Who'll Kill Agnes? (20 page)

“If you call that work,
Aunt Hazel.
Poor Agnes! Baloney!” retorted her sister sarcastically.

“I don’t know,” said Penny quietly, avoiding any more cynicism. “I’m sure everything’s going to be better now, but yet,” she hesitated.

“But yet, what?” snapped Audrey.

“I kind of miss making fun of Agnes and goading her into saying silly things.”

“Penny, don’t be ridiculous! You never goaded her into anything. The rest of us did, well, not Kevin, exactly. Besides, you had as much reason to hate her as I did.”

“But what made Agnes act the way she did? What in her make-up or upbringing made her so cruel or seem that way to those of us knew her best? She was a human being with feelings. For that matter how can any of us justify all of the things we do?”

Audrey stared at Penny for a few minutes, slightly speechless. “Are you trying to justify something, Penny?”

“Oh no, that’s not what I mean,” she said, slightly flustered. “I mean that we all do things in life that maybe we have regrets about. But think about Agnes. Why did she treat you so bad? Did your parents spoil you and ignore her? She was older than you. What happened in those early years before you were born?”

“We’ve discussed this before, Penny. You know she was jealous of both of us. However, I don’t remember my parents showing any more affection towards me than her but maybe I wouldn’t have noticed. However, it was obvious that Aunt Hilda showered me with affection and she was the one with the money. Agnes always tormented me as we were growing up. Maybe that’s normal sibling behavior or maybe not. Neither you nor I have any other experience to compare it with. You’re an only child and have even less knowledge of sibling behavior. Besides, you were raised without parental guidance and love. You didn’t turn out to be hateful, jealous, or spiteful. I don’t know why Agnes was the ways she was.”

“But there has to be a reason why she was so-uh-domineering. Maybe if we had thought about it a long time ago, we could have done something to change her and help her.”

“Are you insane? Agnes thought herself to be superior to all of us.”

“Or maybe she felt inferior and that was her way of compensating.”

“Penny, she did terrible things to you and me and other people, too. What on earth is bringing on this sudden case of sympathy for our dear departed Agnes? First you say you miss teasing her although you never really did that and then you say you wished you could have done something to change her.”

“It’s just as I said. I think that maybe we all feel guilty about things we’ve done and then regret we did them.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

Audrey wondered why Penny was all of a sudden putting on such an innocent little act and pretending to feel guilty about Agnes. How very strange, she thought, if she hadn’t drawn the X, then she might accuse Penny. Maybe she should anyway, just for the fun of seeing her squirm
.

Oblivious to Audrey’s thoughts, Penny resumed reading
They Came to Baghdad
, her favorite Agatha Christie novel, one she had read and reread. Wistfully, she wondered if she would ever go to a faraway place and find romance. Momentarily, she thought of her parents in Africa. They were not getting any younger and neither was she. Perhaps now she could travel a bit although she needed to earn more money.

Audrey sat on one of the sofas, picked up a magazine, and idly flipped the pages. Her sardonic mood had dissipated and, she hated to admit it to herself, but part of what Penny had said was right. Life wasn’t quite the same without Agnes to ridicule but what was done was done and she had hated her sister.

Outside Bernie toweled herself off. “I’m going in and get dressed. It’s almost time for drinks, even though I don’t know why we have to have a special time for them. You coming in?”

“Naw, you know this is the time I like to lie in the sun. Can’t burn this time of day.” After he watched Bernie go inside, he floated on his back a while then got out of the pool and lay on a reclining chair, relaxing as the late afternoon heat penetrated his body.

Audrey and Penny were still reading when Lester and Bernie walked in. Lester bounced cheerfully to the bar.

“Up, you two lazy biddies! I’m going to propose a toast. And I got champagne for it!”

“We’re drinking champagne before dinner?” asked Audrey.

“And why not?” he retorted gleefully. “What’s the difference between that and your usual vodka martini?”

“There’s a lot of difference. But you’re right. Who the hell cares? We can do what we want.”

“Damn right we can!” He opened the small refrigerator beneath the wet bar and pulled out a bottle of fine French champagne. He popped the cork and poured the bubbly liquid into crystal glasses and passed them around.

