Death Paints the Picture by Lawrence Lariar

Author:Lawrence Lariar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2018-11-29T13:25:38+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Bedlam in the Bedrooms

Back in the car, Homer mooned over the pages of his little notebook, while I toyed impatiently with the ignition key.

“What next?” I asked. “I feel like a moron on a radio quiz program. This heckty-peckty is as clear as the Republican platform.”

“A bad analogy,” said Homer. “The Republicans have only one platform. This case has two. Number one is the Shipley suicide, if it was a suicide. And number two is the Shipley book and all the cross-currents that lie behind it.”

“Fine and dandy, Homer. I apologize to the Republicans.”

“Forgetting the suicide, for a moment,” he went on, “the threads woven around the book point up a blind alley. Almost all of the guests want the book—before publication. The yacht affair would include Trum, Nicky English and Cunningham. I’m not sure about Gavano. I can’t quite place him in the mess. Nor can I explain Nevin, Olympe or Lester Minton. Who stole the notes from Eileen’s house? Why? There is a connecting tissue between the book and the suicide, if I could only find the one small thread—”

I started the car and swung around toward Woodstock.

“Whither away, Homer?”

“Doctor Torrance’s place.”

“You thinking of breaking in? Wouldn’t a big house like that have a caretaker?”

“I doubt it. Swink would have taken me through if there was a caretaker.”

Homer was right, as usual. I parked behind a big barn, abutting on the road. Homer got out.

“Take a short ride for yourself, Hank.”

“Why can’t I come along? I’m an expert at opening windows.”

“Bad technique. I don’t want anybody to notice the car, sonny. Pick me up in about fifteen minutes.”

I drove back to Kingston slowly, juggling the jig-saw pieces the Shtunk had added to the puzzle. What puzzle? Where was the murder mystery? Had Shipley been murdered? How? Where was the murderer? Homer must have found something, or we would have left Woodstock on the afternoon train. I retraced the pattern of events, groping for an answer to Homer’s unflagging interest in the mess.

Why had Shipley invited Homer? They were only casual acquaintances. Did Shipley know that his cast of characters at the party would interest Homer? Or did the invitation have a deeper significance—a promise of mayhem? Then of course, there was Grace Lawrence. Perhaps Shipley thought that he would enjoy the byplay between Trum and Homer?

Gavano suggested an answer to something, somehow. Was he really Shipley’s bodyguard? That would mean that Hugo Shipley was afraid of somebody. It was a silly idea, until I suddenly thought of Lester. Lester had worked for Pindo. Mike had married Pindo’s daughter. At that point the unforged link snapped under the feeble fire of my deduction.

I scratched my nose and forgot about Gavano. How about Trum? Was there any connection between Cunningham and Trum, other than business? Could be. The idea of a cigarette tycoon making a weekend trip to talk about art work didn’t ring true. Big businessmen leave such petty details to their advertising lackeys. Oh sure, they’ll okay a special art job once in a while.

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