Who'll Kill Agnes? (7 page)

Her mind jolted back to an excruciating fact. She had drawn the X, parlor game or not, and she more than anyone, probably even more than Les, wanted Agnes out of their lives but could she actually murder her own sister?

After Kevin had fallen asleep, Bernie took a long, hot shower. “Thank heaven I drew that silly X. Kill Agnes? Damn, what a laugh! But could I get what I wanted that way? And get away with it? Living here is divine.”

The hot water cascaded down her slight figure as she remembered cold showers in her family’s trailer where hot water was at a premium with her large family. She trembled as she recalled her home life with her abusive father, alcoholic mother, squabbling younger siblings, and the annoying police showing up every time her father got out of control. Living with Agnes was a piece of cake compared to all that and there were things she wanted from the old biddy.

“Could I get them if she was dead? After all, old Lester likes me. Things would sure be different around here. At least it’s up to me to kill her or not. I wonder why the others hate her so much. If I did it, will they really back me up? Give me that alibi? Like Lester said, I am a Tucker. How could I do it? Shoot her? Where would I get the gun? Stab her? Agnes is bigger than I am. Of course that never bothered my daddy. He’s stabbed plenty of men bigger than himself
.
”

She stepped out of the shower and toweled herself off. She still couldn’t believe how many rooms that she and Kevin had to themselves in their suite. The bedroom ran along the front of the house on the second floor but each of them had a private dressing room and bath, one on each side of the bedroom. Her whole family had had to use one tiny bathroom in the trailer. The Henley lifestyle had amazed and bedazzled her. She smiled as she remembered how her mother had warned her about upsetting the applecart and getting thrown out by Agnes Henley, not that Kevin would ever let that happen.

She walked into the master suite still nude, climbed into bed, and snuggled next to Kevin. “Hell, why worry about it?” she thought to herself. “If I can think of a way to do it and not get caught, well, why not? No matter what, I got it made here. A dead Agnes or a live Agnes? Do I care?”

She fell asleep, hugging Kevin, the son of her potential victim, and unlike Penny and Audrey, not disturbed by any moral dilemmas.

Lester lay in his bed in his rooms on the third floor, a suite that took up almost one half of the floor while Agnes naturally had the larger suite. Although his furnishings were sparse compared to those in the other suites, he lived in comfort. The back staircase came up from the garage and opened to the door of his suite. Agnes had thought it appropriate that he should be the one to have access to the garage. She never considered that he might use the staircase as a getaway route.

But tonight, escaping to another sanctuary wasn’t on his mind. He was beside himself with anticipation. Would any of them take him seriously? Or all of them? Would one actually try to do it? And succeed?

“What was it that Penny had said? The Orient Express? Maybe each one will get up in the middle of the night and stab Agnes, not knowing that the others were doing likewise. But if each one did try to kill her, would they each use the same method? Stabbing would be messy, and a full-scale investigation would enfold. But hell, I told them to make it look like an accident. So, maybe they’ll each try to smother her. Agnes locks her door, but it’s an old lock and easy to jiggle open. And the way she snores, she’d never hear anything.”

Lester giggled himself to sleep dreaming of riches to come with his wife dead and buried.

Agnes was neither stabbed nor smothered during the night. She was alive and well the next morning and, as she arose, oblivious to any malevolent thoughts that might dwell in the minds of her family, she began a secret, private, gratifying ritual. When she and Lester moved to the third floor, she discovered a “hidey hole” in the floor of her bedroom. In the hole, a long gone maid had hidden little treasures that she had probably stolen from her employers. Agnes purchased a small safe and fitted it into the hole. There she kept her most private possessions and papers. Every morning she would pull back her carpet, open the safe, and lift out Aunt Hilda’s priceless, rare emerald collection, which had been purchased in Europe over a hundred years ago by her shipping magnate ancestor. Agnes would sit on a purple velveteen cushion and caress each piece lovingly.

