Teaching Mindy (2)
“I know, Kirk, she’s too young for him. But it makes him feel like he can recapture some of his youth. That is definitely the type of man my grandfather is, always living in the past when he can afford to. Personally, I think he should start acting his age...he turns 74 this August.” Mindy paused, then impatiently gestured towards the road. “Well, keep going, we’re almost there.” Kirk sighed, and started driving the car again. People with Drama majors were so theatrical, he reflected. So hard to please. Maybe someday, Mindy could just learn to express whatever it was she kept hiding behind that mask of contentment all the time. Until then, he’d keep trying to coax her out. ***** Just a few seconds after they finished their conversation, Traynor’s old beat-up Dodge rounded the final corner on the long winding drive up to Richards’ mansion. It was hard for the sleuth to suppress a gasp of awe when he saw the beautiful façade of Magnolia Palace. Of course, everyone had seen it in magazines time and again, but the envy felt seeing it on the front of a national publication wasn’t even close to the wonder experienced from seeing it in person. A man clad in a white tuxedo with black cummerbund strode out of the house towards the car. His steady gait belied years of walking just so and behaving in the correct manner. Still, Traynor noticed, the eyes shifted about quickly, never focusing on one thing for too long. If I had to live with a man like that, Kirk thought, I’d be seeing conspiracy everywhere I looked too. “How do you do, sir,” the man said. “My name is Henry Ross, and I am the butler and personal secretary of Mr. Richards. If you would please enter the house…the party is over, but he has been expecting you for some time now.” Ross formally turned to Mindy and made a half bow. “Miss Ripley, it is so nice to see you again. Your grandfather will be delighted to see you. Allow me to express my personal greetings.” “Thanks, Henry,” Mindy said sweetly. “Would you park Mr. Traynor’s car while we go inside?” “Of course, Miss,” answered Ross. He moved around to the driver’s door, opened it carefully, and slipped into the seat as if he had been born there. Traynor turned his back, and so missed the butler quickly opening the glove compartment to check for any items of value (and finding none) before driving the car to the estate’s private parking garage. From the foyer, Mindy steered her boss into the parlor, where a short and slender woman was sitting at a table. Upon seeing the pair, she immediately waved them over. As soon as they were close enough for her to speak in a normal tone of voice, she spoke. “Mindy, dear! How are you? And this gentleman is…” “This is my boss, Mr. Traynor. I’m doing well, thank you, Brittany.” Traynor carefully sized up Richards’ second wife. She looked very elegant in her element, sitting in a very expensive (and short) cocktail dress entertaining guests. Her charm was on full blast; her outfit’s pearl luster set off her jet-black hair to perfection. It was easy to see why Mr. Richards hadn’t remained single more than two years. “But this is delightful! Your boss, you said? This is the detective?” For the first time since their arrival, Traynor felt compelled to speak up. “Yes, ma’am, that’s me. I’m afraid that I’m here on a business call, not a social visit.” For the slightest moment, she looked antagonistic. “But there’s been no call for your services here, Mr. Traynor, so I am afraid that I don’t understand you.” “Ma’am, there was a request made of me by your husband,” Traynor said in an apologetic voice. He didn’t mean a bit of the feeling he was injecting into his voice. “He needed me to take care of some small matter.” “Oh, very well.” She sounded almost disappointed at not being able to dismiss him like any other servant. She noticed the butler passing, and called up to him. “Henry, would you kindly tell my husband that his guest is downstairs.” There was no question mark in her tone—she expected to be obeyed. “Of course, madam. At once.” Ross started up the stairs. Just as he disappeared at the top of the grand staircase, a very elderly man wandered into the room. He seemed to have no clear idea of where he was going. After a few moments, it wasn’t quite clear whether he was even trying to avoid the many pieces of furniture along his aimless path. Brittany groaned, a very unladylike groan. “Mindy, dear, that damned lawyer gets worse every day. You can see that as well as anyone except my husband.” She cleared her throat. “Oh, Mr. Noland, how lovely to see you again! Weren’t you at the party tonight?” The aged man looked up and slowly around. After he finally found the source of the question, he smiled. “Ah, Brittany! It’s not very nice of you to hide from me behind that table, where I can’t see you easily.” His voice was thick with advancing years. