“Yeah. I did. I was intrigued. Okay, nosy,” Trish said, her light skin turning a flattering shade of rose. “So I took my glass and stood in the hallway. They couldn’t see me and never heard me.”
“What did they say then?”
“Just that this man died, and his sister wrote to Aunt June to let her know. And in the letter, the sister said that her brother, Charles, always loved June and hoped she had had a good life.”
I settled back onto the sofa. “Wow!”
“Is this the man Aunt Roberta and Aunt June argue about?”
“You’ve heard them?”
“Oh, once, maybe twice, I heard Aunt June accuse Aunt Roberta of ruining her life.”
“If he always loved June then I wonder why he never contacted her?” I asked.
“He knew she got married. I got the impression he didn’t live in Connecticut. Oh!” Trish said, startling me. “And I remember Aunt June cried over a passage in the letter that said, oh….” Trish tried to gather her thoughts. “Oh, something like, ‘I never wanted to ruin your life. I would never think of breaking up your marriage and family.’ Well, this last bit really had Aunt June wailing. What does all this mean, Alex? Do you think it has something to do with why Bradley was killed?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Trish took our cups to the kitchen for a refill. I thought the letter might have been the last straw and it was then June decided to get her final revenge. But this happened several months ago. Why did June wait? I thought about what I would do if I wanted to kill someone. I didn’t have a gun and didn’t have any idea about getting one that wasn’t traceable but I could see me lying in bed at night and plotting. And it would all build up in my mind. Is that what June did—let it fester for months and then couldn’t stand it anymore? I couldn’t see June waving a gun. Poison was definitely the way June would go.
Trish came back into the room. June’s viability as a suspect rapidly rose in my mind, but I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned and decided to turn the conversation toward Steven.
“What a lovely garden. Does your father do all the work himself?”
“Thanks. It is nice, isn’t it?” Trish got up and walked to the glass doors and unlocked one. “Come, I’ll show you Daddy’s pride and joy.”
I put my cup down and went to join Trish.
“A young man comes to mow the lawn and clean the pool, but no one but no one touches Daddy’s roses! Even me. When I was a little girl, I fell into one of the bushes and broke it. I can tell you I never did that again.” We walked around a path past the pool and came to the roses. “Everyone has their hobbies and this is my father’s.”
I wasn’t that fond of roses, and most of the time I just thought of them as something that amounted to a bunch of thorny twigs. But these were lovely.
“Does your father spend a lot of time out here?”
“All the time. He’s always pruning and pampering. Do you know there are over 20,000 varieties of roses? These right here are a hybrid tea. That’s a cross between a hybrid perpetual and a tea rose,” Trish said. “I think this red one might be a Chrysler Imperial, though I’m never sure. It has a double bloom.” She bent to smell the rose, cupping the flower in her hands.
“Come look over here.” Trish turned and walked a little further down the path. “We use these trailing roses for the trellises,” she pointed to two large trellises covered in small vines, “and these for ground cover. If you’re interested, we have tons of books on everything from hybridizing to crossbreeding and insect problems and their cures, and well, just about anything you could ever want to know about roses is sitting in my father’s study.”
A thought occurred to me. “Does your father have a lot of trouble with bugs and pests?”
Trish folded her arms across her chest. “Well, he’s very particular, and at the first sight of anything, he’s out here spraying like crazy, but a few years back he did have some sort of problem. He called in some rose specialist to take a look. We had to cover them up in these portable greenhouses and my father came out here every day spraying and checking. He was not a happy man, I can tell you.”
We walked back to the house. Trish impressed me with her knowledge of the roses. What a change from the other day.
Trish seemed to sense my thoughts. “You didn’t think much of me the other day, did you?”
I found myself blushing for the second time in less than an hour.
“It’s okay, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I don’t always present myself in the best light, as my father is so fond of telling me. He says I get rebellious sometimes and try to get attention in inappropriate ways.” We were back at the house. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you. I should be going.” I picked up my purse. “Oh, a thought just occurred to me. On the night you went to Mrs. Brissart’s house, did you come right home afterward?”
If Trish thought the question odd, she made no show of it.
“My dad dropped me off and then he went out.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No, he didn’t. Are you sure you’re not just a bit interested in him? I’d understand if you were and I could put in a good word for you.”
“No, really, just curious, that’s all. Before I go, could you tell me how to get to your Uncle Larry’s? He mentioned something to me about a closet organizer he invented and I want to take a look.” I might as well find out how Larry and April lived, and see if they have a rose garden in need of something containing cyanide or a few vines of Jequirity beans growing in their garden.
I thanked Trish for the tour of the garden and told her to make sure she filled out the application. And this time I meant it. Trish might not have a lot of office skills, but I knew I could find her a very good reception position.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Armed with the directions, I waved good-bye and drove off. Trish hadn’t seemed to mind my barging in and maybe my luck would hold out over at Larry’s. And wasn’t the first rule of detecting to catch people off guard? I knew I’d heard that somewhere before.
