A Murderer Among Us

by Marilyn Levinson

  “So you say! I say you robbed me like you robbed those poor people in Chicago!” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Doris headed for the doorway.

  “Doris, wait! The worst thing you can do is panic. In time those stocks will soar again. You’ll have the big gain you’re after.” His voice turned shrill. “They’re good stocks. I’d have my own mother buy them!”

  Doris shook her head and exited the room. Marshall stared after her, stunned that she paid him no mind. He bent down to whisper something to Peg then set off after Doris. The other residents were exchanging glances when Roger spoke.

  “To return to the matter at hand. Let me reassure you, the board made a careful study of costs and quality of work before choosing the companies we did. I saw photographs of their various projects, of golf courses and greens and small but utilitarian clubhouses that would suit our community’s needs.”

  He droned on, spouting more details and figures, until a shout interrupted.

  “Someone call an ambulance!”

  Lydia and everyone else turned to Marshall Weill standing in the doorway.

  “What happened?” voices asked.

  “Doris fell down the pool steps.” He shuddered. “I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  Ten

  After a moment of shocked silence, pandemonium broke out. Residents leaped up, intent on finding out if Doris was indeed dead. To Lydia’s amazement, George Linnett whipped out a whistle from God knew where and blasted it three times.

  “Everyone remain seated! We can’t have a stampede.”

  His wife, Katherine, stood up. “George, I’m going to see to Doris. She may be dying this very minute for want of attention.”

  He made no pretense of debating the matter. “Good idea, Katherine. Go and help her if you can.” He turned to Benny Lieberman. “Benny, call nine-one-one. Tell them we need an ambulance and the police.”

  “Roger’s on the line with them now,” Benny said.

  Andrew Varig made his way to the exit. “She’ll need a physician in any case.”

  Shaken by another death—this time that of someone she’d known and liked—Lydia stumbled to her feet. She’d help Doris if she could. And if Doris was beyond help, she intended to make sure the scene of death wasn’t disturbed.

  “Lydia, please stay here,” George pleaded, but she ignored him and continued to squeeze past agitated residents to reach the aisle. Other people got up, ready to follow her example. George blew his whistle again and stopped them in their tracks.

  “Please sit down,” Lydia heard Roger address the crowd. “The police and an EMS crew will be here any minute.”

  Lydia followed Katherine and Andrew into the hall. The doctor pulled open the glass door leading to the indoor pool. Doris lay sprawled face down on the half-landing. Her neck was twisted in such a way that Lydia knew she was dead.

  Katherine gasped. “The poor thing! Andrew, do you think she’s…?”

  “I’ll check her pulse and see if she’s breathing.”

  He started down the steps. Lydia followed after him. “I think it’s best not to touch her,” she said softly. “In case this was no accident.”

  “You mean, in case Weill pushed her?” Andrew let out a gruff laugh. “You have a point. Women around him are dying like flies.”

  Lydia nodded. “First his wife and now poor Doris. I visited her the other day. She gave me carrot cake and tea. Now she’s dead.”

  “And I have the distinction of being the fool who brought Weill to Twin Lakes.”

  “Oh?” Her tone turned chilly. “You knew he’d gone to prison for embezzlement and said nothing when he started investing HOA monies?”

  Andrew’s steely gray eyes bored into hers. “I knew nothing about the man. It was a casual encounter while playing golf at my friend’s club. Weill was a guest there, too. He mentioned he was looking to move to this type of community and I told him where I lived.” He sighed. “We get older and take people at face value. A mistake.”

  He crouched down next to Doris and gazed into her face. Then he reached for her outstretched wrist. He knelt closer and put his hand close to her mouth and lips. He shook his head and stood. “She’s gone.”

  He glanced down at Doris one final time. “We’ll leave her to the authorities.”

  “Is she dead?” Katherine asked as soon as they joined her on the main level.

  “I’m afraid so.” Andrew’s voice was gentle.

