Murder Among Friends Read online

  The coiled spring was back.

  The two deaths in our neighborhood weren't murders at all, but an unfortunate early demise of a friend, and an accident with a welding tank.

  I didn't believe that. Add stubbornness to my list of flaws.

  "Who claimed the body?" I asked. "Paul's body."

  "Nobody, so far."

  "So what happens if no one does? A pauper's funeral?"

  "A little different in Norton's case. His estate will be charged for the expense."

  "Who introduced them?"

  He frowned at me again.

  "Who introduced Paul to Evelyn?"

  "Is that important?"

  "I don't know," I said. I leaned forward, knocking over the cane I'd propped against the edge of the couch. Talbot picked it up and handed it to me, his lips quirking when he realized the top of it resembled a vampire in full cape and teeth.

  Ever since the surgery, I was back to using those loathsome canes. The only bright side was that friends and acquaintances had provided me with a huge assortment and I used a different one each day.

  I was forever leaving them places which is why Maude went after me and gathered them up and put them in an umbrella stand in the hallway. A few days later, it would be empty again.

  “I wonder if he really did have a sister or just an accomplice?”

  "Leave it alone, Jennifer."

  The words were similar to Tom's but the tone was worlds apart. Talbot actually sounded gentle.

  Because of that, I told him the truth. "I can't get rid of this feeling. I don't think it was an accident, and I don't think Evelyn died of natural causes."

  "The coroner would disagree with you."

  "Did you test for everything that might have killed her?" I asked. "Any poison somebody might have used? What if something was used out of the ordinary, something you wouldn't normally look for?"

  "Like what?"

  I wanted to scream at him. "I don't know," I said. "But something."

  "We only have so much of a budget, Jennifer. We can't test for everything."

  "Exactly," I said, suddenly excited.

  He was frowning again, but I don't think he was frowning at me this time.

  "Look, I know all about budgets. I work for the government. Unless it’s requested, the coroner is only going to run the basic tests. I'll bet the tox screen you just ran was the same, nothing fancy, just the cheap stuff."

  “If you’re going to kill someone, why not choose a small town, some place they wouldn’t normally test for sophisticated drugs?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” he said, “unless they planned on killing Evelyn from the beginning.”

  I sat back, a little deflated because Talbot had squelched my idea.

  “Why kill the golden goose?” he asked, “when they could have just moved to another city?”

  I blew out a breath. “I still think the coroner didn’t test for everything.”

  “Because you think Evelyn was murdered.”

  I nodded.

  “Isn’t it better to die of natural causes more than murder?”

  “Either way sucks,” I said.

  “But you have a feeling.”

  “I know how silly it sounds. I just do. Maybe the ghost of Evelyn is haunting me. Find my killer, Jenn.”

  He stood, stepped over Sally, and marched over to where I sat. He thrust his hands at me. I grabbed them, feeling a little bemused as Talbot hauled me to my feet. But before I could fully appreciate standing next to him, so closely I could smell the spicy tang of his aftershave or soap, he bent, retrieved my cane, and handed it to me.

  “Okay,” he said and left without another word.

  Sally and I both stared after him.

  My heart was beating furiously, and I wasn't quite sure why.

  16

  I made my way upstairs, looking out through the window in my sitting room. Since the tree had caught fire, the back of Evelyn’s house was visible. The house seemed lonely and desolate, as if knowing it would not soon be occupied. Who would wander through the kitchen Evelyn had so lovingly restored? Or the Civil War Room or the Gin Porch, so called because she said she'd always wanted a room for no other purpose but to swill gin.

  I often wondered about the owners of my house, remembering the elderly woman who so lovingly recounted growing up in the house with all her brothers and sisters. Before her, another member of the family had lived here, each one of them leaving his mark in some way.

  I hoped Evelyn’s house would be the same. People might remark upon the tile work in the bathroom and think of her, or the built in cabinets in the den and wonder at her collections.

