Ellen stopped for a breath and stared up at me with wide-open eyes. Was she waiting for an offer? I didn’t make one. She sighed and continued. “I thought everyone in California smoked grass, but so far nobody’s so much as invited me to share a joint.”
“You’re dating yourself,” I told her. “We don’t smoke dope anymore. We’re health nut purists these days. Or else we snort coke.”
“I’m not dating myself,” she protested. “I never date older women.” She paused for the audience reaction. I obliged her with a halfhearted smile.
“I know all about Marin residents and their coke habits,” she informed me. “Did you hear there’s going to be a new game show in Marin called Where’s My Line?”
“Enough with the jokes,” I groaned. “I can’t stand it.”
“I always say if you can’t stand it, sit down,” she finished with another expansive wink.
I took her advice. I brought the salad and tortillas to the table and sat down.
Over salad I tried to extract Ellen’s feelings about Sarah. Ellen certainly had a compelling financial motive for murder, I thought as I watched her eat. Half of Sarah’s estate had to amount to something. A big something. And if Ellen had really wanted to murder Sarah for her inheritance, I was sure she was capable of orchestrating her sister’s death while providing herself with an unbreakable alibi. But subtle prods like “Sarah must have been an interesting sister,” and “a shame about Sarah” got nowhere.
Finally, I just asked, “How did you feel about Sarah?” outright.
“Sarah could be a real pain in the ass as an older sister, but I loved her,” Ellen said quietly, dipping a tortilla into the salad dressing.
“I thought she was your younger sister,” I said, then realized I had jammed my foot firmly in my mouth.
“You and everyone else,” Ellen replied lightly. It didn’t seem to bother her. “After that ‘youthing’ business Sarah got so much younger-looking that people assumed she was younger than me, right?” She shook her head. “No, she was three years older.” Ellen took a bite of tortilla, then continued seriously. “Sarah was always good at anything she took on. It didn’t matter if it was calculus or getting under people’s skins, she succeeded.”
I waited for Ellen to go on. But she didn’t. Her face was sad as she stared at her empty plate. I got up and brought the tamale pie to the table. I put a big scoop on Ellen’s plate and mine, then sat back down.
Ellen started up again. “I was kinda a screw-up as a kid,” she confessed. “Back then, I was so overwhelmed, watching Sarah take the world on, that I just took a seat in the audience. I couldn’t compete. I didn’t have much personality.” She sighed. “I got married right out of high school and had two babies. They’re okay kids, all grown up now.” She took a bite of tamale pie.
“What do they do?” I asked, genuinely curious. Ellen was a character in her own right, almost as mind-boggling as Sarah had been.
“The girl’s an auto mechanic,” she mumbled through her mouthful. “The boy’s in college, studying anthropology. Josie takes after her father. He was an auto mechanic before he turned into a full-time bum.” Her face brightened. “Did you ever meet Sarah’s ex-husband?” she asked.
I shook my head.
Ellen laughed. “You shoulda met the guy,” she said. “His name was Swami something-or-other, but he was really just Lew Fields, this asthmatic kid from New York.” She took another bite. “He’s a gofer for a porno film company now,” she mumbled. “I couldn’t believe she fell for his line of bull. Though it was kinda nice to see her screw up for a change.”
With that, Ellen stopped talking and ate in earnest. I gobbled up my own portion and wondered if she was as straightforward as she appeared to be. Ellen’s fork scraped her plate. She asked for more tamale pie.
“Not bad for health food,” was her grudging compliment.
“What were your parents like?” I asked as I put another scoop on her plate.
“My dad was kinda like me, I guess,” she said. She tilted her head and thought for a moment. “He was a big guy, always making jokes. But basically he was pretty conservative. He sold insurance too.” She took a bite and swallowed before going on. “Sarah drove him wild. She was real successful, but she always did crazy things, even as a kid.”
“Like what?” I prompted.
