Death Is a Cabaret Page 10

  Working his way back down the hill proved to be almost as challenging as the trip up had been, but he finally arrived on Main Street and fought his way through the crowds.

  He was debating the practicality of getting some Mackinac Island fudge to Seattle intact when he looked up and thought he recognized a woman crossing the street at the end of the block.

  He told himself that he was imagining things. Why would she be here? The bizarre events of the last few hours were taking their toll on his senses.

  But he couldn’t let it go. Juggling packages from the fort’s gift shop and his Main Street purchases, he worked his way up the street, craning his neck in an attempt to keep the girl in sight. He caught a glimpse of her darting across the main thoroughfare, heading toward the fort. He cringed, if she went up there, she’d have to do it alone.

  He picked up his pace, tried to catch her before she got that far. But he hadn’t yet grown accustomed to the horse-drawn wagons. When one stopped in front of him, he geed instead of hawed and ended up having to circle around the back of the eight-bench cab. When he finally surfaced on the other side, the young woman had disappeared.

  Damn it, he thought, the girl may as well have been driving a race car.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Blanche had said nothing about her assistant coming to Mackinac Island. Surely she knew Trudy Blessing was there, didn’t she? There would be no reason for her not to know. But the bigger question was why. Why would Trudy be there, of all places?

  Jeff frowned. It boiled down to one of two things: Coincidence or. . . or, what? A plot? A plot to spy on him? Why would anyone want to spy on him? He didn’t have any secrets from Blanche. Well, except for the cabaret set. Was that it? Had Blanche gotten word about the cabaret set and decided to hedge her bet? Did she send Trudy, hoping that the wallflower would blend in? Was Trudy Blessing actually there to spy on him? He’d never before had reason to believe Blanche didn’t trust him. Jeff cut it in every angle he could possibly think of. Nothing else came to him.

  He knew one thing. All this speculation was fraying his nerves—nerves that were already frayed enough. He needed answers and, fortunately, this was one mystery he could solve.

  He returned to his hotel.

  She picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Blanche, it’s Jeff.”

  “Jeffrey? What on earth? You’re the last person I expected to hear from.”

  “That’s a two-way street.”

  “What? I didn’t call you. What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I want to know. Does her being here have something to do with me?”

  “You’re not making any sense. Her who, Jeff?”

  “Trudy, that’s who. Why is she here?”

  “Trudy’s where? In Michigan? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Come on, Blanche. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

  “No. I didn’t. Yesterday, Trudy asked for a few days’ vacation. It was last minute but, quite frankly, I was thrilled that she’d actually asked. It’s rare for her to do anything for herself, so I told her to take as much time as she wanted. Jeffrey, what’s going on?”

  “Blanche, are you telling me the truth? Or did you send her here to spy on me?”

  “Jeffrey Talbot! Have you lost your senses? Why on earth would I need to spy on you?”

  Blanche’s tone and the use of Jeff’s full name reminded him of his Auntie Pim when he’d done something wrong. Jeff’s resolve crumbled. “Blanche, I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve been having to say that a lot lately. I’ve got a little saying for you: Throw dirt and you lose ground. Remember that next time you chew out an old lady.”

  He dropped onto the bed. “You’re right. I know it’s no excuse, but it’s been a hell of a strange morning, and then seeing Trudy so far removed from Seattle threw me off my game.” He let out his breath. “I can’t make sense of any of it.”

  “You said ‘strange morning.’ Is there something stranger than seeing Trudy on the island?”

  “You know Frank Hamilton?”

  “Sure. He occasionally brings items into the shop. Has a good eye for antiques, but not much bedside manner. Don’t tell me he’s there, too? Good Lord, am I the only Seattleite still in Seattle?”

  “There’s one less here. I found Hamilton this morning. Dead.”

  “Dead?” She was quiet. Then: “How?”

  “Don’t know yet. By the looks of things, though, it wasn’t an accident. After that, I decided to get away from the hotel for awhile, and then I saw Trudy. I wasn’t sure what to think—”

  “So you thought I’d sent her to spy on you. What are you up to that would cause me to spy on you? Selling my private wish list to the highest bidder?”