This morning she was particularly absorbed in admiring the necklace, an elaborate piece of jewelry that combined large emeralds with small diamonds. As she rubbed the necklace dreamily across her cheek, she thought she heard her door creak. As she threw the necklace recklessly into the safe, she jerked around and called out, “Lester, is that you? How dare you open my door without knocking!”

Shaking, she jumped up, ran to the door, opened it, and peered into the small, empty hallway. She crossed to Lester’s room and pounded on the door. There was no answer. She pushed it open and went in.

“Lester, are you here?”

“What the hell?” he said, stepping out of his bathroom with shaving cream on his face.

“Did you just now try to open my door?” she asked angrily.

“No, I did not. I’m shaving. Why? Did something happen?”

“No, no I guess not. I thought I heard something.”

Disconsolate, she returned to her room. “Was I imagining noises that weren’t there? This is an old house, and old houses creak from time to time. Did I lock my door last night? Nobody, but nobody, especially Audrey, must ever find out about my jewelry. She has no right to it and there’s no reason for her to know about it.”

Lester remained standing in the bathroom doorway. Had one of the women tried to do something then lost her nerve at the last moment? But damn stupid to try in the morning when Agnes was up. Still, this was good, this was promising.

CHAPTER FOUR

Monday, June 3rd

Expecting Agnes to arrive for breakfast with her usual eight o’clock punctuality, Mark had homemade, deep-fried cake doughnuts rolled in cinnamon sugar waiting for her. The others would drift down slowly, one at a time, during the course of the morning, nibble at whatever pastry or goodie that Mark had set out, and drink juice and coffee. Except for Bernie, they didn’t eat as heartily as did Agnes, at least not for breakfast. Lester was strictly a coffee man not caring to eat in the morning. Audrey and Penny nibbled while Bernie would eat everything that was left over. Between her and Agnes the pastries disappeared. Agnes was the only one who wanted something else with the pastries, usually an egg dish.

Upon arrival at Henley House, Mark soon learned the morning and lunch eating habits of the residents and adjusted his menus to suit everyone, including himself. He arose early each day and made breakfast pastries or similar sweet concoctions, a different one for each day of the week. Cake doughnuts were served on Monday mornings, French toast and maple syrup followed on Tuesday, pancake rolls filled with melted butter and brown sugar were Wednesday’s fare, fruit strudel on Thursdays, cinnamon rolls for Friday, fried fruit pies on Saturday, and Sundays were devoted to gigantic blueberry muffins dripping with melted butter. The recipes had been handed down for generations from his mother’s family and were the only ones that he did not tamper with. He thoroughly enjoyed his mornings in the large, well-equipped kitchen, concocting sugary cholesterol-filled goodies, which were probably clogging the arteries of the inhabitants of Henley House, a notion that didn’t bother him at all.

“Ah, Marcel,” drooled Agnes as she entered the small breakfast nook next to the kitchen, “the doughnuts smell divine.”

“Tank-you, muh-dom,” he replied as he helped her sit down then poured her a cup of coffee. “What else would you like this morning?”

“I think perhaps a cheese omelet.”

“Very good, muh-dom,” he said as he retreated to the kitchen to whip up a speedy omelet.

Agnes sipped her coffee and gobbled one of the doughnuts. Mark soon returned with the requested omelet and a small glass of orange juice.

“Oh, exquisite, exquisite,” she gushed.

While Agnes ate, Mark set out a breakfast buffet for the rest of the family on a side board in the breakfast nook: the doughnuts, milk and juice cartons in ice buckets, the coffee maker ever ready with hot coffee, and a bowl of fruit. He stood back, admired his cookery, re-entered the kitchen and began planning an elaborate salad buffet because Agnes expected guests for lunch.

