Murder a la Christie (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 1) (9 page)

“And replaced it in time.”

“But that’s stealing! No wonder Sylvia was furious.”

Allistair laughed. “No harm done, as they say. I’ve heard since that this wasn’t the first time something like this happened, but people usually look the other way.”

“Why would Ruth do something like that? Is she a spendthrift? Does she max out her charge cards each month?”

“I heard Sam’s business was going through a bad spell. They took out a second mortgage on the house, and for a while he thought he was going to have to sell it and the business. But everything worked out in the end.”

I thought a bit. “I’ve never noticed any animosity between the two women. In fact, they were sitting side by side at the book club meeting.”

“People who live in Old Cadfield have to get along. Or at least pretend to since we’re constantly thrown together at one affair or another.”

“But all this happened years ago. What reason would Ruth have for holding a grudge against Sylvia?”

Allistair pursed his lips and remained silent.

“Please, Allistair!” I implored. “I’m not gossiping! I’m asking for a reason.”

“The biggest fundraiser of the season’s coming up. Next week the committee selects the co-chairs of the Littleton Gala. Ruth wants it. Badly.”

My stomach flip-flopped. “Was Sylvia thinking of blackballing Ruth?”

He pressed his lips together. “Two weeks ago she showed me a letter she’d written to the committee. I advised her not to send it. I’ve no idea if she did or not.”

I sat back to digest all this. “Do you think Ruth knew about the letter?”

“Certainly, if Sylvia sent it.”

“Do you think Sylvia would have talked to Ruth about it?”

Allistair shook his head then stared at me. “God, I hope not. That would have been one ugly scene.”

And in this town, a reason for murder.

We sat without speaking, but the atmosphere had changed. When darkness fell, I said I’d better start back.

“I’ll escort you home,” Allistair rose from his seat.

I opened my mouth to insist I could manage the short walk by myself, then reconsidered. “Thanks. That would be nice.”

“Wait a sec, while I get a torch,” Allistair said.

“A torch?”

He laughed. “A flashlight. There are no streetlights between here and Sylvia’s.”

We set off down the road. When a car approached, he gripped my arm and pulled me closer to the side of the road. We walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way. As we turned the corner, Allistair asked, “What are you going to do with what I’ve told you?”

“Think about it. Share it with Detective Donovan. I want the police to find Sylvia’s murderer.”

“So do I. She was a dear friend and deserves that at least.”

I nodded. We’d reached Sylvia’s driveway when Allistair said, “I’d like to join your book club, if I may.”

“Of course. We’d love to have you.”

“I’ll call during the week, and you can tell me which books to read for the next meeting.”

I was about to rattle off the two titles, then realized he wanted a reason to call me again. At the front door we turned to one another.

“Thanks for the drinks and the information,” I said.

“You’re welcome." He stepped in closer for a good-night kiss. It was short but thorough, with the promise of things to come. “Good-night, Lexie. We’ll talk soon.”

“That will be nice,” I answered and entered the house.

I fed Puss his evening snack, and settled down in Sylvia’s cozy den to watch a rerun of a police procedural.

Jesse called on my cell phone. He sounded excited. “Hey, Mom. How’re doing?”

“Fine. I moved into Sylvia’s house for the summer.”

“Lucky you. That house is awesome.”

“So it is." I hesitated, then added. “Poor Sylvia died.”

“Really? That’s too bad. Was she sick?”

“Something she ingested made her violently ill,” I hedged. I didn’t want to worry my son. “What’s happening in your life?”

He proceeded to tell me he’d gotten a temporary job with a new band, but that it might turn into something more permanent. “They have some great gigs coming up. And the good thing is, they’re open to new stuff. They like the kind of songs I write.”

“Wonderful! How’s your dad?”

“He and Stacey are good. I’ll be seeing them this weekend. With Cici.”

“Cici?”

Jesse gave a little laugh. “Cici’s my new girlfriend.”

This one was special.
“Ah.”

“Well, gotta go. I’ll call you again soon. Love you.”

“Love you,” I echoed, wishing I could tell him so in person. How fair was it that his negligent father should be the one to meet Jesse’s girlfriend before me?

Sylvia’s phone rang as I was preparing for bed. “Hello,” I said, expecting it be Rosie wanting to know how I was settling in.

