Katherine Page - The Body in the Bouillon

John Dunne heaved a sigh, straightened up, and walked toward Donald, who appeared to have been turned to stone. It hadn't exactly gone according to plan, but it was too late now. Dunne placed his hands on the pristine surface of the glass-topped desk and leaned forward.

“We found out who bought thé knives, Donald.”

Donald's face crumpled. Charmaine started shrieking. Muriel stood up, went over to her sister-in-law, and slapped her across the face. Charmaine shut up instantly. Then Muriel sat down again in the same pose. The room was quiet. She reached up and fingered one of the earrings she was wearing. They had been hidden by her hair, and Faith noted how incongruous they looked with the rest of Muriel's prim outfit and indeed with Muriel's face dangling gold peacocks with tiers that moved provocatively as Muriel turned to Dunne and said in a level voice, "Put the warrant away. Donald didn't kill Eddie. I did.”

Sun streamed in through Faith's living room windows on Thursday morning. There had been a light snowfall during the night, and outside everything looked deep and crisp and even. John Dunne was sitting next to the Christmas tree with a cup of coffee and a huge cinammon roll, one of a dozen he'd brought with him in a large sticky sack. Tom had left reluctantly to keep an appointment. Faith had kept him up half the night with the story of Muriel's confession, but there were still some holes that only Dunne could fill in. Tom's last words had been "Take notes if necessary. I don't want to miss a thing. Promise?" Faith had promised. It was nice to have a husband who shared one's interests. Ben was in front of the TV with the sound turned low watching Big Bird wait on his roof to make sure Santa would be able to fit down the chimney. Faith hoped it wouldn't give Ben any ideas.

“Sure you won't join me?" John cajoled. "Best bakery I know around here, almost as good as the one on the Grand Concourse my mother used to go to when I was a kid.”

Faith shook her head. Maybe she'd have one later to keep him company, but now all she wanted was information, not sugar-covered fingers.

“Will you ever forget the look on Coffin's face? I thought he was going to pass out of the picture for good right there," Dunne said appreciatively.

To say that Francis Coffin had looked dazed and confused was an understatement akin to saying the Minotaur's labyrinth was tricky. Francis seemed to stop breathing for a moment, then shook his head. "No, sweetheart. It's your brother ...”

Muriel was annoyed. "I killed him. Tied him up. Two knives, one to his chest, one to his windpipe. Now leave Donald alone.”

Donald made a grab for his senses. "Muriel, what are you saying? Neither of us had anything to do with this. It's a ghastly mistake. They were my knives, but I have no idea how they got there.”

Muriel stood up and stared at Donald. "Et tu?" her expression said. "Donald, I killed Eddie. There's no mistake." And no mistaking the ring of pride in her voice.

“I'm calling a lawyer, Muriel. Sit down and don't say a word." Donald reached for his phone, "insanity defense" written all over his face.

She watched him dial. "Tell Mr. Horton to meet us at the police station. I assume that's where we're going? Unless you'd like me to tell youabout it here? It's certainly bound to be more comfortable." Her calm was staggering.

“Why not here?" Faith said, her one and only contribution to the events of the afternoon.

“Why not?" Dunne agreed, and read her her rights.

Muriel nodded in acknowledgment. "Then tell Mr. Horton to come here, Donald, although I don't know why he's bothering.”

She hadn't waited for the lawyer's arrival, despite her brother's adjurations. Muriel wanted to tell her story, and she wanted to tell it right away.

“Eddie and I were lovers. We have been since he came here." Muriel flung a scornful look at Charmaine. "This may surprise you. We were going to be married. He never cared anything for you. He was just flirting, so no one would suspect about us." Charmaine appeared dumbfounded, then started to say something, caught Donald's eye, and thought better of it. Muriel continued. There was no stopping her.

“We used to go to his apartment, but we liked the guest room too. The bed was so big." She smiled dreamily. "When he told me we had to stop seeing each other, that he was going away, I knew he'd meet me one last time. I was good, he said. The best he'd ever had.”

So it was love twisted into jealous hatred, Faith thought. As Muriel talked, she began to look almost pretty. What kind of a person uses a woman like Muriel? Eddie Russell—and Faith was pretty sure she knew why.

And so did Muriel. "You're all thinking I killed him because he was leaving me. As if I'd do something like that." She sounded genuinely indignant. "No, Eddie had to die because he was doing terrible things. James told me. He had done them to James. Started him on drugs. He stole my keys to the medications room and made copies. James told me. Eddie denied it, but I knew it was true." She was beginning to sound drugged hersef. Her voice assumed a flat tone, and the words blended into one another. "He was hurting Hubbard House. He was hurting all of us. He was hurting Daddy. I had to stop him from hurting more people. I had to stop him from destroying Hubbard House.”

No one heard the door open. Muriel had them mesmerized.

“I didn't know the knives would be missed. There were a lot of them—and so many other presents for your Scouts, Donald. And how else could I have done it?”

A voice called from the doorway, "Be quiet, daughter. That's enough.”

They all turned to see Roland Hubbard filling the doorway. He looked like something out of William Blake's Prophetic Books—larger than life, if not of some other world.

Muriel fell sobbing hysterically to the ground. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm very, very sorry.”

He walked over, knelt down, and gently put his arms around her.

After a few minutes, Dunne spoke to Roland Hubbard and the three of them left the room. Everyone else left too after that, and the last words Faith heard as she got into her car, her eyes brimming with tears, were Francis Coffins:' "Do you mean to tell me his sister did it? That mouse? Come on!”

Faith decided to join John in a cinnamon roll.

“So what happened at headquarters? And what about Leandra? I can't imagine Muriel had anything to do with that. Although I had narrowed my choices down to Donald and/or Charmaine, I never suspected Muriel. It just shows how clothes can create an image."

“She's only being charged with the murder of Edsel Russell. Leandra Rhodes regained consciousness yesterday and the first thing she said to her husband was 'Somebody pushed me.' That was another thing I wanted to talk about with the gang at HH, before Francis screwed things up—or didn't. I can't make up my mind."

“How did he get the warrant?" This had been nagging at Faith since Francis Coffin had swooped into Donald's office.

“Another snafu. It wasn't ready when I left, so I arranged for someone to follow me, and he thought I was bringing Donald into the Byford police station for questioning. So of course when he appeared there with a warrant, Coffin was like a puppy seeing his first red meat and took off before anyone could check it out."

“Okay, that clears that up, but what about Leandra?"

“I think it probably was Muriel who gave her a shove. When she gave us her valuables at the sta- tion, she handed over a silver locket with a picture of the two of them inside, and maybe it's what Leandra had appropriated—something that linked Eddie and Muriel as more than faithful servant and gentle mistress. Muriel seems to be someone who has been tuning in and out with greater and greater frequency lately, and I'm betting that in one of her more lucid moments, she began to feel a little desperate about getting caught for the naughty thing she did. We'd talked to a lot of the Hubbard House people, and you were right—Mrs. Rhodes never leaves home, or anywhere else, without her bag. The only way for Muriel to get it would have been to snatch it."