Ghost in Trouble (21 page)

Hal looked at him quizzically. “Three, maybe four shots, and nobody heard?”

Cobb raised a sardonic eyebrow. “If anybody noticed the shots, they haven't shared that information with us. I don't think there was that much noise. A gun fired against his body muffled the first shot and very likely that was the only shot fired from the doorway. Once Phillips was down, the murderer stepped inside and shut the door. The Castle walls are old, thick, and well insulated. If anyone in bed heard a pop, it didn't register as gunfire. I doubt the entire attack required more than three or four minutes. When they were
dead, the gun was tossed down beside him”—the chief pointed at the gun lying on the floor—“and the door opened. The murderer likely waited long enough to be sure no one was stirring, then returned to his or her room. Or left The Castle.”

The chief looked at Hal. “Process the weapon, then see if anyone in the drawing room can identify it. I'll find a place downstairs and interview those who are in the house.”

 

I reappeared in the
lavatory, unlocked the door, and was back in my chair when Price appeared in the archway.

“I am Detective Sergeant Hal Price. We appreciate your patience. Chief Cobb will speak with each of you individually in the library.” He glanced at a card in his hand. “Ms. Francie de Sales?” He looked inquiringly around the room.

As we walked down the hall, I held a hand to the side of my face. In my peripheral vision, through the spread of my fingers, I saw Hal Price give me a long, searching look.

He held the door to the library. “Ms. de Sales, Chief.”

I sat down with my hand apparently stuck to my jaw.

Price started to pull up a chair to one side of the oak table.

The chief tapped a legal pad. “I'll take care of this interview.” His bulldog face was bland. “Check upstairs on the evidence collection.”

“Yes, sir.” Hal moved out of my view. I heard the door open, then shut.

Chief Cobb and I sat on opposite sides of the oak table in the library. His heavy face looked purposeful and determined. His tie was loosened at the throat of a pale blue shirt. “You can take your hand down. He's gone.”

I yanked off the kerchief and sunglasses as well, tucked them in a pocket.

He laughed, then quickly sobered. “What do you know?”

He didn't ask how I knew, which I considered tactful. He wanted information. I gave him everything.

He wrote fast, then looked up with a grim face. “You'd think a man who'd threatened to expose a murderer might have been more cautious. Probably Phillips answered the door because he was foggy with sleep. From what you've said, he was a cocky little guy. He had planned to let his victim stew, get more and more nervous and worried, then make a move. The murderer didn't give him that chance.”

I wasn't surprised. Jack Hume posed a threat and he'd been pushed to his death. Kay Clark arrived, asked too many questions, and a vase crashed down where she waited.

I finished with the story of Walter, the cocker, shut in the workshop. “If only Walter could talk.”

The chief looked at me in surprise.

“If Walter was outside last night, wouldn't that indicate the murderer came from outside the house?”

The chief shrugged. “Whether the dog was in or out, he had to be put where he couldn't raise an alarm.”

I understood. Walter loved a frolic. Someone in the house walking in a hallway would attract the dog if he were inside. The answer: scoop him up, carry him outside, stroll to the workshop, shut the dog inside. Then the murderer would be free to slip back to the house and approach Laverne and Ronald's suite.

If the murderer came from outside The Castle, either Alison Gregory or one of the Dunhams, it was also essential to prevent Walter from barking.

Chief Cobb was suddenly formal. “Thank you for your assistance, Ms. de Sales.”

When I was at the door, he called after me: “Should any other information come to your attention, please let us know.” He
sounded bland, as if I were simply Kay's assistant, but his eyes held mine for a moment.

He knew who I was.

I knew that he knew.

Neither of us intended to say more.

I smiled. “I will certainly keep you informed.” As I stepped into the hall, Detective Sergeant Price came around the corner.

Quickly, I yanked the sunglasses from my pocket, put them on.

He walked more swiftly. When he stopped and looked down at me, I was grateful for the dark lenses that hid my eyes.

“Ms. de Sales.”

I waited.

He cleared his throat. “Ask Kay Clark to come to the library.” He lingered only an instant too long, then stepped past me.

I walked swiftly to the drawing room. “Kay, they want you in the library.”

