Chapter Twenty-Four

That night Erin tossed and turned, listening to the wind blow dry leaves against her windowpanes. She finally fell into a deep sleep and dreamed about having tea with Farnsworth. When her friend offered her sugar, Erin was horrified to see the box was labelled ARSENIC. She awoke in a sweat just before dawn.

Drawing the covers up to her chin, Erin stared out the window overlooking the stream behind the house. The sight of the graceful willow tree bending over the brook raised her spirits, and she reminded herself that her job was to clear her friend’s name.

Pulling on her knee-length boots over a pair of black denim jeans, she brewed a cup of coffee and drank it standing up. Throwing on her checked polar fleece riding jacket, she picked up the phone to call Farnsworth, when she saw a gleam of metal outside the window. Her green Sunbeam sat in the driveway, a note pinned under the windshield wiper. She grabbed her car keys and went outside. Plucking the note from the windshield, she read it.

Thought you might like your car back. Luckily, Sergeant Jarral knows how to hotwire any car. I’ll send you my bill later.

—P. Hemming

Tucking the note into her pocket, she climbed into the car and drove to the Beckers’ house. She waited until Detective Hemming’s car was a good distance from the house before pulling into the driveway. She parked in front of the house and went up the tidy walk to knock on the front door. When Suzanne Becker answered, Erin thought she looked relieved at seeing it was her instead of the police.

“I brought you some posies,” Erin said. It was well known Suzanne loved flowers, and as everyone’s gardens were beginning to die, Erin had selected a fall bouquet from the local shop.

Suzanne smiled sadly. “Sehr schön. Would you like to come in?”

Erin followed her into the immaculate house, waiting in the living room while Suzanne put the flowers in water.

“They are so beautiful,” she said, entering with a cut-crystal vase, which she put on the glass coffee table. “Please, sit down.” Everything about Suzanne was sharp and fragile, like cut crystal, Erin thought, as she settled onto the spotless white sofa.

“The police were just here for the second time,” Suzanne said, fussing with the flowers. “I am so—verzweifelt—distressed. I think they suspect me.”

“It’s pretty stressful,” Erin agreed, “having them digging around.”

“Yes,” Suzanne said. “And I’m afraid I lied to them.”

“About what?”

Reaching into the pocket of her exercise jacket, she extracted a cigarette and lit it with trembling hands. “You must promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“All right.”

“That night … I may have seen my husband leaving the alley.”

“And you didn’t tell the police?”

“No. I saw someone—I can’t be sure it was Kurt, but it could have been him, darting around the corner just as I came out.” She took a deep drag of the cigarette. “Please don’t tell my husband about the smoking. He hates it.”

“Where is he?”

“He usually goes to Sainsbury’s on Sunday.”

“Who else could have been in the alley?”

“I’m really not sure. Someone tall, I think.” She took another drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling around her dyed blonde hair. “I don’t think Kurt is capable of murdering someone—do you?”

“I don’t want to scare you, but it’s often surprising who is capable of murder.”

“Mein Gott,” Suzanne said, her voice unsteady. “If I thought Kurt had—I mean, I could never share his bed.”

Erin looked out the window at the leaves skittering across the Beckers’ little back garden, with its stone bird feeder and white trellis, a few disheveled pink blossoms still clinging to the rose vine twisting around it. Maybe she had more knowledge than was healthy, but Erin owed Suzanne the truth.

Stubbing out her cigarette, Suzanne fussed with the flowers in their crystal vase, plucking and rearranging them. “People don’t blame me for her death, do they?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I am the—what is the phrase—‘woman scorned.’”

“A lot of people seem to think it’s related to what’s going on in the society.”

Suzanne sighed. “It’s good of you to visit me. I appreciate it.”

“Thank you for talking with me,” said Erin, rising from the sofa.

“I must apologize for not offering you something—tea, and so on. I am quite disarranged.”

“We’re all a little unsettled.”

Erin had started toward the front door when she heard a car door open and slam closed. Kurt Becker’s voice came from just outside the front door. He sounded agitated.

“Nein, ich weiss es nicht, wirklich!” Becker was evidently speaking into his mobile. “Aber warum? Du hast keine Ahnung!”

She locked eyes with Suzanne, who shook her head and put a finger to her lips.

A pause, and then he said, “Es ist nicht mein Schuld!” Another pause. “Tun Sie, was Sie wollen.”

There was the sound of the front door opening, and Kurt Becker appeared in the doorway. When he saw Erin, he gave an unconvincing smile.

“Hello,” he said, glancing at Suzanne.

“I was just leaving,” Erin said.

“There’s no need—”

“She really was going,” said Suzanne.

“Good seeing you,” Erin said.

“Thanks for coming,” Suzanne said, walking her to the door.

Erin sat in her car for a few moments before leaving. Her German was decent, and she replayed Kurt’s phone conversation in her mind. Du hast kein Ahnung—“You have no idea.” But the phrase that stuck out the most was Es ist nicht mein Schuld—“It’s not my fault.” What exactly wasn’t his fault? She had made a promise she would no doubt regret and eavesdropped on a conversation she wasn’t meant to hear. What this would all come to, she couldn’t possibly predict, she thought as she started the engine and drove in the direction of Farnsworth’s house. She had promised to come over for Sunday roast, and there was a bottle of Pinot Noir in her trunk for the occasion.

She glanced over her shoulder before driving away and could see the Beckers through the living room window. They seemed to be having an intense conversation. She longed to hear what they were saying, whether in English or German. Sighing, she pulled out of the driveway, contenting herself with the thought of rare roast beef and a glass of Pinot Noir.