(3T)Three Bedrooms, One Corpse

by Charlaine Harris

“Excuse me,” I said suddenly, clearly, and very loudly. They all jumped. The blond man halfway turned to look at me, and I just stepped right on by him, close enough to tell he’d been drinking—in the middle of the day, too! noted my puritan streak. “Martin, we have to go to lunch, I’m starving,” I told him, and held his elbow firmly. Because I contin- ued walking, he had to turn and the younger man had

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  to go down the stairs ahead of me. I didn’t look at Mar- tin, and I didn’t look back over my shoulder. “I’ll wait out here for you to shower,” I said at the bottom of the stairs. The blond man had not followed. I waited for Martin and his racquetball opponent to go through the doors marked men’s lockers and show- ers before I seated myself in the safe proximity of the incredible spandex girl at the reception desk. After a moment the blond man stomped down the stairs and, giving me another long look, left. “Do you know who that was?” I asked the recep- tionist. She looked up from her book—Danielle Steel, I noted—to say, “He’s not an individual member, but he used to come here on the Pan-Am Agra membership. I think his name is Sam Ulrich. They took him off the list last week, though.”

  “So why didn’t you tell him he couldn’t come in?” “He went too fast.” She shrugged. “Besides, one of the guys in the men’s locker room would see he wasn’t on the list and tell him to leave if he went in to change.” Security was really tight at the Athletic Club. I stared blankly at an out-of-date magazine until Martin emerged, dressed for once in casual clothes. When he held out his hand, I took it and rose, con- scious of the receptionist’s gaze. She was really making those orange-and-pink stripes ripple for Martin’s bene- fit. But he was not in the mood.

  Martin said over his shoulder to her as we left, “I’m going to have to call the manager today. You should have informed me Sam Ulrich was in the club, and I would have escorted him out.” I caught one glimpse of

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  her dismayed and beginning-to-be-angry face as the door swung shut.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He put his arms around me. I was kind of glad to lean against him for a moment.

  “Yes. It shook me up, though,” I admitted. “Who was that man?”

  “A very recent ex-employee. Part of the deadwood I was hired to cut out of the company. He took it pretty bad.”

  “Yes, I could tell,” I said dryly.

  “I’m sorry you had to be there. If you see him again, call me instantly, okay?”

  “Do you think he’d hurt me to get at you?” I asked Martin.

  “Only if he’s a more complete idiot than I think he is.”

  Not too good an answer, really. But how could Mar- tin tell what the man would do?

  “Are you really worried about Sam?” he asked. “Be- cause, if so, I can cancel my trip and stay here.” I thought for a minute. “No, not so much worried about him, though that did shake me up. It’s just been a down morning, Martin. I went to see Susu Hunter, and that was depressing. Then I went to Tonia Lee’s fu- neral.”

  “You told me when it was and I forgot. I was so in- volved in getting everything assembled for my trip.” “I didn’t expect you to come. It was pretty bleak, and very cold.”

  “Where are we going to lunch?” he asked. “You need something to warm you up.”

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  I was recalled to my hostess duties. “Michelle’s, have you been there? They have a buffet lunch with lots of vegetables.”

  “In my three months here living in the motel, I think I’ve visited every restaurant in Lawrenceton at least ten times.”

  “I didn’t think about that, Martin. I’ll have to cook for you soon.”

  “Can you cook?”

  “I have a limited repertoire,” I admitted, “but the food is edible.”

  “I like to cook once in a while,” he said. We talked about cooking until we got to Michelle’s, where we collected our plates and went through the line. I saw Martin was careful in his selections and re- alized he was weight- and health-conscious as well as an exercise enthusiast. We sat on the same side of the booth, and even in that prosaic setting, his nearness was disturbing.

  It had been a harrowing morning, and now Martin was leaving town. Ridiculously, I felt like bursting into tears. I had to get over this. This intensity was terrify- ing me. I sat with my fork poised in my hand, staring straight ahead, willing myself not to cry. “Do you want me to ignore this?” Martin murmured. I nodded vehemently.

