Marjorie Thelen - Designer Detective

Feeling guilty about snooping, I hustled back through the pantries and collided with the door from the garage, which opened right in front of me. Hudson stuck his head around the door to see what he had hit.

“Miss Marlowe. How good to see you. We saw your car in the front drive. Might I be of assistance?”

“No, actually, I was giving myself a little tour. You know, to get an idea of how other parts of the house were furnished.”

“What is it, Hudson?” a quiet, disembodied voice said. “Is someone there?”

Hudson turned back and said, “Yes, ma’am. It is Miss Marlowe, here to attend to the redesign of the library.”

“I see. Let's have tea. I feel chilled to the bone.”

He stepped into the hall, and Opal Crawford followed him in. She looked at me and smiled. Her eyes danced. I liked her at once.

“Tea?” she said to me.

“I'd be delighted.”

While Hudson was assembling tea, Opal led me to the music room complete with piano and harp. Red Persian carpets adorned the natural wood floors in a conversation grouping including two facing loveseats in gold stripe. She sat on one and patted the seat beside her.

“This room is too formal, don't you think, dear?” Opal said to open the conversation. “I never liked Olivia's taste in decorating. She was English, you know. Rather stiff and conservative. I do like a music room though.”

The smile she turned on me, I’ve seen on cherubs. I succumbed to her charm. She didn’t seem disturbed in the least that they found me wandering around the house. And she didn’t look like she lived on a ranch out West. I was expecting leather, fringes, denim and boots. She wore a polyester knit suit in navy blue.

“The library is the same way,” I said, “though I don't have trouble with English formal. That’s the way they are.”

Opal sighed. “Yes, they are. I think Albert was happy with her, or he always pretended he was. Albert excelled at pretense, but he had a good heart.”

“When did you arrive?” I said.

“Yesterday. When Hudson called me, I booked the next plane to Washington, D.C.”

“And before you left you called Jake Manyhorses.”

Again, no surprise. “Yes,” she said. “Then you've met him.”

“He came to see me the night of Mr. Lodge's death. I'm a suspect, you know.”

She smiled. “Jake's very good. He'll get to the bottom of this.” She peered into my eyes. “You didn't do anything wrong, dear. Jake's just doing his job.”

“Then you think there is something amiss?”

“Absolutely. Albert was given an overdose. He would never have done that himself. He had one of those little pillboxes with the days of the week, and he carefully put his medications in each day. He was very precise about things. He would never have taken an overdose. There was no point. He wasn't unhappy.” She stared off into the distance for a while, her hands resting quietly in her lap.

“Olivia died about a year ago. Stroke. She went just like that.” Opal snapped her fingers for effect. “They weren't close but they were fond of each other. They often went their separate ways, what with her family in England and South Africa. No, Albert was a well-adjusted person and took things in stride. He even mentioned a lady friend in our last conversation. I was happy for him.”

“Lady friend? Did he mention her name?”

“No, he didn't. Now I wish I had asked. I'm sure Jake will find out who she is.”

“How old was Albert?”

“Eighty-two. Our family is long lived. Our father died when he was one hundred. He was fit as a fiddle and had a keen mind until a heart attack took him.”

Hudson entered with tea on the fancy silver tray, and Opal poured. “One lump or two?” she asked.

“Just cream for me, thank you,” I said. She handed me a cup and saucer and offered a small crystal plate with cookies. I took one. Ginger snaps. Homemade. I could live like this.

Opal sat back into the loveseat and sipped her tea. “Well, Miss Marlowe. .”

“Please call me Fiona.”

She smiled and said, “Fiona. Lovely name. Is that Irish, dear?”

“It is. I have a strong strain of Irish on my mother’s side of the family.”

“I have a bit myself.” Her soft blue eyes twinkled like she might belong to the Irish little people. She wore a light dose of blusher and lipstick that went well with the snowy white hair. This was anyone's favorite aunt. I adopted her forthwith.

“My dear, we must talk about the library.”

I held my breath. She was going to fire me.

“You might show me what you've done and what you have in mind and how long you think it will take. I suppose we should spruce up the place a bit and get rid of some of these heavy drapes. The house will have to go on the market.”

“You mean, you want me to continue with the library?”

“Of course. Albert wanted it, and it is something I could do for him. I'm executor of the estate.”

“Jake mentioned that.”

“More tea?” she asked.

“Yes, please. I could show you the new floor plan with furniture. I thought we might forego drapes and use simple tiebacks and valances. After all there isn't anyone around to peek in. The natural light would cheer up the room.”

“I like that. What else?”

“Why don't we go to the library, and I'll show you my ideas?”

* * * * *

I called Jake when I got home, that is, after I called my cell phone provider and got my cell phone reinstated. That took the better part of an hour. No one speaks English anymore on help desks. This support person was in Belize of all places.

The hour in the library with Opal was time well spent. She had good ideas. We decided to replace the green paint with tan and use off white for the bookshelves, window and door trim. The huge mahogany desk would remain until the house sold. Opal would remove the personal photos and memorabilia from Albert's travels. She didn't tear up once. I admired her fortitude. I could tell from the way she handled Albert’s personal items like the photos that she was fond of him, but she didn't give way to weepy hysterics.

One photo was of a young couple in cowboy attire. “This is Henry and me,” she said, looking as close to wistful as I had seen her. “We were so young.”

I took the photo in hand and studied it. “What a handsome couple.”

She smiled. “Henry was a good man. He didn't live long enough.”

“When did he die?”

“Two years after we married. A horse threw him on an isolated section of the ranch. Broke his neck. By the time we found him, he was gone.”

“Did you ever think to remarry?”

Her eyes turned mischievous. “I had offers a plenty. But I wanted to make a success of the ranch because Henry had wanted it so badly. That took all my energy. I built it into a prime cattle operation. I have good hands working for me. I'm proud I made it into the ranch Henry wanted.”

“Do you still live there?”

“I'll never leave. I'll be buried beside Henry in the family graveyard. Henry was third generation rancher. The rest of the family is there with him.”

“That's quite a story. Devotion like that you don't see these days.”

“No, you don't,” she said. “Well, I like what we propose for the new library. When you come back next time, we'll talk about some of the other rooms. Now, I must rest.”

She paused at the library door. “The memorial service for Albert is on Monday afternoon, and we'll have a reception here afterward. I hope you’ll come.”

When I finally got Jake on the line, I said, “I met Opal Crawford today.”

“You went to the estate?”

“Of course. I was on the job and looking for clues.”

“You had dinner yet?”