by Elaine Macko
“Mom, how do you manage to wrap these samosas so tight? Mine always unravel in the deep fryer,” I asked half an hour later while I stood in my parents’ kitchen helping my mother with the final touches for game night.
My mother gave me a thoughtful look. “I don’t know, I just kind of fold it like a diaper and it stays.”
Well, that must be it. A diaper. What the heck did I know about diapers? Both my niece and nephew, Kendall and Henry, had their little bottoms encased in disposables. Who needed to fold? By the time I managed to put the plate with the samosas and mint yogurt sauce out in the living room, I managed to eat two, looking carefully at exactly how in the world my mother folded them.
In addition to the samosas, my mom had prepared an assortment of cut vegetables and a horseradish dip, her famous hot artichoke and jalapeño pepper dip with crackers, and some different kinds of cheese.
I eyed the chocolate cake sitting on the kitchen counter but knew it would do no good to ask for a slice now. The cake was for later. Later. Exactly when was later? It had always intrigued me from the time I was little and my mother would say we’re going later, or, we’ll have that later. How did mothers know when later had arrived?
“Boo! What were you thinking about? You’re always off somewhere on a cloud lately.”
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you arrive,” I said to my sister. “Where’s Michael?” I asked referring to Sam’s husband.
Sam took off her short denim jacket and hung it on the hook behind the kitchen door. “In the living room with John and Mom and Dad. What are you thinking about?”
“Just wondering if it would do any good to ask for a piece of this cake right now.”
“Later. Now come on, tell me what’s going on with the investigation?”
I walked to the door leading to the hall. “Good. Just checking on John. There’s not much to report yet except John thinks Mrs. Brissart might have been the intended victim.”
Sam leaned closer. “Really? Why?”
“I don’t know. We never got that far. Mrs. Brissart’s son and his wife, Bradley’s parents, arrived, and we didn’t get a chance to talk more about it.”
“Have you met any of the family yet?”
“No. Not to talk with anyway.”
“When do you think you’ll be starting your investigation?”
I looked aghast and had the decency to put my hand to my chest. “What makes you think I’ll be investigating?”
“Because you’re dying to get your nose in the middle of everything.”
I gave my sister a sly smile and grabbed onto the sleeve of Sam’s purple turtleneck sweater. “You’re right and if John thinks Mrs. Brissart was the intended victim then I better not waste any more time.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone wanted to kill her and didn’t do it right the first time, I’m sure they’ll try again.”
“Girls! Come, let’s get started,” Mom shouted from the other room. We would always be girls to our mother even when we hit our nineties.
“Just make sure you keep me up to date on any new developments,” Sam whispered as she followed me into the living room.
The Harris family had been brought up on games. Meme was a big card player, and even though my mom worked most of her life and had a family, she always made time for a game of cards or, better yet, Scrabble.
“This is what I thought we would do tonight,” Mom said, taking charge. “Instead of playing the actual game and trying to get the different color pie pieces, I thought we would pair up into two teams. We’ll have one minute to answer and each correct answer gets a point. Every time you miss a question, you lose one point. The first team to reach twenty points wins.”
“Wins what?” Michael asked.
“Nothing. Just wins. Isn’t that enough?” Mom asked in a totally bewildered tone.
“You all know what your mother’s like,” Dad said.
Mom did love to win.
We split into teams—the men against the women. This ought to be interesting.
We three women sat on the sofa with the three gentlemen seated on the other side of the coffee table; Dad and Michael on chairs and John sitting on the floor, his long legs stretched out. Sam sat very close to the samosas and I kept a good eye on my sister along with the dwindling number of little meat pastries on the plate. I reached past her and grabbed a couple.
The room was bathed in soft lights from the various lamps scattered about and the glow of the fireplace right behind the men. Several lovely well-framed watercolors from various trips my parents had taken hung on the walls along with an assortment of ink drawings. I loved this room. I used to like to get comfortable on the sofa with a good book and a cup of tea while snow fell outside. I still do that, but now I do it at my place.
My mom decided that being women, we would go first. Dad shook his head, John laughed, and Michael asked what that had to do with anything. Sam told him to hush and my father read the first question to us.
The game proceeded for another hour and then my mom served coffee and the chocolate cake. It must be later.
I put a forkful of cake in my mouth and looked at my father. “Dad, you ’andled all da insurance or Mrs. Brissart over the years, white?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Alex. I didn’t get a word you said.”
I swallowed, almost choking on the large piece of cake I shoved into my mouth. “Sorry. I asked about Mrs. Brissart. You handled all her insurance needs.”
“Yes, I did. Still do.”
“How about her sisters?”
“I tried to get their business, but they had their own agent. Though my company did have a life insurance policy on Mrs. Doliveck’s husband.”
“Did it pay a lot?”
“Alex, you know I can’t tell you that. It’s none of your business.”
“But he’s dead! Who’s going to know?” I said, looking at the others for agreement.
“What’s this all about?” John asked, not trying to hide his irritation.
“Just wondering how much money they have.”
