by Elaine Macko
Meme turned back to Theresa. “There.”
“What about her life before she moved to Amsterdam and why did she and Pieter move back here to the United States when they both seemed to have wonderful careers in Europe?” I asked.
Judith shook her head. “It’s funny, but I don’t really know anything about her life before Pieter. She only talked about him. And she never said anything about why they moved here.”
A thought began to take hold in my head. I reached over and placed my tea mug on the coffee table and looked around the room. “You know, I think we’re going about this the wrong way.”
“What do you mean, Alex?” Mary-Beth asked as she poured herself a bit more coffee and then added two teaspoons of sugar.
“We’ve found out a few things about Penelope, and it’s a good start, but maybe we need to find out a bit more about the four women who aren’t here tonight. They’re the ones we should be concentrating on after all.”
“That’s true,” my sister said. “One of them must have killed her.”
Everyone looked around and nodded in agreement.
“Well,” my mother said standing up and grabbing the coffee pot, “it’s going to be a long night. Again. I guess I better make some more coffee.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
I lay back in my bed in my old room at my parents’ house and listened to the gentle breathing of Henry, who slept soundly in a sleeping bag next to my bed. Everyone had left over an hour ago but Henry insisted on spending the night once he heard I planned to do the same.
I rolled onto my side and looked over the edge of the bed. Henry slept on his back, his little head turned to the right. I reached down and gently stroked my fingers across the skin of his cheek. Henry was in motion pretty much all day but once his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light. He had been a good sleeper from the first night my sister brought him home from the hospital, getting an average of ten hours a night. I guess he needed a ton of rest to get ready for the next day’s assault on life.
I moved my fingers up and gently pushed a strand of his dark hair out of his face. My sister always kept his thick hair cut fairly short but about seven months ago he decided he liked it longer. I liked the shorter style but Henry loved this new look and there was just no getting him to cut it.
I smiled at this little ball of energy, so peaceful while he slept. I had been giving the subject of children some careful consideration of late and had pretty much come to the conclusion I didn’t want kids. John felt the same and so Henry would be my substitute child. We hadn’t told our families yet, and I didn’t look forward to telling my parents and John’s parents they would not be getting any additional grandchildren from us.
The rain began again pelting the panes of the bedroom window. Henry rolled over on his side away from me and I rolled over onto my stomach, my favorite position, and listened to the rain while I reran the rest of the evening’s conversations through my mind.
Connie, Mia, Jean, and Liz. Out of these four women, one was a killer. Unless Bert was the killer. Or Judith. Or someone else entered the house, killed Penelope, and snuck out again. That was ridiculous. No one else came in to the house, but then of course, Bert had managed to break in and lurk upstairs for over an hour before we knew. Maybe he had someone else with him who shimmied down the tree when Bert came downstairs.
I still didn’t buy it. Deep in my heart I felt fairly certain one of the four women killed Penelope and if it wasn’t one of them then it had to be one of the women who came to my parents’ house this evening.
I rolled over on my back and stared up at the ceiling. This thought disturbed me. To think someone in my family or one of my friends could have plunged a knife into someone’s back seemed unfathomable. I didn’t associate with people like that. Did I?
So which one was it?
Connie? Pretty, petite little Connie? Despite the tiny size, Connie packed a lot of muscle onto her frame. I had known her for several years, but the truth was I only knew her from the club. Up until last night, I had never done anything with her outside of the health club. I hadn’t even known she was married let alone getting a divorce. And why was that? I thought about this for a couple of seconds and felt certain Connie didn’t wear a wedding ring. I needed to find out how long she had been married and how long she had been separated.
I flung myself over onto my side this time, getting totally aggravated with all these new questions I conjured up instead of answering the ones I already had.
Then there was Mia. Both Judith and Millie said they never noticed any unstable behavior from the young woman. Mia had a good job, a nice apartment, and a great sense of humor from what Millie said, when she wasn’t screeching at one of my guests, that is. But I knew there was a lot of pain in the girl as well. And she had admitted she never really forgave Liz for her father’s death.
And what about Liz? She was a nurse so she probably knew exactly where to place the blade of a knife for optimum affect. But she wasn’t a nurse anymore. Why? She hadn’t lost her job and yet she no longer worked in her chosen profession.
And last but not least was Jean. I remembered my mother vaguely mentioning her from time to time, but other than that, last night was the first I had ever met her. Mom said Jean was quiet and seemed lonely, which is why my mother gravitated to her. Jean spent time at the senior’s group doing some volunteer work and joined in a few of the other activities, but not much else. Mom didn’t know any more than the rest of us and from what everyone had said, Jean didn’t talk much throughout the night. She played a good game of mahjong, having picked up the new version quickly, and won several hands, but this was the extent of the observations.
I turned over once more and found myself back on my stomach. Henry made a sound and I edged to the side of the bed and looked over. The light from the street lamp outside cast a shadow on his cheek. He made a few more gurgling noises and then fell silent again.
