Mahjonged (An Alex Harris Mystery) (16 page)

“Of course not. We were playing a game, for God sakes. She laughed a lot and told us stories about living in Europe. It all sounded so wonderful. Made me long for the days right out of college.”

“Did she say anything specific,” I asked, grasping at straws.

“Like what? What could she have said that would anger anyone enough to kill her? It was just girl talk. I told everyone about my online dating experiences and she told us about her dating experiences in Europe and how she met her husband. Innocent banter, that’s all.”

I got up and thanked Liz for her time, telling her I would make some calls and get back with her on the job front. She walked me to the door.

“And Alex, just in case you’re wondering but don’t have the nerve to say it, it could have been me, trying to kill Mia and killing Penelope by mistake. After all, some people could say her accusations ruined my life.”

I just nodded and walked down the path to my car. Of course I wanted to know if she had tried to plunge a knife into Mia and got Penelope by mistake. But one thing I was sure of, if she had, she wasn’t about to admit it.

Next on my list was Jean Malansky. Jean lived closer to the beach and I turned right at the stop sign at the end of Liz’s street and headed toward the Sound.

Being near the ocean always rejuvenates me. I’m not big on going into the water, but I love being near it. All the hints of the previous days’ storms were gone and the sun shone brightly. Leaves started to turn, at least what leaves were still left on the trees, and in a week or so it would be magnificent with the maples a deep red and orange and the russet of the oaks.

Jean lived on a street of small cottages. They looked rather old and the street had once been full of summer rentals but over the last ten years, they were bought up and renovated. The little yard in front of Jean’s house looked neatly kept with what seemed like new landscaping, but the house shingles screamed out for some paint.

“I heard you drive up,” Jean called from the small porch. “It’s so quiet around here during the day I hear every little sound.”

Jean had on a pair of navy blue sweat pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt under some kind of smock splattered with paint in various colors. Her hair hung limply and I thought she could use a good cut. I kept mine short for just that reason; limp and lifeless, but with it cut short, it gave it some life. Jean struck me as someone who in the sixties probably hung out in bohemian cafés listening to some musician playing guitar and singing Joan Baez songs.

She smiled at me as I approached. “Your mother just called. She’s trying to get a group together to play pinochle tomorrow.”

“She does love her cards,” I said. I followed Jean into the house and was pleasantly surprised at the inside. The small living room was painted a very light shade of pink. I would never think to paint a living room wall pink, but it was so light and set off a beautiful selection of water colors hung on all the walls.

“These are lovely,” I said, taking in an ocean view and next to it what looked like an old brick church courtyard. “Did you do these?”

“Guilty. Do you like them?”

“Very much.” I took a step over to another wall and this one had two small paintings, the first of a pastoral setting. Very calming. Just what appeared to be a park bench with a young woman looking out onto an expanse of grass and wild flowers and then the next one, the same setting though it looked colder now, maybe autumn.

“It’s just a hobby. I paint places I’ve been, or sometimes I’ll paint from a post card someone sends me. I’m working on one now in the back room. I’m trying my hand at a still life. Flowers. I’m not very good.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I said. I looked around and didn’t notice any pictures of family or friends in festive frames anywhere. My mother did say Jean was a loner.

Jean took off the smock and tossed it on the kitchen counter. “Time for a break. Would you care for some coffee?”

“Tea, if it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

She handed me a mug of tea and then we settled onto a comfortable but worn sofa.

“I’ll get right to the point, Jean. I’m trying to figure out what happened on Friday night.”

“The police came by and asked me the same thing. From what they said, I get the feeling they don’t have anything yet.”

“No, not much, I’m afraid. I think they’re concentrating on Bert.”

“Ah, the man who broke in,” Jean said. “Well, he did break in. I guess it’s a good place to start.”

“I think the trouble is we can’t really be sure Penelope was the intended victim. With the storm and the lights out, who knows if she got killed by accident? Did you know her before Friday evening?”

