by Elaine Macko
“Oh, they loved each other very much, but Penelope didn’t want any reminders in the house. She said it was all too upsetting. The truth was Poppy didn’t have much other than his clothes. Most of the furnishings in the house belonged to Penelope before they met or things she picked out. Poppy didn’t care. He loved her and whatever she wanted was fine with him. There were the clothes and lots and lots of books, but very little else. I think she wanted the chance to let us pick out things we would like to keep, but it was much too soon for me to go through his things.”
“What did you do with it all?” I asked as Els continued to clear the racks in the closet laying everything on the bed.
“Wilhelm and my father were about the same size and Wilhelm kept a few suits and the like. I took a favorite sweater Poppy always wore around the house and I wear it when I’m home. We took favorite books and the rest we donated.”
“And your father died of what?” I asked, trying to keep the anxiousness out of my voice.
“He had cancer. It was all rather sudden, but I think that is best. No time for all the treatment, which is worse than the cancer. He got sick. He died.”
So Pieter had died quickly, I thought. Maybe it wasn’t cancer. Maybe it was a slow-acting poison. Where the heck did I come up with this stuff? I turned to Els. “But he did go to a doctor?”
“Oh, yes, of course. A very good specialist, in fact. But they said it was too advanced. Poppy never liked going to the doctor. He confided to Pen he showed signs of illness but just ignored them. She was very upset. He could have been saved.” Els dropped another pile of clothes on the bed.
With my theory that Penelope killed her husband and someone killed her out of revenge dashed, I concentrated on the clothes. “And these things?” I asked looking at all of Penelope’s beautiful clothes covering the entire bed and chair. “Do you want to keep them or sell them?”
Els, with her hair gathered up into a pile on top of her head, stood there looking at it all with her hands on her hips. I noticed how pretty she was and also how tired. I thought it admirable she took on the task of cleaning out the house of her stepmother.
“Everything is beautiful, isn’t it? She did have good taste.” Els picked up a lovely periwinkle blouse and fingered the pearl buttons. “She wore this the last time she came to Amsterdam. I just started my first job, at the hotel where I now work. I’m an events manager. It is a large international hotel, and Penelope came to pick me up for dinner. She had this on.” Els held the blouse to her face and I could see tears running down her cheek.
“I did love her. Very much, actually. I don’t think I ever thought about it before.” Els reached for a tissue from a box on the bedside table and wiped her face. “I think I’d like to keep this. Alex, I will go through the clothes and pick out a few things to keep but Pen…Penelope, was so much smaller than me most things won’t fit. I’m too tall. The rest I think we’ll donate. Could you start going through the boxes on the shelves in the closet?”
“Certainly.” I left Els standing by the bed sorting through the clothes while I pulled boxes from the shelves in the closet and sat on the floor sorting things out.
The first few boxes I went through held pieces of costume jewelry. Quite lovely things, and I’m sure they cost quite a bit. If Els was up to it, she could have a garage sale and make a mint, what with all the clothes and shoes, but I didn’t know if she wanted to do that and if it was even the proper thing to do.
I pulled a round box from the top shelf and opened it. This one was full of lovely scarves. Like the apron, it seemed people didn’t wear scarves much anymore, at least not beautiful silk ones like this. In Indian Cove, if one wore a scarf, it was usually made out of something thick and warm. But then Penelope had lived in Europe for some time and on my one and only trip there, I remember how all the women seemed to have a flair for wearing scarves. Another fashion trend I wanted to revive.
“Alex, the man with the boxes is here. I’m going downstairs for a minute to get more.”
Els left and I finished folding and putting the scarves into a packing box, leaving the designer box they had come from on the shelf in case Els wanted to keep it.
On the top shelf at the back of the closet were several more boxes. I pulled the closest one toward me and then I spied a smaller one behind. I’m five foot seven, but it was too far back for me to reach. I found a tiny foot stool with an embroidered pillow top in Penelope’s room and took it to the closet, where I slipped off my shoes and stepped up. It was the perfect height and I pulled the box to the edge and then sat back down on the floor.
The box looked older than the others and quite dusty. I took off the top and looked inside. I found several small bundles with ribbon around them and undid one and fingered through what looked like movie ticket stubs, museum passes, and a pressed flower between two pieces of card stock. Everything was in Dutch and I figured Penelope had saved things from her courting days with Pieter Radamaker.
Further down in the box, under a few more stacks of the same things, I found a photo. I gently lifted it out and instantly recognized Penelope. It must have been from at least twenty or so years before. She looked lovely and the clothes were perfection. Pieter had his arm around her and she gazed adoringly up at him. A canal ran through the background and it was obviously taken in Amsterdam. They looked so in love.
Els came into the bedroom with several more boxes. “Let me just go down and get another stack while I’m at it,” she said.
“Els, could you come here for a moment? I found an old picture of your father and Penelope you may want to keep.”
Els brushed a stand of her hair from her face and wiped her hands on the apron. “Really? Let me see.” Els took the picture and stared at it for a long time. A tear slowly made its way down her cheek and I felt bad showing it to her at this moment. I should have waited a few days, after we finished all the packing.
