She knew nothing of Ruth’s schedule Tuesday, but had seen her Wednesday at the beauty parlor. I had visions of Ruth Riordan changing her hair appointment each week in the hope of missing Mrs. Jasper at the beauty shop. I pushed the rude thought out of my mind.
In Mrs. Jasper’s opinion, Ruth seemed distracted on Wednesday. She had the impression Ruth and Michael had had a disagreement, but it was just an impression. Mrs. Jasper had asked Ruth about Michael, and she had not had much to say. This was unusual, because since he had arrived home two weeks before that, she had been “bubbling over.”
The one piece of information Mrs. Jasper provided that interested me was that she had talked to Ruth Wednesday evening, to be sure she was coming to the Social Services Committee meeting on Thursday morning at eleven o'clock.
“And she sounded fine?” I asked.
“Oh yes. Same as usual.” She paused. “I think Michael must have been out. Since he’s been back he’s been answering the phone.” She couldn’t remember exactly when she called, between seven and eight p.m., she thought.
I didn’t recall Michael saying where he had been the night before his mother died, and wished I had thought to work it into a conversation previously.
As penance for asking my questions, I had to listen to more than twenty minutes of Mrs. Jasper talking about First Presbyterian’s work with the local food pantry and with teen mothers. I considered both very worthy causes, but I wanted to focus on Ruth Riordan. I managed to sidestep her request that I volunteer at the food pantry by saying I was not sure how long I would stay in Ocean Alley.
AFTER EATING DINNER WITH AUNT MADGE and walking the guys, on the well-trafficked street rather than the boardwalk, I sat down to make a list of what I knew and what I needed to learn more about. I did this sitting at the kitchen table while Aunt Madge watched a rerun of
Happy Days.
She was not pleased about my sleuthing now that I had broadened it to interviews.
What I knew was:
Ruth Riordan had no obvious enemies.
She seemed to have been alone at least some of the night before she died.
She had intended to go to the next day’s committee meeting (or at least said she did).
Aunt Madge doesn’t think Michael killed his mother.
Everyone in Ocean Alley thinks Mrs. Jasper talks too much.
Darla had a motive.
Michael did not.
What I needed to know was:
Did Michael really fight with his mother?
Did Michael think his mother was alone Wednesday night?
If she was, where was Michael?
Could anyone besides Michael and the maid have had a key to the house?
Why would anyone want to kill such a nice woman?
Where was Darla Riordan Wednesday night and Thursday morning (and how in the hell would I find that out)?
How angry would Michael be if he found out what I was doing?
Why was Michael in Houston?
These last two questions did not directly relate to Mrs. Riordan’s murder, but they interested me.
I was trying to remember what Darla looked like (I could remember the suit), when I recalled that she had been with Jennifer Stenner. Maybe Jennifer knew more about Darla’s life, or would at least be willing to talk to me more about it than Michael would.
There was no realistic pretense for calling her. There was always, “I’m thinking of falling for Michael Riordan (at least until the next time he really ticks me off). What are your intentions?” Somehow I thought that would close more doors than open. I wanted to stay away from talking about the appraisal business. If she got under my skin it would be too tempting to say that people were coming to Harry because they didn’t like her style.
Jennifer had been homecoming queen, or maybe she was on the queen’s court. She was probably working on the reunion. Did I want to pretend that I wanted to go to that? No. Did I want to talk to her about Darla?
THE NEXT MORNING I CALLED Jennifer’s office. It seemed the receptionist was gone for quite awhile before she returned to tell me that Ms. Stenner could see me at 2:30. She never asked why I was coming.
I told Harry where I was going and why, because I didn’t want someone to tell him I’d been seen going into Jennifer’s office. He might think I was trying to get work from her.
When he gave me a short lecture on leaving police work to the police, I assumed Aunt Madge was the one who had told him about my other inquiries around town. However, he let me know it was Reverend Jamison. “I want you to know you are the first young person he has met whom he hasn’t immediately invited to church.”
