Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) (13 page)

I made my exit as Adele was parking in the circular driveway behind Marcie's SUV. She thrust one hefty hip against her car door to slam it shut. Both arms were weighed down with bags of food from the supermarket. She looked at me, and I couldn’t make out if she was squinting because of the sun or unhappy to see me at her daughter’s home. It must have been the first, because she gave me a big smile as she approached.

“Lexie, how nice of you to visit Paulette! I hate leaving her alone at a time like this." She frowned as she shook her head. “I called Rosie and Ruth but neither of them was home, and Marcie was still at school.”

She’s not a child, I felt like saying. Instead, I settled for, “Marcie’s with her now.”

I glanced at Adele’s packages. “Like me to ring the doorbell for you?”

Adele shook her head. “Don’t bother them. I have the key." She placed the bags on the ground to rummage through her pocketbook.

“Good-bye, Adele.”

I couldn’t move because Adele had placed a heavy hand on my arm. In a whisper, she asked, “How did Paulette seem to you?”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Seem?" I remembered the sandwich I’d brought her. “Hungry.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance. “Don’t be dense! I mean, was she agitated? In pain?”

“No." I thought back to our conversation. “We talked about the books we’ll be discussing at our next book club meeting.”

“Paulette is looking forward to it." She eyed me suspiciously. “You’re not holding back on me?”

“Of course I’m not!” I exclaimed, wondering what this was all about. “Paulette’s fine.”

“She didn’t mention...” Adele swallowed. “Doing away with herself?”

“Certainly not! Right now she and Marcie are discussing furniture.”

“Thank God. The doctor told me she’d snap out of that black mood, that we shouldn’t worry she’ll do anything foolish. But I can’t help it. She’s such a delicate soul.”

I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist the opening. “We talked a bit about Sylvia and Gerda. The girls seemed to think someone was angry enough at Sylvia to want to kill her, though they wouldn’t say who.”

Adele’s lips pressed together like a closely-sewn seam. “Is that so?  And you allowed this depressing type of conversation, knowing my daughter's recovering from a miscarriage!”

I drove home, thinking of all the great comebacks I might have snapped at Adele.  Something about that woman put my back up. Probably the way she coddled her daughter, making the rest of us think we had to treat her with kid gloves, as well. Still, right now Adele had reason to be concerned. Paulette was recovering from an emotional trauma and deserved special consideration, at least until she was back on her feet.

I pulled into the cool garage. A wave of tranquility descended on me when I entered Sylvia’s bright and airy house. Puss meowed as he wove around my legs. I fed him then called Rosie.

“How was the funeral?”

“And how are you this afternoon?” Rosie drawled. “I’m glad you’re speaking to me again.”

“How did you know I wasn’t?”

“A best friend knows these things.”

I laughed self-consciously. “I was annoyed with you for approving of Anne and Lowell's affair. He
is
married to Paulette."

“Poor thing,” Rosie said. “I should pay her a visit.”

“I just came from seeing her.”

My tone of voice told Rosie what the visit had been like. “And now you know firsthand what a royal pain she is.”

“She is, but that doesn’t condone what Lowell and Anne are doing.”

“I saw Anne in the gym early this morning,” Rosie said. “She said he plans to tell Paulette he’s leaving her just as soon as she’s feeling better.”

When I made no comment, she said, “Gerda’s funeral was as you’d expect.  Mostly Old Cadfield people showed up, but not as many as at Sylvia’s. Ruth and Sam came. Adele and Bob didn’t. Your friend, Detective Donovan made an appearance.”

My heart started racing. “Why do you call him my friend?”

“I suppose because he asked about you.”

“That’s nice,” I said sarcastically, but I found myself smiling. “I wonder if he was checking to see who wore a guilty expression.”

“Could be. At any rate, he’s coming over later to interview me.”

That wasn't a pang of jealousy I just felt.
To change the subject, I asked, “Why does Marcie hate Anne?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“Marcie stopped by Paulette’s. She said something about putting Anne at the top of her ‘to kill’ list but wouldn’t explain why." An awful thought occurred to me. “Don’t tell me Anne had an affair with her husband, too.”

“Don’t be silly. Anne’s not like that. She and Lowell go back a long way.”

