“Nope, but if you remember something from last night, if anything occurs to you, please let me know. You still have my numbers?”
“Yes, I do.” At the front door, she said, “Have a good Thanksgiving,” though it was two weeks away.
“Thanks, you too.”
“I will. I’m going to my daughter’s house. Where are you going?”
“To my brother’s. My daughter, Heather, will be spending the long weekend with me.”
She smiled as she watched him walk to his car and wished she could call him back to offer another nugget of information. But there was nothing more she knew.
* * *
Marshall Weill and the deaths of his wife and Doris Fein were all Twin Lakes residents could talk about for the next several days. The fact that two women had died suddenly was a blight on their community. The cause of it all, most residents agreed, was a man who had joined them under false pretenses. A convicted felon who had broken the law yet again by investing HOA monies and doling out financial advice—with some dire consequences.
Sunday morning after swimming laps, Lydia climbed the stairs to find several residents heatedly discussing a letter Andrew Varig had posted on the bulletin board. She edged her way through the crowd to read what Andrew had written. In very strong language, he stated his view that, for the safety and well-being of the community, Marshall Weill should leave Twin Lakes until the police discovered who had murdered Claire Weill and Doris Fein.
“They can’t do that!” Despite her dislike for the man, Lydia found herself outraged on Weill’s behalf. She knew firsthand the awful feeling of being a murder suspect. The police had found no evidence that Weill had killed either woman.
The white-haired, pot-bellied man next to her growled, “Andrew’s right. We have to protect our womenfolk. Who knows? If you’re not careful, you might be next.”
Lydia glared at him and went home.
Caroline called a few hours later to say the board members were getting phone calls demanding they do something about the dangerous ex-con left free to roam Twin Lakes. She finished by saying, “You’d think they’d have enough sense to know the board has no power to order Marshall to leave his home.”
“They’re frightened,” Lydia said, “and turning to the only authority we have to protect them.”
“Well, the board can’t ban Marshall from Twin Lakes,” Caroline said. After a moment, she asked, “Do you think he killed Claire and Doris?”
“The man has the morals of an alley cat. But as for killing them? I wish I knew.”
Lydia hung up and spent the next few hours wondering, like many of her neighbors, if Marshall had killed the two women. And if he hadn’t, who did?
Tuesday morning, Lydia took full advantage of her day off—a day free of work and babysitting—to do as she liked. She practiced yoga for an hour and a half instead of going for her regular swim. As she stepped out of the shower, she heard someone knocking at the front door. She slipped into her terrycloth robe and wrapped a towel around her head, wondering who it might be. Barbara or Caroline? Peg? Or—her heart beat faster—Sol Molina! She peered through the glass panel and unlocked the door.
“Hello, Marshall. What can I do for you?”
“Good morning, Lydia. Sorry I caught you at a bad time.”
The near-arrogant grin was in place, but the eyes were bloodshot, the lids puffy. For the first time since she’d met him, Marshall Weill looked his age.
“Yes, it is a bad time,” she answered coldly.
“Lydia, I need to speak to you. Please.”
She thought quickly. No doubt he meant to come inside, but she didn’t want the likes of him in her home. “Fine. I’ll meet you in the diner in an hour.”
“I’d be happy to drive you there.”
“As I said, I’ll meet you.”
He gave her a sad smile. “You needn’t be afraid of going in the car with me.”
When she said nothing, he said, “Would you mind meeting instead at the coffee shop in the strip mall on Hensen Street? I know it’s a hole in the wall, but I need to speak to you in private.”
“All right. I know where it is.”
She watched him drive off, then went upstairs to get dressed. Her hands trembled from both excitement and apprehension as she did up the buttons of her blouse. She was about to learn vital information regarding Marshall and the two dead women!
She gasped as it occurred to her that she might very well be the next victim. How ridiculous! she scolded herself. Marshall had no intention of harming her, certainly not in broad daylight. Still, to be on the safe side, she telephoned Barbara and left a message on her tape saying where she was going and why. She called Caroline and left the same message. If anything happened, Weill would be implicated and held accountable.
He sat waiting for her in the back booth of the dark, dingy coffee shop. He waved as she walked toward him and thrust back his shoulders. Though he sat erect, his face seemed to sag, weighed down by the events of the past few weeks. He gave her a wan smile.
