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First Wednesday night in January
Sally took a deep breath in the warm air from John’s bedroom fireplace. She thought she could smell sweet alfalfa from the Rossmoor farm, her first real home. John came in and offered to rub her back. “Never mind. I’m dead on my feet. How about a promise for tomorrow morning?”
“Hey,” John hadn’t released her. “As long as you’re in the house, I’m happy to make love with you anytime you want, or not.”
Sally was asleep before John was out of the shower. She was looking forward to dreaming about the pasture on the Rossmoor farm, where she’d roamed as much as possible. From the age of ten to thirteen, she claimed the grass and trees as her own. She appreciated each bend of the creek, each patch of swampy low land in the grassy acre. The pasture along the creek’s deep ravine shielded her from the farmhouse’s view. Sally spent complete summers out there, warming herself like a frog on a comfortable flat boulder, summoning her future from the sparkling brook. Daddy often sent their Border collie, Bob, to herd her back to the house when she was finally missed. Would she always feel like a lonesome gypsy or some day in the distant future, could she make a home for a family?
In the continuing dream, Sally adjourned to her bedroom in the Dean Street house, where the tool-and-die factories provided a constant thudding. She could see herself in the full-length mirror, as a young teenager. Her hair floated around her head like a cloud of dark feathers with no constant color, no weight to hold a style. Her dark eyes peered back through thick, plastic-rimmed glasses, with the left eye slightly crossing from eyestrain. Nothing attractive there. Who would look at her long enough to care what she was thinking, let alone start a life with her?
A freight train blew its whistle for the Dean Street crossing. Her window shook slightly. She reached up to smooth down her flyaway hair. In the crook of her arm, the mirror framed the dresser top with her white statue of the Virgin Mary shuddering to the train’s rumble, like an egg rocking in the nest before the chick pecks free. The reverberations from the train reminded her of Art’s effect on her nerves. She’d been run over by him, and he hadn’t even stopped to notice.
Tossing in her sleep, Sally forced herself to focus on the Rossmoor pastoral landscape, the water’s sweet rushing, the warmth of the sun. Sally snuggled next to John in her peaceful slumber.
Chapter Three
First Thursday in January
Sheriff Woods arrived at the Nelson’s at eight o’clock in the morning. John answered the door, not too happy to see the policemen. Tim appeared rumpled and sleepy.
“We need to eat breakfast,” John said.
Sheriff Woods handed him a bag of donuts. “There’s a thermos of coffee in the cruiser. I thought you and Sally would be familiar with cop timetables.”
“What time did you tell the Armstrongs we wanted to see them?” Sally struggled into her car coat. “I need to attend a meeting in Geneva at noon.”
Tim answered. “Ten o’clock. But we need to drive out to the Montgomerys place. The Masters are guests of theirs until their house is rebuilt, I guess.”
“Not staying at the castle?” John asked, opening the back door of the cruiser for Sally.
“Peter says they want to keep an eye on the reconstruction,” Sheriff Woods said.
Between the Fox River and the lumberyard in St. Charles, Enid’s condominium was set in the crook of an L-shaped arrangement of attached units. Common architecture for the late Sixties, the entire complex used barn siding on the exteriors. Evergreen trees were taller than the two-story units. Several of them sparkled with Christmas lights and leavings of the ice storm.
“Tim, were you in here before?” Sally asked when they opened Enid’s front door. A sickly, cloying odor hung in the air, as if the carpeting was sprayed with cheap perfume.
“Actually, no. I met her outside, before she drove off.”
“So, she told you about Bret on the doorstep?” John asked.
“She was in a hurry to meet someone,” Tim said. “She didn’t tell me who. That’s why I followed her.”
“The lady needed money,” John said.
“Or she was partially moved to another address,” Sally said. “Sheriff, someone needs to canvass the neighbors and the country club.”