“I’m afraid, Harry, your daughter is doing a bit of investigating again. I’ve warned her not to get involved, but my words fall on deaf ears.” John cut his eyes in my direction and I chose that exact moment to take a sip of tea.
“Now, Alex, you stop that!” Mom pleaded. “Let the police handle it. You remember what happened last time.”
“How could I forget?” I winced as I touched my shoulder remembering my confrontation with a murderer the year before.
“Alex’s working over at the Brissart home while Chantal is away,” Sam offered.
“I must get over to see her,” Mom said. “That poor woman, having her grandson killed. Are there any suspects, John?”
“A lot. We just have to sort through everything,” John said vaguely. I knew he wanted everyone to get off the subject of murder. I felt sorry for him being put on the spot and trying to be polite all at the same time.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of this,” Dad offered, in a tone meant to diffuse anyone else from asking more questions.
My mom, married to the man for too many years to count, took no notice of his tone. “Do they know what killed him?” she asked absently as she cut herself another thin slice of cake. Her second, if anyone felt like counting. As long as she cut thin slices, they still counted as part of the original piece. Mom invents her own logic.
John looked annoyed at the murder theme becoming the main topic of the evening. “Poison. Exactly what kind we don’t know yet. And I’m sorry but I really can’t talk about this now.”
“Well, let’s get back to the game. We were winning, if I remember correctly.” Dad winked, placing a hand on John’s shoulder.
Finally the score stood at nineteen for the women and eighteen for the men. If we got our next question correct we would be the winners.
Michael picked out the card that would either make us the victors or give t
he men another chance. He held the card up and kissed it for good luck—his, not ours.
“Okay. What country did Venetian blinds originate in?”
We put our heads together. “It can’t be Venice, Italy, that would be too easy,” Mom said.
“I haven’t a clue. Probably some place you would never associate with them,” I said.
“Yeah, but what country, Alex? Think. We’re almost out of time.”
“Times up.” The men looked smug. Sam designated me the spokeswoman, which meant the final answer came down to my decision.
I thought long and hard for the most obscure country I could that would be associated with Venetian blinds. “Okay, I say....Japan?”
Michael slapped the card down on the coffee table sloshing a bit of coffee over the side of his coffee cup. “I don’t believe it!”
“You mean I’m right? We won? We won!” I said turning to my mother and giving her a hug.
“Well, you know what this means, don’t you?” Dad asked of no one in particular. “It means there will be no living with any of them for at least a week. If we’re lucky.”
Everyone sat around for another half hour while Sam and I each took several more thin slices of cake.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The next morning, I pulled into the Brissart driveway for the fourth time this week. The sight of all the other cars made my heart race. None of them looked familiar and I wondered if something else had happened. Probably just suspects, I mused. And hoped. After John fell asleep last night, I tossed and turned for almost an hour thinking of the murder. I was loathe to admit this to anyone but myself, and even myself was a bit disgusted with the realization, but murder intrigued me. It always had. Back to when I would hear nursery rhymes like Humpty Dumpty having a great fall. I just always assumed he had been pushed. I mean really, how could he fall if he just sat there? Anxious to start my own investigation, I got out of the car and climbed the steps.
Chantal would be back tomorrow morning meaning I wouldn’t have much of a chance to come back to the house. I needed to talk with as many people as I could. Standing outside thinking about it wasn’t going to solve the murder. I purposely walked into the house and heard voices—a lot of voices. The vultures.
“Good morning, Alex. Come in, I’d like you to meet a few people,” Mrs. Brissart said, giving me a knowing look. Today Mrs. Brissart wore a burgundy colored dress with small pearl buttons down to the waist. A thin belt in the same fabric pinched in her delicate waist. Peeking out from under the dress, which landed mid-calf, I spied the high-tops.
I walked into the living room and found several people seated around drinking coffee and eating fruit and croissants. I hadn’t expected to see people eating in a place where one of their own had recently been poisoned. But then Mrs. Brissart said they would eat anything free. Mrs. Brissart introduced me to everyone explaining how I volunteered to help Chantal.
“This is Kendra Merchant, my grandson Stuart, my nephew Steven, and his daughter, Trish, Mrs. Brissart said, motioning to each person in turn. “Kenneth and Lillian are in the study making some calls.”
I smoothed my black skirt and took a seat next to Mrs. Brissart on the large sofa. Mrs. Platz came into the room to refill the china teapot from a large kettle. The color had returned to the housekeeper’s face, though her tiny hands still shook a bit as she poured. Maybe they always did.
Everyone chitchatted amongst themselves. Kendra was a petite blonde and probably only an inch taller than Mrs. Brissart. She wasn’t overly pretty but had a pleasant face and almond-shaped amber eyes, which unfortunately were red and puffy today. She dressed conservatively in shades of black, though I thought this was probably the color she usually wore rather than a color of mourning. I often wore black and liked it though today I had tossed on a russet sweater to complement my dark skirt.
