No Mortal Reason (13 page)

“What do
you
write about, then?” Mercy wanted to know.

Another perilous subject!

“I review books.” Diana saw no need to mention that she also reviewed plays and reported theatrical gossip. That might give the wrong impression.

She was pleased to find that her voice was steady again.

“That Mr. Foxe who sent the telegram,” Uncle Myron said. “Scorcher says he’s from the
Independent Intelligencer
. That newspaper’s got almost as bad a reputation as the
National Police Gazette
. Nothing but sensational stories and half-truths. Fit for the barber shop or the barroom, but not for decent people to read.”

“It’s not
that
bad,” Diana protested, offended in spite of the kernel of truth in her uncle’s assessment. “And how does a boy Scorcher’s age know so much about it anyway?”

“He’s a reader, “Mrs. Ellington said. “Reads every newspaper he can get his hands on. Books, too.”

“Never mind Scorcher,” Myron Grant cut in. “I want to know why you came here. Danged strange it wasn’t until after you arrived that they dug up those bones.”

All three women gasped at this suggestion, but Diana was the first to recover. “That’s nonsense and you know it. I had nothing to do with the discovery. And I did not come here looking for scandal.” It had found her, Diana thought, and it had been sheer bad luck for them all that Horatio Foxe had also been able to locate her.

“Your husband said you came because you know my sister Elmira.” Myron’s glower intensified. “Just how do you know her? That’s what I want to know. What scandal was
she
involved in?”

Once again, Diana considered confessing the truth. Then she realized how much explaining she’d have to do. Her mother had been, and continued to be, involved in more than one questionable situation. What if Uncle Myron asked for details? She shuddered to think what he’d make of Elmira Grant Torrence’s current profession.

She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Torrence lives in Denver, Colorado,” she said. “I was there recently, on a matter that had nothing to do with my employment by the
Independent Intelligencer
. Once that was dealt with, however, I did write several travel articles for the newspaper.”

Everything she’d just said was true, but her statements left out a host of details. Certain Uncle Myron, and probably Mercy and Mrs. Ellington, as well, could tell she was hiding something, Diana waited for the ax to fall.

“Why did the telegram come addressed to Mrs. Spaulding?” Mrs. Ellington asked. It was the second time she’d provided a welcome distraction.

“That is the name which appears as my byline.” A note of pride came into her voice. Until quite recently, all her pieces, even her column, had been published anonymously. It was a mark of success to be acknowledged as the author of an article.

“Is that what they call that a pseudonym?”

“Pseudonyms are assumed names. Diana Spaulding was my legal name  at the time I started writing for the
Independent Intelligencer
.”

“That’s right,” Mercy murmured. She spoke to her uncle. “The telegram came addressed to Mrs. Spaulding. She’s a newlywed. She said she was a widow when she met Dr. Northcote.”

Myron seemed calmer now. He scratched his chin. “Is Northcote really a doctor?”

“Oh, yes,” Diana assured him. “He’s a very fine physician.”

“He doesn’t seem to think much of my spring.”

“He didn’t come to take the waters,” Diana said honestly.

“He didn’t come to fish, either. Don’t bother to deny it.” Myron was back on the attack. “There were no fishing poles in your gear. I want you and your husband out of my hotel, Mrs. Northcote. And you’d better not be writing about us for that newspaper of yours, either.”

Diana at last let go of the check-in desk and stood on her own two feet, back straight, chin thrust forward. “I never intended to write anything negative about the Hotel Grant. My editor, I admit, likes sensational stories. And I have written about crime in the past, from a female point of view. But—”

“You’ll not be writing about crime here,” Myron declared. “We don’t need that sort of notoriety.”

“Besides,” Mercy put in, “there
was
no crime.”

“She told you she’d been writing travel articles,” Mrs. Ellington interrupted. “I should think it would be obvious that’s why she came here. She was going to do a piece on the Hotel Grant. Free publicity, Myron. Do you want to throw that away?”

Diana seized the life line she’d been thrown. It meant lying to them again, but at this point, she couldn’t quibble. She didn’t want to leave here. Not now. Her family needed her help, whether they realized it or not.

