Dead in the Water (Olivia Grant Mysteries Book 1) (10 page)

I had to laugh again. "You could be right. I think I heard my grandfather use it." I turned serious at once. "Edgar is a little eccentric, but he's so good he could write his own bridge book. Except I think part of his skill is inborn, something you can't teach. You either have card sense, or you don't."

"But you have good card sense."

"Not like Edgar. Anyway, why did he call?"

"I wrote it down somewhere. Something about a tournament."

"That's more than a month away, and I haven't forgotten. Anything else?"

"Solicitations for money. I thought the 'Do Not Call' list was supposed to eliminate those?"

"Charities are still allowed."

"Okay, when you get home you'll have your choice. You can give for heart disease or the local firefighters. Personally I'd go with the firemen."

"Of course you would, since you once wanted to be one."

"I think I outgrew that in seventh grade."

"And went with your second choice, became a policeman instead."

"This is costing you money. I don't believe you called just to pass the time. Your friend Edgar may be able to read cards, but I can read your mind. Is something wrong?"

"Yes and no."

"Well, that's ambiguous anyway."

"I'm fine, but Aunt Noreen isn't." I didn't know quite how to phrase the next thing I wanted to say. How does one break the news one has discovered a dead body?

"Aunt Noreen, Uncle Edward's wife, right?" I could hear him yawn again.

"Right." I blurted it out. "She's dead."

"Wait a minute, I thought Uncle Edward died."

"He did. Our parents went to his funeral."

"Three weeks ago. They had to postpone their cruise to the Panama Canal, didn't they?"

"I tried their number. I guess they're not back yet. I thought you ought to know about Noreen. Her funeral is next Tuesday." I paused. "In case you wanted to attend."

"Thanks, but no thanks. From what Dad told me, she wouldn't have been my favorite aunt. Since I didn't go to Uncle Edward's funeral, I can't see myself flying to England for hers."

Apparently Father had given a few others his opinion of Edward's wife.

"So, what's with Noreen?" Brad asked. "I thought Dad said she's a lot younger. What did she die of?"

I felt like saying, "Falling into the lily pond," but I didn't. I stuck to the bare facts.

A long pause on the other end. "You're sure you're not pulling my leg?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, you know you do have a weird sense of humor. Did you call the police?"

"Aunt Alice did. They're very thorough, but—"

"But what?"

"Well, they say they think she'd had too much to drink and accidentally fell into the pond."

"But you don't think so." How could he read my mind from all those miles away?

"No, I don't. Ever since it happened, I've had a feeling—call it intuition—she was murdered. I find it too coincidental that she died so soon after Uncle Edward. And, like Dad said, she had enough enemies to populate a small country. The longer I'm here, the more reasons I discover for their wanting to bump her off."

"So you think someone killed her? Livvie, you're a good detective, but wait until you're home. Don't interfere with the local authorities."

"You're not here. Besides, there's still the dog." I told him my theory about that too. "I'm sure he knows what happened."

He paused again before answering. "Gosh, I'd love to come over and prove you're right, but I can't right now."

"So you agree it might be murder?"

"Well, it does seem you have good reason to be suspicious."

"I think so. In fact, I'm sure I'm on the right track."

"Now, Livvie, don't get involved in police matters. If they're anything like our police, they won't like it."

"But the police think it was an accident. They're not looking for a murderer."

"And don't you be either." His voice took on a stern quality, sounding a lot like our father. "This could be dangerous. If you're right and you get too close, you could be the next victim."

"I'll be careful. I promise."

"Gee whiz," he said, using the expletive he reserves for my ears. "I've got the only sister in the world who thinks she's Philip Marlowe."

"Not Philip Marlowe," I told him, "Sherlock Holmes. I'm in England, remember?"

He laughed again. "I suppose I can't stop you."

No, he couldn't.

Not a drop of rain had fallen during the entire five days since I arrived in England. Alice proclaimed that I had brought the sunshine with me from California, but the newspapers, unaware of my presence, to say nothing of my so-called weather-altering talent, announced a drought had descended on the land. That changed on Saturday afternoon, pleasing the locals to no end.

The downpour continued all that day and all the next as if anticipating an ark to show up, and the dreary weekend dragged. Although they supposedly expected and presumably even liked lots of rain, the family members seemed out of sorts and secluded themselves in their rooms most of Saturday, which gave me no opportunity to ply them with questions. Elizabeth excused herself, saying she had lessons to prepare for the opening of the school term. Fortunately, I had always loved reading, so I took advantage of the cozy fire in the library and settled down with an old Dorothy Sayers mystery, with vague hopes reading it might inspire me in my own crime investigation.

Saturday evening after dinner Elizabeth, apparently feeling guilty for having neglected me, pulled out the Monopoly board and insisted Jason join us. In spite of the urgency I felt to get on with my search for clues, I didn't want to question more than one family member at a time, so I tried to relax and enjoy the game. At least once Jason got over his snit at my having touched the papers in his office, the three of us got along better than we had as children. No yelling, no claims someone had cheated, no throwing dice across the room.

After lunch on Sunday afternoon, I once again found myself alone on the main floor of the house, everyone else having retired to separate rooms. I suspected they took naps. So when the doorbell chimed, I went to answer it. Three women stood huddling under two large umbrellas to stay out of the rain.

The tallest, about five feet eight, wearing a Day-Glo pink raincoat, spoke first. "You're not Mrs. Klein," she accused.

"No, I'm not. Did you want to see her?" I moved aside to let the women enter, and they thoughtfully stepped onto the rug Alice had placed near the door to catch wet footprints. "I'm her niece, Olivia Grant."

