Smoke and Mirrors (44 page)

"Except for Kay being dead? No."

"Cardoza, I must insist," Laurence began.

"Oh, do be quiet, Mr. Laurence," Erin exclaimed. Laurence blinked. He looked, as Nick said later, almost human in his surprise.

"I think I know what you want," Erin said. "As Mr. Laurence has said, it doesn't take much intelligence to figure out what must have happened. If Kay had died of natural causes, you wouldn't be here. And you know about the sleeping pills; so you must be looking for something else. A bottle, or a container of some kind. I didn't see anything like that. I didn't see anything unusual."

"Oh, we found the container, " Cardoza said calmly. "At least we found an empty bottle with a few grains of white powder in the bottom. The pharmacist's label had been torn off. It was in the medicine chest in the bathroom."

"White powder? " Nick repeated.

"Yes, the conventional, sinister white powder," Cardoza smiled. "It may turn out to be something as harmless as aspirin. We won't know until it has been analyzed."

"I never saw any unlabeled bottles," Erin said. "Not on her bedside table, anyway. We did share the bathroom, but I didn't put anything in the medicine chest; I can't remember ever opening it, in fact. I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible."

"The perfect guest. Was it you who cleaned the room after . . . afterward? I noticed the bed has been stripped, the wastebaskets emptied. "

"No. It was one of the cleaning women, I think. I offered to do it, but I was needed elsewhere."

"I see. Well, I think that does it—for now. Thank you, Miss Hartsock."

"Aren't you going to ask me anything?" Nick demanded.

Cardoza's placid gaze rested on him. "No, Mr. McDermott, I've changed my mind. Is there something you want to tell me?"

"No. No, I guess not."

"Then I'll be going. Give my regards to Mrs. Marshall, will you please?' A sudden, unexpected grin lit his face. "Tell her she's got my vote."

Instead of following Cardoza downstairs, Laurence stayed with them. Not until they heard the distant sound of the front door closing did he speak.

"Where is Rosemary?"

"In her office, I suppose. ' It wasn't the question Erin had expected. "I'm sorry, Mr. Laurence, I shouldn't have spoken so rudely."

"I had it coming. ' The columnist smiled ruefully. "If people would slap me down more often I might not be so obnoxious. Look here, you two, developments have taken a nasty turn. I know Cardoza, he used to be one of the best homicide detectives in Washington. "

"But he said he was working with the sheriff's office," Erin objected. "He didn't say anything about homicide. "

"It's either homicide or suicide," Laurence replied curtly. "You displayed commendable acumen in your analysis, my dear. Cardoza wouldn't be looking for other drugs if Kay died from an overdose of medication she was known to have possessed. He let you off too easily. He didn't ask any of the obvious questions. So he'll be back. The next time, he'll be just as charming—that's one of his trademarks—and a lot more persistent. Sooner or later, he'll find out about the fires. Perhaps he's already made the connection; the incident in the graveyard was well publicized. '

Nick had been fidgeting like a bored schoolboy, cracking his knuckles, shifting from one foot to the other. Erin knew why he was so nervous; she sympathized completely. But she wished he would control himself. He looked like a guilty felon. Laurence's reference to the fires was too much for him.

"With all respect, Mr. Laurence, I wish you'd get the hell out of here," he burst out. "All this intellectual speculation is a waste of time, and there's something—there are a lot of things I ought to be doing."

Laurence gave Nick a look that was almost affectionate. "I know you don't like me, Nick. Can't say I blame you. But with all respect to
you,
you are unaware of certain matters that make this
situation very frightening and potentially dangerous. I'd like to take you wholly into my confidence. I would do so if I could; but it isn't my secret. "

"Secret?" Nick repeated, his eyes widening.

"I have to talk to Rosemary."

Rosemary was nowhere to be found.

"I've no idea where she is," Christie insisted. Unlike the others in the office, who were visibly wilted after a long day, she appeared as fresh and well-groomed as ever. Her black eyes snapped as she responded to Laurence's insistent questions. "She left me in charge, told me to field questions and calls for the rest of the evening. If you think I can't handle it—"

"That was the farthest thing from my thoughts. " Laurence's attempt at a smile produced only a grotesque grimace. "Rosemary is fortunate to have such a splendid deputy. I'm worried about her, that's all. This has been a ghastly experience for her."

"Yes." Christie's lips clamped together. She wasn't going to say anything that might appear in print.

Rosemary was not in her room, or in the commons room. The latter was unoccupied and dark until Nick turned on the lights. "Where the hell is everybody?" he asked.

"Good question." Laurence thought for a moment. Then he said crisply, "I'm not concerned about Will. I presume he's gone home; even a workaholic has to relax sometimes. Joe was in town this afternoon; he had a dinner appointment, so he's accounted for. Where is Jeff?"