Rather than being offended I was practical. “He probably didn’t want the roof to fall in,” I said.
Harry just raised an eyebrow at me as he handed me a file. “Looks as if your friend Lester was pleased with your work.”
More money! I grabbed the file eagerly, and saw that it was only a few houses away from the purple popsicle house. “I remember this one. His sign was in front of it and what grass there was is a foot high.”
Harry nodded. “It’s vacant, but he has a buyer. Should make it a short job. He left the key here.”
Empty houses are much easier than those crammed with furniture or, worse, lots of little kids. I had the small house examined in an hour and was at the courthouse looking for comps when I saw Lester Argrow in the hallway. I hid behind a pile of ledgers, but it was too late.
“I was just thinkin’ about you,” he said, approaching as rapidly as a train and stopping abruptly barely a foot from me. “You know who you should really talk to is the maid. Maids know everything.”
It was a good idea, but I wished he would lower his voice. “I think I’ve heard her name, but I can’t…”
“Elsie.” He pulled a piece of rumpled paper from the pocket of his over-long suit. “Elsie Hammer. Want me to go with you?”
I demurred, but he insisted. For this he did lower his voice. “It’s not a very nice neighborhood. But, it’s a good place for a bargain, if you know what I mean.”
Good old Lester, always thinking about his commissions. I decided that I wouldn’t mind his company, and even let him drive. This was a mistake, as his car reeked of cigar smoke. I couldn’t imagine a real estate agent driving customers around in it. But not many agents meet their customers in Burger King.
Elsie Hammer’s house was almost as far south in Ocean Alley as you could get. From a real estate perspective, the neighborhood could at best be called locationally challenged. Unlike the house next to hers, Elsie’s had neatly trimmed grass and all shutters were in place. They were real shutters, the kind you could close during strong storms, not just decorative pieces of wood or aluminum.
Neither of us knew Elsie, though I had seen her at the Riordan’s after the funeral, so we first introduced ourselves. I could tell my name meant something to her; she would, of course, have read any articles about Mrs. Riordan’s murder. She invited us in without further comment.
I launched into my reason for being there, with Lester interrupting me repeatedly. He might have a good sense of humor, but he had no sense of politeness. “Anyway, Ms. Hammer, I wondered if you could think of anyone who visited Mrs. Riordan the last day you cleaned for her.”
“Mister Michael was there, but you don’t mean him, I guess.”
“Yeah,” Lester butted in, “we mean somebody else.”
“There was no one else there during the day, but Mrs. Jasper called. I sort of thought she was coming that night.” This surprised me, as Mrs. Jasper had only mentioned calling.
“I don’t think she went,” I said. “She mentioned to me that she called Ruth that Wednesday evening.”
Elsie nodded. “That’s possible. Mrs. Riordan got tired easily after she got sick. She could have told Mrs. Jasper to call first, and then said not to come.”
The phone rang and she went to the far side of the small living room to answer it. “So, whaddya think?” Lester asked, in nothing less than a stage whisper.
I glanced at Elsie, who appeared somewhat upset by the call, and was writing something on the pad of paper next to the phone. “I think if you keep acting like a TV private eye we’ll get thrown out of here,” I said, in a normal tone of voice.
Elsie rejoined us sitting even more stiffly than she had previously. “Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Fine,” she responded, very quickly. “Just my husband, he’s having…car trouble.”
As a practiced fibber in my younger days, I knew she was being less than truthful, but it really was none of my business.
Lester then asked Elsie if she owned the house and wanted to sell, and I spent several minutes being embarrassed at having brought him. I finally stood. “I think we’ve taken up a lot of your time.”
“Unfortunately, I have too much time.” She hesitated, then asked, “Does your aunt ever need help at the Cozy Corner?”
“Gee, right now she does it herself, but I’ll mention that you asked. I expect if Mrs. Riordan liked having you around she would, too.”
As the door shut, Lester turned to me. “That went very well, don’t you think?”
