Dinner party! She'd forgotten that rash promise. A sensation of vertigo overcame her, and she had to plant her feet wider apart so she didn't fall. Too much heat, too much bending, too little lunch, too many promises to the neighbors. “Oh, Sam, I'll never be able to have that dinner until I get this albatross from around my neck.”
He gave her a little pat on the back. “Don't panic about the dinner. I'll help you cook. Maybe even Greg will pitch in. As for this Hoffman thing, you'll be vindicated any day now. How you could be a serious suspect, I'll never know.”
Louise wanted to retort,
Ask your roommate.
18
A
fter coming home from the tennis game, Martha had a shower and a nap and felt totally refreshed. Janie's bedroom door was open, and Martha went in and settled in a chair. Her sister was lying on the bed, reading
Moll Flanders
. “Cute bedroom,” said Martha. Her gaze swept over the drapes, the bedspread and the carpeting, all in different shades of the same color. “Of course, you have to like blue.”
“Very funny,” said Janie through narrowed eyes. “Did you come in here for something?”
“Sure did.” Martha gave her what she thought was an intriguing summary of the tennis game and picnic.
Janie murmured, “That's interesting,” and went back to her book.
Martha was silent for a while. Then she said, “Maybe it's something about being Swiss.”
“You mean the reason she appears to have fallen for Mike Cunningham? Maybe it has to do with being horny.”
“Really, Janie.”
Janie shrugged her slim shoulders. “I only see her once in a while walking around the neighborhood. She doesn't really walk; she strides like a model.”
“I wonder if she's that sophisticated,” said Martha. “Maybe she doesn't know where a man like Mike Cunningham is coming from.”
Janie giggled. “Where's he coming fromâIowa?”
“Don't be silly. Mike Cunningham is not someone for a young girl like Hilde to get mixed up with.”
Janie glanced slyly at her sister. “You always think that. Are you sure she's as young as you think she is?”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“It's the way she walks. She knows what she's doing when she swings her bootie like thatâ”
“Janie, girls pick that up early. Just because you're kind of ... never mind.”
“Kind of what?”
“Kind of ... gracefully gawky and ingenuousâ”
“Hey. That's enough of that unless you want a fight. Maybe you'd better leave my room. Or else apologize.”
“All right, I apologize. Janie, I didn't mean anything negative. In fact, that slight gawkiness of yoursâ”
“What!?!”
“Unselfconsciousness of yours, I mean. It makes you all the more attractive.” Martha was thinking fast to get out of this. She hardly needed her younger sister mad at her at this point. “Let's get off that subject. What I really want to talk about is Hilde. I think she should meet someone closer to her age. If I knew anyone around here, I'd introduce her.”
Janie gave her a sour look. “You needn't introduce her to Chris when he gets home next weekâremember that.”
“I will.”
“So I suppose you told your tennis foursome that you spent three months at the University of Berne. That gives you a special link with Hilde.”
“Actually, I told them I studied mostly in Rome.”
“What for? Since when did you get so closemouthed? You only toured Rome. You studied in Switzerland for at least half a semester.”
Martha leaned forward. “Janie, when you're detecting, it's about them, not you. They don't have to know particulars about me or the fact that I'm getting married in October. Get it?”
“Actually, I do,” said Janie. “Not that I haven't done a little detecting myself in the past.”
“I know. You were a great help to Ma a couple of times. So I picked up a few tidbits, which of course I'm going to pass on to Dad. And who knows how many more I might pick up from Hilde. I've invited her over for lunch tomorrow. Can you stand still for that? Besides the fact that she might know stuff about Mike Cunningham, she could use other influences in her life besides thoseâ”
“Yeah, I knowâthose two lechers across the street.” Janie stuck her nose back in her book, and Martha left her and went into her own room to read her own book.
She had to watch what she said to Janie. She didn't want to lose her maid of honor six weeks before the wedding.
Â
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Louise was grateful when Charlie Hurd phoned. She'd been feeling lonesome since she came in from gardening. Granted, her friends Nora and Mary and even Sam said they'd keep in close touch. But her family was gone; Bill was still downtown in meetings. She was sure they would absorb most of his time until he left on a plane for Vienna. What an inopportune time it was, she thought, for an international crisis demanding the IAEA's help. The girls weren't around much, and when they were, they had their minds on the wedding. This afternoon they'd gone off to a movie and promised to be back by nine o'clock.
“Good time to call, Charlie. I'm totally alone.”
“So am I,” said the reporter.
“What have you found out?” she asked, trying to mask the hope in her voice.
“I'm on the computer right now, tryin' to dig up something on Peter Hoffman's business. So far, I've come up with diddly.”
“You're good, Charlie. You'll find something.”
“I dunno. It sucks when I can't find things I'm tryin' to find.” His voice was discouraged. Or was it that he was trying to discourage her, kill the hope she had that he'd unravel this murder? “I'll tell you, Louise, the truth is I'm busy with some other stories, too. I got the whole county to cover, you know, and it's a damned big county, Fairfax. And it's not like the usual shtick, where I can spend all my spare time working on a favorite story. I've got someone in my life.”
