“How kind of you to anticipate my response to the situation.”
“It—it was larceny, not murder. Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “It is now.”
Sol shook his head as he rose to his feet. “Sorry, Lydia. I don’t mean to browbeat you. I haven’t slept in thirty-eight hours, though God knows that’s no excuse.”
“I’m sorry, too.” She stood up. “The truth is, I was afraid to call and come across as a pest.”
He touched her arm, sending shivers through her body. “Please believe me, you’re never a pest.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes with both hands.
“Care to change your mind about the coffee? My second and last offer.”
“I’ll take it. I need to drive back to the station and write up a report.”
He followed her into the kitchen and took his usual seat, the one against the wall facing the sink. She filled the coffee carafe, then put out cheese and crackers. He was already devouring them when she sat down.
“Do you think Roger Patterson killed Marshall? They were the best of friends after their meeting.”
He shrugged and spoke when his mouth was clear of food. “Who knows? Either could have reneged or tried to change the terms of their agreement. Anything could have soured the deal.”
“How did Marshall die?”
“We’re not sure yet. His lungs were filled with water, and there’s evidence of a blow to the back of his head. The ME thinks he was drugged, too.”
“Wow, sounds to me like overkill.” Lydia bit her lower lip. “Oops, sorry. Bad choice of words.”
Molina cast her an amused glance. “That’s the kind of comment I get from my men.”
“Who else saw Marshall yesterday, or is that top secret?”
“Besides the murderer, you mean? We’re working on that. It’s common knowledge he was out with Mrs. Maguire last night.”
“I’m not surprised. They had a date the Saturday night after Thanksgiving.”
He nodded. “What’s your take on their relationship?”
“Marshall received plenty of female attention after Claire’s death. He zeroed in on Viv.” Lydia frowned. “I got the feeling he was more attracted to her bank account than to her personally. Though that could be my own attitude toward Marshall coming through.”
“And Mrs. Maguire?”
“Viv was besotted. I told you she was ablaze with jealousy that time she found me sitting in Marshall’s living room waiting for him to finish his list of suspects.”
“Small wonder,” he murmured, eying her.
She smiled, pleased by his compliment, then returned to his question.
“Marshall played her like a fish and he knew how to reel her in.” She hesitated, aware of the flush reddening her ears. “I—er, happened to come across some photos he’d taken of Viv.”
Sol Molina burst out laughing. “Couldn’t resist sleuthing, eh, Lydia?”
“Well, I—er—no.”
“You must admit, Weill had an artistic touch with that drape.”
She shrugged, refusing to meet his eye.
“Mrs. Maguire was frantic when I interviewed her, framing her questions as to whether we’d come upon some ‘artistic photographs’—as she put it—in the most circuitous manner. When I told her we’d found them, she begged me to rip them up. I told her we had to keep them as evidence for now, but not to worry. They would remain in a safe place away from prying eyes.”
“Is Viv a suspect?”
“Everyone’s a suspect.” He downed another cheese-laden cracker. “Except you, that is.”
“Well, thanks. When did the murder take place?”
“Roughly, between one and three in the morning.”
She stared at him. “I suppose Viv has no way to prove she was home asleep. Then again, why would she kill Marshall?”
“Who knows? Hypothetically speaking, if Weill said he wasn’t going to see her anymore, she could have been hurt and angry enough to murder him. People kill for all sorts of reasons.”
“Could Viv have killed him? How could a woman manage it?”
“A strong woman might be able to, especially if she drugged him first.”
“Has Viv said anything to make you suspect her?”
“Not really. Her story is they had dinner, spent a brief while on her living room sofa being affectionate, as she put it, then he left her at eleven o’clock.” He winked. “Even though she tried to get him to spend the night. Now that isn’t for anyone else’s ears, including those of your friends, Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Lieberman.”
She liked that he knew who her friends were. “You cover all bases, don’t you?”
“I have to. I’m a cop.”
“Did you ever question her about the rock thrown through my window?”
“Of course I did, immediately after the incident. She denies having done it, and we’ve no witness or prints to prove otherwise.”