On the second floor of the place, an unusual empty two-story well could be accessed only from a large side-hinged window in the bathroom. A clothesline stretched diagonally across the strange aperture. Sally couldn’t imagine how the clothesline was originally rigged, unless it was planned during construction. Odd architecture. Why didn’t Enid use a Laundromat or install a washer and dryer in the basement? Off the kitchen, a back door opened to a roof-covered and shuttered lawn. Weeds grew among broken patio stones.
“Strange place,” John said.
“Unless you are a nudist,” Sally said.
“Great come on.” Sheriff Woods said. He led them back inside and pointed to the top cupboards in the small kitchen. “Looks like a moving company moved her belongings out.”
The movers left the top shelves untouched. Potato chips were still in a large blue bowl, candies and nuts filled other crystal dishes. “Entertained, a lot,” John said. “Didn’t even cover the potato chips.”
The cabinet above the empty refrigerator was filled with whiskey, gin, vodka and expensive brandy bottles. “Do you remember the term, blind pig,” Sally asked Sheriff Woods.
“Yeah. But this looks more like a Madame’s pad.”
“There’s blackmailing details enough for you,” Tim said.
“We need to find the movers,” Sally said. “What time is it?”
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Montgomerys’ House in Wayne
The Masters’ temporary home with the Montgomerys was as lavish as Sally expected John’s to be. Set on a hill top among a glade of nude trees, the cedar siding of the three story house folded its diagonal room lines around an oak, and between the gnarled stands of apple trees. A small creek was encompassed into the house itself. A musical ripple could be heard in the glassed-in foyer. “How do you keep the water from freezing over?” Sally asked.
“Heated pipes along the sides.” Carolyn Montgomery whispered. Sally wanted to pattern her manners after this elegant, older woman with auburn hair and either a flawless complexion or an artisan’s cosmetics.
Peter Masters briefly appeared and then retired to a back study. Carolyn showed Sally’s team into the front room. A roaring fire and two orange cats greeted them. Sally sat near the fire in a plush green chair. One cat jumped in her lap. Carolyn put one foot behind the other and floated down on a nearby couch. “You must be new here.”
“I knew your son, Tony,” Sally said. “When I was much younger, Jill Wisniewski was a friend of mine.”
Carolyn Montgomery abruptly rose, but then regained her composure. “Excuse me. I’ll just go gather the men.”
“Nice work,” Sheriff Woods said, sarcastically. “Did you need to mention Tony?”
“Give it a break,” John said, taking Carolyn’s place on the couch.
Sally petted the cat. Hometown was not feeling homey. She might as well be living in snooty Ann Arbor. She wanted to leave but didn’t want to disturb the cat. Would the AA meeting members welcome her? Time enough for the noon meeting. However, a lot of questions needed answering. “I thought the Montgomerys were too poor to send Tony to an ivy-league college.” Sally looked around the place.
“Insurance money,” Sheriff Woods muttered.
“From a suicide?”
“Just shut up!” Sheriff Woods shouted.
John stood. “Apologize, you idiot.” He looked at Sally as if for approval and then resumed his seat.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
“Sorry, Sally, John.” Sheriff Woods ran his fingers through his hair. At least he had hair, not like the baldy Sally had just married. “They cheated, okay? What do you want me to do, prosecute them for fraud?” He slumped down on the couch
so heavily John gave a little jump. Police discretion. Of course, he should have prosecuted the Montgomerys, but what good would have occurred. They already suffered enough. After Tony’s lover Jill Wisniewski broke up with him, Tony dropped out of school. On Jill’s wedding day to the tax assessor, Tony slaughtered himself in the room next to the honeymoon suite. “I need to erase the bloody details.”
“Explains why Jill is still rather odd,” John said.
Sheriff Woods gave a bitter laugh. “The black hound Gabby told you about at the reception, Sally, the one who follows Jill everywhere, is named Tony.”
“What did happen?” Tim asked.
Sheriff Woods heard Sally tell him, “Tony taped his mouth shut with duct tape. Then he tried to emasculate himself. He bled to death in the hotel corridor outside his room. Tony’s corpse was the first thing the newlyweds encountered the next morning.”