I didn’t punch him.
AFTER LUNCH I HEADED to Jennifer’s office. I had avoided having lunch with Lester by saying that I had promised to help Aunt Madge change some sheets at the B&B. This was not true. She says the way she keeps fit is by keeping busy, so pretty much all she ever lets me do is weed the small yard, take out the trash, and water the flower boxes on her porch. I told her about Elsie’s interest in employment, but Aunt Madge didn’t seem to share it.
It was warm for early November, and before leaving for Jennifer’s office I changed into a straight blue skirt and a red, short-sleeved knit top with a dark blue necklace, and low heels. I rarely wear skirts in Ocean Alley, probably a hold-over from thinking of it only as a place for fun. Since I noticed Jennifer had dressed formally at the funeral, I was trying to look like one of her ‘crowd.’ I hate it when I get into people-pleasing, but I told myself this was a good cause.
Jennifer kept me waiting for fifteen minutes, which I could have predicted. Her outer office was small. Appraisers don’t have many customers who need to visit their offices. The furnishings were Shaker design, but rest of the décor was not nearly so plain. Above a small credenza was a print of a Thomas Kincaid painting, with a small cottage and lots of pink and yellow foliage. Every chair had pink and yellow pillows. I doubted her father had used the same decorating scheme.
Eventually, her receptionist led me to Jennifer’s office, which was decorated in the same colors. I had expected her to be wearing a formal business suit and was surprised that she had on a sleek plum-colored skirt and silk blouse. A long scarf of plum and blue appeared to have been carelessly wrapped around the blouse collar and then slung around her neck, but I figured she had spent time to achieve the look. It suddenly hit me that she might not have planned to be an appraiser in a small town. She was dressed for a job in Manhattan, preferably one in fashion.
Jennifer greeted me coolly and offered coffee, which I refused. After a minute of small talk about changes I noticed in Ocean Alley now that I was living here again, I told her I was interested in learning more about the reunion. Her entire demeanor changed. “I should have talked to you about it. I didn’t think you would be interested.”
I told her how much I’d enjoyed my junior year here (
retch
), and said I was looking forward to seeing everyone. She launched into plans for this major event—“the tenth is the first one a lot of people come back to, almost nobody goes to the fifth”—and said she thought there would be about eighty people attending.
“You were homecoming queen, weren’t you?” I asked.
Her expression clouded a bit, then cleared. “I lost by two votes. Of course, I’m not supposed to know how close the vote was, but the principal counted the votes and he always liked me.”
"It must have been a fun evening, in any event.”
She laughed. “Much more fun than college homecomings.”
She asked if I would like to help with the planning, and I said I’d be delighted.
How do I get myself into these things?
I took out my calendar and penciled in a planning meeting for Sunday evening.
As if.
That done, I plowed into my planned approach to Darla. “I wanted to compliment you on spending time with Darla Riordan after Mrs. Riordan’s funeral. That was very gracious of you.”
“I’d seen her at the funeral home, and no one was talking to her.” She paused, “I sort of didn’t want to, because I thought Michael might think I was taking her side in the divorce stuff.”
“I didn’t realize you knew Darla,” I continued.
“I didn’t know her well. I had lunch with her several times when she and Ruth were planning the wedding. Of course, she didn’t visit much after that.” She frowned. “I never understood that.”
“Neither does Aunt Madge.” I wasn’t going to pretend I had any knowledge of Darla’s psyche.
Then, the hook. “Is she still in Houston? Michael is down there for a few days.”
Her eyes literally widened. I thought that was only in books. “Oh, he is?” She quickly changed to moderate indifference. “She’s still there. A couple of times she said it was a really miserable climate, and that no one there has any fashion sense. She just went there because of Michael’s company. She wants to move to Manhattan.”
That would put Darla Riordan a little too close for my comfort. “I heard some talk after the hearing.” This seemed to interest her. “I guess the DA’s case didn’t look too strong to some people, and they were saying Darla had more of a motive than Michael did.”