Murder by Proxy

by Suzanne Young

  “Yes, that's right.” She beamed as any proud mother would, she thought.

  “We met on Wednesday, at the funeral.”

  She felt her smile fade, reminded that several people had died recently and that this was serious business she was conducting. Attempting another, less bright smile, she said, “Oh, yes. Mr. Ryan, isn't it? I remember now. Grant introduced us in the parking lot.” She held out her hand for him to shake. “Won't you join me?” She was ready to hold onto his hand if he showed any intention of hurrying away, but he surprised her with his eagerness to sit.

  “What are you having?” He eyed the teapot as the waiter approached the table. “This won't do. Have some wine with me.”

  Before she could decline, he was talking to the waiter. “Jason, bring us two glasses of your special Chardonnay and some nachos, will you? Oh, and put this lady's tea on my tab.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Ryan.” The waiter went off, anxious to please.

  “That's very nice of you,” she stammered, feeling as if she was losing control of the situation.

  He studied her across the table, obviously surprised to see her in the restaurant. “If you don't mind my asking, what are you doing at the Omni? Don't tell me Grant has you staying at a hotel.” He smiled to let her know he was joking.

  She laughed politely in return, determined to out-charm the man. “No, I'm waiting for a friend. We were supposed to meet for brunch, but I'm beginning to think I've been stood up.” She didn't elaborate on her lie, believing the less said the better. Instead, she turned the topic to him, “And you?”

  “Oh, I'm a regular for Friday lunch. I'm meeting some business clients. Boring stuff, really, or I'd ask you to join us.”

  The waiter chose that time to bring the wine and appetizer to the table. She preferred to stick with her tea but didn't refuse Rice's hospitality. He raised his glass in a silent toast before taking a large swallow.

  She wet her lips with the Chardonnay and put her glass down. She knew his time with her would be limited, so she decided to get him talking about himself and move quickly on to his wife. “I've been fascinated by the mix of people I've met here. Grant tells me that almost everyone he knows is a transplant to Colorado. Did you move from elsewhere or were you born here?”

  “I'm originally from Chicago.”

  She gave a tinkling laugh of delight. It was the sort of reaction she thought he might expect from an empty-headed older woman. “You see,” she gushed delightedly, “my son is right. So, what brought you to Denver?” She picked up her wine and put it to her lips as he drank deeply from his glass.

  “I came west to find my fortune.” He gave a short laugh, apparently finding humor in his reply, before switching the subject to her. “Are you enjoying your visit to our fair city?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She wasn't letting him off that easily. “Do you have family in Colorado?”

  “Only my wife. My brothers and sisters prefer to stay in Chicago.” He frowned, looking into his glass as he mentioned his siblings.

  She noticed the plural. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “There are nine of us. I'm the oldest.”

  “Oh, my,” she said, not certain what she had expected to hear, but definitely not so large a number. “That's a lot of mouths to feed.” The comment slipped out when she thought of her own four children as teenagers with what seemed like bottomless pits of stomachs.

  He snorted a curt laugh. “We weren't the wealthiest family on the block, that's for sure. Pop works hard. He's always worked hard, but he never seems to get anywhere.”

  “What sort of work does he do?”

  “He owns a garage. I grew up working at the garage. My brothers still do. I'm the only one who left. As soon as my brother Joey was sixteen, that made four of us at the shop and Ralphie coming along in another year. I figured I could split and no one would miss me.”

  “Speaking from a mother's perspective, I can say that probably isn't true.” Edna's natural inclination was to reassure the man of his worth to his family, while at the same time she was thinking, so he’s been a mechanic, and wondered if he might have fiddled with his father-in-law's car.

  At her last remark, he lifted his eyes to her face and smiled. “Have you had a chance to meet many of Grant's friends since you've been here?”

  She almost laughed aloud. Rice seemed to be pumping her for information as much as she was him. All right, she thought, give a little to get a little. “Not very many. I'm spending most of my time getting to know my new daughter-in-law.”

