THE HOUSE THAT VANITY BUILT

by Nancy Cole Silverman

  “Tea?”

  The doctor nodded, and I watched as Lupe filled each cup, leaving room for cream and sugar.

  “I hope you haven’t forgotten Amy’s pills. The doctor winked at Amy. “Her OB insists she takes them every morning.”

  Amy put her hand on top of the doctor’s hand. “You’ll have to excuse Dr. Conroy. He’s like a mother hen these days. He’s developed his own concoction of prenatals. A super vitamin with a little melatonin added. He’s convinced that I need it.”

  “And your OB agrees,” Conroy said. “They won’t hurt you, and goodness knows with all you’ve been through, you need them to calm your nerves. Don’t want to have a colicky-baby now, do we?”

  Amy rolled her eyes. Lupe reached into her apron and produced the bottle I had noticed bulging from her pocket. Three oatmeal-colored capsules, exactly like those Lupe had shown me just the day before. She placed them on the table in front of Amy.

  The fact that Lupe didn’t look at me or even so much as blink as Amy picked up the pills convinced me Lupe was under the luminaries’ influence. I glanced back at Eli, who shrugged as though she had no idea about the pills or why I should be concerned.

  “Sugar?” Lupe spooned a teaspoon of sugar from the bowl and held it above Amy’s cup.

  The doctor shook his finger. “Not for her. She needs to watch her sugars for now, at least until the baby’s born. But for me, yes. Two spoonfuls, please. Load it up.” The doctor held up his cup for Lupe, and I watched as she spilled the sugar into his cup.

  Eli sat forward and pointed a long finger in the direction of the doctor. “Oh, yes, dear, take as much as you like. Sweeten your tea. It’ll help you sleep. Just like it did me.”

  Christina slapped Eli’s hand, and the two giggled so hard for a moment it looked like they might fall off their chairs.

  The poison was in the sugar! It had to be.

  The luminaries were aware of the doctor’s budding concern for Amy’s welfare and weren’t at all concerned he would allow Amy to sweeten her tea. But for the doctor, they knew of his sweet tooth and had no concern. And if the pills in Lupe’s apron were nothing more than Amy’s prenatals, then Lupe had to have found another way to poison the doctor. I had a vision of Lupe, standing over the kitchen sink, wearing long rubber gloves to protect herself while mixing clippings from the foxglove in the garden with the sugar in the bowl.

  “And you, Ms. Dawn,” the doctor nodded to the sugar bowl, “would you have sugar with your tea? Or are you sweet enough already?”

  I shook my head.

  “Then perhaps a wee bit of lemon? Can’t have tea without lemon, now, can we?” Insisting, the doctor took a lemon wedge from a silver bowl on the table and dribbled some of the juice into my tea.

  Then with his cup to mine, he smiled at Amy, and toasted, “To Amy and the baby.”

  I had to do something. If the sugar had been poisoned as I suspected, the irony of the doctor killing himself unknowingly, exactly as Jared had, wasn’t lost on me. Nor was the fact the doctor had insisted I have lemon with my tea. Had he poisoned the lemon? Was that his plan all along? Agree to a tea so that he might taint my cup with enough digitalis to cause a heart attack? The very thought of it caused my heart to race. I dared not take a sip. I felt clammy. Before either Amy or the doctor could put their cups to their lips, I dropped Eli’s expensive Hammersley china teacup on the table and stood up.

  My move, so sudden and abrupt, not only knocked over the glass table and the tray with the silver tea service, but I also bumped the doctor, causing him to drop his cup to the floor. In front of me, the silver tea service and the delicate bone china tea set with its beautiful hand-painted gold and blue grapevines was shattered. The cups and saucers destroyed, smashed to smithereens.

  “I am so sorry.” I put my hand to my head. “I...I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I feel faint. Please, you’ll have to excuse me, I need air.”

  I stumbled around the table and moved as quickly as I could toward the back door. I needed to get outside. Once there, I stood with my hands against the porch’s cool railing and took a deep breath. The air never tasted sweeter.

