Dead at Breakfast (18 page)

They watched Rexroth's face carefully as he saw what was within. His eyes flicked toward the door once. Then he looked up and met Shep's gaze. He looked frightened and resentful.

“Have you seen those things before, Mr. Rexroth?” Shep asked. Buster took out his notebook.

With all the dignity he could muster, Rexroth said, “I have. That is my snake handling equipment.”

“And can you explain to us how you happen to be in possession of snake handling equipment?”

“It was my father's before me.”

“What was he, a zoo guy? Or animal control?” Everyone in the room knew that Shep was asking questions to which he already knew the answers.

“He was pastor to a Christian congregation in Ohio. Those tools were part of his ministry, and then mine.”

“You worshipped snakes?”

Rexroth was offended and showed it. Just for a moment they saw they were dealing with a very angry man. Then the mask was back, unreadable and patient. “No, of course not. I said it was a Christian congregation. We believed that the Lord would protect us from venom. The Bible says in Mark sixteen—”

“What kind of snakes?” asked Buster. Shep shot Buster a look which he missed.

“Well, domestic vipers of all kinds,” said Mr. Rexroth. “But some exotics too, when we could get them.”

Buster was about to pursue this line when Shep cut him off.

“And you led this congregation . . . when?”

“From the early nineties until four years ago.”

“And what happened four years ago?”

Mr. Rexroth's eyes flicked to the door again.

“Mr. Rexroth?”

“My wife was bitten by a water moccasin. She didn't often handle the snakes but it was a moment of . . . She was filled with the spirit. She came up the aisle to me and held out her arms, with her eyes shining. And I gave the snake to her.”

The room fell silent.

“And then what happened, Mr. Rexroth?”

“It bit her. She died.”

Mr. Rexroth was struggling with emotion, and they gave him time to master it, though Buster wanted to know much more about exactly what the symptoms had been and how long it took for the death. He didn't know much about water moccasins.

“And then what happened?” Shep asked, surprisingly gently.

“I was arrested. The serpents were seized. There was talk of criminal charges but none were brought, in the end. The whole congregation was witness to the fact that she took the snake voluntarily. Asked for it.”

“What happened to the snakes?” asked Buster. Shep turned in his chair to look at Buster, a look he finally noticed and understood to mean Will You Shut the Fuck Up?

Mr. Rexroth, seeming dazed, didn't find the question odd. “I believe they were destroyed.” He seemed to feel as guilty about that as about the fate of his wife.

“So you came to Maine?”

“Not immediately. My congregation was disbanded, though I believe some of my people now worship in Kentucky. I traveled east. I tried congregations here and there, but nothing felt right.”

“You were looking for a job as a preacher?”

“Oh no. Just for a church home. But something was always missing.”

“So how do you make your living, Mr. Rexroth?”

Rexroth looked embarrassed. “There was some insurance. From my wife's death. And my . . . uh . . . mother sends me a stipend.”

Shep and Buster looked at each other.

“Your mother can't be young,” said Shep.

“No,” Rexroth said glumly. “She seems eternal.”

“Lucky she's generous,” said Shep.

“Yes. No. Well it's not that, exactly.”

“What is it, exactly?”

Suddenly Rexroth seemed to remember where he was and what was going on. “Is this necessary? What's my mother got to do with it?”

“We don't know. You tell us,” said Shep.

After a pause, Rexroth said, “She remarried after my father died. Her husband isn't a believer.”

“She pays you to stay away,” said Buster. Shep looked surprised.

Rexroth turned to him resentfully and said nothing.

“So you drove around looking for a church home,” said Buster kindly.

Rexroth said, “I love animals. I used to stop at shelters and volunteer. I'd walk the dogs and pet the cats. I like to be useful.”

“You didn't like Mrs. Antippas's dog,” said Shep.

Rexroth stiffened. He said defensively, “It was a horrible little thing, but I didn't wish it harm.”

Shep let the silence stretch after this remark. Finally he said, “Go on. Animal shelters.”

