Murder at the Book Group

by Maggie King

  “Oh, Carlene’s brother,” I said, remembering the sullen-looking boy in the family photograph.

  “He’s more or less a hermit, holed up in a cabin out in Montana, Wyoming, some godforsaken place. At least that’s the last anyone heard. He always was a loner.” Unfortunately that description recalled the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski, a hermit who lived in an isolated cabin in Montana until his eighteen-year career of bombing by mail ended in arrest.

  “Until last night, I didn’t even know she had a brother.” I told Kat and Lucy about the photographs in Carlene’s den.

  “He probably won’t show up, but he needs to know, so Dean’s contacting the park rangers out there. Hal is, after all, family.” Family—I had to remember that Kat was family, and I was not. Ex-family is what I was. But as I felt like family, I felt left out.

  “What I want to know is this: who the hell killed her? And don’t say it was suicide.” When I saw the set to Kat’s jaw, I wouldn’t have challenged her even if I did believe it was suicide. “You mark my words, someone killed her, and I’m going to find out who it was. It was the tea . . . something in that tea.”

  For a moment, no one spoke, just ate. Suddenly ravenous, I scarfed down two muffins. Kat bit into one, spraying crumbs.

  “Carlene and Evan were separated, you know.” Kat looked at both of us in turn. “Judging by your lack of surprise, I guess you knew that.”

  “Yes, I ran into Evan at Target and he told me.” Lucy shot me a warning look but she needn’t have worried. I had no intention of offering up details on the Target encounter. “He didn’t say for how long—do you know?”

  “About a month or so.”

  “Where’s he been staying?”

  “With what’s his name . . . Warren.”

  “Oh, yes, Warren Oglesby—a classmate from Rochester and best man at our wedding.” And the reason Evan picked Richmond when he took his lottery winnings and left Rochester to launch his teaching career, having visited Warren often over the years. “He’s supposed to have a nice place.” Warren, a hotshot lawyer, and his family lived in Richmond’s prestigious West End, overlooking the James River.

  I wondered how often Evan returned to the house he’d shared with Carlene. After all, he might have needed a certain shirt or tie. Or a try at reconciliation. Or a chance to doctor his wife’s tea mug— Stop! I ordered myself. The idea of Evan as wife killer was unbearable. And wasn’t poison the weapon of choice for women? I chided myself for thinking in sexist stereotypes.

  I lit on safer thoughts—why had they separated? Who had initiated the split? All questions I should have asked that day at Target, but Evan’s unexpected dinner invitation put the kibosh on further discussion.

  I was about to ask Kat about the separation details when she posed her own questions.

  “Have you talked to Vince? Or are you guys in off mode?”

  “I haven’t talked to him.”

  When I offered nothing about our current mode, Kat shrugged. “So—my question remains unanswered. Who did this? Who killed Carlene?” Kat cursed a blue streak.

  I held my hands out, palms up, in a beats-me gesture. At this point, the question was rhetorical. I started carefully. “So you’re determined that—”

  Kat cut me off before I could get out the “S” word. “Don’t say suicide! Carlene did not commit suicide.”

  “Georgia agrees.” I described my earlier conversation with Carlene’s friend, including their recent spa weekend.

  “You see? And Carlene and I had our birthday lunch last week. We went to the Grapevine. She was fine.” Kat fixed me with a defiant look. “People in my family don’t kill themselves.” If I needed convincing that Carlene didn’t do herself in, that last rationale didn’t do the trick.

  I tried another tack. “Did you see anyone near Carlene’s mug last night? Did you see anything odd at all?”

  “No!” she wailed. “Not a thing.”

  Changing the focus, Lucy asked, “What about Linda? What do you know about her?”

  Kat drew her brows together. “You think she did it?”

  “Not necessarily. I’m asking because you seemed to know her and the rest of us didn’t.” Lucy described her sighting of Linda at the signing and Art’s account of the conversation between Linda and Carlene.

  “I met her at the signing. She said she knew Carlene from L.A. She asked about the book group, and I started to tell her about it but her husband was pacing around outside. So I gave her my card and she rushed off. She called me a couple of days ago, asking where the group was meeting. Then she showed up last night.” Kat opened her hands, palms up. “That’s all I know about her.”

