“Damn!” she muttered aloud.
“What now?” Sol asked, strapping on his holster.
“Tomorrow I have to let them know if I’ll take the position with Carrington Suites, and I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do.”
“What position with what Suites?”
Lydia’s hand covered her gaping mouth. “Don’t tell me I never mentioned it.”
“No, you never mentioned it.”
Sol strode through the front door and along the path to the driveway, clicking open the locks on his car as he went. Lydia climbed into the passenger seat, and he started the motor. As they exited Twin Lakes, she said, “To tell the truth, I’ve been too busy to give it much thought. Which is why I haven’t been able to give Tom Coltrane an answer. I still don’t know what I’ll say tomorrow night.”
“You’ve been too busy playing Miss Marple.”
“Excuse me!” Lydia glared at his profile in the dim light.
“You heard me.”
“I am not playing at anything,” she said, fighting to keep a civil tone, wondering how they’d gotten to this point. “Gillian called me to help her sister.”
“You should have told Gillian to call the police.”
“I did, but Nicole doesn’t want the police on the scene. I don’t know why, but she must have a good reason.”
Sol patted her knee. “You get off on this cops and robbers stuff, Lydia. Don’t lie and say you don’t.”
“I—” She stopped. While she liked detecting and being in on the chase, her involvement always came about because of her relationships with people.
“You resent my connection to Daniel’s family and friends, that they turn to me for old-fashioned friendship and comfort.” She squirmed. “All right, I don’t mind picking up a clue or two.”
“Except there’s no murder case now, Lydia. Daniel’s murder’s been solved. Case closed.”
“If you say so.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, until Sol asked her to tell him the exact spot where Nicole would be waiting. They turned into the mall. Though many of the stores blazed with lights, they were all locked up for the night.
“What a place to have to wait for someone to pick you up,” Lydia murmured.
Sol made no comment.
“There’s the pizza parlor,” Lydia pointed. “But I don’t see Nicole.”
He drove across parking spots, and swung around in front of the pizza parlor. “Where the hell did she go?” he muttered.
“I should have called Nicole to say we were on our way, though Gillian must have told her.”
“She probably realized it wasn’t smart to stand in front of a lighted store, which might give a passing rapist ideas. I’ll drive slowly. Keep watch.”
“I will,” Lydia said, glad that Sol had come with her.
They drove from one end of the mall and back again. Sol frowned. “I’ll check out back. If she’s not there, I’m calling in the troops.”
Lydia nodded. Her stomach felt queasy. Something terrible had happened to Nicole. Maybe Ringo had come after her, furious because she’d run off. Maybe he—but she shook her head before she could complete her thought.
They found her lying on her side in a fetal position beside an overflowing Dumpster. Sol bent down to feel her pulse. Lydia cringed at the sight of blood oozing from the cruel blow to the side of her head.
“She’s alive. Pulse weak,” Sol said. He called for an ambulance while Lydia called Gillian to relate the bad news.
Chapter Twenty-Two
All eyes were fixed on the young doctor conferring with Matt and Polly in the corner of the waiting room. After he left, Polly burst into tears and buried her face in Matt’s chest.
Matt patted her back. “Pol, the doctor wants me to fill out forms and answer some questions. I’ll return in five minutes.”
“I need you here with me.”
Gently, Matt disengaged himself. “Polly, honey, I promise to come back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t leave me!”
Matt cast a frantic eye around the room. Denise and Arnold responded as a team, positioning themselves on either side of Polly—like parents walking their daughter down the aisle, Lydia thought. They sat her down on a plastic seat between them, freeing Matt to take care of hospital paperwork.
“He says her vital signs are good, but she’s still unconscious,” Polly sobbed.
“Whoever did it struck her from the side,” Matt said as he left the room.
“The way Evelyn was struck,” Lydia murmured to Sol.
“Very possibly,” he agreed, looking grim.
“Do they know who attacked Nicky?” Bennett asked.
“Like she can tell them,” Gillian answered sarcastically. “Use your brains, Bennett. Nicole’s been zonked and she’s out for the count.”
“Don’t talk like that, Gillian!” her uncle ordered. “You’re upsetting your mother.”
