Al smiled. “I can relate to that. When my older daughter, Tessa, went on her first date, I wanted her to leave her cell phone on with me on the other end—just in case she needed us." He laughed. “My wife talked me out of that brilliant idea.”
I pleated the tiny napkin back and forth. “I must admit, I was too busy working and studying to worry about what Jesse was getting up to. But maybe it’s different, being the mother of a son. I can’t believe how overprotective Ruth and Adele are. And their daughters are over thirty.”
Al sipped his wine. “They’re really that bad?”
“Oh, yes. Adele treats Paulette as if she were a fragile doll. Anne said she gave Paulette an exaggerated sense of her importance. And Ruth—” I laughed, remembering, “she actually asked me to postpone the book club meeting because she didn’t want her daughter to be in danger.”
“Marcie was there. So was Ruth.”
“I don’t think Marcie pays much attention to what Ruth does or doesn’t want her to do. Grown daughters make their own decisions.”
Al wrinkled his nose into a puzzled expression. “Then why do those overbearing mothers keep on trying to run their lives?”
“I suppose they can’t help themselves.”
“I suppose not,” he agreed. “Care for another round?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We arrived home close to eleven o’clock. Al’s good night kiss got my hormones flowing. I was tempted to invite him in for a nightcap, but was afraid we’d end up in bed. I was attracted to this complex, loving man and wanted to hold him at arm’s length, at least for a while longer. I liked him. I appreciated his insights and observations regarding the various suspects, but I needed to take it slow. Sex changed relationships, and I wasn’t prepared to deal with all that entailed.
I fed Puss and gave him some attention, then showered and put on my nightgown. The phone rang while I was brushing my teeth. I rinsed my mouth and raced to the phone in my bedroom.
It was Jesse. “Hi, Mom. Hope I didn’t wake you." He sounded exuberant.
“You didn’t. What’s up?”
“The band’s going places! Some big shots heard us over the weekend, and they’re signing us up for some gigs. They liked this song I wrote. They might want to record it.”
“Terrific! You never mentioned writing a song.”
“Yeah, well, we all write songs occasionally.”
“Jesse, I’m delighted with your news." I paused, afraid to ask. “Are you still seeing Cici?”
“Of course. She’s right here. Want to say hello?”
Surprised because my son changed girlfriends every other week, I said I’d like that and waited for Cici to come on. “Hello, Cici, how are you?”
“Fine, thank you. I’m delighted to get a chance to say hello.”
“Same here. I’m housesitting in the house of a friend who passed away.”
“Yes, Jesse told me. I’m sorry she died.”
“Me, too.”
“I hope to meet you soon in person,” Cici said. “Jesse’s told me so much about you.”
“He has?” I asked, truly astonished.
We chatted a bit more, then Jesse got on again. “Will you come visit us, Mom?”
“I’ll try to, honey. Perhaps at the end of the summer." I was about to tell him about Anne’s murder, then decided not to worry him. As though reading my thoughts, he asked, “Did they ever find out who killed Sylvia?”
So much for not telling him. “How did you know she was murdered?”
“It was in the papers. You should have told me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. The police are working on it twenty-four, seven.”
“Be careful, Mom. Keep the doors locked.”
“I will. Good night, Jess. I’m really glad about your news.”
“Me, too. Later.”
I climbed into bed, pleased that Jesse's life was going well. Pleased, too, that he wanted to share it with me. I went to sleep with a smile on my face.
The telephone woke me the following morning.
“Hi, Lex, it’s me,” Rosie announced. “Where were you yesterday? You weren’t home and your cell phone was turned off.”
“Was it?” I asked, though I knew damn well it had been. “Al—er—Allistair and I took a drive out to the North Fork.”
“Ah, so things have taken off.”
“Slowly. We’re just friends.”
“Translated, you haven’t slept with him.”
I felt a blush rising. “Did you call for a reason?”