  Bill had called it a feeling. All I knew was that her death had been wrong. No, evil. That's the word I was searching for. Something evil this way lives, someone in the King Lion District.

  I wasn’t going to stop until I knew for sure that Evelyn’s death was a simple heart attack. Otherwise, I’d always wonder.

  I’d had enough of death. And guilt.

  Before I knew where I was going, I was standing in front of Barbara's door. I turned the knob. At first I thought it was locked, but the door had only stuck in its frame. I pushed it open to see moonlight filtering through the half-open curtains.

  Sally hesitated at the doorway, sitting fat haunched and furry, waiting for me, as if she knew I needed the time alone.

  Barbara’s queen size bed was to my right, flanked on either side by end tables. On the opposite wall was her vanity. Across from me, French doors led to her private porch. The triple dresser sat against the other wall, next to a chaise slightly smaller than the one in my sitting room. A walk-in closet, then another door leading to a private bath.

  Once the walls had been covered in framed posters. Scenes of Paris, the Edward Gorey prints she collected. For years she'd been fascinated by Egyptology, collecting small resin replicas of Egyptian goddess and goddesses. They'd sat atop the now empty bookshelf next to the chase.

  I hadn't cleared out the room. Nor had Tom. To the best of my knowledge Tom had never come in here. This was only the second time since Barbara's death I'd done so.

  Barbara had thrown everything out in that last year. Destroyed it or tossed it. The walls were blank by her choice, as if she'd been afraid to divulge too much of herself to anyone.

  The bookcases were empty. I remembered the titles of the books she loved to read as a child as I skimmed my fingers over the empty shelves. Stand Back Said the Elephant, The Wind in the Willows, Little Women, Twilight. A diverse collection, indicating a wondering mind, one seeking answers from a hundred different sources.

  From the moment she was born, she was lavished with attention. If ever there was a child blessed by the fairies, it was Barbara Anne Roberts. Petite and blond with naturally curly hair and soft blue eyes, she was her father's prized jewel and my little darling.

  She was an honor student all the way through school. She was a junior varsity cheerleader in middle school and the only high school freshman assigned to the school paper.

  Heroin kills. But first it destroys the soul. It takes the brain and it makes it mush. Any feelings other than craving are destroyed. Love, affection, friendship, pride, ambition, all fall victim to the great god heroin. The body still belonged to Barbara, but the soul was gone, as was the heart of her.

  I sat down on the end of her bed.

  I looked around, feeling the past rush in with such speed and relentless cruelty that I winced from it.

  Happier days. Screams of laughter, of excitement, of joy. Anguished tears, sobs of disappointment. Rage at me.

  I've avoided this room because I suspected what it would do to me. I was wrong. I wasn't distraught or destroyed. The last two years had been a crucible of fire. Barbara, herself, had delivered enough pain to me that this room had nothing left to offer.

  Sally came into the room, standing beside me and nuzzling my knee in comfort. I wrapped my arm around her neck and crooned to her, words that did
n't make sense to me and even less so to a canine companion.

  I don't know how long I sat there; it felt like hours but it might have been only moments. Sally sat vigil beside me and when I stood, she did also, staying close as if to reassure me that another creature cared.

  Finally, I returned to my sitting room, changing into a soft yellow silk kimono, sitting on the chaise and staring at Evelyn’s house.

  Had Evelyn loved Paul? Had Paul loved her?

  Trust was at the foundation of any relationship. Without it there was no relinquishing of personal barriers. You have to believe the other person won't hurt you, otherwise, you won't be vulnerable enough to love. Evidently, Evelyn trusted Paul enough to fall in love with him.

  A hell of a time to realize I wasn't feeling a similar trust in Tom.

  I turned on my laptop. I synced my email with Dropbox so I had a record of all my personal emails on both my desktop and my personal laptop. Now, I waited for it to update, then went into my Inbox, searching for anything from Evelyn.

