They chatted for a while about the details of the pictures; then Tenny carefully put the photograph back into the envelope. "I'm glad we found this and I appreciate having someone to show it to, but I'd be very grateful if you didn't tell anyone from the Holnagrad Society about it," she said. "I understand their enthusiasm and interest, but I don't want them harassing Aunt Joanna just now."
"Tenny, we wouldn't mention it to anyone, even if you hadn't asked," Jane assured her.
"Thanks, Jane. Now I've got to get going."
"Tenny, just one question before you run off," Shelley said. "I noticed the announcement in the lobby about HawkHunter doing a reading Monday."
"Yes," Tenny said grimly. "Another clever arrangement of Pete's. Before he and HawkHunter fell out. I'd love to find a way to cancel that, but HawkHunter is so damned litigious, I don't dare."
"Has Pete turned up?" Shelley asked.
"Oh, yes. About eight this morning. Hung over. Apologetic. Inclined to weep," she said contemptuously.
Shelley watched Tenny as she threaded her way through the tables and out of the dining room. "What are you thinking?" Jane asked her.
"Bad thoughts," Shelley said. "Very bad thoughts." She glanced around, making sure nobody else was close enough to overhear them. "You know, we've been trying to figure out how Pete, for example, could be the murderer. Mainly because we don't much like him and because he's pretty much of a moral weakling. But we don't know that, really. We know only what Tenny has told us about him. And we believe it because Tenny says so and we like her. She's us, if you know what I mean. She's a fortyish woman, speaks our language, and appears to be quite forthright."
"Agreed," Jane said, suspecting she knew what was coming next.
"But murderers can, in theory, be quite pleasant, normal-seeming people. You're always hearing people say, when someone's arrested for murder, "We never suspected! He seemed so normal!" So—"
"So maybe we've been taken in by Tenny? I'd hate to think that."
"So would I, but it's possible, Jane. And she's certainly involved in everything here and might be a good deal more involved than we suspect."
Jane nodded reluctantly. "I bet the same thing triggered this in you as it did in me. The mention of that jewelry."
"Exactly. It's hard to tell in a black-and-white photo, but it looked to me like the jewelry Bill's mother was wearing was worth a king's ransom. It really could have been some of Russia's — or Holnagrad's — crown jewels."
"It probably was real. The way the woman was dressed, it was clear that she didn't care about what my grandmother would have called 'fripperies'. She obviously had very simple taste. And yet she was wearing jewelry that was completely inappropriate to her clothing, not to mention to the frontierish way she must have lived. So the jewelry was out of keeping and very probably worn because her husband believed that if you had those jewels, you wore them in pictures. I loved that picture, by the way. It made me feel I knew those people. I found myself imagining that I knew them very, very well, in fact."
"I could tell you were taken with it," Shelley said affectionately. "The way you got that goofy, faraway look. Anyhow, my thinking was this: if I were a murderer—"
Jane snorted.
"No, listen. If I were a murderer, or somebody with anything important to hide, I would try to be as open and honest as possible. People are naturally suspicious of anyone who's secretive and guilty-acting or unpleasant. If you ask someone a seemingly innocent question and they answer by saying it's none of your damned business, or by being excessively sly about not answering, your first thought is that they're hiding something, right?"
"Or that it really is none of my business and I was damned rude for asking," Jane said. "Sorry. No jokes. Yes, I agree. If I were trying to hide something, I'd give as much of the truth as I could, and hope that the parts I left out weren't very noticeable."
"Exactly. So what might her seeming openness be hiding? To be blunt, she came out of Bill Smith's death with what might well be a fortune in jewelry."
"— and cotrusteeship of a huge estate—"
"— And possible proof of a valuable genealogical connection to the Tsars of Russia."
"Not proof of her connection," Jane pointed out.
"But proof mat might be valuable to someone else. Proof that might be either provided or withheld. For a price. She asked us not to mention that picture to anyone, remember? That could be innocent. Just a natural desire for privacy. Or it could be because she wants to spring the picture on someone else at the optimum moment."
Jane stirred the dregs of her coffee. "She's benefited enormously from his death, hasn't she?"
Shelley nodded. "I'm afraid so. More so than anybody else except her aunt. Certainly more than Pete, who'd make a much better villain. But what would the connection to Doris be?"
"The Tsar thing in some way. Suppose Doris was so humiliated by the debate that she decided to give it up and throw in the towel?"
"Can you really imagine her doing that?"
"No," Jane said, "but I can imagine her saying so in the first moments of stress and embarrassment. A sort of flounce. Meant to make somebody pet her and fuss over her and talk her out of it. But if she said it too forcefully to the wrong person, she might have been accidentally taken seriously."
"The great problem with all of this," Shelley said, "is that Tenny knew better than anyone how little time Bill had to live. She knew all she had to do was wait a while."
"We only have her word about that," Jane said.
"No, we have Linda Moosefoot's, too. Remember, Linda told you she knew because Tenny had had Linda drive her to a Denver hospital."
"That's right. I'd forgotten. But that still doesn't mean something could have precipitated things. I mean, suppose Doris had said she was giving it up, or something else that caused Tenny to kill her. If Bill found out, or even suspected, he might have told her he was going to change the trust. Make Pete the co-trustee. Leave her out in the cold. Maybe specify in the trust that the jewels were to go to Pete. They really should have, if you look at it from the viewpoint of relationships. Tenny is no relation to Bill Smith at all. Pete is actually his nephew — born into the bloodline that originally owned the jewels. They should have belonged jointly to Bill and his sister. When Bill had no children, they should have gone to his sister's child."
"Well, that's one way of looking at it," Shelley said. "But he probably considered that they were his wife's to do with as she wanted."
"She obviously felt that way."
"I don't like this," Shelley said.
"Neither do I. It's not pleasant to see a bunch of facts lining up against our instinct and judgment."
"Nor should we be talking about it here," Shelley said. A group of guests had taken a table near them. Near enough to overhear. "Let's go back to the cabin. Maybe the walk in the cold air will clear our brains."
"There speaks desperation," Jane said. "But any-thing's possible."
Chapter 21
Shelley, Jane, and Mel decided the best way to spend the rest of their Sunday in the mountains was anywhere but at the resort. The kids didn't agree, but hadn't any good alternative to suggest, so were forced to go along on an extended drive. Shelley and Paul had rented a huge, luxurious van and Paul had left it for their use. But Jane wouldn't think of letting Shelley drive.
"She's my dearest friend in the world, Mel," Jane said, "but when she gets her hands on a steering wheel, she turns into a maniac. Something viciously competitive goes on in her brain and she turns into the Hitler of the Highway. Wants to own the whole of it from curb to curb. Please, if you value your sanity, don't let her drive!"
When they all had assembled in the parking lot, Mel said, "Shelley, this is your vacation and you ought to get to relax and look at the scenery. Let me do the driving, why don't you?"