“Thanks for coming, Lydia. I need to speak to you.”
“Why, Marshall? We’re hardly acquaintances, much less friends.”
“True, but I know you well enough to recognize you’re both intelligent and fair-minded.”
She slid into the seat opposite him, unwilling to let on that his compliment filled her with a warm, rosy feeling.
He leaned forward, pressing his palms into the peeling Formica table top. “I did not kill my wife, and I had nothing to do with Doris Fein’s death. I swear it!”
The intensity of his denial struck a nerve, urging her to believe he was telling the truth, but she refused to make a decision regarding his guilt based solely on emotions.
“Why are you telling me this? The police haven’t accused you of murder.”
“Not yet, they haven’t. Which doesn’t mean they’re not looking for something—anything!—connecting me to the deaths. Only there’s nothing to find.”
“Then why worry?”
A waitress appeared and took Lydia’s order of coffee and a donut. When she left, Marshall Weill continued.
“It’s no pleasure being suspect number one in everyone’s eyes. I’m appalled by what’s happening in our little community. People are stupid enough to lump the two deaths together. They treat me like a pariah. Some actually want me to leave Twin Lakes, and I’ve no intention of doing that.”
Lydia nodded, recalling Andrew’s letter posted on the bulletin board. “I sympathize, but if you’re innocent as you claim, there’s little they can do.”
Marshall shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. “Lydia, don’t act naive. It doesn’t suit you. Claire and I went to great lengths to find our Utopia. I love Twin Lakes and want to continue living here, only I can’t under a cloud of suspicion. I intend to regain my good name.” He winked. “Or what remains of it. I hope, given your part in all that’s happened, you’ll help prove I didn’t kill Claire or Doris.”
She flinched at the guilt he’d flung at her and replied defensively, “I don’t see what I can do.”
“Peg tells me you have the ear of Detective Molina.”
“Peg’s a busybody!”
He ignored her outburst of vexation. “Use your female wiles to find out what the police know. Keep your eyes and ears open for what they’re missing. You’re good with people. You ran a company. I have faith in your investigative skills.”
“But I’m not a detective!” she protested. “And Lieutenant Molina tells me very little about the case.”
His hand rested on her forearm. She shrugged it away, but he seemed not to notice that he’d put it there in the first place. Instead, he hunched over the table and lowered his voice to a confiding tone.
“Something weird’s turned up. The crime lab found a powerful substance in Claire’s bloodstream. As I told Molina, I’ve no idea what it is or how Claire got hold of it.”
Lydia nodded. The toxicology report had included this information because of her input in the case. “Your wife was taking an herbal supplement in capsule form.”
Weill’s eyes gleamed. “How do you know? Where did she get these capsules?”
“I don’t know where she got them, but Doris told me Claire took them to look and feel younger. She wanted to regain your attention.”
“Oh my God!” He buried his face in his hands. “Claire darling, I’ll find out who did this to you!” When he looked up, Lydia saw tears in his eyes. Marshall Weill was grieving for his wife.
He cleared his throat and shifted back to his clever, man-of-the-world persona. “When did Doris tell you about these capsules?”
“A few days after Claire died.”
“And now Doris is dead.” Marshall’s voice rose with excitement. “See the connection? Someone killed them both because of those damn pills.”
“That’s ridiculous. Doris fell down…”
“Whom did you tell—what Doris said about the capsules?” he asked urgently.
“Let me think. Detective Molina, Barbara and Caroline. Why?”
“Because I bet the capsules are dangerous and illegal. Which accounts for why Claire told no one else about them, including her best friend. For some reason Doris knew, word got out that she knew, and the drug supplier killed them.”
Appalled, Lydia stared at him. His logic was as screwy as a Marx Brothers film. “You can’t believe those capsules have anything to do with Claire’s death. She was run down by a car. My car.”
“Why? By whom? I’ve just told you the only theory that makes any sense. Please, Lydia, help me find the person who killed my Claire. Talk to the other residents. See what you can find out. They all think I’m guilty and turn away when I go into the clubhouse.”
Though she didn’t agree with his theory, she wanted to find Claire’s murderer almost as much as he did. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do what I can, though I can’t promise any results.”