Louise repressed a laugh. It sounded so corny, coming from Charlie, who was usually so hip.
Someone in my life
.
“Do you mean Hilde? Want to tell me about it?”
“Naw,” he drawled, “it would be bad luck. I gotta get better acquainted. And I'm gonna do that in about half an hour when I close down this program. I just called to warn you that I don't have any real time to help you out of this scrape.”
“I understand,” she said. She suddenly felt weak, as if she'd been abandoned by everyone.
You have no time to help me, Charlie, and neither does my husband,
she wanted to tell him. But that would only make Charlie feel guilty, and besides, it was disloyal to Bill. “I'm sure the
Post
only wants you to work forty hours a week, anyway.”
Charlie laughed. “You got it. My boss gets pissed off when I dog a story too hard. Doesn't want to pay the overtime.”
“I see. Well, you go out and have a good time tonight. And keep in touch if you learn anything.”
“Sure will, Louise. I'm just sayin', don't count on me for too much.”
Louise hung up the phone. The empty feeling persisted, even though she'd just had a sandwich for supper.
19
Monday, August 20
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B
ill reached over and found her hand under the covers. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi, “ said Louise.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “I think you're back with us.”
She turned and his face was beside hers. She kissed the soft lips in his whiskery face. For two weeks, she'd been a trembling neurotic, disinterested in making love to her husband. Last night, they'd pursued their sexual pleasure as if it had been years, and not weeks.
“I'm curious,” said Bill. “What happened?”
“It could have been the swimming yesterday afternoon,” said Louise. “But more likely it was because you brought me a snack at bedtime.”
Bill pulled his head up and looked at her closely. His blue eyes twinkled. “You mean ... the snack did it?”
“For women, it's the little things that count the most. Or wait ... maybe it was hearing Nora's inspirational talk about ânew love.' ”
“Nora's found new love? Damn. What happened to her former love? Ron's waited for her to settle down for years.” Ron and Bill were poker buddies. No closer link than that, reflected Louise. The poker group, which she named the “Giggling Men” because the games were one of the few times she heard grown men giggle, met religiously every two weeks. She knew her husband secretly took Ron's side in the marital battles over at the Radebaugh house.
“Oh no, she hasn't found
a
new love. She's just found new love with Ron.”
He knit his eyebrows. “Glad you cleared that up.”
“She liked the way he handled Peter Hoffman the night of the party at their house. It made her realize what a masterful man he is.”
Bill chuckled. “That means the neighborhood gossip's going to be pretty tame. We won't be hearing about Nora's love troubles anymore, because she won't have any love troubles.”
“Bill, I wouldn't call it neighborhood gossip. She only very discreetly confided in Mary and me. I just passed things on to you because you're my buddy.”
“Point well taken,” he said with a smile. He got out of bed and stood looking thoughtfully down at her. “Now, honey, enough of this romantic stuff. Let's talk schedules. I need to grab a bite and leave soon. I'll be working late tonight and ...”
Her mind wandered as her husband talked. Romantic stuff, indeed. Making jokes about their neighbors' tumultuous love life might be his idea of romantic talk, but not hers. Bill, though as affectionate a partner as a woman could have, had little romantic talk in him and, in fact, rarely sent her flowers or presented her with candy. With Bill, romance came in the form of doing kind deeds and being an intelligent and caring husband. So unlike, for instance, Peter Hoffman. One of the last things she'd heard the murdered man say was to young Hilde was
You are like a dream
. Or had he said,
You are as beautiful as a dream
? Hoffman, whom Louise knew to be a ruthless man, had uttered these empty blandishments to lots of women. No wonder they had responded to his charms.
Bill was still talking about his schedule. “As you might expect, I'll have this same heavy schedule all week. I'm worried about you, hoping you aren't plagued with calls from the papers and TV. Maybe it's best if you leave the house. What will you be doing today, something with the girls?”
“I don't know. They're busy a lot of the time, playing tennis when they're not shopping for wedding finery. Maybe I'll have lunch with Sarah Swanson. I'll get up and fix breakfast for you.” She started to pull back the covers.
“Don't bother. Get a couple more winks of sleep. You know that Martha loves to feed me in the morning. I can smell that the coffee's made already.”
Louise propped herself on her elbow. “I think you enjoy breakfasts with just you and Martha. That's nice.”
“Enjoy? Not quite the word, honey. Martha's ... challenging. Sometimes she's even annoying. But she's ours, and she's great.”
Tears came to Louise's eyes. “And it's probably the last time she'll be around to fix our breakfasts. She'll be busy with Jim, and then with her babies.”
“Yep, Martha's nearly out the door for good. Our nest is getting emptier.”
A new rush of moisture formed in Louise's eyes, and for an instant she was tempted to lie back in bed and wallow in the misery of being a mother without a brood. Then she did a quick reality check. She was the target of a police investigation. This was no time to languish in bed, for her husband, her main defender, had been swallowed up by this latest international crisis and wouldn't have time to help her. Even Charlie Hurd was useless, totally absorbed by the beautiful Hilde. The once hyperactively nosy reporter sounded almost bored with Peter Hoffman's murder.