“Now, ladies, to whoever put those greens in Agnes’ salad, whether it was me,” he said with eyes twinkling and gleaming, “or one of you, it was a damn clever job!”

They clinked glasses but Penny sputtered, “Lester, it’s supposed to have been an accident. Like Agnes did it to herself.”

“Good show, Penny! Keep it up! All of you!”

“It might have been an accident, Lester,” argued Audrey.

“Might a been, might a been, but damned unlikely coming so soon after we drew to kill her. Nope, I honestly believe whoever drew that X was one smart dame-uh-person.” He reveled in observing their expressions, which ranged from bewilderment to shock to fright. Even Bernie was being unusually quiet, although she was downing the champagne with enthusiasm.

“Now,” he continued, “I got a call a few minutes ago from one of the Bobbsey Twins, that damn Donovan. They’re going to have an inquest, dammit, and it’s going to be day after tomorrow, which is Friday. We could have the funeral tomorrow but I’d rather wait until the inquest is over. If all goes well, we’ll have the funeral Saturday morning and the reading of the will that afternoon. Then we’ll be home free!” He almost let out a childish yippee he was that excited.

“But if it doesn’t go well?” whined Penny.

“Dammit, Penny, and the rest of you. Abbott and Costello ain’t got spit on nobody. We stick to our stories. Why even Kevin and Mark have fallen into the plan. Of course, they don’t know it but that’s what makes this so believable. Lordy, whoever thought of them greens was a damn genius. Another toast!”

The Henley householders praised Mark that evening for a delicious meal. Nonetheless, they were unusually subdued.

Mark figured they were still acting that way in deference to Kevin who seemed to have gotten a grip on himself and was dealing quite well with his grief. Mark was puzzled by the behavior of the others, such as respectful in front of Kevin but snickering in his absence, especially Lester. Bernie’s behavior was strange. True, she and Agnes had not cared for each other but Bernie had a dazed look as if she were in some kind of dreamland
.
What was she up to, he wondered, or had she already done something? At least Kevin didn’t seem to notice anything different. Mark concluded that his imagination was getting away from him.

Penny couldn’t go to sleep. The upcoming inquest terrified her. She prayed for the result to be accidental death, or perhaps, suicide. But no, that idea would be preposterous. Donovan was a smart man in spite of his bad grammar and hayseed ways. Of course he wouldn’t conduct the inquest but he did seem to be conducting some sort of investigation. From what she had read in mystery novels, she assumed the coroner would be in charge of the inquest. If she understood correctly, the verdict could just read causes and/or perpetrator unknown. But the cause was known. Would Donovan or the medical examiner convince the coroner that there was a perpetrator? Donovan was hard to read. Was he suspicious or just doing his job? But what if he did convince the coroner that foul play was suspected? What happened then?

Paranoia continued to sweep over Penny. “What if each of us has to take a polygraph test?” The horror of that thought sent shivers of fear ricocheting through her body. By the way the others looked at her, she knew that they knew she had drawn the X. “They’re always snapping at me to shut up, especially Audrey. But could any of the four of us pass a polygraph test? What if, say, Bernie revealed the X plot? Then the focus would turn on me. How could I deny having drawn that dratted X on a polygraph?”

Penny tossed and turned worrying herself into a frenzy.

Audrey couldn’t sleep either with thoughts of the inquest running through her mind.

“Lester is so sure of himself, the smarmy bastard! He knows he didn’t draw that X. But does he suspect me? If he points a finger at me, I’ll deny ever having drawn that blasted thing. And I’ll damn sure inform that fat Donovan that it was all Lester’s idea. Wouldn’t that make him an accomplice or something? If I have to go down, then we’re all going down. But we’re not going to. We must stick to our stories and our alibis. That little dimwit Penny better not crack either. Why the hell she acts the way she does, I’ll never know. With her scared rabbit guilty act you’d think she’d drawn the X. If she or Bernie ever lets out what we did, I’ll kill either one, I swear, and Lester, too. But what’s the matter with me? It’s beneficial to all of us to keep the plot a secret. But are the others smart enough to realize that?”

