A Murderer Among Us

by Marilyn Levinson

  Lydia grabbed her groceries list and made a mad dash for her car. She’d no sooner backed into the street when Peg came out of her house and waved her down. She wore a bathrobe and slippers. Dark smudges underlined her rabbity eyes. Lydia grumbled silently as she braked to a stop.

  “Hi, Lydia. Going to the meeting tonight?”

  “I think I should.”

  “Would you like to ride over there with me?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  “No, thank you. I’m so stressed out, I hardly slept a wink last night. I don’t want to go anywhere alone. Not after what happened to Marshall.”

  Lydia suddenly remembered. “You must be terribly upset about his death. I gather he was a special friend of yours.”

  Peg drew back. “We were friends, but I’m not sure what you mean by ‘special.’”

  “Sorry. Someone told me you and Marshall often discussed investments. I just thought you might have known him from Chicago.”

  “I’m from Indiana.”

  “Oh.”

  Peg let out a sardonic laugh. “I hope you’re not confusing me with Viv Maguire.”

  “Why would I? You’re both petite, but you don’t look at all alike.”

  “I should hope not! Viv’s a blimp and as plain as white bread—despite all the work she had done on her face.”

  Viv was a homely woman, but why the animosity?

  Peg went on. “The Weills and the Maguires are old friends from the Windy City.”

  “Sorry. I must have misunderstood.”

  “No biggie. By the way, I hear your friend will be addressing the residents tonight at the meeting.”

  “My friend? Oh, you mean Sol—Detective Molina.” It irked Lydia that Peg got wind of every new development that transpired at Twin Lakes. Irked her even more when that included news about Sol Molina.

  “No doubt coming to warn us to keep our doors locked and not to wander off alone in the dark,” Peg said mockingly.

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “He sure as hell isn’t going to reveal his list of suspects to the Twin Lakes residents. By the way, have you seen it?”

  “Seen what?”

  Peg sighed, exasperated. “His list of suspects. Did he drop any hints when he stopped by yesterday?”

  Damn that woman! Did she ever stop prying? “No, not a one.” As if she’d share anything Sol told her with Peg.

  But her neighbor was already moving on to another topic. “The Kreigels have put their house on the market.”

  “Because of the murders?” Lydia asked.

  “Natch. I bet there’s a rush of people trying to unload now. I’m considering doing the same. My blood pressure’s shot up and I feel edgy all the time.”

  “Where would you go?”

  Peg shrugged. “I don’t know. I might give Florida a try.”

  “Let’s hope the police find the person who murdered the Weills.”

  “Let’s hope it’s before anyone else gets killed.” Peg backed away from the car. “Be here five to, okay? So we can get a seat up front. They expect a full turnout.”

  * * *

  Every seat in the meeting room was occupied by seven-twenty. Four of the board members chatted quietly among themselves on the dais. Roger Patterson was missing. Caroline had told Lydia he’d resigned earlier in the day claiming overwhelming personal obligations. Roger knew from both the police and an irate president of the board that he’d been overheard making plans to scam the very people he was supposed to be serving. There was a good chance he’d be brought up on charges.

  At precisely seven-thirty, George Linnett called the meeting to order. “We are here because of the sad event of Marshall Weill’s death. The police believe he was deliberately struck down. Detective Molina would like to say a few words to the residents.”

  Sol winked at Lydia as he passed on his way to the raised platform. He introduced himself and spoke about the need each person had to remain on guard as this was the second murder to occur in Twin Lakes and evidence indicated the murderer might very well be a homeowner.

  Andrew Varig raised his hand. “If the murderer is one of us, how can we protect ourselves?”

  “A very good question, though we don’t know for certain that a resident has committed the murders. The assailant might be someone who has access to Twin Lakes—a relative or good friend of someone who lives here. Which is why we’re asking for your help. On the sheet of paper each of you receives, please write your name, address and phone number. Then indicate first, your list of people automatically allowed access past the gate, and second, a list of people who have visited you these last two weeks. Provide dates, names, addresses—whatever you can. Put down if they’re friends, relatives, workmen or whatever. If you’re not certain of the time or date someone came to your home, indicate this.”

