The Last Refuge (24 page)

For the third time, I explained how I had happened to find Alex, and it didn't get easier with the telling. ‘I tried to help him, Lieutenant, but it was too late.'

Lt Pickett eyed my soiled and torn gown. ‘Was there a scuffle?' he asked.

‘What?'

‘An argument.'

‘With me? No. Absolutely not. He was already dead when I got there.'

‘And what time would that have been?'

I stared at Lt Pickett's well-tanned face, his bright blue eyes accented by minuscule wrinkles, like tiny cat's whiskers. ‘I don't know. I don't have a watch.'

‘Will someone please explain what the
hell
is going on here?' It was Jud Wilson, red-faced and wild, barging into the room like his hair was on fire. ‘The fire trucks. The goddamn police.' Catching sight of the police officer, he screeched to a halt. ‘Uh, sorry, Officer.'

Lt Pickett seemed unflappable. ‘One of your, uh, actors, or do you call them cast members . . . ?'

‘We prefer cast, actually.'

‘One of your cast, a Mr Alex Mueller, was found dead in the spring house this afternoon.'

‘Christ on a crutch!'

‘If you say so, sir.'

Jud swiped a hand through his hair, paced in the doorway. ‘Oh, God. This is terrible.' His eyes swept the room, focused on one of the four chairs set around the card table. He crossed the room and lowered himself into it, wearily, as if he were a hundred years old. In the last minute, his face seemed to age by a decade, too.

‘Mrs Ives here found the body. We were just asking her about what time that was.'

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold it together. ‘As I
said
, Lieutenant, it was not long after the
Peggy Stewart
celebration was over.' A sudden thought made my eyes fly open. ‘Wait a minute! There's a videocam in the entrance hall. You should be able to tell what time I came in by looking at that.' I swiveled in my chair to face Jud, looking for confirmation. ‘The tapes are time stamped, aren't they?'

Jud stopped chewing on the knuckle of his index finger and said, ‘We'll see to it that you get copies of all the videotapes, detective.'

‘
All
of them? How many are there?'

‘Eight? Nine? We're taping a reality show here, detective, so we have pretty broad coverage. You'll see when you get them.'

‘Are there any in the back garden?'

Jud shook his head. ‘None outside the house, I'm afraid. We use handhelds for the outside shots.'

Standing next to the door, the junior officer was scribbling away when Amy rushed in, Melody and Gabe in her considerable wake. ‘Jeffrey came to get us. What's going on?'

I patted the cushion on the loveseat next to me. ‘Here. Sit.'

Jack sprang to his feet. ‘Let me take the children out of here.'

Melody clouded up and stamped her foot. ‘I am
not
a child!'

Her father glanced at me uncertainly. He was leaving the decision to me.

‘French,' I said, ‘would you take Gabe down to the kitchen, please? He can play with Dex. And for heaven's sake, tell Karen not to let the boys out into the garden.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' French said, actually looking relieved to be leaving the room.

‘Melody, you may sit next to your father.' I gestured with my head in the direction of the sofa.

When everyone had settled in again, I picked up Amy's left hand in both of mine and just said it right out. ‘Amy, Alex is dead.'

Amy's eyes grew wide as saucers. ‘Dead? How can he be dead? I just saw him!'

‘We don't know, sweetheart. It looks like he fell into the spring house. Hit his head . . .' I shrugged helplessly.

‘Fell?' Amy's face was dangerously red. ‘
Fell?
No. Nobody'd fall into the spring house. That's just bullshit.'

Privately, I had to agree.

Across the room from us, Jack stirred. ‘What would he be doing out there at this time of day anyway?'

‘A reasonable question,' said Lt Pickett. ‘Who was the last to see him?' His eyes scanned the room.

Michael raised his hand, waved it like a schoolboy. ‘It may have been me. We bought a couple of beers at McGarvey's during the
Peggy Stewart
celebrations. Alex was supposed to be bringing Amy a Sprite, but he got involved in a conversation with some reporter, so I said I'd take the soda to Amy. And I did.'

‘Can you describe this reporter you saw talking to Mr Mueller?'

