For Every Evil (27 page)

“How should I know?” barked Max.

Ivy took hold of his hand. “If Hale wasn’t responsible, then who was?”

Sophie shook her head. “It would have to be someone with access to your house.”

“Like?”

“Well, I don’t want to accuse anyone, but what about Charles Squire?”

Ivy’s expression turned hard. “That little rodent used to come and go in here as if he owned the place. Well, he doesn’t! It’s the one thing he couldn’t get his sticky little fingers on. I’m evicting him
and
IAI from the gate house at the end of the month.”

So much for a synopsis of her feelings toward Charles, thought Sophie. “Do you know where Hale was storing the shopping bag before he gave it to Betty?”

Ivy shrugged. “No idea. I never saw it.”

“This is pointless,” said Max. “You’re both ignoring the obvious. Betty must simply turn this evidence over to the police and let them take it from there. Don’t you see, Ivy? This could be the lever we’ve been looking for to break that will!”

Their eyes locked. When Ivy returned her gaze to Sophie, something had changed. Ivy now seemed ill at ease. She fidgeted with her watch and the buttons on her blouse. Max had silenced her. Why? “I think Max’s right,” said Ivy. “Let’s let the police handle it. I just want this to be over.”

“That’s the point,” said Sophie. “I think we’re all overlooking something vitally important. It may
not
be over. Your life may still be in danger. There were
three
methods of murder found in that box, Ivy. Only two attempts were made on your life. If Hale wasn’t responsible, then that means another attempt may be made.”

A muscle in Ivy’s face twitched.

Max seemed annoyed that his opinion was being challenged. “But if it was Hale, as I maintain this evidence
proves
beyond the shadow of a doubt, then you have nothing to worry about. Besides, I’m not going to let anyone poison you.” His disgust at such an idea bordered on the heroic.

“I don’t like any of this,” mumbled Ivy.

“Well, like it or not,” said Max coldly, “those are the cards we’ve been dealt and we have to play them.”

It felt almost as if he were blaming her for something. There were emotions at work here Sophie knew nothing about. Max was being entirely too controlling, and Ivy just seemed lost.

“Has that woman informed the police about what she found?” asked Max.

“I don’t believe so.”

“Then it’s fortunate you invited her to dinner tomorrow night,” he said, turning again to Ivy. “We’ll have to insist she do so. Immediately.”

Ivy nodded.

“Well,” said Sophie, realizing the conversation was going nowhere — and wasn’t going to go anywhere with Max calling all the shots — “I suppose I better hit the road. That magazine I work for doesn’t run itself.”

“Of course,” said Ivy. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“It was nice meeting you,” said Sophie, standing and smiting down at Max. It was an effort.

“Same here.” He didn’t stand. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other again.”

Right. You in a minivan and me in a cement truck. “I’m sure we will.” She followed Ivy out of the room.

As they got to the door, Ivy turned and whispered, “Max doesn’t understand my … fears sometimes. I know he’s trying to be helpful, but I
am
concerned about the arsenic, Sophie. Very concerned.”

The vehemence in her voice caught Sophie off-guard. She decided to ask a leading question. “Do you think Hale tried to murder you?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Why?”

“Oh, that’s simple. He had someone else. You didn’t have to live with him, Sophie, but he was cruel. And he was never home. He was gone almost every weekend and lots of evenings each week. I never knew where to reach him. I’m sure he had more than one woman on the side, but he must have found somebody he wanted to marry. He knew I’d fight him on the divorce. Tie him up for years.”

“I’m … not so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

Sophie didn’t know if she could tell Ivy about what she’d found at Betty’s house. Yet, as his wife, didn’t she have a right to know? “Hale spent most of his free time at Betty Malmquist’s home. He’d rented a room there.”

“He what?”

“He used the space as a studio — for his painting. Betty has hundreds of canvases he’s worked on over the years. I’m sure she’d let you see them.”

Ivy was almost speechless. “I don’t believe you!”

“Go see for yourself.” She watched as the ramifications of her words slowly sunk in. “If he didn’t have another woman, Ivy, why would he want you out of the way so
badly
that he’d try to murder you?”

“He
was
sleeping around. I know he was! He hated me! He knew I saw right through him — saw him for the phony he was.”

“Ivy,” called Max from the other room, “is that woman gone yet?”

“Yes,” she shouted back. “She’s just leaving.” She held the door open.

“Are you all right?” asked Sophie. Ivy looked terrible. Her face had lost all its color and her hands were shaking.

“I’m fine. Just fine. Give my love to Bram.”

“I will.”

“And Sophie? Forget what I said about the arsenic. It’s not important. Just chalk it up to the stress I’ve been under lately. Everything’s under control now. I’ve got nothing to worry about. Nothing in the world.”

“Right,” said Sophie as the door was slammed in her face.

“Arsenic,” whispered Sophie as she bent over the reference book on her desk. It was late. Nearly nine-thirty. Most everyone had left the magazine offices hours ago. Around six, she’d phoned Bram and told him she needed to work late. He’d be on his own for dinner. She suggested he finish the cold pizza in the fridge, or, if he was feeling particularly brave, he could always whip up another batch of hummus. After sputtering for a good minute and a half about how his culinary talents were not being appreciated, he said he had to go. The beef Wellington he’d prepared for dinner was done and he had to take it out of the oven before it burned. He announced that he was going to invite their neighbor, the one who looked like Ingrid Bergman, to eat with him. After all, she’d been a costar of his years ago. They had a lot of catching up to do. After wishing her a positively
swell
evening, he hung up.

