Murder Among Friends

by Karen Ranney

  For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to return to the grand old house on Nevil Avenue. The home that had been my refuge for so many years now seemed like a prison.

  I’d spent years refurbishing it, stripping old wallpaper and having the ceilings replastered. I’d painted and sanded, hammered and shined. I’d stained the balusters of the front staircase myself, and discovered marvelous old woodwork behind the atrocious dining room paneling.

  I knew where the pipes were in the front yard, and the location of every single sprinkler head. I’d learned that house as I had my own body, was aware of every creak of floorboard, every wormhole and crack, every bead of caulk.

  In that house I'd worried and agonized, wept, and threatened. I’d greeted Talbot and my daughter at the door, stared at her as she looked bruised and broken like a homeless person living in a dumpster. There, I'd mourned and grieved, retreating into myself like an injured snail.

  Now, it felt alien to me. A place I didn't belong.

  Although I didn't want to go home, I didn't have anywhere else to go. I would have ordinarily gone to Evelyn's house, seeking the comfort of her friendship, but Evelyn wasn't there.

  Now I did start to cry.

  Mixed in with my tears, however, was a healthy dose of anger at Tom, at whoever had killed Evelyn, at the person who'd brought murder to the King Lion District, and even at Barbara.

  I didn't have the luxury of wishing my life was the same as before the murders. I didn't want that, either. If I wished myself transported to any time, it would be when Barbara was fourteen, beginning her rebellion but still human enough to occasionally interact with me.

  Listlessly, I drove home, feeling the heaviness in my chest and knowing it for what it was: sorrow, my constant companion, my friend, my ghost.

  I turned left when I should have turned right, drove another mile and sought out a small parking area near the Witte Museum. Here, Barbara and I had come when she was a little girl, to sit and eat the picnic lunch I packed. Nothing fancy or nutritious, just peanut butter and jelly and Girl Scout Cookies, washed down with milk. We'd watch the San Antonio River and people in the paddleboats if they were hardy enough to make it this far from downtown.

  I didn't get out of the car now, knowing the geese would descend upon me, not in a "have you anything to eat?" kind of way, but in a territorial display of feathers and fury.

  I turned my head slowly to my right, but the ghost of my daughter wasn't there. No one was.

  It was me and me alone, and that might well be the label for the rest of my life.

  If I let it be.

  I couldn't retreat to a better time. I couldn't wipe away what had happened. But I could change the life I was living now. I had already taken a major step with my confrontation with Tom. What else did I need to do?

  Twenty minutes passed, then a half hour, and I still sat there, staring through the windshield, as if the low hanging branches of the Cyprus trees would give me a clue. I cracked open the window a little, and that curious smell of San Antonio wafted through the car: chili powder, cumin, and flowers, overlaid by the fishy-moldy smell of the river.

  My life was crumbling around me but that didn't have to be a bad thing. The surge of enthusiasm I felt was unexpected. So was the thought that I wanted me back, the Jennifer I'd always known myself to be, not this indrawn, silent stranger who was afraid of the world.

  What did I have to be afraid of? Life had already done its worst to me.

  An hour after I first pulled into the parking lot, I headed for home, trapped in rush hour traffic but enjoying it. Maybe because I didn't feel so alone. I studied the people in the cars, nodded to more than one as we slowed down yet again on Broadway.

  San Antonio was originally known as a military town. Over the years, industry had diversified and tourism, always an income producer, had increased. Our highways were melting pots, filled with retired military, Mexican nationals, and transplanted Northerners.

  We had a tendency to take out our frustrations behind the wheel. When it rained, there were five hundred auto accidents and when it iced up in winter the city almost came to a standstill.

  Today, however, people were behaving themselves, waving to allow someone into a lane, being patient and silent until the driver of the car ahead realized the light was green.

  By the time I finally made it home, it was dark. I pulled into the garage, turned off the car, and made my way to the kitchen. The light was on. I glanced at my watch. After six.

