Murder in the Marketplace

by Lora Roberts

  “You pawed through my desk.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She glanced away, a spot of color on each cheek. “It’s been a mess since I got here.”

  “It was my mess.” I still haven’t really adapted to having a computer. I had to print out each of my projects at every stage, instead of just doing the rewrite onscreen, like all the rest of the writers I know. That makes for a lot of paper, I admit; but I had developed a system for keeping track of each revision, and it was recycled micro-perf, anyway.

  I sorted the pages of the article about spring perennials from the proposals I had been trying to finish for the last few days. Behind me, Renee huffed a little as she pushed the Hide-a-bed framework into its womb.

  When I turned, she was putting the cushions on—with the zippers facing out, I noticed. Considering that I had spent three years living in a Volkswagen bus, I was kind of embarrassed about my territorial feelings for my house.

  Renee mistook my smile for a sneer. “Look, I’d leave in an instant if I could get Amy to listen to me.” Her voice was loud, defensive. It was the tone of voice in which my family had always communicated; I supposed she learned it through seventeen years of close association. It made my soul wince.

  “You said she’d do as she was told.”

  Renee collapsed onto the sofa, ignoring the little gouge she got from the zipper tab. “She doesn’t understand,” she wailed. “I want what’s best for my daughter. How can she just walk away from me when I’m helping her for her own good?”

  “Maybe she has her own ideas about her own good. Did she say when she’s coming back?” I’d dropped her downtown before lunch; it was after two. She must have met some of her new friends.

  “I don’t know.” Tears led Renee’s mascara gently down her cheeks. She glanced around for a tissue. I handed her the box that was on my desk, and she clutched it, her shoulders shaking, wiping and blowing alternately. I turned away until the snuffling ended.

  “You have to get this settled.” I spoke without turning back. Behind me, there was a last trumpeting nose-blow.

  “I’m trying.” Renee’s voice was wobbly. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

  “Leave her here.” I didn’t mean to say those words. Once they slipped out, though, I couldn’t call them back.

  “I really do have to call home.” Renee touched me on the shoulder. She was subdued, now. But more tears and hysteria were doubtless on tap.

  Drake’s car wasn’t in his parking spot. If Renee called collect, he might never know she’d used his phone. I felt delicate about letting people use his phone when they weren’t preapproved.

  I sighed. “Okay. I’ll show you the phone. Collect or credit-card calls only. Keep it short. And you can’t use it again unless Drake’s there, and you get his permission.”

  The key was in my pocket; I’d taken all the keys off the peg by the door when Renee had first arrived, in case her snooping led her into the few locked areas of my life.

  The message light blinked rapidly on Drake’s answering machine. I thought of leaving it alone, but one of those messages might be for me.

  “Wait in the living room,” I told Renee. “Don’t snoop around; Drake’s a cop, and he can tell when someone’s been at his stuff better than I can.”

  She flushed. “What a rude thing to say.”

  “Snooping’s a rude thing to do. Just have patience while I check the messages, and you can make your phone call.”

  The first message was from Drake to me. “Liz. I want to talk to you. I’ll be back around two. Be there.”

  I didn’t really want to talk to Drake, but he was using a tone of voice you can’t argue with.

  The second message was just a name, phone number, and “I’ll call you back” for Drake. I made a note of it on the pad by the phone.

  The third was a man’s voice, hesitant. “Uh, I’m looking for Liz Sullivan.” There was a weak cough. The man seemed to be whispering. “If you get this, Liz, it’s Ed. I’m in the hospital. I need to see you.” More hoarse coughing. “As soon as possible.”

  The answering machine beeped and fell silent. I rewound it and looked at the note I’d jotted about Ed’s message.

  Renee came in when she heard me punching the hospital’s phone number. “Hey, I’m supposed to get to call.”

  “I’ll just take a minute.” The switchboard answered, and I asked for Ed Garfield’s room. The phone rang four times before the operator came back on.

  “He must be there,” I told her. “He’s sick.”

  “Maybe he’s in PT or X-ray or something.” She sounded bored. “I’ll give you the nurses’ station.”