I heaved a sigh. Had I learned anything useful this evening? It sure didn’t seem like it, at least about the four suspects. We did learn a few things about Penelope. She had money, or at least spent like she had money. She had loved her husband but now he was dead, and she hadn’t wasted any time trying to find a suitable match.
A thought began to percolate in my head. Exactly how did Penelope’s husband die? Judith said he was sick and death had been imminent, but maybe someone gave him a push to the after life sooner than expected. And if that someone was Penelope, maybe someone found out and wanted revenge. I needed to look into the late Mr. Radamaker’s death and see if it was deemed suspicious in any way.
I looked at the clock on the bedside table and groaned. It was almost morning. I rolled over, pulled the covers up close to my chin and tried to settle down. I had a busy day ahead of me, doing what, I wasn’t sure. But one thing was certain. There was more to Penelope than I had thought and the key to her death was to find out more about her life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I was in a deep sleep but something suddenly made me come wide awake, though I kept my eyes shut. I could sense movement in the room and I felt disoriented. I wanted to open my eyes but they stayed shut as if protecting me from what I might see. And then I felt someone on top of me and my heart started to race. I couldn’t remember where I was. Was I back in my house, the murder house, with the killer coming to get me? Or was I at my parents’ home and had the killer already got to them and now came to finish me off? I felt the closeness of someone and as scared as I felt, I let my eyes open slowly. The face rested about two inches from mine. Dark brown eyes bored into me, unblinking, just staring.
“Auntie, are you awake?” Henry asked from his position on top of me. His little legs straddled my chest, his arms placed on either side of my head, holding him up.
In my dreamy state I had forgotten all about Henry. I stared back at him not saying a word, trying my hardest to look sinister.
“Auntie? Auntie?”
I could see the pa
nic cloud over his eyes and I couldn’t tease him anymore.
“You little monkey,” I said, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him close. I kissed his cheek and held him tight while he let his head rest on my chest. I savored this rare moment of the still Henry and then I heard a light knock on the door and it slowly opened.
“Pancakes with chocolate chips in the kitchen if anyone’s interested,” my mom said from the doorway.
Henry jumped off me and zoomed past my mother before I even knew what happened. “He’s off and running,” I said, as I pushed the covers away and got out of bed.
“And he won’t stop until tonight. Breakfast is ready when you are,” my mom said and then shut the door.
I took a quick shower and threw on some jeans and a light sweater and went downstairs. Henry was in the backyard working with my dad. Well, my dad worked cleaning up the remaining debris from the storm and Henry fought a battle with a large tree branch.
My mother brought the tea kettle to the table and poured hot water into my mug.
“Did you sleep, dear? You look tired.”
I took a sip of tea and then looked up. “Not much. I spent most of the night trying to sort out everything.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” I reached across the table and grabbed a few slices of bacon and added them to a plate with the pancakes. “I just don’t understand how Penelope could have been killed. No one knew her.”
“Except Judith.”
My mom and I locked eyes across the table before I said, “No, it can’t be. Not Millie’s mother.”
“She’s the only one who knew Penelope and…”
“And what, Mom?” I asked, mug clasped tightly in my hands, waiting for my mother to say the words I didn’t want to hear.
“And maybe Judith was jealous of Penelope. Of her money, of her and the doctor.”
I laughed. “Judith makes a decent living and I know there was insurance money and Social Security for Millie. They did fine on that front. And what about the doctor? He’s married. He wasn’t going out with Penelope.”
“Are we sure about that?” Mom got up and brought the kettle back to the table and refilled my mug.
“Well, Judith said he was married and he didn’t seem interested in…” I let the words trail.
“Exactly. Judith said.”
I leaned forward and put the mug on the table and then put my head in my hands. “Geesh. It can’t be.” I looked up. “Mom?”
“I don’t want to believe it either. It was a crime of passion, obviously, as the killer used your cake knife…”
“Mom! What are you saying? You actually think Judith killed Penelope?” I got up and began to pace. I stopped my pacing at the kitchen window looking out at my dad piling branches in his wheelbarrow while Henry grabbed a rake and attacked a maple tree. I went back to the table and sat down, primly folding my hands in my lap.
“No. You’re wrong. We’re wrong. Judith did not kill anyone. Right? Mom? Right?”
My mother sighed and pushed a piece of her gray hair out of her eyes. “All I’m saying is it was a crime of passion. Judith may have just been overwhelmed.”
“And what? Grabbed a knife and plunged it into someone’s back? Why? Why then? What could have happened on Friday night to make Judith turn on her friend? It just doesn’t make sense.”
My mother wrapped her sweater tighter around her and peeked into her coffee cup. Finding it empty she got up and poured another. “It doesn’t make any sense,” my mother admitted. “But neither does anything else. So where does it leave us?”
I was saved from having to make up an answer by my ringing cell phone. I pulled it out of my purse and flipped it open. “John? Is that you? I can hardly hear you,” I shouted into the phone. “Yes, that’s better. What? Is everyone all right? Are you sure? Oh. Okay. It’s no problem. I’ll just stay over at my parents’ until you come home. Why? Well, you know, the house creeks at night.” I gave a short laugh and rolled my eyes at my mom. I really hated lying to him. “I’ll be fine. I guess I’ll see you when I see you. Okay, I will. Love you too. Bye.”
