“So I’ve been told." He raised his beer and glugged away.
“Stop that, Low,” Paulette scolded. “It’s bad for the baby.”
He gave a derisive laugh. “How can it be bad for the baby? He’s in your belly, not mine.”
“We’ll know if it’s a he after the amniocentesis,” Paulette corrected. “Either way, the child won’t want a father who drinks.”
Lowell frowned. “Don’t nag, Paul. This is my day off. I’ve enough rules to follow during the work week.”
“Sorry." Paulette reached out a small hand to clasp his, but Lowell ignored the gesture.
“Relax here with Lexie,” he said. “I’m going to talk to Hal. I want him to update our portfolio so we’ll be sure to have enough money for the three of us.”
“Would you bring me a Diet Coke? My stomach’s queasy.”
“Your mother’s coming this way. I’ll ask her to get it for you. Bye, Lexie," he threw over his shoulder as he strode off.
“But I want you—” Paulette called after him, then realized he was too far away to hear the rest of her sentence.
I had every intention of making my own exit when Paulette grabbed my hand. “Please stay with me, Lexie. I’m not feeling too great.”
I sank into the chair beside her. “Are you nauseous?” I asked, remembering my own pregnancy. For three months, I’d thrown up every morning.
“Yes." She paused, then went on, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know he’ll get used to the idea of the baby. Eventually,” she added wistfully.
“You hadn’t planned on becoming pregnant?”
She sighed. “Not quite yet. Lowell wanted to finish renovating the house first. But I’m thirty-two." She lowered her voice, though no one was close enough to overhear us. “And I kind of have a medical problem. I simply couldn’t wait any longer to start our family.”
“Oh,” was the kindest response I could think of regarding her unilateral decision. It was too late for a lecture on the repercussions of springing unplanned pregnancies on one’s mate.
“I know I did the right thing! I only wish Lowell wasn’t so angry.”
“Your first pregnancy is a wonderful time of life.” I secretly wished her better luck than I’d had. Godfrey and I had argued fiercely during the nine months of my pregnancy. He hadn’t wanted a baby, either, and took off shortly after Jesse was born. “I’m sure you and Lowell will work things out.”
“Lowell wants us to have a family. He’ll come around.”
She looked so vulnerable lying there, I couldn’t help but say something positive. “I’m sure he will. You’ve that lovely big house to fill with children.”
“But will they be safe? Old Cadfield’s turned into a dangerous place. First Sylvia’s been murdered and now Gerda.”
Before I could come up with some reassuring words, Paulette yanked my hand, nearly pulling me out of my seat. “Lexie, tell me you still don’t think Lowell had anything to do with Sylvia’s death!”
Given her terrified expression, I found myself sidestepping the truth. “Of course I don’t,” I said in my most soothing tone. “What reason could Lowell possibly have for wanting Sylvia dead? Now lie back and relax.”
A figure loomed over us, momentarily blocking the sun and my vision. I stood, finding myself nose to nose with a frowning Adele.
“Alexis, you’d better not be upsetting my daughter again.”
“No, Mom. Lexie’s been—”
Adele brushed aside her daughter’s words and handed her a glass filled with a colorless, bubbly drink. “Honey, drink this. It’s hot out. You need to take in lots of fluids."
“Mo-om, you know I hate ginger ale. I told Lowell I want Diet Coke.”
“Diet soda’s not good for you, and this is all they had. Drink up.”
Dutifully, Paulette downed the entire glass while her mother watched.
“Well, I’m off to mingle,” I murmured.
Mother and daughter were too engrossed in each other to reply.
I stopped by the food table, delighted to have it all to myself for the moment. I piled items onto a platter: cheeseburger, hot dog, condiments, then refilled my wine glass. I found an empty table in the shade and dug in. I was almost finished when Allistair slid in the seat beside me. He kissed my cheek as though we were old friends. Nice, I thought.
“Here you are.” He sounded glad to see me.
“Feeding my face. Did you just arrive?”
“Yes. I had to make several calls.”