“Hmm,” Lydia mused. “There’s no way to prove she didn’t do it.”
“That, too.”
She poured them each a mug of coffee and sat. He added sugar and drank his black, then finished off the crackers and cheese.
“Would you like something else to eat?”
“No, thanks, this is fine.” He glanced up to meet her gaze. “Just a reminder. If you’re going to consort with cops, or a specific cop, you’re going to hear plenty of things that aren’t for other people to know. Think you can manage that?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” He got to his feet. “Thanks for everything.”
This time the kiss was deeper. “See you soon. Keep your doors locked.”
“I will,” she promised. Her heart sang as she watched him get into his car and drive off into the night.
Eighteen
The following morning Lydia turned on the local TV news channel and was startled to see an exhausted Sol Molina being interviewed by a pert blonde reporter. He grimly acknowledged that as of yet no one had been apprehended for the murder of Marshall Weill, but the police were working on the case around the clock.
Feeling unsettled, she drove to the clubhouse for her daily swim. She walked past the police car parked in the semicircle and nodded to Officer McKlusky. He and another policeman were deep in conversation with Margie, the office manager.
When she got home, her answering machine was blinking. The Twin Lakes’ board was holding a homeowners’ meeting that evening at seven-thirty sharp. All residents were requested to attend. She had no sooner made note of the meeting on her calendar when the phone rang. It was Merry, sounding frantic.
“Mom, I just heard about Marshall Weill’s murder! How awful! Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right. It happened while I was at your house.”
“I wish you’d come and stay with us until they find the person who did it.”
“Meredith, Weill had a long history of stealing money from clients. No doubt one of them got angry enough to kill him and his wife. I’m not in any danger.”
Merry’s voice sounded teary. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Touched, Lydia smiled. “Nothing will happen.”
“Promise me you won’t go anywhere alone. Turn your cell phone on when you go out, so I can always reach you.”
Lydia gave a little laugh. “Meredith, disconnecting my ear from my cell phone is one of the perks of retirement. I usually leave it in the car for emergencies.”
“Mom, make sure it’s charged. Keep it on and with you when you leave the house. If I can’t reach you, I’ll call the police!”
“Merry, dear, calm down. If it will make you feel better, I promise to take the phone with me wherever I go.”
After repeating her promise two more times, Lydia managed to end the conversation. She gazed down at Reggie.
“That girl needs a sense of proportion! Either she’s sulking and secretive or her anxiety is driving me mad. Nothing personal, Reggie darling, but between Meredith and the murders, I need to get out of here!”
Lydia grabbed her groceries list and made a mad dash for her car. She’d no sooner backed into the street when Peg came out of her house and waved her down. She wore a bathrobe and slippers. Dark smudges underlined her rabbity eyes. Lydia grumbled silently as she braked to a stop.
“Hi, Lydia. Going to the meeting tonight?”
“I think I should.”
“Would you like to ride over there with me?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“No, thank you. I’m so stressed out, I hardly slept a wink last night. I don’t want to go anywhere alone. Not after what happened to Marshall.”
Lydia suddenly remembered. “You must be terribly upset about his death. I gather he was a special friend of yours.”
Peg drew back. “We were friends, but I’m not sure what you mean by ‘special.’”
“Sorry. Someone told me you and Marshall often discussed investments. I just thought you might have known him from Chicago.”
“I’m from Indiana.”
“Oh.”
Peg let out a sardonic laugh. “I hope you’re not confusing me with Viv Maguire.”
“Why would I? You’re both petite, but you don’t look at all alike.”
“I should hope not! Viv’s a blimp and as plain as white bread—despite all the work she had done on her face.”
Viv was a homely woman, but why the animosity?
Peg went on. “The Weills and the Maguires are old friends from the Windy City.”
“Sorry. I must have misunderstood.”
“No biggie. By the way, I hear your friend will be addressing the residents tonight at the meeting.”
“My friend? Oh, you mean Sol—Detective Molina.” It irked Lydia that Peg got wind of every new development that transpired at Twin Lakes. Irked her even more when that included news about Sol Molina.