“Oh, she would get all A’s and then turn around and run away from home on summer vacation,” Ellen told me, smiling at the memory. “Not because she was unhappy or anything, just because she wanted some excitement. Or she would pour Jell-O in someone’s swimming pool, or let the air out of a police car’s tires.” She chuckled. But then her face grew serious again. “Her and my father were locked into a battle of wills till the day he died. In a way, I was even jealous of that. She got a lot of attention from him with all the stuff that she pulled.” She leaned back in her chair and laughed abruptly, asking, “Did you know she married a sailor when she was fourteen?”
I shook my head. I had learned more about Sarah’s past in the last few days than in all the time I had known her.
“Yeah, what a stunt! Sarah was halfway across the country with this guy on a train before she got bored and came home.” Ellen shook her head, but kept smiling. “My parents had it annulled.”
“What about your mother?” I asked. “What’s she like?”
Ellen’s smile faded. “Oh, Mom’s okay,” she mumbled. “She’s in an old folks’ home now. And Dad’s gone. But Sarah! God, that shocks me.” She slapped the table with her hand. “It’s so hard to believe she’s dead. I even remember the last time I talked to her on the phone. She told me this great joke. This guy goes to a psychiatrist—”
I derailed her quickly. “You remind me of Sarah,” I told her.
“Yeah, it’s funny about me and Sarah,” she mused. “When we were growing up I thought we were so different, but now I see how much alike we really are. Were,” she corrected herself sadly. “And I’m successful now too. I sell a lot of life insurance.”
“Do you make much money selling insurance?” I asked slyly.
“Enough,’’ she assured me, shoveling tamale pie into her mouth. She swallowed and looked me in the eye. “And, yes, Sarah’s money comes in real handy. But, no, I didn’t kill her for it.”
“Oh,” I whispered. I guess I hadn’t been as sly as I thought.
“I know that’s why you invited me here tonight,” Ellen informed me. She thrust her head forward and glared. “You have buttinsky amateur detective written all over you.”
“I wanted to get to know you too,” I protested weakly.
“Yeah, and you got to hear some great jokes.” She waved a hand magnanimously and smiled again. “Look, it’s okay. I want to know who killed her too, right? Much as we didn’t get along all the time, she was my big sister. So, go ahead with your questions.” She swallowed her last bite of pie and leaned back in her chair.
“Do you know how to program a computer?” I asked.
“I do a little programming,” she answered easily. “I’m working on a spreadsheet package with a friend back home. She does the designing. I just do the coding.”
As she was talking, a picture formed in my mind of how the murder could have been done. But I didn’t have enough technical expertise to be sure it was possible. I made a mental note to call Craig.
“If you ask me, it was Peter,” Ellen offered. “That guy is wound up tighter than a Mickey Mouse watch.” She paused. “Or Linda. Jeez, that broad is weird.”
“Weird, yes,” I agreed. “But where’s the motive?”
“You should know. These guys are all your friends.”
Friends? Certainly not Linda. I even wondered about Peter and Tony. Did friends set fire to other friends’ log piles? I shook off the thought.
“One more question, Ellen,” I said nonchalantly. I watched her eyes. “Do you have a VCR in your motel room?”
“Yeah, I do,” she answered unblinkingly. Then she rubbed her
chin thoughtfully. “Why?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing. Just curious,” I lied. Were VCR’s in hotel rooms set up to record? Or did they just play movies?
“So don’t tell me. Be that way,” she muttered. She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve got one for you. Are you hot for Nick?”
“Nick?” I asked. The name didn’t connect with romance at first. Then I realized. “Oh, Nick Taos! Are you kidding? I’ve only met the guy once.”
“I’m always kidding,” she claimed. Then she tried to prove it with a complex story involving a lawyer, a crocodile and a one-eyed nun.
I protested in earnest, but to no avail. Ellen continued with the jokes while I cleared up, did dishes, and made her three more cups of tea. After that she halfheartedly tried to sell me some life insurance.
I was working myself up to show her the remains of my log pile as she explained the value of whole life coverage. I wanted to see her reaction. But she rose abruptly to leave in the middle of her own lecture. She was out the door before I had time to think. Shades of Sarah. I hurried out behind her just in time to see her drive away in her rental car.
