A Murderer Among Us

by Marilyn Levinson

  Lydia reached for a pad of paper and a pen, and was about to jot down her ideas when the doorbell rang.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed. “What now?” She considered ignoring the intrusion when the bell sounded more insistently. She peered through the glass panel and groaned when she saw her next-door neighbor. Peg noticed her and waved.

  Reluctantly, Lydia cracked open the door. “Hello, Peg. I really can’t talk. I’ve been up all night.”

  Peg’s rabbity eyes gleamed with excitement. “I stopped by to make sure you’re okay.” She lowered her voice. “I saw the police car in your driveway. I knew it was that detective. His men are questioning practically everyone in Twin Lakes.”

  “Did you see anyone take my car this morning?” Lydia asked.

  “No—sorry. I went outside for my newspaper about eight-thirty, but didn’t so much as glance at your driveway. I told all that to the policeman who just left my house. Poor Claire.”

  “Yes, poor Claire,” Lydia agreed.

  Peg reached out to touch her arm. “I hope the police don’t think you had anything to do with this tragic accident.”

  “Actually, I believe I’m one of their chief suspects.”

  Peg gasped. “How awful!” A sly expression crossed her features. “It was eerie, how you recognized her husband after all these years.”

  Lydia pressed her lips together. “I wasn’t likely to forget his face.”

  “Really? Why?” When Lydia didn’t explain, Peg went on. “People are upset about the way you broadcast his past history. You can’t imagine the to-do after you left last night.”

  “Oh, yes, I can,” Lydia answered wryly. “Sally Marcus, who was all smiles and good cheer when I first met her, gave me the cold shoulder this morning.”

  Peg shrugged. “Friends of the Weills think you should have kept what you know to yourself. I’m sure Marshall learned his lesson and put all those shenanigans behind him.”

  “That’s being naive, Peg. For all we know, he killed his wife.”

  Peg looked at Lydia as if she’d accused the Pope of going out on a date. “How ridiculous! Marshall’s not capable of hurting anyone, much less Claire. They were deeply devoted to one another.”

  Lydia stiffened. “The man’s a Lothario—as deceitful as they come.”

  “How can you say that? You hardly know him!”

  “I’ve no idea if he killed his wife or not, but I intend to find out.”

  Peg blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. Someone made a big mistake when he used my car to kill Claire Weill. I won’t stop till I find out who he is. Good-bye, Peg. I have work to do.”

  Three

  Now that she was finally alone, Lydia found she was too restless to do much of anything. Last night’s encounter with the Mannes/Weills followed by Claire’s death had shocked her system. Though thoroughly exhausted, she was much too agitated to nap. If she closed her eyes, she feared she’d see herself in prison garb, sitting on a thin mattress in a cell. God, what had she gotten herself into?

  She made herself a cup of tea, then settled down at her desk in the den to pay bills. The phone rang. “Hello?”

  No answer. It happened again. Disgusted, Lydia disconnected the phone. She reconnected it fifteen minutes later. Immediately, it started to ring.

  “Hello!” she thundered.

  The caller identified herself as Viv Maguire, a good friend of the Weills. Lydia recognized the raspy voice of Claire Weill’s staunch supporter.

  “You killed a wonderful woman. I’ll see that you pay for it!”

  Shaken, Lydia hung up. She had to get away from Twin Lakes. She opened the residents’ directory and dialed Barbara’s number. When Barbara answered, Lydia gave a gasp of relief.

  “Barbara, it’s Lydia. Lydia Krause.”

  “Just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

  Barbara was gone for such a long time, Lydia was beginning to think she had no intention of speaking to her. She was about to hang up when Barbara came to the phone sounding breathless.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant Molina just left. How awful, Lydia, that someone took your car and killed Claire while she was out jogging.”

  “Yes.” Lydia’s heart pounded like a jackhammer. “What did he want?”

  “To talk about you, about last night. I don’t know why, since I told the other policeman all I knew. But some of his questions were a bit different.”

  Lydia heard herself panting. She was hyperventilating. “How different?”