Larry and April Estenfelder did not live in the same neighborhood as Steven, but it looked like a nice area nevertheless and the mortgage still had to be more than what Larry could bring in with toupee suckers and clothes hangers. I pulled into their drive and parked behind a battered BMW. Larry answered the door with a bewildered expression on his face and a piece of egg yolk on his shirt.
“Alex Harris. I met you the other day at your aunt’s?”
“Oh, yes. What can I do for you?” Larry asked, still with a baffled expression.
“Larry, who is it? Oh, hello! Alex, right?” said a cheerful April.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m so sorry to call on you without phoning first, but I was just at your niece’s house. Trish,” I added to their vague looks, “and I thought maybe you could show me your closet organizer.”
April hunched down and pointed a nicely manicured finger at me. “See. You didn’t think you’d need one, but everyone does.” April ushered me into the house rambling on about the merits of the closet organizer. I followed the Estenfelders down a long hall to their bedroom where April demonstrated their newest invention. I looked on as gears moved and a tiny motor whirred all the while moving pre-selected clothing into the front.
“Well, it sure seems impressive. How long did it take you to develop it?”
Larry, who had been left in the background, said, “About five years.”
I gulped. “Five years. Well, I’m going to give it some thought and take some measurements.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Alex. We can custom fit it for wherever you want. Why don’t you come into the living room and we can have something to drink, and I’ll get out a bit of literature I’ve typed up with prices and all the information you’ll need.”
I looked over the price sheet for something I knew I would never want while April ran into the kitchen for tea. Larry
sat on a rather worn sofa across from me saying nothing. I figured I better get off the subject of the closet before someone handed me a pen and asked me to sign on the dotted line.
“I feel so bad we met under such sad circumstances. I didn’t get to ask you anything about Bradley the other day. Were you close?”
Larry looked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“Well, yes. I wondered what kind of relationship you had with Bradley.”
“Not much. I didn’t see him often. Our families are divided over this land business, but he was a good person. Always very pleasant and easygoing. He played with my children a lot, though he’s a bit older.”
“Are you talking about Bradley?” April asked, walking into the room carrying two cups. “Here you are, Alex. He was just the sweetest little thing. Never gave his parents one minute of worry. I have two of my own and these things are important. Such a terrible thing for all of them to have to go through.” She shook her head and sloshed a bit of tea into the saucer.
“I don’t know what the police have come up with, but from what everyone tells me, I can’t understand why anyone would want to kill Bradley,” I said while taking in a bit of the surroundings. Not as lavish as Steven’s to be sure, but the house, though somewhat small, seemed of good quality. The furnishings looked worn and the carpet needed replacing but I spied another pool outside and a rather large yard. I stretched my neck trying to see a rose garden but couldn’t see much from where I sat.
“Well, the killer wasn’t after Bradley from what my mother-in-law says. He wanted Roberta.”
“Why would anyone want to kill Roberta?” I asked April.
“Over the land, of course.”
“Let me get this straight.” I put the teacup down on a maple coffee table. “If you’re saying someone wanted to kill Mrs. Brissart over the land, then that someone must be a member of the family.”
“Well, yes, I guess you’re right.” April glanced at Larry but whether it was for confirmation or something else, I couldn’t tell. “Oh, my, I never really thought of it that way before. But, well, we sure could all use the money, and money is a big motivator.”
“April, what the hell are you saying, for Christ’s sake? You’re accusing one of us of killing Bradley,” Larry yelled from across the room.
Well, my goodness, he did have a bit of spunk after all.
“Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it, Larry?” April’s voice raised and the sweet, almost innocent look she usually possessed took a hike.
I sat back, a bit uneasy at being witness to an obviously personal moment, but nevertheless hopeful that I might be able to get a good glimpse of the couple with their guard down.
“Which somebody do you think did it? My mother. Or Aunt June,” demanded an irate Larry Estenfelder.
April didn’t seem the least bit put out by Larry’s anger and I thought perhaps the two fought like this all the time.
“Well, of course not. But Larry, you have to admit your mother and June were bound and determined to get that land no matter what. How about Steven? Now there’s a good suspect what with his lifestyle. And what about Stuart? With his gambling, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he needed a few more dollars. Maybe he even has loan sharks after him. And if I remember correctly, didn’t June say something about killing Roberta if she didn’t sell?”
Larry stood up and came over to where April sat. “It was just a figure of speech, April. It could have been J.T. Yeah, J.T. Why not? He has as much to gain as anyone. Maybe more.”
A piece of spittle flew from Larry’s mouth and landed in my tea. I picked my cup up and covered the top with my hand, though why I bothered now, I wasn’t sure. There was no way I’d take another sip.
“What about Marsha and those two kids of hers? She needs money as much as the rest of us. I think she’s planning on moving back in with her mother.” Larry stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at April.
April stood up and put her face right up against her husband’s. “Well, if you’re going to pick on Marsha and her two poor children then what about yourself! You and your stupid inventions that never work. All these years I’ve put up with it living in this house when I could live in something like Steven’s!” she yelled. “And now we might get sued over that toupee thing. You said yourself that we sure could use that money, and Roberta damned well better sign those papers.”