"The American," the woman said, as if she'd categorized me like a variety of garden pest.

I nodded. I wondered how she came to know who I was, then came to the conclusion Noreen must have told her I'd be visiting.

"Charlene's the name." She looked fortyish, had a frizzy mop of dyed red hair that clashed with the pink raincoat, what appeared to be a waffle-deep layer of makeup on her face, and open-toed high-heeled shoes. She made quick head shakes to indicate her friends. "We didn't 'specially want to see her, except to offer our condolences. About Noreen, that is."

The other two women, seemingly about the same age, a bit shorter and wearing more conservative colors but equally as much eye shadow, smiled and nodded.

Pink Raincoat spoke for them. "We read about the accident in the newspapers. So terrible it was."

"Yes. Thank you for coming." As I didn't know what the women expected of me, I wondered if I should try to find Alice anyway, but they seemed to have decided protocol required them to spend a little time commiserating with the family of the deceased.

Next, as if they'd been there countless times before, they removed their coats and hung them on the coatrack near the door. Under hers, Charlene wore a dress of the same wild shade of pink.

I felt I had no choice but to usher them into the drawing room and play hostess. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you." Charlene wasted no time moving into the room and taking a seat in the middle of one of the sofas.

The thin, wiry-looking woman behind her spoke next, her voice high and reedy. "Vicki," she said and offered her hand.

"I'm Wanda," said the third woman, her plump body stuffed into a black dress with a too-tight belt. I shook her hand as well, and in a few minutes they joined Charlene, all three of them settling into the sofa. Silence fell.

Pieces clicked into place in my head. These must be the bridge players Alice had told me about. They didn't look too much different from some of the women who came to the Kosy Kard Klub in San Ricardo to play a few hands on a weekday.

"So nice of you to come," I said again. "Did you know Noreen for a long time?"

"Since last August bank holiday," Charlene said. "We played bridge most Wednesday afternoons. Didn't Mrs. Klein tell you?"

"We'll miss Noreen," Vicki said.

"Oh my, yes," Wanda added. "She was the one held us all together. I don't know what we'll do without her. So much fun too."

Until then I hadn't heard anyone speak of Noreen as being a "fun" person, and it suddenly occurred to me I might learn something from these women. If she had a lover, my mysterious Mister X, I surmised Noreen might possibly have told her friends about him.

"Call me Olivia." I smiled and pulled a side chair closer to the trio. "I never met Noreen myself. I came over for a visit the very day she died. I'd be grateful if you'd tell me something about her. What was she like?"

"Very friendly and outgoing she was," Vicki said.

That, too, failed to gibe with the impression I'd had so far, but it gave me an opportunity to pose another question. "Since you were her friends, I wonder if you'd be good enough to help us."

"Help?" Charlene frowned. "Help how?"

"It's about notifying Noreen's relatives and her other friends about the funeral."

"She had no living relatives. Leastways that's what she always said. As for friends, she had a few I suppose." A hint of smugness crept into her voice. "We were the closest."

"So she made few friends but fast ones," I said.

"You could say that."

"Loyal she was," said Wanda. "Generous too. Noreen never minded losing."

Charlene frowned again, and Wanda, catching her look, shifted in her chair and tried to pull her skirt further down over her elephant thighs.

I decided to get right to what I suspected lay behind Wanda's comment. "Did you play for money?"

"A bit," Charlene said, and the others took a cue from her and nodded without saying more.

"I play a little bridge myself," I told them. "It's more fun when there's something at stake, isn't it?" Since many people think so, I figured this wasn't totally a lie. Okay, "a little bridge" didn't quite fit with my being a part-time teacher, but, although I hardly ever played for money myself, I knew other people thought it made the game more interesting. Even the Kosy Kard Klub had no restrictions on its members doing so, provided the sum never exceeded one cent a point.

Wanda squirmed some more, and Vicki fiddled with her hair as if waiting for Charlene to do all the talking. However, Charlene got up, apparently preparing to put an end to their duty call.

I didn't want them to leave before I'd learned something, so I said, "You just arrived a few minutes ago."

Charlene didn't answer, and Vicki and Wanda rose from their chairs.

I got desperate. "I have an idea. Why don't we play a few hands now? Nothing else to do on a rainy afternoon, is there? And we can get better acquainted."

Charlene hesitated. "Well—"

"With a little brandy to warm us up," I added.

"Oh, do let's," Wanda urged.

They hustled right over to the bridge table in the corner, and Vicki pulled the cards out of a small drawer in the end table nearest the window. While she turned on the tall lamp in the corner dispersing some of the gloom from the cloudy day, and the others shuffled the two decks, I went to the bar and poured a small amount of brandy into four glasses.

Charlene got right down to business. "We can't stay long, so how about changing partners every four hands?" This being fairly standard practice at party bridge, I agreed.

"Three hundred points for only two games, fifty for an unfinished game." That was standard as well, and we also mentioned the conventions we played and the similarity of the British and American versions.

"Since you said you like to play for money," Charlene said, "how about making it tuppence a point?"

The Klub limited its members to less than half that amount, but, since we'd be changing partners every four hands, I doubted anyone could run up a huge score and hurt the others too much.

"Noreen liked to play for lots more," she added, "but that wouldn't be fair seeing's you're a newcomer, would it?"

"It's all right." I sat down in the vacant chair they'd left for me.

The first two rounds were dull, with no particularly interesting hands and no big swings in the scores. The women played competently I decided, although occasionally, especially when I might become the declarer, made excessively high bids as if hoping I would go down and hand the other team some penalty points. To say nothing of my money.