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Authors: Graham Landrum

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BOOK: The Rotary Club Murder Mystery
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Maud Tinker Bradfield
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A
t our age, no matter how much zip and zing you still have, there is just a certain amount you can do. With Harriet working so hard to clear up that mystery, I was afraid she would wear herself out.
My daughter, Tink, lives here with her husband and the two youngest children, Bob and Ruth. Tink and Jeff had three children pretty much in a row. And then it was a long time before Tink had the twins when she was forty. They are seventeen years old now, and just as normal for that age as they can be. Nevertheless, you may be absolutely sure that Granny thinks they are much above normal.
Anyhow, Tink had been trying to find a time when she could entertain Harriet—Tink has such a busy schedule. So she found a time and was having the two of us over to the house for a cookout on the patio at 6:30.
I thought, Why not take the whole day off and just have a diversion? We would doll ourselves up and take our lunch at the club. Then we would come home and rest. About four o'clock, we could have our baths and put on something summery and
just sit around and look at magazines or TV until time to go to the cookout.
Harriet said, yes, she thought that would be nice. So we went to the club and got there a minute or two before twelve.
I sat with my back to the big windows so that Harriet would have the pleasure of looking out over the greens.
We had a nice cup of crab bisque, followed by a spinach quiche. The club always has specially good coffee, and we were enjoying our second cup before the girl brought our key lime pie when a certain good-looking young woman came in and took a place about five tables away from us. It was Alice Hollonbrook.
“Guess who just came in,” I said.
Harriet took out her compact and pretended to put a little powder on her nose, but really she was using the mirror to observe the new arrival.
“I see,” said Harriet. “She's very chic, isn't she?”
And indeed she was. She had on a straight white skirt and a white jacket over a silk blouse striped blue and yellow over gray. She topped it off with a single strand of pearls. As we used to say, ice cream wouldn't melt in her mouth—she was just so collected!
“I hope she didn't do it,” Harriet said as she put the compact back in her purse. She was talking about the murder, of course.
I really didn't know the girl in a personal way. But I would have to say that, sitting there, she was a work of art. The way she held the menu, the way she ordered her lunch with lots of sangfroid in a low voice, she could almost have been a princess. On the other hand, it was only art. I really thought I liked the small-town girl better—the one who came to Stedbury for a job. She was natural, you know.
Ten minutes later, another diner made her entrance—not so steady on her feet.
“I wish you would look,” I said.
Harriet reached for her purse and had her compact out in a jiffy.
“It is,” she said. “Oh Lord, I believe she has been drinking.”
Kimberlin Mayburn's costume made a strong contrast to that of Alice Hollonbrook—oh, her clothes were expensive enough and would have been stunning enough if they had been pressed. But she gave the impression of having slept in just what she had on.
Kim selected a table on the far side of the room and slumped into her chair. She took out a cigarette and was vainly trying to get a flame from her lighter when the waitress approached her. Kim glanced at the menu as the lighter at last functioned. She lighted the cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a cloud of smoke.
“I'll have the salmon croquettes.” Her voice was quite loud.
Harriet sighed.
“And I'll have another daiquiri,” Kim added.
“You just wonder how many she's had,” I said.
“Is there somebody,” Harriet asked, “that can take over if she goes on with the daiquiris?”
“Well her brother could be summoned—he's a lawyer—lives in the old family place out on the Feganville Road—big old colonial-type house. He's a very decent person—carrying on in the family tradition—well—thought—of—will probably become a judge someday—somewhat uncomfortable in the Democratic party—but loyal to it in the hope that lightning will strike at last.”
Harriet and I discussed the present and future prospects of Lawrence Mayburn, Jr., while his sister's daiquiri was brought and consumed.
In the process, there was some conversation between the waitress and Kim—always loud and querulous on the part of Kim.
Meanwhile, Alice Hollonbrook carefully kept her eyes away from Kim.
Knowing what I did about the two women from Harriet's account of her interviews with each of them, it was fascinating to watch Kim, the daughter of one of our oldest families, well on the way to intoxication and not yet aware of Alice's presence. And Alice, the girl from “away,” carefully ignorant of the presence of her late husband's mistress. No matter what might have been going through her mind, she was the picture of a perfect lady. The dead Charles Hollonbrook was the link between them—a link that divided.
Suddenly, Kim became aware of Alice. She turned her chair slightly so that she was directly facing the other woman. “Hey!” she exclaimed in that loud, husky voice.
Occasionally, I had been at events where Kim Mayburn was also present, and I recalled that on those occasions her voice had been very attractive—as indeed she herself had been.
“I'm sure poor Alice is in for it now,” Harriet said, once more reaching for her compact.
“Hey!” Kim repeated, “I'm talking to you, Mrs. Charles Hollonbrook.” Kim got unsteadily to her feet and walked toward Alice's table, with care avoiding the tables and chairs that were in her way.
Every time I see a young woman, pretty and of good family—and Kim Mayburn was both—when I see such a young person drunk and making a display of herself, I think it was better when ladies did not drink as they do now, certainly not alone. But then I am such a back number that I may as well be put into a museum.
“Hey!” Kim said again. “We got something to talk about.”
“I don't think so,” Alice said.
“When I say we got somethin' to talk about, believe me, lady, we got something to talk about.”
