by Elaine Macko
“We were wondering, Miss Harris, that is, my sister, June and I, well, no sense in beating around the bush. We thought you might be able to have a word with your young man and convince him that his efforts are wasted concentrating on our family.”
“Why is that, Mrs. Estenfelder?”
“May, please. Because no one from our family would be capable of such a hideous crime. I’m not sure if you understand our standing in the community. Our family ties go way back in Connecticut and well, this rather unpleasant interrogation is a bit of an embarrassment. Why just today…” She turned to look at her sister. “I forgot to tell you, June, but my neighbor, Mr. Saksa, came out and asked me all sorts of things about which member of the family did I think killed poor Bradley. Well, I can tell you what effect it had on me! Right out in front of my own home! I hope no one else saw him badger me with his nonsense. So you see, Miss Harris,” she said turning her attention back to me, “the detective must stop this harassment at once.”
“To whom do you think he should direct his investigation?” I asked.
“Well, we’re not sure, but certainly no one from this family. Why, Roberta leaves her door open and she is far too friendly with common folk, you know. She lets the milkman come right into the kitchen with his butter and cottage cheese! And the paperboy, he stood right there, for goodness sake.” May pointed to a spot somewhere in the entry hall.
“Who knows who else she lets come into her house? And of course there’s the gardener, Mr. Kaminski,” added June. “He actually lives in this house. Roberta is far too friendly with her staff. She shouldn’t have live-ins, not in this day and age!”
“Mrs. Estenfelder…May, why would any of these people want to kill Bradley?” I asked hoping that some light might be shed on my newfound suspicions of Mrs. Platz.
“Well, that’s just something that your Mr. Van der Burg will have to ascertain. He will not get to the real culprit wasting valuable time on us. I would venture to say that the person responsible is probably clear to Mexico by now,” May said, waving her hand in a direction that I knew did not lead to Mexico.
A smarmy looking man entered the living room and came to where we sat. I recognized him at once from the accurate description Mrs. Brissart gave that this was the infamous Mr. Smit.
“There you are. I wondered what happened to you,” June said, suddenly acting like a lovesick schoolgirl.
I envisioned the scenario Mrs. Brissart laid out for John and me yesterday about these two off in one of the rooms upstairs, clawing at each other’s flesh. It had been funny to hear about it but now that I had the two participants right in front of me my visions weren’t as amusing as yesterday.
“J.T. here has some wonderful ideas for our land. He’s planning a whole new community up there,” June gushed the words out all the while gazing up at this lizard.
Hard as I might, I just couldn’t fathom what on earth June saw in this man. His eyes were small and red-rimmed, and his hair, what little he had, was a greasy mess plastered on to an egg-shaped head. Crooked teeth filled his mouth. I put him at about forty-five though he looked older. But as unappealing as I found him, I wondered what he saw in June.
I sat there feeling weighed down by the massive amount of meat I consumed at lunch. I felt sick and wanted to leave but John’s words came flooding back. Mrs. Brissart hasn’t been cleared as a suspect. I had three suspects right here, top ones at that. I couldn’t let a couple pounds of bread and meat digesting in my stomach get me down. With a straightening of my shoulders meant to convey determination to my mind, I told myself I was on a mission, and one that a certain policeman did not share—to clear Mrs. Brissart’s name. I’m sure Winston had to go into battle on more than one occasion with a few too many meat pies sitting in his all too prominent belly and if he could do it so could I.
So without further ado, I smiled at each one of my suspects and said, “So all of you showed up Monday night,” hoping to catch them off guard.
“Why, of course we did. We arranged for the meeting in the first place,” both sisters said in unison totally oblivious to my catching-them-off-guard strategy.
“Yes, that’s right. Roberta is proving to be very difficult. The sale of this land would make her very wealthy indeed, not to mention that house of hers.”
June and May nodded their agreement to this last profound statement coming from the mouth of J.T.
