Joan Hess - Dear Miss Demeanor

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.”

“So you slipped out with the sheets in order to investigate,” I prompted. “What have you been doing since then, besides avoiding an entire police department and attending school functions?”

“Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs. Malloy? I’m sure Tessa would not mind if we borrowed just a little and some water.”

“No, no,” I said hastily, “let’s finish our chat before we indulge in-in tea. How did you learn that Miss Dort and Mr. Weiss were responsible for the errors in the journalism ledger?”

“The last letter to Miss Demeanor was, I fear, explicit. I turned quite pink at some of the language, but it was impossible to avoid the conclusion that the two were having some sort of relationship. The rest was obvious, wasn’t it?”

After a fashion, and a week of reading old Falcon Criers “Did you take the packet of letters from the school office?”

“Oh, my goodness, no. Although the letters should have been in the journalism mailbox, I happened to find them in Mr. Weiss’s desk the afternoon of his funeral. I certainly did not take the letter in question with me as evidence; the judge was very adamant about illegal search and seizure. However, I don’t believe he ever gave an opinion from the bench about reading.”

“You searched his desk, though.”

“In the name of freedom of the press, my dear. The judge instilled in me a strong sense of priorities.”

“How did you get into the building?”

“Mr. Pitts happened to be mopping the hallway and graciously let me inside. He even invited me to eat a meal with him, but I declined. Pizza is difficult to manage with dentures.”

“You were in the school the afternoon Pitts died?” I said. “Did he mention anyone else in the building?”

“Pitts-died?” She turned white and put her hand on her chest. “I had no idea, no inkling of this. I feel quite stunned by the news. Mrs. Malloy, could you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of water?”

I went in the kitchen for water, then decided to hell with it and took the brandy bottle off the table. Once she was settled with a medicinal dose, her color improved to a pastel flush, if not a rosy glow. “You didn’t know about Pitts?” I said.

“No, I am flabbergasted to hear of his death,” she said. “I have not been able to watch the evening news, since I was worried someone might notice a light. Please tell me what happened to him.”

“Let’s discuss the murder of Herbert Weiss first. Were you aware that Miss Zuckerman spied on Pitts through the hole in the ladies room of the lounge, and overheard him selling certain information to Cheryl Anne?”

“She told me several days ago, but in the strictest confidence.”

“Did she also mention that she laced your compote with Laetrile in order to poison him?”

Miss Parchester took a long drink of brandy, then looked up with a bleary smile. “Not in so many words, but I did wonder. I visited her classroom last night to see if her pills might be in a drawer, but I heard a policeman come down the stairs after me. I fled through the exit by the boiler.”

“But you did know she had cancer, and had been to a Mexican clinic to try Laetrile-which is basically cyanide?”

“It seemed obvious.”

The judge had trained his daughter well, I told myself in an admiring voice. Or we had varying definitions of “obvious,” with mine leaning toward “tentatively guessed after a week of agonized concentration.”

“Tessa Zuckerman poisoned the peach compote and Herbert Weiss via a slight miscalculation, but she’s been in the hospital since the day of the potluck. Who do you think murdered Pitts?” I asked her.

“I really couldn’t say, Mrs. Malloy, I really couldn’t say.”

Damn. I’d been hoping it was obvious.

Miss Parchester announced that it was teatime, and went to the kitchen. I stayed in the living room with the brandy bottle, trying to work up enough enthusiasm to call Peter and inform him that I’d found his culprit. He wasn’t apt to come roaring over with sirens and flashing lights, in that he knew she hadn’t poisoned Herbert Weiss and her motive to murder Pitts was no stronger than anyone else’s. Pitts hadn’t been blackmailing Tessa Zuckerman, since she was unavailable for such things. He could have been blackmailing someone else, I thought tiredly, but it didn’t seem likely. Blackmail requires secrecy; Pitts had been too eager to share his information.