  “Did you talk to her last night?”

  “No. Art cornered me and I wound up showing him some exercises.” Kat gave a long-suffering sigh.

  “At the signing, did Linda say how she and Carlene knew each other in L.A.?”

  “No. I meant to ask but, like I said, hubby was in a hurry so our conversation was pretty brief.”

  Lucy picked up her knitting. Looking thoughtful, she asked, “Kat, were you and Carlene always close?”

  Kat laughed and that fond tone people assume when they reminisce about the recently departed came into her voice. “We weren’t close at all when we were growing up. My brother and I stayed with her family when my mom went on trips with her boyfriends. I was the classic wild child and Carlene the classic Goody Two-shoes. I embarrassed her to no end. Then she went away to college while I went to the local community college. After graduation she moved to L.A. and I stayed in Virginia. We were out of touch for years.”

  “How long did Carlene live in L.A.?” I asked.

  “Twenty years or so.” Kat played with the silver earrings—how many were there? Five? Six?—dangling from her right ear.

  “She never wanted to talk about L.A. and I always wondered why. After all, I lived there too, and we were both computer programmers, so we might have known people in common. But whenever I’d mention anything about the place, she changed the subject.”

  Kat shrugged. “Then I guess she didn’t want to talk about it. Carlene was a forward thinker, didn’t like to dwell on the past.”

  “Yes, well, that’s a good way to be. Still, it struck me as odd.” I waved my hand and said, “Go on.”

  Kat started turning her mug around in her hands as she took up her story. “I didn’t know that Carlene was back in Virginia until my mom told me. One day I called her and we started getting together for lunch, especially for birthdays. I think I still embarrassed her, but maybe she figured people were too busy looking at me to notice her. Probably true. We also had family holidays together—Thanksgiving, Christmas. She and my daughter, Stephie, hit it off. Maybe it was being middle-aged, but we both seemed to have discovered the importance of family, however dysfunctional ours was with all the alcoholism and drugs. We still had little in common, but that didn’t matter as much anymore. We didn’t hang out together, just developed a kind of mutual fondness.

  “In 1999 a lot of things changed. First Carlene’s mother drank herself to death. Not long after, Dean retired from teaching and moved down here from Fairfax. The two of us finally owned up to our drinking problems and sobered up together. I was busy with him and didn’t see Carlene as much. And I met Evan and we started our relationship. We were never really serious, but . . .”

  “Evan?” Lucy and I blurted out at the same time. “Evan Arness? You and Evan dated?”

  “Yes—oh—I guess you didn’t know that. We didn’t exactly date—but we had a lot of really hot sex!” She waved her red talons in a parody of a blaze, then covered her mouth with the same talons. “Oh, Hazel, I’m so sorry. I totally forgot that you and Evan were married or I wouldn’t have said anything.”

  I had a vision of Kat and Evan ripping off each other’s clothes in their passion. Strewn on a path to the bedroom would be her leopard prints and black leather with his polo shirt, khaki pants, and penny loafers. I snapped out of my clothi
ng reverie and waved her apology aside. “It’s okay. Evan and I are ancient history.”

  Lucy, now recovered from her surprise, said, “Tell us about you and Evan. I have to say, I’m simply floored. How long did your relationship last? But first, do you want more coffee?” Kat had stepped up her mug twisting.

  “Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks.” Now with a full mug, Kat went on. “Our relationship lasted about six months or so. Then, on my birthday in 2000, Carlene, Georgia, and I were having lunch at Chez Foushee—you know that place downtown?” When we nodded, she said, “Evan came in with another guy. I made the introductions. A few days later Evan told me he wanted to ask Carlene out, and would I mind. I did mind but didn’t want to admit it. Then Carlene called and said Evan had asked her out and would I mind. I still minded and still didn’t want to admit it. They got married six weeks later. Small wedding, just family and a few close friends. They had the wedding brunch downtown at the Kent-Valentine House.