“I thought she already had plenty of money,” I voiced, knowing full well adding to Mrs. Brissart’s coffer never entered their minds.
“Of course Roberta’s a wealthy woman, but you can never have too much money, now can you?” J.T. smirked at me. Did I see a wink? Was he flirting with me? In front of his beloved?
I turned slightly giving J.T. a glimpse of my back and directed my next question to the twins. “Do you have any idea why someone wanted to kill Bradley?”
“Of course not!” May said putting her hand close to her heart. “We’ve already told that detective everything that happened that night.”
“What exactly did happen, Mrs. Estenfelder?”
May heaved a huge sigh, forcing her bosom to strain the buttons of her dress. “Everyone arrived by five-thirty. Really, we’ve already told the police all of this.”
“Maybe if we tell it again, someone will finally listen. And she is dating that detective,” June enthused to her sister. This seemed to appease May and June continued. “J.T. made his presentation about his plans for the land. And an excellent presentation it was!” She gushed again at the man who seemed to be a bit embarrassed or was it disgusted, with her attention.
“Oh, do you have a sketch of what it’ll look like after being developed?” I reluctantly turned back to J.T. and asked with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
“Well, no, not with me. But here’s my card. You’re more than welcome to come by the office and view the plans when you have a moment.” He handed me one of his business cards quickly touching my hand in the process, while June’s face flushed with anger.
“Thank you.” I tucked the card into my purse. “So, getting back to Monday evening, you all arrived together and left together, is that right?”
“Well,” May answered, “we all arrived within a half hour of each other, except of course, Kendra, who showed up later. Kendra, a lovely girl, but Bradley could do better. Do you know her family history goes back to the beginning of ours? Our illustrious ancestor, Lucien Cournet and Kendra’s great great, oh I don’t know how many greats, but her ancestor was Raymond Thiry. Of course, he was murdered is how the story goes, and any chance of a good line stopped there. I believe Kendra’s parents work in a factory.”
“Yes, that’s right, they do. Poor souls,” interjected June.
“So, yes,” May continued. “Let’s see. So, everyone arrived. A bit of arguing ensued as usually happens at these get-togethers, and then about eight or so, Virginia brought out a light supper and I had two macaroons myself. Though why Roberta made them so evil looking is beyond me. Knowing my sister like I do, she probably did it to bother me. She knows how frightened I can become. But they tasted good nevertheless. She made them from the same recipe our mother used and I just love them so!” She put her hand to her heart again and started to sway.
“May, are you all right? Sit down! J.T., run get a cold compress.” June barked at the developer and I began to see how the relationship worked.
I helped June put May on the sofa where she started to recover and grabbed at her sister’s sleeve. “June, you ate a few of the macaroons as well.”
“You’re right. I did. And so did J.T. Good lord. We all could have been killed.”
“Do you think it’s possible to sue Roberta for failing to insure her buffet?”
I thought all that was missing was a southern accent and a hand fan.
“May, you may have something there. We’ll have to contact our lawyer.” June turned to look at me. “Please don’t misunderstand. We love our sister, but well, we could have bee
n killed. Every last one of us. Roberta should be taught a lesson.”
Losing a grandson seemed like quite a lesson to me, and besides, Mrs. Brissart was not responsible for what happened. One of these idiots was. A headache started at the back of my head, working its way to the front, which took my mind off my stuffed stomach, and I understood completely why Mrs. Brissart hated her family. I wanted to walk out on the pair of them but still hoped for a bit more information. I also wanted to talk with June about the love of her life, Charles, but thought it better to confront the woman alone.
“If you’re feeling better May, could we get back to the events of Monday evening,” I said a bit abruptly. “So you tried to convince Mrs. Brissart to sell but she wouldn’t listen?”
“She certainly did not,” May said as she fanned herself with her lace hankie. So now all we needed was the southern accent. “My sister never listened to anyone in her entire life. We’ve told her over and over again to stay away from certain elements, if you get my meaning. She continues to throw herself into work with women who don’t have the good sense to get out of bad marriages and she works with the homeless. Why, any one of them could have come right in here and poisoned Bradley.”
