A Real Basket Case

by Beth Groundwater

  She pulled into Ellen’s curved driveway. The long shadows of slim poplars lining the drive swept over the car like dark fingers reaching out for her. Claire shuddered. Resolutely, she stepped out of the car and pushed the doorbell.

  Ellen threw the door open wide and hugged Claire. “I’m glad you called me.”

  Claire stiffened, unable to respond to the hug.

  Ellen stepped back, peered at Claire’s face, and touched the bandage on Claire’s cheek. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m all ears. Come in.”

  Ellen ushered Claire down the hall and into her sunny, steel-plated kitchen. At least Claire thought of it as steel-plated because all the appliances, including the pricey Sub-Zero refrigerator, were fronted with the burnished gray metal.

  A stainless steel teapot, two cups, and a plate of almond biscotti lay on the blue glass table. Claire groaned inwardly. Not more food. She slid onto one of the cushioned window seats lining two sides of the table.

  Ellen slid onto the other and poured Claire a cup of tea. “Here, drink some of this, then tell me all about it. Did Roger hit you?”

  Claire choked on her tea. “Of course not!” She touched the bandage on her cheek. “I did this to myself. An accident. But this little scrape isn’t what I needed to talk about.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been interviewing women at the gym, trying to get information on those who have had affairs with Enrique or bought cocaine from him.”

  Ellen sat back and peered at Claire. “Why?”

  “I’m looking for suspects.” Claire shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Someone who had a reason to kill Enrique.”

  Ellen pursed her lips but said nothing.

  “So far, I’ve discovered that Brenda and Patti bought cocaine from Enrique. But you already knew about Brenda.”

  “Why would anyone kill her own drug supplier?”

  “If she owed Enrique money, she might. But, more important-ly, Karla and Patti had affairs with Enrique. And Jill approached Enrique, but he turned her down.”

  Ellen nodded. “That hurt Jill. A lot.”

  “Did Jill really love Enrique?”

  “Of course not. After her husband rejected her, she just needed a man, any man, to find her attractive. I wish Enrique hadn’t pushed her away. Her self-esteem hit rock bottom.”

  “Are you sure they never got together?”

  Ellen laughed her hard, humorless laugh. “I’m sure. Jill cried her eyes out to me afterward. It took two pints of fudge-swirl Häagen-Dazs to cheer her up. Too bad we didn’t have one of your ‘Cornucopia of Chocolate’ baskets to dig into.”

  A sudden realization struck Claire, and she sucked in a breath. “Oh, God.”

  “What?”

  “When you said basket, I remembered that the baby basket I haven’t finished is due today. What time is it?”

  “Just after three-thirty.”

  “The shower starts at five-thirty. I’ve got to fly. But first, what did you say to Jill?”

  “I told her Enrique wasn’t worth her tears, and neither was her husband. She didn’t like that.” Ellen raised her cup to her lips.

  “Why not?”

  “She still loves Paul. She can’t admit that—she’d rather direct her anger at someone who doesn’t matter, like Enrique. I decided it was healthier for her to hate him than to turn her hate against herself, and left it at that.”

  Claire gripped her teacup. “Then there’s you.”

  Carefully, Ellen set down her cup. “Me?”

  “Karla told me you had an affair with Enrique before she did.”

  Ellen frowned. “Little Miss Copper-top Blabbermouth.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what? Did I have an affair with Enrique?” Ellen’s eyes blazed defiantly. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” Ellen shrugged. “He’s a hunk. I wanted him. He made me feel good. I don’t mean just in the physical way, though that was damn good. I mean about myself. Here I was, forty-eight, and a young stud wanted me, a washed-out divorcée. I was flying high for a while.”

  Claire felt aghast. Could this be the Ellen I know? “Then what?”

  “Then I got tired of him. Tired of always lending him money that he never paid back.”

  “So you ended the affair?”

  Ellen’s eyes grew wide. “Of course. What, you think he broke my heart and I killed him?”

