Murder by Arrangement (Edna Davies mysteries Book 5)

by Suzanne Young

Maybe Valentine’s Day when her father is back from Florida next week, Edna thought and, since it was out of her control, pushed the idea to the back of her mind as she drew closer to Irene and Matthew’s house. Turning onto their street, she began to wonder what sort of woman her son’s newest neighbor would be. Was she an innocent victim or a shrewd killer?

  As Edna pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, a blonde woman was mounting the two steps to the front door. Even if Rose hadn’t been carrying a small pink suitcase, Edna would have recognized her. The previous evening, Edna had skimmed through some of the online news about the Haverstrum scandal. Included in the reports had been several photos of the dead man’s wife, so Edna immediately recognized the woman. Rose Beck, Edna reminded herself that the woman had resumed her maiden name. Her hair was longer, worn straight and pulled back into a loose ponytail instead of stylishly curled as in her old photographs, but she was still beautiful enough to turn heads. She huddled into a black, thigh-length woolen coat against the day’s chill, and focused large blue eyes on Edna as she approached.

  “You must be Rose.” Edna removed a glove and held out her hand.

  The woman’s grip was firm and cool as she greeted Edna with a gentle smile. “Rosie, please,” she said, then wrinkled her nose as if momentarily smelling something sour. “Mother’s the only one who calls me Rose. Besides that, I thought it sounded too pretentious when I started working in a greenhouse, and I wanted to avoid any confusion as to whether someone wanted to order the flower or speak to the florist.” She gave a short laugh and her expression returned to one of pleasure. “You must be Irene’s mother-in-law.”

  As if hearing her name, the hostess herself opened the door, preventing any awkwardness that might have ensued had the two strangers been kept on the stoop for long. “I thought I heard someone at the door. Come in. The girls won’t be home from school for a couple of hours yet, so we have lots of time to visit.”

  Their initial conversation was about the recently unpredictable weather and Irene’s prettily decorated table with red roses and white baby’s breath. “An early sweetheart present from my husband,” Irene said, as she ladled butternut squash soup into blue Peter Pots bowls and passed a platter of mini croissants filled with tuna salad. A comfortable silence, which fell as the women began to eat, was broken only by murmurs of how good the food was. When appetites had been somewhat sated, Rosie addressed Edna.

  “It’s very kind of you to drive Lettie to her grandmother’s. Valentine’s Day is one of the busiest times of the year for event planners, as I’m sure you can imagine. With all the weddings we’re working on, I didn’t know when I could get free to make the trip myself. Lily won’t take her car out of the garage if she even thinks the weather’s going to be bad.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting your daughter,” Edna replied, ignoring the bitter-sounding comment about Rosie’s mother. She concentrated on laying her spoon on the plate beside her soup bowl, wondering how to approach the subject of the husband’s death, when Irene spoke up.

  “Lettie’s such a nice girl. She and Amanda have really hit it off, and in such a short time. You’d think they were soul mates.”

  Rosie’s eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure for the first time since they’d sat down. “Yes. Lettie’s grades have already improved. She seems happy at her new school.” Growing more serious, she said, “Her friendship with Amanda has a lot to do with it.”

  Edna recognized an opportunity. “Has she been very unhappy?”

  When Rosie turned to Edna, anger flickered in her eyes for an instant before she lowered her lids and looked down at the twisted napkin in her hands. She took a slow breath before lifting her head. “My daughter has been sweet and cheerful since the day she was born.” Pausing for a moment, Rosie studied Edna’s face first and then Irene’s. Taking another deep breath, she gave a curt nod as if making up her mind to something.

  “Look. I realize you know who I am, and I’m pretty sure you read at the time, or at least heard rumors that I was a suspect when my husband died. Two years ago, I moved to East Providence to get away from the distrust and suspicion on everyone’s face. I figured a new community would mean a clean start, but the neighbors soon found out who I was and it started again. People either glaring or turning away so they didn’t have to look at me.” Her voice grew stronger as her anger quickened. “I thought I could take it. I thought everyone was being cruel only to me, but Lettie began to notice. She’s so young and innocent. She doesn’t understand.” Rosie’s voice faltered when she added more quietly, “Then I learned she was being taunted and bullied by the kids in school, and my heart broke.” Rosie bent her head again, but not before Edna saw the wetness in her eyes.

