I looked at Barbara. She looked back, shrugged, and then spoke into the intercom again.
“We met at the vegetarian cooking class,” she told him.
“Okay,” he said and buzzed us in.
I got a sinking feeling as we took the elevator up. And it wasn’t just the elevator. It was Ken. Did he think he was safer with people he’d met at the scene of a murder than with strangers? Was he crazy?
Ken opened his front door the two inches his chain lock allowed when Barbara rang the doorbell. He peered out for a moment. I caught a quick glimpse of his nose, then saw the glint of his glasses as he turned his head.
Finally, he opened the door. As we stepped over the threshold, I got a perverse urge to sell him encyclopedias—or magazines—or rug cleaner. Anything to compensate for the trouble we had gone to in order to get in.
“Hey, Ken,” Barbara greeted him, her voice filled with camaraderie. “How’s it going?”
Ken stared at her through his thick tortoiseshell glasses without answering. I took a closer look at him as he chewed a fingernail. Now that I knew he was Leo’s son I could see the family resemblance. The pear-shaped body and close-set eyes were a dead giveaway.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked after a few moments. The words were right, but the shrill tone of his voice robbed them of their graciousness.
Barbara and I seated ourselves on the gray leather couch he indicated. He flopped down onto another identical couch across from us. They were nice couches. They didn’t seem to match the rest of the decor, which included a couple of dilapidated bookshelves bursting with science-fiction paperbacks and an unframed poster of a buxom young woman in a space helmet fighting off the advances of what looked like a ten-foot-tall lizard. Ugh.
I lowered my gaze to the coffee table between us and noticed the glass terrarium built into it. I looked closer, expecting to see plants, but saw only one branch, a rock and a scaly, greenish-brown lizard staring back at me. I flinched involuntarily and lifted my gaze to Ken’s face. He was smiling now. And his smile looked genuine.
“He’s an American chameleon,” he told us, his voice less shrill than before. “He’s really quite attractive, isn’t he?”
I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. The best thing I could have said about the lizard was that he was small, maybe five inches. I hoped he wouldn’t grow up to be the size of the one on the poster.
“Beautiful,” Barbara cooed. “The throat sac is a great color.”
I kept the smile on my face. Throat sacs, ugh.
“What do you feed him?” Barbara asked.
“Live crickets, every other day,” Ken answered. I flinched again, but he continued without appearing to notice. “I pick them up from the pet store on the way home from work.”
“How about when you’re out on an audit?” Barbara pressed.
“Oh, my mom feeds them then,” he said blithely.
God, the poor woman, I thought. Married to Leo and feeding live insects to her son’s lizard.
“I’ve got an ant farm in the bedroom,” he told us, his voice vibrating with excitement. “Wanna see it?”
“Maybe later,” I said. Was this offer his version of “come up and see my etchings”? I looked at his face. His open smile looked like a ten-year-old’s. I nixed the etchings theory.
“I’m gonna get an iguana, too,” he went on happily. “And maybe some scorpions. They’re really neat. I saw some at the insect zoo.”
Even Barbara’s bright smile faded when he mentioned the scorpions. And even more amazing, Ken seemed to notice. He stared at her for an instant, then changed the subject.
“So, are you guys investigating?” he asked, his eyes widening under his thick glasses.
We both nodded in sync. I thought about explaining that we weren’t official investigators, but Barbara poked me with her elbow as though she had heard the thought. I kept my mouth shut.
“I’m sorry I was unavailable before,” he said. He rubbed his hands together, massaging his knuckles. “I was out on an audit.”
“That’s what your receptionist told us,” Barbara commented softly. She was smiling again. “It must be tough at Rutherford, Rutherford and Kent.”
He leaned forward. “It’s a jungle,” he whispered. Even his whisper had a shrill edge. “People think that accounting’s an easy profession. That there’s no competition.” He shook his head violently. His voice grew louder and shriller still. “Uh-uh! You have to be on your toes all the time. And if you want to make partner, boy, do you have to work hard.”
