Маргарет Миллар - The Murder of Miranda

In comparison with her sister, Juliet was conspicuously dowdy. She’d inherited the frugal nature of her mother’s Dutch ancestors, and all her clothes came from Salvation Army and Humane Society thrift stores, and out-of-the-way little shops with names like New to You or Practically Perfect or Born Again Bargains.

The beige chiffon dress she wore had a pleated bodice which moved in and out like an accordion with every breath she took. She took a great many because ever since breakfast she’d been having an attack of nerves. People had urged her to tell the truth but nobody had defined what the truth was except Uncle Charles Van Eyck, and his advice was diluted with alcohol: “Truth is a matter of opinion. So opine, Juliet. Opine.”

She wished that Cordelia could be on the stand beside her encouraging her to opine, but the District Attorney explained that this was against the rules of a grand jury hearing, and like it or not, she was on her own. It gave her a creepy feeling having no Cordelia to watch for guidance, a frown, a nod, a shrug. When she walked to the front of the room her knees shook and the accordion pleats kept going in and out very rapidly. She could feel her lips quivering in the anxious little smile Cordelia hated — “You look like an idiot when you do that” — and her mind was an absolute blank — “Opine, Juliet, opine.”

She knew the grand jury was supposed to consist of nineteen people, but there seemed to be at least fifty and she noticed that the District Attorney, who previously seemed rather nice, had very cruel eyebrows. She gave her name and address in a whisper, as if the information were top secret being dragged out of her under duress: Juliet Ariel Young, 122 °Camino Grande.

The District Attorney’s eyebrows jumped at her. “I must ask you to speak louder, Miss Young.”

“I... can’t.”

“Please try. Would you like a glass of water?”

Even the mention of water made her want to go to the bathroom, and she said “No” quite firmly.

“That’s better, Miss Young. Perhaps you’d feel more at ease if I called you Juliet. Let’s give it a try anyway... Now tell me, Juliet, were you living at 122 °Camino Grande the first week of June, approximately a month before your mother died?”

“Yes.”

“On the afternoon of June the sixth was a package delivered to the house for Miranda Shaw?”

“Yes. She wasn’t home, so the deliveryman asked me to sign for it.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“Would you describe the package?”

“It was a huge silver box tied with white satin ribbon. There was a fancy label on it, The Ultimate in Intimate, which is the name of a bridal boutique downtown.”

“What did you do with the box?”

“Left it on the hall table. Miranda got very excited when she came and saw it. She took it right up to her room and locked the door.”

“Did she mention it to anyone?”

“No.”

“Were you curious?”

“I guess I must have been.”

“Please speak up, Juliet. Did your curiosity prompt you to take any action?”

“You know it did. I told you all about it.”

“Now tell the jury.”

“It was Cordelia’s turn to help Miranda fix the table for dinner, so while they were busy downstairs I went upstairs and sort of let myself into Miranda’s room.”

“You picked the lock?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“Did you find the box?”

“I didn’t have to find it. It was in plain sight on the floor, empty.”

“What about its contents?”

“There was an expensive-looking nightgown made of some white filmy material trimmed with lace and little pink rosebuds. A robe made of the same material was draped over a chair.”

“Where was the nightgown?”

“On the bed, lengthwise, as if someone invisible was lying inside it. The wig made it worse.”

“Wig?”

“She had put one of her wigs on the pillow. It made me feel qualmsy. I got out of there in a hurry.”

“Did you talk to anyone about it?”

“No.”

“Not even your sister?”

“Expecially not her. She would have wanted to go and see it for herself and drag me along and I was scared we’d be... that Miranda would catch us and... well, you know.”

“I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I was scared if Miranda caught us she’d take steps. That was the way she threatened us, saying she’d take steps if we didn’t listen to her and obey her. She never explained what she meant, but she meant something not very nice. If my father marries her it’ll be murder. She can twist him around her little finger.”

“Wait. Hold on a minute, Juliet. You said if your father marries her?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s put things in perspective here. The clothes which Mrs. Shaw bought at the bridal boutique were delivered on June the sixth, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“That was a month before your mother died.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think there’s something peculiar about this order of events?”

“I don’t... can’t think anything.”

“Why not?”

“I live in the same house with her.”

“Are you afraid, Juliet?”

Juliet didn’t answer. She had her hands clasped together very tightly, as though someone had threatened to separate them by force.

“Let the record show,” the District Attorney said, “that the witness is nodding her head affirmatively.”

From the moment Charles Van Eyck walked into the courtroom it was obvious to the District Attorney that the old man had primed himself for the occasion with alcohol. He thanked the bailiff effusively for escorting him to the witness stand, bowed to the members of the jury, shook hands with the District Attorney and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Are you feeling all right, Mr. Van Eyck?”

“Yes, indeed. Never better. And yourself?”

“Please sit down, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Not at all. A pleasure to be here. Didn’t have anything else to do anyway.”

“Will you state your name and address for the record?”

“Charles Maas Van Eyck, 84 °Camino Azur, the azur referring to the jacaranda trees planted along the road, though the blossoms are actually more purplish than bluish, wouldn’t you say so?”

“You’re retired, are you not, Mr. Van Eyck?”

“Dear me, no. I’m a monitor of government waste. Can’t afford to retire from a job like that when there are so few of us and millions of them. Even you are one of them because you’re a county employee.”

“Then I suggest we get down to business immediately and avoid further waste. You were related to the deceased woman, Iris Young?”

“She was my sister.”

“Was it a close relationship?”

“Close as either of us could stand.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Towards the end of June, shortly before she died. She called and asked me to come over, she had something important to talk to me about while the Admiral and the girls were out of the house. Very odd. We never had much to say to each other.”

“Did you go?”

“Hard to say no to Iris. She’s always been a forceful woman. Kicked and screamed when she was a baby and much the same sort of thing when she got older.”

“Who let you into the house?”

“Miranda Shaw. She was on her way to the garden to cut some flowers.”

“Did you exchange any words?”

“I asked her about the possibility of a small drink before I talked to Iris. But she said no because Iris had seen my car coming up the driveway and was waiting. In fact, the music was already playing.”

“Music?”