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7:55 p.m. Saturday, August 29th, 1992
SAM let her finger off the button she’d been pressing for over a minute and saw a sliver of light return to the crack at the bottom of the dining room door—that ought to have unnerved everyone in there. Not half a minute later a woman screamed. That length of darkness had certainly rattled somebody. And it had sounded like Elaine Keener. Sam felt sure her helper was more than capable of handling Brandt’s widow and whatever was going on in there.
The remote control Bailey had built had turned out to be extremely handy. Both for tripping those circuit interrupters he had installed in the fuse box and for activating those tiny servo motors installed in the bases of the chandeliers. Sam turned a dial to set the one in the dining room swinging once more, but there wasn’t another shriek.
Bailey hadn’t had the chance to wire the whole house, but what he had managed was working just as he’d said it would, and it enabled her to play the part of the ghost of Brandt Keener quite well. She’d even employed a few of her own ideas to round out the picture. Like leaving things a little out of place when she’d finished searching people’s rooms.
A sudden rustling of feet gave her half a second of warning, and then as the door to the dining room was opening Sam was already slipping back into the half bath off the foyer she’d been hiding in. She left a slight space between the door and the jamb so she could peer out. And she only had to wait a moment more to see.
Nobody exactly hurried out, but the exiting diners weren’t dallying either. Appropriately enough it was the first Mrs. Keener who came out first, closely followed by her daughter and then Stanley, with the widow bringing up the rear of the little group carrying plates in their hand as they filed from the dining room and across the foyer to the parlor. Elaine was hardly composed, but neither did she look like she’d just been screaming in fear. Perhaps it had been Talia. Though Sam wouldn’t have thought the woman would’ve been in there, under the circumstances.
Shortly after the family’s exodus, Mr. Quill stiffly walked out with nothing in his hands. Maybe his appetite had been ruined by the ghost’s antics. Sam saw a sour expression on his face before he reached the stairs and turned to ascend to the second floor.
Then Turner came strolling out, his plate in one hand and fork in the other. He walked slow, eating as he made his way across to climb the steps—likely he and Quill were both headed to their rooms.
She had to wait quite a while, but at last the lawyer left the dining room too. He marched purposefully past the door to the parlor and down the corridor that led straight to the study. She lingered a bit longer, but no one else exited—not through the door she could see. Of course she’d expected Padget and Bailey to have returned to the kitchen after the meal anyway, and the aborted nature of the dinner would not change that. That left one diner still unaccounted for.
So Mr. Oak had either remained behind to stubbornly finish his meal despite the threat of Brandt’s ghost—or at least uncertain lighting and a cavorting chandelier—or he’d retreated to the kitchen to dine, where there would be a greater supply of vittles than could fit on a single plate. Considering how the man loved his food, it wasn’t difficult to see him choosing either option. Though Sam thought the latter one to be more likely.
Another possibility occurred to her. Maybe her strategy had paid off big time—Oak might be breaking down and confessing his crimes at this very moment. Of course, they might not include murder. If Brandt’s money manager had been embezzling, like the will had claimed, he could be owning up to that. And nothing else.
More likely the man was just chewing the steak Mrs. Trimble had cooked for him. Sam still had not tasted the woman’s food, and she wasn’t likely to get the chance either.
She didn’t dare attempt to approach her helper right now—Bailey would be busy handling the situation anyway—and Turner had proved to be less than cooperative. Whatever was going on, she wouldn’t be able to find out for quite a while, but she needed to decide what to do next regardless.
Staying away from the kitchen and dining room would be a good start. Turner and Quill were likely alone in their rooms, so there wasn’t much for Sam to do there—and since the lawyer was on his own in the study, it was doubtful he would be worth spying on. That left the family in the parlor.
The two Mrs. Keeners and their children had to be discussing what had just happened in the dining room. And while it was too late for Sam to try to slip into the parlor to listen in to their conversation, she should be able to observe them through the French windows. Watching their expressions would probably be productive if she played more tricks on them. In addition to the foyer and dining room, Bailey had also rigged the circuit for the lights in the study and the parlor. He hadn’t had time to arrange anything extra in most of the house, but he had gotten to the chandelier in the parlor, so Sam should be capable of haunting it quite effectively.