  So he kept on quietly eating.

  At last, I gathered myself together and put some cau- liflower in my mouth, making myself chew and swal- low.

  I was going to have to keep busy while Martin was gone.

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  After a while I said conversationally, “So you’re leaving this afternoon?”

  “About five o’clock. I’ll have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning, and it may go on all day. Then I meet with another group Thursday. So I’ll stay over that night and catch the first flight out Friday morning. Will you cook for me Friday night?”

  “Yes,” I said, and smiled.

  “And Saturday night is the Realtors’ thing?” “Yes, the annual banquet. We’ve booked the Car- riage House, so at least the food will be good. There’ll be a speaker, and cocktails. Usual stuff.” “You handled that situation at the Athletic Club with great . . . aplomb,” he said suddenly. “I don’t think I’ve ever said that word out loud. But it’s the only one that fits.”

  “Um. I figured I could rescue myself this time.” “Let me do it next time. My turn, okay?” “Okay,” I said, and laughed.

  He took me back to the Athletic Club to pick up my car, and we parted there in the parking lot. He gave me the phone number of his hotel and made me promise to call if I saw Sam Ulrich again. Then we kissed, and he was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  A

  Madeleine had a checkup at the vet’s office sched- uled the next morning. I got out the stout metal cage Jane had bequeathed me and opened the little door. I put one of Madeleine’s toys inside. I set the cage, door open, on the kitchen table. I put on garden- ing gloves.

  I had profited by experience.

  Madeleine knew the instant the cage came out. She could find places to hide you’d swear a fat old cat could never squeeze into. I’d quietly gone upstairs first and closed all the doors while Madeleine was in plain view on the couch, and even closed off the front downstairs living room and the downstairs bathroom. But still, Madeleine had disappeared.

  I groaned and started searching.

  This time she’d wedged herself under the television stand.

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  “Come on, old girl,” I coaxed, knowing I was wast- ing my breath.

  The battle raged for nearly twenty minutes. Madeleine and I cursed at each other, and very nearly spat at each other. But after that twenty minutes, Madeleine was in the cage, staring out with the haunted expres- sion of a political prisoner being filmed by Amnesty International.

  I dabbed some antibiotic ointment on the worst scratches and pulled on my coat. I was bracing myself for the ordeal to come.

  Madeleine wailed all the way to Dr. Jamerson’s of- fice. Nonstop.

  Sometimes I loathed that cat.

  “Oh, good, Madeleine’s right on time,” said Dr. Jamerson’s nice receptionist with a distinct lack of en- thusiasm. I returned a grim nod.

  “Let’s see. What does Madeleine need today?” She knew damn good and well.

  “All her shots.”

  “Charlie’ll get his gloves,” she said, heaving a re- signed sigh. “He’ll be with you in just a minute.” Charlie helped Dr. Jamerson with the really difficult animals. He was a huge cheerful young man, working at the vet’s office until he had enough saved to go to college full-time instead of part-tim
e. “Is she here yet?” I heard Charlie ask the reception- ist apprehensively. A moment later Charlie stuck his head out into the waiting room.

  “Right on time, as always, Miss Teagarden! And how is your kitty today?”

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  Madeleine yowled. The Labrador on the other side of the room began to whine and pressed his nose against his owner’s leg. Charlie winced.

  “Better bring her back,” he said with false assur- ance. “Doctor’s waiting.”

  I struggled with the heavy carrier, knowing I’d have to heft it myself, since Madeleine had found out last time that her paw could fit through the mesh door nicely, even with her claws fully extended. Dr. Jamer- son had all Madeleine’s shots laid out ready, plus a gen- erous supply of cotton balls and antiseptic. His jaw was set, and he gave me a grim smile.

  “Bring her on, Miss Teagarden. We got through her neutering before, we’ll get through her shots now. Thank God she’s a healthy cat.”

