A Murderer Among Us

by Marilyn Levinson

  She sang along with the radio as she drove home, thrilled by the way things had turned out. She’d been right to confront Meredith about the affair. Thank God her daughter had come to her senses and was back where she belonged—in the center of her family. Watching Meredith and Jeff bump rears as they laughed over a silly joke made Greta cackle with delight and Brittany shout “stop acting silly!” One less thing to worry about, she thought as she turned onto Bellewood Road. Now to persuade Merry to return to school ASAP. She’d offer to pay for a nanny three days a week and watch the girls the other two days herself. She was willing—no, happy—to help ensure the smooth running of Meredith’s household. Merry, Jeff and the girls were an important part of her life.

  A police car blocked the visitors’ lane of the Twin Lakes’ gatehouse. Lydia’s heart began to pound. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. She inched up to the residents’ electric eye, then stopped when a young police officer stepped out of the car and held up his hand. He asked her name and address, then glanced at his clipboard.

  “Are you going home now, Mrs. Krause?”

  Fear formed a ball in Lydia throat. She had difficulty swallowing. “I was planning to. Why?”

  “I’ll follow you, if you don’t mind.”

  She gripped her hands together to stop them from trembling. “What’s wrong, Officer? What’s happened?”

  “There’s been another death. Lieutenant Molina told me to escort you home when you arrived.”

  The shivering was now uncontrollable. “Who is it this time?”

  “A resident named Marshall Weill.”

  “Oh, no!” To her astonishment and his dismay, tears streamed down her face, spilling onto her corduroy jeans.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Krause? Would you like me to drive you home?”

  Lydia wiped her face with the back of her gloves. “Give me a minute, I’ll be fine.” She sniffed. “When did it happen? How?”

  “This morning a neighbor thought he noticed something odd near the tall grass growing along the lake back of Mr. Weill’s house. When it was still there noontime, he walked over and discovered Mr. Weill face down in the water.”

  She shivered. “Was he murdered?”

  The officer shrugged. “Too early to say. Lieutenant Molina will fill you in. Do you feel up to driving now?”

  Then it struck her. “Why does Lieutenant Molina want you to escort me home? Am I in danger?”

  “We’re taking precautions with everyone who knew the Weills.”

  She nodded, too numb to speak.

  “Fine. I’ll follow you, and see you into the house.”

  When they pulled into the driveway, the officer insisted on checking out every room before he allowed her to enter the house.

  “All right, Mrs. Krause. Please don’t open the door to anyone, and I mean anyone, except the lou. I just spoke to him. He’ll be along in about fifteen minutes.”

  She collapsed onto a living room sofa, too shaken to feed Reggie. Someone had murdered Marshall Weill! This took some getting used to. For all his venal ways, Marshall had been a vibrant, charismatic figure. Now he was dead like his wife, killed by someone he’d offended.

  Lydia shook her head, refusing to speculate about who that someone might be. She took some deep breaths, then went into the kitchen to feed Reggie and call Barbara.

  “Lydia, I’m so glad you’re home! Did you hear the news?”

  Lydia sank into the comfort of Barbara’s concern. “I just heard. I’m still reeling from it.”

  “I called you at Meredith’s this afternoon, but you were out. I didn’t leave a message as I didn’t want to upset you. Detective Molina agreed.”

  “Oh?”

  Her suspicion and jealousy must have come through, because Barbara laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re not carrying on behind your back. He stopped by after they finished going over the crime scene to ask me when I’d last seen Marshall, etcetera. He asked if I knew where you were and when you were expected back. I told him I thought around eight tonight.”

  “Merry and Jeff were delayed. The weekend was a success. They’re happy with each other.”

  “They can thank you for that.”

  “Who killed him, Barb? I get dizzy running through the many possibilities. And you can add Roger Patterson to the list.”

  “Really? I know they didn’t especially like each other, but I never heard they quarreled.”

  “When they were plotting to rip us off, they were the best of friends. But a falling out among thieves is a strong motive for murder.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Barbara exclaimed.

  Lydia told her about the conversation she’d overheard on Saturday morning. “I considered calling Sol to tell him, but didn’t think it was relevant to Claire’s murder.”

  “Maybe not, but the board has to be informed.”

  Lydia sighed. “Oh, I’ll inform them all right. Once I catch my breath.”

  “Lie down. Take it easy. I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” Barbara said, and hung up.

  Lydia stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes. She dozed until the doorbell rang, startling her awake. She bolted upright and moved to open the door. Too late, she remembered the police officer’s warning, but there was no need to worry. Detective Sol Molina stood before her. She wanted to throw herself in his arms, have him hold her close, stroke her head and promise everything would be all right.

  His hazel eyes were bloodshot with fatigue. The half smile he offered was more of a grimace as he stepped inside the hall.

  “Sorry to be so long,” he said. “You look like you just woke up.”

  “And you look like you could use some sleep.”

  He nodded. “Marshall Weill is dead and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Come into the kitchen. I’ll put up some coffee.”

  “None for me, thanks.”

  Puzzled, she led the way to the living room. “Fine. We’ll talk in here.”