“Mrs. Doliveck, that doesn’t make any sense. First, I think the work your sister does for this community is something to be proud of. I wish I did more, I’m ashamed to admit, and second, why would someone from one of her charities kill Bradley, for goodness sake?”
“Well, that’s a good point, I’ll grant you that, though perhaps they wanted to hurt Roberta. You know, maybe in their warped mind they resented her all her money and her house and just wanted to cause her some pain.”
“Afterward, you all went home? Together?” I asked while massaging my temples.
May sat up on the sofa. “Yes, we all left together. June and J.T. dropped me off at my house.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes, I do. I have a housekeeper but she doesn’t live in. She comes several mornings a week and is gone by six. I couldn’t stand to have someone in my house. Especially a stranger.”
The cool breeze generated by the hankie fanning May continued gave me goose bumps. I turned toward June. “And you, Mrs. Doliveck, did you go directly home?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, young woman, but yes, I did. And I, too, live alone. I agree with my sister about the help living in. It’s just not proper! You can see for yourself what can happen!”
“Are you blaming Mrs. Platz for Bradley’s death?” I asked incredulously, even though I planned on interrogating the woman the first chance I got.
“Maybe the poison was meant for Roberta,” J.T. said as he came back into the room holding a wet washcloth. He smiled his crooked grin. What he thought amusing I didn’t know.
The consensus was in. They all agreed Mrs. Brissart was the one intended to die. But something didn’t sit well with me on that front.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
With Chantal due to return tomorrow, I needed to do something before I went to see Mrs. Platz. Going into the study I sat at the computer and scanned several documents until I found the one I wanted. “Ah,” I said smiling. “Study history, study history. In history lie all the secrets of statecraft.” I hoped Winston’s words also applied to family. Sending the document to the printer, I sat back and sighed. If John thought the answer to Mrs. Brissart’s supposed guilt was somewhere in the pages of the family history, then I needed to read through it again. Gathering all the printed pages into a folder, I tucked them into my purse and went to the kitchen.
“Alex. I’m sorry. I never did get that cup of tea for you, did I?”
“Not to worry, Mrs. Platz, I can get it.” I took the kettle to the sink and filled it with water, but first I took a quick peek inside, and finding nothing, filled it half way. “I can understand why Mrs. Brissart has a difficult time with her sisters.”
“Most disagreeable, those two.”
“Have they ever gotten along?” I asked, as I leaned against the long counter.
“Not as long as I’ve been around.”
“Does she have more problems with one sister than the other or are they both equally annoying to her?” I asked, wondering if Mrs. Platz knew about Charles.
“Now that you mention it, I would say Roberta and June seem to have more animosity between them. Roberta thinks May is a pain. Period.”
“Any particular reason why she and June don’t get along as well as she and May?”
“She doesn’t get along with either one of them. Things are more strained with June. I don’t know why. Just personalities, I suppose.”
So Mrs. Platz didn’t know of the feud between the sisters over a long-lost love. Which seemed odd. Mrs. Platz and Mrs. Brissart spent almost every evening playing cards. Surely they talked of such things over the years. Of course, Mrs. Platz may well know the whole story and didn’t want to share the information with me.
“How long have you worked here, Mrs. Platz? I asked, while pouring the water into a freshly washed cup.
“Many years. More than I can remember.” Mrs. Platz heaved a huge sigh.
“Have they been happy years?” I asked totally aware my question sounded odd.
Mrs. Platz straightened up from bending under the counter. “I can’t seem to find our blender. Getting back to your question, yes, they have. I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t like it here,” she answered indignantly. “Why do you ask?”
I tried hard to keep the excitement out of my words. “No reason. Just that it must be difficult working so closely with someone every day. I work with my sister and while I love her dearly, it can be trying at times. When was the last time you saw the blender?”