Evelyn Hume's face folded in a disagreeable frown. “I fail to see why we are being held here and why you and Kay have been summoned before me.” Her sense of entitlement was powerful. After all, she was Evelyn Hume.

I was conciliatory. “Obviously, Kay and I aren't important witnesses. I never met Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and Kay had only a brief acquaintance with them. I'm sure the chief wished to speak to us first so that he can concentrate on the people who matter, the ones who knew them quite well.”

I wasn't surprised that my pleasant statement was not reassuring to the occupants of the drawing room. Evelyn's lips folded into a tight, hard line. Diane broke into fresh sobs. Jimmy stopped pacing and jammed his hands into the pockets of his chinos, his expression grim. Margo looked wary. Shannon moved uneasily.

Kay and I turned away and walked down the hall. As we rounded the corner, the corridor to the library lay empty. I disappeared.

 

I hovered near the
ceiling. I didn't expect to learn anything from Kay's visit with the chief, but I didn't want to miss his other interviews.

In a few quick questions, Chief Cobb made certain Kay could add nothing to the information I'd provided. “Mrs. Clark, please keep our conversation confidential as well as the murders. Nothing has been released to the news media. There are witnesses I wish to interview before the crime is publicly known.”

“I understand.” She rose, then looked at him somberly. “Did Ronald and Laverne Phillips die because of me?”

His rumbly voice was patient. “Did you advise Ronald to try blackmail?”

She shook her head, understanding his query was rhetorical. “If I hadn't come back to Adelaide, he might not have realized Jack was murdered.” Her dark eyes mirrored her distress.

The chief lifted his bulky shoulders in a shrug. “Phillips could have contacted us. He chose another path. You came to The Castle because you suspected a crime. When we spoke at Lulu's you admitted as much. If there had been a basis for me to investigate, I would have done so. There is an important distinction between your suspicions and Ronald Phillips's knowledge. He knew something. It may have been nothing more than a glimpse of someone climbing the stairs to the third floor. If he had informed us, I could have taken that fact and investigated that person.”

Kay pushed back a strand of silky dark hair. “Person.” Her tone was puzzled. “You talk about a person. Last night at the séance, Laverne's ramblings obviously referred to more than one person.”

Chief Cobb sketched a noose on his legal pad. “Phillips was an equal-opportunity blackmailer. People will pay to hide secrets, even though innocent of murder. But one of his listeners was a murderer. Phillips made a fatal error.”

As Kay left, Detective Sergeant Price stepped inside. He carried a gallon-size plastic bag zipped shut. Clearly visible was a dark metal handgun. He shut the door behind him, lofted the container in triumph. “Homegrown, Chief. There's a chip on the lower right edge of the grip. Evelyn Hume said her father brought the gun back from the Pacific in World War Two. Army-issue Colt .45. One bullet left. What are the odds the other five will be retrieved during the autopsies?”

“I'm willing to take that bet. In the affirmative.” Cobb's eyes gleamed. “Where was the gun kept, when was it last seen, who is responsible for it?”

Price answered in order. “Her father's upstairs office hasn't been changed since he died. Kind of a shrine, I guess. I checked out the desk. Huge. Mahogany. Drilling plats unrolled and open. Some drilling logs. Evelyn Hume said the gun was kept in the lower right-hand drawer. When I opened the drawer, no gun. Apparently the desk wasn't kept locked. The old dame simply gave me a cool stare when I asked if the gun was secured. Nothing, she told me frostily, is kept under lock and key at The Castle. I suppose the implication is that only hoi polloi live in houses where they have to lock up the silver. In fact, they hardly lock up anything here. No alarm system. As for keys, they sprinkle them around like confetti. The plumber has one, ditto repair companies like air-conditioning, heating, handyman. You name it, someone has a key.”

 

Evelyn kept her left
hand slightly extended, touching the side of a bookcase as she entered the library. She made ever so slight an adjustment and walked directly to the chair opposite the chief. She sat, lifted her head, and looked every inch an imperious grande dame. Instead of waiting for his question, she spoke, her words
swift and clipped. “Last night was reprehensible, from start to finish. Laverne Phillips…”

The chief made occasional notes as she described Laverne's exploitation of Diane's grief, Jack's determination to discredit her and Ronald, Shannon's pursuit of Jack, Jack's apparent lack of interest, Margo's hostility to him, Jimmy's anger with his uncle.

