Marie nodded and sniffed. “I understand.” She hesitated, then added, “But at the moment, you think that’s what happened?”
“Yes,” she said gently. “We think it’s a strong possibility.”
Savannah watched the housekeeper over the rim of her cup as she sipped the fragrant tea. Marie had looked pale, even fragile, the first time she had met her. She seemed even more so now. Savannah guessed she was in her late thirties or early forties, but she looked as if her years had been hard ones. Deep lines in her face, a sallow complexion, and dark circles under her eyes gave the impression she wasn’t terribly healthy. But she did radiate a certain quietness of spirit that led Savannah to believe she was content with her life.
Or at least that she had been, before Eleanor had died, changing everyone’s world around her.
“What will you do now?” Savannah asked.
Marie shrugged her thin shoulders. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if Louise will keep the house, or if she does, if she’ll want me to stay on.”
“Did you like working here?”
“Yes, actually, I did. Miss Eleanor could be demanding sometimes, but I love the house and I enjoyed keeping it.”
“You did a good job. Everything was spotless. I’ve done enough housecleaning to appreciate what a lot of work it is.”
She smiled. ‘Thank you.”
“We searched Eleanor’s bedroom suite....” Savannah paused, wondering how to word her question.
But Marie said it for her. “And you wondered why those rooms are such a mess.”
“Something like that.”
“Miss Eleanor would hardly ever allow me in there. Maybe once every few weeks to change the sheets and clean the bathroom fixtures.” She hesitated, as though considering how much she should divulge, then continued. “Miss Eleanor had problems, serious problems, with depression. Sometimes she found it difficult to function, and she would stay there in her room for days at a time. She’d pull the drapes and—”
“Eat and drink?”
Marie nodded. “Yes, mostly. Then she’d get it together and come out and tape her show and catch up on all her overdue business. But it didn’t last long. A few days later, she’d hole up in there again. She would have me just leave the food—and bottles—on a tray outside her door.”
“How did you communicate with her?”
“On the house phone.”
“Do you know what she was so depressed about?” Marie gave her a quick, guarded look, then went back to petting her sleeping tabby. “First one thing and then the other,” she said. “Family problems. Everyone has them.”
“True. But some are worse than others.” Savannah broke one of her cookies in two and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I understand that Eleanor and her husband were recently divorced.”
Marie gazed out the window, not meeting Savannah’s eyes. “That’s right.”
“I know you’re a professional, Marie,” she said, “and I’m sure you’re a discreet employee. I hate to put you in a difficult position, asking you to reveal confidential matters. But I’m a professional, too, and my job is to find out what happened here.”
“I understand.” She took a deep breath. “Ask whatever you need to. I’ll answer as best I can.”
“Thank you.” Savannah pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse. “Don’t mind this. I just don’t have the world’s greatest memory and it helps me if I take notes. Is that okay?”
Marie nodded.
“Can you tell me who initiated the divorce, Eleanor or her husband?”
“She did. And I suppose you’d like to know why.” The cat in Marie’s lap woke, stretched, yawned, and jumped off her lap.
Savannah reached down to stroke him as he walked by her, on the way to the kitchen. “If you can tell me,” she replied, “it might be helpful.”
“They had a lot of problems, from what I could tell,” Marie said. “But the last straw, I think, was that Eleanor discovered he was having an affair.”
“Do we know with whom?”
“I have my suspicions, but I don’t know for sure, so I’d rather not say.”
Darn, Savannah thought. Gossipy, tell-everything-you-know-and-make-up-the-rest types were so much easier to interview than discreet people like Marie.
“Okay, I understand,” she said, trying to sound more understanding than irked.
“Do you think that their divorce had anything to do with... you know.... her dying?” Marie asked.
“I really don’t know. At this point, I’m just gathering information.” She took another bite of the cookie and jotted down a couple of notes on her pad. “Marie, this is strictly between you and me,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “If you were conducting this investigation, who would you check out first?”
Marie hesitated, then reached over and warmed her tea from the pot on the tray in front of them. “I hate to point a finger at anyone, when it’s such a terrible thing as murder, but...”
“It’s okay. Nobody but you and me will ever know that you pointed anything at anyone. I’m just looking for a little guidance here. You know all of the people who come and go around here; I just met them. Please, help me help Eleanor.”
Marie lifted the teacup to her lips with both hands, and Savannah saw that she was trembling. Her eyes registered her fear, like a raccoon in a tree with a brace of hounds baying right underneath him.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Martin.”
Savannah waited for elaboration. When none was forthcoming, she said, “Martin?”
“Yes. Start with Martin.”
“Do you want to tell me why?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Savannah searched the housekeeper’s face, trying to read anything in her expression. But all she saw was fear.... and maybe a little shame. Marie appeared to be one of those rare people who actually disliked saying negative things about her fellow humans.
People like Marie made wonderful friends, but they provided lousy interviews. Savannah realized she had gotten just about all of the juice out of the housekeeper that this “squeeze” was going to produce.
She stuck the rest of the cookie in her mouth and washed it down with the remainder of her tea.
