Free Murder At Murder At the Mimosa Inn, The by Joan Hess Page B

pointed toward a corner table, where Suzetta was slumped in a chair. “Miss Price, you may have been the last person to see Crundall alive. Would you please tell me what happened yesterday, from the moment of your arrival at the Mimosa Inn?”
    Suzetta’s face was ashen, the customary makeup absent. Her blond hair, on the other hand, had spent a considerable amount of time with a brush. She flinched as though Nickie’s index finger might explode at her, then pulled herself up and said, “Harmon and I got here right after lunch yesterday. We checked in—and no matter what you think, we had separate rooms! Then he started drinking, and sort of had a teensy bit more than he could handle. I put him to bed during dinner, and didn’t see him after that. I sure as hell didn’t kill him!” Her voice ended on an indignant squeak.
    Mimi stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen. She looked as pale and worried as her husband, but her shoulders were squared. Beneath the curtain of bangs, her eyes were flat. She would be my first choice in a crisis, I decided, despite her tendency to lapse into the ingenue role. Eric was the dreamer; she wore the pragmatic pants in the family.
    “That’s correct, Sergeant,” she volunteered. “They did
have separate rooms, and I was the one who helped Miss Price carry Harmon Crundall to his room. He was almost unconscious by then—how did he get to the boathouse?”
    “An area that requires exploration, Mrs. Vanderhan,” Nickie said. “The victim was ‘escorted’ to his room at approximately nine o’clock last night and left to sleep off his excesses. What did you and Miss Price do, once he was safely tucked in bed?”
    “I came downstairs to continue supervision of the kitchen staff, then watched the movie with our guests, Sergeant. Afterwards, Eric and I made sure that everything was locked and went to bed.”
    “Then you did not see Harmon Crundall once you left the room?”
    “No, I did not, Sergeant Merrick.”
    “Miss Price?” barked Nickie, spinning around to stare at her.
    “I watched the movie, too, and then went to bed.”
    “Did you later go by Crundall’s room to see if he might need further assistance?”
    Suzetta shook her head in an ash-blond flurry. “He was out like a cement block. Why would he need further assistance?”
    Tugging at the end of his mustache, Nickie glared around the room. “Did any of you see or hear Crundall after he left the dining room?”
    We shook our heads dumbly. At this point the door to the drawing room opened, and Bella Crundall stepped into the room. She wore a well-cut navy-blue skirt and jacket with a pastel blouse, white gloves, and a small hat, as if she had dropped by on the way to a garden club meeting. Her hair was no longer wispy, nor was her expression.
    “Yes, Sergeant?” she said. “You wanted to see me?”
    Nickie was startled, as were we all. After a pause, he regained his composure and said, “Did the officer inform you of the recent tragedy, Mrs. Crundall?”

    “The tragedy was by no means recent; it took place thirty-one years ago when I married Harmon,” she countered in a defiant tone. “I should have known that he would never change, would never repent his ways nor cease his childish cravings for liquor and women. Last night was not the first time I’d discovered him flagrantly mocking our marriage vows, but it was the last time. I told him then that I would divorce him.”
    “His response, Mrs. Crundall?”
    “All of you heard his response. He assured me that he would try to divorce me first, and transfer his assets to his secretary’s name, in order to keep me from getting my fair share.” Bella found Suzetta and gave her an inscrutable look. “However, even in his drunken stupor, Harmon knew that a lawyer would be able to thwart the petty scheme. I had no reason to kill my husband, Sergeant; I had already washed my hands of him.”
    “Yet yesterday morning you followed him to the Mimosa Inn and