  He finished his wine and held the empty glass up, motioning to the waiter. She took the opportunity to broach the subject she was most interested in.

  “I seem to remember your wife was a good friend of my late daughter-in-law. Michele spoke very highly of Anita.”

  He frowned, as if having difficulty pulling memories from the past. “Yes, I guess they spent a lot of time together, but that was before Anita and I were married.”

  Before she could reply, the waiter returned and set down a fresh glass of wine, taking the empty away. As soon as the young man was out of earshot, she slipped her question in before Rice could speak again.

  “I'd like to meet your wife. Her kindness meant a great deal to my family. Would you know how I could reach her?”

  A look of surprise swept the scowl off his face. “Hasn't Grant told you that Anita and I are separated?” Suspicion glinted in his eyes. “He probably knows where she is better than I do. The two of them have been chummy for years.” He studied her face closely, as if trying to learn something from her reaction.

  She felt her anger flare at his insinuation but tried to keep it from her voice. Remembering the old adage about catching more flies with honey, she said, “As a matter of fact, he did tell me about your wife filing for divorce, but he doesn't know where she is. Actually, he's worried that she hasn't contacted him. If you haven't been in touch with her directly, maybe you have an idea of where she might have gone or a friend she might be staying with.”

  He twirled his glass slowly between thumb and forefinger, watching the amber liquid. It was a few seconds before he looked at her. “What I think … no, let me rephrase that. What I hope she's doing, wherever she is, is reconsidering her marriage vows. I'm sure she'll come to her senses and forget all that nonsense about a divorce. You see, Mrs. Davies, I love my wife very much. I want her back, but I think Grant is keeping her from me.”

  If you love her so much, why are you fooling around with Brea? The thought stuck in Edna's mind as she pressed her lips together to keep from voicing her opinion. Just then, the anger on Rice's face disappeared so quickly, she might have imagined his fury until she realized with a start that he was looking at someone behind her.

  He waved and, as two men paused by their table, said, “Hi. Glad you could make it. Be with you in a minute.” He waited until the men had been seated at a table near the large windows before turning back to her. The pleasure vanished from his face as quickly as it had appeared.

  Fearing he was about to leave, she hurriedly repeated, “Is there anyone you can think of with whom Anita would stay?”

  He drank the remainder of his wine in one easy gulp, wiped his mouth on a napkin and, bending forward over the table to rise, put his face close to hers. “If she isn't in Denver, then my guess is she's probably with her great-aunt in New York.” He stood, a smile widening his mouth, but not reaching his eyes. “Tell you what, though, wherever she's gone, she'll be back next week for the sales meeting. I don't allow anyone to miss that.”

  Edna gazed at Rice's back as he walked away to join his associates. She had the distinct feeling he hadn't believed her when she told him Grant didn't know where Anita was. As she thought about Rice's supposition that Anita had gone to New York, her pulse began to beat faster, and she stared anew at the man leaning over the table to greet his lunch guests. How does he know about Anita’s great-aunt? The thought struck her like a blow that left her br
eathless. Grant had been adamant about Anita's having no family except for her parents.

  Edna grabbed up her tote bag and coat and hurried from the restaurant. In her car she fumbled for her cell phone. Snatching up the slip of paper Ernie had given her, she dialed his number. She listened with increasing impatience to the ringing on the line. Why didn't he answer? She wanted to ask if he'd ever mentioned Anita's great-aunt to Rice. After counting twenty rings, she angrily hit the disconnect button. Ernie had specifically asked her to call once she had spoken to Rice. He'd seemed eager, in fact, to learn what Rice might say. So, why wasn't he picking up?

  Forgetting to check if a shiny black coupe was tailing her, she followed the directions Ernie had given her to get back home. She would have been pleased with herself for not getting lost on the way if it weren't for her annoyance at the detective and a new sensation, a vague feeling of unease. She couldn't identify its source, but a very real sense of disquiet was causing her stomach to roil.