On the other hand, Trish Hollander, Steven’s daughter, was dressed, well…why beat around the bush? She looked like a tramp. Her way-too-short skirt exposed a pair of shapely legs, and the tight ribbed turtle-neck encased a pair of breasts without benefit of a bra. Her short hair held an amount of mousse and hair spray that would last me a year. She looked up, and, seeing me staring at her, a warm smile spread across her face. I smiled back, all the while chiding myself for judging a book by its cover. Not a very nice thing to do.
Trish’s father, Steven, popped a piece of apple into his mouth. An extremely handsome man, Steven wore an expertly tailored suit in black wool and an air of pomposity. I had done it again—judged a book by its cover. Why was I being so critical? And then it came to me. I felt positive one of these people killed Bradley and had subconsciously decided to dislike them all on the spot.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mrs. Brissart said, breaking into my thoughts, “I need to talk with my son about some arrangements. Why don’t you finish your tea and then we can start shortly.”
Almost as soon as Mrs. Brissart vacated her place on the sofa, Kendra came over and took a seat next to me. “Mind if I join you? Sometimes being with the family gets to me. Roberta told me you’re the owner of Always Prepared.”
“Yes, along with my sister. Do you know our agency?”
“Yes. I work at Yale, in the administration department, and I’m taking a few acting classes as well. I know a few of the students have gone to you for temp work during the summer.”
“The students have been a great asset to our agency. During the summer, with so many people on vacation it can be difficult to find good people. But students need to earn funds during the summer and it’s been a good relationship on both sides.”
Kendra nodded her agreement.
I took a quick look around the room and, not seeing John, thought now a good time to start my own investigation. With so many potential suspects in one space, I just might be able to find a killer. “Kendra, first, I wanted to say how sorry I am about Bradley. I only met him once, but he seemed like a wonderful man. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind. We had plans to marry, you know.”
“Yes. Mrs. Brissart mentioned that.” I waited while Kendra blew her nose. “If you don’t mind my asking, what happened here Monday evening? Mrs. Brissart told the police but I just wonder in her grief if she could have left something out.”
A look of sadness passed over Kendra’s face but then she straightened her shoulders and looked at me. “You mean in terms of the family badgering Roberta about the land?” I nodded. “The usual. They all came over trying to convince her it would be a wonderful thing to sell the land and that they planned to put in a park in the new development for children. As if that would change anything,” Kendra huffed. “The same spiel they’ve been giving her since they hooked up with Mr. Smit. If I had known they planned another assault for Monday I wouldn’t have come over.”
I lowered my voice, almost to a whisper hoping the others wouldn’t catch on to what I was doing. “Did you stay the entire evening?”
“Actually, I arrived a bit late. I had a class, but I stayed with Bradley after they left.” She wiped at her eyes with a well-used tissue. I reached into my purse and handed Kendra a clean one.
“You didn’t spend the night here with Bradley?”
“No. I wish I had. Maybe he would still be alive. No!” She shook her blonde hair and bit her lower lip. “I can’t let myself think like that. Bradley always spent the night on Monday and I think he wanted to speak with his grandmother about something in the morning. I don’t have any clean things here and I had to be at work early the next day, so I went home.”
“Did you and Bradley spend a lot of time here?”
“Yes, we do. Did. We both love Roberta. She’s like the grandmother I never had. Bradley has a key to the house, though it’s never locked anyway, and we just come over whenever we want. Both of us live in small apartments so coming here makes for a nice change.” Kendra stopped abruptly. “Listen to me. I’m talking as if he’s still alive.” She used the tissue to wi
pe two tears from her cheek.
“It takes time,” I said, consoling the young woman.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever get over this. I know we weren’t married yet, but Bradley was my soul mate, my best friend. Do you understand?”
I thought of John and what we had become to each other in just under a year. If something happened to him, I might not recover either. “Yes, I do understand.”
After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Kendra looked up at me and smiled. “Thanks.”
“Kendra, can I ask you another question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you know what Bradley wanted to discuss with Roberta?”
Kendra shook her head. “I don’t know. We never got around to talking about it, though I think it might have had something to do with my great, great, great, great grandfather. I can’t imagine what. It’s my understanding he died relatively young, murdered by some robber or something.” She shifted on the sofa, now facing me. “I confess all this family stuff didn’t interest me too much. I’m concerned with my present-day family and that’s about as far as it goes with me.”
“It’s quite a coincidence that both your and Bradley’s family lineage are connected.”
“Yeah, I thought it a bit odd myself when we discovered the connection. At first I thought Bradley made it up to tease me. But it seems to be true.”
“Kendra, can you think of any reason someone would want to kill Bradley?” I asked, ignoring for the moment the fact that John felt certain the poison had been meant for Mrs. Brissart.
Kendra shook her head and another tear escaped. “No. I can’t. I told the police the same thing. Nothing in Bradley’s character would cause someone to want to kill him. You didn’t know him, but if you did, then you would know what I’m saying is true. Bradley was the kindest, smartest man I knew. It sounds like a cliché, I know, but I’ve thought about it, and there is nothing. Nothing at all.”
“What about Mrs. Brissart?”
“Mamoo? What about her?” Kendra dabbed at her eyes again then looked horrified. “You think Roberta could have ki—”