Stork Raving Mad (22 page)

He held the iPhone up again and waved it around excitedly.

“I’ll take your word for it,” the chief said, stepping back slightly. Perhaps he shared my tepid enthusiasm for cell phones. “So if they’re not digitalis, what do you and your iPhone think Señor Mendoza’s pills are?”

“Probably a benzodiazepine,” Dad said. “Could be more diazepam—Valium—or something similar. There’s a European factory making a generic diazepam that looks just like this, so I suspect that’s what it is.”

“So even if someone tried to use Señor Mendoza’s pills to kill her, all they did was give her more Valium?” I asked.

“Precisely,” Dad said.

“Enough Valium to be dangerous?” the chief asked.

Dad thought for some moments.

“Probably not,” he said. “Ramon’s pills were two-milligram doses. That’s also what a prudent doctor would probably prescribe for an elderly patient like Señor Mendoza—two milligrams two to four times a day. These look to be two-milligram pills. And the normal dosage can be up to ten milligrams four times a day for a healthy adult.”

“So someone could throw eight or ten of these pills in the tea, assuming they’d just delivered a lethal dose of digitalis, and still be way short even of the maximum daily dosage of Valium?” I asked.

Dad nodded.

“What if they went in for overkill?” the chief said. “And gave her fifteen or twenty milligrams?”

“They could feed her Señor Mendoza’s whole bottle and it
would be extremely unlikely to prove fatal, particularly in the short time we’re talking about,” Dad said. “I’m not saying it’s harmless; she might have side effects. But no matter how much Valium she swallowed, it wouldn’t cause death so suddenly. Very few poisons could—digitalis wouldn’t, for example; it would take hours. And most of the poisons that fast would cause some pretty dramatic symptoms that we’d be able to pick up on. But the condition of the body’s consistent with insulin poisoning. That’s why I told you earlier I didn’t think testing the tea would get us anywhere.”

The chief thought for a moment.

“I don’t have to tell any of you to keep this to yourselves,” he said. He was, of course, looking at me.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I realize that we already have at least two self-confessed criminals in the house, and the total will probably rise to three or four when you figure out who shot her up with the insulin and who bludgeoned her with the statue. I might be a little careless with my own safety, but I have no intention of putting Chip and Dale in danger.”

I patted the twins as I spoke. Chip responded by attempting to turn a somersault, causing Dale to begin his relentless, rhythmic kicking. I wasn’t looking forward to refereeing when they got older.

“That’s good,” the chief said. “I appreciate you calling me when you found the purse instead of going off half-cocked and trying to solve the murder yourself. But it might be a good time to get a little rest and keep your distance from all those folks.”

“At least until you figure out which ones are homicidally inclined and which ones just full of talk when it comes to Dr. Wright,” I said. “Point taken. Actually, I’m heading up to bed. Though I was wondering if I could get my laptop while I’m here.”

“Allow me,” Horace said. He disappeared into the closet and emerged holding the familiar battered carrying case that held my laptop.

The chief was eyeing the laptop with disfavor. Surely he knew better than to think me capable of online sleuthing.

“Thanks,” I said. “If anyone looks for me, I’ll be upstairs, either doing a few last minute searches on those ‘What to Name Your Baby’ sites or taking a long overdue nap.”

“Finally,” I muttered, as I reached the top of the stairs. I stood there until my breathing slowed down a bit. These days, Hansel and Gretel didn’t leave me much room to draw a deep breath. Then I headed toward our bedroom.

Of course, before I got there, I had to pass the door to the nursery. Since Mother hadn’t gone home in a huff after talking to Michael, I assumed he had approved her plans. Surprising that she hadn’t tried to tell me about them out in the barn. Perhaps she was too busy playing hostess and dancing.

Or maybe I should check on what she’d been doing.

The door was open and I heard a radio softly playing country music, interrupted occasionally by a gentle tapping noise. I took a deep breath, stepped inside, and looked around.

It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Not yet, anyway. The walls had been painted a soft bluish-lavender, and Randall, on an eight-foot ladder, was applying a foot-deep wallpaper border with a twining leaf pattern along the top. One of Randall’s cousins was assembling the second of two matching cribs. The first stood already assembled, its white painted wood gleaming, its mattress already covered with a lavender sheet. The lavender walls matched the sheets so exactly that I knew Mother had given
someone down at the hardware store fits perfecting the paint color match.

