“Mrs. Malloy, it’s so lovely to have this opportunity to speak with you again after all this time. How are you?”
“I’m fine, Miss Parchester. Where are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. I’ve seen you here and there, but it’s been quite impossible to actually have a word in private. I seem to keep running into policemen wherever I go; it’s so distressing.”
“Where are you?” I repeated, determined to stay calm. “If you’ll tell me where you are, I’ll come right over and we can have many words in private. I have lots of things to tell you.”
“I’d be delighted to have a little conference with you, since I realize you’ve worked hard on the investigation, but”-there was a long pause, during which I prayed she wasn’t taking a discreet nip or two-”I do fear the presence of the police. They have been following me, and they may be following you, too. An undercover officer in a bizarre disguise literally attacked me at the hospital, but I was fortunate to elude him.”
I was worried that Peter would storm up the stairs at any moment to discuss deception with my daughter. If I could only find Miss Parchester and allay her fears, then I knew I could persuade her to present herself at the police station. My track record wasn’t very good, but I am an eternal optimist.
“Miss Parchester,” I said with great earnestness, “I know who murdered Mr. Weiss. I know who fiddled with the journalism ledgers, and I know why. Don’t you want me to come tell you about it?”
“I know all that, my dear,” she giggled. “I’m a trained reporter, as you know, and I’ve been doing a little snooping. I feel incredibly akin to Miss Jane Marple. We’re of a similar age.”
As I gaped at the receiver, Caron tapped me on the shoulder. “Ask her if I can have an exclusive interview, Mother. We can put it on the front page of the Falcon Crier, with a byline, naturally, and maybe a photograph.”
I made a face, took a breath, and searched my mind for the proper response to Miss Parchester’s blithe assurance that she knew all that, my dear. My mind failed me. “You do?” I said.
“I’ve enjoyed our chat, Mrs. Malloy, but I’d better run along now,” she said with the faintest hiccup. “I have an errand, and soon it will be teatime.”
Before I could wiggle my jaw, the line went dead.
“You didn’t even ask about the interview,” Caron said, her lip inching forward in preparation for a scene. “Aren’t you at all interested in my future in journalism?”
“I have a camera,” Inez contributed sadly.
“You’d better worry about the immediate situation,” I said as I headed for the liquor cabinet. “Once Peter returns, you may not have a future.”
The girls discovered the necessity of retiring to the college library to work on reports for American history. I sank into the sofa and tried to find satisfaction in having identified Weiss’s murderer, but it didn’t leave me tingling with self-respect. Miss Zuckerman was too near death to be disturbed by the police; Peter would hide the report until she was gone, then file it away for posterity.
Miss Zuckerman had murdered Weiss, albeit in a haphazard manner. She had then been wheeled to the hospital, and had been incarcerated there ever since. Which led to an inescapable problem: Who poisoned Pitts? The memory of Miss Parchester’s giggle began to haunt me. She seemed to be well informed of the identities of various players in the cast. Had she stumbled across the identity of the second murderer? Was she in danger?
She certainly couldn’t defend herself with a fuzzy pink slipper. On the other hand, she had managed to avoid an entire police force for most of a week, so surely she could avoid a killer as well. If she wasn’t one.
“She’s innocent,” I said, pounding the pillow. A lapse into alliteration, but justified. Where was she? I hew she wasn’t at Mrs. Platchett’s house, or at Miss Bagby’s. She wasn’t at home, the school, the police station, or the Book Depot (yes, I had looked). Peter had warned me that he had men at the hospital, but I decided she had enough of her wits left to avoid there. Happy Meadows would have turned her in like a shot, since “we” didn’t want any problems with the police.
There was one place left, a fairly good possibility. I downed my scotch and hurried to my car, then hurried right back up stairs and grabbed the telephone book. The name was not listed. I hurried back downstairs, admittedly somewhat breathless by this time, and drove to Miss Bagby’s duplex.
“I’m sorry to disrupt your weekend,” I said when she appeared behind the screen, “but I need Tessa Zuckerman’s address.”
“She’s still in the hospital, Mrs. Malloy.”
“I was there earlier in the afternoon. I thought I might go by her house to water her plants and check on things,” I said, not adding that the one thing I wanted to check on ran around town in bedroom slippers.
Miss Bagby had heard too many excuses about incomplete assignments and missing homework. “How remarkable of her to ask you rather than Alexandria or me,” she said, her lips a-twitch with doubt. “Did she give you a key?”
I considered telling her my dog ate it, but instead I said, “I walked right out of the hospital without it. She’s doing poorly; I’d hate to disturb her about a minor detail like a house key, wouldn’t you?”
After a moment of silence, Miss Bagby told me the address and the location of the house key, which was under the welcome mat. We’re rather casual about that sort of thing in Farberville; it drives Peter Rosen et al crazy, but the burglars haven’t caught on yet.
I drove to Miss Zuckerman’s house and hid my car at the far end of the driveway. It was a tidy bungalow, similar to that of Mrs. Platchett-although I doubted a single leaf dared to fall on her yard. Here there were indications that no one had been home for several days. The shades were drawn, the door locked. The key was not under the welcome mat. Opting for simplicity, I rang the doorbell. Simplicity didn’t work, so I sat down on the top step of the porch to consider my next move.
I was still sitting there, uninspired, when the pink fuzzies ambled up the sidewalk, with a few minor digressions to either side. Miss Parchester tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed me, but I stood up. brushed off the seat of my pants, and trailed her into the house.
“It took me a long time to figure out where you were,” I said. “I did accuse Mrs. Platchett and Miss Bagby of hiding you, but they were offended at the suggestion. I forgot to ask Tessa Zuckerman.”
“She is a dear friend,” Miss Parchester said. She took off her coat and plastic rain bonnet, propped her umbrella in a corner, and patted a few stray wisps of hair back into place. “She seemed slightly better today, although tired after her conversation with you and that nice policeman with whom you keep company.
“That nice policeman has been wanting a word with you for a week, as have I. In fact, that same policeman assigned several of his men to detain you, should you return to the hospital. Did you not encounter any of them?”
“I have been very cautious since I was attacked outside Tessa’s room. Today I borrowed a bathrobe from a linen closet in order to pose as a patient; yesterday I wore a white coat and carried a clipboard. It presents a challenge, but the Judge trained me to utilize all my talents, and I have strived all my life to follow his wisdom.” She hiccupped at me, then put her fingers on her lips and giggled. “It was most challenging to leave my country establishment without arousing unwanted attention.”
“And how did you accomplish that?” I asked. As always, I supposed I ought to call Peter and share my discovery, but I was fascinated with her tale of exploits.
“In a laundry basket. It was unpleasant until I accustomed myself to the odor, and terribly uncomfortable. The laundry service is quite lax about leaving baskets in their vans; I must mention it to the matron so that she can speak to them.”