Death by Marriage

by Blair Bancroft

  The petit fours crowning the top of a three-tier server might have come from the Publix bakery, but everything else appeared to be fresh from Miss Letty’s kitchen. Delicate triangular tea sandwiches (no crusts, of course)—watercress, cucumber, egg salad, chicken with fresh dill—served on a gold-rimmed cut-class platter. The lowest tier of the server offered an array of oatmeal and raisin cookies, brownies with walnuts, and strawberries dipped in chocolate. It was all I could do not to gape. As Crystal and I exclaimed over the food and its elegant presentation, while protesting that Letty shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble just for us, my guilt deepened. Letty Van Ryn was more than an acquaintance; we thought of her as a friend. Yet this was the first time we’d been to her condo. And we’d never even thought of inviting her to a meal at 100 Royal Palm Drive. Mea culpa.

  Miss Letty poured tea from a silver tea pot, set on an embossed silver tray along with a silver sugar bowl, silver creamer, and a smaller silver pot with hot water. The tea cups were translucent bone china finely painted with violets; the tea, jasmine—full of fragile dried blossoms—the kind that sells for a hundred dollars a pound. I knew because I’d looked it up once on the Internet, hoping to get some for Mom for her birthday.

  We were savoring our second cup and working our way through the dessert trays when Crystal gave me the eye. We’d come here for a purpose, and I was shirking my duty.

  I balked. This was Christmas. We were having tea and delicious goodies with a friend. I’d lost my urge to be the worm in the woodwork.

  Crystal’s amber eyes flashed a beam that sent shivers done my spine. Blast it! This was too beautiful a moment to be ruined by reality.

  Stifling a sigh, I set my tea cup into its saucer. “Letty”—earlier, she’d urged us to drop the Miss and I felt this was the moment to do so. “Letty, everything is so perfect today—the tea, the food, your lovely home—I hate to bring up a difficult topic, but Crystal and I are worried about you.”

  “No, no, dear,” Letty interjected a bit too hastily. “I assure you, everything is fine.”

  “Miss L—” Crystal broke off, tried again. “Letty, your aura tells me something different. It’s swirling with shadows, some of them pretty dark. You need to tell us what’s wrong, so we can help you. You’re not sick, are you?”

  Letty’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no, my dear. I’m in splendid health.”

  “You have a nephew, don’t you?” I asked. “Is he having any problems? Or maybe he’s harassing you for some reason?”

  Letty sighed, and hope surged. Maybe this was it.

  “Edward’s not the easiest young man,” she admitted. “As self-centered and greedy as his father, my brother Reggie. I’d say ‘God rest his soul’,” she added, “but I’m not at all sure Heaven is the direction he went after he left us.”

  My lips twitched, but Crystal stuck to the topic like a bloodhound on a scent. “So Edward’s causing you trouble?” she asked.

  “Only from time to time when he wants to borrow money. My brother died six years ago, so I’m quite used to Edward’s importunities. Sometimes I give him money, sometimes I don’t.”

  “Does he get angry, verbally abusive when you don’t?” I asked.

  Letty picked up a silver spoon and stirred the tea in her almost empty cup. “The last time,” she said softly, “he called me a senile old woman and threatened to have me declared incompetent.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Crystal’s hand, clutching a pale pink petit four, froze half-way to her mouth.

  I have a temper, I have to admit, although I’ve learned to keep it in check. If you run a small business and want to keep eating, you don’t have much choice. But this time I simply exploded. Blood rushed to my head, my pulse pounded. “That’s criminal,” I snapped. “Don’t ever let him frighten you. He’s blowing smoke. He has no grounds.”

  Letty was silent, head hanging down, eyes fixed on the tea tray. Her shoulders, usually the upright models of superior carriage, slumped. Her toothpick thin body seemed to deflate, almost as if her bones had suddenly dissolved.

  My temper teetered at the top of an abyss. My stomach hitched, threatening to disgorge that last chocolate-covered strawberry. “Does he?” I whispered.

  “Well, you see . . .” Letty reached for the last cucumber sandwich. Silence reigned as she slowly chewed the tiny triangle. She swallowed. We waited. “He thinks so,” she murmured at last.

