Death by Engagement (6 page)

“Sorry
won’t do any good.” The young blonde woman crept up next to her mother,
speaking in an echo. “Nothing will do any good.”

“This
is Deidre, Shari’s twin sister,” Edward introduced her.

“Why
exactly did Edward hire you?” Marla asked Cindy, her voice becoming throaty.
“It’s ridiculous to think it was foul play. There’s no one down here who had
anything against Shari. No one anywhere.”

Deidre
scraped her throat slightly.

“Do
you agree with that, Deidre?” Edward stepped in.

“There
are always people who secretly hold onto grudges,” Deidre answered hesitantly.
“Of course Shari had a ton of friends, but who knows what they were really
thinking?”

Marla
didn’t like that remark. “Your father is convinced that someone murdered your
sister.” She turned to Deidre forcefully. “That’s what we’re talking about.
Murder, not just having negative feelings about someone now and then. Do you
understand?”

Deidre
ran her hand through her long, tangled hair, trying to straighten it out.

 “Of
course I understand,” she whispered. “I understand more than you ever imagine,
Mother.”

Cindy
saw the definite resemblance between Deidre and Shari, but also differences.
Deidre had oval gray eyes that seemed sad and shifty. Cindy remembered Shari’s
eyes as being sparkling blue and lively.

Cindy
approached Deidre gently. “Do you agree with your father, Deidre?” Cindy asked.
“Nobody would know Shari’s life better than you, her very own twin sister.”

 “My
father and I don’t agree on most things.” Deidre seemed dazed. “Whatever I say,
he disagrees.”

“Do
you feel Shari could have committed suicide?” Cindy asked softly.

“I
have no idea,” Deidre responded, hesitantly. “I never imagined it would get this
far.”

“What
would get this far?” Cindy was interested.

“Suicide
is getting this far,” Marla interrupted. “No one could ever imagine a loved one
could do something like that.”

“Shari
got very sad at times,” Deidre suddenly began speaking. “She couldn’t help it.
It was who she was and we were all used to it.”

“Did
you get sad, too?” Cindy asked Deidre quickly.

“Not
like Shari did,” said Deidre. “And I never really understood why she felt so
bad, either. All the boys really liked her, she had all the dates, I didn’t
have any. She was the one with the good grades and I had to stay up all night
studying. I used to look at her and think to myself, what have you got to be so
sad about, tell me!“

“Did
you ask her that?” Cindy was quick on the draw.

“Once
or twice I did ask,” said Deidre, “but she didn’t like it. She looked at me
strange and wouldn’t say.”

“She
didn’t know herself,” Marla interrupted. “Shari suffered from bouts of
depression all her life. It was basically a medical condition.”

“And
Deidre didn’t have it?” Cindy was somehow fascinated that twins could be so
different.

“No,
Deidre never did.” Edward stepped forward then. “Even though Shari and Deidre
look similar, they’re not identical twins. Depression runs in my side of the
family, not on Marla’s. I believe Deidre got more of Marla’s genes. The two of
them have a more similar nature.”

Marla
made a sour face. “Edward has a strange answer for everything,” she murmured.

“Do
you also suffer from depression?” Cindy asked Edward then.

“Not
me,” he answered in a forthright manner, “but my sister Clara does.”

“My
father suffers from paranoia though.” Deidre practically smiled. “He suspects
everything and everyone, all the time.”

“Shari’s
condition was treated all through her life,” Marla interrupted, speaking as if
she were defending her honor. “She saw a psychiatrist regularly and was on
medication. There was absolutely no sign of things worsening. In fact, we were
all delighted when she got engaged.”

“Especially
to Doug,” Deidre chimed in. “My mother wanted Shari to marry Doug for a very
long time.”

“Why?”
asked Cindy.

Marla
didn’t appreciate the question. “Why not?” she quipped. “Take a look for
yourself. He’s a fine young man, successful, from a solid, established family.
Wouldn’t any mother want that for her daughter? Doug and Shari dated for years,
all through college. He was a good choice, a well thought out decision. “

Cindy
noticed Deidre wince as her mother spoke. She could understand why. Marla made
the relationship sound so cut and dry and calculated.

Did
Shari love Doug?” Cindy suddenly asked Deidre.

