The Corpse in Oozak's Pond Page 9

  “Gad, a veritable Armageddon.”

  “You can say that again. Mike’s got a hunk of the Coke machine he’s usin’ for a shield like them Roman gladiators, an’ he’s lammin’ the cans back an’ Oscar’s shootin’ them down in midair with the BB gun. There’s Seven-Up an’ ginger ale squirtin’ all over the place ’cause the carbonation’s stirred up from the chuckin’ around. It’s like hell broke loose out there.

  “So by this time, Oscar’s wife’s called the police. Chief Olson comes chargin’ over an’ Mike wings him on the right ear with a can o’ root beer. Mike’s standin’ there crackin’ up at Olson wipin’ the root beer off his face an’ one of the guys from the soap factory that’s into martial arts sneaks up behind Mike like that guy in Kung Fu an’ yells ‘Ha-ya’ an’ kicks Mike’s feet out from under him.

  “So then six or eight o’ the guys from the soap factory pile on top of Mike. By then, Olson’s got the root beer out of his eyes an’ remembered where he put his handcuffs, so he makes the collar, only he has to heave a couple o’ the guys off the pile first so’s he can get at Mike’s wrist. So the judge charges Mike with robbery with violence an’ criminal assault with twenty-six cans of carbonated beverages.”

  “And thus was a new page written in the annals of justice,” said Shandy. “Damned shame Oscar’s wife didn’t take movies. How long has this, er, Flo been consorting with Mike Woozle, Miss Mink?”

  The woman shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. He’s always had floozies coming and going. As a rule, they leave me alone and I do the same, but lately this one’s been hanging around trying to be friendly, if you can call it that. I expect she’s lonesome since that Woozle man went to jail, and doesn’t know what else to do with herself. I’ve tried to make it plain I don’t much care for her company, but Flo isn’t one to take a hint.”

  “Must be handy, havin’ somebody around to give you a lift, though,” said Ottermole.

  Miss Mink had to concede that it was. “But when I think of myself sitting over there playing bingo while Mr. and Mrs. Buggins were in their last extremities—oh, I can’t bear it! Do you think I could have saved them if I’d been here?”

  “M’well, that’s a moot point,” said Shandy. “I understand it was their mutual custom to take a glassful of Mr. Buggins’s special blend before they went to bed.”

  “That’s right. Not a large glassful, you know. It was just to help them sleep.”

  “If you’d been here last night, would you have had one with them?”

  “I suppose so,” Miss Mink admitted, “if they’d offered it to me.”

  “Would they have been apt to do so?”

  “Like as not. The Bugginses weren’t stingy, like some I’ve known.”

  “But you wouldn’t have helped yourself without being asked.”

  “Oh, no, never. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

  Miss Mink stared at him. “Good heavens! Are you implying that if I hadn’t been away last night, I’d be dead now myself?”

  “The possibility has to be considered, Miss Mink,” Shandy replied.

  “Want some more tea?” said Ottermole.

  She shied as if he’d tried to bean her with a can of root beer. “Heavens, no! I couldn’t touch a thing. You might put another stick of wood on the fire if you want to be helpful. I feel chilly all of a sudden.”

  Miss Mink hugged the gray worsted cardigan around her. “Maybe it would have been wiser to go to Persephone’s after all.”

  “We’ll be glad to run you over,” Shandy offered, but she shook her head.

  “No, I told them I’d stay, and I’m not going back on my word. After all, what does it matter, an old woman like me? The Bugginses surely don’t need me anymore.”

  She laughed a bit crazily. Shandy hoped she wasn’t working herself up for another outburst.

  “You just sit there and warm yourself, Miss Mink. Chief Ottermole’s going to take a look around and make sure there’s nothing in the house that could harm you.”

  “Yeah,” said Ottermole. “Like where’s that jug o’ booze they drank out of?”

  “In that left-hand corner cupboard beside the sink. The label says vinegar. Mr. Buggins simply used whatever receptacles came to hand.”

