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“So, Miss Marple, turn up any clues to help solve the murders?” Rosie asked as we followed a winding Route 25A to Huntington Village.
“I wish.” I made a face. “Miss Marple has it easy. Her murderers have the same foibles as people who live in her village. I’ve no prototypes to compare to the residents of Old Cadfield.”
Rosie laughed. “We are a unique and complicated bunch.”
“With dark sides and sins galore.”
She threw me a look of mock outrage. “Surely you don’t include us Gordons in that group.”
“Of course not,” I fibbed.
Rosie raised her fist. “Spoken like a true friend.”
I gazed out at the bay as we approached Cold Spring Harbor, then drove carefully through the little village of quaint shops. Main Street was crowded with browsers.
“Actually, I’m discovering everyone has secrets,” I said. “The trick is zooming in on what’s relevant.”
“Anyone you’ve eliminated from the list of suspects?” I hesitated.
“Well?” Rosie prodded.
“Lowell. I don’t think he’s our murderer.”
She nodded, whether in agreement or because she was pleased that I’d eliminated someone, I couldn’t be sure.
“I had a long talk with him recently. He loved Anne. I doubt he could have murdered her.”
Rosie sniffed. “I’ll never understand why he stays with Paulette.”
“He sees himself as Paulette’s protector.”
Rosie laughed. “From whom?”
“Her mother.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Then he’s a fool. That umbilical cord will never be cut.”
“I tend to agree. But Lowell strikes me as a kind of Don Quixote who champions the underdog. He likes going after impossible causes.”
Rosie stared at me in amazement. “You know, I think you’re right.”
“I love being right, but it doesn’t get us any closer to finding the murderer.”
We drove on. Rosie broke the silence. “Ginger’s going to see a therapist.”
I squeezed her arm. “I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” She glanced at me, a smile on her lips. “Did you, by chance, have a heart-to-heart talk with her?”
“Not this time.”
“Really? I thought it was you.”
I basked in the good feeling her comment gave me. “If Jesse ever needs a bout of sound advice from a disinterested third party, I hope he has the sense to call you.”
Rosie laughed. “He has our phone number.”
I thought this over. “We’re there for each other’s kids as well as for our own. Thank God we’re not like Adele and Ruth.”
“How those two micromanage and brag!” Rosie made a face. “If either one was my mother, I think I’d kill myself.”
“Let’s not talk about killing,” I urged. “Let’s not,” Rosie agreed.
We had a delightful time at the craft fair. I bought a lovely set of crystal earrings and a matching pendant. Rosie treated herself to a rather expensive funky bracelet. We bought ice cream and lemonade, which we ate sitting at one of the wooden tables. Then we headed for home.
Puss greeted me at the door, howling for his dinner. I filled his plate, and poured myself a glass of chardonnay. I’d no sooner settled down in the living room when the phone rang. I ran to answer it, hoping it was Al.
“Hi, Lexie. Brian Donovan.”
“Oh.”
He laughed. “I’m never the person you’re expecting.”
“I’m not expecting anyone,” I insisted.
“Hoping, then. It’s the same verb in Spanish.”
“So it is.”
“Are you busy now?”
“Not really. I’ve just come back from a craft fair with Rosie.”
“Hungry?”
I laughed. “That’s a weird question, coming from a cop.”
“Cops have to eat, too. Will you be hungry, say in forty five minutes?”
My heart started to thump. “By then I’ll be starving.”
“Do you like Chinese, Italian, or leave-it-to-Brian?”
Now my heart was racing like a Ferrari. “Leave-it-to-Brian sounds about right.”
“Do you need dessert? Wine?”
“I’ve both, thank you.” Then it dawned on me, “Hey, is this a date or a visit from your friendly detective?”
I heard a long intake of air. “Both, if that’s okay with you.”
I hummed as I set the table with Sylvia’s most colorful dishes, then waltzed about the kitchen with a cake I’d pulled from the freezer. Of course this wasn’t a date! Brian was only kidding. What man asked a woman out half an hour before an actual date?
I changed into a scooped-neck top and freshened up my lipstick, my heightened sense of anticipation dampened by the occasional pang of guilt. Allistair and I had a sort of understanding. But he was out of town, and I had every right to share a meal with another man.
