“I will,” Lydia promised.
She parked in front of Ron’s house and rang the doorbell. Bella Morganstern opened the door. In the small hall, she and Lydia exchanged commiserations, about how sad it was to have attended Daniel’s funeral so soon after his birthday party. Bella cocked her head and asked, “Can I help you with something?”
Lydia smiled. “I’d like to speak to Ron if he’s here.”
“Ron!” Bella called out, and led Lydia into a small den cluttered with photos of children and grandchildren and small figurines of penguins. The birds were made of wood, glass, ceramic, and stone. Bella saw her eying them and smiled. “We collect them, Ron and I.”
Bella left and Ron entered the room a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes. He wore khaki pants, a rumpled short-sleeved shirt, and slippers without socks. Lydia must have wakened him from a nap. But he was good-natured enough to offer a small smile as he settled into the brown leather couch that formed an L with the love seat in which she was sitting.
“Hello, Ron,” Lydia said. “I wanted to talk to you. About Daniel.”
“Sure.” Ron leaned back and palmed back what remained of his sparse gray hair. “It’s sad how he died so suddenly just before his wedding.”
“Yes, it is,” Lydia said.
“Makes you wonder,” Ron said.
“Makes you wonder what?” Lydia asked, curious.
Ron laughed. It was a harsh sound that ended in a smoker’s cough. “If one of his kids knocked him off.”
Lydia shuddered at the track Ron’s thoughts were following. At the same time, it gave her the opening she needed. “Polly thinks someone murdered Daniel. Last week he received calls that upset him. And he thought a car was following him each time he left Twin Lakes by himself.”
Ron looked at her in alarm. “Really? Maybe she should notify the police.”
Lydia nodded, watching his face for any sign of guilt. “She wants the body to be exhumed, but her brother and sister think she’s overreacting to their father’s death.”
Ron got to his feet. “They would—wouldn’t they?—if they did poor Daniel in.” He called over his shoulder as he walked toward the bar in the far corner, “I think this warrants a drink. Would you like something?”
“No, thanks.” Lydia watched him pour scotch almost to the top of a highball glass. She waited until he drank deeply and sat down again before she asked, “What was Daniel like when he was a kid?”
Ron leaned back and smiled. “Danny was the best! An all-around terrific guy. He was a great athlete and absolutely brilliant, in school and out.” He grinned. “The kid came up with more ways for us to get into trouble than our whole group put together. Never serious trouble, mind you. Sometimes we played hooky and rode our bicycles to the beach. One Halloween we painted the water tower.” He chuckled, pleased with himself. “They never caught us for that.”
“Was Mick Diminio part of your group?”
“Yep. There were four of us—Danny, Mickey, me, and Billy Evans. Billy moved away, to California. He died about ten years ago. I think Mick went to his funeral.”
“I suppose you, Mick, and Daniel kept up with one other, seeing that you all ended up living on Long Island.”
Ron shrugged. “Mick and I did, off and on, but we kind of lost track of Danny until he moved back to Suffolk County. What a surprise that was, him and me ending up here, a stone’s throw from the old neighborhood.”
“What about Timmy John Desmond?”
Ron gulped down the rest of his scotch. His hand trembled as he set the glass on the table. “How did you come up with that name?”
Though her heart was racing, Lydia spoke calmly. “I saw a sketch he’d made of Daniel. He was very talented.”
“He was a creep!” Ron’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you asking me about Timmy John?”
“I was wondering if you knew what happened to him.”
“How would I know? I’m tired of your questions. I’d like you to go.”
Lydia stood, as eager to leave as he was to see the back of her. His vehement reaction meant her assumptions were correct. Ron and the others were involved with the poor boy’s disappearance all those years ago. They must have murdered him! When his remains were discovered, Daniel put two and two together and must have let his old friends know he was on to them.
And now Daniel was dead. Ron and Mick must have killed him to make sure he remained silent. There was no statute of limitations regarding murder.
Ridiculous! Lydia shook her head as she followed Ron to the door. Eighty-five-year-old men didn’t go around killing one another.
Suddenly Ron spun around, making her flinch.
“I’d forget about Timmy John, if I were you.”
She forced herself to meet his glare. “The police aren’t fools. They’ll figure things out and come here looking for answers.”
