Murder in the Air

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Also by Marilyn Levinson and Untreed Reads Publishing

A Murderer Among Us

And Don’t Bring Jeremy

Dangerous Relations

Getting Back to Normal

Giving Up the Ghost

I’m Getting Married

http://www.untreedreads.com

Murder in the Air

Marilyn Levinson

Chapter One

Lydia Krause covered her ears against the grunts and groans of the bulldozer as it set about demolishing the old house. Though she’d placed her folding chair under the oak tree at the far end of the property, the noise still managed to grate on her nerves and rattle her spine. On such a lovely May afternoon, too. She’d agreed to co-chair the Twin Lakes’ New Development Committee because Dr. Andrew Varig had promised to observe the demo and construction and leave decorating the new clubhouse to her and her team. And where was Andrew, now that work had begun? Off traipsing around Europe—courtesy of his kids’ surprise seventieth birthday gift.

“Lyddie!”

Benny Lieberman, friend and member of the Twin Lakes’ Board of Directors, came bounding toward her. Benny was tall and skinny—a long drink of water, as Lydia’s mother would have described him—in his mid-seventies.

“Come and watch!” he shouted over the din, as enthusiastic as a child. “They’re about to start up the backhoe to excavate the root cellar!”

What do people find so fascinating about knocking down a house? Lydia wondered as she accompanied Benny to the work site. At least thirty spectators had their eyes glued to the action. A wall crashed to the ground, setting her teeth on edge.

“I’ll be glad when destruction, construction and decoration are done.”

Benny grinned. “Your granddaughters will love playing miniature golf. I can’t wait to start using the putting green.”

Lydia’s face softened at the mention of her granddaughters. Then she glanced at her watch. “I have to leave soon. Today’s my day off and I’ve several errands to run.”

“Then quit your job,” was Benny’s unsympathetic answer. “Isn’t that why you sold your company and retired to the good life?”

Men, Lydia thought, though her dearly departed Izzy had always understood her need to work.

They joined George Linnett, the board president, and a few other Twin Lakes residents.

“Too bad Andrew’s missing all this!” Benny exclaimed.

George cast him a look of disbelief. “You’ve gotta be kidding. The guy’s having the time of his life taking in the sights of Europe and staying at five-star hotels.”

“Still,” Benny countered, “you have to admit, this is exciting.”

There were a few minutes of blessed silence. The bulldozer drove off and the backhoe took up its position. The noise began again. Lydia decided she’d fulfilled her obligations for the day. She’d stay a few more minutes, and then say her good-byes.

A shout caught her attention. The backhoe driver pulled the machine to a halt then jumped down to stare at the ground he’d been excavating. The foreman and the general contractor joined him, followed by George and Benny.

“What is it?” Lydia called, peering down at them.

The driver, a huge, burly man wearing a bandanna around his forehead, spared her a glance then turned to his foreman.

“Take a look at that.” He pointed down at the ground.

The men huddled closer, blocking Lydia’s view.

“Oh, my God, that looks like a body!” Benny exclaimed. He turned away and downed deep gulps of air.

“What was a body,” the foreman agreed. “Whoever it was died a long time ago.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Buried in the basement all these years,” George mused.

“The root cellar, not the basement,” the foreman corrected him.

Lydia made her way down to the work site. “Excuse me,” she said pointedly, pushing her way past the men.

She stared down at the remains, blinking fiercely at what first appeared to be a bundle of rags wrapped around long sticks. The corpse had been shrouded in a blanket or quilt, though parts of the fabric had rotted away along with the body. The face remained covered, but the bottom part of the blanket had fallen open, revealing yellowed bones encased in tatters of what must have been brown trousers.

How sad to think this relic had once been a living, breathing person.

“I’ll be damned,” George said. “I bet these remains were in the root cellar for forty, fifty years while people lived in the house.”

“Creepy,” Benny commented.

“I wonder who it was,” Lydia mused. “Who hid the body and why?”

“Probably someone killed the guy, and the murderer stashed it away,” the backhoe driver said.

“Right, Joe,” the foreman said, “then conveniently forgot all about it.”

“You have a better explanation?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

His driver looked at him. “Does this mean I’m done for the day?”

“Looks that way,” his boss agreed. He turned to George and Benny. “This throws a monkey wrench into our schedule.”

“I can see that,” George said, moving closer to the body.

The foreman edged closer, too, with Benny right behind them.

“Don’t touch anything!” Lydia instructed.

“I wasn’t going to,” the foreman said. “Just trying to get a better look.”

“Make sure that’s all you do,” she called over her shoulder as she went to retrieve her cell phone from her pocketbook beside her chair. “I’m calling the police.”

Lydia gripped her ringing cell phone to still the tremor in her hand.

