No Mortal Reason (22 page)

That meant
she
had something to hide, that she didn’t want to call attention to herself. Because she’d murdered her husband? Or was she afraid of being charged with another crime?

“What is arson in the first degree?” Diana asked abruptly.

Buckley, who had been speaking to Ben in quiet tones, blinked at her in surprise. He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses, then returned them to their proper place. “Arson in the first degree consists of willingly setting fire to, or burning in the night time, a dwelling house in which there shall be at the time some human being.”

“Does that include hotels?”

“A dwelling house is any building occupied by persons lodging therein at night.”

His precise recitation annoyed her. “Do you have the statutes memorized?”

“Yes. Would you care to hear the section on duels?”

Almost against her will, a tiny smile blossomed on Diana’s lips. Friend or foe? She just couldn’t decide about Coroner Buckley. But she supposed they had no choice but to work with him. At this stage, he was the one in charge of the murder investigation.

“We think Saugus set the fire here ten years ago, and that there is a connection to Elly Lyseth’s death.” She repeated what they’d overheard in the quarrel between Saugus and his wife that first night at the Hotel Grant and explained the reasoning behind their deductions.

Buckley listened attentively, but he was shaking his head when she finished the tale. “Nothing you’ve told me convinces me of a need to look outside the Grant family for a killer. In fact, this new information gives Myron Grant an excellent motive for killing Saugus.”

“Because he tried to burn the hotel down.”

“That, yes. But if I follow your logic, Saugus thought he knew who killed Elly Lyseth. What if he had proof it was Myron Grant?”

“You can’t believe that!”

“I can and do, and I intend to prove it.”

Buckley’s smug expression was the final straw. Diana rose in a flurry of skirts and stalked from the dining room.

She’d tried to be a good citizen and what did it get her? A pat on the head. A condescending look. And the knowledge that she’d just driven one more nail into her uncle’s coffin.

She returned to the tower suite and retrieved her lists, but she did not reread what she’d written. Instead, the papers clenched in her hand, she paced, fuming as she stomped across the soft carpet in one direction, then reversed course. She’d have welcomed finding some small object in her way. It would have relieved her frustration to have something to kick across the room.

So much for getting information out of the coroner! Instead he’d taken what she and Ben knew and turned it against her family. And just where was Ben? Still in the dining room with Mr. Buckley, swapping coroner stories, no doubt!

It was left to her to find the real killer. She already had an obligation to Horatio Foxe to investigate the murders, although she had lost most of her enthusiasm for writing about crime. But producing a newspaper story was not her primary motivation. She had to solve the mystery of Norman Saugus’s death—and Elly Lyseth’s—if she ever hoped to be acknowledged by her mother’s family. Failure might mean she’d lose one of her new found uncles. If that happened, she’d never have the chance to tell him who she really was.

* * * *

“Your wife seemed upset,” Mr. Buckley remarked as he and Ben adjourned from the dining room to the gentlemen’s parlor, settled into comfortable chairs, and helped themselves to cigars.

“Finding a dead body can do that to a person.” And whatever Diana was up to right now, it was best to leave her to it until she’d calmed down. Ben didn’t think she could get into too much trouble here at the hotel in broad daylight.

“She is unaccustomed to violent death,” Buckley mused. “I hope I was not too hard on her.”

“She’s resilient.”

Buckley inhaled deeply and blew out a cloud of smoke. “I had an interesting case last fall.”

A pleasant half hour passed while they exchanged war stories. Buckley told Ben about the Sailor Jack case. Ben recounted the details of a recent murder in Bangor in which the deceased had been struck down by a peavey, a tool used by woodsmen to steer timber down river during the spring log drive.

“I suppose I must speak with the widow again before I leave,” Buckley remarked when their cigars were down to stubs.

Ben stood when he did. “Do you mind if I accompany you?”

“Not at all. To be truthful, the woman terrifies me.”

Buckley’s knock was followed by a long silence before Mrs. Saugus opened the door. As soon as she recognized the coroner, she burst into tears. She didn’t seem to notice Ben.

“I’m sorry to intrude, Mrs. Saugus, but I hoped you might have remembered something.”