He jutted out his chin so that his face was inches from hers. “If they do, I’ll know who sent them.”
Eighty-five or not, his angry bulldog expression scared the bejeezus out of her. Lydia dashed out the door and into the street. A chat with Ron Morganstern had proven to be a dumb idea, after all.
*
Sol was only fifteen minutes late. He winked as he slid into the booth across from her. “Sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner. As it is, I flew.”
“And risked a ticket,” she said archly.
He studied her face, took in the low V of her silk top, and winked. “It was worth the risk.”
“Thank you.” Lydia had to restrain herself from getting up and throwing herself into his arms where she’d feel safe and secure after her encounter with Ron Morganstern. Also, because Sol was the sexiest man she knew and she was half in love with him.
She handed him a menu instead.
They both ordered Greek salads topped with grilled chicken breasts. Lydia was pleasantly surprised. She found the salad crisp and fresh, the chicken tender and moist, and the pita bread warm and nicely grilled. When she’d eaten as much as she could, she found Sol grinning at her over their empty plates.
“Welcome back to earth.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Except for the one cookie I grabbed at Polly’s, I haven’t eaten since this morning.”
Sol pitched his voice low so no one but she could hear him. “I figured you must have been near starvation when you didn’t ask a single question about the body found in the root cellar.”
“Have you finally gotten the report?”
“Finally.”
Lydia pushed back her dish and leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”
“We have a tentative ID based on sketchy reports from seventy years ago. A fifteen-year-old boy named Timothy Desmond was reported missing and never found. From what we pieced together, he came from Arkansas to live with relatives just a few blocks from the excavation site. After six weeks, he disappeared. At first his aunt and uncle thought he went home, though his aunt didn’t think he would because his stepfather used to beat him badly—to get the devil out of him. The kid had epilepsy.”
Lydia shook her head. “Poor Timmy John.”
“What did you say?”
Lydia blinked, disconcerted by Sol’s glowering expression. She was getting a bit fed up with men reacting unfavorably whenever she mentioned the boy’s name.
“I said ‘poor Timmy John,’” she repeated, obviously too loudly because this time Sol put a finger to his lips.
“How did you know his name was Timmy John?”
“Daniel Korman, my neighbor who died, kept a sketch done by Timmy John in his den. I saw it this afternoon when I visited Daniel’s fiancée. Evelyn said Daniel had always been troubled by his disappearance and wondered what had happened to him.”
Their waiter asked if they wanted coffee and dessert. They ordered decaf and a galaktobouriko to share. When the young man was well on his way to the kitchen, Sol whistled.
“Your neighbor who just died knew the boy whose corpse they dug up at the construction site? That’s quite a coincidence.”
She nodded and went on to tell Sol about her conversation with Daniel and his dilemma of whether to expose an old crime or let sleeping dogs lie.
“Expose an old crime,” Sol echoed. “Interesting.”
“Who lived in that house in the nineteen thirties?”
Sol rubbed his forehead as he searched his mind for the name. “A family named Evans.”
Billy Evans, she thought, this time careful not to utter the name aloud. Though why shouldn’t she tell Sol what she knew? Had Ron Morganstern succeeded in intimidating her? If he and Mick had killed Daniel, it was her responsibility to tell Sol everything she’d learned.
Lydia grimaced. Once she told Sol, he’d be furious that she’d gone to talk to Ron on her own, and advise her not to do anything like it again.
“Why does Daniel Korman’s daughter believe he was murdered?” Sol asked.
“The week before he died, someone tailed him when he left Twin Lakes. And he’d gotten some weird phone calls.”
Sol took out his notepad. “Dan-iel Korman,” he sounded out as he wrote. “And his daughter’s name, address, and phone number, if you know them.”
“It’s Polly Ellenberg. She lives in The Knolls, near my daughter, Meredith. I can’t remember her address or phone number.”
“Did Mrs. Ellenberg call you specifically to tell you her suspicions about her father’s death?”
“I paid a shiva call at Polly’s house after the funeral and walked in on an argument she was having with her brother and sister, about exhuming Daniel’s body. Arnold and Denise thought Polly was overreacting to their father’s death and wouldn’t agree to it.”
“Interesting,” Sol observed. “I’ll get their names and addresses from Mrs. Ellenberg and speak to them. Please continue.”
