makeup which obscured her real color. “How can you tell?”

“Sarah told me. She could go at any time. The shock might kill her.”

“Maybe that’s what somebody is hoping for.”

Snooky sucked in his lips between his teeth. “You have a very nasty mind, Bernard. I compliment you on it.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s realistic,” Maya said warmly, putting an arm around her husband. “Bernard has always been the soul of practicality.”

“Plus, he hates people, so he always thinks the worst.”

“Yes.”

“You’re right, of course, Bernard. That could indeed be what somebody is hoping for.” Snooky went to the window and gazed out at the fast-vanishing afternoon. “Danger. Danger. Red alert. Bentley approaching at ten o’clock, in that old yellow crate of his. Fifty meters to go.”

“Coming to arrest me, no doubt,” Bernard said bitterly. “I’ll go quietly.”

“Thirty meters.”

“This will teach me never to take a walk in the woods. I knew I shouldn’t go. Didn’t I, Maya? Didn’t I say I didn’t want to go that day?”

“Yes, you did, sweetheart.”

“Ten meters.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” said Bernard. “I won’t go without a fight. They’ll have to drag me down to the police station.” He settled back with a resigned expression as Bentley came in the door. The detective grunted hello, sat down opposite Bernard and unveiled a long cloth-covered object with a flourish. It was a rifle.

“Do you know what this is, Mr. Woodruff?”

Bernard gazed at it in silence for a long time. “A space ship.”

“No.”

“A champagne fountain.”

“No.”

“A ticket for me and my wife for a free trip to Paris.”

“It’s a rifle, Mr. Woodruff. Is it yours?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“You’ve never seen it before?”

Bernard hesitated.

“Aha!” said Bentley in triumph. “You
have
seen it. Where?”

“Wait a minute,” said Bernard. “Where did you find it?”

“It was in the woods, not a hundred yards from the body. No fingerprints on it, of course. No footprints anywhere, because of the snow. But once I find out who it belongs to, I’ll know who killed Bobby Fuller. We also found Fuller’s car parked by the woods, on the road into Lyle. He must have left it there when he went for his little walk. Clear as glass, isn’t it?”

“Are you sure?”

“About what?”

“That whoever owns that rifle killed Bobby with it?”

“Of course I am. And even if the owner didn’t do it, it narrows the field, doesn’t it? Now tell me, where have you seen it?”

“I don’t know,” said Bernard. “I can’t tell one gun from another. I’m not a gun expert.”

“Come on, Mr. Woodruff. You recognized it, didn’t you? It’s a Winchester 30-caliber, used for hunting. And it has this scratch here.” The detective indicated a deep wavering line along the stock. “Where have you seen it?”

Bernard hesitated. He said slowly, “I’m not sure, but … Roger Halberstam had a gun like that.”

“Roger Halberstam?”

“When I met him in the woods. He was carrying a rifle … it could be the same one. I can’t say for sure. All guns look alike to me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Woodruff,” said the detective. He stood up, smiling. “Thank you very much.”

“Good-bye, Detective.”

“Good-bye.”

After Bentley had left, Bernard turned to Maya. “I may just have implicated an innocent man,” he said heavily.

“He may have done it, sweetheart.”

“Maya, if you were going to murder someone, would you use your own rifle and then throw it away less than a hundred yards from the body, for anybody to find?”

“Maybe,” said Snooky. “To throw everybody off. It’s obvious that it’s a stupid thing to do, right? So maybe it would confuse everyone.”

“It doesn’t seem to have confused Detective Bentley. He’s sure it’s Roger Halberstam who did it.”

“No proof,” said Snooky.

“He thinks the gun is proof.”

“He can think whatever he wants. He doesn’t have any real proof. Even if it
does
belong to Roger, anybody in the family could have taken that gun.”

“And someone probably did,” said Bernard dryly.

“Damn it,” said Roger a quarter of an hour later. He was sitting in the living room of Hugo’s Folly. The light glittering off the snow outside made the silver frames, mirrors and shiny gewgaws painfully bright. “Damn it. I mean,
damn
it. Yes, it’s my rifle. But anybody could have taken it. I mean, I haven’t seen it for
days.
I haven’t been out hunting.”

“Where do you usually keep it?” asked Bentley.

“In my hall closet at home, near the front door.”

“You haven’t used it? For how long?”

“Oh, at least three or four days. Since that dinner at the cabin. Everyone made such a fuss about my hunting, I decided to lay off for a while. Besides, it’s been damn cold. Damn cold.”

“I see.”

“That’s the truth, I’m telling you. The truth. Ask Dwayne. He knows I haven’t been out in the woods. Actually, he’s been there himself, shooting.”

“
Shooting
?”

Roger let out a shaky wuffle of laughter. “Sorry. Shooting pictures. He’s by way of being an amateur photographer.”

