Larkspur (26 page)

That left me, Ma, Martha, and Win in the trashed room.

"I don't believe it," Ma grumbled, tidying the spattered and smeared hors d'oeuvres' tray.
"Not Janey. She was crying."

Martha took the tray from Ma with fastidious fingers. "Lydia upstaged her." There
ensued a long silence. Martha went off to the kitchen.

Part of my mind agreed with Mother. The rest, sifting through the events of the previous
ten days, began to see Martha's point. She saw the killer in theatrical terms, and she was right
about one thing. Lydia was always upstaging Janey.

After awhile Win said from the bar, "I suppose they'll order a psychiatric
evaluation."

"I hope so," Ma snapped. "It doesn't make sense, none of it. You didn't think Janey was
the culprit, Lark. You warned me not to drink that gin."

"I thought it was Lydia," I agreed, unhappy, "but I was wrong. Janey makes better
sense."

"She had scratches on both forearms and a bruise on one shin where Denise must have
kicked her. She's guilty, all right. Why did Lydia swallow the drink?" Martha exploded. "That I
don't understand."

None of us understood. It was crazy. I thought of Miguel, of Denise, her eyes bulging,
tongue protruding, of Llewellyn dying as I breathed for him. Crazy was the word. Crazy and
cold.

When we had restored the room to a semblance of order, I took my mother home to my
apartment. We left her car in Win's parking lot. I think Win and Martha were glad to see us
go.

Mother and I collapsed in the living room and stared at each other for awhile. Finally I
said, "We ought to call Dad."

"Yes." She didn't sound enthusiastic.

"What I need is a good long run. I know that doesn't appeal to you..."

She gave a snort of laughter. "Whether it appealed or not, I couldn't. I'm an elderly lady
with varicose veins."

"Now, Ma. How about a swim?"

"I don't have a suit."

"We'll find one for you at the health club." She resisted half-heartedly, but I dragged her
off. I swam laps and she paddled around in a green tank-suit somebody had abandoned. When we
got out, we looked like skinned rabbits--or March hares--but we felt better. At least I felt better,
and Ma said she did.

My bookstore looked abandoned. No reporters or gogglers haunted the half-vacant
parking lot. They would tomorrow, when I re-opened. I wanted to get back to my books. Work
was going to seem strange without Ginger.

The phone rang as we entered the apartment, and I caught it before my message tape
kicked in. It was Ginger.

"Has something happened? I tried to call Jay. They said he was busy, so I called you, and
you were out."

I broke in on her reproaches and gave a terse account of Janey's arrest.

Ginger heard me in silence. When I finished, she gabbled something at Dennis then said
into the receiver, "We're coming right over."

"But Ma's here..." There was no point in objecting. Ginger had hung up.

Mother was poking in my refrigerator. When I told her Ginger and Dennis were on their
way, she just looked resigned. "Better send out for a pizza. I'm starving."

So we shared a vast mushroom and olive pizza and bottles of Henry Weinhardt's Private
Reserve with Ginger and Dennis while we hashed everything over. Both of them were as stunned
by the idea of Janey's guilt as I had been. My mother who pointed out that Janey had been
charged only with the deaths of Miguel and Denise.

"You mean Jay still doesn't know who killed Dai...my father?" Dennis's big face
flushed.

"Lordy," I muttered into my beer. "Maybe it
was
Lydia."

"Or Ted Peltz," Ma said darkly. She was unreconciled to the fact that Peltz was going to
get away with wife-battering.

We finished the pizza, speculating wildly, and adjourned to the living room. It was
half-past ten by that time, and Mother remembered she hadn't called Dad. After some hesitation--it
was one-thirty in New York--she decided to wake him up anyway and went off to the kitchen to
call.

Ginger and Dennis and I talked for a while about weddings. I was relieved to hear that
they still meant to go through with their sylvan ceremony and told them about my own plans.
That necessitated a round of rearrangements, so the dates wouldn't conflict and somebody could
take care of the bookstore. We were trying to figure out how to time all the flying back and forth
when Jay came in.

He took one look at Dennis and Ginger, groaned, and went to the refrigerator for a beer.
Ma trapped him and made him say something to my father, so he looked harried as well as
exhausted when he and Mother returned to the living room.

