by Angela Zeman
However, I suddenly realized that today both sides seemed to be cool, almost remote from each other.
“How does it look, Michael?” Mrs. Risk asked.
Michael stopped ministering to his tea bag and sat back with a sigh. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been expecting a call from you for some days.”
Mrs. Risk interrupted indignantly. “There was no time schedule for communication.”
“No, no schedule. But after I showed you my notes, I would’ve thought—”
“We’ve had meager results. Excessively reluctant cooperation. Have you fared better?” she added politely.
After a moment’s scrutiny of her face, he dropped his eyes to the table. “I wish, for your sake, I could say the perp is an outside intruder. But I don’t think so.”
Nobody said anything for a while.
Our chowder came and Michael started to eat. He was the only one with any appetite.
“The newspapers have somehow acquired a great deal of detailed information about Pearl’s and Bella’s past,” Mrs. Risk began.
“We didn’t give it to them,” Michael stated between spoonfuls of chowder.
“I thought it highly unlikely that you had.”
“I’ve been in touch with Paris, though.”
“The files on Stanley Fischmann’s death?”
I blinked in surprise, but he only nodded, not meeting her eyes.
“You must have precious little else to go on here, then.”
I thought she sounded hopeful as she said that. He must have thought so, too, because he glanced up and said gently, “Not so little.”
“Like what?” I asked him.
“Well, the weakest point, but not to be despised, is the parallel between events.”
“Oh, Michael,” she said disparagingly.
“Stanley didn’t drown. No water in his lungs. He was dead before he hit the water.”
“From what?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Records from thirty years ago are lousy. Not kept well, and what’s been kept is unclear. Except he didn’t drown.”
“So they suspected murder?”
“The case was never closed, so yes, that’s the implication.”
I put in sarcastically, “But Bella was dating a cop and—” but wasn’t allowed to finish.
“Tchah!” exploded Mrs. Risk, glaring at me.
Michael looked up at me, startled. “Did Bella tell you that?”
“No. Is it true?”
He laughed grimly. “I can’t swear to it, but some of the information about the ‘widow’ was so detailed in an otherwise sloppy, overgeneralized document that I did wonder. That’s funny.”
“It is? How?” I asked, indignantly.
“Well,” he subsided. “I guess it isn’t, at that.”
Mrs. Risk said tartly, “Not if you’re implying that she’s killed before, which increases the suspicion she’s under at this moment.”
“Which it does.” Michael nodded.
She said, “What else do you have?”
Michael paused a moment to finish his chowder.
After taking a deep breath I seized the opportunity to say to Mrs. Risk, “With all the ruckus last night, I forgot to tell you that while I was working in my shop yesterday, I thought of something. I called Barton Peacock.” I looked at Mrs. Risk, waiting to see if I would be provoking thunder and lightning if I continued. She only gazed at me with interest.
“For what purpose, dear?” she asked.
“I got to thinking, that’s one whopping hotel bill Bella ran up, if she stayed there from August 22nd to November. Well, guess what. She didn’t stay there during that time.”
Mrs. Risk sat up straighter. “Indeed.”
“Where did she stay?” asked Michael.
“Oh, I mean she stayed there, but longer. Bella arrived August 1st. Not August 22nd, Pearl’s birthday.” I shook my head at the muddle I’d created. “But we knew that, that’s not the point, either.”
Mrs. Risk sat motionless without speaking. Her eyes began to smolder like bits of glowing coal. Intimidated in spite of myself, I paused, but then felt compelled to continue. Like a salmon dashing upstream to spawn and die, I couldn’t stop now.
“I thought probably Solly would’ve paid her bill, since obviously Bella couldn’t. But he didn’t. Bart said that Pearl paid the entire bill. Right up to the day after Solly’s murder, when Bella moved to East Hampton. Why would she do that if they weren’t speaking? And she can’t afford it, can she?”
After seeing Mrs. Risk’s expression—a sort of heated swelling, like a volcano getting ready to erupt—I sat back to reap my reward: death by witchy hands.