  “For one thing, he found it odd that I knew nothing about the incident between you and the Weills in the ballroom. I explained I was too sick to discuss anything and you were too busy looking after me.”

  “Did he ask anything else?”

  “Let’s see—was I sure you’d spent the night. I told him you most certainly did. I knew since I was up most of the night.”

  But not early in the morning. Molina was right. Barbara gave her a partial alibi at best. “Barbara, I was wondering. Are you busy right now?”

  “I was going to run to the supermarket, but that can wait.”

  Suddenly an ordinary trip to the supermarket was as appealing as a weekend in Paris. “Would you mind if I came along? I could use a few things.”

  “Of course, Lydia. I’d be happy for your company.”

  “The truth is I’ve received some unpleasant phone calls. I’d like to leave the house, but the police impounded my car to examine it for clues.” She shivered. “Not that I want to set foot in it ever again.”

  “Poor Claire, killed—for God knows what reason. And poor you—to be embroiled in this mess when you’ve just moved in.”

  “Thanks, Barbara.”

  “I’ll come by in half an hour.”

  A shower did much to revive Lydia’s spirits. She got dressed and decided to wait outside for Barbara. An old Cadillac slowed down as it approached her house. Lydia jumped out of the way as the driver swung erratically onto her driveway, partly missing it, cutting a deep rut in the lawn.

  Was someone out to kill her? Lydia wondered, about to dash back into the house and phone Molina. She paused as a woman with short, iron-gray curls peered out at her from the driver’s window.

  “Are you Lydia Krause?” the woman asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “I am.” No longer afraid, Lydia moved closer to the car.

  The woman looked over one shoulder then the other. Satisfied, she spoke in the same low voice. “I want to commend you for exposing Marshall Weill. You did a mitzvah, putting a stop to his shenanigans. Now he won’t dare fleece any more people of their life savings.”

  Lydia nodded. “I’m glad you see it that way, Mrs….”

  “My name’s Doris—Doris Fein—and I’ve good reason to thank you.” She paused, obviously debating if she should go on. “And I’ll tell you something else.”

  They both turned as Peg DiMarco pulled into her garage.

  “We’ll talk another time,” Doris whispered.

  She revved the car’s motor and jerked the car backward until it was once again on the road. Lydia watched her slow progress down Lake Boulevard. Someone should tell Doris Fein her driving days were over.

  Lydia’s cell phone rang, giving her no time to puzzle over Doris’s cryptic message. It was her daughter, Meredith, sounding frantic.

  “Mom, are you okay? I heard someone took your car and ran down a woman on Bellewood Road.”

  “I’m fine, Merry, really I am,” Lydia said, not wanting to frighten her daughter by saying how shaken she really felt. “How did you find out about it so quickly?”

  “It was on the radio. I think you’d better come here and stay with us until the police find the person who did this terrible thing.”

  Lydia bit back her exasperation. Ever since Izzy died, Meredith treated her as if she were ready to enter a nursing home. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Really, Mom. We’d love to have you.”

  “That’s not neces
sary, Merry.”

  “But Mom—”

  “I have to go. My friend’s picking me up to take me shopping.”

  “Oh.” Meredith paused, then asked, “Can you still watch the girls on Sunday? I have that baby shower in the afternoon.”

  “Of course I can. Good-bye, dear. Please don’t worry so much.”

  A dark gray BMW pulled into the driveway. Barbara waved from the passenger seat. “Hi, Lydia. I brought Caroline along. She’s great company at times of crisis. Caroline Lieberman, Lydia Krause.”

  A tall, stately woman with rosy cheeks and curly brown hair stepped out of the driver’s seat. “Hello, Lydia, pleased to meet you,” she said with a broad smile.

  Lydia put out her hand to greet Caroline. Instead, she found herself enveloped in a bear hug. She shut her eyes and, for a moment, allowed herself to take comfort in Caroline’s exuberant warmth.

  “I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through,” Caroline said when they were on their way. “At any rate, you can forget about it for the next few hours.”