A
strange frown passed over Deidre’s face, but before she could respond, Edward
burst in, answering for her.

“Of
course Shari loved Doug. Shari told me how much she loved him again and again.”

Deidre
noticeably flinched.

“Did
Shari tell you that she loved Doug, too?” Cindy asked Deidre.

Deidre
said nothing, though, just turned and walked back out toward the patio.

“This
is too much for Deidre now,” Marla interrupted, approaching Cindy. “And from my
point of view there’s no reason to take this investigation one step further,
not even for one moment. My husband has some idea that Shari did not die by her
own hand, but, as Deidre said, Edward always thinks the worst about everything.
By going along with this investigation, you’re just indulging him in a dark
fantasy. Edward clearly doesn’t want to accept the truth. But sooner or later,
he’ll have to, won’t he? Why prolong the agony?”

Then,
before Cindy could reply, Marla turned away to join Deidre back out on the
patio.

*

Cindy
had a few more words with Edward, promised to carry on and stay in touch, and
then left the suite. As she walked down the hallway to the elevator, for a
fleeting moment Cindy considered whether or not Marla might be right. Was she
playing along with some paranoia the husband was suffering from? Was there
really any reason to go forward with the case? Then Cindy thought of the
suicide note, written in such a graceful hand, using words Shari’s father said
were not part of her vocabulary. Cindy decided to take the note with her to the
police station, ask them to check with a professional handwriting analyst to
see if the handwriting was the same as Shari’s, and find out what else they
might have to say.

Before
going to the police station Cindy called to let them know she was on the way.
She also wanted to request a forensic graphologist to go over the suicide note
more carefully.

“You’re
stubborn as an ox, aren’t you?” Ben replied. “Okay, come on over, I’ll be here.
From where the police stand there’s nothing at all in the note that’s
suspicious. But if it will put things to rest, we’ve got a good forensic
graphologist who lives just a few blocks away. I’ll see if she’s free to come
over.”

“I
would really appreciate that,” said Cindy, relieved to get some help with this.

“Okay,
jump in a cab now and come on in,” Ben replied. “Let’s get it all done and
finished with.”

*

The
police station was located a few miles away in a long, low stucco building. As
Cindy jumped into a taxi she felt grateful that Ben had agreed to bring in the
graphologist. After all, the suicide note was the main piece of evidence they
had at the moment that Shari had taken her own life.

As
the taxi drove along Cindy felt sad not to have Mattheus with her. She loved
working with him as a team, felt more surefooted with him at her side. Cindy
thought of Mattheus out on the golf course now, as the taxi wound through
beautiful streets. It wasn’t like Mattheus to back away from something and
Cindy wondered how he really felt about her pursuing this alone.

The
moment she arrived at the station Cindy was pleased to be greeted by both Ben
and Albert, who were waiting for her up front. After the initial greeting, the
two of them led her through a cluster of long hallways, to their offices in the
rear.

“The
point of having you and the graphologist in,” Ben spoke as they walked, “is to
get done with the case as soon as possible. We don’t need rumors leaking out.
We don’t want publicity.”

Cindy
felt badly that Ben seemed more concerned with bad publicity than with what
truly happened to Shari.

Albert
seemed to pick up on how Cindy was feeling. “We get lots of suicides down here
in Aruba,” he suddenly confided, in a soft tone. “People come down to this
little piece of heaven and think they’re gonna be happy day and night. They
think that landing in paradise will take all their pain away.”

“And
it doesn’t?” Cindy tried to be lighthearted.

Albert
smiled. “When things go badly even down here, some feel even more desperate than
ever. You can’t believe how many end it all.”

“There’s
no reason to blow these suicides up into something bigger than they are,” Ben
broke in, speaking both to Albert and Cindy. “There’s no need to drag it out,
either. It’s better for the family to face the facts right away. The longer it
takes to accept what really happened, the harder it is on everyone.”

“How
can you always be sure these are suicides?” asked Cindy. “How do you know some
of these people haven’t been killed?”

“Most
of the murders down here are related to drugs, gambling debts, trafficking and
gang on gang crime down in the neighborhoods. Guests at hotels are robbed here
and there, but killed? Not often,” Albert answered, smiling at her then.

Cindy
appreciated his frank sweetness. He obviously had a good grip on what was going
on down here.

