by Roslyn Woods
“I know Shell likes them,” he said hopefully.
“She does,” Margie agreed, “anything yellow or purple.”
“Don’t tell him that!” Shell jumped in. “We’ll be overrun with flowers!”
“You know you will,” said Patrick, unfazed. “Yellow and purple. I’m taking note. Gee, something smells good.”
“Yes,” Shell agreed, “Margie has made her famous lasagna, and we’re all going to love it.”
“Just casual fare,” said Margie. “And you could have told her favorite colors by the decor in here.”
Patrick looked around the room at mixed patterns of yellow, purple, and green.
“I see what you mean,” he agreed, then turned back to Margie. “God, I’m starving. Really, it smells so good!”
“Like I said, casual fare,” Margie repeated over her shoulder as the timer went off and she hurried into the kitchen.
“Not to me,” Gina called after her.
Just then the doorbell rang and Margie wondered who would open it.
“I’ll get it,” said Shell.
Donald and Micky were both there, wine bottles in hand, and talking to each other, as she opened the door. “Hi, Donald! Hi, Micky,” she said. “I guess you two have met?”
“We have,” Donald agreed as she stepped back and waved them into the apartment.
Margie could hear as Donald introduced himself to Patrick before Shell could get to it. In a moment she heard his voice behind her. “Hey,” he said, leaning his head into the kitchen.
He was holding Tabitha in one arm and a wine bottle in the other when she turned and smiled at him.
“Have you made a friend?” she asked as she removed oven mitts and placed them on the counter.
“I hope so.”
“Come see your dessert,” she said as he came into the room and placed the wine bottle on the sideboard. “I told you I couldn’t make my favorite cake for the bakery. Then, as I was baking tonight’s cake in Pete’s oven, he decided he wants me to start making it for the bakery!”
“I can see why he’d decide that,” Donald replied, looking at the cake with it’s swirling chocolate cream. “It’s beautiful.”
“Let’s hope you think it tastes good.”
The little dog let out an excited bark.
“Tabitha and I think that’s a foregone conclusion,” he said smiling down at Margie. She had the sudden sense of memory that she often had with Donald, the feeling that she had known him for years and years combined with a feeling of longing. Get hold of yourself, girl.
The six sat down at Shell’s table and Tabitha curled up on her pillow in the living room. The general mood was cheerful despite their reason for meeting. The conversation varied from world politics to art, and the food was repeatedly praised.
“Wait till you try that cake,” Shell predicted. “I’m longing for a piece of it!”
“Let’s make a pot of coffee,” said Margie, “and we’ll all sit in the living room and talk about our reason for meeting first. We can have cake later on.”
Everyone agreed they were too full to do the cake justice and began clearing the table.
“None of that!” said Gina. “I cooked the least, so I’m doing the clearing.”
“I’ll help you,” said Micky. “I didn’t cook at all.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Gina.
“I’ll help you,” he repeated.
“Okay, kids,” said Shell, shooing Margie, Donald, and Patrick out of the dining area, “Gina and Micky will clear and the rest of us will retire to the living room.”
It wasn’t long before they were all in there. Donald brought a couple of chairs from the dining table to add to their small circle, and Tabitha curled up under Donald’s chair as the six put their heads together and began to talk.
The discussion began with Shell telling everyone about finding Dr. Leone’s body on the previous Tuesday morning, about her visit at Irving Jansen’s the following day, about seeing Lacy Michaels the night before. She added that she hadn’t been surprised that Lacy was unwilling to hear that Jeremy was causing Margie a lot of trouble and seemed to have come unhinged.
“I’m just surprised about her getting involved with someone she thought was involved with your best friend,” said Micky.
“I don’t see any reason why she would have any compunction based on my best friend,” said Shell. “Lacy doesn’t know me well, and she’s made it clear she doesn’t like me. What surprises me is that she believed he was involved with someone—anyone—and she was willing to be involved with him at the same time.”
“That seems weird, too,” Micky agreed.
“But it happens every day,” said Gina. “Ugly as it is. And I thought Lacy and you were sort of friendly, Shell, but it sounds like she didn’t act very nice.”
“She was fine at first. That was when I was telling her I wanted to find my painting. What shocked me was that she thought Brigitte would know where it was because she had never liked me.”
“You mean, she thought Brigitte would have taken note about your painting because she dislikes you?” Gina asked.
“Right. She said if she’d seen it she would know where it wound up.”
“I didn’t know Brigitte didn’t like you,” said Gina. “I just knew I didn’t like her. She’s so aloof.”
“I’m still astounded,” Shell reiterated. “I admit I’ve never felt close to her, but I never dreamed she despised me.”
“Where is she from?” Donald wanted to know.
“I think Missouri,” said Gina. “I remember her being asked, and she wasn’t all that willing to say, but Dr. Leone told me she was a poor, country girl.”
“Where did she go to school before UT?” Patrick asked.
“Seems like a Christian school somewhere,” Gina answered. “But now that she’s a grad student, I have no idea where she gets her backing. I know she didn’t get the fellowship she applied for.”
