It all began on a Saturday in late September, the day of the last barbecue of the summer....
"Where,” Leonora asked casually, in her irresistibly husky voice, “are the chicken kebabs, Tony?"
"There aren't any,” her husband replied offhandedly. “The supermarket was out of them.” It was unusual for the devoted Tony to pay such little regard to his wife's demands.
The gorgeous eyes flashed. “Then why didn't you buy some chicken and make some?"
Clad in flowing white silk, Leonora looked magnetically magnificent and utterly desirable. Impractical though flowing white silk might be at a barbecue, the other three wives present, clad in khaki shorts (Jane), tight black designer jeans (Anna-bel), and a wraparound crumpled beach skirt (Liz), didn't even begin to compete.
They need not have bothered anyway, since their husbands’ eyes were automatically feasting themselves on Leonora's seductive charms. Richard (Jane's steady but plodding accountant husband), pompous businessman Hector (husband and provider for the superior Annabel), and Patrick (sporty Liz's husband, whenever he could spare the time from other women) all glowered scorn on the useless, albeit rich, Tony. If looks could have killed, Leonora could have been free to enjoy another's charms that very moment.
For once, Tony stood up for himself. “The food's your job."
"Not,” Leonora said firmly, “for a barbecue. Now we don't have enough to cook. Oh Tony, I relied on you,” she told him reproachfully. “It isn't much to ask, is it?” She turned her weepy pleading look on her admirers, of which her husband was obviously not one, at least that day.
All three men instantly responded. Who would expect Aphrodite to descend from her pedestal to attend to mere matters of missing chicken? Only, they all reasoned, her insensitive and undeserving husband. Tony was a pleasant enough chap, but hackles were easily roused when Leonora was around. Anything, anything they could do to help they would, in the hope of gratitude from the goddess.
"We've some chicken in the freezer,” Richard said eagerly. “Pop home and get it, Jane darling."
Darling Jane did not budge. “Pop yourself,” she replied pleasantly. Normally she'd be happy to oblige Tony, with whom she usually got on well, but today was not normal. Richard hesitated, but the implied message was clear: Stay right where you are.
"Quite right, Jane,” Tony said approvingly, to irritate Leonora even more. “We've got some sausages somewhere."
"Sausages?” Leonora grew pale. “We can't just eat sausages."
"We've got some fish,” Hector offered proudly. “Monkfish, naturally. Nothing but the best for our Leonora, eh?"
The glacial Annabel froze even further. “Monkfish for a barbecue? Absolutely not."
The field was clear for the randy Patrick, but through no fault of his own, he fell at the first fence—almost literally. “Steak,” he cried, running to the garden gate. “I'll fetch some steak."
"We ate it,” Liz called after him smugly, and with a look of intense dislike he returned to the group.
Leonora looked horrified, and little wonder. What had gone wrong? Why wasn't her problem being solved for her? The other seven of the group instinctively knew. The warriors were taking up their positions. Kebabs might be the battleground, but Armageddon had been brewing for some time—and its root cause was not chicken.
The barbecue was the last of Manor Square's social events for the summer. When Lower Beeching's former infant school at one edge of the manor estate had been demolished in favour of a larger eggbox construction situated at the other end of the village, a developer had quickly seen the opportunity to build four prestigious residences in its place, complete with porticos, double garages, and latticed windows, and each on one side of a secluded inner square. Each had its own rear garden, which, owing to the angle of the houses, afforded some privacy. There were few prestigious houses in Little Beeching, and thus the four in Manor Square preserved their status by banding themselves into an exclusive social unit, indulging in frequent get-togethers, from barbecues to bridge, from dinner parties to dining out.
It had been a hot summer, and barbecues had been frequent. By the time of this last barbecue the sun was losing its power, but emotions were boiling hot in Tony and Leonora's garden. That these emotions should explode over a matter of chickens was unforeseen but immaterial; they were merely the means of ignition.
"Why don't you organise things properly, Leonora,” Tony hurled at her, almost squeaking with pent-up rage, “instead of swanning around preening yourself? You're no spring chicken."
