Conundrum (13 page)

As she stood glued to the wall, noticing the refrigerator shelves thrown on the floor, she heard heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs. He was coming back!
A weapon.
She needed a weapon. She grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from the table and slid behind the door. The steps got closer. She raised her arm ready to strike.

A sharp intake of a man’s breath caught her in time to allow her to divert her makeshift club past his head to crash on the floor. Frank stood framed in the doorway with his arms held up around his ears. “What the hell…” he howled. His voice trailed off as he spotted Norman’s entombed body.

“What are you doing here?” she screeched.

“Oh my god.
Who killed him—
you?” he asked, eyes wild.

“Of course
I
didn’t! I was the one who screamed.”

They both stood their ground until Frank moved toward the wine cooler. Iris slipped out behind him and scrambled up the stairs to the kitchen. She hunted for her cell in the bottom of her purse and scrolled down for Detective Malone’s number. As she reported what she’d found she heard Frank out in the hall talking to the 911 operator.

She put her head between her knees and counted to ten. After a few minutes, her heart’s jackhammering began to slacken. She looked up to see Frank in the doorway, observing her.

“
I’m
here ‘
cause
the new trees have to be watered every day. I heard you scream. Why are
you
here?”

“Norman asked me to help him place some artwork.”

They eyed each other suspiciously then perched at opposite ends of the kitchen table, not speaking, until they heard the sound of cars kicking up stones on the driveway. They both made their way to the front door and saw a Crown Vic and a Lincoln Police vehicle, blue gumball
strobing
, skid to adjacent stops. The Lincoln uniformed officers conferred with Detectives Malone and Connors,
then
all four strode in.

“Ms. Reid. It seems that you are not having a good week-end,” Malone said.

“I’ve had better. Norman
Meeker’s
body is two flights down in the wine cellar.”

Chapter 20

M
ay I please speak with my client privately?”
Stirling
asked in an aggrieved voice. Detective Malone left them in an interview room, the harsh fluorescent lighting making Iris’ headache throb.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Iris?
This is not my idea of lying low! I tell you to stay out of trouble and two days later, you’re found with another dead classmate! Are you insane?” His tone suggested that Iris was mischievously courting corpses merely to annoy him.

She stood facing him with her arms folded. “I’m sorry to have to call you off the golf course on a Sunday,
Stirling
. If you are having trouble seeing me as innocent until proven guilty, I can always switch lawyers and get someone from Shaw, Huntington and Barrett. They’ll probably give me the benefit of the doubt for being in the wrong places at the wrong times.”

“Is
that all this is supposed to be—
a series of coincidences? And how is it supposed to make me look if you go to our competitors to represent you? Everyone knows you’re my sister.”

“I don’t really care how this reflects on you. This is not about
you
!”

They held each other in a death-stare for a full minute.

“Cut me some slack,
Stirling
, okay? I’ve just come face to face with the corpse of my murdered client who two hours ago summoned me to meet with him. I’m either the next victim or being framed by the murderer. If all you can focus on is that your reputation might be tarnished by association with a sister who’s involved in a murder investigation, then I’ll get another lawyer. Here’s my question. Can you represent me as if I were one of your regular clients?”

“Fine, fine.
Let’s calm down, okay? I think you need me as your lawyer right now. Just tell me what happened.”

Iris closed her eyes and shook her head. She wanted to float back to her feeling of safety from the previous night. “You can hear it when they take my statement.”

An hour later as they left the police station,
Stirling
said “I can’t believe tha
t out of your GSD class of what—
sixty students?—there have been two people murdered.”

“Three,” Iris corrected.

Chapter 21

“
P
um
…
pum
.”
A basketball pounded
rythmically
against a neighboring garage backboard. Luc approached Ed’s weathered triple-decker, noticing the brown paint peeling from the clapboards. He should ask the guys down at the precinct for the name of a good painter. A breeze wafted a candy smell from an overgrown viburnum bush that had stood sentinel at this porch for as long as Luc could remember. Only the sweating six-pack cradled in his arm separated him from the kid who once waited here with his father.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” Ed must have been sitting in his usual ratty living room chair, several feet inside. “You still wearing girl hair?” he teased as he gave Luc an affectionate
bear hug. Ed was a bear himself—
six feet of bulk that barely complied with police fitness regulations.

“You sound just like
Pop
. You know I need to pull it back when I’m cooking so it doesn’t get in the food. Give me a break.” Luc held up the Narragansett beer he’d brought. “Want some company for the game?”

On a summer Sunday afternoon in Massachusetts, there’s never any question about which game. It’s always the Red Sox.

“So, how’s your mother?” Ed asked as he resumed his spot facing the TV. Luc sank into the plaid companion chair and snapped open a beer, passing it to Ed.

When Ed had lost his wife to cancer three years earlier, Luc and his sister had urged
their mother to give Ed a call—
maybe invite him over for a meal. But she had resisted all efforts to get her to socialize. By then, she had even given up on the church. God was supposed to have protected her husband. That was the deal she had made in all those masses. Without her daily church visits, she’d lost most of her links to the outside world.

“She’s the same—
won’t go out. She watches her soaps and waits for visits with the grandkids. Now that I’m back, I’ve joined the campaign to try to get her interested in something. I did get her down to the restaurant last week.”