Peter Hoffman's murder. The body in Louise's garden.
How many times did she have to hear those nightmarish phrases? She decided to call it something else. Perhaps the “yard murder” would do. That description removed the crime from her and Bill's property, and it eliminated the need for using Peter Hoffman's name.
With a sigh, she threw the covers off, went to her closet and picked out a neat skirt and blouse. She would take a long shower, giving Bill and Martha time for their morning tête-à -tête, and then she'd join them.
The first thing on her agenda was to call Marty Corbin, to reassure herself that her job was secure. She also should straighten the house in preparation for the arrival of her housecleaner. After that, she hoped to persuade Sarah to go out to lunch with her, since her older daughter had invited Hilde to their house for lunch, adding, “I'll give her a tour of your gardens, too. She'll be impressed.”
Thinking of Marty Corbin gave Louise an uncomfortable twinge in her chest. She hadn't been in contact with her producer at WTBA-TV since the news of finding Hoffman's body was splashed all over the TV and newspapers. Strangely enough, he hadn't phoned her with a word of comfort. Until now, she'd had solid support from both Marty and the station's general manager. That was because
Gardening with Nature
was earning top ratings, unhurt by the other “scandals” that had clung to Louise over the past few years.
She didn't want to be a worry-wart, and was almost one-hundred percent sure that Hoffman's murder would have no effect on her career. Still, like that slogan for Ivory Soapâ“ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths'-percent pure”âthere was that tiny percentage left to fret about. And there also was that twinge in her chest she had to deal with ...
The twinge was a harbinger of the annoying heart palpitations that sometimes overcame her. Harmless, according to her doctor, who'd checked Louise out thoroughly. He said they were due either to too much stress or too much coffee, and airily suggested avoiding both. But avoiding stress was easier said than done right now, when her job and even her freedom could be in jeopardy. The same was true of coffee: how could she get along without caffeine in her hour of need? She smelled its delicious odor wafting through the house right now, and could hardly wait to go and have a cup.
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Louise's little glass collection was easy to clean. She simply brought the pieces out of the glass-front wall cabinet and placed them on the dining room table. Then she wiped them with a damp cloth and replaced them. Possibly once a year, she hauled them off to the kitchen and doused them with hot, soapy water.
Today, she'd make short work of it, for she had to get over to see her friend Sarah. Sarah Swanson, married to the difficult and inscrutable Mort, represented Louise's last untapped resource in the neighborhood. If she couldn't help, then Louise didn't know where she would turn next.
Swinging open the glass door of the curio cabinet, she looked in on her collection and pulled in a quick breath. Things were out of place. How could that be, since everyone in the Eldridge family knew there was a special place for each object. The small Satsuma cachepot was now on the top shelf, not the bottom; the powder jar with the jasper cameo top was shoved far to the back; the Tiffany-like bowl with the green glass flower was on the bottom shelf instead of the top; the Lalique perfume bottle with dancing nude was turned illogically to the back instead of facing front; and finally, the cobalt blue jar with the sterling silver top was jammed in a far corner.
Louise's forehead creased in a frown. This was no accident, nor was it a playful daughter at work. They wouldn't be that unkind. Who had done this?
She put a thoughtful hand on her chin. There was no harm done, actually, and Bill might call her a fussbudget if she were to tell him about it. Still, she knew an intruder had been in her cabinet, and she didn't like it much. She carefully dusted the cabinet shelves, then wiped each glass object free of dust before putting it back in its proper place.
She walked quickly through the other rooms of the house, inspecting to be sure everything was in order and ready for Elsebeth to clean. There was little to do, because other family members had been forewarned of the housecleaner's arrival and had picked up after themselves.
Then her eye was caught by something out of place on the patio. It was easy to see through the floor-to-ceiling patio doors: a big, transparent tarpaulin folded into a two-foot square. It was identical to the one used as a burial shroud for Peter Hoffman. The police technicians must have forgotten to put it away. She strode out onto the patio, grabbed the tarp and went to the nearby toolshed. It was locked, which was the way she'd asked the police to leave it. She groped in her pockets for the key.
Due to moisture, the door was stuck, and she gave it a good pull. As it opened, there was a rush of movement above her head, and she instinctively leaped back. And just in time, for a heavy pickax clattered noisily down on the flagstone at her feet. Louise pressed a hand against her chest and took some gasping breaths. Then anger suffused her, because she realized the police were responsible for this. In the process of their murder investigation, those evidence technicians had nearly killed her!
She walked into the toolshed and looked at the inside of the door. The technicians had set her pickax on two supports over the door. But why, when she normally stored it upright in the corner of the shed?
Probably thought it made it less likely that the murderer would use it for another victim
, she thought. She replaced the ax in the corner where it belonged. Then she returned the tarp to the shelf, which contained one other, also neatly folded.
Still shaken by her close call with the ax, she knew it was time to get out of this nerve-racking house. But first, she had to make an important phone call.