Dancing Dead (10 page)

Isabel was no more than five feet tall, and the vat reached her rib cage. The yarn, heavy with dye, would have sunk to the bottom, so she found a long wooden stick, stained dark by layer after layer of color. She slid the awkward lid off the top, leaned it against the side of the vat, and poked the stick into the dark liquid.

She knew instantly that something was wrong. The water level was much higher than she'd left it. Fabric nearly the same color as the dye floated at the top of the vat. She stood still for several moments, reliving the previous evening's work. Nay, she was sure. She had left yarn soaking, not fabric. She poked at the fabric; it was attached to a solid object. Her hand shook as she reached into the liquid, near the side of the vat, and pulled on the material.

Her hand cupped something soft, just the size of a shoulder. Isabel yanked her hand out of the vat and jumped backward. The liquid dripping from her hand was greenish, not blood red, which gave her only slight comfort. She knew the vat held a body. Almost certainly, the poor soul was dead, but she had to be sure. She would never forgive herself if there was a chance to save someone's life, and she let it pass out of squeamishness. What if this was a sister who'd felt ill while leaning over the vat and somehow tripped into it? Even in Isabel's current state, that sounded unlikely, but still . . .

She approached the vat again, her heart pounding in her ears. Once more, she clutched the soggy curve of shoulder and pulled it until the side of a head appeared. She pulled the shoulder back toward her. The face surfaced. It was bloated and tinted pale green and quite dead.

Isabel hadn't been involved with the Shaker Hostel, but she had seen all the guests, and she knew that this face belonged to one of them. She couldn't remember the name. A widow, she thought. A few days earlier, the woman had just marched right into the Sisters' Shop as if she owned the place. Isabel had been irked and let her know it. She prayed for forgiveness.

Nothing would help the woman now, so Isabel left her as she was and went out into the hallway to phone Rose, then Josie at the Infirmary. As soon as she'd hung up, the strength drained out of her. She couldn't make it to the bench. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed, curling into a bundle on the floor.

Nine

R
OSE WATCHED AS
S
HERIFF
G
RADY
O'N
EAL AND
D
R.
Hanfield, the new young doctor from Languor, squatted on either side of Mina Dunmore's wet body. Mina lay curled on a sheet that would never again be white. Her clothes, skin, even her hair showed areas of rusty green, as if she'd drowned in muddy seaweed. She still wore the dress she'd worn at dinner the night before. Gennie had described it as a floor-length gown, several years out of fashion and meant for a younger woman. It had been pale blue.

“She might have drowned, but I can't say for sure,” said Dr. Hanfield. “I don't see any evidence of a wound. Heck, I can't even tell if she's bruised up. I'll have to get her cleaned off for a better look.”

Dr. Hanfield's round face puckered. Rose had heard this was his first position, and he'd been in town only a few weeks. Inexperienced as he was, Languor was lucky to have him. The town had been limping along without a doctor for months, since old Doc Irwin died.
He probably hasn't gotten used to ordinary death yet
, Rose thought,
let alone something like this
.

“How long you think she'd been in that vat?” Grady asked.

“Hard to say.” Dr. Hanfield rolled back on his heels and shook his head. “Rigor is well-established, so probably not longer than a day, but we already knew that.”

“I'll need to confirm this, but I've heard that a witness claims to have heard her laughing sometime after midnight,” Grady said.

“Could have been any time after that. Her body's cold, but she was in cold water. I need to get her to my office fast as possible, then maybe I can tell more.”

“Okay, I'll take care of it,” Grady said. “Already called Millard to bring his hearse around. You had a chance to meet our town undertaker?”

“Sadly, yes,” said Dr. Hanfield. “We've had two deaths of old age, but . . .” He stood and brushed off his pants. “Well, I'll be going back to my office now. Tell Millard to bring her quick as he can.”

Rose joined the two men. “Is there any way we can keep this quiet for a while? We've had a hard enough time protecting ourselves from ghost seekers, and we have a worship service scheduled for just a few hours from now.”

“I'd cancel if I were you,” Grady said.

“I sure won't say anything,” Dr. Hanfield said, “but I'll bet word will get out. I've heard that Millard . . . well . . .” He glanced at Grady.

“Millard has a mouth larger than the state of Kentucky,” Grady said. “Once he sees the deceased, all of Languor County will know within the hour. Where's Wilhelm? Can't he scare off the crowds for you?”