Since Agnes was the only one who could be depended upon to eat lunch at home, Mark had soon discovered that the easiest way to satisfy everyone was to set out soup and sandwiches, made from leftovers of the previous night’s dinner, unless Agnes instructed otherwise. If the others wanted to eat at home, fine, if not, then no harm was done. The rest of his day was spent planning and preparing dinner. The job was relatively easy, even fun and creative, and, best of all, Agnes paid a ridiculous sum for the prestige of employing an “authentic” French chef. Just how long the job would last depended in part on how long Agnes could be fooled. What her reaction would be if she did find out didn’t worry Mark. At any rate, Kevin had said that he would handle that eventuality.

Around ten o’clock, Bernie wandered into the empty breakfast nook, poured herself a cup of coffee, adding great dollops of real cream and spoonful after spoonful of sugar, and picked up a couple of doughnuts. Armed with sugar, caffeine, and cholesterol she slowly made her way outside to the patio where Audrey was reclining in the early summer sunshine, enjoying a hot mug of black coffee.

“Goodness, Bernie, how do you stay so skinny with all those calories?”

“Huh? When I’m hungry, I got to eat,” she replied as she sank into the cushiony comfort of a patio chair. Bernie had gone hungry most of her young life. Living at Henley House and indulging in Mark’s rich cuisine, or so it seemed to her, had introduced her to a way of life, especially regarding food, she had never dreamed possible.

“But how do you stay so skinny?” Audrey repeated. “You’re always eating and you never do anything like exercise to keep the weight off.” Audrey thought that Bernie was the laziest person she had ever met. She didn’t do anything except lounge around all day or go shopping. “I mean, at least Penny and I take long walks. Agnes works in the garden, although she’s still fat. Kevin swims everyday. What I’m trying to say is, well, we all have some kind of exercise regimen.”

“I swim,” Bernie stated defiantly.

“You float. I’ve never seen you swim a stroke.”

“Well, maybe. But I like to dive in. You know, take a running jump.”

“Yes, I’m sure that explains your slim physique,” retorted Audrey sarcastically.

“What about Lester? He’s skinny and he doesn’t do anything.”

“Yes, that’s true, but he doesn’t eat as much as you either.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen him eat pizza until he almost passes out.”

Both women laughed then fell silent for a few minutes. Audrey wondered if being a newlywed contributed to Bernie’s metabolism. All that sexual energy. She smiled as she contemplated how Agnes would react if someone mentioned to her that Bernie stayed slim because of sex with Kevin.

Bernie sat staring at the pool. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. Would it be possible to push Agnes in and hold her under until she drowned?

“Does Agnes ever go swimming?” she asked.

Audrey raised an eyebrow. “Why on earth do you want to know that?”

“Oh, I was just thinking how funny she’d probably look in a bathing suit,” Bernie replied innocently.

“Grotesque is more like it. No, I haven’t seen her swim in years, not since her weight gain.”

“You mean she wasn’t always fat?”

“Oh no, far from it.”

“So, she does know how to swim?”

“More or less. As kids, we used to swim here at Aunt Hilda’s. The Briars were among the first families to have a swimming pool. It was a prestige thing.”

“Wow!”

Audrey wondered what was on Bernie’s mind and why she cared if Agnes swam or not. The two again remained silent while they sipped their coffee and enjoyed the twittering of birds, the aroma of honeysuckle from Agnes’ hodge-podge garden, and the warm breeze that rippled the pool.

Suddenly Bernie interrupted the silence with a short remark followed by a question that jarred Audrey. “So, about last evening. You think one of us will do it?”

“You mean-uh-the drawing?” Audrey had avoided thinking about the cursed X that she had drawn. Naturally, Bernie would have no qualms in bringing up the subject. Bernie had very few qualms about anything.

“Yeah. But what I want to know is why you and Penny hate her so much? You all know how she treats me.”

“Yes, but I’ll give you credit for one thing. Agnes herself says you’re tough as nails. She’s very careful with you because she doesn’t want to offend Kevin. But watch out for her. That woman is dangerous and very sneaky.”

Bernie laughed, “Oh, I’m not afraid of her but she sure has the rest of you quaking. Look at how henpicked poor Les is.”