  She thought Rosie could use a moment to recover and might also like to know that she wasn’t alone in that sort of treatment. “May I tell you about my move to South County? It was probably around the time you left the area.”

  Rosie dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled napkin before looking up. Her brow wrinkled as if she were wondering what Edna’s move had to do with her difficulties, but she merely nodded.

  Edna glanced quickly toward her daughter-in-law. She’d never spoken of her misadventure to anyone in the family except Starling who had played a part in the drama. She wondered what Irene would make of the story. Giving a mental shrug, she decided she’d deal with the family fallout later. At the moment, she thought only of bringing some comfort to Rosie Beck. “Two months after Albert and I moved into the retirement home of our dreams, I was suspected of poisoning our handyman.”

  If her words were meant to shock, they succeeded. Not only did Rosie’s eyes grow wide, but Edna heard a sharp intake of breath from Irene’s direction.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Irene said, raising both hands to her cheeks in surprise. “I never heard about this. Does Matt know?”

  Edna shook her head. “I didn’t want the rest of the family to worry. It’s in the past. Will you keep this our secret?”

  Irene reached over and gently squeezed Edna’s wrist. “Of course. I’m so sorry I didn’t know at the time. If nothing else, I would have offered you my shoulder to lean on.” In her usual fashion, Irene attempted a light mood.

  Appreciating her daughter-in-law’s support, Edna smiled and patted her hand. “I’ve always been able to count on you, dear. If events had gotten more serious, I would certainly have called you.”

  Irene settled back, but kept a cautious eye on Edna’s face, as if uncertain what to expect after this initial jolt.

  Edna took a deep breath as she tried to decide where to begin. She realized at once how difficult it was going to be to relive the experience, not only for what she’d gone through, but also because she’d lost a good friend. For several seconds she thought of Tom Greene and felt again the stress of those seemingly endless days during which she’d been certain she’d be charged with murder and thrown in jail.

  “What happened?” Rosie’s question, with curiosity, anxiety and impatience all rolled into those two words, made Edna realize that she’d drifted back in time while the other two women were waiting intently for her to explain.

  She gave them an edited version of how her handyman had been rushed to the hospital in a coma from which he never emerged. The taxine in his system came from the yew bush, two of which Edna had been pruning the day her handyman died. He’d last been known to visit Edna where he’d had tea and cookies, both containing ingredients out of her herb garden.

  “I’ll never forget the feeling of isolation when my new friends and neighbors made up all sorts of excuses to avoid coming to my home. If they did visit, they refused to eat or drink anything and left as soon as politely possible. I don’t know what was worse, the police questioning me or the silent accusations of everyone around me.”

  Rosie’s head nodded in slow agreement with Edna’s description of the helplessness she’d felt. Sudden tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over. “I know,” she said in an unsteady
voice. “It isn’t fair. I was never arrested.” She emitted an unsteady sigh. “There are times I wish they had charged me.”

  “Oh, no, Rosie. Don’t ever say that,” Edna urged.

  “Were you arrested?” Irene, still wary, studied Edna’s face.

  “No, dear. Fortunately, the real killer was caught before it came to that. I had a narrow escape, though.” Thinking to offset the startling news for Irene, Edna added, “It’s when and how I met Charlie Rogers for the first time.”

  Before Irene could respond, Rosie spoke. “The police never formally said Gregory didn’t commit suicide, so the insurance company refused to pay me his life insurance. They also never said he was murdered, but the reporters all implied it, so it’s hanging over my head.” She was playing with her spoon and looking at neither Edna nor Irene. It was almost as though she were speaking to herself.

  “Is the case still open?” Edna asked.