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Gerald. How clumsy of me.” Brittany carefully lowered her voice. “To try and sneak up on you from a place in plain sight, you doddering old coot.” Fortunately, Noland hadn’t noticed the childish aspersion on his person. “Ah well, no harm done, my dear. Now where can I find my favorite client? I believe that tonight, we were to open a bottle of cognac and toast old times together.” “I think you’ve been hitting the cognac a little too hard tonight already,” said Mindy as Noland drew ever nearer. It was then that Traynor, who had been feeling like the outsider he was, noticed the reek of alcohol off the approaching lawyer. He thought: My word, the man is drunk. How can he be drunk at his age? Just then, the dignified demeanor was broken by the sight of a man in a tuxedo running down the stairs at a treacherous pace. It was Ross, looking as though he would very much like to break his own neck if the dash down the stairs didn’t do it first. Panting, he ran into the parlor. “Don’t worry…called 911…they’ll be here…shortly.” “What?” Brittany’s voice was ice-cold. “What are you talking about, Henry?” “Mr. Rich…Richards…he’s fast asleep…can’t wake him up.” ***** Traynor watched as the coroner’s team hauled away the richest industrialist in America. All that money and fame, Traynor said to himself, and he still goes out like that. A wave of sadness washed over him for the man he had been charged to protect. “Time of death was approximately 10:30 PM. Subject was murdered, some kind of poison. We don’t know what. Can you check these observations?” Traynor stood with Mindy and her family as the police officer in charge at the scene read off the effects of the poison to the dispatcher. Finally the officer received his answer. He looked grim as he said goodbye and hung up. A moment later, his partner came down the staircase. “I checked out the scene, Carl. It’s fine, except for the papers strewn all over his desk. No order to anything in there. Must have been a messy man.” “He was,” Brittany said quietly. “Have you got a line on what killed him?” “It sure was a quiet job,” Carl said. “The description tallies with a conium alkaloid. Probably homemade junk…it doesn’t take that much, and everything can be bought legally. Nobody would have known he was going.” “What’s a conium alkaloid?” Traynor queried. “It’s a more scientific name for an extract from the hemlock plant. It could have been either the roots or seeds…the juice is stronger in those parts. Death would have occurred within an hour without proper treatment, if it was a heavy dose. What was he drinking again, Fred?” “Decaf coffee,” Fred replied. “Well, then, no wonder. If the coffee had been caffeinated, he probably would have lived.” Carl turned toward the family and gave them a small grimace. “I spent three years attached to the Forensics Department. I’ve dealt with three other hemlock cases…it’s not an uncommon idea. You pick up stuff.” “So, what’ll you do now?” Mindy asked. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to file a report at the station. We’ve checked the grounds, we know how he died, and we know that someone who attended the party tonight probably did it. May I have a copy of the guest list, ma’am?” He directed this last towards Brittany. “Of course, Sergeant. Henry, kindly bring the sergeant what he wants.” “Yes, ma’am.” Henry exited the room in search of an attendance sheet. “Sir, if it isn’t too much trouble…” Traynor began. “One second, please.” The sergeant turned to his partner. “Fred, keep an eye on these folks, and get them anything they need.” He faced Traynor again. “All right, let’s go out on the balcony.” They stepped through the parlor doors and out onto the marble balcony that overlooked the gardens. It was there that Traynor spoke. “Sir, I believe I’m required to stay and wrap this up. I’m a private detective, you see, and I was hired by the deceased man to guard against an attempt on his life. Unfortunately, by the time I got his letter and got over here, it was already too late.” “I can see that, Mister...” “Traynor. Kirk Traynor.” “Mr. Traynor, we are the police force of the New York City metropolitan area. We handle cases like this every day of the year. From the looks of you, you haven’t done anything more complicated than a petty theft case.” The sergeant’s eyes bored into Traynor. “Sir, that may be the case, but I was still hired and I have a right to insist on completing my job. I do have a letter, written by the deceased, that states the conditions of my employment.” Traynor pulled the letter out of the pocket of his coat. The officer seized it and read it in a cursory manner. “Very well, Mr. Traynor. You do have a contract of sorts here with the dead man, and it is your decision whether or not to fulfill it. As long as you work in cooperation with and not at odds with our force, we’re powerless to stop your investigation, if you choose to pursue one.” The sergeant handed the letter back to the sleuth. “But try and remember that this is a murder case, and any evidence you find must be reported to us.” “Yes, sir. I will do my best.” “All right, then. You may begin