Deadly Diaries

by C. E. Waterman

  Could he assume Allie was telling the truth?

  Not finding anything obviously missing, he read the officer’s notes from the area canvass. The neighbors on either side weren’t home, and the Johnsons across the street didn’t notice anything until the police and ambulance showed up. He flipped through the crime scene photos again, hoping something would pop. Nothing did.

  Moving on to Esther’s calendar, he started with the day she died and copied every appointment she’d had in the past month. Amazing how active she was when she was supposed to be retired. She played golf and tennis every week, volunteered at Children’s Hospital in Denver, and then went to other functions in the evenings or on weekends. Had she always been this busy or did it start after her husband passed away?

  Her golf partner the day she died had been Monica Tate, and she’d played tennis the week before with the mayor. A pattern asserted itself, and he wondered if someone else had noticed she was at the Black Bear Country Club every Saturday and Wednesday and at the hospital every Tuesday. It wouldn’t be hard to know when she’d be out of the house.

  Monica was the last to see her, so she would be his first visit. He called and was told Mrs. Tate was having breakfast at the club. He swiveled to the desk behind him, but David wasn’t there. Across from him, Peter hunched over his computer.

  “You see David this morning?”

  Peter glanced up. “He must be getting coffee.”

  “He’d better get it to go. We’re calling on the BB club.”

  “You’re taking David to the country club? Isn’t that a bit like taking a Rottweiler to a tea party?”

  Greg grinned. “Yeah, it should be entertaining. But hey, he is my partner, and maybe if he shakes the trees, some nuts will fall out.”

  Peter shook his head. “Just remember, some of those nuts can get you canned.”

  Driving through the club gates was like entering another world. A riot of colorful flowers burst from every direction, and huge old trees shaded the lush grounds. The Mercedes in front of him glided around the curved driveway past the brick and stone building. It drifted to a stop, and the trunk popped open. A clean-cut kid around sixteen or seventeen rushed to unload two golf bags, stood them in a nearby stand, and closed the lid. The Mercedes drew away toward the sign, which read Member’s Lot.

  David glanced over. “Swanky.”

  Greg parked his truck on the other side of the drive and stepped out. The kid appeared at his side.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Greg flashed his badge. “I’m here to see Mrs. Tate. I understand she’s having breakfast.”

  The young man smiled and backed away.

  Greg and David strolled toward the entrance.

  A kid in a golf cart screeched to a stop beside the stand, and the two of them loaded the clubs from the stand into the cart.

  Inside the cavernous foyer, a pretty redhead waited behind a counter along one side. In her matching golf shirt and skirt, she was the perfect model, selling the club’s clothing line. “I believe Mrs. Tate is in the dining room, Detective.” She rose and came around the counter. “I’ll show you the way.” The woman led them down a long hallway to the back of the clubhouse, her sandals clicking on the stone floor.

  Pictures of lush, green golf holes in front of snow-covered peaks hung in ornate frames along the walls, and they passed a huge bronze sculpture of a golfer. David posed next to the statue and grinned. “Look, this could be me!”

  “Yeah, if you could golf.” Greg laughed.

  “Hey, I play a mean putt-putt.”

  The woman ignored them and passed through a double doorway into the dining room. More intimate than the grand entrance, the room was no less impressive for its smaller size.

  Monica Tate glanced up from her table in the corner. Her son-in-law, Edward Blake, rose as they approached, a half-eaten pancake in front of him.

  “Please sit down, detectives. Would you like to order something?” Monica lifted a hand, and a server immediately started toward them.

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Tate,” Greg said. “We have a few questions. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Something to drink perhaps, coffee or tea?” Monica flashed him a smile. “Maybe some lemonade. It’s going to be hot outside today. And sit down. I’m getting a crick in my neck.”

  They seated themselves, and he ordered lemonade. David chose iced tea. The server nodded and disappeared.

