I walked to the table, pulled out a chair.
Kathleen stared at the moving chair, then flung out her hands in defeat. “All right, Bailey Ruth. You win. I promise. Hurry. You’ve got to get there before the chief. If the police find that box, my life is ruined.”
”They won’t. Trust me, sweetie.” I didn’t see an iota of trust in the forlorn face turned toward me, so, of course, I didn’t tell her I was going to make a slight detour. As long as the chief was otherwise occupied, the red gown in Daryl’s cabin was not a threat to Kathleen.
I wavered for an instant. I could go to the cabin and attend to the red nightgown, or I could follow the chief, be in on the latest develop-ments. However, I was sure that it was essential that I keep tabs on the progress of the chief’s investigation. Certainly I wasn’t succumb-ing to the siren song of curiosity.
Certainly not.
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Judith Murdoch fingered the faux pearls at the neck of her blue sweater. “Are we in danger? Maybe Kirby and I shouldn’t stay here.”
Chief Cobb shook his head. “I don’t see a threat to you or your son. You weren’t home.” He gestured at the ransacked room. ”Whoever broke in probably made sure you were gone.” Kirby stood protectively near his mother, his thin, dark face furrowed in a worried frown. “Everything was fine this morning. We were only gone about an hour. We went over to the cabin—” The cabin! I almost willed myself there, but a break-in at the Murdoch house had to be significant.
“—to get it ready for some cousins who’re driving up from Dallas this afternoon. We left the back door unlocked for the cleaning ladies.” Chief Cobb stood in the doorway and surveyed the shambles an intruder had left behind in Daryl Murdoch’s study. Drawers from the mahogany desk had been emptied and flung aside. A cabinet behind the desk hung on wrenched hinges, the paneling scraped and gashed, files pulled out, papers tossed. Books had been yanked from shelves, thrown into uneven mounds.
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The chief crossed the room, pulled aside heavy red drapes. Splintered glass in a French door marked the means of entry. The door stood ajar. He glanced toward Judith. “Alarm?” She stared at the broken pane and mound of glass. “We only set the alarm at night.”
“Always set the alarm when you leave the house.” The chief’s admonition was automatic. He gestured at the mess. “Can you tell if anything is missing?”
She spread her hands helplessly. “I wouldn’t have any idea. This was Daryl’s room.” Off limits to her was the unspoken message.
“A technician is on the way to dust for prints. Don’t touch anything until we’re finished. Have you checked the rest of the house?” He nodded toward the hallway.
Kirby looked embarrassed. “I wanted to look around, but Mom made me stay with her.”
The chief nodded in approval. “Smart move. I’ll take a look.“ A rap on the partially open French door brought a gasp from Judith.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Murdoch. I asked Officer Leland to make a survey of the premises.” He looked inquiring. “Officer?” Officer Leland was careful not to touch the door. She looked crisp and competent, her French-blue uniform fresh and unwrinkled. “No one home on either side, sir. No trace of an intruder except for what appears to be a fresh footprint in a patch of mud near a path into the woods. The print isn’t distinct. It looks as though a man—that’s from the size of the print—was running and slid on a mound of leaves. It is possible that the intruder parked in the wooded area behind the house. Of course the print could have no connection to the break-in.”
“Put tape up. Show the technician, then search the woods for fresh tire prints.”
“Yes, sir.” Officer Leland turned away.
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Chief Cobb looked at Judith. “Let’s check the rest of the house, see if anything else has been disturbed.” I zoomed ahead of them. Everything looked to be in perfect order.
I doubted there was more for me to learn at the Murdoch house. It was time to honor my promise to Kathleen and deal with the red nightgown.
Years ago Pontotoc Road was on the outskirts of town. It circled Chickasaw Lake. Most of the original cabins were fairly ramshackle, masculine retreats for poker and fishing and booze. Now the road was paved, but it still dipped and curved through thick woods and up- and downhill.
Oklahoma weather was as coquettish as I remembered. The morning’s cold wind and lowering clouds were gone. The sky was a soft fall blue, and the air was warming. The high temperature would likely edge near seventy this afternoon. I wished away my lamb’s-wool coat. Bradford-pear leaves glowed bright as Burgundy shot through with sunlight. Red-and-gold maple leaves fluttered in the gentle breeze. A sturdy sycamore shed tawny leaves that were heaped, sculpted by the wind, near the Murdoch cabin’s front steps.
The drive ended in a turnaround near the cabin. A small green pickup was parked near the steps. It likely belonged to the cleaning ladies. I expected that was where Daryl had parked Wednesday evening. Kathleen likely pulled in behind his car. The drive didn’t circle behind the cabin. Parking must always be a problem, cars straggling along the drive back to the road.
When Kathleen fled, she’d jumped into her car, locked the doors, made a tight turn, and sped up the drive to the road. She’d made no mention of another car. There were no offshoot lanes from the drive.
Where had the other car parked?
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I knew there had been another car or some means of transportation. Someone else must have been present that evening to know about the red nightgown.
I heard the whine of a vacuum cleaner within the cabin. Soon I would go inside and see about the nightgown, but it was essential to understand what had happened here Wednesday night.
Had Daryl told someone about the episode of the red nightgown?
Sexual bullies don’t relish looking foolish. It was not a moment for him to recount with pride to his buddies, Kathleen tossing the nightgown into the fire and slamming out of the cabin. Therefore, someone saw Kathleen unwrap that present, fling it to destruction, and flee. The front windows were uncurtained, the interior shutters folded back, affording a clear view within. I glanced up the drive.
The house wasn’t visible from the road.
I pictured the cabin in the gloom of approaching night, Daryl inside, the fire burning. Kathleen arrived, tense and upset, and somewhere outside someone watched.
I stepped close to the window on the right. A buxom woman in a red T-shirt and jeans flapped a spread onto a twin bed.
I moved to the first window on the other side of the porch. The window was raised about an inch. A wiry cleaning woman in a flower-patterned housedress pushed a sweeper close enough to the window that we would have looked eye to eye had I been there. The machine’s shrill whine rose to a shriek.
I looked past her, saw the cream sofa where Kathleen had sat.
A leather recliner faced the sofa. A sagging easy chair was near the fireplace. From here an observer would have seen everything that transpired.
I glanced down. Sycamore leaves bunched up in a puffy mound.
Shoes would leave no mark. If someone had watched through this window Wednesday night, I would find no trace here.
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cessation of sound startled me. I looked into the room and realized the cleaning lady was bending toward the fireplace.
At once I was beside her, but I watched helplessly as she gingerly lifted up the singed remnants of the red silk nightgown and the gift box and wrapping paper. She lifted her voice. “Jenny, you won’t never believe what I found. Come look at this. Don’t you know there’s a tale behind this here.”