Crossing The Lion Part 12

I took a deep breath before asking the $64,000 question. "What about you?" I asked. "What do you do, Tag?"

He froze. It took several seconds for the stricken expression on his face to soften into one that was more natural. "I ... dabble," he finally said. "Investments, real estate ... I'm involved in all kinds of things."

O-kay, I thought.

But before I had a chance to ask him to expand upon what "all kinds of things" might include, Tag made a big show of checking his watch. "Hey, we're getting close to c.o.c.ktail hour," he observed. "That means it's time for me to get out of this creepy tower."

At the moment, however, what interested me most about the man was not the lifestyle he apparently felt so ent.i.tled to--or even that he had tried to convince me that his baby brother had murdered their father.

What I was more curious about was the fact that the arrival of a stranger on Solitude Island had immediately sent Tag into hiding.

Who could he have been hiding from, I wondered, this c.o.c.ky young man who didn't seem to be afraid of anything or anyone? While he appeared committed to living a carefree lifestyle that included every manifestation of the good life on the entire planet, he clearly had something more troublesome going on.

In fact, the more time I spent at the Merrywoods' estate, the more convinced I became that pretty much everyone on Solitude Island had something to hide.

I was heading back to my room--so poor Nick could finally get something to eat--when I was waylaid again. Only this time it wasn't by one of the Merrywoods or their entourage.

I b.u.mped into Betty and Winston--literally. They were strolling out of one of the sitting rooms on the main floor, and I careened around a corner, my picnic lunch sliding around on the tray. As I gently collided with Betty, I heard a yelp, which I instantly realized came from Frederick. She was carrying the cute little ball of fur in her arms--although given the wirehaired dachshund's shape, he looked more like a baseball bat than a ball.

"Jessica!" she cried, looking pleased to see me even though I'd nearly knocked her and her dog over.

"Betty and I were just talking about you," added Winston, who had deftly stepped aside in time to avoid the collision.

She nodded. "Rumor has it that somebody else has joined us here on the island," she said, her blue eyes twinkling. "In fact, I heard three somebodies have arrived!"

"That's right. Nick decided to come for the weekend," I explained. "And Max and Lou insisted on tagging along."

"That's wonderful," Winston said warmly. "We're so pleased they were able to join you."

"Especially Nick," Betty agreed. "Newlyweds shouldn't be apart. In fact, I thought of suggesting it myself but a.s.sumed he was too busy with law school."

"Busy is definitely the word," I agreed. Gesturing toward the staircase with my tray, I noted, "He's up in our room right now, working his b.u.t.t off. The poor guy didn't get any lunch, so I thought we could have a picnic."

"What a lovely idea." Betty leaned forward and in a much softer voice said, "But before you run off, I'd love to get an idea of how things are going with ... you know. Winston told me that even though that horrid Falcone person is on the case, he asked for your help."

"That's right," I said, still scarcely able to believe it myself.

Stroking Frederick's head, Betty glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. "Any theories yet?"

"Not yet," I told her. "But one thing I'm sure of is that this place is absolutely crawling with suspects!"

I immediately regretted sharing such a harsh characterization of the Merrywood household with her--even though it was honestly what I thought. But Betty grimaced in a way that told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.

"I know what you mean," she replied in that same soft, conspiratorial tone. "From what I've seen so far, anyone in this house could have killed poor Linus. The servants, his business partner, his a.s.sistant--and, as much as I hate to say it, even his children."

"At least he had Charlotte," Winston commented. "The two of them were inseparable."

Betty sighed. "It's true. In fact, I don't know how she's going to go on without him."

I didn't say anything. That was mainly because I couldn't bring myself to tell Betty and Winston that, while I found it difficult to believe that Charlotte could be guilty, I couldn't completely eliminate her from suspicion. But that was only because I still had so much to learn about everyone on Solitude Island--including the mistress of the house.

Speaking of which, I remembered that there was another woman in said house about whom I was curious.

"By the way, do either of you know Linus's sister, Alvira?" I asked.

The puzzled look on Betty's face gave me her answer. As for Winston, he looked chagrined.

"I've never met her, but Linus did talk to me about her," he said. "Actually, he was quite concerned about her. It seems Alvira is a bit ... off center."

"That sounds like a good way to describe her," I agreed.

For some reason, Frederick had suddenly focused on me. He was looking into my eyes and wagging his tail, as if he'd decided I wasn't paying enough attention to him. Naturally, I reached over and petted him, running my fingers along his wonderfully silky ears.

"Are you saying that you know Linus's sister?" Betty asked, looking more confused than ever.

"We've met," I replied. "She lives right here in the house." Not wanting to make Alvira sound any more eccentric, I diplomatically added, "In a fairly private room that's located on the top floor. In fact, she's the one we heard making those strange noises during dinner."

"I do remember Linus saying something about her preference for living in isolation," Winston said thoughtfully. "She apparently chooses to have as little contact with the rest of the family as possible. When Alvira lost her husband a few years ago, Linus invited her to come live with him. She agreed, but somehow she never managed to fit in with the rest of the family."

"That's been my impression, too," I said. "But what I'm wondering about is how credible she is."

