Never mind that I happened to be fully clothed,
combed, and made up when she telephoned. Like they
say: It’s the thought that counts.
*
*
*
MURDER CAN RAIN ON YOUR SHOWER
47
I sat in one of the club chairs. Allison was directly across from me, perched on the edge of the sofa, sip
ping coffee. (I’d tried to persuade her to switch to tea—my coffee being a few steps down from sludge.
But she wasn’t a tea drinker. The proffered options
of wine, beer, and soda were also scratched. So, really,
my conscience was clear.)
Anyway, she looked tired, drawn. I had set out a
plate of cheese and crackers, along with an onion tart
that had been stored in the freezer for emergencies. Aside from the coffee, though, it was fairly plain that Allison wouldn’t be touching a thing. This meant that
I had to ignore my own stomach, which was threaten
ing to commence gurgling its complaints at any min
ute. But, listen, I didn’t want Mike’s mother to think I was a glutton or anything.
‘‘How are you feeling?’’ her appearance prompted
me to inquire.
‘‘Worried.’’ She smiled wanly. ‘‘About my friends,
of course, in the event Bobbie Jean’s death should
turn out to be what we’re all praying it wasn’t. But mostly about Wes. I knew his sister’s passing would
be tough on him, but I had no idea he’d take it this badly. He’s barely had anything to eat since Sunday.’’
And then about three seconds later, she tagged on,
‘‘Naturally I’m also terribly sad about Bobbie Jean.’’
Well, this mention of the dead woman was so obvi
ously an afterthought that I commented, ‘‘I have an
idea you weren’t too fond of Bobbie Jean.’’
‘‘What makes you think that?’’ I was attempting to
firm up an answer, but Allison held up her palm. ‘‘Never
mind.’’ For a moment her lips stretched into another sad smile. ‘‘My sister-in-law was intelligent and witty, even generous. Actually, she was better company than
most people I know. There were times I was fond of her in spite of myself. I say ‘in spite of myself’ because she was almost completely lacking in any sort of moral code. The truth is, she didn’t care who she stepped on—
or how hard—in order to get what she wanted.’’
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Selma Eichler
‘‘I imagine, then, that she must have alienated an
awful lot of people.’’
‘‘She had quite a talent for it. And speaking of that,
something occurred to me after our conversation this
morning.’’
‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘I wouldn’t be surprised if Bobbie Jean had had a
few altercations with some of the staff at Silver Oaks.
She could be very demanding. Maybe one of
them . . . ?’’
‘‘Maybe. But tell me, have you come up with any
one else at the shower who was on less than friendly terms with her? Among the guests, I mean.’’
‘‘I’ve been racking my brain for some additional . . . I suppose I should call them ‘suspects.’ But if there were other enemies of Bobbie Jean’s at the shower—and with
my sister-in-law that’s a very real possibility—I’m not aware of it.’’
‘‘I take it she didn’t confide in you.’’
‘‘Not normally, no. But there were occasions when
she realized that I had to have learned of her most recent transgression, and she was worried that I might
tattle to Wes. So she’d initiate a heart-to-heart talk with me—or I should say, her version of one—in order
to defend her actions. You see, her brother was the only person in the world whose opinion really mat
tered to Bobbie Jean. She needn’t have been con
cerned, though. I avoided discussing her with Wes.
Her behavior not only upset him greatly, but we al
most invariably wound up in an argument. However,
when your conduct is that blatant, that dreadful, the word is bound to get around. So in spite of my keep
ing quiet, I’m afraid my husband wasn’t spared very
much.’’
‘‘He found out what had occurred between Bobbie
Jean and those four friends of yours?’’
Nodding, Allison set her cup on the table between
us. I looked down. She couldn’t have taken more than
four or five sips. Which, come to think of it, is more of my coffee than most people can manage.
MURDER CAN RAIN ON YOUR SHOWER
49
‘‘And I take it he was disturbed by whatever it was
she did to them?’’
‘‘He was appalled. He even persuaded her to see a
therapist a number of years back—for all the good
that did. Nevertheless, my husband constantly ended
up making excuses for her. He attributed his sister’s actions to the circumstances of her childhood, and evi
dently her analyst concurred. Whatever the cause,
though, the fact of the matter is that Bobbie Jean was
a sexual predator.’’
‘‘ A sexual predator? What was so wrong with her childhood?’’
‘‘Their mother—hers and Wes’s—passed away when
she was only five. And apparently Bobbie Jean was
devastated—she’d been devoted to the woman. The
father was a wealthy businessman. He died less than a
year after Wes and I were married, but I can certainly
confirm my husband’s contention that he was an ex
tremely cold person. Also, it seems that when the chil
dren were growing up, the man was so consumed with
making money that he had very little time to spare
for them. And to make matters worse, Wes, who was
ten years older than Bobbie Jean, was away at prep
school and then college during most of her formative years. She was raised by a series of nannies, and from
what I understand, she never really bonded with any
of them.