  Claire studied her friend, trying to determine if she was lying, but Ellen looked composed, except for a blooming flush of anger. “No, no, it’s not that—”

  “Damn right it’s that.” Ellen pushed herself up from the table and paced the length of the kitchen. Hands on her hips, she stared at Claire. “I know you, Claire, and I know when you’re lying. I can’t believe you’d think that of me, think that I’m capable of murder.”

  “I’m desperate. If Roger loses his job tomorrow, that could send him over the edge. He’s already so depressed. And if he’s convicted . . .” Claire’s eyes teared up. She choked down a sob and forced herself to continue. “I’ll do anything to save him, even investigate my friends. I talked to Jill, too.”

  Ellen clenched her hands. “This is ridiculous. You know she and I were at the Broadmoor that day. Why aren’t you chasing someone besides your two best friends? Like those drug dealers?”

  “Leon and Travis?”

  “Listen to you. You’re on a first-name basis with drug dealers!”

  Claire pulled on Ellen’s hand. “Sit. Hear me out. This is difficult enough without you flying off the handle.”

  “You’d fly off the handle, too, if your best friend accused you of murder.” Ellen plopped on the window seat, crossed her arms, and glared at Claire.

  “I’m not accusing you of murder. I’m trying to find out as much as possible about Enrique’s life to see who might have wanted him dead.”

  “And you think I wanted him dead?”

  Frustrated, Claire crossed her arms, mimicking Ellen. “Maybe. Maybe lots of women did. That’s my point. If Enrique had a history of breaking hearts—”

  “He didn’t break my heart. And Jill got over him. After our ice cream confessional, she never mentioned him again.”

  “What about Karla?”

  “What about her?”

  “Her fling with Enrique came right after yours, so I thought you might know something about it.”

  Ellen grabbed a biscotti, and it snapped in her hand. She dropped the pieces on her napkin. “That bitch.”

  “But didn’t you break it off with Enrique?”

  “Damn right I did.”

  “Then why are you mad at Karla?”

  “She put out the story that she took Enrique from me. That little gossipmonger enhanced her reputation at the expense of mine. By the time I found out what she was saying about me, it was too late to repair the damage.”

  Claire knew Ellen hated being portrayed as the jilted lover, even if she really was. Her divorce was a good example. Ellen probably had more trouble forgiving Dave for chopping up her image than for his infidelity. “Karla told me she ended her affair with Enrique.”

  Ellen laughed. “She would tell you that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ellen leaned forward. “Enrique broke up with her. He told me so himself. Said she was getting too demanding. It’s just like her to lie and say ending it was her idea.”

  Who was lying here? Karla or Ellen or Enrique or some combination? Claire’s head pounded. Her own inexperience in lying handicapped her ability to figure out when someone else was. And she didn’t have time to spare right now.

  “That’s one reason I thought Enrique’s interest in you was so great,” Ellen said. “Once Enrique and you were an item, I could get back at Karla. I could tell everyone what Enrique told me, that he dumped her, and you would be the proof.”

  Claire gasped. “You tried to set me up with Enrique so you could get back at Ka
rla?”

  “No, no, no.” Ellen covered Claire’s hand with her own. “My first thought was for you. You needed a fling, an ego boost. Roger’s lack of attention was really depressing you. Getting revenge on Karla was just gravy.”

  Claire shook her head. The surreal situation confused her. She bit into a biscotti while she tried to clear her jumbled thoughts. Ellen, Jill, and Karla all could have been rejected by Enrique and wanted revenge. “What about Patti?”

  “If she bought cocaine from Enrique, she didn’t have an affair with him.”

  “Karla told me she did.”

  Ellen waved her hand. “What does Karla know? She’s just spreading rumors again. Enrique told me he never had affairs with customers. It could hurt his business when the fling ended.”

  “Could Patti have been angry at Enrique for something else?”

  “You’d have to ask her.” Ellen toyed with the biscotti pieces on her napkin. “You seem so sure someone at the gym killed him. Why not one of his drug-dealing buddies?”