A little after nine, she finally put the project she’d been working on all afternoon to bed. As she stepped into the meeting room, the only place where the coffeepot was still on, she picked up the book she’d asked her secretary to find for her earlier in the day.
Classic Poisons,
by Arnold Pirn Monroe. Pouring herself another cup of sludge, she returned to her desk. Arsenic was so important it had its own chapter. She sipped as she read:

Arsenic is a metal which cannot be broken down further into other chemicals. Since it is found in the manufacture of many common products, it is one of the most accessible toxins.

Wonderful, thought Sophie. It was so nice to know all the potential poisoners out there had such an easy time of it. She continued:

Down through history, arsenic has been the most popular of poisons. Traces of the element are found in all human tissues. In its most common form,
arsenic tri-oxide,
it appears as a white powder. Although generally swallowed, arsenic can also be inhaled as a dust or a gas.

She turned the page, hoping for a few more specifics. She pressed her finger against the type and slid her hand down until she came to the heading
Symptoms.

The classic symptoms of arsenic poisoning are generally seen to be gastric in nature, although arsenic can also be carcinogenic. Misdiagnosis as gastroenteritis is common. After long periods of exposure, an individual can develop a rash, called exfoliative dermatitis. Often, in cases of immediate death, only an inflamed stomach can be determined. If death is delayed, arsenic will appear in the kidneys and the liver. Death occurs generally after bouts of dizziness, headaches, vomiting, diarrhea, and an inability to void. There may even be periods of paralysis. Convulsions and coma generally come toward the end, with death a result of circulatory failure.

Under the heading
Treatment,
Sophie read:

The first measure a physician will generally take is to pump the stomach and give dimercaprol for several days. In addition, penicillamine is often prescribed until the arsenic level in the urine goes down. Shock, dehydration, pulmonary edema, and liver damage must also be addressed. However, if caught in time, many victims do survive.

Sophie shivered as she thought of someone being subjected to such a death. She leaned back wearily in her chair and took off her reading glasses. It had been a long day. She couldn’t help but worry about Ivy. What if another attempt was being planned on her life? Max insisted she had nothing to fear, but how could he be so sure? The more Sophie thought about the conversation she’d had with the two of them, the more she realized Ivy was in trouble. Max was a stifling presence. If only she could get Ivy alone, she might find some real answers — not the polite playacting she’d been subjected to earlier in the day.

As she sat sipping her coffee, thinking how much Ivy needed a friend right now, the name Louie Sigerson popped into her head. Louie was one of Ivy’s best friends. He’d been at the party the night Hale died. He had even stayed at the Micklenberg mansion for a few days after the death of his wife. Sophie wondered what he had to say about all of this.

Even though it was late, she felt a telephone call was worth a try. If he was in bed, she’d be suitably apologetic and attempt to set up a time to see him tomorrow. But, with any luck at all, he might still be up. Perhaps he’d even see her tonight. She grabbed the phone book and began the search for his number.

“When you called,” said Louie, nodding to a stack of papers and law books on his desk, “I was trying to read through Hale’s will. Ivy got me a copy. I’m hoping there’s something we can do about breaking it” His eyes fell to the glass of brandy in his hand. “I feel partially responsible for the trouble she’s having.”

“Why?” asked Sophie. She was seated in an ancient leather chair in Louie’s study. Unfortunately, upon arriving, she’d found not only the house, but Louie himself, in a rather acute state of disrepair. She’d followed him into the kitchen to help make a pot of tea and was surprised to find the sink and counters littered with dirty dishes and half-eaten meals. The chaos was everywhere. Bags of garbage were piled haphazardly in the back hall. As Louie sat and talked to her now, unshaven, his hair uncombed, she noticed the bathrobe he wore was badly in need of washing. And, as much as she hated to admit it, he seemed like a man who had had entirely too much to drink.

“Because,” he said, taking a sip from his glass, “I was the one who helped draw up a prenuptial agreement between them. It separated their assets in case of divorce. Unfortunately, that precedent will make breaking this will difficult I should have done something about that prenup years ago. I just wasn’t thinking.”

Sophie didn’t feel much like drinking the tea. Normally she wasn’t all that fastidious, but this place was such a pit, not even a simple cup of Earl Grey appealed. She felt terribly sorry for Louie, for what he must be going through after the death of his wife, but she also thought it best to limit the conversation to Ivy tonight. She set her cup down on the coffee table, next to a bag of pretzels. “Look, Louie, we know each other only socially, but I’ve always been aware that you and Ivy were close.”

He nodded, putting a hand over his stomach. He seemed to be in some pain. From the looks of his refrigerator, it was probably food poisoning.

“I hope you won’t think I’m prying,” continued Sophie, “but I went to see her this morning hoping she could clear up a few things for me. When I left, I had more questions than when I arrived.”

“Questions about what?” He reached for a pretzel.

“Well, for one thing, are she and Max Steinhardt … well, I mean, are they — ?”

“Having an affair?” He smiled at her discomfort. “I suppose I’m guilty of being kind of nosy myself. Yes, I believe they are. I think they’ve been involved for some months.”

“Did Hale know?”

“I’m afraid so. Why do you ask?”

“Were you aware of the two attempts made on Ivy’s life?”

Louie nodded. “I was with her both times.”

“Do you think it’s possible Hale had anything to do with them?”

His expression turned dark. “I’m almost sure of it. He wanted out of that marriage, Sophie. I heard him say so myself.”

“But that’s no reason to kill her.”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. But he was furious. I think he wanted to get back at her because she’d found someone else. Maybe he just wanted to scare her. He was doing a pretty good job of that, if you ask me. The night he took those shots at her, the main house got a strange phone call. I answered it. It was a kid’s voice repeating that nursery rhyme: ‘For every evil under the sun, there is a remedy or there is none.’ “