Make Out with Murder (12 page)

It was really something to see.

“So LiCastro is crazy about tropical fish,” I said later. “I was wondering how on earth you would know somebody like him. His discus spawned, but a fungus got the eggs.”

“That usually happens.”

“He was tickled enough that he got them to spawn in the first place. He’s trying a new fungicide and he wants your opinion of it. He didn’t remember the name. He’s going to call you later.”

“And he’ll make some inquiries about Gordon McLeod?”

“That’s what he said. I had a very eerie feeling about that. I wanted to make sure he just made inquiries. I thought he might think I was asking for something more serious than inquiries. Like he might have thought I was being subtle and indicating you wanted McLeod killed if I didn’t spell things out.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure. Also I had the feeling that if you did want McLeod killed, and you said as much to LiCastro, then that would be the end of McLeod.”

“That I do not doubt,” Haig said. “Continue.”

I continued. “Jessica Trelawney drew a will a couple of weeks after Robin died. I have the date written down if it matters.”

“It may.”

“Her lawyer says that’s a common response to the death of someone close. He also says she left everything to a feminist group called Radicalesbians. I’m not making this up. He is sure the will is going to be challenged by attorneys for Caitlin Vandiver, and he told me off the record that he’s just as sure it won’t stand up. He more or less implied that he drew it in such a way as to make it easy to challenge. I’m pretty sure he’s not a big fan of Radicalesbians.”

“Indeed.”

“So no one stood to gain a penny by Jessica’s death, except for Radicalesbians, but that doesn’t prove anything because no one necessarily knew about her will. Before that she had never drawn a will, and if she had died intestate, everything would have been divided among the surviving sisters. Which is what would have happened to Robin’s money if she and Bell had died together in the car accident.”

“Car wreck,” Haig said.

“Indeed,” I said.

“Precision is important. Language is a tool, its edge must be kept sharp.”

“Indeed. Melanie did die intestate, which is a word I have now used twice in two minutes and can’t remember ever using before. I suppose it’s a part of keeping the edge of my tool sharp. So her money will be divided among Caitlin and Kim, and—”

“Between.”

“Huh?”

“One divides among three persons and between two. I don’t like to keep correcting you, Chip.”

“I can tell you don’t. I found out who Caitlin’s lawyer is, but couldn’t reach him.”

“He wouldn’t divulge information about her will anyway.”

“He probably will, because it’s Addison Shivers, but I couldn’t get to see him. Anyway, I figured he would tell us or not tell us over the phone. I would guess that her money is scheduled to go to her husband, but you can’t be sure, can you? I mean, she changes husbands pretty quickly, and if she’s not morbid she might not want to have to change her will that frequently. The problem is that I keep going out after information and I keep getting it and it doesn’t seem to get me anywhere.”

“Sooner or later everything will fit into place.”

“By that time everyone could be dead.”

“In the long run everyone always is, Chip.” He began filling a pipe, tamping down each pinch of tobacco very carefully. “We have to make haste slowly,” he went on, while making haste slowly with the pipe. “We are making progress. We are in the possession of data we previously lacked. That is progress.”

“I suppose.”

“There are cases that lend themselves to Sherlockian methodology. Cases which are solved by the substance in a man’s trouser turnups. Cases which hinge on a dog’s silence in the night or the chemical analysis of coffee grounds.” He closed his eyes and put the deliberately filled pipe back in the pipe rack. His hand went to his beard and he leaned back in his chair. “This, I think, is another sort of case entirely. There is someone somewhere with a logical reason to kill the five daughters of Cyrus Trelawney. He had a reason to sabotage Ferdinand Bell’s car, a reason to pitch Jessica Trelawney out a window, a reason to inject Melanie Trelawney with a fatal overdose of heroin. If we determine the reason, we will have determined the killer.”

He sat forward suddenly, and his eyes opened like those dolls that go sleepy-bye when you lay them down on their backs. “Do you know something, Chip? I think there’s an element of Ross MacDonald in this. I can’t avoid the feeling that the underlying motive is buried somewhere deep in the past. As though it all has its roots forty years ago, in Canada.”

