Aurora 03 - Three Bedrooms, One Corpse (18 page)

“He wouldn’t see her,” I said.

“Oh.”

“What time Saturday night?” I asked. “The banquet.”

“What did you do with your invitation?”

“It got lost or something.”

“You need a bulletin board and some thumbtacks.”

“Yes, I know. What time do we need to be there?”

“Drinks at seven, dinner at seven-thirty.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to be showing him some more houses, you know.”

“Oh—no, we didn’t talk about it.”

“Nothing as grand as the Anderton place, but all in the one to two hundred thousand range.

He must be planning on doing a lot of entertaining.”

“He’s the head man here. I guess so.”

“Still, a single man . . . why does he want that much room?”

“I don’t know.” Because he came from a poor farm in America’s heartland? I had no idea.

“Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I do too,” I said softly.

“Oh, Roe, have you got it bad?” My mother was suddenly distressed.

“Yes,” I said, and closed my eyes.

“Oh, dear.”

“I’ll see you Saturday night,” I said hastily. “Bye, Mother.”

“Bye, baby.” My mother was worried.

I’d rented a movie to watch that night, and I was curled up in front of the television wrapped in a quilt and eating crackers and peanut butter when Martin called. He just wanted to see if I was okay, he told me, after the incident with Sam Ulrich the morning before. He was lonely in his hotel room, he told me.

After I hung up, I thought about his exercise equipment and his running and his racquetball, and I closed the peanut butter jar.

And before I went to bed, I thought about Sam Ulrich— and Idella and Tonia Lee—and I double-checked all my doors and windows.

I’d just pulled on my jeans and a sweater the next morning when the phone rang.

“Roe,” said the warm voice on the other end, “how are you this morning?”

“Oh, hi, Franklin.” Mild curiosity stirred within me. “I’m all right.”

“Not too shaken up by your dreadful experience?”

“You mean finding Idella. It was just horrible, Franklin, but I haven’t dwelt on it.” I’d been dwelling on something else. I felt myself smiling, and was ashamed.

“That’s good. Life goes on,” he said offhandedly. “I called to see if by chance you would go with me to the realtor’s banquet?”

Well, well. The legendary Franklin Farrell was asking little old me for a date. He’d probably gone out with every other woman in Lawrenceton.

“Franklin, how nice of you to ask. I’m flattered. But I already have plans for that night.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Well, another time then.”

“Thanks for calling.”

If anyone had been there to see me, I would have raised my eyebrows in amazement. Franklin Farrell without a date, and the banquet so close? Something must have happened to his original plans. Did this mean someone had canceled on Franklin? That would indeed be news.

I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter.

The next thing I knew, I was asking Patty to connect me with Eileen.

“How are you doing, honey?” Eileen asked, but without her usual boom.

“I’m just fine. You?”

“Still upset, Roe. I just can’t stop seeing Idella, thrown down like a sack of garbage.”

“It had to have been quick, Eileen. Maybe she didn’t know anything about it.”

The paper had quoted Lynn as saying it was believed Idella’d been strangled like Tonia Lee, though that wouldn’t be a certainty until the autopsy. I did hope it had been quick, but I had a conviction that Idella had known exactly who was killing her and that she was being killed. I tried so hard not to imagine that that I bit my lip.

“I hope not,” Eileen was sighing. “Listen, Roe, not to change the subject, but I have to get on with my work, I guess. I took yesterday off. Do you want to do any more house-hunting today?”

“I don’t think so, Eileen. I’ve kind of lost my taste for it, for a little while at least. I liked the Julius house so much better than anything I’ve seen, but I have to ponder long and hard about whether I could live out of town without getting the willies every night.”

“I can understand that, believe me. Just give me a call when you make up your mind.”

“Listen, Eileen. Do you know if Idella had been dating anyone special?”

“If she was, she didn’t tell me who. But she had been very ‘up’ lately, dressing more carefully, cheerful, eyes shiny, etcetera. Idella wasn’t one to talk about her personal life. I worked with her for a month without her mentioning her children!”