“Oh, right. I’ve been asked to help out with one of our biggest fundraising events. The husband of one of our wonder women took ill so they’ve called on me to take up the slack. We’re raising money for the Littleton Estate.”
“That lovely place. I’ve been to see the gardens a few years ago.”
“The mansion is falling in disrepair, since funding has dried up. Which is why this year they’re hosting a dinner and concert at five hundred dollars a pop. In Edwardian costumes, no less!”
“Rosie, I’m sorry, but I’m not prepared to spend that kind of money.”
She laughed merrily. “I’m not asking you to buy a ticket, simply to give a hand to a worthy cause. They need more volunteers. The program is dinner in the mansion, then a classical concert under a tent on the lawn. You might be asked to take tickets the night of the event, then act as an usher for the concert—stuff like that. Do you think you can help us out?”
Us as in Old Cadfield? “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
Rosie chuckled. “You can always invite Allistair. He can buy a ticket, or better, buy tickets for both of you.”
“I’ll ask him.”
“Ruth and Adele are co-chairing the event. There’s a meeting tonight at Adele’s house. Can you make it?”
So Ruth got the co-chair position she desired. “Frankly, no. I don’t relish the idea of spending an evening with a roomful of strangers.”
“Don’t be silly. Ruth, Marcie, and Paulette will be there. Ginger would be coming, except her summer job starts tomorrow.”
I thought a moment. “That’s practically everyone in the book club.”
Rosie let out a snort of exasperation. “Of course. They’re the people I know best.”
“But, Rosie, aren’t you afraid to be with those women? One of them killed three of your friends.”
There was a pause. When Rosie spoke again, her tone was decidedly cooler. “I don’t view things the way you do, Lexie. I have to believe the toxic water from the vase got into Sylvia’s drink by accident. A perfect stranger could have killed Gerda.”
“Really? And Anne?”
“The police haven’t proven it wasn’t an accident.”
Her head-in-the-sand attitude was beginning to annoy me. “Rosie, you’re refusing to face facts! The police are treating all three deaths as homicides. Someone ran Anne off the road. They found paint from another car on hers.”
“Still, no proof it was done deliberately. And if it was deliberate,” she said, changing tack, “there’s no proof the killer attended our meeting. Anyone could have followed Anne, waited until she left the meeting, then ran her off the road.”
“I suppose,” I said, not because I agreed but because there was no point in restating my position when I had no proof to back it up. Clearly, Rosie wanted to get on with her life. And getting on with her life meant ignoring the fact that one of her friends was a murderer.
“Will you come tonight?”
I heard the vulnerability beneath Rosie’s question. If I said no, I’d be rejecting her Old Cadfield life, which was proving to be as much a part of my dear friend as her liver and her heart. And because I loved Rosie and hated to upset her, I said I would.
“I’ll pick you up at six forty-five. Skip dinner. Adele puts out quite a spread.”
Puss ambled into the bedroom to coax me into the kitchen. I fed him, then returned to my room to put on a bathi
ng suit. On impulse, I called Al. “Hey, want to come over to swim a few laps?”
“Sure. I just got back from cycling. I was about to hop in the shower then settle down to work, but a swim will be fine.”
I was splashing about in the shallow section of the pool, when Al appeared. He had a t-shirt over his boxer-style bathing suit. I climbed out of the pool.
“Nice legs,” I commented.
“Yours, too,” he quipped back.
We hugged and kissed—briefly, but a definite lip lock—and then reared back to study one another. When we burst out laughing the very same second, I nearly dragged him off to the bedroom.
“Shall we swim?” Al murmured, “or have you other plans?”
“Let’s swim. For now.”
He followed me into the pool. We swam laps for a bit, then ended up splashing and laughing. It ended with a deep kiss. I pulled away. “Come in the kitchen. I’ll whip up a batch of blueberry pancakes.”
I gave Al a tray of plates, cutlery, and syrup to carry out to the patio, and told him to dry off while I brewed coffee and mixed the batter. I made the pancakes and brought them outside, along with the coffee.
