“That’s right. Ron, Daniel, and Mick Diminio grew up right around here.”
“Evelyn, Daniel grew upset about this old crime right after they found the remains of that boy.”
Evelyn nodded slowly. “Of course! Daniel went to talk to you because you were there when the body was discovered, and you helped solve the Weills’ murders.”
Lydia wasn’t crazy about the way Evelyn had phrased things, but at least her pinched expression was fading, a sign she was letting go of her guilt for not having protected Daniel.
“I’m trying to remember Daniel’s exact words when he came to ask my advice. Something had happened that convinced him a murder had been committed many years ago. Proof, as far as he was concerned, but no evidence. His dilemma was if he should bring this to the attention of the police or let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Of course we’ll tell the police!” Evelyn exclaimed. “It could be the reason that Daniel’s dead.”
“I’ve already left a message with Lieutenant Molina,” Lydia said. “He should be calling me back soon.”
“Good.” Evelyn stood. “In the meantime, I’d like you to go through Daniel’s computer files. Maybe they’ll tell us who was after him.”
Lydia hesitated. “I don’t know.” She could well imagine Sol Molina’s wrath when he learned that she and Evelyn had checked out the files on Daniel’s computer.
Evelyn misunderstood her hesitation. “I thought, having owned a business, you’d know the workings of a computer.”
“I’ve worked on computers, of course, but I think we should wait until the police get here.”
“Why? It’s not as though we’re trampling on a crime scene. I can’t count how many people have been through this house before and after they rushed Daniel to the hospital.” Evelyn’s lovely gray eyes, usually so mild, turned cold as steel. “I must know who killed my Daniel. If you won’t access the files, I’ll find someone who will.”
She would, too. Lydia patted Evelyn’s shoulder. “In that case, I’ll access them and we can go through each and every one, if you like.”
“Thank you, Lydia.”
Having won her point, Evelyn babbled as she led Lydia into the den, where she sank into a chair while Lydia booted up the computer. “We got the computer last year. I use it to email my daughter and a few friends. Daniel used it to check his investments and to write his memoirs.”
“Write his memoirs?” Lydia was surprised.
“Why not? He was involved in some of the biggest corporate takeovers and mergers.”
Lydia mused. “I wonder if the person following him had a grudge against him because of some business venture in the past.”
“For Daniel’s sake, let’s find out.”
Going through Daniel’s files was easy enough. Most of them were chapters of his autobiography, which he’d entitled “A Man’s Life.” Evelyn sat quietly beside her as she skimmed through the text. She found it engrossing. Daniel had a pleasant, readable prose style. What’s more, the files added up to hundreds of pages. Lydia suspected it was three-quarters complete. Another five files contained copious notes. She wondered if Polly would want to finish the book in memory of her father.
She glanced through the files concerning Daniel’s finances and investments and was stunned to discover that his assets totaled close to thirty million dollars.
“I can see why Arnold and Denise weren’t happy their father was about to remarry,” Lydia said.
“Out of spite. They couldn’t care less on a personal level.”
Lydia smiled. “I must say, Daniel’s new will is the opposite of what we’ve come to expect in this age of prenup agreements.”
Evelyn’s nod was knowing. “Believe me, his lawyers worked long and hard to change his mind, but Daniel stood firm. He trusted me more than his two older kids.” She laughed. “I don’t need his money. Daniel left me this house and our place in Florida, and I intend to make good use of both. As for the money, Arnold and Denise are welcome to it when I’m gone.”
With the new will in effect, Lydia thought it preposterous that either Arnold or Denise had murdered Daniel. They simply didn’t benefit from their father’s death. Unless one of them was so angry—Lydia shook her head. She didn’t want to contemplate patricide.
“I’m bringing up a file called “suspects.”
Evelyn peered at the screen. “It seems to be written in code.”
Lydia squinted. She was too caught up in what was before her to get out her reading glasses. “No, simply abbreviated words. There are three paragraphs, each headed by two initials. The first is R. M.”