  “Why?”

  “About a year ago I told him I couldn’t give him money because I’d just given five thousand to hurricane relief.”

  “A splendid cause,” Crystal said. “And it’s your right to spend your money where you please.”

  “I thought so too,” said Letty, suddenly full of spunk. “But the miserable little whelp actually yelled at me when he found out I’d sent the donation in response to a telephone call. He told me I’d just lined the pockets of some con artist when he, my own flesh and blood, needed cash.”

  Crystal and I exchanged glances. Our righteous indignation on Letty’s behalf had just suffered a blow.

  “Unfortunately,” I said as gently as I could manage, “the miserable whelp could be right. It’s always best to give money to known charities, Letty. The Red Cross, The Salvation Army, United Way. There are some really unscrupulous people out there.”

  “I hate to say it,” Crystal added, “but you’re a wealthy woman, living alone. You’re the type of target cons love to find. If you bite on one scheme, your name goes on a list of easy marks. A list of people who have money and are too trusting.” Crystal, looking extremely uncomfortable, added, “You could be on that list, Letty. Is there anything else you need to tell us?”

  Letty picked up the silver tea pot, rose regally from her cream silk brocade couch and went to the kitchen, where the kettle soon whistled shrilly as she prepared another pot of tea. “We’ll let it steep a bit,” she said when she returned, replacing the heavy silver teapot on the tray.

  Again, we waited.

  “Do you remember when you had that nice boy Tim teach me about the Internet?” Letty asked.

  I nodded, even as warning alarms went off in my head.

  “I’ve enjoyed it so much.” Letty’s face clouded. “Though Edward’s scolds somehow seem worse via e-mail, than on the phone.”

  My inner “Oh no!” must have shown on my face because Letty waved a shooshing hand in my direction.

  “I know, I know,” Letty said. “Edward explained it all, but rather too late. I really wanted to help that poor person in Nigeria who needed to get funds out of the country. It was so easy for me to do. I mean, God wouldn’t have given me all the money I have if He hadn’t wanted me to help people.”

  Wordlessly, I gulped. What could I possibly say?

  Crystal sighed. “How much did you lose?”

  “Twelve thousand. But, really,” Letty added, “I can afford it. I consider it merely an expensive lesson.”

  Crystal slumped back in her upholstered chair, massaging her forehead with her fingers. I took up the slack. “That’s it then? No more Internet fraud? No more phone solicitations?”

  Letty poured us each a third cup of tea, carefully adding sugar, as requested. None of us believed in drowning one-hundred-dollar-a-pound jasmine tea in cream.

  “There’s Geoffrey,” Letty said thoughtfully, “but I don’t think we should count him. He’s such a nice young man. He always chats with me, you know, asks how Willie and I are doing, asks about the bridge club, about Crystal’s readings. If Edward has been causing me trouble.”

  “Geoffrey?” I asked. “Is he another relative?”

  “Oh, no, dear. I’ve never met him.”

  Oh, sh—!

  “Is he trying to sell you something?” Crystal asked.

  “Yes, of course, dear. You don’t think he really wants to chat up an old woman like me for the fun of it?”

  “What’s he selling?” Crystal’s voice rose by half an octave.

  “Gold.”

  Crysta
l gasped. My stomach heaved.

  “Geoffrey pools the investors’ money and buys large quantities of gold so he can get a special discount,” Letty explained. “He even has a storage vault so I don’t have to transport it or find a place to keep it. It’s very heavy, you know.”

  I was staggered, but not quite speechless. “Have you ever seen any of this gold?”

  “Oh my, no. Geoffrey’s vault is in Palm Beach. I haven’t been there since Tammy Bridgestone’s daughter made her debut at the Breakers twenty years ago.”

  “Letty,” I said, making a real effort to keep my voice even, “do you happen to recall how much money you have invested in gold?”

  Miss Letitia Van Ryn considered my question, her perfectly manicured nails fingering the double strand of pearls draped over the bodice of her navy silk dress. “Now let me see,” she murmured. “I sent dear Geoffrey another check just last week, so that must make . . .” She offered a triumphant smile as she finished her calculations. “Almost exactly two hundred and fifty thousand.”

