“Hello, Frances—er, Francesca.” Did you kill Dorothy? I wondered, remembering my earlier conversation with Leila.
A good-looking man joined us. “I agree, sister, dear. These are two of the loveliest women in the room—aside from you, of course.”
“Roger, hello,” I said, suddenly recognizing Dorothy’s brother. Standing side by side, the family resemblance was obvious. Francesca was certainly pretty, but Roger’s good looks were dazzlingly to the eye. In a photograph with her siblings, poor Dorothy must have looked as plain as one of Cinderella’s stepsisters.
“Have we met?” Roger eyed me, a puzzled expression on his face. At last, his eyes lit up in recognition, and he laughed. “I remember now. Carrie from the library. You were at Dorothy’s house when we were having one of our rip-roaring fights.”
I nodded, but his attention was already on Gillian. “And you are?”
“Gillian Richards.”
“Pleased to meet you, Gillian. I’m Roger Camden. Fran-ces-ca’s brother.” He grinned at his sister to take away the sting of his mocking pronunciation of her self-styled name.
She merely rolled her eyes and murmured, “Stop acting like an ass.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, to see how Dorothy’s siblings would react.
Gillian’s face turned grave. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened to Dorothy.”
“Yes, we’re all very sad,” Roger said.
“And hoping the police will soon find her murderer,” Francesca said. “So far they’ve come up with zilch.”
I couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so I said nothing. So did Gillian.
Francesca, who’d been surveying the room, suddenly declared, “Ah, there’s Reese! I must talk to her. Catch up with you later.” With a wave of her hand, she took off.
“I too will catch up with you later,” Roger echoed, fixing his gaze on Gillian.
“God, he’s so handsome!” Gillian said, watching him stride off.
“You think? He’s also married and has four kids,” I said.
“Oh, well. I was just admiring the scenery.”
At that moment a waiter appeared before us, bearing baby lamb chops, and our pre-dinner feasting began.
Gillian and I ate and chatted the hour away. The doors to the dining room opened, and we found our seats at a table for eight. Our dining companions were two couples our age and a congenial older couple. Mick and Maureen must have taken dancing lessons, because as soon as they finished their salads, they were up on the dance floor. The other two couples soon followed. Then Roger approached our table and invited Gillian to dance.
Where’s his wife? Why isn’t she here? I wondered. Finding myself alone, I went to the ladies’ room to fill the time. As I was returning to my seat, Fred and Leila called me over to their table. Leila was stunning in a gray chiffon dress, and Fred looked rather handsome in his navy suit.
“Here on your own?” Fred asked.
I explained that Dylan couldn’t make the gala, and Gillian was dancing up a storm with his brother-in-law, Roger.
“Ah, Roger,” Fred said, shaking his head.
“Where’s his wife?” I asked.
“Home, I suppose. They’re separated.”
“Oh? Was this sudden?”
Fred grimaced. “For years we saw it coming.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It is—for the children. Carrie, would you like to dance?” Fred asked.
I drew in breath. “Sure. Of course.”
“Go on,” Leila urged. “After all, this is a dinner dance.”
“Well, if you don’t mind,” I said.
Fred and I walked onto the dance floor. The band was playing a fox trot. We fell into step. He led me easily—and smoothly, I soon realized.
“You’re a good dancer!” I exclaimed.
“Surprised you, didn’t I?” he said with a wink. We danced close to Francesca and Gerald and exchanged smiles with them.
“It’s amazing she doesn’t stab someone with those weapons,” Fred murmured, referring to her shoulder ornamentation as he whirled me around.
A good dancer and a sense of humor. I was beginning to realize there was more to Fred Hawkins than I’d first thought.
The beat picked up, and we started bopping up and down with the rest of the crowd. When it slowed down again, Fred said, “Leila told me you came to the shop this morning.”
“Yes, I bought this dress.”
“Lovely,” he said.