“No doubt coming to warn us to keep our doors locked and not to wander off alone in the dark,” Peg said mockingly.
“I’ve no idea.”
“He sure as hell isn’t going to reveal his list of suspects to the Twin Lakes residents. By the way, have you seen it?”
“Seen what?”
Peg sighed, exasperated. “His list of suspects. Did he drop any hints when he stopped by yesterday?”
Damn that woman! Did she ever stop prying? “No, not a one.” As if she’d share anything Sol told her with Peg.
But her neighbor was already moving on to another topic. “The Kreigels have put their house on the market.”
“Because of the murders?” Lydia asked.
“Natch. I bet there’s a rush of people trying to unload now. I’m considering doing the same. My blood pressure’s shot up and I feel edgy all the time.”
“Where would you go?”
Peg shrugged. “I don’t know. I might give Florida a try.”
“Let’s hope the police find the person who murdered the Weills.”
“Let’s hope it’s before anyone else gets killed.” Peg backed away from the car. “Be here five to, okay? So we can get a seat up front. They expect a full turnout.”
* * *
Every seat in the meeting room was occupied by seven-twenty. Four of the board members chatted quietly among themselves on the dais. Roger Patterson was missing. Caroline had told Lydia he’d resigned earlier in the day claiming overwhelming personal obligations. Roger knew from both the police and an irate president of the board that he’d been overheard making plans to scam the very people he was supposed to be serving. There was a good chance he’d be brought up on charges.
At precisely seven-thirty, George Linnett called the meeting to order. “We are here because of the sad event of Marshall Weill’s death. The police believe he was deliberately struck down. Detective Molina would like to say a few words to the residents.”
Sol winked at Lydia as he passed on his way to the raised platform. He introduced himself and spoke about the need each person had to remain on guard as this was the second murder to occur in Twin Lakes and evidence indicated the murderer might very well be a homeowner.
Andrew Varig raised his hand. “If the murderer is one of us, how can we protect ourselves?”
“A very good question, though we don’t know for certain that a resident has committed the murders. The assailant might be someone who has access to Twin Lakes—a relative or good friend of someone who lives here. Which is why we’re asking for your help. On the sheet of paper each of you receives, please write your name, address and phone number. Then indicate first, your list of people automatically allowed access past the gate, and second, a list of people who have visited you these last two weeks. Provide dates, names, addresses—whatever you can. Put down if they’re friends, relatives, workmen or whatever. If you’re not certain of the time or date someone came to your home, indicate this.”
A dozen hands shot up as three men in uniform distributed paper. Sol fielded questions, in essence repeating his original instructions. A tiny, white-haired woman with regal bearing stood to speak.
“I’m sure the names we’re supplying are important, Lieutenant, but please address Dr. Varig’s question: how are we to protect ourselves if one of us is potentially and probably the murderer?”
What sounded like a swarm of angry bees filled the room. Lydia gave a start when she caught Viv Maguire glaring at her from the other side of the room. The woman really hated her! Peg murmured, “If looks could kill, you’d be a dead duck.” Lydia shuddered and forced herself to attend to what Sol Molina was saying.
“I advise you to be cautious at all times. Lock your doors when you go out; don’t go off walking on your own, but stay with your spouse or friends. We’re employing all our manpower and technical know-how to solve these crimes.
“It might ease some of your worry when I share with you our belief that this is not the work of a serial murderer but of a person who held a serious grudge against both Claire and Marshall Weill. For the next week or so, a police officer will be stationed on the premises for a good part of every day.”
“What did I tell you?” Peg whispered.
He went on to say they were interviewing everyone who knew the Weills, and requested that whoever saw or heard anything in the vicinity of the Weills’ home on Saturday night come and speak to him.
After the papers were filled out and collected, George took the floor to announce that the residents’ security patrol was ready to roll into action. A car manned by two homeowners would patrol the grounds to make sure nothing else happened. All volunteers were welcome. Shifts were four hours long.
A woman suggested the Twin Lakes community have a memorial service for Claire and Marshall Weill. Andrew Varig objected, declaring he would neither support nor attend a service for Marshall Weill, considering the kind of person he had been.