Did Brian Donovan know that Allistair and I were dating? Had this all come about because, somehow, he’d found out Allistair was away? Of course not! I told myself, and did my best to quash my qualms.
The phone rang, putting an end to my musings. “Lexie, is that you?” a muffled feminine voice asked.
“Yes?” Something about the voice made the hairs on the back on my neck rise.
“This is a friendly warning! If you want to keep on breathing, leave the married men alone.”
For a moment, I was too flustered to speak. “Who is this?” I managed to sputter. Too late. The line was dead.
It must have been Marcie jumping to conclusions. I told myself she was being childish. Or playing teacher and keeping everyone in line. Still, did I want to keep on breathing? Those were ominous words, considering the three homicides. I had no desire to become murder victim number four.
I managed to calm down by the time Brian showed up exactly forty five minutes after he’d called, a bag of food in each arm.
“Are you always this prompt?” I asked by way of a greeting.
He grinned. “I manage it once every fifteen years. This time you’re the lucky recipient.”
He’d shaved recently and looked well-rested and appealing in a blue rugby shirt that did wonders for his eyes.
Very appealing, indeed. “Lexie?”
“Come this way!” I strode off, in the direction of the kitchen. What was wrong with me, viewing every man that crossed my path as eye candy? Well, not every man. Certainly not Hal or Sam Blessing or Bob Blum. Just Allistair, Lowell, and Brian.
“Everything all right?” Brian put his hand on my arm.
I gave a start. “Sorry.” I breathed in the rich aroma of a garlicky wine sauce. “Mmm, smells delicious.”
“I suggest you heat the main dish at a low temperature and refrigerate the salad. Unless we’re ready to sit down and eat.”
“I thought first we’d have a glass of wine out on the patio.” I turned on the oven and took care of the food.
Brian leaned against the table, looking very pleased with himself. “I got us two veal dishes, pasta, bread, and salad from my favorite Italian restaurant. I hope you’ll like everything.”
“I’m sure I will.”
I uncorked the pinot grigio I’d chilled and poured us each a glass.
“Let’s take this outside,” I said, leading the way.
We sat at the glass-topped table, clinked glasses, and sipped. “Nice,” Brian said.
“Sylvia knew her wine. Her kids told me to drink what I liked.”
“I hope you don’t mind my calling you the last minute like this. I had the day off. Spent most of it taking care of personal business, then thought I’d give you a ring.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you did. This beats the eggs I’d planned to scramble for my dinner.”
Brian looked about, taking in the setting. “It’s lovely here.”
“I was supposed to housesit this summer while Sylvia went to an artists’ colony. Her son and daughter asked me to stay here as planned. They’ve yet to go through everything, decide what they want to keep or to sell. It will be months before they put the house on the market.”
We breathed in the fragranced air, in comfortable silence. After a while, I asked, “Making any headway in the case?”
Brian stretched out his legs and sighed. “Nothing conclusive. We’ve been checking the cars of everyone who attended the meeting the night Anne Chadwick was murdered. So far, no sign of repairs or a paint job.” He laughed. “Weird, how almost everyone’s car is gray.”
“So I’ve noticed. A gray Mercedes or BMW seems to be de rigueur among the Old Cadfield set.” I twisted the stem of my glass. “That bit of paint on Anne’s car is probably the only piece of evidence you have. When Sylvia died, you had no idea she’d been murdered.”
Brian pressed his lips together, clearly debating whether or not to reveal a piece of information. I held my breath, hoping he would. Finally, he said, “Sylvia Morris’s death might have been an accident.”
I tossed him a look of disbelief. “You mean, Sylvia downed the water from the vase because she was thirsty? Give me a break!”
“What I meant was, we’re considering the angle that Mrs. Morris wasn’t the intended victim.”
“Oh, of course,” I mumbled, totally embarrassed. After a minute, I asked, “And you’ve never found that vase?”
“Nope.”
“Rosie found the flowers in the garbage, but not the vase.”
“I reread Captain Hennessy’s report and decided to have my men undertake an extensive search for the vase.”
I felt a stab of excitement. “Maybe it’s still in Rosie’s house somewhere! Or in the garage.”
“Hmm.” I could tell that behind his musing air, the cogs of his mind were spinning like crazy. “That’s what we’re hoping,” he finally conceded.
