"Goodness, how old do you think he was?" said Abe, reflexively offended on behalf of the now-deceased Lenard, who had, after all, been only one year older than Abe. He patted uneasily at his hair, like an old-timey actress. "He was murdered. Or at least...manslaughtered. The police are being terribly secretive about it, but that's what it amounts to. People are being questioned," he finished importantly.
Abe was slightly appalled at himself for sounding so thrilled to be sharing the gory details, but it wasn't often he got to impress such a handsome young man, and there was no doubt his speech had made an impact on Fred. In fact, he almost staggered.
"Here, sit down," said Edward, hurrying forward and taking him by the arm, shooting Abe a reproachful look. "You shouldn't surprise people like that, Abe."
Abe followed the two curiously. Edward got Fred into a seat with a minimum of fussing, although he peered at him anxiously and looked like he didn't want to let go of his arm. (Who could blame him?)
Since neither of them was being particularly helpful, but they obviously had some sort of history or chemistry, Abe decided to lean into his role as the nosy elder here. "Were you terribly close to Lenard? I can't imagine so, or it wouldn't come as a shock. You'd have known sooner. At least, the police would probably have spoken to you, too. They seem to be speaking to everyone else."
The effect of these blasé words was like a live wire applied to Edward. He stiffened and went extremely pale, his eyes growing large and frightened. But Fred didn't seem to notice and just looked up at Abe with a kind of innocent numbness, a question and worry in his eyes. "No, we weren't friends," he said simply.
Abe hadn't imagined they would be. Lenard could be a snob at the best of times, and it was difficult to imagine a circumstance that would let him befriend a hot young Asian-American fitness buff. Lenard hadn't been much of a gym bunny, and in fact looked down on people who were. He thought it was unsophisticated to be too muscular. Nor had Abe ever known him to make friends with people who weren't white, whatever their age or hotness level.
No, he was unlikely to have known the young man as anything more than a casual acquaintance. Unless he had some carnal interest in Fred, of course—a reasonable feeling, certainly, but even that seemed unlikely with how Fred and Edward were acting around each other. They were so obviously, embarrassedly interested in each other. Lenard wouldn't have wanted Fred around under any circumstances—even for sex, assuming he was looking for someone to cheat on Edward with, or have a threesome.
No, he wouldn't have wanted to be with someone who wanted his boyfriend more than him, or who might be likely to endanger the fear and loyalty he'd beaten into Edward. And there was a great deal about Fred that could tempt even the most loyal and frightened fellow into leaving a bad boyfriend, if Fred might be interested in him instead. It was easy to see they had chemistry, whether anything had happened yet or not.
Probably it hadn't, Abe thought, or they wouldn't be too embarrassed to even talk to each other. And Fred would almost certainly know that Edward had already left Lenard, if he'd left him for Fred.
There was something innocent and gentle about the buff young man, and it was hard to imagine him as a murder suspect. In fact, with as shocked as he'd been by the news that Lenard was dead, Abe crossed him completely off the list. But after seeing how Edward had reacted, he was now sure that Fred was the person Edward had suspected and hadn't wanted to.
From what he'd said, they'd spoken at least enough in the past for him to suggest Edward could do better than Lenard. That was nothing but the truth. Almost anyone would be better. But he hadn't known him well enough to know he'd left. So...someone he worked with? Saw occasionally at the gym or elsewhere?
They seemed so intrigued by each other, it wasn't likely that Abe would have to play matchmaker. Then again, he would never underestimate the ability of clueless young people to bungle such things. He'd have to keep an eye on them, he thought with avuncular pride. This man was so obviously gentler and handsomer than Lenard had ever been in his lifetime. If he had even a passing interest in Edward, it would be a shame for Edward to miss this chance. Kind, hot boyfriends were not as plentiful as one would think, even for the young and handsome.