“Leila’s lovely,” I said.
“Yes,” Fred said, “we’re lucky to have found each other.” After a minute, he said, “She told me you asked if Dorothy was afraid of anyone.” His eyes peered into mine. All traces of frivolity were gone. “Dorothy was afraid of her siblings. She claimed they hated her.”
“Really? Leila said Dorothy and Francesca argued around the time of her death.”
“They were always arguing,” Fred said, twirling me around. “Growing up, her sister and brother often ganged up on her.”
I thought about that. “Wasn’t she the oldest?”
“That didn’t matter,” Fred said. “From the time they were small, Frannie and Roger worked as a team. They quickly learned how to play their parents and get what they wanted. They got the most fun from tormenting Dorothy. They were so sneaky, their parents never caught on. Dorothy acted out and got labeled the troublemaker.”
Why didn’t Evelyn tell me the truth about Dorothy and her siblings? Was it possible she simply hadn’t seen it?
“Do you think they killed Dorothy?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. I mentioned it to Lieutenant Mathers, but he didn’t seem impressed by my theory.”
The music stopped and someone announced that our main course was being served. Fred escorted me to my seat.
Somehow Roger had managed to wrangle a seat at our table. He sat on the other side of Gillian and regaled her with story after story, sending her into fits of laughter. His hand often came to rest on her arm. When our plates were removed, they were back on the dance floor. Uh-oh, I thought. Gillian’s playing with fire.
After some dancing, the speeches began, and coffee and dessert were served. I decided now would be a good time to leave. I walked over to the dance floor, where Gillian and Roger were swaying to a bittersweet Cole Porter song, and said I was leaving.
“You’re going?” Gillian asked, sounding surprised.
“Uh-huh. Good night.”
Roger peered down at me and gave me a big smile. “Good night, Carrie. Great seeing you again.”
I left the ballroom and headed for the coat room. It was after eleven. I’d done my duty by staying through dinner. I’d even danced. Time to go home. Tomorrow was a workday for me.
As I was putting on my jacket, I saw Francesca and Gerald turn down a hallway. He had his arm around her and seemed to be comforting her. What could be the matter? Curious, I waited a moment, then followed them. There were two rooms on either side of the hall, and the door of one of them had just closed.
I put my ear to the door. Francesca was sobbing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Relax, Frannie. You’re working yourself up into a state,” Gerald said, a trace of exasperation in his tone. “And fix your mascara. It’s running down your cheek. There’s an hour left to this shindig before we can leave.”
“Jerry, how can I relax when I just found out what you’ve gotten involved in?” Francesca asked between gulps. “You said there was nothing to worry about.”
“There is nothing to worry about. Pat Spalding doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Their lawyer told the Spaldings to pull out of the project. They only came tonight because they’d paid for the tickets, and to warn people. And you can be sure others will follow suit, once they hear it from Pat.”
Gerald tried for a laugh. “Everyone knows Pat’s a nutcase, Frannie. They’ll remember the last time she carried on, claiming t
he tennis club’s treasurer was stealing money. She had to apologize to Nick.”
Francesca sniffed. “Maybe, but she says it’s because Ernie Pfeiffer’s involved.”
“Ernie put up his share of the money, just like the rest of us,” Gerald said.
“Only it was his idea to start with. I told you not to get involved.”
“Frannie, he swore to me this is on the up and up. How do you think we got the money from the state?”
Francesca let out a sound of disbelief. “The man’s a crook, Jerry. Did you forget the stunt he pulled on my aunt and uncle? They never recovered all their money they invested in his bogus scheme.”
“I promise you, I went over every aspect involving the purchase of Haven House. Didn’t the state send us a hefty start-up present?” He laughed. “In fact, I’m hoping to get more from them in the near future.”
“Whatever you do, I don’t want you to get disbarred. And then where would we be?”
“Shh, Frannie. I know what I’m doing. And in due time I’ll run again for mayor, like we planned.”