“Me? What about you? You went to Aunt Roberta’s last week. Maybe you put something in the flour. Or maybe you went out to the shed and took a bit of rat poison or something and dropped it onto the cookies when we left the other night. And I almost forgot, but didn’t you run back in to get your purse. You could have done it then.”
“It was not my purse. It was my sweater. And how dare you accuse me? After what I’ve put up with.”
“Excuse me. I think I should leave.”
April and Larry stopped abruptly and looked down at me. April ran a hand through her tight dark curls and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Oh, Alex, can I get you another cup of tea?”
I left so quickly I never asked about the family history. I pulled out of the driveway and pointed the car in the direction of my office. When Sam dropped me off yesterday after our picnic we agreed to come in today to prepare for a meeting with the father of one of our employees, Ian Reiser. Our company needed the work and with the other agency vying for all the same jobs, I knew it wouldn’t be easy to sway Mr. Reiser to hire us.
Two and a half hours later, Sam and I finished the proposal, while Millie put it together along with our rate sheet and literature on the firm.
I decided we needed a break and a cup of tea and settled in to tell Sam about my morning talks with Trish and the Estenfelders.
“You’re out playing detective. John’s out being a detective. I just wonder what would happen if the two of you showed up at the same time on a suspect’s doorstep,” my sister said.
“We’ll exchange information in the true spirit of law and order,” I said with an air of pomposity.
“Uh-huh,” Sam said.
I grabbed the phone book from my bottom desk drawer and flipped through well-worn pages. Yes, I still used an actual phonebook for local numbers.
“Where are you going now?”
“Over to May’s house.”
“Well, you’re brazen, I’ll give you that, to just barge in on people on a Sunday.” Sam grabbed a handful of M&Ms from my jar and shook her head.
“When Millie’s done, have her leave the proposal on my desk. I’ll be back later and go over it, but I think it’s good. We’ve got a real shot at getting this job.” I took a couple of the M&Ms and went in search of more suspects.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Of the houses owned by Mrs. Brissart and her sisters, May’s was the smallest, nestled at the end of a winding road. I rang the bell twice to no avail. A repairman’s truck stood in the drive, and unless it belonged to a friend of May’s and they had gone off in another vehicle, I felt certain someone must be home. I rapped on the door with my fist and in a few seconds footsteps approached.
“Yes?” a much-harried May Estenfelder asked.
“I’m Alex Harris. We met at your....”
“Yes,” she sighed. “It must be my turn.”
“Excuse me?” I muttered.
“My sister called the other day. She said I should expect you.”
As long as I was expected, I didn’t see any reason to beat about the bush. “Then may I come in?”
“It’s really not a good—oh, never mind. Come in and wipe your feet. We’ll have to talk in the kitchen. I have a repairman fixing my stove and if you don’t watch these people every minute they charge you for things they never did.”
“On a Sunday?” I asked, awed that a repairman would be out today.
May hurried down the hall talking over her shoulder. “I’m paying for it, believe me, but I want it fixed and they couldn’t fit me in until next week. How can I
live without a stove? I told them they could just come today.”
I followed the surprisingly spry woman down a long hall into a small but well-appointed kitchen.
“How much longer are you going to be?” demanded May of the small man currently kneeling on the floor with his head in the oven.
“Just about done, ma’am. Just have to replace this one...there! Finished.” He stood up slowly and wiped his fingers on an already-dirty rag sticking in his belt.
“Fine. Let me get my checkbook.” May’s heels click-clicked down the hall once more.
I leaned against the counter and smiled awkwardly at the repairman who gathered up his tools.
May returned momentarily, checkbook in hand. “Help yourself to a drink, Miss Harris, if you’d like. This will only take a moment.”
A large pitcher of what appeared to be orange juice sat on the counter, or I could get some water from the tap. I didn’t think the offer included my rummaging through the refrigerator or cupboards for something else. I turned to reach for a glass on a small tray on the counter and saw something that made my heart race—a blender. Bingo! The woman had a blender. I felt ecstatic. But then I remembered that I also had a blender, as did just about everyone I knew. The only difference being that all the other residents of Indian Cove possessing the appliance did not have a relative who had a bottle of liquor laced with the mush of a jequirity bean.
Down the hallway, the old woman argued with the repairman over the price of a screw or some damned thing while the poor man looked as if he would like to stick her head in the oven—preferably with the gas on and pilot light out. I stood there trying to fathom a way in which I could shove the blender under my sweater and sneak out of the house undetected, when May followed the man to the front door.
Not believing my luck, I pulled the blender to the edge of the counter and took the container off the base. I quickly unscrewed the bottom managing to dislodge the lid and almost dropping it before catching the damned thing. I pulled the blade out from the bottom of the container and looked at it closely, removing the rubber band or washer or whatever it was called. The machine was clean, but the band felt moist as if it had been used or cleaned recently. Deep in a crevice of one of the blades I spied a minute piece of something squishy. jequirity bean mush! Or a multitude of other substances, I thought dejectedly. How was I going to find out? I started to search for a baggie to put the mush in but then the front door slammed and a few seconds later the click-click of the heels came back down the hall. Screwing the pieces together as quickly as I could, I had it back in place on the counter just as May came in to the kitchen.