“My poor baby,” Polly moaned.
Daniel’s three children and two of his grandchildren had come together on this Sunday night—united, for once, Lydia thought—by the brutal attack on Nicole. Polly must have called Denise, who must have asked Bennett to drive her to the hospital. Had one of Arnold’s sisters implored him to keep vigil at a Long Island hospital close to midnight on a Sunday night? Or was he already on Long Island because he’d been the person who had attacked Nicole?
But for what reason? And how would Arnold know where to find Nicole when no one but Ringo had known her whereabouts for the past week?
A police officer entered the waiting room looking for Sol. They spoke in low tones and, strain as she might, Lydia couldn’t make heads or tails of their conversation. When Sol returned, he took Gillian to the far end of the room to ask several questions. When he was done, he tapped Lydia on the shoulder. “Ready to go home?”
Lydia approached Polly, who was being comforted by Gillian. “I’m so sorry, Polly. Please call if I can do anything.”
Polly grasped Lydia’s hand. “I just want Nicole to be all right.”
Denise, with whom Lydia hadn’t exchanged one word, glared at Lydia and Sol as they left the room.
“Denise is angry at both of us,” Lydia commented as they started down the long, florescent-lit corridor.
Sol let out a humorless laugh. “You, by association. She blames me for her boyfriend’s murder, and was outraged when we questioned her regarding her father’s homicide.”
“There’s no reason why Stefano would kill Daniel if Denise wasn’t part of it.”
“Not true, Lydia,” he answered brusquely. “Tadic might have done it on his own, if he planned to marry Denise for her inheritance.”
“Maybe Stefano didn’t kill Daniel,” Lydia said.
“Maybe he didn’t.”
She turned to stare at him. “Are you saying the case is still open? Which reminds me, I have to tell you something about Rochelle Holtstein.”
“Rochelle Holtstein? Not her husband, Allen?”
“Well, maybe both of them, but Rochelle—”
Sol threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Lydia demanded.
“Your playing detective. Tossing out half-baked ideas based on intuition, with no evidence, no proof to back them up.”
Then I won’t tell you, if that’s how you’re going to be.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they reached Sol’s car, he unlocked the doors and they slid into their seats. “You’re not going to tell me Rochelle Holtstein attacked Nicole tonight, are you?” he said.
“Of course not.”
Sol turned on the ignition “Good! Because we’ve reason to believe the same person who struck Evelyn attacked Nicole.”
“Nicole’s boyfriend?”
“Could be. He’s an addict. He could have gone after them for different reasons. Or maybe it was someone else. At any rate, I’m stationing an officer outside Nicole’s hospital room. In case he comes back to finish the job.”
Lydia thought a minute. “But Evelyn’s valuables were found at Stefano’s place. Do you think Ringo and Stefano were working together?”
“Maybe. Or could be the jewelry was planted.”
Excited, she asked, “Does that mean you’ve opened the case again?”
He turned to face her. “You know, Lydia, that’s precisely the kind of information I’m not at liberty to share—with you or anyone else.”
“Oh!” Rebuffed, she clamped her lips shut, determined not to speak again for the rest of the drive home.
Sol said nothing to break the silence. To Lydia, the fifteen-minute trip seemed like an hour. Questions raged in her head, questions she longed to ask Sol but wouldn’t. Were the cops looking for Ringo or did they have other suspects? And why was Sol suddenly acting so awful, refusing to tell her anything about the case? She was still smarting from the way he’d laughed at her when she’d mentioned Rochelle Holtstein, and hadn’t let her finish her sentence. He had no right to be so—so condescending, especially when he didn’t have all the answers.
He slowed down as they approached her house. Lydia leaped from the car in record time.
“Good night,” she said.
“Good night.”
So much for his concern about their relationship. She punched in her garage door code, wishing the sound of his car driving off didn’t make her feel forlorn and sad.
Despite a restless night, Lydia awoke early the following morning. She ran a few washes and straightened up the kitchen cupboards, all the while debating her big decision.