The muscles in Winston's face tightened. "To be honest, from what Linus told me about her, I got the impression that she's not particularly ... stable."

Off center. Not particularly stable. In other words, I thought as I stroked the velvety fur on Frederick's head, Winston's conclusion about Alvira's state of mind, based on her brother's comments, was that she really was a nutty relative who kept herself hidden away in the attic.

And here I'd been hoping that whatever clue she was planning to feed me--as soon as I supplied her with fudge--would help me wrap my head around the question of who had killed Linus. Now I was beginning to wonder if, to use a phrase inspired by Frederick, I was barking up the wrong tree.

Chapter 8.

"It is all right for the lion and the lamb to lie down together if they are both asleep, but if one of them begins to get active, it is dangerous."

--Crystal Eastman Nick and I lingered over our picnic, which by this point was more of an afternoon snack than something that could qualify as lunch. Eagerly, we wolfed down the leftovers I'd scored in the kitchen, camping out on our soft bed. Not only was picnicking in our bedroom considerably more comfortable than sitting on the ground, we didn't have to worry about ants.

The rain was still tapping against the windowpanes, but we'd made the room feel extra cozy by lighting a fire in the fireplace and putting candles on the mantelpiece, the night tables, and the dresser. Max and Lou sat on the floor, watching us with eagle eyes and no doubt hoping that gravity would send a few crumbs their way.

After we'd stuffed ourselves, Nick admitted that he still wasn't ready to go back to work. Instead, we wandered downstairs to see if we could learn anything new.

We were strolling down the front hallway, nearing the small parlor in the back, when we both heard several different voices trying to talk over one another. That told me the members of the Merrywood clan had gathered once again to enjoy one another's company. Either that or Charlotte had insisted that her children come out of their rooms to spend some time together.

"Nonsense!" I heard Missy exclaim. "I think it's the perfect way to keep ourselves entertained on a dismal afternoon like this one. Townie, sweetie, don't you agree?"

I cast Nick a nervous look. What now? I wondered. Charades? Scrabble? Truth or dare?

"Maybe we'll get lucky and the electricity will go out again," Tag muttered as Nick and I walked through the doorway.

That takes charades and the other games out of the running, I thought, since they can all be played by candlelight.

"What are all of you up to?" I asked, glancing around the room.

Sure enough, the entire household was there. Harry Foss sat apart from everyone in a big overstuffed chair that had been pushed into the corner, nursing a snifter of what looked like brandy. Scarlett sat next to Missy on the couch. Even Betty and Winston were cuddling on a loveseat. The only ones missing were the three servants, who I suspected wanted to spend the few hours they had off doing anything but interacting with the Merrywoods.

"Missy just came up with an interesting idea," Charlotte told Nick and me. "She suggested pulling our family's home movies out of storage and watching them together."

"First step, first day of kindergarten," Brock said, sounding wistful.

"First fistfight, first time thrown out of boarding school," Tag added with his usual smirk.

Missy made a point of ignoring her brothers. "We even have some really old ones," she gushed. "They were originally eight-millimeter home movies, but we had them transferred to a DVD ages ago. They're mostly of Mummy and Daddy, and they go all the way back to when they were first married."

I looked back at Charlotte with alarm, wondering if she, too, agreed that taking a trip down Memory Lane at this particular time was such a fun idea.

Apparently she did, since she was smiling and a faraway look had come into her eyes. "Oh, yes!" she cried. "I'd love to see those. Brock, would you set everything up? You're so good at that type of thing."

"Right," Tag mumbled. "Turning on a DVD player with a remote is the next best thing to rocket science."

Getting geared up for showtime took Brock, Tag, and Townie almost ten minutes, two pieces of electronic equipment, and three remotes. So much for the convenience of modern technology.

"Okay, we're ready," Townie finally announced. "We'll start at the beginning."

"They're actually not chronological," Missy said with a frown. "Whoever put all our old videotapes and the eight-millimeter rolls onto a DVD didn't follow our instructions about the order."

"They'll be fun to look at, anyway," Scarlett insisted, pus.h.i.+ng her gla.s.ses farther up the bridge of her nose. "I've never seen these."

"I have," Tag grumbled. "Believe me, they're not about to replace Citizen Kane."

"Shhhh," Missy scolded. "They're starting!"

Everyone in the room focused on the television screen as an image of three young children bearing lunch boxes and big smiles appeared.

"My first day at West Knolls!" Brock cried. "I was five!"

"I was starting third grade," Missy said with a smile. "I remember that dress. I loved it. We got it at Saks. Remember, Mother?"

"I remember," Charlotte said, her voice a near whisper.

I looked over and saw that she was wearing the same dreamy smile as before.

This is turning out to be a really good idea, I thought. Reminding the Merrywoods of all the good times they had together is helping everyone feel better. Maybe it will even smooth over some of their wounds from the past.

My theory pretty much fell apart when the next segment came on. Brock and Tag were standing in front of a bicycle, clowning around for the camera. It looked like a sweet moment, until Brock turned and started to climb onto the bike. Tag, probably about twelve, immediately became incensed. He pushed his brother, knocking over both him and the bike. Suddenly everything went black.