“Oh, my,” Barbara trilled encouragingly. She was beginning to sound like Iris.
“At Rutherford, Rutherford and Kent, people argue all the time,” Ken went on, whispering again. He popped one of the knuckles he had been massaging. “They even throw things. This one guy who got passed over for promotion threw his hamburger really hard. Right in front of a client! It hit the wall with this big splat and then sorta slid down to the floor. It was really gross.”
“What happened to him?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Gone the next day,” Ken said, cracking another knuckle. “He’ll never be able to get a job with one of the top firms again.”
“Well, at least the receptionist is on your side,” I assured him.
“Huh?” he said.
“The receptionist,” Barbara explained with an exaggerated wink. “She likes you.”
Ken’s brows were furrowed in confusion. He began to chew his thumbnail, then suddenly his eyes widened. He dropped his hand.
“She likes me?” he yelped. His skin turned a deep, hot pink.
“Back to the night of the murder,” I said hastily, sorry I had mentioned the receptionist. “Did you notice anything important?”
“That woman who owned the restaurant sure made people mad,” he answered after another therapeutic bout of nail chewing.
“Like your father?” Barbara prodded.
“Oh, Dad,” Ken said dismissively. He lowered his eyes. “He’s always, you know…”
“Coming on to women,” Barbara filled in for him.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes still lowered. “And they get mad at him most of the time.”
“Who else was mad?” I asked.
“The older lady with the gray hair who was dressed in a linen suit like Dad’s,” he said. He tapped the glass of the terrarium absently. Was he losing interest?
“That was Iris,” I told him.
“And the lady who’s married to the black guy,” he added. I followed his gaze down to the terrarium. The lizard was frozen in place, its skin a brighter green than I remembered.
“How about you?” Barbara asked softly.
“Huh?” he yelped, his head jerking up.
“She made fun of you when you told her about the poisons in dairy products, didn’t she?” Barbara pressed.
“But everybody does!” he objected. He waved a hand in the air. “Nobody ever takes me seriously. I even tried to tell Mr. Rutherford about the stuff in the water—you know there’s awful stuff in tap water: industrial waste, tin, cadmium, aluminum—and he told me I’m not allowed to talk about it anymore—”
“Back to Sheila Snyder,” Barbara said.
Ken shook his head violently. “The police asked me about arguing with her, too. I tried to explain what I meant—about the growth hormones and antibiotics and stuff—but they wouldn’t listen. No one ever does.”
I believed him. He probably did tell everyone. And they probably did all laugh at him. So why would he have killed Sheila Snyder?
I asked Barbara that question on the way back to her apartment. We hadn’t learned much more from Ken. He claimed he couldn’t remember anything else suspicious. Barbara had even asked him why he had smiled after the body had been discovered. After a few minutes of thought, he told her he’d probably been thinking about the iguana he was going to buy, to distract himself from thinking about the dead body. It sounded strange enough to be true.
“Just because
we don’t know why Ken killed Sheila doesn’t mean that he didn’t,” Barbara said, but there wasn’t much heart in her voice. I stole a glance at her. She looked tired. Her face was showing its age for once.
I dropped her off at her apartment and drove on home. When I opened my front door, Wayne and Vesta were still standing right where I had left them.
“You just don’t love your mother,” Vesta was telling him. Her voice was barely above a whisper now, both of her hands crossed over her heart. “Is it too much to ask for a little love, a little kindness?”
Wayne’s face showed nothing, but his shoulders were rounded again, his head hanging. “Mom, you know I love you,” he muttered.
“Hi, sweetie,” I interjected brightly.
He bent down to give me a kiss.
“Goddammit, Waynie!” Vesta shouted. “I’m not going to allow adultery under my roof!”
Wayne’s head popped up obediently. I turned to Vesta and thought about telling her this roof was mine, not hers. She squinted back at me malevolently. I thought about disputing the adultery charge one more time. She crossed her arms and smiled smugly. I thought about strangling her with my bare hands.