“She
was
closemouthed,” I said, impressed. “I just wondered if she hadn’t been dating Franklin Farrell.”

“I would be extremely surprised,” Eileen said instantly. “You know what a reputation he has as a ladies’ man. Idella was very shy.”

She’d have been a real challenge to a Franklin Farrell.

“You heard they questioned Jimmy Hunter?” Eileen told me suddenly.

“Yes, but I don’t believe he’s guilty.”

“It’s got to be someone,” Eileen said practically. “Though I hear his alibi for the time Idella was killed is pretty strong.”

“So there are two stranglers in Lawrenceton, attacking real estate saleswoman?”

“You’ve heard about copycat killers. Maybe this is one.”

“What about the thefts?”

“I’m not the police,” Eileen said irritably. “I’m just hoping all this is over and I can go back to my job without being scared every time I have an appointment to meet someone at an empty house.”

“Sure,” I said, instantly contrite. “I’m a friend of Susu’s, or at least I used to be in high school.”

“We’re not going to come out of this with everyone happy.”

“Of course not. Listen, when do you walk every evening?”

“Terry and I usually walk at five in the winter, seven in the summer. Did you want to join us?”

“Oh, how nice of you! No, I’d just slow you down. I thought I might give it a try, but I’d better go by myself at first.”

“Then be careful.”

“Okay. See you Saturday night.”

“Bye.”

I actually found myself a tiny bit regretful I wasn’t going to see Franklin in action. Amina had told me a date with Franklin was like being in a warm, soothing bubble bath. You felt cherished and delicate and pamperable. And of course you wanted that to go on and on, so the date extended very easily into bed. Once or twice, or perhaps even for a month. And then Franklin stopped calling and you had to come back to the real world.

If Martin hadn’t happened, I would certainly have accepted, just to sample the experience. I would have stopped short of bed, I told myself firmly.

I put out fresh food and water for Madeleine, who was still hiding somewhere in the townhouse, sulking about the great indignity done her at the vet’s.

And the phone rang again.

This time it was Sally Allison.

“The police searched the Hunters’ house and came up with zilch,” she said without preamble.

“Oh, thank God. Maybe he’s not such a suspect anymore?”

“Could be. The afternoon Idella Yates was killed, he was in the hardware store without a break, in full view of at least three people at any given moment. And he says he did look at the Anderton house with Tonia Lee, but on a different day. That’s how his fingerprints got on the night table.”

“Is it okay for you to be telling me this?”

“If you don’t tell anyone else. Otherwise, Paul will have my guts for garters.”

“I understand.”

“I know you’re a friend of Susu’s, so I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks, Sally. Listen, did you ever date Franklin Farrell?”

“No,” she said, and laughed. “I didn’t want to be a cliché. He tries to date you when he thinks you’re especially lonely, or rebounding from a relationship, or if you’re a little stupid. I understand he really wines and dines you before the Big Move, but when he called me, I was too scared I’d join the ranks to accept.”

“Just wondered.”

“Oh, did you get that newspaper article I sent you?”

“Oh, shoot. I forgot to check my mail yesterday. I’ll bet it’s out there. I’ll go see.”

“Okay. If you don’t get it, call me.”

I reached in my mailbox eagerly and came out with a handful. Yes, here was the article Sally had sent me as she’d promised. There was Martin’s picture. I sighed absurdly. Martin, I read, had a background in agriculture (I assumed that was his being raised on a farm); a distinguished service record, including two purple hearts (that explained the scars I hadn’t yet asked him about); and a long work history with Pan-Am Agra ... a brief chronicle of his steady rise through the ranks followed .. . then a noncommital statement of Martin’s, about his plans for the plant.

There wasn’t anything much to it, really, but for some reason it was very exciting to read about my—well, whatever— in the paper. So I read it over. And over.

“Isn’t that strange,” I said out loud.

Martin had mentioned casually to me that he had gotten out of the Army in 1971. This article stated that he’d begun work at Pan-Am Agra in 1973.