“In one place over in Orono they had this bloodhound whose owner had died. Housebroken, nice temperament. It's hard to place a big dog. I went back into the room where they keep the dogs in wire crates, shelves of them. Clarence seemed to recognize me. He saw me coming. He looked at me with those eyes, as if he'd been waiting for me, and when I put my hand up to the cage, he leaned the top of his head against the wires. I could feel him saying ‘What took you so long?' The shelter people said they were going to put him down if they couldn't find a home for him.

“But then I discovered that none of the motor courts and such where I tended to stay allowed pets. I went back to the shelter and said I had to give Clarence back, and they told me about Oquossoc. Mr. Gurrell took me in.”

“How long ago was this?”

“I'm sure Mr. Gurrell has told you.”

“You tell us, Henry.”

“Three years. And three months, it was the beginning of the summer.”

“You must have been pleased to find a snake right in the next room,” said Buster.

“I was not,” said Rexroth forcefully. “I foreswore the handling of serpents when Beverly died. Clearly I had misunderstood the scriptures, though I don't yet understand how. But I believe the Lord put that snake next door as a sign to me.”

“Sign of what?” Shep asked, seeming really interested.

“That I still need to be tested before He will take me back,” Rexroth answered with irritation. “What would
you
think? I mean, how often do
you
check into a hotel and find there's a snake in the next room?”

“Gotta point,” said Shep. “Let's talk about the night the snake disappeared.”

“Fine,” said Rexroth. He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them the other way. He looked like an irritated bird, with his chest feathers ruffled.

“Where did you keep your snake rig?”

“In the closet.”

“In a bag, or a case or something?”

“No, just up on the shelf.”

“And who knew it was there?”

Rexroth paused, thinking. “Gabe Gurrell, of course.”

“Why ‘of course'?”

“I felt he deserved to know the truth about me. He was offering me a home.”

“All right. Who else?”

“Earl Niner.”

“You are friendly with Mr. Niner?”

“I wouldn't say that. We are neighbors,” said Rexroth stiffly. “But
I wanted him to know the equipment was there, in case he ever had need of it.”

“He didn't have his own?”

“He just used a hook. Grommet was very tame.”

Shep looked at Buster, as if to say, you can explain this to me later.

“Housekeeping knew. They'd come in to clean when I took Clarence for his walk. I mean, I'm sure that they saw the equipment. You'll have to ask them if they knew what it was for.”

“All right. Now, do you know when the equipment disappeared from your room?”

“No. I discovered it was gone when Earl told me the snake had disappeared. I went to look for my equipment, so I could help him to get him back.”

“Wednesday evening, this was?”

“Yes. He spoke to me in the hall when I came upstairs after dinner. He was hoping—well I believe he was hoping that I had the snake for some reason, since he knew . . .”

He stopped.

“What, Henry?” Shep pushed.

“Nothing. Earl told me the snake was missing, and I went to my closet and found the equipment gone.”

“And you hadn't in fact taken the snake yourself?”

“Of course I hadn't!” Rexroth snapped. “I knew you were going to think that! I already told you, I will not handle a serpent ever again. I swore an oath!”

“But you were willing to use the equipment to help recapture the missing snake.”

“I was going to
lend
the equipment, I wasn't going to . . . oh forget it. Are we done?”

“Not quite yet. The equipment was gone by Wednesday evening
but you don't know when it disappeared? When was the last time you saw it?”

Rexroth was now looking sullen. Finally he said, “Last Sunday morning.”

“Sunday morning. You're sure?”

Rexroth nodded.

“What was special about Sunday morning?”

“Nothing.”

Another silence, until Shep said, “Henry, would you rather finish this conversation in Ainsley?”

Rexroth looked at his watch and muttered, “It's time for me to walk the dog.”

“Sunday,” said Shep.

Finally Rexroth said, “I see it every Sunday. Before I go to church, I get it down, and I say a prayer for my wife and ask her forgiveness. Then I pray for understanding for myself, and put it away again.”