  “I can’t tell you how I know,” Claire replied, “because I’m sworn to secrecy, but I’m sure neither Leon nor Travis did it.”

  “Who the hell did, then?”

  ___

  Claire drove home as fast as she dared. As she pulled into her street, the sun slipped behind the Front Range, tinting the snow-laden flanks of Pikes Peak orange and mauve. But Claire had no time to enjoy the spectacle. She rushed inside, clambered down the stairs to the basement workroom, and madly stuffed tissue paper and baby gifts into the basket. She wrapped the whole construction in a large sheet of cellophane, then went to work on the final bow. In her haste, she bungled the large bow twice. She cursed her awkward fingers as she glanced at the clock.

  Almost five.

  Sweating more from anxiety than her labors, she carried the basket up the stairs at a half-run. She threw on her coat, hopped in her car, blew the hair out of her eyes, and drove at breakneck speed to the hostess’s home.

  She arrived at five twenty-five. A few cars were parked on the street out front. Praying that the guest of honor hadn’t arrived yet, Claire grabbed the basket and trotted toward the door.

  The hostess flung open the door. “Thank goodness you’re here. Come in the kitchen.”

  As she led Claire into the kitchen, she kept up a running monologue. “I was so worried. The shower starts in five minutes, you know. At least Samantha’s not here yet. I called your house awhile ago, but you weren’t there . . .”

  Trying to control her heavy breathing, Claire stood with the weighty basket in her aching arms and her eyebrows raised in a question.

  The hostess finally noticed her dilemma. “Oh, put it there.” She pointed to the kitchen table.

  Claire placed the basket on the table and plumped the bow. “Sorry I’m late. It won’t happen again. I’ve had an awful week, as I’m sure you understand.”

  With her pen poised over her checkbook, the hostess’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, yes. You poor thing. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Was it just awful? A lot of blood?” She shuddered with what Claire could tell was delicious anticipation.

  She was in no mood to give the woman a lurid tale to tell her guests. “I don’t want to keep you any longer from your party guests. If you’ll just give me the check, I’ll be on my way. Thanks for your concern, though.” Claire held out her hand.

  The woman’s mouth drooped with disappointment, but she had the good grace to realize the subject was closed. She handed the check to Claire and led her to the door.

  Claire turned to shake the hostess’s hand. “Good luck with the shower. I hope you’ll think of me again when you need a gift basket. And thanks for your understanding.”

  The hostess started to reply, but a shower guest calling to her from the driveway diverted her.

  Claire took the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. She drove a few blocks then stopped to collect her thoughts. Thinking Deb Burch probably had finished her session in court, Claire picked up her cell phone and called Deb’s home in Denver. When the answering machine picked up, Claire left a message.

  She desperately needed help. She had uncovered five possible suspects among the women in Enrique’s class, two of them her best friends. After talking to four, she was no closer to discovering who had killed Enrique than when she started. She knew nothing about the fifth woman. And she had no guarantee she hadn’t missed someone. Damn. She couldn’t offer any hope to Roger.

  Roger. I have to talk him into coming home. If he kept his distance, she would never convince him she hadn’t been having an affair with Enrique, and that she still desperately loved the man with whom she’d shared the last twenty-six years.

  She put the car in gear and headed for Dave Kessler’s townhouse. When she saw Dave’s silver Volvo gleaming in his driveway, she smiled. The car was the same model as Ellen’s red one. The couple had bought the cars together before their marital troubles began.

  Dave opened the door, a glass of what looked like his usual single-malt scotch in his hand. His rumpled shirt was open at the collar and his loosened tie lay askew below the neckline. “Hi, Claire. Roger’s not here right now.” He didn’t ask her to come in.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s picking up some Chinese takeout.”

  “I need to talk to him.” She stepped forward, but Dave’s arm blocked the doorway. Remembering he was now single, she wondered if he had a woman visitor. “Am I interrupting something? Do you have company?”

