“But the Bowers,” Kathleen said. “They just got Missy—no, she wasn’t at home, was she?”
“No, she was upstairs in our bedroom,” Susan said. “Seems Gloria and Harvey got nervous about being so far away from their baby at the last minute, and so they brought her along. I think they may be carrying this perfect parent bit a little far. I overheard Gloria talking about the possibility of the welfare department making spot checks of their home, but I can’t believe that would happen on a weekend evening. Anyway, they had called Jed and he agreed it was fine to bring Missy along. I’m not so sure. Our bedroom smells like baby puke. You know, though, if this was an organized group, how would they know that the Bowers weren’t going to be home, since they decided to bring along the baby at the last minute?”
“I don’t have enough information to tell you anything,” Kathleen said, truthfully enough, beginning to regret her amateur status in the case. She certainly would have liked to know more. “I think Jed can tell us something about this. If the burglaries were organized to coincide with the party, as it looks like they were, then they were organized by someone with access to the guest list. And Jed would know who those people were.”
“Well, there he is,” Susan said, pointing to the man standing on the side of the road, where a tow truck was raising their Mercedes into the air. Her children stood nearby also. “I was planning to talk to him about Dawn, but …”
“Good idea, do that right away. In fact, why don’t I take the kids out to the diner and you and he can have some time together alone? Susan,” she added, as the car stopped, “the murder is more important than the burglaries.”
“And my marriage is more important than both.”
Kathleen didn’t think this was the time to remind her that she wouldn’t have much of a marriage if she or Jed were convicted of murder.
“Thank goodness, you’re here. They’re almost done, as you can see.” He nodded to the men. “And the kids were getting bored and hungry. We never made it to the diner.”
“We were just talking about that,” Susan said. “Kathleen offered to drop us off at home and then take the kids out to lunch. You and I can eat some of the leftovers from the party.”
“I want some of the cake,” Chad chirped up from the backseat.
“We’ll come back for dessert,” Kathleen assured him.
“Okay. This wouldn’t have happened to a Lamborghini Countach,” he said to his father.
“It shouldn’t have happened to my Mercedes,” was his father’s answer. Jed was looking at his wife curiously. He knew that Kathleen’s offer was made for a reason.
“Speaking of cars, since the police impounded the Volvo and I’m driving the Datsun around, is it still insured?” Susan asked.
“Yes, I hadn’t changed the policy yet. I wonder why the police needed the Volvo. Does this mean they found something in it that might convict someone of the murder?” he asked Kathleen.
“Who?” Susan was surprised to hear her daughter ask.
“Well, we don’t know yet, do we?” Susan replied.
Chrissy leaned forward from the backseat. “Won’t they think it’s someone in our family?”
“Chrissy, what a horrible thing to say. Why would anybody in our family want to kill Dawn Elliot?” Jed said.
The Datsun, which had seen better days, rattled and puffed as it traveled down the road, otherwise everyone would have heard the classic pin drop after that question. Kathleen, sitting in the backseat between Chad and Chrissy, wondered if everyone needed to pay quite so much attention to the road ahead.
“We …” Jed began to say something to his daughter and then quit. “What’s the police car doing at our house?” he began again.
“They probably want to ask more about the burglaries,” Susan said. “Oh, Jed, we didn’t have time to tell you. There were burglaries last night during my party.”
“What?”
“I’m sure they’ll explain.”
Kathleen turned to the kids. “You two pile into my car and I’ll tell you all about it on the way to the diner. It will be easier for your parents to handle this alone.”
Jed and Susan walked up to the policemen waiting by their front door. So much for the serious discussion they were going to have, Susan thought to herself. Were they ever going to be alone together? Not that she wasn’t relieved by this delay in their conversation.
Jed spoke first. “Can we help you?”
“We’d like to ask you and your wife some questions. I’m Officer Mitchell and this is Detective Sardini from the State Police. May we come in?” the younger of the two asked. He was an overweight, anxious-looking man.
“Of course.” Jed hurried forward to unlock the door. Susan was surprised to see that her normally in-control husband was nervous.
They entered to the shrill scream of their burglar alarm.
“Damn!”
“Don’t worry, Mitchell will call in,” offered Detective Sardini, spying the phone near the stairs.
“Thanks. We haven’t done that since the first week we had this thing installed,” Jed explained.
“Happens all the time,” Officer Mitchell assured them, dialing the phone and looking less amiable than his words.
“Could we sit down someplace?” suggested Detective Sardini, a tall, tired-looking man in his late forties.
“Of course,” Susan leapt into her hostess role. “Let’s go into the living room. Would you like some coffee or tea or something to eat?” she offered, thinking of the cartons in the kitchen.
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, well, let’s sit down then.”
“That’s taken care of.” Officer Mitchell followed them into the room.
Susan repeated her offer of refreshment to him.
“Nothing,” was the reply. Susan got the impression that he thought anything she offered him might be laced with poison.