  “It’s what they call a ‘cold case.’ Not officially closed but I don’t think anyone’s been working on it.” Rosie paused before adding, “Until recently, that is. The first detective who questioned me at the time showed up several weeks ago.” She sighed as she gazed across at Edna. “I called his department to complain, but they told me he retired last year. Whatever he’s doing has nothing to do with them, so I don’t know why he’s asking questions again.” Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “I feel like I’m his pet project and he has nothing else to do.”

  “Maybe he discovered new evidence.” Edna had read that there had been at least two other suspects, but she wanted to hear what Rosie had to say. Suddenly realizing how painful the retelling must be for her, Edna hurriedly asked, “Do you mind discussing it?”

  Studying Edna’s face, Rosie paused as if to consider her answer. Edna was beginning to think the woman would remain silent when she gave a brief nod. “After hearing your story, I think I can talk about what happened to me.” Still, she remained silent for a minute, staring at the nearly empty soup bowl in front of her.

  When Rosie cleared her throat as if ready to speak, tears again glistened in her eyes, and when her voice cracked, Irene stood abruptly. She bent and put her arms around her neighbor’s shoulders, giving her a quick hug. Then, glancing at Edna, she said, “Why don’t we take our tea into the living room where we’ll be more comfortable.”

  Realizing her daughter-in-law was giving Rosie time to gain control of her emotions, Edna stood to help gather cups. As she did so, she caught Irene’s eye, winked and smiled her approval. In the living room, she sat at the opposite end of a sofa from Rosie and shifted slightly to face the woman. They were seated before a small gas fireplace which Irene turned on to take the winter chill off the room before she settled into a stuffed chair at right angles to both Edna and the hearth.

  After taking a slow sip of her tea, Rosie put her cup on the coffee table and sat back to rub her forehead, as if scrubbing away a headache. “It’s hard to know where to begin,” she said.

  “What happened between you two? Why did the police think you might have had something to do with your husband’s death?” Edna suggested.

  The younger woman’s eyes shifted toward Edna, but without focus as if looking into the past. She shrugged. “They asked me what I knew about burns on his mouth. Thought I might have given him something from the nursery I worked in. I guess that, along with our having separated a month before, made them want to blame me.” She gave Edna and Irene a crooked smile. “And isn’t it always the spouse who’s the main suspect?”

  “Did you know he was cheating on you?” Irene said, her expression one of disbelief that a wife wouldn’t know her husband’s actions.

  Rosie grimaced. “He was a financial advisor. He often met with clients in the evening. Guess that made it easy for him to get out of the house, and for me to pretend everything was fine between us.” She shrugged. “Things hadn’t been great with us for months, but when I found out he was having an affair with my friend,” Rosie nearly spat the word, “I told him to get out. I really figured if he thought he’d lose me, he’d straighten out and we could get back together. We’d be happy again.”

  “And did he straighten out?” Edna asked when Rosie fell silent.

  She shook her head. “I’ll never know. A month after he moved out of the house, he was dead.”

  “Did they ever find out what caused his death?”

  “For lack of anything else, the death certificate says heart failure,” Rosie said.

  Irene’s eyes widened. She seemed fascinated by the story, her eyes glued to Rosie’s face. “What about the burns you mentioned? Did they ever determine if they were related to how he died?”

  When the woman hesitated, Edna answered for her. “I doubt it. I know from listening to Albert that lab technicians have to have some idea of what to look for in order to run conclusive toxicology tests. They don’t do a lot of guessing because the tests are expensive. So, unless a symptom or a substance can be identified …”

  She stopped when a commotion from the hallway interrupted her and two young girls bounded into the room.

  There was no more time to talk about Rosie’s situation, and soon the two mothers were waving them off. Edna made certain the girls were securely settled in the back seat before getting into the car. As she opened the driver’s door and stopped to lift a hand in farewell, her eyes were drawn to Rosie Beck. The woman was staring intently at the rear window, as if she were about to change her mind and call her daughter back. Without knowing why, Edna felt a sudden shiver of unease.

