Conundrum (12 page)

Other diners began to stop by the table to compliment Luc on their way out. As the room started to empty, Ellie, Mack, and Iris rose and thanked him for a sublime meal. Before they left, Luc took Iris aside, leaned in to kiss her, and said quietly, “I’m sorry I have to stay to close up. I wish I could walk you home. I said that I’d give the new chef a lift.”

“May I take a rain check on that?”

He looked away but smiled, then raised his voice to address all three, “So what’s the verdict on the new chef’s try-out? Should I hire her?”

Chapter 17

I
ris sat curled up in her kitchen window seat, reading glasses perched on her nose. She read the clue for 23 across. “Okay, Sheba, four letters that mean ‘like some points.’
Hmm, ‘dots’?”

Sheba opened her mournful eyes to inspect her mistress,
then rolled over onto her back—
her default reaction when uncertain. But it was nine a.m. on Sunday morning, and that meant the
New York Times
crossword puzzle had Iris’ full attention.

Iris squinted at the matrix of letters already filled in and looked off into the distance. She checked her guess against 23 and 24 down,
then
penned it
in.”Ah
, ‘moot’. They think they’re so smart.”

She was on her second cappuccino, wondering if it was too early to give Norman a call when the phone rang.

“Sorry to call on a Sunday, Iris.
Did everything get sorted out about poor Will?”

“Oh, Norman, I was just going to call you. The police wanted to get me to identify the body, but his wife ended up flying out.”

“Surely they don’t think that you had anything to do with it,” he fished.

“Oh, no.
Of course not.
Anyway, apart from the police showing up, the Friday night dinner seems to have gone well.” She knew this would be how Norman looked at things.

“Yes, I agree. The whole reunion seems to be a success, although we’ll still need to tally the funds we’ve manage
to
raise
. Oh, and you missed it—
C.C. was asking questions about the house. I think she may want to feature it in her magazine! But I’m actually calling about something else. I want to take out to Lincoln a few of my best cases of wine and some of the more valuable artwork that I don’t want the movers to touch. Can you meet me at the house to help me place some of the
paintings? Let’s say 2 o’clock—
does that work for you?”

“Okay. I guess I can make it. I’ll see you there at two.”

Iris would be starting a new renovation in Chestnut Hill later in the week and wanted to be done with any loose ends at Norman’s house. Frank, the contractor, was halfway through the punch list, and it was going to be hell to get him to pay attention to those last few details now that he had moved on to his next job. This wa
s always the most tedious stage—
getting that last two percent of the project done.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.

“Mack and I think that you and Luc make a great couple,” Ellie began breathlessly.

“Good morning to you too.
What’s that noise?”

“Disposal.
I’m multi-tasking. It looked like we were walking in on something last night.”

“Merely an advanced-beginner conversation.
I’m f
ollowing the advice of a friend—
moving at glacial speed. Maybe we’ll get to second base before I collect social security.”

“What is second base anyway? I can’t even remember. Said friend is telling you to pick up the pace now. He definitely looks interested and seems like a nice guy. I give you my blessing.”

“He does have some interesting miles on him. Do you know that he worked in Italy for seven years and had his own restaurant there? That kind of experience adds more than a decade of sophistication to his age, don’t you think? But then again, he’s hiring a female chef. She’s probably young and gorgeous. They’ll be working side by side. He drove her home last night. It’s really just a matter of time before they fall in love and he breaks my heart. Do you really want to watch that happen?”

“Oh, she’s probably some old crone with a mustache. You’ll just have to keep him busy. You said he lived in Italy for seven years? Are we
talkin
’ city or countryside?”

“Rome.”

“At least a decade.”

“Fine then Madam.
For your amusement, I’ll throw myself into the fray again. But you may have to pick up the pieces.”

“Deal.”

Chapter 18

“I
can be subtle, Ellie. Let me tackle Jerry and G.B. I’ll do my innocent ‘
Columbo
’ bit.”

“I know you can, Mack. It’s just that they have highly attuned bullshit detectors. If they’re the ones who murdered Will and think that we suspect them, we could be the next bodies dumped in the woods. So, be careful.
If you can get them talking in some casual way, great.
Otherwise, make small talk and wander off. I’ll do the same with Adam, Alyssa and C.C.”

The car lock chirped and they set out toward GSD for the Sunday luncheon finale. The hum of activity drew them through the lobby back to the first-floor lunch room which had been set up with a buffet so alums and professors could mill around or perch on chairs with plates teetering on their laps while they chatted. Roger Barton, Norman’s reunion co-chair, appeared to have finished or given up making any more official pitches.

After loading up his plate with mysterious pasta salads, Mack ambled toward G.B. and Jerry, sitting at a table by
themselves
.

Ellie overheard him say, “May I join you? We didn’t get much chance to talk Friday night. G.B., I’ve heard so much about your theory classes from my wife.”

They looked taken back by this boldness. A piece of potato salad fell off of Jerry’s fork as he stared. But appealing to G.B.’s vanity was a wise move. The professor’s chest seemed to puff up.

Good
,
Ellie thought. Mack’s foot is in the figurative door.

“Ellie may have ended up writing about architecture rather than practicing it, but I’d love to hear how you both go through the process of designing buildings. Do you really sketch on napkins?”

Brother. Mack was laying it on thick. But G.B. and Jerry seemed to loosen up, and five minutes later, Ellie was amazed to see the three of them engaged in a lively discussion. Meanwhile, she had parked herself near Alyssa and was waiting for her to finish sucking up to their former architectural history professor. She couldn’t see any of the other suspects.