He grasped her hands in his. “Thank you, Lydia! I am eternally grateful.”
She pulled her hands free. “I’ve one question, Marshall. Did you activate the pool cover when I was swimming laps the Wednesday after Claire died?”
His eyes widened. “Of course I didn’t! You have to believe me.”
Oddly enough, she did.
Eleven
Though Thanksgiving Day started out gray and gloomy, the sun made an appearance around noon. Lydia hardly noticed; she was too busy preparing a sweet potato casserole and three different desserts. It would be only the five of them for dinner, since Abbie and Todd were spending the day with his relatives in Connecticut, though Meredith had invited friends to join them for dessert.
At two-thirty she set out for Merry and Jeff’s house. Brittany opened the door for her, and Lydia was assailed by the delicious aroma of roast turkey.
“I helped Mommy make the stuffing,” she announced.
“She sure did,” Jeff said. He kissed Lydia’s cheek, then relieved her of the two shopping bags filled with food. He peeled back the tinfoil of one cake. “Mmm, looks yummy. I can’t wait to dig my fork into everything.” He strode toward the kitchen. “I’ll put these away. Sit down and relax in the den.”
Lydia ignored his suggestion and followed him into the large kitchen. Her daughter was cutting up salad amid a counter piled high with various foods and cooking utensils.
“Hi, sweetie. Anything I can do to help?”
Meredith turned, her face strained with tension. “Hi, Mom. You can finish the salad while I clear off some space to get to the appetizers and soup.”
“Appetizers and soup?” Lydia wondered aloud. “You certainly have gone whole hog.”
“It’s Thanksgiving, isn’t it? I want to set family traditions the girls will look back on and remember.”
Lydia gritted her teeth, remembering that she, Izz, and the girls had often eaten Thanksgiving dinner in restaurants.
The puff-pastry appetizers, squash consommé, turkey and accompanying vegetables were well prepared and tasty. Lydia complimented her daughter, hoping to bring a smile to her lips, but Meredith remained tense. Once she snapped at Brittany for acting silly. The child’s face reddened as she reached for Lydia’s hand.
As for Jeff, Meredith rarely spoke to him except to give directives. At one point, he paused behind her chair on his way to cutting up more turkey in the kitchen.
“Relax, Merry,” he joked, “this is supposed to be a fun day, remember?” He massaged the nape of her neck. She leaned back, relishing the comfort he offered, then, as though suddenly remembering something, she jerked forward. Jeff seemed puzzled as he headed for the kitchen.
Meredith’s mood lifted as soon as everyone finished the main course. She turned talkative, almost hyper, Lydia thought as she helped her daughter clear the table. Maybe she was simply relieved that the meal was over and everyone had eaten well.
In the kitchen, Lydia started putting leftovers into plastic containers.
“I’ll call my friends and tell them to come for coffee in half an hour,” Merry said. “Be back in a jiffy.”
She dashed upstairs, leaving Lydia to wonder why she hadn’t made her calls from the kitchen. She probably needs a few moments to herself, Lydia decided, and continued with her task.
Lydia was stacking the dishwasher when her daughter reappeared, a broad smile on her face. She’d freshened up her lipstick and eye shadow.
“Everyone will be over in half an hour.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I didn’t mean to leave all the scut work for you. I’ll finish up. Go relax in the den with Jeff and the girls.”
“Shall I set the table for coffee and dessert?”
“No, I’ll take care of that. You’ve done enough.”
Pleased to see her daughter in good spirits, Lydia followed the sounds of a football game. Jeff was comfortably ensconced in his recliner watching the game, while the girls played with their dolls on the sofa. They made room for her to sit and included her in their conversation. Impulsively, Lydia hugged Brittany and then Greta. Meredith had a wonderful family and a wonderful life. She’d be a fool to put everything in jeopardy for the sake of a little excitement.
Lydia leaned back against the sofa’s cushions and basked in a wave of contentment. Moving to Twin Lakes hadn’t been a mistake, after all. She adored having a close relationship with her granddaughters and looked forward to years of their company as they grew and developed into young women. If Meredith wanted to return to work early and asked her to babysit, she’d rearrange her work hours and watch them for as long as she could.