“The food’s delicious.”
“I was thinking of making myself a plate.”
He stood, and I did, too. “Be right back.” I headed for the house and a bathroom.
Ruth Blessing stopped me as I passed her table. She introduced me to the couple sitting with her and Sam, who were Old Cadfield neighbors.
The woman, her blonde hair in a puffy bouffant reminiscent of the seventies, tsk-tsked. “It’s so sad what happened to Sylvia and Gerda. I’m so nervous, I hardly sleep at night. Thank goodness we don’t live on Narcissus Lane.”
I stared at her.
My reaction to her insensitive comment must have come through loud and clear, because she gasped. “I didn’t mean that you aren’t safe, Lexie. Surely no one has any reason to kill you.”
She was digging herself deeper and deeper.
Her husband let out a sigh of exasperation. “That’s enough, Lillian. The police will find the murderer very soon and no one else will be harmed.”
Ruth shot me a glance of commiseration. “Gerda’s funeral’s tomorrow. Rappaport’s again. At ten in the morning. Her sons are sitting shiva the rest of the week at her house.”
“Thanks.” I went inside in search of a bathroom.
The downstairs bathroom door was locked. Damn! Nature’s call was becoming urgent. I crossed the hall and headed up the grand staircase. The bathroom between the two guest bedrooms was free. I used the facilities, washed my hands, and applied fresh lipstick. I unlocked the door and stepped into the hall. The sound of two people laughing drove me back inside. My brain processed the rest of the information as I closed the door. A man and a woman were in the bedroom I’d occupied when I’d stayed here a week ago. No need to wonder what they were doing.
I waited a few minutes, then cracked open the bathroom door. Lowell Hartman and Anne Chadwick were walking down the hall toward the staircase.
“You go first,” she whispered. “Paulette must be wondering where you’ve been.”
“Adele’s looking after her,” Lowell said dryly. “Talk to you tonight.”
Anne stood some ten feet from where I hovered behind the bathroom door. As fond as I was of her, it took all my self-control not to grab her by the shoulders and shake her silly. I wanted to ask how she could carry on with Lowell knowing Paulette was close by with Lowell’s child in her belly.
I remained in the bathroom until I heard her descend the stairs. I waited a bit, then followed.
Outside, the party was in full swing. Someone had turned up the music, and a few young couples were dancing on the patio. I looked about for Rosie and Hal, determined to make my goodbyes and leave. I needed to extricate myself from these people who hurt and killed one another for reasons unfathomable to me. I had no business living in Old Cadfield even temporarily. Their immorality offended me.
“Lexie! Where are you going?” Allistair called from the table where we’d been sitting.
I went over to him. “Sorry, Allistair. I’m going home.”
His smile of pleasure turn into an expression of concern. “You’re upset. What happened?”
I couldn’t possibly tell him. I felt as though Paulette’s humiliation were my own. Suddenly I knew why. Godfrey had done the very same thing to me all those years ago.
“Sorry, I can’t talk about it. I have to go.”
An agitated cry shot through the music and conversations about us. “Somebody, please come! I need a doctor!”
It was Adele, calling fro
m the pool area. I jumped up and followed Scott Beaumont, who was a pediatrician, to see if I could help. As we ran, I prayed that nobody else had been murdered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hal called for an ambulance. It appeared minutes later and transported Paulette and Lowell to the hospital. Adele and Bob followed in their car. The other guests began their leave-taking.
Rosie beckoned to me, so I returned to the pool area where Hal was removing the blood-soaked cushion from the chaise longue. Rosie gathered up the debris on the nearby table, no doubt forgetting for the moment she’d hired help to clean up after us.
She sighed. “Poor Paulette. She must have been farther along that she knew, to have lost all that blood.”
“And she wants a baby so badly,” I murmured.
Rosie shook her head. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
I stared at her. “What do you mean?”
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. “Nothing.”
I swallowed. “Actually, I agree with you. I don’t think Lowell is good father material.”