  Pondering her conversation with Rice, she entered the house and went down the hall to see what Karissa might want for lunch. Her daughter-in-law was on the phone when Edna walked into the bedroom. This time it wasn't the cell phone she held but the cordless that usually sat on the nightstand. Edna had learned early on that the cell was kept free for emergencies or for husband and wife to reach each other without delay.

  “Oh, here she is now. I'll have her pick up the extension.” Holding the phone away from her ear, Karissa said, “Starling's on the line. If you get on the extension in the kitchen, we can all talk.”

  The pleasure of chatting with her youngest child dissolved Edna's concerns of the morning as she hurried to the kitchen. She picked up the handset in time to hear Starling say to Karissa, “You mean he doesn't even come home for lunch anymore?”

  And Karissa's reply, “He's been busy with the big software conversion project, and besides, your mother's here to look after me.”

  Taking that as her cue, Edna said, “Yes, here I am.”

  “Hey, hi, Mom.”

  The enthusiasm of her daughter's greeting warmed her heart while, at the same time, shot a pang of homesickness through her. “How are you, Starling?” She hoped she sounded as cheery as her child.

  “Fine, Mom.” She heard Starling giggle. “Actually, I'm much better than Dad. He thinks you've been hanging out with another man.”

  Edna felt heat crawl up her neck and flush her cheeks. She was glad she wasn't where Karissa could see her. “Your father has an over-active imagination. He caught me at the grocery store. Probably heard some man talking nearby. That's all.”

  She wouldn't have minded Starling knowing about Ernie or about her search for Anita, but she didn't want Karissa knowing she was meeting with the detective. Word would certainly get back to Grant and she didn't feel like arguing with him again. She quickly changed the subject, asking how things were at home. After ten minutes or so of catching up on the news, Edna felt her stomach growl. Into a momentary silence, she said, “Did I understand you to say that Grant used to come home for lunch?”

  “Yes.” Both women chimed in unison, then laughed at themselves.

  “He says he doesn't have time to drive home for lunch right now,” Karissa said.

  “I thought he ate at that little sandwich place he took me to,” Edna replied.

  “That was special. He wanted to take you to lunch, so he made the time.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “A month or more. I guess since the project began,” Karissa said.

  Or since Anita’s disappearance, Edna calculated. The thought popped unbidden into her head, at the same time she heard Starling say, “I should go. You two can talk about Grant's lunch habits without me.”

  “Oh, no,” she insisted. “You and Karissa finish your visit. I'm getting off the phone now. I've neglected my duties, and Karissa must be weak with hunger. Love you, Sweetheart. Give my love to your father.”

  She hung up and set about making sandwiches and heating soup. Deciding to make extra to take to Grant, she filled a wide-mouth thermos with vegetable soup and wrapped up two ham sandwiches. She was setting their own soup bowls on the table when Karissa waddled in and eased herself onto a dining room chair.

  The women ate in silence for the first few swallows. Soon Karissa put down her spoon and said, “Starling said I should ask you about raspberry tea for childbirth.”

  Her mind on the morning's activities, Edna had to think for a minute before remembering a conversation with Starling over something Edna had read. Hazel Rabichek, former owner of the Davies' house in Rhode Island and an amateur herbalist, had left her recipes and gardening journals for Edna. Since inheriting these fascinating books, she had begun learning more about natural aids for health and wellness.

  She hesitated before answering her daughter-in-law. “I read an article about it recently. It seems that back in the Colonial days, women drank a tea made from raspberry leaves during the last weeks of pregnancy to speed delivery. They learned of it from the Native Americans. Then, during the Second World War, obstetricians found that an ingredient in the leaves, fragarine, actually helps to relax the uterine muscles.”

  “Raspberries,” Karissa said and brightened. “Do you think I could try it?” Her eyes grew wide. “My mother used to tell me how long and painful her labors were with me and my brothers. She said I should expect the same thing, if I ever had children.”