He creaked down on my second-best chair, an overstuffed 1950's armchair covered in
brown plush, and took a long swallow straight from the bottle. We all stared at him.

When he rested the bottle on the chair arm I said, "Give."

He looked wary and said nothing.

"Who killed David Llewellyn?" Ma demanded.

Jay's brows shot up. "I charged Jane Huff with all three murders when we got to the
courthouse."

"But you only arrested her for killing Miguel and Denise!"

"That was before you found the poison bottle in her purse," Jay said reasonably. "I was
sure she'd done it, but I only had hard evidence for the later killings at that point. The bottle--it
still contained a trace of the poison, by the way--gave me enough to book her for Llewellyn's
death, too. The bottle's just like the one we found at the lodge, and another Cowan found in the
glove compartment of her car. She must've brewed a big batch. She'll go before the judge
tomorrow." He took another swig of beer. "And that, friends, is all I'm going to say."

We all protested at once.

"That's not fair!" I got up and stood over him. "Come on, Jay. We won't talk to the press,
and we have a right to know."

"Not the ghost of a right," Jay growled. "The alleged killer will be tried in court. I won't
say anything that can be twisted or misrepresented or otherwise used to jeopardize a verdict."
Very high minded--or, more likely, paranoid.

It took a while, but we wore Jay down. I suppose it wasn't fair, all of us jumping on him
like that. When we had sworn not to discuss the killings, and I had pointed out that Dennis, at
least, had a right to know what kind of case the D.A. would be able to make, Jay sighed and gave
in.

"I talked to Lydia."

"She's okay?"

Jay patted the arm of the chair, and I sat on it. "Not okay, but definitely lucid. She
wanted to talk. Bill didn't like that, and neither did the doctor. For that matter,
I
could
have waited until tomorrow, but Lydia insisted on making a statement."

"Did she say why she drank the poison?" I had an inkling.

"She thought you suspected her of lacing your mother's drink, and she started to panic.
Janey had already directed suspicion at her with the cat. Lydia had some vague notion that
drinking the gin and tonic would prove her innocence, so she took a gamble."

"And lost."

"Maybe not," Jay said slowly. "Maybe not."

"Was she trying to protect Janey?" Mother's dark hair, curly like mine but gray-streaked,
had dried in lopsided kinks and whorls. She looked tired but not half as tired as Jay.

Jay said, "At first. Lydia didn't get along with Janey, but Janey was Bill's daughter, and
Lydia has this habit of shielding Bill from life's little unpleasantnesses."

"Unpleasantnesses!" Ginger's perm crackled with indignation. Somebody else who was
into protecting her man.

Dennis was trying to puzzle it out. "But my mother..."

Jay sighed and rubbed the Velcro corset. "I'm sorry, Dennis. I don't mean to trivialize
your mother's death--or the other deaths. I was trying to give you Lydia's viewpoint. Denise
apparently saw Janey put something in Llewellyn's drink. That it might have been murder didn't
strike her until the next day, when Lydia woke her up to tell her your father was dead. Lydia
sedated Denise and persuaded her she must have been mistaken."

I went to the front window. The street below wasn't empty. Small-town Sunday evening.
I sat on the wide window ledge. "I suppose Denise was too caught up in the, er, the developments
about the will to brood over what she had or hadn't seen."

"We'll never know," Jay murmured, still watching Dennis.

"She was kind of moody the whole time we were in San Francisco." Dennis's voice
cracked. "I thought...well, see, I was pretty confused myself. We didn't talk much about...about
old Llewellyn's death. There was too much else to discuss. And there was the will and the
funeral."

Ma leaned forward in the rocking chair, her eyes on Jay. "But when she heard about
Miguel's death, Denise must have reconsidered."

Jay nodded. "She called Lydia as soon as the news broke. We had to clear that point up,
because Lydia had claimed she called Denise with the news of Miguel's death.
Denise
called. Janey answered and brought Lydia to the phone. Janey must have hung around and heard
enough to suggest a plan of action." His face was grim. "Denise fought."

Ginger gave a single, satisfied nod. Dennis gulped, but he didn't say anything.

