Shepherd shook his head. “I don’t know. They asked me what I thought about it, but it’s hard to guess why she was killed when we don’t know much about her family situation.”
“I thought you did.”
“Now, remember, I’ve only been seeing her as a patient for a year. Dr. Kimble did most of the therapy. I was just someone to talk to if she had adjustment problems. We didn’t go into great detail about her childhood or anything like that.”
“Well, since you’re a psychiatrist, can’t you just sort of look at the crime and figure out who would have done something like that?”
Shepherd grinned. “You mean relate the snake to Oedipal impulses, and stuff like that?”
“Well-I guess so.”
“But you can’t rule out coincidence. Maybe the murderer didn’t even know the snake was in the boat. Or maybe it was just a businesslike murder for money, and the killer took advantage of a handy time and place. Sorry-I think the sheriff is going to have to solve this one on his own.”
“Psychiatry sounds pretty interesting. Aside from the crime element, I mean. Do you like it?”
Elizabeth’s consideration of psychiatry as a potential career continued until they arrived at the church and was resumed after the service over a platter of fried chicken in Brody’s Roadside Inn.
“It’s nearly one-thirty,” Shepherd told Elizabeth, when they had finished their meal. “Should we start back?”
“What’s the alternative?” asked Elizabeth.
“Well, there’s a little historical museum in Milton’s Forge; we could visit that. You know: quilt exhibits and potters. I should do some sight-seeing while I’m down here.”
“What tourist attraction could compare with the one in the front yard?”
“Maybe he’ll offer a tour.”
“I shouldn’t joke about it,” said Elizabeth with a guilty look. “He said I was his favorite cousin, and here I am making fun of him. I told my brother Bill that, and he said that Alban’s taste in cousins is consistent with his taste in architecture.”
“Your brother sounds like one of the family, all right.”
“It’s a zoo. I wonder why you let yourself in for it. Why did you come?”
Shepherd looked uncomfortable. “You know, I wondered if anybody would ask me that. I don’t go to all my patients’ weddings. I guess you could say I had a hunch about this one.”
Elizabeth stared. “You mean… you knew-”
“Oh, no! Not about the murder. I’m perceptive, but not psychic. I just thought this wedding might not come off. From what I’d seen of Satisky and what I’d heard of the family, I just thought-well, there could be trouble. I thought I’d come down as a friendly neutral, in case I was needed. And if the worst did happen-no wedding-I figured Eileen would need me for sure.”
“That was very nice of you,” murmured Elizabeth.
“Professional ethics,” said Shepherd, getting up. “How about a museum?”
After several hours of admiring colonial handicrafts, Shepherd and Elizabeth returned to find no one at home but Mildred, who informed them that the family had gone to Todd & O’Connor’s Funeral Home to view the body. The coroner had authorized the transfer of Eileen’s body to the local funeral home sometime that afternoon.
“Do you suppose we ought to drive out there?” asked Elizabeth in hushed tones.
“Do you want to?” asked Shepherd.
“No.” She shivered, picturing the emotional storm breaking in the funeral home.
“Then don’t. There’s always tomorrow. I think I saw a chess set in the library. That doesn’t seem like a frivolous game, does it? Even in a house of mourning. Come on. It’ll take your mind off all of this.”
They played until after nine o’clock, when the flash of headlights in the driveway sent them scurrying tactfully to their rooms.
The next morning, Dr. Shepherd accepted an invitation from Robert Chandler to tour the county hospital and to meet some of the local physicians. Elizabeth passed most of the day reading in her room. Dinner loomed ominously in her thoughts: another opportunity for family melodrama. She considered skipping the meal altogether, but after some reflection decided that her presence would exert a calming influence. If it would avert a nasty scene, she’d better go.
When she came downstairs at a quarter past five, Geoffrey was in the hall, about to go into the dining room. “Ah, there you are, Elizabeth! You have been quite the hermit today, haven’t you? Very wise! Who knows who’ll be next?”
Elizabeth frowned disapprovingly. “Not funny. It’s just that I don’t have your tolerance for drama in everyday life.”
“Then you will be distressed to hear that this evening’s floor show will consist of a performance by Tommy Simmons in his legal capacity, followed by Sheriff Rountree’s feats of mental marvels.”
“They’re coming to dinner?”
“Mercifully not. But they will be expecting us to convene in the drawing room at seven. Try not to think about it; it might curdle your Hollandaise sauce. Stress is fatal to digestion.”
“What does Rountree want now?”
Geoffrey struck a pose. “I applied for the job of Watson, but the offer was not well received.” Then, in a serious voice: “Surely you don’t expect me to know? Something trivial, I expect.”
“I suppose so. He has already talked to all of us.”
They went into the dining room, where Amanda and Captain Grandfather, already seated, were talking together in low voices. Elizabeth made her way to the other end of the table, where Charles and Dr. Shepherd were sitting. Geoffrey started to follow her, but then he seemed to remember something and hurried back out into the hall.
A moment later he was back, waving a blue and white envelope. “I nearly forgot, Elizabeth! This Mail-gram came for you today. Perhaps an offer from one of those supermarket newspapers to tell your side of the crime!”
He handed her the envelope, and everyone stopped and looked at her while she opened it. Elizabeth read the message twice, and slid the paper back into the envelope.
“From Margaret?” asked Amanda.
“No,” murmured Elizabeth. “From Bill.”
“No doubt he is informing you of when they will be down for the funeral.”
“Well… they’re not sure yet.”
Alban appeared at the door. “At dinner already! Oh dear. Shall I go away?”
The question was addressed to Amanda, but Captain Grandfather answered it. “You might as well stay, Alban. I just had a call from Wesley Rountree and he’s coming back out to talk to us this evening. Tommy Simmons has asked for a conference with us, and Wes will be sitting in on that as well.”
“Stay to dinner?” asked Dr. Chandler.
“If it’s no trouble. Shall I call Mother and let her know about the meeting?” He sauntered toward Elizabeth’s end of the table.
“Yes, please, Alban,” said Amanda. “I spoke to her about the Simmons meeting earlier today, but she may need to be reminded. She said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“No. She’s hardly been out of her room today.”
“Perhaps I’d better step across and see her,” said Captain Grandfather quietly.
Amanda’s jaw tightened. “Of course, if anyone ought to be taking this in seclusion, it is I. None of you can possibly understand the strain that all this has been…”
“Can’t we have just this one meal in peace?” snapped her husband.
“Robert, I will express my grief! And my concern that my daughter’s murderer be-”
“Do you want him caught?” thundered Captain Grandfather. “Damned if I do!”
The bickering leveled out to a series of strident tones, which washed over Michael Satisky, leaving no meaning to soak into his consciousness. He was trying to think about Eileen. There should be grief somewhere in his mind. He was sure that if he could burrow through the tension of the enforced stay as a houseguest, and his terror that the police might obligingly arrest “everybody’s favorite suspect,” he would feel some sorrow for Eileen herself. Each time he tried to find her in his mind, he encountered a wave of relief that he was freed from an awkward relationship. The temptation of so much money had finally been removed, so that he could go back to being the sincere and unworldly person he was sure he was. Poverty dragons were much easier to slay than the monsters Eileen had presented him with. He was glad to be released from the commitment, but it bothered him that he could not grieve for the sad little princess he had loved. He was sure that beneath his personal anxieties he was devastated. Of course he was! A person of his perception and sensitivity might take years to get over such a tragedy. A slim book of verse perhaps… “The Lady of the Lake and Other Poems” by Michael Satisky… His thoughts drifted lazily toward similes and imagery.