  Monica smoothed her short, salon styled, white hair away from her temple. “What can I do for you? I’m sure this isn’t a social call.”

  David’s gaze seemed fixed on the attractive server, and Greg was thankful he was too distracted to make a smart-aleck remark. “I came regarding the last time you saw Esther,” Greg said. “I understand she played golf with you the day she died.”

  Tears filled Monica’s light green eyes, and she looked away.

  Edward patted her hand and answered for her. “Yes, we were here at the club.”

  “The three of you? Was there a fourth?”

  The tears spilled over, and Monica bent for a tissue to dry them. “Luther golfed with us. We played nine holes because Jonathan had a tennis match right after, and we wanted to watch.” She sighed. “I wish we’d gone longer, maybe then she wouldn’t have interrupted the burglary.” A fresh set of tears threatened. She dabbed at them, careful not to smear her makeup.

  “By the way, is Maggie OK?” Edward asked. “It must have been horrible, finding her aunt.”

  Greg hesitated. Was she OK? She’d been acting different lately, but that was understandable. Aloud he said, “It was hard on her, but she’s doing pretty well. I know she would like to put it all behind her.”

  The perky brunette server placed their drinks on the table and bounced back to the kitchen.

  David’s gaze continued to pursue her.

  Monica reached for a fruity drink. “Poor dear. I can imagine what she’s going through. Are you investigating? Was it tied in with the burglaries we’ve been having?”

  The server stepped out of sight, and David’s attention returned. “Burglary is one assumption,” he said. “But we have to cover our bases. For example, do you know anyone who might have wanted to kill her?”

  “No, of course not. You knew her, Greg. She was the kindest woman alive. Too kind, sometimes.”

  He noted the change from Detective to Greg. Was she trying to remind him she was older and more respected? Or maybe establish a rapport? It could be just a slip of the tongue—she’d known him from boyhood, after all. “What do you mean by too kind?”

  Monica glanced down and wiggled the manicured fingers on her left hand to straighten the huge rock of a wedding ring given to her by her late husband. “If you don’t show some people a firm hand, they’ll take advantage of you.”

  David tensed and opened his mouth.

  Greg glared at him.

  David closed it, sliding a notebook from his pocket.

  “Someone was taking advantage of Esther?” Greg asked.

  Monica looked up. “Not necessarily, but her maid was awfully forward. I came over one day to drop off fundraiser material for the hospital, and the woman was eating with her in the dining room. In fact, Esther served her tea and cookies!”

  What a sin. “Do you think Maria had something to do with her death?”

  Monica frowned. “I’m just saying unscrupulous people might have taken advantage of her good nature, and when she stood up to them, it might have been too late.”

  David kept his head down and wrote something in his notebook. It probably wasn’t complimentary.

  Greg leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles, hoping to relax Monica enough to gossip. “So she stood up to someone, and they killed her?”

  “Have you seen some of the people she called friends? Her gardener, for instance. He was a criminal or something. You might want to start there. If she caught him stealing, he might have killed her to keep from going to jail again.”

 
David gripped the pen so hard his fingers paled, but to his credit, he kept silent.

  Greg spoke into the gap, “Do you have any reason to think he did something to land him back in jail?”

  She sipped her tea. “Don’t they always? Once a criminal, always a criminal, is what I say.”

  “So much for second chances,” David mumbled.

  Greg ignored him. “Is there anyone else we should investigate besides the maid and the gardener?”

  Monica fiddled with her diamond watch, twisting it so the clasp lay centered on the inside of her wrist. “No, but I’m sure other unsavory people ingratiated themselves into her life. I tried to warn her concerning the people she associated with, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  He drank his lemonade, trying to formulate more questions. He didn’t dare ask if David had any for fear his responses would be less than polite.

  Monica placed her fork in the middle of her plate and pushed it aside. “Now let’s talk about you, Greg. I’ve known you since you were a boy, so I’m dispensing with the formality of Detective.”

