Murder in the Air (12 page)

“Lydia, Barbara, this is my son, Bennett. Lydia and Barbara were Grandpa’s friends and neighbors at Twin Lakes.”

Bennett looked Lydia up and down then winked. “Yes, indeed. We met at Grandpa’s party.”

Lydia’s nostrils flared as they tended to when she was angry, but she restrained the urge to smack his impertinent face.

Bennett switched personas to that of the dutiful son. “Thank you both for coming today and to the funeral. Mom and Aunt Polly appreciate your support.”

“I don’t see your brother, Arnold,” Barbara said to Denise. “Is he here?”

“Oh, Arnold.” Denise dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “He and his family are sitting shiva in New Jersey. He said coming to Long Island was too much of an inconvenience for his friends and neighbors.”

Bennett was working on a brownie. In between bites, he said, “Mom, I have to go to work now.”

“Then eat something nourishing, Benny. Aunt Polly has plenty of food in the kitchen.”

“Mom.” His tone sounded a warning. Denise let loose a carefree laugh as false as a three-dollar bill. “I know, you’re a grown man and I have to stop nagging.”

“Would you like me to drive you home so you can get your car?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You’re sure? Tonight’s my late night. I can’t come back here for you until after ten. Aunt Polly might want to go to sleep before then.”

Startled by the steely undercurrent in his voice, Lydia and Barbara exchanged glances.

Denise chucked Bennett under the chin. “Darling boy, don’t worry about me. I’ll get a ride when I’m ready to leave.”

“With who? Stefano?”

Another false laugh. “Yes, as a matter of fact. He’s coming by later to pay his respects.”

Bennett’s handsome face burnished red. “He’s the Twin Lakes handyman, for God’s sake! He has no business coming here!”

“Of course he does, Benny. Stefano’s my friend. Besides, your grandfather liked him.”

Bennett threw his mother a look of disdain. “He wouldn’t if he knew the guy was getting into your pants.”

“What a terrible thing to say!” Denise blinked furiously, but couldn’t stop two fat tears from rolling down her cheeks. She dabbed at her heavily mascaraed eye as Bennett stormed out of the room.

“Don’t pay any attention to my silly son,” she said to Lydia and Barbara, as if Bennett were twelve and had just stuck out his tongue in defiance. “He hates every man who comes into my life. Except for his father, of course, now that he’s dead. Benny conveniently forgets that Chet used to gamble away whatever money he earned, and left us to fend for ourselves.”

What a dysfunctional pair! She’s as outrageous as her son is rude. Lydia picked up her coffee cup, determined to escape, when Denise’s moment of mortification changed to one of watchful cunning. She moved her chair closer to Lydia.

“I’m glad you came today, Lydia. We need to talk.”

“Oh?” Lydia caught Barbara’s wink as her friend crossed the hall to the living room.

Denise glanced over at the two old men recounting stories of their youth before she began to speak in a low voice.

“Arnold and I are upset because Polly’s convinced someone killed Daddy. She said you agreed to go with her when she reports her foolish notion to your friend on the police force.”

Lydia felt a pang of guilt for having already told this much to Sol. “I’m beginning to think Polly’s overreacting to your father’s sudden death.”

“Dad was eighty-five, for God’s sake. He died of a coronary! Talk to Polly, Lydia. Explain that there’s no need to exhume the body. The man was just laid to rest.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Lydia said, “but I don’t know what good it will do.”

Denise’s smile held a tinge of mockery when she said, “Polly thinks you’re an expert on crime because you helped solve the murders last fall. Trust me, this was no crime.”

“I certainly hope not,” Lydia murmured.

“Polly regarded our father as some kind of immortal god. She revered him in a most unhealthy way. And he encouraged it. Boy, did he encourage it.”

The venom in Denise’s tone would have shocked Lydia if not for all she’d learned from Daniel’s friends the night of the party.

“I suppose they were very close.”

“You might say that!” Denise snapped. Then she remembered she needed a favor and her voice changed. “So you’ll talk to Polly?” she wheedled.

“Talk to Polly about what?” Polly asked, resting her hand on Lydia’s shoulder.

Lydia squirmed. She wished she could fly out the door and disappear.

“About your far-fetched idea that someone killed Dad,” Denise said. “Lydia agrees it’s ridiculous.”

“You do?”

Lydia flinched under Polly’s scrutiny, the shock of betrayal in her eyes.