“Like your hair shirt, or something,” said Buster.

“If it makes you happy to think so. If I don't walk my dog there's going to be a mess to clean up. Is one of you going to do it?”

“One more question,” Shep said. “In the days before the fire, did you see anyone in your part of the hotel, on your hallway, who didn't belong there?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Wednesday afternoon. I went up to my room by the back stairs, and ran into Cherry Weaver in the hall outside my room.”

There might as well have been a giant thud in the room.

“Did you speak?”

“I said good afternoon. She seemed nervous, and she said Mrs. Antippas had sent her up with a bowl of scraps for her horrible dog.”

“Did she have a bowl of scraps in her hand?”

“No.”

“So she had delivered the bowl?”

“Ask her.”

“But how would she get into the room?”

“I have no idea! Maybe she cut herself a key.”

“We will ask her.”

“Can I go now?”

“For the moment. But don't leave town, Henry.”

Rexroth was up and pulling the sliding door. “If Clarence has messed in my room, I'm going to put it into a bag and leave it in your car.”

Maggie and Hope passed Shep on his way out as they were driving into the hotel parking lot.

“You know what bothers me?” Maggie asked.

“No.”

“The way everyone uses
grieve
as a transitive verb. You can
mourn
a loss, or grieve
for
a loss, but nowadays—”

“Oh darling, shut up,” said Hope. “I don't even remember what ‘transitive' means. I'm just sorry we had to watch the whole thing on the radio. Look, Buster's car is here. I wonder what's going on.” As if on cue, Buster emerged from the side door, carrying the big black evidence bag. They were on him before he got to the end of the path.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just checking a witness's story with Mr. Gurrell,” said Buster.

“What have you got in the bag?”

“I bet it's Glory's suitcase!”

“Where did they find it?”

“Who took it?”

Buster thought about telling them he couldn't discuss it, but into his head flashed the image of a torture he'd read about when
he was ten in which bushmen bury you in sand all the way up to your neck, then pour honey on your head and watch ants swarm into your hair and eyes and ears and nose until you go straight out of your mind. He decided to give up without a fight. They hustled him into the sunroom, which had become their own personal headquarters. He told them about Earl and the compost pile, and the snake gear and Mr. Rexroth.

“Show us,” they demanded as one.

“The snake stuff?”

“Of course. Come on, open up.”

He put on gloves and opened the suitcase and they contemplated the bag, the gloves, and the snake tongs. Maggie was about to reach for the tongs, when Buster gave a cry of distress. He fished out the ball of latex gloves he had in his pocket and handed each of them a pair. Both women seemed rather thrilled at this development. Once gloved, Maggie took the tongs and extended the telescoped handle. She tried the weight of it and opened and closed the snake-grabbing jaw with great interest. She offered it to Hope, who made a face, as if she'd accidentally bitten into mold. Ignoring the snake gear, she turned to the rest of the contents of the suitcase.

“La Perla undies,” she reported, after examining everything.

“Oo la la,” said Maggie.

Buster told them what Henry Rexroth had said about seeing Cherry outside his room the day of the fire. They grew instantly serious.

“Will someone ask Mrs. Antippas whether she really sent Cherry there?”

“Shep will have someone from LAPD go talk to her. Not today, though.”

No. The family was otherwise occupied today.

“Have you talked to housekeeping yet?”

“No, that's up to Detective Gordon.”

“Where is he?”

“I think he went home.”

“That's right, we passed him on his way out,” said Maggie.

“Let's go see if Mrs. Eaton is still here,” said Hope.

The housekeeper's domain was in the basement, in a big clean room adjacent to the laundry. Mrs. Eaton herself was taking the evening shift tonight, not wanting to pay her girls for working on the holiday. The three of them found her just arranging her cart, piled high with cleaning equipment, boxes of little wrapped soap bars, two-ounce bottles of shampoo, body lotion, and mouthwash, and a carton of foil-wrapped chocolates for the guests' pillows. Hope had been stockpiling hers for her granddaughters, whom she planned to see on her way home.