His housekeeper had arrived promptly at eight o'clock. He had put on the safety chain, but when her key did not gain entrance she had firmly pushed the doorbell and called his name until he let her in. "You need taking care of," she'd said sharply, brushing aside the objection he'd voiced yesterday that he didn't want her privacy invaded by the media and actually he'd prefer to be alone.
Lillian West was a handsome woman, an excellent housekeeper and cordon bleu cook, but she had bossy tendencies that made Shipman wistfully remember Dora, his housekeeper of twenty years who sometimes burned the bacon but had been a pleasant fixture in the home.
Also Dora had been of the old school and Lillian clearly believed in equality of employer and employee. Nevertheless, for the short time he'd be in this house before he'd go to prison, Shipman realized that he might as well put up with her takeover attitude and try to enjoy the creature comfort of delicious meals and properly served wine at dinner.
Realizing the necessity of receiving phone calls from his lawyer, Shipman had turned on the answering machine, so that when a call came from Sunday he picked up the phone.
"Tommy, I'm in the car on my way from Yonkers," Sunday explained. "I want to talk to your housekeeper. Is she in today and, if not, where can I reach her?"
"Lillian is here."
"Wonderful. Don't let her go until I have a chance to see her."
"I can't imagine what she'll tell you that the police haven't already heard."
"Tommy, I've just talked to Arabella's boyfriend. He knew of the plan to extort money from you, and from what he said I gathered that Arabella had done that before to at least one other person. We've got to find out who that person was. Maybe someone followed her to your house and when Lillian left she saw a car and didn't think it was important. The police never really investigated any other possible suspects. This ain't over till it's over."
Shipman hung up and turned to see Lillian at the door to his study. Obviously she had been listening to the conversation. Even so he smiled at her pleasantly. "Mrs. Britland is on her way to talk to you," he said. "She and the President apparently think that after all I may not be guilty of Arabella's death. She and the President have a theory that might be very helpful to me."
"That's wonderful," she said coldly. "I can't wait to talk to her."
Sunday's next call was to Henry's plane. They exchanged reports on the Countess and Alfred Barker. After Sunday's revelation about Arabella's habit of blackmailing the men she dated, she added, "The only problem is that no matter who else might have wanted to kill Arabella, proving that person walked into Tommy's home, loaded his gun, and pulled the trigger is going to be quite difficult."
"Difficult but not impossible," Henry tried to reassure her. "I'll get Marvin to check on Arabella's last places of employment and find out who she might have been involved with at them." When Henry finished saying good-bye he did not know why sudden uneasiness overcame him. Aside from his concern over Tommy's plight, what could possibly be causing this chilling premonition that something was very wrong?
He sat back in the swivel chair that was his favorite spot on the plane when he wasn't on the flight deck. It was something Sunday had said. What was it? With inch-by-inch precision he reviewed their conversation. Of course. It was her observation about trying to prove that some other person had walked into Tommy's home, loaded the gun, and pulled the trigger.
That was it. And there was one person who could have done that, who knew that Tommy was both sick and overwhelmingly tired, who knew that Arabella was there, who in fact had let her in. The housekeeper. She was relatively new. Had anyone checked her out?
Swiftly Henry phoned Countess Condazzi. Let her still be home, he prayed. When her now-familiar voice answered, he wasted no time. "Betsy, did Tommy ever say anything to you about his new housekeeper?"
She hesitated. "Well, jokingly." "What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know how it is. There are so many women in their fifties and sixties and so few men. When I spoke to Tommy the very day that girl was killed, I said I had a dozen friends who are widows or divorced and would be jealous of me. He said that except for me he intended to steer clear of unattached women, that he'd just had a most unpleasant experience. He'd told his new housekeeper that he was putting his house on the market and moving to Palm Beach. She seemed shocked when he told her that he wouldn't be bringing her with him. He'd confided to her that he was finished with Arabella because someone else had become important to him. He thinks the housekeeper got the crazy idea he meant her."
"Good God," Henry said. "Betsy, I'll get back to you." Swiftly he dialed Marvin Klein. "Marvin," he said, "I've got a hunch about Secretary Shipman's housekeeper, Lillian West. Do a complete check on her immediately."
Marvin Klein did not like to break the law by penetrating the computer records of others, but he knew that when his boss said "immediately," the matter was urgent.
Seven minutes later he had a dossier on fifty-six-year-old Lillian West, including her employment record. Marvin frowned as he began to read. West was a college graduate, had an M.A., had taught home economics at a number of colleges, the last one being Wren College in New Hampshire, and after leaving there six years ago had taken a job as a housekeeper.
To date she'd had four positions. Her references praised her punctuality, work, and cooking. Good but not enthusiastic, Marvin thought. He decided to check on them himself.
Five minutes later he dialed Henry's plane. "Sir, Lillian West had a long history of troubled relationships with her superiors in colleges. After she left the last job, she went to work for a widower in Vermont. He died ten months later, presumably of a heart attack. She then went to work for a divorced executive who unfortunately died within the year. Her third employer was an eighty-year-old millionaire who fired her but gave her a good reference. I spoke to him. While Ms. West was an excellent housekeeper and cook, she was also quite presumptuous and when he realized that she was intent on marrying him he showed her the door."
"Did he ever have any health problems?" Henry asked quietly as he absorbed the possibilities that Lillian West's history opened.
"I knew you'd want to know that, sir. His health is now robust but during the last several weeks of Ms. West's employment, specifically after he had given her notice, he became very ill with fatigue and then pneumonia."
Tommy had talked about a heavy cold and overwhelming fatigue. Henry's hand gripped the phone. "Good job, Marvin." "Sir, there's more. I spoke to the president of Wren College. Ms. West was forced to resign. She had shown symptoms of being deeply disturbed and absolutely refused counseling."
Sunday was on her way to see Lillian West. She would unwittingly alert West that they were looking into the possibility that someone else had murdered Arabella Young. Henry's hand had never shaken at summit meetings but now his fingers could barely punch the numbers of Sunday's car phone.
Secret Service agent Jack Collins answered. "We're at Secretary Shipman's place, sir. Mrs. Britland is inside."
"Get her," Henry snapped. "Tell her I must speak to her." "Right away, sir."
Five minutes passed, then Collins was back on the phone. "Sir, there may be a problem. We've rung repeatedly but no one is answering the door."