“Lexie?” a voice asked. I couldn’t determine if it was male or female.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Stop poking around for a murderer or you’ll be next!”

My heart hammered. My voice stuck in my throat. “Who is this!”

“Stop with the questions, or else." The line went dead.

I
spent an anxiety-filled night of twisting and mulling, and finally fell asleep at dawn. It seemed no more than minutes had passed when an irate Puss jumped on the bed meowing for his breakfast. Groggy and disoriented, I stumbled to my feet. I blinked furiously at the sunlight pouring past the flowery curtains.

A beautiful May day, I told myself—until I remembered last night’s threatening phone call. I’d managed to ruffle the murderer’s feathers, which wasn’t very smart. I had the paranoid thought that he or she must have eavesdropped on my conversation with Allistair. I shivered. The sooner I told Lieutenant Donovan what I’d learned about Ruth, the better. It wouldn’t prevent the murderer from coming after me, but I’d have some satisfaction that I was leading the police to a new suspect.

I used the bathroom then obliged Puss, who was herding me like a Border Collie to the kitchen. I fed him then saw to my breakfast. I was stacking my coffee mug and dish in the dishwasher, when the phone rang. Fearful that the murderer might be calling again made me hesitate. Should I or shouldn’t I answer the damn phone? Sylvia’s answer machine was just kicking in, when I picked up.

“I’d like to speak to Ms. Alexis Driscoll, please,” a self-assured woman said.

“This is she. And you are?”

“I’m calling for Mr. Tommasi of Tommasi, Dwyer, and Fox.”

I gulped. “Is that a law firm?”

“Yes, indeed. Mr. Tommasi was Mrs. Morris’s attorney. He’d like you to stop by the office to take care of some business regarding Mrs. Morris’s estate.”

“When shall I come?”

“Let’s see." I heard rustling of papers. “This afternoon, if you’re free. Mr. Tommasi can see you at two-thirty. Please bring two pieces of ID.”

My heart began to race. Could it really be as easy as that—I go into the lawyer’s office and I’m handed a check? No, I reminded myself. There were things like probate, which took months before matters were settled.

Less enthusiastically, I asked for the firm’s address, jotted it down, and hung up.

At least, I told myself, I had something constructive to do this afternoon.

I removed Lieutenant Donovan’s card from the bulletin board and regarded the three phone numbers listed. I decided to call the precinct first.

“Donovan.”

“Oh!” I said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be there.”

He laughed. “Hello, Ms. Driscoll. And where did you imagine I’d be?”

“Out in the field, I suppose.”

“Hunting down murderers.”

“Something like that,” I admitted.

“I’ll be doing that soon enough. Right now I’m at my computer catching up on paperwork. How can I help you?”

“I was over at a neighbor’s house and learned something I think you should know.

“Name?”

“The person this is about? Ruth Blessing. She was at the meeting the night Sylvia was poisoned.”

“The neighbor’s name.”

“Oh." My cheeks began to burn, and I was glad Donovan couldn’t see me blushing. “Allistair West. He was Sylvia’s good friend.”

“Allistair West, the architect?”

“That’s right.”

I heard nothing for a minute, then Donovan said, “So, you were over at Mr. West’s house and he happened to tell you something you consider relevant to Mrs. Morris’s murder.”

“Yes.”

Was that a chuckle?
I told him about Ruth’s behavior at the fundraising she’d chaired with Sylvia and that Sylvia might have sent in a letter blackballing her from chairing an upcoming event.

“I’ll look into it,” Donovan said. “Anything else Mr. West revealed that you consider important?”

“Nothing. But I received a strange phone call when I got home." I repeated verbatim what the person had said.

Donovan whistled. “Ms. Driscoll, this phone call worries me. Aside from your meeting with Mr. West last night, have you been asking questions? Talking to people about the murder?”

My face grew warm. “A bit, I suppose. I mentioned it at Sylvia’s shiva.”

“I know you want to see Mrs. Morris’s murderer brought to justice, but you’re going to have to leave it in the hands of me and my men.”

“But you don’t know these people!” I exclaimed.

“If you’ll forgive my being presumptuous, neither do you.”

Damn him, he had a point.

