by Elaine Macko
“Oh.” I tried my hardest to stifle a laugh.
“Oh, another of the things he invented, maybe you’ve seen it, or even have one, is an automatic clothes hanger, the kind they use in dry cleaning stores. Right, honey?” she reached over and nudged her husband’s arm sloshing coffee onto his tie. Just one more stain for the collection.
“You mean you invented those rotating racks?” I asked. Okay, so it wasn’t Play-Doh and I guess I wouldn’t be taking a goodie bag home with me, but those conveyer hangers in the dry cleaners were kind of cool.
“Oh, not exactly the ones you see in the cleaners,” April answered while Larry took another bite of his sandwich. “He invented one for home use. It’s really quite ingenious, don’t you think, Larry?” She reached passed me again and nudged Larry, this time sending a bit of mayonnaise down his chin where it came to rest on his collar.
I squeezed by arms as close to my body as possible in an attempt to ward off any splatters that didn’t quite make the tie.
“It’s programmable,” April continued, obviously unaware of what she was doing to Larry. “Each slot has a number and you put your clothes on the hangers and put the hangers into the slots. Then you program it, up to two weeks at a time and up to eight items per day, to pick out your clothes for you. So in the morning all you have to do is open your closet door and the things you need for that day are right in front. It has a timer so you can let it know exactly what time you’ll be opening the door each morning. Saves a lot of time rummaging through a closet full of stuff when you’re in a hurry. Of course, you need to have a large walk-in closet, but it works like a dream.” April smiled and then instantly frowned. “There was that one incident with the woman in Branford, remember Larry, who couldn’t get the thing to stop and had to run down to her basement to turn off the power. Her cat got tangled in some of her garments and was pretty freaked out by the time she turned the thing off. Bit her several times. But she probably had faulty wiring. Her house was very old,” April commented in a matter-of-fact way. “We could probably install one for you at a good price if you’d like?”
“Thank you,” I said, “but I have a very limited amount of clothing. I think I can manage.” April looked a bit hurt but smiled anyway while Larry swiped, in vain, at a new drip on his tie.
“Is my cousin boring you with his inventions?” asked a woman at Larry’s side.
“Not at all. It’s very fascinating,” I said while April smiled and patted my hand.
“I’m Marsha Doliveck and these two are my kids, Susan and Donald.” Marsha was joined by two rather angry looking teenagers. With just a bit of imagination, I could see Donald in a few years, on a rooftop somewhere taking aim, with Susan handing him the bullets. “I need something to eat. Can I offer you a sandwich or a bit of salad?”
I tried to hide the rumblings in my stomach. “No, thank you. But I’ll join you for a bit.” I smiled at April and Larry and removed myself from between the two.
“So what do you think of all of us? Quite an assortment, wouldn’t you say?”
“I haven’t met everyone yet, but I think you’re no different than other families,” I said, hoping that that wasn’t true because the country was in more trouble if it were.
“That’s kind of you to say, but untrue. We’re an odd bunch, all right. Right, Susan?”
“If you say so, Mother,” the young girl managed to say while still looking in the opposite direction. Susan and Donald looked embarrassed by their mother, if not the entire family.
“Do you mind?” Marsha picked up her cigarette lighter. I did in fact mind, but knowing it would do no good to say so, why give Marsha the satisfaction. Marsha took a drag off of the filterless cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling of the room—her effort at trying to be a polite smoker. She pocketed the lighter and picked up a half full glass. Susan and Donald rolled their eyes and walked off in another direction.
Marsha Doliveck could be a beautiful woman, probably was at one point, but years of smoking and sunbathing turned her skin to the consistency of a sun-dried tomato. And the hint of alcohol on her breath and the amber liquid in the glass probably also made its contribution to her well-worn look.
I remembered Mrs. Brissart mentioning that Marsha was divorced, though no one seemed sure whether a marriage had ever taken place.
“So the detective on this case is your boyfriend,” Marsha continued after savoring the little smoke cloud she created.
“How did you....”
“Nothing much happens in this town that someone from my family won’t find out about. He’s kind of cute. A bit too serious.” She took another drag on her cigarette. “The other one with him is a hunk, too, though maybe a bit young for me.”
Considering that Detective Maroni was probably only a few years older than Marsha’s two children, I agreed and nodded my head. Anxious to change the subject before Marsha asked about my relationship with John, I asked a question that seemed to be a good opening line. “Were you close to Bradley?”
“With Bradley? No.” Marsha shook her head quickly. “Different age group entirely. I played with his father when we were younger. They’re a lot alike. Kind. Smart.”
“Doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would get himself killed.”
“Bradley?” Marsha Myers said with a wave of her hand. “No one wanted to kill Bradley. It was Aunt Roberta who was supposed to die. I know it. You know it. And the police know it. So don’t look so surprised.” We stood in the dining area now. Marsha picked up half a sandwich and pulled out one of the chairs at the table.
“Well, I heard something to that effect,” I said vaguely. “But I just can’t believe someone would want to kill Mrs. Brissart. She’s such a lovely woman.”
