New Year's Eve Murder (19 page)

“My name is Christine Bennett. I'd like to see Mr. Childs.”

She looked over at my ancient car and then studied me for a few seconds. “What is the nature of your business, Ms. Bennett?”

“It has to do with his daughter Melissa's magazine, Soupçon”

“Please wait here.”

“Here” was in the large foyer. I stepped in a little farther, hoping to see someone through a doorway, but the nearby rooms were empty. The woman in the brown dress had disappeared silently and I could hear no voices. It was the quietest house I had ever been in. I found myself listening for footsteps, for anything that marked a sign of life.

Finally the woman returned. She gave me a half smile. “Come this way, please.”

I followed her into a room that looked more lived-in than the ones near the front of the house. There were many windows, and a lot of plants and even trees spaced around where they could soak up light. A slim, grayish-haired woman in a black dress that barely covered her knees stood waiting for me. A pin with glittering stones that I took to be diamonds adorned the plain dress and picked up sparkles of light as she moved.

“I'm Mrs. Childs,” she said. “You are—”

“Christine Bennett. I'm sorry to intrude. I want to—”

“Do you live in Brewster?” she interrupted.

“I live in Oakwood.”

“How did you find this address?”

“It was a stroke of luck.”

“I wonder,” Mrs. Childs said with obvious skepticism. “How can I help you, Ms. Bennett?”

“If I could talk to your husband…”

“My husband is dead, Ms. Bennett.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said, feeling the shock of her words.

“So I'm afraid you've driven a long way for nothing.”

“When did he die?” I asked.

“In December. It's a month tomorrow. It was a heart attack, very sudden.” The black dress, the stack of letters she was writing on the desk.

“I apologize for the intrusion.” I hadn't sat because she
hadn't invited me to and was still standing herself. I started to turn toward the door when she spoke.

“Can I help you with something?”

“I don't think so.” There was nothing I could say that would not give away her husband's secret.

The woman in brown was waiting just outside the room. I followed her to the front door.

“Well, that was hardly a visit,” Elsie said as she saw me at the front door. “Come on in and have lunch with me before you go.”

I really wanted to get home and make a phone call but I couldn't turn her down. Eddie was fast asleep in Elsie's crib, and I tiptoed out after I looked in on him and went downstairs where Elsie was enlarging an already put-together salad. “Looks great,” I said.

“Well, they've got such a variety of greens nowadays and I keep hearing how good they are for you. Come sit, and you tell me what's going on in your life.”

I obliged her and we had a good time eating and talking till Eddie woke up. Then I nursed him and packed us up and drove home. I knew Eddie would sleep for a little while anyway, giving me time to find out what I could about the Childs publishing empire, if that's what it was. I knew now that William Childs could not have killed D.D. Butler. Whether she was murdered on New Year's Eve or a day earlier or later, she surely hadn't been murdered thirty days ago. Today was January fifteenth. Teddy Toledo had seen her shortly before the New Year's Eve weekend.

I dug out the address of
Cool Times
, smiling at the memory of Harlow Sugar's description of Billy Luft with
his shirt open to his navel and a bunch of chains adorning his naked chest.

“Billy Luft,” his voice answered, and I noted how much more accessible he was than Melissa Hanes.

“Mr. Luft, it's Chris Bennett. We talked a week ago about D.D. Butler.”

“Right. About her photo-essay. You find her?”

“Not exactly. Mr. Luft, who owns
Cool Times
?”

“I do. What does that have to do with D.D.?”

“Are you related to William Childs?”

The explosion of laughter forced me to pull the phone away from my ear. “You kidding?”

“I'm very serious.”

“If you're serious, I'll be serious. I never met the man in my life.”

“What was so funny about my question?”

“Childs is rich. Childs is what we'd all like to be sooner or later. Preferably sooner.”

“Then he didn't have anything to do with your publishing D.D.'s photo-article?”

“William Childs? You've lost me. Is there something here I'm missing?”

“No. I think I'm looking in the wrong place. Tell me, how did you come to publish D.D.'s piece?”

“She showed it to me. I liked it. In this business you go with your gut. Mine is usually full of Maalox but it still functions.”

“So you have no connection to William Childs.”

“Not a one.”

“But you've heard of him.”

“Sure I've heard of him.”

“I understand his daughter is Melissa Hanes.”

“You bet. She publishes a magazine with an unpronounceable name.”

“Soupçon,” I said in my best French. “Did her father set up the magazine for her?”

“You bet he did,” Billy Luft said. “He was a world-class daddy. Set the kids up the way they wanted and kept control of his empire.”