Tim said. “He went crazy.”
“With love.” Sheriff Woods was surprised at the force of free-floating anger rising in his body. He brushed his sleeve against his wet face and stood.
John stood next to him. “He was your friend.”
“Was.” Sheriff Woods said.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
“God forgive him.” Tim hugged Sheriff Woods who shortly pushed him away.
Sally regained her admiration for Tim. She expected his affair with Matilda was ended, not only by the gruesome story about Tony but because of Enid’s suspicious death. Nevertheless everywhere Sally turned, St. Charles offered evidence of the ungodly actions of the inhabitants. She pulled John down to whisper, “Ann Arbor looks pretty good from here.”
The Montgomerys and Peter Masters returned to the living room. “Bret and Matilda will be here shortly,” Peter said. “I phoned them when you arrived.”
“And Mrs. Masters?” Sheriff Woods asked.
“She hasn’t been able to get a flight.” Peter said.
Sally innocently continued to stroke the Montgomery’s cat. “What did you tell her to do when she called you yesterday?” Peter didn’t reply. “At the police station. Your cell rang while you were in the briefing room.”
“I didn’t speak to her then.”
“Who did you talk to?” Sheriff Woods asked.
“Her lawyer.”
“But you said you hadn’t talked to her lawyer, when I questioned you,” Sheriff Woods said.
“Sorry. I guess I got mixed up.”
“Mrs. Masters isn’t coming back, is she?” Sally asked.
“Not unless you win an extradition case,” Peter said, pleased with himself.
Bret and Matilda arrived and Carolyn ushered them into the front room. Matilda stayed close to Bret, holding his hand after he helped her off with her coat. Bret gave the coat to her father, who transferred the garment to Carolyn Montgomery. As Sheriff Woods settled into the green armchair opposite Sally’s, the matching orange cat asserted her right to his lap.
“We had a terrible fight.” Peter began. The Montgomerys exchanged wary glances but then sat down on the couch opposite the one the Armstrong couple chose. Tim and John remained standing on each side of Peter Masters near the door to the hall.
“Geraldine accused me of having an affair,” Peter continued. “With the receptionist at the country club. The crazy woman was harassing her, telling her when I would leave for a trip, implying she was my lover. I swear, Matilda, I never touched a woman since I married your mother. I look at women, you know how it is. Sorry, but I’ve never pursued anyone.”
The cat on Sally’s lap mewed as Sally stood to get a better view of the Armstrongs. She maneuvered herself to stand behind Sheriff Woods’ chair on the other side of the fireplace.
Sheriff Woods took the hint. “The receptionist, Enid Krimm, died in the fire.”
Matilda gripped Bret’s hand harder but didn’t look at his face. Bret reacted to his wife’s obvious concern. “Did you know her?”
“Did you?” Matilda asked.
“Sure,” Bret said, “from the club.” He looked at Sheriff Woods. “Why did you wait for Matilda and me to arrive before you told her father who the victim was?”
“Because Enid was blackmailing your wife.” Tim concentrated on Matilda’s reaction to his words.
“She’s the body.” Peter started walking in circles but was stopped from leaving by Tim and John’s presence in the entrance to the hallway.
Mr. Montgomery stood. “I think we all could use a drink.”
Sheriff Woods motioned for him to sit down. “Matilda, when did you last see Enid Krimm?”
Matilda looked at her lap, afraid to confront either Bret or Tim. “At the country club, after the Nelsons’ party.”
“Did you make an appointment to meet her at your father’s the next day?” Sally asked.
“I did,” Matilda said to Sally. “I didn’t realize Bret invited you and John over to see the castle. I tried to call Enid, but they said her phone was disconnected.”
Tim said. “She planned to move away after she received money from you.”
Matilda finally looked at her amazed husband. “Bret,” she said. “You two were having an affair.”
“Why would you pay her money?” Bret asked. “I could have told you I was as faithful as you are.”
