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I spent an anxiety-filled night of twisting and mulling, and finally fell asleep at dawn. It seemed no more than minutes had passed when an irate Puss jumped on the bed meowing for his breakfast. Groggy and disoriented, I stumbled to my feet. I blinked furiously at the sunlight pouring past the flowery curtains.
A beautiful May day, I told myself—until I remembered last night’s threatening phone call. I’d managed to ruffle the murderer’s feathers, which wasn’t very smart. I had the paranoid thought that he or she must have eavesdropped on my conversation with Allistair. I shivered. The sooner I told Lieutenant Donovan what I’d learned about Ruth, the better. It wouldn’t prevent the murderer from coming after me, but I’d have some satisfaction that I was leading the police to a new suspect.
I used the bathroom then obliged Puss, who was herding me like a Border Collie to the kitchen. I fed him then saw to my breakfast. I was stacking my coffee mug and dish in the dishwasher when the phone rang. Fearful that the murderer might be calling again made me hesitate. Should I or shouldn’t I answer the damn phone? Sylvia’s answer machine was just kicking in when I picked up.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Alexis Driscoll, please,” a self-assured woman said.
“This is she. And you are?”
“I’m calling for Mr. Tommasi of Tommasi, Dwyer, and Fox.”
I gulped. “Is that a law firm?”
“Yes, indeed. Mr. Tommasi was Mrs. Morris’s attorney. He’d like you to stop by the office to take care of some business regarding Mrs. Morris’s estate.”
“When shall I come?”
“Let’s see.” I heard rustling of papers. “This afternoon if you’re free. Mr. Tommasi can see you at two thirty. Please bring two pieces of ID.”
My heart began to race. Could it really be as easy as that—I go into the lawyer’s office, and I’m handed a check? No, I reminded myself. There were things like probate, which took months before matters were settled.
Less enthusiastically, I asked for the firm’s address, jotted it down, and hung up.
At least, I told myself, I had something constructive to do this afternoon.
I removed Lieutenant Donovan’s card from the bulletin board and regarded the three phone numbers listed. I decided to call the precinct first.
“Donovan.”
“Oh!” I said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be there.”
He laughed. “Hello, Ms. Driscoll. And where did you imagine I’d be?”
“Out in the field, I suppose.”
“Hunting down murderers.”
“Something like that,” I admitted.
“I’ll be doing that soon enough. Right now, I’m at my computer catching up on paperwork. How can I help you?”
“I was over at a neighbor’s house and learned something I think you should know.”
“Name?”
“The person this is about? Ruth Blessing. She was at the meeting the night Sylvia was poisoned.”
“The neighbor’s name.”
“Oh.” My cheeks began to burn, and I was glad Donovan couldn’t see me blushing. “Allistair West. He was Sylvia’s good friend.”
“Allistair West, the architect?”
“That’s right.”
I heard nothing for a minute, then Donovan said, “So, you were over at Mr. West’s house, and he happened to tell you something you consider relevant to Mrs. Morris’s murder.”
“Yes.”
Was that a chuckle? I told him about Ruth’s behavior at the fundraising she’d chaired with Sylvia and that Sylvia might have sent in a letter blackballing her from chairing an upcoming event.
“I’ll look into it,” Donovan said. “Anything else Mr. West revealed that you consider important?”
“Nothing. But later that evening I got a strange phone call.” I repeated verbatim what the person had said.
Donovan whistled. “Ms. Driscoll, this phone call worries me. Aside from your meeting with Mr. West last night, have you been asking questions? Talking to people about the murder?”
My face grew warm. “A bit, I suppose. I mentioned it at Sylvia’s shiva.”
“I know you want to see Mrs. Morris’s murderer brought to justice, but you’re going to have to leave it in the hands of me and my men.”
“But you don’t know these people!” I exclaimed.
“If you’ll forgive my being presumptuous, neither do you.”
Damn him, he had a point.
“I’m not trying to be rude, but except for the Gordons, you know the others in a purely social context. You’ve no idea who has a criminal record, cheats on his taxes, or beats his spouse. Or her spouse, as the case may be.”
“And you have access to all that information? I don’t think so.”
Donovan sighed heavily into the phone. “Believe me, Ms. Driscoll, we do our best.”
***
AT TWO O’CLOCK I LEFT to see Sylvia’s lawyer. Because of all the traffic, it took me twenty minutes to get to his office. I parked beneath the building and took the elevator up to a well-appointed office. The pretty receptionist greeted me, saying Mr. Tommasi would be available in less than ten minutes. To my surprise, that proved to be the case.
Ralph Tommasi was short, square, and in his mid-fifties. He sported a black mustache and a big smile. He welcomed me into his office and offered me his sympathy regarding Sylvia’s demise.
“Mrs. Morris named you as beneficiary on one of her bank accounts.”