“If you’re looking for your mother, she just left,” Randall said, from atop his ladder. “Brought us some plates from the buffet.”

“That’s good,” I said. “I was hoping to sneak a peek without her around.”

“Not too bad, is it?”

“No, it’s lovely,” I said. “Though unnecessary. Even if either of the kids inherits Mother’s decorating gene, it’ll be a few years before they’re old enough to appreciate elegant nursery design.”

“And by the time they are, they’ll have knocked the dickens out of it and it won’t be quite so elegant,” Randall said with a chuckle. “Hope you don’t mind that we took the job.”

“You needed the money,” I said. “That’s the one thing that keeps me from putting my foot down and telling her to send all this expensive stuff back. We don’t need it, but Mother can afford it, and if it’s helping keep local businesses going, I can live with it.”

Randall nodded. He still looked troubled. He glanced over at his cousin.

“Hobart,” he said. “You mind if I talk to Mrs. Waterston in private for a moment?”

“Sure thing, Randall. I’ll go get some more pie.” Hobart nodded to me and shuffled out the door.

Randall followed him to the door and shut it. I sighed and looked around for someplace to sit, or at least something I
could lean against. Randall seemed to guess my intent and fetched a stool with soft green upholstery.

“Here,” he said. “We haven’t assembled the matching rocker yet, but this is better than nothing.”

“Thanks,” I said. “What’s up, Randall?”

“Got something I want to run by you,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

“It’s about the library.”

“I told you before, we’re just not ready to do the library,” I said. “Actually, we’re ready, but our bank account isn’t. When we can swing it, we’ll definitely give you first crack at bidding on it.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I know you’re not ready to do the whole library yet, but I thought maybe I’d work up a plan for how you could do it in stages. Get a plan in place, and maybe I could start keeping my eyes out for good deals on the supplies. And yeah, I was hoping if I could come up with a good price, maybe you’d be willing to start the first stage. I could use the work. Work from a client who actually pays, that is.”

“I can understand that,” I said. “We probably won’t be ready to go forward until we find out about Michael’s tenure.”

“Which isn’t all that long, right?” Randall said. “That’s what I was figuring. So anyway, while your mother was showing her plans to Michael earlier today, I slipped down to the library with my camera and my tape measure. Figured I’d take a few measurements, a few photos. Get what I needed to do some sketches and estimates. Only when I went into the library, she was there.”

“She? You mean Dr. Wright?”

“The dead lady, whatever her name was.”

“But she wasn’t dead then, was she?”

“How should I know?” he said, with an exaggerated shrug. “She had her head down on the desk. I walked in, looked around, saw her, and said, ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but do you mind if I take a few measurements of the room?’ ”

“And did she answer?”

Randall shook his head.

“I figured she must be fast asleep, so I said, ‘Sorry to disturb you’—real soft like—and headed back for the door. I was almost out of the room when that other jerk showed up. Blanco.”

I noticed that with Blanco gone, he didn’t pretend to mispronounce the name.

“Dr. Blanco was in the library?” I asked. I winced at the eager sound of my own voice. Even though I’d mellowed toward him, I hadn’t grown so fond that I would object to having him turn out to be a suspect.

“No, he was banging on one of the French doors to the sunroom and yelling, ‘Jean! Jean! I need to talk to you!’ I stood there, because I figured if he woke her up, maybe I could do my measuring after all. But she didn’t move, and after he’d banged and shouted a couple of times, he said, ‘We need to talk. Call my cell phone.’ And then he went away. And I figured maybe I should too.”

He paused. I waited. On the radio, the last few bars of a twangy, upbeat song gave way to the opening chords of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” and I realized he’d said all he was going to say.

“You should tell the chief,” I said.

“I wasn’t going to,” he said, “because I knew anyone who’d been near the library would look suspicious. But then I realized that if anyone did see me going to the library, it would look even more suspicious if I didn’t tell. And then I thought about that jerk Blanco.”

“What about him?”