“You say anyone could have taken the rifle?”

“Yes, damn it. Nobody locks their houses around here. Anyone could have come in during the last couple of days and taken it right out of the closet. It’s no secret that I own one.”

“No,” said the detective, his piggy eyes narrowing, “but not everyone would know where it was kept, would they? Can you tell me who would know that?”

“Well,” said Roger slowly, “anyone in the family, I guess. They probably know where I keep the gun, they’ve seen me take it out when I go hunting. Maybe some of the neighbors.”

“Who are your neighbors?”

“The Grunwald sisters on one side, Frank Vanderwoort on the other.”

Bentley wrote this down. “What was Bobby Fuller doing in the woods outside of town late yesterday afternoon, do you think? He didn’t usually go in for walks like that, did he?”

“No. I don’t know why he suddenly decided to be there. He didn’t call me up beforehand and ask my advice. I do know that at dinner the other night, some of the women were nagging him, telling him to get out more. That it would be good for him, you know. I find it that way myself. Salubrious. A brisk walk in the woods, don’t you know, on the lookout for game.”

“Who was telling him to get out more?”

“Oh, damn it … I don’t know. Gertie brought it up, I guess, and then my sister agreed with her. They said he was working too hard and should get out more. I think maybe
Sarah put in her two cents also. Maybe he listened to them. Maybe he had a rendezvous with someone. How would I know? We weren’t friendly.”

“Where were you, Mr. Halberstam, yesterday afternoon?”

“I was home all day,” Roger said readily. “Ask anyone. Ask Dwayne. Oh no, damn it, Dwayne was out. Well, I don’t know if I have any goddamned witnesses for my goddamned alibi. The truth of the matter is, I was home, watching television. It had snowed and I thought it was too cold to go out. I told Dwayne so, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Halberstam. Don’t go anywhere, by the way. We’ll have our eye on you.”

“Perish the thought,” Roger said jovially. He rose to his feet. “Is the interview over? May I leave?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll try not to kill anyone else while you’re around,” said Roger, in a ghastly attempt at humor. He crossed the room to stand at the door. “It would be stupid of me to try that with your hounds on the trail, wouldn’t it now? Ha ha ha!”

Dinner that night in the cabin was held in a subdued mood. Snooky and Maya did not feel much like eating, and even Bernard found that his appetite had been dampened by the day’s events. Afterward they gathered around the fire, Bernard with Misty on his lap, her head curled against his shoulder like a baby’s. The three of them sat in gloomy silence. Snooky tried to read, but after half an hour he threw the book down.

“I give up. There’s nothing like a murder to spoil the simple rustic mood. I’m going to turn in early.”

“Good idea,” said his sister. “We will too.”

As Bernard climbed into bed, he found his wife sitting up, a pensive expression on her face. “What is it?”

“I’m thinking about Snooky. Would you mind very much if we stayed on here for a while longer? I would feel
awful leaving him in the middle of this murder investigation and everything.”

“Not at all,” said Bernard bitterly. “Why don’t we sell our house and live here forever with Snooky? That would be a perfect solution.”

“I’m glad you don’t mind.”

“Yes.” Bernard rolled over onto his side and lay brooding in the pitch darkness. His vacation in Vermont had gone straight to hell. He was getting no work done at all, and people were getting shot to death outside his cabin. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Maya?” he whispered.

“Mmmhmmm?”

“Do you think that whoever killed him is still out there?”

“What?” she asked sleepily.

“You know. Out there—in the woods?”

“Oh, Bernard. Please.”

“Waiting,” breathed Bernard. His eyes grew round in the darkness. “Waiting … for another victim?”

“Bernard, please. I have to go to sleep.”

“All right. Good night.”

Maya rolled over and regarded the large bulk of her husband lovingly. “I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him, sweetheart. If you have bad dreams, wake me up, okay?”

“If I have bad dreams,” said Bernard, pulling the covers up to his chin, “I’ll be in the car and halfway home to Connecticut before I wake up myself.”

Bernard woke up the next day relieved to find himself safe and sound in bed with the sun streaming in the windows. He had had disturbed dreams, visions of himself running in circles in the woods, nightmarish moments when Bobby Fuller’s pale frozen visage floated in and out of his mind like a worm. He got out of bed, stretched, and shook himself all over.

Maya sat up and plumped the pillows behind her. “How did you sleep, sweetheart?”

“Badly.”

“So did I.”

At breakfast, Bernard made an interesting discovery, which was that an unexpected encounter with a frozen body the day before did not seem to have the power to affect his appetite this morning. He stuffed himself on eggs and bacon. Snooky, who ate very little at all times, barely touched the food. He sat back, sipping his coffee and watching Bernard with an awestruck look in his eyes.