“But no one’s here,” Susan protested, feeling like an idiot when she realized what must have happened. “No one showed up.”
“Bingo.”
Susan sighed. “Well, let’s get going,” she said.
“Come on in. I had everything spread out in the dining room. I was expecting a crowd, after all,” Theresa added ruefully.
Susan glanced from side to side as she was led through the large square entryway. The inside of the house was messier than the exterior. Towers of newspapers were toppling onto the floor and the stairs leading to the second floor were cluttered with things ready to be carried up, including a half-dozen library books and more than a few piles of laundry, folded and unfolded. Theresa didn’t apologize for the mess. Susan wondered if this was because she was so accustomed to her house looking like this.
It was a long afternoon. Susan and Theresa worked without a break. Susan would have been happy to chat, but Theresa had gently explained that she couldn’t work and talk at the same time, so instead of launching a monologue, Susan shut up and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. At the end of two hours, her hand was cramped, her back ached, and she could feel a headache gathering behind her eyeballs. “I have to get home and start dinner for my son. I think I’ll take the rest of these with me and finish them tonight.” It wasn’t actually true. Chad was going to be at a soccer game until heaven knew when and then he’d probably stop and get a pizza, but why have children if you can’t use them for an excuse—twice in one afternoon?
“Fine.” It was the first word Theresa had said in over an hour.
“Would you mind if I used the bathroom before I left?”
“The one on this floor isn’t working properly—the tank leaks. Try the one at the top of the stairs. First door on your left.”
Susan maneuvered around the messy piles and mounted the stairs. The door to the bathroom was ajar, revealing that the neglect extended into the personal areas of the house. Inadequate shelving was jammed with bottles and jars, some uncapped, some looking as though they had been around years beyond their shelf life. Susan shut the door firmly behind her, realizing the latch was broken. The place was so dirty that normally she would have hurried to finish, but a stack of books on the floor attracted her attention.
She left the room fifteen minutes later and confronted Theresa, standing outside the door with a worried expression on her face.
“You were in there a long time. I … wondered if you were feeling well … if you needed something,” Theresa explained.
“Just a little indigestion,” Susan lied. “Probably something I ate yesterday.”
“Some of the food at the cottage party was very rich,” Theresa agreed. Susan got the impression that her hostess was trying to peer over her shoulder into the room.
“Yes. Kathleen probably should have hired a different caterer,” Susan agreed, wondering if she was going to end up blaming everyone she knew for something they had or hadn’t done before election day came around. Since she was anxious to get home, she refused Theresa’s surprising offer of refreshments, grabbed her coat and bag of envelopes, and headed for the door.
“I’ll mail these when I finish,” she added, smiling a little insincerely. The expression remained on her face until she had left the driveway and was sure Theresa could see only the back of her head. Then it was replaced by one of puzzlement. Why, for heaven’s sake, was there a large pile of books on poison on the floor next to the toilet in the Martels’ bathroom?
FIVE
Susan knew it was frivolous of her, but she forgot all about the unusual reading material in the Martels’ bathroom while worrying about what to wear to the announcement Ivan Deakin was scheduled to make the evening of the next day. She was so frazzled about her decision that she had called Kathleen while she was cooking dinner.
The announcement was to take place at the Hancock Women’s Club clubhouse, a large Tudor building a few blocks from the municipal offices downtown. While not a member, Susan had been there many times, as it was a popular spot to hold receptions. Since the kind of reception dictated the attire and this event was unique in her experience, Susan was in a quandary about what to wear.
“But everyone is going to be there to see Ivan Deakin,” Kathleen told her.
“I know, but I want to present the right image—to help Jed. If it were up to me I wouldn’t go, but Jed insisted. Not only did every single one of the candidates in both parties receive a personal invitation to attend, but we both got separate notes from Ivan.” She peered into the pot of chili that she was stirring. Maybe a bit more chili powder … ?
“So what are you so concerned about?”
“Feeling like a fool. I don’t mind going. I just wish I could sit with Jed.” She reached for the chili powder on a nearby countertop.
“Why can’t you?”
“Jed is going to be there with Tony Martel—in hiding.”
“Where, for heaven’s sake? Behind the curtains?”
“No. Upstairs.” Susan chuckled as she added the spice. “You’ve been to the Women’s Club, haven’t you?”
“That’s where the Guttmans held their fiftieth anniversary party, wasn’t it?”
“Right. Did you happen to notice the large glassed-in balconies on either side of the reception room?”
“Is that the room with the fireplace or the one with the stage?”
“The one with the fireplace.”
“I don’t think so.”
“There’s an outside entrance and he and the other candidates are going to enter that way and listen together.”
“Isn’t that sort of strange?”
“Very. But no one asked my opinion. The official line is that this is Ivan Deakin’s night and their presence would be a distraction.” Susan’s voice was muffled as she had just burned her tongue on a steaming kidney bean. “They were scheduled to meet with a group from the Board of Education. But that was canceled right after Ivan announced this date. I think Jed was a little upset until Ivan Deakin suggested they could respond to his speech on TV—”
“Susan! Jed is going to be on TV! Will you be at his side? No wonder you’re so worried about what to wear.”
