Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) (17 page)

“Me, neither." Al rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to go on digging. Looking into each person’s background.”

“Paulette must have known about her husband’s affair with Anne.”

“Yes, but what did Paulette have against Sylvia? Or Gerda?”

“Nothing." My mind searched back. “In fact, when Sylvia took ill, Paulette wanted to help her but Rosie wouldn’t let her." My hand flew to my mouth as I remembered. “Rosie said she was giving Sylvia something to help ease her pain. Not that Rosie had anything to do with Sylvia’s death. She’s my best friend,” I finished lamely. “She’s not capable of killing anyone.”

“I drove Rosie home the night Anne died.”

I pressed my lips together, hating to say what I had to. “Of course I don’t suspect Rosie. Or Ginger, for that matter. But anyone at that meeting could have hopped into his or her car and waited for Anne to drive down the road. Even in the dark, on a road without street lamps, her red car was impossible to miss.”

“True,” Al conceded. He tilted his chair back and shot me a curious glance. “Why was Ginger so upset last week, when the conversation turned to justice and how criminals often go unpunished?”

I shrugged, feigning ignorance while my brain dashed about my head, seeking a fast comeback to dodge his question.

Al reached out to touch my arm, sending flutters throughout my body. “Can’t you tell me what happened to her?”

I gave him a half smile. “You’re too damned perceptive.”

“I have to be, if I’m going to help you find our murderer.”

Our murderer.
“Rosie swore me to secrecy, but since it happened seven years ago, I’m going to tell you and count on your discretion.”

“I won’t tell a soul.”

I lowered my voice, though there wasn’t anyone around, except for the tabby sniffing at our feet. “Ginger was fifteen, a CIT at the camp she’d been going to for several years. Anyway, she had a crush on one of the male counselors. One night she went for a walk with him in the woods. He came on strong and,” I swallowed, “she says he tried to force himself on her. She screamed and ran away. The next morning she told the head counselor what happened. The counselor gave a completely different story—that Ginger tried to kiss him, and he had to let her down gently. She had marks on her arms. Still, the head counselor said she must have misunderstood. 

“Rosie and Hal went up to the camp and insisted they fire the counselor." I grimaced, remembering the ordeal they’d gone through. “He was popular with both kids and the staff. Most of Ginger’s bunkmates turned against her. They said she was a tease, that she should have known what to expect from the way she kept coming on to the guy. He ended up leaving the camp a few days after Rosie and Hal took Ginger home.”

“No charges were brought against him?”

I shrugged. “There were no witnesses. The camp was in one state, the counselor lived in another, Ginger lived in a third. When it happened, all she wanted to do was put it behind her.”

Al slammed down his chair. “Poor kid. She seems all right now. I mean, she and Todd are dating.”

But not getting along
. “The next couple of years were difficult for the three of them. Ginger went into therapy. Rosie had to learn to butt out of Ginger’s life." I cracked a half smile. “Not to hover, as Ginger put it. The therapist told Rosie to be on hand to listen and not direct so Ginger could develop self-confidence. And Rosie had to button her lip and stop telling her how to behave, whom not to date. It was the hardest thing she ever did.”

Al smiled. “I can relate to that. When my older daughter, Tessa, went on her first date, I wanted her to leave her cell phone on with me on the other end—just in case she needed us." He laughed. “My wife talked me out of that brilliant idea.”

I pleated the tiny napkin back and forth. “I must admit, I was too busy working and studying to worry about what Jesse was getting up to. But maybe it’s different, being the mother of a son. I can’t believe how overprotective Ruth and Adele are. And their daughters are over thirty.”

Al sipped his wine. “They’re really that bad?”

“Oh, yes. Adele treats Paulette as if she were a fragile doll. Anne said she gave Paulette an exaggerated sense of her importance. And Ruth—” I laughed, remembering, “she actually asked me to postpone the book club meeting because she didn’t want her daughter to be in danger.”

“Marcie was there. So was Ruth.”

“I don’t think Marcie pays much attention to what Ruth does or doesn’t want her to do. Grown daughters make their own decisions.”

Al wrinkled his nose into a puzzled expression. “Then why do those overbearing mothers keep on trying to run their lives?”

“I suppose they can’t help themselves.”