Wayne sighed. I looked up into his face and saw misery there.
“Let’s go,” I said softly.
“What?” he asked, his expression of misery giving way to a look of confusion.
“We’re going for a ride,” I told him. I turned to Vesta. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
Vesta’s mouth opened but nothing came out. I grabbed Wayne’s hand and pulled him toward the door. We were almost out when Vesta regained her powers of speech.
“You can’t leave!” she screamed.
“We’ll be back,” Wayne promised over his shoulder.
I dragged him the rest of the way through the doorway.
“Where are we going?” he asked once we were in the car.
“The Holiday Inn,” I told him.
His eyebrows lifted. I saw a glint of light in his eyes. The beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. That was all I needed. I let out the breath I had been holding and turned the key in the ignition.
The Holiday Inn was great. We made love, ate a dinner ordered from room service, made love, talked a while and then made love again. The only pall over the evening was the ever-present image of Vesta alone in my house. What would she do while we were gone? Wayne seemed to sense what was on my mind.
“I don’t think she’d actually destroy anything,” he murmured unconvincingly as we drove home.
I pushed the gas pedal a little harder, thinking about fire.
“If she does,” he added, “I’ll repair the damage.”
My jaw muscles tightened. What if she got at my Jest Gifts paperwork? She could ruin my business in a matter of minutes. And we had left her alone for hours. What about my cat? My heart stopped.
“It’s okay, Kate,” Wayne growled. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Really.”
I took a deep breath and smiled. But I kept my foot on the gas.
When I pushed the front door open, I couldn’t see anything out of place. I peeked into my office. The usual mess of papers was moldering on my desk. And my cat, C.C., was dozing in my chair. I let myself breathe again.
“No, they’re splitting up. Really,” came Vesta’s voice from the kitchen. I stepped over to the doorway and saw her sitting at the kitchen table, holding the telephone receiver to her ear.
“This is your chance to make your move,” she continued, her voice low and seductive. “She’s ready for the taking.”
Wayne walked up behind me. “Mom?” he asked. “Who are you talking to?”
Vesta waved him away with her hand.
“Come over now,” she said. She paused to listen. “No, really,” she added. “It’ll be fine.”
“Mom?” Wayne pressed.
“What?” she hissed, jerking her head up to look at him.
“Who is on the phone?” he asked, each word distinct and ominous.
“Her husband, Craig,” Vesta answered triumphantly. She pointed at me and grinned. “He wants her back.”
“Craig is my ex-husband—” I began.
“Give me that phone, right now,” Wayne said, advancing into the kitchen. His voice was cold and steady.
“But—” Vesta protested.
“Now,” he hissed. I had never heard such a nasty sound from his mouth before.
Vesta handed him the phone, then stood and crossed her arms.
“There has been a misunderstanding,” Wayne enunciated carefully into the receiver.
I could hear the responding squeak of Craig’s voice from where I stood. I turned and went back to my office.
A few minutes later Wayne said goodbye and hung up.
“Well, just don’t try that again, Waynie!” Vesta spat at him.
There was a silence. I wondered what Wayne was doing. I stood up from my desk.
“That’s it, Mom,” he said, his voice as hard as marble. And just as cool. “You’re going back to Shady Willows.”
“But Waynie!” she cried. Then she whispered, “You wouldn’t.”
Wayne didn’t answer.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” she said, her voice suddenly soft and placating. Then she began to sob. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry. Please don’t send me back—”
“If you don’t want to go back, you have to cooperate,” Wayne interrupted, “It’s your choice.”
He strode out of the kitchen into my office. His shoulders were straight. His face was stiff, devoid of feeling. I shivered involuntarily. He was frightening this way. No wonder Vesta had pleaded.
“Let’s go to sleep,” he suggested quietly.
I followed him into the bedroom.
Hours later, I awoke to a rasping sound I couldn’t identify at first. I reached out sleepily and touched Wayne’s face. It was wet with tears. I pulled him to me.