“What about Paulette?" Rosie waved her hand dismissively. “Can you see her raising a child without Adele’s constant supervision?”
“She told me Lowell wasn’t ready to start a family. But dammit, Rosie! That’s no excuse for him to carry on with Anne. And in your house! The two of them were going at it like rabbits only minutes before poor Paulette miscarried!”
Rosie rolled her eyes. “You’re surprised?”
My mouth fell open. “What do you mean? Of course I’m surprised. Shocked is a more accurate term for what I’m feeling.”
Rosie laughed. “You’re shocked? Are we reversing roles, Lexie? Usually you’re the free spirit and I’m the one standing up for family values.”
I stared at her. “Are you nuts? This is out and out adultery!”
Rosie shrugged. “That’s right. You meet Anne less than a year ago—after Gerald’s grand pyre. I never told you the story of Anne and Lowell?”
I shook my head.
“Anne grew up one town over. She went to high school with Marcie and Paulette. Lowell comes from the south shore. Anyway, Anne and Lowell were in law school together. Their hot and heavy romance didn’t fare well with studying torts and memorizing Supreme Court decisions. They’d fight, break up, then make up. Lowell met Paulette during one of their breakup times.”
“So?" I said. “These things happen.”
Rosie grimaced. “Paulette waited until Anne flew off to Europe, then she invited Lowell to dinner at the country club. For once in her life, she played her cards right—giving him the impression she was an agreeable, common sense kind of gal from a wealthy family. She carried it off well with Adele’s coaching, I’ve no doubt. By the time Anne was back on American soil, Paulette and Lowell were engaged.
“Lowell thought he’d hit the jackpot—a congenial wife, wealthy in-laws willing to make a down payment on an Old Cadfield home, and who would introduce him to rich clients.”
“Only there was no happily-ever-after.”
“Hell, no. Lowell returned from their honeymoon, painfully aware he’d married a dim screw-up, attached at the hip to her mother.”
“Poor Lowell,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “He married for money and didn’t like the package it came in.”
“No, he married for the right reasons, but the goods weren’t there. Meanwhile, he and Anne have grown up. They’ve learned to manage their differences.”
“A bit late for that, don’t you think?" When Rosie didn’t answer, I sad, “And you know all this because....”
She bit her lip before answering. “Because Anne’s confided in me. She and Lowell want to get married. Only Paulette’s pregnancy put a hold on that.”
“Now they can." I glared at my best friend. “I can’t believe you’re taking their part. Against your own cousin, too!”
“My cousin who lied and deceived to trick Lowell into marrying her. Lowell’s not happy with Paulette. Now there’s no reason why he has to stay with her.”
“Now that she’s miscarried.”
Rosie didn’t answer. I discovered that I, too, had run out of words. I felt depleted and sad. Rosie and I irritated one another occasionally, but rarely did we view a situation so differently.
“I’m going home,” I announced.
I got halfway across the patio when I ran into Hal. “Thanks for a wonderful party." I gave him a good-bye hug. “Sorry it ended as it did.”
“I’m afraid to host another anytime soon,” he said dryly. “By now our friends must believe a visit to the Gordons means trouble for someone.”
I patted his unshaven cheek. “I’ll be back soon. You can’t get rid of me that easily."
I considered following Rosie into the kitchen, then thought better of it. We’d talk tomorrow, when I’d calmed down. Instead, I hurried along the path that led to the street. I couldn’t wait to return to the peaceful sanctuary of Sylvia’s home.
“Lexie.”
I turned, surprised that Allistair hadn’t left along with everyone else.
“I thought I’d walk home with you.”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Fear not. I won’t press you to tell me what’s troubling you.”
“How kind of you,” I said sarcastically.
Allistair’s ears reddened. I wanted to bite my tongue. Why was I being so nasty? Did I want to drive him away? Of course not! It made no sense.
“Sorry. I’m out of sorts today for a variety of reasons, none of which has anything to do with you.”
“I’m glad I’m not the cause. Shall we go?”