  Crystal minced no words. “You sent two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to someone you’ve never met!”

  “Well . . . yes. Geoffrey’s such a dear boy.”

  I felt some sympathy for the miserable whelp. And who could I possibly get to check on Geoffrey and his alleged gold? Palm Beach was not only on the opposite coast of Florida but in an ultra-stratospheric world as far, far away as another galaxy.

  I was done for the day, and I couldn’t even think of any bright words to get us out of there before we said something we shouldn’t and destroyed Letty’s day. Not to mention her month, her year, and her hopefully many years of comfortable living to come.

  Letty clapped her hands, cutting through my blue funk like a thunderclap. I stared. Her smile outshone the gleaming polish on the silver tea set. “Enough of that,”she declared. “I had the most exciting experience last week. Quite like dropping into an episode of Law & Order.”

  I blinked and kept my mouth shut. The skeptic in me groaned, What now?

  “A detective called me.” A tiny frown creased Letty’s parchment brow. “I believe he said he was county, not local. Anyway, can you believe he actually wanted my help?”

  Crystal sucked in a harsh breath. I ignored her. After all, hadn’t I just been helping the Chief of Police?

  “He told me he was investigating a possible embezzlement at my bank—”

  Crystal groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

  “Are you ill, my dear?” Letty asked anxiously, breaking off her tale. Crystal waved off her concern, saying she probably shouldn’t have eaten quite so many pastries, and would Letty please continue. Letty obliged.

  “The detective asked me to go to my bank and withdraw some money so he could see if the teller—the suspect—handled the transaction correctly. He even came and picked me up and drove me to the bank.”

  I was beginning to have a vision of a speeding train heading toward a canyon with a broken bridge. “And, afterward, you gave him the money?” I asked.

  “Well, of course, dear. I did exactly as I was told. I always do my civic duty.”

  “Did you get your money back?”

  “Well . . .” Letty hedged, “he put it in a bag with my name on it and said I’d get it back quite soon, but it’s evidence, you know. I may have to wait until the trial is finished.”

  “How much?” Crystal asked.

  “Ten thousand,” Letty said. “I have to admit I’ve begun to wonder a little, but Marshall and Eric said they’d be glad to help me get it back. Such a comfort they are, two strong men willing to spare me some time from their busy lives.”

  “Marshall and Eric?” I asked faintly.

  “Marshall and Eric Johnson, Gwyn dear. Father and son. They’re members of my church. They moved here about five months ago, and they’ve been ever so kind to an old lady like me.”

  “And they’re going to help you check on your money?”

  “They assured me they didn’t believe there was anything wrong, but they’d be happy to look into it for me.” Letty’s slightly faded blue eyes shone with an innocent trust I recognized from my halcyon days before I ran off to see the world and fell off the supposedly non-existent edge. Nice to be Miss Letty. Seventy-some years without disillusionment.

  “Yes, dear. I admit Edward’s scolds have been a bit upsetting, so I’m so grateful to Marshall and Eric for shouldering my doubts. I’m not much of a fighter, you know.”

  A-men. A shiver shook my spine. Crystal looked as if she’d found a fly in her last cup of tea.

  The Johnsons were members of Letty’s church. An automatic stamp of approval.

  Or was it? Two more people I had to meet. Somehow.

  Who was I kidding? Crystal and I had come to Letty’s condo anticipating some ordinary life crisis, something we might be able to help with, maybe even fix. But possible big-time scams to the tune of—I did a quick calculation in my head—277,000 dollars was more than we bargained for. Like Martin’s murder investigation, we were in over our heads. People killed for that kind of money.

  My father used to say I was “mule stubborn.” Mom called it “headstrong.” They struggled mightily to mold me into a some semblance of a well-mannered, responsible adult, and generally succeeded. I think. But some traits are hard to beat down. I’d never intended to give up on the puzzle of Martin’s death, only to be more discreet about it. And I wasn’t going to let Letty’s glowing trust in two unknown males put me off her problems either. A shadowed aura was a shadowed aura, even if I couldn’t see it. But Edward’s threat to declare her incompetent was very real. Crystal and I weren’t going to let Letty down.