I nodded. “Michele told me.” I hesitated, then asked, “how soon do you think it will be before I can receive the money?”
“As soon as you like.” He reached inside a large envelope and pulled out a bank book and a folded piece of paper. “Here’s the bank book and a copy of the death certificate Michele was kind enough to bring us. Take it to the bank and collect your inheritance.”
I opened the bankbook and noted with a gasp that the amount I’d be receiving was close to one hundred and fifteen thousand dollars. Bless you, Sylvia.
“Now all that remains is for you to show me your license and another form of identification, and I’ll have you sign these release forms,” Mr. Tommasi said.
Minutes later, our paperwork completed, we shook hands again.
“I was very fond of Sylvia,” the lawyer said. “I hope they find her killer very soon.”
“Me, too.” I cleared my throat. “By the way, this money she left me came as a big surprise.”
He grinned. “Sylvia wanted it that way. She figured you’d try to talk her out of it if you knew.”
I felt a blaze of anger toward Detective Donovan. The lawyer must have told him I had no prior knowledge of Sylvia’s bequest, yet he made me feel like a suspect.
Or had my nerves caused me to misinterpret his intent?
Mr. Tommasi was escorting me to the outer door when I turned to ask him a final question. “Do you remember when Sylvia put me down as a beneficiary for this account?”
“Certainly. Six months ago, almost to the day.”
Thank you, Sylvia, I told her once again as I waited for the elevator, the bankbook and copy of the death certificate safely in my pocketbook.
I headed straight for my bank’s branch near the university to deposit the money, where it would remain until Hal could advise me how best to invest it. I withdrew three hundred dollars, feeling carefree and rich. I had the sudden urge to go shopping!
My first stop was Barnes & Noble, where I bought five hard covered novels, something I hadn’t done in years. I hummed as I drove home, turning onto Main Street to make more purchases. In the specialty food store, I bought a bottle of caviar, two imported cheeses, and crackers. I’d invite Allistair over for drinks. With this in mind, I entered the liquor store, where I selected an assortment of chardonnays to keep on hand.
Enough spending, I decided as I stowed my purchases in the trunk of my car.
“Alexis!”
I turned to see who was calling me. Damn! From down the block, Gerda came hurrying toward me. I squelched the impulse to drive off and waited until she stood before me, panting, and looking frantic.
“I left a message on Sylvia’s phone, but you were out,” she said between gasps for breath. “I need to talk to you.”
“About what?” I asked, suddenly curious.
Gerda glanced away. Was that a flicker of fear I’d caught in her expression? “Can you come to my house in an hour’s time?”
“I suppose, but why all the mystery? Can’t you tell me now?”
Her head jerked from left to right as she scanned the street. “Not here. Please, Alexis. It’s vital that we speak in private.”
“Does this have something to do with Sylvia’s death?”
“I must hurry, or I’ll be late for my doctor’s appointment. Will you come?”
“I suppose so,” I said, none too graciously. I didn’t appreciate being manipulated.
“Thank you.” Gerda exhaled. “There’s a little path that cuts through the pine trees separating our properties. Use that instead of going all the way around to the front of the house.”
I nodded and she scurried away.
Back home again, I stowed the perishables and bottles of wine in the refrigerator and fed a demanding Puss a between-meal nosh. Then I brought my laptop out to the deck, determined to resume work on my manuscript. In truth, I hadn’t looked at it in months, and would have to reread the one hundred and some pages before I could pick up where I’d left off.
I read carefully, making notations as I went along. I came up for air almost an hour later and turned off my computer in disgust. I’d managed to get through a mere twenty pages, but that was enough to tell me my novel was a dud. The writing was stiff, the plot contrived. Where had I gotten the idea for this story, anyway?
Still, there were elements that could be saved. I liked my protagonist, I decided as I combed my hair and put on lipstick. She was plucky and strong despite the many problems in her life. Maybe I was going about it all wrong. I felt a wave of excitement as I decided to rewrite the story as a dark comedy.
That matter resolved, I turned my mind to the here and now, which I’d been avoiding.
What did Gerda want to tell me? Was she about to confess?
I shivered, wondering if she’d murdered Sylvia and now planned to do away with me because I’d been asking too many questions. Then I told myself not to be silly. Gerda wouldn’t invite me to her home to kill me. For all she knew, I could have told any number of people she’d asked me over. And she’d looked frightened rather than menacing.
Still, to be on the safe side I speed-dialed Rosie’s number on my cell phone. It rang and rang. Her voice mail picked up.
“Rosie, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know I’m going over to Gerda’s now. She ran into me in town and said she had to tell me something. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.”
So I hope. I locked the front door and headed for the well-worn shortcut between the two houses. I heard the sound of a car driving off. It sounded close enough to have just left Gerda’s driveway.