  The nurses’ station answered and put me on hold in one fell swoop. I waited. Renee waited, her fingers tapping impatiently on the little telephone table.

  “This is ridiculous. How long are you going to wait?” Renee glanced at her watch. “Andy will be on the golf course pretty soon.”

  I hung up. “Go ahead. Make it snappy.”

  Turn about was fair play. I went in the living room to give her privacy. But that loud, defensive tone of voice was easy to hear. And Renee’s voice got louder as she spoke.

  “I’m telling you, she won’t come! Short of handcuffing her, I don’t know what to do.” A pause. “Well, maybe you’d better just come on out and do it, then. I sure as hell won’t! You don’t know how stubborn she’s being.” Another pause. Her voice got lower, but I could still hear words.

  “… . uncooperative … refuses … shack, really … can’t understand … rest of the summer?”

  Another pause. “Well, that’s the best I can do,” Renee said angrily. “Maybe I’ll just stay here with her, and you can take care of yourself for a change!”

  The phone crashed into its cradle. I went back in the kitchen as Renee stood up. Her mouth made a tight line, and her eyes were narrowed. I opened the back door. “Let’s go.”

  She stomped out, still mad at Andy. I hoped she’d forgotten to memorize Drake’s number. Our lives would be living hell if she had.

  By the time I locked the back door she was halfway to my place. I let her get inside before I opened fire on my own.

  “Amy will be home soon, most likely.” I glanced at the clock in my kitchen. “You have until I get back to settle this with her. I can’t stop you from staying in town, Renee. But you don’t stay here. I’m not running a boardinghouse for warring relatives.”

  She tossed her head. “There are motels around, I’m sure. Apartments.”

  “That’s right,” I said pleasantly. “They’re expensive, and around Stanford graduation, which is now, they’re really booked up. But you’ll probably find a place, although you may have to go to Redwood City.”

  She yammered while I got my bag and climbed in the bus. “Where are you going?”

  “To visit a sick friend.” I leaned out the window. “There’s a grocery store about ten blocks downtown. You and Amy can walk down and pick up some groceries if you want. Looks like we’re pretty much out of food.”

  I backed out the drive, getting a last glimpse of her standing in front of my house, hands on hips, glaring at me.

  Chapter 25

  There was space available in the hospital’s pay lot, but Rule Number 14 is never to pay for parking. I cruised stubbornly around the long approach to the Stanford hospital, and off onto the side streets, looking for a free spot. Even on the curb, they ticket if you’re parked a minute more than two hours. I had overstayed on the occasion of Bridget’s latest baby being born and had been amazed at the cost of the ticket I’d gotten. Rule Number 15 is never to get tickets.

  It was a long trudge back to the entrance from my parking spot. A silver-haired pink lady in the lobby told me where to find Ed, and I headed for the escalators. The hospital was huge, with corridors going everywhere, and that kind of high-tech, metal-and-plastic decor that public institutions like hospitals and airports have adopted.

  I stepped onto the escalator, joining a
stream of people moving up to the second floor. One of them was a tall, thin woman in a faded polo shirt and Levi’s—Suzanne. I didn’t speak. She looked preoccupied. I wondered if Ed had called her, too. Maybe she’d just come to soothe his fevered brow. Or maybe she was going to rectify the mistake that had left Ed alive.

  Suzanne knew where she was going. There was no hesitation when she turned into another corridor, no slowing of her long legs. I had to trot a little to keep up. She rounded another corner, and I put on some speed.

  She was waiting around the corner. I nearly bumped into her.

  “I thought I recognized you. What are you doing here?” Her voice was not friendly, but not hostile, either. Remote.

  “Trying to catch up to you.” It wasn’t really a lie. “Ed called and asked me to come in—said he had something to tell me.”

  Her expression stiffened further. “I see.” She was silent a moment, not stirring, but when I moved she put a hand on my shoulder, holding me in place.

  “Did Ed—tell you what it was about?” Her eyes were shadowed, but I saw the pain there.