Should she take the managerial position? She recognized the need for structure in her life. The fact that murder had cropped up in Twin Lakes for the second time in a year had to be a fluke. A rare coincidence. Her energy level required her to make the most of her administrative abilities and intellect, and take on a healthy amount of responsibility. She was perfectly suited for the position they were offering. After the initial hectic period, it would be a nine to five job, no weekends. She would have an assistant. Lydia grinned, thinking maybe she’d take Jessica with her. She doubted Jessica would leave Len, but she’d make the offer.
Of should she continue to work at Carrington House? It filled enough hours of the week, leaving her time to spend with her granddaughters, go out with friends, and sit by the pool during the summer months. She’d have that this summer, anyway, because construction on the Suites was just beginning. The rooms wouldn’t be ready until the fall.
She still couldn’t make up her mind, and was relieved that she didn’t have to give her decision—at least for the present.
The day yawned before her. Lydia called the hospital to find out how Nicole was doing. When asked if she was a relative, she answered that she was an aunt, and received the information that Nicole was still unconscious.
“Damn,” she muttered as she put down the phone. She waited until a quarter to nine to call Barbara. Her friend practically sang out her greeting.
“And how are you, Lydia dear?”
“I’ve been better.” She told Barbara about Nicole.
“How awful! Who does Sol think did this?”
“He won’t say. Only that the Nicole and Evelyn were probably attacked by the same person.”
“But why? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’ve no idea, but I’m getting the feeling they’re no longer certain that Stefano killed Daniel. Or if he acted alone. Nicole’s boyfriend, Ringo, might be involved. I don’t know anything. Sol’s as quiet as a clam.”
“Are you two fighting?”
“Of course not! What makes you think that?”
“The way you spit out his name.”
Lydia paused, then said, “Things are kind of cool between us. Gillian called last night and interrupted us at a delicate time. It infuriates him that I’m involved in what he considers his case. I can’t help it if I’m friendly with Daniel’s family.”
“And that you insist on checking out facts for yourself.”
“That, too,” she admitted.
“Did you tell Sol about Rochelle Holtstein?”
“I started to, and he laughed at me.”
“Lyddie, I’m sorry. What that woman told us could very well be a confession of murder.”
“Or the Alzheimer’s spinning a tale. Either way, it will have to wait. More importantly, I don’t believe Stefano killed Daniel. And though Sol won’t admit it, I doubt the police do, either. I have an idea who might be behind all this. Are you free today?”
Barbara sighed. “Sorry, I’m not. Andrew and I are going out east for lunch and a meandering kind of day. He’s picking me up soon.”
“I’m glad things are going well for you and Andrew. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks, Lyddie. I wish things were better between you and Sol.”
“So do I,” Lydia said wryly. “Either they’ll improve or they’ll come to an end. Talk to you later.”
Next, Lydia dialed Ron’s number. Bella answered and went to get her husband.
“Ron, do you think you and Mick could meet me in an hour?”
Ron sounded excited. “You have news, Lydia!”
“Kind of,” she hedged, not wanting to go into everything.
“Great! I’ll call Mick. Where shall we meet? The Starbucks on Main Street?”
“Why not? Can you be there at ten?”
“I’ll call back if we can’t make it.”
Lydia arrived early and staked out a table at the far end of the room. When Ron and Mick walked in, avidly conversing as always, she felt a smile forming on her face. She’d grown very fond of the two old buzzards, and was grateful for their interest in finding the person who had murdered Daniel and attacked Evelyn and Nicole. As sure as she had two granddaughters, Lydia knew the same assailant, who was still very much alive, had struck all three victims.
“What’s up, Lydia?” Mick asked, bussing her cheek.
“I want to share some information with both of you and get your take on another.”
“All right,” Ron said. “What’s everyone having?”
Once he had their orders straight, he wandered off to the counter. After Ron returned and they all had a chance to sip and to dunk at least one bite of biscotti, Lydia told them about the attack on Nicole.
“How awful!” Ron said. “I hope Nicole comes out of this without any brain damage.”
“Does Sol think Nicole’s boyfriend attacked her?” Mick asked.
Lydia looked from one earnest face to the other. “It might be him. To be perfectly honest, I doubt that Sol intends to tell me anything else about this case.”
“That’s too bad,” Mick commiserated. “It sounds like you and your detective are having your ups and downs.”