“Lousy." She began to weep. “I lost the baby.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s my fault. I’m a bad person.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“It’s true! Lowell didn’t want a baby. Not yet." She began sobbing in earnest, downing gulps of air. “This is what happens when you hurt people.”
“Please don’t cry.” While I felt sorry for Paulette, she was doing a damn good job of sucking me into her misery. According to Rosie, Paulette leaned on people emotionally because Adele had always coddled her and led her to believe the rest of the world would pamper her, too.
“Nobody cares what I’m going through." Snivels and gasps broke through her words. “Lowell’s at work, and my mother left to keep a doctor’s appointment.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
She sniffed a bit. “I don’t like to trouble you.”
Hating myself for falling for her ploy, and at the same time feeling pity, I caved. “Would you like me to come over?”
“Oh, would you, Lexie! I’d love that—if you could.”
“I can only stay a while.”
“That’s okay. One more thing,” she said, as wistfully as a child, “could you stop by the deli in town and pick up a tuna sandwich on rye?”
“You mean you haven’t eaten lunch?”
“Mom gave me something a while ago, but I’m suddenly hungry. And Lexie?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t forget the pickle.”
The Hartmans lived on the outskirts of Old Cadfield, in the newer, less expensive section of homes. Still, it was a lovely place, I thought as I pulled into the driveway. One I’d never be able to afford. I rang the doorbell, which chimed the opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth. A wan-looking Paulette in a frilly pink bathrobe let me in. I handed her the sandwich. Instead of offering to reimburse me, she gave me a dazzling smile.
“Thanks so much, Lexie. I’ll do the same for you when you’re not well.”
She led me into the kitchen, past the living room, empty but for a couch shoved against the far wall. The dining room was furnished with a card table and folding chairs.
Paulette must have caught my surprised expression, because she said, “We only moved in a few months ago. I’ve been trying to find a decorator I really like. Do you have anyone you can suggest?’
“Not really,” I said.
The kitchen was well designed, with beautiful cherry wood cabinets and granite counter tops. But the wall of the eating area was covered with squares of wallpaper.
“I can’t decide which pattern I like. Which is your favorite, Lexie?”
I glanced at the various patterns, finding one uglier than the next. “I’m not really good at this.”
Paulette nodded, her mouth full of tuna sandwich. “I know. It’s so hard to make a decision,” she said when she could speak. “Would you mind making me some tea?”
I sat with Paulette at the kitchen table while she finished her sandwich and sipped her tea, wondering how soon I could make my excuse to leave.
“Is your mom coming back here after her doctor’s appointment?” I asked.
“After she picks up some things for me in the supermarket. Why don’t we go into the den? I’ve some fruit in the refrigerator, if you’d like. Or you can open a can of Coke.”
“I’m fine.”
The den appeared to be the only finished room on the downstairs level. A leather couch and two lounging chairs were placed around a beautiful Eastern carpet. A mammoth TV was mounted on the wall opposite the fireplace. Vertical blinds were pulled back from the glass sliding doors, revealing a cement patio filled with pieces of outdoor furniture, none of which matched.
Paulette sprawled out on the couch and covered herself with a knitted afghan. She lifted up the dog-eared paperback resting on the back of the couch.
“I’ve been reading And Then There Were None." She smiled. “It’s a fun read.”
“Fun, as in humorous?" I asked, curious about her choice of words.
She shrugged. “I guess weird is what I mean." She gave a little laugh. “As though someone would deliberately set out to kill a bunch of people, one by one." She shivered. “I can’t imagine it. Can you?”
“Frankly, no. But this is fiction. We assume Dame Agatha has given the murderer a good motive to kill, so we read on.”
“Still, all those people! I wonder what they’ve done to make the murderer so angry.”
I looked at her. “What did Sylvia ever do to make anyone angry enough to kill her?”
Paulette closed her eyes. “Poor Sylvia. I feel so bad she’s gone.”
