Marjorie Thelen - Designer Detective

“Damnation,” I said. “Jake, old lady Opal is crazy.”

“That’s just for starters.”

“I think I should call the police.”

“We don’t want that.”

“I don’t think you’re in a position to voice an opinion.”

There was silence, then a hollow laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Would you mind getting me out?”

“Me? First, you need to answer some questions.”

“Fiona, please.”

“No, I’m serious. Why didn’t you call me yesterday?”

“I did but you didn’t answer.”

“Damn, I forgot. I turned the phone ringer off so I could get some sleep.”

“You never turned it back on because I’ve been trying to get you all night.”

“Am I the only one you can call?”

“You’re the only person I know on the East Coast that might believe an old lady locked me in her wine cellar.”

“That’s troubling.”

“Yeah, isn’t it? Look, Fiona, I’ll explain everything if you get me out of here.”

I had heard that before. I coldheartedly ignored his plea. “Opal said she and Hudson are getting married.”

“She did? News to me.”

“She said Albert had an affair with a woman he worked with.”

“Don’t know about that.”

“What is going on here?”

“Hey, I’m sorry if I can’t answer your questions, but if it’s too much trouble to help me, I’ll call one of my buddies.” He hung up. He’d sounded a little put out.

How in the world was I going to get back into the house?

I dialed Jake’s number again. Busy. I guess he was serious about calling his buddies. I contemplated my alternatives. Leave and extract myself from a dangerous situation. Or go back and help Jake.

I dialed his number again. He picked up on the first ring.

“How do you propose I get back into the Lodge insane asylum?”

I crouched in the Alice in Wonderland hedge and waited for the lights to go out in the house. Damn, damn, damn. Why was I doing this? Why wasn’t I home in my warm, comfy bed, dreaming the night away instead of waiting in the cold and dark to help out a man I didn’t know that well? Curiosity was the only answer I came up with combined with a definite lack of common sense.

Jake said to try the kitchen entrance. He said there was a whole underground storage maze accessed from a door in the kitchen. I hadn’t noticed the door because it was behind the main door into the kitchen which stood open most of the time.

Unfortunately, I had to break in, find the wine cellar key and get into the basement, all without making noise and waking anyone. I was sitting in the hedge freezing my butt because there’d been a party going on for most of the night in the kitchen.

Finally, the lights went out in the back of the house.

I stood, stretched and listened. I wore a long, wool sweater coat in black that kept getting snagged in the hedge. My teeth were chattering, probably more from fright than from cold. I never did stuff like this. What had I gotten myself into? I had black running shoes on, though I never ran. They made no sound on the brick patio. I’d put them on in case I had to run. How’s that for logic? I inched toward the kitchen door.

“Oof,” I said without thinking. I glanced around to see if anyone had heard. My toe had struck a large mound of something that hadn’t been there the last time I was on the patio. It appeared to be a garbage bag. Who had put that there? Maybe the gardener had raked leaves, bagged them and left the bag on the patio. Sloppy gardener. But it didn’t feel like mushy leaves. It felt like metal and had made a clanking sound when my foot hit it. Leaves didn’t clank.

I pulled out my trusty little LED flashlight that I had shoved into my pocket at the last minute and switched it on. Sure enough, it was a garbage bag half concealed under the hedge like someone had dumped it in a hurry. My never ending curiosity kicked in, and I hunched down to investigate. I ran the light over the bag. The top was unsecured so I carefully pulled it open and looked in. Silver. It was the family silver. Tea service, bowls, plates, a few serving spoons. Someone was trying to filch the family silver. Who had dropped these here? A desperate relative? Had they had a party to divide up the family heirlooms, and someone had stashed their loot here?

This was confusing. Better to keep my head and find Jake. Poor guy must be starving by now. I would have been. I inched along the patio that ran by the kitchen, keeping the LED trained on the ground, and eyed the door. The storm door was glass top to bottom. It was closed, but the entry door stood open. I tried the storm door. It wasn’t locked. The partiers must have forgotten to lock up. Maybe that is how the stash of silver ended up in the hedge. A drunken foray by a relative stealing the family heirlooms.

With the stealth of a world class burglar, I eased in the door and shut it behind me. I waited, listening. The quiet hum of appliances was the only sound in the room lit by their red and green lights. Glasses and unwashed dishes sat about. How unlike Hudson to let the place go. Maybe he hadn’t hired cleanup help to take his place. Had he left?

I headed for the door Jake said I’d find that led to the lower level. Moving the interior kitchen door, there it was, just like he said. I tried the knob. Locked. Damnation. My luck hadn’t held. I searched the wall by the door for hanging keys. Nothing. I guess that would be too obvious. I opened the overhead cabinet. Nothing but dishes. I pulled open the lower cabinet drawers. More dishes. Where were those keys? Probably on a ring on Hudson’s belt. As if conjured up like a genie, the overhead lights came on, and I yelped. There stood Hudson in the doorway of the other entrance to the kitchen, staring at me with a look of surprise.

“Miss Marlowe, may I help you? Have you lost something? It is good of you to pay a visit. Isn’t it a bit early in the morning? Have you misplaced something? Your cell phone again?”

“Hudson, you startled me.” I acted like it was perfectly normal for me to be snooping around the kitchen in the middle of the night. “Jake is locked in the wine cellar. I was searching for the key so I can let him out.”