“It’ll be all right,” I chanted and held him close as he cried. “It’ll be all right.”
I just hoped that I was telling the truth.
Monday morning was not one I would want to repeat. Vesta, Wayne and I ate breakfast in uncongenial silence. Wayne’s face was rigid and pale, his mouth the only moving part as he methodically ate each and every bite of his bacon and eggs. I strained to swallow the first few spoonfuls of my own oatmeal, then gave up and got some juice from the refrigerator. Even that was hard to swallow. Vesta kept flicking angry glances my way in between sobs and bites of toast.
“Mom, get dressed,” Wayne ordered brusquely once he had cleaned his plate. “We’re going to interview more nurses.”
Vesta did as she was told. Ten minutes later she meekly followed Wayne out the front doorway. She turned back to glare at me just before the door closed. I looked away, but not before I saw something besides anger in her eyes, something in the way the inside corners of her eyelids curved upwards. Something that looked like fear.
The look replayed itself in my mind’s eye as I did Jest Gifts paperwork. I had no sympathy with Vesta when she was malicious. But when she was afraid? She had spent twenty years overmedicated in a mental hospital—a snake pit, filled with writhing lunatics. She had good reason to be afraid of going back. My stomach clenched. I didn’t want to feel sorry for her—but I did.
When the phone rang, I was almost grateful for the distraction.
“Hey, kiddo,” Barbara said when I picked it up. “Are you ready for class tonight?”
NINETEEN
I SHIFTED THE phone to my other ear.
“What class?” I asked Barbara, jotting down the last number my adding machine had spit out.
“The reassembled vegetarian cooking class,” she told me. “Monday night, remember?”
“Oh,” I whispered. I set the pencil down gently.
“Alice and Meg got hold of most of the people,” Barbara went on. “Iris, Leo, Gary and Paula. I called Ken.” She paused. “They’re all coming, Kate,�
� she breathed. “Every single one. Maybe we’ll get the killer to confess—”
“We don’t even know who the killer is,” I interrupted.
“Not yet,” she answered cheerfully. “Pick me up at five-thirty—”
I groaned.
“Unless you want me to drive,” she offered. I could hear the grin in her voice.
“All right, all right,” I said, caving in.
I managed to get through another hour’s worth of paperwork before the doorbell rang. I stomped to the door and flung it open. How the hell was I supposed to get anything done if bells kept ringing?
A tall, handsome man with razor-cut hair and brown, puppy-dog eyes stood on my doorstep. Damn. It was my ex-husband, Craig. Apparently Wayne’s damage control hadn’t worked. From the eager smile on Craig’s face I guessed that he still hoped Vesta had been telling the truth when she told him I was ready for the taking.
“How are things, Kate?” he asked me, his voice hushed and expectant.
“Fine,” I snapped. “Just fine.”
Craig flinched and blinked. The eager smile disappeared. His puppy-dog eyes filled with an expression of hurt that those kind of eyes can evince so well.
I sighed. It wasn’t his fault that Vesta had set him up.
“Listen,” I began. “Wayne’s mother is—”
“Yoo-hoo,” came a call from the bottom of the stairway. I looked down and saw Iris’s silvery head bobbing up.
“Such an attractive house,” she cooed when she reached the landing. “I hope you don’t mind a little unexpected visit.”
“I have work to—” I began. I stopped myself with an effort, swallowing the rest of my honest words unsaid. I started over. “It’s great to see you,” I lied. “What are you doing…”
I forgot what I was saying as a familiar rental car pulled into the driveway behind the other cars. The twins were here.
“Iris, this is Craig.” I introduced them absently, watching Edna and Arletta alight from their car. “Craig, this is Iris. Would you like to come in?”
At least I didn’t have to introduce Arletta and Edna. They remembered Craig from a couple of years back. And they had already met Iris. Of course. I should have remembered. The twins had probably met everyone in the cooking class by now.
Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 19
