Lydia gave her a motherly pat. “Don’t worry, dear. We won’t breathe a word.”
Mindy sighed with relief. “Thank you! I need this job until my wedding, and that’s practically an entire year from today.”
Outside, the two women looked at one other and shook their heads.
Barbara said, “And what does she intend to do once they’re married—sit at home and eat chocolates? Live on their wedding gifts?”
“Perhaps have a baby,” Lydia said as they got into her Lexus. “In which case, she’ll have to cut those talons. But Mindy was most informative. Evelyn said Rochelle and Allen were buying a condo on the Island.”
“Maybe they want to economize. They say living in Arizona is less expensive than living up here.”
“So they say,” Lydia said. She took out her cell phone and dialed the Holtsteins’ number, which she’d jotted down before leaving the house. The phone rang twice, and then Rochelle picked up. Lydia identified herself, explained that she and Barbara were at Whispering Pines checking out an apartment for Barbara’s sister, and were wondering if they could stop by and ask Rochelle a few questions about the place. Rochelle said to come right over.
Chapter Twenty
“The place is a dive,” Allen said. “The plumbing stinks, the walls are paper-thin, and since there aren’t enough bins, garbage often overflows into the street. Then you have low-class neighbors shouting at all hours, day and night. I wouldn’t recommend this place to a homeless person.”
He lifted the coffee urn. “Anyone for more?”
“I’m fine,” Lydia said.
Cup in hand, Barbara reached across the tiny round table where the four of them were sitting. “Thanks, I’ll have a bit more. This coffee is delicious.”
Rochelle beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. I buy the beans in Fairway.”
“As for the apartments here, I’m glad you told me about the noise factor,” Barbara said. “My sister’s very sensitive to sounds.”
“And they’re giving me a tough time breaking the lease.” Allen pointed to a stain on the ceiling. “See that? It leaks every time it rains. Management doesn’t give a damn once you’ve signed on the dotted line.”
Rochelle reached over to pat her husband’s shoulder. “Allen dear, don’t aggravate yourself. It’s not good for your heart. I’ve told you, I’ll take care of it—like before.”
Allen leaped to his feet with amazing agility for a man approaching eighty. “Time for your nap, dear.”
He tried to raise his wife from her seat, but Rochelle held fast. A beatific smile graced her lips. “A small fire in their office would convince them to see things differently. Or maybe—”
“Rochelle, don’t talk foolishness!” Allen’s false sounding laugh sent chills down Lydia’s back. “The girls might get the wrong impression.”
Rochelle waved her hand and laughed. “Oh, poo, Ally. You’re always so concerned when there’s nothing to worry about. No one ever found out.”
“You’re tired and need to take a nap.”
Allen made another effort to lift her from her chair, and this time Rochelle cooperated. She yawned.
“Yes, I am sleepy.” She turned from one startled woman to the other. “Thank you for coming. Please stop by again.”
She walked meekly beside her husband as he escorted her to their bedroom. Lydia and Barbara rose, eager to flee this madhouse.
“Please wait,” Allen said over his shoulder. “I’ll be with you momentarily.”
They sighed and sat down again.
When he returned ten minutes later, he looked exhausted. “I gave her a pill and she’s fast asleep. Poor Rochelle. She’s in the first stage of Alzheimer’s. She’ll be fine one minute—clear-headed and witty as always—then start talking gibberish.”
“I am sorry, Allen,” Lydia said. “It must be very hard on you.”
“I hope you don’t believe a word of that nonsense she was spouting.” There was that awful laugh again. “When she’s not in her right mind, the most outlandish statements pour from her mouth. I don’t know where she dreams them up.”
Barbara offered a smile of commiseration. “I understand. I’ve an aunt who had Alzheimer’s. My heart goes out to you both.”
“Thank you,” Allen murmured.
They stood to leave. This time he didn’t stop them.
Lydia paused to say, “I’m sure if you mention Rochelle’s condition, they’ll be more amenable to letting you out of your lease. Where were you planning to go?”
“Arizona,” he answered. “It’s been our dream these last few years, and now we’ve the money to make the move. I want to do it as soon as possible—while Rochelle’s still lucid a good part of the time.”
Lydia nodded as she considered the most tactful way to ask her question. She tried for humor. “That’s wonderful, Allen. Did a rich uncle leave you a bundle of money?”