Jean leaned forward and put her cup on the coffee table. “I only knew two people. Your mother and Dorothy. Both from the seniors group. Your mother is trying to get me out more. She says I keep to myself too much.”

“Yes, my mom has a tendency to do that. She means well.”

“Oh, I’m not upset by it. As a matter of fact I had a lovely time until…well, it was good for me to get out and I love mahjong. I hope you’ll ask me again if you organize another game.”

“Of course. Jean, can you think of any reason why anyone would kill Penelope, assuming of course she was the intended victim? Did she say anything that seemed to upset someone?”

Jean fingered the edge of a needlepoint pillow, beautifully done by her hand I felt sure, and looked at me. “I’m not much of a talker in situations like that. I mean, large gatherings, but I sat at the same table with her once or twice throughout the evening.”

“Anything you remember?”

“Not really. She talked a lot about her life in Europe. It sounded like she had a good life there. And she talked about her husband,” Jean said in a swooning voice, “and all the fun they had. I believe she met him where she worked, if I remember correctly. A law office, I believe.”

“Everyone says the same thing. Penelope loved Europe.”

“Yes, it sounded like she did very much,” Jean agreed.

“Then why did Penelope and Pieter move here?”

“Maybe for their jobs?” Jean suggested.

“Hmmm,” I mused.

“Her husband is dead, correct?” Jean asked. “I guess we’ll never know then why they moved here.”

I finished my tea and set the cup down as a thought formed. I still had Els and Wilhelm left and with any luck after having found that picture, Els would be more than willing to spill the dirt about her stepmother.

“I don’t want to talk about her anymore,” Els said to me from the other side of the coffee table where she sat on the sofa, arms folded across her chest and a pout on her face. “I can’t believe she betrayed Poppy.”

“In all fairness, Els, we don’t know she did. The picture is obviously old and maybe it was a relationship she had before she met your father.”

Els kept her arms crossed but there was an almost indiscernible relaxing of the shoulders. “Perhaps.”

“Penelope and your father seemed very happy together from what everyone says. Did you ever see anything to the contrary?” I asked, hoping Els would open up.

“No. They did seem happy.”

“I know when someone has a happy relationship they tend to want to have another one when they lose a spouse. Do you know if Penelope had started dating again?” I asked Els, hoping this would invite a dialogue on Penelope’s current love interests.

Els looked horrified at the suggestion. “Penelope dating so soon after Poppy died? No, she wouldn’t.”

“Well, maybe she needed to, I mean for financial reasons,” I pressed.

“Poppy left Pen very well off. I know. We went to the lawyer’s office with her as I mentioned before. Pen would have no reason to marry again. Or date. Especially so soon.”

That seemed to put the kibosh on Penelope not having enough money to pay Bert, but whether or not Els wanted to admit it, Penelope was definitely looking for a new man in her life.

I wasn’t getting anywhere on this subject, so I moved on to another. “One thing I don’t understand, though, is why did they move back here? You and your brother were in Holland, and they had good jobs, didn’t they?”

“Very good jobs. Poppy was a partner at the law firm. But then he decided they would move here and transferred to the New York office. They lived in the city for a while and then bought this house. Poppy wanted to have more room and a bigger garden for when Wilhelm and I came for the summers.”

“Where’s Wilhelm?” I asked.

“Right here. Zwartwites?” Wilhelm stood behind me with his hand thrust around my side holding a handful of black and white licorice.

“Geez! You scared me half to death.” What the heck was up with this guy? I was getting tired of his stealth-like appearance out of nowhere and what was with all the candy?

Els sighed and shook her head. “Wilhelm.”

I looked back at Els. “So there was no specific reason why they left Holland?” I pressed, sure I was on to something.

Wilhelm plopped himself down next to his sister. “I think they moved because of my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes, our mother wanted to get back with our father and he wanted none of it. But mother is persistent, and she kept driving by the house Poppy lived in with Pen.”

“Wilhelm,” Els said, “you make it sound as if mother stalked them. She didn’t,” Els said, directing this last bit to me. “She just felt like they should try again.”

