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called the doctor, but she was already dead--cracked her skull on all
that marble. The doctor called in the police to look things over, but
they didn't find anything funny. I think it was for show more than
anything else. They probably wanted Laura to know they were on the job."
"Where is Laura? How is she?"
"Who knows? That tame dragon, Mrs. Mayfair, has been guarding her all
day."
"When did it happen?"
"Sometime before two, because that's when the maid crossed the hall and
found her. Good thing she did, or poor Emily might still be lying
there."
"Where is she now?"
"They've put her in one of the side parlors." She nodded her head in the
general direction.
"Would you mind taking me there, Miss Francher?"
"There're dozens of Miss Franchers here, you'd better call me Clarice."
Somehow, despite her friendly smile, she made it sound like a threat.
She linked her arm in mine again and we worked slowly through the hall.
I got a look at the spot at the foot of the stairs and kept my eyes
peeled for Barrett. The spot told me nothing, but the knot of people
near it were entertaining and Clarice stopped to listen. Abigail was in
the center of things, being her own sweet self.
"If you ask me, the little brat pushed her." She was obviously more
candid and open with her opinions within the family.
"No one's asking you, Abby."
"Then you should. You don't know her, the stuck-up little bitch."
"Careful, Abby."
"What's the use? You know we're not getting anything from this because
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of her. If only cousin Violet were alive."
"We still wouldn't get anything, Emily's the one who got all of Cousin
Roger's money."
"And she'll have left it to Laura or that man. He's nothing more than a
gigolo, a fortune hunter."
"And what does that make you, dear Abigail?"
This brought about a furious response from Abigail. No one noticed as
Clarice and I passed on to the parlor.
"They really shouldn't bait Abby so," she commented. "It's just too
easy."
A corpse puts a damper on any party. As crowded as it was, no one was in
the parlor when we entered. Clarice's fingers tightened very slightly on
my arm as she reacted to the presence of death, and then let go.
Emily looked like Banks, dead. She wore some kind of white gown and held
a white rose to her breast. They'd done a good job on her makeup; if
she'd sustained any facial injuries or scrapes, they were well hidden. I
looked long and hard, because her face did appear younger than I
remembered, but she was lying down, and that would make a difference in
the pull of the skin against the bones beneath.
The fine lines were still there under the powder, though. The
mortician's artistry was simply undisturbed by movement or expression
and gave only the illusion of youth. I touched her hand and said her
name, but nothing happened.
She was cool, not cold; she'd been dead only a few hours. Her hand was
still flexible. Rigor hadn't yet set in, but that wasn't unusual. It
could occur anytime within ten hours of death starting in the jaw and
neck, but I had absolutely no desire to test those areas.
"You liked her, didn't you?" asked Clarice.
I'd forgotten she'd been standing behind me and withdrew my hand from
the casket. "I barely knew her, but I guess I did."
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"A lot of us can say the same thing. Maybe if we hadn't been so blue
nosed about that man she had" She shrugged self-consciously.
"Yeah?"
"I don't know, maybe she wouldn't have been so alone in other ways."
"Did anyone in the family really dislike her?"
She was mildly surprised. "Not that I know of. There's jealousy, of
course, but only because of the money. I think if she'd had a lot less
of it, no one would have taken any notice of her at all."
"What about Laura?"
"What about her?"
"What's she like?"
She shook her head. "I saw her once as a kid at her parents' funeral. I
really don't remember her. You sure you're not a reporter?"
Not anymore. "I'm sure. Thanks for taking me around."
"Leaving so soon?"
"I gotta look for a friend."
She smiled once more, her slight disbelief lending an interesting curl
to the corner of her mouth. "Watch out for Abigail, cousin."
I craned a neck through the press outside for Escott or Barrett, and
listened to bits of conversation as I made a way to the stairs again.
"call it a holiday? I tell you she had a complete breakdown and
never got over it."
"wonder how much money she wasted on these trashy paintings?"
"the two of them carrying on with the girl right here in the same
house."
"years younger than her, the poor thing, and it's not as though she
didn't have a chance to find someone her own age." "vicious old hag.
Getting burned alive was only what she deserved. That's what they used
to do with witches, you know."
A lowering of the general hubbub spread out from the center of the hall
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and heads swiveled toward a young woman descending the stairs. I didn't
know her at first, but then the last time I'd seen her she'd been naked.
Now she wore a severe black dress, and her lush blond hair was parted in
the middle and drawn back into a demure bun at the base of her neck. She
wore no makeup; her tanned face was drained and her eyes red.
"Laura, you poor dear!" exclaimed Abigail, and the thin woman rushed up
to be the first to take her hand. Laura looked at her blankly, forcing
her would-be and now-embarrassed comforter to introduce herself. "But of
course you must be exhausted," she concluded, to excuse the lapse of
memory.
Mrs. Mayfair appeared and without seeming to, managed to disengage
Abigail, and led the girl down to the main hall. As soon as there was
space, whether by accident or design, several people closed ranks behind
her, cutting Abigail off from further contact.
Laura didn't notice and was busy collecting comforting hugs and murmurs
of sympathy from her more recognizable relatives. Once the "hello dears"
and "we're sorrys" were out of the way, one of them voiced it for all.
"What are you going to do now, Laura?"
Laura shook her head and shrugged. "I have a lot to think about, but Mr.
Handley is taking care of all the legal matters for now."
"We hate to bring this up so soon, but one has to be practical about
such things. What arrangements did Emily make?"
"I-I don't understand," the girl faltered, looking very young and
vulnerable.
"Cousin Robert is talking about Emily's will, dear."
"Oh. I hadn't thought about it. Mr. Handley--" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]