Murder Came Second (16 page)

“Fine, you two try it. You’ll probably love it!” She stormed into the house, and the poor screen door crashed again.

I got a beer from the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table to light a cigarette. I was sick of the whole bunch of them at this point. Every dandelion was bigger than an oak tree to them. Cindy had spent last night at the cottage because of a screaming match between Carlucci and Laertes that seemed to go on for an hour. I was not getting my work done as scheduled. I was into a cigarette I didn’t need and about to open a beer I didn’t really even want. And it was barely noon.

Then I got mad at myself. Why did I let them control my life?

I would go back outside, do my work, and if anybody else started a ruckus I would simply tell them to take it elsewhere. And so I did, snubbing out the cigarette and replacing the unopened beer.

I was whizzing right along in the dull insurance-ese my employers preferred. Real day-to-day English was too easy to understand. At one point I saw Terese, apparently strolling among the flowerbeds in the noon heat. I shook my head. To each his own. Nick came out of the house, the back screen door now squeaking loudly each time it was opened and closed. He got into one of the vans and drove away. Sometime later, I noticed Ophelia coming up the drive, finished with her solo work, I guessed. And I would have bet the tub had been scrubbed.

But these things didn’t bother me. I was, in fact, pleased with the progress I was making. I finished another report and sent it winging, in some manner I would never understand, to Boston. I started on my last one, which I would shortly aim toward Plymouth and hit Send.

And then—it was bound to happen—Ophelia screamed.

“O-ooh, no!”

She was pointing at something in the driveway. I figured perhaps Nick managed to run over a field mouse, or perhaps a dead bird had somehow got there. I told Fargo to stay as I approached the wall. I didn’t want him walking around for half an hour with something small and dead in his mouth, finally burying it, and then digging it up five minutes later to start the process all over again.

By the time I reached Ophelia—Teri, she had picked up the victim and was clutching it to her chest. I hoped she wasn’t one of those people with a strange affinity for roadkill. We used to have a woman in town who took it upon herself to pick up roadkill, sometimes quite decomposed, put it in her car trunk and bring it home to bury in her backyard. You could smell her car before you saw it.

I braced myself as Teri opened her hands to me. And all I saw was a small, uprooted plant, obviously run over by the van and now far beyond resuscitation. It looked like a clump of grass, and for a moment, I couldn’t understand her tears. Then I realized it was her little dill plant.

“What a miserable thing to do!” She gulped. “An innocent little plant! They only did it to hurt me. Why take it out on my sweet plant? Nick or Terese! It’s got to be one of them. I’ll find out, and they’ll be sorry. Oh, will they be sorry!”

I thought back over the past hours. I didn’t think it was Nick. When he came out of the house a little while back, my thought was that he went directly to the van, walking on the side of the driveway away from the dill plant’s spot. But I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, and I didn’t really want to put the finger on Terese if she hadn’t done it—although I’d bet she did it—because I didn’t want to start World War III over a dill plant, rotten trick that it was. So I said nothing.

Nick picked that moment to drive in. As he got out of the van, he wore an unfortunate smirk as he asked, “Satisfied, now?”

“You bastard!” She uncorked a punch that knocked him onto his back and into the flowerbed.

He sat up, rubbing his chin. “Are you crazy? I clean up the damn bathroom, like you so nicely asked. Then I ask you are you satisfied and you knock me into next week. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Didn’t you do this?” She held out the now disintegrating plant.

“What’s that?” He struggled to his feet, still coddling his reddening chin.

“My dill plant. Didn’t you pull it up and then run over it?”

He hesitated. “I—I might have run over it, Teri. I didn’t see it. But I wouldn’t have pulled it up.” His face crumpled like a little boy’s about to cry. “I wouldn’t deliberately kill anything like that.” I believed him.

“Then it was Terese,” Teri said. “Did either of you see her out here?”

I decided Terese could look after herself. I wasn’t going to lie. “Yes, sometime around the noon hour.”

“Uh-huh.” Nick nodded. “Just after noon, walking around the flowers.”

Teri gave us each a sort of bow and walked into the house, still holding the plant.

Nick shook his head. “Teri’s tough as nails in some ways, and she can be a pain in the ass. But she did love that little plant. She watered it every day and even talked to it, like it was a cat or something. I feel sorry for her. She’s still only a kid, really. This is her first feature role and she’s nervous about it. All on her own up here. Damn that woman! Did you see that article she wrote?”

“Yes. I didn’t understand it all. Like what she said about Noel . . . and about you.”

“Oh, the thing about Noel was a double whammy—also about Elaine. Noel’s ex-wife is gay. Her lover and she are raising her and Noel’s two kids. No problem. Noel sees the kids as often as he can, and they have a stable home, I guess. Once in awhile Noel brings them into New York for a weekend or takes them to his cabin up in Maine or somewhere. Everybody seems friendly enough. And of course, the poke at Elaine is because she’s gay, too, and she and her lover raised the lover’s daughter. That’s all. Of course, Terese likes to make it sound like everybody is at everybody else’s throat.”

“I see,” I said, motioning for Fargo to come on over. “And what about your wanting to play Hamlet?”

