Murder Among Friends (The Kate Austen Mystery Series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “Probably, though I don’t know it for a fact. Is that important?”

  “No, not really.” I couldn’t imagine what motive Eve would have for killing Mona. “How do you know all this stuff about Ike Fisher anyway?”

  “His name was in the computer. Concord sent us a copy of the police report since Mona was a Walnut Hills resident.”

  That didn’t explain what Michael was doing running a check on a case that didn’t officially exist. “You just happened to find his name there among the millions of megabytes, or whatever the heck they’re called, floating around in your computer system?”

  This time the sigh was different. Michael sounded mildly embarrassed at having been found out.

  “You’ve been ‘meddling’ too, haven’t you?” I chided. “You’ve been poking around about a simple suicide, just on the off chance it wasn’t.”

  “It’s strictly unofficial. But I have to tell you, Kate, I haven’t turned up anything I could take to the captain.”

  “That means you’ve found something?”

  He hesitated. After the way I’d handled Susie I didn’t blame him. “It’s probably nothing,” he said. “But there was some out-of-town private eye who called the station a couple of days ago inquiring about Mona Sterling’s death. Wanted to know if we’d found anything suspicious about it.”

  My pulse skipped a beat. “Did he say why he wanted to know?”

  “Nope. And the guy who took the call didn’t think to ask. But you can see why I want you to be careful.”

  Unfortunately, I could.

  Chapter 16

  In the wake of Susie’s story, murder was going to be a hot topic all over town. Any reservations I might have had about telling Libby were beside the point. Since she was bound to hear about it sooner or later, I thought it best that she get the story straight from the start.

  I raised the subject over breakfast, going through the list of oddities about her mother’s death one by one, then reminded her that it was still just a theory. As I’d predicted, the news was something of a mixed bag. The murder scenario certainly eased the hurt and guilt, but it opened the door to a whole host of new emotions. I watched them play out on her face.

  “Who would want to kill my mom?” Libby asked when I’d finished.

  I shook my head. “I’ve no idea. Did she ever mention any kind of dispute or trouble?”

  Libby thought about it for a moment. “Not that I remember.”

  “How about the name Ike Fisher. Did she ever mention him?”

  “No. Who is he?”

  “The husband of one of her students. He blamed your mother when his wife decided she preferred the classroom to the kitchen.”

  “Not much of a choice,” Libby snorted.

  “Depends on how long you’ve been in the kitchen,” I told her. Of course, if Ike was in the middle of the ocean somewhere he could hardly have killed Mona anyway, but I couldn’t let go of the thought that there had to be a connection. “His wife’s class paper was on your mom’s desk the night she died. Any ideas why she’d have set it out?”

  Libby shrugged. “Mom graded papers all over the house. I’m surprised she never lost any. She spilled coffee on a bunch once. Made a real mess of them.”

  Grading papers. It certainly made sense. Maybe I was making a big deal out of simple coincidence. In fact, if Eve Fisher had actually dropped out of school, which looked to be the case, Mona might have set the paper aside knowing it no longer needed grading.

  But in that case, we were back to ground zero in terms of motives and suspects.

  I tapped my fork against my plate. “More waffle?” I asked.

  “No thanks. I’m not used to eating breakfast.”

  I handed the remaining square to Max who preferred it from someone’s plate, with syrup, but would make do without when he had to. Though Anna and I had finished eating long before Libby got up, I’d somehow found myself nibbling a second breakfast while she ate.

  “Yesterday at the service you said something about a phone call that upset your mother.”

  Libby nodded. “It was Friday evening, early. We hadn’t eaten dinner yet.”

  “What made you think the caller was Bambi?”

  A shrug. “It was a woman, I know that. I could hear her voice from a couple of feet away so she must have been talking really loud. And my mother’s face got all blotchy the way it used to when she’d talk about Bimbo.”

  “But you don’t know for sure that’s who it was?”

  “No, not for sure. I heard my mom say something about ‘divorce’ though.” Libby pushed a fork around in the puddle of syrup left on her plate. “She’d been in a real snippy mood for a couple of days, and I know my dad was late getting the check to her that month. I just sort of assumed they were all tied together. Bimbo’s always complaining about how unfair it is that we get paid, even when my dad’s short on cash.”

  Like an actor who’d been waiting for his cue, Gary chose that moment to call.

  “Kate,” he said, as though we were old friends. “I was hoping we might be able to get together this morning. Any chance you’re free for breakfast?” His delivery was smooth as silk.

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  “How about lunch then?”

  “What’s this about anyway?” I was fairly certain Gary hadn’t taken a sudden interest in making sure I got three meals a day.

  “Nothing in particular. I just thought it might be a nice idea if we had a chance to talk, get to know one another a bit better.” He paused to give me a chance to agree. When I didn’t, he continued. “Libby staying with you and all, it seemed like a good idea.”

  “Sorry, I can’t make lunch.”

  “What time is good for you?”

  Was this the same guy who’d snarled at me only a few days earlier? “It’s kind of hard,” I told him. “I have to find a baby sitter for my daughter.”

  Libby caught my eye and mouthed, “I’ll watch her for you.”