  Chapter 26

  “Are you okay?” Dr. Conroy joined me on the back porch. Like a vulture, he leaned on his cane, with his shoulders scrunched up around his ears.

  I reminded myself I needed to be strong.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me. I felt as though I couldn’t breathe and needed fresh air. Is Amy okay?”

  “She’ll be fine. I told her to go lie down.”

  The doctor nodded to the sculpture garden and suggested we take a stroll.

  I could only hope Wilson’s attention was not solely focused on his lady friends and that he noticed my absence. I took a deep breath and moved ahead. I wasn’t about to be intimidated or let the doctor know how uncomfortable I felt.

  As we walked, the doctor explained the path was part of his daily workout. “A mile-long loop,” he said, “two-thousand steps, twice around through the garden and the pool area. Sufficient enough to keep these old bones in shape, despite my need for a cane.”

  Then taking my arm beneath his own, he pointed to the marble statues and referred to each as a former friend: Mansfield, Taylor, Gabor. All of whom had either aged out of favor or died.

  Once beyond the marble garden, we went through the hedge, dividing the backyard from the pool and tennis area, and the doctor dropped my arm.

  “You and I don’t like each other very much, do we?”

  I refused to let the abruptness of his statement shock me. I kept my eyes on the path ahead.

  “I don’t believe we really know each other well enough for me to say.”

  “No?” The doctor stopped and took a silver monogrammed cigarette case from his jacket. “Are you telling me the rumors about my wild parties, my wife’s death, or that of my housekeeper haven’t caused you to wonder? And now, with the death of my son, that you haven’t formed an opinion about me?”

  “I try not to listen to gossip, Doctor.”

  The doctor took a cigarette from the case and tapped it lightly against the cover. “But you do read the papers. You know I promoted Matthew to replace Jared as my choice for vice president.” The doctor paused and glared at me. “You were waiting for him outside my offices, like a trap.” Conroy lit the cigarette, inhaled, then blew a ring of smoke from the side of his mouth. “In fact, I’d bet the reason why you were there was that you think he killed Jared. Or maybe you think I did, and Matthew rushed back here to tell me.”

  There it was—the gauntlet. The challenge thrown down by the man who only thirty minutes ago had winked at Amy as we prepared to sip tea together. His charming persona now calculated and chilling, waiting for my response.

  I stepped back. Alone and confronted by my suspicion, I feared an honest response would not be my best defense. I feigned ignorance and hoped I might buy some time to compose my thoughts. Better than risk an unpredictable response.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I’m an old lady, and I sometimes get caught up in my conspiracy theories. Women my age,” I laughed, “we’re just a bunch of old busybodies. We don’t have much to do. I’ll admit, I was intrigued when Amy first came to me and I realized who she was engaged too. When she told me about Jared’s death, I got caught up in it. I also thought you were right.”

  Now the doctor was off guard. My response had surprised him.

  “In what way?” He cocked his head.

  “You insisted Jared’s death wasn’t an accident, that someone had murdered him.”

  “And you agreed with me?”

  “I did then, and I do now too.”

  I walked ahead, the sound of my heart beating in my ears as loudly as the incessant tapping of the doctor’s cane against the cobblestones behind me.

  “So beyo
nd thinking the murderer might be my nephew or perhaps me, who else do you think might have murdered my son?”

  “I’m sure there are many,” I said. “But after visiting with Amy and seeing how you care for her, I can’t imagine how you could possibly be involved.”

  “I’m a rich man, Ms. Dawn, and I have a lot of enemies. A lot of competitors who would wish me ill, not to mention certain members of my board who have wanted me to step down for some time. Jared’s death was no surprise, particularly for those who knew of his addiction. And no disappointment for those who didn’t want to see him advance within the company. My nephew was a natural. If anyone were happy about it, it was my sister-in-law. She’s been after me for years to promote him.” The doctor paused and lit another cigarette. “Hey, maybe it was my nephew, along with his mother. Maybe they killed Jared.”

