Deadlier Than the Pen Part 21

"You promise you won't let on to Miss Jenny it was me that told you?"

"I swear it."

Clarissa finished her coffee, plainly troubled by the prospect of incurring her employer's wrath. At last, however, she lowered the cup and gave Diana a conspiratorial wink. "He was at the doctor's office. Upstairs over the surgery. All through the middle part of January."

"You're certain?"

"Course I'm certain. Sometimes he has these spells where he can't abide other people at all. That Mrs. Northcote, Mr. Aaron's mother, she's not the easiest person to live with."

Although Diana took Clarissa's point, she couldn't help wondering how the woman had learned of Aaron's whereabouts. "If he didn't want company -- "

"I do the housekeeping at Dr. Northcote's office, so I have a key. I went around there, on the eighth of January it was. I remember, because it was Madam Yvonne's birthday on the seventh. She's one of Miss Jenny's compet.i.tors and she always throws herself a big party, just to pull customers away from us. Anyway, there was Mr. Aaron, holed up in the little room under the eaves."

"Painting?"

"Not that I saw. Just hiding out. Anyway, he made me promise him that I wouldn't tell anyone where he was, and I've kept that promise. Until now."

If Aaron had been in Bangor on the eighth, there was no way he could have reached San Francis...o...b.. the ninth.

Clarissa's face wore an indulgent smile. "Once I knew he was there, I made sure he ate right. He didn't like me fussing, but I just ignored his complaints. Men need looking after, you know. They just hate like the d.i.c.kens to admit it."

When Diana left Miss Jenny's she had only a short distance to walk to reach Ben's office. Ernest was waiting for her there. "Dr. Northcote's been called out again," he told her. "Said I was to take you home."

"The man is entirely too dedicated to his patients," Diana muttered.

Ernest took offense. "Lot of 'em waited till he come back for doctoring. Didn't trust the young whippersnapper he asked to cover his practice for him."

Without giving her time to reply, Ernest went to hitch the horse to the buggy. Left alone, Diana studied the neat, orderly room in which those patients waited for Ben to see them. It was impeccably clean, speaking well of Clarissa's abilities as a housekeeper.

Belatedly, she remembered the small packet Clarissa had sold her, and a suspicion of what it held sent heat rus.h.i.+ng into her face. First checking to make sure no one would walk in while she examined it, she tore the paper and looked inside. As she'd guessed, it contained a sponge and a slip of paper with instructions for using it to prevent pregnancy. Hastily rewrapping the contents, she stuffed the packet back into her bag.

Diana intended to go straight to her own room when she returned to the house, but as soon as she entered, she heard voices in the front parlor. Both were familiar. With a sinking heart, she went to join Maggie and her guest.

"Why look, Mrs. Northcote!" Nathan Todd exclaimed when Diana appeared at the door. "It is that famous New York reviewer, the one who so dislikes your stories."

Toddy knew Maggie had written them? Astonished, Diana struggled to make sense of this new development. When they'd been stranded on the train, Ben had been posing as Damon Bathory. How could Toddy have discovered his real name, let alone unmask Maggie as the true author of Damon Bathory's terrifying tales?

"How long have you known?" she demanded.

His burst of good-natured laughter surprised her. "Half an hour," he said. He glanced at his pocket watch and grinned. "Give or take a few minutes."

"The better question is how he knew." Maggie occupied the rococo sofa, Cedric ensconced on her lap. "It seems the word is out. Your friend arrived on the morning train and heard all about me at the depot."

On leaden feet, Diana came the rest of the way into the room. "What, precisely, did you hear?"

"Two men talking about the ident.i.ty of Damon Bathory. Their source seemed to be Mrs. Northcote herself."

"Some of my friends appear to lack a certain discretion," Maggie said with an apologetic smile, but she didn't seem unduly concerned that the cat was out of the bag.

Silently, Diana swore. She'd have to send her story about Maggie to New York this afternoon and pray some other newspaper had not already got wind of the news. It would be touch and go whether Maggie had time to warn her publisher before the item was picked up by the Boston papers.

"How did you know I was here?" Diana asked Toddy.

"Oh, I told him about you," Maggie admitted. "Why not? It was obvious he knew you and equally clear he's a fine fellow. After all, he came here to offer me a splendid business opportunity."

"Business?" With every bit of new information she gained, Diana grew more confused. She sank wearily into a chair and waited for the next revelation.

"Congratulate me, Diana," Toddy said. "I am to dramatize the works of Damon Bathory."

"I should congratulate Mrs. Northcote." Diana turned her head to address Ben's mother. "You are fortunate Mr. Todd bothered to ask permission, Maggie. It's all too common a theatrical practice to take plot, characters, even dialogue, directly from a novel without troubling to get the permission of the novelist."