  Wonder what she would say if he dispensed with the formalities and called her Monica? Never mind. He knew what she’d say, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.

  “Why don’t you come back and play some golf?” she continued. “You can be my guest. We could use some young blood in this stuffy old place, and I’m sure Jonathan could use the competition.”

  Greg stood, and David sprang out of his seat. Greg tried to ignore his eagerness to leave. “I wouldn’t be much competition, I’m afraid. I haven’t played much since Dad passed away.”

  Edward rose with them.

  Monica remained seated. “Yes, but it’s like riding a bike,” she said. “You never forget. And bring your pretty fiancée. You know I’ve always liked her.” Her eyes misted again. She blinked the haze away and cleared her throat. “I’ll miss playing golf and tennis with Esther. She was my favorite partner.” She looked frail, swallowed up by the large chair.

  He found himself wanting to offer comfort, but he couldn’t. The wall she lived behind was too thick to cross. He started to leave, David already halfway down the hall, when he thought of another question. “Mrs. Tate, how was Esther’s state of mind when you saw her? Did she seem upset?”

  A faraway look softened Monica’s eyes. “You know, she did seem flustered when she arrived, and she didn’t score as well as usual. She didn’t say anything though, so I didn’t want to pry.”

  He glanced at Edward. “Did you notice anything? Did she say why she was flustered? Was she late?”

  Edward drummed his fingers on the table. “No, I didn’t notice anything wrong, but I’m not as observant as Monica.” He settled back into his seat.

  “If you think of a reason she may have been worried or upset, would you call me?”

  Monica smiled, good manners trumping emotion. “Yes, of course. And, Greg, come play some golf here. I promise you’ll love it.”

  Greg caught up to David already sitting in the truck, with the window down. “In a hurry, are we?”

  “This place gives me gas.” David clicked his seatbelt in place. “So are you going to sign up?”

  Greg laughed, navigated out of the country club, and hooked a right onto the street. “Not likely.”

  “I wouldn’t be so hasty if I were you. I’ve heard the golf course here is spectacular, and there are tennis courts and a huge pool.”

  “So, what are you, the travel brochure?” He made the next left and set off for the station. His friends would never be welcome here, even if they could afford it, which they probably couldn’t. “And who would I play, Monica? Or worse, Jonathan? No, thanks.”

  “I can’t see you playing with that weasel Jonathan, but you never know, your fiancée may want to join up. Don’t you want to put on your monkey suit and take your best girl to the club for dinner?”

  “Nah.”

  “At least, you were asked. You didn’t see her inviting me to join. In fact, she didn’t talk to me at all.”

  Greg shrugged. The only reason he was invited was the money. If he hadn’t inherited it, Monica Tate wouldn’t be calling him Greg like he was a relative, or offering a membership into her exclusive club. “Speaking of my fiancée, I have to pick her up for the funeral. Are you going?”

  “Yes, of course. You know, it’s amazing Esther got along with the country club set.”

  “I know. She was nothing like them. Maggie says her Uncle Ron had the membership before they got married. Then Esther took up tennis after he died to keep busy. She seemed to enjoy it though, and from what he’d heard, she was pretty good.” Would Maggie want to keep the membership? He doubted it. Although she could afford to—married to him or not.

  “Back to the interview. What impressions did you get?”

  “Besides the obvious?” David sneered. “Monica Tate is just as snooty as I remembered. The only people who could have murdered Esther are those beneath her station.”

  Greg nodded. “What I don’t understand is how she keeps her staff happy enough to stay with her. It’s obvious what she thinks of them.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “She must pay well. Anyway, you questioned Maria and Joe already, right?”

  “Yeah. They come in once a week, and since neither was scheduled to work there the day she died, they didn’t see anything. Their other clients verified they were working at the time of the murder.”

