Mary Clark - Moonlight Becomes You

Instead of Brower, however, it was Detective Jim Haggerty, calling to say that the chief would like to postpone the meeting until first thing in the morning. “Lara Horgan, the state medical examiner, wants to come with him, and they both are out on emergencies right now.”

“That’s all right,” Maggie said. “I’ll be here in the morning.” Then, remembering that she had felt comfortable with Detective Haggerty when he had stopped by to see her, she decided to ask him about Earl Bateman.

“Detective Haggerty,” she said, “this afternoon Earl Bateman invited me to see his museum.” She chose her words carefully. “It’s such an unusual hobby.”

“I’ve been there,” Haggerty said. “Quite a place. I guess it’s not really an unusual hobby for Earl, though, when you consider he’s from a fourth-generation funeral family. His father was mighty disappointed he didn’t go into the business. But you could say that in his own way he has.” He chuckled.

“I guess so.” Again Maggie spoke slowly, measuring what she was about to say. “I know his lectures are very successful, but I gather that there was one unfortunate incident at Latham Manor. Do you know about that?”

“Can’t say as I do, but if I were the age of those folks, I wouldn’t want to hear about funerals, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I’ve never gone to one of his lectures myself,” Haggerty continued, then lowered his voice. “I’m not one to gossip, but folks around here thought that museum idea was crazy. But heck, the Batemans could buy and sell most of the Moores. Earl may not look it or sound it, but he’s got serious money in his own right. Came to him from his father’s side.”

“I see.”

“The Moore clan call him Cousin Weirdo, but I say most of it’s because they’re jealous.”

Maggie thought of Earl as she had seen him today: staring past her at the spot where Nuala’s body had been lying; frenetically charged as he dragged her from exhibit to exhibit; sitting in the hearse, his eyes staring intently after her.

“Or maybe it’s because they know him too well,” she said. “Thanks for calling, Detective Haggerty.”

She hung up, grateful that she had made the decision not to talk about the bells. She was sure Haggerty would have laughingly ascribed their ghoulish appearance on the graves to another eccentricity of a rich man.

Maggie went back to the job of sorting out the shoes. This time she decided that the simplest thing to do was to bundle most of them in garbage bags. Worn shoes in a small, narrow size certainly wouldn’t be much use to anyone else.

The fur-lined boots, however, were worth saving. The left one was lying on its side, the right one standing. She picked up the left one and put it beside her, then reached for the other.

As Maggie lifted it, she heard a single muffled clang coming from the interior of the boot.

“Oh, God, no!”

Even before she forced herself to put her hand down into the furry interior, she knew what she would find. Her fingers closed over cool metal, and as she withdrew the object, she was certain that she had found the thing Nuala’s killer had been seeking- the missing bell.

Nuala took this from Mrs. Rhinelander’s grave, she thought, her mind working with a steadiness independent of her shaking hands. She stared at it; it was the exact twin of the bell she had taken from Nuala’s grave.

Streaks of dry dirt clung to the rim. Other tiny particles of soft earth crumbled loose on her fingers.

Maggie remembered that there had been dirt in the pocket of the gold raincoat, and she recalled that when she rehung the cocktail suit the other day she had had the impression of something falling.

Nuala was wearing her raincoat when she took this bell off Mrs. Rhinelander’s grave, she thought. It must have frightened her. She left it in her pocket for a reason. Did she find it the day she changed her will, Maggie wondered, the day before she died?

Did it in some way validate suspicions Nuala was beginning to have about the residence?

Earl claimed that the bells he had cast were in the storeroom of the museum. If the twelve he had were still there, someone else might have been placing others on the graves, she reasoned.

Maggie knew that Earl had gone back to Providence. And that the key to the museum was under the planter on the porch. Even if she told the police about the bells, they would have no legal right to go into the museum and look for the twelve Earl said were there, assuming they took her seriously, which they probably wouldn’t.

But he did invite me to let myself into the museum at any time, to try to come up with visuals for his cable programs, Maggie thought. I’ll take my camera with me. That will give me an excuse for being there if anyone happens to see me.

But I don’t want anyone to see me, she told herself. I’ll wait until it’s dark, then I’ll drive over there. There’s only one way to find out for sure. I’ll look in the storeroom for the box with the bells. I’m sure I won’t find more than six of them.

And if that’s all I find, I’ll know he’s a liar. I’ll take pictures so I can compare them with the bells on the graves and the two I have. Then tomorrow, when Chief Brower comes, I’ll give him the roll of film, she decided, and I’ll tell him that I think Earl Bateman has found a way to take revenge on the residents of Latham Manor. And he’s doing it with the help of Nurse Zelda Markey.

Revenge? Maggie froze with the realization of what she was considering. Yes, placing the bells on the graves of women who had been party to his humiliation would be a form of revenge. But would that have been enough for Earl? Or could he possibly, somehow, have been involved with their deaths as well? And that nurse, Zelda Markey-clearly she was tied to Earl somehow. Could she be his accomplice?

Although it was well past his normal dinnertime, Chief Brower was still at the station. It had been a hectic and senselessly tragic afternoon, involving two terrible incidents. A carful of teenagers out for a joyride had plowed into an elderly couple, and they were now in critical condition. Then an angry husband had violated a restraining order and shot his wife, from whom he was separated.

“At least we know the wife will make it,” Brower told Haggerty. “And thank God; she’s got three kids.”

Haggerty nodded.

“Where’ve you been?” Brower asked sourly. “Lara Horgan’s waiting to hear what time Maggie Holloway can see us tomorrow morning.”

“She told me she’ll be home all morning,” Haggerty said. “But wait a minute before you call Dr. Horgan. I want to tell you first about a little visit I paid to Sarah Cushing. Her mother, Mrs. Bainbridge, lives at Latham Manor. When I was a kid I was in a Boy Scout troop with Sarah Cushing’s son. Got to know her real well. Nice lady. Very impressive. Very smart.”

Brower knew there was no use rushing Haggerty when he got into one of these accounts. Besides, he looked especially pleased with himself. To speed things along, the chief asked the expected question: “So what made you go see her?”

“Something Maggie Holloway said when I phoned her for you. She mentioned Earl Bateman. I tell you, Chief, that young lady has a real nose for trouble. Anyhow, we nattered a little.”

Like you’re doing right now, Brower thought.

“And I got the distinct impression that Ms. Holloway is very nervous about Bateman, maybe even afraid of him.”

“Of Bateman? He’s harmless, ” Brower snapped.

“Now that’s exactly what I would have thought, but maybe Maggie Holloway has a sharp eye when it comes to detecting what makes people tick. She is a photographer, you know. Anyhow, she mentioned a little problem that Bateman had at Latham Manor, a little ‘incident’ that took place not all that long ago, and I called one of my friends whose cousin is a maid there, and one thing led to the other, and she finally told me about a lecture Bateman gave there one afternoon that even caused one of the old girls to pass out, and she told me also how Sarah Cushing happened to be there, and that she gave Bateman hell.”