  I fidgeted under that heavy hand. “Not really. I don’t know why he would call me, anyway. I’m not part of this.”

  She shook, her head slowly. “You’re deep in it now.”

  The words lifted the hair on the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”

  Her lips smiled, but the pain in her eyes didn’t go away. “If I were you,” she said, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear her over the clatter of trays and squeaking of carts in the halls around us, “I would leave now. Don’t visit Ed today. Come back tomorrow, when he’s more himself.”

  I looked at her doubtfully. She was bigger than I was—taller, and in great shape. I could picture her at home on her cross-country ski machine or cycling miles on the weekends in Lycra shorts. On her they wouldn’t even look that bad.

  But I was scrappy, and I knew a few tricks. “Ed asked me to come today.”

  She took her hand off my shoulder. “Oh, well. It’s your funeral.”

  She walked swiftly away, and I followed, turning her last words over in my mind. I didn’t much care for them.

  There was one nurse at the nurses’ station, carrying on a conversation on two lines at once while a third line rang and rang. Suzanne strode through the area confidently. The nurse didn’t stop us. I jogged along a step behind.

  Ed’s room was at the end of a corridor, several doors away from the nurses’ station. It was isolated—across the hall was a linen room bursting with huge plastic bags of sheets and gowns. The room next to it had cupboards floor to ceiling. On the counter was a tray of little paper cups filled with pills, like pharmaceutical party favors.

  The first bed in Ed’s room was empty, its curtains pulled back. Ed was lying on the bed next to the window. He had an IV plugged into his right arm and tubes coming out of his nose. There were black circles under his eyes. He looked miserable.

  He also looked surprised. “Suzanne! I thought you were coming later.”

  “That’s what I said yesterday,” she said composedly, “but I didn’t suppose you’d remember, in your condition and all.”

  The look he gave her was a compound of fear and defiance. “You don’t have to come at all.”

  “I know.” She sat down in the chair, pulling it around so it was between the bed and the door, blocking the narrow aisle at the foot of the other bed. “How are you?”

  Ignoring her, he turned to me. “I’m just glad to be alive. The doctors are amazed, frankly.”

  I stood, hemmed in between Suzanne in the chair and Ed’s bedside table. This was cluttered with a cup and water pitcher and a couple of weird-shaped vessels whose uses make our bodily functions seem so alien. The table that was supposed to swing over the bed was pushed back against the window, displaying several flower arrangements and a potted Swedish ivy. “So,” I said, “what was it? Strychnine?”

  He stared. “How did you know?”

  “I read mysteries. The symptoms are pretty easy to tell.”

  “I thought maybe the policeman told you. Paul Drake.” He was gazing at me, almost anxiously, as if my answer mattered more than the words would indicate. “You seemed pretty chummy with him, and you’re neighbors and all.”

  “He wouldn’t tell me anything about a case.” I thought that Ed’s manner was oddly flirtatious, for someone who’d practically died.

  Suzanne had her arms crossed in front of her, fingers drumming impatiently on the opposite elbows. “So how long do you stay here, Ed?”

  “Not long.” He answered her civilly enough, though he didn’t look directly at her. “They’ll probably let me out tomorrow if everything checks out. Then I’m going to find the person who killed Jenifer and Larry.”

  Both of us were silent a moment. Suzanne bowed her head. Her shoulders shook, her voice was muffled. “I thought she was supposed to have committed suicide.”

  “It seems obvious now that she didn’t.” Ed’s voice was impatient. “The same person who killed her just tried to kill me.”

  “That could be,” I admitted cautiously. “Do you know who it is?”

  Ed’s gaze flicked to Suzanne. “I think so.”

  “Then you should have asked to see the police, not me.” I edged back against the other bed. “Why don’t you get in touch with Detective Drake or Morales? If you know who’s trying to kill you, spit it out to the cops. It’s stupid to sit on it.”

  “That’s good advice.” Ed glared at Suzanne. “Would you leave us for a moment, Suse? I have something personal I want to say to Liz.”