“Where does she live?” Micky wanted to know.
“She has a house in kind of a poor neighborhood down in south Austin.”
“Not unlike my hood?” Margie asked. “A lot of students opt for poor neighborhoods while they make their way through school.”
“But don’t you think it’s weird that we saw her buying three negligees the other evening?” Gina asked. “Those things were expensive.”
“I know,” Shell said. “And she was carrying a Michael Kors purse. Not cheap,” she added. “Micky, do you feel comfortable telling everyone what you learned about Jeremy Bird?”
“Sure,” he replied. He proceeded to tell the group everything he had told Shell and Patrick two nights earlier about Jeremy thinking he was a spy and about his receiving a roll of money from Dr. Leone.
“What do you think about that?” Margie asked Donald. “It sounds insane that he thinks he’s a spy.”
“As I said about him before I heard this, he’s got some damage. People aren’t so dissociated from reality if they don’t have something genetically wrong or something terrible in their history.”
“What could it be?” Margie asked.
“I’d guess—and I mean guess since I don’t know him—he had a violent parent, probably a violent father. Violence was modeled for him, and he was traumatized when he was small. Now, he has a tenuous relationship with reality, and he’s got a lot of anger plus memories of his dad—or someone—handling situations he didn’t like with violence.”
“Now you’re making me feel sorry for him,” said Margie. “A little,” she hastened to add.
“So if he was blackmailing Dr. Leone,” said Patrick, “what do we think it was for?”
“Someone suggested to me,” said Shell, “that she was having an affair, but I’m doubtful. We still have to figure that one out.”
“What about Irving Jansen?” Gina asked.
“He’s strange,” said Shell. “One minute I thought he was charming and devoted to the wife he lost, and the next he was
acting like he was on the make. It was so odd, and I still can’t get my head around it. What do you think, Donald?”
“He sounds like a classic narcissist,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, he may really be a great person in some ways, but when it comes to his feelings of self-worth, he gets them all from the attention of others. In other words, he’s looking for admiration wherever he goes. Narcissists flirt, do whatever they can to get attention from whoever is standing in front of them.”
“You’d think,” said Margie, “they’d be smart enough to see what they’re doing.”
“You would,” Donald answered, “but they have a tendency to think they ought to get away with their bad behavior. They can be terribly judgmental when others cheat or lie, but when they do it themselves they think it’s justified.”
“So they don’t feel guilt?” Micky asked.
“I wouldn’t say that. They sometimes do, but like anything else, there are degrees of narcissism. At some level they may know when they’re misbehaving, but at another they’re so busy self-justifying that they never get anywhere in understanding themselves. They can be terribly drained by self-hate and still be justifying their actions and partly—maybe mostly—believing their own lies. If they’re quite brilliant they get away with it to some extent.”
“What was your take on Irving Jansen yesterday, Donald?” Shell asked.
“He seemed tortured. He’s grieving, so it’s hard to tell, but I think he’s dealing with more than grief.”
“Because?”
“It’s just a guess, but I’d say he’s tortured because he feels he could have been better? Everyone feels that to some extent when someone dies. In his case, it may have been true, but I don’t know his secrets.”
“So what have we learned?” Margie asked.
Micky had been writing things down as they spoke. “Well,” he said. “According to Jansen, Dr. Leone got up last Tuesday and went somewhere—probably UT—for a while and then returned and had breakfast with him. Shell learned she had an appointment with someone whose initials are JB at eleven. Shell found her body at about 12:55. We know Jeremy Bird was either blackmailing Dr. Leone or doing something to get money from her. We also know Jeremy threatened Margie that night and vandalized her car and her house the following evening. On Thursday he broke a wedding cake at the bakery and threatened her. We’ve been told that Brigitte hates Shell, but we don’t know if that’s significant.”
“It’s not enough to know what to do next,” said Shell.
“Let’s wait and see what the cops do,” said Micky. “I told them that I’d seen Dr. Leone giving Jeremy a roll of bills. Maybe they’ll pursue that and find out if it was blackmail.”
“I think you’re right, Micky. We’re stuck at ‘wait and see,’” she answered.
“How about we all have coffee and cake?” Margie asked.
Everyone agreed it was time for dessert despite the dampening effect the discussion had brought on.
“Can I help?” Donald asked her.
“Sure. I’ll point you to plates and forks.”
Margie caught Shell’s smile as the two went into the kitchen.
“Margie?” Donald asked in a low voice when the door had swung closed behind them.
“Yeah?”
“That really was the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks, but I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true.”
“The ricotta and the spinach add something. Plus there was a secret sauce. I’m glad you liked it.”
“And I had fun last night. I hope you were okay with the whole charade.”
“Sure. It was fine.” So now he’s reminding me it was a charade.
“We convinced Sophie and Ed. In fact, Sophie wants us to come to dinner on Thursday. I told her I’d check with you but I thought you had something going on that evening.”
“So you don’t want to go?”
“Do you?”