  Dropping his arm, Dave frowned and shook his head. His brusque manner suggested he still blamed her for Roger’s predicament.

  “Then I’ll wait.” She stepped over the threshold.

  He stared at her face as she walked past. “What happened to you?”

  Claire fingered the bandage on her cheek. She didn’t want to talk about her arrest the night before. Dave would insist on a long, detailed description and would probably get angry with her. “Nothing important, just a scratch. I got careless.” The truth, though not the whole truth, so help her God.

  Dave walked to the dining room, picked up a bottle, and poured more scotch into his glass. “I suppose I should offer you a drink.” He said it reluctantly, as if he hoped she would decline and leave.

  Claire smiled politely. “A glass of white wine would be nice.”

  “I have a bottle in the fridge.” He left to fetch the wine.

  With butterflies tickling the inside of her stomach, Claire sat on the sofa and rehearsed what she would say to Roger. First, she’d ask him to come home. No, first she should tell him about the gym ladies. No, that was negative news. What positive news could she give him?

  An annoying clicking sound intruded on her thoughts. She looked down and realized she’d been snapping her purse open and shut. She laid the purse on the glass-topped coffee table and clutched her hands in her lap.

  Dave returned and handed her a glass of wine.

  Claire took a large sip.

  He settled in the chair next to the sofa and studied her as if waiting for her to make the next move in a chess game.

  Nervous under his scrutiny, Claire glanced around the room and noticed an open file folder and papers scattered next to Dave’s chair. “Is that Roger’s case?”

  “Yes. Before he left, we discussed what the next few steps should be. I’m preparing to hand over his file to the criminal lawyer who’ll represent him at the trial.”

  Oh, God, the trial. Claire clanked her wineglass hard on the coffee table. The glass wobbled. She steadied it. “Sorry, I’m feeling anxious tonight.”

  “You should be.” Dave scowled at her. “After what you did to Roger.”

  Claire bristled. “I didn’t sleep with the man, didn’t even intend to.”

  “I find that hard to believe, given that he was found on your bed.”

  She winced as she realized he must have read that sordid little detail in the police report. Would she never live that down? “Enrique was standing next to the
bed when he was shot and fell on me.”

  “C’mon, Claire. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Dave’s face held a look of extreme distaste.

  Claire had had enough. “You have no right to judge me after what you did to Ellen. A full-scale affair behind her back.”

  Dave raised his glass in salute. “Touché. Can’t say I’m very proud of that.”

  “I’m not proud of what I did, either.” She drew a shaky hand across her brow. “But Roger should come home. We need to be together to work this out.”

  “Unfortunately, I agree.”

  Astonished, Claire wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She peered at him. “You agree?”

  “Roger’s my best friend. I don’t want what happened to Ellen and me to happen to you and Roger. I’ve been encouraging him to give you a chance.” A wry grin played at the edge of Dave’s lip. “Surprised, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, frankly. I thought you were mad at me.”

  “I am, but then I started thinking of Roger. If he loses his job and you, he’ll have nothing. He’s already scraping bottom. The fool still loves you. I don’t want him to end up like Ellen.”

  Claire wasn’t sure what he meant. “Ellen? You mean hating you for your affair?”

  “Not just hating me. She can’t derive pleasure from anything anymore. All her energies are concentrated on getting even with me.”

  “I agree. She’s negative about everything, especially men.”

  Dave drained his scotch and stared into the glass. “I realized soon after she threw me out that I’d made a horrible mistake. I was an old fool. Brittany made me feel young again, but once I became available and we didn’t have to sneak around anymore, she lost interest. She didn’t love me. She loved the intrigue, the illicitness of the affair.”

  “Did you ask Ellen to take you back?”

  He nodded and started to speak, but his voice came out as a raw croak. He closed his eyes, as if willing away the emotion. “She wouldn’t have me. Even after I begged her forgiveness. Said I’d ruined her life, which I had.”

  “Oh, Dave.” Claire reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry. For both of you.”