Allen laughed. “At our age? Come on, Lydia. Get real!”
“Sorry,” Lydia apologized, and looked so remorseful he felt obliged to explain.
“The long and short of it is we’ve had—expenses. Now we’re no longer in debt.”
That was as vague an answer as any. Lydia decided not to push it. Instead, she glanced at her watch.
“My goodness, I didn’t realize it was this late. Barbara has an appointment. Don’t you, Barbara?”
“Er—yes,” Barbara agreed. Though this was the first truthful thing either of them had said during their visit, it came out as a blatant lie.
“I’ll give Evelyn your regards when I speak to her,” Lydia said.
“Please do that,” Allen said. “She’s been very kind to Rochelle and me.”
“She appreciated your taking her out to dinner after that awful incident,” Lydia said.
“When is she coming home?” Allen asked.
Lydia controlled the tremor that ran down her spine. “Soon, I imagine, now that the police have decided the man who attacked her and killed Daniel is dead.”
Allen stepped closer to Lydia. She flinched. He wasn’t a tall man, but at seventy-eight, he was in good physical condition. For all she knew, he’d had a hand in killing two people and attacking another. She was grateful he hadn’t picked up on her anxiety. Instead, he sounded outraged when he said, “That Ligoris guy got what he deserved. He killed one of the greatest people I ever knew!”
Lydia and Barbara said quick good-byes and hurried out of the apartment.
“Whew!” Barbara exclaimed in the elevator. “Sounds like Rochelle killed Allen’s boss all those years ago! What kind of people do you take me to visit, Lydia Krause?”
Lydia smiled at her attempt at humor. “We don’t know for sure. It could be the Alzheimer’s speaking.”
“Maybe, but Allen sure was wigged out by what Rochelle was saying. I bet the cops never considered her a suspect.”
“I’ll have to tell Sol what she said, though he’ll be furious that we set foot in the Holtsteins’ living room.”
As they stepped into Lydia’s car, Barbara asked, “Do you think either of them killed Daniel?”
Lydia shook her head. “I doubt it. They weren’t in line for an inheritance.”
“But maybe they figured that if Daniel were to die, Allen wouldn’t have to repay his debt.”
Lydia drove, her eyes fixed on the road. A few minutes later, she said, “Barbara, you bring up an important point: it’s what’s going on in the murderer’s mind that provokes the crime, how he or she perceives a situation. Not necessarily what’s real. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“Of course. Only we have to work the other way round.”
“Right.” Lydia sighed. “We deduce from facts, clues, and evidence. Stefano’s dead, and we’ve spoken to the Holtsteins. I feel like we’re back to square one.”
She dropped Barbara off at her house and wished her a fun evening with Andrew.
“Let’s make it a foursome one night,” Barbara called back.
“Good idea,” Lydia agreed, but somehow she doubted it would ever happen. Barbara and Andrew were retired; their time was their own. Sol’s work was his top priority. Besides, while she considered him the man in her life, she had difficulty picturing Sol at her daughter Meredith’s for dinner, or going to the movies with Barbara and Andrew.
She drove home, wondering if Sol would stop by tonight. She clicked the garage door opener. As the door began to rise, a figure approached from the shadows. Lydia’s rush of panic subsided when she recognized the slender form of Gillian Ellenberg. The girl, dressed in black jeans and a black long-sleeved polo, darted over to the car before Lydia could open her door.
“Mrs. Krause—Lydia, I need to talk to you!”
“Of course, dear. Come inside.”
“Nicole’s in trouble. It’s really bad.” The words spilled from her mouth as she followed Lydia into the kitchen. Lydia gestured to the table and Gillian hurled herself into a chair.
“Has she come home?”
Gillian shook her head from side to side. Tears filled her blue eyes and she scrubbed them away. “She called me on my cell when that creep Ringo fell asleep. He’s guarding her like a hawk.”
“Why didn’t she leave when she had the chance? Want something to eat?”
Gillian turned her gaze on Lydia. Beyond the girl’s spiky hair and black lipstick shone her great beauty. “Yes, please. I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
Lydia put a bagel in the toaster and slices of turkey and cheese on a plate. She brought out containers of salads and eating utensils. Gillian scooped a mound of coleslaw onto her plate and devoured it as though she were starving
“Sorry,” she apologized when she came up for air. “I have a fast metabolism. I have to eat pretty much all the time.”