  Even though we lived next door, we'd often emailed each other. Had she emailed me with news of Paul and I just didn't remember?

  Everyone has email idiosyncrasies. Mine is that I've yet to clean out my Sent box. I'm pretty good about purging the Delete box and keeping the Inbox manageable, but I still have emails I sent on the first day I used this laptop. Things I wish I hadn't saved now, like messages to Barbara's counselor - a last ditch attempt at keeping her in school before she just walked away and refused to return. Messages to Barbara - how odd we lived only a few rooms away and sometimes it felt like two different countries.

  I found Evelyn's stack of messages, only those I answered, of course, and concentrated on them rather than looking for something with Barbara in the subject line. Sometimes, I think a part of me doesn't want to accept the reality of the situation. I wanted to cry, but I'd learned that tears really weren't constructive. I wanted to scream, but that hadn't helped, either. Time, that old bugaboo, that old axiom, that idiotic expression, was probably all that would help. Time, however, crawled by on arthritic turtle feet.

  I read through the messages, feeling my own despair in the last year. I had been numb, merely existing. When had I started to begin to live again? Had it taken Evelyn's death?

  Only one email pinpointed a time:

  * * *

  My dearest friend,

  * * *

  I wanted you to know you're in my thoughts. I can't imagine what it's like to lose a child. I know how much you adored Barbara. I won't insult you with those platitudes that she's in a better place. The best place is with you and Tom, with her future in front of her. I haven't heard from you in awhile, but I wanted you to know you're in my prayers.

  When you feel like it, come to dinner and meet Paul. He's my new friend, a boyfriend, if you will. I'm holding back more information until I see you again. There are just some things you shouldn't put in black and white.

  * * *

  I'd responded simply and with a disinterested air:

  * * *

  Thank you, Evelyn, for your kind words and thoughts. When we're feeling more sociable, we'd love to meet Paul.

  * * *

  That was in March, a month after Barbara's death.

  Okay, I had a timeline. She must have met him around February. Otherwise, I would have heard about him in January. Okay, so I had a timeline. Now what?

  I realized it didn't matter one little bit.

  Sitting back, I closed my eyes, and tried to think of the next logical step, which led, of course, to dozing off. My dreams were disjointed things. I was sitting in a classroom filled with munchkin sized desks. I sat in the middle of the class and there were all these black haired girls sitting around me attired in school uniforms and saddle shoes like in the fifties. Paul stood in the front of the class, lecturing about stained-glass and telling everyone how he wanted to use a huge diamond and cut it in the shape of a tear. Then the scene changed to become a burning bush and God speaking from it. Thou shall not start fire.

  I woke up because my neck hurt. Sally snuffled softly in sleep on the floor beside me. Glancing at the clock, I was surprised at the time. Nearly midnight and Tom still wasn't home. I swung my legs over the side of the chase and slowly stood.

  I couldn't continue this way. I had to concentrate on what I knew to be wrong, not just what I suspected.

  From now on, I should work on my marriage instead of imagining murder.

  17

  Whoever said the road to hell is paved with good intentions had it right.

  This morning I woke and headed for the master bedroom, intent on having it out with Tom. He was already gone, his presence marked by an indentation on his pillow. At least he'd come home last night.

  As if he knew I was lying in wait for him, he’d worked late every night for the last week. On the weekend he went to Canyon Lake. We had a small cabin there where he liked to work, especially on trial preparation.

  I hadn't a clue if an important trial was coming up. Tom no longer confided in me.

  Maybe I should call Mary Lynn and ask her.

  Sally jumped up, a forbidden pounce, but I didn't scold her this morning. Instead, I rubbed her ears and talked to her, sharing my fears with the one being in this house who wouldn't chide me for thinking foolish thoughts.

  “What you think Tom is up to, Sally? Do you think it's an interesting case? Or something else that has him interested?”