"The cat was an attempt to incriminate Lydia," Jay went on. "Or scare her. It's solid
evidence of premeditation. One of the carpenters working on that cabin above Denise's place
identified Janey's car. He was up on the roof eating his lunch and enjoying the view. Claims he
can see Mt. Shasta from the ridge of the rafters. He saw Janey's car pull up, still with the
sailboard on the roof. He was definite about that."

"Did he see Janey herself?" Ma wondered. So did I.

Jay took a swallow of beer. "Yeah. The guy saw Denise answer the door and let Janey in.
He also heard Janey pull out and looked over about five minutes later when Lydia drove up
thinking she was going to eat lunch with Denise and talk things over. He just caught a glimpse of
that, enough to notice that it was a different car. Then he got busy. He didn't see Lydia leave,
though he did spot the Toyota, Lark. He remembers thinking it was unusual for Denise to have
all those visitors."

We were all silent for a long moment. Poor Denise would have been safer in San
Francisco, which has one of the highest rates of violent crime in the nation, than in bucolic
retirement.

I was remembering the scene in the gazebo a little too clearly. I got up. "What about
Miguel?"

Jay frowned. "I guess he must have seen what Denise saw."

"Blackmail," Ma murmured.

Jay nodded. "Poor kid. I should've taken him in and sweated it out of him. I knew he was
holding something back, but I thought it had to do with his relations with Llewellyn." He finished
his beer and didn't look at Dennis.

"Janey arranged a rendezvous with Miguel, took Bill's gun from the collection, and got
in the Mercedes with Miguel." I was pacing and probably making my guests nervous, but I
couldn't help it. "He wouldn't have seen her as particularly threatening."

Jay sounded almost apologetic. "A woman alone with a young man, way out in the tules.
The flip side of
machismo
."

"So she shot him." I plunked down on the carpet by Mother. The rocker creaked. "But
why the trick with the refrigeration? Why the cat and the larkspur?"

Ma said, "I'll lay any odds you like she's a compulsive reader of murder mysteries.
Librarians often are."

I craned round to look at her.

She gave me a faint smile. "My contribution to the evidence. W.H. Auden wrote a good
essay on the symbolic meaning of mysteries, but I don't know what he'd make of Janey's. I read
them myself, and one thing I've noticed is the texture of their absurdity."

That interested Jay. He straightened in the plush chair, hands on the arms.
"Absurdity?"

"The juxtaposition of wildly disparate elements which aren't inherently odd."

"Just odd in context?"

She nodded, approving. "Whether consciously--in an attempt to confuse the
investigation and throw blame on Lydia--or unconsciously, Janey was trying to reproduce the
absurd texture of the classic mystery."

"Life imitating art?" Jay sounded skeptical, as well he might.

Mother said, "Life often does imitate art, which is why art is such a heavy
responsibility."

"I think she was just crazy."

We all looked at Ginger, who blushed but held her ground. I was inclined to agree with
her.

Dennis was still brooding. "I suppose she'll plead insanity."

"She may. The judge is almost sure to order a psychiatric evaluation." Jay leaned against
the plush backrest. "But all murderers are at least temporarily insane. I think she'll stand
trial."

Ma said, "I'm glad there was a resolution before I had to leave. Thank you for trusting
our discretion, Jay." She got up. "Dennis, can I trouble you to drive me out to D'Angelo's
apartment? I left my car in the lot, and I really ought to be off."

Jay said, "I'll drive you."

I said, "No, you won't. You're going to bed. I'll take you, Ma."

"She can come with us." Ginger settled things. She rose, too, and pulled Dennis to his
feet. Then she went over to Jay. "I think you're smarter than hell for figuring all that out. Thanks
for telling us what happened." She stuck out her hand.

Jay rose and shook it. "All right, Ginger?"

I wasn't sure what he meant, but she apparently was. She nodded emphatically and gave
him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to me. "I'll see you tomorrow, Lark."

"You're coming to work?" Hope sprang like a green shoot.

"Sure. We have to start training Annie."

I hugged her. "You're right. We do." I kissed Dennis and Ma and verified Ma's plans for
the morning. Finally they left.

I closed the door and went in search of Jay. He was in the kitchen making a turkey
sandwich.

"I forgot to feed you!"

He turned and kissed me ferociously. "What am I, a bird in the nest, that you have to
stuff my craw? Don't get stuck in Lydia's mode, darling."