As soon as I was sure Ellen was gone, I called Craig at his office. I knew I’d never get him at home. He picked up the phone on the fourth ring.
“Sunday evening and still working,” I diagnosed.
“I’ll bet you could persuade me to take fifteen minutes off to visit if you tried,” he cajoled.
“No,” I said crisply. “I just wanted to ask you some questions about modems.”
“Come to dinner tomorrow night?” he invited. “I’ll answer all of your questions then.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to encourage any romantic expectations of reconciliation. On the other hand, Craig was the only computer expert I knew.
“I can tell you a lot about modems,” he said.
“All right,” I surrendered ungraciously. “But it’s got to be late.” I had a seance to host.
I agreed to meet him at his office at eight or nine and hung up.
I tried Jerry again and banged the receiver down in frustration at the sound of his tape. I didn’t want to leave a message. I wanted to talk to him personally, before he had time to get his guard up.
Suddenly, I wondered if Sarah’s neighbors had seen anything. The police must have talked to them. But still… I grabbed a phone book. What was the name of that nice old couple I had met? Baum, that was it. I found their number and dialed before I could chicken out.
“Hello, I’m Sarah’s friend, Kate,” I announced quickly when Mrs. Baum answered. “I met you at the funeral.”
“Oh, yes. I remember you, dear,” Mrs. Baum assured me.
I took a big breath and started lying. “I’m planning a memorial for Sarah,” I said. “I’d like to get your input. And the input of some of Sarah’s other neighbors too.” I told myself that finding Sarah’s murderer would be a sort of memorial to her. “Do you think it would be possible for me to talk to you and some of the others tomorrow?”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Baum answered in a voice so kind that I blushed at my own deception. “Why, I’m sure everyone would just love to help. Now, tomorrow’s Monday so a lot of people will be at work, but I can introduce you to Marianne Johnson and Cynthia Voss…”
“Thank you,” I said a few minutes later. “I really appreciate it, Mrs. Baum.”
“It’s nothing really,” she protested. “It’s the least we can do for Sarah. She was such a sweet girl, never any noise, except for that nice music she used to play.” She paused. “And the lovely inspirational books she used to bring over. I’m afraid I didn’t understand them too well, but it was so sweet of her to bring them to us.” What kind of books had Sarah given the Baums? “Can you tell me a little more about the memorial you were planning, dear?” she asked.
“Uh,” I said, caught off guard. “A written memorial. Yes, a written memorial,” I improvised. “Maybe it could be dramatized or something,” I added, embellishing the lie.
“Oh my,” Mrs. Baum trilled. “That sounds nice.”
“Yes, nice,” I parroted guiltily. “Would ten o’clock be okay for you tomorrow, Mrs. Baum?”
“Of course, dear,” she assured me. I was sure she would have patted my hand if we’d been talking face to face. “Any time is fine. We’re retired, you know. I’ll call Marianne and some of the others to tell them you’re coming. And please, call me Betty.”
“I really do appreciate this, Betty,” I told her. “I look forward to seeing you.”
Once I had hung up the phone I realized I was alone. True, I was alone most evenings, but this evening the aloneness felt different. It felt heavy, clinging. I searched the house for C.C. She was gone. Or hiding.
Wayne, I thought, and headed out the front door into the cool darkness.
- Sixteen -
I searched the length of my block, but I couldn’t see Wayne’s Jaguar anywhere. Maybe he was hiding with C.C. Maybe he was just gone, no longer interested in guarding my body. No longer interested in my body at all, I thought sadly.
I came back to my lonely house, put on a fresh pair of dropseat pajamas and slid in between the sheets. Alone.
But not for long. A few hours later, I awoke to a whiff of KalKan. C.C. was perched on top of my chest, breathing in my face. She was better than no one, I decided sleepily and fell back asleep as I stroked her silky fur.
