have been a progressive force in these parts for a good, long time, and it wouldn't surprise me if somebody decided to get even with me or my husband by murdering Eric. Tom's dead, of course-that's him on the mantel-but Janet and my son Daniel and I are carrying on the family's progressive traditions, and some of the reactionary forces we've taken on over the years are ruth less people with long memories. And I've got another theory too that's even uglier than that one.'
'Mom,' Janet said, 'Don is a private investigator, as a matter of fact. He's going to be looking into Eric's murder. He's also investigating something else that's come up. I don't want you to worry, because I can take care of myself, but-well, the thing is, somebody may be trying to get at me too.'
Mrs. Osborne's brow furrowed and she said, 'I'm not surprised to hear it.'
'You're not?'
'No, not with the vote approaching on the sale of the Herald. With you or Dan or me out of the way, the vote would shift from a majority for Griscomb to a majority for InfoCom. Millions of dollars are at stake, and, of course, control over the soul of the paper. Bloody murder has been committed over a lot less. I've thought about warning you, Janet. But when you're my age you hesitate to tell people-even family, or especially family-that you suspect plots. People are liable to think you're losing your marbles.'
Janet blushed. 'Oh, Mom, you know you can always talk to me and Dale about anything.'
I said, 'Was there anything in particular, Mrs. Osborne, that set off your suspicions of a plot?'
Janet gave me a quick glance that I took to mean it might not be wise to encourage her mother's imaginings. But Mrs. Osborne said somberly, 'Yes, it first hit me that something might be afoot about a month after Eric's death when Janet's older brother Chester came by and tried to persuade me to change my vote to support selling the Herald to InfoCom. Chester threw a fit-he's always had a vicious temper, which I'm sorry to say comes to him by way of the Watsons, my family-and he whooped and hollered about the family losing so much money in a sale to Griscomb that in order to keep that from happening, somebody else might have to get hurt.'
We stared at Mrs. Osborne, who looked at us miserably. Dale said, 'Somebody else?'
'That's what Chester said. 'Somebody else might have to get hurt.''
'Mom, for chrissakes, why didn't you tell me this?'
'Janet-does this make any sense? I think I forgot. I know I meant to tell you right away. But… crazy as this sounds, I think I just forgot to.'
The phone next to me rang, but no one in the room moved to pick it up and I heard Elsie answer it in the kitchen.
I said, 'Mrs. Osborne, did you ask Chester what he meant by his threat?'
'No,' she said, 'I was so mad at Chester, I just told him to pick up his bundle of papers and to get out of my sight. Which he did. Mad I was, and a little bit frightened of him too. It's a terrible thing for a mother to think about, but I know from painful experience that Chester can hurt people '
'Did you think he was threatening you?' Janet said.
Mrs. Osborne shrugged and looked profoundly sad. Elsie had appeared beside her, and now she said to me, 'Mr. Strachey?'
'Yes?'
'There's a man on the phone for you. I think it's important.'
'A man by the name of Callahan?'
'Yes. Mr. Callahan. He sounded tetchy.'
'That's because he broke his foot, and the hospital has probably finished with him and is about to shove him out to the curb in a wheelchair and leave him there. Maybe one of you could wait here,' I said to Janet and Dale, 'and one of you could drive me over to rescue Timmy.'
'Sure, let's go,' Dale said. 'The ER staff won't abandon him at the curb, but they'll park him in a corridor somewhere and treat him like a misplaced cadaver on a gurney. He won't like it.'
'And then,' I said, 'I'd like to track down Chester and ask him some questions. Is he in town?'
'Yes, and probably out at the club by now,' Mrs. Osborne said, checking what looked like a huge Timex on her wrist. 'But it wouldn't be a good idea to go interrogating him there. You could probably catch him at home after seven. He and Pauline generally watch the CNN business report over drinks at seven and sit down to dinner at eight. Are you going to question June too, Mr. Strachey? That's my other daughter. She doesn't have the history of violence that Chester does, but she's a treacherous piece of work in her own right.'
We all looked at her. 'I'm sure I'll be talking to June too,' I said.
'Good. Be careful of them both.'
'Okay.'
'I haven't seen June in weeks,' Mrs. Osborne said, 'but I'm sure she's out there somewhere conniving to destroy the wonderful institution that was built by her grandfather and her father. That's my husband right there on the mantel,' she said, 'in that urn that could stand a good polishing. Tom was a remarkable man, and I miss him with such hurt. Maybe I'm nuts-it runs in the family-but I like to come in here and sit by that urn once in a while, especially in the evening. And believe it or not, it helps. Tom had requested that his ashes be scattered over the mountains, and Eric and Janet were shocked when I refused to let them do it. But I happen to draw comfort from Tom's gravelly presence up there. And he's not in any position to mind, so what's the beef?
'Of course, I wanted to stash Eric up there too, beside his father. But Eldon was sure Eric would want to be left out in the woods where he was happiest, so I acquiesced. Oh, it's all so hard and complicated. Mr. Strachey, don't outlive the people you love-that's my advice. It's just way too hard. I want to live until September eighth, when I can vote to save the Herald, but after that-well, we'll see.'
'Mom, what do you mean!'
Mrs. Osborne let out a mordant little laugh. 'Oh, don't get excited, Janet, I'm not about to pull a plastic bag over my head, and of course I'd never own a gun. I'm just talking.'
In the awkward silence that followed, I could just barely make out the distant sound of a man's raised voice coming out of the telephone receiver down the hall in the kitchen. I couldn't pick up his words, just his plaintive tone.
8
I think I might be revising my position on capital punishment,' Timmy said. He was in the front passenger seat of Janet's car, which Dale was driving, heading back to the Osborne house. I was behind him massaging his neck. He smelled of lake water and sweat and the fiberglass cast on his broken foot.
'What has your position been on capital punishment?' Dale asked.
'Against it. It morally demeans the state that carries it out, it has no demonstrable deterrent effect, and since the justice system is imperfect, it's inevitable that innocent people will be executed. But that asshole on the Jet Ski could have killed me, and now I'm mad.'
'If he was tied down,' Dale said, 'and you were there with a Ton-galese pigsticker, would you slice his guts open?'
Turning, Timmy couldn't get around quite far enough to catch my eye. But I caught his meaning: What is with this woman? Instead, he said, 'I was speaking rhetorically.'
'Oh. Oh, I see,' Dale said blithely.
I had told Timmy about the visit to Dan and Arlene's, and Dan's vom-itous reaction to our speculation that an Osborne might be plotting to murder-or to have murdered-another Osborne over the Heralds sale to a good chain or a bad chain. I also filled him in on our unsettling encounter with June Puderbaugh and Parson Bates, and on Ruth Osborne's thirty-hour lapse into insensibility and subsequent recovery.
'Of course,' Timmy said, 'I'm doing my level best trying to keep some kind of rational perspective on this whole frightening business. I realize that my injury was inadvertent-a line-of-fire unlucky accident. And a broken foot is paltry next to murder. And it certainly does sound from what you've discovered just in the past couple of hours, Don, that any number of people in this whole rat's nest that you've uncovered are capable of murder.'
Dale said, 'Are you saying, Timothy, that to you the Osbornes are a family of rodents? That seems rather sweeping.'