Charlotte sighed. "The two of you were always at each other's throats," she observed sadly. "You were so compet.i.tive, even back then!"

I was relieved when a new image appeared on the screen. However, this footage turned out to have been taken more than a decade earlier, during the 1970s, from the look of the clothes everyone was wearing: fabrics with big flowers and paisley designs in bright oranges and hot pinks for the women, wide neckties for the men. The hairstyles were similarly dated.

Not so with Charlotte. While her hair was longer and her dress definitely styled to reflect the period, it was clear that she'd never been one to blindly follow the latest trends. She held herself with the same dignity and pride she exhibited today, even though her flawless skin made it obvious she was barely into her twenties.

"These were taken back when Linus and I first got engaged," she said, filling in the silence that accompanied these early films, made before home movies included sound. Her voice was soft; yet, rather than being filled with sadness, she sounded almost exuberant. "Right after he popped the question, we had a huge party for all our friends. It was in the backyard, right here at the house. Everyone came over for the entire weekend. We had a barbecue, and for dessert there was the biggest cake I'd ever seen in my life.... It was such fun!"

Everyone in the room, including her three children, had grown quiet. It was as if we were all equally nervous about her reaction to seeing herself and her recently deceased husband together, back at a time when it had no doubt been impossible to imagine that they'd ever be where they were now: Linus gone, Charlotte alone.

Only she seemed immune to the sadness of it all. "Oh, look!" she cried. "Our wedding day! This was long before video cameras, of course, but one of our friends brought along his eight-millimeter movie camera. Goodness, look how young we were!"

And how happy, I thought, examining the exultant looks on both their faces. The younger version of Charlotte I'd seen before floated down the steps of a gray stone church. She held up the skirt of her long white dress with the same hand in which she clutched a bouquet of white roses interspersed with delicate baby's breath. At her side was a young man in a tux. While he wasn't exactly handsome, his eyes were intelligent, his smile was wide and genuine, and it was clear that he absolutely adored the woman whose arm he held onto as if he intended never to let go of her again.

"You look beautiful," Missy said breathlessly.

"And so happy," Scarlett added.

"We were both incredibly happy," Charlotte said, her eyes still fixed on the screen. Her voice even softer than before, she added, "That's the one thing that's gotten me through all this: the fact that Linus and I had so many wonderful years together. Even at this terrible time, I can't let myself forget that my marriage to Linus made me the luckiest woman in the world."

For more than an hour we sat in front of the TV, watching the Merrywoods' entire history unfold. There were only a few short reels of Linus and Charlotte, so we quickly moved back to the age of video cameras.

Frankly, I saw more of Tag's, Missy's, and Brock's graduations, awards ceremonies, birthday parties, sporting events, and summer vacations at the family's house on Nantucket than I really needed to. Still, the more I saw, the more I understood that the dynamic that existed among Charlotte and the next generation of Merrywoods had been pretty much the same all along.

But the next person on the list of murder suspects I wanted to interview wasn't a Merrywood. It was one of the Merrywoods' servants.

While Falcone had already questioned Cook, aka Margaret Reilly, I was still anxious to speak with her myself. True, Falcone had decided that the Merrywoods' longtime employee wasn't a very likely suspect. Yet when it came to reading between the lines, the man struck me as someone who moved his lips when he read. I couldn't ignore the fact that Margaret Reilly was the one who reigned over the kitchen, handling all the food in this house--including the birthday cake that appeared to have been the murder weapon.

And even if Falcone was right and she was a long shot, there was another good reason for me to talk to Margaret. While I certainly didn't have much experience with servants, I'd watched enough British television to realize that when it came to knowing everything that went on within a household, there was no better source. So I was glad that Alvira's request for some of Margaret's homemade fudge had provided me with the perfect means of getting my foot in the door--in this case, the kitchen door.

I waited until late that evening, when the Merrywoods and their entourage were beginning to drift into their bedrooms and out of the way. Even Nick was holed up in our room. After dinner, he'd headed right back upstairs for another session, bringing Max and Lou to keep him company. After walking through all the rooms on the first floor to make sure no one else was around, I wandered into the kitchen.

Margaret was still cleaning up from dinner, both her hands hidden inside puffy oven mitts as she pulled dinner plates out of a steaming dishwasher. Yet while her uniform looked as perky as if it was just starting a new day, I couldn't say the same about her face: Her eyes were watery, the corners of her mouth sagged, and her skin looked as if it were begging for a facial. I knew that she'd put in a long day, which had begun early that morning with breakfast preparations.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," I said, suddenly feeling guilty about asking her to extend her day even further. "I couldn't resist coming down here and looking for a snack."

"In that case," she said with an authoritative nod, "I've got just the thing. When it comes to comfort food, I'm a real expert."

"Milk and cookies?" I asked.

Margaret cast me a strange look. "I was thinking of scotch."

So much for the comfort foods Mother used to make, I thought with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Actually," I said, "I've heard great things about your fudge. I was wondering if I could get you to make a batch."

"It's true," she said, nodding. "I'm famous for my fudge. I'd be happy to introduce you to it."