Who'll Kill Agnes? (23 page)

“Can I even possibly get a job considering how Agnes damaged my reputation so many years ago? Why did it take me so long to realize that it was Agnes all along who had been behind my misfortunes? Can I ever prove what Agnes did and will anyone, anywhere even care? It was Audrey all along who tried to convince me of Agnes’ guilt but can I depend on her for help now? At least I can admit to being Aunt Hazel. But Audrey’s been so hostile since the reading of the will. Why? She gave me my alibi but can I still trust her? Oh, if only I could leave, just walk away from this house and my past, start life anew. But how?”

Bernie slept contentedly alongside Kevin, dreaming of a future full of riches and luxury.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sunday, June 9
^th
and Monday, June 10
^th

After Sunday dinner, which Donovan and May Belle ate at the new Steak House Restaurant following morning church services, Donovan puttered around morosely in his backyard. The hairs still bristled on the back of his neck and he couldn’t get Agnes Henley out of his mind.

“It had to have been an accident, dammit. No two ways about it. Only one person with a motive that being Lester and he had an unbreakable alibi. No way he could have sneaked back to his house, served a poisonous salad to Agnes, and sneaked back to town. You can’t sneak in this town, especially that distance, without half the population seeing you. But say for argument it wasn’t an accident? Then who did it?”

“What are you mumbling to yourself?” May Belle had suddenly appeared, carrying a Tricia Lee romance novel in one hand and dragging a lawn chair with the other. “Still preoccupied with Agnes?”

“Yeah,” he muttered as he watched her set up her chair.

“So, who are you suspicious of?” she inquired, cutting right to the quick of the matter.

“Well, if it’s murder, then it’s Mark. He was the last one to see her as far as anyone knows, and he had the opportunity.”

“But what’s the motive?”

“None that I know of. But what the hell is he doing working there as a French chef?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Oh, they’ve all said it was for a joke.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?”

“The joke’s still going on. He’s still there. Why? I want to know.”

“Then ask.”

“Maybe I will but, officially, the case is closed.”

They were silent a while then she commented, “I bet it really was an accident. Agnes Henley was a dotty, snotty loon.”

“Gawdamighty! How can you say that? That dear lady!” His hairs bristled overtime. “I swear, what’s the matter with all you people? Shirley Gates, them two girls, her own family talking about her like she wasn’t too bright. You’d almost think there was a conspiracy to belittle that poor lady. I mean, look at all she’s done for this town. ”

His wife smiled complacently and picked up her book. She knew there was no point arguing with Harold when he had his mind set on something. Agnes Henley was dead and buried and had died a terrible death but, although she had provided amusement at times, she had also annoyed a lot of people. And that was putting it mildly. May Belle hoped that Harold would eventually come to understand, with an occasional comment from her, that Agnes hadn’t been exactly the person she had pretended to be and that he shouldn’t waste any more time on her. She felt there were a lot more important matters going on in Magnolia Creek that needed his attention than the accidental death of Agnes Henley.

“Gossip hot line, Chief!” yelled Metson as he reported to work Monday morning.

“What you talking about?” growled Donovan.

“It’s all over town. Miz Agnes left everything to Kevin, even the family jewels, except for the four thousand dollars that Lester has to get according to the law. Lester and Miss Audrey are fit to be tied.”

“How the hell you know all that?”

“Down at The Cracked Cup this morning, ole man Robeson’s telling everybody about the reading of the will.”

“And how, pray tell, would he know about that?”

“Seems Mark got to listen in on it and called his dad as soon as he could.”

“Well, well, well.”

“Then them Tuckers walked in just as I was finishing my toast and coffee and started bragging about Miz Bernadette becoming an ‘air-ass’. I swear to gawd that’s what they said,” he laughed. “And she’s going to inherit the ‘air-loom’ jewelry what should go to Miss Audrey.”

“Well, well, well,” repeated Donovan. “I think we might pay the Henleys a visit.”

“Then the case ain’t closed?”

“Oh, sure it is, but I ain’t satisfied. It won’t hurt nothing to drop in for coffee and ask how everyone is getting along. You know, show sympathy and respect for a prominent family in mourning. Sounds like Lester and Miss Audrey might be mourning more than the loss of Miz Agnes, the loss of their inheritance. They don’t have to know we’re still nosing around.”