Lydia smiled. “I’m delighted to feed someone with a hearty appetite.”
When Gillian’s plate was empty and she showed no sign of refilling it, Lydia brought out the pastries she’d bought at the gourmet shop. Two of them disappeared quickly.
“Milk, tea, or coffee?” Lydia inquired.
“Milk would be great.”
Lydia filled a glass, then sat down to listen to the rest of Gillian’s story.
“Nicky’s afraid to come home. I begged her to, but she said there was no point. He’d come after her and get her.”
“Ringo? But why?” Lydia’s eyes widened with fear. “Don’t tell me she’s in an abusive relationship.”
Gillian raked her hand through her short hair. “I don’t know. She’s terrified, and I’m not sure it’s of Ringo. She claims she saw something, but she won’t tell me what. The only thing I got out of her was where she and Ringo are staying. She told me after I swore up and down I wouldn’t call our parents or the police.”
She clutched at Lydia’s hand. “My boyfriend’s out of town, and there’s no one I can turn to. So I thought you’d help me.” She gave a little smile. “Grandpa said you were a whiz when it came to solving problems.”
Lydia winced, remembering how little she’d done to help Daniel before someone murdered him. “What do you want me to do, Gillian? I’m afraid I’m not the person to break down the door and rescue your sister. I think we should leave it to the police.”
“No! If Nicole said not to, there’s a reason.” She cast Lydia a baleful glare. “I’ll go myself!”
She flung herself from her chair and made a beeline for the door.
“Wait, I’ll come with you!” Lydia called after her.
Gillian ignored her, but had difficulty undoing the lock. When Lydia put a hand on her shoulder, she flinched.
“I said I’d go with you.”
“If you want,” Gillian said. “We’ll take my car. Yours would stick out where we’re going.”
*
The cottage was in a rundown residential area two towns east. Gillian parked in the rutted driveway, behind a rusted pickup truck missing a tire. The place looked deserted. No light shone from any of the windows.
“I don’t think anyone’s here,” Lydia said.
“The electricity’s been cut off,” Gillian answered without breaking stride as she headed for the back door. All in black, she was barely visible amid the scraggly bushes, and it dawned on Lydia that Gillian had dressed for the occasion.
“Nicky, are you there?” Gillian called as she rapped on the glass panel of the warped door.
Lydia wondered at her temerity. Ringo was a drug addict. For all she knew, he had a gun, which he’d pull on whomever came to his home or hideout or whatever the vernacular was. As much as she wanted Nicole to appear and leave with them, Lydia was relieved when the silence continued.
“Maybe they went out,” she suggested, ready to return to the car and the safety of her home.
“I doubt it.” Gillian slipped a charge card from her pocket and edged it along the crack between the door and the frame. A moment later, she turned the handle and a damp, fetid odor assailed Lydia’s nostrils.
“Nicky,” Gillian called softly, switching on a flashlight that cast a narrow but potent shaft of light on the grungy kitchen. Lydia trailed behind as Gillian walked down the narrow passageway, beaming the flashlight on the empty space that must have been the living room. She stopped at the bedroom. Lydia peered over her shoulder. A mattress covered by a garish-colored quilt filled half the room. Gillian zoomed in on the knapsack in the corner and rummaged through it.
“This is Nicole’s. Some of her clothes are here. No sign of her cell phone. I hope she has it with her.”
“Do you think she ran away from Ringo, or with him?” Lydia asked.
“I don’t know. Ringo has a beat-up, old jalopy, but it wasn’t parked outside. Nicole and I share our car, so she doesn’t have her own wheels. But Mom said she withdrew a large sum of money from the bank, so maybe she can call a cab.”
If her boyfriend didn’t help himself to it all.
Lydia knew Gillian was disappointed not to have found her sister. Hearing negative comments would only make her feel worse.
They climbed back into the car and Gillian retraced their route. At the first red light, she turned to Lydia. “Thanks for coming with me. My mom would kill me if she found out I’d gone alone.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t bring Nicole home,” Lydia said. “I think it’s time to call in the police.”
“Nicky’s terrified. She believes the police won’t be able to protect her.”
“Why don’t you try calling her now?”
Gillian pulled into a strip mall and reached for her cell phone.
“Hello?”
In the streetlight, Lydia saw her eyes flash with anger. “Damn you, put my sister on! Hello! Hello!”