  That thought certainly gave me pause. If Madeleine was like this when she felt good— “Oh, dear,” I said. I pulled my gloves back on. “Are you ready?” “Let’s do it,” Dr. Jamerson said to Charlie and me, and we all nodded simultaneously. I unlatched the cage door and pulled it open.

  Fifteen minutes later I emerged from the vet’s office, lugging the cage with the cat screaming triumphantly inside. She’d had her shots. And we’d pretty much had ours, too.

  “He didn’t bleed very much, Mother,” I said reas- suringly when she called to see how Dr. Jamerson was doing.

  “I sold him a house. He’s such a nice man,” she

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  sighed. “I wish you’d take that cat to Dr. Caitlin. He went through Today’s Homes.”

  “He wouldn’t see her,” I said.

  “Oh.”

  “What time Saturday night?” I asked. “The ban- quet.”

  “What did you do with your invitation?” “It got lost or something.”

  “You need a bulletin board and some thumbtacks.” “Yes, I know. What time do we need to be there?” “Drinks at seven, dinner at seven thirty.” “Okay.”

  “I’m going to be showing him some more houses, you know.”

  “Oh—no, we didn’t talk about it.”

  “Nothing as grand as the Anderton place, but all in the one to two hundred thousand range. He must be planning on doing a lot of entertaining.” “He’s the head man here. I guess so.”

  “Still, a single man . . . why does he want that much room?”

  “I don’t know.” Because he came from a poor farm in America’s heartland? I had no idea.

  “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing.” “I do too,” I said softly.

  “Oh, Roe, have you got it bad?” My mother was suddenly distressed.

  “Yes,” I said, and closed my eyes.

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I’ll see you Saturday night,” I said hastily. “Bye, Mother.”

  “Bye, baby.” My mother was worried.

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  I’d rented a movie to watch that night, and I was curled up in front of the television wrapped in a quilt and eating crackers and peanut butter when Martin called. He just wanted to see if I was okay, he told me, after the incident with Sam Ulrich the morning before. He was lonely in his hotel room, he told me. After I hung up, I thought about his exercise equip- ment and his running and his racquetball, and I closed the peanut butter jar.

  And before I went to bed, I thought about Sam Ulrich—and Idella and Tonia Lee—and I double- checked all my doors and windows.

  I’d just pulled on my jeans and a sweater the next morning when the phone rang.

  “Roe,” said the warm voice on the other end, “how are you this morning?”

  “Oh, hi, Franklin.” Mild curiosity stirred within me. “I’m all right.”

  “Not too shaken up by your dreadful experience?” “You mean finding Idella. It was just horrible, Franklin, but I haven’t dwelt on it.” I’d been dwelling on something else. I felt myself smiling, and was ashamed. “That’s good. Life goes on,” he said offhandedly. “I called to see if by chance you would go with me to the Realtor’s banquet?”

  Well, well. The legendary Franklin Farrell was ask- ing little old me for a date. He’d probably gone out with every other woman in Lawrenceton.

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  “Franklin, how nice of you to ask. I’m flattered. But I already have plans for that night.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Well, another time then.” “Thanks for calling.”

  If anyone had been there to see me, I would have raised my eyebrows in amazement. Franklin Farrell without a date, and the banquet so close? Something must have happened to his original plans. Did this mean someone had canceled on Franklin? That would indeed be news.

  I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter. The next thing I knew, I was asking Patty to connect me with Eileen.

  “How are you doing, honey?” Eileen asked, but without her usual boom.

  “I’m just fine. You?”

  “Still upset, Roe. I just can’t stop seeing Idella, thrown down like a sack of garbage.”

  “It had to have been quick, Eileen. Maybe she didn’t know anything about it.”

  The paper had quoted Lynn as saying it was believed Idella’d been strangled like Tonia Lee, though that wouldn’t be a certainty until the autopsy. I did hope it had been quick, but I had a conviction that Idella had known exactly who was killing her and that she was being killed. I tried so hard not to imagine that that I bit my lip.