  “You asked if Carlene and I were close. We weren’t, then we were, then her marriage strained our relationship for quite a while, but over the past couple of years we slowly got closer again. The strain was more on her part, guilt I guess. I got over being dumped pretty damn fast. It’s not that Evan and I had a future anyway . . . Like I said, the sex was fabulous, some of the best I’ve had, and I’ve been around the block a time or two, believe me.” We did. “But I guess you would know how good he is, Hazel.”

  “I never kiss and tell.” I tried for an airy tone. While I had fond enough bedroom memories of Evan, I didn’t care to compare notes with others on lovers in common. One of my fictional characters engaged in such cheesy behavior, but I believed in discretion.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how “damn fast” Kat recovered from being dumped. Great sex plus Evan’s lottery winnings made him quite a catch. Although I never knew how much he’d won. With my transparent face, I’d best limit my wondering until after Kat left. “More muffins?” I held the basket out to Kat, hoping to distract any attention from my suspicious thoughts.

  “Um . . . yes, I think I will. Surprisingly, this whole business hasn’t affected my appetite. It occurs to me that you two may be wondering if I was really over Evan.” I sighed and vowed to go shopping for a poker face. Kat went on, again getting crumbs everywhere. “Like maybe I longed for him all these years and finally just had to have him. Ridiculous. Why wait this long? I’m not a patient woman. Besides, our Evan turned out to be very possessive and domineering.”

  “You’re kidding!” Lucy looked at me. “I never heard you mention that, Hazel.”

  “He wasn’t like that with me.”

  “Nor with me,” Kat said, her tone wry. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Carlene brought out something in him that should have—I don’t know—stayed in.”

  I remembered my earlier, unasked question. “Do you think that’s why they separated?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t help but think the reason was sex-related, like maybe Carlene couldn’t appreciate Evan’s talents in that department. She was a god-awful prude in high school.”

  “Really?” Lucy asked.

  “To an extreme. I tried my best to educate her about the pleasures of the flesh, get her interested, but she just wanted to study.” Kat raised her eyes to the ceiling to convey her attitude toward studying.

  “And she never married before Evan?”

  “No. She was forty-five when they tied the knot.”

  “Kat, how did you and Evan meet?” Lucy asked.

  “At the gym. I was his personal trainer. It’s the best job for meeting guys. All that sweat and state of undress.” Kat gave one of her bawdy laughs. Then she looked concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay with all of this, Hazel?”

  “Absolutely,” I assured her with great aplomb. “Granted, you threw me for a loop. It was all news to me. But, like I said, Evan and I were married, and divorced, an eternity ago.”

  “How long’s an eternity?”

  “We married in 1972. What’s that—thirty-three years? We were seniors in college.”

  “And how long did you stay together?”

  “Two years.”

  “I imagine your parents weren’t too happy about your getting married before you graduated.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Mine weren’t crazy about the whole idea, but they accepted it. On the other hand, Evan’s parents were very unhappy when we married and very happy when we divorced. At the wedding they wouldn’t speak to me or anyone else in my family. I never knew why. Fortunately for Carlene, they both died before she and Evan met so she was spared hostile in-laws.” Then I added, “That’s assuming their hostility wasn’t reserved for me in particular.” An image of them meeting Kat sprang up in my mind and I tried to hide my smile.

  But Kat seemed to divine my thoughts. Giving me a shrewd look, she said, “I’m sure you’re thinking ‘What if Kat met Evan’s parents?’ I know I’m not the kind of woman a guy brings home to Mom. But we live with our choices, don’t we?” I reminded myself that I’d best cease thinking in her presence. Or in any book group member’s presence. She laughed, then asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you and Evan split up? Was it the hostile parents?”

  “They contributed somewhat, but I didn’t see them very much even though they didn’t live far away. The real reason, I guess, was . . . youth.” I was going to leave it at that. I limited discussions of my past, preferring, like Carlene, to move forward. But I found myself continuing. “I’m serious—we were too young. And, like I said before, he wasn’t possessive when we were married. Quite—” I stopped before saying “quite the opposite.” I didn’t want to get into Evan’s open-marriage phase.