  “What are you doing here, Maude?” I asked, as I entered the house.

  Maude didn't answer, just continued to wipe the sponge over a pristine stainless steel sink, indicating the kitchen table with a jab of her chin.

  “You got roses,” she said.

  I glanced over, noticed a dozen crimson roses already arranged in one of my grandmother's crystal vases.

  Sally peered at me from under the table, finally uncurling herself enough to stand and stretch. I bent to pet her before I reached for the flowers.

  I've never liked red roses. Maybe they remind me of funerals. Maybe it's just because I prefer yellow ones.

  “I thought I’d arrange them for you,” she said, still occupying herself with the sink.

  Tucked in the roses was a card. I slid it out of the envelope and read it, nodding over and over again like a bobblehead until I started to laugh.

  Maude turned and stared at me and that's when I knew she'd read the card. Why else would she have given me that pitying look?

  I think it's better if I stay in a hotel for few days.

  Love, Tom.

  Love, Tom.

  First of all, he probably hadn't sent them, but ordered Claire to do so. Secondly, after nearly twenty years of marriage, he didn't know that I really, really hated red roses.

  “Men have no sense at all,” Maude said.

  I nodded.

  “Can’t understand them and can’t shoot them.”

  “Not for lack of wanting to,” I said, amused.

  She glanced over her shoulder at me and we smiled at each other.

  “You need dinner.”

  I was suddenly and unexpectedly hungry, but I was very conscious of the time.

  “You don't have to wait on me, Maude. I'll get something.”

  “I didn't say you asked me to,” she said. “You go on upstairs and get into that Japanese thing of yours. I’ll take Sally out for the night and then bring you dinner.”

  My champion. It was nice to have someone care, even if I paid her.

  "I'm not really hungry."

  "Why don't you settle for a bath, instead? I can bring you a tray afterwards.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “You’re going home.” I smiled at her to soften the words. “I’ll make some soup.”

  “I’ve got stroganoff in the refrigerator. All you have to do is put it in the microwave and boil some noodles.”

  That sounded like too much work, frankly. I’d rather settle for something from a can but I nodded my head as if I was agreeing.

  “Go home, Maude. I’ve kept you too late as it is.”

  “I’ll just finish up here and go, then. If you’re sure?” Her look was skeptical, but I was as equally determined.

  “I’m sure.”

  We said goodnight, and I walked upstairs, unbuttoning my blouse as I went. This suit would be forever emblazoned in my mind as "the Tom suit". After I had it dry cleaned, it would go to Salvation Army.

  I pulled my cell phone out of my purse, surprised to find it was off before I remembered I'd turned it off myself before walking into the reception area. Tom doesn't like to be interrupted, and cell phones annoy him.

  Maybe I should make a list of everything that annoyed Tom for Mary Lynn. Or maybe I should just let her discover all of them on her own.

  Inside our suite, I stood looking at the bed. I could sleep here tonight, since Tom would be in a hotel. Did he have spare clothing squirreled away there?

  The habits of a wi
fe die hard.

  The phone burbled at me, a sign I had missed a call, two in fact. One number I immediately recognized as Talbot's. I had stared at his card long enough in the past to have memorized it. The other I didn't recognize.

  I hit dial for the second number, not wanting to analyze why, exactly, I was avoiding Talbot. But before it could ring, another incoming call rang. I sighed, resigned myself to Talbot, and answered.

  "I'm leaving San Antonio," Dorothy Chanson said.

  Startled, I only stared at the bed, trying to find the words to answer her.

  "I want to talk to you before I go."

  "I don't think we have anything to say to each other, do you?" There, I'd finally found my voice.

  What was I supposed to do, be sociable, agreeable, and polite? I wasn't feeling any of those things. I stared at the phone, and very calmly pushed End before she could say another word.

  I hit dial again, and when an unknown male voice answered, I said, "My name is Jennifer Roberts. Did you call me?"

  "You wanted an estimate?" he asked.