Erin had expected the question and had believed she was braced for it, but Laurence shot the words at her like bullets, and the startling change in his manner had weakened her defenses. She had never seen him like this—curt, direct, all his irritating mannerisms in abeyance. Worst of all, he was afraid. She could feel his fear, like a cold, clammy aura.

She said, "I don't know," but her voice was breathy and unconvincing. Nick said nothing.

Laurence's eyes shifted from her to Nick and back again. "You do know something," he said. "What? Damn it, this is no time to play games. He's supposed to be here. Rosemary is supposed to be here. She's disappeared too. Do you see a possible connection?"

Nick's eyes fell before the older man's piercing look. "No. "

He sounded as unconvincing, and unconvinced, as Erin had. They were amateurs at this game, both of them—a game of deception and duplicity, equivocation and downright lies. And Laurence was a master at his trade. Erin knew how his guests on "Firing Squad" must feel, pilloried and mercilessly stripped naked, down to the depths of their souls.

"No," Nick repeated. "She's gone off on one of her mysterious expeditions—"

"Ah." Laurence almost smiled. "You know about those, do you? You're a clever pair. "

Nick flushed with chagrin. He had fallen for one of the oldest but most effective techniques of interrogation, admitting a lesser charge in his effort to deny one that was more serious.

"What else do you know?" Laurence demanded. "Come, come. Are you aware, for instance, that Jeff is your pyromaniac? Ah, I see you are. You two have a lot to learn if you intend to succeed at politics or poker. Your faces are as transparent as glass. Don't feel bad, you've done quite well, for amateurs. Perhaps investigative reporting is your metier, Nick. All you need is a little more experience and the kind of network I've built up over the years."

He had them in full retreat now, reeling from one unexpected blow after the other, alternating firmness and flattery in the good-cop, bad-cop routine. Now his voice hardened. "Jeff was to drive Rosemary home this afternoon. The car is here. Rosemary was here. Now she's gone. Where is Jeff?"

The facade, the mask, of indifference and cynicism were gone. His lean face was haggard, drawn not by fear but by pure desperation. "You don't trust me," he said. "There's no reason why you should, so it's up to me to convince you, even if, in order to do so, I must violate a trust I've held for more than twenty years, and dishonor the dead. Do you know who Jeff is?"

Their very failure to respond was an admission. If they had not known, the question would have produced curiosity and further questions instead of silence. By the time Erin realized this, it was too late. Laurence turned to her.

"The boy is out of his mind," he said earnestly. "Psychotic. If
you recall, I suggested early on that the perpetrator of those tricks must be mentally disturbed. I blame myself, I ought to have acted earlier. I hoped to keep this business under wraps, get Jeff the help he needed without bringing criminal charges. The acts he had committed were, at worst, malicious mischief. I saw no sign of homicidal mania. I miscalculated. Badly. Fatally, in fact."

"Fatally," Nick repeated. "Are you accusing Jeff of . . . You mean Kay?"

"Kay would never have taken her own life. I talked to her the day she died, she was ..." Laurence's eyelids fell. "It's too late for Kay. Rosemary is the one I'm concerned about now. We've got to find her. Or Jeff. If you know, or even suspect, where he may be, you must tell me."

The next seconds were the longest Erin had ever experienced. "He's right, Nick," she said finally. "We can't take the chance."

"He wouldn't hurt Rosemary," Nick said. "Oh, this is crazy! She's in no danger, she's gone haring off on one of her—" He broke off, paling, and Erin knew he was remembering what he had once said. If Rosemary knew who was playing the tricks on her, she would confront the perpetrator. And if she confronted Jeff, in his present state of mind . . . "He said she was a victim too," Nick insisted. "It was Marshall he hated. Edward Marshall. His own father—"

"What?" Laurence turned on him like a tiger. "Ed? Jeff told you Ed was ..."

"I'm sorry." Nick stood his ground, though Laurence loomed over him, fists clenched and face distorted. "I don't blame you for wanting to protect your friend. And Rosemary, if she didn't know ..."

"Rosemary." The columnist passed a shaking hand over his face. "No. She knew nothing. She was a demure little housewife in those days, shy and insecure. Ed would never . . . Angels and ministers of grace defend us. This is worse than I feared. Give me a minute to think. ..."

His control was incredible. It was no more than sixty seconds before his twisted features smoothed out. "So Jeff knows. Josie told him, I suppose."

"You knew her?" Nick asked.

"She was one of the maids at the Richmond house. I used to spend holidays with Ed when we were in college. Pretty little thing, with a very flirtatious manner. Ed used to joke with her, but I never imagined . . . Ah, well, there's no use trying to deceive you. He boasted about his conquest, as young men will. When I read about the fire, years later, I recognized the name—and I thought what a ghastly coincidence it was. So Jeff ... No wonder the poor devil is demented. Nick. I have to talk to him. Maybe it's not too late. Maybe I can explain . . . Where is he?'

Nick was beyond resistance. The suggestion that Rosemary might be in danger had destroyed his last doubts. "He's at my place—the overseer's cabin. At least he was half an hour ago."

