Moving Is Murder (25 page)

Thistlewait poked his finger in the soil, then in the liquid in the saucer. He smelled his fingers and wiped
them on a paper towel. “I’ll take this in and have it checked, but my guess is antifreeze.”

“Antifreeze?”

“It’s colorless, odorless, and can be lethal. Dogs or cats that lick it off garage floors die all the time.”

I felt lightheaded. Poison in the water cup that I chugged water from every day. Someone had gotten in my house, searched it, and poisoned the water I drank.

Why had I given a key to Abby and Jeff? I mentally kicked myself. Why didn’t I hide a key somewhere around the outside of the house in case I locked myself out? How could Jeff do something like this? I realized Thistlewait was speaking, but I couldn’t take in what he was saying.

I held Livvy propped up on my shoulder. The dizziness went away, but a wave of revulsion swept through me and I thought for a second I might throw up. Whatever I ate, Livvy ate, too. I passed everything on to her through the breast milk. She could have been poisoned, too. I gritted my teeth together and waited for the queasy sensation to pass. I rubbed my cheek against Livvy’s fuzzy head. We were okay, nothing had happened. But whoever was doing these things was evil and ruthless.

Even though I vowed not to share anything I’d found with Thistlewait, I couldn’t avoid it. Things were too serious. I put Livvy in the swing and went back to the kitchen table where he was seated. Then I told him everything: the loose porch railing and lug nuts, Friona’s jobs, Gwen’s parking lot meeting with a man, Nick’s doctor visits and threats, how I thought our house had been searched. Everything.

When I finished he leaned back. “You’ve managed to gather a lot of info on your own.”

“Well, I interact with these people every day. I’m bound to see and hear things that you won’t.”

Thistlewait nodded, then ran his hands down over his face. “I’m sure if I tell you to stay out of this you’ll follow my directions,” he said in a resigned tone.

“I’m involved. Someone got in my house and tried to poison me! How can I stay out of it? I’m in danger in my car, even at home. I don’t think hiding out will make it go away.”

Thistlewait didn’t reply, just sighed and picked up the ivy. “I’ll send someone out to fingerprint your house and your car.”

As he walked down the porch he gave the railing an experimental tug. It held fast. Mitch was handy around the house. Thistlewait said, “Thanks for the call, Mrs. Avery.” His manner was different. Instead of his usual faintly amused tone, his voice was serious.

Three ways to “recycle” your stuff:

• Ticket stubs—line several in a row and laminate for bookmarks.
  
• Pictures—cut out, place magnets on the back, and use as refrigerator magnets.
  
• Clothing—give outdated items to kids for a dress-up box.
  

Making the simple complicated is commonplace;
making the complicated simple, awesomely
simple, that’s creativity.
—Charles Mingus

T
he danger in my life seemed to be escalating and I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Thistle wait. So far my discoveries had been more accidental than purposeful. It was time to focus and do some serious digging.

I called Abby. When her answering machine came on, I was relieved. It gave me more time to figure out a way to subtly ask what Jeff was doing yesterday afternoon.

I still had unanswered questions about Gwen, too. Next I drove to Tate’s. On my way in from the parking lot, I spotted Alice. I had a feeling she might know something about Gwen. They worked together and the other saleslady said they were from the same place. And she had mentioned a scandal. If I could get Alice to talk to
me maybe I could find out something more about Gwen.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? You sold me a dress a few weeks ago.”

Alice placed her tuna sandwich on the square of plastic wrap and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “The black sheath. I remember you.” She gestured to the empty chair at her table. I sat down and placed Livvy’s car seat on the ground between the chairs. We were on the terrace of Hailey’s Deli, a chic little spot for expensive lunches just down from Tate’s. It was warm in the sun and sheltered from the wind.

Alice leaned down and peered under the sun hood covering the upper half of the car seat. “She’s beautiful.” My opinion of Alice went up a few notches. One, she could recognize the visual clue of a baby wearing a white hat with pink flowers as a girl. And, two, she realized Livvy was beautiful.