Mrs. Platz waved her hand. “That old thing. Who knows? I just thought it’d be nice to have a berry shake. And it’s not trying to work with Roberta,” Mrs. Platz said flatly. “She’s been like family to me. I couldn’t have asked for a better employer. Or friend,” she added.
I took a sip of my tea using this as an excuse to regroup my thoughts. It certainly didn’t sound like Mrs. Platz had any hidden vendetta against her employer. And, I thought with a sudden letdown, this must be the reason the police weren’t focusing any attention on the woman. If I couldn’t collar Mrs. Platz as a murderer and declare myself a hero, then the least I could do was to offer the woman some sympathy.
“Mrs. Platz, I’ve been through the same thing you’re going through now. I mean, finding a body.”
Virginia Platz looked up from her own cup of tea I fixed for her. “Yes, I think someone mentioned you had found a…found someone as well.”
“I did. I know what you’re going through. And I wish I could say you’ll forget about it soon, but you won’t. I haven’t, even though it’s been almost a year.”
Mrs. Platz’s eyes filled with tears. “It was Bradley, not some stranger. Did you know the person you found?” Mrs. Platz asked tentatively.
“Yes. Not very well, though. Just an acquaintance. But still…” I let my voice trail off.
“I can’t talk to Roberta about it. She’s in enough pain.”
“Did Mrs. Brissart go into the room when you found Bradley?”
“After I screamed, Mr. Kaminski and Roberta both came running. Ralph got there first and after he saw what I saw, we tried to keep Roberta out. But she had to come in. Had to see for herself. We got her out of there quickly by telling her we had to get the police, and we shouldn’t disturb anything. But no one should see their beloved like that. No one.” Mrs. Platz’s voice softened to a whisper. She wiped at her eyes with a dishrag on the counter and looked up. “They will find who did this, won’t they?”
“Yes. They will, Mrs. Platz,” I answered, hoping I spoke the truth. But looking at the woman I felt certain about one thing. Mrs. Platz had no part in killing Bradley or trying to kill Roberta. For beside sorrow and deep pain in the woman’s eyes, I saw something else. Fear.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
From the o
utside, the modern two-story structure was deceiving. A large oak and two young maples framed the façade, and though the many windows lining the front wall were tinted, the poor souls entering through the double doors knew what they were in for. And most of them, except for the few guests, paid for the service.
I parked under a small birch and took a purple canvas duffel bag from the trunk of my car. “I can do this,” I said as I walked into the Indian Cove Health Club. I hadn’t been here in almost two weeks and silently apologized to my muscles for the pain I was about to inflict.
By the time I changed into a pair of baggy sweat shorts and a faded T-shirt, all the treadmills were in use. From my vantage point at the back of the large workout room, which gave me quick access to the next available treadmill, I picked up two hand weights and watched while a group of men lifted objects that weighed as much as my car. Blue veins appeared on their foreheads and necks, threatening to burst at any moment. I looked down at the two five-pound weights I held. There would be no popping veins on this body, I thought as the men heaved and gasped, sweat sliding down their faces onto chests barely covered by sleeveless T-shirts. My own muscles strained to keep from collapsing under the gravity of the weights while the rest of me strained to keep from giving in to gravity, period.
Glancing at the still-occupied treadmills, I walked to a machine that worked the legs. I liked this one. I felt a sense of accomplishment whenever I used it. Across the room, by the hallway leading to the reception area, Steven Estenfelder stood talking with the young woman who taught the aerobics class.
A few minutes later Ann came over to my machine. “Hi, Alex. Haven’t seen you here in a while.”
“Oh, hi, Ann,” I said to the petite goddess who stood at my side. “No, I haven’t been in for almost two weeks. I really needed it today. I’m waiting for one of the machines to free up.” I motioned with my chin to the treadmills. “Was that Steven Estenfelder I saw you talking to?”