  Barbara and Caroline took Lydia to a nearby town for an early lunch and regaled her with amusing stories about themselves, their families and other Twin Lakes residents. Caroline’s husband, Benny, was on the Board of Directors, and their two married children lived in California with their families. Barbara entertained them with tales of her teaching-high-school-English days. Claire and Marshall Weill were never mentioned.

  They stopped at a specialty supermarket some distance from Twin Lakes, where they shopped at a leisurely pace. At four o’clock they headed for home. Lydia sank against the back seat’s soft leather cushions and sighed.

  “Thank you both. I never could have made it through the day without your company.”

  Barbara turned around to give her a smile. “We wanted to show you most of us at Twin Lakes are good people. We didn’t want you to put your house up for sale.”

  How had she guessed? Lydia wondered.

  “Oh, yes,” Caroline agreed. “Most of our fellow residents are gems. I, for one, am relieved you blew the whistle on Marshall, or whatever his real name is. I told Benny he was a conniver. My soft-hearted husband didn’t see it.”

  “Frankly, I was leery of him, myself,” Barbara said. “There’s something about him that made me keep my distance. A few times I sensed he was about to come on to me, and would have if I gave him half a chance.”

  “How many residents did he talk into letting him handle their finances?” Caroline asked.

  “My sister said he lost his license to manage anyone’s money,” Lydia said.

  Caroline glanced at her over her shoulder. “You did everyone a favor—outing a rat like that!”

  Lydia frowned. “Maybe, but my neighbor, Peg, said some residents feel I shouldn’t have said anything. Viv Maguire called to tell me I wasn’t going to get away with killing her friend.”

  “What a lamebrain,” Barbara said.

  “I had to take similar action some years ago.” Caroline let out a wry laugh as she drove up to the gatehouse and waited for the security arm to lift. “Only in my case the man with sticky fingers was a family member.”

  “That must have been difficult for you,” Lydia said.

  “Trust me, it was. I was cussed out by relatives I didn’t even know I had. And here I was trying to help people I loved. In the end, some went along with Cousin Al and lost a bundle for being loyal to the wrong cause.”

  And I lost a sister, Lydia thought bitterly. As much as she appreciated Barbara and Caroline’s caring support, she couldn’t bring herself to talk about Allison.

  “I wonder who killed Claire,” Barbara mused. “And why?”

  “Me, too,” Caroline said. “I know she mouthed off to you last night, Lydia, but I always knew Claire to be a kind woman. She was devoted to her husband and her family, and as meek as the proverbial lamb.”

  Some lamb, Lydia thought. She’d come at her more like a lioness protecting her own.

  “Who could possibly have a grudge against her, enough to want her dead?” Barbara asked.

  Caroline turned around and gave Lydia a meaningful look. “Or why someone chose your car as the murder weapon.”

  I don’t know either, Lydia thought, but I intend to find out.

  * * *

  At home, Lydia fed a hungry Reggie then put away her groceries. She stretched out on a living room sofa to consider her plan of action. She needed to figure out the best way to learn everything she could about Claire Weill. Yes, Claire Weill, she told herself, because that was how people at Twin Lakes knew her. Claire’s husband and best friend, Viv, could help her the most. Unfortunately, they both would probably slam the door in her face if she stopped by to ask questions.

  Had either of them murdered Claire? Marshall might have been after money. And Viv? Could be she was after Claire’s husband? Lydia shrugged. A bit far-fetched, but so was murder. At any rate, until she learned more about Claire and her nearest and dearest, everything was pure speculation.

  She must have dozed off, because when she awakened she found herself in a darkened house. “Izzy!” she called out before she remembered. Except for Reggie, she was alone.

  A wave of desolation threatened to drag her down to the lowest depths of despair. She’d pulled up stakes to live among strangers in unfamiliar surroundings. She was a suspect in a murder case because a woman she’d met and argued with the night before had been killed with her car.

  Lydia blinked back tears as she switched on lights and closed the verticals along the sliding door that led to her small patio.