“You have to tell me what you want before you make me tell you what I want.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Would it be good for you? I mean, would it help you keep Geraldine off your case?”
“Probably.”
“Let’s go then. Maybe it will seal the deal. Is she going to be there?”
“No. I definitely wouldn’t go if we had to deal with her face to face again. She’s too irritating.”
“So how will it help?”
“Ed will brag about having us over to dinner when he comes in the next day. It will make us seem more real.”
“I see. Yes. Let’s do it,” she said, but she felt a weight on her chest as she spoke. He wasn’t agreeing to go to Ed and Sophie’s because it was an excuse to be with her. It was really what he’d said all along. It was a way to get rid of Geraldine, and somehow, much as she wanted him to get rid of Geraldine, that made her feel unhappy.
Chapter 27
The cake was a huge hit. Donald and Patrick each had two pieces, and Gina and Shell praised it as the best cake they had ever tasted. Micky, though he devoured it with relish, seemed to have his mind on something and said little. Margie was pleased that her recipe was a good one and that her stellar reputation as a baker was intact when dessert dishes were collected.
At ten Gina and Micky announced they were going for a drive and would be back in an hour or so at just the time Patrick announced that he had to work in the morning. He kissed Shell’s cheek and told her he’d text her tomorrow.
In a few minutes Donald, Margie, and Shell were all who remained in the apartment, and the three sat down again in the living room.
“Donald,” said Shell, “I have some things I didn’t say to everyone about Dr. Leone. I know there are things you know that you weren’t comfortable saying in front of them.”
“That’s true,” he said.
“I imagine it’s hard for you to even tell me and Margie the things Dr. Leone told you in confidence, but I want you to know that I cared for her. I felt we had a sort of bond, and I wouldn’t ask you to tell me anything personal unless you think it could relate to her murder.”
“She saw me that morning,” Donald said. “Her husband thought she had an office hour at the university. He didn’t know she was seeing me for counseling.”
“He told me she went to UT that morning and then came back for a late breakfast.”
“It’s what she wanted him to think.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think she was having an affair,” said Shell.
“Why is that?”
“She seemed wistful when she spoke of her husband. I thought she loved him.”
“You’re right about that.”
“I spoke with Dr. Moreno this morning. She told me the other day that she’d seen Dr. Leone at the airport embracing a handsome man,” said Shell. Donald caught Margie’s eye about then, and she felt her face flushing. “That was a while back. Anyway,” Shell continued, “Dr. Moreno thought it meant Dr. Leone had found a relationship with someone else, but I doubted it. Then, at the memorial, she saw the man. He was Dr. Leone’s brother. So, it turns out Dr. Moreno’s suspicion was wrong. I suppose there could be someone else, but I don’t think so. Am I wrong?”
“You’re right on both counts. She loved her husband and she wasn’t having an affair.”
“But Irving Jansen was having an affair, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, she thought so.”
“And she hired someone to find out who it was.”
“Yes.”
“And the person she hired was Jeremy Bird.”
“Possibly. She never told me his name.”
“So the money,” Margie said, realizing, “was for services rendered, not blackmail?”
“I think so,” said Shell. “And it explains his calling himself a spy.”
Then Donald surprised them both. “There was a woman helping him.”
“What?” Shell asked, frowning.
“Yes. A student of hers, bu
t I never heard her name.”
“She was paying both of them?”
“I believe so, or they were a team or something and split the money.”
“But who was it?” Margie asked. “Who was helping him?”
“I don’t know,” said Donald.
“It seems like it’s Lacy, doesn’t it?” Shell asked. “I mean, Patrick and I saw his car parked at her house, and Gina saw them together a couple of times.”
“And Irving Jansen’s lover?” Margie asked.
“I think it has to be Brigitte,” Shell answered. “I saw her leaving his house crying the day after the murder. He probably broke up with her—at least for the time being—not wanting their relationship found out.”
“But who do you think killed Dr. Leone?” Margie asked.
Shell thought for a minute before answering. “It seems there are three people with motives. Irving Jansen may have wanted out of the marriage. If that wasn’t motive enough, Dr. Moreno told me that Dr. Leone came from a family with money and that Irving wasn’t very successful at all as a writer. If he stands to inherit her wealth, that could have made killing her that much more attractive to him. Then there’s Jeremy. He may have gotten angry and killed her, and we know he can be violent. And Brigitte, if she was in love with Irving Jansen, might have wanted her dead.”
“That sounds about right to me,” said Donald.
“There’s a problem, though,” said Shell. “Micky pointed out that whoever killed her had to put some effort into sharpening a palette knife. First they’d have to find a rigid one—they exist, but they’re not that common—and then they’d have had to spend some serious time sharpening it. So—”
“So it was premeditated,” said Donald.
“Exactly.”
Chapter 28
Shell thought the evening had gone well, and she had been feeling pretty confident about the conclusions she had come to before talking with Donald and Margie, but she couldn’t sleep that night. Her certainty about having put some of the pieces of the puzzle together was waning. Something was nagging at her, and she couldn’t figure out what it was.
