A Murderer Among Us

by Marilyn Levinson

  “Name one!” he snapped.

  His anger flustered her, and for a moment Lydia’s mind went blank.

  “Viv Maguire’s the most logical suspect. She was furious to see me at Marshall’s house yesterday when she stopped by.”

  “Why the hell were you there?”

  Lydia squirmed under his scrutiny. Why was he so enraged?

  “We were talking. What else? I told Marshall if he didn’t kill his wife and Doris, then someone might have wanted to make it look like he did. I asked him for a list of everyone who might have it in for him.”

  “Where is this list?”

  “In my den. Do you want to see it?”

  “Please. And if you have a copier, I’d appreciate your making a duplicate for me.”

  She left and returned a minute later, a copy of the list in hand. Molina dropped into a chair to study the names. He stretched out his legs. They were slender but strong, Lydia noticed. Nicely shaped. She imagined he’d look good in a bathing suit or…

  Blushing, she concentrated on answering his questions about the people Marshall had listed. As she spoke, the detective jotted down notes.

  When they were finished, he said, “We still don’t know if Mrs. Fein’s death was a homicide. The ME’s leaning toward a coronary, and running tests. Her medical records indicate she had a weak heart. However,” he gazed meaningfully at her, “they found traces of the same herbal compound in her system that Mrs. Weill had taken.”

  “Oh, no!” If Doris had heart problems, the capsules may very well have caused her coronary. In which case—Lydia pressed her hands together to stop them from trembling—Steve may have caused her death.

  Molina fixed a stern eye on her. “What’s going through that overactive brain of yours?”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I was just wondering if there’s another tie-in with the two deaths, that’s all.”

  “Our thought precisely. Believe me, we’re checking out every lead.”

  He stood abruptly and reached for the rock and the note he’d placed inside separate plastic bags. He was about to leave. Lydia felt obliged to tell him about Steve Thiergard and his herbal capsules, but the words wouldn’t come. She dreaded mentioning his name for fear the police would find out about his affair with Meredith. In which case, Jeff would hear about it and he’d divorce her. Two women were dead but Meredith and her family were alive. They needed her protection. However, Steve couldn’t be allowed to continue peddling those pills and put more lives in danger.

  Not to worry. The police would find out about Steve eventually. If he severed his relationship with Meredith now, it need never be mentioned in any of their reports. The solution to everything, she realized as she showed the detective to the door, was to deal with Steve Thiergard on her own.

  Molina gave her the first smile of the afternoon. “I wish you’d go to Florida for the next few months. I don’t like having to worry about you.”

  Her heart lurched. “I won’t do anything rash.”

  “Then throw away that list and promise me you won’t go around asking questions.”

  She shrugged.

  He studied her for a minute. “Lydia, you don’t owe Marshall Weill the time of day, much less the obligation of proving his innocence—if he is innocent.”

  “I know, but I’ve done my share of upsetting his life.”

  He cleared his throat. “I hate to think you’ve come under his spell like all those foolish women.”

  Lydia burst out laughing. “Contrary to what you think, I am not a foolish woman.”

  “I’m delighted to hear that.” He bent down and brushed his lips against hers. Then he opened the door and stepped outside, letting in a blast of wintry air. He turned and winked.

  “Take care of yourself, and call a glazier to put in a new window. My men are questioning your neighbors to find out if they’ve seen anything. And I’ll have a chat with Mrs. Maguire.”

  She nodded and, too flushed with happiness to feel the cold, watched him get into his car.

  “Meow.”

  Reggie brushed against Lydia’s leg to announce he was hungry. He wove around her feet, but she continued to ignore him. What was wrong with his mistress, standing at the open door with a dopey grin on her face? Didn’t she care that he was starving and needed nourishment? Disgusted, Reggie nipped her ankle.

  Lydia yelped at the stinging pain that snapped her out of her reverie. She fed Reggie then cleaned up the broken glass she’d left as Sol had instructed her to so he could view the scene. Careful not to cut herself, she gathered up the larger pieces, then vacuumed the carpet and the sofa several times.