  “Not a chance.” Jeff relaxed a little. “May I plead temporary insanity as far as this phone call is concerned?”

  “You may.” Blanche cleared her throat. “I’m with you, though. It’s curious. Of course, I mentioned to Trudy that the island is magnificent. Maybe she’s finally decided to come out of her shell and live a little.”

  “Well, I’m going to try and track her down. God knows how. It’ll take me all day to call every hotel and bed-and-breakfast on this place.”

  There was a pause. “Jeff, wait. I may be able to help. The shop phoned me this morning and said that Trudy had called. She was worried that she’d forgotten and left the bank deposit sitting on my desk. Took me by surprise because she never forgets that sort of thing.

  “The Saturday crew looked but, of course, they didn’t find anything.” Blanche was quiet again, obviously thinking. “Let me call the shop, have someone check the caller ID.”

  “Won’t someone else have erased it by now?”

  “Why would they? That’s Trudy’s job.”

  Jeff said good-bye and cradled the receiver gently. While he waited for Blanche to call back, he recapped the events thus far. It didn’t take long. The big question was: Who knew Frank Hamilton? So far, no one had admitted to an acquaintance with the dead man.

  He thought about Brookner’s approach at the end of Edward Davenport’s session. Gutsy, sure. But what had it accomplished? Why had the detective taken that approach? Jeff had told him he’d seen Hamilton arguing with a woman, not a man. Maybe he had uncovered something that he hadn’t shared. Come to think of it, he hadn’t shared anything. Maybe his former FBI status didn’t mean a damn thing to Brookner.

  He wondered if anyone had seen Frank Hamilton after he’d seen him last night at the edge of the Tea Garden. Of course, if he knew the answer to that. . . One thing he did know: The cops had a hell of a job ahead of them if they were going to question every woman who might have been wearing a little black dress. And a hat. Don’t forget the hat.

  The phone rang, jolting Jeff out of his thoughts.

  “Found it,” Blanche said by way of introduction.

  “Where?”

  “A place called the Murray Hotel.”

  Blanche gave him the number and made him promise to keep her posted.

  “Will do.” Jeff pressed the plunger, then punched in the number to the Murray. When the desk clerk answered, Jeff realized that he couldn’t accomplish a damn thing over the phone. “Wrong number,” he said, then hung up and located the place on his map.

  Although the Murray Hotel was a large, clapboard structure on Main Street, he had trouble locating its entrance. The hotel’s tiny porch abutted the sidewalk, and the people sitting there were close enough to touch. The only access to the porch was via a door behind the porch sitters. The hotel’s entry was in an alcove next to that. He glanced at the faces to make sure Trudy wasn’t on the porch, and then made his way to the hotel’s front door.

  At first glance, the inside of the hotel appeared to be a Victorian candy shop, with striped wallpaper, borders of roses, spandrels, and a large glass case that held several varieties of fudge. Had he known that, he could’ve saved a few stops and shopped here. Across from the fudge case was a carv
ed oak staircase, its walls lined with antique photographs. Next to the stairs was a coffee bar with small tables and chairs. He walked past this, beyond the front desk, and down a corridor that led past the pay phones to the elevators.

  Elevator. There was only one. He doubled back to the coffee bar.

  Jeff figured the Murray’s rooms would be less expensive than the Grand but, nonetheless, they were probably more than Trudy was used to spending. Of course, he had no idea how much money she had or if she had many financial responsibilities, but she looked like the poster girl for American Frugal and Trust.

  He debated what approach to take. Too much time had passed since his years with the bureau. His investigative skills needed honing.

  He ordered hazelnut coffee, grabbed an abandoned newspaper, and took up position at the back of the seating area. This way he could watch as guests came and went. He felt sure that everyone could see through the facade.

  To his surprise, no one seemed to. Mackinac Island exuded security, and visitors there quickly became embraced within its guardian folds.