Abe was absolutely certain that Fred hadn't murdered Lenard. But that didn't mean he hadn't tried to drug or poison him, to punish him a little bit for how he treated his boyfriend. Abe admitted to himself that it was extremely unlikely. Even if he had the motive, he had to have the means and opportunity, and he obviously hadn't known the couple well, and having access to anything of Lenard's that he would consume later seemed extremely unlikely. Lenard was picky to the extreme about what he ate and drank.
Edward went to get a glass of water for Fred.
"How did you know him, if you weren't friends?" asked Abe.
"Don't grill Fred!" exclaimed Edward. He turned off the sink and hurried back with the water. "Drink this, you'll feel better." He shot Abe a reproachful glance. It was so like a sullen teen angry with an adult for embarrassing them in front of a crush that Abe could have wallowed in laughter. However, he swallowed it instead and managed to keep his face nearly poker-worthy.
"Um. He used to stop by the Starbucks where I work?" said Fred. "I saw him last on Saturday morning."
Oh. That...made poisoning a terrifying possibility after all. If he was the one who'd gotten Lenard's coffee for him, or had access to it, then he could be a suspect, a serious suspect, after all.
Chapter fourteen
Abe hummed while he worked, not because he felt so cheerful, but because he had such an awful lot to think about, and he thought better to music.
Although it must be said, he was more cheerful now that he was actively investigating. He felt better having some active control over his life instead of feeling simply blown around by the winds of fate, and an uncomfortable fate at that, since it involved murder and everything.
He kept going back and forth about whether one of those impossibly clueless young men could have been involved in a poisoning. His gut instinct told him no, but obviously, that wasn't a real clue. Right now, he was trying to figure out a way to get a policeman to answer his questions. He didn't want to break the law, of course, but he certainly could have used some hints about what was going on. It was dreadful to remain in the dark!
He was planning to call Detective Jeffries, and was trying to find the right approach. Also, a quick visit to his friends, Mary and Fiona, should yield any juicy gossip that had come to light since the bake sale.
It might not be comfortable, but it would be better to know, and he thought he could handle it now. Heck, if he could handle clearing out his ex's apartment with Lenard's previous boyfriend, he could probably handle pretty much anything! He was amazing that way, if he did say so himself.
It was with this feeling of confidence that he was tackling the scrubbing of the kitchen sink, industriously putting his elbows into it. He did some of his best thinking while he was cleaning.
He and the boys had done a pretty good job of cleaning up the apartment, although it had been a long, tiring task. By the time they'd finished up for the day, his back had been killing him, he'd maneuvered Fred into offering to help with the rest of it, and Edward had gratefully seized on the suggestion, not only, if Abe was any judge of character, because he needed the help. Abe was glad to let love blossom without him—and spare his more fragile back.
He felt quite content with the work he'd finished, although there was still, obviously, a great deal more to do, if only because he'd need to be a go-between about getting certain valuables assessed by a museum, and then because of the books. Edward had such large, soulful eyes, and it was impossible to resist his puppy-eyed plea when he asked Abe to take the books with him, to take care of that part of it.
There were several boxes still in the trunk. He'd been meaning to ask Gregory to bring them in last night but had fallen asleep before he remembered. Some of them were quite valuable as well, and, slated as they were now
for charity, he really shouldn't have risked letting them sit out. But he'd been so dreadfully tired last night that he'd simply fallen asleep and forgotten. He'd get them in a little bit, or make Gregory do it. Abe wasn't too bad with puppy eyes himself.
Out the window, he caught a glimpse of the new neighbor, the woman who was married to the unfriendly art man with his face jugs. What was her name, again? Mr. Rongst had introduced her the day of the bake sale, in a tense and unhappy moment. But her name had slipped his mind with the trauma of the day, or perhaps he was getting senile and forgetful.
He clicked his tongue. Drat! What was her name?
Impulsively, Abe decided to say hello. It was worth a second chance, being friendly to the neighbors, or at least one of them. Rufus had used up his first two times already. Cecelia, that was her name! Buoyed by that instance of his memory working correctly, he smiled, drying his hands on a dish towel.
Abe took off his apron and walked out, trying to look casual. "Hello, Mrs. Rongst, or may I call you Cecilia?" She jumped at the sound of his voice and turned to face him with a nervous, rabbitty air, as though she felt hunted.
