Taylor shrugged. “Maybe they’re in the guest room.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALTHOUGH SUNDAY proved to be a day of respite from the inquiries of the law, to Elizabeth it was the most tedious day of all. The shock of Eileen’s death had begun to wear off, leaving raw nerves among personalities already too inclined toward drama. Funeral arrangements and notifications had been completed, so that the tragedy could no longer be obstructed through routine tasks; it loomed large in the empty day. Breakfast had been a tense and silent meal, presided over by Amanda, who was a fierce antithesis to her former hostess-self. She seemed to begrudge every mouthful to those who were callous enough to eat in the presence of her sorrow. She herself sipped coffee and shredded a piece of dry toast on her plate.
After breakfast, while everyone was scrambling for sections of the Atlanta newspaper, Amanda appeared at the door in a black linen suit and gloves, informing them that church services began in one hour.
Satisky mumbled something about “keeping the Sabbath staying at home,” and Geoffrey, recognizing the reference, snapped, “Oughtn’t you to be celebrating it in a garden in Amherst, Massachusetts, then?”
As the Chandlers regretfully surrendered their newspaper sections and prepared to go upstairs and dress, Carlsen Shepherd remarked that there was an interesting old Baptist Church he’d seen in Milton’s Forge on the way in, if anyone would care to join him in visiting it. Since he was looking at Elizabeth as he said this, she accepted the invitation at once.
Half an hour later, the two of them were in Shepherd’s car on the road to Milton’s Forge-Shepherd looking more presentable than usual in a navy three-piece suit.
“I didn’t know you were interested in old churches,” Elizabeth remarked.
“I’m not. I just thought the two of us could use some time off.”
“It’s getting to you, too?” asked Elizabeth, incredulous.
“Sure. And please don’t say ‘But you’re a psychiatrist.’ Give me a break. I treat patients; I don’t move in with them.”
Elizabeth nodded. “It’s like waiting for a storm, isn’t it? Sometimes I wish that Aunt Amanda would have her hysterics and get it over with.”
Shepherd nodded. “Maybe she’ll do it while we are gone. By the way, I mentioned that we might not be back in time for lunch. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes! With Aunt Amanda glaring at us during breakfast, I could hardly swallow!”
“It’s a difficult time to be an outsider. I wonder when the sheriff will settle all this so that we can leave.”
“Do you think we’ll have to stay until he finds the murderer?” asked Elizabeth, considering that unpleasant possibility for the first time.
Shepherd shook his head. “I don’t know. They asked me what I thought about it, but it’s hard to guess why she was killed when we don’t know much about her family situation.”
“I thought you did.”
“Now, remember, I’ve only been seeing her as a patient for a year. Dr. Kimble did most of the therapy. I was just someone to talk to if she had adjustment problems. We didn’t go into great detail about her childhood or anything like that.”
“Well, since you’re a psychiatrist, can’t you just sort of look at the crime and figure out who would have done something like that?”
Shepherd grinned. “You mean relate the snake to Oedipal impulses, and stuff like that?”
“Well-I guess so.”
“But you can’t rule out coincidence. Maybe the murderer didn’t even know the snake was in the boat. Or maybe it was just a businesslike murder for money, and the killer took advantage of a handy time and place. Sorry-I think the sheriff is going to have to solve this one on his own.”
“Psychiatry sounds pretty interesting. Aside from the crime element, I mean. Do you like it?”
Elizabeth’s consideration of psychiatry as a potential career continued until they arrived at the church and was resumed after the service over a platter of fried chicken in Brody’s Roadside Inn.
“It’s nearly one-thirty,” Shepherd told Elizabeth, when they had finished their meal. “Should we start back?”
“What’s the alternative?” asked Elizabeth.
“Well, there’s a little historical museum in Milton’s Forge; we could visit that. You know: quilt exhibits and potters. I should do some sight-seeing while I’m down here.”
“What tourist attraction could compare with the one in the front yard?”
“Maybe he’ll offer a tour.”
“I shouldn’t joke about it,” said Elizabeth with a guilty look. “He said I was his favorite cousin, and here I am making fun of him. I told my brother Bill that, and he said that Alban’s taste in cousins is consistent with his taste in architecture.”
“Your brother sounds like one of the family, all right.”
“It’s a zoo. I wonder why you let yourself in for it. Why
Shepherd looked uncomfortable. “You know, I wondered if anybody would ask me that. I don’t go to all my patients’ weddings. I guess you could say I had a hunch about this one.”
Elizabeth stared. “You mean… you
“Oh, no! Not about the murder. I’m perceptive, but not psychic. I just thought this wedding might not come off. From what I’d seen of Satisky and what I’d heard of the family, I just thought-well, there could be trouble. I thought I’d come down as a friendly neutral, in case I was needed. And if the worst did happen-no wedding-I figured Eileen would need me for sure.”
“That was very nice of you,” murmured Elizabeth.
“Professional ethics,” said Shepherd, getting up. “How about a museum?”
After several hours of admiring colonial handicrafts, Shepherd and Elizabeth returned to find no one at home but Mildred, who informed them that the family had gone to Todd & O’Connor’s Funeral Home to view the body. The coroner had authorized the transfer of Eileen’s body to the local funeral home sometime that afternoon.
“Do you suppose we ought to drive out there?” asked Elizabeth in hushed tones.
“Do you want to?” asked Shepherd.
“No.” She shivered, picturing the emotional storm breaking in the funeral home.
“Then don’t. There’s always tomorrow. I think I saw a chess set in the library. That doesn’t seem like a frivolous game, does it? Even in a house of mourning. Come on. It’ll take your mind off all of this.”
They played until after nine o’clock, when the flash of headlights in the driveway sent them scurrying tactfully to their rooms.
The next morning, Dr. Shepherd accepted an invitation from Robert Chandler to tour the county hospital and to meet some of the local physicians. Elizabeth passed most of the day reading in her room. Dinner loomed ominously in her thoughts: another opportunity for family melodrama. She considered skipping the meal altogether, but after some reflection decided that her presence would exert a calming influence. If it would avert a nasty scene, she’d better go.
When she came downstairs at a quarter past five, Geoffrey was in the hall, about to go into the dining room. “Ah, there you are, Elizabeth! You have been quite the hermit today, haven’t you? Very wise! Who knows who’ll be next?”
Elizabeth frowned disapprovingly. “Not funny. It’s just that I don’t have your tolerance for drama in everyday life.”
“Then you will be distressed to hear that this evening’s floor show will consist of a performance by Tommy Simmons in his legal capacity, followed by Sheriff Rountree’s feats of mental marvels.”
“They’re coming to dinner?”
“Mercifully not. But they will be expecting us to convene in the drawing room at seven. Try not to think about it; it might curdle your Hollandaise sauce. Stress is fatal to digestion.”