“Have you worn the dress yet?” She picked up her paper coffee cup and leaned back in her chair.

“Yes. I love it. I didn’t want to talk to you about that.” I considered how much to tell Alice. “My husband is in the same squadron as Gwen’s husband out at Greenly. Several people from the squadron live in my neighborhood, up on Black Rock Hill. We’ve had some breakins. And I’ve received a threatening phone call. I think Gwen may be involved.”

Alice sipped her coffee and looked at me for a moment with her eyes squinting against the sun. She crossed one arm over her stomach, propped her elbow on her hand, and let her coffee waver in the air as she studied me. It was the pose of movie stars in black-and-white films, except those women usually held a cigarette instead of a caramel macchiato. “I think there’s
quite a bit you’re not telling me, but I will tell you what I know about Gwen. It isn’t much.”

“You’re both from Illinois?” I asked to get the ball rolling.

“Springfield. Her mother’s picture was in the paper often, in the society pages. Hosting gala dinners and fund-raisers, that sort of thing. I didn’t move in those same circles, but I’m very active with the cancer society, so I knew her mother slightly from dealing with her for our fund-raisers. If I remember right, her mother was a widow, something about her father dying in a car accident, I think, when Gwen was young. After Gwen married, I saw her pictures occasionally in the paper, but she wasn’t involved in charities like her mother. And it took me quite a while to realize it was her husband next to her in the photos. She kept her own last name, so I didn’t know Gwen was married until someone on the Winter Ball Committee told me.”

She sipped her coffee and glanced down at the car seat. “I don’t remember seeing a birth announcement for her daughter, but I don’t usually read those.” I wondered if Alice was a thorough reader of the newspaper with a good memory or if she was lonely and kept tabs on slight acquaintances through grainy photos and lived vicariously through those photos.

Today Alice wore a serviceable navy pantsuit and a plain white shell. Basic, generic clothing that would last forever, but frumpy. Her clothes combined with her gray bob with Mamie Eisenhower bangs made me think she led a rather isolated life, but her relaxed pose with the coffee and the way she’d critically studied me before saying anything suggested Alice wasn’t quite a gullible, lonely old lady.

Alice set her coffee down and smoothed the plastic
wrap around her sandwich. She seemed reluctant to go on. “There was some sort of scandal? Her divorce?” I ventured.

Alice made an “um-hum” noise for agreement. “Her husband left her. He was in medical school and most people spoke highly of him. I didn’t know him. There had been”—Alice tossed her hand out and looked disapproving—“whispers, rumors, whatever you would call them that she drove him away from her. I found that hard to believe. After all, they had a new baby. A few months later Gwen moved to California. Her mother said Gwen moved there to reconcile with her husband. But it must not have worked out because she showed up here at Tate’s two years later on her own.”

“Why did you move here?”

“To be closer to my grandkids after my husband died.”

I murmured my sympathies and my thoughts of her as a lonely old lady evaporated when she pulled out her photos to show off her four grandchildren. After admiring the children and asking ages, I returned to Gwen. “Was she surprised to see you?”

Alice laughed briefly. “We both started work the same day at Tate’s. The HR people said we should have a lot in common since we were both from Springfield. She didn’t know me, but I knew her. I mentioned her mother and the cancer society and she got quiet. Later that day, she told me she didn’t want to talk about Springfield and she would appreciate it if I didn’t mention it again. As far as I know, she’s never been back there. In fact, she hardly ever takes off work.”

“Does she bring any of her friends by work?” When Alice shook her head no, I pressed, “Any men friends?”

“No.” Alice looked faintly amused.

“Does she ever talk about her husband’s work, the squadron, or the people in her neighborhood?”

“No. She’s strictly business.”

“She never mentioned a friend named Cass?”

“No.” Alice’s reply was quick. She didn’t even have to think about it.

