Hounded to Death (16 page)

“You wouldn't expect a man of Charles's stature to be universally liked,” she said when I was finished.

“No, but I would hardly expect him to be pilloried by his constituents before the body was even cold either.”

Aunt Peg nodded. She agreed with that.

“Tubby's manners have always been lacking,” she said. “But I wonder what Charles did to Rosalyn to put such a bee in her bonnet.”

“And there's something else. Rosalyn brought it up and now I've been wondering about it myself. Where were Charles's clothes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Last night, when we found him—”

“He was naked,” Aunt Peg said distastefully. “I know. I was there.”

“So where was his clothing? The only thing I remember seeing in the vicinity of the hot tub was that one towel. Are we meant to believe that Charles decided to use the hot tub, took off all his clothes, then walked out of his room and through the inn, wearing only a bath towel?”

“I see what you mean,” said Peg. “It does make one stop and wonder.”

“And here's something else to think about.
Why
was Charles naked? Bertie had used the hot tub earlier. It was situated in a public place and she said that participants were expected to be wearing bathing suits. So how come Charles wasn't?”

“Maybe he didn't bring one with him?” Aunt Peg guessed. “Maybe the nightly swim was a spur-of-the-moment decision and he hadn't come prepared.”

“And so he decided to fling off his clothes and go naked?” I said incredulously. “I don't see it. I didn't know Charles, but everyone who did has talked about his prominence and his dignity. And behavior like that simply doesn't jibe.”

“Then what do you think was going on?”

“We're back to what we talked about earlier. I'm wondering if Charles was alone, or if there was someone in the hot tub with him. Someone he'd gone out there to meet.”

“You mean a woman?”

“Most likely.”

“You think Charles was expecting an assignation and found himself with a killer instead?”

“Something like that.”

“He would have to have been very bold to plan that sort of meeting in such a public place.”

“Maybe that was the point. You know, hiding in plain sight? If someone else had happened upon them, they could have pretended that the fact that they were both in the hot tub was entirely innocent.”

“So why did she kill him?” asked Aunt Peg.

“If I knew that, we'd have the puzzle mostly solved.”

“It sounds to me like you need to get to work on it.”

“You and everybody else,” I said with a laugh.

I stood up and stretched. As I raised my arms above my head, a movement in the shadows beyond the lighted path caught my eye. I turned to have a closer look.

“What's wrong?” asked Aunt Peg.

“I don't know. I thought I saw something.” I headed that way. “Tell you in a minute.”

To my surprise, what I'd seen turned out to be Button. The fawn-colored Chihuahua was trotting along the grassy verge, carrying a twig in his mouth.

I leaned down and scooped him up.

“Button?” Aunt Peg left her seat and followed me. “What are you doing out here?”

Peg talks to dogs all the time. She expects her own to answer, but then they're Poodles.

Button wasn't nearly so compliant. He lifted his lips and grimaced at us.

“Something's wrong,” I said. “Florence never would have left him out here by himself.”

Peg and I stared together in the direction from which the small dog had come. Beyond the circle of lights, all dissolved into darkness.

“I suppose we'd better go have a look,” she said.

“I
have a bad feeling about this,” I said.

“You're not the only one,” Aunt Peg replied. “Florence may have her faults, but neglecting that Chihuahua isn't one of them. If he's out here, it seems like a safe bet that she must be too.”

We continued along the walkway that ran between the inn's main building and the tall hedge. Button, nestled complacently in my arms, was perfectly happy to ride along.

“I don't see a thing,” I said.

“Pity it's so dark out here. If something did happen to Florence, I'm afraid we'd have to be almost right on top of her before we'd find her.”

The walkway intersected with another path. A left turn would take us around behind the lodge toward the kitchens. Right led to the health club and spa.

Aunt Peg hesitated. When I started to speak, she held up a hand for silence.

“Listen,” she said.

I did, and for a moment heard nothing at all.

Then, just when I thought I might have heard the merest wisp of a sound, Button lifted his head, pricked his ears, and began to whine. The Chihuahua's small body began to shake.

“Precisely,” said Peg. “That's what I thought. I heard a dog crying.”

“You're hearing Button.”

“No, before that. Button's ears are much better than ours. He didn't start the conversation, he's whimpering in response. This way.”

Aunt Peg turned and strode purposefully in the direction of the health club.

Like the one before it, this walkway was lit from above. But although we had no trouble seeing the path, darkness obscured the wide grass alleyways on either side.

“There.” Aunt Peg pointed. “Look.”