Michael shrugged. ‘Black frock coat, three-cornered hat, powdered wig. Impressed me that he was kinda getting into the story, you know? Wait a minute, his ponytail had a little black bag tied to the end of it.'

‘A tag?' asked the junior officer.

‘B-A-G, bag,' Pickett corrected.

‘Ponytail with a bag on it,' muttered the junior officer, his ballpoint pen scratching away. ‘I can't believe I'm writing this.'

‘Do you know what the two were talking about?'

With a nervous glance at Jud, Michael said, ‘Not really. Because of our contracts, we're not supposed to be giving interviews, so I split.'

I raised a hand. ‘I saw Alex, too, Detective. But whoever he was talking to had just left.' I swiveled on the loveseat to face Michael. ‘Michael, how do you know it was a reporter? Alex told
me
the guy was a tourist from Raleigh.'

Michael scowled. ‘If he was a tourist, then I'm a prima ballerina.'

So, Alex had lied to me. That stung. I stole a quick glance at Amy, but Detective Pickett drew me back to the matter at hand. ‘What happened next, Mrs Ives?'

‘We walked for a bit, then we ran into my husband. I didn't see where Alex went after that.'

‘What happens now, Detective?' Jud wanted to know.

‘As soon as we finish processing the scene, we'll be transporting the body up to the medical examiner in Baltimore for autopsy.'

Next to me, Amy gasped.

Lt Pickett addressed her directly, his voice gentle. ‘It will help us find out what killed him, Miss. Whether it was an accident, or . . . or, something else.'

‘Accident, had to have been an accident,' Michael said. ‘Who would want to hurt Alex? He was one of the nice guys, you know?'

Jud frowned. ‘What impact will this have on the continuation of our show?'

‘Until we get the autopsy results, which, barring complications, should be in a couple of days, I must ask that nobody leaves town.'

Amy's giggle had a manic edge. ‘That's a laugh! We're stuck here for the duration anyway, right?'

‘From a policeman's point of view, it's awfully convenient having all of you together in the same house,' Pickett admitted. ‘Like one of those Agatha Christie novels where everyone's snowbound at Chipping Monktip for the weekend.'

Melody, who had been staring at a spot on the wall, sitting bolt upright with her hands folded demurely in her lap, suddenly roused herself. ‘All of the suspects are right here in this room,' she intoned.

Jack gave me a look – see, I told you the children shouldn't be here – and I gave him one right back. Chill out, Jack.

‘That's what always happens on
Masterpiece Mystery
,' Melody forged on, unchallenged. ‘Hercule Poirot comes into the room
et voilà
!'
She pursed her lips, furrowed her brow. ‘Eet iz zee brain, zee liddle gray cells, on which one must rely.' What
we
need, is Hercule Poirot.' She favored us with an elaborate sigh. ‘But he's a fictional character.'

Amy and I exchanged glances.

Both she and I knew that one of the suspects was
not
in the room, and he was far from fictional.

‘What's two-penny worth of yeast, anyway? A teaspoon? A cup? Then it says to beat for three-quarters of an hour. No wonder they needed slaves.'

French Fry, housemaid

T
wo nights later, with the table set, candles lit and the food laid out for dinner, Jack summoned the family and all the staff to the dining room.

With a face like Mount Rushmore, he cleared his throat several times, then said, ‘I have an announcement to make. Founding Father has just notified me that according to the medical examiner, our dear friend, Alex Mueller, died of a broken neck as the result of a fall. His death has been ruled accidental. Let us pray.'

Almost without taking a breath, Jack launched into a rambling grace that touched on food, death, the souls of men (and women) and the downtrodden people of the third world. While the food on the platters cooled, and Jack showed no sign of winding down, I dared to raise my head and look at Amy. She stood by the buffet, hands folded in front of her – even in the candlelight I could see that her knuckles were white. Her mouth was a thin line, and she was shaking her head and mouthing, ‘No, no, no, no.'

Late that night, Amy came to me in my chamber. ‘Would you like me to brush your hair?'

‘Oh, yes.' I threw back the covers, slid out of bed and sat in the chair in front of the vanity table. ‘I'd give anything for some Pantene,' I mused as she came up behind me and started brushing the tangles out of my hair. ‘One of those itty-bitty bottles of shampoo you get in hotels. Is that too much to ask?'

