A Star-Spangled Murder Read online

  She continued on across the top and down the left side, wishing she could take notes. The images seemed, except for the centerpiece, to be in chronological order beginning with a recognizable view of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island on the left and ending with an imprint of the house itself. In between were pictures of children playing, pets, universities, towns, vacations (unless the Taylors had lived in Paris at one time), holidays, wedding (Ted and Tricia, not Humphrey and Tricia), christenings, birthdays, and the normal celebrations of everyday life. If there was a clue here to why Humphrey died, it wasn’t immediately apparent to Susan.

  Nor to Janet Shapiro. “I don’t see what Titania was talking about,” she said. “Unless it’s this man back in the trees.” She pointed to the middle carving. “It could be Ted Taylor, of course. Or maybe …”

  “You think it may be his brother,” Susan said, looking more closely. “It’s an interesting idea. And if this was designed by Ted—”

  “Oh, it’s Ted’s work, all right.” Tricia had returned, a boat bag of clean clothing in her hand. “Who else would think of his own life as a series of publicity shots—with significant buildings in the background?”

  “We were wondering about the man hovering in the background of the middle picture,” Janet explained.

  “In the trees? Everyone asks about that. It’s Ted. The person who carved all this was given a pile of old photographs and asked to do a sketch for approval before he started. And Ted loved everything except the middle image. It was taken from a family portrait done after Tierney was born, but the photographer had us all stand in front of one of those fabric backdrops. In the sketch it was fine, but carved in wood, it looked like we were seated before a waterfall. Ted suggested that the carver add trees—which he did. And you can see the result. Paul says it looks like Ted is a mugger waiting for his victims. Oh, well.” She sighed. “I was going to have this replaced when Ted and I broke up, but Titania became hysterical at the thought, so I just left it. I suppose it will be there forever. Years from now, someone else will own this house, and they’ll be able to while away the hours wondering why anyone would choose their fireplace as an appropriate place to immortalize a psychopath stalking his victims.”

  Janet chuckled. “There are pictures here of you and Ted as children,” she said.

  “There’s even the immigration of Ted’s grandparents from England—that part wasn’t from photographs, of course. The girls love all this, but to be honest, I think it’s more than a little tacky. And that’s very unlike Ted. The man’s life is practically a monument to good taste usually. I think he got carried away here.

  “Is there anything else that you want to talk to me about?” Tricia added as Susan continued to stare at the mantel, and Janet Shapiro said nothing.

  “No, we—”

  “Then I have to get going. I promised Judy and Sally that I would show them around some of the galleries in town before we head over to the finish line of the race. For all the problems in my marriage, I’m thankful that I never married a sports fanatic. Those two men are never home.”

  “And you will remember to get together with your ex-husband and make a decision about Humphrey Taylor’s body?” Janet urged.

  “Yes. Of course,” Tricia agreed coldly.

  “Then we’ll see you later at the yacht club,” Susan said, taking the bag of clothing and determining to act as though nothing were out of the ordinary here.

  “There’s a box of dog food in the bottom there,” Tricia explained, seeing her guests to the door. “It’s typical of that damn dog that she moves out when Humphrey is no longer around to sneeze at her.”

  “Humphrey was allergic to dogs?” Susan asked.

  “Terribly. He was asthmatic from birth. I think that’s the only reason Ted gave that hairy beast to Titania. He wanted to make his brother miserable.”

  Karma was asleep in the sunlight on Susan’s lawn when the women strolled back to the house. “Seems to me,” Janet was saying, “that woman is working real hard to make us think that what we have here is a case of fratricide.”

  “And you don’t think Ted did it?”

  “Nope. What did he have to gain? He’s already lost his wife, and it doesn’t look like she’s going to return to him whether she’s married or not. The two of them don’t seem able to agree on much of anything, and they sure don’t act like they’re in love. And he’s not going to get that house back.”

  “And he sure loves that house,” Susan agreed. “You know, looking at that mantel has started me thinking. Is it possible to do some checking into Ted Taylor’s past?”

  “And Humphrey Taylor’s and Tricia Taylor’s.” Janet nodded. “I’ve already set that ball in motion. I included the Brianes and the Harters on the list, too. It shouldn’t take long to find out what information is available on various computer systems. I’ll let you know.… Are you thinking of something specific?”

  “No, I wish I were,” Susan said, lowering her voice as they approached the children.

  “Hi!” Tierney spied them first. “Mrs. Gordon is inside. She said to tell her as soon as you came back. We’re all going to an art gallery, aren’t we?”

  “Sure are. And we can watch the end of the kayak race around the island, if you want.”

  “We’d love to,” Theresa said politely.

  “Are you coming, too?” Tierney asked the deputy.

  “No, I have to head back home. I have some work to do. But I’ll probably see you later today. I’ll be around—checking out things and trying to discourage children from playing with fireworks. It’s been a pretty dry summer. Last year more than one fire was started by people fooling around with those damn things. You two have better sense than that, don’t you?”