Bernie lay beside a peacefully sleeping Kevin. Unlike Penny and Audrey, her mind was far removed from the inquest. She wasn’t sure what an inquest was and didn’t know that it might be a cause for worry. As far as she was concerned, the X business was over. The deed was done. Agnes was dead and no one would talk. Besides, they all alibied each other. No, her main interest now was her life and position at Henley House and how she was going to adapt to the change.

Unknowingly, Mark had gauged her demeanor perfectly. She was indeed in dreamland!

But Lester was suddenly worried. His earlier glee had evaporated. True, the plant-poisoning scheme had been a stroke of genius.

“But those women have to keep quiet. If anyone of them breaks down then the spotlight turns on me. But why would they? The inquest should go okay if all of them stick to their alibis. Bless Kevin and Mark for their comments. That fool Donovan can’t possibly suspect me, the grieving husband of the town’s leading benefactress. How could anybody outside of this house think someone would want to harm his dearly beloved Agnes Henley? Just as long as Donovan and the coroner don’t think about motives and my inheritance. Naw, everybody’s got to keep calm and cool. They just got to. Those whiny women better keep quiet. Ah, what’s the matter with me? Ain’t nobody in this town going to think a murder took place here.”

He slept fitfully.

Donovan propped himself in bed beside May Belle who was reading a new history textbook. He had read the sports section of the newspaper several times trying not to think about Agnes Henley.

“What you reading, hon?” he asked not really caring. He just needed to discuss something, anything, to forget that plant-poisoning problem.

“They’ve assigned us a new text book and I’m familiarizing myself with it.”

“Now, that’s damn crazy. History is history. Why would anyone have to write a new text book?”

“Because,” said his patient wife, “they, whoever they are, have to keep world events as current as possible. Just think how much more kids have to learn today than when we were young.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said morosely.

“You seem rather down. I don’t mean to pry but is it that Agnes Henley business?”

“Uh-huh. Say, you went to that garden party of hers. Did you notice her mixing up plants or something like that?”

May Belle stifled a guffaw. “Oh, my goodness, don’t tell me that’s what she did? Poisoned herself with her own plants!”

“Well, you know I shouldn’t say nothing until the inquest and the case is officially closed but that’s what it looks like.”

“My, my.” May Belle turned off the bedside lamp and, turning her back to Donovan, almost laughed herself to sleep
.
Poor, poor Agnes.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Friday, June 7
^th
and Saturday, June 8
^th

The inquest began Friday afternoon in a straightforward manner. Each member of the Henley household answered his or her questions simply and succinctly. Alibis were corroborated. Not only did the Henley entourage explain Agnes’ proclivity for mispronunciation, so did her coworkers. In fact, the testimony of Shirley Gates and Annie Pilston seemed to be what clinched the verdict.

If anything was out of the ordinary, it was the testimony of the two girls who appeared in outlandish costumes of baggy pants, low-cut tank tops, dangling earrings, and army boots. Their hair was spiked and multi-colored in an out-of-style “punk-do” with no indication what their original hair color might have been.

Mark whispered to Audrey, “You mean to tell me that Miz Agnes hired girls who looked like that?”

“No, no. They dressed decently in little uniforms. But remember, they didn’t last long,” she whispered back, “and this is their summertime attire.”

Although her appearance was unorthodox, Chenequel spoke quietly, uttering a polite “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” in response to the questions put to her. Shetekia, however, responded differently.

“She never pronounced my name right. At first she called me Senekia. Then later on she’d say, ‘Oh, Sneaky-O, come here, darling.’ Made me want to puke, I can tell you. Once she kept talking about someone, called Chinkwell. I thought she meant some boy, then I realized she was talking about Chenequel. I don’t mean to talk bad about no dead person but that lady was crazy, especially if she mixed me and Chenequel up with plants.”

Lester was on the verge of exploding with laughter. Little giggles kept burbling through his nose as he fought to restrain himself. People around him thought he was crying and patted him on the back, saying “There, there now.” He had to keep his face down, buried in his hands while his body shook and convulsed.