“Has she ever been involved in anything …” I searched for an innocuous way to say illegal since the stolen DVD player had turned up in her trash can, “unethical?” I finished.

“Let me explain.” Alice looked a little exasperated. “Gwen Givens is focused on getting to the top. She doesn’t distract herself with friends or gossip at work. I’ve never seen her do anything questionable, but with her drive to succeed …” Alice’s voice trailed off. “You just never know how far some people will go.”

I didn’t know if I should believe Alice. After all, Gwen was being promoted above Alice. Maybe Alice was just jealous. “That’s a big promotion Gwen is getting,” I said.

“She can have it and the headaches that go with it. All I want is a nice little job for some extra income. I’ve got plenty to do.”

Alice stood up and tossed her sandwich and empty cup in the trash. “That’s all I can tell you.” I thanked her for talking to me. Gwen kept her business and personal life separate and I’d already offended Jill, her best friend, by asking questions about Gwen. Where else could I find out more about Gwen?

I checked my watch and jumped up. I had ten minutes to get back to Cass’s house to meet the people for the Goodwill pickup.

I hurtled into the Vincents’ driveway at two o’clock on the dot. No van in sight. I took a deep breath, pulled
Livvy’s car seat out, and strolled to the door. Inside I transferred Livvy to the BabyBjörn front carrier and made a quick circuit of the house. I’d finished packing Cass’s things on Sunday afternoon and I didn’t see anything I’d missed. My work combined with the cleaning crew’s labor had left the house presentable. I might have to call the cleaning crew back to my house to clean up the fine fingerprint powder that now coated every surface.

I checked my watch. Ten after. They were late. I sat down on the couch, but Livvy was getting sleepy and she sensed the interruption in the constant motion that was lulling her to sleep. She huffed and geared up for a crying jag.

“Okay, shush. I’ll walk.” I bouncy-walked through the house and Livvy sighed contentedly before drifting into deep REM. I knew better than to sit down again.

I wandered over to the snack bar and restacked the mail into neater piles. There was something I was supposed to do. I’d had a plan that morning, but my dead ivy had blown my concentration. I dug my to-do list out of my purse. Of course, Isabelle Coombes. I bobbed down the hall to the master bedroom. Livvy snored, music to my ears. Bundles of paper drifted over the desk, like a mini–mountain range. I hadn’t tried to organize the papers, I’d just stacked them.

I flipped through the first stack and found home loan paperwork, bills, and receipts. It reminded me of the box I needed to return to Brent and Diana. I worked my way through the other mounds. Eventually, I came across Cass’s notes about the Wal-Mart protest. She’d found a watershed regulation that prevented streams from being piped or rerouted when an area was developed. Wal-Mart had applied for a variance to
reroute the stream that flowed smack-dab through their proposed site, but Cass’s protests and media campaign had an impact. Wal-Mart opted for a less troublesome plot of land.

I turned the last paper over and frowned. Nothing about Isabelle’s valley. I pressed the button on the dented hard drive. Nothing happened. If Cass’s notes were in there, it would take someone more expert than me to retrieve them.

I bounced back to the front door, peered out the window. Still no truck. I called Goodwill and the woman who tracked down the schedule said, “You’re scheduled for between two and three.”

Okay. What now? At least fifteen more minutes to burn. I decided to clean out my purse. It wasn’t like I could sit down and relax. I tossed a bunch of old receipts, then pulled out the spiral notebook, Cass’s notebook with her Squadron Spotlight column notes. I’d forgotten about it until now.

Jeff, Nick, and Brent wouldn’t be listed, but Diana and Gwen were. Diana’s entry read:

I assumed the last line was Cass’s private summary that didn’t make it into the final version.

I paged through the notebook, amazed at the amount of info Cass found and recorded about the spouses. She had an insight into personalities and was sometimes just plain funny. Like Jill’s summary: “Practical, great organizer. So good, in fact, she never leaves anything for herself to do!”

I found Gwen’s entry.