  “That’s how come you got so much vinegar here, eh?” The chief had his head in the cupboard. “Here’s a jug half empty, so it must be the one they poured from. Give a sniff, Professor. “

  “Thanks,” said Shandy. “If there’s carbon tetrachloride in it, I’d rather not and neither should you. We’ll take the jug along to Professor Joad and let him run a test. Miss Mink, during the time you were out of the house, would the Bugginses have kept the doors locked?”

  “Who, them? That pair never locked a door in their lives. Nobody did out here when they were growing up, and they couldn’t be made to see any need for it these days. They’d have left the door unlocked for me in any case, I expect. People don’t care to trust their hired help with their keys, do they? Assuming they happened to remember where the keys were.”

  Shandy ignored the dig. “And would the Bugginses have been sitting here by the stove?”

  “They weren’t when I left. Their television set’s upstairs. After Persephone moved out, Mr. Buggins fixed her bedroom over into what he liked to call his den. Usually, they’d go straight up there after supper. While I washed the dishes and straightened up the kitchen,” she added with one of her sniffs.

  “Is the den heated?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s warm enough. The chimney goes up through, and there’s a register cut in the floor. Besides, he and she both had those comforter things you stick your feet inside and zip up around you.”

  “And that’s how you left them?”

  “To the best of my knowledge, yes. We’d had supper at six, as usual, then they went up to watch the news, and that’s the last I saw of them till Flo stopped by to pick me up. They came down then, as she said, but once they realized she wasn’t going to stay, they went back upstairs. There was some program they wanted to watch.”

  “Their bedroom is also upstairs, I believe?” Shandy remembered Persephone had gone up there to fetch the anniversary photograph that morning.

  “And the bathroom,” she amplified.

  “You didn’t, er, have occasion to visit the facilities before you yourself went to bed last night?”

  “I did not. Purvis installed a makeshift sink and commode in what used to be the summer kitchen. I use that mostly.”

  “And where do you sleep?”

  “In the hired hand’s room off the kitchen, naturally.”

  “May we see?”

  Miss Mink buttoned her lips extremely tight but did not resist. Shandy couldn’t see how she had much to complain about in her quarters. There was a comfortable-looking single iron bed with a white candlewick spread and a fancy knitted afghan folded over the foot. She’d been given an upholstered armchair and a chest of drawers on which stood her own small television set. A nightstand held a reading lamp, a clock radio, a Bible prominently displayed, and a couple of paperback bodice rippers half hidden behind it. Sentimental chromos hung on the walls, blue nylon curtains at the windows. Braided rugs covered the floor, and enough gewgaws sat around to start a gift shop.

  “Very cozy,” he remarked to Miss Mink’s evident displeasure. “We’ll just check around a bit, if you don’t mind.”

  “What difference does it make whether I mind or not?” Miss Mink snapped back. “You’ll do it anyway.”

  That was true enough, so they did. Their search was both distasteful and fruitless, her only guilty secret being a stack of magazines she insisted Flo had forced on her and she’d been too embarrassed to put in the trash for Purvis to haul to the dump. They were relieved to get back to the kitchen.

  “What about those drinks?” Shandy asked her. “Did the Bugginses take them upstairs right after supper?”

  “Oh, no, never. One or the other would come down to get them while they were getting ready
for bed. They were both spry enough when they wanted to be.”

  “Then it looks to me as if anybody who took the notion could have walked into the house and put poison in the jug any time between a quarter of eight and half past nine. Is that your theory, Miss Mink?”

  “I didn’t realize it was my place to have a theory.” She must be still miffed about the magazines. “But I don’t see how else it could have happened. Mr. Buggins had had a couple during the day, and he was still alive and kicking at suppertime, so the liquor must have been all right up till then. The Bugginses wouldn’t have heard anybody come in while they were upstairs. They kept that television blaring a good deal too loud for my liking, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “The intruder would have had to know where the Bugginses kept their liquor, though,” said Shandy. “Wouldn’t that vinegar jug have put anybody off?”