  After a half hour, Trudy Blessing shuffled past him toward the elevator, juggling two grocery bags, a purse, and a half-eaten ice cream cone. She didn’t look in his direction. If she had, she probably wouldn’t have been able to identify him.

  He felt guilty not offering to help. But, for the greater cause, he had to keep his low profile a little longer. When she disappeared into the elevator, he quickly climbed the stairs and watched for the lift to stop on the second floor. When it didn’t, he hustled up another flight. He caught a glimpse of Trudy’s yellow print skirt and a brown sandal as she turned right at the end of a long, narrow hallway.

  He went after her. The walls were painted a dusty pink, and several Victorian photographs in period frames hung along the walls. At the end of the corridor, he stopped. Carefully, he peered around the corner. The walls in that wing were painted blue. At least the colors seemed like Trudy colors. She was fumbling with her key at a room directly across from a tall, old mirror.

  When she stepped inside, he hurried to the door. Jeff knocked, heard a slight gasp from the other side. Skittish. “Yes?” Her voice was trembling.

  “Miss, I’m afraid something fell from one of your bags.” He rustled his map, adding to the deceit.

  “Oh, no. Just a moment, please.”

  He’d been right. Someone like Trudy would easily accept the implication that she’d dropped something.

  She opened the door. When she saw Jeff, her breath caught and she tried to slam the door.

  He pushed past her.

  “Trudy, you’re too trusting. Be thankful it’s only me.” The girl fidgeted.

  “Mr. Talbot, how did you find me?”

  “Never mind that for now. What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “I don’t have to answer that.” Her lips tightened, as if to show that she’d zipped them. After a moment, she sat in an armchair and took a tiny birdcage from the small table beside her. As she studied it, her facade drooped. “I’m sorry if I sound disrespectful, but—”

  “Don’t apologize.” He sat on the bed and looked around the room. It was small, only a fraction of the size of his suite, but it was done up with a rich Victorian theme in ivory and pink. The furniture was reproduction but still striking with its dark cherry finish. The only antiques were two more miniature birdcages. He picked them up. Trudy started to rise, then stayed put.

  “Are these yours?” Jeff admired the craftsmanship in the tiny pieces.

  “Yes. Seems silly, doesn’t it? A grown woman traveling with birdcages. I don’t even own a bird.”

  “I don’t think it’s silly at all. Lots of people travel with comfort items. Do you collect miniatures?”

  “I collect birdcages in all sizes. The little ones are easy to bring along.”

  “What got you started collecting birdcages?”

  “I—” She stopped herself. “Are we through here, Mr. Talbot?”

  “You took me by surprise, Trudy. You’re the last person I expected to see here.” Well, not the last person. That slot went to Sheila, hands down.

  Trudy didn’t respond.

  Jeff went to the window and opened the blinds. “This is a great view. Have you looked out here?” Directly in front of him was the harbor, dotted with sailboats. Below, he could see the street scene. Delivery wagons hauled freight from the docks, people walked or rode bikes or just stood there watching the boats.

  She stood and joined him. “It is nice, isn’t it?”

  “Are you here alone?”

  A flash of panic showed in her eyes, then dissipated. He wasn’t sure whether it meant she was hiding someone or if an admission of traveling alone would leave her vulnerable. “Trudy, you can trust me. If you don’t believe that, then call Blanche. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  “There’s only one toothbrush in the bathroom, Mr. Talbot,” she said defensively. “Go check if you like.”

  Jeff didn’t move.

  “Really,” she added, “I just needed some days off. When I overheard you talking about this place yesterday, I decided to be spontaneous, do something out of character. I work terribly hard for Mrs. Appleby, and I’ve never done very much for myself.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me on that one. But why didn’t you tell Blanche where you were going?”

  “I suppose I didn’t see any reason to.”

  “I know you rarely take vacations, but when you do, you always leave her a number, just in case there’s a problem at the shop.” He sat back down on the bed. “It’s strange that you didn’t this time.”