With her voice muffled by sobs, her words were difficult to understand. but Ben gathered that she had slept soundly on the night of the murder and had no idea what had happened to her husband. Saugus had still been in the suite’s parlor when she’d retired. He’d been gone when she awoke.

“Did he go to bed at all?” Buckley wanted to know.

“I don’t think so,” the widow said, sniffling.

“Was he still fully dressed when you saw him last?”

She nodded and her tears became more copious still.

Buckley tried gamely for several more minutes but learned nothing new. With a few standard platitudes, he assured her that the authorities were doing all that could be done and bade her good day.

Ben was right behind him, but at the door he glanced back. Hunched over in her chair, Belle Saugus had her back to them. She appeared to be devastated by her loss. But in the mirror opposite, Ben caught a glimpse of her face in profile. Tears no longer flowed down the cheek he could see and the widow’s lips were tightly compressed. In that unguarded moment, he’d have sworn the emotion making her shake was not grief, but anger.

Thoughtful, he accompanied Buckley back to the lobby. Belle Saugus might be furious at the coroner for failing to arrest her husband’s killer, but if Diana was right that she’d once been an actress, then it seemed possible to Ben that Belle was livid because all the plans she and Saugus had made were now in ruins because of his death.

Such instability could be dangerous, especially with Buckley convinced that Myron Grant was the most likely suspect in Saugus’s death.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” he said as the other man put on his hat.

“Find me a better one, then.”

“Howard Grant can confirm his brother’s whereabouts for most, if not all, of last night.” They didn’t know exactly when Howd had left the hotel.

“Then get him back here to do it. The sooner the better.”

Ben agreed to try and as soon as Buckley left he went to the check-in desk. “I need directions to Sundown,” he told Mercy Grant.

* * * *

Diana had been pacing in their suite for at least an hour when Ben came to collect her and hustle her outside. He stopped in the lobby only long enough to fill his pockets with nuts, then whisked them across the expanse of lawn to a stone bench in the shade of a horse chestnut tree.

“What’s going on?” Diana demanded as he held out a treat toward a lurking squirrel. It scampered forward, tame as you please, and took the offering from his outstretched hand.

“I couldn’t convince Arthur Buckley that he should look beyond Myron Grant for Norman Saugus’s killer,” Ben said, watching the squirrel’s equally rapid retreat with its prize. It paused atop a stump to sit on its haunches and take a nibble.

 “I was afraid of that,” Diana said. “Well, then, it’s up to us to sort things out.”

“I’m afraid so.” He held out another tempting tidbit. The same squirrel dropped the first nut and raced in his direction, not only quite tame, but greedy as well. “He’ll probably arrest your uncle unless we find evidence to clear him.”

“What can we do?”

Drawn by the presence of food, Tremont the goat left off chomping grass and joined Diana and Ben beneath the tree. When she butted Diana’s elbow with her head, Diana absently began to pet her.

“I’m going to Sundown to bring Howd back,” Ben announced. “He was with Myron a good part of the night. He needs to say so to the authorities.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll have to go on horseback at least part of the way. It will be quicker if I go alone.”

Diana started to assure him she could ride, then closed her mouth, pursing her lips. It made more sense to separate. They could accomplish twice as much if she stayed behind. That did not mean, however, that she liked having him tell her what to do. “You’re being high-handed again.”

“I’m being practical.” He left the remaining nuts on the ground as he rose and dusted off his trousers. “I’ll leave within the hour. You stay here and—”

Springing to her feet beside him, Diana caught hold of Ben’s lapels. “If you say ‘be careful’ or ‘stay out of trouble’ or any other such unnecessary words of warning, I will kick you quite hard. I don’t take marching orders from you, Ben Northcote. If I stay here, I make my own decisions about how to spend the time. You won’t be around to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“For God’s sake, Diana, I don’t want to control your actions. I want
you
to control them. Think before you act. Yes,
stay out of trouble
.” He stepped back quickly, avoiding her foot. “You have an affinity for it. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“You don’t trust me to investigate on my own.”

“Admit it, Diana. You tend to rush into things without thinking them through first. I just want you to be care— I want you to protect yourself, since I won’t be here to do it for you, especially if you decide to ask impertinent questions of people you suspect have committed murder.”