“It’s going to be on Channel 46.”
Kathleen paused before answering. “I don’t think we get that on our TV.…”
“You do. Everyone does. It’s a public-access channel. The cable companies are required to carry it. But no one watches. So should I wear the Anne Klein outfit or—”
“Yes. The Anne Klein. Susan, I have to run. One of the kids is crying.” Kathleen hung up without waiting for an answer.
Susan, knowing that most tears at five o’clock in the afternoon were the result of hunger and fatigue rather than injury, tossed a little more chili powder in the pot, turned down the heat on her stove, and headed upstairs to search through her closet.
Chad was going to be home late, due to an out-of-town soccer game. Jed, busy at work, was going to go straight to the Women’s Club. So she had a lot of time to spare. After all, how long could it take to pick out clothing?
Over an hour and about a thousand calories later, she was sitting in the kitchen dressed in the outfit she had discussed with Kathleen. She didn’t have to leave for a few minutes, so she grabbed the Mint Milano bag (being a firm believer in finishing what she had started) and went to Jed’s study to watch the network news. She was, she realized, flopping down on the couch and picking up the remote, becoming very narrow. There was a presidential election taking place and here she was merely concerned about what was happening in her neighborhood. She flicked through the channels, briefly considering the women who were campaigning to be first lady. After these last few months, she felt only empathy for them.
Fifteen minutes in front of the television convinced her that she was hopelessly behind in current events. However, she reminded herself on the way to the Women’s Club, it was unlikely that anyone would mention anything other than the Landmark Commission to her until after
the election.
As Jed had predicted, the event was extremely popular. The parking lot was full and she had to circle a couple of blocks to find a space on the street. The evening was becoming chilly and Susan pulled her jacket closer to her neck as she joined the crowd hurrying toward the building. She recognized many of her friends and neighbors, and a few of them, spying her, made jokes about her interest in Ivan Deakin’s speech. She smiled, waved, and hurried on. She wanted to be sure to get a seat in the back of the room so she could leave as soon as the speech ended.
As she was walking through the door, she realized she was going to be lucky to get any seat at all. After a small foyer, one entered a large meeting room dominated by a gigantic stone fireplace on the far wall. A podium stood before the fireplace, facing hundreds of tiny gold chairs that had been set up in rows, filling the room. Susan spied an empty seat and she hurried toward it.
The women on either side of her smiled politely and then ignored her. Susan pulled her coat off, draped it over the back of her chair, and looked around. The room was mobbed. She frowned, realizing that these people were here hoping Ivan Deakin was offering a sane solution to the Landmark Commission muddle—something that would make everyone on every side of the issue happy. If he did so, both Anthony Martel and Bradley Chadwick would lose. On the other hand, if Jed lost maybe they could go on a second honeymoon in Bermuda for a week or so. It was a nice idea and she was so involved in thoughts of rum punch and moonlight walks on the beach that she didn’t at first realize Ivan Deakin had appeared at the podium.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen …”
An earsplitting screech filled the air, causing many in the audience to cover their ears. Ivan stepped back from the podium as though denying any responsibility for the sound. Three women, who Susan assumed were the club members in charge of the evening, dashed to the podium, waving their arms and calling to someone high above their heads. Susan wondered if the public-address system was in the balcony with her husband. She swiveled around and peered upward but couldn’t see anyone.
As she had explained to Kathleen, the room was flanked on either side by room-size balconies. Underneath the balcony on the right were two rest rooms and a large kitchen. The balcony on the left hung over open space, presently filled with spectators. Susan had been told that balcony was the caretaker’s studio apartment. At the back of the room, over the foyer was a glassed-in passage between the two spaces. (Both balconies were glass above waist level.) The caretaker had his curtains pulled. The other side, although lit, was darker than the main room and she could barely make out a few shadowy shapes up there. But the sound system appeared to be fixed and Ivan Deakin was beginning his speech again.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen …”
This time the loud noise was accompanied by a brilliant flash and Ivan Deakin disappeared behind the podium, crouching on the floor. The thought occurred to Susan that he had been killed, but if so, his resurrection was immediate. Leaping to his feet, Ivan grabbed the microphone and began all over again.
Only differently. “Ladies and gentlemen. They are trying to stop me from giving my speech. But they won’t. I am going to explain to you exactly what I think should be done about the Landmark Commission and why you should vote for me.”
And then the lights went out. Two or three people screamed, but almost immediately the room was reilluminated. Taking a deep breath, Ivan Deakin started again. “La—”
“I’m sorry.” A very large woman in a mannish-looking navy suit commandeered the podium. “The Women’s Club has been informed by officials in the fire department that the room must be cleared. This is an unsafe situation. We apologize to Mr. Deakin for the electrical problems that make it necessary to call off this event. I’d like to ask everyone to move to the center aisle and leave the building immediately. Thank you.”
