Flossed (Alex Harris Mystery Series) (17 page)

“He is that. Let me go take a shower and I’ll be down to help with the cleaning.”

About thirty minutes later Sam returned to the kitchen in search of a cup of coffee.

“What are you reading?” she asked giving me a skeptical look.

“The
Le Soir
. It’s the local newspaper.”

Sam arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Which I believe is in French.”

“Yeah, well I’m looking at the pictures mostly.” I slapped the paper down on the table. “There’s some fruit on the counter. I thought we’d forego the croissants this morning. My shorts are feeling a bit tight.”

“Fine with me. I ate too much last night what with all that food and then dessert and then Michael and I had several cappuccinos. The airline is going to take one look at me and charge extra baggage just for my body.”

“Where is Michael? Still sleeping?” I asked.

Sam pulled the stems off of a couple of strawberries and tossed them in the small trashcan. “Rounds. I swear to God, you’d think we lived here or something and these were his patients.” Sam shook her head in total wonderment. “He’s promised tomorrow he’ll be ready bright and early for Antwerp. If I play my cards right, I might just be able to finagle something out of him myself at one of the diamond stores. The least he can do for deserting me.”

I reached for a pad of paper and pencil I had pushed to the side earlier.

“Making a list of goodies you want from Antwerp?” Sam stood over me and trying to get a look at what was written.

“No. I started a list of suspects. I thought I’d write down everyone who was playing volleyball and a list of the ones who weren’t. Maybe you can help me remember what everyone was doing?”

“Well, I was playing, for a bit. And so was everyone else except you and Martine.”

I put my name on the side of non-players. “Wanda and Donna played at the beginning,” I said, “but then I saw them in the kitchen.”

“Right. They stopped after a couple of games. I wasn’t far behind. Jane played about five minutes and then stomped off in disgust. I think she was just mad because she wasn’t very good. So put her on the same side with you and Martine.”

I leaned back and took a sip of my tea. “What was she doing, then?”

“I know she watched for a while. And made snide comments.”

I looked at the sheet of paper. “Okay, we have John, Bill, Michael, and Doug on the volleyball side. I think they all played the whole time.”

“They did. And you can add Paul. He played most of the time, and the other Belgian couple. They both played and the Dutch couple, too. They were quite good. Especially Lars.”

“That doesn’t sound like a Dutch name to me. It sounds more Swedish.”

“Probably. He kind of looked like a Viking though their last name was Van Roost, I think. Tom and Jobeth played. The first time Jobeth hit the ball, her bun came loose and she went to fix it.”

“So which side should we put her on?” I asked.

“Probably the non-players. She didn’t last long and even when she was playing, she was lousy.”

“So, who’s left? Oh. Malcolm. I think he played the whole time.” I added his name. “And the rest, Wanda, Donna, Martine, you, I’ll put on this side. You didn’t play long enough.”

“All right. So now we have a list. What now?” Sam asked sounding a bit leery of the whole idea.

“Now we see who was where when. All the men played the whole time. Paul only came to look for Martine at the end of the game. Wanda and Donna went to the kitchen. I saw Wanda come out with more drinks, but Donna didn’t follow. And that was at the same time Martine had gone inside.”

“So we know Donna was in the house but we don’t know what she was doing. Are you going to eat this?” Sam asked eyeing one last strawberry on my plate.

“No. Help yourself.”

“Donna had an opportunity. I don’t remember seeing Jobeth. She went to fix her hair but that was early in the game. After that I didn’t see her,” Sam said.

“Neither did I. So she could have been in the house. And Wanda came and went all the time. Jane was with me for a bit until Paul came looking for Martine. And yes! I saw her go into the house. She came back out a bit later with a sweater, but she could have been in there long enough to kill Martine.”

I tapped my pencil looking lost. “After the game broke up, everyone was going in and preferably out to get purses and sweaters or whatever.”

“That’s true. And with everyone leaving and people saying good-bye, I don’t think anyone noticed where anyone else was,” Sam said with a shrug.

