A House by the Side of the Road (29 page)

*   *   *

“She just said, ‘Mr. Ruschman,'” said Meg, “and all I could think was Dan, but she meant Alan! The man Leslie McAlester thinks is a thief is Dan's brother, Alan!”

Christine nodded. “And she's right about him. He
is
a thief, or was, anyway. He stole fifteen thousand dollars while he was working for her, and she found out. He called Dan, and Dan called her, and the upshot was, return the fifteen thousand, and that's the end of it.”

Meg rested her elbow on the kitchen table and put her chin in her hand. “And he had to,” she said, “because he's Dan. He probably thinks it's his fault that his brother's a thief. How long have you known this?” She really didn't need to ask. Christine had known something since the night Meg had overheard her talking to Dan in the kitchen. This, then, was what she had learned that night.

Christine confirmed Meg's belief. “For weeks. I bullied Dan into telling me. Fifteen thousand was most of what his business had in the bank to pay his salary for the next couple of months, and all of what he had available to pay Jack and the other guys. So now he has to finish everything himself on the jobs they were working on, and I have to borrow money from my sister and teach every chance I get, and we've cashed in the savings bonds we had for college. Dan was scared to tell me because I made such a fuss about the other time—the time Alan needed a thousand. He was going to try to find the money someplace, borrow it, but he couldn't—at least not without my signature on a second mortgage. He thought I'd leave him.”

“You didn't.”

“Heck, no!” said Christine, smiling. “Over money? Ha! You remember, I told you that Dan had things rough as a kid? He thinks Alan is the reason he's sane today, maybe even just plain alive today. Alan's four years older, and Dan says he took the brunt of things at home. The first time he went to jail, it was for clobbering his father when he went after Dan. The judge thought Alan didn't need to hit him quite so many times. Or with a two-by-four. But the incident got Dan out of the house. So, see, you're not so far off assuming that Dan feels guilty about Alan's situation in life. Of course, he might have helped him anyway.”

Meg got up and poured more coffee into the two cups on the table. “Loyalty. Jane says Dan is big on family loyalty.”

“Tell me about it,” said Christine. “I didn't understand until recently why he was so fierce on the subject. Now, I guess I do. He wouldn't tell me a thing until I swore I wouldn't breathe a word. He thinks Alan will never work again if the story gets out. And he doesn't want people knowing we're so much in debt.”

“Gosh,” said Meg, replacing the pot and turning to look at her friend. “I wouldn't have told anyone.” She sat down and looked steadily at Christine. “I
hated
prying. I didn't know what else to do! At first, I was just uneasy, but after the tape went missing, I got scared. If you'd just told me what was really going on … You could have trusted me with what was really going on.”

“I
know
it!” said Christine. “I might mention here that
you
could have trusted
me
just a bit earlier, too.” Christine had listened with intense interest to Meg's description of finding and playing the tape. “After all, you didn't have a husband making you swear not to tell a soul. When Dan made me promise, I couldn't tell him I'd already talked to you. At least, I didn't think I could. Then it started really getting on my nerves how you changed. You were mysterious and jumpy and busy all the time. But you weren't too busy to keep working with Jane and Harding. I didn't like ranking below a dog, so I figured if I told you what was going on with me, you'd tell me what was going on with you, and we could be friends again.”

“I'm sorry,” said Meg. “Does it help that it was harder on me than it was on you?”

Christine twisted her mouth, thinking. “Maybe.”

“I'm sorry you had to have a fight with Dan about telling me.”

“Oh, pooh,” said Christine. “It didn't last.” She giggled suddenly. “But you actually thought he might be the man on the tape? You really, truly didn't tell me about the tape because you thought Dan might be, not just a lying cheat, but a
crook?
Dan?”

Meg could feel herself blushing. “All right. But I don't know him, Christine. Not really at all. And it fit. You have to admit; it did fit.”

“Indeed,” said Christine dryly. “It's completely logical. So much so, I'm starting to suspect him myself.”