“Mmm, these are delicious.” Al reached for seconds and then thirds.
I sipped my coffee and smiled. “This is the perfect way to start off a summer day.”
“Isn’t it?" He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately, I must be off. I’ve an appointment in the city this afternoon.”
"Oh."
“Why don't you join me? You can shop or visit a museum while I see my client, then we can have dinner, maybe see a show.”
“Sounds delightful,” I said, wishing he’d made his offer yesterday, “but Rosie got to me first. She’s involved in this fundraiser for the Littleton estate, and asked me to help out. I’m attending a meeting tonight.”
“The Littleton Gala is a big deal around here. I’ve attended a few times with Melody." He beamed me one of his wonderful smiles. “I’m sorry you can’t join me today. We’ll go into the city another time soon.”
“I’d like that.” I decided to take the initiative myself. “Are you planning on going to the gala?”
Al smiled. “Alas, no. I’ll be gone that entire week, visiting with Tessa and her husband in the Berkshires.”
“Oh?" My dismay must have come through, because he reached out to take my hand.
“I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you." He gave a self-conscious laugh. “It’s been some time since anyone’s kept track of my whereabouts. That week’s the only time I’ll be away all summer.”
Mollified, I changed the subject. “Most of the book club members will be at Adele’s tonight. Rosie sees nothing wrong with spending time with them. She refuses to admit one of them is a murderer.”
Al sighed. “Those women are Old Cadfield and Old Cadfield is Rosie’s world. I suspect she’s working hard to convince herself her world is still the safe and cheerful place it’s always been, despite evidence to the contrary.”
“Well, I intend to put tonight’s meeting to good use.”
“Be careful, Lexie! You don’t want the killer coming after you.”
“I will. You know, Paulette wasn’t the only one with a motive to kill Anne. Marcie resented Anne for what she and her husband considered a screw up of a private adoption. The whole thing proved to be a scam, still Marcie blamed Anne when the adoption didn’t go through. She tried to make Anne pay back the money they’d lost, but Anne refused to reimburse them.”
“Did you mention this to Donovan?”
I shook my head. “No, but I will.”
“What about Lowell?” Al asked.
“What about him?”
“Maybe things didn’t go quite as Anne told you that night. Maybe when he told her he wanted to stay with Paulette, she threatened to cause trouble.”
“I never considered that, though I can’t imagine his choosing Paulette over Anne.”
Al pursed his lips. “I wonder if someone in the firm had words with Lowell—told him to get his act together if he wanted to remain on the partner track. The senior partners had to know about the affair. They wouldn’t appreciate any scandal associated with the firm.”
I grimaced. “Poor Anne. Cast as the other woman.”
“Maybe she refused to see things the way Lowell wanted her to, so he felt he had to take steps to eliminate her.”
“What about Sylvia? He was with her when she died, but there’s no evidence that he smothered her. Unless the police aren’t telling us the entire story.”
Al stood. "I'm sure they aren't."
I got to my feet. Al took me in his arms. “Talk to you tomorrow,” he murmured.
“Have fun in the city.”
“Fun,” he said, as though he didn’t like the word. “This is a job I could have done without.”
We kissed, then smiled at one another.
“Don’t do anything foolish, Lexie.”
“I’ll be careful.”
I cleared the breakfast dishes, and then called Brian Donovan. He wasn’t at the precinct, so I left word for him to contact me. He called a few hours later when I was out on the patio, deeply engrossed in my manuscript. I told him that Marcie had blamed Anne for screwing up the adoption, even after it was proven to be a con. He questioned me carefully regarding the details and my sources until he was satisfied I’d told him all I knew.
“I’ll follow up on this,” he said. “By the way, what kind of car does Mrs. Beaumont drive?”
“A BMW, I think.”
“Color?”
“Gray. Have you checked out Lowell’s alibi for that night?”