“The
people who commit suicide are usually guests at the hotels,” Albert continued.

“How
about people who’ve come down for destination weddings?” Cindy was curious.
“How common is that?”

 “If
you’re down here in love, and something goes wrong, then anything can happen,”
Albert whispered.

“It’s
enough, Albert,” Ben grunted. “Here you go on a talking jag again.”

“Just
filling the beautiful lady in,” Albert replied.

“Where’s
your partner now, anyway?” Ben turned to Cindy, rubbing his hand over his chin.

Cindy
didn’t want to tell them that Mattheus was out on the golf course alone at the
moment, while she was here.

“You
guys just got engaged yourself, didn’t you?” Ben continued. “Is this the best
way for you to spend your time, is it? Never saw a lovebird trying to solve a
murder.”

Cindy
felt struck by his comment, didn’t like it. “When is the graphologist coming to
look at the note?” She quickly changed the topic of conversation.

“She’ll
actually be here in a couple of minutes,” Ben replied. “You were in luck, she
was home when I called and able to come over right away.”

Cindy
was extremely thankful to get another pair of eyes on the case.

“Go
get Cindy some coffee.” Ben turned to Albert then. “By the time she finishes,
Margaret will walk in.”

*

 Albert
brought back a cup of coffee for Cindy loaded with sugar and way too much milk.
Fortunately, as soon as she began to drink it, Margaret walked in and Cindy put
the cup down. Margaret was an attractive Caribbean woman, about Cindy’s age,
who seemed glad to be joining them.

“Thanks
for thinking of me, Ben,” Margaret said as she sat down at the table with them.

“We
got a suicide on our hands,” Ben started immediately. “No reason so far to
suspect anything else. She left a note we want you to look over. This is Cindy
Blaine, detective on the case,” and he nodded at Cindy.

“Detective?”
Margaret seemed surprised. She had a lovely, lilting, intelligent voice.

“I
was hired by the young woman’s father,” Cindy quickly filled her in. “He
suspects foul play.”

“Oh
my,” Margaret murmured, “why?”

“‘Cause
he can’t accept that his daughter did it,” Ben interrupted, as if there were no
question about it. “Cindy happened to be at the hotel when it happened and she
happened to meet the woman who jumped, the night before. Both of them were
engaged to be married. The father found out Cindy was here and made Cindy take
the case.”

Cindy
didn’t appreciate Ben taking over and speaking for her.

“Congratulations.”
Margaret smiled warmly at Cindy.

“Thanks
very much.” Cindy liked her a great deal.

“You
know, I think I heard about you,” Margaret continued. “Don’t you have a
partner, Mattheus, and the two of you specialize in crime in the Caribbean?”

“That’s
right,” said Cindy, “CM Investigations.”

“Yes,
that’s it!” Margaret was impressed. “Well, good for you. It’s a pleasure to
meet you, it really is.”

“Okay,
enough, enough,” Ben broke in quickly, anxious to get going. “You two can go
and have coffee later and exchange notes. Now we need to go over the suicide
note.”

Cindy
took it out of the envelope and handed it to Margaret.

“Has
it been compared with other samples of her writing?” Margaret asked before she
even looked at it.

“Yes,
it was,” said Ben, “as soon as we received it. Everything matches.”

Cindy
wondered who did the comparison and how carefully it had been done, but decided
to say nothing.

“What
I’ve learned from the case so far,” Cindy spoke directly to Margaret, “was that
the young woman, Shari, suffered from depression. Her mother told me she’d been
on medication for a long time.”

“That
certainly fits with a profile of suicide.” Margaret nodded her head.

“Yes,
it can,” Cindy agreed, “and I don’t know anything much about handwriting
analysis, but what struck me when I read the note wasn’t so much the content,
but the penmanship. It’s beautifully written, the letters are so carefully
formed.”

“Indeed
they are,” Margaret agreed, holding the paper up to the light and looking at
them. Then she placed the note down on the table to analyze it more carefully.

“I
couldn’t help wonder if someone who was about to commit suicide would write a
note that looked like this,” Cindy continued. “I would imagine the words would
be scrawled over the page, show something of the despair the person was feeling.”

