by Susan Cory
“Wow,” Mack said. “That’s pretty incriminating. I hope that G.B. didn’t spot you eavesdropping.”
“I hid up on the balcony. They couldn’t see me. But Ellie and I were discussing this and it doesn’t necessarily nail G.B. as the killer.”
“That’s right,” Ellie picked up the story. “I sat next to Jerry this afternoon on the bus tour of alumni work. It slipped out that he actually flew up on Thursday and I got the distinct impression that he stayed over at G.B.’s condo in Beacon Hill that night. So, they could have murdered Will together or they could have just been spending the day with each other. Or, for that matter, maybe one of them went his separate way on Friday and met up with Will.”
“This is making my head hurt. It seemed so clear this afternoon that G.B. was the killer. Well, at least we know they could have done it, separately or together. And speaking of Jerry,” Iris said, “after I left the picnic, I saw Jerry and Norman walking together in Harvard Square. I lost them on Holyoke Street, but I think they went into a restaurant for lunch. What could they have had to talk about?”
“He didn’t mention that when we talked on the bus. I wonder what he was up to?”
“I can’t imagine those two having much in common,” Iris said, “but it sure seems as if Jerry’s trying to hide his actions. And we know from his brownie comment last night that he knew about Will’s drugging Carey. Maybe he was the one who actually killed Carey, and Will didn’t say anything about it because he didn’t want his own part in the drugging to come out. But maybe after all these years, he got a conscience and decided to rat Jerry out.”
“Wait a minute. Back up. What’s this ‘brownie comment’?” Luc said.
Mack proudly filled Luc in on the clue that he himself had extracted from the previous night’s party.
“Oh, and C.C. told me that Alyssa actually made the brownies. So that means Jerry, Alyssa, Adam, C.C. and Will all knew that Carey was going to be in a weakened condition that night,” Iris said.
“So out of our suspects, that only leaves G.B. as being in the dark,” Mack said, as he passed around a basket of warm bread. “Jerry probably wouldn’t have told him beforehand since it was G.B.’s apartment and he could have gotten in trouble if he hadn’t stopped it.”
Hmmm.” Ellie said. “If Jerry was the one who killed Carey, and Will was going to expose him, then he’d have a motive for killing Will, but that could apply to the others as well. We’ve caught Jerry acting suspicious and furtive, but he always acts that way. I tried last night to get him talking about the graduation party, but he clammed up. He mentioned only that he stayed in Cambridge that summer and worked for G.B. Then he left for Chicago and said that he hadn’t kept in touch with anyone but G.B. since then. Of course, he could be lying.”
They looked up eagerly as Louise approached with the appetizers. They had ordered plates of fluke ceviche and frizzled clam strips for the table.
“I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven!” Iris said as she speared a piece of clam.
After every morsel was consumed, Luc excused himself to go compliment the trial chef and make sure that Arnold, his sous-chef, was keeping the pace steady. When he returned, he brought with him a bottle of dry Riesling.
Ellie resumed her report. “On the bus tour, I managed to get Alyssa talking about their ride up on Friday. She complained that they had hit rush-hour traffic on the Mass Pike and barely had time to check in to their hotel to change before getting to the dinner. If she’s telling the truth, then that lets them off the hook. That’s the kind of thing the police can track down, but how can we check what they say?”
Iris nodded. “Same thing with C.C. She said that she was in Connecticut yesterday afternoon checking out two projects for the magazine and flew up here afterward. That could alibi her as well for Will’s killing. I guess we’ll have to try to get others to verify their stories and to use our knowledge about them to test their credibility.”
“Right. We know that every one of them would frame their grandmothers to divert suspicion from themselves. We’ll have to hope that they’re all too arrogant to consider themselves suspects.” Ellie directed her fork toward Iris. “When I spoke with Rachel on the phone, she seemed convinced that you’re the one who killed Will. She’s sure you lured him east to murder him as revenge for his catting around during graduate school.”
“She’s forgetting that that was 20 years ago. She gives my memory way too much credit.” Still, Iris felt a blush warming her cheeks. She avoided looking at Luc.