“Why couldn’t she afford it, she’s loaded, isn’t she? What are you trying to say?” began Michael cautiously.
“Don’t you see? Pearl—” and I stopped. I wanted to say: Pearl lied to everybody (but us) about Bella’s arrival date and about her being unexpected, also by letting everyone believe Bella had stolen the necklace, and obviously they’d been speaking all along. I faltered as a new thought occurred: how peculiar that all Pearl’s lies had to do with Bella. Then my confidence fled. I’d failed, anyway. Obviously Mrs. Risk wasn’t going to follow my lead and bare all to Michael. Dully I rearranged my words to, “We knew that Bella was used to working con games, you told us that almost from the first. Maybe Bella was working another one. Sizing up Pearl’s situation before revealing her presence, or maybe even sizing up Solly, to—to—” I collapsed.
“As a possible mark, you mean. Your conjectures are interesting, dear, but circumstantial,” said Mrs. Risk. “Isn’t that right, Michael?”
“All circumstantial,” he admitted. “But her take on it is pretty good. We already knew about when she got here and who paid her bill, Rachel, so don’t worry. You’re not incriminating anybody,” he said kindly.
Gratitude took the remaining wind from my lungs. I took a moment to acquire fresh oxygen. “You knew already?”
“Yeah. Anonymous phone callers have been dropping tidbits of info on us. And we’re all ears. One tip was to check out the exact date of Bella’s arrival, which we did. What ruckus?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘after all the ruckus last night.’ What ruckus?”
“Oh, uh,” I looked to Mrs. Risk in desperate appeal. I wanted to stop blundering, and I wanted to stop now.
“Just a small private matter, dear, between Rachel and Charlie. Nothing worth noting.”
That stopped him. “Oh.”
She leaned forward and laid gentle fingers across his wrist. “I’d be very interested to know where your investigation has led you, if you’re at liberty to share that information.”
“Well, Pearl’s medicine was used, that’s positive. But. We’ve concluded she’s so careless with it anybody could have swiped some. Getting it into his pill box is a matter we’ve been considering. Possibilities do exist for opportunity. For instance, substitution could’ve been made in the locker room at his country club, if the perp was male. In the bedroom if female … you get the idea. He’s a habitual sharer—every time he pulled it out of his pocket, he passed it around. To take saccharin out, drop digoxin in, would present few problems. The hinge, as I see it, is going to be who knew it would be fatal to him.
“Ah,” said Mrs. Risk. “Let me guess. He was so vain he kept his medical problems a secret.”
He nodded. “I keep hearing from witnesses how he pictured himself as a Manhattan playboy, or something like that. East Hampton house, champagne lifestyle, women dripping off his well-tailored arm at parties.” Michael grimaced. “Played tennis, sailed, danced, scored with the women, did everything to promote a macho, virile image. He had a face lift and tummy tuck back in ’85. Worked out with a trainer three times a week.”
“Never mind that, who knew?” I asked, tired of these details.
“Well, to ask ’em—nobody knew,” Michael said. “As you’ve mentioned, this bunch doesn’t talk. To us, anywa
y.”
“Try playing Vivian Steiner off the others, dear. There’s a lot of backbiting. Roselle Lutz and Leeann Horstley might not reveal anything about each other, but I’ll bet they would about Vivian and vice versa. And Roselle has a prickly relationship with her poor husband, Simon.”
“I’d already figured that out. Didn’t do me much good. These are all pretty regular, hard working upper middle-class people. And when outsiders ask questions, tight as—” he glanced quickly at Mrs. Risk and stopped.
“What about Ilene Fox?” I asked.
Mrs. Risk’s eyelids drooped a fraction.
“Ilene Fox has led a quiet life as a singer in lounges in expensive hotels. Nice steady work, no financial problems, no drugs or excesses of any kind that we can find. Practically invisible, she’s so squeaky clean. Why?”
“Just asking,” I said.