  “I—I guess I just didn’t think of it. Besides, I wasn’t sure where I’d be staying.”

  Jeff reached into three of the vest’s pockets before he found his pad and pen. He jotted something, then tore the sheet out and handed it to her. “I’m staying at the Grand. But you probably already know that. Here’s the number. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “Yes, Mr. Talbot, I will.”

  Jeff placed the birdcages back on the table. “You know, Trudy, I’m surprised you aren’t taking part in the Antiques Festival at the Grand.”

  “Like I said, this was a last-minute trip.”

  Jeff figured he’d pushed as far as he could. He said good-bye and stepped out the door. He was sure Trudy Blessing was up to something, but there was nothing more he could do right now to find out what.

  He made his way around the boardwalk and back up toward his hotel, thinking about Trudy’s explanations. He tried turning them different ways but couldn’t come up with anything.

  A siren blared, and he caught a glimpse of an ambulance as it shot up the street a couple of blocks over. Panic quickly gripped him, then reason told him to calm down. There were thousands of people on the island, what with the tourist trade out in full force today. It could mean nothing more than someone falling from his bike and fracturing an arm.

  Slowly he climbed the hill that led up to the hotel. Lack of sleep from the night before was catching up to him. Maybe he could take a nap before afternoon tea.

  He heard his name and looked up. Coming down the hill toward him was Lily Chastain, relying heavily on her cane as she leaned backward, counterbalancing herself so as not to topple headfirst down the steep hill.

  “Jeffrey, how nice to see you.”

  “Mrs. Chastain.” He nodded, tried to smile.

  “It’s Lily, remember?” She studied him. “What’s wrong, dear?”

  She pitched slightly. Jeff reached out and steadied her, then kept his palm cupped around her elbow for support. “My apologies, Lily. It’s been a rather bizarre day.”

  “Yes, it has. Did you hear the dreadful news? Someone was found floating in Esther Williams’s swimming pool.”

  Jeff smiled. He supposed anyone who’d actually been around when This Time for Keeps was filmed in 1947 would always look at the pool as belonging to the Olympic star and actress. “Actually, Lily, it was in th
e Tea Garden fountain.”

  “The fountain?” she said doubtfully. “Well, they do say a body can drown in an inch of water.” She shook her head, then continued. “I would think, though, that a body would have to be trying awfully hard, wouldn’t you?”

  He nodded his agreement. “Unless, of course, the body had help.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “You don’t really think...?” she started. “This is Mackinac Island, for heaven’s sake.

  There’s no crime here. Now, take New Orleans—that’s where I’m from, you see—now, New Orleans, it has its crime. The girls—Ruth Ann and Asia—and I check on each other every day of the world. Can you imagine a body not being found in that heat and humidity? Why—”

  “Lily,” Jeff interrupted. He hated to seem rude, but she’d spewed out all the sentences without so much as a breath in between. “Where are the girls?” He immediately felt strange for trying to get away with Lily’s use of girls.

  “They’re both napping. I’m used to gardening at home. I like the great outdoors. The room seemed stuffy, so I thought I’d go for a little walk.”

  “I think I’ll go back to the hotel and try for one of those naps.”

  “The hotel? Oh, dear.” She touched his arm. “I should have mentioned it when I first saw you. There’s been another accident.”

  “Accident? What happened?”

  “I’m not really sure. There were so many people crowding around, you know.”

  “I think I’ll go check it out.” Jeff told Lily to be careful maneuvering the hill, then excused himself and trotted to the crest of the hill. Flickering lights from an ambulance interrupted the scenery like a wild heartbeat in an unconscious soul.

  Jeff was winded by the time he reached the Parlor.

  Detective Brookner was standing at the elevator. He turned, saw Jeff, and slapped an arm up to keep the door from closing. “Talbot, come on.”

  Jeff stepped inside. “What’s going on?”

  Brookner punched a button, and the doors slid shut. “You tell me. That fella who was teaching the seminar this morning? Davenport? He just hung himself off the balcony of his room.”