The next morning, I drove to my Oakland warehouse before nine and left off some paperwork. I didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of Wayne’s Jaguar on the way there or the way back. But Vivian was behind me when I turned onto my street. It was Monday, her day to clean. Vivian and I drove our cars up the driveway in tandem and climbed the short stairway together.
“Where ya been?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow. The scent of J&B wafted my way along with her words.
“At the warehouse. Gag gifts wait for no woman,” I answered gaily. Vivian didn’t smile. I shelved the gaiety. “Yesterday was too busy, so I took my orders over this morning,” I told her.
“Oh,” she grunted. “How was the funeral?”
“Interesting, but strange,” I said, opening the door. I turned to look at her. “Why didn’t you come?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t have fit in,” she replied flatly.
“That’s not true—” I began.
“So what was strange?” she demanded, moving past me into the house. I stood for a moment, just watching her. How well did I know Vivian? Could she be the murderer? The arsonist? I just hoped it wasn’t her. Or Tony. Or Peter.
“Let’s make some tea, and I’ll tell you about it,” I suggested.
“In a minute,” she shouted over her shoulder, heading down the hall. “Your answering machine’s blinking. You’d better check it. And I gotta get my stuff from the back room.”
I put the kettle on and rewound the tape to play my messages. On the third message I could hear television laughter in the background, and some faint words closer to the telephone. Whoever had called was talking to someone else while my tape ran. I hate it when people do that. I caught a snatch of words ending in what sounded like “at the computer.” Then the voice directed itself back to the receiver.
“This is Jerry Gold, your gardener,” he rattled off. “It’s about Sarah. Give me a call. You know my number.”
Damn. Why did he have to phone while I was out? But at least I had an excuse to call him back now. I dialed his number eagerly, and heard the tape on his answering machine for the umpteenth time. There wasn’t any reason to keep him off guard anymore. I told his machine to call my machine and then dragged Vivian out of the back room to talk.
“I only have five minutes left for tea,” I told her, looking at my watch. If I wanted to visit Sarah’s neighbors by ten, I needed to get on the road to Betty Baum’s.
“Where ya going to?”
“To—” I started to say where, but immediately thought better of it. Telling Vivian about my investigative attempts would be like br
oadcasting on the radio. “A business appointment,” I finished succinctly.
“Yeah?” questioned Vivian, her eyebrows raised.
“Someone to help with some of my paperwork,” I lied. I must have been getting good at it. Vivian didn’t even blink. She believed me.
“So who was at the funeral?” she asked.
I gave her a four-minute rundown and flew out the door.
I was almost to Sarah’s house when I noticed Jerry Gold’s green-and-gold van parked in front of one of the better-kept yards. I honked and waved as I passed. If he was still there when I came back, I’d talk to him then.
I drove past Sarah’s house slowly, gazing sadly at the whimsical hedges. Would Jerry keep them trimmed into fish shapes now that she was gone? I resisted pulling into her driveway and turned instead into the Baums’ driveway next door.
The Baums’ house was small and neat, painted white with pale blue shutters and topped by a sloping grey shingled roof. There was a storybook look about it. This impression was heightened by the white picket fence, the manicured front lawn, and the brightly colored flower beds filled with foxgloves, alyssum, fairy primroses and violas. I could smell the newly mowed lawn as I walked up the brick pathway to the door. I pressed the doorbell and was rewarded with a tinkling music-box version of “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” and Betty Baum’s pink and smiling face at the door.
“Oh, my dear, come right in and sit down,” she trilled, clasping my hand and drawing me through the doorway. She sat me down on a plump, floral sofa and offered me a cup of coffee. I hesitated. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by refusing.
“Oh, I can just see by your face that you don’t approve of coffee,” she said. She patted her tight silver curls as she thought. Then she brightened. “I’ll just make you some fresh tea the way I used to for Sarah. I have to get Jake anyway.”
She disappeared toward the back of the house. I settled back into the sofa. I barely had time to take in the room’s fluffy curtains and lovingly arranged knickknacks before she returned with her white-haired husband in tow. She was holding some sprigs of fresh rosemary in her hand.
Murder Most Mellow (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 17