  Katherine sniffed and blew her nose. “Doris was terribly upset this past week. She said her investments were taking a nosedive. She was afraid she’d have to sell her house and move in with her daughter, something she dreaded.”

  Andrew rested a hand on her shoulder. “Doris was in a state of agitation. There’s the possibility she tripped and fell down the steps.”

  Katherine’s sorrow turned to fury. “Running away from Marshall! Any way you look at it, he caused her death. Doris never would have bought those risky stocks if he hadn’t convinced her they’d practically double her income. Doris, being so desperate, believed him.”

  Andrew narrowed his eyes. “The man has caused more trouble than he’s worth. Maybe one of these days someone will close his eyes for good.”

  * * *

  “So, have you arrested Marshall Weill for killing Doris Fein?” Lydia asked. It was Wednesday afternoon, and once again Detective Sol Molina sat at her kitchen table discussing a dead woman.

  He let out a hearty chuckle. “Get right to the point—don’t you?—when I’ve come to ask you questions.”

  Lydia smiled. “This is my day off. Now that I’m working again, every minute counts.”

  “Can’t give it up, can you?” he teased.

  “I enjoy it. Besides, it’s safer at Carrington House,” she quipped back. “More coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Lydia reached for his mug. She felt his eyes—hazel at present—follow her as she walked the few feet to the coffee maker on the counter. She was glad she was wearing a trim baby blue sweater and black jeans that flattered her figure.

  He added milk from her small Italian creamer and drank. “Ah, great coffee. A welcome change from the vile stuff down at the station.”

  “I’m beginning to think that’s why you come around.”

  “One of the reasons,” he said. Lydia blushed.

  “As for Weill, we haven’t charged him because we’ve no evidence or witnesses that say he killed Doris Fein. We’re not even certain Doris Fein’s death was a homicide. Believe me, the county crime lab’s hard at work.”

  “What kind of evidence are they looking for?”

  “For one thing, they can determine if she suffered a stroke or a coronary at the time of death. Unfortunately, this will take a while. Probably a week.”

  “It sure looked to me like her neck was broken.”

  “The break might have been the result of her fall.”

  “Did she fall or was she pushed?” Lydia murmured.

  “I don’t know,” Sol Molina acknowledged, “but Weill swears up and down he never touched her because he never caught up with her.”

  “How did he explain the fact that Doris fell down the steps leading to the indoor pool?”

  “He assumed she ran there because she was determined not to talk to him. He claims he reached the glass door as Mrs. Fein tumbled down the steps.”

  Lydia sipped her coffee and considered. “As Dr. Varig pointed out, the women around Marshall Weill are dying like flies.”

  “How soon after Doris Fein left the meeting did Weill follow her out in the hall?”

  This was an important question. Lydia closed her eyes and thought back to the meeting.

  “He stood by his seat and watched her leave. She wasn’t gone half a minute when he started after her.”

  “How long was he gone?”

  “About five minutes.”

  The detective nodded. “That seems to be the general consensus. Could anyone else have come into the hall before you, Mrs. Li
nnett and Dr. Varig went to check on Mrs. Fein?”

  “I didn’t see anyone. I suppose the girl at the desk last night could tell you.”

  Sol Molina’s barely perceptible nod let her know he’d already interviewed the receptionist.

  “Did the three of you leave the meeting together?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did that come about?”

  Lydia told him, thinking Detective Sol Molina had a very slick way of finding out exactly what he wanted to know. Well, she had one or two surprises of her own.

  “Did you know Marshall Weill came to Twin Lakes through Andrew Varig?”

  “No, but I expect you’ll tell me about it.”

  This wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for, but she told him what Andrew had said just before he examined Doris. “He made a comment that maybe someday someone would close Weill’s eyes for good. I got the feeling he held a grudge against Mr. Popularity, though it could be because he feels responsible for bringing him to Twin Lakes. Everyone here is loaded with secrets.”

  “It’s the story in every case,” Sol said.

