Sins and Needles

by Monica Ferris

  Susan nodded. “Yes, I know.”

  His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  “The medical examiner’s office called me to say Mr. Huber found something little and sharp, like a needle, stuck in the back of her head. He said that the funeral should be put off because there was to be an—an autopsy. Has there—have they finished it already?”

  “Yes, and we have the preliminary results. I’m very sorry, but it appears your aunt was murdered.”

  Susan leaned back in the chair. “I was afraid you were going to tell me that. But are you absolutely sure? I was thinking that maybe she fell. You know, and a nail or a needle was in the carpet, and she fell on it, and—and she didn’t know it was serious. And she went to bed with just a headache and died in her sleep.”

  “No, ma’am. For one thing, it wasn’t a nail, or a needle. For another, it went right into her brain, killing her instantly.”

  She blinked at him, shocked.

  He held up a hand to forestall a response. “I’m sorry. But what that also means is that she didn’t suffer. There was no evidence of a struggle, and the medical examiner told me that it happened very quickly, between one breath and the next. A little poke, and she was gone.”

  “Oh. I…I see.” Susan swallowed and clenched her hands shut, surprised to find one of them crumpling the card. She began to smooth it out with her fingers. “Still, it’s so horrible. And you think it might be murder? I don’t see how—I mean, who would have done such a thing? And why?”

  “Well, that’s where I come in. I’m going to see if I can figure it out. And I’m hoping you can help me.”

  He seemed in earnest, so her response was sincere. “Of course, if I can.”

  “First of all, I’m trying to understand the family. Who’s who, and how they’re related. May I ask you some questions about that?”

  “All right, I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

  “Good, thank you.” He reached into an inside pocket and came up with an absurdly tiny notebook and a ballpoint pen. “Your aunt never married, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said.

  “So she left no children?”

  “Of course not! I mean…I suppose in this day and age that’s not an impertinent question, but it certainly was in hers. My goodness, to think of Aunt Edyth—” Susan had to pause a few moments, torn between indignation and laughter, before she could continue. “Her only immediate relative was a sister, Alice, who died nine years back. Alice was my mother.”

  “And your father?”

  “Was Dr. John O’Neil, also deceased. They had three children, a daughter named Margaret, who died very young, me, and a son, Stewart.” She spoke slowly, watching the detective write this down in his tiny notebook. “My husband was David McConnell, and we had three children: Jason, Julie, who died young, and Jan. My brother, Stewart, married Terri Pepperdyne, and they have four girls: Katie, Alexandra, Bernie—Bernadette, but no one calls her that—and CeeCee—Cecilia. My daughter, Jan, is married to Dr. Harvey Henderson. They have two boys, Reese and Ronnie. My son, Jason, is currently divorced and has no children. The oldest of Stewart and Terri’s children is married to Perry Frazier; that’s Katie, who just turned twenty-one.”

  “And all these people except your parents are alive?” asked Sgt. Rice.

  “No, my husband is also deceased.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you.” Susan gave a grave nod. Though it had been nearly ten years since Dave had collapsed at the office, she still sometimes felt the pain of loss.

  Perhaps the detective caught the fleeting look of distress in her eyes, because he gave her a moment while he looked around the room. “I see you do counted cross-stitch,” he said, nodding toward a framed trio of Marc Saastad roses on the wall.

  Susan, pleasurably surprised, said, “Yes—and how interesting that you know what it is. Most men just say sewing, or embroidery.”

  “My wife does counted cross-stitch, too.”

  A penny dropped. “Well, my goodness, is your wife Lizzy Rice?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Do you know her?”

  “Of course! She and I have taken I don’t know how many classes together over at Crewel World in Excelsior!”

  “She loves those classes. And they must do her good; she wins a lot of ribbons at the fair.”

  “Yes, I know. Not that she brags. It’s Betsy, the owner of Crewel World, who is always bragging about her. Well, isn’t that interesting, you being Lizzy Rice’s husband! She never told me she was married to a policeman!”

  Sergeant Rice shrugged, his head cocked a little to one side, and gestured with his notebook. “A woman can’t always help who she falls in love with,” he said, almost straight-faced.

  Susan laughed, just a little, but felt more comfortable now that she could place this man within her own circle. Lizzy was a gentle-mannered, intelligent woman; no husband of hers could be a bad person. “What else do you want to know?” she asked.

  Now Sergeant Rice looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, I’ve been out to Miss Hanraty’s house, and this house you have here is very nice, but it’s not exactly in the same category. I’ve done a little research, and it seems that your grandfather left his fortune to Edyth. Did your mother have some kind of quarrel with him?”

  Susan bridled a bit. “First of all, it wasn’t so great a fortune to begin with, though it was a lot of money in its time. Aunt Edyth was a clever investor. She ran her inheritance up all by herself.” She felt herself smiling; she couldn’t help it. “Actually, it’s an amusing family story.”

  “What’s an amusing story?”

