Dying for a Change (24 page)

“
Of course.” Her smile was the kind that makes a mother’s heart turn cold. “We went to a party at one of Neil’s friend’s house. Lots of people said their folks knew you when you lived here before. I even met one girl who claims she’s a third cousin or something. Is that possible?”

“
Entirely possible. I should have brought you here more often when you were little. Is Neil, ah, nice?”

“
Neil’s great,” wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but before I could ask a more pointed question Susannah was off on another track. “I don’t think Dad liked small towns very much, but I do. This one, anyway.” She switched again. “Did you know Neil’s going to vet school at Davis next year? He’s already been admitted and everything. He’s going to be an equine vet.” She smiled at me serenely. “That’s one who takes care of horses.”

“
I know what equine means. That’s not what I want to know about him.”

“
Quit worrying, Mom.” This time the grin was wide. “He’s a gentleman. Too bad, huh.”

“
No.” I struggled to disentangle myself from the quilt. Susannah got up, freeing me, and headed out of the room.

“
Where are you going?”

“
To shower. Neil’s picking me up. We’re going to look at a horse.”

“
You don’t know anything about horses. You don’t even like them.”

“
I do now.” Her grin was wicked. “I thought you might like to fix us both some breakfast. I’ve sure missed your pancakes.”

I’d walked right into that one. I pulled my old robe around me and descended the stairs.

It didn’t take Susannah long. She had barely entered the kitchen, poured into tight jeans topped with her baggiest sweatshirt, when there was a loud knock on the back door. A booted, cowboy-hatted Neil appeared.

“
I just ate,” he responded to my invitation of eggs, bacon, pancakes, juice and milk, “but, maybe a little.”

He hung his hat on the chair he pulled out and stared admiringly at Susannah, who smiled demurely back at him over her coffee cup. There was more to that smile than excitement over visiting a horse. I jabbed at the bacon. Let her grow up, I silently lectured myself. As if I had a choice, I snarled back.

A little breakfast turned into a lot, but they finally finished and left, talking about all matters equine.

I sighed, looked at the remaining pancake batter, and allowed myself to be tempted. I poured the last of the coffee and opened the Sunday paper.

The rest of the morning passed quickly and peacefully. I caught myself with barely enough time to make my appointment with Alice.

She was glad to see me and, as usual, chattered away in several different directions at once. Finally she said, “Don’t you want to see the house, dear? It’s been a long time since you were here last.”

She was right. Her daughter, Corinne, and I had been friends of a sort through high school, but I had been an infrequent visitor even then. It was time for a review.

Touring that house was a true treat. It was older than mine, or Aunt Mary’s, and larger. The entry seemed designed to set off the beautiful stairway with its intricately carved newel posts. The formal living room opened off to the right, french doors separating it from the dining room. There was a library, without many books, and a solarium with wicker furniture and a jungle of plants. No modern updates in the kitchen, and the traditional damp, steep steps led into the basement. I didn’t investigate. A small, somewhat dark bathroom downstairs, a large, light one, with an antique clawfoot tub, served all three upstairs bedrooms. All in all, a charming old home for someone with a taste for history. I wondered how many buyers we would be able to tempt.

The tour ended in the kitchen where I spread out my materials on the round oak table. The most important thing was to establish a sales price, and to show Alice how much money she would realize from the sale. A lot of questions needed to be asked, and I needed her attention. Not an easy task. I was fairly sure the house had no mortgage, but I needed to find out.

“
Oh no, dear. We haven’t had a mortgage for years. Simon didn’t believe in them, you know. I won’t put one on my house in Florida, either. But I want something smaller there, a condo maybe. I think I’ll try golf, everyone says it’s so healthy. Have you ever played? Is it hard? It doesn’t look hard, just hitting that little ball into a cup, then riding around in that darling cart, and the grass is always so nice...”

After several such side trips, I arrived at a sales price I thought sounded pretty reasonable. Alice agreed, I pulled the listing form from the file, and out came the paper I had slipped on in the office.