‘‘According to Wes—and here again the analyst
reached the same conclusion—his sister, feeling as
alienated and unloved as she did, developed very low self-esteem.’’ Something closely resembling a sneer
crept into Allison’s voice as she said, ‘‘Her emergence
into the sort of woman she eventually became was
supposedly the result of a desperate search for love.’’
Now, granted Bobbie Jean’s early life fell short of
being idyllic. But as far as I was concerned, that didn’t
earn her any God-given right to be a bitch for the rest
of her days. I have this thing about our being responsi
ble for our own actions, regardless of the baggage we carry around. ‘‘Listen,’’ I remarked, ‘‘maybe the Bos
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Selma Eichler
ton Strangler wasn’t blessed with such a hotsy-totsy
childhood, either. And who knows what kind of par
ents Fidel Castro had. Or how much affection was
lavished on little Josef Stalin, for that matter.’’
‘‘Exactly. But long ago I gave up trying to make
that point with my husband. I’m certain he blames
himself to a great degree for having been away from home so much of the time when Bobbie Jean was
little. He did approach his dad about attending a col
lege here in New York, but his father was adamant
that he go to Yale.’’
‘‘Are you sure I can’t get you something else to
drink?’’ I said then. ‘‘Something cold, maybe?’’
‘‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’’ Allison glanced at her
watch. ‘‘And I do have to be getting back to Con
necticut.’’
Well, I realized I’d promised both Allison and my
self that our meeting would be brief. But at this junc
ture we hadn’t even touched on the topic I considered
most crucial to my investigation. ‘‘I won’t detain you much longer. But if you could just fill me in on the nature of your friends’ grievances against Bobbie
Jean . . .’’
Allison’s expression communicated that she was not
exactly delighted to comply. ‘‘You know, it occurred
to me during the drive to Manhattan that I wouldn’t be able to give you a truly accurate picture of what actually transpired in any of those cases. None of the events were that recent, and I’ve no doubt forgotten many of the details. I think it would be best if you spoke to the women themselves. I’m sure they’d have
no problem revealing to you precisely how Bobbie
Jean messed up their lives.’’
‘‘But you do? Have some problem with discussing these matters with me, I mean.’’
‘‘It isn’t that. I really don’t recall just what went on.’’
Naturally, I was skeptical—to say the least. I figured
Allison was disinclined to relate information that
might conceivably give one—or all—of her buddies a
MURDER CAN RAIN ON YOUR SHOWER
51
strong motive for doing away with the deceased. Plus,
some of her reticence could also stem from a desire to avoid besmirching the memory of her dead sisterin-law—any more than she already had, that is—
mostly, I felt, out of loyalty to Wes.
Still, if I was able to convince Allison to provide me with even a vague idea of what dire deed Bobbie Jean had done to each of my suspects, it could prove helpful. Suppose, for example, that one of these ladies
was resistant to meeting with me. I could come back at her with something like, ‘‘You might as well talk to me. I’ve already discovered that Bobbie Jean de
frauded you of a million dollars.’’ Or whatever. What I’m trying to say is that anything I learned today might
provide me with some leverage in the future.
However, being that I regarded Allison Lynton as a
decent sort of person who was in a very uncomfortable
position, I was reluctant to badger her. But I managed
to overcome the reluctance. ‘‘Look, I’ll be frank. I’m hoping I’m wrong, but I’m now pretty much convinced
that Bobbie Jean’s death was premeditated murder. If
you would just tell me the kind of thing she pulled in each instance, it could make a difference in my
investigation.’’
‘‘Kind of thing?’’ Allison echoed.
‘‘Did your sister-in-law, the sexual predator, wreck
any marriages? Seduce a boyfriend or two? Or what?
It isn’t necessary that you go into the nitty-gritty. You
can speak in general terms.’’ And here I threw in what
must have been the clincher: ‘‘I’m sure your husband’s
primary concern right now is to find out what hap
pened to his sister.’’
Allison didn’t say anything immediately, probably
because she was still wrestling with herself about how
much she should say. But at last she murmured, ‘‘I may as well start with Lorraine. You remember, she’s
the very tall woman with the big hat.’’
Yeah. The one who was so taken with me, I thought sarcastically. But I merely nodded.
‘‘Bobbie Jean made a play—a successful play—for
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Selma Eichler
Lorraine’s fiance´. Actually, the two of them even
moved in together for a while.’’
‘‘I gather that ended the engagement.’’
‘‘It did,’’ Allison said flatly.
‘‘What happened with Robin Fremont?’’
‘‘Bobbie Jean set her sights on Carla’s husband.
And before long Roy became Bobbie Jean’s husband
number two.’’