Folding her notebook and putting it in her purse, she said, “Marie, thank you for your hospitality, and for telling me what you could. I apologize for putting you in a difficult position.”
“I understand.” Marie stood and walked her to the door. ‘You’re just doing your job.”
Savannah paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Marie.... one more question. If you really knew who killed Eleanor Maxwell, would you tell me?”
She watched as the woman considered her answer. Savannah could tell that she was deciding whether to be completely honest or not.
“I guess that would depend,” she said.
“On what?”
“On who it was.”
“Okay. That’s fair.” Savannah offered her hand and Marie shook it. “But I should focus on Martin, huh?” Something flickered in Marie’s eyes. Savannah saw it, but it was too brief for her to analyze its significance before it was gone.
“Yes,” Marie said quietly. “If I were you, I’d start with Martin.”
Savannah checked her watch as she got into her car. Five-thirty. She debated about how to spend the rest of the evening, and her conscience got the better of her. With a sigh of resignation, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and punched in some numbers.
On the second ring, Tammy answered, “Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency.”
You still there, huh?”
“Ye-e-e-es.”
Savannah grinned. The kid sounded stressed. “Can you ta-a-alk?”
“Nooo-o.”
“Is she right there next to you, telling you her whole life story in depressing detail?”
“Absolutely.”
Savannah laughed and made a mental note to treat Tammy to a facial or a massage. As a friend/em
ployee she went way beyond the call of duty. “Go home,” she told her.
“Really? Mother, may I?”
“Get. Now. Call me on your cell phone when you’re outta sight.”
Savannah was barely out of the gates and on the highway when her cell phone rang. It was a much relieved Tammy.
“Wow, that was a speedy escape,” Savannah said.
“I resisted the temptation to run out of the house screaming,” she replied. “I just walked... really fast!”
“I’m so proud. Driving you nuts, was she?”
“Good grief! She’s really got some heavy problems. She was telling me about all these support groups she belongs to: Victims of This, Survivors of That, Ten Steps to Another Thing. She’s got more support than Playtex! ”
“Eh, Cordele’s still searching.”
“For what?”
“She’s not sure. That’s what makes it particularly challenging.” Savannah turned off the highway and headed downtown. ‘Tell me something, kiddo.... what exactly does somebody who only eats ‘healthy’ crap have for dinner?” She listened for a moment. “Yuck. All right, where do I buy some of that?”
About forty-five minutes later, Savannah walked into her house. She found Cordele curled in her big, cushy chair, the two cats on the ottoman next to her feet. She was deeply engrossed in a mystery novel from Savannah’s bookshelves.
For a moment, Savannah thought of all the times she had seen her sister hunched over a book. It was her primary memory of Cordele as a child. Of the nine Reid siblings, Cordele had been the most avid reader, the best student in school, the quiet, somber one of a rowdy group.
Seeing her sister there in her own favorite chair, the cats warming her feet, the light from the lamp shining on the chestnut highlights in her hair—the same dark color as her own—Savannah felt a tug of familial connection and affection. She was glad she had made the decision to spend the evening with her rather than working on the case with Dirk.
She cleared her throat, and Cordele looked up from her book, startled. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said.
Savannah smiled at her and was relieved when it was returned. “Have you eaten yet?” she asked.
“No. Have you?”
“Nope. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Bring a sweater.”
The sun was nearly setting when Savannah pulled the Mustang into the beach parking lot. The turquoise skies, streaked with clouds of coral, slate gray, and white, provided the perfect ambiance for a seaside picnic. The palm trees that lined the beach were black, stately silhouettes against the marbled sky. They dipped and swayed in the evening breeze, their dry fronds rustling as they danced.
“Wow, this is cool,” Cordele said as they got out of the car. “A picnic at the beach! That’s a great idea!” See, big sisters can occasionally do something right, Savannah thought. But she said nothing as she reached into the backseat for an old army blanket she kept there and the bags of food she had purchased at a local restaurant that catered to the “nutrition-conscious.”
“What have you got there?” Cordele asked, trying to peek into the bags.
“Nothing. Here, you take the blanket and let’s go before it gets any darker.”
They settled on a stretch of sand where they could see the roller skaters on the boardwalk and some kids playing on a set of swings nearby.
Cordele spread the blanket, and they both plopped down on it. They slipped out of their shoes, and Cordele wriggled her toes into the sand.
“Let’s see.... what do we have here?” Savannah pulled out a wrapper and offered it to her sister. “I believe it’s a whole-wheat pita stuffed with grilled chicken breast, avocado slices, alfalfa sprouts, tomato, and spinach.” Cordele’s eyes widened. “Really? You got that special for me?”
“Well, I got one for myself, too.” She rummaged around in the bag. “And here’s some yogurt-based sauce for dipping, if you like. And some bottles of cranberry-apple juice. Isn’t that one of your favorites?”
Cordele took the bottle and blinked rapidly a couple of times as though she had gotten a grain or two of sand in her eyes. ‘You remembered,” she said.
“Of course I remember.” She produced a couple of plastic wineglasses, filled both, and handed one to her sister. “Because it’s a special occasion,” she said. “Here’s to the Reid girls.”