"What—what is it?" she asked.
"Nothing, nothing, just saying hello. Trying to be neighborly. I'm sorry I startled you." He was already beginning to regret the impulse. He smiled, trying to look harmless and friendly.
She squinted slightly, tilting her head like a bird. "Abe, wasn't it?"
Maybe she did want to have a conversation if she'd bothered to remember his name.
"Yes, that's right."
"I was just—just cleaning the statues. Rufus doesn't like them to get dirty."
"Why does he keep them outside, then?" The rude question just slipped out. Before he could apologize, she answered him, not seeming to take offense.
"There isn't any more room in the house. And he likes them to be seen. I thought I could clear out the house a bit, but—" She bit her lip as if she regretted speaking.
Abe was beginning to have a bad feeling. What sort of husband was Rufus? She was so scared.
They didn't know one another well enough for him to impulsively offer to help her get away if her spouse was abusive. But Abe vowed to change that. He would become someone in her life she could come to if she needed help—if she'd let him.
"Men can be awful, can't they?" said Abe with an exaggerated, campy wink. It won him a reluctant smile, as he'd hoped it would. One never knew, of course.
"You're a man," she pointed out. "Are you awful, too?"
"Oh, darling, I'm the worst."
This time, she laughed.
WINNIE GRINNED AS SHE flashed the ostentatious ring on her finger. She'd dropped by to see him just after he'd finished chatting with Cecelia. They were in the kitchen now, and she was radiant.
"Isn't it gorgeous?" she said, and giggled. "It's made of glass! I love it."
Abe gave her a relieved, happy smile. "Oh, darling, I'm so happy for you!" He enveloped her in a careful hug. Even though Winnie had been his first friend in the neighborhood, he was very careful with her sometimes. She was a delicate soul, even if she tried not to show it. It was hard to miss after you'd known her for a while.
"I said yes." She flipped her hair back self-consciously. "You don't think it was a mistake?" She regarded him doubtfully. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm making him up, if he's too good to be true."
"Oh, he's flesh and blood, all right—and he's obviously not perfect. It took him long enough to start seeing you," he pointed out. "I'm sure he'll make plenty of mistakes. You both will. But you'll get through them."
He spoke heartily, wanting it to be true. He understood the subtext of what she was asking him, though, and he wasn't sure how to answer it. In truth, he didn't know if there was a surefire way to be certain the relationship you got into after getting out of an abusive one was going to be healthy. He felt like he'd just lucked out, personally, with Gregory—and had still dragged a lot of baggage with him. In Winnie's case, she had gotten out of the relationship by literally surviving longer. If her awful husband hadn't kicked the bucket, she'd probably still be with him. No wonder she was a bit skittish about trusting her judgment when it came to men.
He looked at her, taking hold of her hands, and said as firmly as he could, "Rick is a good man. I'm sure of it. Why, ask Gregory if you're not! But I know you are. It's just nerves."
"I suppose I—I wonder if he'll change once we're married. He's so fussed about the money—wants to sign a prenup and everything, so people don't say he's taking advantage of me." She blushed and looked down.
"That's really rather sweet of him," said Abe. "I don't think you should mind about that. Whatever makes him comfortable. I really don't think he'll change after you get married. Of course, if he becomes groomzilla in the next few months, you'll have time to see that!" He winked at her.
"Yes, I can just picture him getting fussed about his tux!" She rolled her eyes and grinned.
"I know, he's such a diva."
She gave him another impulsive hug. "Thanks, Abe. You're the best."
"You know it," said Abe.
He hoped he hadn't steered either of them wrong. Perhaps he should have kept his interfering, busybody nose out of it. Then he thought that was the sort of thing Lenard would say. It wasn't wrong to tell his friends his honest option about their relationship issues, especially when they asked.
