by Joan Hess
“Malloy,” I murmured, although I doubted it would penetrate her haze. “Yes, I have a daughter. I would do whatever was required to stop her from living on the streets.”
“Anthony’s problem. He wanted custody, and I never contested it. My share in the divorce settlement was laughable. He’s played golf with every lawyer and judge in the county for twenty years. Most of them have invested in his developments and come away with a profit. He built three quarters of the apartment and condominium complexes in Farberville, as well as several residential developments. His corporation owns dozens of rental houses. I accepted this one as part of the deal, since I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford anything better. Unfortunately, I’m finding it difficult to afford utilities.”
“But Daphne would have been better off living here,” I said.
Sheila snorted. “She was very angry at me after the divorce, and hasn’t gotten past it. I tried to continue our relationship, but she criticized me relentlessly. Our visitations became so antagonistic that I suggested she come less often and only stay for an hour. I hadn’t seen her in more than a year when she showed up on the doorstep with a newborn baby, if you can imagine. Suddenly I was supposed to live with dirty diapers and constant crying? When Daphne was born, I had full-time help to handle the more bothersome aspects of mothering. That was in Tunica, though, and help was affordable as long as one wasn’t too picky about references or prison records. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some vodka, perhaps with a splash of cranberry juice?”
The non sequitur, as well as her casual recitation, left me dumbstruck for a moment. “So you kicked her out, just as her father did?”
“He was the one with the grandiose house and fat income. He could have at least let her live in one of his apartments on the south side of town. It would have cost less than Adrienne’s athletic club membership or the lease payments on her Jaguar.”
“How long had they been married?” I asked cautiously.
Sheila stubbed out the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray and lit another one. “They started sleeping together the day after she came to work at his office about four years ago. Anthony was ripe for a mid-life crisis, and darling Adrienne smelled the money and the possibility of more plastic surgery for the few body parts yet to be lifted, tucked, or vacuumed. Six months after that, Anthony filed for divorce, and the day after the decree was final, they left for Tahiti on their honeymoon.”
“How did Daphne feel about it?”
“She didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t ask. In their absence, I gather she found the key to the wine cellar and hosted a few parties. Poor Anthony must have been furious when he discovered his coveted vintages were depleted. He was always obsessed with serving the perfect bottle to those who could appreciate its cost. I myself preferred vodka, although a pricier brand than what I’ve been reduced to.”
“But he didn’t throw her out then?”
“She told me that Adrienne convinced him not to despite the damage to the house and the theft of several of his rifles and shotguns. Anthony always tried to be the epitome of a macho man, even though he loathed the hunting and fishing trips with his cronies. He would have much rather played poker at the country club.” She drained the glass. “He was fonder of waiters than waders.”
I realized I’d better get to the point before she got back to the bottle. “Do you have any idea why Daphne went to his house two nights ago?”
Sheila blinked at me. “How would I know? Until she showed up a few days ago, I hadn’t seen her in weeks. At least she didn’t have that baby with her. I do hope no one’s going to expect me to take it while she’s in prison. I can’t stretch my meager resources to cover diapers and that sort of thing.” Her eyes widened. “Anthony’s death won’t affect my alimony checks, will it?”
“Surely not,” I said soothingly. “What did Daphne say when she arrived here yesterday? Did she say anything about what happened?”
“Not that I recall. She was surly when I attempted to make conversation. She asked if she could have something to eat, and I told her to look in the refrigerator. She’d just finished the piece of chicken I was saving for my dinner when the police arrived.”
“And you didn’t know what had happened to Anthony?”
“I had no idea. My television is broken, and I keep the radio tuned to NPR while I do my yoga exercises.”
An authoritative rap on the door halted our conversation. Sheila wobbled to her feet and smiled at me. “The exterminator. I hope you won’t mind leaving, whoever you are. There’s nothing I can do for Daphne or her baby.”
“So I heard,” I said acerbically.