  Sally only stared at me with her wide brown eyes.

  I smiled, took her to her area before getting into the pool. Today, I decided to be a world champion swimmer, cheered on by the thousands who had come to see me cross the channel.

  After I finished swimming, I poured out Maude's voodoo drink and went back upstairs, dressing in warm sweats, red fleece with a monogram over my heart. A present from Tom, who evidently thought I needed reminding of my initials.

  An idiosyncrasy of mine, that I dislike wearing advertising of any sort, which is why I don't wear name brands. If a company wants to pay me to hawk their product, I will gladly accede. I feel the same about initials, not seeing the necessity for wearing my own name on my garments. It's not as if they're going to be thrown into a pile and I'm going to have to find mine. And I haven’t given up the ghost to the extent I’ve forgotten my name.

  But because the garment was a present from Tom, I felt compelled to wear it occasionally. Today I wore it because it was red and I was irritated.

  I sat at my vanity and tried to do something with my hair, which consisted of running a brush through it, swearing, and running a brush through it again. None of my efforts would change the fact my haircut was still bad. In desperation, I took my manicure scissors and whacked off the right whisker, then the left. Maybe one side was a little shorter than the other, but it was better than looking like a catfish.

  I spritzed a little perfume behind my ears and took Sally out for her morning walk.

  We walked every day. Sally needed the exercise because heaven knows she didn’t do anything else than walk and play fetch. She was on a reduced calorie dog food but without this little bit of exercise she’d turn into a round ball of fluff, much like she looked as a puppy.

  I slipped a leash over her head and she eyed me with resignation.

  Sally doesn't walk well. Oh, she's very obedient and she walks on the left side of me just like she’s been trained. But she's frightened of almost anything out of her world. Consequently, sounds of other dogs barking, the wind, or an occasional falling leaf will spook her. She'll walk even closer to me until it becomes a game to see who can trip whom first.

  Our route normally took us up one block down the next, avoiding those houses where large dogs greeted us from backyards or front windows.

  This morning I noticed the For Sale sign on Linda’s lawn and my heart lurched. Any day now, there'd be another one on Evelyn's lawn as well. Would anyone be able to recoup the amount of money stolen on these properties?

 
Houses didn't come on the market very often in this area. Two of them at one time could affect property values, something that wouldn't please Tom very much.

  He'd just have to get over it.

  On the way back, I slowed our pace a little. For the last fifteen minutes, we hadn't seen anyone. The neighborhood possessed almost a sepulchral silence.

  As I rounded the corner, I expected to see Mrs. Maldonado peering over her hedge. Or Army, either in his yard or standing at the window. But no one watched as I took the side entrance to Evelyn's house, leading Sally carefully around the ruin of the studio.

  Someone had swept the walk of glass, but remnants of it glittered in the scorched grass.

  The studio had been far enough away that the fire hadn't reached the house, but a few of the back windows had been shattered. Some of the wooden trim had come loose and now dangled like icing on a cake.

  I'd taken the key from the jar on my dresser and slipped it into my pants pocket this morning.

  “Just in case something happens,” Evelyn had said when giving me the key.

  This qualified, didn't it? Something had happened.

  I went up the three steps to the back porch, coaxing Sally to come with me.

  “Hello?” I called out, after I'd opened the door, hoping no one would answer.

  Sally turned in a circle, a clear indication of her distress. I bent down, spending a moment or two rubbing Sally’s ears as I stared around me.

  The kitchen was a disaster. A dozen containers lay empty on the counters, along with silverware and glasses. At least Paul’s last meals had been good.

  I moved through the room, heading toward the back stairs, over the tile floor echoing the click, click of Sally's nails and through the carpeted hallway.

  Like my house, Evelyn’s house had both a formal set of stairs and the back ones I faced now. Light from the stairwell window streamed in and illuminated the space.

  I didn’t have to coax Sally up the stairs; she would have died rather than be left behind.