  Miss Mink sniffed. “Not so you’d notice it. I’ve heard enough about Trev Buggins and his vinegar jugs over at bingo. He used to pick them up at the town dump during pickling time. Not to speak disrespectfully of my late employer, that still of his has been a standing joke around the Seven Forks ever since I’ve been here and a long time before that. I daresay somebody’s sneaked in and helped himself to a swig of Mr. Buggins’s whiskey now and then, but I don’t know that anyone’s ever tried to poison it before. From the cracks they make, they all think it’s rank poison already.”

  “But nobody ever died from drinkin’ it till now,” Ottermole pointed out. “Not unless you count D.T.’s or hobnail liver. “

  “I wouldn’t know about such things,” said Miss Mink, contriving to make them sound like nasty things indeed, “though I expect they’re common enough around these parts. It’s a class of people I’m not accustomed to associating with, I don’t mind telling you, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. If you’ve finished poking through my personal belongings, do you think it might be possible to leave me in peace? I’d been hoping I might get a decent night’s sleep for a change.”

  “And I hope you do, Miss Mink,” Shandy replied courteously. “One more question, please, and then we’ll go. Did anybody at all come to the house yesterday other than your, er, neighbor?”

  “Why, yes, now that you mention it. None other than the great Dr. Porble in person.”

  “And what did Dr. Porble come for?”

  “To pick a fight over the lawsuit, naturally. Which, I must say, he did in grand style. I thought he was going to tear this house apart with his bare hands before he got through. You’d never believe a man who prides himself so much on his dignity could turn into a raving maniac all of a sudden, would you?”

  Chapter 10

  “NO,” SAID SHANDY, “I’D never believe it.”

  “Meaning I’m a liar, I suppose. Well, you can just go and ask—” She caught her breath.

  “Ask whom, Miss Mink?”

  “I was going to say ask Mrs. Buggins. But she’s gone, isn’t she?” The housekeeper’s voice had become awfully gentle all of a sudden.

  “Come on, Professor,” muttered Ottermole, “I think we better go. You get some sleep, Miss Mink. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  She didn’t answer, merely went to the door and held it open. After they’d gone out, they could hear her shooting the bolt.

  “Anyways, she’s got sense enough left to bolt the door,” Ottermole remarked as they got into the car.

  “I was a damned fool to push her like that,” said Shandy. “I should have remembered what a hell of a day she’s had. I hope we didn’t make a mistake leaving her here alone.”

  “Ah, she’s a tough old bird. I bet she’s havin’ herself a slug o’ Trev’s oh-be-joyful right now.”

  “If she can do that, she’s tough enough for anything and I shan’t feel like such a rat. At least she’ll have to open a fresh bottle. I can’t imagine whoever it was bothered to poison the whole batch.”

  “We’ll know in the morning,” Ottermole replied through a jaw-splitting yawn. “You really think she was puttin’ us on about Dr. Porble?”

  “I’m inclined to think she engaged in hyperbole.”

  “Huh?”

  “Exaggerating the truth for rhetorical effect. She tends to do that, I’ve noticed.”

  “Oh, yeah, like when she was talkin’ about grindin’ the faces of the poor this morning. What the hell, I’m none too flush myself, but if some rich guy waltzed up to me an’ said, ‘I’m gonna grind your face,’ I’d damn well tell ’im where to head in. So would she, for all her mealymouth bitchin’. Where to now, Professor? Home, I hope?”

  “I hope so, too, Ottermole. But first, since the night is still relatively young and since we’re in the neighborhood, I was thinking we ought to pay a call on Captain Flackley.”

  “What for? We ain’t goin’ to pinch him, are we?”

  “Not tonight, as far as I know. It occurred to me that it might be a good idea for some responsible neighbor to know Miss Mink is alone in the Buggins house.”