I put the pencil down. “So we’re back to square one. If Martine had been killed earlier, that would narrow it down somewhat to Wanda, Jobeth, Donna, or Jane.”

“Or you,” Sam teased.

I ignored my sister. “But she was with me until almost the end of the game. By then everyone was in and out of the house. Well, hell. This was a waste of time. Someone wanted that poor woman dead. Someone at the cookout. But for the life of me, I can’t come up with a good reason.”

“Just her affair with Doug,” Sam said.

“Which leaves Donna as the murderer. Or maybe Paul,” I said a bit begrudgingly. I stood up and pushed the sleeves of my denim blouse up. “That’s enough. I don’t want to talk about Martine or murder any more. All these people and trying to figure out where they all were is making my head spin. I’ll take the kitchen. Why don’t you clean the lounge and bring me your dirty sheets and towels.”

“So no more sleuthing for today?” Sam sounded almost sorry.

“We’ve exhausted all the suspects. Unless we want to track down the Dutch couple and go talk with them.”

“I think they left before all the excitement.”

“I think you’re right, but we’re not quite sure what time Martine was killed,” I said getting caught up in the conversation again. “It had to be after the game. So conceivably, one of them could have gone in.”

“They didn’t seem to know Martine very well. What could the motive be?”

“Hmm. I don’t know and I still think the choice of a murder weapon was a bit odd.”

“It was probably the only thing handy,” Sam mused.

“Unless someone brought it with them, which would show premeditation.”

“Or just a desire for clean teeth,” Sam added.

“Yeah, but who goes around carrying dental floss, for pity’s sake.”

“Michael!” We both said together and started to laugh.

“Though I think he’s left it upstairs so far on this trip,” Sam said through her giggling.

“Well, that about does it then. My money’s on Donna.” I stood up again.

“Not Paul?”

“Oh, Sam. I just don’t want it to be him.” I slumped back onto my stool. “I don’t even know him, but I’d hate to think he did it. Donna is so cold. And she looks like she could be downright ruthless if she was crossed. And a cheating husband and a pregnant mistress would definitely be grounds for ruthless behavior in my book.”

“Well, you think about it while you’re scrubbing dishes and washing clothes. I’m going to have a go with the vacuum.”

Chapter 25

A couple of hours later, I was sorting through a pile of mail, most of which would be tossed into the recycle bin. “I don’t believe it! A letter from Mary-Beth.”

“She must have gotten the address from Mom. Look. It’s postmarked a couple of days after our wedding. It took quite a while to get here. Come here, Sam. Let’s take a break and see what Mary-Beth has to say.”

Sam brought out some bread and more fruit, and a chunk of Gouda cheese with bits of cumin imbedded. When we were settled at the table, I picked up the letter and read:

Dear Alex,

I thought I would actually write a letter instead of emailing you. It’s a lost art, you know, and I plan to revive it starting here and now.

Just in case I forgot to tell you on your wedding day, or just in case
you
didn’t hear on your wedding day, what with the cloud you were on and all, I just wanted to tell you Jeff and I are so happy for you and John—you make a terrific couple and we know you will be happy together.

Now for the important stuff—I want to know who made your dress and where on
earth
did you find that divine fabric? I must have it. Better yet, maybe I’ll just borrow yours and save myself the trouble. By time you get back you’ll have gained quite a few pounds and will no longer have any use for the dress anyway. Can I borrow the shoes, too?

“My dress was lovely, wasn’t it?” I said dreamily thinking of the beautiful black dress. I threw the tradition of a veil out the window but carried a heavenly scented bouquet of freesias.

“It was a great dress and you looked beautiful. Now what else does Mary-Beth have to say?”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at Sam and then picked up the letter again.

So how is the honeymoon? Are you coming out of your room for some fresh air each day? Taking your vitamins? I imagine you sitting on a terrace somewhere, looking out over the blue Mediterranean; no
,
wait—that’s Spain. Okay, sitting at a café looking over at some castle. Wherever you are, I just hope you’re cooler than we New Englanders. To say the weather is a bit muggy would be putting it mildly. We are dying here. I really must rob a bank and buy myself a little summer place on the Cape.

