Angel Sleuth

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “I thought maybe she would have redecorated. I told her the last time I visited that the house was hers to do with as she liked. I never use the place anymore, so I haven’t had time to do anything with it. Isn’t it a horror? Bad retro eighties.”

  “Oh, Jeremy and I think it’s cozy. Takes me back to summers when I was a kid.”

  “I don’t remember your ever visiting here.”

  “Oh, I meant it’s just the way Mama used to describe it. Homey.”

  Arlene took a seat on the old leather couch.

  “Working at the office? She must be taking this newspaper job seriously.”

  “And she’s good at it too. I knew she would be. You must have read some of her columns.”

  Arlene shook her head. “Harold—he’s my husband, I don’t think you’ve met him yet—and I got back from France a few weeks ago, and the apartment in Manhattan has taken all my time. We’re redoing it. Maybe, if you have some of the papers laying around here, I could borrow them.”

  “Sure,” Mary Jane said. “I’ll get them for you before you leave.”

  “Look, dear, I’m just as happy Kaitlin isn’t back yet. I wanted to talk to you about her. Do you think she’s all right? She rarely calls me, but then we never were real close as mother and daughter, but…” Arlene’s carefully made-up eyes filled with tears.

  Arlene’s obvious unhappiness caught Mary Jane by surprise. What she knew of the woman said she was always composed. Mary Jane rushed over to the couch and put her arm around Arlene.

  “I’ll brew us a pot of tea, and we can talk.”

  Over the Oolong, Arlene told Mary Jane she was worried she was responsible for Kaitlin’s writer’s block. Mary Jane sighed inwardly. She often had this effect on others and had heard confessions from strangers, people she’d encountered in the supermarket, on the bus, or, once, shopping for shoes. Mary Jane hardly thought twice about it anymore. She accepted it because it was part of who she was and what she did.

  “I know she wanted to come here to get away from the possibility of running into Zack in Albany. It’s such a small city you know, but I wonder if being in this house has conjured up old memories from her past, bad ones, remembrances about her father leaving her,” Arlene said.

  Mary Jane nodded her head in sympathy, but said nothing. She could tell there was no need to reply to keep Arlene going. She seemed eager to unbosom herself to someone, and Mary Jane tried to be a good ear.

  “It’s not just her father’s abrupt departure that made her such a sensitive child. It’s partly my fault, I think. I’m the reason she decided go for a degree in counseling. You know what they say. She’s trying to work out her own problems.”

  “But now she’s taken a leave of absence from the college counseling center, and she’s writing children’s books, wonderful children’s books. There’s no evidence of leftover problems from a traumatic childhood in them,” said Mary Jane. Well, maybe a book about buzzards wasn’t quite what most children found enticing, although Jeremy liked it well enough, she thought.

  Arlene slipped off her shoes and ran her toes through the old shag carpet. “You don’t know the trauma I put her through. After her father skipped out on us, I dragged her off to an ashram in Ohio, and the old fart who was the leader there put the moves on her. And she was only eleven. I boogied right out of there, I can tell you.”

  Mary Jane poured her another cup of tea. “I understand. You were searching for your soul, and you thought the old, er, fart would help.”

  “You’re so understanding. It’s as if you can read my thoughts before I know them myself. You should be a counselor!” Arlene extracted a hankie from her purse and blew her nose, softly, into the pure linen swatch of cloth. “But there’s more. You haven’t seen any nuns around here lately, have you?”

  Mary Jane watched Arlene’s eyes dart around the room. She wondered if Arlene expected women in habits to materialize out of the dust bunnies under the furniture.

  “No nuns, just a few phone calls from a Sister Marta asking if you would be contributing to their Habits for Nuns Fund.”

  “I thought after my husband left me and the episode with Rami-the-Randy at the ashram that women might provide a better chance for enlightenment. Little did I know this renegade order professed profound hatred for men whom they held responsible for all the evils in the world. So did I at the time, but it was a caustic environment for Kaitlin.”