  “How it came about. You see, my grandfather was what was called back in the twenties a capitalist. Instead of entering a profession, he played the stock market and speculated in land and was able to build that beautiful house that Aunt Edyth grew up in. He realized early on that she was never going to marry—it was as if she never got over that stage where girls think boys have cooties. Her sister, Alice, was different—she married a doctor with an established practice. And Grandfather, seeing Alice was well taken care of, decided to give Edyth the house and settle a great deal of money on her as well. He had this notion—common in his day—that a woman needed either a man or a big bank account to take care of her, you see.”

  Sergeant Rice smiled at this old-fashioned notion.

  Susan continued. “It turned out that Edyth inherited her father’s eye for a good investment, and she turned the six hundred thousand dollars he settled on her into twenty million. But she never got over her intense dislike of the male sex and—” Susan stopped.

  Sergeant Rice looked up from his notebook. “And what?” he asked, prepared to be further amused.

  “Is all this pertinent? Do I need to tell you?”

  He grew serious. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But it really helps me to understand the family dynamics, if for no other reason than I will understand if I need to look outside the family for the person responsible for this.”

  A chill went down her spine. “Do you mean you are looking at me right now as a suspect?”

  “No, no, not at all! I have no reason to think you murdered your aunt!” He looked sincerely startled at the idea.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Though you may change your mind when you hear about Aunt Edyth’s peculiar will. You see, she made no secret of it; we all knew what it said. And all of us thought it was very unfair, even me—and by its terms I inherit a good deal of money.”

  “You mean she didn’t distribute the money among family members evenly.”

  “I mean she disinherited my brother entirely.”

  His eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “Why?”

  “Because he’s a man.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Very seriously. She left a considerable sum to the University of Minnesota to be used for scholarships for women wanting to major in business or science, and the
rest was to be divided equally among the female descendants of her sister, Alice, through the female line. You see, that cut Stewart and his daughters right out.” Susan watched while Sergeant Rice wrote that down.

  “So these female descendants get all the—what do they call it?—the rest and residue?” he asked. “Who are they?”

  “There are only two of us—me and my daughter, Jan. My son gets nothing, nor does my brother Stewart—or any of his four daughters.”

  “That seems unfair to those girls.”

  “Exactly!” Susan gestured angrily. “We all thought that was particularly unfair.”

  “Surely someone must have tried talking to her about this.”

  “Of course we did! I did, Stewart did, even Katie went to her. It was no use. She was the sort of person who, once she makes up her mind, won’t change it. Plus, she had this unfortunate mind-set about men.”

  “But his daughters—I don’t see how she could do that to them.”

  “Well, they’re young. The youngest is only fourteen. I’m sure Aunt Edyth was concerned that Stewart might take control of the money and use it to start a business.”

  “And this would be bad because…?”

  “First of all, it wouldn’t have been his money.”

  Sergeant Rice made a note in his little book. “Do you believe your aunt had an accurate estimation of Stewart’s character?” he asked.

  When Susan didn’t reply, he looked up at her with a pleasantly inquiring expression. A silence fell on the room. Susan grew more and more uncomfortable, but his expression didn’t change. “All right,” she said, “Aunt Edyth may have disliked all men, but she had a pretty good estimation of Stewart.”

  “Has he ever taken money that didn’t belong to him before?”

  “Oh, heavens no! He isn’t a thief. That isn’t what this is about at all!”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “Well, she was probably afraid he’d lose the investment he’d’ve made on his girls’ behalf. He’s bright enough, he gets good ideas for a business or an invention, but he loses interest fairly quickly. He hasn’t got Aunt Edyth’s drive to squeeze every nickel of profit out of a business.” She sighed. “I don’t think I would have minded so much, but—well, Katie’s going to graduate from college next year. But Alexandra is only a sophomore, and there’s Bernie and CeeCee to be sent in a few more years. And besides, Katie would like an MBA—she got a dose of the Hanraty genes.”

  “Did Aunt Edyth put any conditions on your inheritance?”

  “Conditions?”

  “Once the money is shared out, you can do whatever you like with it?” said Rice.

  “Yes, of course. But it seems unfair for those girls to have to depend on me and Jan—especially since Jan has two boys of her own to provide for.”

  “Who’s the executor of her will?”

  “Aunt Edyth’s attorney, Marcia Weiner.”

  Rice made a note of that and began looking back over what he’d written. Feeling again a need to fill the silence, Susan said, “I want you to understand that Jan and I will be glad to help Stewart’s girls. And, naturally, I’ll give a large portion to my son.”

  Rice paged forward again and then asked abruptly, “But not a portion to your brother?”

  “Well, no. Aunt Edyth didn’t want him to have any of her fortune.” Rice did not remark that Aunt Edyth also didn’t want Jason to have any of it, either, but he did look quizzically at Susan, who continued defensively, “Anyway, Stewart’s not a young man anymore, so I think he’s pretty much used up all his chances at building a fortune from any investment I might make in him.”

  Rice cocked his head at her. “How old is he?”

  “Fifty-seven.”

  “Your older brother, then.”

  She drew an indignant breath—she didn’t like false flattery—then saw he was making a joke, and let it out with a smile. “No, as a matter of fact, he’s nearly ten years younger than I am.”

  He did look authentically surprised by that. Susan smiled. Genuine flattery she did enjoy.