We set out for our respective homes. Old Cadfield had no sidewalks, so walking anywhere meant keeping an eye out for cars whizzing by. My mind was too full of the day’s events to make conversation, but the silence between us held no tension.
We stopped when we reached Marigold Street. Allistair turned to me. “How would you like to go to the beach one of these days?”
I smiled. “Sounds lovely.”
He kissed my cheek. “Call me and we’ll go.”
Clever Allistair, I thought as I walked on to Sylvia’s house. He was a kind man but unwilling to put up with b. s. Now the ball was in my court. If I wanted this relationship to work, I’d better not drive him away.
Puss welcomed me back with loud meows as he twined himself around my ankles. I bent down to pet him. “Hey there, boy. I’ll feed you in a minute.”
He started purring, a loud rumbling sound that made me laugh. I filled his plate with food, then rummaged around in the refrigerator for something to eat. Odd that I was still hungry.
I wandered through the house, reviewing the latest events in my mind.
Paulette had lost the baby.
Anne and Lowell were carrying on a hot and heavy affair.
Rosie was all for Lowell’s divorcing Paulette and marrying Anne, his once and present love.
Two women in my mystery book club had been killed, and I hadn’t a clue why.
I wondered if the police were any closer to finding the murderer. My pulse quickened as I thought of Detective Donovan and wondered when I’d see him next. I switched on the TV and watched a few mindless reruns, then read until it was time to go to bed.
I called the hospital Tuesday morning to find out how Paulette was doing, and was informed she’d been released. I called the Hartmans’ home number and got voice mail. I picked up the phone again, this time to speed-dial Rosie, then set it down. I was still angry at my best friend. It would pass, I knew, but for the present I didn’t want to talk to her. I found her attitude toward her young cousin cold and uncaring. How could she condone Lowell and Anne’s affair? She certainly wouldn’t want any man treating Ginger that way.
I slipped into an old pair of shorts and a polo, fed Puss, then headed for the garage to check out a bicycle either Michele or Eric had left behind. Both tires needed air, so I pumped until my arm could pump no more. I ran back into t
he house for a hat and sunglasses, then hopped on the bicycle and started down the road.
I returned to the house an hour later, sweaty and feeling healthy. I showered, grabbed toast and melon for breakfast, and carried my coffee mug out to the patio, along with an armful of Agatha Christie novels, short stories, and plays.
Dame Agatha Christie had written eighty mysteries and, by one person’s count, one hundred and sixty short stories. While I’d read most of them at one point in my life, I needed to study her work as I would any literary writer because I planned to talk about her various themes, plots, settings, and style at the next book club meeting. I skimmed through her marvelous play, “The Mousetrap,” that began its run in a London Theatre in 1952 and was still going strong.
Next, I picked up The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and started reading. I soon forgot I was preparing for the book club and let myself enjoy the ride. What delightful prose! Not one unnecessary word. Dame Agatha dove right into her story and kept us entranced to the final sentence. If only I could do that, I mused, thinking of my own pathetic manuscript.
I stretched out on a chaise longue to read Dr. Sheppard’s narrative of murder and mayhem in King’s Abbot, a cozy English village where Hercule Poirot, now retired, was raising marrows.
Marrows? I laughed, remembering they were squash, though what kind of squash I had no idea. Anyway, one of Dr. Sheppard's patients supposedly commits suicide. Then her fiancé, Roger Ackroyd, is murdered, and his niece asks Poirot to investigate. The murderer proves to be a huge surprise. The surprise outraged many readers when the book was first published, while others found the plot highly original.
I read until Puss pressed against the glass sliding door, meowing for food. I was surprised to see it was close to two o’clock. I got to my feet, telling myself I'd skim through Murder on the Orient Express and And Then There Were None another day. I fed Puss some treats, made myself a sandwich, then decided to call Paulette again. This time she picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?" Her wavering voice made me think of a homeless waif braving a snowstorm.
“Hi, Paulette. It’s Lexie. I called to find out how you’re feeling.”
Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) Page 9