  “Letty,” I said with a broad subject-changing smile, “would you like to join us for Christmas dinner? We’d love to have you?”

  Letty’s eyes misted. “Thank you, my dear! That’s so lovely, but perhaps another time. Marshall and Eric are taking me to Riverwood.” Riverwood was one of an almost infinite number of Golf & Country Clubs in the greater Sarasota area. I often wondered how so many people could waste so much time chasing a stupid little white ball. And then I’d remember how enthralled I was when I watched Chad and company playing football for Golden Beach High. People who preferred the Arts to Sports were definitely in the minority in our twenty-first century world.

  Crystal and I extended our profuse thanks for the marvelous food and sterling hospitality. I bent and patted Royal Willie on his aristocratic head, and then we were in the hallway, standing in front of the elevator. “Okay,” I said, “what do you know that I don’t?”

  “That bit about the detective? That’s the Bank Examiner scam. Another ten thousand Letty will never see again, no matter what this Marshall and Eric do.”

  “You think she’s lost it all, close to three hundred thousand?”

  “People get dead for that kind of money,” Crystal said.

  The elevator doors opened, and we stepped in, descending in a screaming silence that threatened to blow our heads off.

  Chapter 10

  The replacement for our red velvet Santa suit arrived, and by one o’clock the next day we’d checked out every last Santa, Mrs. Santa, and Elf costume DreamWear offered. Someone actually zipped in at the last minute and settled for the French Maid Mrs. Santa when nothing else was available. I hoped no little kiddies were going to be around for that particular Santa delivery. But, then, there were all kinds of presents.

  Crystal and I closed the shop and went home to Wallace family traditions. The four of us—Mom, Scott, Crystal, and I—placed luminarias down each side of our driveway and along the front property line, as did most of our neighbors. If you’re not familiar with luminarias, they are small white paper bags with a squat candle inside. When lit, light shines through the bag, creating a twinkling ethereal glow. The effect of a whole street filled with luminarias is magical, part of the mystique, rather than the commercial hype, of Christmas.

  Shortly after six, when Royal Palm D
rive glowed from one end to the other, a steady stream of cars would drive by, headlights dimmed to “park,” to enjoy the spectacle. At the moment, however, my back screamed at me as I bent double, lighting candles, flogging myself forward with anticipation of the sheer wonder of the combined effect of hundreds of luminarias lining our street. I guess costume designers keep childhood delights alive in our hearts. Where would we be if we couldn’t summon up an unusually high quotient of joie de vivre?

  By nine o’clock most of the candles had guttered out. We blew out the rest and left the bags for pick-up in the morning when the hot wax had cooled and our backs had recovered. At ten-thirty the four of us were off to St. Anthony’s Episcopal candlelight service, where we sang all the wonderful carols that so-called political correctness no longer allowed in public places. It occasionally occurred to me that Crystal’s beliefs were probably closer to Wicca than Christian, but she always joined us at the Christmas Eve service, her robust alto belting out the carols in remarkable tune.

  Christmas Dinner was always a giant affair, with Mom inviting several elderly neighbors, particularly those who lived alone. Why I’d never before thought to invite Miss Letty made me kick myself all over again. In spite of an eighty-degree temperature outside, we served hot spiced cider and cranberry-rum punch, followed by a dinner of ham, candied yams, mashed redskin potatoes, and roast vegetables, plus an onion-Parmesan casserole. And all the sauces and gravies to go with them.

  A double oven, and three cooks made it all possible, including apple pie, pecan pie, and ambrosia for dessert. There were also handmade Christmas cookies and two bowls of nuts to accompany after-dinner nibbles and coffee in the living room. At four-thirty when the last guest went home, the four of us kicked off our shoes and collapsed into the comfort of the living room upholstery, deliberately ignoring the towering specter of clean-up.

  Scott heaved a sigh. “Hey, Crystal, you have a magic wand handy? Something to conjure up a cleaning wraith? We wake up in the morning and—Presto, chango!—the kitchen’s sparkling clean, the luminarias all folded up and put away for another year—”