“Canada?”

“A figure of speech. So often Lew Archer uncovers something that started forty years ago in Canada, you know.” He spun around in his chair and gazed at the rasboras. They didn’t seem at all self-conscious. While he let them provide inspiration, I took out my nail file and cleaned out the dirt from under my fingernails. I only tell you this so you won’t think I was just sitting there doing nothing.

He turned around again, eventually, and folded his hands on his round belly. He looked elfin but determined. “I shall call Addison Shivers,” he said. “I have some questions to ask him.”

He reached for the telephone, and it rang. So he picked it up, naturally enough. It doesn’t seem to surprise him much when things like this happen. In fact he made it look as though he had been waiting for it to ring.

He talked briefly, mostly saying things like “Yes,” and “Indeed.” Then he hung up and raised his eyebrows at me.

“Our client,” he said.

“Mr. Shivers?”

“Mrs. Vandiver. She’s at her house on Long Island. She wants to see you immediately. She says it’s rather urgent.”

Eleven

You get to Sands Point by taking the Long Island Rail Road to the Port Washington stop. I understand that there are people who do this every day. What I don’t understand is why.

I got on the train at Penn Station, and got off it at Port Washington. I stood there on the platform for a minute, and a very tall and very thin man came up to me. “You would be Mr. Harrison,” he said.

“I would,” I said. “I mean, uh, I am. Yes.”

“I am Seamus,” he said. “I’ve brought the car.”

The car was a Mercedes, about the size of Chicago. I started to get in the front next to Seamus, but stopped when he gave me a very disappointed glance. I closed the door and got in back instead. He seemed happier about this.

There was a partition between the front and rear seats, which kept Seamus and me from having to make small talk to each other. I sat back and looked out the window at one expensive home after another. Finally, we turned onto what I thought was a side road but turned out to be the Vandiver driveway. It wandered through a stand of old trees and finally led to a house.

The house gave you an idea of what God could have done if he’d had the money. That’s not my line; I read it somewhere, but I can’t think of a way to improve on it. There were these Grecian columns in front which you would think no house could live up to, and then the house went on to overpower the columns, and it was all about as impressive as anything I’ve ever seen. Caitlin and Melanie had each inherited the same amount of money, and Caitlin lived here, while Melanie had lived in Cockroach Heaven, and it wasn’t hard to feel that Caitlin had a better appreciation of creature comfort.

She was waiting for me in a room carpeted in white shag and decorated in what I think they call French provincial, The furniture did not come from the Salvation Army, There were oil paintings on the walls, including one that I recognized as a portrait of Cyrus Trelawney.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “It’s been such a bore of a day. Your drink is Irish whiskey, if I remember j correctly. Straight, with a soda chaser?”

It was the last thing I wanted, but I evidently had an image to maintain. She made the drinks, fixing herself a massive Martini, and her eyes sparkled as we touched our glasses together. “To crime,” she said.

I took a sip and avoided coughing. I’m sure it was excellent whiskey, but at that point it tasted a lot like shellac.

“I hope you didn’t mind my sending Seamus for you,” she said. “He’s not really a chauffeur. He’s more of a general houseman. I usually prefer to do my own driving, actually, but I hate waiting for anything. Especially trains, and the Long Island is hardly ever in on time. Did you have a dreadful ride?”

“It wasn’t too bad.”

“You were sweet to come. And your Mr. Haig does inspire confidence, doesn’t he? It put my mind at rest just to talk to him for a few minutes.”

“He’s quite a man,” I said.

She moved closer to me and put her hand on my arm. She was wearing the same perfume she had worn at the funeral. Her blouse was a black and white print and it was cut low in front. She was not wearing a bra.

“Let’s step outside,” she said. “Did it rain in the city? We had quite a storm out here this morning and it’s actually cooled things off a bit. It’s rather pleasant outside.”

We took our drinks and walked through some paths in back of the house to a little garden walled in by oaks and beeches. Caitlin sat down on the grass and kicked her shoes off. I stood there for a moment, then sat down next to her.

“I gather there was something you wanted to tell me,” I said.