“Then why does Marcie hate her? I liked Anne from the moment you introduced us. But if I knew she had all this baggage, I’d never have made her my lawyer.”

Rosie snorted. “
Your
lawyer? So far, all she’s done for you is draw up a will. And let me tell you what happened between her and Marcie before you worry about Anne’s so-called baggage.”

“I’m listening.”

“Marcie and Scott were having trouble getting pregnant. They eventually decided to adopt a baby from overseas. Not through the usual route, mind you, but via someone Scott knew at the hospital. They needed a lawyer to handle the adoption from this end." Rosie drew a deep breath and went on. “Anne claims she explained to the Beaumonts that she had no experience in this area of law, but they insisted they wanted someone they knew. Someone they could trust. So Anne stuck with it. But after a few exchanges with the infant’s mother’s lawyer, she felt there was something fishy about the entire transaction. She explained this to Marcie and Scott, but they’d fallen in love with the idea of this baby, this adoption, and told Anne she was being paranoid.

“Anne sent the baby’s mother the agreed-upon deposit. A week later—just days before they were to fly to get the baby—her lawyer demanded the entire amount because the mother had some afterbirth problem. It was all a ploy, and Anne didn’t want to send the money. Marcie and Scott insisted that she send it. Anne said she would, but she decided to wait one day beyond the agreed date of transaction, until she could confer with an expert in this type of adoption. An hour after the money was supposed to have gone through, the mother’s lawyer contacted Anne to say the deal was off. Marcie was heartbroken.”

“And she blames Anne for screwing up the works,” I finished. “Why don’t they try adopting through legitimate channels?”

“They probably will. But they lost a good deal of money on this last venture. That down payment was for a hefty amount. They tried to force Anne to make good on it, but she investigated further and discovered the whole set up was a sham.”

“If that’s the case, why do Marcie and Scott still blame Anne?”

“Human nature,” Rosie said. “And speaking of human nature, how are things with you and Allistair?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“There’s too much going on for me to get excited over a man.”

“Are you seeing him again?”

“We’re going to the beach one of these days.”

“Allistair’s a keeper, Lexie. You could have a wonderful life together.”

“I thought I’d hold off asking him to marry me till next week.”

We both laughed.

“One more thing,” I said. “Paulette and Marcie had a veiled conversation in front of me. They know someone who didn’t like Sylvia and hated her enough to want her dead, but wouldn’t say who. I wondered if they were talking about Ruth. Allistair told me what she’d done while co-chairing an event with Sylvia.”

Rosie made a disparaging sound. “That happened years ago.”

“Allistair didn’t know whether or not Sylvia sent a letter to the fundraising committee to keep Ruth from being a co-chair this year.”

“Wow! You’re doing a great job unearthing all the OC dirt,” Rosie said, sounding annoyed.

“Why are you angry? I’m not after gossip. I want to find out who killed Sylvia.”

“I can’t see little Ruth Blessing poisoning Sylvia, then bopping Gerda over the head with a vase.”

I sighed. “Neither can I. But I can’t imagine anyone else we know killing them, either.”

Rosie grunted in agreement.

“At least your cousin Adele isn’t a suspect. She wasn’t at your house the night Sylvia was poisoned.”

Silence.

“Rosie?”

“Actually, she was,” Rosie said. “Hal told me the next day. She’d stopped by while we were in our meeting. For a couple of eggs, of all things. Adele was baking the following morning and only remembered she had no eggs when she drove by our house.”

“Oh.”

“My cousin Adele’s not my favorite person, but she’s no murderer." She cleared her throat. “Besides, the only time she was furious with Sylvia was years ago, when Sylvia voted in favor of creating a park on the parcel of land next to Adele and Bob’s house. Sylvia’s was the deciding vote, and the park went through. ”

“Did you tell Detective Donovan this?”

“Of course not." Rosie paused. “And don’t you go running over to share it with him, either."

T
he next few days passed without any major upheavals. I swam or cycled in the morning, and spent the afternoons writing and preparing for the next book club meeting. Late Thursday afternoon I went over to Gerda’s house to pay a shiva call. I extended my sympathy to her sons, whom I’d never met before. They knew I’d found their mother and wanted to hear the details of how she’d died. I told them honestly that I thought it had happened very quickly. I poured myself a cup of coffee and joined the six relatives seated around the cheerless living room. After a half hour of small talk I left.