“
What’s this, dear?” Alice picked it up. “Why, there’s my name. And that nice Mr. Cameron, who bought my shares.”

“
When did you meet him?” I was concentrating on filling in the form correctly, and only gave Alice half my attention.

“
Oh, I’ve never met him, but I’m sure he’s nice. Sharon said he was. He gave me such a generous offer for my shares. You know, dear, Simon always said we’d never make a dime on that investment, but we did very well.”

“
Oh? How long ago did you sell them? Sign here, Alice.” I handed her the pen and indicated the correct line.

“
Not quite a year ago.” Alice handed me back the pen. “Right after Simon’s death, but before that new store, what’s its name? Stop N Shop made an offer on the land. That reminds me. Would you do me a favor?”

“
Sure.” I’d reached for the form, but didn’t pull it toward me. Something was knocking at the back of my brain, trying to get through, something that said ‘pay attention’.

“
Well, Dottie sent me the income tax forms for the partnership. We get them every year, Simon took care of all that, but I have an accountant now, anyway, I can’t send that form in. I don’t own those shares any more. I get something, but Mr. Cameron needs this one. I called Dottie and asked her for Mr. Cameron’s address, or perhaps his phone number, but she didn’t know it. She said Sharon had all the information and--are you all right, dear?”

I knew I was staring at her with my mouth open. I shut it quickly. “I’m fine. Did Dottie say anything else?”

“
Only that Sharon had taken over all the book work for the partnership, and Dottie didn’t have anything to do with it anymore. She thought that was strange, so did Hank Sawyer, but Sharon was in charge. She’s so efficient. I still don’t know what to do with that form. Will you take it back to Sharon, dear?”

There was the link. I knew it, and I knew what it meant, but I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t. I had to get away and think.

“
It’s so sweet of you, dear. I hope it’s no trouble.” Alice prattled on. “But then, you and Sharon do work in the same office. She’d turned out to be such a lovely girl, and she was such a wild child, so messy and willful. After she ran off with that man to Seattle, well, it almost broke her father’s heart, but then she came back, right before he died. She’s turned out to be quite smart, and so neat! I’ve never seen anyone dress so well, and so meticulously. I do think that’s important, don’t you, dear…”

I could hear Alice, but I wasn’t listening. I was concentrating on what she had just said. Clothes. The last puzzle piece slid quietly into place, and I could no longer doubt. The horror of what I was thinking must have been expressed on my face, for Alice broke off to say, “Are you feeling well, dear? Perhaps a glass of water...”

She started to get up, but I hurriedly told her, “No, please. I’m fine.”

I stuffed everything in my briefcase, snapped it shut, and pushed back my chair. I had to get out of there, go home, think this through, and call Dan.

“
Wait, dear.” Alice pushed back her own chair. “I have that tax thing right here—somewhere--I put it...” She rummaged through the top drawer of an old hutch, opened the cupboard door below, pulled out a handful of papers, selected one, and gave it to me. Schedule K-1 (Form 1120S) Shareholder’s Share of Income, Credits, Deductions,
Etc.
was printed across the top. I had no idea what that form meant to the IRS, but I had a pretty good idea how it related to murder.

It was awhile before I could escape. I had to reassure Alice several more times that I would indeed deliver the partnership form to Sharon and tell her Alice needed a revised one, that she didn’t need to paint the fence before we put up the “For Sale” sign, and that, yes, she probably would need a new wardrobe for Florida. I left her trying to decide if it was too soon to start cleaning out the attic and headed slowly through the empty streets for home.

We had it all wrong, I thought as I drove. All of us had it wrong. It wasn’t Tom. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t Ray, worried about his license. It was Stop N Shop, but not Benjamin. Sharon. All the time it was Sharon.

I drove into my driveway in a daze, walked into the kitchen, threw my coat over a chair, my briefcase on the table, and kept on going into the living room where I dropped into my chair. I had to think this through before I called anyone. Before I called Dan.