But she had to move now, before people started moving around again. Leaving the half bath behind her, she pulled the feather duster from where she’d stuck it in the waistband of her skirt and sped across the foyer toward the parlor. She couldn’t hang outside the door trying to eavesdrop, of course. But the same hallway that went past the parlor and then the study turned and led to the back door. And that was a safer route than trying to go through the staff section and easier than heading out the front door and circling half the house.
Holding the duster high to obscure her face and walking quickly and quietly down the corridor, Sam passed by the parlor and then the study. If anyone had happened to pop their head out of either door, hopefully they’d have thought she was Talia. She’d have been gone before they’d have seen she wasn’t.
But no one did look out, and Sam made it all the way to the back door and out of the house to the relative safety outside. Since the sun had fallen below the horizon, the dim shadows of dusk should screen her from the view of anybody looking out a window, but she’d be careful nevertheless.
She took a deep breath and paused to return the duster to her waistband. Despite the safety pin she had used, the skirt was still loose-fitting—indeed, it seemed as if it had slackened some more around the waist from before. She wondered if she was stretching the material too much, or if the safety pin might be pulling free. But she didn’t have the time to deal with that now.
With sufficient light to see by, between the dusk and the glow from the bulb over the back door, Sam crept around the outside of the house, hugging close to the wall. She was just shy of short enough to walk beneath the windowsills without having to bend her knees, so bend them she did. The temperature was rapidly falling, and a slight mist began to form, and it brought a definite chill. Hopefully she’d not need to stay out here too long.
She came to the large casement window looking out from the study, but she couldn’t see in. Dobson had drawn the drapes so that only the slightest bit of light leaked through—she couldn’t even see a shadow to know whether he was still in the room. If he’d gone, he’d left the light on.
It didn’t matter either way. Aside from not having been here to have the opportunity to kill Keener, she wouldn’t be able to see how he reacted if he was in there and she played with the lights. Not to mention the lack of a chandelier.
But as long as her remote worked the one in the parlor as well as it had the others, Sam imagined it would have a definite effect on the family, and their reactions were the ones she was most interested in watching anyway. So she skulked further along the side of the house until she got to the terrace and the French windows which would open out onto it, but not now. And thankfully none of the family had felt the need to close the curtains here yet. Maybe they still hadn’t heard about Talia’s abrupt resignation. If they were waiting for the maid to do it, they’d be disappointed, but not Sam.
Positioning herself low and to one side, she was able to observe everybody in the parlor without, she thought, being herself exposed to view. Barbara sat with her daughter on the same sofa where they had for the reading of the will. Elaine and her son occupied the wide armchairs where they had sat for that occasion as well. Either no one had returned those chairs afterwards, or Elaine had once again dragged them in front of the writing desk, which seemed unlikely. They were all eating rather heartily and even passing the occasional comment.
Sam wished they had installed listening devices in the house, but Bailey had vetoed the idea as being too risky. Since Brandt Keener had gotten into the habit recently of sweeping his homes and offices for bugs on a recurring basis, Bailey worried the practice could continue even though the man was dead. Especially this weekend with the reading of the will and the interest in its provisions.
That hadn’t occurred, but Sam had managed to listen in anyway—it had just been less comfortable. But Bailey had promised her that she would be able to overhear a lot of interesting conversations by her usual tactics, and it had been true. She thought she was developing a sense for when people were saying something she’d want to hear. And she didn’t think the four Keeners were. But maybe she could change that.
A quick press of the right button was all it would take for Sam to flicker all the lights in the room, and in the study at the same time, since they were on the same circuit. Even if she was unable to see Dobson, the lawyer would be getting a surprise too. Pushing the button, she plunged the parlor into darkness for a brief moment before starting to swing the chandelier. Then she flicked the lights on and off and back on a few more times.
She found the responses of all four of them disappointing to say the least. They paused and shared glances with each other, their utensils suspended in the air, but no one appeared about to break down. A little anxious perhaps, but after the lights remained steady for more than a minute, they resumed eating with barely a look between them. Even with a wildly swinging chandelier above their heads.