"I had no idea." Maggie's sharp eyes, as they pinioned Toddy, said differently. All at once, Diana saw this development as Maggie must. Ben's mother had been worried that her upcoming meeting with her publisher would not go well. Here, presented on a silver platter, was an alternate means of reaching an audience.

"It's all the fuss over that unauthorized dramatization of H. Rider Haggard's She," Toddy complained. "It has turned into a major plagiarism case in the courts. Smart money says unscrupulous playwrights are due for a reckoning. They're going to be brought to account for their sins." He shrugged. "I thought it wise to avoid litigation."

Maggie nodded sagely. "I knew you were trustworthy. I have a sense about people." She stroked Cedric lovingly. "Cats have the same ability. Those they like are invariably worthy of their affection. I was a cat myself in another life." She paused to let that statement garner its proper reaction, then spoke to Diana. "I am sure you two have things to say to each other. Do not go upsetting this lovely man, my dear. I envision a brilliant future on the stage for my characters."

With Cedric draped over one shoulder, she exited the parlor. Toddy rose politely and stood staring after her, mustaches quivering as he tried to quell his laughter, but all trace of amus.e.m.e.nt vanished when he s.h.i.+fted his attention to Diana.

"Well, my dear, I have a bone to pick with you." He stalked towards her, a determined gleam in his eyes.

For one disconcerting moment, Diana imagined that she was back in that alley in New York. She laughed nervously when Toddy, seeing her reaction, backed off, giving her a puzzled look. "Why are you cowering? You never cower."

Stiffening her spine, she sat up straight. It had not been Nathan Todd who attacked her. He was too heavy-set. Charles Underly? Perhaps. Or Billy Sims. But not Toddy. Besides, he had no motive. She had never criticized his acting in print.

"What bone do you have to pick?" She was pleased to discover her voice was steady.

"It's about what you wrote in last Wednesday's column."

"What are you talking about? I haven't written a word for 'Today's Tidbits' since I left New York."

"Someone has."

"Horatio Foxe." She should have known.

"Your editor?"

"Yes. The same one who added gossip to my column once before."

"Confound it, Diana. We thought you'd returned to New York after the storm. Do you mean to tell me you've been here all along?"

"I've been working on a story about Damon Bathory."

"But ... but everyone thinks you've continued to write your reviews." He grimaced. "Well, that explains one thing. Last Wednesday's column was a selection of comments from previous pieces ... the worst of the worst, including your comments about the quality of the acting in The d.u.c.h.ess of Calabria."

"I'm sorry, Toddy. I'd have stopped him if I'd known."

"Lavinia was very upset."

"I imagine she was." And if Lavinia had been upset, so had Toddy.

"You can make it up to her. All you have to do is write a new, favorable review and get it into the local paper."

"But, Toddy," she said gently, "I expressed my honest opinion about her acting in the first place. I can hardly reverse myself without lying."

"What's wrong with lying?"

Diana thought about his words for a moment. If she was right, if someone in Toddy's company was a killer, then she might be able to provoke him into another attack by writing a new review. She hoped she could. Finding the real killer was the only way to be sure Horatio Foxe did not make accusations against Ben.

"Miss Ross's interpretations of her roles are startling," she said, composing aloud. If she did write a new review, she could make amends to Lavinia at the same time. "One cannot help but compare her performance to those of some of the greatest actresses of our time. How's that?" As long as she did not say just how badly Lavinia's performance would compare, she was not lying, and the ingenue could take the words any way she liked.

Toddy beamed at her. "Excellent. Can you write something similar about Charles?"

"No."

In fact, she intended to be even more brutally critical of his performance and that of Billy Sims. There were now her primary suspects. Remembering the evil look Underly had given her on the train, she s.h.i.+vered. If his eyes had shot real daggers, she'd be dead right now.

"You know, Toddy," she ventured, "it would be no great loss to the company if you dispensed with Charles Underly's services."

"I'd sooner let Sims go," Toddy said. "You were right in your a.s.sessment of his acting ability. A cigar store Indian displays more emotion on the stage. Tell you what. Don't mention Sims at all in your new review. Just add a few lines of praise for Underly and we'll call it square."

"I cannot make the entire cast sound like geniuses on the stage. Bangor may not be New York, but the theatergoers here aren't stupid." She grinned suddenly. "They have seen all kinds of performers at their Opera House, even Oscar Wilde."

Ben came home tired. He listened without comment to Diana's account of what she and his mother had been up to since he'd last seen them. All the while emotions roiled and bubbled inside him like volcanic lava about to erupt.

"I don't know which infuriates me more," he said in a voice as tight as the knot inside his chest, "Mother blithely handing over stage rights to her stories, or you spending time alone with a man you've now decided could have murdered three women and attempted to dispose of you."

"I don't think Toddy killed anyone. He was not the man in the alley."