  Kat and Lucy waited for me to continue, but I didn’t satisfy their curiosity. Finally Kat asked, “But you and Evan are friends now. Did you stay in touch over the years, or did you meet up here in Richmond?”

  How much did I want to reveal? If Kat was so gung-ho that Carlene hadn’t committed suicide, I didn’t want to give her any reason to suspect me of doing the evil deed. If I could suspect Kat, she could examine my motives as well. I caught Lucy watching me with her pewter eyes. Would she come to my rescue and change the subject? But she just clicked away with her needles, and I couldn’t wait indefinitely, so I said, hoping I wouldn’t let something slip, “We always kept in touch. Like I said, I lived in L.A. for years, so we only saw each other when I came back east to visit. Dinner mostly. We sent each other Christmas and birthday cards, and occasionally talked on the phone.” I didn’t add that the cards had stopped once Carlene came on the scene. As had almost any contact with Evan.

  Kat wore a “well, that’s interesting” look on her face. “I’m sure it’s none of my business, but I have to ask. Did you ever want to get back together?”

  I felt like agreeing that it was indeed none of her business, but I controlled myself. “I thought about it from time to time, but always came to the conclusion that we were meant to be just friends—definitely not married.”

  Lucy offered, “Hazel’s mother always liked Evan. She wanted them to remarry.” She continued. “She didn’t like any of your other husbands, especially that one you were married to for thirteen years. Then there was that other guy you went around with in L.A. She didn’t like him either.”

  “Bill Mason. Funny, I thought she did like him. She confided her true feelings to you more than to me.” Funny, because my mom never really got along well with Lucy. “But let’s move on. We don’t need to rehash my failed marriages.”

  But apparently we did, because Kat asked, “How many husbands have you had, Hazel? And why didn’t your mother like the thirteen-year guy?”

  Seeing Kat as she leaned forward, looking her usual animated self, I reconsidered my reluctance to discuss my sorry marital history. If I could divert this discussion from Evan and the events of last night, I’d best grab the opportunity. I briefly summarized my marriages, starting with Bobby Dee, my second husband. We
lived together for three years until I got fed up with his philandering and moved out. As neither of us were in a hurry to remarry I didn’t bother to divorce him for twelve years. At age thirty-eight, I decided to get my life in order, which meant that hubby number two had to go—legally, that is.

  A couple of years later, I married Dan Ricci. That happy union lasted for one year and twelve days. I lost no time in divorcing him.

  “What happened there?” Kat asked.

  “Cabin fever.” Not surprisingly, my terse response didn’t work. This time I caved in to Kat and Lucy’s expectant looks. “We went to Yosemite and stayed in a cabin. Let’s just say it was too close for comfort. However, to his credit, Dan was faithful at least.”

  “Okay: Evan, Bobby, Dan. Anyone else?” Kat’s ticking off the names of my exes on her fingers left me feeling unsettled. Did Elizabeth Taylor ever feel like this?

  “The Republican with the earring.” Lucy was enjoying herself.

  “Yes. Richard.” I laughed as I remembered him. “Despite the earring, he turned out to be way too conservative for me.”

  “The earring fooled you, huh?” Kat chuckled. “Tell me about him.”

  “There’s not much to say about Richard. He was your average trendy Republican.” I laughed and shrugged at the same time. “We filed for divorce, but he died before it became final.”

  “Died? How?”

  I described Richard’s death during a skiing weekend at California’s Mammoth Lakes when he’d managed to wrap himself around a tree, leaving me a widow. He and some sweet young thing had been celebrating our impending divorce. I ad-libbed the sweet part, but as she’d had the temerity to show up at the funeral as the bereaved, um, mistress, I could attest to her youth.

  Kat looked closely at me. “I can’t tell if you’re sad or not, Hazel. You’re so—I don’t know, matter-of-fact about it.”

  “Yeah, well, it was just another one of those married-today, divorced-tomorrow deals. Widowed, not divorced. Not that I hated him, but still . . .” I trailed off, eloquence eluding me. In truth I had a soft spot in my heart for Richard, mainly because his untimely death had left me financially secure. He’d kept his net worth a secret during a marriage so brief that he died before we could file a joint tax return.