“Still, what difference would it make? Even if you come up with fingerprints, anyone could have touched the vase.”
“Did you?”
I shook my head. “Why would I? It was set back on the counter, close to the wall.”
He gave me a wolfish grin. “Stands to reason no one but the murderer would have touched it, either.”
“I suppose the same holds true for the vase used to kill Gerda.”
We went inside shortly after. I pulled crusty Italian bread from the toaster oven, served the salad, then poured each of us another glass of wine. By unspoken agreement, we talked of other things. Brian asked me how I was enjoying the summer, and I told him about the book I’d been writing.
“I haven’t gotten very far, what with the murders and—other distractions.”
“Like dating Allistair West?”
I glowered at him. “You’ve been checking on my personal life.”
“Of course. I’m a homicide detective, and you’re smack in the middle of my investigation.”
“Is that why you’re here tonight?” I asked, suddenly deflated. “To find out what I know?”
Brian shot me a wry grin. “I told you it was a mixed bag—police business and a social evening.” He turned up his palms. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”
“Hah! Fat chance I have, since we’re about to eat the food you brought.”
He smiled. “I was hoping you’d see reason. I’ve told you before— I’d appreciate hearing any observations regarding people and relationships you care to share.”
I was being a sorehead. Just because I’d read romance in his dinner invitation, was no reason not to help him find the murderer. “I’ll share if you like. If you think it will move the investigation forward.”
“That’s exactly what I think. We’ve interviewed everyone involved in the case, and we’ll talk to them again. And again. They leave out valuable information—sometimes inadvertently, sometimes to hide secrets.” He sighed. “You know these people, but you’re not part of their world. I’d like you to tell me your impressions of them. Anything weird or out of the ordinary, especially regarding their connections to the dead women.”
“Ratting on them, you mean?”
Brian laughed, a deep belly laugh. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing on your own, trying to solve the murders à la Christie?”
My face grew warm. “Touché. How did you know?”
“Human nature. Your nature.”
We finished our salad. I brought the dishes to the sink and served the veal and pasta piping hot. After downing a few mouthfuls, I said, “Everyone in the book club and their families are interconnected. Ginger’s dating Todd Taylor. The women are all involved in this latest fundraiser.”
“Anything else?”
I repeated what Lowell had told me that morning, how Marcie glared at me when I left the diner, and the phone call I’d received a while ago.
“I didn’t recognize her voice, but I assume it was Marcie. She might be an excellent teacher, but she’s also one spiteful young woman.”
“Tough as nails,” he agreed. “She resented being questioned about her past history with Anne.”
“She has a sense of entitlement. Got it from her mother.” I shook my head and sighed. “Adele Blum’s even worse with Paulette. Controls her as if she were a child. Probably because she has Crohn’s Disease and passed it down to Paulette.”
“And there’s the matter of Paulette’s pregnancy and miscarriage.”
“Lowell said Paulette got pregnant because she was afraid he was going to leave her for Anne. Which he was.”
“Clever girl,” Brian murmured.
I nodded. “She’s not the dodo we think she is. Paulette caught Lowell on the rebound when he and Anne had split.”
“Maybe Paulette called you before.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Could be Marcie Beaumont told Paulette she saw you this morning, and Paulette decided to nip her husband’s new affair in the bud, so to speak. I’ll check out all calls made from the Beaumonts’ and Hartmans’ phones, and let you know if I find anything.”
‘Better check their parents’ phones, as well.”
“Will do.”
I thought a bit. “You know, when I was upstairs in Adele’s house, I saw certificates of classes that Paulette had taken. One was for ‘The Complete Gardener.’”
Brian scratched his head. “And you’re supposing that the course covered which flowers are poisonous if ingested.”
“Allistair found out the instructor had distributed handouts to the class that listed poisonous flowers. Lowell or Paulette’s parents could have read the list as well.”
“Or they knew all along that lilies of the valley are poisonous.”
“I know. None of this points a finger at anyone.” I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Brian asked, annoyed.
“Sorry. The Moving Finger is a Christie title.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Too bad I can’t resolve this business like Dame Agatha—round up the suspects, break down their alibis, and expose the killer.”
“Too bad,” I agreed.