“I don’t believe it! You knew Daddy was upset about something serious.”

“That’s true, but I’ve been thinking it over….” Lydia found she was unable to finish the sentence. She couldn’t very well explain that while Daniel’s old friends had admitted to harassing him, she believed them when they swore they hadn’t harmed him. “The fact that your father was upset doesn’t prove that someone killed him. In fact, the emotional turmoil might have brought on the coronary.”

Tears of frustration glistened in Polly’s eyes. “The other day you were on my side! Now you’re treating me like a kid who’s made up a wild story because she can’t cope with her father’s death!”

Denise, suddenly composed, patted her sister’s arm. “You have to calm down, Pol. You don’t want to work yourself into another stint in the hospital.”

Matt appeared and wrapped his arms around his sobbing wife. “Polly, honey,” he crooned.

“I’m so sorry,” Lydia said. “I didn’t mean to make matters worse.” She moved to comfort Polly, but Polly stuck out her hand to ward her off.

Mortified, Lydia fled to the bedroom where the sweaters and jackets were strewn across the bed. She grabbed hers and Barbara’s.

“What’s the matter?” Barbara asked as Lydia thrust her jacket at her.

“I’ll explain in the car,” Lydia said, making a beeline for the front door. She breathed a deep sigh as she stepped onto the porch, then stopped short to avoid crashing into Nicole and Gillian, who faced one another with the antagonism of spitting cats.

“Sorry,” Lydia apologized.

In silence, the twins moved apart to let them pass. Despite her own agitation, Lydia knew something was terribly wrong. Before stepping into Barbara’s car, she turned to observe them. The girls practically touched foreheads as they argued in whispers. Finally, Gillian threw up her hands and stormed inside the house. Nicole ran past the two women, to a car parked halfway up the block. The driver stuck out his head. Lydia recognized Nicole’s scruffy boyfriend from Daniel’s party. A minute later, the two were entwined in a passionate embrace.

Once they were in the car, Lydia turned to Barbara. “I wonder why Nicole’s boyfriend didn’t go into the house? And why were the girls fighting like that?”

“I’ve no idea,” Barbara said, turning the ignition and backing out of the parking space. “Before you strong-armed me away, I heard Nicole’s cell phone ring and saw her run outside. Gillian chased after her a minute later, looking mighty determined.”

“Clearly, Polly doesn’t approve of Ringo, or whatever his real name is.”

Barbara stared at the two lovebirds, still lip-locked, as they drove by. “But why is Gillian so angry? Unless her sister stole her boyfriend. This Ringo looks more her type than Nicole’s.”

Lydia shook her head and sighed. “Today’s so full of calamities, I can’t even begin to imagine what’s troubling the girls.”

As they passed Meredith’s house, Lydia felt a wave of gratitude that she and Merry had ironed out their difficulties. There were enough people angry with her as it was.

“What on earth did Denise want from you?” Barbara asked. She shuddered. “That woman gives me the willies.”

Lydia sighed. “She asked me to help convince Polly there’s no need to exhume Daniel’s body. Though I don’t much care for Denise, her son, or her brother, I tend to believe they’re right—that Daniel died a natural death—so I agreed to talk to Polly. At which point, she joined us, and was hurt and angry because I’d changed sides. I gather from a comment Denise made that Polly once had a nervous breakdown. At any rate, Polly now sees me as a traitor and wants no part of me.” She rubbed her temples. “I think I’m getting a headache.”

“Poor Lydia,” Barbara said, patting her knee. “Today isn’t your day.”

Chapter Eleven

Lydia refused Barbara’s dinner invitation, preferring to stew in private. She punched in her garage door code with a vengeance. Her headache felt as though several elves were pounding on her skull with tiny hammers. She wanted to close the drapes in her bedroom, crawl under her quilt, and fall into a dreamless sleep.

What was happening to her? Had she lost all her managerial know-how in the one short year since she’d retired as CEO of Krause’s Gifts and Furnishings? Had her people skills withered away, now that she was no longer a player in the business world? Lydia shuddered as she reviewed the way she’d leapfrogged from one calamitous situation to another in the last few days, leaving unhappy or furious victims in her wake.

She splashed water into a glass and downed two aspirins. Reggie came in, tail high, meowing loudly for both a show of affection and his dinner. Lydia scooped him into her arms and pressed her face against his furry haunch.

“Thank God I have you, Reginald Redcoat.”