Sheer shock made Leonora—and her guests—speechless for a moment. Then tears began to roll down the flawless cheeks. “It's your fault,” she wailed.
"How dare you speak to her that way!” Hector shouted, with Richard chiming in with a feeble, “Hey, calm down,” and Patrick announcing that Tony was a jerk. “You don't appreciate her,” Hector concluded indignantly.
"Which you obviously do,” Annabel snapped unexpectedly. In her role as superior being, she usually strove to float serenely over any hint of strife. “You're a good judge, after all. You see enough of her."
Patrick immediately seized his opening. “Don't worry, Annabel, Hector doesn't have the balls to do anything about it."
Liz looked at her husband sharply. She might be hearty and healthy, but she had a shrewd brain in her head—and a keen eye. “But you do. You spend half your time mentally undressing her, and maybe not so mentally."
Richard joined in, with Jane hopping up and down anxiously at his side. “Let's calm it, shall we?"
Unfortunately, his sanctimonious plea had the opposite effect.
"Don't tell me you wouldn't want to do the same yourself, Rick,” Patrick sneered, “if only Jane would let you—"
"Me?” Richard interrupted fiercely, with Jane now ready to enter the fray, boiling with righteous fury on behalf of her husband.
Both were frustrated, as Tony waved the huge tongs round his head then crashed them against the barbecue's metal side.
"Aren't you all forgetting something?” he yelled. “Leonora's my wife. And it's going to stay that way, whatever nasty little lusty thoughts you three might have. Isn't that right, Leonora?"
Leonora promptly ran to him, all rustling silk and dark passionate eyes, and kissed him gently on the lips. “Of course that's right, Tony. You're the only man in my life. I'd never leave you."
There was a silence, as several guests’ fantasies were blown to smithereens. All six reluctantly acknowledged the truth. Not only was Tony a very rich man, but Leonora was a very moral woman. Whatever her own desires, and however she might fulfill them from time to time, she would stay with Tony.
Not for long, as it turned out. Two days later when Leonora was away visiting her parents, Tony was found seated in his car in a closed garage. He was dead from carbon monoxide poisoning.
* * * *
Suicide? No note had been left for Leonora. Accident was theoretically possible. Tony wasn't known for alcoholic abstinence. Uneasily the remaining inhabitants of Manor Square, not to mention the police, leaned towards murder—influenced, no doubt, by the autopsy, which revealed not only a large quantity of alcohol but a heavy dose of barbiturates.
Despite village gossip, the murder was not mentioned publicly for some days in Manor Square. Each of the residents spoke individually to the police about what a good chap Tony was and how devoted a couple he and Leonora had been. There was mention of recent business worries and rivals. Leonora explained to the police that Tony had a habit of stirring up antipathy at work, although jealousy was not in his nature. Then all went quiet and Leonora received permission for the funeral to go ahead.
After the service and formal gathering, Leonora insisted that the other six Manor Square residents should remain for supper. “Since we're all so close,” she explained, “I would appreciate it. I've made some chicken cacciatore."
Leonora was bearing up wonderfully, her guests all verbally agreed, unable to refuse. Not one of t
hem commented on the last occasion that chicken had dominated the menu.
"Hunter's chicken,” Leonora translated kindly, in case the Italian language was unknown to her neighbours. “I thought it would be a nice way to break the news to you."
News? Six faces looked up warily.
"After all,” Leonora cooed sweetly, “we all know that one of you murdered Tony. So I thought I would tell you I shall be putting this house on the market immediately and moving away."
Horrified faces, hiding varying emotions, greeted her announcement.
"Don't,” Richard said immediately in his accountant's I-know-what-is-wise-for-you voice. “It's too soon. Make no decision for at least six months."
It's doubtful if Leonora even heard him, for Patrick and Hector were falling over themselves to express their own shock—or perhaps each calculating his chances of going with her versus his career.
"You're going alone?” shrieked Patrick, causing Liz to choke over her chicken cacciatore.