Meg sighed. “You're going to tell him. I just know.”

“Bet on it,” said Christine, grinning. Her smile faded. “Are you sure the silverware in Ginny's shop is Hannah's?”

“It's hers,” said Meg firmly. “Or Jane's, I should say. It's a perfect match for the medicine spoon, and one teaspoon is missing from the set. Besides, what else explains the tape? If I'd had ninety-six hundred dollars, I'd have bought it right then and there. As it was, I did my best imitation of a lady with money and hinted at how I'd be back. At that price, the only thing that keeps it safe is the fact that she's not displaying it.”

“Ninety-six hundred dollars is a
bargain?
”

“Seems so. From what I can tell, the price she's charging means she really wants to get rid of it. It's an ornate, discontinued pattern and it's in a fitted case. A fitted Tiffany case. No way it's worth less than twelve thousand, and that would be on the low side. If she puts it out in front, it won't be there long.”

“The police could get a search warrant,” said Christine.

“How?” asked Meg. “You're a teacher; you're supposed to know about the Fourth Amendment. What probable cause is there? If I had the tape, maybe. Maybe. Without it, how?”

“All right,” said Christine. “But Jane could go and look at the silver and then tell the police about her conversation with Hannah.”

“Think about that for a minute,” said Meg.

Christine did. “Oh. Right. Ginny would never show it to her. Jane would walk into the shop, and the silver would disappear, as if it never existed.”

“Yup. And you don't want Jane involved in this, do you? Anybody who would steal from a trusting old lady—because, you see, the only way anyone could have done it would have been to be trusted—is not someone who should know that Jane ever saw that teaspoon.”

Christine nodded. “Yes. I mean, no. But how did they have the nerve? Hannah herself wouldn't have been likely to realize what was going on, but she left a
will.
”

“I know.” Meg got up and took a shiny white cardboard box out of the cupboard. “Have a doughnut,” she said. “If what you told me about her will was typical, it wouldn't reveal what had happened. The details were about where things were, not
what
they were—the will of a woman who was worried about clutter, not theft. Substituting nice things for much more valuable things was virtually foolproof. No one, except Jane, had seen any of her best stuff for years.”

Christine got up and paced across the kitchen to look out the window. “So, it was just a matter of time. She was old; she had a heart problem; she was determined not to go to a nursing home. Chances were she'd never move those boxes and trunks out of the attic…”

She turned and her eyes were worried. “Just before she died, she was upset. Something was troubling her. Do you think she'd figured it out?”

Meg took a breath and let it out. “Yeah. Did Jane tell you the silver-casket story?”

Christine nodded and thought for a moment, leaning against the counter. “She
hadn't
forgotten it. Far from it. She knew it wasn't the box she remembered.”

“So what happened?” asked Meg. “If she thought someone she had believed in was stealing from her, what would she have done? And who was it she suspected?”

“I don't know what she'd have done. She'd have done something, though. The
who
could have been Ginny's lover. Or it may have been more than one person. Someone who had access to Hannah's attic has to have been involved. John Eppler certainly had access. In that case, though, someone else was involved, too.”

She lifted her cup and put it down again without drinking. “Wait! Ginny may not know the tape's gone; she probably doesn't know it ever existed. If we could get the police to take this seriously, they could question her, refer to the tape, even quote from it if you remember some quotable remarks—and scare her into telling who it was she was talking to.”

“You don't know Ginny Eppler very well,” said Meg. “Neither do I, but enough to know she'd have an attorney with her from the moment a cop first asked her a question. And maybe she's the one who made the tape in the first place.”

Christine threw Meg a scornful look. “Sure, and was careful to talk about Hannah's property while her co-conspirator was out of the room.”

“Okay, she didn't make the tape,” said Meg. “Then it must have been Angie. And she knows exactly who she was taping. So we find her.”

“Fine,” said Christine through a yawn. “How?”