  Arlene paused in her speech and looked down at her toes which had collected loose carpet fiber as well as Hester’s cat hairs. Arlene held up her foot and began removing the fuzz. “So you see, I was so selfish. All I did was look to my own desires and ignore what Kaitlin needed.”

  Mary Jane found it hard to argue with that, but some twenty years after was a little late to be renegotiating history.

  “And then, of course, there was the nudist colony on the Hudson. Neither of us was prepared for that.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Mary Jane under her breath. Then aloud she said, “That was all a long time ago, when she was a child and you were, well, at loose ends. I know how hard it is to balance my career with Jeremy’s, uh, Jeremy’s interests, although we’re lucky. We seem to think along the same lines. What I’m trying to say is you do your best with your kids, and then they’re grown up. Their life is theirs to determine.”

  A look of relief played for a moment on Arlene’s face, but was quickly gone. A cry of despair escaped her.

  “Oh, who am I kidding? I messed up Kaitlin’s childhood, and now I’m doing the same thing to her as an adult.”

  Tears ran in streams down Arlene’s face. Her delicate hanky was as effective at mopping them up as eating soup with a knife.

  Mary Jane ran into the downstairs bathroom and looked for tissues. None. Jeremy had used them the other night for the gerbil’s bedding. She tore a wad of toilet paper off the roll and hurried back with it.

  “I don’t think Kaitlin blames you for her writer’s block.”

  She handed the toilet paper to Arlene who covered her face with the whole clump.

  “She should. I was the one who introduced them!”

  “Introduced who?”

  “Zack and Mrs. Lawson. I knew what would happen. The woman is a witch. She collects younger men like my Aunt Susie collects thimbles. Then she just throws them away. Of course, Aunt Susie keeps hers, but that’s different.”

  “When was this?”

  “Last fall, before I left for France. The Lawson bi…er, witch is a friend of Harold’s brother. She was at a party at our place in the city, and she mentioned seeing some work by an illustrator, Zack Singer. And I had to open my big mouth and tell her I knew him. ‘I so want to meet him,’ she said. ‘You can introduce us.’ I explained to her that Zack was married to my daughter, but then she got nasty. ‘Harold,’ she cries to my husband, ‘Arlene must think I’m some kind of a cradle robber.’ And that’s just what I knew she was. ‘She acts as if I’d do something obscene with Kaitlin’s husband. I just want to meet him. I could throw work his way.’”

  “Well, how could you know she would…”

  “Oh, I knew. I just wanted her not to make a scene at my party, so I said yes. And I know Zack, the little pirate. He’d do almost anything to get a leg up on his career. Being Kaitlin’s illustrator wasn’t good enough for Zack.”

  Oh, oh, thought Mary Jane. If Kaitlin got wind of this, Mary Jane knew what she would think.

  “You never much cared for Zack, I guess?” asked Mary Jane.

  “Never.”

  “So if Kaitlin knew you introduced him to Mrs. Lawson, she might think you did it on purpose, to throw temptation in front of Zack like tossing a dead carcass on the Nile riverbank. You think crocodiles might go after it? Goodbye Zack.”

  “I thought Kaitlin might see him for what he is,” said Arlene.

  “I think, and I’m just guessing here, you don’t even know if you did it on purpose or you just caved in to a woman you’ve described as liking talented boy
toys. Kaitlin will find out.”

  “I know. When she decided she wanted to come here and get out of Albany, I thought she might not find out how they met, but…”

  “She’ll find out.”

  “And soon. We’ll be having our summer party on the Hudson. I’ll be forced to invite the Lawson woman, and Zack and Kaitlin.”

  “You need to talk to your daughter, Arlene.”

  “I’ve got an idea. You tell her.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Mary Jane said. Not good at all, especially now with Kaitlin acting suspicious of her.

  “Well, I did offer you this house for however long you need it,” said Arlene. Her voice sounded soft, but her eyes were as black as an eagle after a dove.

  “I’ll think about it, but I can’t promise anything.” Mary Jane had dropped her head so that Arlene couldn’t see that Mary Jane’s eyes snapped with their own predatory gleam.

  “Oh, good.” Arlene took a deep breath and settled a look of relieved innocence on Mary Jane.