"You can't do it yet,” Hector was babbling.
Only respect for widowhood prevented the women from shouting out: “Oh yes, you can, Leonora. Do it."
Hunter's chicken, but who was the hunter and who the prey? That was the interesting question. It was noticeable that none of the three men had questioned Leonora's statement that the murderer was sitting at the table with her.
Leonora took no notice of her guests’ pleas. She had no need to. Her plans were already made. “I haven't told the police that I think poor Tony was deliberately killed. But I do think I should leave for all our sakes."
There was silence, and the chicken cacciatore was undeservedly neglected, as the two burning issues were given priority. Was she right about murder, and if so what evidence did she have and whom did she have in mind? Secondly—or firstly for several guests—was she leaving alone?
"Perhaps I expressed myself a little badly,” she continued. “I merely meant that you all had the opportunity to kill him and that therefore I should be a little more helpful with the police so that they can—what's the phrase?—eliminate you from their enquiries."
She had expressed herself all too clearly. And yet, as they looked at her, she seemed just as desirable, just as beautiful, if somewhat remote. Perhaps it was merely the emotions that had been stirred by her announcement. The knowledge that she was now a free woman had excited them with emotions ranging from hope to deep fear. Leonora had cast her spell over Manor Square for too long for it to disappear so quickly, and for some of those present, fantasies were busy reassembling themselves that bliss could still be theirs. But the fantasies had taken on a dark hue; there was murder to be taken into account, a life unjustly ended and society's retribution to be considered.
"Why should anyone want to kill Tony?” Jane was brave enough to ask.
A lesser woman than Leonora might have been thrown by this, but she countered it immediately.
"Not why, Jane. That would be a distressing question even to consider. You know I love you all dearly.” (This was news to some of her guests.) “Suppose we ask ourselves how it could have been done."
Oh, what subtlety. The guests examined their love or lack of it for Leonora, most assuming she spoke only to them.
"How indeed,” Leonora continued. “I loved Tony so much, you see, and so I do feel the need to examine what happened carefully. He died in the early evening, although he was not found until nearly midnight—by you, Richard."
Richard flushed bright red, as if she were accusing him of the murder. He opened his mouth to protest, but she swept onwards.
"Tony,” she continued, “had been intending to stay in that evening and watch a DVD. Could he have had a visitor? One of you, even? Of course he could. However—forgive me, for I'm not used to this kind of situation—it occurs to me that you would all have noticed if your spouse was absent for a fair while during the relevant period, say six to eight o'clock. I, as you know, was with my parents twenty miles away, and we were—” a small sigh—"dining in a local restaurant that evening. I'm sure you can't think that I would have any need of an alibi, but fortunately there were many witnesses. You all know how much I loved Tony. Did any of you notice your spouse's absence during the early evening?"
There was another horrified silence, and it went on so long that Leonora smiled. “So no one did. Do you know, that's what I imagined would be the case."
It was Annabel who came to the aid of the party. “I think Jane's right. The why should come first. None of us had any business dealings with Tony, and you told the police that he was often at odds with his colleagues. That is by far the most likely reason if he was murdered.” She threw down her gauntlet with aplomb. “After all, none of us had any personal reason to kill him, did they, Leonora?"
"Love is unpredictable,” Leonora murmured, unfazed. She was made of stern stuff.
So was Annabel. “It is indeed, and so, much as you loved Tony, Leonora, you have to include yourself in this imaginary scenario of murder. You could have known Tony was planning to use his car that evening and drugged his whisky before you left."
Leonora looked shaken, but not very stirred. “Whisky? Rather chancy, don't you think, with today's drink-and-drive laws? Far more likely that someone here shared a most unfriendly coffee with him, then enticed him to the garage, engaging him in talk until the pills took effect?"
"But why should any of us do that, Leonora?” Annabel persisted, determined to bring her into the open.
Leonora lost some of her poise. “Someone must have believed I loved them,” she said flatly.
"But you told us all very clearly at the barbecue that you loved only Tony,” Annabel said sweetly.