“I can be subtle, you know.”

“You haven’t a subtle bone in your entire body. You always
confront
people.”

They were nose to nose, all but shouting at each other, when Ben suddenly fell forward, bumping hard against Diana and nearly sending both of them tumbling to the ground.

“What the—?”

As Diana righted herself she craned her neck to see around Ben’s imposing bulk. She thought someone must have pushed him, but that was not the case. Tremont stared back at her with slightly crossed eyes. She could have sworn the goat was smiling.

“I guess she doesn’t like loud voices.” Diana was unable to restrain a giggle.

“Either that or she’s taken a shine to you and wants to protect you,” Ben said, ruefully rubbing the back of his thigh. “That’s one hard-headed goat.”

Diana tried to avoid meeting his eyes, but it was impossible. The moment their gazes locked, they both burst out laughing.

“Hard-headed goat, hard-headed woman,” he muttered when the mirth had subsided.

“High-handed man,” she shot back. “I promise I’ll be careful if you will.”

“Done.” He offered her his hand and they shook on it.

* * * *

That evening, the Grant family and Mrs. Ellington once again gathered for a meal. Diana was their only guest, since Ben had left right after the incident with Tremont to fetch Howd back from Sundown. Sebastian Ellington had accompanied him. Diana was not certain why. According to Mercy, Sebastian had never visited Howd’s mountain retreat before and would be no help finding the place. There was, to quote Mr. Lyseth, “no mortal reason” for him to have gone . . . except, perhaps, to get away from the scene of the crime for awhile.

“You have outdone yourself with this meal, Mrs. Ellington,” Diana said, savoring a bit of tender beef.

“Cooking soothes the soul,” Tressa Ellington replied.

“We should expect to eat well, then,” Mercy quipped.

Uncle Myron scowled at her. “This will all blow over. Wait and see.”

“Uncle Myron, the coroner thinks you killed him.”

“Nonsense, girl.” But he didn’t look as confident as he sounded.

Mashed potatoes turned to paste in Diana’s mouth. She swallowed the lump and set down her fork. “We need to discover an alternate suspect.” She gave Myron Grant a hard look. “You knew him best. Who would hate him enough to do that to him?”

“Don’t know his enemies. His friends, either. If he had any.”

“What about his backers?”

“Never met them.”

“Perhaps they don’t even exist,” Diana murmured.

“They must,” Myron insisted. “How else could he have hoped to turn Lenape Springs into another Saratoga? That’s too big for one man to manage.”

“Was that Saugus’s idea or yours?” Diana asked.

“Mine,” Uncle Myron said.

At the same time, Mercy said, “Sebastian’s.”

They all stared at her.

“You never talked so big before he came here, Uncle Myron.”

A sheepish expression on his face, Myron avoided Mercy’s gaze. “Seemed like it was worth a shot.
My
idea,” he insisted, “but Sebastian thought it was a good one.”

“Sebastian is an egotistical young idiot!” Mercy banged down her glass, sloshing water onto the lace tablecloth.

“He’s older than you are, missy, and he knows more about hotels.”

“He knows what’s likely to make one fail!”

A painful silence fell, broken only by the scrape of Mrs. Ellington’s fork against her plate.

“I . . . I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” She shot a covert glance at Diana. “Sebastian’s family, after all.”

“If you overextend yourself with the renovations and expansion,” Diana asked Myron, “is Sebastian in a position to step in and take over?”

“That’s family business, Mrs. Northcote,” Myron snapped, “and it has nothing to do with Norman Saugus’s murder. Sebastian didn’t kill him. That’s for sure. He had no reason. He didn’t know about the arson.”

Mercy jerked in her chair with an audible thump. “Arson? What arson?”

“It’s not important now,” Myron told her. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

“On the contrary,” said a soft, feminine voice from the doorway. “Burning down this rattletrap was the point of the exercise.”

Belle Saugus sauntered into the dining room, resplendent in mourning black. The impact would have been greater, Diana thought, had she covered that red hair and abstained from putting artificial color on her cheeks and lips.