‘You and me both. From the Waldorf-Astoria or Holiday Inn, wouldn't matter. My hair is so stiff from that bar soap we made that it looks like I'm wearing a helmet. Karen says I should try rinsing it with vinegar.'

‘Phew!' I said.

Amy brushed in silence for a while. ‘Your husband works at the Naval Academy, right?'

‘Uh huh.' I was enjoying the gentle massage of the bristles against my scalp.

‘Drew murdered Alex, I
know
he did.'

‘The medical examiner determined that it was an accident, Amy.'

‘I don't believe that any more than you do, Hannah.'

‘You're right, I don't. I think it's
possible
that Alex broke his neck in a fall, but not very probable.' I twisted around in my chair. ‘What is Drew's motive, Amy?' When I saw the expression on Amy's face, I froze. ‘Did he know about you and Alex?'

Amy blushed. ‘Alex has been visiting my room at night. If Drew has been watching the house . . .' Her voice trailed off.

‘That sounds like motive to me.'

‘So, how can we
prove
it?'

‘That's the hard part,' I said. ‘Drew is a phantom. And, according to the government, which we all know is infallible, Drew Cornell doesn't even exist.'

The brush stopped. ‘Do you think
I'm
in danger?'

‘No, I don't. Drew needs you to collect the insurance money for him. He believes you'll join him after that happens, no matter what. You are essential to his plan.' I waved a hand. ‘Brush!'

‘One thing I wonder about,' I said after a bit. ‘Why didn't Drew contact you sooner? Even third world countries have cell phones and Internet cafes.'

‘I had my cell number changed after the break-in. My email account was hacked, and my Facebook page was hijacked so badly that I couldn't even log on. I had to set up new ones.' The brush stopped. ‘Then I came here, so it took Drew a while to track me down. Otherwise?' In the mirror, I saw her shrug. ‘Maybe he was afraid my phone would be tapped. Maybe he thought I was being watched and I wouldn't act like a proper widow if I knew he was actually alive?'

‘You asked me about Paul. How can he help?'

‘He has friends in high places?'

I laughed. ‘High military places? I suppose he does. Midshipmen who Paul used to teach are now captains, and I think there's even one vice admiral among his former students.' My eyes locked on to hers in the reflection in the mirror. ‘I could tell Paul that Drew is alive, sure, and he could pass that information on to the Navy brass, but that wouldn't
prove
anything.'

‘I don't care. We can't let him get away with it. I know he murdered Alex just as sure as I'm standing here brushing your hair.'

‘But you
aren't
brushing,' I reminded her gently.

‘Right.' She began again, slowly, rhythmically. ‘I wasn't in love with Alex,' she reflected, ‘but he was in love with me. I told him how I felt, and he was OK with it, really. I think he thought I'd come around eventually, and he may have been right. But it was just too soon after Drew to get into another serious relationship, you know?'

‘I know. If something happened to Paul . . . Gosh, breaking in one husband is hard enough. I don't understand how women like Elizabeth Taylor and Zsa-Zsa Gabor managed it. After they talk me off the railing of the high span of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, I'd probably just sell up and move to a cottage in the south of France.'

‘No you wouldn't, Hannah.'

‘No?'

‘Your daughter? The grandchildren? How about them?'

‘You have a point.' I laughed. ‘Look, I have an idea. What we need is to snatch off his cloak of invisibility, draw Drew out. What would make him show himself?'

‘Jealousy. If Drew killed Alex, it was because he was jealous.'

‘We have to assume that Drew is still watching us,' I said.

‘That gives me the heebie jeebies, Hannah.'

‘I'm not comfortable with it either. So, under that assumption, let's make him jealous. Get somebody to come on to you.'

‘But that could be dangerous, especially for the object of my so-called affection.'

‘That's where the people Paul knows might come in handy.' I thought for a moment while Amy brushed. ‘If Drew
is
watching you, I'll bet he'll turn up at the State House ball. It's the next time that we'll all be outside Patriot House and it'll be a mob scene. He could easily sneak in, just like he did at the burning of the
Peggy Stewart
, if we assume, like I do, that the so-called reporter Alex was talking to was actually Drew.'