Detective Donovan called a few hours later to ask if he could stop by that evening. He rang the doorbell as I was finishing my dinner. He looked exhausted, and he needed a shave.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked as he followed me into the kitchen.

“Sounds good to me." He sank into a chair and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

“How about something to eat? I’ve leftover meatloaf. I can heat it up in the microwave.”

“No need to heat it up,” he said.

I served meatloaf and salad, and watched him devour it as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Then he asked to use the bathroom.

His being here felt both comfortable and exciting.
Cut it out! This is not a social visit. Donovan’s here to question you about two murders.
Still, he accepted my offer of a bowl of ice cream, and waited till we’d finished eating to ask his questions.

He took me through the afternoon I’d found Gerda dead in her front hall.  Afterward, he asked if I remembered hearing the car driving away.

“I was passing through the wooded area between her house and Sylvia’s and didn’t see the car. But it sounded very close. It could have been the murderer escaping.”

“It probably was the murderer escaping, according to the ME’s time of death. You were lucky he or she didn’t see you.”

“You’re right." I smiled at him. “Does this mean you no longer regard me as a suspect?”

Donovan grimaced as he shook his head. “Dr. Driscoll, when did I ever consider you a suspect?”

He asked me how everything appeared when I’d walked into Gerda’s hall. “Regarding the car. Would you recognize the sound of the motor?”

I thought about that for a minute. “Sorry, no. I’m not a car person. They all pretty much sound the same to me.”

Donovan got to his feet. “Thanks for your cooperation, Dr. Driscoll. We’ll get the bastard who did these murders.”

“But you don’t have anything yet,” I said as we walked to the front door.

“We’ll have something soon. I promise.”

Donovan’s smile transformed his face. The man was downright handsome! “Thanks for dinner. That was the best meal I’ve had in ages.”

I treated myself to another dish of ice cream and thought about Detective Brian Donovan. When he wasn’t playing the heavy, he was one appealing male.
And so is Allistair,
I reminded myself.

Allistair was single, sexy, and nice. Donovan was sexy and—what else did I know about him? He could be married or take a different woman to bed every week, for all I knew.

Who was to say he was interested in me?

Allistair, on the other hand, was definitely interested in me. Which was probably why I backed off every time we met. He was eligible. A good guy.

He was available.

I could have a good life with Allistair. He had money. We’d travel. I’d have my hair styled at a good salon. I’d join a gym like Rosie.

It was my move. I’d had enough of interesting men. Unreliable men, to be more accurate. It was time I settled down with someone dependable. With a man who was steady, on an even keel. I promised myself I’d call Allistair later and set up a date for the beach.

That settled, I reviewed what I knew and didn’t know about the two murders. Brian Donovan had tried to get me to identify the sound of the murderer’s car. Most people in Old Cadfield drove a Mercedes or a BMW. I could barely tell the difference between the appearance of the two cars, let alone identify the different sounds of their motors.

I was a people-oriented individual and had to work from that perspective. I didn’t agree with Rosie that no one who’d been at her house the night Sylvia died could be the murderer.
All
of them were suspects. I mulled over everything I knew about each person, hoping to find a clue that would point to the murderer’s identity.

At least two people—Gerda and Ruth—had a grudge against Sylvia. Maybe there were others. Did Gerda’s murder mean she hadn’t killed Sylvia? Or had the murderer killed Gerda because she'd witnessed him or her pour poison into Sylvia’s iced tea?

No, that didn’t make sense. If Gerda had witnessed the murderer doctoring Sylvia’s drink, surely she would have told the police what she’d seen.

Unless she'd tried her hand at blackmail.

I sighed. The book club members appeared to be friends and good neighbors, but hostilities infected their relationships like a poisonous underground spring.

*

I
emailed Allistair, informing him I’d be hosting the next meeting of the mystery book club on Wednesday evening. After I signed my name I added that I’d love to go to the beach with him. Then I called the other members to remind them of our meeting. Though Rosie and Ginger must have contacted them by now, I’d learned early in life that the personal touch makes a difference. I invited everyone to a pre-meeting dinner. I hoped that during the course of everyday conversation, the murderer would say something incriminating and give him or herself away.