Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) (10 page)

I read carefully, making notations as I went along. I came up for air almost an hour later and closed the computer in disgust. I’d managed to get through a mere twenty pages, but that was enough to tell me my novel was a dud. The writing was stiff, the plot contrived. Where had I gotten the idea for this story, anyway?

Still, there were elements that could be saved. I liked my protagonist, I decided as I combed my hair and put on lipstick. She was plucky and strong, despite the many problems in her life. Maybe I was going about it all wrong. I felt a wave of excitement as I decided to rewrite the story as a dark comedy.

That matter resolved, I turned my mind to the here and now, which I’d been avoiding.

What did Gerda want to tell me?

Was she about to confess?

I shivered, wondering if she’d murdered Sylvia and now planned to do away with me because I’d been asking too many questions. Then I told myself not to be silly. Gerda wouldn’t invite me to her home to kill me. For all she knew, I could have told any number of people she’d asked me over. And she’d looked frightened rather than menacing.

Still, to be on the safe side I speed-dialed Rosie’s number on my cell phone. It rang and rang. Her voice mail picked up.

“Rosie, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know I’m going over to Gerda’s now. She ran into me in town and said she had to tell me something. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.”

So I hope
. I locked the front door and headed for the well-worn shortcut between the two houses. I heard the sound of a car driving off. It sounded close enough to have just left Gerda’s driveway.

G
erda’s house was a traditional brick colonial about three times larger than the home I’d grown up in. The lawn and shrubs looked scraggly and unattended, visible proof of her serious money problems.

Her old BMW was parked in the semi-circular driveway. The front door stood ajar. I lifted the gold-tone knocker and knocked twice. “Gerda!”

I waited a minute, then rang the bell. I heard it ring through the house. Still no sign of Gerda.

I pushed the door open. Gerda was lying in the hall, her mouth agape.  She must have suffered a heart attack or something. I knelt beside her, about to check her pulse, when I caught sight of the overturned vase beside the entrance to the living room. Which was when I noticed the bloody gash on the side of her head. I leaped to my feet and ran back to Sylvia’s house.

My fingers were trembling so badly, I had difficulty unlocking the front door. I stumbled into the kitchen, got Donovan’s card, and dialed. His answer phone switched on. I hung up and dialed 911. The dispatcher said someone would be there immediately.

I realized I was shivering. I put on a jacket and went into the living room to wait for the police to arrive.

Minutes later, three police cars pulled up, their sirens making an awful racket.  Two officers came inside to talk to me. I answered the questions of the officer in charge—yes, I’d gone over to Gerda’s and found her lying dead on the floor. No, I didn’t touch anything except the doorknob. More sirens sounded, and I realized other cars were at Gerda’s house. Donovan showed up and I had the strange sensation of being glad to see him. A familiar face in this weird, surreal situation.

Donovan spoke to the officers, then sat me down in the den and asked me the same questions the other officer had asked me. Only he prodded deeper. “Why did you go to see Mrs. Stein?”

“I met her while I was shopping in town,” I explained. “She wanted to talk to me.”

“About what?”

`I shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I asked, but she said we needed to talk in private.”

He shot me a look of disbelief. “Sounds very mysterious. She didn’t say one word regarding what she wanted to talk about?”

I shook my head.

“How convenient,” he muttered.

“I’m telling the truth!" I exclaimed, knowing how false it sounded. “Gerda told me to take the path through the trees from here to her house." Then I remembered. “I heard a car driving off as I walked through. And the door was open." I shuddered. “Oh my God! It had just happened! If I’d been there any sooner, I might have scared him off.”

“Or taken a blow to the head, too.”

“He used a vase. I saw it on the floor.”

“Did you touch it?”

I shook my head. Tears flowed from my eyes. Embarrassed, I covered my face in my hands. “Why am I crying? I hardly knew Gerda. I didn’t even like her.”

I felt an avuncular pat on my back. “Hey, give yourself a break, Ms. Driscoll. You came upon a dead body. That’s trauma enough, even for a cop.”

I sniffed, oddly comforted by his matter-of-fact manner. “I suppose that means Gerda didn’t kill Sylvia.”

“It means nothing of the kind. But I’m willing to bet the two murders are connected.”