She threw open the door to both usher me out and usher in the exterminator. On the porch stood Sergeant Jorgeson and two uniformed officers.
“We have a search warrant,” he began, then spotted me hovering behind her. “Oh, dear, Ms. Malloy.”
Likewise, Jorgeson.
CHAPTER SIX
It seemed like the time to beat an auspicious retreat, but Jorgeson did not step aside. “Whatever are you doing here, Ms. Malloy?” he asked in a discouraged voice, as if, perchance, we’d had this exchange before. Despite his vaguely deferential demeanor, I’ve always suspected he’s more dangerous than Peter. Distracting him with a kiss was out of the question; I couldn’t remember ever so much as shaking his hand, and if he had a first name (which he most likely did), I didn’t know what it was. He had the tenacity of a bulldog, but also, unfortunately, a latent resemblance.
“Comforting my friend Sheila,” I said. “Whatever are you doing here, Sergeant Jorgeson?”
“We have a search warrant. This is a homicide investigation, and we do that sometimes.”
“Still no weapon?”
As I’d hoped, I was dismissed with a flip of his hand. Sheila was cooing in his ear as I got in my car and drove back down Thurber Street to my bookstore. All I’d learned was that Daphne’s mother was flakier than a stale croissant—and less appealing.
I fumed while I drank a cup of coffee, then worked off my anger by attacking the paperback racks with a feather duster until I was sneezing so violently that I had to go out to the portico and mop my nose with a tissue.
At which time, my life being congested with coincidences the past few days, Sally Fromberger came ambling up ever so casually, just as if she hadn’t been lurking in the municipal parking lot across the street. I wondered if she had binoculars in her ecologically correct woven handbag.
“I was surprised to find the Book Depot closed,” she said.
“Morning sickness!” I snapped. “The obstetrician thinks it’ll be twins this time.”
Sally’s perpetually jocular expression faded. “Are you implying that you …”
“You can’t believe the track and field team finds me desirable? Is that what puzzles you? I used to hurdle in high school.” I dried my eyes on my jacket cuffs. “I just wasn’t prepared for twins. The father will be graduating soon, and he’s taken an entry-level job in Atlanta. I’m counting on you, Sally Fromberger, to help me through this. I just can’t face the bookstore right now. Will you keep it open for me while I go home and eat crackers?”
“Yes, of course,” she said nervously. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
I forced myself to give her a hug. “I knew I could count on you. What are dear friends for, after all?”
“But you’re coming back?”
“As soon as my stomach has calmed down. You won’t tell anybody about this, will you? I have to think of my reputation.”
Sally most certainly was thinking of nothing else. “Please don’t worry, Claire. I want to help in any way I can.”
“I know you do,” I said humbly, then hurried through the store, grabbed my purse, and went out to my car before she came to her senses. She might call Luanne, but she couldn’t lay her hands on my high school yearbooks to discover that I’d been no more involved in frack and field than I’d been a cover girl on Field and Stream.
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Perhaps it was the time to find Joey, although I had no intention of telling him anything more than necessary. Daphne and Skyler had been living in his car until a few days ago, when she’d decided to go to her father’s house. If Joey had kicked her out, she could have become desperate enough to beg Anthony for help. But she’d been seen driving away from Oakland Heights, and I couldn’t imagine Sheila allowing her to borrow her car. If Sheila even owned a car. It was not the time to swing back by her house and ask.
I decided to stop by Oakland Heights to visit Miss Parchester and find out if she’d seen Daphne running to the parking lot. Howie would have to be bribed, I supposed, but I would insist on a fair return for my investment this time.
“Hello, dear,” she trilled as I came up the slope of the parking lot. “Such excitement these last few days, don’t you think? I do believe that television reporter— Jessica, her name is—would have climbed up here to interview me if I’d permitted her to do so. I was obliged to threaten her with the thermos before she retreated.”
“Where’s Howie?” I called softly.