There was that word. “Did he own a lot of magazines?”

“Enough. He died, didn't he?”

“About a month ago,” I said. “I tried to see him and found out. That's why I'm calling you.”

“Well, I can tell you I'm not in his class. Yet.”

“You said he set the kids up. Were there other kids besides Melissa?”

“He had a son. Same name as his dad but I think he goes by Jerry.”

“Oh my.”

“Sounds like something just rang a bell.”

“I think it did. Can you tell me the name of Jerry's magazine?”

“Yeah, I think I can. It's fairly new. Lemme think. How does
Single Up
sound?”

“It sounds like I just hit the jackpot.” That was the name of Susan Stark's magazine.

It was Friday and Jack would be home for dinner, his law classes meeting only the first four nights of the week. I reached him at his desk and told him quickly what I had learned.

“Sounds like the son has just become your best suspect.”

“I think it's worth finding him and talking to him, don't you?”

“You bet. Got his address?”

“What do you think I'm calling about?”

“Aha.”

“Does that mean you'll look it up? I've got his phone
number. I called him when Susan was first missing. His number was on the answering machine message at the magazine. He's the one who told me to call Jill Brady.”

“Interesting. That would mean he had no idea Susan was planning to drive up to Bladesville.”

“Maybe he didn't know. I doubt whether Susan talked to him about it. Presumably she had no idea he was related to D.D.”

“Exactly the way she was.”

“I hadn't thought of that. They were each half siblings. Anyway, here's the number.” I knew he could find die address in
Cole's
directory, where numbers are listed first. He promised to bring it home with him. There wasn't anything else I could do that afternoon anyway.

Since I am the lesser cook in the family, I tend to stick to simpler fare and let Jack jazz up our culinary life over the weekend. I had bought a nice roast beef for tonight and decided this was the time to use a Christmas present from Mel, a popover pan, for the first time. I had seasoned it as soon as I got it but hadn't had the opportunity to use it yet. Following the directions that came with the pan, I mixed the batter and chilled it till the moment Jack arrived. Then I put it in the very hot oven I had preheated, and stood in the kitchen like a kid, watching through the glass window as they rose. It was better than a movie.

“Something smells fantastic,” Jack said, giving me a kiss.

“Look.” I pointed to the sideshow in the oven.

“Real popovers. I haven't had them—”

“At least not since we got married. You can thank Mel. She always knows what to give me that won't tax my talents too much. I miss her so much, Jack. She's back at school and those ten great days she was off seem like a year ago.”

“Well, make some time. You could visit her in the afternoon, when she gets home from school.”

“I guess so.” I had thought about it a lot. I thought about how tired Mel must be after teaching little kids for so many hours, and how late afternoon was when Eddie fussed. If I took him to her house, would he rattle her with his crying? And on the other hand, was I worrying too much?

Dinner turned out to be astoundingly good, thanks to those popovers. I don't know what possessed me to think I would have half of them left over but there were none. We consumed one after another, laughing at our self-indulgence.

“Hey, it's eggs and milk,” Jack said at one point. “How bad can that be for you?”

I didn't bother arguing. I just enjoyed myself.

Jack had found an address for William J. Childs, Jr. He lived in Tenafly, New Jersey, an upscale suburb of New York just across the George Washington Bridge. Tomorrow was Saturday, a good time to find him home. But finding him and talking to him would not uncloak him as a murderer, if he were, indeed, the killer. We needed solid evidence, something that would prove he had been in that farmhouse and committed the murder. The autopsy was inconclusive on the time of D.D.'s death. More than two weeks after I assumed the crime had been committed, it would be hard for a person to account for where he'd been during that period. If he said he was at home, who could prove he was not?

I arranged to leave Eddie with Elsie. Since there were detectives in Brooklyn who were interested in Susan as the only suspect, and a detective in Bladesville who was presumably still looking for an elusive murderer, Jack didn't bother calling either one. If there were an arrest to be made, it would be the local police who would do it.

We drove over in the morning, getting there about eleven-thirty. The house, while quite expensive, didn't match the one the older Mrs. Childs lived in in Brewster. A three-car garage had one door up and a vacant space inside. Somebody was out.

There didn't seem to be anybody around outside the house. The walks and drive were all well cleared of snow, and it was now so long since the last heavy snowfall that concrete and blacktop were visible everywhere. Jack and I walked up to the front door and a few seconds after I rang, a woman about my age opened it. She was casually dressed, but with an elegance I doubted I would ever achieve.

“Yes?” she said with a smile.

“I'm Chris Bennett. I'm looking for Mr. Childs.”

