Diane Davidson - Prime Cut

“No matter what, I want you to keep an eye on Arch,” I said quietly.

“That’s why I’m sticking around.”

Rustine, sporting newly painted toenails and toes separated by wads of cotton, appeared behind Julian. She was wearing a white shortly robe. Underneath a shower cap, her hair was covered with green goo. Her face was plastered with mud.

I said, “Are you going like that to the rec center?”

She tsk ed. “It’s almost time to rinse this stuff off. Have you been able to find out who wanted to kill Gerald?”

“May I come in?”

She moved in front of Julian, opened the door, and ushered me into a space so cluttered with furniture and boxes that it was hard to make out where to go. It was a contemporary-design house, with the dining room, living room, and kitchen all open to each other. The dining room table was covered with papers: resumes, letters, files, want ad sections of old newspapers. Every chair in the dusty living room was heaped with boxes of papers.

“Want something to drink?” Rustine eyed the sinkful of dirty dishes, which probably included every glass in the house. “Check the refrig.”

Opening the refrigerator door, I was dazzled by gleaming rows of bottled water, flavored with everything from passion fruit to mango. I looked longingly at the kitchen faucet and ended up choosing water flavored with kiwi. In the living room, Rustine perched on the arm of a once-white, now charcoal gray, wing chair filled with a pile of papers. I sat on a stool close enough to the black wall-to-wall carpeting to see it was embedded with hair and dust. Julian hunkered down on the undusted hearth of a moss-rock fireplace. So much for models living in surroundings as gorgeous as the ones in which they’re photographed.

“Where did you say your dad was?” I ventured.

“I told you, in Alaska, looking for a job. Then he’s going to Orange County, then he’ll be back after Labor Day. If he gets a job, he’s going to hire a new housekeeper.”

Julian closed the cookbook. “You want me to clean up that kitchen for you?”

“No, thanks,” she said dismissively.

“Aw, I’m used to doing dishes.” He grinned and made for the kitchen. “That way you can ask Goldy about your former boyfriend and not be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.” She watched Julian filling the sink with hot sudsy water, though, then stood up and beckoned for me to follow. A few minutes later I was perched on the edge of a tub in a large, messy bathroom tiled in avocado and lemon, While Rustine rinsed the mud off her face. As she was patting her cheeks with a dingy towel, she said, “I just need another few minutes for my conditioner, then Julian and I will take the kids swimming. That’s okay, isn’t it?” I nodded. She went on: “So, what have you been able to find out about Gerald?”

Two things I had learned from Tom: always take charge of an interrogation. Even when you’re sitting on a tub. And when you think a criminal might have done something, first pose a question he can truthfully deny, then ask him what you really want to know. If he hesitates, you’ve got him.

I studied Rustine’s reflection in the mirror. “Are you the one who’s been sabotaging my food up at the cabin?”

“No! What sabotage?”

I kept my eyes on her. “Foreign matter has appeared in the food. Whoever’s putting it there might have sabotaged André, too. I suspect Craig Litchfield’s behind it.”

“Well, I’m not the one doing it. And it sounds disgusting. I’m going to stop eating your food!”

“Rustine, you told Tom and me that Gerald Eliot found a weapon. Then you immediately asked us if we’d found out some secret about Charlie Smythe. But it was a rifle Eliot found, and something told you it was Smythe’s, right? You were Gerald’s girlfriend. I think you know a lot more about what he found.”

Rustine reddened; she checked her eyelids for specks of mud before responding. “I didn’t say … I don’t remember saying—”

“Cut the crap.”

“I—” She sighed. “Okay. Gerry found Charlie Smythe’s old rifle. You’ve seen it on the wall of the cabin’s great room, haven’t you? Leah put it there.”

“What else? Tell me. Otherwise I’ll call the department. You’ll be arrested for withholding evidence in a murder case faster than you can say anorexia nervosa”

She tapped the side of the sink, thought for a moment, then shrugged. “All right. I used to be at the cabin with Gerry, kind of keeping him company, you know, when he was working. It was fun to watch, all that destruction. He’d take off his shirt, Mr. Rippling Muscles, you know—” She giggled, then said, “He pulled everything away from the wall, and used his sledgehammer to rip the plaster off the kitchen wall. When he got to the laths underneath—”

“I don’t need a course in construction, thanks.”

She pulled the shower cap off and checked her hair. “Right. Tucked between the laths, he found this … package, wrapped in oilcloth. He was really excited, and kind of afraid, too. Like he’d discovered a ghost or something. Inside the oilcloth was this old rifle. But Rufus barged in right after Gerry unwrapped the rifle. So Gerry had to give it to Rufus, who left to give it to Leah and Ian. Gerry felt … gypped.”

“So you knew all about the rifle, but you only told us it was a weapon. What exactly were you looking for up at Cameron Burr’s place?”

“I need to rinse my hair—”

“You want me to call the sheriffs department? Then you can rinse it in the jail shower.”

She turned red. “I was looking for Winnie Smythe’s cookbook, okay?” I waited. “After he’d found the rifle, Gerry came across something else in the wall. It was also a package, and it was wrapped in oilcloth, too. It was … a note from a man to his wife. From Charlie to Winnie.”

“Do you have it?”

She ran her fingers through her slick hair. “No.”

She was lying. “So help me, Rustine—”

“Oh, all right, I have a photocopy that Gerry made. He thought the letter was going to make us rich, and all it did was get him killed. I figured if you could find out who really killed him, or where the cookbook was, then I could … If I help you, will you split what you find with me?”

“Rustine! Show me the note and tell me why you need the damn cookbook!”

“Just listen for a sec. Gerry was so excited about finding this stuff, he was asking all around about the history of the cabin. Everybody knew he was on to something!”

“Would you please give me that note?”

Her excited eyes met mine. Again I recalled her first appearance in the cabin kitchen. You’re the caterer who figures things out .

Rustine’s medicine cabinet door squeaked when she opened it. She pulled out a folded, zippered plastic bag and handed it to me.

Chapter 21

“Mom!” called Arch from the door. “I found my suit. Can Rustine take us swimming now? We’re ready.”

“Can you just … hold off for a few minutes, hon? We’re talking.”

“Let me show you my ham radio,” Lettie added. “Does yours still work?”

“No,” I heard Arch reply. “How do you keep your antenna on your roof?” Their footsteps pattered down the hallway.

I pulled a folded sheet of paper out of the zippered makeup bag. The handwriting, with its bold pen marks, was identical to the handwriting on the letter from Leavenworth: My Dear Wife,

You are my Treasure and I am yours. If there ever comes a time when I am in Heaven and you want me, you know you have only to use my Rifle and your Cookery book, and make the Rolls as I showed you.

Thus will you have our Treasure.