  All the while her mind whirled like a fan in high gear. She had ruffled someone’s feathers. The question was whose? The doorbell rang, interrupting her speculations. Lydia wasn’t surprised to find Peg on her doorstep, the brown rabbity eyes blinking with a blend of commiseration and excitement. She thrust a piece of paper at Lydia.

  “Sorry to hear what happened. Here’s the name of a glazier I’ve used. He’s good and he’s reasonable.”

  “Thanks, Peg. I can’t believe someone did this in broad daylight.”

  Peg gave her a baleful look. “Oh, I can. As I told the detective who came to my house, once the weather turns cold and grim, people stay indoors. I didn’t notice anyone skulking about.” She glanced toward the broken window. “Of course I never saw who threw the rock since that window faces the Winslows’ house.”

  “They’re away in Arizona,” Lydia commented, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

  “Need any help cleaning up the mess?”

  “No, thanks, I’ve taken care of that. I’ll call the glazier.”

  “Put a towel or a piece of cardboard over the window to keep out the draft. Any idea who did this?”

  Lydia shook her head. “None whatsoever.”

  Peg shrugged. “Things were quiet here, until you stirred them up. Not that I’m blaming you,” she quickly added. “Marshall’s past was bound to come out, one way or another.”

  “You sound as if you knew about it before I broke the news.”

  Peg shrugged. “He told me about it one day when we were discussing investments.”

  “Then other people must have known as well,” Lydia said slowly.

  “Probably a few.” Peg reached out to squeeze Lydia’s arm. “Be careful. An evil force is loose in Twin Lakes. You don’t want to get caught in its grip.”

  Lydia watched Peg walk across the lawn and enter her house through the garage. What was that all about? It sounded like a cryptic warning. Was Peg, in her unique and peculiar manner, offering her solace, or was she advising her to lie low?

  She telephoned the glazier, who said he’d come by at eleven the next morning to make the repair. That accomplished, Lydia draped an old quilt over the curtain rods and secured it so it cut down much of the frigid chill permeating the house.

  But when the sun went down, she put aside the novel she couldn’t focus on and faced her dark thoughts. Where had she found the chutzpah to tell Marshall to draw up a list of potential enemies from which she’d try to deduce who had murdered his wife? The idea would be laughable if it weren’t deadly serious.

  She started for the kitchen, intent on boiling water for tea, but found herself staring at the quilt that covered the shattered window. The rock thrower had, in one fell swoop, both vandalized her home and rendered her vulnerable. Lydia shuddered, knowing she wouldn’t sleep a wink that night until the damaged pane was replaced. She dialed Barbara’s number and smiled with relief when her friend picked up on the third ring.

  “Hello there!” Barbara was in good spirits. “I got back from my son’s house an hour ago. It was fun but hectic. I’ll be happy to spend a quiet evening in front of the TV. How was your weekend?”

  Lydia gave her an abbreviated version of all that had transpired since Thanksgiving morning.

  “Whew!” Barbara exclaimed when she’d finished. “I’m exhausted just listening to everythin
g that’s happened. Your life sounds like an action-packed movie.”

  “They’re fun to watch, not live through. Actually, I feel kind of creepy staying here knowing anyone can push his way through the broken glass. Do you mind if I come over?”

  “Of course come over!” Barbara exclaimed. “Stay the night. The guest room’s made up and I’ve plenty of Thanksgiving leftovers, courtesy of my daughter-in-law.”

  “I don’t think I can eat anything.”

  “Maybe not now, but you’ll be hungry later. Pack your nightgown and toothbrush. I’ll leave the garage door open for you.”

  * * *

  Hours later, after being fed and cosseted by Barbara, Lydia felt like a convalescent recovering from a debilitating illness. As they chatted over decaf coffee in Barbara’s cozy den, she reveled in the tranquility that had settled about her like a worn cardigan. Murders and rock-thrown threats were incidents one read about in the newspaper.