“I suppose not,” he agreed. “Care for another round?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

W
e arrived home close to eleven o’clock. Al’s good night kiss got my hormones flowing. I was tempted to invite him in for a nightcap, but was afraid we’d end up in bed. I was attracted to this complex, loving man and wanted to hold him at arm’s length, at least for a while longer. I liked him. I appreciated his insights and observations regarding the various suspects, but I needed to take it slow. Sex changed relationships, and I wasn’t prepared to deal with all that entailed.

I fed Puss and gave him some attention, then showered and put on my nightgown. The phone rang while I was brushing my teeth. I rinsed my mouth and raced to the phone in my bedroom.

It was Jesse. “Hi, Mom. Hope I didn’t wake you." He sounded exuberant.

“You didn’t. What’s up?”

“The band’s going places! Some big shots heard us over the weekend, and they’re signing us up for some gigs. They liked this song I wrote. They might want to record it.”

“Terrific! You never mentioned writing a song.”

“Yeah, well, we all write songs occasionally.”

“Jesse, I’m delighted with your news." I paused, afraid to ask. “Are you still seeing Cici?”

“Of course. She’s right here. Want to say hello?”

Surprised because my son changed girlfriends every other week, I said I’d like that and waited for Cici to come on. “Hello, Cici, how are you?”

“Fine, thank you. I’m delighted to get a chance to say hello.”

“Same here. I’m housesitting in the house of a friend who passed away.”

“Yes, Jesse told me. I’m sorry she died.”

“Me, too.”

“I hope to meet you soon in person,” Cici said. “Jesse’s told me so much about you.”

“He has?” I asked, truly astonished.

We chatted a bit more, then Jesse got on again. “Will you come visit us, Mom?”

“I’ll try to, honey. Perhaps at the end of the summer." I was about to tell him about Anne’s murder, then decided not to worry him. As though reading my thoughts, he asked, “Did they ever find out who killed Sylvia?”

So much for not telling him.
“How did you know she was murdered?”

“It was in the papers. You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you. The police are working on it twenty-four, seven.”

“Be careful, Mom. Keep the doors locked.”

“I will. Good night, Jess. I’m really glad about your news.”

“Me, too. Later.”

I climbed into bed, pleased that Jesse's life was going well. Pleased, too, that he wanted to share it with me. I went to sleep with a smile on my face.

The telephone woke me the following morning.

“Hi, Lex, it’s me,” Rosie announced. “Where were you yesterday? You weren’t home and your cell phone was turned off.”

“Was it?” I asked, though I knew damn well it had been.  “Al—er—Allistair and I took a drive out to the North Fork.”

“Ah, so things have taken off.”

“Slowly. We’re just friends.”

“Translated, you haven’t slept with him.”

I felt a blush rising. “Did you call for a reason?”

“Oh, right. I’ve been asked to help out with one of our biggest fundraising events. The husband of one of our wonder women took ill so they’ve called on me to take up the slack. We’re raising money for the Littleton Estate.”

“That lovely place. I’ve been to see the gardens a few years ago.”

“The mansion is falling in disrepair, since funding has dried up. Which is why this year they’re hosting a dinner and concert at five hundred dollars a pop. In Edwardian costumes, no less!”

“Rosie, I’m sorry, but I’m not prepared to spend that kind of money.”

She laughed merrily. “I’m not asking you to buy a ticket, simply to give a hand to a worthy cause. They need more volunteers. The program is dinner in the mansion, then a classical concert under a tent on the lawn. You might be asked to take tickets the night of the event, then act as an usher for the concert—stuff like that. Do you think you can help us out?”

Us as in Old Cadfield?
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”

Rosie chuckled. “You can always invite Allistair. He can buy a ticket, or better, buy tickets for both of you.”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Ruth and Adele are co-chairing the event. There’s a meeting tonight at Adele’s house. Can you make it?”

So Ruth got the co-chair position she desired.
“Frankly, no. I don’t relish the idea of spending an evening with a roomful of strangers.”

“Don’t be silly. Ruth, Marcie, and Paulette will be there. Ginger would be coming, except her summer job starts tomorrow.”

I thought a moment. “That’s practically everyone in the book club.”

Rosie let out a snort of exasperation. “Of course. They’re the people I know best.”