The note of formality that had crept into Sol’s voice made her self-conscious. “I went to see Evelyn Hammond, Daniel’s fiancée.”
“She wasn’t at the shiva?”
“No. Arnold made a nasty crack at the funeral—that Daniel would still be alive if not for Evelyn’s birthday party. Evelyn fell to pieces.”
“Do you think he did it deliberately? To stir up discord? Gain sympathy?”
Surprised, Lydia shook her head. “Why—I don’t know. I never considered it until now.”
“Did Mrs. Hammond sense something was amiss with Mr. Korman?”
“Actually, she did. Daniel had been very secretive and upset before his birthday party.”
Sol put down his notepad and met Lydia’s gaze. “No doubt he tried to find out what really happened seventy years ago. I’m not saying he was murdered, but I intend to do what I can to have his body exhumed ASAP.” He reached for her hands. “People die, and not always by natural causes. You see where playing detective can take you?”
“I do.” Now was the time to tell Sol about Ron and Mick Diminio. But the police couldn’t hold them indefinitely, and then they’d be free to come after her! She’d be better off waiting to see what else developed.
Sol squeezed her fingers. “Go on, Lydia. Tell me the rest.”
“That’s all there is to tell.” Damn it, why did she sound like a teenage boy whose voice was about to change?
Sol let out a belly laugh. “Out with it.”
Feeling foolish, she jerked her hands free.
“Evelyn insisted that I open Daniel’s computer files. I didn’t want to, but she said if I didn’t, she’d get someone else to do it. He was keeping records on two people he was friends with at the time Timmy John vanished—Ron Morganstern and Mick Diminio.”
“Diminio!” Sol whistled. “Isn’t he related to Michael Diminio, our stand-in town supervisor? Of course! The old man’s his father. He’s an old pol himself.”
“So I gather. Ron and Mick Diminio were both at Daniel’s party Saturday night. Ron Morganstern lives at Twin Lakes. He had no problem talking about the good old times. But when I mentioned Timmy John’s name, he reacted like he’d seen a ghost.”
Sol reached over the table and gripped her shoulders. “You did what?”
“Ouch! You’re hurting me.”
“Sorry. I can’t believe you did such a stupid thing. And where did this conversation take place?”
Lydia swallowed. “In his den.”
Sol smacked his hand to his forehead. “You’re an intelligent woman! You ran your own company, for God’s sake! How could you walk into the home of a possible homicide suspect and dangle information in front of him that could make him want to kill you too?”
Lydia found herself babbling. “I wanted to see Ron’s reaction when I mentioned Timmy John’s name. He nearly jumped out of his skin at Daniel’s funeral when someone mentioned the remains were being identified. He told me himself that he, Daniel, Mick Diminio, and Billy Evans were friends when they were kids. When I saw Daniel’s notes on Ron and Mick Diminio, I knew they had something to do with Timmy John’s death.”
“Let me get this straight.” Sol took a deep breath. “After you found out all these connections, you let Morganstern know you’re on to him, forgetting that, if he already killed two people, he might consider knocking you off, too?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I shouldn’t have,” she said softly.
Sol’s fist pounded the table, making her jump and sending glances their way. “What you should have done was call me! I’m a homicide detective, remember? Or were you planning on solving these murders on your own?”
“I’m sorry, Sol. I won’t do anything that stupid again.”
“Indeed you won’t.” His voice remained soft, but it managed to send chills down her spine. “Come on, we’re leaving. I’m following you home.”
Chapter Eight
Lydia sat on a living room sofa, her arms wrapped around her knees, feeling very much like a child who’d been subjected to an unfair tongue lashing. At the same time, she was red hot angry. She wasn’t a child, and Sol Molina certainly wasn’t her father! While she’d had no business going to Ron Morganstern’s home to ring his chimes, blow his cool, or whatever the expression was these days, she’d come away convinced he was involved in Timmy John’s death. She’d leave it to Sol Molina to find out exactly what part Ron and his friend, Mick Diminio, had played all those years ago.
Reggie came to snuggle beside her, and she was grateful for his purring companionship. She had hoped for a human kind of closeness to end the evening, but that hadn’t happened. Reggie left, and she went into the den and turned on the TV.