Jane Carter Investigates: Episode Ninety

             

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Episode Ninety

The next morning, propped up in bed with pillows, I perused the morning edition of the Greenville Examiner as I nibbled at the buttered muffins on my breakfast tray.

“Is there anything else you would like?” Mrs. Timms inquired, hovering.

“No, I’m quite all right.” I smiled at Mrs. Timms. Poor dear, I had given her quite a scare. I hadn’t seen her this worried since I’d come down with the measles. “Not even a head cold after my dunking,” I reassured her. “What have you heard about Jack?”

“Your father said he is doing fine.”

“Did Dad leave any message for me before going to the office?”

“He said he thought you should stay in bed all day.”

“Dad would,” I said. “Well, I feel just fine. I’m getting up right away.”

I heaved aside the bedclothes. Then, because I couldn’t get the Furstenberg case out of my head, I dressed quickly and went downstairs. I was going out the front door when Mrs. Timms stopped me.

“Now where are you going, Jane?”

“Not sure just where I’m going,” I said, giving Mrs. Timms an arch smile. “But if Dad should get curious, you can tell him he shouldn’t be surprised if he finds me visiting with the Furstenbergs.”

“Jane! You’re not going there again?”

“Why not? After what happened to Jack, I’m not about to let this story play itself out. See you later.”

I drove Bouncing Betsy over to the Radcliffs to see if Florence would ride along with me.

“I won’t be able to stay long, Jane,” Flo said. “I promised Mother I would visit Mrs. Schmidt. Her sciatica’s been acting up again, and Mother says she wants encouragement.”

Flo’s father is the Reverend Sidney Radcliff, and Flo’s mother takes her role as the Reverend’s wife very seriously. Unfortunately, Mrs. Radcliff is involved in so many community clubs and projects that the dispensing of charity and the visiting of sick parishioners invariably falls on Flo. 

“Why doesn’t your mother go cheer Mrs. Schmidt up herself?” I asked.

“Mother has her Ladies’ Sewing Circle,” Flo explained.

“I didn’t know your mother sewed?”

“She doesn’t,” Flo said. “But she still maintains that the Ladies’ Sewing Circle can’t function without her organizational skills.”

I gave up. I wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Radcliff to insist that the summer had managed to change to autumn only because she’d been there to supervise.     

“That’s all right,” I said. “Far be it from me to keep Mrs. Schmidt from receiving her dose of good cheer. If I get delayed, you can take Bouncing Betsy back, and I’ll find a bus home.”

Flo and I had a lot to talk about, so we kept up a steady stream of conversation all the way to Sunnydale.

I wondered if we would be able to enter the Furstenberg estate without being challenged by the bridgeman or a servant. My anxiety increased as we approached the river, for a large crowd had gathered by the drawbridge.

But my fears were unfounded. No one paid the slightest attention to us as we parked Bouncing Betsy and proceeded to the water’s edge. I was pleased to find the boy with his rowboat at his usual haunt on the river. He rowed us across to the estate, promising to await our return.

I walked with Florence through the trees to the Furstenberg house. I rang the doorbell. The butler answered.

“I should like to speak with Mrs. Furstenberg,” I said.

“Madam will see no one,” began the man.

Footsteps sounded behind him in the hallway, and then Mrs. Furstenberg stood in the door.

“So it is you?” she asked in an icy voice. “Julius, see that this person is ejected from the grounds.”

“One moment please,” I said. “If I leave now, I warn you that certain facts will be published in the Greenville Examiner, facts which will add to your embarrassment.”

“You can print nothing which will humiliate us further.”

“No? You might like to have me mention the alligator in your lily pool. And the reason why you and your daughter are so anxious to be rid of it before the police ask questions.”

Mrs. Furstenberg’s already rosy face flushed a deeper red, but for once she managed to keep her temper.

“What do you want from me?” she asked frigidly.

“First, tell me about that painting, ‘The Drawbridge,’ which was presented to your daughter as a wedding gift. Was it not given to her by your husband?”

“I shall not answer your question.”

“Then you prefer that I print my own conclusions?”

“You are an impudent, prying young woman! What if the picture was given to Cybil by her father! Is that any crime?”

“Certainly not, it merely proves that you both know the whereabouts of Mr. Furstenberg.”

“Perhaps I do. But I’ll tell you nothing, absolutely nothing!”

“I have a few questions to ask about your new gardener,” I went on, unmoved. “For instance, why does he wear a wig?”

The door slammed in my face.

“She certainly handed you the icy mitt,” said Florence as we walked away from the house, the sound of the slamming door still ringing in our ears.

I shrugged my shoulders and smiled. I looked about the deserted estate.

“Well, I think I’ll do some more sleuthing around the lily pool.”

Florence looked at her wristwatch.

“Goodness, it’s getting late,” she said. “I’d like to stay, Jane, but I think I’d better be getting home to visit Mrs. Schmidt. You know how Mother gets when she doesn’t think things have been seen to properly.”

“You mean she’ll get one of her headaches, and then you’ll be stuck with the shut-in cases and refreshments for the Ladies’ Sewing Circle,” I said. “You hurry on home. Take Bouncing Betsy. The boy in the boat will row you across.”

“But how will you get home, then?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way. You just go on. I only hope Old Bets holds up all the way to Greenville.”

We walked to the boat dock. In a few moments, the boy in the rowboat appeared and took Florence across. I turned back through the trees and went on to the forbidden part of the estate.

I spent a long time examining the earth all around the lily pool, but I failed to learn anything new. Finally, I retraced my steps to the river. I expected to find the boy with the rowboat waiting for me, but he had disappeared. I walked through the trees to the boat dock and stood there until the old watchman on the other side observed my predicament.

He obligingly lowered the drawbridge, and I crossed the river. I paused at the gearhouse to chat with him.

I listened without comment to his story of the automobile accident. Thorny had his own version of how it had occurred, and I did not correct any of the details.

“I wish I had a way to get into Sunnydale,” I said when he had finished his story.

“If you walk down to the main road you kin catch the county bus,” he told me. “It runs every hour.”

It was a long hike along a dusty highway and an equally tedious wait at a crossroad before I finally arrived in Sunnydale. I went directly to the Colonial Hotel and placed a telephone call to my father’s office.

“What are you doing in Sunnydale, Jane?” my father demanded,

 “I’ve made an important discovery which may blow your case higher than a kite. No, I can’t tell you anything over the telephone. The reason I am calling is that I may need help. Is Jack still in the hospital?”

“He never went,” my father said. “I couldn’t make him go. He and Shep are out on the river looking for the men who cracked him over the head. I expect they’ll call in any time now.”

“If you do get in touch with Jack, ask him to meet me at the Colonial Hotel,” I told him. “I have a hunch a big story is about to break. In any event, I’ll need a ride home.” 

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