  He smiled back, then went back two pages in his notebook. “Now Alice, Edyth’s sister, your mother. She’s deceased, you said?”

  “That’s right, and my father as well. He was a doctor, well-known in the cardiac field, so it isn’t as if we’ve been sitting around impoverished and impatient to get at Aunt Edyth’s money. My late husband did very well for himself, and my children are doing well also.”

  “But not your brother Stewart.”

  She jumped at this opportunity to say something nice about him. “Oh, it’s not as if they’re living in a slum or anything like that! It’s—it’s more like in comparison. He and his wife own a nice house, and she’s a high school principal, so they’re doing just fine. Stewart always did march to his own drummer, and he seems happy, so…”

  “So?”

  She blurted, “So there’s no need to go looking in his direction for a suspect.” He looked surprised at the strength of her assertion, and she smiled to soften it. “You’re going to have to do what you said, look outside the family.” She grimaced. “Funny, talking about the family made me almost forget this is a murder case. How awful. I hope you catch whoever did this.”

  “I do, too.” He made a final note and closed his little tablet. “I want to thank you for your cooperation,” he said, rising.

  She showed him to the door and then hurried to the phone to tell her daughter not to worry about the policeman going around asking questions.

  Six

  THE receptionist came back to the exam room to give Jan a jolt of déjà vu: “Your mother is on the phone. She says it’s urgent.”

  “Thanks, Char. I’ll be in Doctor’s office.”

  Though the office belonged to Jan’s husband, she used the traditional nurse’s term, calling him “Doctor” as if that were his first name.

  She retreated to Hugs’s tiny private office, with its stacks of paper, books, file folders, X-rays, medical advertisements, and other detritus, then dug out the receiver on a half-buried phone and punched line 2. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

  “A policeman was just here,” said her mother, but instead of sounding alarmed, she sounded mildly excited, as if she had good news.

  Jan felt enormous relief. “What did he want?” she asked.

  “Well,” sighed her mother, “that’s the bad news: Aunt Edyth was murdered.”

  Jan fell into her husband’s desk chair. “You mean the mortician was right? From the way you were talking I thought the policeman came to say it wasn’t so! So what did he want?”

  “He’s investigating, of course, trying to find out who might have done such a dreadful thing. He was very nice to me, a nice man altogether, which brings me to the good news: He’s Lizzy Rice’s husband!”

  As was not unusual when talking with her mother, Jan felt her brain begin to spin. “So what?” she blurted.

  “Well, don’t you see? He actually knew my Marc Saastad roses were counted cross-stitch!”

  The spinning continued. Jan gripped the receiver as if it were the single solid object in a too-fluid reality. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand.”

  “Darling, he’s one of us! He understands that we’re nice people, people who don’t go about murdering one another. He really understands.”

  “Oh. That’s good. I’m so glad you had a meeting of the minds.”

  “That’s exactly right,” declared her mother, oblivious to Jan’s sarcasm. “He was so easy to talk to, he realizes how upset we were over Aunt Edyth’s peculiar will. He even understood about Stew.”

  Jan’s brain stopped whirling the instant her heart sank into her shoes. She asked in a voice that only vaguely resembled her own, “What did you tell him about Uncle Stewart?”

  Suddenly aware of Jan’s tone, her mother became defensive. “I only said what Aunt Edyth used to say. That he’s not good with money, and that if his daughters were given a share of her money he would find a wa
y to take some of it and lose it on bad business ventures.”

  “Did you say that as if you agreed with her assessment?”

  “But I do agree with it! You know very well—”

  Jan interrupted her as a new thought intruded. “So he knows Uncle Stewart doesn’t get any of the money.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Did you tell him how much money was at stake?”

  “No, because nobody knows how much the total will be.”

  “But you told him it was substantial.”

  “I…I don’t remember.” She was definitely beginning to sound defensive now.

  “What else did you tell him?”

  “Well, he wanted to know about the family, so I gave him a kind of genealogy. I told him everyone’s name and how they were related—you know, you and Hugs and the boys and Stewart and Terri and the girls. You can’t find any objection to that, surely. And yes, that’s right, I did tell him that Stewart couldn’t possibly be a suspect because he was not in Aunt Edyth’s will.” Amusement crept back into her voice. “I asked him if that meant he would be looking slant-wise at me, and he said of course not—he has no reason to think I’m a murderer.”

  “What did you say about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Well, you told him that the two of us are sharing the part of Aunt Edyth’s fortune that she doesn’t give to the U of M, right?”

  “Well,” Susan replied, “I explained how strange and unfair Aunt Edyth’s will was, and yes, that of all the family, only you and I would share the money she didn’t give to the university.”

  “So if he agrees that Uncle Stewart has no motive and he’s sure you didn’t murder her for her money, that kind of leaves me twisting in the wind, doesn’t it?”

  “Janice Margaret McConnell Henderson!”

  “Yes?” Jan replied in her sweetest voice, tinged just the merest bit with acid.

  “Why—why on earth do you think I would for one second allow the police to suspect you, my own daughter, of murder?”

  “I don’t think you did it on purpose. I think you were just so enchanted by this policeman’s being one of us that you weren’t thinking very clearly.”