“She is. She’s also got a lot of enemies.” Marsha put the cigarette to her lips again and finding it burned out, relit it with her gold lighter.
I looked incredulous. “No one mentioned anything of the sort.”
“Then you haven’t spoken with her sisters yet.”
“Well, no. I haven’t,” I conceded. “But I know they want the land sold and aren’t pleased at Mrs. Brissart refusing to sign. She told me as much herself. You mean there’s more?”
“Let’s see.” Marsha tilted her head back and took another drag off the cigarette. “My mother and Aunt Roberta have been at odds for about fifty years or so. They loved the same guy in their youth, a man my mother loved more than any man in her life.”
“Was this Mrs. Brissart’s late husband?”
“No. It might have been better. But no, it was a man I’m not sure Aunt Roberta ever really loved. I never asked her about it, but my mother said Roberta had her mind set on him for no other reason than the fact he really loved my mother.”
“I find it hard to believe a man who loves one woman could be so easily swayed to take up with another,” I said.
“Yeah. Well, my aunt is very persuasive. Probably why so many people want her on their board.”
“So what happened?” I asked, chiding myself for being so interested in family gossip but knowing full well that somewhere in all the gossip might be the reason for Bradley’s death—and more importantly, knowing that Sam would want to hear it all.
“About four months after Aunt Roberta took up with him, and I believe his name was Charles, she dumped him and started dating the man who would eventually become her husband.”
“Why didn’t he go back to your mother then?”
“Too late. Mother went off to stay with distant relatives in Ohio. It seems my mother got pregnant and subsequently had a miscarriage.”
“How awful,” I said and truly meant it.
“Yes. My mother met my father, and they eventually got married. But she never put it out of her mind. I heard her and Aunt May talking about Charles when I was little and I asked about him but she never did say anything. Until my father died.” Marsha picked at her sandwich with one hand while the other still held the cigarette. “She got r
ather tipsy one night and told me everything.”
“But your mother married and had a family. Wasn’t she happy?”
“My father spent his money on every whore from here to the Mississippi and left mother and me with not a whole heck of a lot.”
Marsha’s venomous declaration made me cringe. “Didn’t your father die recently? You’re a grown woman.”
“With two kids. I certainly could’ve used some help.” I glanced at the two in question, still close by, who did their best to pretend their mother didn’t exist. “Donald’s off to university next year, and then Susan the following year. I could really use that money.” Marsha sighed, and I wondered if she knew she was setting herself up as one heck of a prime suspect.
“Not all of us have the acumen to invest wisely like Aunt Roberta,” Marsha continued. “I for one used my many talents to attract my recently departed Hank. In addition to breaking my heart before he left, he also cleaned out my bank account, which I was foolish enough to put in his name. Men!” She shook her head. “Hank was no better than my father.”
“Your mother can’t possibly blame anyone else for her choice of a marriage partner.”
“Well, she does,” Marsha said vehemently, and then stopped abruptly. The woman had a knack for putting her family at the top of the list of probable suspects. She flicked an ash into a small crystal bowl, took another drag, and returned her attention to me. She put a painted nail up to her lips. “Don’t say anything to anyone. My mother would be devastated if she knew I told you about our dirty laundry.” Marsha reached for her glass again and took a gulp. The ice cubes hit her teeth with a clinking sound as she drained the rest.
“You see,” she continued, “no one, not even Saint Roberta, knows how broke that bastard left us.” I wasn’t sure if Marsha meant her father or her recently departed Hank.
“Everyone keeps talking about all the money, but I just can’t imagine that one piece of land could possibly bring in so much that you could all live off of it.”
“It’s not so much the land, but what’s going to happen to it. With the right developers, and J.T. is one of the best from what mother tells me, a lot can be done there, and mother and Aunt May will get their cut. Why, it’s big enough for a small city. And I hear they’re thinking about a mall and the largest bowling alley in the country, and the...”
I put up my hand to stop the woman. I knew a bit about the area and the thought of the largest bowling alley in the country made my head spin. Not that I didn’t like bowling, I loved it in fact. But the thought of that lovely countryside and all those stone fences and gently rolling hills destroyed for a bowling alley. Well, I didn’t need to hear it on an empty stomach. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go into town to get something to eat.”
“But there’s still plenty here. Let me fix you something,” Marsha began as she tried to stand on wobbly legs.
“No! No, thank you. I need to get out. I have a few errands to run and I could use a bit of fresh air. Oh,” I turned back to Marsha. “One other thing. You said your aunt had lots of enemies. Who else besides your mother?
Marsha sat there for a moment staring off into space. “Well, there was a woman on one of her committees. Aunt Roberta beat her out of the presidency or something, and I know the woman vowed to get even.”
“When did this happen?” I asked, over the rumbling of my stomach.
“Several years ago. Maybe ten.”