  “I think you should discuss it with your doctor. Every woman is different, you know. You shouldn't worry about what your mother went through.” She reached out and patted Karissa's arm. “I sympathize with you, Sweetie, but I'm very new at learning about herbs. Mrs. Rabichek put a lot of warnings in her journals. I remember one note on the raspberry that leaves not properly dried contain hydrocyanic acid, which is a poison.” Seeing the horrified look on her daughter-in-law's face, she searched for something more encouraging. “There's something else in her journals about rubbing aloe on your skin to help reduce stretch marks. I'll buy a plant for you next time I'm out. They're easy to grow and, since they're also a succulent, will fit in nicely with the cactus gardens around the house. I keep one in my kitchen for treating burns.”

  Talk turned to house plants as the two women finished eating. After seeing Karissa safely back to bed, Edna drove to Grant's office to deliver the lunch she'd made for him, glad of an excuse to return to Office Plus. Maybe she would run into Marcie again. She might have remembered something about Anita since Edna had last seen the supervisor.

  Entering the lobby, she saw Brea Tweed was at the reception desk again. “Hello. What a nice surprise,” she said, approaching the counter.

  “Hello.” Brea seemed engrossed in a magazine and only glanced at Edna before returning to leaf through the pages.

  Trying to remain cheerful in the face of the woman's rudeness, Edna said, “I've come to see my son. Is he available?”

  “He's in a meeting. Can't be disturbed.” Brea didn't bother to look up.

  As she was about to put the bag with Grant's lunch on the counter, she heard someone come up behind her.

  “Hey, Brea, where's the meeting?” A young man, stocky with thinning brown hair, approached and patted the counter a few times to draw Brea's attention.

  “You're late, Wayne,” Brea retorted, looking up with a scowl.

  “I know, I know. So, just tell me where they're meeting.”

  Ignoring his impatience, Brea slid her eyes toward Edna, then back to the man. “This is Grant's mother.”

  The visitor brightened perceptibly and seemed to forget his rush. “Hi. I'm Wayne Freedman. I do contract work for Grant sometimes. Great guy.” He held out a hand to Edna and she shook it.

  “Freedman,” she said. “Not an uncommon name, but are you, by any chance, related to Ernie Freedman?”

  “My pop,” he said, a conspiratorial grin spreading across his face. His eyes darted toward Brea and he said no more.

  A bit startled tha
t Ernie hadn't mentioned anything about his son working for Grant, she didn't have time to reply before Brea said, “You'd better get your butt downstairs, Wayne. They're in the IT conference room.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He dashed around the desk. “Nice meeting you,” he called before disappearing behind the partition.

  She stared after him, trying to figure out why Ernie hadn't mentioned his son to her. If Wayne's behavior had been any indication, Grant probably hadn't connected his worker with the detective he was so adamantly avoiding. Why not? She was pondering this strange turn of events when Brea's voice distracted her. “Wayne used to date Anita. Still has the hots for her, if you ask me.”

  Fourteen

  After leaving Grant's lunch with Brea, Edna walked slowly toward her car, irritation and resentment building. Why hadn't Ernie mentioned anything about his son working for Grant or about Wayne's connection with Anita? Here he was, accusing her son of complicity in Anita's disappearance while his own son was probably having an affair with the woman. And another thing, was Ernie using Wayne to spy on Grant? The nerve of that man, she thought.

  “Mrs. Davies!”

  She turned at the sound of her name and saw Wayne hurrying toward her in the visitors' section of the parking lot.

  “I thought you were going to a meeting,” she said when he'd caught up with her.

  “Yeah, I was supposed to, but Grant said they didn't need me after all.” He shrugged. “He said he left me a voice message, but I was running late, so I didn't bother to check for calls before I left the house.”

  Despite her annoyance she couldn't help smiling to herself, imagining this son inheriting his father's organization skills or lack thereof, as it were. Thinking of Ernie fired up her anger. She decided to find out some things for herself.