Margaret
looked at Cindy appreciatively. “That’s a great observation,” she commented.
“But for starters, we don’t know exactly when the note was written. She might
have written it days before she actually killed herself. She might have been
preparing for it, planning it out, or thinking about it. This smooth, even,
well-constructed hand could mean a lot of different things.”

“In
the note she says she’s in pain and can’t take it! Shouldn’t her handwriting
reflect that?” asked Cindy. “If her depression worsened, if she got sicker,
wouldn’t her handwriting show it?”

“Smart
woman, smart questions,” Margaret replied, “but let me explain a few things.
For starters, we really should take the note to a forensic handwriting lab to
determine if the sample is valid. We need to know if it’s been affected by the
external environment. If it has, it can be too unreliable to use. Then, we
compare previous samples of the person’s handwriting to see if any changes in
writing have occurred.”

“It’s
all checked out,” Ben announced formally.

Margaret
lifted her eyebrows a moment, as if wondering who it was checked by.

“What
would a change in a person’s handwriting indicate?” Cindy was fascinated.

“A
shift in the direction in which the letters are leaning, from right to left, can
indicate a shift from a gregarious person to one becoming introverted and less
trusting,” said Margaret. “Then there’s a possibility of mental illness there.”

“How
many past samples do you have of Shari’s writing?” Cindy asked Ben.

“We
have one,” he grumbled.

“Optimally,
we could use a few,” Margaret responded.

“Hold
on, please,” Ben started to say, wanting to slow things down. “This is not an
exact science, anyway, is it?”

“How
else do you see a change in what’s going on in a person through their handwriting?”
Cindy interrupted, wanting more.

Margaret
held the note and scanned it more closely. “It’s perfectly reasonable to
believe that handwriting will change according to any mental and physiological
changes in a person’s overall state,” Margaret said to Ben, offended. “Changes
in handwriting can be analyzed for how psychologically or physiologically
stable a person is.”

Cindy
wondered then if Shari had become sicker. “Tell me more,” she asked Margaret.

“A
good example is the handwriting of elderly people which reflect the shaking and
tremors they often have,” Margaret continued. “Also people with Parkinson’s
disease have a tendency to write smaller. The handwriting of schizophrenics
changes dramatically. And schizophrenics often have suicidal ideation.”

There
was nothing about Shari that had seemed schizophrenic to Cindy, but she let
Margaret go on about it.

“Common
features of the handwriting of schizophrenics are strange letter formations,
words that make no sense, writing that is totally unintelligible, or that is
impossible to decipher.” Margaret was thoroughly enjoying explaining this to
Cindy. “Their lines may run crosswise or the script becomes very large and
words become bigger as a sentence progresses. Sometimes lines or writing rises
and becomes stiff. Disorganization is another indicator. We also look for
letters and syllables being left out, slants that vary and lines that stray in
different directions.”

Ben
took a deep breath. “We appreciate the lecture, Margaret, but none of this is
seen in the particular note we’re inspecting. Shari wasn’t schizophrenic, she
was depressed. Just like a million other people.”

“Of
course, suicidal ideation is part of depression as well,” Margaret continued.

“Oh
God,” Ben moaned, not wanting to hear all these details.

“What
do you look for to determine depression intensifying?” Cindy spurred her on.

“All
kinds of things,” Margaret answered as she ran her fingers over the paper. “The
harder the person presses on the paper, the stronger emotions the person is
presumed to have. The lines usually slope downwards during depression, the
letters can grow smaller and more cramped.”

“We
see nothing of that on this note,” Ben charged in once again.

“No,
you’re right,” said Margaret, “and that is interesting in and of itself. This
note has been carefully written and planned out. The margins are perfect, the
loops are self-conscious. There’s no sign of a loss of impulse control or a
rambling mind. In fact, we see the very opposite, a longing for order and
perfection here, a person who needs to be well thought of. This note could not
have been written right before she jumped from a cliff.”

Cindy
was startled by Margaret’s emphatic statement and breathed deeply.

“Could
someone else have written it, copied her handwriting?” asked Cindy.

“Forgery
is always a possibility.” Margaret put the paper down. “If you asked me, this
certainly bears further investigation.”

This
was the last thing Ben expected. “Come on now, Margaret.” He ran his forearm
across his forehead, which was sweating.