  A dozen hands shot up as three men in uniform distributed paper. Sol fielded questions, in essence repeating his original instructions. A tiny, white-haired woman with regal bearing stood to speak.

  “I’m sure the names we’re supplying are important, Lieutenant, but please address Dr. Varig’s question: how are we to protect ourselves if one of us is potentially and probably the murderer?”

  What sounded like a swarm of angry bees filled the room. Lydia gave a start when she caught Viv Maguire glaring at her from the other side of the room. The woman really hated her! Peg murmured, “If looks could kill, you’d be a dead duck.” Lydia shuddered and forced herself to attend to what Sol Molina was saying.

  “I advise you to be cautious at all times. Lock your doors when you go out; don’t go off walking on your own, but stay with your spouse or friends. We’re employing all our manpower and technical know-how to solve these crimes.

  “It might ease some of your worry when I share with you our belief that this is not the work of a serial murderer but of a person who held a serious grudge against both Claire and Marshall Weill. For the next week or so, a police officer will be stationed on the premises for a good part of every day.”

  “What did I tell you?” Peg whispered.

  He went on to say they were interviewing everyone who knew the Weills, and requested that whoever saw or heard anything in the vicinity of the Weills’ home on Saturday night come and speak to him.

  After the papers were filled out and collected, George took the floor to announce that the residents’ security patrol was ready to roll into action. A car manned by two homeowners would patrol the grounds to make sure nothing else happened. All volunteers were welcome. Shifts were four hours long.

  A woman suggested the Twin Lakes community have a memorial service for Claire and Marshall Weill. Andrew Varig objected, declaring he would neither support nor attend a service for Marshall Weill, considering the kind of person he had been.

  “He was as crooked as they come,” Andrew said, “and we still don’t know if he killed his wife.”

  On the dais, Sally Marcus rose to her feet. “Regardless of the mistakes Marshall made, he’s dead, killed by some evil person. I think that’s proof enough he didn’t murder Claire.”

  “An erroneous and emotional assumption!” Andrew thundered. “The police have yet to discover who killed Claire Weill.”

  Conversations sprang up and were immediately quelled by a wail of anguish. All eyes fixed on Viv Maguire.

  “You people! Don’t you understand? Marshall is dead. Whoever killed him is one of us and lives right here.”

  Viv ran from the room. Lydia shuddered, remembering how Doris had fled an earlier meeting in tears and died minutes later.

  George ended the meeting, saying there would be another in a week’s time to discuss the latest developments in the police investigation. The residents broke into small groups to air private opinions of how the case was being handled. Sol had departed, Lydia surmised, to avoid being badgered with the same questions he’d answered earlier in the evening.

  She chatted with Barbara, Caroline and a few other women about the Women’s Club�
�s outing scheduled for Friday evening until Peg tapped her arm. There was a flurry of good-byes. Caroline told Lydia she’d pick her up at five, then Lydia left the clubhouse with Peg.

  “Lots of yakking and nothing accomplished,” Peg commented as she drove out of the parking spot.

  “I think the purpose of the meeting was to give residents a chance to vent their anxieties. Let’s face it, no one can feel safe until the murders are solved.”

  Peg braked at a stop sign. In the dappled light, she turned to Lydia. “Who do you think killed the Weills?”

  Lydia shook her head. “I’ve no idea. Maybe Marshall killed Claire. Even if he didn’t, there could be two murderers running loose.”

  “And if it’s one person?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Though I agree with Detective Molina. The murderer acted from very strong emotions.”

  “You mean, maybe someone took revenge because Marshall gave them bad financial advice?” Peg’s voice was scornful. “That’s over the top, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Someone hated Marshall enough to kill him. Could be that person first killed Claire in order to hurt him.”

