“You’re an early-riser, aren’t you, sir?”
Captain Grandfather nodded. “Always have been. Stood me in good stead in the service.”
“I expect it did,” said Rountree. “Reason I asked is: you must have been the last person we know of to see Eileen on the day she died. Am I right?”
“As far as I know, Sheriff, nobody saw her that day. I came downstairs at a little past seven-I’d been up late reading the night before. Anyway, I came into the breakfast room, and there was a used cereal bowl on the table, which I took to be Eileen’s. But I didn’t see her, no.”
“Well, it was a thought,” sighed Rountree. “I had hopes of finding someone who’d seen her. Well, what can you tell me about her state of mind?”
“Next to nothing. Eileen was always nervous. Didn’t get enough exercise, if you ask me.”
Clay looked up from his notepad. “What does that have to do with-”
“Well, let’s get on to motive,” said Rountree hastily. “Tell me about this inheritance she was due to get.”
Captain Grandfather told him, in no uncertain terms and with considerable scorn expressed for his sister’s life-style, judgment, and malice aforethought in making such a will. “-And the little witch, knowing full well how I would feel about such a piece of foolishness, had the unmitigated, unsurpassed, sheer feline gall to name me as executor of the damned thing!”
Rountree coughed. “So they tell me, Captain.”
“Can you imagine? Expecting me to take an interest in the wedding plans of a bunch of children who would probably get on a good deal better in life without Augusta’s money! Do them good! They’d grow some backbone!”
“They might do better in character without it, but it might not stop some of ’em from wanting it,” the sheriff pointed out.
William Chandler laughed bitterly. “No argument there! That much money would solve every trifling problem the bunch has!”
“Problems?”
“It would buy Charles a reactor, or whatever thing it is he and his crowd seem to think is standing between them and a Nobel prize. It would set Margaret’s son Bill up in law practice in pretty good style, or buy Elizabeth some time to chart the course of her life-archeology, last I heard” -he snorted-“and Geoffrey-God knows what he’d do with it! Something arty, I expect, like try to start a Shakespeare festival in Chandler Grove!”
“What about Alban?”
“Perfect example! You see what Walter’s money has done for him! Took his castle in the air and built it for him! What ambition has he got?”
“Maybe he doesn’t need to be ambitious,” Clay suggested.
Captain Grandfather sighed. “I’ve nothing against being eccentric,” he said at last. “Or being well-off. If it buys you independence, that’s fine-but-since Eileen died, I keep thinking that it didn’t do her any good. The money was almost hers, you know, and it didn’t make her happy. It wasn’t going to, either. She wanted that young man, and there was no use trying to tell her any different, but… some things you ought not to try to buy.”
“Do you think he killed her?” asked Rountree.
“No. I’ve seen his type in the service many a time. He’s weak and selfish-don’t trust his loyalty in a pinch, and don’t put him in charge of the canteen on the lifeboat-but to call him a killer would be overestimating him.”
“There’s something else I’d like to talk to you about,” said Rountree cautiously. “It might be a touchy subject, but it’s got to be dealt with.” He explained the finding of the whiskey bottles in the lake and their theory that Amanda Chandler had accidentally killed her daughter while trying to steal the painting.
“That’s hogwash!” snapped the old man. “Amanda may have her problems, but she’s not a coward! A picture wouldn’t scare her like that. If she didn’t like it, she’d have bullied the girl until it was changed. And it would be changed, I promise you that. Amanda runs a tight ship.” He shook his head and sighed. “I doubt that the painting was like that, anyway.”
Rountree straightened up. “Did you see it?”
“No. Why? Is it important?”
“Yeah. Because we can’t find it. That bothers me. But if we knew for sure what she was painting, it would be a load off my mind. Did that lake mean anything special to her?”
Captain Grandfather rested his head in his hand. “Did it?” he muttered. “That sounds familiar… I think. Right at the time of her breakdown, there was something about the lake, or water, or something. Can’t recall what. My son-in-law might know.”
“If anybody knows anything around here, they’re not telling!” snapped Rountree. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some reason folks might not want this case solved. Are you afraid one of the young people killed Eileen to get a shot at the inheritance?”
“No, Sheriff. I’m afraid of not knowing them well enough to be sure; but then, the captain is always the last to know of a mutiny.” He watched the two officers leave the study, and with a placid smile, he turned again to his television.
Closing the door behind him, Rountree muttered, “Make a note for me to interview the lawyer again, Clay. If the old gentleman is so against any of them getting that money, I just want to make sure it’s still there to be gotten! After all, he is the executor.”
“But I didn’t think an executor could touch money in trust, Wes.”
“I aim to find out.”
“Excuse me, Sheriff!” Michael Satisky was waiting for them in the hall. He was leaning up against the wall, clutching the small Chandler Grove telephone book. “Could I speak to you for just a moment?”
Rountree frowned. “Talk? I reckon. How about the library?” He opened the door and peered in. “Okay, nobody’s in there. You go on in and have a seat. Listen-do I have to read you your rights or anything? Clay, got your notebook out?”
Satisky sank down in the armchair with a strangled cry. “My rights!”
Rountree shrugged. “You know. For confessions. We have to warn people first about their rights, so the court won’t throw it out. I have the card in my billfold someplace.” He reached for his hip pocket.
“I am not confessing!” Satisky said shrilly. “I have nothing to confess!
“Well, it was a thought,” sighed Rountree. “What did you want to say?”
“I wanted to know if I could leave,” snapped Satisky.
The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “And miss the funeral of your loved one?” he drawled.
Satisky opened his mouth and closed it again.
Rountree nodded. “Actually, I do understand,” he said in a softer tone. “This place makes you kinda nervous, doesn’t it?”
“Well, it does,” Satisky admitted. “These people are all strangers, and I know they all think I did it. Is there any necessity for me to stay?”
Rountree chewed on this thought for a minute. “Have you been asked to leave?”
Satisky blinked. “Well… no.”
“Then stay put.”
“I have to stay?” Satisky persisted.
Rountree thought about it. “Well, no,” he admitted, and Satisky brightened at once. “You don’t have to stay exactly here, but while the investigation is going on, you can’t leave the county. We haven’t even had the inquest yet. But so long as you are somewhere nearby-why, I’ve no objections to you making a change of venue, as we say in legal terms.”
Taylor changed his laugh into a discreet cough, and began to study his notepad.
“In fact,” Rountree was saying, “I may even be able to make a suggestion. Say, Clay, doesn’t Doris’s mother still rent out rooms over at her place? You’d have to share a bathroom with the kids, of course, but I bet it wouldn’t set you back more than forty bucks a week. Meals are extra, of course, but Brenner’s Cafe makes a real good cheeseburger. Right, Clay?”
“Uh-uh-sure, Wes.”