A steady blush settled on Matilda’s face. Tim turned away.
Sally interrupted. “Peter, was your wife planning to meet Enid?”
“You need to speak to her lawyer.”
Matilda rose from the couch. She put her arms around her father’s waist. “Daddy,” was all she said.
“Why did you tell Matilda you found your house on fire after you returned from Dallas?” Sally asked. “You couldn’t go to Dallas and return by ten o’clock in the morning, after staying at our house the night before, could you?”
“The ticket is in my coat. I knew Geraldine was with her mother. The fight I told you about was for New Year’s Eve, when she threw her ring in the fireplace.”
Sally believed only half of Peter’s words. “Sheriff Woods, do you have Mrs. Masters’ ring with you?”
“I’m afraid the ring is evidence.” Sheriff Woods was still seated in the Montgomery’s fireside chair. The orange cat who appropriated his lap seemed inclined to stay put.
“Peter, you assume your wife was the last person to see Enid alive,” John said.
Peter waved the question away. “Her lawyer …”
“Could I see your boarding passes to and from Dallas?” Sally asked.
“I, I threw them away.”
“Right,” Tim said. “We don’t believe you traveled to Dallas.”
Carolyn Montgomery asserted her hostess duties. “I’m sorry; I must ask you all to leave. I can hardly allow you to call a guest in my house a liar.” Mr. Montgomery offered coats to Sally and John. Peter retired to a back study.
“Tell Peter it is advisable for him not to leave the state.” Sheriff Woods stated for the record.
Tim delayed leaving, as if he expected Matilda to give him some sign. On the doorstep, he sighed. “She loves him, too?”
Sally answered him. “Legally she is bound to him. You gave her every opportunity to declare her affection for you.”
“I guess I’m free, and I didn’t even have to pay for a divorce.”
Sheriff Woods patted Tim’s back. “We should get started canvassing Enid’s neighbors.”
John offered, “I can locate the movers for her furniture.”
“Aren’t you going to ask the state’s attorney to extradite Mrs. Masters?” Sally asked.
Sheriff Woods nodded. “I’ll speak to her lawyer, first. If she hasn’t committed a crime, I can’t understand why she won’t come home. If she doesn’t return voluntarily, I will start proceedings.” He opened the cruiser’s passenger door. “Tim, could you drive. I’m exhausted.”
Sally followed Sheriff Woods to the car. “Your emotions about Tony are wearing you out.”
Sheriff Woods shook his head. “I hope I neve
r enter the Montgomery home again.”
After the police car left, John drove Sally back east to Dunham Road. A freezing rain began to fall. The Honda’s windshield wipers and defrosters couldn’t keep up with the ice.
“Let’s pull off until the car warms up,” Sally said. “The defrosters will work better.”
John turned into the parking lot of the Wayne Riding Club at the corner of Dunham and Territorial Roads cattycorner across from the castle. “I’m more worried about the roads than the windshield.” He got out and scraped on the back window, then chipped away at the ice above the windshield wipers reach. He ran his glove along the wiper blade showing Sally the caked ice.
When he returned to the car, Sally said, “A country club is a great place for a Madame to contact rich clients.”
The defroster began to work, so John cautiously drove south on Dunham Road to Route 64, the main street of St. Charles. “How long did Enid live in her condo?”
“Probably since they were built. Remember the crazy clothesline from the bathroom window. The entire enclosure smelled like bleach.”
“I hate that smell. Why didn’t she use a laundry service.”
“Nothing was hanging on the line,” Sally said. “We need to find out if she did convert to an outside source for clean linens.”
Back on the road, the pavement glistened as the weather continued turning rain to ice. In town, the Honda slipped, fishtailing down the eastern hill of St. Charles’ main street. At the intersection of Routes 64 and 31, they both sighed when the car stopped in time at the light.
“Good job,” Sally said.
“You just have to drive slowly.”
Rohn Federbush - Sally Bianco 02 - The Appropriate Way Page 4