  I stepped sideways, between the other bed and Ed’s bedside table. “Oh, never mind. You can tell me after you get out of the hospital.” There wasn’t room between the head of the other bed and the wall for me to slip out and get a clear shot at the door. I wanted out of that room; the vibes were too weird.

  Suzanne dropped her hand and sat up, laughing. She had been laughing all along. She didn’t sound particularly demented, just amused.

  “That might be hard to do—to confide in the police. Right, Ed?”

  “Suzanne!” Ed sat up, his tubes dangling. I suppressed a gasp of concern, but Suzanne was untouched.

  “Tell her, Ed. Don’t mind me. Tell her that you’re the one who killed Jenifer, who killed her neighbor, who killed Larry and faked your own poisoning to make yourself immune from suspicion. Tell her whom you are going to blame, Ed.”

  Both of them looked at me.

  Chapter 26

  Ed scooted to the edge of his bed. “I meant to pin it on you, Suzanne,” he snarled. “It’s just like you to figure it out and get in my way. So help me, you’re dead meat, Suse. I don’t need you around that much. Not anymore.”

  “Yes, you do, Ed.” Suzanne stood, her tall, strong body looming over him as he sat on the bed. “You always did. I’ve pulled many an iron out of the fire for you, haven’t I?”

  “It was no sacrifice for you.” Ed’s face contorted. “Nobody asked you to stick around. You did as well out of our association as I did.” He looked at her polo shirt and jeans. “I don’t know what you spend it on—certainly not your looks. I might have stayed with you if you’d just taken care of yourself.”

  They bent their energies on each other, both forgetting me. I didn’t want to draw their attention—despite what he’d said, it wasn’t clear to me if Suzanne was on Ed’s side or not. They might be in it together, with me as the fall guy. I would look guilty if I were found dead in Ed’s hospital room, if he said he’d barely managed to fight me off.

  If I made a break for it by scrambling over the other bed, would Suzanne still do Ed’s dirty work? Or would she stand by while he handled it? I didn’t like either of those alternatives.

  “Clarice takes care of herself.” Suzanne kept her voice low, but she spoke with a force and venom I hadn’t heard from her before. “You still left her.”

  “She was a nag.” Ed’s dismissal came easily. “That religious stuf
f got to me, too. Always saying we had to get married. She froze up on me.”

  “But it was Jenifer you killed. Why?” Suzanne seemed taller now, although Ed still strove to dominate the situation. I pushed gently against the other bed, with the idea that hospital beds roll easily, and maybe I could shove it around to clear a path to the door. The bed must have had its brakes on—it wouldn’t move.

  “I’m not going to talk about it anymore.” Ed made the announcement as if it were a business decision. “I’ll have to blame it on both of you after all, Suzanne. You and our sinister temp.” He gestured at me.

  I froze, petrified by the malice in his voice.

  “Yes, you.” Ed was looking at me know, directing all his negative charisma my way. “I was planning just to incriminate Suzanne, but then I thought you’d make a good murderer. A backup murderer—because Suzanne always nagged me to back everything up. You were there that afternoon—I heard you talking to Jenifer, though it took me a while to recognize your voice. It was like a present from the gods, to have two possible people to take the blame.” His voice changed, became introspective. “I knew then that all of it was meant. I was right to clear these little annoyances out of my way. I just couldn’t decide which one of you to set up for it.”

  Suzanne laughed again. Ed jerked around to look at her. “You won’t need to decide now.” She spoke almost indulgently. “You’ve said too much, Ed. And all that stomach pumping they did to you yesterday has weakened you. You’re no match for two determined women.” She glanced at me, pinned between the table and the other bed.

  “I’ll get help.” I edged along toward the foot of the bed.

  “No!” They spoke together. Suzanne stood in front of me, blocking the narrow path to the door.

  “I can’t let you interfere,” she said.

  Ed was out of bed, his IV pole rattling behind him, his hospital gown absurdly dainty on his hairy, muscular body. He yanked the tubes out of his nose, with a fleeting grimace of pain when the adhesive tape took some of his nose hair with it. Then he grabbed a hypodermic syringe out of the bedside table’s drawer.