your investigation, and I can guarantee you full police cooperation. We will be back in the morning with a bigger team. In the meantime, work to your heart’s content.” The sergeant turned around and walked back inside. Traynor wasn’t quite sure, but for a moment he thought the sergeant made a nasty comment under his breath about amateurs underfoot. Traynor resolved then that he would crack this case—without the help of the police force. ***** After asking Mindy to watch over his subjects and get them anything they needed, Traynor invited the first target of his investigation out on the balcony. Henry Ross stood blinking and squinting under the moonlight, a rat trying to find a place to hide. Before he could speak, Traynor began. “Mr. Ross, may I ask you about your personal feelings for Mr. Richards?” Ross remained silent for a brief instant. As Traynor was about to repeat the question, he answered with one of his own. “Are my comments to be repeated, with myself as the source, in a court of law or any other form of sworn testimony?” Traynor spoke carefully. “Not if I can help it. I won’t disobey the law, but I won’t volunteer information, either. That’s all I can promise you.” Ross seemed to be weighing something before he spoke. When at last his voice came out, it was filled with decision and loathing. “To be honest, I had not expected that much. I will tell you the truth, Mr. Traynor…I hated my employer. The man was a pompous, arrogant bully, who allowed no one under his thumb the smallest scrap of pure freedom. He once gave us—I mean his employees—these idiotic word puzzles, to find small things like books that he needed but was too damned lazy to get for himself. That only stopped after we complained about them. He installed a video surveillance system to watch us so that whenever we made a mistake, he could find out about it—at least that was the rumor. And those two occurrences are simply the tip of a very large iceberg. I mean every word I say. He was the most rotten person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.” Traynor, somewhat taken aback by this onslaught, had to wet his lips before asking his next question. His mind had recognized something as familiar, but he couldn’t place it yet. “Did you hate him enough to—” “To kill? That is perhaps the worst insult I have ever been subjected to…no, definitely the worst. I have never committed a crime in my life. Besides, the pay was good.” To facilitate his becoming a detective, Traynor had mastered the art of reading body language. At the exact time Ross started saying that he had never committed a crime, his eyes slid ever so quickly to the left. It was an almost sure sign of a lie. But over the rest of his reply, every mannerism he possessed was straightforward and honest. For most of the time, Ross had been telling the truth—and he certainly had been when he indignantly protested the suggestion that he was the murderer. "When did the party start?" "About 8:20, or 8:30. I don’t know exactly." “What did you do tonight, at the party? Where were you?” “I was outside for most of the night, serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Occasionally, I went to the kitchen to fix more drinks and to refill my trays.” “You were the only one on duty?” “Yes. Mister Richards was always careful with a dollar. One person out serving drinks means fewer drinks get served, means less money is spent.” “Did anyone notice you in the kitchen?” “No, I’m afraid not. I don’t believe anyone was observing me while I was in the kitchen.” “Approximately what times were you out of sight?” “My trips outside serving drinks were roughly fifteen minutes in duration. I stayed in the kitchen for about five minutes each time.” “I don’t mean to insult you this time, Mr. Ross, but knowing the layout of the house as you do, would that have been enough time for you to slip something into a cup of coffee and carry it upstairs to Mr. Richards?” Ross’ nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Yes. That would have been possible, if you consider the fact that his bedroom is extremely close to the stairway. In addition, I did take him his coffee at about ten past ten this evening. However, I still maintain that I did not kill him.” “I believe you. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ross.” “That short a questioning?” “I have already found out all the things I needed to know about you.” Ross shivered. Traynor hoped it was from fear. ***** “What did you think about your husband, Mrs. Richards?” Brittany was shivering on the open-air balcony in her short dress, but she still managed to regard him with a hot stare. “I loved him, of course. How do you have the impudence to ask me that question?” Traynor didn’t say anything. He merely waited. Finally Brittany decided that she wasn’t going to get anywhere with the lies she was spouting. "All right, Mister Traynor, you win. I never cared for him. I suppose he was courteous to me, but that was the extent of our relationship. My father is a giant