  The girls nodded solemnly, apparently impressed with her warning. “We had some sparklers,” Tierney admitted. “But Karma ate them.”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t make her sick,” Susan said, astounded at the dog’s ability to digest the undigestible.

  “Oh, Daddy just took her out for a ride in the car and she barfed them right up. It was Uncle Humphrey’s car,” Tierney explained, grinning at the memory.

  Susan heard Janet snicker behind her. “Why don’t you call Kathleen and tell her that we’re ready to go. I think we should leave the dog here,” Susan started, then wondered if that was such a good idea. There was so much in the house to chew up.… “Do you think it would be all right if we left Karma in the boathouse? It’s clean and dry.” It’s pretty difficult to consume fiberglass, and the paddles were hanging near the ceiling, she added to herself.

  “We should put bowls of food and water in there for her,” Theresa said. Tierney nodded.

  “Good idea,” Susan said enthusiastically. “If your girls would take care of that …” She turned, but she didn’t speak to Janet until they were alone. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Maybe Titania’s wrong and it’s not the mantel. Maybe it’s something else in the house.” She explained about the boxes of books that she had found.

  “It could be anything at all. For all we know, someone left a message on a fogged-up bathroom mirror. I certainly wish that child had been more specific in her note.”

  “I hope she’s safe,” Susan said, waving as Theresa and Tierney came toward them, bowls of food and water in their hands. The dog trailed close behind.

  Kathleen came out while Karma was surprising Susan with her willingness to enter the boathouse (possibly she liked to eat spiders?), and they were soon in the car on the way to the artist’s gallery.

  “I assume there’s some reason why you feel the need to see this artist right now?” Kathleen asked, knowing that Susan would understand the unspoken question.

  “I think we might find something that we’re looking for here,” Susan replied carefully, conscious of the children in the backseat.

  Kathleen raised her eyebrows, but no one said anything until they parked beside a large white house that had been extended over the decad
es with one or two sheds and a substantial barn. “This is where that funny man with the mustache lives!” Tierney cried out happily.

  “Then you’ve met Monsieur Touve?” Susan called back over her shoulder.

  “Yes. We love him. He’s going to give us art lessons. I’m going to take mask making, and Theresa wants to do collages, and Titania’s going to make porcelain beads.”

  Susan was interested in Tierney’s enthusiasm, and in her older (and wiser?) sister’s apparent lack of such. Could Theresa be hiding something? She stopped the car and everyone got out.

  “Look at these things,” Kathleen said, reaching out and spinning a little wooden figure of a man riding an old-fashioned bicycle. It was more art than craft. The thin legs pumped and the wheels spun as the rider turned his head from one side to the other. Kathleen was enchanted—even more so when a man looking remarkably like the bike rider, from his striped polo, skintight black jeans, and fabulous long black mustache to the red beret tilted on his head, appeared in the doorway of the barn.

  “Greetings, mes amis,” he called out in an accent that was more Bronx than Bordeaux. “Good to see you, although—” he paused dramatically “—I believe one of you is missing. And you’ve added a most charming nanny.” He stared at Kathleen. “A most charming nanny,” he repeated with a stage leer.

  “And bonjour to you, Monsieur Touve,” Susan greeted him. “This is Kathleen Gordon. She’s staying with me for the weekend.”

  “And we are too old for a nanny,” Tierney protested indignantly. “Nannies are for babies!”

  “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed. “Why don’t you young ladies go into my studio? I have some interesting new masks that just arrived—sent by a friend in New Orleans. They’re laid out on my worktable. And help yourselves to the lemonade in the green pitcher. But don’t touch the pink bowl—it contains punch that’s mellowing for my party tonight. I don’t know if it’s lethal, but it’s definitely not for little girls. Or young ladies,” he added as Theresa scowled at him.

  “Masks! Come on, Theresa!” Tierney tugged on her sister’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  Theresa made a point of smiling politely before following her sister into the barn.

  As they left, Monsieur Touve became less French and more serious. “I’m very glad to see you. I’ve been worrying about Titania. I heard that she’s missing,” he commented.

  Susan nodded. “Actually that’s why we’re here,” she explained. “I was wondering if you knew anything about her—or where she was.”

  “I have no idea—not that I don’t wish I did. That girl is enchanting, and the island may be safer than the big city, but in this world no one should leave a child like that alone. Terrible things happen in this world.”

  Susan had often speculated on what particular event had led this man to leave a successful and lucrative life designing stage sets in Manhattan and settle down on an island in Maine, but this wasn’t the time to pursue that.

  “Apparently you thought I might know something about this?” Susan recognized that it was a question.

  “I found one of your whirligigs in her room,” she answered. “One of your best ones. And since she couldn’t possibly have afforded to buy one, I knew you must have given it to her. So I assumed that you knew her well.”

  “Why don’t we go into the house to talk? I could get you some coffee or something.”

  Susan glanced at Kathleen; she couldn’t possibly be hungry again. “We’re fine, thanks. But it might be better to talk someplace a little more private.”

