A Murderer Among Us

by Marilyn Levinson

  “Today was my last day at work,” Abbie told her. “Can you come into the city tomorrow? I really want you to help me find a dress.”

  “A dress? You mean a wedding dress? It’s kind of late, honey, with the wedding a month away.”

  “Not a formal wedding dress,” Abbie explained. “Something Laura Ashley-ish. If you can’t make it…” She sounded forlorn.

  Len would be furious when she called to say she was taking another day off from work, and she didn’t blame him. But her daughter was getting married! Even if she’d still owned her company, Lydia would have set aside time to shop with Abbie before her wedding.

  “Of course I’ll help you find a dress!” she exclaimed. “I’ll come in early and meet you at Lord & Taylor. They have a wonderful selection of dresses for special occasions. I’ve always had luck there.”

  “Great! What train will you be taking?”

  As Lydia consulted the timetable, she considered asking Abbie if she’d like to invite Meredith to join them, then decided not to. If Abbie had wanted her sister’s company, she would have said so. They set a time and place to meet, and Lydia hung up the phone feeling just a bit harried.

  “My daughters are keeping me hopping,” she told Reggie. “I don’t have the time to help Marshall find his wife’s murderer even if I had some leads.”

  “Meow,” Reggie agreed.

  “I’ll tell him I’m stymied and that will be the end of that. Won’t Sol be pleased?” She lifted the phone. “Now to tell Len what he won’t be happy hearing.”

  * * *

  Finding a dress for Abbie proved to be more difficult than Lydia had anticipated. Five-three and small-boned, Abbie squawked about looking in the Petites’ section.

  “Why, honey?” Lydia asked. “You are petite.”

  “I hate that kind of labeling. I always get my clothes in juniors.” After a pause, she added, “except for my pants and T-shirts.”

  “Where do you buy those?”

  “Mostly in the boys’ department.”

  Lydia forced an encouraging smile. “Come on. Let’s gives the Petites’ section a shot.”

  Abbie tried on several dresses. Though most fit her, she discarded one after the other, proclaiming them either too frilly or simply too awful for words.

  “It’s just not me,” she complained as she climbed out of the ninth and last dress they’d brought into the dressing room.

  Lydia let out a sigh of exasperation. “One’s wedding dress is meant to be a bit formal. It’s a statement that you’re taking part in an important life ritual.”

  Abbie put on her stubborn camel look, but two try-ons later, she declared this one “wasn’t too bad.”

  It suited her perfectly. The ivory-colored silk dress had a beautiful heart-shaped neckline; the slim skirt ended just below her knees.

  “Doesn’t need shortening,” the saleswoman commented.

  “We’ll take it,” Lydia said. “Right, honey?” she added quickly when the stubborn camel look threatened to reappear.

  Abbie nodded, and they followed the saleswoman to the register, where Lydia paid for the dress.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Miraculously, Abbie’s sunny nature reappeared, and she bussed her mother on the cheek. “I’m glad that’s over.”

  “Not quite,” Lydia informed her. “Next we get you matching shoes and a small purse. But first let’s have some lunch.”

  They spent the rest of the day shopping for Abbie. Once the shoes and purse were out of the way, Lydia bought her an outrageously expensive apricot-colored negligee and matching robe. In Sportswear, she had Abbie try on sweaters, silk turtleneck tops, jeans and slacks. If an article fit well, she added it to the growing pile.

  “Your trousseau,” she explained.

  “Oh, Mom!”

  “Don’t ‘oh, Mom,’ me! I want you to have pretty things to wear over in England.”

  Abbie pursed her lips. “All right. If it makes you happy.”

  Lydia kissed her daughter’s cheek. “It makes me ecstatically happy.”

  Abbie loosened up as the afternoon wore on, and by the time they stopped for a coffee break, she and Lydia were joking around in their usual manner.

  It was after five when they left the store. Just in time for rush hour, Lydia thought, but it was worth it. She’d always treasure this day. Carrying some of the packages, she walked to a corner with Abbie, hoping to snare her daughter a taxi. They were in luck. Within five minutes, a yellow cab zoomed to a stop in front of them.