“The story of the discovery of Elly Lyseth’s bones has already spread beyond Sullivan County,” she said. “You won’t be able to avoid the notoriety entirely. Murdered or not, there’s a mystery surrounding that young woman’s death.”

“She wasn’t murdered,” Myron insisted. “It must have been an accident.” He could not quite hide the a flash of doubt in his eyes.

He was worried that his brother might be blamed for the girl’s death. Diana sympathized. She wished she could tell him the real reason she had no intention of digging up scandal on the Grants, but she’d have to work with what she had.

“I envision an article on this hotel that praises all its amenities, and the healthful qualities of the spring water,
and
shows its owners to be the sort of people who care about justice. The only way to clear your name is to discover what really did happen ten years ago, and I can help you do that.”

“How?” He didn’t sound convinced, but at least he wasn’t hustling her out the door.

“By talking to people. By asking questions.”

“That’ll only stir up trouble.” Myron objected.

“We’ve already got trouble,” Mrs. Ellington said. That blasted preacher is pushing Celia to denounce the hotel and say Elly died because she worked here for us.”

“Mrs. Northcote meant to visit her earlier today,” Mercy whispered. That Celia Lyseth might already have talked to a reporter clearly alarmed them all.

Diana met their accusing stares with an equanimity she was far from feeling. “Mrs. Lyseth did not denounce anyone to me. She wouldn’t even talk to me.” Of course, she hadn’t known Diana was a journalist then, either.

Myron started to speak, then closed his mouth with an audible snap. He stood in silence for a long moment, mulling over what she’d said. “You came here to write a travel piece?” he asked at last.

Diana couldn’t bring herself to lie outright, but she managed a nod.

“Good publicity, you think?” He looked at Mercy.

“Excellent publicity.”

“There’s a saying,” Diana reminded them, “that any publicity is good publicity.” She never been sure she believed it, but the argument seemed to convince her uncle.

“Guess if we had a reporter on our side, that might be an advantage. You can stay.”

“And you’ll cooperate with me?” Diana persisted. “Talk to me. Answer my questions, even if you think they’re intrusive?”

He agreed with a reluctant nod.

“Excellent. I’m sure your example will persuade the rest of your family to follow suit. Do you have any influence over Mr. Saugus?”

Myron Grant’s expression cleared for a moment and he almost smiled. “I don’t suppose you could prove he killed Elly? That would solve a host of problems.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised, hoping he caught the sarcasm in her tone. “In the meantime, let’s get started on that interview.”

Myron looked puzzled.

“I thought I made myself clear. I’ll need to talk to each of you, to ask questions about what happened ten years ago. You’re here. I’m here. I might as well start with you.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Myron grumbled a bit, but finally gave in. “Come into the kitchen. I’ve got a hankering for a cup of coffee to whet my whistle before we begin.”

A short time later, seated at a freshly scrubbed pine table with steaming mugs in their hands, Diana began her inquisition. She had her notebook and pencil at the ready, but first she simply studied her uncle’s face, looking for Elmira in the planes and angles.

There was no physical resemblance that she could see, but there was a similarity in attitude. Like his sister, Myron was impatient, brusque, and did not suffer fools gladly. “Get on with it,” he ordered.

“How did you first meet Norman Saugus?” She set aside family feeling and became all business. This was a murder investigation. It must be undertaken with utmost efficiency.

Her uncle grimaced at the question. “About eleven years ago. Went into the City to meet with some buyers—had a herd of dairy cows then and was selling the milk.”

“The city?” Diana interrupted. “That would be Middletown? Or was it Newburgh?”

He snorted. “Don’t you know there’s only one City when you’re from these parts? New York City, Mrs. Northcote. Manhattan.”

“Very well. And you met Mr. Saugus there?”

Myron sipped coffee, a reminiscent gleam in his small eyes. “We were staying in the same boarding house. Seemed a nice enough fella. And when he heard I owned a hotel in the mountains, he said as how he’d been meaning to get out of the City for a spell. Next thing I knew, he and Belle decided to come back with me. Paying guests, they were . . . at first.”

“And later?”