She blushed. “I think he went to the shed for personal reasons. Why don’t you scurry up here before he returns? He won’t be able to see you from the ground.”
My eggplant-hued bruises said no, but I nodded and watched as the rope ladder plummeted down. I scrambled up and then helped her retrieve the ladder before Howie appeared.
“How are you doing?” I asked between gasps.
“Very nicely, thank you. I’m out of lemons, however. Can you drink tea without it?”
“I’m not in the mood for tea, Miss Parchester. Have you been listening to the local radio station?”
She opened a tin and offered me a brownie. When I shook my head, she put the tin aside and said, “I’m afraid I have. First this murder, and now little Daphne under arrest. I can hardly believe it. I only hope that I am not in some way responsible. As a staunch supporter of the Green Party, I volunteered to do this in order to save trees, not destroy lives.”
“You aren’t responsible,” I said, surprised. “How could you be?”
“I may have given Daphne poor advice.”
I stared at her. “You gave Daphne advice?”
“Poor advice.”
“So you said. I didn’t realize you knew Daphne.”
Miss Parchester sighed as she nibbled on a brownie. “A year or two ago, I saw her stumbling down the sidewalk and invited her inside for a cup of cocoa. She’d just come from her mother’s house, and the visit had not gone well. She had no other adults with whom to talk. I listened to her that day for more than an hour, and again on subsequent afternoons. I could offer no solutions, but I could provide her with a sympathetic ear and a few words of wisdom. Neither of her parents was the least bit concerned about her feelings. Divorce is hard on adolescents as well as younger children.”
“And you’ve spoken to her recently?”
Miss Parchester held a finger to her lips as we heard the sound of shoes crunching on dried leaves. “Howie,” she whispered melodramatically. “He mustn’t see you.”
I flattened myself on the platform, my head resting on the brownie tin and my knees drawn up. I’d never felt quite so silly, hiding from someone not yet old enough to frequent a bar. But Howie could have me arrested and hauled to the jail, where further complications might arise.
“Everything all right, Miss Parchester?” he called.
She hesitated, then said, “I did hear some clomping about and voices in the direction of the bluff. I should think those dedicated members of the Green Party whom you had arrested yesterday are out on bond. They very well could be attempting to bring me fresh supplies. I wouldn’t tell you this if I weren’t concerned about you, Howie. If the site is infiltrated, you will be fired.”
I giggled, then clamped my hand over my mouth until Howie’s footsteps retreated. “It’s hard to picture Finnigan scaling the bluff with a bag of lemons clenched between his teeth.”
“You may be underestimating his degree of commitment,” Miss Parchester said with a reproachful frown. “His younger sister was living at Oakland Heights last year when there was a fire. She suffered serious medical problems.”
“Was Anthony Armstrong responsible? Didn’t he comply with all the building codes?”
She gazed at the valley below. “Yes, he did, but Finnigan has learned from a colleague in the geology department that this development is situated on a fault. In states such as California and Utah, where earthquakes are a factor, more stringent building specifications are mandated.”
I held my breath for a moment, waiting to see if the tree would begin to sway as the ground shook beneath us. “We’re on a fault?” I squeaked.
“Supposedly an inactive one, although it’s possible that even a minor shifting could have caused gas lines to rupture in proximity to a pilot light of a hot water heater or furnace. Finnigan suspects Anthony was aware of this and constructed the condominiums despite the remote possibility that there might be consequences.”
“Does Finnigan have proof of this?”
“No, he merely thinks evidence would have shown up on the topographical survey. Having never seen one myself, I have no opinion. He has many opinions, of course.”
I propped myself up on one elbow. “And his sister?”
Miss Parchester sighed again. “I gather from what he’s said that she is recovering but unable to resume her education. I’m not sure if he’s dedicated to the environment or to vengeance.”
“Oh, dear,” I said rather inadequately.
“You’d best be on your way. Howie may return soon.”