All that prevented Ben from exploding was his mother's arrival on the scene.

"What are the two of you talking about?" she asked from the doorway. "I really think, Ben dear, that one of you had best tell me what's been going on. I haven't signed anything yet, you know. I can change my mind if this Todd fellow is unreliable."

She'd clearly overheard too much to be put off with less than the truth. Resigned, Ben gave her a terse summary of the few facts they knew about three murders in Philadelphia, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. Then he told her about the attack on Diana and her "accident" on the train. Finally he explained Horatio Foxe's theory and offered up Diana's alternative -- that someone from Todd's Touring Thespians was a murderer.

"To prevent my editor from accusing Ben of the crimes, I propose to find evidence against Charles Underly," Diana said when Ben stopped speaking. "I am certain he's the guilty one. Unless it's Billy Sims."

"My son was gone on all three of those dates, and while you were in New York City." The color had drained out of Maggie Northcote's face. Belatedly, she had realized what Aaron's absences could signify.

"No." Diana gave the other woman's forearm a comforting squeeze. "Aaron was in Bangor when the women in California were killed. I talked to someone who saw him here in January."

Her expression cleared. "Well, then, there's nothing to worry about." With a lightning-swift s.h.i.+ft of mood, she turned to Ben. "Do you think having a suspected murderer in a lead role of a dramatization of one of my stories would attract a bigger audience?"

"If someone in Todd's troupe is guilty," Ben snapped, "then Diana is in mortal danger." Their apparent unconcern drove him over the edge. He grasped Diana by the shoulders and fixed her with a hard stare, wis.h.i.+ng he did have the skill to hypnotize her into obedience. "Go back to New York. Take your story on Damon Bathory to Foxe in person."

"I sent in my story about an hour after Toddy left, and told Foxe that a bigger story will follow after I trick the killer into confessing."

"d.a.m.nation, Diana!"

"We could lock him in the crypt till he talks," Maggie suggested. "The moon will be at the full two days from now. That should help."

They both ignored her. Frustrated, Ben read Diana's determination in her eyes. She meant to go on as she'd begun. "What mad plan have you concocted?"

"It is perfectly logical," she a.s.sured him. "I've asked Horatio Foxe to print a piece advising readers that I am close to tracking down a murderer. I've told him exactly what to say. He'll follow my instructions, if only because he knows some other newspaper will pick up the story off the a.s.sociated Press wire if he doesn't. As soon as a copy of the Intelligencer reaches Bangor -- Wednesday by my reckoning -- I'll make sure it is delivered to the hotel where the company is staying. They'll all read it, and the killer will conclude that I'm staying on in Bangor in order to accuse him. He'll think I know he is a member of Todd's company."

The flaw in her logic seemed glaring to Ben. "And why, precisely, does he think you've delayed going to the authorities? What kind of fool uncovers a killer's ident.i.ty and doesn't go straight to the police?"

Diana huffed at him. "He'll think I'm waiting for Foxe, or some other editor, to agree to my price for the story." She sent him a brilliant smile. "Trust me, Ben. Our killer already has a low opinion of women who review plays for a living. He'll have no difficulty believing I'm motivated by greed."

"d.a.m.nation, Diana! I should have kept you locked up."

"How else can he be caught?" Ben's mother asked in what, for her, was a reasonable tone. "And how else can we prevent a scandal?"

"You thrive on scandal, Mother."

"Yes, but you would not."

"So you expect me to let Diana offer herself as bait?"

"Family loyalty demands it, Ben," his mother said, and swept out of the room.

"Diana, think!" Ben pleaded.

"I have. This will work. I'll be in no danger. Come and have supper, Ben. You'll feel better when you've eaten something." In a fair imitation of Maggie Northcote at her most flamboyant, Diana followed after the older woman.

Food, however, did not improve Ben's mood. No matter how he argued against Diana's plan, she would not change her mind. She informed him it was too late to stop it now, then abruptly changed the subject. "I had a visit from Aaron last night."

That succeeded in distracting him. Her casual announcement nearly had him bolting from his chair to confront his brother. The red haze before his eyes cleared only when Diana and his mother both grabbed hold of him.

Speaking quickly, lest he break away, Diana recounted everything that had pa.s.sed between herself and Aaron.

"Joseph is next to useless," Ben muttered.

"Say rather that Aaron is clever." Diana loosened her grip, then smoothed her fingers over the back of his hand.

How clever? Ben wondered. Clever enough to have killed three women without getting caught? As much as he wanted to believe Diana's theory, in spite of the danger she'd be in if she were right, he thought it just as likely that Aaron was guilty. Clarissa would not hesitate to lie for him.

And if his brother had murdered those women? What then?

Family loyalty, as his mother had reminded him, made demands. In this case the demand seemed to be that he choose between his brother's welfare and that of the woman he loved.

Chapter Sixteen.