“You think you’ll get anything out of them?”

“Never know. Somebody might let their hair or their defenses down, you just never know. Let’s get some of this paper work done today then head out there around eight o’clock tonight. Speaking of hair, I been wanting to ask Miss Audrey about that red hair business and I’d sure like to sample Mark Robeson’s cooking.”

“Thought you didn’t think red hair had anything to do with Miz Agnes’ death.”

“I don’t but it’s still nagging at me anyway. Besides, what if years later some Johnny-come-lately pokes his nose into this case and wants to know why didn’t I investigate further?”

“You really think that’ll happen?”

“Naw, not really,” he laughed. “But we ought to check it anyway and check Mark’s French cooking, too.”

“At eight o’clock? What would he serve then?”

“Are you forgetting? Oar-doves, of course.”

“Think it’s ever going to rain this summer?” asked Metson as he and Donovan drove up to Henley House.

“Who knows?” growled Donovan. “It’s damned hot and not even July or August yet. Don’t know if rain would help. The humidity would make the heat worse.”

“Well, let’s just hope our new central cooling down at the station works like it’s supposed to.”

“Why wouldn’t it? At least this evening we’re going to enjoy a nice, cool house. Let’s see what kind of hospitality we’re going to get.”

They got out of the cruiser and walked onto the small porch.

Mark opened the front door, “Officers, good evening.”

“Marcel,” replied Donovan sarcastically. “Is Miss Audrey here tonight? We’d like to have a quiet word or two with her.” He glanced upwards at the high, darkened ceiling wondering what the chandelier looked like when it was lit up.

“Yes, sir, I think she’s upstairs in her room. I’ll get her for you.” He started to usher them into the library.

“Uh, how about us meeting with her in the living room? I ain’t seen that room yet.”

“As you wish, sir.”

While Mark opened the door on the right, Donovan whispered to Metson that he sure would like to see the upstairs rooms. Mark then snapped on the light and indicated that they should enter, pretending not to have heard Donovan’s remark.

Donovan and Metson stood for a few seconds, their mouths agape at their surroundings.

“Lordamighty,” said Donavan. “You’d think we’d been sent back in time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a room like this in real life, just in movies.”

“Whew, chief, you sure you want to sit on them dainty little chairs or that pretty little sofa?”

The room was decorated in a baby blue color. The walls had a floral motif with roses and carnations. The curtains and upholstery of the chairs and sofa all matched the walls. White wicker end tables and coffee tables stood harmoniously around the furniture. China vases with artificial flowers adorned some of the tables. Delicate-looking lamps stood on some of the end tables. The room reeked of antiquity and femininity.

“Whew,” exclaimed Donovan, “I bet ole Lester never spent much time in here.”

“Oh no, sir, only Miz Agnes when she entertained her friends. This room has always been off limits to the rest of the family. We just sort of pretend that it isn’t here.”

Donovan bristled as Mark said “we” as if he were part of the family and not an employee. “Well, now that Miz Agnes is no longer with you, are you going to use it?”

“We haven’t so far, sir.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. Are the rooms upstairs as chintzy as this one?”

“I’ve only been on the balcony, sir, whenever there was a need to bring someone downstairs but I have glanced into the rooms. Miss Audrey and Miss Penny have rather heavy furniture and the rooms seem kind of, well, gloomy. Kevin and Miz Bernie, on the other hand, have a light airy room furnished with modern, comfortable furniture.”

“You don’t say,” said Donovan. “Let’s go into the library and wait for Miss Audrey.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Uhhh, before you get her, you got any of them fancy oar-doves around? I sure have heard a lot of compliments about your cooking,” Donovan stated not quite truthfully. No one had described Mark’s cooking to him, a fact that whetted his curiosity even more.

“Very good, sir,” Mark repeated, continuing to counter Donovan’s down-home act with his own best butlerish one, not in the least daunted by the officer’s cornpone approach. “I’ll bring some canapés.”

After he had left them in the library, Metson turned to Donovan in horror. “Can a peas? What the hell we gonna do with a can of peas? I thought you said he’d at least serve us chips and cheese dip. Maybe some chili on top.”