  “Like who? Andrew Varig?” Peg drove slowly home.

  “Maybe. Andrew disliked Marshall and was sorry he’d introduced him to Twin Lakes. He also held Marshall responsible for heavy losses in the stock market.” Oops, she shouldn’t have let that out. “The question is, did he hate Marshall enough to kill him?”

  “I don’t know.” Peg glanced at Lydia. “Does your friend, the detective, have any clues?”

  “None that I know of.”

  As they rode, Lydia’s thoughts turned to Viv Maguire. “I wonder if it was a woman.”

  “Come on. Most women adored Marshall.”

  “True,” Lydia agreed. “He had a certain magnetism, a way of flattering that made a woman feel special. I think it worked wonders on vulnerable females.”

  Peg snorted. “Don’t tell me you were immune to his charms.”

  “I suppose I was flattered when he asked me to help find his wife’s killer. I thought there was something decent, even heroic, about his determination to discover who killed Claire. Only Marshall didn’t have an honest bone in his body. I knew that as soon as I heard…” She stopped, sorry she’d said as much.

  “Heard what?” prompted Peg.

  “It doesn’t matter now. The point is, he was totally amoral.” She rushed on, driven by the need to rid herself of the subject once and for all. “He was a despicable human being where women were concerned. He used them—for sex, for money, for laughs. I bet he never loved anyone but himself.”

  Peg’s laugh sounded brittle. “What a bizarre analysis.”

  Lydia turned to face her. “I hope you weren’t one of his victims.”

  “Hardly.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” They approached their homes in silence. Lydia said, “You saw Viv Maguire, how distraught she was over his death.”

  “I saw.” Peg slowed down and turned into her driveway.

  Lydia spoke slowly as an idea dawned on her. “What if she really was upset, but also performing at the same time?”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “What if she loved Marshall and wanted to marry him, but that night he told her he was breaking off their relationship. She went berserk, killed him, then cried over the fact that he was gone—still loving him.”

  Peg ripped up the emergency brake. “Sounds plausible. Was that why she sent you dirty looks—because she thought Marshall was after you?”

  Lydia felt her ears grow warm under Peg’s scrutiny in the dim light. “She was furious to find me at his house one afternoon when she stopped by.”

  “When was this?”

  “Thanksgiving weekend.”

  Peg’s rabbity eyes widened. “Hey, isn’t that when someone threw a rock through your window?”

  “The following day, in fact.” Lydia sighed. “But Viv left no evidence and no one saw her do it, so she was never charged.”

  “Viv Maguire, Claire’s bosom pal,” Peg said thoughtfully. “Now I wonder if she was after Marshall all this time and bumped off Claire to get at him. Only he dumped her in the end.”

  Lydia shivered. “What an awful idea!”

  “Well, someone killed the two of them, and this is the only scenario that makes any sense. I’d mention it to your friend, the detective, if I were you.”

  Lydia stepped out of the car. “I’ll ask my sister who lives in Chicago to find out what she can about Viv Maguire.”

  “Why bother? Everyone knows Viv’s husband died under mysterious circumstances. She was a suspect for a while, but the investigation came up with zilch. Viv walked away a wealthy widow.”

  Lydia gave a start. “I had no idea.”

  “Life holds many surprises.”

  They said good-night. Lydia glanced nervously around as she walked across the lawn to her front door, which she double locked behind her. For the first time, she wondered if she’d been a fool to scoff at Meredith’s offer to stay over until the murders were solved.

  Nineteen

  Lydia sipped the scalding tea, then pressed the mug against her chest to warm her racing heart. Peg’s news about Viv Maguire’s husband’s death both shocked and frightened her. Viv, she knew, was a woman of strong emotions. Was she more than that—a madwoman who struck out at anyone who crossed her? Had she killed Claire because she wanted Marshall, then did the same to Marshall when he refused to marry her?