  Chapter 4

  Edna glanced into her rear view mirror at the two heads huddled together over the mobile phone in Lettie’s hands. Short auburn curls on one girl and long blond locks on the other. Amanda had inherited Edna’s coloring and solid build. Lettie was a young version of her thin, graceful mother.

  The girls were chattering and giggling, softly at first, but then louder as they forgot about their driver and lost themselves in whatever game they seemed to be playing. Edna smiled, returning her eyes to the road and the Friday afternoon traffic headed south on Interstate 95.

  Snow from the night before lay like a thin, white blanket on the dirt-encrusted pack that remained from two previous storms. The afternoon temperature had risen only into the low forties, but Edna was cheered by the sunshine. She let her mind drift back to the conversation with Rosie Beck. Pondering her initial reaction to the woman, Edna thought Pleasant enough. She didn’t want to think she’d been prejudiced by Rosie’s history with the police, not after what Edna herself had suffered. Why then, the uncertainty about the woman?

  Edna needed to know more about the husband’s death and why the police had concentrated their attentions on his wife. Was it solely because law enforcement personnel always grilled the spouse first?

  How am I to find out? Edna wondered only briefly as she realized Mary would almost certainly have information not reported in the news. Edna thought possibly Charlie might also have been involved in the investigation. Those speculations kept her mind busy until she reached her exit off the highway.

  She slowed as she approached Lily Beck’s yellow bungalow with its wide veranda and dormer windows. The house, Edna had learned from Tuck, had been built in nineteen thirty by Lily’s late husband’s grandfather. In their early days, bungalows were much larger than their later counterparts, and that was certainly true of this rambling structure. Beyond the house and a patch of side garden, Edna pulled onto the pavement in front of a four-car garage. With a second story above, the building looked nearly as large as the main house.

  Before double-wide doors, the driveway was deep enough for two cars to sit bumper to bumper. Edna noticed that someone had neatly shoveled yesterday’s snow from the entire paved area. She stopped immediately off the road so as not to crowd the woman standing beside a shiny black, vintage Impala that was parked in front of the second bay. Lily Beck was speaking to a man on the opposite side of the hood. From her gestures, she was appare
ntly pointing out spots he’d missed with his polishing rag which he then dutifully attacked with the cloth in his hand. So intent was she that she didn’t turn until Edna’s car doors opened and the girls scrambled out.

  In her early sixties, Lily was a statuesque woman with wavy salt-and-pepper hair that hung loose to her shoulders. Wearing a woolen coat that had seen better days, she bent to hug Lettie and smile at Amanda before waving to Edna.

  “Hello,” she called. “Rose phoned to say you’d be bringing Violet, but I didn’t expect you quite so soon. You made good time.”

  “Yes, we beat the worst of the rush-hour traffic,” Edna said and extended a hand, palm up, toward Amanda. “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter Amanda.”

  Lily solemnly shook the hand the girl offered before speaking in a surprisingly stern tone to Lettie. “Where’s your suitcase?”

  “In the car,” her granddaughter said quietly with a glance at the Buick’s back end.

  When Edna released the trunk latch with her remote and started toward the rear of the car, Lily barked another order. “Clem will get it,” she said, jerking her head toward the lean man standing beside the Impala. “Clem, take Violet’s suitcase and leave it inside the front door. No farther. Just inside the door.”

  As he approached, Edna saw that Clem was older than she’d first thought him to be. Early seventies, she guessed. Although quite thin, he looked physically fit, and his skin was weathered, as if he spent most of his time outdoors. In the stillness following Lily’s command, Edna wondered if the man were used to his employer’s abruptness. She herself couldn’t imagine ordering someone about with such rudeness.

  Having obediently picked up the pink luggage, Clem was mounting the steps to the veranda before Lettie broke the growing silence. “Can I show Amanda my room?” she asked her grandmother in a voice so soft that Edna barely heard her.

  Before Lily could respond, Amanda distracted them all. “Gramma, look. You have a flat tire.” She was pointing at the Buick’s front end.