Hugger Mugger (21 page)

T
HE
R
EADING
R
OOM
is actually a house, a large white Victorian next to the track, with a wide veranda where people can eat and look disdainfully out over the hedge at people who, not being members, cannot come in. I wasn't a member, but apparently Penny Clive was, and the mention of her name was entirely sufficient to compensate.

I was alone. Susan had decided to sleep in until nearly seven, and run before she ate breakfast. It was a decision she made nearly every day. I didn't mind. I never went to work with her either. I was the first to arrive. I noticed that there was only one other place set when they seated me on the veranda. A black waiter in a white coat poured me fresh orange juice, and a cup of coffee, and departed. I looked disdainfully over the hedge at the people going by. Penny arrived after I had finished the juice and half the coffee. I stood. But I wasn't quick enough to get her chair. The maître d' had
it out and slid it gracefully in under her as she sat. Penny smiled at me across the table.

“Good morning,” she said.

Undimmed by Susan's presence, Penny was in full luster. She wore a dress with a floral print of blue, white, and red. Her wide-brimmed straw hat was red with a blue band.

“You must have the hand melon,” Penny said. “It's a local legend. The melons ripen every August while the track is in session.”

“Sure,” I said.

The waiter brought us two hand melons. They looked remarkably like cantaloupes.

“Wasn't that something yesterday,” Penny said to me.

“Hell of a horse,” I said.

“Angel rode him perfectly too.”

“Do you know that Dolly has hired me to look into the death of your father?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about it?” I said.

I had, after all, ridden all the way out here alone with a shrink.

“I am very disappointed.”

“Because?”

“I like Dolly, but she is exploiting our tragedy for her own benefit.”

“By investigating your father's death?”

“By claiming her son as an heir.”

“You reject that?”

“Entirely.”

I ate some hand melon. It tasted very much like cantaloupe.

“Do you know where your sisters are?”

“They preferred not to come to Saratoga this year. This is really a business trip and they really aren't very interested in the business. All of us find the social whirl a bit too much.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “Did anyone tell you they've left the house in Lamarr?”

“Left the house?”

Either she was very good, or she really didn't know.

“Un-huh.”

“You mean moved out?”

“Yep.”

“Why? Where did they go? Are they all right?”

“They're fine. I think you need to talk with Delroy. He may not be keeping you fully informed.”

“I . . .” She stopped and closed her mouth and sucked her lips in for a moment.

“I'll ask him,” she said.

We finished our hand melons, and the waiter whisked them away and another waiter put down a corn muffin for me, and a soft-boiled egg with whole wheat toast for Penny. The egg was in a little egg cup and accompanied by a little spoon. I gestured for more coffee and got it immediately. I added some milk and sugar and had a sip and sat back. I wasn't even sure quite what I was trying to do, talking with Penny. And I didn't really know quite how to go about whatever it was I was trying to do. It wasn't a new feeling. I spent half my professional life in
that situation. Actually, I spent a good portion of my unprofessional life in that situation too. When all else fails, I thought, try the truth.

“Ever since I came back into the case,” I said, “I've been stonewalled. Security South won't let me near you or your sisters. I finally insisted a few days ago on seeing your sisters and I found them husbandless, apparent prisoners in their own house, oddly disoriented. I took them out and placed them with their husbands at a location known to me and not known to Security South.”

Something stirred behind Penny's face that made me pretty sure she hadn't been told. It was only a little something. She had great self-control.

“You had no right to do that,” she said.

“Could you explain why they were being held as they were?”

“They were not being held, Mr. Spenser. They were being protected.”

“From what?”

She shook her head slowly.

“I don't have to talk to you.”

She was right, but I didn't think supporting her opinion would do me any good. Having nothing to say, I stayed quiet and waited.

“I love my family,” Penny said. “I loved my father especially. His death has been a tragedy for me. I have tried to protect us all from its impact. From the sometimes gratuitous scrutiny that follows upon a death. I am still trying to protect us from that.”

“Do you want his murderer caught?”

“In the abstract, yes. But I feel that Jon and the police
are adequate to that task, and what I want more than anything is peace—for me, for my sisters.”

“Did you have anything to do with the separation of your sisters and their husbands?”

Penny stared at me. Her face showed nothing. She seemed to be thinking of something else.

“Do you have a relationship with Jon Delroy?” I said.

Penny looked tired. She shook her head again. Even more slowly than she had before.

“I find it hard not to like you, Spenser. But . . . I'm afraid this conversation is over.”

She stood. The waiter leapt to hold her chair. She walked off the veranda and out of the Reading Room without another word and without looking back at me. On the assumption that offering to pay, as a nonmember, would be a vile breach of etiquette, I stood after she had disappeared and walked out as well.

W
E WERE GETTING
ready to go to a party at Dolly Hartman's house. Getting ready meant something different to Susan than it did to me. It began with taking a shower, but it did not end there. The shower was under way now. The wait would be a long one. While I was waiting, I called my answering machine from the Ramada Inn. There was a message to call Dalton Becker. Which I did.

“Got hold of that will you was interested in,” Becker said.

“Wow,” I said. “You never rest, do you?”