  A final dab of her sodden handkerchief and Mary Jane watched her metamorphose into her usual poised and dry-eyed self. Were all those tears only for effect? Only to manipulate Mary Jane into doing what Arlene should have done herself?

  “Look at the time. I’ve got to get back into the city and meet Harold for dinner. I can’t tell you how wonderful it’s been talking with you. Anytime you feel the need to have a girl chat, call me.”

  Arlene blew an air kiss to Mary Jane and swept out the door.

  “Wait. The newspapers,” said Mary Jane. She raced to the kitchen, but by the time she’d gathered them together, Arlene had driven off in her limo. Mary Jane watched through the kitchen window as the sleek car turned the corner toward the highway out of town.

  She didn’t want to tell Kaitlin about the role her mother played in bringing Zack together with Mrs. Lawson, but that was less of a worry for her than the other secret she was keeping.

  Jeremy’s gerbil saved her from confessing.

  * * *

  Just before dinner, Kaitlin banged through the front door. “Mary Jane, we need to talk.”

  “Mom’s in the shower,” yelled Jeremy from the kitchen.

  Kaitlin walked over to the table where Jeremy was tearing up old newspapers.

  “When she’s finished, could you give your mom and me a little adult time together?” She pulled out a chair and sat. “What are you doing?”

  “Making bedding for Sissy, the gerbil. Wanna help?”

  “Sure. Hand me a stack of papers.”

  About to rip the obituary section into strips, an item caught her eye. It was Leda’s obit. She scanned the copy. Born in New York City. Married. Services were at Temple Beth Israel downstate. Odd. What was Leda doing clutching a cross in her hand when she died if she was Jewish?

  “I wondered if you’d seen the notice,” said Mary Jane. She had tied a towel around her wet hair, making her look as if she’d just stepped off the masseuse’s table at an expensive spa.

  “No. Did you know Leda was Jewish?” asked Kaitlin.

  “I missed that. So that means…”

  Kaitlin scrutinized Mary Jane’s face. The woman did not miss much, unlikely she would overlook Leda’s religion.

  “It means that cross she gripped in her hand was probably not hers. Maybe she grabbed it when someone…”

  “When someone, maybe that elusive figure you saw in her living room, pushed her down the stairs.”

  “But she died of a heart attack,” Kaitlin said.

  “Or someone scared her to death,” said Mary Jane.

  “Can you really scare someone to death?”

  “Is this the adult stuff you wanted to talk to Mom about?” asked Jeremy. “I’m finished here. I’m going up to my room.”

  “I guess you wanted to discuss what I’ve been up to, right?” Mary Jane asked.

  “You don’t even want to deny anything?” asked Kaitlin.

  “I didn’t want you to know. It’s your business, but I thought I could help.”

  “Well, stop being so helpful. It’s getting annoying having you know my every move, my thoughts. Just quit it. You are not my guardian angel. Go guard someone else.”

  Mary Jane wrung her hands. “I told you I can’t guard anyone, not until my assignment comes through.”

  “Please, please. No more of this. I can’t stand it.”

  Kaitlin turned her back and fled up the stairs to her room. And that’s when she saw them.

  The advice column letters and Leda’s laptop.

  Chapter 10

  Creepy, just plain creepy. How did those letters and the computer get here? Kaitlin looked at the open window and the large maple tree whose branches hung enticingly close to it. That way.

  Or the person came up the stairs.

  She flung open her bedroom door and yelled down the hallway. “Mary Jane. Now you’ve really done it.”

  But Mary Jane denied taking the letters, denied stealing the laptop, denied leaving them on Kaitlin’s desk.

  Kaitlin didn’t believe her.

  “You overheard Brittany and me talking about the will this afternoon. You just admitted it.”

  “I did not.”

  “Just now. Downstairs.”

  “That was something else.”

  Kaitlin let her head drop onto her chest in frustration. If it was something else, Kaitlin didn’t want to know what. Right now the stolen merchandise sat on her desk, in her bedroom, in her house.

  “I’d better call the cops,” she said.