“Are you ready to sit down and answer our questions now?” Officer Mitchell asked, leaning against the mantel and looking down at Susan and Jed.
“My wife was merely trying to be a good hostess,” Jed objected.
“This isn’t a social call,” was Mitchell’s response. He took a leather-covered notebook out of his jacket pocket and opened it to a page covered with writing. At the same time, Detective Sardini removed a small tape recorder from the bag he was carrying and, turning it to record, placed it carefully on the walnut burl coffee table in front of the couple.
“Don’t we have the right to have a lawyer present if we’re to be questioned?” Jed asked. And Susan could hear the anger in his voice.
“We’re collecting information. Not accusing you or your wife of anything,” came the irritating reply. “Not yet. However, if you feel that you need a law …”
“No, no, no. Let’s just get on with it,” Jed insisted.
“When did you begin to plan the party for your wife’s birthday, Mr. Henshaw?” Mitchell asked.
“Well, I started thinking about it a few months ago—right after New Year’s, I guess.”
“When did it become public knowledge? When did other people know about it—the caterers, florist, the guests?”
“Well, the first person I. talked to about it was Kathleen Gordon. She’s one of our best friends and …”
“And when was that?”
“Actually, at a New Year’s Eve party at a neighbor’s house. It was after midnight and we were together in the kitchen and I told her that I had been thinking about a surprise party for Susan and asked her if she thought that Susan would like one.”
“And?”
“And she said she thought it was a good idea. Kathleen was a big help in all of this. I had never given a formal party before and didn’t know about things like how early you have to get hold of the caterers and things like that.”
“So this Mrs. Gordon helped you from the beginning. Was she aware of the guest list?”
“Yes, we talked about how large a party to have and whom to invit
e. She was a big help.”
“Did she know about the Volvo?”
“Know what?”
“Did she know that you were giving your wife the Volvo?”
“Yes, she did. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you should know that Kathleen was a police officer—a state detective like Detective Sardini before she retired from her job and came to live here,” Jed said.
“You’re right, Mr. Henshaw. You don’t know what I’m thinking,” was the distinctly unpleasant reply.
Susan saw her husband grimace and started to speak. “I …”
“I’ll get to you in a moment, Mrs. Henshaw. If you’ll just be patient.”
Susan took a deep breath and ground her own molars together.
“So when did you contact everyone, Mr. Henshaw? The caterers, and the florists, and the guests?”
“I called the caterers and the florists and also the liquor store the first week of January. Kathleen was sure that they should be contracted with immediately since we really wanted the party to be on my wife’s birthday, and didn’t feel free to change the date according to the availability of services. In fact, the florist we called originally was booked for a party on Friday night and two weddings Saturday and couldn’t take the job. I was surprised how far ahead people make plans.”
“And your guests?”
“My guests?”
“When did you send out invitations to your guests?”
“About a month ago.”
“They were handwritten?”
“No, we had the print shop in town make them up, but they were hand-addressed.”
“You addressed them?”
“No, I was afraid Susan would run into them if they were in the house. Kathleen volunteered to address them at her house. And,” he added, “the responses went to her home also.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said the policeman, rudely, Susan thought. “Who else knew about the party?”
“Anyone that any of the guests told about it. Or anyone that the caterers or the florists or anyone else who knew about it told,” Jed answered, a bit impatient.
Officer Mitchell looked up from his writing to check the location of the recorder before he continued. “How well did you know the deceased?”
“Dawn Elliot?”
“Do you know anyone else I might be asking about, Mr. Henshaw?”
Susan watched Jed’s jaw tighten and, imperceptibly, moved a bit toward him before he spoke. “She lived in Hancock and we saw her and her husband socially for a number of years. They lived just around the block, in fact. And, of course, we belonged to the same club—most everyone in town does—and Richard, her husband, and I played together on a mixed doubles team one summer. They were already living in Hancock when we moved in. And they moved out around three years ago in the spring, as a matter of fact.”
“Where to?”
Jed seemed surprised at the question. “I don’t know.”
“They moved to LA—Los Angeles,” Susan interrupted.
“They’ve been living in LA ever since leaving here?” Sardini asked, in a voice kinder than that of his inferior.
“Well, that’s where the Club has been sending their Christmas card for the last three years,” Susan answered. “I know, because I was Club secretary one of those years and I’ve helped address cards other years. I think some people in town have been out to the coast and seen them, too. But they kept their house here in town—for visits, I guess.”
“Have you been out to California in the past three years?” Mitchell returned to asking Jed his questions. “To the Los Angeles area?”
“Yes. Probably half a dozen times or more,” Jed answered. “My agency does a lot of business of one sort or another on the coast, and I go out a few times a year. But I haven’t seen Dawn Elliot or her husband.”
“Is this the first time that they’ve been in Hancock since they moved? That you know of?” Or are willing to admit was the unasked question.
“I’d heard they had been in town. I just hadn’t seen them.”