“Ever vigilant,” Becker said. “Will was drawn up thirty years ago, right after Stonie was born, near as I can figure.”

“And?”

“And nothing. Will says that his estate will be divided equally among his heirs.”

“So why you calling me?”

“I miss you.”

“You're being cute,” I said. “Isn't that fun.”

“And I got Vallone to talk to me a little.”

“About something besides Vallone?” I said.

“Yeah, Rudy's always been pretty happy being Rudy,” Becker said. “But while he was enjoying that, he did mention that Clive had discussed modifying the will.”

I waited.

“You interested in how?” Becker said.

“Yes, I am,” I said, “if you could get through swallowing the canary long enough to tell me.”

“It pains me to say this,” Becker said, “but Walter appears to have been a closet sexist after all these years. He wanted the will to add a clause giving managing control of Three Fillies Stables to any male issue.”

“Jason Hartman,” I said.

“That's the only male issue we know about.”

“Why the hell didn't Vallone tell us that?”

“Maybe he forgot,” Becker said.

“You believe that?”

“Rudy's pretty lazy,” Becker said. “But he's made a good living around here for the last thirty years. And he's probably noticed that if he runs his mouth a lot about nothing, and keeps it shut about anything that matters, things work out for him. Especially if it matters to the Clives.”

“Well,” I said. “Now we've got a motive. If Penny knew the contents of that will and knew her father was about to change it and knew her father was going to acknowledge a son . . .”

“That's a lot of ifs,” Becker said.

“Maybe I can make them less iffy,” I said.

“If Penny was capable of murder,” Becker said.

“She's capable of Delroy,” I said.

“Good point. I wouldn't have believed that either if we didn't have to see it every time we looked.”

The bathroom door was open. From where I sat I could see Susan get out of the shower with a towel. She saw me looking at her and smiled and flipped the towel like a fan dancer. I grinned. She grinned. Male issue might be overrated.

“You do anything with Herb the tracker?”

Becker laughed.

“Kid couldn't track a bull through a china shop,” Becker said. “I sent him straight over to Hector Tobin's repair shop to get his car in compliance. Last name ain't Simmons, by the way. It's Simpson.”

“Clever alias,” I said. “You talked to Tedy Sapp at all?”

“Nope. He's got no time for me. He's too busy looking after the brood of refugees you dumped on him.”

“You know about that.”

“I sort of pay attention. I got nothing much else to do.”

“You ready to move on Penny?” I said.

“'Cause you don't like her boyfriend? Or whatever he is.”

“She's got opportunity, and motive.”

“Un-huh.”

“She's got Delroy.”

“Un-huh,” Becker said. “You got a murder weapon?”

“No.”

“Eyewitness?”

“No.”

“Fingerprints? Powder residue? Confession? Any of that kind of stuff?”

“If we can arrest somebody, and pressure somebody, we can turn somebody.”

“Sure, do it all the time with guys rob a convenience store. But these aren't guys robbed a convenience store. These are Clives. Gimme some evidence.”

“Maybe the sisters will be in shape to talk with me,” I said.

“I'd like to hear what her sisters have to say.”

“Okay. Everybody who is anybody is heading back down to Lamarr tomorrow. Me too. I'll talk to SueSue and Stonie this weekend.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Becker said.

“Because you thirst for justice?”

“Because I always like to see what happens after somebody pokes a stick into a hornet's nest.”

We hung up and I sat for a bit in my chair, thinking and looking at Susan. With the towel contrived in some way to cover all areas of special interest to me, Susan was sitting in the sink in the bathroom, applying her makeup. I wasn't startled by her position anymore. She liked a lot of light and she liked to get close to the mirror and she was small enough so she could, and she took a long time putting on her makeup, so she sat in the sink. Once I'd asked her about it and she had turned the question back. “Wouldn't you sit in the sink,” she had said, “if you weren't so big and didn't fit?”

I was now at a point where I didn't understand why anyone wouldn't sit in the sink.

 

D
OLLY
H
ARTMAN
'
S COTTAGE
in Saratoga was a cottage in name only. It had Greek Revival columns out front, and a big dining room with a fifteen-foot ceiling where hors d'oeuvres were spread upon a lace tablecloth, and champagne chilled in silver buckets. A couple of kids who would have looked comfortable in jeans looked quite uncomfortable in French maid outfits as they circulated through the house pouring champagne. Dolly was there being the hostess with the mostess in a gauzy white gown that had several layers and made her look vaguely like Little Bo-Peep. Her son, Jason, was with her, greeting guests, looking polished in a crisp black shirt buttoned to the neck, and black linen trousers. Susan got a glass of champagne, which she used mainly as a prop, and went to the buffet table, which, she knew, was where the action would be. People interested Susan. She also knew I needed to be alone with Dolly.

“How are you doing?” Dolly said.

“I keep learning more and more, and knowing less and less,” I said. “You're sure you can't think of anyone at all that knew of Walter's DNA testing?”

“Me, Walter, and Dr. Klein,” Dolly said. “I can't believe Walter told anyone but me. He was very secretive. Dr. Klein didn't even tell me.”