One of the officers came in looking for Donovan. He stepped out of the den and they talked, too low for me to make out what they were saying. He came back to tell me they were leaving. I nodded.

“Keep your doors and windows locked,” were his parting words. “We’ll talk again soon.”

I called Rosie to tell her what had happened. She invited me to dinner.

“Thanks. What time?”

“Hal should be home at seven.”

“Okay. See you then.”

“You’re not walking over!”

“I thought I’d drive.”

“Todd’s coming, too. I’ll have him pick you up.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then decided not to. “All right.”

“Don’t step out of the house until you see his car in the driveway. It’s a red Mazda.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“No need for sarcasm. You’re welcome to stay the night.”

“Thanks, I’ll be fine,” I said, but wondered if I'd be able to fall asleep.

“Poor Gerda,” Rosie said. “Who could have wanted her dead?”

Dinner was a solemn affair. The five of us—Rosie, Hal, Ginger, Todd, and I said little except for directives like “please pass the iced tea," and “yes, I’d like more bean salad.”

“Maybe we should postpone the barbecue on Monday,” Ginger said. “I don’t mind.”

Rosie and Hal turned to one another. The glances they exchanged covered paragraphs. An entire discussion. Finally, Rosie addressed the matter.

“Honey, it’s kind of you to offer, but Dad and I intend to host your graduation party as planned. Gerda’s sons live out of town. She probably won’t be buried until Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“That makes two murders,” Todd said. “I wonder who killed Gerda. And why.”

Hal pursed his lips. “I can’t imagine. Unless she saw the murderer doctoring Sylvia’s iced tea.”

Rosie sent her husband a baleful look. “That’s absurd. She would have told the police if she had.”

“Unless she tried her hand at blackmail,” I chimed in.

Rosie glared at me then back at Hal. “Gerda was just murdered! I wish you both would stop trying to blacken her name.”

I shrugged. “Why else would the murderer go after Gerda?”

“Makes sense to me,” Hal said.

I sent him a grateful smile. “Did you know Gerda had lost most of her money?” I asked.

“How on earth do you know that, Lexie?” Rosie asked.

“Gossip.”

“I heard it too, Mom,” Ginger said.

Rosie nodded. “Gerda was at her wits’ end. She told me she had to sell her house." She turned to me. “What did she want to talk to you about?”

“I’ve no idea. And now I’ll never find out.”

Ginger giggled. “Maybe she heard you were an instant heiress and wanted to borrow money.”

“I doubt it,” I said.

“It’s a possibility.” Hal reached out to clasp Rosie’s hand. “Gerda asked me to advance her a substantial amount of money. I told her I couldn’t.”

Tension crackled in the silence. Finally, Rosie asked, “When did this happen?”

“The afternoon she had lunch with us,” Hal answered.

Rosie’s eyes fluttered as she thought back to the day I’d come to stay with them. Clearly, she was pissed, but was she angry at Gerda for hitting up Hal for a loan or at Hal for not mentioning it till now?

She stood. “Coffee, anyone?”

We had coffee and dessert in silence, then Ginger and Todd disappeared into the den. I helped Rosie clear the table. When she’d finished stacking the dishwasher, I said I was going home.

“Hal will drive you,” she said in her micro-managing tone.

“All right,” I said, relieved she was no longer angry.

Rosie laughed. “I expected you to put up more of a fight.”

“No fight. Two murders are scary, especially when one’s next door.”

Hal came into the kitchen, and I hugged Rosie goodbye. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome. Can you make two batches of brownies for the party?”

I grinned. “Absolutely. With chocolate chips and walnuts.”

Rosie grinned back at me. “By the way, I invited Allistair. He said he’d be happy to come.”

“Oh." I wasn’t sure how I felt about this.

Rosie gave me a penetrating look. “He’s a nice man. No hang-ups. Normal. Try normal for once.”

When I got home, I checked Sylvia’s phone for messages.

“Hello, Lexie. This is Allistair. Would you be so kind as to call if you get home before eleven?”

I hesitated before dialing his number. Allistair
was
a nice man. A sexy, intelligent man. But was I ready for a relationship, especially with someone who lived around the corner?

He answered the phone on the third ring. “Hello, Lexie. I heard what happened to poor Gerda, and that you were the one who found her. You must have been terribly upset.”