“Professor Bachman, I kept hearing your words about the Minoans the entire time we wandered around Knossos.”

When the professor was finally rescued by other alums, Ellie swooped in.

“Hey
Alyssa.
Last day of the reunion—
how do you think it’s gone?”

“Well,” she sighed dramatically. “I have to admit I’m disappointed. No one from our group was at the dinner dance last night. It was filled with all these background people that I didn’t even know. They were probably from Landscape or Urban Design. And Will’s death on Friday put such a damper on everything.” She looked as if she might stamp her foot and shake her curls at this rude disruption of her plans. “Do you know if they’ve found out yet who did it?”

“I haven’t heard of a suspect, but I think that the police have pretty much eliminated Iris.”

“But don’t they have any ideas about who it could have been?”

“None yet that I know of.
Where are C.C. and Adam?”

“She checked out thi
s morning
—said that she couldn’t wait to get back to the safe haven of Manhattan. Adam’s off playing squash with Arturo Herrera.” Alyssa consulted her Cartier tank watch. “He’d better get back soon so we can pack up the
Bimmer
. I don’t want to get stuck in weekend traffic again. Now where did I just see G.B.?”

They turned in unison and spotted Mack, off in a corner, still talking animatedly with G.B. and Jerry. As the women approached, they heard Mack explaining “… kind of muscle relaxer. It would have taken several minutes to actually kill him. It depends on a lot of factors.”

Unbelievable! Mack had gone off-message and
they
were pumping
him
for information. Ellie put on her pleasant face, silently cursing as Alyssa buttonholed G.B., leading him off to a more private location. Then she turned to Mack. “Would you get me more of that delicious quiche, dear?”

Mack snapped a look at her,
then
headed back to the food line. Ellie hated quiche.

“So,
Jerry,
did you and Norman have a nice lunch yesterday? You didn’t mention it on our bus ride.”

“
Wha
—
why yes, we had a nice chance to catch up.
We didn’t have much opportunity to talk on Friday night.” Jerry had made a quick recovery, pasting a
sphinx-like
smile on his face and staring off through the room’s rear window wall to the GSD’s pocket-sized backyard. Ellie could practically hear the wheels spinning in Jerry’s brain. She weighed her options,
then
plunged ahead.

“Last night’s dinner got overshadowed by news of Will’s death. I’m curious about something you said after learning that the police had found him. You said it was Carey’s payback for Will giving him a drugged brownie at the graduation party.”

Jerry looked at her sharply. Ellie knew she h
ad abandoned caution—
just what she’d told Mack not to do. This was dangerous. But her friend was being set up as a murderer. And one of them had pushed Carey off the balcony. She was determined to shake loose some information of value and figured that, even if Jerry was the killer, he couldn’t do much to her in a public place.

He studied her face to gauge how much she knew. “Oh, I was just making a tasteless joke. I didn’t mean anything by it.
Obviously
Carey’s ghost didn’t return to avenge him.”

“No, no, I think you may be onto something. We all know by now that Will drugged Carey at the party.” She leaned closer in a conspiratorial pose. “Do you think that
Will
might have followed Carey into the bedroom and pushed him off the balcony?”

Jerry’s rigid stance relaxed an iota. He plucked at an imaginary piece of lint on his beige sports jacket. “No, Will didn’t follow him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I saw Will go into the bathroom with Sharon Abramson.
They only came out when people near the window started screaming.”

“
Aaah
.
That sounds like Will. I was just wondering if there could be any connection between Carey’s death and Will’s, but it sounds like there wasn’t one. Boy, you sure have a good memory, Jerry.”

As Mack returned holding a paper plate of quiche, Ellie said, “Honey, we’ve got to go relieve the babysitter. Bye, Jerry,” She knew he would never remember that their daughter was now college-aged.

Chapter 19

I
ris spotted the gray Prius by the front door in
her
usual spot. The house was no longer a building site, so now she was relegated to “visitor” parking. As she approached the entry, the dramatic pathos of Mozart’s
Don Giovanni
blasted out from the open front door. Pressing hands over ears, she raced to the living room and twisted the control knob on the sound system.

“Norman? Where are you?” The house reverberated with silence. She could see several wrapped parcels abandoned on the living room hearth, but no sign of the house’s owner. If he were down in the wine cellar he’d be deaf to her cries.

A sound—
smack— came from below. Was that a door slamming? What was going on? Norman had dragged her out here on a Sunday to help him and now he was wasting her time. As she marched down two flights of stairs to give him a piece of her mind she heard a rumbling noise, but it seemed to come from outside.
Probably a neighbor’s lawnmower.
She paused before the closed wine cellar door. No doubt Norman was sitting in there mesmerized, sorting through his beloved La
Taches
and Chateau
d’Yquems
. She popped open the panel with her closed fist. It was pitch black. She groped for the light switch.

Norman stared back at her, his contorted face pressed up against the inside glass of the wine refrigerator, his body hunched in a fetal position. Saliva escaped from the side of his mouth, and his leaden eyes looked right through her.

Iris let out a primal, blood-curdling scream which devolved into shallow gasps. She tried to look away but couldn’t. Backing up until she felt the cool wall behind her, she wrapped her arms around her and took deep breaths.

Maybe he wasn’t dead yet. Should she call for help? Get him out of there? Do CPR? Then another thought intruded: whoever put Norman in there might still be in this room hiding, watching her. Her eyes darted around, but her body felt frozen. Hadn’t she heard a door slam?