“Me, too.”
“And Gerda’s dead. She was always so stern. Sometimes she frightened me.”
“Did your mother go to her funeral?” I asked.
“No. Mom and Gerda weren’t friends. But she’ll pay a shiva call, I suppose.”
“So will I."
Paulette cocked her head and gave me what she no doubt imagined was an endearing smile. God forgive me, but I was beginning to understand her husband’s affair with Anne. “Do you think you could bring me a glass of Coke, please? I’m so terribly thirsty.”
“Sure, Paulette." I stood. “And then I’d better be going.”
“Please add some ice from the ice maker. Large cubes, please.”
I did as she asked, grumbling under my breath. What Paulette needed was a servant to wait on her all her waking hours. Then I remembered why I’d come to visit and told myself to be more charitable. Only a few more minutes and I’d be out of here.
“Here you are." She sat up and I handed her the glass of soda.
The doorbell rang. Adele was back. I ran to let her in.
Marcie Beaumont stood in the doorway. She scowled when she saw me. “Hi, Lexie." She lowered her voice. “If I knew you were here, I wouldn’t have driven like a maniac from school.”
“I called Paulette to find out how she was feeling, and she asked me to stop by.”
Marcie frowned. “Adele called me at school and practically ordered me to come here as soon as the dismissal bell rang. How is she?”
“All right.”
“I didn’t even get a chance to stop for flowers.”
Paulette was clearly delighted to have another visitor. “Thanks so much for coming, Marcie.”
“How are you feeling?”
Paulette shrugged. “Achy. Sad. I know the baby barely had a chance to develop, but I feel as though I’ve lost my child." She gave a sad little smile. “I know he was a boy.”
Marcie patted Paulette’s shoulder before sitting down beside her. “This happens. For all you know, something could have been wrong with the baby’s development. You’ll have other children.”
To my surprise, Paulette leaned over to put her arm around Marcie’s waist as though she were comforting her.
I was about to leave when Paulette said, “We were talking about the books Lexie assigned for our next meeting. Did you get a chance to read them yet?”
Marcie laughed, embarrassed to be caught unprepared. “No, but I’m about to start Murder on the Orient Express. I’ve seen the movie. I know several people take part in a murder.”
Paulette nodded. “And Then There Were None is just the opposite. Someone kills ten people one by one." She shuddered. “I suppose the murderer hated them all.”
Marcie turned to me. “Do you think people actually go around killing off people they hate?" Before I could mention Sylvia, Marcie said, “I know the police say Sylvia’s death was murder, but I’m sure they’ve got it wrong.”
She spoke with such conviction, I wanted to shake her. Marcie was one of those people who liked making proclamations, regardless of their veracity.
“How can you say that?” I asked. “There was an autopsy. Sylvia was poisoned.”
“Yes, but I bet her death was accidental,” Marcie said. “Everyone who was at Rosie’s house that night liked Sylvia. No one would want to hurt her.
”
“Not even Gerda?” I asked, incredulously. “She threatened Sylvia just before the meeting.”
“Are you kidding?" She eyed me with disdain. "Gerda and Sylvia were close friends. People in Old Cadfield don’t go around murdering each other.”
I stared at her, wondering if she was for real. “I suppose next you’ll say the two murders aren’t connected.”
Marcie shrugged. “Are they?”
“I think so,” I said, “though I’ve no idea how. That’s for the police to find out.”
“The police. They’ll try to trap us with their questions, and when they catch someone in a lie, they'll set out to make him confess as quickly as this." She snapped her fingers. “The trouble is, everyone lies.”
I stared at Marcie in surprise. “Do you really think so? In a homicide case?”
“Why not? Everyone has secrets they don’t want exposed.”
What secrets do you have? I wondered.
“Gerda was grim, but I can’t imagine who’d want to kill Sylvia,” Paulette said, sighing. “She was the nicest person. Who would want to see her dead?”