What had Martin been doing for those two years? I wondered.

LITTLE TASKS consumed the rest of my day. I had to stop by the dry cleaner’s and go to the grocery store with a list of ingredients for the supper I was going to cook Martin the next night. I did my laundry and a little ironing. I sent Amina and her husband a “congratulations” card and a copy of Dr. Spock’s famous book on baby care.

And I went by the library to check out some books. Every time I went into my former place of employment, I felt a pang of regret. There were so many things I missed about working there; seeing all the new books first (and free), having a chance to see and learn about so many people in the town I wouldn’t run across otherwise, the companionship among the librarians, just being in the presence of so many books.

What I didn’t miss was the companionship of Lillian Schmidt. So of course it was Lillian who was at the checkout desk today. I politely asked after Tonia Lee’s mother and got a blow-by-blow account of Mrs. Purdy’s collapse after the funeral and her continued depression, Mrs.

Purdy’s relief on hearing there had been an arrest, Mrs. Purdy’s horror and disbelief on hearing who was being questioned, Mrs. Purdy’s confusion on hearing that there was no concrete proof against Jimmy Hunter.

“Oh, that’s great!” I said involuntarily.

Lillian was affronted. Her oversized bosom heaved under its striped polyester covering. “I just think it’s one of those technicalities,” she said. “I bet they’ll be sorry when some other woman gets killed in her bed.”

I forbore remarking that the bed Tonia Lee had been killed in was not exactly her own. “If someone else does die, it won’t be because Jimmy Hunter wasn’t arrested,” I said firmly if confusingly, and picked up my books.

By the time I got home and unloaded my car, it was a little after four, and becoming dark and colder. This was getting close to the time of day Tonia Lee had been killed. With no other car having been seen in the driveway, the police had thought Mackie might be involved, since he ran every evening at this time. I thought the theory was sound, even though they’d had the wrong person. This evening, I’d walk myself. Just to see what could be seen.

Twenty minutes later I was shaking my head and muttering to myself. The streets were practically teeming with walkers and joggers. I had had no idea that the residential areas of Lawrenceton were so busy at an hour I normally associated with winding down and preparing supper. Every other block, it seemed, I passed another walker, or a runner, or a biker. Sometimes two. Everyone in town was out in the streets! Arms swinging energetically, Walkmans (Walkmen?) fixed on ears, expensive athletic shoes pounding the pavement ... it was amazing.

I was heading toward the Anderton house, of course, walking at as swift a clip as I could manage. I passed Mackie, running in a sweatshirt and gym shorts, pouring sweat in the chilly air; he gave me the quick nod that was apparently all that was expected of runners. Next I saw Franklin Farrell, keeping in trim for all those ladies, running at a more moderate pace, his long legs muscular and lean. No wonder he seemed so much younger than I knew he must be. True to his nature, he managed an intimate smile even through his careful breathing. Eileen and Terry marched by together, weights on their ankles and wrists, arms swinging in unison, not talking, and keeping a pace I knew would have me panting in minutes.

This was much more interesting than my exercise video. All these people, including half the real estate community, all out and about at the time the murderer must have arrived at the Anderton house. Even Mark Russell, the farm broker, strode by, in an expensive walking outfit from the Sports Kitter shop. And perfect Patty Cloud, bless my soul, in an even more expensive pale pink a silky-looking running suit, her hair drawn up and back into a perky ponytail with matching pink bow. Patty even jogged correctly.

And here came Jimmy Hunter on a very fancy bike.

“Jimmy!” I said happily. He pulled to a stop and shook my hand.

“Susu told me you came by yesterday when everyone else was staying away,” he said gruffly.

“Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” I asked inadequately. He’d been through such an ordeal.

“I will be,” he said, shaking his head slightly as though a fly were circling it. “It’s going to be hard getting over this feeling that everyone was against me, that everyone believed I’d done it, right off the bat.”

“Susu okay?”

“She’s tired, but she’s regrouping. We have a lot to talk about. I think we’ll leave the kids with their aunt and uncle for a while.”