‘‘I suppose that’s also the reason Carla felt as she did about Bobbie Jean.’’
‘‘Can you blame her?’’
‘‘Of course not. Bobbie Jean and Roy eventually
divorced, though.’’
‘‘No, he was killed in a car crash less than a year into the marriage.’’
‘‘Umm, Mike mentioned that there was something
else Robin held against your sister-in-law, apart from Bobbie Jean’s wrecking her daughter’s marriage.’’
‘‘Oh, that. In light of all of Bobbie Jean’s other transgressions, it’s really pretty minor.’’ Allison hesi
tated for a moment before adding resignedly, ‘‘I imag
ine you want to hear about it anyway, though.’’
‘‘Please.’’
‘‘Well, when Bobbie Jean was in her twenties, she
claimed that she caught Robin in a me´nage a` trois with the Fremonts’ gardener and pool boy. Robin,
however, insisted that it was Bobbie Jean who was
part of that precious trio.’’
‘‘I assume you believed Robin’s version.’’
‘‘Considering my sister-in-law’s past, it was no
contest.’’
Naturally, I could see where Robin would have been
furious at Bobbie Jean for fabricating a tale like that. But angry enough to commit murder? And over some
thing that took place so long ago? Uh-uh. I moved
on. ‘‘Incidentally, whatever happened to Bobbie
Jean’s first husband?’’
‘‘Lyle Polansky? The marriage lasted less than three
months. That was twenty-five years ago, and she
hadn’t seen or heard from him since. Bobbie Jean
MURDER CAN RAIN ON YOUR SHOWER
53
used to say that she realized it had been a big mistake
from the instant they said their I-do’s.’’ Allison peered
at her watch again. ‘‘I really must be going.’’
‘‘I understand. But I’d appreciate it if you could
spare just a minute or two to tell me about Grace
Banner.’’
She heaved a deep sigh. ‘‘All right. But I definitely have to be on my way after that.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ I murmured.
‘‘For a short time Bobbie Jean and the Banners—
Grace and her husband—co-owned a restaurant. After
about a year Bobbie Jean got this notion that the
other two had been engaging in some financial hanky
panky. And she took them to court. She lost, but
Grace and Karl felt that the action against them had caused irreparable damage to their reputations, so
they sued Bobbie Jean for slander. They also lost.’’
‘‘Is there a chance your sister-in-law was right, that there was something fishy going on?’’
‘‘None. She was mistaken. Grace and Karl Banner
are good people, honest people. Anything question
able that was going on at that restaurant was strictly in Bobbie Jean’s head.’’
And with this, Allison reached for the handbag on
the seat cushion alongside her, obviously preparing
to rise.
Now, I hated to detain her any further, but I felt I had no choice. ‘‘Just one more question,’’ I put in hurriedly, experiencing, even as I said this, what must have been guilt pan
gs. (Unless, of course, they were hunger pains.) ‘‘What became of husband number
three?’’
‘‘Geoffrey Morton had a heart attack six months
ago and made Bobbie Jean a widow for the second
time,’’ Allison informed me tersely.
‘‘How many years had they been married?’’
‘‘Close to three. They separated three or four
months before he died, though—a ‘trial separation,’
they called it.’’
‘‘So they might have gotten together again.’’
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Selma Eichler
‘‘There was that possibility.’’
‘‘You sound skeptical.’’
‘‘I was hoping they could work things out. I even
thought that a stable relationship might put an end to
my sister-in-law’s destructive behavior. But I can’t
really say that I was overly optimistic about a
reconciliation.’’
At this juncture Allison very purposefully picked up
her handbag. But before she was able to make her
escape, I managed to squeeze in a few other questions.
‘‘Why is that?’’
‘‘Because there was so much friction in the
marriage.’’
‘‘Friction?’’ I repeated, keeping my fingers crossed
that she’d expand on this.
‘‘Geoffrey was British,’’ she added then, ‘‘and at
first Bobbie Jean attributed all their difficulties to liv
ing in England. She didn’t care for it there.’’
‘‘But there was more to it than that?’’
‘‘Apparently.’’ I wasn’t at all sure Allison would say
anything further. However—and you could tell this
was almost against her will—she went on. ‘‘Bobbie
Jean convinced Geoffrey to ask for a transfer to his company’s New York office. And two years before his
death they pulled up stakes and moved to Long Island.
Unfortunately, though, the move wasn’t the cure-all
she’d been counting on.’’
At last a determined-looking Allison got to her feet.
‘‘I appreciate all the time you’ve given me,’’ I said sheepishly. ‘‘It wasn’t my intention to keep you here this long, honestly.’’
‘‘Well, at any rate, now you have an idea of what
transpired between Bobbie Jean and those friends of
mine.’’ She screwed up her mouth. ‘‘Although some
friend I turned out to be, right?’’
I didn’t think a response was expected, and anyhow,
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