  “It’s your father,” I mouthed back, covering the mouthpiece with my hand.

  She made a retching sound. “You really want to go?”

  Actually, I didn’t. But my curiosity got the better of me. “I’ll have coffee,” I told Gary, “while you eat breakfast Where shall we meet?”

  “How about Park West, in half an hour.”

  <><><>

  Park West is no Denny’s. No Berkeley-style muffin and latte place either. It’s the main dining room of the Park Manor Hotel, Walnut Hills at its most posh.

  Gary was already seated when I arrived, but he rose to greet me. “I’m so glad you were able to make it” he said, helping me with my jacket and then my chair. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve ordered a Bloody Mary for myself.”

  “Just coffee thank you.”

  He smiled. “I took the liberty of ordering a croissant and small omelet for you. I’d feel like a boor eating when you had nothing.”

  That was quite a liberty since I’d been clear about having already eaten. But I kept my mouth shut. His drink arrived and the waiter poured my coffee.

  “I’d like to start by apologizing,” Gary said. “For the way I jumped on you the other day. Mona’s death has been more of a strain on me than I realized. I’m afraid I’m not my best when I’m under stress.” He gave me the kind of smile that was supposed to wipe the slate clean.

  I didn’t return it, but I was tempted. The guy was good.

  “It’s been . . . just awful really. People think because you’re divorced something like this doesn’t affect you, but it’s not that simple. I still had deep feelings for Mona.”

  I’d heard about some of Gary’s feelings. They were not, apparently, the ones to which he alluded.

  Gary took a long, slow swallow of his drink. “And, of course, she was the mother of my only child. That’s a bond which can never be severed, as I’m sure you must understand.” Another smile, this one tinged with a shadow of sadness.

  I was beginning to f
eel like Dorothy talking to the Wizard of Oz. I didn’t have the slightest idea of the man behind the voice. I gave a noncommittal nod and was saved from the necessity of further comment by the arrival of our food.

  My “small” omelet would have fed a starving family of four, and my croissant was actually in the plural. The breakfast was small only by comparison with Gary’s. Mine fit quite nicely all on one plate while his took three.

  He started with the sausage. “Tell me,” he said casually, before popping a large half-link into his mouth, “whatever got you started on this murder idea in the first place?”

  Ah, so that’s what it was. The getting-to-know-one-an- other routine was just a ploy. “You’re talking about the article in Friday’s Sun?”

  He nodded. “It was one of those maddening pieces which whet the curiosity without imparting anything concrete.”

  “It’s also one of those maddening pieces which isn’t entirely accurate. And the reason there wasn’t more substance to the article is that there’s nothing substantive to report.”

  A charitable smile. “But you obviously didn’t pull this theory out of thin air.”

  “No, not entirely.” I broke off a piece of croissant and stuck it in my mouth.

  Gary waited, his expression questioning.

  “It’s mostly that Mona didn’t seem the kind of person to commit suicide. She wasn’t depressed that any of us were aware of. There was no note. She left Libby all a—” I bit off the word “alone,” sure that Gary wouldn’t see it quite that way. “She left Libby to struggle with making sense of her mother’s death. I can’t imagine she would do that. And the bottle she’d supposedly been drinking from was scotch. Sharon says she never drank scotch.”

  “Sharon?” Gary’s eyebrows shot up, then he laughed hollowly. “I should have known she was part of this.”

  “Part of what? The article was a mistake. I happened to be talking to the woman who wrote it, going on the way people do after someone’s died, and the next thing I know she’s turned my words into a commentary on conspiracy.”

  He leaned back with an understanding nod. “You can’t be too careful when dealing with newshounds. Believe me, I speak from experience.”

  I broke off another bit of croissant. “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “Of course,” he continued, “there was also this burglary the paper mentioned. A burglary in which apparently nothing was stolen. I take it that part is accurate anyway?”

  I nodded.

  “Do the police have any leads, any idea what the thief might have been looking for?”

  “What makes you think he was looking for something?”

  Gary shrugged. “That was the general idea, wasn’t it? Nothing obvious was missing, and you think it’s somehow tied in with Mona’s death.” He scooped up a forkful of scrambled egg. “With her murder, in fact.”

  “The police don’t see it that way. They think it was more like a routine break-in. Apparently that’s not uncommon after someone has died.”

  “What else don’t they see your way?”

  I shook my head. I’d learned my lesson with Susie; I wasn’t going to be tripped up a second time. “Nothing else.”

  He looked up from his plate. “That’s it, then? The article implied there was more.”

  “That’s it. More woman’s intuition than hard fact.” Unless you counted the phone call from the private investigator Michael had mentioned, but I wasn’t breathing a word about that.

  “Interesting, all the same.” Gary paused, lost for a moment in thought. “Sharon’s right about the scotch, you know. The stuff gave Mona a headache. Though I suppose if she was going to kill herself, she might not have worried about that.”

  “No, I guess not.” But if she normally drank gin, why would she select something different for her final nightcap?