  Reggie appeared from wherever he’d been sleeping and meowed for a second dinner. “You’re too fat,” she told him, but obliged him anyway before unloading the dishwasher. She turned on the TV and flicked it off. From her den window she noticed a twinkle of light coming from Peg’s house. She dialed Peg’s number. The line was busy.

  The line was still busy fifteen minutes later. Feeling the need for human companionship, Lydia decided to pay her neighbor a visit. She slipped into her parka and stepped outside. The icy wind stung her face as she dashed across the lawn to Peg’s tiny porch. Loud voices emerged from within and stopped her from pressing the doorbell.

  Fear rippled down her back. A murderer was on the loose! He could be inside Peg’s house this very moment, claiming another victim.

  What to do, what to do? Lydia turned to dash home and call the police when she decided to first find out what she could. She pressed her ear to the door and gave silent thanks that she hadn’t jumped to a hasty conclusion.

  Peg was shouting at someone. She sounded angry rather than frightened. The other person spoke in fainter, less animated tones. Though Lydia couldn’t make out words, she was certain Peg’s visitor was a man. He sounded as though he was trying to calm Peg down. Lydia covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. Her neighbor wasn’t in danger. Nor was she in any position to play hostess. She had a guest—possibly the longstanding lover she’d once hinted at. Lydia shook her head and returned home.

  She made herself a tuna fish sandwich, then read in bed and watched the ten o’clock news. Afterward, she turned out the lights and watched the colorfully lit fountain spray water onto the darkened lake. She’d miss the fountain when it was shut off the first week in December.

  She was about to lower the blinds when she heard a door open and murmuring voices, then Peg’s laughter. Her visitor was leaving. Lydia opened the window and stuck out her head in hopes of catching sight of him. No luck. She couldn’t see the man who had aroused her neighbor’s fury then remained to calm her down.

  * * *

  Lydia awoke on Sunday morning feeling rested and more like her optimistic self. Surely, the police would come to their senses and start investigating other people—if they hadn’t already—as possible suspects. Regardless, she decided to undertake an investigation of her own. She’d make use of her brain power and people skills to find out who killed Claire Weill.

  But first she�
�d go for her morning swim. She put on her bathing suit and outer clothing, then groaned as she considered the two bags of garbage she had to schlep to the refuse area on her way to the pool. After feeding Reggie and drinking a mug of coffee, Lydia set out, bags in tow. She was about to toss them into an almost-filled bin, when she noticed a ripped paper bag lying on the ground. Spilling from it were ceramic pieces—no doubt of a figurine—that had been smashed to smithereens. Curious, she extracted a fragment and detected the delicate feathers of a bird. There was the beak! A larger piece—the base—slipped free of the bag. The writing on the bottom was an inscription: “For Magpie, now and forever.”

  Magpie? Which of her neighbors was Magpie? Lydia shrugged. Another Twin Lakes mystery, though this one seemed innocuous and fated never to be solved. She disposed of her garbage and slammed the lid shut.

  Barbara was kind enough to drop her off at Meredith’s on her way to her son’s house. Merry opened the door to her spacious colonial home and pressed her mother into a tight embrace.

  “Mom, I’m glad you’re here! Maybe you’ll reconsider and stay with us a few days.”

  “No, dear. The police are on top of the case,” Lydia said to allay her daughter’s fears, if not her own.

  She stood back to admire her tall, slender daughter. Merry was dressed up and wearing makeup for a change, her dark hair perfectly angled to frame her heart-shaped face. She’d put on a black leather pants suit, white silk blouse and high-heeled black boots.

  “Don’t you look stunning—as though you were off to a rendezvous instead of a baby shower.”

  “Oh, Mom, what a ridiculous thing to say!”

  Lydia would have agreed it was a frivolous comment if not for the flush that colored her daughter’s cheeks.

  Was Meredith having an affair? She’d been very moody lately. But Lydia had no time to ponder this latest concern. Meredith was issuing instructions.

  “The girls are watching TV in the den. Let them sit quietly for a few minutes. They’ve been running wild all morning. I want Brittany to have enough strength to play well this afternoon.”