Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017
- Автор: Фузилли Джим, Харрис Шарлин
- Год: 2017
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: 0013-6328
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 150, Nos. 5 & 6. Whole Nos. 914 & 915, November/December 2017». Краткое содержание книги:
“It’s between the two — the three — of you. Speaking of husbands, Mildred mentioned Vivian’s husband died suddenly.”
Will shook another cigaret from his pack and lit it. “Yeah,” he said. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing,” Jo said. “I just don’t want to say the wrong thing when I talk to Vivian.”
“She’s not that fragile. From what I can see she’s making good use of his money.” Will grimaced. “Sorry, I’m in a generally foul mood.”
“I gathered that. But you—” Jo stopped and started again. “Someone is going to get hurt. That always happens in triangles. But I hope if it’s you, you’ll be able to get over it.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t say that very well. I’m going to stop spouting wisdom and go talk to Vivian.”
“Forget it. She stopped in about an hour ago to get a prescription refilled. She said she was going to Utica.”
“To Utica?”
“For art supplies. She woke up this morning and decided to take up painting again.”
“Oh... well, maybe she needs to take her mind off what’s going on.”
“She’s not the only one. I hate that Sarah’s caught up in this after what she went through during the war.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground. “I need to get back to work. You go first. No point in giving the gossips something else to talk about.”
“See you later,” Jo said.
She managed to get back through the drugstore with no more than a “good afternoon” to one of her great-aunt’s friends.
When Jo reached her that evening, Vivian said she’d had a long day. She would love to see Jo, but perhaps some other time.
Jo said, “Would tomorrow be better?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m a little wobbly right now. I need to get myself back on an even keel. My husband — you may have heard that he died suddenly. And now Mildred’s death—”
“Yes, I understand. And I’m so sorry for your loss. But I was really hoping we could talk.”
“Why don’t we plan on meeting for tea at the inn next week? On Wednesday?”
“Wednesday? Vivian, couldn’t we possibly—”
“Shall we say around three? I’ll see you then.”
Vivian’s receiver went down with a click.
Jo looked at Dempsey, who was crouched on the kitchen counter, staring at her. “That went well,” she said.
Instead of returning her call, Howard turned up at the door.
He held up a paper bag. “I brought Hostess cupcakes. Got any coffee?”
“Or we could both have tea with Vivian next Wednesday.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Come in. I’ll warm up the coffee.”
Howard followed her down the hall to the kitchen. “So you’ve talked to Vivian today?”
Jo plugged in the percolator. “I tried. She put me off until next week. Your editor said you’d gone to Albany.”
“A story I’m working on. Unrelated to our present situation.” He took the box of cupcakes out of the bag and sat down at the table. “I hear you’ve been helping Chief Gordon with the investigation.”
“I heard that too. All I did was go through the logbook for the props with him.”
“Anything there?”
Jo shook her head. “So, what do you think? Intruder or one of us?”
“I’ve eliminated myself as a suspect. It’s possible you have a motive that I don’t know about, but Chief Gordon seems to be giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
“And since he apparently didn’t tell you not to leave town...” Jo set cups and saucers on the table. “Seriously, do you think it was an intruder?”
“Unless the guy was a mental case, why grab an ice pick and turn a burglary attempt into murder? Why set yourself up for the electric chair if you’re caught?”
“Maybe he panicked.”
“Or maybe someone — other than the two of us — paid Mildred a visit in the basement.”
“Okay. But why? What would have made Mildred a threat to someone? We know Will’s besotted with Sarah. But he’s not making a secret of that.”
“And unless Sarah’s a better actress than she seems, so far he’s lusting in vain.” Howard broke his cupcake in half. “So unless Charlotte or Vivian — both unattached — has been up to scandalous doings, that leaves Barton.”
Jo brought the percolator over to the table. “You don’t seem to like Barton.”
“I had enough of petty dictators when I was in khakis.”
“I think Barton’s scared right now. But not because he killed Mildred. And Charlotte may be feeling guilty about something. But it’s not a secret and not even her fault.”
“So your money’s on Vivian?”
“I didn’t say that. I don’t know that much about her. And Sarah could be a better actress than we give her credit for. Or, I could be wrong about Barton or Charlotte.”
“Or even me.”
“Or even you,” Jo said. “Cream and sugar?”
“Black is fine, thanks.”
Jo sat down at the table. “Although Vivian isn’t the kind of woman I’d expect to audition for an amateur play. Mildred said she was probably looking for a way to keep busy.”
“Could be. What else did Mildred say about her?”
“Only that her husband died last winter.” Jo reached for a cupcake. “How long were they married?”
“I don’t have the date circled on my calendar. But I think they got together a year or two before the war. She was his secretary.”
“Really?” Jo said.
“Lots of men marry their secretaries. Particularly if the secretary is young and attractive.”
Jo took a bite of her cupcake and swallowed. “So there was an age difference?”
“He was in his late sixties when he died.”
“Vivian can’t be more than her early forties.” Jo looked over at Dempsey, who had strolled into the kitchen. “But that doesn’t make her a gold digger.”
“If she was when she married him, she settled into her role of lady of the manor.”
“And she and Mildred seemed to like each other.”
“And that,” Howard said, “brings us back to where we started. Who and why?”
Jo was sitting in Chief Gordon’s office, waiting for his response to her offer to host a small gathering in Mildred’s honor.
Mildred’s cousin and her husband had arrived and were staying at Mildred’s house. When her body was released, they planned to bury her in the church cemetery beside her parents.
“Aunt Meg would have planned a get-together,” Jo said, making what she hoped was a good argument for the appropriateness of her suggestion.
Chief Gordon gazed at her across his desk. “Your aunt might have. But I don’t think that’s why you’re offering. What do you think is going to happen during this gathering?”
Jo unclasped her hands and leaned toward him. “Maybe nothing. But since you don’t have anything yet—”
“We have plenty,” he said. “Lots of fingerprints, most of them smudged. A rag smeared with the victim’s blood. A basement door that was usually left unlocked. A storm that had people inside their houses instead of out for a stroll where they might have seen any lurking strangers. We have six people — seven, if we include you — who were in the building when the murder occurred and all claim they didn’t hear a thing.”
“And you said there was nothing suspicious when you went through Mildred’s house. If you don’t have anything that points to a specific suspect, then maybe bringing everyone together might help.”
“Like in one of Mildred’s murder mysteries?”
“Yes,” Jo said. “But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work. Especially if we include Jim Fisher, Sarah’s husband. Neither Will nor Charlotte like him. That might stir things up.”