  Gary had finished the sausage, eggs, and hash-browns, and moved onto the pancakes. He took a bite and chewed intently for a moment. “I wish you’d spoken with me first. We might have been able to look into the matter discreetly, avoid all this publicity.”

  “Publicity?”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “Public attention. It’s upsetting. And it causes trouble, business-wise. With talk of murder, there’s bound to be someone nosing around. That stuff’s a real pain in the ass for a person in my line of work.”

  “Yeah, well, being murdered is kind of a pain, too.”

  Gary shot me an appraising look. “You’re right,” he said, managing to look contrite. “I guess I’m just a little sensitive about this current project of mine.” He hailed the waitress and ordered a second Bloody Mary. “Sure you won’t join me?”

  I shook my head, then declined a second cup of coffee, as well. Despite my intentions to the contrary, I’d somehow managed to finish off one whole croissant and make a sizable dent in the omelet. Three breakfasts in one morning was something of a record, even for me.

  “You want my opinion,” Gary said, leaning back in his chair, “it sounds like you and Sharon are having a hard time accepting Mona’s suicide. That’s understandable, we all are. But if the police are satisfied, there doesn’t seem to be much point in beating your heads against the wall. I’m afraid all this talk about murder is going to do more harm than good.”

  “Business-wise,” I added.

  His face tensed for a moment, then relaxed into amusement “I’m worried about the effect it will have on Libby.” He finished his meal, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and folded it neatly across his plate. “I was thinking about taking her away on a short trip. Just the two of us. I’ve a little time before the wedding and, it appears, a rather large fence to mend. What do you think?”

  “What I think doesn’t matter. You’ll have to ask Libby what she thinks.”

  “Yes, well...” His smile was resigned. “I guess I have a pretty good idea how she’s going to react.”

  At least the guy wasn’t stupid.

  His second drink arrived. He took a long swallow. “Libby always was a mommy’s girl.”

  “I got the impression she gave Mona plenty of grief too.”

  He nodded. “That’s part of the problem. Mona was too liberal with Libby. Let her get away with all kinds of crap, which meant it fell on me to be the bad guy. Never mind that Libby lives like a princess because of my blood and sweat. The minute things don’t go just her way, she flies off the handle and blames me. And I’m sure Mona encouraged it. Probably put her up to it half the time.” Gary paused for another gulp of Bloody Mary. “I’d like to think now that there’s just the two of us, we’ll be able to forge a better relationship.”

  I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him he was off to a lousy start.

  “Mona was the one who turned this divorce into open warfare, you know. Kept pushing me for more. She wound up with enough to live like royalty while I have to bust my ass for every penny.”

  “But you agreed to it.”

  He looked at me over the top of his glass, then shrugged. “Bambi was anxious to get things settled so we get on with our lives. I told her the money was ours, hers as well as mine, but she insisted that putting the past behind us was worth the price. Shows you what a genuinely lovely woman she is.”

  Given that Bambi had been whining to Libby about their finances, I thought Gary’s tribute was probably off base. But being smitten with someone will do that.

  He finished his drink, then signaled the waiter for the check. “Well, I’m glad we had a chance to get to know one another better. Maybe we can do it again some time.” A playful wink accompanied his smile. “And let’s see if we can’t drop this murder business.” Another smile. “For everyone’s sake.”

  At various times during our conversation I’d come close to experiencing a touch of compassion for the man, but his last remark erased any lingering good feelings.

  I ignored the smile and looked him straight in the eye. “For your sake, is what you mean.”

  “I think all of us who knew Mona
are experiencing a sense of loss.”

  “But you didn’t lose anything. In fact, it worked out pretty well for you. You don’t have to pay alimony anymore, you’ve got full control of your business once again. And you’ve got Libby, more or less.”

  Gary leaned across the table. His ruddy, slack-skinned face was only inches from mine. “Are you suggesting that I killed Mona?”

  “Did you?”

  He laughed. “In my dreams many times, but never in the flesh.”

  Chapter 17

  Libby was reading to Anna when I returned home, a worthwhile endeavor which would have been more worthwhile had she been reading something other than Cosmopolitan’s “Thin Thighs by Summer.”

  “You got a bunch of calls,” Libby said. “I let the machine pick them up. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s fine.” Preferable actually. One of my pet peeves as a caller is finding myself stuck trying to leave a message with some well-meaning human when I know there’s a perfectly good answering machine available. Humans write slowly, demand that everything be spelled twice, and then usually get it garbled anyway.

  “What did my dad want5” Libby asked.

  “I’m not sure really.”

  “I bet he yelled and cussed a lot though, right?” She lowered the magazine and looked at me.

  “He seemed to be trying a gentler approach this time.”

  “You mean he gave you the ‘Libby is my only child, I care about her deeply and it pains me that we aren’t closer’ line?”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “More or less. It sounds like you don’t believe it.”

  “Why should I?” she muttered, returning to her magazine. “It’s pure crap.”

  A large part of it no doubt was, but I thought there might be some truth there too. How to separate the two was something I couldn’t have begun to figure out. I gave the rail-thin model gracing the cover of Cosmopolitan an envious glance, then left to change clothes. After my brunch with Gary I was in need of something with a looser waist.