“Rachel had overheard Will talking on his cell phone on Wednesday, agreeing to meet someone for lunch before going out to Lincoln. It was someone going to Norman’s dinner, judging from Will’s side of the conversation. She assumed it was you. She told this to the police and said to check his cell phone call log. I tried to assure Rachel that you didn’t do it—that I had talked with you that afternoon. I think I created some doubt in her mind about you being Iris-the-Ripper. She flew out here this morning and is waiting until the ME finishes with the body so she can to take it down to Rhode Island where his family’s from.”
Luc jumped into the discussion. “Do we know if the police found Will’s cell phone? If not, I guess they can trace his records through the phone company. Tracking down that caller sounds like the quickest way to identify the killer.”
“But can’t people block their number?” Ellie said. “Wouldn’t the murderer be sure to do that?”
“Luc, you said that your father was a Cambridge policeman.” Mack and Ellie both turned to stare at Iris, then Luc. “Do you know any way we could find out about that call?”
Luc leaned back in his seat. “My father’s old partner is still working. We keep in touch. I’ll try to see if he’ll tell me anything. I think we can assume that they went through the wife’s alibi with a fine-toothed comb. The spouse is usually the first person they suspect.”
“Unless there’s an idiot like me around to catch their eye.”
Luc winked at Iris and she felt deliciously happy. She was a suspect in a murder investigation and might even be next on the real murderer’s list. But here, in the glow of candlelight, she felt far removed from all that.
There was a moment of quiet appreciation as Louise brought their entrees. Iris had the gnocchi with morel mushrooms and fresh peas. Mac and Ellie had both opted for the scallops with braised fennel, rhubarb beurre blanc, and candied pistachios. Luc rounded out the selections with the rock shrimp in aioli, but the others insisted he taste theirs as well for a proper evaluation of the new chef’s try-out.
“This is gastro-porn, my man!” Mack gave Luc a thumbs-up.
The decibel level was starting to climb as the restaurant filled up. “You need more fuzz in here, Luc,” Iris said.
He looked at her blankly.
“Fuzz, you know, soft stuff. Curtains, carpet, upholstered chairs. It absorbs the noise.”
“Ah, you’re right. I’ll have to get you in here as a consultant.”
The talk segued into a spirited debate about the relative perfection of each dish served that evening with the scallops finally emerging as the evening standout.
That issue resolved, Luc went back to the discussion of murder. “It seems to me that we should try to pin down what each of the five remaining suspects were doing before the dinner. When did you say the police thought he’d been killed, Iris?”
“Between noon and three. That’s a good idea, but we’ll have to go about it indirectly. Alyssa and Adam claim to have been driving up here during that time frame. Maybe someone saw them pull in to the hotel parking lot. C.C. says that she flew up in the late afternoon. The airline’s got to have that on record. then, G.B. and Jerry are the ones that don’t seem to have alibis.”
“Mack and I are going to the luncheon tomorrow so we can try to pin down what G.B. and Jerry were up to then.” Ellie said.
“Yeah, I’m good at finding clues. I’ll just put on my dumb-spouse-along-for-the-ride act,” Mack said gri
nning.
“I think I’ll talk to Norman,” Iris said. “As the reunion chair he might know about people’s travel plans. I wish that I could get my hands on the hotel’s records showing when people checked in. But I guess the killer could have met with Will beforehand, so that wouldn’t really prove anything. Maybe I can pry out of Norman what that lunch with Jerry was about. Somehow I can’t see Norman conspiring with Jerry to kill Will. Jerry alone I could see.”
“I can pay a visit to my father’s partner from the force,” Luc volunteered. “Maybe I can pry loose some details about what Malone’s got.”
Hunched protectively over his rhubarb tart, Mack asked, “Should we tell Detective Malone about anything we’ve discovered?”