“Ron Morganstern,” Evelyn said.
“M. D. That’s Mick Diminio, I imagine. And B. E.” She looked questioningly at Evelyn. “Do you know who that is?”
“Probably Billy Evans. He was an old friend of Daniel’s when they were kids. I think he lived in California until he died several years ago.”
“Three childhood friends,” Lydia mused. “Was Daniel still friendly with Ron?”
Evelyn shook her head. “I didn’t know they knew each other from childhood until a few weeks ago. Ron or Mick Diminio. Daniel called them both. Afterward he told me to invite them to his party, so I did.”
“And they came,” Lydia murmured. “So Daniel couldn’t have accused either of them of murder before the party.”
The notes didn’t tell her very much. The headings were dates, followed by what appeared to be streets, locations, and times of day. Most of the entries ended with a series of question marks.
Lydia turned to Evelyn, who sat weeping silently into her hands.
“Evelyn, dear,” she crooned, putting an arm around her. “We shouldn’t be doing this now. You’re grieving.”
“This is exactly what I should be doing,” Evelyn said as staunchly as she could through her tears. “I’m determined to find the rotten bastard who killed my Daniel.” She turned imploringly to Lydia. “You’ll help me, won’t you? You’re good at finding murderers.”
“I’ll do my best,” Lydia said, not knowing what else to say.
A framed penciled sketch of a young teenaged boy on yellowed paper caught her attention. It stood on a bookshelf among photos of Daniel and his children, Evelyn and her daughter’s family, and Daniel and Evelyn.
“Is that Daniel?” Lydia asked, recognizing the narrow face, the intelligent eyes.
“Yes. Timmy John Desmond drew it,” Evelyn replied. “He was a friend of Daniel’s when they were young. Daniel said he would have become a famous artist.”
“What happened to him?”
Evelyn shrugged. “Nobody knows. He came to live with relatives on Long Island. Then one day he simply disappeared and no one ever saw him again.”
Chapter Seven
Lydia was about to ask Evelyn what she knew about Timmy John Desmond, when her cell phone rang.
“Hello, Lydia. Sol Molina, here. I called you at home, then thought I’d try your cell phone. What’s up?”
“Hi, Sol.” Flustered because he’d saved her cell phone number, Lydia glanced at Evelyn, who waved and left the room. She appreciated her hostess’s tact, considering what she had to tell him.
“A Twin Lakes friend and neighbor died yesterday and was buried today. His name is Daniel Korman. His daughter thinks he was murdered.”
“Really? What makes her think that?”
“Polly said Daniel was receiving strange phone calls, and someone was tailing him.”
Sol didn’t respond. Lydia knew he was thinking. Finally, he asked. “What do you make of it, Lydia? How old was the guy? Do you take her for an hysterical daughter?”
“Daniel had congestive heart failure, but he was in good health. His fiancée threw him a party Saturday night to celebrate his eighty-fifth birthday. And no, his daughter isn’t the hysterical type.” She paused. “Daniel was worried about something. He came to talk to me last week.”
“Lydia, Lydia, how do you get embroiled in these situations?” She he
ard affection, exasperation, and resignation in his voice.
“It’s not something I pursue,” she said with some heat. “Daniel needed to air a moral dilemma and used me as a sounding board. He was vague about the details, so I was less than helpful.”
Sol sighed. “What are you doing for dinner?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.”
“How’s about we go out for a bite and you can tell me all about it. That is, if you don’t mind meeting me. I’ll be tied up until close to seven.”
“That’s fine. Where shall I meet you?”
He gave her the name of a Greek restaurant in the next town and directions to get there. “Let’s aim for seven o’clock. I’ll call you on your cell if I’m running late.”
They said good-bye, and Lydia returned her attention to checking through Daniel’s files. There was only one file of interest. It yielded little information other than a log of phone calls made to Ron Morganstern and Mick Diminio.