  “How lovely to babble about trivial matters,” she mused. “I’d forgotten the simple joys of everyday living.”

  “Something you haven’t enjoyed in quite some time,” Barbara observed.

  “Not since Izzy took sick. But I refuse to dwell on that anymore. I’ll tell Marshall I can’t help him, and leave solving the murder or murders to Sol Molina.” Who kissed me, kind of, but I’ll keep that to myself.

  “Good for you!” Barbara said. “You’ve one happy simcha ahead of you—Abbie’s marriage.”

  “Oh yes,” Lydia agreed. “Todd’s perfect for her. He’s motivated and clever, adoring and kind. But then I thought Merry and Jeff would live happily ever after, and look at them now.”

  “They’re no different from thousands of other young couples overwhelmed by small children and responsibilities.” Barbara patted Lydia’s arm. “Don’t imagine the worst-case scenario. Things may very well work out.”

  “I don’t know. Merry thinks she’s in love with Steve Thiergard.” Lydia grimaced. “Given her state of mind, this was an affair waiting to happen. A gorgeous hunk of a man appears from her past and offers her affection and sympathy—for problems real or imagined.” She groaned. “She must stop seeing him or her family will suffer. My granddaughters will be traumatized. Poor Jeff will be devastated.”

  “From what you told me, I got the feeling Meredith was receptive to your advice.”

  Lydia sighed. “I certainly hope so. I have to get it through her stubborn head Steve Thiergard isn’t the answer to her problems. It didn’t faze her one bit when I told her he’s selling potentially dangerous capsules to older women. Now Doris is dead, possibly of a coronary. Brought on, no doubt, by those damn capsules Steve sold her.”

  “Didn’t Merry tell you the compound’s contraindicated for women with heart conditions? If Steve told her that, he must have made it very clear to anyone asking to buy the capsules.”

  “Maybe,” Lydia reluctantly conceded, “but Steve’s been underhanded about this entire business. And charging a thousand dollars a bottle is gouging, any way you look at it.”

  She remained silent as an idea took shape inside her head. “I’d love to hire a professional to investigate this miracle capsule and Steve Thiergard so I could prove to my daughter her boyfriend is less than perfect. What I want more than anything is immediate proof.”

  Barbara stood suddenly and tossed Lydia an impish grin. “In that case, let’s google Steve Thiergard and his herbal compound.”

  Lydia laughed. “Funny, that’s precisely what my future son-in-law advised me to do.”

  Barbara booted up her computer and typed in Steve’s name. They ignored the other articles and sites related to people with the same name—Stephen Franklin Thiergard, a Texan rancher and aviator, and Professor Steven Thiergard, authority on California migrant workers from 1940 until 1948. There were only a few articles about Steven Daniel Thiergard.

  Barbara printed out two similar articles he’d written in praise of the botanical compound. Lydia highlighted the individual herbs with the intention of reading about them later, then she studied the articles with care. Steve referred to earlier tests of two groups of people, each taking one of the two principal herbs. Most claimed to have more energy after ingesting the herb on a daily basis.

  Testimonials from people who had taken the herbal compound were more dramatic. Over ninety percent insisted they had more vitality and enjoyed better health after two weeks of use. Steve made it very clear that the compound was not for anyone with heart problems. Everything appeared technical and aboveboard—and dull.

  “Here’s an article about Hadley Health Products, the company that created and will distribute this compound,” Barbara said above the sound of her laser printer. “It has a bio of its CEO, Paul Hadley. Gee, he’s young.”

  “Steve said he’s a friend of his,” Lydia said, picking up the printouts.

  “Hmm, all these other articles are about the other Steve Thiergards. No, here’s one from three years ago. It’s a wedding announcement.” Barbara clicked on the article. Lydia read it aloud.

  “‘Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Hadley of North Caldwell, New Jersey, are pleased to announce the wedding of their daughter Marigold Catherine to Steven Daniel Thiergard.’” Blood rushed to her face as she scanned down several lines to a quote from Paul Hadley.