  “And I was no exception,” Lydia murmured, aware that she still hadn’t told Barbara and Caroline about Allison.

  “Poor Lydia. This can’t be easy for you.”

  “I’ve had to face the reality of Allison’s life,” she said, doing her best to ignore the rush of warmth spilling over her because he’d used her first name. “Marshall Weill is scum. He took advantage of Allison and he stole from her.”

  She breathed deeply. “The truth is, Allison was fragile and reckless—a deadly combination. I think it was only a matter of time before something or someone pulled her down to the depths of despair where she couldn’t cope. I don’t hold him responsible for Allison’s suicide any longer.”

  Sol stood and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I admire you, Lydia Krause. For daring to face issues people run from all their lives.”

  “Thank you.” She reached up and covered his hand with hers. After a moment, she shook her head as though coming out of a daze and stood, too.

  “I have a doctor’s appointment in half an hour.” Then she remembered why he’d come. “Aren’t you going to ask me more questions?”

  “Nope, but if you remember something from last night, if anything occurs to you, please let me know. You still have my numbers?”

  “Yes, I do.” At the front door, she said, “Have a good Thanksgiving,” though it was two weeks away.

  “Thanks, you too.”

  “I will. I’m going to my daughter’s house. Where are you going?”

  “To my brother’s. My daughter, Heather, will be spending the long weekend with me.”

  She smiled as she watched him walk to his car and wished she could call him back to offer another nugget of information. But there was nothing more she knew.

  * * *

  Marshall Weill and the deaths of his wife and Doris Fein were all Twin Lakes residents could talk about for the next several days. The fact that two women had died suddenly was a blight on their community. The cause of it all, most residents agreed, was a man who had joined them under false pretenses. A convicted felon who had broken the law yet again by investing HOA monies and doling out financial advice—with some dire consequences.

  Sunday morning after swimming laps, Lydia climbed the stairs to find several residents heatedly discussing a letter Andrew Varig had posted on the bulletin board. She edged her way through the crowd to read what Andrew had written. In very strong language, he stated his view that, for the safety and well-being of the community, Marshall Weill should leave Twin Lakes until the police discovered who had murdered Claire Weill and Doris Fein.

  “They can’t do that!” Despite her dislike for the man, Lydia found herself outraged on Weill’s behalf. She knew firsthand the awful feeling of being a murder suspect. The police had found no evidence that Weill had killed either woman.

  The white-haired, pot-bellied man next to her growled, “Andrew’s right. We have to protect our womenfolk. Who knows? If you’re not careful, you might be next.”

  Lydia glared at him and went home.

  Caroline called a few hours later to say the board members were getting phone calls demanding they do something about the dangerous ex-con left free to roam Twin Lakes. She finished by saying, “You’d think they’d have enough sense to know the board has no power to order Marshall to leave his home.”

  “They’re frightened,” Lydia said, “and turning to the only authority we have to protect them.”

  “Well, the board can’t ban Marshall from Twin Lakes,” Caroline said. After a moment, she asked, “Do you think he killed Claire and Doris?”

  “The man has the morals of an alley cat. But as for killing them? I wish I knew.”

  Lydia hung up and spent the next few hours wondering, like many of her neighbors, if Marshall had killed the two women. And if he hadn’t, who did?

  Tuesday morning, Lydia took full advantage of her day off—a day free of work and babysitting—to do as she liked. She practiced yoga for an hour and a half instead of going for her regular swim. As she stepped out of the shower, she heard someone knocking at the front door. She slipped into her terrycloth robe and wrapped a towel around her head, wondering who it might be. Barbara or Caroline? Peg? Or—her heart beat faster—Sol Molina! She peered through the glass panel and unlocked the door.

  “Hello, Marshall. What can I do for you?”

  “Good morning, Lydia. Sorry I caught you at a bad time.”

  The near-arrogant grin was in place, but the eyes were bloodshot, the lids puffy. For the first time since she’d met him, Marshall Weill looked his age.