A glimpse at her watch told her it was after four. She had less than three hours. She asked Evelyn for her Twin Lakes directory and looked up Ron Morganstern’s address. “Ron lives on Lake Montaukett,” she murmured.
“I don’t think it’s wise to pay him a visit,” Evelyn said. “Let your boyfriend interview him.”
“Detective Molina is not my boyfriend. We’re friends, nothing more.”
“Friends who go out for dinner.”
“On occasion,” Lydia conceded.
Evelyn gripped her upper arm with surprising strength. “Lydia, don’t act rashly! If Ron killed Daniel, why wouldn’t he do the same to you?”
“I promise to be careful. I merely intend to ask a few questions about the time when they were kids.”
Evelyn grimaced. “If he’s guilty, he’ll know what you’re after. But I can’t stop you, can I?” She embraced Lydia in a fierce hug. “Be careful!” she admonished. “And tell me everything he says.”
“I will,” Lydia promised.
She parked in front of Ron’s house and rang the doorbell. Bella Morganstern opened the door. In the small hall, she and Lydia exchanged commiserations, about how sad it was to have attended Daniel’s funeral so soon after his birthday party. Bella cocked her head and asked, “Can I help you with something?”
Lydia smiled. “I’d like to speak to Ron if he’s here.”
“Ron!” Bella called out, and led Lydia into a small den cluttered with photos of children and grandchildren and small figurines of penguins. The birds were made of wood, glass, ceramic, and stone. Bella saw her eying them and smiled. “We collect them, Ron and I.”
Bella left and Ron entered the room a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes. He wore khaki pants, a rumpled short-sleeved shirt, and slippers without socks. Lydia must have wakened him from a nap. But he was good-natured enough to offer a small smile as he settled into the brown leather couch that formed an L with the love seat in which she was sitting.
“Hello, Ron,” Lydia said. “I wanted to talk to you. About Daniel.”
“Sure.” Ron leaned back and palmed back what remained of his sparse gray hair. “It’s sad how he died so suddenly just before his wedding.”
“Yes, it is,” Lydia said.
“Makes you wonder,” Ron said.
“Makes you wonder what?” Lydia asked, curious.
Ron laughed. It was a harsh sound that ended in a smoker’s cough. “If one of his kids knocked him off.”
Lydia shuddered at the track Ron’s thoughts were following. At the same time, it gave her the opening she needed. “Polly thinks someone murdered Daniel. Last week he received calls that upset him. And he thought a car was following him each time he left Twin Lakes by himself.”
Ron looked at her in alarm. “Really? Maybe she should notify the police.”
Lydia nodded, watching his face for any sign of guilt. “She wants the body to be exhumed, but her brother and sister think she’s overreacting to their father’s death.”
Ron got to his feet. “They would—wouldn’t they?—if they did poor Daniel in.” He called over his shoulder as he walked toward the bar in the far corner, “I think this warrants a drink. Would you like something?”
“No, thanks.” Lydia watched him pour scotch almost to the top of a highball glass. She waited until he drank deeply and sat down again before she asked, “What was Daniel like when he was a kid?”
Ron leaned back and smiled. “Danny was the best! An all-around terrific guy. He was a great athlete and absolutely brilliant, in school and out.” He grinned. “The kid came up with more ways for us to get into trouble than our whole group put together. Never serious trouble, mind you. Sometimes we played hooky and rode our bicycles to the beach. One Halloween we painted the water tower.” He chuckled, pleased with himself. “They never caught us for that.”
“Was Mick Diminio part of your group?”
“Yep. There were four of us—Danny, Mickey, me, and Billy Evans. Billy moved away, to California. He died about ten years ago. I think Mick went to his funeral.”
“I suppose you, Mick, and Daniel kept up with one other, seeing that you all ended up living on Long Island.”
Ron shrugged. “Mick and I did, off and on, but we kind of lost track of Danny until he moved back to Suffolk County. What a surprise that was, him and me ending up here, a stone’s throw from the old neighborhood.”
“What about Timmy John Desmond?”