A wave of disappointment swept through the room, but it was a tribute to the woman’s personality that the room was cleared in moments. Susan, wanting to find her husband, hung behind, hoping he would appear, but when no such thing happened, she glanced up at the podium and started after the crowd. She had been wondering about the electrical problems until she saw the look on Ivan Deakin’s face. Then she began to wonder why a man who had just had his big moment interrupted by technical problems would be smiling happily.
“Sue! Susan!” She recognized her husband’s voice as soon as she left the building.
“Jed?” She peered into the crowd milling around on the sidewalk and the leaf-covered lawn.
“Over here!”
Susan ran toward the voice, tripped over a tree root, and almost fell into her husband’s arms.
“Hey, hon. Are you okay?” He propped her up.
“Yes, I’m—”
“What did you think about that mess just now?” he asked before she could assure him of her health. “I don’t think it’s going to help Ivan get elected.” Susan could see his frown in the lights from the building. “I just wish we knew who he was going to be pulling votes from.”
“Maybe no one,” she suggested, annoyed. Jed wasn’t usually this self-centered. In her humble opinion, this election wasn’t good for him. And what did that mean if he actually won? she asked herself.
But the Martels had joined them. “Jed, we have to get to the back of the building,” Anthony announced. “The TV crew is still set up and they want to talk with opposition candidates right away! It’s a wonderful opportunity. Have you seen—oh, there he is!” And Anthony was off.
“I’d better get going,” Jed muttered, following him without waiting for his wife’s response. She smiled, noticing that he was rubbing his chin to see if he needed a shave.
“Guess there’s no reason for us to hang around anymore.” Susan turned and discovered that Theresa Martel had joined her. “I can give you a ride home if you and Jed came together,” Theresa offered.
“Jed came here straight from the city. I have my own car, but maybe we could go someplace for a cup of coffee?” Susan suggested, trying to be friendly.
“I don’t have time for things like that. But thank you.” Apparently Theresa was completely disinterested in small talk. “I suppose we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
“Probably,” Susan admitted as Theresa turned and walked away.
Jerry Gordon appeared at her side. “Hi! Where’s your husband? I was going to see if he needed a ride home, but if you’re here, then—”
“The Mercedes is here, too,” Susan said. “But thanks. Did Kathleen come with you?”
“No. She said you told her the speech was going to be on TV, so she decided to stay home and watch—if the kids leave her alone. Otherwise she’ll tape it.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that. I hope she keeps the tape running even though Ivan’s speech was canceled. Jed just took off to be interviewed. Originally the candidates were going to respond to the speech. I guess now they’re just going to have a chance to repeat their campaign promises.”
“Maybe I can catch him if I rush home,” Jerry said, buttoning his top coat.
“Good idea. Tell Kath I’ll call her in the morning and she can give me a complete report on the interview,” Susan said. She watched Jerry’s departing back and sighed. Most of the crowd had departed, leaving only a few groups standing around chatting. She wondered if Jed would mind if she left, too. He hadn’t said anything about wanting her to hang around. She looked down at her outfit. What a waste of time it had been to worry about what to wear. She didn’t want to leave without letting Jed know, so she headed toward the rear of the building to look for him.
But the entire Hancock Police Department fleet was pulling up to the curb, lights flashing and sirens screaming. The hospital had contributed an ambulance and an emergency response van to the bedlam. Uniformed men and women jumped from their vehicles and ran up to the front door of the clubhouse. Susan assumed they had been called earlier by the fire department and no one had headed them off when the speec
h was canceled. She noticed Brett Fortesque, the town’s police chief and her friend, and jogged toward him.
“Brett! Everyone is gone. The Women’s Club canceled the event.”
“Susan Henshaw. I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here. I don’t suppose you’ve already figured out what happened to Ivan Deakin, have you?”
“Ivan Deakin? He’s fine.”
“Not unless you think being murdered is fine.”
SIX
Ivan Deakin had been poisoned. It was as obvious to Susan now as it had been to the women standing nearby when he picked up his water glass, took a large gulp, and then, gagging and choking, dropped to the floor. He was dead within minutes. Susan, who had followed Brett back into the Women’s Club, took one look at Ivan’s scarlet face and frothy mouth and moved away.
The rows of gilt chairs were in disarray due to the audience’s hasty exodus. Susan found one at the back of the room and sat down to await Jed. She knew he would see all the cars with flashing lights and come inside to investigate.
The body was still on the floor behind the podium, a few rescue workers gathered around it. Brett, she noticed, had moved over to one side of the room and was dialing his cellular phone, a grim expression on his face. Susan watched for a few moments before her attention was drawn to noises coming from outside the building. Had the audience heard about the murder and returned? Were there even more police cars arriving? There were certainly lights.… Susan got up to peer out the windows when the front doors slammed open and a young man entered the room. He was, Susan thought, quite a sight.
Tall, thin, his thick brown hair desperately in need of a barber … Susan guessed he was in his early twenties. He wore jeans, boots, a plaid flannel shirt, and a down vest and he carried a video camera and two bright lights in one hand. In the other he held a sponge-covered microphone. A bulky belt with large pockets was draped around his waist. Eyes flashing behind thick horn-rim glasses, he stomped down the main aisle toward the front of the room.
Elected for Death Page 4