in the California computer industry, so you might say it was more of a social marriage. We never even consummated it." "Did you marry him for the money?" She laughed, a low soft laugh that sent chills up the detective's spine. "Oh, yes. You couldn't possibly have imagined that his personal qualities were the reason I was attracted to him. No, the man was an utter slob, and he cared almost nothing for anyone except himself. I thought that with the way he ate and drank at his age, I would be a millionaire 200 times over by age 35. I hadn't expected this…it was a lovely windfall." Traynor filed that comment in the back of his mind, and continued. "Mrs. Richards, where were you at the party this evening? Can you give me a rough account of your movements for that time?" "Certainly. I was outside at 8:30, just as the sun was setting, to greet the first arrivals. I was there on the patio until about 10:45, talking with my friends and trying to encourage Henry to do a better job handling the drinks. The man is a good butler, I suppose, but he is very slow. Our gardener is much better at his work, though I will miss the poor man deeply on his vacation. He left this afternoon for St. Louis, you know." She paused expectantly, waiting for the new line of conversation to be pursued. When her audience maintained his silence, she haughtily sniffed and then continued. "At 10:45, I went inside for about half an hour to take care of some personal matters--writing letters and other things of that nature. Then I went back outside, and helped usher out the guests at midnight. I was about to retire for the night when you and your assistant entered." She didn't say anything about Mindy's relationship to the family, Traynor noticed. "Tell me, Mrs. Richards, did you care for your husband as a friend? Even a little bit? Or was he more of a potential financial gain to you?" "The former, definitely. He never seemed to need me much, so we weren't that close." Then she realized what he was driving at. Standing up quickly, she advanced until she was immediately under his nose. The fact that he was a good eight inches taller than her, even with three-inch heels on, didn't seem to distract her. "I resent your implication, sir," she said in a biting tone. Traynor didn't flinch. Mindy had been worse than this many times before. "What exactly was I implying, Mrs. Richards?" "Why…that I murdered my husband, of course." "I didn't mean anything of the sort. Now if you had a guilty conscience…" Traynor was deliberately lying, trying to drive her temper over the edge so that he could get a good look at her true feelings. He succeeded. "I DIDN'T KILL HIM, DAMMIT! I may have despised him with every breath I took, I may have wanted to kill him, but I never would have actually done it! I couldn't have…don't you see? He was more than a husband to me, more than a spouse. He was my ticket to the kind of life I wanted, the kind of life I only used to be able to dream about! To think that I would have thrown all that away for a few seconds' worth of pleasure…" She stopped. Her face took on a horrified expression, the face of someone who realizes that they have said something they never should have and knows that it can never be taken back. "I believe you completely, Mrs. Richards." Traynor was telling the truth. He had seen her soul, and though it wasn't beautiful, it was innocent of this crime at least. "You can leave." She pulled together what few shreds of her dignity were left and marched off the balcony into another room, glaring at Traynor. As Traynor went to the parlor door to call out his last suspect, he heard the unmistakable sound of soft weeping coming from the portal through which she had passed. He ignored it. He still had a job to do. ***** Gerald Noland nervously shoved his glasses into the pocket of his shabby suit. “Yes, I will answer any questions you may have, as long as they do not compromise my professional integrity.” “Thank you,” Traynor replied. “What was your personal opinion of Mr. Richards?” “Horace?” Noland smiled. “Oh, he was the most wonderful person I have ever known. A heart of gold, with nerves made out of his own steel. He hasn’t quite been himself the last few years, though. Ever since Lily died, he has been irritable and perfunctory. But I think—” Noland leaned in confidentially “—he always had a soft heart. I think his behavior was just his way of covering up the pain. He always behaved rudely when he was hurt.” Traynor scratched his head. This was certainly the most sober drunk he had ever met. “Maybe you could tell me something about his estate.” “Magnolia Gardens was his first purchase after he bought Rialto Steel. It was a plot of undeveloped land. He designed the house and gardens himself…he always had a talent with architecture, but it was only a hobby to him. His real love was in steel. He determined that he would make a fortune, and he did. Today, I would be very much surprised if his estate didn’t total over $850 million.”
Copyright © 2000 Mason Cole |