“The lawyer for the estate is Dan Blake. He is in the Piedmont Building. He can tell you anything you need to know.” Alice was very calm about it. She seemed to be altogether unruffled.
“Well, listen to the little wife!” Kim said.
I dreaded the scene that was developing, although it was very interesting.
“Don't think for a minute that Holly didn't tell me all about you and Clifford Avery,” Kim continued.
Apparently, this stung Alice Hollonbrook. Her face was a mask, but a fierce mask, as she said, “Don't think that you were the first woman I had to put up with. And don't think that you would have been the last. Now go back to your table and leave me alone.”
Kim swayed slightly as she screwed her face into—well, it was just a leer.
“You thought you could break it up between us,” she said.
“Did I?” Alice replied. “It sounds as if you were not sure of him.”
“He would have been mine! He would have been mine!” Kim shouted and burst into tears.
Alice called the waitress and told her to get the manager. Once more, Alice was the soul of poise.
Whether Holly loved Alice or not, she was the perfect wife for him. Why would he want Kimberlin Mayburn? For her old family with its past political glory—whatever that amounted to? And there would be a certain amount of money, too. Certainly, he needed that.
I had to admire Alice for the way she was handling this situation. Her behavior seemed always to be so deft. Even in her affair with the man from Baltimore, she had been circumspect. I had not even heard of it until Harriet told me. Of course I don't approve. I don't approve at all. But I am afraid I was on Alice's side.
The waitress scurried around and found the manager very quickly. By the time he had arrived, Kim was hysterical and incoherent.
“Mine, mine! He would have been mine,” she kept saying, “in spite of all you could do! You bitch! You jealous bitch!”
The manager was very efficient, very quiet. I suppose he
has had experience in these things. He put his arm over her shoulder and moved her slowly but purposefully out of the room.
The last thing Kim shot back was, “He was mine. You would never have gotten him back.”
I looked at Harriet as much as to say, What do you think of that?
She looked at me as much as to say, Very interesting!
We had finished our pie and our coffee and were just sitting there—listening, of course—but my check had not been brought.
I looked up. Alice had stood up and was coming toward us.
“I am so sorry you had to be here when all of that went on.”
Harriet turned to her. “Darling, you handled it just right. I'm proud of you. Do you know my friend Mrs. Bradfield?”
We acknowledged each other. My check came just then and I signed it. We got up. Harriet patted Alice's shoulder and we walked out. We got into my car and started home, but our thoughts remained at the club as we reviewed the scene we had just witnessed.
Well, we didn't know just what to think about it. It was clear that Kim was on the ragged edge. Such a pity with so much life ahead of her. And what exactly did she mean when she said, “He would have been mine”?
“It could mean anything or nothing,” Harriet said. “It merely bears out my hunch. Charles bought that insurance policy in February. That's when he decided to divorce Alice and marry into the Mayburn family for whatever good it would do him. Kim was glamorous—ex of a naval officer—ex of a Frenchman, no matter what kind of rat he may have been—and she had political and family connections.
“So there is enough time between February and May—a little more than three months—for Charles to discover that his new beloved and designated bride is close to the brink.
One thing he doesn't want is a crazy wife. That wouldn't suit his idea at all.
“And it wouldn't be any surprise if little Kim's dear Holly backed off from his plans to divorce Alice. As we have just seen, Alice is the preferable wife—a fashion plate, impressive, tolerant of Holly's frequent and not entirely private peccadilloes, while at the same time she is very discreet in her own little affairs.”
“Then you're saying that Holly more or less jilted Kim?” I said.
“I'm just about sure of it.”
“And you think maybe she killed him?”
“I have not said that,” Harriet replied, “but it could be. Whoever did it would have to be clever. The verdict was suicide. It takes a very cleverly contrived murder to call itself suicide.
“Still, an unbalanced mind can think of things that would never occur to you and me. Think of the meanness and spitefulness and ugly feeling in that little scene the child put on just now. Imagine all of that building up and building up and you needn't be surprised at anything.”
I could see Harriet's point. But what a clever person it would take to plan such a murder! Just think of working out an intricate plot and putting it into effect in a distant city, and then think of poor Kim as we had just seen her! Of course, she was drunk, and sober she might be clever. But clever enough to do all that?
“Has Kim got an alibi?” I asked.
Harriet didn't answer. She just looked out the window of the car as I drove along. “I don't know,” she said at last. “I failed to ask her. And now I don't see how I am going to.”
“It just seems like the authorities ought to be doing this,” I said.
Harriet said, “They called it suicide, and sometimes I think that would be the best way to settle the matter. It would have been just fine if I had left it alone. But now I know that
either Alice or Kim or both have been done out of five hundred thousand dollars. One or both of them had a right to that money. Besides, there is an unpunished murderer out there.”
We went home and took our naps. I don't know about Harriet, but by two o‘clock in the afternoon, specially in warm weather, I just get so sleepy, I can't stay awake. Maybe Harriet pondered her problem all afternoon—but not me. My eyes just closed so softly, I hardly knew it; and when they opened again, it was a little past four o'clock.
We bathed and dressed and got to Tink's house a little before six.
Jeff has built a lovely redwood deck on the west side of their house, and there is a big old tulip poplar tree that shades it in the afternoon. It's just the pleasantest place you can imagine.
BOOK: The Rotary Club Murder Mystery
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