“Surely, no one I can think of." Marcie’s mouth fell open as an idea occurred to her. She sent Paulette a knowing smirk. “Except for maybe you-know-who.”
Paulette thought a moment, and nodded slowly. “Oh, right. How could I have forgotten?”
My pulse quickened. I wondered if they had Marcie’s mother in mind. “Who’s that?” I asked.
They ignored me and exchanged grins—two kids keeping a secret from an adult.
“Tell me!" I urged. “This might be important. Something the police ought to know.”
Marcie waved my suggestion away. “Don’t be silly, Lexie,” she said in the condescending tone she no doubt used to keep her students in line. “On second thought, this person would never hurt a fly."
She leaned toward me, as though she were about to reveal something astounding. “But if we're talking about someone who deserves to be killed, I could think of a name or two.”
“Oh, really,” I said, even though I knew she was simply diverting my attention. “Whom do you have in mind?”
“Anne Chadwick jumps to the top of my list.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marcie refused to tell me why she hated Anne, and the conversation turned to a discussion of Paulette’s decorating problems. They chatted away like close friends, which made me wonder. I’d known Paulette and Marcie for years. Never once, at the many parties Rosie and Hal’s had hosted, had I seen them in each other’s company. They were as different as any two young women who’d grown up in the same town could be. While Marcie wasn’t my favorite person, she was bright and had a career. Paulette was...Paulette. But maybe now that they were both married and settled, their shared history had forged a bond that overruled common interests, abilities, and outlook.
I made my exit as Adele was parking in the circular driveway behind Marcie's SUV. She thrust one hefty hip against her car door to slam it shut. Both arms were weighed down with bags of food from the supermarket. She looked at me, and I couldn’t make out if she was squinting because of the sun or unhappy to see me at her daughter’s home. It must have been the first, because she gave me a big smile as she approached.
“Lexie, how nice of you to visit Paulette! I hate leaving her alone at a time like this." She frowned as she shook her head. “I called Rosie and Ruth but neither of them was home, and Marcie was still at school.”
She’s not a child, I felt like saying. Instead, I settled for, “Marcie’s with her now.”
I glanced at Adele’s packages. “Like me to ring the doorbell for you?”
Adele shook her head. “Don’t bother them. I have the key." She placed the bags on the ground to rummage through her pocketbook.
“Good-bye, Adele.”
I couldn’t move because Adele had placed a heavy hand on my arm. In a whisper, she asked, “How did Paulette seem to you?”
I wrinkled my forehead. “Seem?" I remembered the sandwich I’d brought her. “Hungry.”
She pursed her lips in annoyance. “Don’t be dense! I mean, was she agitated? In pain?”
“No." I thought back to our conversation. “We talked about the books we’ll be discussing at our next book club meeting.”
“Paulette is looking forward to it." She eyed me suspiciously. “You’re not holding back on me?”
“Of course I’m not!” I exclaimed, wondering what this was all about. “Paulette’s fine.”
“She didn’t mention...” Adele swallowed. “Doing away with herself?”
“Certainly not! Right now she and Marcie are discussing furniture.”
“Thank God. The doctor told me she’d snap out of that black mood, that we shouldn’t worry she’ll do anything foolish. But I can’t help it. She’s such a delicate soul.”
I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist the opening. “We talked a bit about Sylvia and Gerda. The girls seemed to think someone was angry enough at Sylvia to want to kill her, though they wouldn’t say who.”
Adele’s lips pressed together like a closely-sewn seam. “Is that so? And you allowed this depressing type of conversation, knowing my daughter's recovering from a miscarriage!”
I drove home, thinking of all the great comebacks I might have snapped at Adele. Something about that woman put my back up. Probably the way she coddled her daughter, making the rest of us think we had to treat her with kid gloves, as well. Still, right now Adele had reason to be concerned. Paulette was recovering from an emotional trauma and deserved special consideration, at least until she was back on her feet.