  Abbie tossed her new purchases into the back seat and instead of getting in, suddenly grabbed Lydia’s hand. “You’re going to come visit us soon, aren’t you, Mom?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  As Lydia watched her daughter’s taxi head downtown, it dawned on her that she’d been incredibly obtuse! Abbie was nervous! That’s why she’d carried on about the wedding dress and everything else. Lydia walked through the crowded streets to Penn Station, her daughter never leaving her thoughts. Abbie, for all her certainty that Todd was the man for her, had qualms about leaving her family, her country and everything familiar behind. Lydia smiled. Abbie’s former world-traveling days would help her adjust, and she’d be just fine living in England. And she intended to visit her and Todd as soon as they were settled in their new home.

  * * *

  The phone was ringing as Lydia unlocked the front door. It was Meredith.

  “I’ve been calling and calling! Your cell phone was off!”

  “I don’t leave it on,” Lydia said. “I keep it in the car, in case of an emergency.”

  “I was worried something happened to you.”

  “Sorry, dear. I just this moment stepped into the house. I was in the city shopping with Abbie.” She bent down to pet Reggie, who was weaving between her legs.

  “I wish you would have told me!”

  Lydia felt a pang of guilt. “You would have wanted to come along?”

  “Of course not. I’ve too much to do here before we go away. I meant about your disappearing without letting me know where you’d gone. I even called your friend Barbara and she didn’t know where you were.”

  “I don’t make a habit of checking in with someone before I go out for the day! Honestly, Meredith, I’m not in the mood for an interrogation. It’s almost eight o’clock and I’m thoroughly exhausted.” She wedged the phone between shoulder and neck and set down a bowl of food for her starving cat.

  Meredith tone softened. “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to come on like gangbusters. I’m worried because of everything that’s been happening at Twin Lakes.”

  Reggie gobbled down his food. Like a dog would, Lydia thought. She shrugged out of her jacket and sat in a kitchen chair.

  “I’m here and I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “I convinced Jeff not to work tomorrow morning, and he suggested we get an early start. Could you be here at nine instead of at noon?”

  Lydia sighed. “I don’t think so, Merry. I’ve been running around these last few days and I need to wind down. I was hoping to sleep late and get in a swim before I came over.”

  “Mo-om, please!” Meredith lowered her voice. “You know how important this weekend is. Couldn’t you please come early this one time?”

  “I can’t be there at nine. I must get some sleep or I’ll be irritable, and my granddaughters don’t need a grumpy grandma. The best I can say is ten-thirty.”

  “Thanks, Mom! Ten-thirty’s perfect!”

  Merry’s jubilance told Lydia she’d been angling after ten-thirty all along. But this was an important weekend, Lydia reminded herself as she scrambled eggs for her dinner omelet. Her way of helping was to watch her granddaughters while Meredith came to her senses. If she came to her senses. Because even if Steve backed out of the affair, which she believed he would, Merry had to want to remain in her marriage to make it work. Lydia hoped fervently that Merry and Jeff would reconnect this weekend. Ho
ping was all she could do.

  After dinner, Lydia glanced through the newspaper, too tired to read more than the headlines. She decided to make an early night of it. As she slipped between the covers, her thoughts returned to Merry and Abbie. Though her daughters were adults, lately they required a good deal of her time and maternal attention.

  She awoke at nine the next morning, refreshed and in good spirits. Much as she would have loved to swim laps, she hadn’t enough time. A brisk walk would have to suffice. She opened the blinds and blinked at the bright sunlight. Yes, a walk around Lake Nissaquage would be perfect on this lovely fall morning. She dressed in a warm-up suit and sneakers, downed a glass of orange juice, then turned left on N Boulevard, in the direction of the rear of the property, which ran parallel to the woods.

  Though the temperature was in the mid-forties, there was no wind and Lydia was able to maintain a brisk pace. As she walked, she made a mental list of what she had to do before leaving for Merry’s. That done, she began a tentative list of wedding guests who had to be notified ASAP.