“Homicide. Molina.”

The sound of Sol’s voice set off a roman candle deep inside her. She had to struggle for control. “Hello, Sol. It’s Lydia. Lydia Krause. I—”

“Lydia.” Warmth crept into his voice, and she knew he was smiling, damn him! Those green eyes lit up, no doubt, like lanterns. “Hi there. I’ve been meaning to call you for some time. How have you been?”

Lydia glanced back at the spectators, their eyes riveted on the remains in the root cellar.

“I’m fine, but this isn’t a social call.”

“Oh?”

His ability to convey disbelief, amusement and raw sexuality in one syllable was quite a feat.

“There’s a dead body.”

“You mean at Twin Lakes?” Sol groaned. “Tell me you’re not caught up in another murder case, Lydia Krause.”

She grinned, glad to have caught him on the hop. It took a hell of a lot to surprise Lieutenant Detective Sol Molina.

“Technically it is Twin Lakes, but actually it’s the new property we’ve acquired. The demolition crew was razing the house, and they’ve uncovered the remains of a body.”

“I’m coming right away. What’s that noise I hear?”

Lydia glanced at the backhoe moving to where the rest of the machinery was parked. “A backhoe.”

“Tell them to shut off all machinery and to keep away from the site of discovery now! Death may have occurred fifty years ago, but if it’s a homicide, the case remains open until solved.”

Lydia strode back to the half dozen men gathered around the remains. The foreman crouched close to the body. He stretched out his hand.

“Don’t touch the remains!” she shouted.

He stared at her in disbelief, but didn’t back away.

Furious, Lydia ordered, “Get away from there now! The police are coming. They want this area cleared.” She eyed the construction foreman again. “And have the backhoe driver shut off his machine.”

The burly man pushed back his bandanna and scratched his head. “Aye, aye, ma’am,” he said lazily, and climbed back to the surface.

Her mission accomplished, Lydia ignored the foreman as he’d ignored her earlier.
Of course. I’m a woman.
But to be fair, she’d shown little interest in the demolition all day until they’d unearthed the body.

Benny Lieberman and George Linnett flanked her on either side.

“Feeling okay, Lydia?” Benny asked, his kind leathery face wrinkled in concern.

“Want some iced tea? Caroline left me with a gallon of the stuff.”

Lydia was about to rebuff his attention, when she realized her knees were a bit shaky. It wasn’t every day one encountered a corpse, even one that had been dead for half a century.

“Sure, Benny. Thanks. I’m kind of thirsty.”

She sipped, then smiled when George retrieved her folding chair and pocketbook. “Thank you, George.” She sank into her chair, surprised when the two men remained standing on either side of her like sentries.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “No need for you guys to fuss over me.”

“This isn’t fussing.” George shook his head in dismay. “Fussing’s what’s going to happen when the residents hear work on our new additions has been stopped and why.”

Chapter Two

Lydia made her excuses and hurried off before Sol had time to arrive on the scene. She told herself that George and Benny could fill him in with whatever information he required. Her presence wasn’t necessary. They knew as much as she did about the remains unearthed in the root cellar. More, since they’d been avidly watching the demolition all morning. She’d done her part by calling in the report.

“You’re a coward!” Her own words startled her, bringing her to a dead stop in the wooded area that separated Twin Lakes from the construction site.

She walked slowly along the dirt path as she faced facts. She was acting cowardly, running from the scene of the crime, because she didn’t want to see Sol. Oh, she wanted to see him, all right, but she simply couldn’t wait there, wondering how he’d act, how she’d act, how seeing him would make her feel. She’d go home and eventually talk to whichever of his men he sent to interview her. Unless he decided to talk to her himself.

Why had she called Sol directly instead of dialing 911? Was it to take pathetic advantage of a legitimate excuse to contact him after all these months? All these months of his not calling.

Lydia passed through the opening in the fence and turned onto Lake Nissaquage Boulevard, which led to her house.

“Lydia, wait up!”

Stefano Ligoris, the handsome grounds and maintenance manager, waved to her from the Twin Lakes’ white pickup truck.

“Do you still want me to oil your garage door?” he asked, stroking his luxurious mustache.

“Yes, Stefano, since it still squeaks. When can you stop by?”

He flashed his seductive smile that sent the hearts of most female residents aflutter. “I will come to your house the moment I am free, Lydia,” he said in his East European accent, pronouncing her name “Lee-dia.”

“What time is that?”

“I’ll stop by at four, if that is suitable.”

“Very suitable,” Lydia said, knowing he’d arrive closer to four-thirty.

Stefano gestured with his chin toward the site. “Were you there when they found the corpse under the old house?”

“Yes. How did you hear about it so soon?”

“George called the clubhouse.”