Hudson moved across the room to come face-to-face with me. He was attired in full butler uniform and looked like he had just come from the shower with wet hair slicked back from his forehead, replete with spicy aftershave. I hadn’t noticed before how broad his shoulders were. Maybe he seconded as a bodyguard for Albert.

He cocked his head and did a rapid eye blink, like he was trying to understand what I had said. “That’s odd, Miss Marlowe. Why would he be locked in the wine cellar?”

“Opal tricked him into going in to see some rare wines. She left and locked the door on him.”

“I should have known,” he said like this was a normal occurrence. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to lock him in. Her mind hasn’t been good lately. Here, let me open that door for you. Might I assist you in releasing him?”

Out of his pocket he extracted an impressive ring of keys and opened the door.

“I have a key to the wine cellar on this ring. Shall I lead the way? We will secure Mr. Manyhorses’ release in no time.”

He was about to descend the steps when I said, “Let me congratulate you on your upcoming marriage.” That was a showstopper. Obviously, I was fishing for information as well as checking to see if Opal was a loony as I suspected.

He looked at me like I was sprouting horns and tail.

“I beg your pardon. Marriage?”

Just as I thought. “Yes, Opal told me the two of you are to be married.”

“Married? To Opal?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry Miss Marlowe, but I am quite unaware of such plans.”

In the quiet, humming kitchen, we seemed to come to an understanding. I voiced our understanding. “Opal isn’t in her right mind, is she?”

“No,” Hudson said without the least hint of hesitation in his voice, “she is not, I am sad to say. Some nights she wanders the halls in search of I know not what.”

I could see the tired circles under Hudson’s eyes, but I pressed on with my questions unable to stop. “Forgive me for asking but did you inherit this house?”

His mouth opened and worked but no sound came out.

I said, “Opal said you inherited the house as payment for your service to Albert as a spook.”

“Spook, Miss Marlowe?”

“Spy.”

He started to chuckle, then had trouble stopping. His eyes filled with tears and the chuckles turned to hearty laughs. “Wooo, hooo,” he finally ended, pulling out his ironed, creased, white handkerchief and wiping his eyes.

“I say, she has quite the imagination, doesn’t she? I’m afraid those are stories Miss Opal invented.”

“Probably this is another of Opal’s stories but it’s been bothering me. Did she ever mention to you that while Albert was married to Olivia, he had an affair with a woman he worked with? That she probably murdered Albert using some creative spy technique?”

Hudson didn’t meet my eyes but looked over my shoulder at something I knew he would not share. I read defeat in those eyes but I could have been wrong.

“No,” he said. “I have never heard of her.”

Was this a true story or a figment of Opal’s imagination? Did Hudson know and wouldn’t tell? And why not?

I went in another direction. “Are you having as tough a time as I am trying to figure what is going on in this family?”

“I gave that up long ago, Miss Marlowe. I do my job and try not to look surprised at the odd behavior that transpires under this roof.”

“Has anyone thought of locking dear Opal up in a nice high end retirement home?”

“I don’t know. I am not privy to those decisions. I know what I overheard in Mr. Lodge’s conversations. I don’t believe he was aware of the extent of her illness.”

“Do you know she hired Jake to investigate Albert’s murder?”

He frowned. “Was Mr. Lodge murdered?”

“She seemed to think so. That’s why Jake is here. I’ve been helping him, sort of.”

Hudson was back in control of his butler face. “Miss Marlowe, I catch snatches of conversation. People often think a butler is a piece of furniture so they ignore the fact that I’m in the room, or coming and going or busying myself with something.”

I nodded.

“I don’t share what those snatches are. I don’t even speculate in a family like this one. This is what, I believe, psychologists call a dysfunctional family.”

“That is putting it mildly,” I said.

He turned to the basement stairs. “Shall we liberate Mr. Manyhorses?”

“Do you realize you are a suspect?” I couldn’t stop. I had to know.

He looked back and stared straight into my eyes. “What would be my motive?”

“You don’t seem to have anything to gain except the house, if in fact you’ve inherited it.”

“Precisely so. Do I look like I’ve inherited this house? If I may say, Miss Marlowe, the end of my employment and my move to Cornwall to my comfortable retirement cottage cannot come too soon.”

“I get the picture,” I said. “We better liberate Jake.”

He hadn’t exactly answered the inheritance question, and I now wanted to know if the mysterious spy woman was real. He hadn’t met my eyes when he answered the question. That’s the first time I felt he was lying.

* * * * *

Jake’s prison cell in the wine cellar was comfy, not at all what I imagined. He sat on a loveseat with end tables and lamps. A pint sized frig hummed in a kitchenette. He was surrounded with, and I’m not kidding, thousands of bottles of wine, arranged neatly around the walls of the room. The air was chilly, resulting from the automatically controlled room temperature that fine wines appreciate.

“Hi, Jake,” I said.

He looked from me to Hudson. “I see you found the easy way in.”

I smiled. “Taste any fine wines?”

“I’ll take whiskey any day.”

Hudson said, “If you will excuse me, I have the kitchen to clean and breakfast to arrange. Might there be anything else?”

It was clear Hudson did not want to involve himself anymore than necessary. I couldn’t blame him. The cottage in Cornwall beckoned.

“Thank you, Hudson. We appreciate your help,” I said. “By the way, when will your service end?”

“In two weeks. I have given notice. You’ll excuse me.” He removed himself from the room with his usual studied dignity.

“What now,” I said to Jake, “that I won your freedom?”