They looked at Luc, their new authority on all things police-related. He shrugged, rubbing a lemon rind around a delicate espresso cup. “It’s probably just Jerry’s coming up on Thursday and his having lunch with Norman today that they don’t know about already. I’ll bet they know about G.B. ditching his class. I’m sure they’re checking out the alibis of all of the classmates and G.B. You know, our edge isn’t just in your knowing the characters involved. It’s also the link that you’re making between Will’s death and Carey’s. That may bring up clues that the police aren’t focusing on. Once we get more information, that may lead us to motive for both murders. But the police aren’t going to believe our interpretation of events, especially if they consider Iris their prime suspect.”
Other diners began to stop by the table to compliment Luc on their way out. As the room started to empty, Ellie, Mack, and Iris rose and thanked him for a sublime meal. Before they left, Luc took Iris aside, leaned in to kiss her, and said quietly, “I’m sorry I have to stay to close up. I wish I could walk you home. I said that I’d give the new chef a lift.”
“May I take a rain check on that?”
He looked away but smiled, then raised his voice to address all three, “So what’s the verdict on the new chef’s try-out? Should I hire her?”
Chapter 17
Iris sat curled up in her kitchen window seat, reading glasses perched on her nose. She read the clue for 23 across. “Okay, Sheba, four letters that mean ‘like some points.’ Hmm, ‘dots’?”
Sheba opened her mournful eyes to inspect her mistress, then rolled over onto her back—her default reaction when uncertain. But it was nine a.m. on Sunday morning, and that meant the New York Times crossword puzzle had Iris’ full attention.
Iris squinted at the matrix of letters already filled in and looked off into the distance. She checked her guess against 23 and 24 down, then penned it in.”Ah, ‘moot’. They think they’re so smart.”
She was on her second cappuccino, wondering if it was too early to give Norman a call when the phone rang.
“Sorry to call on a Sunday, Iris. Did everything get sorted out about poor Will?”
“Oh, Norman, I was just going to call you. The police wanted to get me to identify the body, but his wife ended up flying out.”
“Surely they don’t think that you had anything to do with it,” he fished.
“Oh, no. Of course not. Anyway, apart from the police showing up, the Friday night dinner seems to have gone well.” She knew this would be how Norman looked at things.
“Yes, I agree. The whole reunion seems to be a success, although we’ll still need to tally the funds we’ve manage to raise. Oh, and you missed it—C.C. was asking questions about the house. I think she may want to feature it in her magazine! But I’m actually calling about something else. I want to take out to Lincoln a few of my best cases of wine and some of the more valuable artwork that I don’t want the movers to touch. Can you meet me at the house to help me place some of the paintings? Let’s say 2 o’clock—does that work for you?”
“Okay. I guess I can make it. I’ll see you there at two.”
Iris would be starting a new renovation in Chestnut Hill later in the week and wanted to be done with any loose ends at Norman’s house. Frank, the contractor, was halfway through the punch list, and it was going to be hell to get him to pay attention to those last few details now that he had moved on to his next job. This was always the most tedious stage—getting that last two percent of the project done.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Mack and I think that you and Luc make a great couple,” Ellie began breathlessly.
“Good morning to you too. What’s that noise?”
“Disposal. I’m multi-tasking. It looked like we were walking in on something last night.”
“Merely an advanced-beginner conversation. I’m following the advice of a friend—moving at glacial speed. Maybe we’ll get to second base before I collect social security.”
“What is second base anyway? I can’t even remember. Said friend is telling you to pick up the pace now. He definitely looks interested and seems like a nice guy. I give you my blessing.”
“He does have some interesting miles on him. Do you know that he worked in Italy for seven years and had his own restaurant there? That kind of experience adds more than a decade of sophistication to his age, don’t you think? But then again, he’s hiring a female chef. She’s probably young and gorgeous. They’ll be working side by side. He drove her home last night. It’s really just a matter of time before they fall in love and he breaks my heart. Do you really want to watch that happen?”
“Oh, she’s probably some old crone with a mustache. You’ll just have to keep him busy. You said he lived in Italy for seven years? Are we talkin’ city or countryside?”
“Rome.”
“At least a decade.”
“Fine then Madam. For your amusement, I’ll throw myself into the fray again. But you may have to pick up the pieces.”