She let out a deep sigh. “I just wish that Ernie Pfeiffer wasn’t involved.”
“Forget about Ernie. Now give me your hankie, and let me dry your eyes.”
“Yes, dear.”
I made a beeline out of there and was exiting the front door when the Bennings stepped into the large entrance hall. Arm in arm, they headed for the ballroom. I drove home, deep in thought. Gerald had to be lying to Francesca. And how could she not have known about Ernie’s plans? But what exactly were his plans? So far I’d heard whispers and rumors. Nothing for certain.
I had to find out what Haven House was going to be used for when the homeless people left for the day.
* * *
Sunday was always a busy day at the library because it was a day off for most working people. It was the day many patrons dropped by to pick up or return a book, DVD, or CD. Most Sunday afternoons we presented a program of live music in the meeting room. Today it was a concert of popular music. I knew the room was sure to fill to capacity.
When Evelyn showed up mid-morning, she was eager to hear all about the dinner dance. I began with my visit to the boutique where Leila worked. I took my time because neither Trish nor Susan worked on Sundays, and I was determined to find out what I could about Dorothy’s relationship with her siblings. As usual, Evelyn had left out important information about her family that she felt uncomfortable discussing. But everything had to be factored in when solving a murder, especially motives and emotions. It was time she came clean.
“You never mentioned that Dorothy felt threatened by her brother and sister,” I said.
Evelyn laughed. “Where did you get that notion?”
“From Fred.”
“Oh.”
“Did Dorothy hide it from you, or did you decide not to tell me?”
When she didn’t respond, I said, “I have to know everything, Evelyn, if I’m going to find out who killed Dorothy.”
“Frannie and Roger are younger than Dorothy,” Evelyn said, as if she were speaking about young children instead of forty-something adults.
“And you’re still trying to protect them.”
She looked away from my glare. When she turned back, she wore a shamefaced expression. “I suppose I hoped you’d search in other directions.”
“I will, but let’s get back to Francesca and Roger, who are now almost middle-aged adults. If they hated Dorothy—have hated her since they were children, in fact—we have to consider that they might have killed her.”
Evelyn released a deep sigh. “The truth is, Dorothy reacted badly to the births of her siblings. She didn’t like sharing her parents and Robert and me with her brother and sister. I had to scold her when she covered baby Roger’s head with a blanket, and the time I caught her pinching five-month-old Frannie. Roger and Frannie joined forces to get back at Dorothy. Once they lured her into the garden shed by telling her that my sister needed her there. They locked her inside for hours. Of course, Dorothy retaliated by destroying some of their favorite toys. Roger and Frannie reacted by ruining some of Dorothy’s favorite books. And so it went.
“My sister and brother-in-law tried everything, including therapy, to get the three of them to stop their aggressive behavior, but nothing worked. I think their malicious treatment of one another turned all three kids into selfish individuals. Dorothy grew more secretive and mean. Frannie went after money and prestige. She broke up with the boy she’d loved in high school as soon as Gerald Benning asked her out over Christmas vacation, when he was home from college.”
“And Roger?”
“Still as handsome as a movie star?” Evelyn asked.
“Absolutely. He made a big play for Gillian Richards, who came to the dinner dance without a date. I told her he was married with children, but she didn’t seem to care. She’s smitten.”
Evelyn sighed again. “Roger’s incorrigible! Women throw themselves at him, and he’s not one to say no.”
“I suppose that’s why he and his wife are separated. Fred told me.”
“I’m not surprised. Who could blame Trudy for finally getting fed up enough to throw him out?”
“Roger was at Dorothy and Fred’s house the one time I went to see her there. He wanted to borrow money from them so he could join in on one of Ernie Pfeiffer’s ventures. Fred was thinking of going in on it too, until Dorothy put her foot down.”
Evelyn scowled. “Idiots! Did they forget what that man did to Robert and me?”