“I mention these facts because the murders of Ronald and Laverne indicate her claim last night that Jack was murdered may be true. I suppose it was a suspicion of murder which drew Kay Clark here. Possibly she had some communication with Jack prior to his death which suggested to her that he might have been in danger.”

The chief nodded. “Please describe the séance.”

Evelyn accurately reported on the performance in the library.

He glanced down at his notes. He quoted: “‘…bright red poppies in a field…sharp light and a magnifying glass'…Were those phrases directed at you?”

She appeared intrigued and not in the least alarmed. “I'm the only person in The Castle dependent upon a magnifying glass. I suppose the reference may be to the Willard Metcalf painting in the grand hallway outside the ballroom. A glorious burst of red poppies. Many of the best paintings in our collection are hung there. However, I see no reason why that should excite Ronald's interest. We've had that painting”—her brow furrowed in thought—“for at least ten years.”

“Did you see either of the Phillipses after the gathering in the library ended?”

Her expression was sardonic. “Did I shoot them? No. Nor do I know who did. I went directly to my room and I heard nothing during the night. However, I may know one fact of interest to you. A few days after Jack died, I was coming down the upper hallway. I heard a door open. I turned and saw Ronald com
ing out of Jack's room. He had no reason—or right—to be there. I asked him what he was doing in my brother's room.” A dour smile touched her lips. “He claimed he thought he heard the dog scratching on a door and feared Walter might have been trapped inside. An odd coincidence that Walter apparently was trapped behind a door last night. However, I am sure Ronald was lying.”

As soon as Evelyn rose and turned toward the door, I picked up the pen by Chief Cobb's legal pad.

His eyes fastened on the pen, then he moved his gaze toward the doorway.

I was startled when I felt his hand cup over mine.

In the hallway, Detective Sergeant Price faced the table as he held the door for Diane Hume.

I wrote swiftly, despite the weight of Cobb's hand above mine. I released the pen.

Cobb grabbed the pen.

Diane sagged into the chair. Her frizzy blond hair was untidy. She wore no makeup and her face looked sickly. She glanced toward the chaise longue and more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Chief Cobb read my sentence.

As Detective Sergeant Price turned to leave, Cobb called out, “In the murder suite, look for a picture of a young guy in a cap and gown.”

The detective sergeant nodded and pulled the door shut behind him.

The interview with Diane, punctuated by her sobs, revealed little. “…someone must have crept into the house last night…poor Laverne…terrible…”

Chief Cobb regarded her with an objective, measuring gaze. “We have discovered that Mr. Phillips directed Mrs. Phillips to float the provocative statements in the séance for the purpose of blackmail.”

Diane's head jerked up. Her red-rimmed eyes widened in a glare. “That's not true.” Her voice was shrill and rising. “Laverne heard from James. It's dreadful”—now she was shaking—“that James had to tell us someone killed Jack.” She pushed back her chair, struggled to her feet, trembling. “I can't believe this has happened. No one in the family would hurt Jack. But Margo hated Jack. She and Shannon live in a little house on the grounds. She could have put Walter in the workshop. She'd know about that gun in J. J.'s desk. She knows everything in the house.” Diane rushed to the door, yanked it open, and ran into the hall.

Both the chief and I looked after her thoughtfully. Yes, Diane had depended upon Laverne, revered her. Yet if Diane had slipped up behind Jack, a desperate creature driven to violence, and Ronald knew, he might have wanted much more than a nice steady income from Diane. Diane was a very wealthy woman. Or Diane might have feared for her son.

Could indecisive, sweet-natured Diane have shot two people?

 

In the spear of
sunlight through the library window, Margo Taylor's face held little echo of youthful beauty. Lines of dissatisfaction radiated from her eyes and lips. She had an aura of unhappiness. “…have no idea what happened last night. Shannon and I have our own house. I'm quite sure Shannon didn't go out after we went to bed. Nor did I.”