“He's out. Can I ask what this is about?”

Jack moved away, presumably because my safety wasn't in jeopardy with this young woman.

Jack and I had talked about what to do in case Mr. Childs was home, and in case Mrs. Childs was. So I was using Plan B. “I've been looking into a rather strange occurrence around New Year's Eve. A young woman who works for your husband at the magazine disappeared for several days and—”

“Come on in. It's freezing.”

“Thanks.” I was happy for the invitation.

We went into her house and I took my coat off and carried it. She led the way to a small room that must have been her private study, with a small desk in one corner. She took one of the comfortable chairs and offered the other to me. The walls of the room were covered with family photos. I remembered my telephone conversation with her husband and the sounds of children in the background. They were a boy and a girl, the older one probably no more than kindergarten age.

“You were saying something about someone who works for my husband.”

“Susan Stark.”

“Yes, he's mentioned her name. I'm sure she's not still missing. He talked about her the other day.”

“She came back, but it appears she may have been involved in an unpleasant matter.”

“But's it's nothing involving my husband.”

“Oh, I don't think he's involved in her disappearance in any way,” I reassured her, hoping to gain her confidence. “But she's said some very strange things that I'd like to clear up.”

“Who are you, exactly?” she asked uneasily.

“I'm a friend of Susan's family and I've done some work for her lawyer.” The first part of the statement was an exaggeration and the second part the truth, but neither had much to do with my quest for answers. “Did you and your husband go out on New Year's Eve, Mrs. Childs?”

“Yes we did. It was a very beautiful, formal party in New York.”

“Then he got back in time for the party.”

“He wasn't away.”

“Oh,” I said, hoping my disappointment didn't show. If he hadn't been away, he wasn't my man. “I was under the impression he'd made a trip that day, the day of New Year's Eve.”

“You've been misinformed. The trip he took was the day before.”

“I see. OK. Was it Atlanta he visited that day?”

“No, he hasn't been to Atlanta for some time. He was up in Boston the day before New Year's Eve. He thought he might have to stay over but he phoned me that night and said he'd got his work done and he'd take the next plane home. He was back when I got up in the morning.”

“Do you know who he visited in Boston?”

“No idea. You'll have to ask him. He'll be back after lunch. He's taken the kids out for a while. But whoever it was must have gotten an unexpected bonus from his visit. Jerry lost his favorite pen on the trip and he grouched about it all morning. It must have fallen out of his pocket somewhere.”

My skin tingled. There had been some pens and pencils at the crime scene and I had assumed they belonged to D.D., but he could have bent over and the pen went rolling. Even if he were wearing gloves the whole time he was in the farmhouse, the pen would still have his prints from the last time he used it. “I know how he must feel,” I said sympathetically. “My husband only carries inexpensive pens because he's always lending them and never getting them back.”

“Maybe that's how he lost it,” she agreed. “And whoever borrowed it decided it was too good to give back. But what does all this have to do with Susan Stark?”

“I'm not sure how it fits,” I hedged. “She made some very strange statements when she got back. Tell me, when your husband called, did he use a phone in a hotel or at the airport?”

“He doesn't do that anymore,” she said with a smile. “He got himself one of those adorable little cell phones and he uses that. Then he has a record of all the calls at the end of the month.”

And so would the police, I thought, grateful for the adorable little phone and the monthly bill that came with it. If he made a call from anywhere in upstate New York between here and Bladesville, that would be the end of his trip-to-Boston story. Not to mention that he would not be able to find anyone in Boston who could vouch for his presence on the thirtieth of December.

“They are cute,” I said. “I wish I could afford one.”

“It's a matter of safety nowadays. You really can't
afford to be without one. Is there anything else? Susan must be confused if she thinks Jerry went to Atlanta.”

“She is confused. I'm glad I was able to straighten it out. Thank you, Mrs. Childs.” I stood and picked up my coat. “I was sorry to hear of your father-in-law's death.”

“Thank you. He was really a driving force and it was very sudden, very unexpected. One moment he was alive and the next moment, dead. Jerry's been very upset about it. They were extremely close, and Jerry had just been up to visit him when it happened.”

“Had his father retired?”

“Oh no. He was the quintessential entrepreneur. He didn't stop working until his heart stopped beating.”

“That's quite a tribute,” I said with admiration.

We walked through the house to the front door and I thanked her for her help. I wanted to talk to Jack quickly and have him set the wheels in motion. If Mrs. Childs told her husband the substance of our conversation when he returned, he might realize he was a suspect and destroy whatever evidence he hadn't already gotten rid of.