I pulled into the cool garage. A wave of tranquility descended on me when I entered Sylvia’s bright and airy house. Puss meowed as he wove around my legs. I fed him then called Rosie.
“How was the funeral?”
“And how are you this afternoon?” Rosie drawled. “I’m glad you’re speaking to me again.”
“How did you know I wasn’t?”
“A best friend knows these things.”
I laughed self-consciously. “I was annoyed with you for approving of Anne and Lowell's affair. He is married to Paulette."
“Poor thing,” Rosie said. “I should pay her a visit.”
“I just came from seeing her.”
My tone of voice told Rosie what the visit had been like. “And now you know firsthand what a royal pain she is.”
“She is, but that doesn’t condone what Lowell and Anne are doing.”
“I saw Anne in the gym early this morning,” Rosie said. “She said he plans to tell Paulette he’s leaving her just as soon as she’s feeling better.”
When I made no comment, she said, “Gerda’s funeral was as you’d expect. Mostly Old Cadfield people showed up, but not as many as at Sylvia’s. Ruth and Sam came. Adele and Bob didn’t. Your friend, Detective Donovan made an appearance.”
My heart started racing. “Why do you call him my friend?”
“I suppose because he asked about you.”
“That’s nice,” I said sarcastically, but I found myself smiling. “I wonder if he was checking to see who wore a guilty expression.”
“Could be. At any rate, he’s coming over later to interview me.”
That wasn't a pang of jealousy I just felt. To change the subject, I asked, “Why does Marcie hate Anne?”
“Where is this coming from?”
“Marcie stopped by Paulette’s. She said something about putting Anne at the top of her ‘to kill’ list but wouldn’t explain why." An awful thought occurred to me. “Don’t tell me Anne had an affair with her husband, too.”
“Don’t be silly. Anne’s not like that. She and Lowell go back a long way.”
“Then why does Marcie hate her? I liked Anne from the moment you introduced us. But if I knew she had all this baggage, I’d never have made her my lawyer.”
Rosie snorted. “Your lawyer? So far, all she’s done for you is draw up a will. And let
me tell you what happened between her and Marcie before you worry about Anne’s so-called baggage.”
“I’m listening.”
“Marcie and Scott were having trouble getting pregnant. They eventually decided to adopt a baby from overseas. Not through the usual route, mind you, but via someone Scott knew at the hospital. They needed a lawyer to handle the adoption from this end." Rosie drew a deep breath and went on. “Anne claims she explained to the Beaumonts that she had no experience in this area of law, but they insisted they wanted someone they knew. Someone they could trust. So Anne stuck with it. But after a few exchanges with the infant’s mother’s lawyer, she felt there was something fishy about the entire transaction. She explained this to Marcie and Scott, but they’d fallen in love with the idea of this baby, this adoption, and told Anne she was being paranoid.
“Anne sent the baby’s mother the agreed-upon deposit. A week later—just days before they were to fly to get the baby—her lawyer demanded the entire amount because the mother had some afterbirth problem. It was all a ploy, and Anne didn’t want to send the money. Marcie and Scott insisted that she send it. Anne said she would, but she decided to wait one day beyond the agreed date of transaction, until she could confer with an expert in this type of adoption. An hour after the money was supposed to have gone through, the mother’s lawyer contacted Anne to say the deal was off. Marcie was heartbroken.”
“And she blames Anne for screwing up the works,” I finished. “Why don’t they try adopting through legitimate channels?”
“They probably will. But they lost a good deal of money on this last venture. That down payment was for a hefty amount. They tried to force Anne to make good on it, but she investigated further and discovered the whole set up was a sham.”
“If that’s the case, why do Marcie and Scott still blame Anne?”
“Human nature,” Rosie said. “And speaking of human nature, how are things with you and Allistair?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
“There’s too much going on for me to get excited over a man.”
“Are you seeing him again?”
“We’re going to the beach one of these days.”
Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) Page 10