  “‘I’m as happy as Marigold regarding this marriage. Steve’s been my best friend these last five years, and now he’s going to be my brother-in-law.’”

  Stricken, Lydia gaped at Barbara. “My God, the louse is married!”

  Barbara burst out laughing.

  “It isn’t funny! I know Merry’s married, but she has no idea that Steve is.”

  “Maybe he isn’t any longer. Some of these kids marry and divorce in the few years it takes other people to buy a new car.”

  Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think he’d be involved with his brother-in-law’s company if he divorced his sister.” She marched to the coat closet and pulled on her jacket. “God knows where he’ll be off to tomorrow morning. I’ll speak to him now.”

  “Now?” Barbara glanced at her watch. “It’s almost ten-thirty.”

  “I’m not going far. I’ll be back soon.” Lydia started for the door.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, you stay here. If I’m not back in an hour, call Molina.”

  Fifteen

  Pinpoints of light escaped above the drawn drapes at John Trevor’s house. Lydia parked in the driveway and rang the doorbell. Steve, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, came to open the door in his stockinged feet. When he saw her, he grinned.

  “Lydia—Mrs. Krause! What a pleasant surprise!”

  “I’m glad to find you’re still at your uncle’s. I wanted to speak to you but was afraid you’d gone home.”

  “I’m here through Friday, then I’ll be gone for a month. Come on in.”

  Without waiting, he turned left into the den where canned laughter emitted from the TV. Lydia squelched the urge to dash back to her car and the comforting warmth of Barbara’s home. She was about to do something she despised. At best she’d be considered an interfering mother; at worst she’d be facing a murderer in his lair.

  Don’t be melodramatic! she chided herself. Steve didn’t kill Claire or Doris. At least not intentionally.

  She forced one foot in front of the other until she stood in the middle of the now silent den. It was a man’s room, furnished with a maroon leather couch and matching leather armchairs. A deer’s head with large antlers topped the fireplace.

  Steve stood beside one of the chairs. “Please sit down. Can I get you something? A drink?”

  His manner was hospitable and friendly, but she detected tension in his hunched-up broad shoulders.

  “Nothing, thanks. I’m sorry to bother you so late. This won’t take much of your time.”

  “Be my guest.” He gestured toward the couch and sat in the armchair opposite her. “What would you like to talk about?”

  She decided to be
straightforward. “I’m not happy that you and my daughter, Meredith, are involved. I’d like you to stop this relationship now, before anyone gets hurt.”

  Steve nodded as though he were considering her request. “I see. What does Merry have to say about this?”

  “She’s in a confused state and doesn’t know her own mind. I told her an affair wasn’t the answer to her problems.”

  “Confused or not, it’s Merry’s call. It’s Merry’s life.”

  “Don’t give me that! Merry’s behavior affects my granddaughters and my son-in-law. I don’t want their family destroyed because Merry’s going through a difficult period and you—a former boyfriend—happened to come along and made her feel better.”

  “I’m sorry you see it that way. Merry and I give each another emotional support.”

  “I see.” She eyed him balefully. “Do you love my daughter?”

  “I care about her a great deal.”

  Which wasn’t the same as love. Lydia slapped her thigh in frustration. This was getting nowhere!

  “If you care about Meredith, you must realize you’re not helping her. You’re only making matters worse.”

  Steve said nothing. Lydia’s anger dissolved, replaced by a heart-pounding panic.

  “Please, I beg you to end the affair. If you break it off, I won’t tell the police you supplied both murdered women with those herbal capsules.”

  Steve stared at her in amazement. “Do you imagine for one minute I had anything to do with their deaths?”

  He leaped to his feet then paced up and down the length of the room. “I’d stake my life on that herbal compound. In fact, I’ve sunk most of my own money into the product, and I expect it to make me a wealthy man in a few years.”

  “You lied about it, didn’t you? You told me the herbal compound wasn’t what you’d sold to Claire and Doris.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” His eyes widened as the full impact of her words sank in. “How did you find out about Doris?”