  They were seated in Monsieur Touve’s elegant living room before he explained his relationship with the girl. “We met in a very Maine way,” he said, the accent no longer in evidence. “We were clamming in the same cove,” he explained. “I won’t tell anyone about it. It’s the best place on the island, and I don’t want it dug by people who don’t respect the size limits on clams. Anyway, I was clamming there, and Titania appeared with a brand-new basket and shovel. I don’t usually like children, but she seemed quieter than most and she listened to what I told her, so we got along fairly well.”

  “Was this early in the summer?”

  “Before Memorial Day. She explained that she and her sister attended a private school with a very long summer vacation. It was still cold. She had brought along a thermos of ginseng tea and offered to share it with me. I appreciated the sophistication of her choice, although I didn’t accept. We met at the cove a lot in May. The tide was out in the afternoons and the sun was getting warm. We talked some and dug a lot of clams. She’s a nice girl—appreciative of the beauty of things and interested in ideas. To tell the truth, I had a hard time understanding the stories that were being told about her on the island—about how she was working to drive her stepfather crazy. She seemed very sweet to me. I suppose I just don’t understand children.”

  “Did she talk to you about that?” Kathleen asked, accepting the chocolate croissant that Monsieur Touve offered.

  “Not really. I didn’t ask her, though. I didn’t see any reason to pry. When she talked about herself, she talked about her sisters and her father—not her stepfather—and that beautiful beast that she adores.” He glanced lovingly at a bronze setter who had been sitting quietly in a corner of the room ever since they had entered. “And my own opinion is that the man who died must have been a pig. She wouldn’t have disliked him so unless he was. She is a young lady with natural discernment.”

  “Is she here?” Susan asked quietly.

  The man snapped his fingers, and the Gordon setter leapt to his side. “No,” he answered, scratching the dog behind the ears. “In fact, I was hoping that you were hiding her.”

  Susan stared at him.

  It was Kathleen who spoke. “You don’t think she is hiding herself?”

  “Why would she hide?” he asked, apparently surprised. “You certainly don’t think she killed her stepfather? That child is not a murderer. She’s not even a child who would accidentally kill someone. She is an intelligent creature with an amazing amount of control for someone her age!”

  “We’re not arguing with you,” Susan insisted. “But we know that she’s hiding. She even sent a note.”

  “What?”

  Susan explained about the message that Halsey had delivered. His reaction was not what she had expected.

  “How do you know that someone didn’t make her write that? For that matter, how do you know that someone else didn’t write it?”

  “Well, I …” Susan began, not knowing the answer to those questions.

  “But her sisters say that she had planned on hiding. She told them not to worry about her,” Kathleen explained.

  “Then it’s possible that you’re right and she’s hiding, but there’s still a worse alternative.”

  “Which is?” Kathleen asked. Susan was silent, hoping not to hear anything worse than the alternatives she had already considered.

  “What if she is hiding hoping everyone will then think that she’s guilty? What if she is hiding because she knows who the murderer is and she is protecting him or her?”

  “That would be dangerous,” Kathleen said slowly, putting down her snack.

  “Definitely.”

  “Now, wait,” Susan insisted. “Did she ever say anything to you that would make you think that?”

  Monsieur Touve spoke slowly. “She is loyal. She is responsible. People that she loved are under a tremendous strain. I think it is more than possible. What did the note actually say?”

  “She wanted us to look for something in the Taylor house—something that would solve the murder,” Susan explained.

  “I gather you don’t know what you’re supposed to look for? Or don’t you want to tell me?”

  Susan explained about the mantel.

  “But the only part that seems unusual is the center scene, where Ted Taylor is standing in the middle of a group of trees,” Kathleen added when Susan was finished.

  “Oh, God, the famous fami
ly scene. I’ve heard about that before—more than once.” He looked at his two puzzled guests and continued. “Let me explain. Ted Taylor found a worker over near the park to create the mantel and a few doors. To be more accurate, Ted Taylor came to me and asked if I would accept a commission to do the work for him. I don’t do that type of work—purely decorative. I did enough of that years and years ago before I could make a living creating things that I love. I suggested a friend.…”

  “The man who lives by Acadia National Park?” Susan asked for clarification.

  “Yes. And Ted liked the work my friend showed him and gave him the job—with the condition that he do the work on the island.”

  “Why?” This from Kathleen.

  “So he could keep an eye on how it was going—as least that’s what I assume. Ted Taylor isn’t a bad person to work for if you don’t mind someone looking over your shoulder. Fortunately, my friend could care less. I don’t think I’d like it.” He gave a little Gallic shrug. “People are different.

  “Anyway, everything went fine. Ted arrived here with piles of photographs of designs that he wanted included in the mantel. He delivered the wood. He approved the initial sketches. The work was done in the large shed that’s behind my studio. The doors were done first, and then the mantel. But the middle of the mantel—the keystone, I suppose you could call it—was supposed to be a duplicate of a rather sentimental portrait that had been done of the family back when the youngest girl was a baby. It was dreadful. The pose was artificial and the background indistinct. Ted Taylor was upset. My friend was distraught, and I was getting bored with the whole thing. The only people who were enjoying all this by that time were the girls, who were coming to the island on weekends and school holidays and, I think, having some fun.