And One to Die On(61)
Lydia Acken took a very small bite of her toast, thought better of it, and put the toast down on her plate again. “You know, we also have Cavender Marsh to consider. He’s going to come out of that sleeping pill-induced sleep of his sometime. When he finds out what’s happened, he’s going to have a shock. Having to step over the body of the woman he’s been living with for over fifty years is going to be entirely too much for his constitution.”
Gregor took a bite out of his sausage and then another. Then he put his fork down on his plate and thought it over. He didn’t really believe that the sight of Tasheba Kent’s body would be too much for the constitution of Cavender Marsh. He didn’t think much of anything would. If there was one solid impression Gregor had come away with from his perusal of the scrapbooks, it was that all three of the principals in the death of Lilith Brayne had been narcissistic to the point of pathology. Gregor thought Cavender Marsh might be surprised to find his long-time companion dead—although he might not—and that he might even be curious about how it had all come about. Gregor did not think that Cavender Marsh would be shaken to his foundations, or in peril of having a stroke.
On the other hand, the people at this table had a point. If it was really going to be that long before they could contact the mainland and get the police out here, there was no sense at all to leaving Tasheba Kent’s body on the stairs. Preserving a crime scene was one thing. Preserving everybody’s sanity was something else.
Gregor put salt and pepper on his scrambled eggs and continued to eat. “Are you sure about that weather forecast?” he asked Geraldine Dart. “Can you trust the station you’re getting it from?”
“I can trust the source the radio station is getting it from,” Geraldine said. “I’m tuned to the same station all the fishermen use. This is supposed to be one of the worst storms we’ve seen in twenty years. There’s snow coming down a little ways north of us, and that’s bad for October even for Maine.”
“How calm does it have to be out there before we can get off the island? Or would it be easier to get somebody from the mainland out here?”
“It would be easiest to get us off the island if we had the right kind of boat,” Geraldine answered, “but we don’t. If we had something fairly big and somebody who knew how to drive it, we could probably go as soon as it actually stopped hailing. But all the boats we have here are small.”
“Would anybody here know how to drive a bigger boat if we had one?” Gregor asked.
“I don’t think so,” Geraldine said dejectedly.
“What about people coming out from the mainland to here?”
“Well, the problem with that is our dock, you see. It’s not a very good one and it’s not very well positioned. I mean, it’s as well positioned as it could be, but this is all rock out here. The area right next to the shore is very dangerous. I go back and forth all the time, and I’ve smashed up a couple of small boats over the years myself, and on perfectly clear days, too. You have to pay attention, and if the sea is at all rough, you can’t.”
Gregor took a long sip of coffee. “I see what you mean. I also accept the fact that Sunday is just too far away. We can’t leave her lying on the steps that long.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mathilda Frazier said.
“Do you have someplace we could put the body?” Gregor asked Geraldine. “Is there a study or someplace like that, someplace out of the way? It would be absolutely best if we could lock it up.”
“There’s a television room on this floor,” Geraldine said. “It’s around the back of the staircase off the foyer. Miss Kent hated television and didn’t even want to see a set around, but Mr. Marsh loves it, so we kept it back there. It’s out of sight but it’s easily accessible.”
“That sounds perfect.” Gregor finished off his coffee, wiped his face with his cloth napkin, and threw his napkin on the tablecloth next to his unused butter knife. “I’m going to have to have some help moving the body. Mr. Fenster? Mr. Pratt?”
“I’m on my way,” Kelly Pratt said, standing up.
“Count me out,” Richard Fenster said. “I have no intention of touching a corpse no matter what it died from. I most particularly have no intention of touching that corpse.”
“Oh, my, what a big man it is,” Hannah Graham said nastily.
Bennis Hannaford crushed her cigarette out in the ashtray next to her coffee cup and pushed back her chair. “I’ll go,” she said. “I’m at least as strong as he is and I’m probably more emotionally stable. And I’d do anything not to have to step over that body again.”