“Well, I guess I was wrong. Some French chef he is. Doesn’t even know what an oar-dove is. Probably saw a can of them little bitty petite peas and thought that was a French delicacy.”

“Maybe you should a said horse-doors like I been saying all along.”

“Aren’t you listening, man? Mark Robeson knows less French than you or me. I wanted to see his French food act in person and what do I get? A can of damned peas! Makes me wonder about Miz Agnes, I’ll tell you, and the state of her mental health.”

“Well, the inquest showed she was a little nuts.”

“I know, but why did her loving family want to play a joke on her having Mark masquerade as a French chef? It ain’t right, Daryl. I’m telling you it ain’t right.”

Mark returned with a tray laden with small round crackers covered with a black, bubbly-crunchy looking topping.

“Caviar, gentlemen?” offered Mark.

Surprised, the two policemen each hesitantly picked up a cracker and tentatively bit into it, whereupon Metson immediately choked and spat his out. “What the hell! I’d a preferred the damn peas!”

“Oh, it’s not too bad if you don’t look at what you’re eating,” munched Donovan. “Kind of salty. So this is caviar. Just what is caviar, anyway?”

“Fish eggs, sir.” Mark maintained a stoic demeanor.

“Gawdamighty,” gulped Donovan as he pushed the tray away.

“Perhaps you gentlemen would prefer cheese and crackers?”

“Now that’s more like it!” exclaimed Metson greedily.

“Hold on,” said Donovan, no longer trusting Mark, “just what kind of cheese?”

“Bleu cheese. It goes well with caviar.”

“Forget it! Cheese is supposed to be yellow.”

“And whatever happened to cheese dip?” muttered Metson under his breath.

“Anyway,” said Donovan, “we came here to see Miss Audrey, not stuff ourselves.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll go up for her now.”

After he had shut the library door, Mark collapsed on the stairs, convulsed with silent laughter. He didn’t have any bleu cheese, but if they had accepted his offer, he would have mixed blueberry preserves with the desired cheese dip and served it on Melba toast. He thought it was too bad that they didn’t want it. He was sure they would’ve enjoyed it
.
The caviar, however, had been authentic enough. Agnes had bought it at the supermarket shortly after Mark had come to work for her. She had been amazed, and impressed, at how expensive such a small jar was and had told Mark to hold it for something special. She then forgot all about it. Mark decided he would eat what the officers had left, which was all of it except two crackers, for a midnight snack. He loved the stuff.

Inside the library Metson asked, “How come he’s acting like an uppity butler? I thought he was just the cook.”

“How the hell should I know?” snarled Donovan. “Maybe he got a promotion. This is getting to be the nuttiest house I ever seen. I’m beginning to think poor Miz Henley didn’t die of an accident.”

“But you been suspicious all along, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, sort of. But now I’m thinking maybe it was deliberate suicide.”

“Why, for gawd’s sake?”

“Only way for her to get away from this fruitcake place!”

“Oh!” laughed Metson nervously, “you had me going there for a minute.”

“Gentlemen, how may I help you?” Audrey entered the library, elegant and graceful, with a hint of arrogance. She was dressed in a tailored, form-fitting sheath of beige brocade. Her blonde hair was upswept into her usual French chignon. Tiny gold earrings adorned her ears.

Audrey presented the kind of class Donovan always expected to find in Henley House. He looked her over as he admired her entrance.

“We’ve come to see how you’re doing, Miss Audrey, and, well, uh,” he stumbled.

“And what, Chief Donovan?” She eyed him skeptically and haughtily.

“Well, how’s the rest of the household doing? I mean, dealing with Miz Agnes’ death and, uh, Kevin inheriting and all.”

“What?” She was clearly aghast. “How-how could you think that Kevin had inherited?”

“You mean it’s not true?” Donovan gave a sideways glance at Metson as if to say, you and your gossip.
“Kevin didn’t inherit?”

“Oh, I just can’t believe this,” she moaned, completely astounded. “We weren’t going to tell anyone. At least the others weren’t. I, well, I was going to wait a while to see what Kevin was going to do to see if he was going to give me my aunt’s-er-things and if he didn’t, then I was going to a lawyer to see if I could contest the will.” She paused, horrified at herself for revealing so much. “But how did you know?”