Ed noticed the time on the plastic clock atop the TV. “Hey. Game’s on!” He fiddled with the remote and the image of the shaved-headed Masterson and
Pedroia
, hats over hearts, appeared as the national anthem was warbled by a soprano in the background.

“This game had better get the Sox back on top,” Ed muttered. “Tampa’s kept our seat warm long enough. The guys don’t need
Papi
to step it up against the Rays.”

The crowd repeated the sing-
songy
“Let’s go, Red Sox,” clap, clap, clap. The earlier drizzle had let up and the sky had cleared. After the preliminary practice swings and throws were out of the way, the game began.

“Let’s hope Drew, Manny and Lowell can keep the big bats going. Are Pena and Ortiz still on the disabled list?” Luc asked.

“Yup.
Ortiz is out for a couple more weeks.” They watched in silence until Ed erupted at the screen, “Oh, Beckett! Don’t you get it? You’re not supposed to give up any hits! Just get out of this inning and settle down. Hit the corners, Josh. Pitch from ahead and stop giving up line drives.”

Luc’s lips curved up at one corner. Ed had been his little-league coach. He remembered how emotional the guy could get about the game.

After another ten minutes of snorts and groans, Ed looked over and said, “By the way, did you sign those divorce papers yet?”

Luc’s jaw muscle
spasmed
.
He stared intently at the TV while flipping the top back from a beer. His sister had a big mouth
.
“
I’m working on it. Look at that—
Beckett left that curve way high and Upton still couldn’t handle it.”

Ed said quietly “It’s time to get on with your life, kid.”

The teams exchanged places on the field a few times. The Sox were ahead 5-4. Third baseman,
Mikey
Lowell, came up to bat. The ball sailed toward the second row Green Monster seats and the crowd roared. The ump flung out his left arm. The crowd erupted with fury.

“Unbelievable!” Luc turned to Ed. “Did you see that?
That was a clear 4-bagger. Look—
here’s the replay. Am I right?” They watched NESN’s freeze-frame.

“Screw you, Remy. Goddamn umpires.”

“ Doesn’t
NESN have another camera behind home plate showing left field?”

“The Sox get screwed at least once a gam
e on home run calls. What is it—
retribution for the umps getting
Bellhorn’s
home run correct?”

“Don’t worry. Manny will make things right again.”

“Hey,
Dusty’s
walking!”

“
Magadan’s
going to have a stern talk with
Pedroia
when he gets back to the dugout.”

“When are you coming back to eat at the restaurant? You haven’t been in since the opening party.”

“You know I’m not so good with eating out on my own.”

“I’ll eat with you. Maybe I’ll invite this new friend of mine to join us.”

“As in new female friend?”
Ed cocked an eyebrow.

Luc used this entree to bring up the subject he had come to talk about.

Chapter 22

S
hocked, Ellie’s hand flew to her mouth. “No,” she whi
spered. “Norman’s been murdered—
and you found his body?” She wrapped her arms around her friend as they stood on her kitchen stoop. “You’re trembling. Come in and let me get you something to drink.”

“His eyes seemed to be staring at me and his face was mushed up against the glass door. I’m never going to be able to get that image out of my head.”

Ellie rubbed Iris’ back. “Sit down and I’ll make you tea and cinnamon toast. Or do you want something stro
nger?
Hootch
?
It’s five o’clock—
almost cocktail hour.”

Iris had been drawn straight from the police station to Ellie’s house, knowing she would find comfort here. Her shoulders began to loosen. “Tea’s perfect— the British empire’s cure for any crisis.”

The smell of cinnamon soon suffused the cozy kitchen. Ellie poured more Earl Grey into Iris’ mug.
“Three murders!
This has gotten too dangerous, Iris. We should leave it to the police now. We seem to be at a dead end anyway.” She covered her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that. At least they can’t pin Norman’s murder on you. You’re the one who called Detective Malone.”

“They could think I did that to throw them off track. Frank showed up after I found the body, but he can’t vouch for me that I didn’t stash it there first,
then
act like a terrified innocent.”

“Frank, the contractor?
What was he doing there? Could he have killed Norman?”

“I doubt it. He said that he was there to water some newly planted trees. That’s credible. Besides, if he had done it, he wouldn’t have stuck around to respond to my scream.”

“Okay, scratch him. But we need to figure this out. We should be safe enough with our sleuthing inside this kitchen. I wonder if Norman was injected with the same drug as
Will?
The two killings have got to be related.”

“Maybe Mack can get that information from his ME buddy.”

“Speaking of my master-sleuth husband, we went to the final reunion luncheon today. Mack’s assignment was to chat up G.B. and Jerry. He was supposed to be subtle about it, but when I joined them, I found
them
pumping
Mack
for information about the drug that Will’s killer had used.”

“
Sounds like morbid curiosity—
right up their alley. But if they were the killers, they would know what they had used. Plus, if they were at the luncheon, they couldn’t have been out in Lincoln killing poor Norman.
Unless they hired a hit man.
Norman called me at noon and I found him soon after two. Didn’t we narrow down the suspect list for Will’s killer to Jerry and/or G.B.? But now it looks like you’re their alibi for Norman’s murder. Who else from our suspect list was at the luncheon?”

“Alyssa told me that C.C. flew back to New York Sunday morning. But that doesn’t mean that she didn’t nip out to Lincoln on her way to the airport to bump off Norman.”