  That was one ferocious look she’d given Lydia at the meeting! Lydia shivered. If Viv were deranged, she’d view Lydia as a siren who had stolen Marshall’s affections. Following her skewed logic, Viv would blame her for Marshall’s death.

  “Think with your brain, not with your nerves,” Lydia scolded herself aloud. She was building up a case against Viv when there was no proof that she was the killer.

  The sound of her voice must have reached Reggie wherever he was dozing, because he swaggered into the kitchen to demand a snack. Lydia swept him up in her arms and nuzzled her face in his fur until he squawked his complaint. She reached for his treats and spilled some into a bowl.

  Watching him gobble up the dried food as he purred noisily had a calming effect. Viv wasn’t necessarily the person to watch out for, but Lydia would be on her guard. She’d keep her doors and windows locked and not go anywhere alone.

  She was slipping into her nightgown when the phone rang. It was Meredith sounding frantic.

  “Mom! Thank God you’re there! I was about to call your friend at the police department to send out a search party.”

  “If by my ‘friend’ you’re referring to Sol Molina, he was here at Twin Lakes addressing the meeting I just attended.”

  “I asked you to keep your cell phone on and you turned it off.”

  “Sorry, honey. George, our board president, asked us to shut off all cell phones and I did. I’ll turn it on first thing in the morning.”

  “Have the police arrested anyone yet for the murders?”

  “Not yet, but they’re working on it.”

  Meredith let out a grunt of dissatisfaction. “I wish you’d pack your bag and stay with us a few days. Jeff does too.”

  Lydia opened her mouth to say she’d come, then reconsidered. Her earlier fear had passed, now that she was safely ensconced in her own home. And there was the matter of Reggie. Besides, she hated to give up her inner sanctum for Merry’s boisterous household.

  “How are you and Jeff doing?”

  There was a pause. When Meredith spoke again, Lydia knew she was cupping the receiver with her hand. “We’re okay. I told Jeff I resent all the hours he works. He promised to cut back if I cut down on spending.”

  “Sounds fair to me.”

  “It is fair. Only I miss Steve.”

  “Well, of course you do. That’s natural,” Lydia said.

  “Really?” Merry’s relief came through loud and clear. “I was afraid I’d crossed a line of no return.�
��

  “Nope, you can return. It will take time, though.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Merry paused a moment. “Mom,” she said hesitantly, “do you know all this from personal experience?”

  Lydia let loose a hoot of laughter. “No, I was always true to your father. Two friends of mine had affairs of the heart, which they ended when they chose to stay with their husbands. Their marriages were better afterward.”

  “Really? Which friends?”

  “Can’t say. I was sworn to secrecy.”

  “Drats!”

  Lydia smiled at the expression Meredith used as a child when she was frustrated. She heard Jeff’s voice in the background.

  “Talk to you tomorrow.” Merry lowered her voice to a whisper. “Thanks, Mom. I’d have screwed up everyone’s life if you hadn’t stopped me.”

  “I think this must be a first—a daughter telling her mother she did something right.”

  “You do practically everything right. Good-night, Mom. I love you.”

  Lydia smiled as she put down the receiver. Merry was finally growing up.

  A few minutes later she called Barbara.

  “I would have phoned you,” Barbara informed her, “but I thought your ‘special friend’ might be there.”

  “No, he isn’t. I believe Sol left right after he spoke.”

  “No doubt to question Roger. He went to the police station early in the evening, accompanied by his lawyer.”

  “I suppose Sol wants to question Roger about Marshall’s murder. I wonder if the board is pressing charges.”

  Barbara chuckled. “Either way, our ex-treasurer won’t be showing his face around here. The board’s in the process of hiring an accounting firm to review every one of his transactions on behalf of the HOA. Caroline said we’ll hear more about this at next week’s special meeting.”

  “Do you think Roger killed Marshall?” Lydia asked.

  “I’ve no idea. At any rate, he’s a thief—like our dearly departed. It’s a good thing we have you around to sniff out the criminal element.”