Was I?
“It was quite a shock. When the police left, I went over to Rosie and Hal’s.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what prompted you to visit Gerda?”

“I ran into her in town this afternoon. She insisted we talk in private.”

“About what?”

When I didn’t answer right away, he apologized. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve no idea what Gerda had in mind. She refused to discuss it then and there. I thought it might have had something to do with Sylvia’s murder. Hal said he wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted to borrow money. She’d asked him and he turned her down.”

“So did I,” Allistair said sadly, “and now I wish I’d advanced her the loan. Maybe Gerda would still be alive if I had.”

“You needn’t feel guilty. I can’t imagine her money problems were the reason someone bashed her over the head.”

There was a pause, then Allistair asked, “Would you like me to come over? I could bring a quart of chocolate fudge ice cream or a good chilled chardonnay—take your pick.”

I smiled. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had made me that great an offer. “The ice cream sounds good. I never say no to a second dessert.”

Allistair laughed. “Ice cream it is! Be over in ten.”

We spent a quiet evening sitting in the den eating ice cream and talking. I told Allistair about my visit to Sylvia’s lawyer. He asked which books we’d be discussing at the next book club meeting.

“
Murder on the Orient Express
and
And Then There Were None."

“I adore Agatha Christie. I read every one of her novels when I was a lad.”

I smiled. “They hold up surprisingly well.”

“Do these murders make you think you’re in a Christie novel?” Allistair asked.

I shivered. “Kind of. Funny you should ask. Ginger made a similar comment just before Sylvia took ill.”

We watched the Eleven O'clock News. When the program ended, he leaned over to take me in his arms. Our kiss went on and on. I was startled at how strongly I responded, then told myself it was probably because I hadn’t been this close to a man in nearly a year.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all evening,” he murmured.

“Me, too,” I said. We kissed again.

Half an hour later, I walked him to the door.

“I’ll see you at the Gordons’ on Monday," he said. "I’d offer to walk over there with you, but I’ve a few things to take care of beforehand and I might be late.”

“See you then.” I closed the door. I was relieved he hadn’t tried to turn Ginger’s graduation party into a date for everyone in Old Cadfield to notice. And a tiny bit disappointed that he hadn’t.

T
he party was in full swing when I arrived. I’d meant to get there at the start of things, but had left brownie baking for the last minute. I had to run to the store for chocolate chips as well as a graduation card to accompany Ginger’s gift.

I followed the thumping music around to the Gordons’ patio, passing several guests of various ages milling around a table laden with food and drinks. I chatted briefly with Tara and Gillian, Rosie and Hal’s older daughters, then went inside to drop off the brownies and Ginger’s present.

Hal stood at the open refrigerator, mumbling to himself as he searched for some item Rosie must have asked him to bring outside. He hugged me, and I handed him the plate filled with brownies. He pulled up the plastic wrap and stuffed one into his mouth. “Awesome as ever,” he declared when he could speak.

“What were you looking for?" I asked.

“Relish. Rosie said the caterers didn’t bring enough.”

I scanned the items on the refrigerator shelves, and handed Hal the bottle.

“I owe you one.” He waved the bottle in the air as he headed outside.

“Where’s the stockpile of gifts?” I asked.

“The den.”

I left the silver bracelet I’d bought for Ginger on the mountain of beautifully wrapped presents and rejoined the outdoor festivities. The din of conversing voices competed with the pounding beat. Rosie, dressed in a colorful caftan and wine glass in hand, sailed over to greet me.

“It’s like Grand Central Station,” I said, gaping at the crowd of guests sitting at tables and milling about the Gordons’ expansive backyard. “How many people did you invite?”

Rosie shrugged. “Forty? Maybe fifty." She laughed. “We lost count." She put an arm around my waist and walked me to the bar. “Grab a drink and be social." She winked. “Allistair should be here soon.”

I asked the young barman for a glass of white wine, snagged a few hors d’oeuvres from the circulating trays, then wandered among the guests. Ginger left her group of friends to give me a hug. I waved to Anne, chatting with Marcie and Scott Beaumont. They waved back. Ruth and her husband, Sam, stood talking to Adele and Bob. Though I didn’t recognize the majority of the guests, it struck me that all of the book club members were present except for Sylvia and Gerda. How odd, I thought. The murderer was back at the scene of the first crime.