I stood up and went to her side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess seeing them together, how happy they were brings up too many memories for you.”
“No. No, not at all.” She tossed the picture on the floor.
I bent down to get it and looked at Els. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want it?”
“No, I don’t. But maybe when you find out who the man in the picture is, you can give it to him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Nope, she had no idea who the guy in the picture was,” I said to my sister as soon as I got back to my office.
“Maybe it was her father. It was old, maybe she just didn’t recognize him,” my sister added.
“That’s what I thought, but she showed me a picture of her dad she carries in her wallet and it was not the same man.” I grabbed three red M&Ms off my desk and ate them one by one. “After she saw the picture, she didn’t want to work on the packing anymore. I’m not sure if she’s going to finish it or not, but I told her to call me if she needs my help.”
“I don’t suppose I could send her a bill for the couple hours you were over there?” my sister asked, always looking out for our bottom line.
I rolled my eyes and tossed another candy into my mouth. “I’ll tell you one thing, I’m glad to be out of there. Wilhelm’s an odd duck, always creeping up on me and offering me some candy with a weird name. He’s got a real problem where sweets are concerned.”
My sister watched as I grabbed another handful of M&Ms from the jar on my desk and started to laugh. “He’s got the problem?”
I looked at my hand, holding the chocolates and tossed them in the wastebasket. “Fine. But I don’t go around sticking a fistful of candy in people’s faces and saying stuff like, pepermuntballen.
“So what are you going to do now?” Sam asked.
“I don’t feel like working and I’m not sure I feel like talking with any more suspects today after my run-in with Connie, but I do need to go back to the murder house and get more clothes. I thought John would be home by now. Want to go with me?”
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Sam checked her watch. “Sure. I don’t have to pick the kids up for a couple of hours.”
Twenty-five minutes later we picked our way through the mess of wet branches and leaves on my front porch and entered the house. I immediately looked through the living room to the door leading into the library. Sure enough the crime scene tape stretched across it and I knew it was locked. Good. There was no way I wanted to go in there.
Sam followed me upstairs and I got an overnight bag out of my closet and filled it with enough stuff for several more days. It felt weird standing in my own room, almost like I was in a hotel and I wondered if I would ever feel at home here again.
“I talked with Detective Maroni this morning and he told me there were no wet footprints from Bert’s boots in the library.”
I left my room and walked down the hall to the room where Bert entered my house. Sure enough there was mud all over but it could have come from the window blowing open. I took a closer look and could make out boot prints leaving the room. We followed them down the stairs, through the living room and into the dining room where they stopped. The prints in the dining room were fainter than those up in the hall and I figured as he walked, his shoes dried out by the time he got downstairs. I told my sister the detective’s theory about Bert and the boots.
“Maybe he took them off when he came down to kill Penelope,” Sam said. “It would make sense because he would want to be as quiet as possible.”
“That’s exactly what I thought. But could he have come down, killed her, and crept back upstairs without anyone seeing him?”
“The lights went out and everyone walked around trying to find their way to the bathroom, the kitchen, the food table. It’s possible.”
“Or,” I said, “A better idea would be he had help.”
Sam smiled. “Connie.”
“Connie.” I thought about this for a minute. “She didn’t look like she just killed someone.”
“Did anyone look like they just killed someone?”
“Well, no, I guess not. Where was everyone standing when Mom asked where Penelope was?”
My sister looked at me like I was crazy, and maybe I was. “I don’t know. It was dark, remember, except for candle light.”
I slumped down on the sofa. “How am I ever going to figure this thing out? It could have been anyone.”
Sam sat next to me. “Yes, it could have.”
“We still don’t know if Penelope was even the intended victim, do we?” I asked.
“Nope.”
I twisted around and looked at Sam. “You’re not much help, are you?”
Sam got up and extended her hand to me. “Come on. Let’s get your stuff and get out of here. This place is creeping me out.”
I went into the kitchen and took a few things out of the refrigerator and tossed them into a bag I would take to my parents’ house. Who knew when I would come back here? I hadn’t wanted to move into this house and now a murder had taken place. Maybe it was an omen.
“What are you thinking about?” my sister asked.
“Nothing. Well, just I didn’t want to come here, and now this happened and maybe it’s some sort of payback.”
“Yeah. Whatever,” my sister said, not willing to get sucked into my Catholic guilt trip. “All I can say is you had better figure this thing out and quick.”
“Why?”
“Because you took the ring, you said ‘I do,’ and you rented out your other house. If you don’t solve the murder and get the bad karma out of here, you’re going to have to move back in with mom and dad. For good.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
From a very young age, I knew I had one person on my side unconditionally. My parents were wonderful and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. My sister is my best friend and I love her dearly. But everyone needs someone who is always in their corner. Everyone needs someone who thinks they’re just the best thing to happen since sliced bread, thinks they can do no wrong, and embraces them and loves them more for all their quirkiness. To have someone like that in your life is a true blessing and so I headed there now, to my very own one-person fan club.