  Then again, if it had been Flackley who murdered the Bugginses, it might be a spectacularly bad idea. Shandy couldn’t see any reason why the farrier would want to come back and kill the housekeeper, though. The fact that whoever spiked the vinegar jug picked a night when Miss Mink would be out playing bingo could be an indication that she wasn’t meant to die with the others, though it was more likely a matter of her absence making access to the jug a lot simpler. Anyway, if Flackley was in fact playing a double game, it would be more in keeping with his role to show the lone survivor every consideration.

  Shandy knew Forgery Point well enough. The old Flackley place was out at the end of Second Fork. Getting there by road meant doubling back to where the Seven Forks met and submitting his car to another longish stretch of ruts and bumps. Cutting through the woods would be far shorter and a cinch for a man who was not only used to skis and snowshoes but even had his own team of huskies.

  Dogsled racing had begun to catch on in Balaclava County. Captain Flackley had naturally been pleased to find out that the hardy canines who’d been with him aboard the Hippocampus would be, if not quite welcome, at least tolerated around Forgery Point. Roy and Laurie Ames would have liked a team, too, but public opinion at the Crescent, including the Shandys’ and Jane Austen’s, was against them.

  One thing about huskies, though, they saved visitors’ having to hunt for a probably nonexistent doorbell in the dark. Shandy and Ottermole weren’t out of the car before a chorus of “Awoo” in eight different tones rent the air. The huskies were penned up behind a chain-link fence, but even so, the wolflike howls were somewhat unnerving.

  Flackley himself opened the front door, bellowed “Shut up,” at which command all eight huskies miraculously did, and managed to tell his visitors that this was an unexpected pleasure without making it too obvious that while he was clear about the unexpected, he had his doubts with regard to the pleasure.

  “Come in, come in. Don’t fret about your boots, this floor’s fairly slushproof. What can I get you? Yvette’s at her rug-making class, but I brew a great cup of instant coffee.”

  “Thanks, but we weren’t intending to stay,” Shandy told him. “We’re on our way back to the Junction. We only stopped to speak to you about Miss Mink over at First Fork. I expect you’ve heard about the Bugginses?”

  “Lord, yes, every place I worked today, I got an earful. The only ones who didn’t talk about it were the horses. Both husband and wife dying the same night and that poor old soul finding them all by herself. Must have taken an awful hike out of her.”

  Captain Flackley was a big man, even bigger than Fred Ottermole, though, of course, nowhere near the size of President Svenson. His hair was the color of frost but didn’t make him look old. His face was ruddy, his brown eyes snapped, his well-muscled frame suggested vigorous motion even when he was sitting perfectly still. He could have passed for thirty-five or so, but Shandy knew he had two sons old enough to have assumed his work aboard the Hippocampus an
d a daughter studying animal husbandry with Professor Stott and farriery with her father.

  “Sit down,” Flackley urged. “You can stop a minute. I was just going over some figures, and all interruptions are welcome. That’s one job I hate, but it has to be done. Now what’s this about Miss Mink?”

  “Simply that she’s got nobody with her and is in, er, considerable distress of mind.”

  “Because the Bugginses were murdered?”

  He hadn’t lost any time getting to the point. “So you’ve heard about that, too?” Shandy said.

  “At least seventeen different versions. What happened? Were they stabbed, smothered, strangled with Mrs. Buggins’s corset strings, or poisoned by Trevelyan’s booze?”

  “Actually, it was the booze.”

  “You’re kidding! Good God, I’ve got a jug of the stuff right here in the house. Haven’t got up nerve enough to sample it myself yet, but I tried half a pint on a mare with a case of glanders the vet couldn’t seem to get rid of. Straightened her out fine as silk in three days. I told Buggins he ought to take out a patent, but he couldn’t remember what that particular batch was made of.”

  “This must have been a different batch.”

  Shandy decided he might as well tell Flackley the whole story. It would be all over the county by morning, anyway. “What we think happened was that somebody poured poison into an already opened jug, which naturally would have been the one Mr. and Mrs. Buggins took their usual bedtime drink from. Miss Mink didn’t drink any with them because she’d gone out to play bingo.”

  “What was the poison?”