“Deal.”
Chapter 18
“I can be subtle, Ellie. Let me tackle Jerry and G.B. I’ll do my innocent ‘Columbo’ bit.”
“I know you can, Mack. It’s just that they have highly attuned bullshit detectors. If they’re the ones who murdered Will and think that we suspect them, we could be the next bodies dumped in the woods. So, be careful. If you can get them talking in some casual way, great. Otherwise, make small talk and wander off. I’ll do the same with Adam, Alyssa and C.C.”
The car lock chirped and they set out toward GSD for the Sunday luncheon finale. The hum of activity drew them through the lobby back to the first-floor lunch room which had been set up with a buffet so alums and professors could mill around or perch on chairs with plates teetering on their laps while they chatted. Roger Barton, Norman’s reunion co-chair, appeared to have finished or given up making any more official pitches.
After loading up his plate with mysterious pasta salads, Mack ambled toward G.B. and Jerry, sitting at a table by themselves.
Ellie overheard him say, “May I join you? We didn’t get much chance to talk Friday night. G.B., I’ve heard so much about your theory classes from my wife.”
They looked taken back by this boldness. A piece of potato salad fell off of Jerry’s fork as he stared. But appealing to G.B.’s vanity was a wise move. The professor’s chest seemed to puff up.
Good, Ellie thought. Mack’s foot is in the figurative door.
“Ellie may have ended up writing about architecture rather than practicing it, but I’d love to hear how you both go through the process of designing buildings. Do you really sketch on napkins?”
Brother. Mack was laying it on thick. But G.B. and Jerry seemed to loosen up, and five minutes later, Ellie was amazed to see the three of them engaged in a lively discussion. Meanwhile, she had parked herself near Alyssa and was waiting for her to finish sucking up to their former architectural history professor. She couldn’t see any of the other suspects.
“Professor Bachman, I kept hearing your words about the Minoans the entire time we wandered around Knossos.”
When the professor was finally rescued by other alums, Ellie swooped in.
“Hey Alyssa. Last day of the reun
ion—how do you think it’s gone?”
“Well,” she sighed dramatically. “I have to admit I’m disappointed. No one from our group was at the dinner dance last night. It was filled with all these background people that I didn’t even know. They were probably from Landscape or Urban Design. And Will’s death on Friday put such a damper on everything.” She looked as if she might stamp her foot and shake her curls at this rude disruption of her plans. “Do you know if they’ve found out yet who did it?”
“I haven’t heard of a suspect, but I think that the police have pretty much eliminated Iris.”
“But don’t they have any ideas about who it could have been?”
“None yet that I know of. Where are C.C. and Adam?”
“She checked out this morning—said that she couldn’t wait to get back to the safe haven of Manhattan. Adam’s off playing squash with Arturo Herrera.” Alyssa consulted her Cartier tank watch. “He’d better get back soon so we can pack up the Bimmer. I don’t want to get stuck in weekend traffic again. Now where did I just see G.B.?”
They turned in unison and spotted Mack, off in a corner, still talking animatedly with G.B. and Jerry. As the women approached, they heard Mack explaining “… kind of muscle relaxer. It would have taken several minutes to actually kill him. It depends on a lot of factors.”
Unbelievable! Mack had gone off-message and they were pumping him for information. Ellie put on her pleasant face, silently cursing as Alyssa buttonholed G.B., leading him off to a more private location. Then she turned to Mack. “Would you get me more of that delicious quiche, dear?”
Mack snapped a look at her, then headed back to the food line. Ellie hated quiche.
“So, Jerry, did you and Norman have a nice lunch yesterday? You didn’t mention it on our bus ride.”
“Wha—why yes, we had a nice chance to catch up. We didn’t have much opportunity to talk on Friday night.” Jerry had made a quick recovery, pasting a sphinx-like smile on his face and staring off through the room’s rear window wall to the GSD’s pocket-sized backyard. Ellie could practically hear the wheels spinning in Jerry’s brain. She weighed her options, then plunged ahead.