“Well, once we got to talking, and I told him some of the things I’d thought about doing with the hotel, he told me he was in the business of finding money to invest in profitable enterprises. That’s what he called them—profitable enterprises.”

“Did you ask for references? Check his credentials?”

“Never thought to. Well, I knew him, you see. He’d been staying here a couple of weeks by then, paying his bills as regular as can be.”

Diana kept her thoughts to herself, but Myron’s words put her in mind of two types of criminal she had learned about when she was writing crime stories for the
Independent Intelligencer
. One was the boarding-house thief, a breed with which she’d had personal experience. The other was the hotel thief. Both tended to operate in cities, where it was easier to dispose of the plunder and disappear in a crowd, but what Saugus had told Myron about wanting to get out of New York for a while rang true. If he’d tried his game too often, the police probably knew what he looked like.

There were a great many confidence
women
, too, she recalled. “You said Mrs. Saugus was with him when you met?”

Myron nodded.

Diana frowned. The type of criminal she’d been thinking of didn’t usually work in pairs. Or rather, when they had confederates, they didn’t allow anyone to see them together. “Tell me,” she urged, “why does the idea of Norman Saugus as Elly’s murderer appeal to you?”

“I don’t like the man.”

“Why do business with him, then? The second time, I mean.”

“He’s the only backer I could find,” Myron admitted, “and he had ready money.”

“How long did you search?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I didn’t want to waste a lot of time. I saw what my sister did with her place, and Sebastian came back with me after that visit, expecting I’d do even better. Got to give the boy credit—he’s born to the business on both sides of the family.”

“Your sister and her husband have a hotel?”

Myron nodded. “In the Adirondacks.” He started to say more but she cut him off.

“You can tell me about it later. Right now we need to stick to Norman Saugus. How did you find him again?”

“He found me.”

“How convenient.”

Myron missed her sarcasm. “Must have heard I was planning to expand. He wrote and offered to invest. Said he was sorry it hadn’t worked out before.”

“What stopped you the first time?”

“Thought you knew that. Spring dried up. Then there was the fire. Thank the Lord it was after the season. No one was killed or injured. But if the wind had been from the other direction that day, it would have taken the entire hotel.”

“So he knew you’d rediscovered the source of the spring?” Diana asked.

Myron started to say yes, then hesitated. “You know, he never mentioned the spring. Must have heard, though. Why else would he be willing to put his own money into the resort?”

Why, indeed? Diana made a few more notes and considered what to ask next.

Her uncle’s fingers drummed on the tabletop, signaling that he grew impatient with her questions. She was not surprised when he challenged her. “Where does all this get you?”

“Nowhere . . . yet. But let’s go back ten years. Saugus and his wife were here. Did they know the Lyseths?”

“Had to. All three of them worked at the hotel.”

“Any closer contact?”

“Not that I saw.”

“What do you remember about Elly?”

“Flighty little thing. Always complaining. Always finding ways to get out of work, too. And she sassed the customers. I had to complain to her father about that once. He took a switch to her, but it didn’t help much. Just made her sulky.”

Diana winced, but didn’t comment on the punishment. “Sassed how?”

“Disrespectful. You know. Someone would need towels and she’d say, ‘Hold your horses, mister. Do I look like some darky slave?’ Puzzles me what Howd saw in her.”

“He never talked to you about her?”

Myron shook his head.

“Where is Howd now?” Diana asked.

“Danged if I know. Said he had something to take care of in town.”

“In Liberty?”

Myron nodded. “First thing this morning, Floyd and me went in to pick up supplies. Howd wanted to go along, so he did.”

“How is Floyd Lyseth taking all this? Does he think his daughter’s death was an accident?”

“Hard to tell what Floyd thinks. He didn’t say a word the whole trip, going or coming back. But to tell you the truth, Howd seems more upset than Floyd is. I figure that’s why he wanted to go into town—to get away from here for a while. Sometimes he walks when he’s upset. He can walk the five miles from Liberty to here easy enough when he’s ready to come home. Then again, could be he headed for the hills.”

“Let’s hope not. I need to talk to him. He’s the one who seems to have known Elly best.”