And they had; Rick had wanted to know Abe's thought about marrying Winnie, and Winnie had wanted to know Abe's thoughts about marrying Rick. And if that wasn't the perfect symmetry, he didn't know what was. Of course, in an ideal world they wouldn't have had any doubts...but really, maybe that wasn't ideal. People who never had any doubts were the ones unlikely to think things through or to be willing to face the challenges when times were hard.
No. He'd been right, and they had, too. They loved each other, and they should get married if they wanted to, not hold on to superstitious feelings or doubts on the matter, or let other people's judgment dissuade them.
And what about me? thought Abe, feeling sad suddenly. Should I get married, too? Even though I love Gregory very much, and the term boyfriend is getting a little old, I really don't want to marry him. I don't want to get married ever again.
CHATTING WITH WINNIE had been pleasant, even though it was a very short visit, and he was glad he'd gotten to know his neighbor a little better, too. But now there was work to be done: the investigator must investigate!
He headed down the sidewalk at a brisk pace to see Mary and Fiona. One of them was bound to be home, since they were both retired and homebodies. He hoped to see Mary, though. Fiona could be brusque and didn't much like trading gossip with him, while Mary was endlessly hospitable in that regard, as well as the world's best baker. So, there was bound to be cake.
"This is delicious cake, Mary," said Abe a short time later. The cake was lemon, and one of her best yet. "I feel like quite the pig, but I can't stop eating it."
"Oh, thank you!" Mary's cheeks pinkened. Compliments affected her a lot, maybe because she'd spent too much of her life not having her culinary prowess appreciated.
Just like me, thought Abe, although he knew their situations didn't truly compare. He hadn't had to spend decades of his life in a loveless straight marriage.
"Fiona loves it when I bake, but she's really interested in healthy eating, so I'm trying new things. This cake has organic coconut oil, which is supposed to be good for you. It adds a certain special something to cakes."
"I'll have to try it," said Abe.
"The flour's organic, too. And the sugar. Fiona loves organic things."
So does Gregory. Hm... "It's nice to see you two taking care of each other." He smiled affectionately at his elderly neighbor. The two women had taken so long to find one another. He hoped they'd have many years yet to enjoy.
She waved it away, blushing again. "Of course, of course. Did you want to talk about the—the death? Fi said you might not." Her pale gaze was remarkably perceptive,
and she regarded him cautiously. "I said I wouldn't discuss it with you unless you wanted to, but it's all right to ask, isn't it?"
"Of course it is, and I definitely want to. I'm ready now. What do you want me to know?" He thought that was a better way to begin than trying to ask questions. Mary was astute, and she obviously had something she wanted to tell him. Something out of the ordinary that perhaps someone else wouldn't have noticed. And Mary, being such a small, quiet, elderly, unassuming person, often went unnoticed...
She's like Miss Marple, thought Abe. Except she's a sweet little old lesbian.
"Well, I saw him—that dreadful man—arguing with Gregory at the baked goods table. You made some remarkable things, by the way. But I also saw him arguing with someone else later. At first I didn't know who it was, but later I found out it's your new neighbor, that man with all the awful art. I know I shouldn't call art awful, since art can be all sorts of things, but that terrible jug stares so!" She shuddered.
Abe nodded. "It's scary," he admitted.
She looked relieved to hear him agree. "Well, Mr. Rongst was saying something very angrily to Mr. Benton, leaning in close."
"Oh!" said Abe, drawing in a sharp breath. Finally, a suspect! And someone he didn't like, for once. "I don't suppose you heard what they said?"
"No, but I heard the tones, and—and I'm sorry to say that Mr. Benton's was very scornful and taunting. I'm not a violent person, but I swear if someone spoke to me that way, I would be tempted to do him harm." She shuddered at the thought.
"He can have that effect on people. Do you suppose they knew one another?"
"I don't know. They were by the auction table, and it seemed quite intense. But after a moment they broke apart as Hannibal was heading their way. Mr. Benton shook Hannibal's hand and asked loudly about something—that expensive book, I believe? And the other man, your neighbor, walked off muttering under his breath. I saw the look on his face, though. It was rage! And—and something like fear."
Poison at the Bake Sale Page 13