I sighed. Several years ago. A woman as well respected as Mrs. Brissart probably had several other women green with envy. But enough to kill for? I doubted it especially after ten years. I grabbed my purse, anxious to get out of the house and away from all these screwballs who gobbled up food like there was no tomorrow—food that might possibly be laced with cyanide or mashed jequirity beans. I didn’t want to be anywhere around when the next body fell.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ten minutes later I pulled into a gravel parking lot by a little stand at the beach. They made the best hamburgers around. I placed my order and then settled at one of the wooden picnic tables set up along the driveway. I punched a number into my cell phone.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Where are you?” Sam asked on the other end. “You sound kind of far away.”
“I’m on my cell phone.” I listened to total silence on the other end for a moment. “Hello? Are you there?”
“I’m here. I just jotted down the exact time and date of this momentous occasion. Alex Harris uses cell phone.”
“Ha ha,” I said dryly. I despised cell phones and their constant intrusion on every aspect of life. I didn’t need to hear snippets of conversations that in polite society I shouldn’t be hearing. I owned the cheapest phone around, an ungodly limited amount of minutes each month, and insisted I would only use it for emergencies.
“Are you hurt? Sick?” Sam asked snidely on the other end. “Oh, my! You know who killed Bradley.”
I held the phone away from my ear and winced at Sam’s high-pitched words. “No. It’s not an emergency, but if you don’t want me to enlighten you to the goings-on of Indian Cove’s high society, I guess I best hang up.”
“No! Wait.”
“That’s better.” I proceeded to tell Samantha everything I knew I shouldn’t but I needed to sort things out.
“So where does someone get this bean stuff?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ll tell you one thing, whoever did it probably mashed the stuff up in a blender. If we can find that blender, then we’ll have ourselves a killer. Hold on. I’ve got to go get my food.” I put the phone down on the picnic table and went to get my hamburger.
“Okay, I’m back,” I said a moment later while licking a bit of ketchup from my fingers.
“John can’t really think Mrs. Brissart killed her grandson, can he?”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s usually so sensible. And he’s a great cop. I just don’t know what he could be thinking.” I took a bite of my hamburger savoring the flavors of smoked bacon, tomatoes, onions, jack cheese, and avocados. “Mmmm. I needed that,” I said into the phone. “I’ll just have to set him straight.”
“You think he could be right?” Sam asked, her voice hesitant over the connection.
I set the burger on the waxed paper. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. How could someone kill their own grandson?”
“Well, according to what you’ve just told me, it seems fairly certain a family member killed Bradley, so why not a grandmother?”
I groaned. “You should have seen her. Beside herself with grief. And his parents…” I told Sam about the rest of the people I had met and then hung up. Trying to hold a small cell phone and a big hamburger at the same time was just too much for me to handle. One of them had to go and it wasn’t going to be the burger.
I arrived back at the house. John’s car was parked outside along with one I didn’t recognize. As I walked along the drive, two men stood at the left far corner of the wooden porch in deep conversation—Stuart and Steven. I climbed the green steps but neither man seemed to notice my approach. I walked as softly and slowly as I could, hoping to catch something of what they discussed.
“Okay, Stuart, but this is the last time. I mean it.”
Last time for what? I wanted to sit on one of the chairs and take notes, but surely they would notice me then. I couldn’t linger any longer without arousing suspicion, though both men seemed to be totally oblivious to my presence, so reluctantly I entered the house.
“Come in, Miss Harris,” one of the twins said, though I couldn’t remember which one she was.
I entered the living room, scanning the faces for Marsha, who was nowhere in sight. “I was looking for either Marsha or Mrs. Platz,” I began, hoping that in her inebriated state, Marsha might let something slip about a blender and some beans.
“My daughter had to leave and Virginia is in the kitchen, no doubt. I think my sister is upstair
s with Ken and Lily. And your detective is talking with Larry. Oh, where are my manners,” June said, taking a moment to fluff up her hair. “I’m June Doliveck and this is my sister, May Estenfelder. But please, just call us June and May.”
What did she mean by your detective, I thought while taking off my sweater.
“Do you care for something to drink, Miss Harris?”
I could use a cup of tea. The stand at the beach only sold soft drinks, which always left a funny taste in my mouth. I thought a second if I should risk a drink with these potential poisoners and a maybe-murderess in the kitchen and decided the hell with it, I wanted, no needed a cup of tea.
May Estenfelder picked up a small bell on the mantle and rang for Mrs. Platz. I never saw anyone ring for someone other than in the movies and I did the mental eye roll thing at the pretentiousness. The tea requested, the three of us settled down for a nice chat.
“We understand you and Detective Van der Burg are dating,” June said.
“Yes, we are,” I answered. I glanced from sister to sister. Both June and May looked like Mrs. Brissart, though the twins were a bit taller and heavier in the hips than their older sister. They had blue eyes but without the twinkle and spark in Mrs. Brissart’s. Both women had gray hair on which they added some sort of rinse making their heads give off a lavender hue, especially in certain light. Since they both wore purple dresses, May’s with black buttons down the front, I wondered if they tinted their hair to match the color of their clothes. God help us if they took a liking to lime green fabric or day-glow orange. An image of Millie dressed like a member of the squash family flashed in my head and I realized on second thought maybe purple hair wasn’t so bad.