  I stopped on the walk and looked back at the doctor. I had no idea if he was playing with me, was on the level, or if he even knew the difference. Only that in the morning light, leaning on his cane with a cigarette in his mouth, he looked drawn and so different from the handsome, gray-haired cosmetics genius that graced his ads and billboard campaigns.

  “Listen to me.” Conroy chuckled, then took the cigarette from the corner of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke into the air. “Maybe it’s me who’s the clairvoyant. Do you suppose that’s possible?”

  “Anything’s possible.”

  Conroy glanced at his watch. “Look at the time. It’s getting late, and I need to get back to the house. If you like, you can continue your walk. It’s a lovely day. Just watch out for the bees behind the garage. You wouldn’t want to get stung.”

  The doctor headed back to the house, then stopped as though he had a second thought.

  “I’ll tell Lupe to let you out. There’s no need for you to bother Amy. She needs her nap. I’m sure you’d agree it would be best if she weren’t disturbed.”

  I felt a huge sense of relief. If the doctor had agreed to invite me to tea for the purpose of poisoning me, I was certain after our short jaunt in the garden that I had convinced him I was nothing more than a self-proclaimed psychic, a lonely old lady, a busybody, fascinated by urban legend and the stories surrounding the House that Vanity Built. There was no need for him to worry about my relationship with Amy or pursue any threats against me. I was nothing. Which was exactly what I wanted him to believe.

  Much as I wanted to turn back to the house to collect Wilson and go home, I felt drawn to the garden. The smell of fresh lavender and wild rosemary filled my senses and calmed my frazzled nerves. The walk I felt would do me good. I followed the path through a rose-covered trellis that led to a koi pond with lily pads and blue and white lilies-of-the-Nile. Next to the pond was a small wrought-iron love seat. This was the doctor’s private garden, evidenced by the presence of a gold ashtray, mounted on a stand next to the seat. I was about to sit down when I tripped over a small hole in the ground. Gophers! Like landmines, their small holes pockmarked the landscape surrounding the path leading to and from the pond. This had been Eli’s work. Her communication with the rodents to sabotage the doctor’s garden was everywhere.

  I picked my way carefully along the path so as not to trip again in one of the holes, and headed toward the far end of the property. Heeding the doctor’s advice, I avoided the far side of the garage where I could hear the sound of bees humming, and picked up a dusty trail behind the garage that paralleled a security fence with a back gate that offered a private service entrance for property maintenance. The fence was covered with a hedge of tall flowering plants with lavender, bell-shaped flowers. Anyone else might have thought the plant a weed. But I knew different. This was foxglove. Deadly to the touch and whose poison could stop the heart and cause instant death.

  I quickened my pace and headed up a slight incline toward the guest house, then paused to catch my breath. From here, I looked back at the garage, and beyond it, partially hidden behind a tool shed and between the security fence, was the back end of an old gray sedan. Not the type of car I would have expected to see on the doctor’s property, but surprisingly familiar.

  I looked over my shoulder to make certain no one was watching from the house, and took the pathway back toward the tool shed where I could get a better look. Could this be the car I’d seen parked in front of my house the day the masked man returned my cat?

  Cautiously I approached.

  The car, an old Toyota with Nevada license plates, wasn’t locked. The front window on the driver’s side was down. I poked my head inside. The car smelled of heat and chemicals I couldn’t identify. The leather interior had been torn. Candy wrappers were scattered on the passenger seat and floorboard, and a man’s shirt and a pair of paint-marked pants were rolled up on the backseat. Next to them was a travel crate, the type one might use to transport a cat.

  From behind me, a pair of mourning doves winged above my head. I froze. Something had frightened them. Then the sound of heavy footsteps. From behind the garage, someone or something was coming my way. I didn’t wait to see what it was or who. Instead, I backed away from the car, and fast as I could, made my way back to the main house.