"I did. Of course I did. It's a question of degree.” Leonora looked flushed.
"Not putting all your eggs in one basket, eh?” Richard said. His tone seemed aimed at the jocular, but it didn't quite make it.
"Please don't talk of chickens,” Leonora said stiffly poise recovered. “The anger, the hatred shown to poor Tony and myself that day—I shall never forget it. And you call yourselves our friends. I suspected then that Tony might be doomed.” A pause. “Do you know who I think killed him?"
A stillness, as her glance travelled—vindictively—from one guest to another. “I believe one of you three couples did this together. One of you to share a drink with my poor husband, the other to summon him to the garage on some pretext and help overpower him if it were still necessary."
Something that might have been a collective sigh of relief ran round the table that Leonora, for all her fascination and loveliness, was not that bright.
Or was she? “But,” she continued, “I admit the question of why does come into it. Why should two of you want to murder Tony, when love is such an individual thing?"
It was a question that none of them could answer, but nevertheless there was a strange quiet as the guests finished their chicken and the cheesecake that followed, and hastily departed for their own homes.
* * * *
At Ash House, Patrick broke the long silence as Liz fussed around in the bathroom for far too long—almost as if she were delaying the inevitable moment. “Is Leonora right?” he said the moment she appeared. “Do you see Hector and Annabel in cahoots for long enough to murder old Tony? Or Richard and Jane? Bit far-fetched, isn't it?” He gave an uneasy laugh.
Liz's cheeks glowed with indignation. “I notice you don't add, ‘Why should they want to?’”
Patrick paid great attention to removing his clothes for the night, perhaps in the hope of deflecting Liz's thoughts to matters he could more easily satisfy. She wasn't deflected.
"I could see Hector having a go alone,” she added airily. “That woman's a tease. I wouldn't mind betting she egged him on with the promise of her luscious body—or is that what she's promised you? Either way,” she ignored Patrick's attempts at refuting her accusations, “she hoped one of you would free her from her marital chains and make her a rich woman."
"You can be
a bitch, Liz. You know that? You've really got it in for poor Leonora."
"No, darling. You have stars in your eyes and the hots elsewhere.” Liz's eyes narrowed.
"Nonsense,” Patrick said hurriedly. “I may flirt a bit, but you know it's nothing serious."
"Do I?"
"I think it's Richard and Jane Leonora's had in mind—or more likely Richard alone."
"No way. Jane wouldn't let him out of her sight long enough for more than a quick squeeze of the hand, much as he'd like to. I think,” Liz reflected, “it's us whom Leonora was targeting. Or rather, you. After all, you were at the pub that evening."
Patrick said nothing as he climbed into bed.
* * * *
"Jane—"
"Yes?” Her stony face made Richard nervous as he watched her come in with the cocoa.
"Do you think Leonora's right? That it's a couple working together?"
"If so, it isn't us,” she said shortly. “I suppose it could be Liz and Patrick or Hector and Annabel, but it seems unlikely to me. Annabel and Liz are more likely to kill Leonora than Tony."
"Unless,” Richard said thoughtfully, “Leonora, or Tony come to that, was blackmailing them."
Jane gasped. “What about, for heaven's sake?"
"I don't know. I suppose it's not very likely. Anyway, my money's on Patrick,” Richard said quickly, “he's a funny sort of bloke, and Liz would cover up for him all the way. She's like that."
Jane raised an eyebrow. “There's you, of course,” she said, stirring the cocoa, as well as the pitch of the conversation. She'd been longing to get that out all the evening. Richard had been far too quiet.
"You can't possibly think I murdered him,” Richard said self-righteously. “You don't think I have my eye on Leonora."
"It's difficult not to,” Jane said forthrightly. “She's stunning. Even I can see that."
"Admiring her is a far call from wanting to spend the rest of your life with her, or to murdering her husband,” he said caustically. “Jane, you don't really think I—"
"Of course not,” Jane interrupted quickly. “But that was your choir-practice evening, so I couldn't actually swear we were together."
EQMM, December 2008 Page 14