“But, Rosie, aren’t you afraid to be with those women? One of them killed three of your friends.”

There was a pause. When Rosie spoke again, her tone was decidedly cooler. “I don’t view things the way you do, Lexie. I have to believe the toxic water from the vase got into Sylvia’s drink by accident. A perfect stranger could have killed Gerda.”

“Really? And Anne?”

“The police haven’t proven it wasn’t an accident.”

Her head-in-the-sand attitude was beginning to annoy me. “Rosie, you’re refusing to face facts! The police are treating all three deaths as homicides. Someone ran Anne off the road. They found paint from another car on hers.”

“Still, no proof it was done deliberately. And if it was deliberate,” she said, changing tack, “there’s no proof the killer attended our meeting. Anyone could have followed Anne, waited until she left the meeting, then ran her off the road.”

“I suppose,” I said, not because I agreed but because there was no point in restating my position when I had no proof to back it up. Clearly, Rosie wanted to get on with her life. And getting on with her life meant ignoring the fact that one of her friends was a murderer.

“Will you come tonight?”

I heard the vulnerability beneath Rosie’s question. If I said no, I’d be rejecting her Old Cadfield life, which was proving to be as much a part of my dear friend as her liver and her heart. And because I loved Rosie and hated to upset her, I said I would.

“I’ll pick you up at six forty-five. Skip dinner. Adele puts out quite a spread.” 

Puss ambled into the bedroom to coax me into the kitchen. I fed him, then returned to my room to put on a bathing suit. On impulse, I called Al. “Hey, want to come over to swim a few laps?”

“Sure. I just got back from cycling. I was about to hop in the shower then settle down to work, but a swim will be fine.”

I was splashing about in the shallow section of the pool, when Al appeared. He had a t-shirt over his boxer-style bathing suit. I climbed out of the pool.

“Nice legs,” I commented.

“Yours, too,” he quipped back.

We hugged and kissed—briefly, but a definite lip lock—and then reared back to study one another. When we burst out laughing the very same second, I nearly dragged him off to the bedroom.

“Shall we swim?” Al murmured, “or have you other plans?”

“Let’s swim. For now.”

He followed me into the pool. We swam laps for a bit, then ended up splashing and laughing. It ended with a deep kiss. I pulled away. “Come in the kitchen. I’ll whip up a batch of blueberry pancakes.”

I gave Al a tray of plates, cutlery, and syrup to carry out to the patio, and told him to dry off while I brewed coffee and mixed the batter. I made the pancakes and brought them outside, along with the coffee.

“Mmm, these are delicious.” Al reached for seconds and then thirds.

I sipped my coffee and smiled. “This is the perfect way to start off a summer day.”

“Isn’t it?" He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately, I must be off. I’ve an appointment in the city this afternoon.”

"Oh."

“Why don't you join me? You can shop or visit a museum while I see my client, then we can have dinner, maybe see a show.”

“Sounds delightful,” I said, wishing he’d made his offer yesterday, “but Rosie got to me first. She’s involved in this fundraiser for the Littleton estate, and asked me to help out. I’m attending a meeting tonight.”

“The Littleton Gala is a big deal around here. I’ve attended a few times with Melody." He beamed me one of his wonderful smiles. “I’m sorry you can’t join me today. We’ll go into the city another time soon.”

“I’d like that.” I decided to take the initiative myself. “Are you planning on going to the gala?”

Al smiled. “Alas, no. I’ll be gone that entire week, visiting with Tessa and her husband in the Berkshires.”

“Oh?" My dismay must have come through, because he reached out to take my hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you." He gave a self-conscious laugh. “It’s been some time since anyone’s kept track of my whereabouts. That week’s the only time I’ll be away all summer.”

Mollified, I changed the subject. “Most of the book club members will be at Adele’s tonight. Rosie sees nothing wrong with spending time with them. She refuses to admit one of them is a murderer.”

Al sighed. “Those women are Old Cadfield and Old Cadfield is Rosie’s world. I suspect she’s working hard to convince herself her world is still the safe and cheerful place it’s always been, despite evidence to the contrary.”

“Well, I intend to put tonight’s meeting to good use.”

“Be careful, Lexie! You don’t want the killer coming after you.”