“It seems Ernie convinced them that this investment was on the up and up. Which I very much doubt if the investment turns out to be Haven House. Though last night Gerald was doing his darnedest to convince Francesca that the Haven House project was A-OK and that he wasn’t doing anything illegal.”
Evelyn shook her head in disgust. “I wouldn’t trust that Gerald one bit. He’ll do anything for money. And he’s a social climber. So ashamed that his father owned a shoe repair shop.”
“He’s a lawyer and the person spearheading this project. Whatever illegal plans they have for Haven House, I bet Gerald Benning’s in as deep as Ernie Pfeiffer.”
Evelyn tsk-tsked. “My sister and I were brought up to be forthright and honest. How did her children turn out this way?
“How does Roger earn his money?” I asked. “I suppose most of what he makes goes to support his four children.”
Evelyn let out a snort. “Roger is a brilliant mathematician, but he got it into his head that he needn’t work hard to get somewhere in life. He never keeps a job for long—poor attendance will do that. Another reason Trudy must have called it quits. Good thing she has her job. It’s what puts food on the table.”
Evelyn was silent for a moment; then she giggled. “The only thing he was good at was being an escort. Of course that was before he and Trudy married.”
“An escort? You mean—?” I burst out laughing. “Are you telling me that before he married Trudy, Roger was a gigolo?”
“Well, he escorted rich older women around, and they provided him with funds,” Evelyn said stiffly now that I was in on the joke.
“A gigolo! Roger was a gigolo?” I said between gales of laughter.
“I suppose.”
“A gigolo,” I repeated as tears streamed down my cheeks.
“It isn’t very funny when the person’s a member of your family,” Evelyn said reprovingly.
She evaporated in a flurry of irritation. I shouldn’t have laughed so much at her latest revelation, but Evelyn was at fault too. She’d agreed to pool everything we knew that might help solve Dorothy’s murder. Yet once again she’d withheld important information, this time for the sake of protecting her niece and nephew.
Were all families—when viewed objectively—dysfunctional in their own unique way? After helping to solve a few murders in the recent past, I was beginning to think this was the case. For many years, I’d felt that my brother and I were the only kids in the neighborhood
who were growing up in a family so very different from the norm. Our father was a thief. Jim spent most of his time away from home, which was probably why our mother finally divorced him. Not that she was warm, cuddly, or maternal. A few years ago she’d married Tom Farrell, an actor years younger than her, and changed both her first and last name. I supposed she thought Brianna was more exotic than Linda.
Though Tom wasn’t a well-known actor, they’d gone to live in Hollywood, where he got bit parts in movies. Last year, when I was at my lowest and had asked if I could stay with them awhile, my mother had claimed they didn’t have room for me. Which was how I had come to stay with Great-Aunt Harriet and Great-Uncle Bosco in the town where my father’s family had owned a farm for generations.
Enough! I told myself. I was in a good place in more ways than one. I had a job I loved, a man I adored, and people who cared about me. I was grounded, and my father was now gainfully employed. As for my mother … I’d send her an email one of these days. My brother, Jordan, whom I’d adored—the one person I could count on growing up—had died in a car accident when he was twenty-three and I was nineteen. I still missed him terribly.
I turned my thoughts back to what Evelyn had just shared with me. Her niece and nephews—I included Gerald and Fred—were not model citizens, but that didn’t mean they were murderers. And Evelyn had a point. I couldn’t limit my research to just Dorothy’s relations. There were other people who had wanted to see her dead.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I got some busy work done, ate a quick lunch alone at the Cozy Corner Café (since Angela was off today), then walked back to the library, intent on finally talking to Sally about Dorothy. I found her in her office. She was in a good mood and quick to sing Norman Tobin’s praises.
“I think he’ll be a big asset to our library, Carrie. He has all sorts of innovative ideas—like Kanopy, which can provide another source of electronic downloads to our patrons.”
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