  “I hope not,” Eileen was sighing. “Listen, Roe, not to change the subject, but I have to get on with my work, I guess. I took yesterday off. Do you want to do any more house-hunting today?”

  “I don’t think so, Eileen. I’ve kind of lost my taste

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  for it, for a little while at least. I liked the Julius house so much better than anything I’ve seen, but I have to ponder long and hard about whether I could live out of town without getting the willies every night.” “I can understand that, believe me. Just give me a call when you make up your mind.”

  “Listen, Eileen. Do you know if Idella had been dat- ing anyone special?”

  “If she was, she didn’t tell me who. But she had been very ‘up’ lately, dressing more carefully, cheerful, eyes shiny, etcetera. Idella wasn’t one to talk about her per- sonal life. I worked with her for a month without her mentioning her children!”

  “She was closemouthed,” I said, impressed. “I just wondered if she hadn’t been dating Franklin Farrell.” “I would be extremely surprised,” Eileen said in- stantly. “You know what a reputation he has as a ladies’ man. Idella was very shy.”

  She’d have been a real challenge to a Franklin Far- rell.

  “You heard they questioned Jimmy Hunter?” Eileen told me suddenly.

  “Yes, but I don’t believe he’s guilty.” “It’s got to be someone,” Eileen said practically. “Though I hear his alibi for the time Idella was killed is pretty strong.”

  “So there are two stranglers in Lawrenceton, attack- ing real estate saleswoman?”

  “You’ve heard about copycat killers. Maybe this is one.”

  “What about the thefts?”

  “I’m not the police,” Eileen said irritably. “I’m just

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  hoping all this is over and I can go back to my job without being scared every time I have an appointment to meet someone at an empty house.”

  “Sure,” I said, instantly contrite. “I’m a friend of Susu’s, or at least I used to be in high school.” “We’re not going to come out of this with everyone happy.”

  “Of course not. Listen, when do you w
alk every eve- ning?”

  “Terry and I usually walk at five in the winter, seven in the summer. Did you want to join us?” “Oh, how nice of you! No, I’d just slow you down. I thought I might give it a try, but I’d better go by myself at first.”

  “Then be careful.”

  “Okay. See you Saturday night.”

  “Bye.”

  I actually found myself a tiny bit regretful I wasn’t going to see Franklin in action. Amina had told me a date with Franklin was like being in a warm, soothing bubble bath. You felt cherished and delicate and pam- perable. And of course you wanted that to go on and on, so the date extended very easily into bed. Once or twice, or perhaps even for a month. And then Franklin stopped calling and you had to come back to the real world.

  If Martin hadn’t happened, I would certainly have accepted, just to sample the experience. I would have stopped short of bed, I told myself firmly. I put out fresh food and water for Madeleine, who was still hiding somewhere in the townhouse, sulking about the great indignity done her at the vet’s.

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  And the phone rang again.

  This time it was Sally Allison.

  “The police searched the Hunters’ house and came up with zilch,” she said without preamble. “Oh, thank God. Maybe he’s not such a suspect anymore?”

  “Could be. The afternoon Idella Yates was killed, he was in the hardware store without a break, in full view of at least three people at any given moment. And he says he did look at the Anderton house with Tonia Lee, but on a different day. That’s how his fingerprints got on the night table.”

  “Is it okay for you to be telling me this?” “If you don’t tell anyone else. Otherwise, Paul will have my guts for garters.”

  “I understand.”

  “I know you’re a friend of Susu’s, so I just wanted you to know.”

  “Thanks, Sally. Listen, did you ever date Franklin Farrell?”

  “No,” she said, and laughed. “I didn’t want to be a cliché. He tries to date you when he thinks you’re espe- cially lonely, or rebounding from a relationship, or if you’re a little stupid. I understand he really wines and dines you before the Big Move, but when he called me, I was too scared I’d join the ranks to accept.” “Just wondered.”