  Twin emotions surged through me at that moment. Delight that Dale Bradshaw was alive and disappointment that I'd been wrong in my theory.

  Paul Norton was well and truly dead.

  But who had killed him?

  26

  Sally whined at my side, then put her paws on my feet, anxious for a little attention. I bent down and rubbed her between the ears. When I sat on my chaise, she placed her long nose on my knee, warm brown eyes seeking reassurance.

  "I'm all right," I said. "Really."

  I kept waiting for the depression to hit, like it had after Barbara's death. After an inventory of emotions, I was surprised to discover I felt relief, irritation, and a strange itchy sensation I couldn't really identify.

  Instead of readying myself for bed, I changed into a crimson caftan, went downstairs, turning on lights with great abandon and profligacy. The old Victorian was a drain, electricity wise, and opening the monthly bill from CPS was like getting a letter from IRS - something you knew you had to face, but terrifying, nonetheless.

  Tom went behind me and turned off the lights all the time. I'd be in the bathroom and when I came out, the sitting room would be dark. But tonight, I didn't have to have bat-like navigating skills. Tonight, I was damn well lighting up the place.

  I turned on some bluesy music in the Winter Porch, sat on the couch and closed my eyes, willing myself not to think, a task that was amazingly easy. A delicious lassitude stole over me, a kind of otherworldly calm - part emotional exhaustion and part something unknown. I felt like I was waking up when I hadn't been aware of being asleep. Despite my marriage ending, I was in a remarkably good mood.

  If Evelyn had been alive, I would have called her, invited her over for martinis and together we would have verbally excoriated Tom.

  I missed her.

  I lay my head back on the couch, remembering all those fun times we had, time when I laughed so hard my stomach had ached the next day. When we went to a restaurant for lunch, we'd ended up sitting there for hours, tipping wildly to make up for our hogging the table.

  "I think marriage is a Ferris wheel," Evelyn said one day.

  I raised my eyebrows at that.

  "Well, think about it. You two are in a car together, and you go up and down, up and down. The whole trip can make you either exhilarated or sick to your stomach."

  "Is that why you never married?" I asked. "Because you didn't want to get sick?"

  "I've been married before, Jenn."

  "You have? I didn't know that."

  "My checkered past," she said, smiling. "I don't talk about it. In fact, I can't remember the last time I told anyone."

  We were sitting, once again, in the gazebo but this time we weren't drinking margaritas or wine. We were imbibing ice tea and eating sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Evelyn was dressed in an Edwardian style dress complete with Ascot hat. I was wearing jeans and a sequined top.

  The occasion was the celebration of Evelyn's promotion to vice president and we'd decided to be proper. I would have changed to an Edwardian style dress, but I didn't own one. The sequined top was my concession to the occasion.

  "Michael was an absolute delight," she said. "He was utterly charming, loved people, loved life. Michael was one of those people that if you met him once, you'd never forget him. Unfortunately, he was so busy being charming he didn't have time to work. He was fascinated with Nicholas Tesla, and convinced the electric company was holding back the secret of free electricity." She gave me a sidelong look. "Can I tell you how many Tesla-like experiments I've financed over the years?"

  Since I was only vaguely familiar with the name, I shook my head.

  "I'd come home from work, bone tired, and he'd be listening to music, or communing with nature, or contemplating his navel. Pissed me off. Then, he'd give me a back massage, rub my feet, and tell me I was pretty, and I'd forgive him until the next time."

  "What made you end it?" I asked, wondering if I could ever talk Tom into a back massage or a foot rub. Not likely.

  "He started contemplating someone else's navel," she said, her gaze pinned on her sandwich.

  From the tone of her voice, it was easy to tell she hated that.

  She would have hated the idea of Paul choosing her as a victim, too.

  I was always been so proud of the fact Tom and I were among the lucky ones. Our marriage had been strong, two people working in tandem for the good of the unit.

  What a joke.

  We hadn't really talked in two years, not since Barbara's drug use had begun. We hadn't had sex in a year and a half, and I missed it, damn it.