Cordele toasted her, drank, and then pointed to the other bag. “What’s in there?”
“Hot coffee with lots of cream and two big fat slices of chocolate-dipped cheesecake.” She chuckled. “Woman does not live on alfalfa sprouts alone.”
Laughing, Cordele shook her head. “I should have known.”
They munched in contented silence for a while, then Savannah cleared her throat and said, “So, are we friends again?”
Cordele took a drink of her juice. “What do you mean?”
“I felt bad all day about this morning. I don’t like it when my loved ones and I are on the outs.”
When Cordele didn’t reply, Savannah continued. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I don’t respect and appreciate the field of psychology. I truly do. And I think it’s wonderful that you’re pursuing a career where you’ll be healing and helping people. I think you’ll be really good at it.”
Cordele swallowed hard. ‘Thanks.”
‘You’ve always been the smartest one in the family and the most dedicated when it comes to your education. I’m very proud of you.”
Cordele’s eyes filled with tears, and she nearly choked on her sandwich. Savannah found a clean nap-kin in the bag and handed it to her. i
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she said. “That was supposed to make you feel better.”
“It did.”
“Those are happy tears?”
“Mostly.”
Savannah was afraid to ask, but she knew it was expected. “So.... why the unhappy ones?”
“Because, just once, just once in my whole miserable life, I’d like to hear my own mother say that she’s proud of me. Or my dad. Your parents are the most influential — people in a person’s life and neither one of them has ever given me any validation. Do you know how much that hurts?” Sniff. “Do you?”
A couple of timeworn photos flashed across Savannah’s memory: the blue ribbon from the spelling bee that had wound up in the trash rather than on the refrigerator door as she had hoped. The phone call to her mother telling her that she had graduated from the Police academy with honors, that she was finally a cop— and her mother’s drunken, lackluster reply. The equally dull response from her father when she had made detective first class.
“Yes, I think I do know how that feels,” Savannah said.
“Do you remember that time when I was in the Christmas play and I got to be Mary.... and Mom was too drunk to come see me, and Dad was out of town with his girlfriend?”
“Yes, I remember. You made a beautiful Mary, and you said all of your lines perfectly.”
“But what good was it if nobody saw me?”
“I saw you. Gran was there, and the other kids.”
“That doesn’t count. I needed parental validation during my developmental years, and I didn’t get it. I know you don’t realize this, because you haven’t studied psychology, like I have, but that sort of emotional abuse really damages a person’s self-esteem.”
“Well, actually, I am aware that it causes problems. And I—”
“No, you don’t know. You have no idea the pain I’ve been through.”
Savannah sighed. “You have mentioned it once or twice. In fact, that’s pretty much the basis of most conversations you and I have had these past ten or twelve years.”
“Well, you aren’t very sympathetic.”
Savannah bit her lower lip. “I believe I was sympathetic... say, the first eight or ten years. I’ve just run out of things to say about the topic of your unhappy childhood.”
“What about your own
miserable childhood?”
“I don’t have much to say about that anymore, either.”
Cordele stopped her sniffing and donned her all-seeing, all-knowing look. ‘That’s because you’re in denial about your upbringing. That’s probably why you have food issues and haven’t ever had a real relationship except whatever you’ve got with that Dirk guy and—”
“Cordele, stop!” Savannah held up her right hand in her best traffic-cop pose. ‘You wanna be a shrink, Godspeed. But you’ve got to learn not to shrink your friends, and especially not your family. Believe me, it’s dangerous. Someday one of us is going to murder you, and it’ll probably be me.”
“But don’t you want to know what’s wrong with you? Don’t you want the benefit of what I’ve learned?”
“Not really. I think I’d prefer to just wander around in the darkness of my ignorance and denial without your guiding light. Thanks anyway.”
Cordele puffed up, reminding Savannah of some toads she’d seen in Georgia. “Well, if you don’t want my help—”
“I don’t. I want your love. For tonight, sitting here on this beautiful beach, I want your company. I want to just relax here with my sister and eat our dinner, and watch the sun go down, and I want to talk to you about absolutely anything other than the past. Please, can we do that?”
Cordele thought it over. “I suppose.”
“Good.” Savannah pointed across the water. “If you watch, really closely, you can sometimes see the beam from the lighthouse out there on Santa Lucia Island. Watch. There... did you see it?”
“Wow! That’s neat. And the sailboats are pretty. Is that guy on what they call a waverunner?”
“That’s right. If you like, we’ll rent one while you’re here and you can try it out.”
“Cool.” Her smile faded; storm clouds gathered on her brow. ‘You know, we were only about a three-, maybe four-hour drive to the Adantic, but do you think our folks would take us to the beach even once—once in our entire rotten childhood?”
“Eah-h-h-h!”
When Savannah woke the next morning, she wasn’t exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. In fact, she was too tired to breathe. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing she could just mentally whisk herself away to some enchanted island paradise where there were no murdered TV chefs or disgruntled sisters.
Death by Chocolate Page 13