I drove through the arched entryway to the small community and turned onto the first street on my left. All the houses were small, no more than two bedrooms, one storied, and all had front porches where the residents would sit on summer evenings reminiscing about the good old days.
I pulled up in front of one of the bungalows, where a large maple stood in the front yard and hydrangea bushes surrounded the porch. Meme pushed the screen door open and waved.
My grandmother. My mother’s mother. The two of them couldn’t be more different. Actually, they had a lot in common but where my mother pretty much played by the rules and didn’t take many risks, Meme was a crazy person like me. More of a firecracker. Jumping before looking. Mom represented the voice of reason. Meme represented fun.
I walked up to my grandmother and gave her a hug.
“Change of plans. We’re going out for dinner.”
I followed Meme back into the house. “Fine by me, but how come?”
Meme turned off the light in the living room and plopped herself down on her favorite chair. “Cuz Harriet Lubinsky keeps coming over for dating advice and she’s driving me crazy. If we stay here, she’ll be over and ruin the whole evening. We gotta keep the lights off so she thinks we’re gone.”
Meme lived in a senior community and anyone who thinks all they do is sit around all day or take naps is in for a surprise. The things my grandmother and her friends get up to make me dizzy. I can hardly keep track of all her neighbors let alone what they’re all doing.
“She’s coming to you for dating advice? What kind of dating advice?” I asked suspiciously, knowing full well Fred, the ninety-something hunk of the group, had turned to generic Viagra at the advice of one of his neighbors and it hadn’t turned out so well.
“She met a man on one of those dating things on the Internet. He lives in Guilford. They been going at it pretty strong and she’s dying to meet him. And at her age and with her bad health, dying is a pretty good description.”
“They haven’t met yet?” I asked trying to stifle a smile.
“He keeps putting her off and she’s getting suspicious. That’s why she keeps coming over here so I can read his emails and try to decipher them for her.” Meme got up and peeked out the curtains. “I’m waiting for Theresa and then we can go.” Meme closed the curtain again and came back to her chair.
“So why is Harriett suspicious of this guy?” I asked, looking at my grandmother through the dim light of the street lamp coming through the small window at the top of the front door.
“She thinks he’s got another girlfriend, or worse yet a wife, and that’s why he keeps putting her off. Every time she tells him she wants to meet for a coffee, he comes up with an excuse.”
I only had limited experience with online dating but the few times I did try it pretty much put me off the process. Chances are if this man kept making excuses he probably did have a wife or girlfriend, or maybe he was only twelve and just liked playing around on the Internet.
“I keep telling her to forget about him. Come play bingo with us. But she has her sights on him something terrible and won’t let go. He told her he has a house on the ocean and she’s thinking he must have some bucks and with all the medicine she has to take, the insurance doesn’t pay for it all.” Meme sighed.
We heard a light knock on the door and Meme got up and peeked out the curtain. “It’s Theresa. We can go now.” Meme took her purse from the small table to the side of the door and I followed her out.
“We’ll take your car, Alex, but keep the lights off till we get to the main street.”
We all piled into my Honda and I drove slowly down the street and turned right at the next corner.
“Get down!” Meme shouted and both she and Theresa hunkered down in their seats. My grandmother is not the slimmest of women but she managed to slide down and t
uck her head to her chest as far as she could. I figured she wasn’t talking to me when she shouted get down, so I kept driving, eyes on the dark road in front of me. Sure enough, a woman with a cane and what looked like a hairnet on her head rounded the corner and walked up Meme’s street. She gave my car a quick glance but then continued on her journey.
“Geesh. That was close,” Theresa said from the back seat.
Meme sat back up and fifteen minutes later we arrived at Sam’s Clam Shack. It’s not really a shack though it looks like one from the outside with its weathered gray shingles. Inside there are booths along two walls and a few tables in the middle. It’s decorated like you would expect a New England beach shack to look complete with glass floats, lobster traps and a very big stuffed fish on one wall. The place always smells wonderful. Their linguine with seafood is superb and I decided on the spot to order it.
We gave our orders to the waitress and Meme took a sip of her wine and then looked at me.
“So what’s Penelope’s stepchildren like?”
I wasn’t surprised one bit Meme already knew about my running into Els and Wilhelm. My sister just couldn’t help herself. The good thing was I didn’t have to get into all the details. Whatever I told Sam, she told Meme and that meant Theresa was up to date as well. Instead, I asked my grandmother and Theresa if they remembered anything else from Friday night.
“Nope. But I think you should have another game when this is all cleared up and we should have teams. I want to play with Millie or Jean. They both played real good. I lost a lot of quarters to them,” Meme said. I knew she hated to lose and she probably wanted to win her money back.
“Millie played a hand, what was it called?” Theresa asked. “She said it was easy. I want to try it next time.”
“Dazzle,” Meme said. “I liked the one Jean tried to get, more challenging. The Christmas hand. I think she called it Christmas Spirit. She said it was a hard one but looked real nice on the rack when you won. She never could get all the tiles so she kept switching back to that easy hand too.”