"Is the door locked?"

"No. Maybe I should have locked him in, but I didn't think—"

"It doesn't matter. You acted for the best. Let me talk to him. All we can do now is minimize the damage and the pain—especially to Rosemary. I think I see a way. . . . Give me fifteen minutes alone with him."

He left the room, almost running. Nick took an uncertain step after him. "Why do I have the feeling I've made a horrible mistake?' he demanded.

"Probably because anything we do is going to end in disaster," Erin said dismally. "Shall we go after him?"

"He can take care of himself," Nick said. "Damn it, I still can't believe Jeff is a threat to anyone, much less Rosemary. Let's see if we can figure out where she might have gone."

Christie, now alone in the office, was in no mood for idle conversation. "What am I, the nursemaid?" she demanded. "I don't know
where
she's gone, or if she's gone. She could be in her room. I don't know where anybody is except you two, and I wish you were someplace else. I've got a heavy date tonight and a couple of things to finish before I can leave."

Chastened but no less alarmed, they retreated. A search of Rosemary's room revealed no message and no clue. They were about to leave when Nick stopped. "Wait a minute. Where's that god-awful wig?"

The wig was not in the closet or the dressing room. An empty
hatbox, its lid askew, might have contained it. "That's it," Nick said, looking considerably more cheerful. "She's off on another escapade. I'm tempted to call Buzz Bennett and ask to speak to Miz Marylou."

"That's stupid," Erin said; she was far too worried to be tactful. "If Mrs. Bennett is at home we're right back where we started, and if she isn't, we haven't the slightest idea whether she's on her way to meet Rosemary or at the movies. Furthermore—"

"The pickup!" Nick slapped his forehead. "Why didn't I think of it before? If it's missing, we can stop worrying."

"That's not so stupid,' Erin agreed. "Let's look."

The pickup truck was not in its usual place. A lighted window and the sound of the TV set made it clear Sam had not taken it. Nick sagged against the open garage door. "What a relief. I'd give a couple of my back teeth to know what the hell Rosemary is up to, but at least we know she's not having her throat cut by Jeff. I don't know why I let that louse Laurence con me—"

"Speaking of Laurence," Erin said. "He's been gone a lot longer than fifteen minutes."

"Maybe he's waiting for us in the commons room. "

"We just came through that way. We'd have met him if he had been on his way back."

They turned, like puppets pulled by the same string, to stare at the door of Nick's cottage, only a few hundred feet away.

The curtains were drawn, as Nick had left them, but slits of yellow light showed at the sides. There was no other sign of life; and as they slowly approached the place they heard no sound whatever.

"I guess I ought to knock," Nick said, when they stood before the door.

He proceeded to do so. There was no answer. "Oh-oh," Nick said softly. The door was not locked. He threw it open.

"They're gone," he exclaimed. "Both of them. Unless . . ." But the bathroom, the only closed-off cubicle in the one-room structure, was dark and deserted. "They must be at the house." Nick's voice was shrill. "We missed them somehow."

"No," Erin said. "Look at this."

She held out the piece of paper she had found on the table, weighted down by a book. Nick snatched it from her.

"Dear Nick [it read]. Jeff has explained everything. We were all wrong about him. I've decided he should lie low for a while till we get this business straightened out. Better for you that you shouldn't know where he is, in case the police question you. I'll call you as soon as I get him settled. Don't worry, everything is going to be all right."

They stared at one another for a moment. Nick let out a long, breathy sigh. "Things seem to be looking up," he said. "We don't know where Rosemary is, but we know where she's not—namely, and to wit, in the clutches of a homicidal maniac. Laurence has taken charge of the Jeff mess, and assures us all will be well. Maybe I misjudged the guy after all. Everything is hunky-dory, right?"

Erin didn't answer. "So why," Nick demanded, "are alarm bells jangling in my skull? You don't look too happy either."

"Those bells are deafening me. But I don't know why."

"We're in over our heads," Nick said. "I'm ready to scream for help, if that's okay with you."

"I'll join you. But who do we scream at? The cops?"

"I'm not quite ready to throw Jeff to the wolves yet. I want to talk to somebody with good sense and a clear head, who isn't as close to this as we are."

"Who, Joe?"

"Mr. Temper Tantrum? No, thanks. I was thinking of Will. Don't know why I didn't think of him before."

"Nobody thinks of Will," Erin said. "He works at being invisible. But until a few minute ago we weren't sure he was innocent."

"We're sure now. " Nick worried his lower lip. "Erin, did anything about that note strike you as odd?"

"Aside from the fact that it wasn't written in Laurence's pseudo-literary style—"

"That's it! I knew there was something, but I couldn't put my finger on it."

"He was in a hurry . . . concerned ..."

"Yeah, maybe. I still want a consultation."

"But Will isn't here. What if he's on his way back to Charlottesville?"