He butted his face against hers, then struggled to be free.

“Your meow is my command. Dinner’s coming up,” Lydia said, following him to the kitchen.

The essence of her problem occurred to her as she watched Reggie gobble down his chicken in gravy in a most unfeline way. She wasn’t anyone’s boss any longer. Why had it taken her almost a year to realize this fact?

Lydia stumbled into the living room and dropped onto a sofa. Running her company all those years, she’d grown accustomed to making unilateral decisions. She’d issued orders, which her employees had carried out. Not that she’d ever related to her family or her friends in this manner.

Now this side of her—this CEO persona—reared its head when she played detective, seeking information regarding what were murder cases—what she thought were murder cases—with dire consequences. She felt the heat of a blush as she recalled how she’d encouraged Polly to view her father’s death as a homicide. How she’d badgered Ron Morganstern until he told her about Timmy John. She was relieved to learn that he and Mick hadn’t murdered him, but uncovering such information was the police’s job, not hers. No wonder Sol was furious at her. She’d give him a few days to calm down, then call to beg his pardon for interfering in his business. And hope he hadn’t decided to kiss their relationship good-bye.

His meal finished, Reggie set about cleaning himself. Lydia checked her messages. Nothing. The phone rang. Her heart thumped away as she lifted it, hoping it was Sol. Her spirits plummeted when the caller identified herself as Evelyn’s daughter, Gayle.

“Lydia, I hope I’m not imposing on you, but my husband and I are leaving for Atlanta. We’d hoped to stay longer, but our daughter, Lynn, has been taken to the hospital.” Gayle made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Why does everything happen at once?”

“I’m so sorry!” Lydia exclaimed. “What can I do to help?”

“Lynn will be all right. She has a chronic medical condition that requires frequent hospitalization. Her husband’s in the Far East, and we want to be there for the little ones. I’ve asked Mom to come back to Atlanta with us, but she refuses.

“What I want to ask you,” Gayle went on, “is would you please spend some time with my mother? She’s been turning away friends and neighbors, but she feels comfortable with you. I know she’d welcome your company.”

“I’d be happy to,” Lydia reassured Gayle, pleased that at least someone wasn’t angry with her. “I’ll stop over later.”

“Thank you, Lydia. You’re an angel.”

I’m no angel, she thought as she put down the phone. Still, it was nice to be called one after being driven from the home of a mourner.

Evelyn put up little resistance when Lydia called and offered to bring over dinner for both of them.

“That would be lovely, Lydia. I’ve plenty of cake, so don’t bother with dessert.”

Lydia agreed to come at seven so Evelyn could fit in a nap. She’d been sleeping badly at night and was thoroughly exhausted.

At first, Lydia contemplated ordering a variety of dishes from the take-out Chinese restaurant in town. Then she decided that cooking a meal would be just the thing to take her mind off Daniel and Timmy John’s deaths and the people she’d recently upset. She sautéed chicken breasts, which she then placed in a deep dish, alternating the chicken with tomato slices, grilled eggplant slices, mushrooms, peppers, and cheese. While the casserole baked, she made a rice pilaf and a salad. When everything was done, she placed the three dishes in the refrigerator, along with a nice bottle of chardonnay, and went into the den to watch the news. When she got to Evelyn’s, she’d pop the casserole and the pilaf into the microwave oven.

Dusk was darkening the sky by the time Lydia carefully placed the two shopping bags filled with dinner into her car. She felt ridiculous driving the short distance, but she couldn’t manage to carry everything on foot. She pulled into Evelyn’s driveway, surprised to find the house in darkness. Evelyn was one for lights, and plenty of them. But maybe she’d taken a pill to help her sleep and was still off in dreamland.

Lydia grabbed her pocketbook and knocked on the front door. “Evelyn!” she called, loud enough to be heard inside. Silence. She went around to the back and tried the kitchen door. The knob turned easily. Lydia switched on the light and stepped cautiously into the house. Something was wrong. Evelyn never left the door unlocked.

“Evelyn!” she shouted. “Can you hear me? Are you awake?”

She turned on the hall light and started down the narrow hallway toward the bedrooms. The door to the master bedroom was ajar. Lydia approached the queen-sized bed and gasped. Evelyn lay on her side as still as a stone. A dark stain spread on the pillow beneath her head. Though the light was dim, Lydia knew it was blood that had seeped from a wound on the back of her head.