Sam’s strategy depended on people believing in the ghost of Brandt Keener and the murderer’s conscience being pricked. That the killer would start to show some sign of the guilt they were feeling. There was no indication any of these four people were the murderer, so maybe Sam had to look elsewhere. Or maybe the killer had no conscience. If that was the case, these tactics of ‘haunting the house’ would not work, and she’d probably have to rely on Bailey and his more mundane approach to catch the culprit.
She tried again, sending the lights sputtering on and off a few more times. Then she left them off for an extended moment, just as she had for the dining room, but when the lights finally came back, everybody seemed more annoyed than anything. Could it be they were getting accustomed to the ghost?
There certainly wasn’t about to be a repeat performance of shrieking and a mass exodus. Perhaps they were too tired to react. If anything, the four of them looked like they were starting to get along better because of the ordeal. Ironic if her haunting was bringing the two halves of Keener’s family closer.
Backing away with a sigh, Sam crept around the house, this time going to the garage and entering by the door that led to the laundry room and down the hall to the kitchen. She’d need to be more careful in the staff section, though. Hopefully Bailey and Mrs. Trimble and the butler would all be busy still, cleaning up after the dinner, but Padget in particular had a habit of popping in and out without warning. And then there was Talia, and no telling where she might be or what she was doing.
On the other hand, most or all of them might be in the kitchen talking about the haunted supper and its effect. That might be much more revealing than what Sam had seen in the parlor. It could hardly be less so.
It took her a few minutes to silently sneak down the corridor and ease the kitchen door open a crack until she could see Mrs. Trimble and Talia sitting at the table. Of Bailey or the butler there was no sign. Nor of Mr. Oak, who had to still be chowing down in the dining room with the other two waiting on him.
Even if Padget was in the dining room, though, he could leave through the other door any time and end up coming back to kitchen from behind Sam, so she stayed alert to the possibility. She would have a lot of explaining to do if she were caught, crouching here at the kitchen door, eavesdropping. And she’d first have to account for her presence on the island. And who she was and how she’d gotten there. Much better not to be discovered.
With one eye and one ear turned to the hallway to avoid being surprised from behind, she had a difficult time paying attention to what she was hearing from the kitchen. Talia was weepily complaining in a mumbly voice that was hard to hear anyway. Sam was grateful that Mrs. Trimble was not one to speak softly. Or mince her words.
The cook shook her head at the maid. “You can try that on the others if you like, but I know it’s all a bunch of baloney. Mr. Brandt wasn’t marrying you, he was giving you the sack.”
Talia’s head snapped up, and even though Sam couldn’t see the maid’s eyes, she could still feel the glare. “We were in love.”
Mrs. Trimble snorted. “I won’t say what I think Mr. Brandt wanted with you—but you had your eye on the main chance. I suppose you didn’t reckon on Mrs. Keener, though. She’s no fool, and she’d had a word with her husband, and that’s why you were on your way out, dearie.”
“It’s not true.”
“I suppose he was waiting to tell you until they’d all left, so you’d work through the weekend, which is why you never found out. If you had, I’m sure you’d have stopped doing anything, just as you have now, and left me and Mr. Padget in the lurch.”
Talia had sat there listening with a straight back and an ever-hardening jaw, but as soon as she had a chance to speak, she surged to her feet. “That interfering witch! She was the reason he was sending me away? I’ll kill her. I would’ve killed her then if only I’d known.”
At the same time that Talia was shrieking those words, the door to the dining room had opened and Padget had walked into the kitchen behind her. The lawyer Dobson and Bailey followed the butler. And all three men had solemn faces. They also peered at Talia with keen expressions, which was no surprise, since they’d obviously heard her last remarks. They might be wondering whether she’d killed Keener—Sam certainly was. She was trying to remember just where the inflection had been in that last statement. Had the emphasis been on ‘killed’ or ‘her’ or ‘then’? Each had a significantly different meaning, but Sam could only recall an impression—that Talia was now their best suspect, as she had clearly known she had been headed out the door instead of up the aisle.
Then she saw the butler and Bailey share a brief glance. Padget stepped forward and looked at Mrs. Trimble as he spoke. “I’m sorry to say that the dining room is now off-limits. I’m afraid Mr. Oak died during dinner, and I can’t allow people to tramp in and out of there.”
His words had been ambiguous, but what he’d meant was that there had been another murder.