He rubbed his chin and winced. “I don’t know why Terese even bothered writing that.” Nick spoke smoothly, but his eyes looked suddenly hard to me. “It’s cold porridge. When I was in my teens I thought about becoming an actor, but . . .” He laughed a little too heartily. “I was the world’s worst. Made a much better stage manager. Well, I gotta get to work here.” He nodded and headed toward his friendly cave. Fargo and I recrossed the wall, and I felt I was gaining a new understanding of how Dorothy and Toto felt on returning to Kansas. Our yard seemed marvelously safe and sane and familiar.

I stood looking fondly at my sturdy tomato plants, heavy with ripe red globes and smaller still-green fruit, like Christmas tree balls adrift in the wrong season. I remembered how frail the plants had been last spring, and that I, too, had found it natural to give them verbal encouragement. If they had been vandalized at that point, I would have felt almost as if a helpless child or animal in my care had been harmed.

And I agreed with Nick. Hiding somewhere inside the tough broad was the vulnerable child that was Teri. Toughness is learned. Vulnerability is one of those mixed blessings some are born with. I knew a little about that.

So of course, I opened the car door for Fargo, and we headed for Aunt Mae’s to find another dill plant.

Three cars were lined up outside Aunt Mae’s little shop, and translated to eight customers inside. I browsed around until she was finally free, getting an appreciative hug for my wait.

“Hello, my dear, how nice to see you! It’s my day for the Peres family, I guess. Your mother and Noel were just here to get some rosemary. She’s going to make her rosemary and white wine chicken for the Hamlet people to snack on, though I imagine,” she laughed, “that most of it will have Noel’s name on it. And now you—”

“You mean now Mom’s
cooking
for that bunch? Boy, Noel has some nerve! She’s been chauffeuring him around and helping him shop, and now she’s cooking! I expect any minute to hear he’s just moved right in.”

Aunt Mae gave a little stutter of a laugh. “Well, no, dear, I don’t think you have to worry about that right now. So . . . to what do I owe the honor?”

I told her of Ophelia’s little murdered dill plant and she clucked with disapproval. “People can be just plain mean! It’s too bad that Segal woman doesn’t simply pack up and leave! Certainly nobody wants her here.” As she was talking, Aunt Mae was walking toward the back of the shop. She picked up a nice six-inch pot, scooped some soil into the bottom, dumped a dill plant from a smaller pot into the larger one, filled it with more soil and packed it down.

“There, this will live nicely on a bright windowsill, so she won’t have to worry about planting it outside. Just water occasionally and give it a little food once in a while. Here’s a little sample packet of food.”

I reached for my wallet, and she waved her outspread hands from side to side. “No, don’t be silly, Alex. It was kind of you to think of her loss. I’m happy to provide the little plant. It must be hard on a young girl, alone in a strange place. She told me this is her first important role, so please be sure to tell her the little plant will bring her luck. I know she’ll do beautifully in her performance next week.”

“Yes, thank God it’s only eight days away. It seems like light years. I may give a block party when it’s over and they’re out of here . . . except the whole town would probably show up. Well, thank you, favorite aunt. I won’t keep you.” I nodded toward a car as it disgorged three customers-to-be and took my leave.

I thought a casual stop at Mom’s would be a good idea. Mom was so openhearted. I wanted to make sure our summer visitors were not truly taking advantage of her good nature.

As I walked into the kitchen, the aroma told me the chicken was about done. Then I heard chords struck on the piano. Mom’s pleasant voice sang a line I assumed was from one of her beloved Broadway show tunes. Then Noel’s picked up on the second line and I realized just what show it was from.

So many years, I had to hide my love for you.

So many years I hoped you knew my heart was true.

Careful whenever others were near us

Always in fear lest they see us or hear us,

But now at last we are together forever

Wherever we go.

Together . . .

Forever . . .

Wherever . . .

We go.

I walked into the living room applauding. “Sounds great! Gee, Mom, are you replacing Elaine?”

“Don’t be silly.” She was, for some reason, blushing mightily, one of the few traits she had passed on to me that I wished she hadn’t. “I was just helping Noel work through some timing problems in the duet.”

Noel was rapidly gathering his sheet music from the piano rack. “Yes, yes. All much better now, Jeanne. I thank you a million . . . must run . . .”

“Noel, your chicken . . . oh my God, is it burning?” Mother ran for the kitchen, Noel and I following. “No, it’s all right, but it was close!”

“It smells wonderful,” I said pointedly.

“Thank you, dear. We’re lucky it’s not smoking. Well, ‘seared’ is popular nowadays.” She laughed. Then Noel laughed. Then they both laughed for a while. What was so funny? By now she had most of it transferred to a platter, so I simply grabbed a drumstick from the second large skillet. And they laughed some more. Finally, she got plastic wrap around the platter and Noel got out the door, carefully balancing the hot platter on his stack of music, thanking her again as he left.

My drumstick now was cool enough to eat, and I took a bite. “Oh, so good!”

“Thanks, dear,” she murmured absently. “I wonder if I should have driven him home. I hope he doesn’t drop the platter.”

“It’s only a couple of blocks. Surely he can make it that far. You’re now chief cook for the actors?”

“Not hardly. But I guess they’re not really eating too well. It’s time-consuming and expensive to eat out all the time, and sometimes they eat at oddball hours, and mostly nobody cooks. I guess it’s nearly all TV dinners and snacks. I just thought a couple of chickens might be welcome.”