  Lydia frowned as she suddenly remembered she had to call Marshall to let him know she could no longer help him. The thought had no sooner crossed her mind when she heard him speak. She stopped in her tracks, hand pressed against her thumping heart. Was she hallucinating? Could thinking about the man have conjured up the sound of his voice inside her head?

  Only the burst of Marshall’s condescending laughter was no figment of her imagination. Though Lydia listened keenly, she couldn’t make out what he was saying. She glanced around and saw she stood almost at the point where N Boulevard ran into Lake Boulevard. Marshall’s voice was coming from the parcel of land on the other side of the woods that the HOA had recently purchased.

  Another man spoke. Lydia suspected they were there for nefarious reasons. She had to find out what they were discussing. She moved through the trees and underbrush, careful not to step on a branch or dry leaves and give away her presence. She crouched down behind a large bush and peered through a crack in the fence.

  Marshall and the board’s treasurer, Roger Patterson, stood at the side of the house. Though she couldn’t hear every word they exchanged, from the fanfare of smiles, back pats and recap of points of agreement, she gathered their discussion was drawing to an end. At one point Marshall took out a tiny calculator to tally up some figures.

  “Seventy-five thousand each!” he crowed. “Sounds good to me.”

  “It will sound even nicer after I cash in on your information.”

  “Buy yourself a Ferrari, if that’s your pleasure.”

  The men burst into laughter.

  Lydia ground her teeth. She was witnessing a pact between thieves! Roger was cutting Marshall in on padded contractors and landscapers’ fees in return for insider trading information to which Marshall no doubt had access through his old connections.

  Her temples throbbed with fury. How dare they steal from their friends and neighbors! People with whom they played cards, dined out and visited in their homes!

  It was immoral. It was criminal! It was disgusting!

  She longed to crash through the fence and give them a piece of her mind! Especially Marshall. He’d lied when he said he’d given up his thieving ways to live an honest life. He was amoral. Totally without principles.

  A shiver ran down her back. If he’d lied about this, what other lies had he told her? About her sister, Allison? Claire’s murder?

  Lydia stood, eager to leave this scene of iniquity, but crouched down again as Marshall slowly turned toward her, his outstretched arm encompassing the house and its property.

  “Just think, by next year, this will be the most beautifully developed, sought after and well-utilized asset of Twin Lakes.”

  Roger grinned. “Definitely, since we’re going to make sure we have the best contractors and workmen on the job. The best costs more. And who’s to begrudge us our small share of the profits?”

  Marshall threw an arm around Roger’s shoulders. “No one, my friend. Besides, our affluent neighbors can well afford the slight difference it will make in the cost.”

  They strolled along. Lydia held her breath as they passed her, barely a foot away on the other side of the fence.

  “Of course they can. Each household will contribute a small seven-hundred-dollar fee and never be the wiser.”

  “A mere pittance.”

  “A pebble in the bucket.”

  Their self-satisfied laughter stoked her fury. She’d see them both in jail before they stole as much as one cent from the Twin Lakes residents!

  When they reached the end of the property closest to Lake M, they passed through an opening in the fence, crossed the woods and got into their cars. Lydia waited until they drove out of sight before she started for home.

  She marched straight to the kitchen phone and called Marshall, determined to denounce him as a thief who would always be a thief and knew nothing about decency, honesty or truth. His phone rang, and the tape came on, advising her to leave her name, but she didn’t.

  She considered calling Sol Molina and decided not to. She had no proof of what she’d overheard—no tape recording or video of their felonious plans. No information to offer regarding Claire’s murder except the revelation of her husband’s totally venal character. She’d tell Sol about it eventually, but there was no urgency to call him now.

  Instead, she tried Weill again. This time she got a busy signal. Disgusted, Lydia concentrated on getting ready for her overnight with her granddaughters. She fed Reggie, cleaned his kitty litter box, and saw she was running late. Still, she was determined to speak to Marshall. She dialed his number and heard the phone ring and ring. Dammit, he’d come in and now he was gone! When the tape switched on, she slammed down the receiver and grabbed her overnight bag.