First, the dress. Last Sunday Sharon had worn a green wool dress on her way to list the Pierponts’ house, but she had on a navy blue suit when she arrived at the Pierponts’. Mrs. Pierpont had mentioned her blue shoes, and that’s how she was dressed when she arrived at my house. So, she’d left the office in green, arrived at her listing, late, in blue. Why would she change clothes? Because she had blood on the other ones? And, why was she late? She’d left the office around two, but hadn’t arrived at the Pierponts’ until four. I knew exactly what time the rain had started. I’d been caught in it, and Mrs. Pierpont had said Sharon came in the middle of the downpour. Then, Mr. Marburger’d said Stop N Shop had been working with Sharon for two years. It was about that time Sharon had put together the partnership, but she hadn’t mentioned that store to anyone until a few months ago, months after some of the original partners had been bought out. Who were these new partners? Why had Hank wanted their names, and why wouldn’t Sharon give Dottie any information about them? Somehow, Sharon was cheating her old friends through that partnership. I didn’t understand quite how, but I knew it. Wait! The night Dottie was killed, Sharon saw Tom go into the AM PM. What was she doing on the streets that late at night? Shooting Dottie? It seemed only too possible.

I found I was shaking. All the little pieces fall into place. I didn’t have all of them, but enough to know I was right. I had to get to a phone.

The impersonal voice on the other end informed me Dan wasn’t in, and she didn’t know when he would return. No, she didn’t know where he was. Yes, she would have him call me, and, yes, she understood it was important.

Now what? I let my hand rest on the silent phone. Do I wait? Do I call someone else? Aunt Mary? No, I need to talk to Dan first.

Restlessly, I checked my watch, leafed through the magazines on the coffee table, threw them all down, picked up my book and stared at the cover without seeing it. Automatically, I reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. Our local station was announcing a newsbreak, advising us to stand by, and suddenly there was Dan, surrounded by reporters. I recognized the San Luis Obispo County Court House behind him. It was hard to make out what he was saying through the babble of reporters, but they fell silent as he started to read a statement, and now it was all too clear. They had arrested Tom.

“
No,” I shouted at the TV. “You’ve got it all wrong.” I watched, helplessly, wondering how soon Dan would start the thirty-minute drive back to Santa Louisa. Should I call the police station again, or wait? Should I call the TV station? I stared at the TV, which had returned to its old movie, trying to decide, when the doorbell rang. Dan already? I whirled around. Impossible, but I rushed to answer it just the same.

“
Aren’t you going to invite me in, Ellen?” Sharon brushed past me and walked into the living room, paused to survey the bookcases before she turned.

“
Aren’t you going to close the door, Ellen? It’s chilly outside.”

Numbly, I obeyed. The whole world seemed to be moving in slow motion. Sharon’s huge shoulder bag sank slowly down on the arm of the sofa; her coat gently unwound itself and floated down to join it. Each footstep back into my living room seemed to take an eternity and my brain registered nothing. This blissful state of shock didn’t last long enough, and thoughts began to tumble over themselves. Why was Sharon here? Did she know I suspected her? How could she know? What should I do? Should I tell her about Tom? Yes, that’s what I’d do.

“
Did you hear about Tom?” I edged my way around the side of the sofa toward the dining room.

“
Tom?” She took her hand off her bag and looked at me thoughtfully. “No, what about him?”

“
He’s been arrested. I saw it on television.” I took another step closer to the dining room.

“
Arrested. Hum. That makes things a little easier. Poor Tom. He never was too bright, and Nicole is a featherhead. But they've proved quite useful. Where are you going, Ellen? Surely you aren’t trying to avoid my company.” This last statement came as I took several more steps toward the door.

“
Of course not.” I was starting to think again I didn’t know what was going on but alarm bells were ringing. I needed to get to the kitchen and. Hopefully, to the back door. “But you’re right. It’s chilly. I’ll just go get us some firewood. How about some coffee? Only take me a minute.” I turned to make a dash for the door.

“
Don’t, Ellen. It’s really not a good idea. Stay here with me.”