  Greg pulled into the station lot. “The timing would make sense if the thieves knew everyone would be gone, but if they were watching the house, wouldn’t they have seen Allie?”

  David slammed the door and spoke through the open window. “Unless Allie was in on it.”

  5

  As Maggie waited with Greg and Allie in the room off the sanctuary, a hum from the packed church drifted toward her.

  Mom insisted on staying with the family, even though she wasn’t related to Esther. Her shining brown hair swung as she tossed her head, glaring at Dad, as usual.

  Maggie peeked around the door again. All the pews were full, including what she could see of the balcony. The entire town had gathered to pay their respects. She imagined her funeral, when it came, would be very different—a few people in an otherwise empty church.

  The pastor interrupted her musings by ushering them into the sanctuary. Dad led the procession into the first row. Maggie urged Greg forward, and she filed in between him and her mother. Allie was next, and George, Allie’s dad, sat on the end. He leaned in and gave Maggie a warm smile.

  The church quieted when the pastor stepped to the podium. “We’re here to celebrate the life of a woman who knew the meaning of the word service,” he said. “Esther gave to others every day, not considering the cost. We’re here to honor a life well lived.”

  He detailed her aunt’s many works of charity, addressing big things like teaching in Africa, and many smaller tasks even Maggie didn’t know.

  A doctor from the hospital spoke of her generous donations and how she read to the children every week. He choked up when he described how the kids looked forward to her visits.

  Familiar faces and new friends attempted to share what Esther meant to them, and pride and shame battled in Maggie’s heart. How could she have been so close to someone so good and not have any of it rub off? Her life had been lived in selfishness, despite her aunt’s example.

  She cringed as she remembered Esther asking her to go to Africa. A teenager then, she’d been horrified by the thought. Esther smiled. “I thought it would be good for you to see how much you have to be thankful for,” she’d said.

  Maggie had countered with something rude, and Esther never mentioned it again. Now Maggie wished she’d shared that important part of Esther’s life. She sat in the pew, miserable, as each person got up to speak. Then her turn came.

  Her throat was dry. She couldn’t do this. Why did she agree to it anyway? Gripping her notes in one hand, she clenched the other into a fist as she wobbled on shaky legs up the podium st
eps. Panic stirred in her chest, and her breath came in short gasps. She prayed for courage as she smoothed out the pages.

  “I began reading my aunt’s diaries in order to feel her with me again,” she said. “And while it did, they allowed me to know her in a more personal way.” Maggie surveyed the audience and nearly froze when she locked gazes with her mother. She moved on, meeting Robin’s eyes instead.

  “Esther called the children at the African school her little ones. Never having had children, she loved them all as if they were her own.” Sniffles from the congregation accompanied, and she choked up for a second but struggled on, her voice trembling. “The pastor said she lived her life well, but what does it mean?”

  She focused her gaze on Greg and spoke only to him, as though no one else was in the room. Her voice smoothed out. “To me, she was a second mother. She stepped up when my father left, and she took me in when I needed a home. She gave of herself, consistently, over a lifetime. I loved her deeply, and I’ll strive to follow the excellent example she set.”

  Ignoring the guilt on her father’s face and the rage on her mother’s, she reminded everyone of the reception at Esther’s house then left the podium. Silence chased her back to her seat before everyone took a collective breath.

  The notes of “How Great Thou Art” filled the room, and the pastor dismissed them.

  Standing in the foyer shaking hands and hearing condolences, she tried to ignore the cold anger emanating from her mother. Ruth, Carla, and Ginger, three of Esther’s closest friends appeared next in line, and Maggie reached out to shake their hands. “I’m so happy you could make it. I know how much my aunt cared about you.”

  Ruth’s nose was red and her eyes puffy. Her breath caught as she tried to answer. She swallowed and tried again. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” she said. “We had lunch last week. How can this be happening?” She broke down, and Maggie put her arms around her, patting her back. Ruth lifted her head, and the other two led her off.