Two yellow pinpricks of light glowed in the recesses of the verge.

Eyes, I realized abruptly, as a wolf-like face took shape in the gloom. The animal stood and growled.

I blinked and stared hard into the dark. Comprehension slowly dawned. It wasn't a wolf I was seeing, it was the stray German Shepherd.

Then I looked down and a mound lying next to him swam into focus. A small human form was lying crumpled on the ground.

Florence
.

“Oh no.” I inhaled sharply. “Do you think he attacked her?”

“Let's hope not.”

Aunt Peg moved forward toward the pair, taking cautious steps.

The dog's stare was fixed and unblinking. He shifted from one front foot to the other uneasily.

“Go on now,” she said, her tone equal parts soothing and authoritative. “You're done here. Shoo!”

For a moment, the Shepherd looked undecided. He leaned down and nosed the unconscious woman at his feet, whining softly under his breath. Then with one more anxious look at Aunt Peg, he bounded away and vanished into the darkness.

“Good boy!” Aunt Peg said automatically. She's a big believer in positive reinforcement.

Even as the dog disappeared, she was already hurrying forward to Florence's side. I was right behind her.

“What happened?” I asked. “Is she all right?”

“Give me a chance. I don't know anything more than you do yet.”

Aunt Peg reached out and felt for a pulse. When she felt a steady beat beneath her fingertips, her shoulders sagged in relief.

“I don't see any blood,” I said.

That was good news, especially for the Shepherd's sake. If he'd been to blame for what had happened, his teeth would have torn through Florence's fragile skin.

Aunt Peg's thoughts must have mirrored mine. “I don't know what went on here,” she said, “but it looks as though maybe he was trying to protect her. Keep her warm until help arrived. What a good dog.”

We'd been speaking in hushed tones. Now a low moan silenced us.

I had already pulled out my phone. I was about to call for help, but I hesitated when Florence groaned and rolled over.

Her eyelids fluttered. One hand came up and slowly reached for her head.

“Hellfire and damnation,” she said.

All things considered, that seemed like a good sign.

“Just lie still,” I said. “I'm going to call for an ambulance.”

“Put that thing away.” Florence struggled to sit up. “I don't need any medical types running around telling me what to do.”

Aunt Peg placed a hand on the older woman's shoulder, a gesture of comfort and support. Florence looked annoyed, but she didn't pull away.

“How are you feeling?” asked Peg.

“My head hurts. That's how I'm feeling.” Florence looked around in confusion. “What am I doing on the ground?”

“We don't know,” I said. “We just found you here a minute ago. You were unconscious.”

Still in my arms, Button started to whine again. I put him down on the ground and he quickly scrambled up into Florence's lap.

“I think we ought to call for a doctor,” said Aunt Peg.

Florence shook her head, then immediately looked as though she regretted making the sharp movement.

“Nobody asked you to do any thinking,” she snapped. “I may look fragile but I'm made of pretty stern stuff. I don't need any damn doctors. What I need is some answers.”

At least we were all on the same page with that.

“You said you just found me,” said Florence, her eyes narrowing. “Were you looking for me?”

“We were outside walking,” I explained. “And then Button came trotting down the path. We knew if he was out here, you had to be close by—”

“So you
were
looking for me.”

Aunt Peg frowned. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” Florence said sharply. “Because I'm still trying to figure out what the hell happened. My head hurts. Did one of you bop me when I wasn't looking?”

The question was absurd enough to seem funny to me. Aunt Peg, however, didn't look amused.

“Certainly not,” she said.

“You won't get rid of me that easily, you know.”

I had put my phone away. Now Aunt Peg pulled hers out.

“I'm calling Richard,” she said.

“Good idea.” Florence cuddled Button in her skinny arms. “When he gets here, we'll get to the bottom of things.”

Aunt Peg stood up and stepped away to make the call. I took the opportunity to probe for more information.

“What were you doing outside?” I asked.

“Same as you. Taking a walk. At least I had a reason.” She nodded down toward Button. “What were you two up to, skulking around in the dark?”

“We weren't skulking. We were talking.”

“Normal people would have done that inside the inn. What were you talking about? Something secret, I'll bet. Something private that you didn't want anyone to overhear.”

As it happened, we'd been talking about the deficiencies of Florence's only son. Too bad I couldn't tell her that. Instead I changed the subject.

“Lucky for you we
were
out here. Otherwise who knows how long it might have been before someone came along and found you.”

Florence waved a hand, dismissing my concern.

“Button would have run to my rescue. Didn't you just say that he found you and brought you to me?”

