“But Shelley, she was here for less than a full day. How could she have found something Uncle Joe has never noticed? And if the whole Thatcher family and circle of friends plus a few strangers have heard this rumor, how could he not know about it? He's had years and years to look for it. My God! I'm starting to sound like I think it exists.”
Shelley was prepared to counter this argument. "Look at the way he dresses. No one on earth has taste that bad unless they're at least color-blind."
“Wrong. My grandfather was very fond of checks, plaids, and stripes together in his old age. And he had good vision. Just no taste."
“Okay, I'll give you that one," Shelley said. "Paul's father wears the most awful hats in the world and doesn't seem to have any idea how silly he looks. But you do have to admit that Mrs. Crossthwait must have had exceptionally good vision."
“That one I agree with."
“So suppose she dropped a pin on the floor, bent over to get it, and realized the joints in the flooring formed a little door?"
“The room has a linoleum floor."
“Don't be so picky. It was just an example," Shelley snapped. "Just suppose she spotted something that didn't look quite right, investigated, and found something valuable? It could have been something very small. The corner of an envelope barely visible at the edge of a rug or something."
“What if she had?" Jane said. "We don't know enough about her to guess whether she'd just pocket it among all that stuff she brought along and live the rest of her life in luxury or whether she'd have turned it over to the rightful owner."
“The rightful owner, who is presumably Jack Thatcher, wasn't here yet when she died—"
“That we know of," Jane reminded her. "We have no idea where he was last night and it's only about an hour and a half from Chicago to here."
“—but she might have dropped a hint to someone about having found something important. She was up in that room most of the time she was here and everybody else was roaming around wherever they wanted. Anyone could have visited her up there and no one else might have even noticed.”
There was a loud yelp from one of the football game participants. Jane watched in horror as two of the young men rushed over to where Dwayne Hessling was spread-eagled in the grass. But before she could act, he'd gotten up and was bending his arm experimentally. "It's okay," he said. "I can still move everything.”
Jane let out the breath she'd been holding. "All we need him to do is break an arm or leg," she said.
“We'd just have to have Larkspur do something with tulips and baby's breath on his crutches," Shelley said with a laugh.
Jane gave her friend the look she usually reserved for the mother of children who were misbehaving in the grocery store. "Get back to your theory. We're already about six 'supposes' away from any sort of reality. Might as well run the whole course."
“Hmmm. To tell the truth, I'm not sure where I was going with it. Except to say that it's possible Mrs. Crossthwait saw or found something valuable and put herself in danger by mentioning it."
“You're ruining my theory that somebody who has nothing to do with this wedding discovered that she was a Nazi collaborator and followed her here to bump her off as an act of revenge," Jane said.
Shelley smiled. "Sorry about that. But why would anybody follow her here to kill her? They wouldn't know the layout of the place, especially in the dark."
“Maybe it wasn't dark all night. We had lights on in the main room when the power failed. Maybe it came back on during the night."
“But unless they'd been lurking under the furniture all day, how would an outsider even know what room she was in?" Shelley asked.
Jane thought about this for a long moment and couldn't dredge up an argument. "Okay, okay. So if the police are right that somebody pushed her down the steps, and if it's somebody who was staying overnight, who do you suggest as chief suspect?"
“The aunts?" Shelley answered halfheartedly.
“Come on, Shelley! What threat could Mrs. Crossthwait have possibly been to either of them?"
“Well, there's the treasure story. From what we've heard, they're the ones who thought it up and the only ones, besides Larkspur, who seem to believe it. What if she found something valuable and mentioned it to them? Maybe something she didn't even recognize as being of value."
“And they wanted it for themselves, not to share with Jack, who had never believed the story to begin with…?" Jane said.
“Or maybe it was just one of them," Shelley said. "One who wanted to keep it all to herself.”
Jane thought about it for a while. "Maybe. But the aunts clearly snubbed her after dinner. A mere hireling daring to be chummy with them. They're really dreadful snobs."
“But last night they were the senior members of the Thatcher family present at the lodge. If she had discovered something and was being honest about it, wouldn't they be the ones she'd tell?"
“I guess so," Jane said. Then she thought for a long moment. "What if she actually knew them? Before now, I mean. Or knew of them?"
“What do you mean?"
“They're all of an age. And nobody waits until they're seventy to become a dressmaker," Jane said. "She said she'd sewn a wedding dress for Marguerite way in the past. What if her association with them caused her to know some secret about one or the other?”
Shelley's eyes lit up. "I like it," she said. "Maybe she made maternity clothes fifty years ago for the virginal-and-damned-proud-of-it Aunt Iva. They wouldn't remember someone as lowly as a seamstress, but she'd remember doing a secret job for a high society type."
“And the aunts knew perfectly well who she was and what she knew and despite their bickering, they'd stick together against an enemy.”
The cat jumped off Jane's lap and walked away, as if disapproving of the conversation. Jane laughed. "So we know what the cat thinks of that theory."
“Pretty bad, huh? A bit of a stretch?" Shelley asked.
“Just a bit. Shows a good imagination though. You get an A for effort."
“Okay, forget the aunts for the moment. It's easy to imagine them destroying someone with a few well-chosen words, but not with raw physical effort. If it has to be someone here, what about Uncle Joe?"
“Motive? And let's try to stay away from secret pregnancies and Nazi connections."
“The treasure, of course," Shelley said confidently. "He's been here for ages, diligently searching, pulling up floorboards, checking the backs of drawers, peeling up bits of linoleum, pawing around in the stuffing in the animal heads, tapping on walls for secret passages—"
“Digging up the gardens?" Jane put in.
“Yes, and he's found nothing. Then this cranky old lady whose heavy sewing machine he has to take upstairs finds the treasure. And it's going to be turned over to Jack and the aunts. Not a penny for loyal Uncle Joe. So he pushes her down the stairs, nips into her room — or wherever she said it was — and snags it.”
Jane nodded. "And why would she have chosen to tell him, of all people, about it?”
Shelley slumped in her lawn chair. "Good question. Unless it was a complaint. 'Here, my good man,' " Shelley said, pretending to be Mrs. Crossthwait, " 'when you've got that sewing machine in place, get rid of that rolled-up document stuck down the throat of that awful bear rug's head.' How's that?”
Jane grinned. "Let me guess. The rolled-up document is proof that Uncle Joe was once a mass murderer."
“Or Nazi sympathizer," Shelley said cheerfully. "Take your pick.”
Eleven
one of the football players broke away from the game and went inside, nodding politely to Jane and Shelley and coming back out a few minutes later with his hands full of sodas, which he passed around. Another went inside the lodge as the first was coming out and he, too, returned a few minutes later.