  “Yes, it is a bad time,” she answered coldly.

  “Lydia, I need to speak to you. Please.”

  She thought quickly. No doubt he meant to come inside, but she didn’t want the likes of him in her home. “Fine. I’ll meet you in the diner in an hour.”

  “I’d be happy to drive you there.”

  “As I said, I’ll meet you.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “You needn’t be afraid of going in the car with me.”

  When she said nothing, he said, “Would you mind meeting instead at the coffee shop in the strip mall on Hensen Street? I know it’s a hole in the wall, but I need to speak to you in private.”

  “All right. I know where it is.”

  She watched him drive off, then went upstairs to get dressed. Her hands trembled from both excitement and apprehension as she did up the buttons of her blouse. She was about to learn vital information regarding Marshall and the two dead women!

  She gasped as it occurred to her that she might very well be the next victim. How ridiculous! she scolded herself. Marshall had no intention of harming her, certainly not in broad daylight. Still, to be on the safe side, she telephoned Barbara and left a message on her tape saying where she was going and why. She called Caroline and left the same message. If anything happened, Weill would be implicated and held accountable.

  He sat waiting for her in the back booth of the dark, dingy coffee shop. He waved as she walked toward him and thrust back his shoulders. Though he sat erect, his face seemed to sag, weighed down by the events of the past few weeks. He gave her a wan smile.

  “Thanks for coming, Lydia. I need to speak to you.”

  “Why, Marshall? We’re hardly acquaintances, much less friends.”

  “True, but I know you well enough to recognize you’re both intelligent and fair-minded.”

  She slid into the seat opposite him, unwilling to let on that his compliment filled her with a warm, rosy feeling.

  He leaned forward, pressing his palms into the peeling Formica table top. “I did not kill my wife, and I had nothing to do with Doris Fein’s death. I swear it!”

  The intensity of his denial struck a nerve, urging her to believe he was telling the truth, but she refused to make a decision regarding his guilt based solely on emotions.

  “Why are you
telling me this? The police haven’t accused you of murder.”

  “Not yet, they haven’t. Which doesn’t mean they’re not looking for something—anything!—connecting me to the deaths. Only there’s nothing to find.”

  “Then why worry?”

  A waitress appeared and took Lydia’s order of coffee and a donut. When she left, Marshall Weill continued.

  “It’s no pleasure being suspect number one in everyone’s eyes. I’m appalled by what’s happening in our little community. People are stupid enough to lump the two deaths together. They treat me like a pariah. Some actually want me to leave Twin Lakes, and I’ve no intention of doing that.”

  Lydia nodded, recalling Andrew’s letter posted on the bulletin board. “I sympathize, but if you’re innocent as you claim, there’s little they can do.”

  Marshall shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. “Lydia, don’t act naive. It doesn’t suit you. Claire and I went to great lengths to find our Utopia. I love Twin Lakes and want to continue living here, only I can’t under a cloud of suspicion. I intend to regain my good name.” He winked. “Or what remains of it. I hope, given your part in all that’s happened, you’ll help prove I didn’t kill Claire or Doris.”

  She flinched at the guilt he’d flung at her and replied defensively, “I don’t see what I can do.”

  “Peg tells me you have the ear of Detective Molina.”

  “Peg’s a busybody!”

  He ignored her outburst of vexation. “Use your female wiles to find out what the police know. Keep your eyes and ears open for what they’re missing. You’re good with people. You ran a company. I have faith in your investigative skills.”

  “But I’m not a detective!” she protested. “And Lieutenant Molina tells me very little about the case.”

  His hand rested on her forearm. She shrugged it away, but he seemed not to notice that he’d put it there in the first place. Instead, he hunched over the table and lowered his voice to a confiding tone.

  “Something weird’s turned up. The crime lab found a powerful substance in Claire’s bloodstream. As I told Molina, I’ve no idea what it is or how Claire got hold of it.”