  Lupe had been looking for me. She spotted me as she was about to get into the cart. “You okay? I’ve never seen you move so fast. You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s the matter?”

  I put my hand to my chest to try to control my breathing and pointed in the direction of the garage. “Who owns the gray sedan parked behind the garage?”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious,” I said.

  “It belongs to the handyman. The doctor hired him to take care of some gophers. He’s been here a couple of times, but far as I can tell, he hasn’t done any good.”

  “Is he here now?” I asked.

  “Probably. It’s not my job to keep track of him. But I don’t mind telling you, the man gives me the creeps.”

  Chapter 27

  When I got back to the car, I found Wilson sitting behind the steering wheel of the old Rolls, dusting the wooden dash with his kerchief. I got in and crouched down beneath the window.

  “Drive!” I yelled. “We need to leave, and quickly!”

  No one could have seen me through the darkened glass, but I felt safer cocooned in a fetal position. I had already cheated death once that morning by refusing to drink tea with the doctor. I wasn’t about to push my luck with the doctor’s handyman. I worried he may have been lurking in the bushes and spotted me looking into his car. I wanted to make a quick escape.

  “Someone after you?” Wilson’s eyes searched the rearview mirror.

  “The masked man,” I said. I put my hand to my heart. It felt like it was about to jump from my chest. “I found the gray sedan. It’s parked out behind Conroy’s garage. I just hope he didn’t recognize me.”

  Without waiting for further instructions, Wilson put the car in gear, and we rolled out of the drive like molasses. Despite my age and arthritic hips, I could have sprinted faster. Note to self: a 1952 Rolls Royce is hardly a getaway car. The car’s top speed was only slightly faster than a snail’s pace.

  As we cleared the guard gate, I sat up and took a deep breath. “I need to see Detective Romero, and that Detective Williams kid too.”

  “Williams?” Wilson flinched. “You think just because you’ve seen a gray sedan parked behind Conroy’s garage—which is probably one of a hundred thousand cars exactly like it in the city—that you’re going to convince that young skeptic the car’s owner is your masked man?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Really? And that our masked man is somehow tied to the doctor and Matthew?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Eli and Christina had a plan too, and they think you blew it. They’re furious with you.”

  “Because I broke a couple of cups from Eli’s ridiculously expensive tea set? Or because I failed to sit back
and watch the doctor drink the poison brew they convinced Lupe to prepare?”

  Wilson shrugged. “They believe the poison was an easy out.”

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t convinced, and it would still leave Matthew and his mother unaccountable.”

  We drove along in silence with Wilson deep in thought, while I tried to imagine my next step.

  Finally, as we pulled into the drive at home, Wilson turned to me. “You do know, even after all your efforts today, the detective’s not going to believe you.”

  In that regard, Wilson was correct. I didn’t expect Romero or his team of detectives, Williams, in particular, to believe I had been in contact with the doctor’s late wife and his paramour or that I had learned that the rumors surrounding their deaths were true and that they blamed the doctor for their passing. Nor could I share anything about my very convoluted conversation with the doctor. Half the time, I wasn’t sure if he was baiting me, shifting blame onto Madeline and Matthew, or confessing he was responsible for Jared’s death.

  But I did have one solid piece of evidence.

  “The detectives may think I have nothing admissible, but that’s because they haven’t found the gray sedan parked behind Conroy’s garage. When they do, and Williams finds a cat crate in the back seat—which he will—and he has his forensics people test whatever cat hair they find inside and compare it to Bossypants, they’ll find it a match. And that is evidence there’s a connection between our cat-napper and the gray sedan parked behind Conroy’s garage.”

  I marched into the house ahead of Wilson. Convinced I had the evidence I needed to rally the detectives to piece my argument together and find Jared’s killer. Wilson excused himself to do some research, while I headed to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. As I waited for the water to heat on the stove, I put in a call to Detective Romero. The call went directly to voicemail. The problem with today’s modern methods of communication was nobody ever really talks to anybody anymore. We simply messaged each other.