  I think sex embarrassed Tom a little. Oh, it felt good, but it was so earthy, so animalistic, so damn basic. If it could have been more cerebral, I'm sure he would have wholeheartedly approved.

  Did Mary Lynn do it better?

  Worse than being wrong, his infidelity just wasn't fair.

  I heard a noise and open my eyes. A disembodied face scowled at me from the other side of the screen. It was an indication of how mellow I was feeling that I didn't even flinch. I went to the back door and held it open.

  “Is there reason you’re skulking in the bushes after dark, Army?”

  He smiled at me and ambled toward the steps.

  “Nobody was answering the front door,” he said. "You're looking very festive this evening, Jennifer," he said, as he entered the Winter Porch. "I would say red is most definitely your color."

  I felt myself warm at the compliment. The Jennifer of yesterday would have said something disparaging. I shut up and accepted the compliment.

  As he sat on the couch I'd just vacated, I wondered if Tom would age like Armand Fehr, into a wizened, courtly elderly man. He was always immaculately dressed and tonight was no different. He was wearing a long black jacket with a red paisley scarf he’d tied around his neck in a big bow. Just the thing for reconnoitering.

  His sparse hair was, as usual, neatly brushed. No comb overs for Army.

  “Why murder?” I asked. “I can see butterfly collecting, or coins. But why murder as a hobby?”

  “What other hobby do you know that also helps people?”

  I joined him on the couch.

  “The murders we investigate are unsolved. If we can answer the questions of who and why, haven't we eased the suffering of the next of kin? It’s even a civic duty, helping the police.”

  I gave him a look, but his only response was to reach over and pat me on the arm. Before, I wouldn't have sat so close to him. I’d pushed people away both physically and emotionally.

  “I'm going to have some wine," I said, another un-Jennifer-like action but I hadn’t had to take a pain pill for days so I was due. "Would you care to join me?”

  His eyes twinkled. "You shouldn't drink alone."

  I shook my head. "No, I shouldn't."

  I walked into the butler’s pantry and opened Tom’s climate controlled wine cooler. I pulled o
ut a bottle at random, not caring about the year as much as the alcohol content - a shameless confession and a terrible way to treat a good vintage. But I’ve never been a wine snob and I certainly wasn’t now as I snagged two glasses and the corkscrew shaped like rabbit ears.

  I walked back into the Winter Porch feeling like a kid who'd just grabbed a bunch of cookies without being caught. Speaking of which, Maude was just going to have to tell me where she hid the damn cookies.

  Army opened the bottle with a skill born of practice and we sat there on the couch in contented silence, sipping our wine.

  “I miss Evelyn," I said, the first time I'd spoken the thought aloud.

  He nodded.

  "She was my best friend. My only friend." I looked at the glass accusingly. I'd only had a few sips. Was alcohol loosening my inhibitions? Or was it part of what I was going through, a transformation from who I was to the woman I really wanted to be? Honesty and self-revelation seemed to be part of all that. I decided to just let it flow.

  "She was very good to Frank and me. Frank and I. No, Frank and me."

  We smiled and toasted each other on our linguistic abilities.

  I studied Army. “Can you keep a secret?"

  He looked surprised by my question. “I’m known as the soul of discretion.”

  “Are you absolutely, positively sure?”

  He nodded.

  “I'm divorcing my husband," I said, then looked at the empty glass. Maybe I was more susceptible to alcohol than I thought.

  He looked shocked. “What?”

  “I'm about to be single," I said. Shouldn't I have been grieving over my lost marriage? My marriage died when Barbara had, a thought that had me pouring myself another glass of wine.

  "You've had a difficult year.”

  “It has been an absolute bitch of a year,” I said.

  I refilled his glass. I couldn't think of anyone better to get snockered with than Army Fehr.

  27

  In keeping with the my current revelatory nature, I turned to him again, and said, “My daughter was a drug addict."

  He nodded and patted my arm again.