Ron gulped down the rest of his scotch. His hand trembled as he set the glass on the table. “How did you come up with that name?”
Though her heart was racing, Lydia spoke calmly. “I saw a sketch he’d made of Daniel. He was very talented.”
“He was a creep!” Ron’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you asking me about Timmy John?”
“I was wondering if you knew what happened to him.”
“How would I know? I’m tired of your questions. I’d like you to go.”
Lydia stood, as eager to leave as he was to see the back of her. His vehement reaction meant her assumptions were correct. Ron and the others were involved with the poor boy’s disappearance all those years ago. They must have murdered him! When his remains were discovered, Daniel put two and two together and must have let his old friends know he was on to them.
And now Daniel was dead. Ron and Mick must have killed him to make sure he remained silent. There was no statute of limitations regarding murder.
Ridiculous! Lydia shook her head as she followed Ron to the door. Eighty-five-year-old men didn’t go around killing one another.
Suddenly Ron spun around, making her flinch.
“I’d forget about Timmy John, if I were you.”
She forced herself to meet his glare. “The police aren’t fools. They’ll figure things out and come here looking for answers.”
He jutted out his chin so that his face was inches from hers. “If they do, I’ll know who sent them.”
Eighty-five or not, his angry bulldog expression scared the bejeezus out of her. Lydia dashed out the door and into the street. A chat with Ron Morganstern had proven to be a dumb idea, after all.
*
Sol was only fifteen minutes late. He winked as he slid into the booth across from her. “Sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner. As it is, I flew.”
“And risked a ticket,” she said archly.
He studied her face, took in the low V of her silk top, and winked. “It was worth the risk.”
“Thank you.” Lydia had to restrain herself from getting up and throwing herself into his arms where she’d feel safe and secure after her encounter with Ron Morganstern. Also, because Sol was the sexiest man she knew and she was half in love with him.
She handed him a menu instead.
They both ordered Greek salads topped with grilled chicken breasts. Lydia was pleasantly surprised. She found the salad crisp and fresh, the chicken tender and moist, and the pita bread warm and nicely grilled. When she’d eaten as much as she coul
d, she found Sol grinning at her over their empty plates.
“Welcome back to earth.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Except for the one cookie I grabbed at Polly’s, I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
Sol pitched his voice low so no one but she could hear him. “I figured you must have been near starvation when you didn’t ask a single question about the body found in the root cellar.”
“Have you finally gotten the report?”
“Finally.”
Lydia pushed back her dish and leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”
“We have a tentative ID based on sketchy reports from seventy years ago. A fifteen-year-old boy named Timothy Desmond was reported missing and never found. From what we pieced together, he came from Arkansas to live with relatives just a few blocks from the excavation site. After six weeks, he disappeared. At first his aunt and uncle thought he went home, though his aunt didn’t think he would because his stepfather used to beat him badly—to get the devil out of him. The kid had epilepsy.”
Lydia shook her head. “Poor Timmy John.”
“What did you say?”
Lydia blinked, disconcerted by Sol’s glowering expression. She was getting a bit fed up with men reacting unfavorably whenever she mentioned the boy’s name.
“I said ‘poor Timmy John,’” she repeated, obviously too loudly because this time Sol put a finger to his lips.
“How did you know his name was Timmy John?”
“Daniel Korman, my neighbor who died, kept a sketch done by Timmy John in his den. I saw it this afternoon when I visited Daniel’s fiancée. Evelyn said Daniel had always been troubled by his disappearance and wondered what had happened to him.”
Their waiter asked if they wanted coffee and dessert. They ordered decaf and a galaktobouriko to share. When the young man was well on his way to the kitchen, Sol whistled.
“Your neighbor who just died knew the boy whose corpse they dug up at the construction site? That’s quite a coincidence.”
She nodded and went on to tell Sol about her conversation with Daniel and his dilemma of whether to expose an old crime or let sleeping dogs lie.
Murder in the Air Page 6