“I will, but let’s talk about Daphne for a minute. What precisely did you advise her to do?”
“Let’s continue this later, Claire. I do not want to be responsible for your arrest” She dropped the rope ladder. “And do look after Skyler, please.”
“You know about him?”
“I’m living in a tree, not iii a cave. Run along now. Howie’s likely to be testy when he comes back from the bluff, having found nothing but chipmunks.”
I reluctantly made my way down the ladder, watched as it was jerked up, and went to my car. The situation had become murkier, I had no idea what advice Miss Parchester had given Daphne. I could only hope that it had not been to take no prisoners.
As I sat, tossing around idle thoughts, Randy and Jillian came out of their condo. Both were visibly upset. I briefly debated the wisdom of interfering in a marital spat, then got out of my car and approached them.
“Claire Malloy,” I said. “I gave you a ride the other night, Randy.”
“Yeah, sure. Can I do something for you?”
“Such as?’ Jillian said, sneering at him. “You don’t need a ride right now, do you? You’re going to take the car and go to work. What time will you be home, Randy? Midnight again?”
“You know we need the money,” he said to her, then looked at me, mutely asking for moral support.
I saw the anger etched on Jillian’s face, the lines too deeply drawn to have come from the current argument. I instinctively stepped back, then said, “I could give Randy a ride if you need the car, Jillian.”
“Why would I need the car? Where is it I’d go?”
The door slammed behind her as she went into the condo. Randy and I looked at each other for a long moment. He must have realized I had more sympathy for Jillian than for him, but it was already clear that he was a less than perspicacious young man. I had no idea what he would say.
“Yeah, a ride,” he muttered. “I’d appreciate it. Jillian might need to go to the grocery store.”
I gestured for him to follow me back to my car. Once we’d pulled out of the parking lot, I asked him where he wanted to go.
“The Farberville Fitness Center, if it’s not too inconvenient I work the desk, run loads of towels, clean the showers, put fresh rolls of toilet paper in the stalls. Jillian seems to think I lounge in the hot tub with sorority girls.”
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“She seems to think she’s stuck at home with a baby,” I said dryly.
“So what am I supposed to do? We don’t have to worry about rent, but we have other expenses. Jillian just doesn’t understand that the pissant stipend I receive as a graduate assistant won’t cover groceries, doctor’s visits, medicine, utilities, gas, cable—”
“I get the point.”
“We were doing okay until Connor came along,” he said, ignoring me. “Jillian’s parents helped with her tuition, and she had a job at the library. I was being considered for an internship with a software company that would have guaranteed me a job after graduation. So, out of the blue, she gets pregnant.”
“I presume you were in some way involved in that, Randy.”
“She said she was on the pill. We’d agreed to wait until I had a good job and she’d finished her degree.”
I braked at a stoplight. “So you’re punishing her?”
“No, I’m taking a Ml load, teaching two undergraduate classes, and putting in thirty hours a week at the fitness center. She’s changing diapers and watching soap operas all day. She doesn’t read, cook, or even take Connor out in his stroller. I’ve given up trying to have any conversations with her.”
This was not a situation in which I wanted to become involved. I had a good idea where it would go, but I doubted a lecture from me would deflect the sad resolution. As we neared the fitness center, I said, “Did you happen to hear anything the night of the murder? There’s an unconfirmed story that someone saw the girl drive out of your parking lot.”
“That was me. Connor had colic, and I was walking around, jiggling him and praying he’d go to sleep, when I glanced out the window. Things are pretty quiet after midnight, so it was unusual to see someone running across the lot. She jumped in a car and drove off.”
“Did you notice the color or model of the car?” I asked as I stopped in front of the center.
“No, I just heard the car door slam and the engine,” he said. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll have to hope Jillian will have calmed down enough to pick me up after my shift. Guess I’ll find out when the time comes.” He shrugged, then got out of the car and entered the building.