“Wilhelm left soon after breakfast for a two-day sales trip,” Rose said. “He has no idea this has happened.” In a sense, having him gone made the situation easier—if he were there, he'd be ranting about the world bringing evil to their village, and he'd surely close the hostel instantly. On the other hand, Wilhelm had decided only the day before to accompany Andrew on his sales trip, and Rose suspected he had done so in hopes the curiosity seekers would turn the Sabbathday worship service into a fiasco. Then he'd have something to report to the Ministry at Mount Lebanon, New York, the leaders of all Shaker villages. Wilhelm never gave up hope that he could get Rose removed as eldress and replaced with someone of his choice—such as Sister Elsa.

Rose glanced down at the sad, wet bundle that once was Mina Dunmore.
Now Wilhelm will have his evidence, with or without a worship service. I should have seen the danger. I should have prevented this.

“Perhaps we'd best leave it that way for now,” Grady said. “If we need him, we can talk to him day after tomorrow. I doubt he saw anything, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Rose said. And she meant it. Grady understood her difficulties with Wilhelm and had supported her in the past. She guessed Grady wanted to stay in her good graces as well, because he still hoped to marry Gennie.

 

“Ain't nothin' you could do that'd get me to spend one more night under this roof.” Beatrice Berg huddled in a wing chair by the parlor fireplace, glowering at the sheriff and his officers.

“I'm afraid we need to question everyone, Mrs.”—Grady consulted a list—“Berg? I want all of you to stay in this room, but please don't speak to each other. These two officers will stay with you.” Grady indicated the rest of the Sheriff's Department. Languor County didn't usually need more than three officers to handle the occasional brawl or feud between neighbors. “Don't take offense if they keep you from talking. That's just the way we have to do it.”

“Okay, then, Gen—Miss Malone, we'll start with you. Miss Callahan?” Grady turned and nodded toward the dining room. Rose noticed that his cheeks had reddened. The two women followed him.

Grady closed the dining room door behind them and grouped three seats as far as possible from the parlor.

“Grady, I—”

“Don't worry, Gennie, I'll be out of your way as fast as I can. I promised you three weeks away from me, and you'll get them. But this is murder, no doubt about it, and I need to know everything you noticed that might be helpful.”

“I understand.”

Rose sat very still, her right palm over her left, as if she were waiting for a Union Meeting to begin. Gennie had grown up so much over the past year. She had not sought Rose's advice about the difficulties between Grady and her. Rose felt as if she were intruding.

Gennie stared at her lap as Grady rummaged through his jacket pockets until he found a small notebook and a pencil. “Okay, Gen, just tell me everything that you can remember—anything you think might help us find whoever did this. Don't worry if it's small, even the—”

“Even the tiniest detail can solve a crime, I know,” Gennie said.

They gave each other a quick smile, then their eyes were elsewhere. Gennie began with her first introduction to Mina Dunmore and the other Shaker Hostel residents, as best she could remember, and ended with her morning visit to Mina's room.

“There's one more thing,” she said. “I hope I haven't ruined the investigation. It never occurred to me that this would turn into murder, or I wouldn't have touched a thing.”

“No one expects you to have known,” Grady said. “Just say what you need to say.”

Gennie ran a hand through her auburn curls, leaving them in charming disarray. Grady's gaze wandered to her hair, then dropped to her face.

“Well, you saw how messed up the sheets were in Mrs. Dunmore's room? That's what I saw when I went to check on her. But there was something I left out. I found an empty port bottle under the blanket. I assumed she'd made herself sick from drinking. Right after breakfast I ran back upstairs and took the bottle.” Gennie turned her small palms upward, and Grady's wrists jerked as if he wanted to take her hands in his own.

“I wanted to protect the hostel's reputation,” Gennie said. “If it got about that one of the guests had been drinking heavily enough to get sick, everyone would say the Shakers were probably selling alcohol or something, that it was their fault. I was going to hide the bottle under my coat and bring it to Rose, ask her what to do. But I never got a chance. We eat later than the Shakers, and we were especially late this morning. I was just putting on my coat when Hank—when one of your officers arrived to tell us Mrs. Dunmore was dead and we had to stay in the hostel.”

“So the bottle is in your room now?”

“Yes. I put it in one of my built-in drawers, under my . . . um . . .”

For the first time, Grady grinned. “Don't worry, we'll find it. I doubt we'll find any usable fingerprints by now, but we can try. Maybe there'll still be some dregs; we'll ask the pharmacist in town to see what he can do with it.”

“I'm sorry,” Gennie said.

“Oh, I reckon we'll catch the varmint anyway.”

Gennie giggled—not quite the way she used to as a child, but close enough.

 

“And why is the good sister here, may I ask?” Horace von Oswald laced his fingers over his stomach as if he hadn't a care, but his tone was far from casual.

“I've given her permission to listen,” Grady said. “Think of her as the police in her own community.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that.”

“Why not?” Rose asked.

The only sign of personality in Horace's face came from his eyes, which looked like deep, burned holes. “Police care about solving the crime,” he said. “The sister cares about saving the reputation of her village.”