Not much happening here, except for the news I heard about Paula Mackey. So if you feel like hearing some home gossip apropos of absolutely nothing, then read on.

“Do we want to hear gossip apropos of nothing?” I asked my sister.

“Continue.”

Seems there was a bit of a scandal about six months ago. I hate to bore you with details, but just in case you’re sick of all the wonderful food, and the gorgeous scenery is getting to you, or that hunky detective you married turned out to be a bore who cuts his toenails in public, you can read on for a bit of gossip
.

I put the letter back on the table again eliciting a groan from Sam. “Is John hunky?”

“Is the Pope Catholic? Do Belgians make the best chocolate? Have I exceeded my credit card limit? Of course he’s hunky. Would I have let you marry him if he wasn’t? Now read on. I want gossip.”

“Okay, where was I?”

I’m sure you remember Paula Mackey, who is now Paula Wheeler. She was that tall, beautiful blonde in high school. The one we all knew would grow up to be a famous dancer with some ballet company. You remember, the one we all hated. Well, surprise, surprise, she did grow up to become a dancer, and perhaps infamous is a better word than famous.

Seems Paula has been dancing for many a year in Bridgeport at a place called the Rooster’s Cock. Not exactly the Joffrey Ballet.

“Jeez. I remember her.” I took a bite out of my cheese-laden bread. “I wonder what kind of place the Rooster’s Cock is?”

“Not a place where one would wear pink tights and a tutu, I would imagine. Unless one went topless. Read on.”

Paula has been married to Tim Wheeler since they graduated from high school. Tim went to college, got his degree, and was hired on at a manufacturing firm. Over the years, he moved up the corporate ladder, though never quite achieving executive status. Paula never did pursue a career with the ballet, having broken her ankle when she walked up on the stage to pick up her diploma
.

“I remember that. It was so sad. We all felt so terribly for her. Maybe that’s why she got married so quickly.”

“We’ll never know unless you finish.” Sam didn’t bother hiding her impatience.

“Sorry.”

Nonetheless, things seemed to be going good for the Wheelers. Paula had two boys and was a stay-at-home mom. Once the two little tykes were off to pre-school, she became bored and started to think about college funds. Harvard is just so expensive these days. She answered an ad in the local paper and was hired on the spot, the broken ankle having healed nicely years before
.

Now, having a wife who danced at the Rooster’s Cock was not what Mr. Wheeler wanted. So Paula made up a little white lie and told her family she was working the crisis hotline two nights a week. Tim and the boys were so proud of her. Imagine, helping all those people.

Well, things went along nicely for years until Tim was approached by the president of the firm. After all this time, his hard work was finally getting the recognition it deserved and a huge promotion was in the works. He was invited to the home of the president and told to bring along the family.

Paula bought a new dress and had her hair done. The two boys, now teenagers, scrubbed their faces, hid the pimples with some cream, and off they all went.

Things went splendidly until the Wheeler family was introduced to the VP of quality control. Seems his favorite after-hours hangout is the Rooster’s Cock and he himself has contributed quite a tidy little sum to the Wheeler boys’ college account what with all those ten dollar bills in the g-string.

All hell broke loose when Paula ran sobbing into the guest bathroom. She finally broke down and told Tim the whole story. Tim walked right out into the garden and punched the VP in the face, breaking his nose. Not exactly something that would be forgotten when the promotion came up for a vote.

Paula and Tim argued for days and everyone thought this was it—a divorce was immanent. Paula pleaded, she begged, she cried, she yelled, and then she had an idea. If she showed Tim the balance of the account she had started years before, maybe that would make him feel better.

You’ll be happy to know Paula is now teaching dance at a community after-school center. Tim got hired on at a firm that manufactures and sells everything anyone could possibly want for a party, including feather boas and tassels. The owner thought maybe Paula could be used on a consulting basis to test some of the products. And the boys, well, both will be attending university in a couple of years courtesy of the Rooster’s Cock.