Mrs. Risk mused, giving Michael time to order dessert. “So Solly’s condition was kept secret … except from someone, obviously. Who would he tell? Possibly, someone with whom he had a long acquaintance, someone before whom he could let down his guard and not feel defensive of his manhood.”
“You mean, someone who, when he or she was around Solly, Solly didn’t care about his manhood?” I ventured.
She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. He went to such great lengths, I doubt if there existed a moment in which he didn’t care. No, I meant rather someone to whom he was past having to prove his manhood. From long familiarity.”
“Solly knew Pearl for years,” Michael said. “She leaned on him for advice. After twenty-odd years of managing her life and wanting to marry her—not much you wouldn’t know about a person after that length of time.”
“Did Pearl say she knew about his condition?” Mrs. Risk asked.
“She says she knew he had something, but could never keep it straight what it was, since it didn’t affect him in any way that she could see. She says she had no idea that her medicine would be fatal to him.”
Silence.
He continued, “But her friend, the lawyer Bruce Altman, without realizing the significance of his comment, contradicted that. It came out in a statement he was giving to defend himself from suspicion, or so he thought at the time. The gist of it is that he, Solly, and Pearl had a bridge game one night last spring at the Player’s Club in Manhattan, and a conversation started up on that very subject. Vivian Steiner substantiates it. She was the fourth.”
“So Vivian and Bruce knew about Solly’s condition, too,” I said.
He shook his head. “They say not. Altman said the conversation was general. About side effects of vitamins, medications, and things. Solly took a lot of vitamins and was a dedicated health fanatic. He knew a lot about drug interactions. Altman states positively that among other physical problems under discussion, including Pearl’s heart, Solly mentioned high blood pressure and renal insufficiency, and the effects of Pearl’s medicine on a person with that condition. But he never admitted that he had either problem. Altman knows now, he says, what Solly’s problems were, but only because of the newspapers.”
“Hey—” I began.
“Exactly. It could have jogged Pearl’s memory. Enough to suggest a method of killing Solly later. But ‘could have’ isn’t enough to take to the district attorney.”
“But a starting point,” said Mrs. Risk bleakly.
“Mmmm.” Michael’s pecan pie came, but he only poked at it with his fork.
I broke a pecan off Michael’s pie to sample. “This was last Spring? Where was Vivian’s husband during this game? He didn’t die until June, remember?”
Michael nodded. “This particular card game took place in early April, tax time, Bruce said. Vivian, I gather, was not a wife to stay at home nights while accountant hubby slaved over clients’ tax returns. Trouble is,” Michael continued, waving away Vivian and returning to the subject of Solly, “damn guy was popular. Discreet with his women, and they seemed to have adored him, even after being dumped. No husbands noticeably lurking around. If he didn’t play by the rules, he was at least careful. Owed nobody money, generous to charities, treated people with respect. No destructive habits, drank modestly, no drugs.”
“What a guy,” I said wryly. “Well, somebody could have discovered his secret by accident.”
Michael shrugged. “Sure.”
“There is that,” agreed Mrs. Rick.
Michael nodded, and finally bit into a forkful of pie. He chewed, swallowed, and pushed it away. “Not in the mood for sweets, I guess,” he said.
“Well, I think you’d better get back to the office, dear. I can’t see your job getting any easier.” Mrs. Risk delicately pushed the check toward Michael, who good-naturedly picked it up.
“So you’ve gotten all you want out of me?” he asked, smiling. “I haven’t forgotten your turkey. I’ll have it delivered to your door Wednesday, plucked and ready.”
“Don’t let anyone touch those bushes,” I warned.
“Oh, absolutely. I didn’t mention the bushes—I never mention them, who’d believe me? But I told the delivery guy he had to stay in his truck. They’re to call ahead so you’ll know when to expect him. A grey battered pickup.”
“That’s extremely considerate of you, dear. Of course you’ll share it with Rachel and myself, and a few others?”
Michael beamed at me. “I’d hoped to. What time do you want me to arrive?”
“About two, dear. Rachel will be busy until then, making her last deliveries. We’ll eat about five,” she said.