“Do you distrust all Shakers, Mr. von Oswald?” Rose asked.

Horace didn't answer.

“I do want to save my community,” Rose said. “I suspect you would feel that same way if you were in my place.”

A faint grimace passed across Horace's face. “I don't care one way or the other about Shakers,” he said. “I know very little about them. Stay if you must. I have nothing to hide.”

“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Dunmore?” Grady asked.

Horace gazed out the dining room window. “Last evening in the parlor,” he said. “We all spent the entire evening together in friendly discussion, sipping port. The gentlemen smoked some rather good cigars. We listened to the storm. That was it. I never saw Mrs. Dunmore again after she retired to her room.”

“She left before you did?” Grady asked.

“I believe I indicated so.”

“When did you leave the parlor?”

“I left last. I wished to enjoy the fire and have one more cigar in peace.”

“In what order did everyone leave?”

Horace closed his eyes, and Rose felt a sense of relief. “I believe that little mouse, Miss Prescott, vaporized first,” he said. “Can anyone truly be so demure?”

His eyelids opened, and he looked straight at Rose. She forced herself to hold his gaze, despite a wave of revulsion that swept through her.

“The other gentleman, Saul, left fairly soon after that.”

“What is your impression of Mr. Halvardson?” Rose asked.

Horace's mouth formed a perfect semicircle, as artificial as a frosting flower on a cake. “A friendly young man,” he said. “Especially with the ladies. He seems to be well-heeled for a traveling salesman in these difficult times. He provided the port and cigars, as well as the coffee this morning. A most generous man—though I suspect it is for a purpose.”

“Any idea what that purpose might be?” Grady asked.

“Ah, that would be doing your job, Sheriff.”

Grady's jaw clenched, but his face did not betray any irritation. “When did Mrs. Berg leave?”

“Mrs. Berg had secured for herself a coveted chair in front of the hearth. When Mrs. Dunmore left, Miss Malone took the other seat by the fire. The two women chattered for perhaps fifteen more minutes, then left together. It was by then about eleven, I believe. I stayed for perhaps another half hour, then went directly to my room. Does that clear up the murder for you?”

“Did you hear anything—folks talking, for example—when you went up to your room?” Grady asked.

“Not a peep. It was quiet as a tomb.” Horace gave no apology for his macabre remark. “That is all I have to tell you, Sheriff, and I am really rather tired. I need to rest. If you will excuse me.” He stood and gave Rose a slight bow.

“By the way,” he said. “You might look into Mrs. Berg's background. She claimed to have spent her married life in a well-to-do section of Languor, but I happened to be exploring the area and found myself in that very section of town. In the course of a friendly chat with a storekeeper and several customers, I mentioned Mrs. Berg. No one seemed to have heard of her, though they'd all lived in the area for decades. Interesting, don't you think?”

 

“I ain't talkin' in front of no one else,” said Beatrice Berg. “You can call Sister Rose the police if you want, but that don't make it so. I got my rights.” Ignoring the empty chair, she crossed her arms over her chest and moved in front of the kitchen door.

“Our hope is to help solve this tragedy quickly,” Rose said, “and to keep the hostel operating. If we can't do that, you will lose your job.”

“Don't make me no never mind. I can do without gettin' myself murdered and stuffed in a barrel.”

“You can't believe that we Shakers had anything to do with this? Why would we?”

“Don't ask me why y'all do any of the things you do. Don't make no sense to me. All I know is, you should be looking at them, not us.” She spoke to Grady and tossed her head toward Rose.

“Why?” Grady asked.

“Ask her if she seen that Brother Linus around anywhere today,” Beatrice said.

Grady raised his eyebrows at Rose. “What's this about Brother Linus?”

“Andrew assigned him to help with chores here in the hostel,” Rose said.

“Well, he sure ain't helped out this morning,” Beatrice said. “See this mess all over my dress? It was clean before breakfast, but after I had to haul my own wood, and start my own cooking fire, and lift all the heavy stuff myself, this dress was a mess. Where was Linus, answer me that?”

“I'm sorry Linus missed this morning,” Rose said, “but I'm sure he had pressing work elsewhere. The storm last night caused a lot of damage. He is probably out making repairs.”

“Oh yeah? Anybody seen him yet?”

“We really haven't been looking for him,” Rose said.

“Then maybe you'd better, and that's all I got to say on the matter.”

“We'll do that, Mrs. Berg. Thank you,” Grady said. Mrs. Berg loosened up enough to take the empty seat across from him. She did not glance toward Rose. Grady flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “As I understand it,” he said, “you left the parlor last night with Miss Malone at about eleven
P.M
. Is that correct?”