“I don't know, but people don't just disappear. She left a couple of cartons of junk here, but, unfortunately, that's exactly what it was. Junk. There were some letters, but only a few had envelopes, and those didn't have return addresses. I don't think we can trace her through the brand of thread she buys.”

“Well, you figure it out. I'm going to bed.” Christine got up and pulled on a sweater. “I've got a thousand things to do tomorrow, not the least of which is to figure out why there's an infestation of fruit flies in Teddy's closet.”

“I'll walk you,” said Meg, reluctant to have Christine set off alone into the night. “Yeah, I know, you're a big girl. But I've got a bodyguard to walk
me
home.”

Meg's dog trotted ahead of them as they crossed the field toward Christine's house.

“The grapes!” said Meg. “The grapes that went missing after your latest memory lapse regarding the refrigerator clamp!”

“What about them?”

“They're in Teddy's closet! I'm so glad the really perplexing mystery's been solved. That'll allow you to apply your mind to the rest of them.”

“One of which,” said Christine, “is why we're walking across the field instead of taking the road.”

“The moon is out; it's light enough to see … sort of.”

“So? It's still a lot easier to take the road, at least at night.”

“Look,” said Meg. “I hate to sound dramatic. Heck, I hate to
be
dramatic. But the intruder the other night? The one who got the tape?”

“Yeah?”

“He'd been in my house before. I'm not sure how many times, but at least three. He's the one who broke into the Salvation Army store.” She explained her theory. “And if he's listened to the tape, to the whole thing, he knows I did, too.”

Christine stood stock-still in the meadow while Meg told the story. “So, see, it's really a good thing if we don't make up.” There was enough moonlight for Meg to see the look on her friend's face.

“I mean,” she said quickly, “if nobody
knows
we're friends again. Anybody who's paying any attention to me will have noticed that we've been less than tight for a while. So we better keep it up. If we were friends, you'd know everything on my mind. If I'd heard a strange, tape-recorded conversation, you'd know all about it. If I'd been to an antique store and seen Mrs. Ehrlich's silver, I'd have told you. It's only because we're not friends anymore that you don't know any of that.”

Christine's eyes widened. “Do you really think it's … dangerous?”

“Come on, let's keep moving. I'm getting cold.”

They walked for a few minutes in silence. “Probably not,” said Meg. “He'll know the tape didn't tell me anything, really. He doesn't have any reason to think I'm dangerous to him. And, actually, I'm not. Still, he's a real creep.”

“Tell me about it! Anyone who'd go sneaking around in somebody else's house…”

“He's creepier than that,” said Meg. “I think he tried to burn down my house. And, if you recall, I was in it.”

Twenty-one

Meg stood looking at Mike's narcissus. No, she reminded herself, not Mike's, Mrs. Ehrlich's. There were pure, pale yellow ones that gave off a heavenly fragrance; snow-white blooms with apricot cups; neat, delicate miniatures and sturdy, tall varieties. They were moving in the faint, warm breeze of a perfect May afternoon.

“How can you still have so many?” she asked. “The Ruschmans' are over with. Your aunt must have planned pretty well to keep them going so long.”

“She loved narcissus,” he said. “So she put in ones that bloom early, mid-season, and late.”

Meg pointed at a sweep of familiar-looking blooms. “There's Sir Winston Churchill,” she said. “I recognize him from his photograph.”

“If you say so,” he said. “I do know it was one of her favorites; I've seen it around for years, but we were never formally introduced.”

“So you don't know what that is either?” She indicated a huge cluster of double narcissus combining yellow, gold, and orange at the far end of the border.

Mike followed the sweep of her arm. “Nope,” he said. “I might be able to find the charts Aunt Hannah kept. They could be in a drawer I haven't cleaned out. That patch wasn't here last year. It's nice.”

Ah, thought Meg, the By George. She walked over and knelt to look more closely, gently pulling a blossom toward her to breathe in the fragrance. “I think she was looking forward to these,” said Meg. “You should cut some for her grave.”