Maybe when they made the movie version that was how the story would be told. In real life, things had played out a little differently.

Button had been carrying a twig when we'd first seen him. He'd looked more interested in finding a soft spot to lie down and chew than in performing a dramatic rescue. Even now, the Chihuahua was nosing around in Florence's pockets, looking for something to eat. His appetite seemed to be of greater concern than his owner's condition.

Still, I hated to destroy Florence's illusions.

“I'm sure you're right,” I said. “Button probably would have run up to the front door of the inn and stood there barking until somebody came out to see what was wrong. Like Lassie racing to fetch June Lockhart so she could pull Timmy out of the well.”

“What on earth are you babbling about?” asked Aunt Peg, coming back to join us.

“Button's a hero,” said Florence. “He deserves a medal.”

Peg looked justifiably confused. “For doing what?”

“Saving my life.” She stroked the small body from stem to stern, a trip of mere inches. “What a
good
dog you are.”

Aunt Peg had used the very same tone, and words, only minutes earlier. Though neither woman would have thanked me for pointing it out, they might have had more in common than they suspected.

“I'll tell you later,” I said to Peg over Florence's head.

“Indeed you will,” she murmured, then added in a louder voice, “Richard is on his way. He should be here in just a minute.”

“Well, why didn't you say so?” Florence demanded. She stuffed Button into the purse that was lying next to her on the ground and raised a hand imperiously. “Help me up.”

“Maybe you don't want to stand up just yet,” I said. “We still haven't figured out what happened. Or why your head hurts.”

“My head hurts because some hoodlum knocked me down.” Florence grabbed my fingers. She yanked them around to the back of her head. “Feel right there, I have a lump the size of a goose egg. Somebody snuck up on me and hit me, I tell you. It's a wonder I'm even still alive to talk about it.”

Florence wasn't kidding. She did have a large knot on her head. Aunt Peg was right. We should be calling for medical assistance.

“Why?” asked Aunt Peg.

“Why am I alive? Because I have a hard head, that's why. If Richard comes out here and sees me sitting on the ground like this he's going to have a fit. Are you two going to help me up or not?”

Aunt Peg held out a hand. I stepped around Florence and braced her from behind. The older woman hardly weighed a thing. Cautiously, we lifted her to her feet. She rocked unsteadily for a moment, then got her balance.

“That wasn't my question,” said Aunt Peg. “What I'm wondering is why would someone want to hit you.”

“I'm sure I don't know. All I was doing was walking my dog and minding my own business.”

“How long were you out here before you were attacked?” I asked. “Did you see anyone else while you were walking around?”

“My head hurts. It's hard to remember.”

“It might be important,” Peg said.

Florence closed her eyes and grimaced. Despite her protests when we'd tried to call for help, she was clearly in pain.

“Mother?”

We heard Richard before we saw him. The sound of footsteps, racing up the path, announced his imminent arrival. As did his frantic calls.

“Mother, where are you?”

“Over here, darling.”

Florence's voice, weak and whiny only a moment earlier, now hummed with vitality. And as I watched, the woman underwent a startling transformation. Florence's head came up and her spine stiffened. She found the will to smile. Only a tightness in the muscles on either side of her mouth revealed what the effort was costing her.

Abruptly Richard seemed to burst upon us out of the darkness. Sparing neither Peg nor me a glance, he went straight to his mother and gathered her into his arms. He drew her close for a moment, then stepped back again, holding her away and examining her from head to toe.

“Thank God you're all right. What happened?”

“Just a little accident. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Florence was clearly reveling in her son's attentive behavior. Over Richard's shoulder, she gave Peg a triumphant look.

Psychology isn't my strong suit but even I knew that Freud would have had a field day with this.

“It was more than a little accident,” I said. “Your mother has quite a bump on her head. It looks as though someone might have hit her. We tried to convince her to let us call an ambulance—”

“And I told them it wasn't necessary,” said Florence. “The last thing I want is for anyone to make a big fuss. I'm sure I'll be fine in the morning.”

“You'll be fine in the morning,” Richard said firmly, “because I'm taking you straight to the emergency room tonight. I know how much you value your independence, but you're not as young as you used to be. You've got to let me take care of you.”

“I suppose you might be right.”

The woman's show of bravado was waning. Her voice weakened. When she linked an arm through her son's, her body leaned heavily against his side.

Aunt Peg bent down and picked up Florence's purse, with Button still nestled within. Richard reached out and took it from her. Their fingers touched for a moment. They exchanged a look.