  She sat on the sofa where she’d been sleeping and puffed up the cushions. He perched, tense and upright, on a nearby chair, notepad and pen in hand.

  “When was the last time you saw Mr. Weill?”

  Mr. Weill? “Yesterday morning.”

  “Where?”

  “He and Roger Patterson were conversing on property the HOA’s in the process of buying.” She pointed. “Over there, beyond the woods. They were laying plans to pad building expenses, expenses that would go directly into their pockets.”

  “Ah.”

  She watched him jot down what she’d said, disappointed that he didn’t seem at all surprised. No doubt he’d found notes or figures on Marshall’s desk and had a good idea what they meant. Still, she couldn’t understand why he was acting so distant and formal. Almost as though he were angry with her.

  “Did you speak to either man at the time?”

  “No.”

  “Did either Mr. Weill or Mr. Patterson notice your presence?”

  “Of course not. They certainly wouldn’t have spoken so freely if they had.”

  “How did you happen to overhear their conversation at that particular time?”

  She glared at him. Did he suppose she was tracking Marshall Weill, for God’s sake? “I was taking a walk. I often take the route that passes by the new property. When I heard voices, I went up to the fence to see who was there.”

  He sighed, exasperated. “And afterward?”

  Lydia pressed her lips together. “I got furious and called Marshall.”

  “Why?”

  “To let him know what I thought of him. To tell him what a despicable person he was, and that I had every intention of informing the board of what he and Roger Patterson were up to.”

  Sol Molina slapped his knee. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” he said sarcastically. “The man’s a convicted felon. You overhear him arranging another crime so you decide to call to let him know you’re on to his scheme. If that isn’t a death wish, I don’t know wh
at it is.”

  “I—” Lydia began, but he gave her no opportunity to explain herself.

  “Then there’s the small matter that he might have arranged his wife’s murder. Remember we discussed that the spouse is always the first suspect?”

  Lydia nodded, but Sol didn’t notice. His eyes narrowed to slits as he demanded, “Or are you one of those women who were half in love with Weill and willing to use any pretext to call him?”

  “Of course I’m not! What a ridiculous idea.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.”

  He was relieved, she noted with some pleasure, watching his shoulders relax.

  “What did he say when you told him off?”

  “Nothing,” Lydia said. “I called three times and got his tape. No, once the line was busy. Anyway, I gave up and left to babysit my granddaughters for the weekend.”

  He nodded, a smile on his lips. His smugness made her want to smack him.

  “But you know all that, don’t you? My calls must have registered with Marshall’s Caller ID, even though I left no message. And Barbara told you where I was.”

  “Regardless, it’s always refreshing to hear verification from the interviewee. What time did you return to Twin Lakes?”

  “You know to the minute. Your officer called you as soon as I drove through the gate.”

  “You didn’t come back here last night?”

  “Certainly not. Why do you ask? Do you suspect me of murdering Marshall Weill?”

  Sol shook his head and leaned back into the chair. “Of course I don’t. But, as you pointed out, his caller ID showed you tried to contact him repeatedly yesterday. It’s my job to question everyone who had contact with the victim over the last forty-eight hours of his life.” He gave her a wry smile. “And, in your case, wonder why you didn’t consider this important enough to tell me.”

  She felt the blood rush to her ears, no doubt turning them beet red. He had asked her to keep him informed of anything important that happened which might have bearing upon his murder investigation. She’d let him down.

  “I was going to call to tell you what I overheard, then realized I had no proof on which you could act.”

  “How kind of you to anticipate my response to the situation.”

  “It—it was larceny, not murder. Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “It is now.”

  Sol shook his head as he rose to his feet. “Sorry, Lydia. I don’t mean to browbeat you. I haven’t slept in thirty-eight hours, though God knows that’s no excuse.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” She stood up. “The truth is, I was afraid to call and come across as a pest.”

  He touched her arm, sending shivers through her body. “Please believe me, you’re never a pest.” He yawned and rubbed his eyes with both hands.

  “Care to change your mind about the coffee? My second and last offer.”

  “I’ll take it. I need to drive back to the station and write up a report.”

  He followed her into the kitchen and took his usual seat, the one against the wall facing the sink. She filled the coffee carafe, then put out cheese and crackers. He was already devouring them when she sat down.

  “Do you think Roger Patterson killed Marshall? They were the best of friends after their meeting.”

  He shrugged and spoke when his mouth was clear of food. “Who knows? Either could have reneged or tried to change the terms of their agreement. Anything could have soured the deal.”

  “How did Marshall die?”

  “We’re not sure yet. His lungs were filled with water, and there’s evidence of a blow to the back of his head. The ME thinks he was drugged, too.”

  “Wow, sounds to me like overkill.” Lydia bit her lower lip. “Oops, sorry. Bad choice of words.”

  Molina cast her an amused glance. “That’s the kind of comment I get from my men.”

  “Who else saw Marshall yesterday, or is that top secret?”

  “Besides the murderer, you mean? We’re working on that. It’s common knowledge he was out with Mrs. Maguire last night.”

  “I’m not surprised. They had a date the Saturday night after Thanksgiving.”

