“Anything's possible, but it doesn't seem very likely," Smith said. "Want the last of my pie? I'm stuffed.”
As Mel and Smith headed back to the police station, Mel said, "I'm glad you asked Gus Ambler along. He's a good of boy, isn't he?"
“He was… tonight," Smith said, smiling.
“What do you mean?" Mel asked, loosening his belt a notch and wondering how he'd ever be able to eat again after his massive dinner.
“Just that he was doing his 'country cop' act. After he retired and his wife had passed away, he got bored. So he got himself into Harvard and took a law degree."
“You're kidding!"
“Not a bit. And get this — he drives a hundred miles once a week to teach art appreciation to some little college he's got a soft spot for. Doesn't even charge them.”
Mel was quiet for a couple miles, brooding unhappily over his misperception of the man. Finally, he said, "I think I've been had."
“Everybody who's run into Gus feels that way. Eventually.”
Fourteen
when Jane and Shelley had finished their din- ner, they went to Mrs. Crossthwait's room and started the sad job of gathering up and packing her things. She had, it appeared, come with everything she could possibly have needed and much more besides. There were tidy boxes of bobbins, buttons, needles, and a large, well-organized case with thread of every weight and color imaginable. There was a full kit of tiny repair tools, belts, and screws for the sewing machine.
“I've always wanted to have an entire collection of… something," Shelley said. "This comes as close as anything I've ever seen. What's this thing?" she asked, holding up a little gadget.
Jane glanced at it. "I think it goes with the sewing machine. A thing for making ruffles, maybe? I'll bet there's a case that holds all those things. Here. This green plastic carton. See? Little compartments everything fits into."
“She really knew her stuff, didn't she?" Shelley said. "At least she had all the equipment. Poor old thing. I wonder who'll get all this."
“I hope it's somebody who appreciates it. I guess her church friends will have to decide what to do with her things if she doesn't have family. Shelley, what do you suppose she was doing anywhere near the stairs in the middle of the night?"
“Going down for a midnight snack?"
“I don't think she had a flashlight," Jane said. "At least, I didn't notice one on the steps or the floor. Of course, it might have rolled under a sofa or chair."
“She might have been meeting someone," Shelley suggested.
Jane shook her head. "Not in her jammies. Not a woman of her generation. She'd have stayed dressed if she had plans to see someone, I think."
“Maybe she just heard an alarming noise and went to investigate."
“Last night was nothing but alarming noises, Shelley. All that lightning and thunder. And being as she was already spooked about auras, and a tad deaf on top of it, I don't think she'd have willingly gone prowling around without a flashlight and probably a weapon like some sharp scissors."
“Okay, I'm out of suggestions. Have you got any?"
“Nope," Jane said, looking for the box where the packet of cherry pink seam binding must have belonged. "What if someone told her there was something wrong and we had to get out of the house?"
“Like a fire?"
“Yes. A fire. Exactly. As slowly as she moved, she'd have probably been terrified of being in a burning building. Well, so would I, come to that. Or maybe somebody told her there was a big limb hanging over her room that could crash down on the house at any moment.”
Shelley sat down on the edge of the bed. "You may have something there. Scaring her about some danger is about the only reason I can imagine that would get her out of her room, in the dark, in her nightwear.”
Jane had found the box of hem tapes and seam bindings and put the leftover packet into it. She had another one she'd found on the floor as well. "Shelley, remember in the attic there was a wad of black seam binding?"
“Vaguely."
“I just remembered something. It wasn't old and dusty. And here's another packet of black that's only got a few inches left.”
Jane crossed the landing to the attic, opened the door, and glanced around. After tripping over the box of doorknobs, she found the tape. "Here it is," she said as Shelley trailed in behind her. "And look at the end of the tape in the packet and this end of the stuff on the floor."
“They match. It's a jagged cut. But why would Mrs. Crossthwait have cut off a huge section and thrown it away in here? She had a big wastebasket in her room."
“Because she didn't do it. Someone else did.”
“I don't get it, Jane. What are you talking about?"
“My guess is that somebody lifted the packet during the evening, strung it across one of the steps after the lights went out, and slipped what remained back into Mrs. Crossthwait's belongings sometime later.”
Shelley's eyes widened. "To make quite certain she tripped on the stairs, even if the push didn't do it!"
“Right. And then the person untied the seam binding — see where it's crinkled from being tied? And pitched it in the attic, thinking nobody would go in there, and if they did, it would just be more junk if it were noticed at all."
“That's really diabolical," Shelley said. "But how does it help?"
“I don't know. Except it proves that Mrs. Crossthwait's death was planned. It wasn't a spur of the moment thing.”
Shelley shivered. "Euwww. I don't like this at all. What a horrible scenario!”
Jane looked down at the tangle of binding. "I don't imagine this stuff would hold fingerprints, would it?"
“Jane, it's getting dark and I don't like us being up here alone. Leave the seam binding here and let's finish packing things up and we can go sit in the kitchen until Mel comes back. I suddenly don'tmuch enjoy our solitude. I wish there were someone else around. Preferably a man. With a gun.”
They went back to Mrs. Crossthwait's room. "Speaking of men, I haven't seen Larkspur for ages," Jane said, picking up an armload of boxes full of sewing notions. "He didn't say anything about leaving, did he?"
“Not to me. Where are we going with this stuff?"
“To her car. If we load everything into it, whoever comes to fetch it will have all her belongings.”
It took a couple trips, but they got everything except the sewing machine into the car; Jane planned to ask one of the strong young men to carry it out later. Jane put Mrs. Crossthwait's purse out of sight under the front seat, locked the Jeep, and pocketed the keys.
They headed for the kitchen to make some fresh coffee and found Larkspur leaning into the fridge, rummaging for sustenance.
“Where have you been?" Jane asked. "I was starting to worry about you.”
He continued to search the fridge. "Just here and there. I found some fabulous columbines back behind Uncle Joe's rabbit hutch of a house. They're not in bloom and might get really doggy flowers, but the foliage is magnificent. And there's a fern there that I can't identify."
“But no treasure?" Jane asked.
He whirled around, bumping his head smartly on the egg tray on the door. "Treasure?" he asked with exaggerated innocence.
“That's what you're really looking for, isn't it?" Shelley said. "How did you happen to hear about it?”
Larkspur took Mel's dinner plate out of the refrigerator. "May I have this, my dears?" At Jane's nod, he sat down at the table and took the foil off the plate. "Oh, lovely chicken salad. Divine. How did I hear about the treasure? Oh, yes. I mentioned to a customer that I was doing a wedding at a hunting lodge and was rather wondering what would complement deer antlers. The customer asked where the lodge was and he said he'd once lived somewhere nearby and told me about the treasure."