“We’re working on it. Anything else you remember?”
“No. I wish you’d find the person who killed those women.”
“Our sentiments exactly.”
He hung up. I had trouble getting back to my story. Angie, my protagonist, had just had a fight with her husband, and was restless and edgy. She had to take some sort of action, but I couldn’t decide what she should do. I tried out a few ideas, none of which grabbed me, since they did nothing to further the plot. I closed my laptop, telling myself I’d do better tomorrow when my mind was clear. After all, writing fiction allowed for all sorts of possibilities. Not like reality where once something happened, the consequences were set in stone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Several cars were already parked in Adele’s driveway when Rosie and I arrived. Paulette, wearing a pink sleeveless summer smock that gave her a little-girl look, opened the door to let us in.
“Hello, Rosie, Lexie,” she greeted us listlessly. “Everyone’s in the family room.”
We followed her through the narrow center hall, gloomy despite the ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling two stories high. I peered into the rooms we passed but managed to see very little because all drapes had been drawn against the setting sun. Adele went in for a heavy, formal décor done in maroon and dark gray. I shuddered. I could never live in such a dreary, dismal place.
The din of women conducting several discussions at once assailed our ears before we reached the family room. Here, a persuasive interior decorator must have had his or her way, because light, natural colors presided. Paulette approached her mother and whispered something in her ear. Adele stroked her daughter’s blonde head as she answered. Then she kissed Paulette’s cheek and watched her join a group of young women gathered around the fireplace. Only then did she offer us her attention, a look of adoration softening her plain features.
“I told Paulette not to exert herself, ” Adele said to us by way of a greeting. “She’s still weak from her miscarriage.”
“Paulette’s hale and hearty,” Rosie declared after she and Adele hugged perfunctorily. “She’ll regain her strength faster if she keeps busy.”
“You always know best, Rosie,” Adele murmured, and turned to me. “Hello, Lexie, nice to see you. We can always use another body.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
Adele’s critical gaze scanned me from head to toe. “You’ll have to be fitted for an Edwardian gown ASAP. I’d say you’re one size larger than Paulette.”
“An Edwardian gown?” I echoed, wondering how much that would set me back. “I hadn’t realized.”
Rosie shook her head in mock dismay. “Lexie, dear, I told you this was a costumed event. Since Littleton Manor was built in 1912, we’re doing Edwardian fashions this year.”
The image of a Chantilly lace dress flittered before my eyes. Costumes cost a fortune. “Yes, but I hadn’t planned on—”
“Don’t give it another thought." Rosie patted my arm. “We’ll stop by the costume shop tomorrow, if you’re free. Everything will be taken care of,” she said.
"Well, all right," I said, feeling very much the poor relative. I could afford to pay for my costume, but it would be damn expensive. Besides, I reminded myself, I hadn’t chosen to get involved in this gala. I was doing Rosie a favor. Despite the reality of the situation, I remained ill-at-ease.
Adele consulted her clipboard. “Rosie, you’ll be taking over Evelyn’s responsibilities. She was handling all communication with the orchestra. You’ll have to call their manager the day before the event. And get here early Friday morning to make sure they set up the tent properly. I’m dealing with the caterer, but there are a few things I’d like you to help me with.”
They talked on, forgetting about me. I grew more and more uncomfortable. I’d never been part of a society fundraiser before. This was all very Old Cadfield. I squirmed, aware that I didn’t belong and never would.
That’s right! I rounded on my cowering self. You’re not wealthy and you’re an outsider. You’re here for Rosie’s sake, not to fit in. As important, you’re here to learn everything you can about these people to help nail a murderer. Or has this slipped your mind?
Adele beckoned to Ruth, who broke away from the group of women surrounding her to join us. “Lexie was kind enough to offer her help as a volunteer,” Adele said. “Saturday night we’ll station her at the entranceway to check off guests’ names and collect cash and checks for last minute attendees. That’s your department.”
Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) Page 14