  He nodded. “What’s your take on their relationship?”

  “Marshall received plenty of female attention after Claire’s death. He zeroed in on Viv.” Lydia frowned. “I got the feeling he was more attracted to her bank account than to her personally. Though that could be my own attitude toward Marshall coming through.”

  “And Mrs. Maguire?”

  “Viv was besotted. I told you she was ablaze with jealousy that time she found me sitting in Marshall’s living room waiting for him to finish his list of suspects.”

  “Small wonder,” he murmured, eying her.

  She smiled, pleased by his compliment, then returned to his question.

  “Marshall played her like a fish and he knew how to reel her in.” She hesitated, aware of the flush reddening her ears. “I—er, happened to come across some photos he’d taken of Viv.”

  Sol Molina burst out laughing. “Couldn’t resist sleuthing, eh, Lydia?”

  “Well, I—er—no.”

  “You must admit, Weill had an artistic touch with that drape.”

  She shrugged, refusing to meet his eye.

  “Mrs. Maguire was frantic when I interviewed her, framing her questions as to whether we’d come upon some ‘artistic photographs’—as she put it—in the most circuitous manner. When I told her we’d found them, she begged me to rip them up. I told her we had to keep them as evidence for now, but not to worry. They would remain in a safe place away from prying eyes.”

  “Is Viv a suspect?”

  “Everyone’s a suspect.” He downed another cheese-laden cracker. “Except you, that is.”

  “Well, thanks. When did the murder take place?”

  “Roughly, between one and three in the morning.”

  She stared at him. “I suppose Viv has no way to prove she was home asleep. Then again, why would she kill Marshall?”

  “Who knows? Hypothetically speaking, if Weill said he wasn’t going to see her anymore, she could have been hurt and angry enough to murder him. People kill for all sorts of reasons.”

  “Could Viv have killed him? How could a woman manage it?”

  “A strong woman might be able to, especially if she drugged him first.”

  “Has Viv said anything to make you suspect her?”

  “Not really. Her story is they had dinner, spent a brief while on her living room sofa being affectionate, as she put it, then he left her at eleven o’clock.” He winked. “Even though she tried to get him to spend the night. Now that isn’t for anyone else’s ears, including those of your friends, Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Lieberman.”

  She liked that he knew who her friends were. “You cover all bases, don’t you?”

  “I have to. I’m a cop.”

  “Did you ever question her about the rock thrown through my window?”

  “Of course I did, immediately after the incident. She denies having done it, and we’ve no witness or prints to prove otherwise.”

  “Hmm,” Lydia mused. “There’s no way to prove she didn’t do it.”

  “That, too.”

  She poured them each a mug of coffee and sat. He added sugar and drank his black, then finished off the crackers and cheese.

  “Would you like something else to eat?”

  “No, thanks, this is fine.” He glanced up to meet her gaze. “Just a reminder. If you’re going to consort with cops, or a specific cop, you’re going to hear plenty of things that aren’t for other people to know. Think you can manage that?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good.” He got to his feet. “Thanks for everything.”

  This time the kiss was deeper. “See you soon. Keep your doors locked.”

  “I will,” she promised. Her heart sang as she watched him get into his car and drive off into the night.

  Eighteen

  The following morning Lydia
turned on the local TV news channel and was startled to see an exhausted Sol Molina being interviewed by a pert blonde reporter. He grimly acknowledged that as of yet no one had been apprehended for the murder of Marshall Weill, but the police were working on the case around the clock.

  Feeling unsettled, she drove to the clubhouse for her daily swim. She walked past the police car parked in the semicircle and nodded to Officer McKlusky. He and another policeman were deep in conversation with Margie, the office manager.

  When she got home, her answering machine was blinking. The Twin Lakes’ board was holding a homeowners’ meeting that evening at seven-thirty sharp. All residents were requested to attend. She had no sooner made note of the meeting on her calendar when the phone rang. It was Merry, sounding frantic.

  “Mom, I just heard about Marshall Weill’s murder! How awful! Are you all right?”

  “Of course I’m all right. It happened while I was at your house.”

  “I wish you’d come and stay with us until they find the person who did it.”

  “Meredith, Weill had a long history of stealing money from clients. No doubt one of them got angry enough to kill him and his wife. I’m not in any danger.”

  Merry’s voice sounded teary. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Touched, Lydia smiled. “Nothing will happen.”

  “Promise me you won’t go anywhere alone. Turn your cell phone on when you go out, so I can always reach you.”

  Lydia gave a little laugh. “Meredith, disconnecting my ear from my cell phone is one of the perks of retirement. I usually leave it in the car for emergencies.”

  “Mom, make sure it’s charged. Keep it on and with you when you leave the house. If I can’t reach you, I’ll call the police!”

  “Merry, dear, calm down. If it will make you feel better, I promise to take the phone with me wherever I go.”

  After repeating her promise two more times, Lydia managed to end the conversation. She gazed down at Reggie.

  “That girl needs a sense of proportion! Either she’s sulking and secretive or her anxiety is driving me mad. Nothing personal, Reggie darling, but between Meredith and the murders, I need to get out of here!”