  Her next thought was of Officer Hendricks sauntering into her bedroom, eyeing the stolen items, and reaching for his cuffs with a smug mug. It was not a comforting image.

  “Wait,” said Mary Jane. “Let’s give this some thought.”

  “Maybe I should call a lawyer right now.”

  Mary Jane paced the room. The moonlight streaming in the window made her white terry robe shimmer and her tousled, wet hair glisten. For a moment Kaitlin thought she glimpsed a halo over her head. She blinked, and it disappeared.

  “Call Mac,” Mary Jane said.

  And what could Mac offer her that a lawyer could not?

  * * *

  “Call the cops,” was Mac’s recommendation after he heard about the letters, the note, the blow to her head, and the stolen letters and laptop in her office. He sat on the couch and twirled an unlit cigarette around in his fingers while sipping a bourbon, neat.

  Kaitlin could feel something sparkly and electrical in the air. Sexual tension. Pheromones between Mac and Mary Jane.

  “That’s the best you have to offer? We already thought of that.”

  “That’s my professional advice, as an ex-cop.”

  “What would you recommend, I mean, after she gives herself up?” asked Mary Jane. She seemed sanguine at having a roomie who was about to become a jailbird.

  “I’m not giving myself up!”

  “Not a good idea to run,” said Mac. But he wasn’t looking at Kaitlin.

  Kaitlin had no sense either of them were paying genuine attention to her plight. They seemed wrapped up in the rays of almost material attraction stretching between them.

  “I think you need someone to keep an eye on you. For some reason, maybe because you know too much or you saw too much, someone is out to get you. You could be in trouble.”

  Mac set his glass down on the coffee table and looked Kaitlin in the eyes. She had his complete attention now.

  “More trouble than getting arrested, spending my life in a tiny cell with a public latrine, and peeing in front of Officer Hendricks?” Just a soupçon of hysteria seasoned her tone of voice, but underneath terror was simmering.

  “You think Leda was murdered, don’t you?” asked Mac.

  Kaitlin didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded.

  “If she was, someone won’t like you snooping around. And you have been snooping, haven’t you?”

  Both Mary Jane and Kaitli
n nodded.

  “There’s the guy in Leda’s house, letters from someone at ARC, Lily’s pills, all of it.” Kaitlin enumerated her findings, counting them off on her fingers.

  Mary Jane finished for her. “And the stolen items you see here.”

  Mac held his glass out for a refill. “You’ve been a very busy girl, haven’t you? Mary Jane told me you were a writer of children’s stories, and Leda’s column. But now I find out you’re playing private eye. Someone’s telling you to back off.”

  Everyone still referred to it as “Leda’s column,” as if she were only channeling the dead woman.

  “I would, believe me, I would, but it’s my writing that got me into this mess.”

  “You need someone to keep an eye on you, girl,” he said. It sounded as if the comment was directed to Kaitlin, but his eye was on Mary Jane. He cleared his throat and returned his gaze to Kaitlin. “And there are your house guests, especially the boy to consider.”

  “You’d be willing to take on the job? How would I pay you?” she asked.

  “We’ll work out something,” he said.

  Mary Jane gave forth a girlish giggle.

  Mac winked.

  Kaitlin felt like throwing up.

  * * *

  After an hour of debate, they all agreed. She had to call the police. She dialed and got Officer Hendricks, the last cop she wanted to talk with.

  “Some stolen merchandise showed up in my house tonight.”

  “I’ll be right over. And don’t touch anything,” Hendricks said. It was as if he expected her call. He hung up.

  Mac settled into the couch, and cocked one eyebrow. Mary Jane dropped her gaze and fluttered her eyelashes, Mac lifted one side of his mouth in a crooked smile, and Mary Jane licked her lips.

  Frantic over what Hendricks might say or do when she showed him the stolen items, Kaitlin couldn’t take any more of the romance molecules crashing around the room, forcing common oxygen into retreat. She threw open one of the windows in the living room and gulped the cool mountain air. And then she remembered. She cleared her throat to get their attention. “Mac,” she said.

  “Hmmm?” he replied.