“Oh?”

“Mr. Haig said you told him it was urgent.”

She nodded solemnly. “I said it was rather urgent that I see you.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Because I felt an urgent need to see you, Chip.” She finished her drink and set the glass down on the lawn. She sat back, her arms out behind her to support her weight, and her breasts strained against the black and white blouse. “I felt quite bored,” she said. “And quite lonely.”

“I see.”

“Do you? And of course I wanted a first-hand report on the case. Do you really think someone wants to murder me?”

“It looks that way.”

“But why?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” It occurred to me that this would be a good time to find out about her will. “Haig says motive is the big question. He wants to know who would benefit from your death.”

“Practically everyone, I imagine. I’m a very wicked woman, Chip.”

“Uh.”

“You have no idea just how wicked I can be. But of course, you’re talking about my will. It’s very straightforward, actually. Gregory and I made wills in each other’s favor at the time of our marriage. Whichever of us goes first, the other picks up all the marbles.”

“I see.”

“But I really don’t think Greg would murder me, do you? Or if he did, it wouldn’t be for money or anything so vulgar. He might kill me out of justifiable rage. I do behave rather badly, you know.” She ran her tongue over her lips. This is a very trite gesture, but she made it work anyway. “I suppose I could change my will and leave everything to Radicalesbians like my brilliant sister Jessica. Did you hear about that?”

“I just saw her lawyer today.”

“What a dimwitted dyke she was. Not that I have anything against lesbians myself. I think they limit themselves, that’s all. Like vegetarians.”

“Vegetarians?”

“Vegetables are nice, but so is meat.”

“Oh.”

“And girls are nice, but so are men.” She smiled softly. “I went through a gay period myself in my girlhood. I think I may have mentioned it to you the other day.”

“Uh, sort of.”

“I was in school at the time. There was this girl who was absolutely mad for me. She was a pretty thing, very small and dark, not like me physically at all. Her breasts just filled my hands. I liked that. She, on the other hand, was partial to large breasts. Do you like large breasts, Chip?”

“Uh, sure.”

“I thought you probably did. She told me one day what she wanted to do to me. She wanted to lick me here.” She indicated with her hand where the other girl had wanted to lick her. “So I let her. It was such heaven. She didn’t insist that I do anything in return, but do you know something, Chip? I discovered that I wanted to. I suppose it was curiosity at first, but I found I enjoyed it very much. Going down on her, that is.”

“Er.”

“I liked the taste. I’ll tell you something fascinating. At the time I only thought girls did it to each other. I didn’t imagine that a man would want to do it. But I’ve since learned that some men enjoy it very much. Have you ever done it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you enjoy doing it?”

“Yes.”

“I rather thought you might.” She opened the top buttons of her blouse. Her skin was creamy and flawless. “But to get back to what I was saying,” she said. “About lesbians and how limited they are. Now I adored eating my little friend, you understand, but then I went to bed with an older man and he taught me ever so many things, and while I still found girls amusing, I certainly wasn’t about to go without men for the rest of my life. Do you know what I particularly enjoyed?”

“What?”

“Fellatio.”

“Oh.”

“It’s such a technical term for such an intimate act, isn’t it?”

“I never thought about it.”

“You never thought about fellatio?”

“I never thought about the, uh, term, uh.”

“Such an intimate act,” she said. Her hand was on my thigh now. “I’m mad for penises. Isn’t that terrible of me? I like to feel them grow in my mouth. Oh, but yours has already grown, hasn’t it? Oh, lovely. Lovely.”

I took her by the shoulders and kissed her. Her mouth tasted of gin and tobacco and honey, and her perfume wrapped me up like a blanket. Her hand kept doing great things while we kissed.

She said, “This is a very private place, Chip. No one can see us here. We can take off all our clothes and roll around in the grass all we want.”

We took off all our clothes and rolled around in the grass a lot. Her body was delicious, taut and sleek and smooth, and if there was any age worn into it, I couldn’t tell you about it. We did a whole host of things I somehow don’t feel compelled to tell you about, and then she decided that she wanted to conclude with the thing she particularly enjoyed.