Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

Aunt Bet conducted her mock trial in the living room. We were all commanded to take seats, even Uncle Philip and Mrs. Stoddard. The twins sat on the sofa and glared with simultaneous expressions of indignation and accusation at Jefferson, who sat beside me on the matching settee. If the air wasn't so filled with tension, I might have burst out laughing, for Aunt Bet paced about cross-examining everyone like Perry Mason in a courtroom. Even Uncle Philip sat back and stared up at her in fascination.

"This terribly cruel deed was performed some time between last night and this afternoon," she began and stopped to rest her palm on the piano. "Mrs. Stoddard and I have checked the kitchen cabinet and found a nearly empty jar of honey." She nodded at Mrs. Stoddard, who then unfolded her hands to reveal the jar in her palms. "Mrs. Stoddard and I recall the jar was nearly three-quarters full. Isn't that correct, Mrs. Stoddard?"

"Oh yes, ma'am."

Aunt Bet smiled as if that was enough to solve the case.

"Since Mrs. Stoddard was in the kitchen at six-fifteen this morning, whoever did this, did it before then."

"Unless the jar was taken earlier and replaced afterward," I said. Aunt Bet's self-satisfied smile faded.

"She's right about that, Betty Ann," Uncle Philip said, smiling at me.

"This deed was done last night after we had all retired to our rooms," Aunt Bet insisted. "Now then," she continued, crossing the room first to pick up the dish towel lying on the floor beside the sofa and then to stand in front of Jefferson and me, "how did that dish towel get into your closet, Jefferson?"

"I don't know," Jefferson said, shrugging.

"Didn't you get up last night and come down here to do this to the piano?" she asked outright. Jefferson shook his head.

"Didn't you go into the kitchen, get the jar of honey, spill it into the piano keys, put the jar back, grab this dish towel to wipe your hands, run back upstairs and throw the dish towel into your closet, hoping that no one would find it?" she followed, stabbing down at him with her questions and her accusing eyes. Jefferson shook his head and began to cry.

"You're crying because you did it, aren't you?" she demanded. Jefferson started to cry harder. "Aren't you!" She seized his little shoulder and started to shake him. "You did this!" she screamed.

"Leave him alone," I cried and ripped her hand off his shoulder. Jefferson threw his arms around me immediately and I hugged him and glared back at Aunt Bet. "He didn't do it. He couldn't have done it. He wouldn't do such a thing."

She straightened up and smirked, folding her arms under her small bosom. I turned to Uncle Philip.

"He's never gone wandering through the house alone at night, Uncle Philip. He's afraid to do that. He's just a little boy."

"Not too little to try to destroy a valuable piano," Aunt Bet snapped.

"He didn't. Mrs. Stoddard," I said. "Let me see that honey jar, please." She looked up at Aunt Bet who indicated it would be all right. Mrs. Stoddard handed it to me and I looked at it and then flicked a quick glance at Richard, who sat expressionless. Not even his eyes betrayed any emotion.

"Was the jar this clean or did you wipe it off, Mrs. Stoddard?" I asked.

"It's the way we found it," she replied.

"Even if Jefferson did such a thing, which he didn't," I said firmly, "he would never be this neat about it. There's not a drop outside the jar."

"That's a good point, Betty Ann," Uncle Philip said.

"He wiped it off," she replied quickly. "With that towel he threw in his closet."

"You can't wipe honey off a jar with a dry towel and not have it still be sticky," I insisted. "Whoever put that towel in Jefferson's closet," I said, glaring at Richard, "simply poured some honey into it and rubbed it around."

"That's . . . that's . . . ridiculous," Aunt Bet said, but Uncle Philip didn't think so. His gaze moved swiftly toward Richard.

"Did you do this, Richard?" he demanded.

"Of course not, Father. Would I vandalize something?"

"I hope not. Melanie, did Richard get up during the night and come downstairs?" Uncle Philip asked. She shifted her eyes to Richard and then back to Uncle Philip and shook her head. "Are you sure?" She nodded, but not firmly.

Uncle Philip stared at his twins for a moment and then looked up at Aunt Bet.

"I think we'll have to leave this where it is," he said.

"But Philip, that piano . . ."