  She backed out of her driveway and waved to Peg and their neighbor across the street. Peg moved toward the car so Lydia had to stop. She opened her window.

  “Where are you off to this time?” Peg asked.

  “I’m babysitting this weekend.”

  “Have fun.”

  “I will.” She drove away wondering what Peg would think of her friend, Marshall Weill, if she knew what he was up to.

  Seventeen

  Lydia’s breathing slowed to normal as she drove away from Twin Lakes. She put her concerns about Marshall and Roger’s chicanery on hold and gave her complete attention to Brittany and Greta. Since Meredith had been clever enough to present Grammy’s visit as a special treat, the girls were in good spirits and behaved like angels. Saturday afternoon, Lydia dropped Brittany off at a birthday party and took Greta to see a movie. Her small granddaughter sat enthralled, while Lydia’s thoughts returned to the morning’s revelations.

  First thing Monday morning, she’d contact George and Benny and the other board members to let them know what Marshall and Roger were scheming. The board would probably resist hearing more bad news coming from her. No doubt they’d insist on talking to Roger and Marshall to get their side of the story. The two men were wily enough to concoct a tale that might deceive the others, at least temporarily.

  She’d better speak to Caroline and Barbara first. They’d believe her and would help convince the board that, at the very least, any expenses incurred while Roger was still treasurer had to be checked and counterchecked by the other board members.

  It was fortuitous that she hadn’t managed to speak to Marshall, after all. Lydia shuddered as she considered the consequences had she vented her fury at this incorrigible, amoral thief. If he’d lied to her about his intentions to lead an honest life, he might very well have lied about killing his wife. She frowned, thinking how stupid she’d been to go with him to his house while he drew up a list of suspects. Suspects! He must have had a good laugh over that.

  She had to face the fact that he’d managed to bamboozle her despite everything she’d known about him. Face it, then put it out of her mind. She’d let the police deal with the likes of Marshall Wei
ll.

  A small hand clutched her arm. “Look at that, Grammy!”

  “Awesome,” Lydia whispered.

  She focused on the funny chase scene, then found herself speculating about Marshall and Roger Patterson. What had driven them to commit felonies? She didn’t have access to their bank accounts, but she doubted that either Marshall or Roger lacked for funds. They enjoyed a lifestyle of luxury, as did many of the others she read about almost daily—people in high positions who embezzled and stole from clients, coworkers or the companies they worked for.

  Maybe they loved the power that money endowed. Maybe they wanted more expensive possessions—a kind of keeping up with the Joneses. Because, as Lydia well knew, no matter how much money one had, there were always people who had more.

  How did they reconcile their consciences with stealing from people they knew, people with whom they lived? Even worse, people whom they were supposed to be helping? What rationale did they concoct that allowed them to live with themselves?

  Lydia had seen her share of trickery and thievery in her years of running Krause Gifts and Furnishings. It angered her as much as it pained her the few times she’d encountered employees pulling some deal or shortchanging the company, and she’d seen to it those employees were punished to the full extent of the law. Even when Carley, her beloved secretary of four years, cried and apologized over and over for skimming money off five months of orders and swore she’d make restitution, Lydia remained firm and prosecuted. In her heart, she was glad Carley had managed to repay some of what she’d taken and that she got off with a fine and a suspended sentence, but she would never have the woman anywhere near her company again. In this world, people had to rely on one another’s ethics and good will. Without honesty there was no trust, and a world without trust was a scary place indeed.

  Lydia took the girls out for an early dinner, then played games with them until it was time for bed. Sunday, she made them waffles for breakfast and let them put ice cream on top. Then they went shopping at the mall, where she bought them each a toy. Meredith called to say that she and Jeff would be a little late—they’d be arriving home around nine. The sound of her daughter’s happy voice squelched the retort about to leap off the tip of her tongue. Spending a few extra hours with her granddaughters was well worth the price of saving their parents’ marriage.