“What did you think of Dawn Elliot, Mr. Henshaw?”
“Think of her?”
“Did you think that she was a nice person? That she was attractive? That she was …”
“Kind to children and small animals?” Jed interrupted a little sarcastically.
“If you like.”
The smile on that man’s face was definitely the nastiest she had ever seen, Susan decided.
“If you’re asking me if I heard the rumors that she fooled around with men …”
“Married men?”
“Okay, married men, if you will. Then, yes, I heard about that. Everyone in town has heard about that. But I didn’t think anything about it. This is a small town, Officer, and while everyone in it may not be as nice as can be, we all get along with one another.”
“I don’t want an argument, Mr. Henshaw, but I think we can assume that someone in town didn’t get along with Dawn Elliot—and, in fact, killed her.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“I’m very happily married, Detective Sardini. I didn’t sleep with her.”
Jed looked at his wife, but Susan didn’t notice. She was staring anxiously at the policeman. Did he believe Jed? Why didn’t the detective say anything? Mitchell turned from husband to wife abruptly.
“Do you believe your husband, Mrs. Henshaw?”
“Do I what?” She couldn’t believe what he had asked.
“Do you believe that your husband didn’t have an affair with Dawn Elliot?” he asked impatiently.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that!” She spoke her feelings out loud, but she knew she had no choice about her answer.
“You’re not answering me though, are you?”
That nasty smile. She’d like to kick him in the … “Of course I believe my husband, Detective. And you should too!”
“I’m investigating a murder, Mrs. Henshaw. I don’t have the luxury of believing or not believing anyone. I have to find the truth.”
“My husband is telling you the truth!” Susan stood up and shouted at the man. But he wasn’t, was he? Jed was lying to the police. She put her hand over her eyes and sat down. What was going on?
“Susan? Do you feel all right?” Jed put his arms around her.
Susan didn’t answer, but glared at the detective.
“Very dramatic, Mrs. Henshaw. I’ll change the subject, since this one upsets you so much. Did you know you were going to get a surprise party from your husband?”
“Yes.” Susan was furious, but knew she had to answer his questions.
“How did you find out?”
“Kathleen and I were having lunch together one day and she let the information slip.”
“Did you know you were going to get a Volvo from him?”
“I had no idea that he was going to give me a car at all—any car.”
“Well, I guess that’s all,” was the detective’s surprising next comment.
“You don’t want to ask us anything else?” Susan asked, trying to keep the relief out of her voice.
“No, but we’ll be back. I would like to see the garage, though, if you don’t mind.”
“The car isn’t there …”
“No, that reminds me of two more questions,” Detective Sardini said, putting the recorder he had just picked up back down. “How did the car get from the dealer’s to your house, Mr. Henshaw?”
“I drove it. I picked it up the night before the party—Thursday night—and I put it in the garage of our next-door neighbor, Dr. Hallard. Then, early the morning of the party, I brought it over here and put it in the garage. I put a blue tarpaulin and a big bow on it later in the evening, while Susan was showering.”
“And at any time when you picked it up, or put it in your neighbor’s garage, or when you brought it over here and decorated it, at any time, did you look in the trunk?”
“The trunk? No, I n
ever looked in the trunk. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it would be nice to know how long the body was in the car, Mr. Henshaw,” said Officer Mitchell. “That’s all.”
III
“I sure would like to get into the files they’re keeping on this case,” Kathleen said wistfully, putting the paint roller back in the tray. She and her husband were taking advantage of a free Saturday afternoon to paint the guest room of their new home.
“You regret leaving the department,” Jerry said to his wife, his voice slightly sad.
“Never! I couldn’t have stayed a detective and married you. And I think the security business is interesting,” was the reply.
“Interesting?” He made his voice as noncommittal as he could: He’d seen how bored his bride was becoming and he’d worried about it. But it was up to her to come to her own conclusions. And to make her own decisions.
“A detective’s life is difficult to blend with a family life and I worked in a different city. We wouldn’t even have been able to live together!” Kathleen protested.
“I don’t want you to give up what means the most to you,” he reminded her, bending over to mop up some paint that had fallen on the oak parquet floor.
“I’m not! I didn’t,” she protested. “It’s just that I want to help Susan and I don’t have enough information.”
“Can you call any old friends in Hartford?”
“Yes. I think I will. Or am I getting too involved?”
“From what you’ve been saying, it sounds like Susan and Jed are going to need all the help they can get.”
“I wish you would talk to Jed and find out if he understands how serious this is. Susan’s so involved in saving her marriage that she doesn’t seem to think that being arrested for murder is possible.”
“I still can’t believe that Jed had an affair with Dawn.”
“I thought everyone slept with Dawn,” Kathleen said, hoping she wasn’t going to hear what she didn’t want to hear.
“Not really,” was the mild reply. Jerry looked up at the wall they were working on. “Do you think this will smooth out? It’s pretty streaked.”
The Fortieth Birthday Body Page 7