I slid out from behind the table. “And bring a date,” I put in.
I ignored his reproachful look and worked my way into my coat. Sunny does not mean warm in mid-November. Michael frowned at me, then focused on my coat.
“You steal that coat from a farm?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“What’s next, dear?” Mrs. Risk asked him hurriedly.
“Going to see if I can pinpoint Pearl’s location when Stanley took his nose dive out of that rowboat in France.”
“What else?” I prompted.
He grinned smugly at me. “Gotta find a date for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Other than that.”
“Just keep on keeping on. Maybe someone can corroborate that Pearl knew what Solly’s physical problems were. We’re looking into Solly’s financial affairs, also Bella’s. Also working on a little idea of mine. I have a guy trying to find out when Solly used his saccharin. He seemed to be a man of rigid personal habits, maybe we can take advantage of it. For instance, if he used it only in coffee, and never drank coffee between lunch and dinner, we’d know when the substitution was probably made. If that idea works, then we’ll try to track down who he was with during the important time period.” He shrugged. “For instance, during the entire afternoon before the dinner, Pearl has no alibi. Neither do some others. It’s a long shot.”
Mrs. Risk put in, “Unless, of course, the murderer successfully concealed his or her movements, and no one knows he or she was with Solly.” Her expression remained bland. “For instance, if Solly was involved in a secret sexual liaison. I wish you luck. Another thing. My usefulness in this case might be nearly over. The word’s gone around among Pearl’s friends that Rachel and I are ‘police spies’ working only against Pearl. Even Pearl’s shown some uneasiness at my presence. I think she’s beginning to wonder, herself. I certainly haven’t improved her situation.” She paused and her eyes flashed. “I suppose it’s understandable.”
“Well, unless they’re complete idiots they’ll know better before this is over,” said Michael with a snort. He stepped up to the cash register desk and handed over some bills. “That reminds me. Remember I mentioned phone callers? We look into all calls to make sure we don’t have a kibitzing perpetrator. Killers love to check on the progress of the case to see how well they’re ‘fooling’ the police. An ego trip.”
“Oh, my.” She sighed.
“Anyway, the ones from my ‘informant’ were interes
ting. Unusual care was taken to prevent being traced, using phone booths scattered around, no certain area. Very polite, ‘nice’ sounding voices. Could mean nothing. People get weird when celebrities get into trouble. Some even like to help the ‘trouble’ along, from jealousy or whatever. Nasty types.”
“Michael,” said Mrs. Risk suddenly, “what if I told you that I think a person has been working behind the scenes, purposely trying to make Pearl look guilty?”
“Well, I could say the obvious. Maybe the killer wants to deflect suspicion from himself by aiming it at Pearl.” He didn’t look like he much believed that theory. He gazed glumly outside at the bright sun.
He sighed. “It could also be that someone knows she’s guilty and is trying not to have to step forward. People hate to get involved in investigations.” He flashed a quick look at her, his expression anxious, as if worried about her reaction to his statement.
She said nothing.
After a long pause, he asked, “You really see a mind with a plan to frame Pearl behind—behind all this?”
“Yes. It could be the murderer, as you said, deflecting suspicion. But it also could be someone, maybe not even the murderer, taking advantage of circumstances. I can’t quite decide which it is. But whichever, I feel strongly that something—some evil plan—is definitely being carried out. Against Pearl.”
He looked at her with questions in his eyes. He shook his head and said softly, “Look. As long as you don’t let yourself forget Pearl’s intelligence. The leaks to the newspaper, the anonymous phone calls against her, even the use of her own medicine. It all could be she herself, pointing the finger of guilt at herself because she knows she’s the best suspect we have, next to her sister. She’s the most likely to know about Solly’s physical condition.
“If she appears to be the object of persecution, she could swing the public’s sympathy towards herself. She might hope to swing the official point of view, too. And believe me, she could use some sympathy. No one else has the motive Pearl does. Except Bella. But she would’ve gained financially from him alive as well as dead. Why would she risk prosecution for wealth she already had locked up?”