“Oh, Els, it was more than that. Mother was positively hell bent on getting Poppy back. She called his house all the time and she even confronted Pen a few times. It got rather ugly so they moved.”

“Did your mother come to your father’s funeral,” I asked.

Els took one of the candies from her brother and popped it in her mouth. “She wanted to, but Pen wouldn’t have it. Pen never forgave mother for all the stuff she did before they finally moved.”

“That must have upset your mother quite a bit,” I said.

“She was livid. She said she was going to come anyway but in the end just Els and I came.”

“What did your mother say when you told her Penelope died?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

“She doesn’t know,” Els said.

“You didn’t tell her? Why not?” Maybe this whole thing with Penelope was worse than I imagined.

“We can’t find her,” Wilhelm said. “We went round to her house before we left, but she wasn’t there. The neighbor said she left a few days before.”

“We’ve tried calling her several times since we got here, but she hasn’t contacted us yet.” Els twisted a strand of her hair. “We’re beginning to worry.”

“Does she do this a lot? Take off without telling you?”

“Not that we know of. Neither of us lives with her, but we usually all have dinner a couple times a month,” Els said.

“If we don’t hear from her soon, I think we will have to contact the police in Amsterdam, or maybe we’ll go home and come back later to clear all this up,” Wilhelm said, looking around the room at boxes piled all over.

I told Els to call me when she felt up to packing again and I would come and help. I left the twins standing in the doorway worried about their mother, and I had to wonder where the first Mrs. Radamaker was and what she was up to?

Whenever I get my hair cut, I always expect my life to somehow change. Like the next morning I’ll wake up looking like a supermodel or I’ll have magically lost those pesky extra pounds I wanted to lose, something. But it never happens.

That was kind of how I felt now. Like I did all this work, interviewing all these people and…nothing. No clue magically dropped into my lap and no one stood up and said,
yes, I did it. Arrest me now
.

I talked with Connie, Liz, Jean, and the twins, Els and Wilhelm, and other than finding out both Liz and Jean possessed artistic flair and black and white licorice was called Zwartwites in Dutch, I hadn’t learned anything that would help me solve this murder. Or had I?

I pulled up in front of my office just as Millie and her boyfriend, Ruben, the undertaker, pulled away. I needed to stop thinking of him in such morbid terms. He was a funeral director and a lovely man, and he and Millie seemed very happy. I wondered if his mortuary would handle Penelope’s burial and thought I might suggest it to Els and Wilhelm in case they didn’t have other arrangements.

I walked up to the front door and hoped Sam was still here because I picked up three sandwiches and, as hungry as I felt, I knew I couldn’t eat all three.

“I hope that bag has lunch,” my sister said the minute I walked in. “I don’t feel like having to go get something, what with doing all the work around here and all.”

“It does. Follow me,” I said ignoring her barb. She loved having me run around like some amateur sleuth from a cozy mystery and filling her in on the town gossip.

We settled into my office after getting plates from the small kitchen and each taking a part of each of the sandwiches. I was famished and didn’t say anything until I had finished a piece.

“Bad morning?”

“Just disappointing.” I managed to say around a chunk of pastrami on rye.

“Was Mia calmer today?” my sister asked as she reached for the last third of the salami and cheese.

I shook my head. “I haven’t spoken to her yet. She works so maybe I can stop off tonight on my way home. Or I should say, on my way back to mom and dad’s.”

“Speaking of which, any news from John?”

“He called a little while ago. Bad connection again, but he said they delivered the wrong part to the mechanic so they had to reorder it. They checked into a hotel. Camping seems to have lost its glamour plus the cold is settling in.”

“Did you tell him anything?” Sam asked, as she sat back in the chair finally taking a breath from her gluttonous intake of food.

“You mean something like I’m trying to solve another murder? No. No, I did not. No need to worry him. Which reminds me, I need to check with Detective Maroni on what he’s found out so far and I can use John’s extended leave as an excuse to call him.”