“Is everything okay?” Mom asked.
“John’s brother drove the truck over a rock hidden under a mound of snow and broke something underneath. I guess it must be an important piece of the truck because they can’t drive it and they have to wait for a part to be ordered. And they’re in Maine. Out in the middle of nowhere.”
“Snow? Already?”
“Mom. They’re in Maine.”
My mother shook her head and then eyed me suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell him about the murder?”
“Because he’s far away and he would worry and there’s nothing he can do. He wants me to call the station and tell them he’ll be gone and I’m going to make sure they don’t let him know. And besides,” I said, as I got up and grabbed my iPad from the counter where I left it yesterday, “I don’t want him to know what I’m up to.”
“And what exactly are you up to?” Mom asked with growing worry.
“I’m not sure.” I copied the address onto a slip of paper and put the iPad back on the counter.
“You really like that thing,” Mom said referring to the iPad.
I had toyed with the idea of getting it and then decided I didn’t really need it. But when they released the new version, the old one went on sale and I couldn’t resist. Since I bought it, I seemed to use it a lot more than I would ever have imagined.
“I do. It comes in handy, like now. See,” I said holding up the piece of paper. “Penelope’s address. The first thing I’m going to do is go by Penelope’s house.”
“Why?”
I looked at my mother. “I haven’t the faintest idea, but it’s as good a place to start as any and maybe if I stare at it for a really long time, I’ll come up with another suspect. Because one thing I am sure of,” I said, as I took the final swig from my mug, “is that the killer cannot be, I repeat, cannot be, Millie’s mom.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Just because you know where you’re headed doesn’t mean you know what you’re going to do once you get there.
As I drove down streets still strewn with the remnants of the storm, I had no idea what I planned to do once I got to Penelope’s house. Breaking and entering was out. Not because I didn’t want to break and enter. I actually thought it a cool idea, but I didn’t have the first idea on how to go about it. I had seen on TV people slipping a credit card between the door and jam, and voila, it opens. I tried it once. I broke my credit card in two and had to get another one.
And then there are those clever souls who pull out a hair pin and stick it in the lock, and voila, it opens. I tried that one too. First, I searched my house high and low for a hair pin. Who has hair pins? I ended up using a safety pin to no avail except to stab my fingers several times getting spots of blood on my white door frame. Clearly, I was not breaking and entering material.
I could walk around the property checking to see if Penelope left any windows open. But why would she? When she left her house, for the last time as it turned out, the storm had already started. She would not have left any windows open.
So why was I going over there? I had a bag of M&Ms sitting next to me on the passenger seat and I reached over and pulled a few out at the next stop sign. I sat there letting the candies melt in my mouth, thinking about what I planned to do next. A sudden burst of a car horn brought me back to reality and I glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at the horn blower, who did not smile back.
I felt compelled for some reason to see where Penelope lived. I just felt a need to see it. I never met the woman before Friday night and I needed to get a feel for her life. Her house seemed the best place to start and so I made a last right-hand turn and slowly drove down her street.
As I approached the house, someone had beaten me to it. A young woman stood by the curb paying a taxi driver and I could see several suitcases lined up on the sidewalk. The taxi pulled away an
d I maneuvered my car into the spot.
I got out and locked the door just as a young man emerged from the house and came over to the sidewalk and picked up the last two suitcases.
“Hello,” I said, extending my hand to the woman first. “I’m Alex Van der Burg. Is this the home of Penelope Radamaker?”
“Yes, it is,” she said somewhat hesitantly.
“Who are you?” the young man asked more harshly.
I immediately assumed they were brother and sister because they looked so much alike. As a matter of fact, it looked like they could be twins. or at least very close in age. And they were foreign. Their English sounded perfect but I still heard an accent.
“I’m a friend of Penelope,” I exaggerated. I didn’t know these people and wasn’t sure if they knew Penelope was dead. They were obviously here for a visit and I wondered if Penelope had invited them.
The young man and woman exchanged glances and then looked at me. “I’m sorry, but Penelope died on Friday night,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Els Radamaker and this is my brother Wilhelm.”
“Radamaker? Then you’re…” my words failed me.
“We’re Penelope’s stepchildren. Penelope married our father. He died at the beginning of the year.”
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “About your father and Penelope.”
“Thank you. Poppy was sick for a long time, so we knew it was coming. But Penelope….” Els let the words trail.
Wilhelm turned and took the suitcases into the house.
“Would you like to come in?” Els asked.
“Yes, that would be nice.” I followed Els into the house. Both she and her brother were dressed in jeans and sweaters. They were both tall, though Wilhelm still had a few inches on his sister, and both were blond with blue eyes. And obviously Els was psychic because she turned and looked at me.
“We’re twins. In case you wondered.”
“Yes, the resemblance is quite striking. I thought you might be.”