“I’m not trying to be rude, but except for the Gordons, you know the others in a purely social context. You’ve no idea who has a criminal record, cheats on his taxes or beats his spouse. Or her spouse, as the case may be.”

“And you have access to all that information? I don’t think so.”

Donovan sighed heavily into the phone. “Believe me, Ms. Driscoll, we do our best.”

*

A
t two o’clock I left to see Sylvia’s lawyer. Because of all the traffic, it took me twenty minutes to get to his office. I parked beneath the building and took the elevator up to a well-appointed office. A pretty receptionist greeted me, saying Mr. Tommasi would be available in less than ten minutes. To my surprise, that proved to be the case.

Ralph Tommasi was short, square, and in his mid-fifties. He sported a black mustache and a big smile. He welcomed me into his office and offered me his sympathy regarding Sylvia’s demise.

“Mrs. Morris named you as beneficiary on one of her bank accounts.”

I nodded. “Michele told me.” I hesitated, then asked, “how soon do you think it will be before I can receive the money?”

“As soon as you like.” He reached inside a large envelope and pulled out a bank book and a folded piece of paper. “Here’s the bank book and a copy of the death certificate Michele was kind enough to bring us. Take it to the bank and collect your inheritance.”

I opened the bankbook and noted with a gasp that the amount I’d be receiving was close to one hundred and fifteen thousand dollars.
Bless you, Sylvia.

“Now all that remains is for you to show me your license and another form of identification, and I’ll have you sign these release forms,” Mr. Tommasi said.

Minutes later our paperwork completed, we shook hands again.

“I was very fond of Sylvia,” the lawyer said. “I hope they find her killer very soon.”

“Me, too.” I cleared my throat. “By the way, this money she left me came as a big surprise.”

He grinned. “Sylvia wanted it that way. She figured you’d try to talk her out of it if you knew.”

I felt a blaze of anger toward Detective Donovan. The lawyer must have told him I had no prior knowledge of Sylvia’s bequest, yet he made me feel like a suspect.

Or had my nerves caused me to misinterpret his intent?

Mr. Tommasi was escorting me to the outer door, when I turned to ask him a final question. “Do you remember when Sylvia put me down as a beneficiary for this account?”

“Certainly. Six months ago, almost to the day.”

Thank you, Sylvia,
I told her once again as I waited for the elevator, the bankbook and copy of the death certificate safely in my pocketbook.

I headed straight for my bank’s branch near the university to deposit the money, where it would remain until Hal could advise me how best to invest it. I withdrew three hundred dollars, feeling carefree and rich. I had the sudden urge to go shopping!

My first stop was Barnes & Noble, where I bought five hard-covered novels, something I hadn’t done in years. I hummed as I drove home, turning onto Main Street to make more purchases. In the specialty food store I bought a bottle of caviar, two imported cheeses, and crackers. I’d invite Allistair over for drinks. With this in mind, I entered the liquor store, where I selected an assortment of chardonnays to keep on hand.

Enough spending,
I decided as I stowed my purchases in the trunk of my car.

“Alexis!”

I turned to see who was calling me. Damn! From down the block, Gerda came hurrying toward me. I squelched the impulse to drive off and waited until she stood before me, panting and looking frantic.

“I left a message on Sylvia’s phone but you were out,” she said between gasps for breath. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?” I asked, suddenly curious.

Gerda glanced away. Was that a flicker of fear I’d caught in her expression? “Can you come to my house in an hour’s time?”

“I suppose, but why all the mystery? Can’t you tell me now?”

Her head jerked from left to right as she scanned the street. “Not here. Please, Alexis. It’s vital that we speak in private.”

“Does this have something to do with Sylvia’s death?”

“I must hurry or I’ll be late for my doctor’s appointment. Will you come?”

“I suppose so,” I said, none too graciously. I didn’t appreciate being manipulated.

“Thank you.” Gerda exhaled. “There’s a little path that cuts through the pine trees separating our properties. Use that instead of going all the way around to the front of the house.”

I nodded and she scurried away.

Back home again, I stowed the perishables and bottles of wine in the refrigerator and fed a demanding Puss a between-meal nosh. Then I brought my laptop out to the deck, determined to resume work on my manuscript. In truth, I hadn’t looked at it in months, and would have to reread the one hundred and some pages before I could pick up where I’d left off.