“He was trying to get in to talk to her, but he went away without succeeding,” he said. “I can vouch for that. And a little while ago I overheard a couple of students talking. Sounded as if they were pretty relieved that the Wright woman was dead, and one of them said the only thing that would make it better would be if the chief arrested Blanco. They were joking about telling the chief they’d seen him sneaking into the library. At least I hope they were joking.”

I winced. The chief was going to have a hard enough time sorting this one out without having to deal with a bunch of the students deliberately giving false evidence.

“They’d better be joking,” I said. “Would you recognize them if you saw them?”

“ ’Fraid not,” he said. “They were coming in from the barn, all muffled up in coats and such. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I can’t let them frame the guy. Even if he’s a jerk, that doesn’t make him a murderer. Hell, even before I heard them, I was starting to feel bad about not telling the chief.”

“Tell him what you saw, then,” I said. “And what you heard. He needs to know. And it’s safer for you, too. What if they find your fingerprints in the library?”

“As much work as we’ve done for you over the past few years, I wouldn’t be surprised to find my fingerprints anywhere in the house,” he said.

“What if you accidentally touched something that wasn’t here last time you were?” I said. “Tell the chief.”

“Yeah, I guess I should,” he said. “Much as I’d like to see the jerk in trouble, I want it to be for something he deserves, like screwing up this whole heating plant thing for the past month. Not something he didn’t do.”

He turned away and did something with his tools for a few moments, then strode to the door and opened it.

“Thanks,” he said. “Going to see the chief now. Hobart!”

In a second or two his cousin ambled back in holding a plate with a half-eaten slice of apple pie.

“You keep on with that,” Randall said, pointing to the crib. “I’ll be back in a while.”

Hobart nodded amiably, still chewing, and returned to the crib. Randall strode out.

I followed him out into the hall. I peeled off at the bathroom, though, for another pit stop. As I was reaching for the doorknob, the door flew open and Kathy stepped out.

“You’re out of toilet paper in the bathroom,” she said.

“The students never replace the rolls,” I said. “There should be some under the sink.”

She shook her head.

“Then check the linen closet.” I led the way, and pulled open the door. “There should be plenty of—oh!”

Our linen closet was larger than usual, but still a tight fit
for the body curled up on its floor. Batman and Robin began wriggling, apparently reacting to my shock. Then the body shook slightly, and I realized it—she—was sobbing.

“Alice?” Kathy said. “Is that you?”

The body made a strangled noise that I couldn’t decipher. Apparently Kathy could.

“What are you doing in there, anyway?” Kathy said. “Come out this instant!”

The body uncurled and crawled out of the closet, revealing the redheaded Alice.

“I’m sorry,” Alice said. “It’s just that I need to be alone when I’m upset, and there’s just nowhere else to be alone in this house.”

“You’re telling me,” I said. “Why are you so upset?”

She sniffled slightly for a few moments, as if trying to decide whether to confide in us or not. Then she burst into tears again.

“They’re going to arrest me,” she said. As well as crying, she was quite literally wringing her hands. I stared at them in fascination, since I couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone actually do that in real life before.

“Why should they?” I asked as I stared at her writhing fingers. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” she exclaimed. “But they’re going to find my fingerprints on the statue. The one of the lady hippo goddess.”

“Tawaret,” I said.

“You mean the murder weapon?” Kathy asked.

Alice nodded. I suppressed the urge to tell her to relax, that Tawaret wasn’t the murder weapon after all.

“Why will your fingerprints be on it?” I asked instead.

“I took it to the library,” she said. “Remember? You came downstairs carrying it and handed to me and told me to put it on a shelf in the library. You do remember, don’t you?”

She’d stopped wringing her hands and was now torturing one long, trailing lock of her red hair. If she kept on like that she’d be bald by morning.

“That’s right,” I said. “I remember.” Actually, I didn’t specifically remember her—I’d been relieved that Kathy had used her name so I didn’t have to think of it. But I did remember handing off Tawaret to a student. I had a vague recollection of the hippo goddess floating off beneath a cloud of red hair, so it probably was her. “Okay, your fingerprints will be on it, but so will mine, and Rose Noire’s, and who knows how many other curious people who picked it up to look at it.”