“That’ll never fly.”
“I told her that when she called me the other night. Then she told me she knew the things Fran and I had done. She insisted I come to her house the next morning to discuss the matter.”
“Discuss the matter?” she prompted when her friend hesitated.
Once again silence reigned as Jane seemed to gather her thoughts. “I got there around ten-forty-five. It was short and not so sweet. She said if I didn’t support her recall bid and her campaign to be your replacement, she’d tell the entire chapter what we’d done. I panicked, drove home, and did what I did. I vaguely remember Ellie calling me as I drove, but can’t remember what she said. I…I guess I owe her my life.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes with the edge of the sheet.
Loathing and disgust at Susan’s actions clawed deep in Anne’s gut. That bitch! How dare she do this? The woman is a cancer in the chapter. The problem is how do we cut it out without killing the patient? She leaned forward and patted Jane’s arm. “That’s one of the most despicable things I’ve ever heard. And you can be sure that if Susan Lynch ever breathes a word of this to anyone, the entire board will deny it and call her a liar to her face—in public!”
Jane actually smiled. “Thank you. I just feel so foolish. I walked into the kitchen wanting to die. The humiliation, the contempt my friends would feel for me pushed me over the edge. I’ve been taking anti-depressants for several years. I stared at the cabinet where I keep them for the longest time. It seemed like the best way out. I wouldn’t have to endure the pain of seeing friends—people I’d known for years—turning away whenever I walked by. I wrote some kind of note, filled a glass, and started taking them. I don’t know how many. I kind of remember getting dizzy. Then I woke up in the emergency room. Now, I’m in the nut ward. Who knows when I’ll get out?”
“I doubt they’ll keep you much longer.” Anne wasn’t really sure about this, but Jane needed some encouragement. “You regret what you did, and I’m sure with the proper treatment, you’ll be fine. And don’t worry about the chapter. Let me take care of that.”
“Thank you, Anne. I told my husband the whole story last night. I had to beg him not to go to Susan’s and wrap his hands around her neck until her beady little eyes popped out. What’s wrong with her? Why is she so nasty?”
“I don’t know, but she obviously has her own set of problems.”
“She should be the one in here, not me.”
Anne nodded in agreement. Somehow the chapter had to deal with Susan Lynch—and fast.
The door opened. The nurse stood there. “Time is up, Ms. Jamieson.”
Anne rose and squeezed Jane’s hand. “I’ve got to go. Let me know when they spring you and we’ll have lunch, okay?”
“I’d like that.”
As Anne left, she had a whole new set of problems to think about. Mostly Susan. The woman loved to create trouble. She remembered when Susan had first joined the critique group, appearing quiet and shy. Her inability to take criticism showed early and by the time the group had asked her to leave, her galloping paranoia had taken hold. Then she began hanging around with Fran creating a perfect storm of manipulative, nasty personalities.
But one question had been answered. No way was it Jane Whittaker she’d overheard in the antique store.
So who was it and did it have anything to do with Fran’s murder?
****
Anne leaned back in her chair and dropped the thick packet of papers on her desk. She’d read the by-laws twice and at no point did they cover the suspension or out-and-out dismissal of a member of the chapter. Board members, yes, but not a word concerning the general membership.
So, now what? And is Susan’s behavior even a reason for such action? All she’s doing is circulating a petition. There’s no way her conversation with Jane can be made public.
She picked up her cell and called Rose, but had to leave a message in voicemail. She then tried Nancy.
“Hi, Anne. What’s up?”
She explained what Jane had told her and the ambiguity of the by-laws. “So, any ideas?”
“If the by-laws don’t specifically cover it, then I’d have to say our hands are tied unless the national organization has rules covering this,” Nancy responded. “I can’t believe Susan tried to blackmail Jane. Yet, on the other hand, I can see it perfectly.”
“Have you heard anything about a recall petition?”
“Not a word, but then I’d be one of the last people she’d call. Have you talked to the other board members?”
Anne sighed. So far, her presidency had consisted of a murder—two if she counted the waiter, Jeffrey Wainwright—and a lot of libelous innuendo.
“Not yet.”
“You know, she may not contact any of them because if she’s trying to get the election declared null and void, then a couple of them would have to be included in the purge, not just you.”
“I never thought of that.”
“Personally, I wouldn’t worry about Susan. She’ll never get any more than a dozen signatures. And a dozen out of a membership of almost a hundred and thirty will be an embarrassment.”
“I suppose you’re right. Look, I’m at loose ends tonight. Gil’s working and the kids are at a school function. How about we meet somewhere for dinner?”
“Uh, I can’t tonight. I’ve got plans.”
“With Brad?” Anne asked in a teasing tone.
“As a matter of fact, yes. He’s renting the movie Volcano, so he can show me all the mistakes made describing what a volcanologist does. I’m even making dinner for him.”
“You’re cooking?”
“Hey, I can cook pretty damned good,” Nancy replied with a laugh.
“Well, have a good time and I’ll talk to you later.”
Anne chuckled as she hung up. Nancy and Gil’s brother were rapidly becoming more than just a brief encounter.
It was too early to eat, but she decided a trip to the mall sounded sensible. She needed to get her mind off her problems, Fran’s death, and the chapter for a while. Besides, the Hungry I was located in the mall. She’d eaten lunch there on several occasions, so why not give it a try for dinner?
After texting her kids of her plans, she drove to the shopping center. Anne enjoyed just wandering around people watching and looking at merchandise. She was about to enter The Sound of Music store when she literally bumped into a familiar face.
“Becky, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run you over.”
Becky Lawrence looked surprised, and then laughed. “No problem. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Anne hadn’t had a chance to talk to Becky about Fran. Maybe a casual conversation over a glass of wine—or better yet, dinner—would yield some information.
“Neither was I. Would you like to get a glass of wine or some dinner?”
“I can’t do dinner. Jim’s expecting me home, but a glass of wine would be nice.”
They walked over to The Hungry I. The hostess seated them immediately and a waiter took their order.
“So, what did you buy today?” Anne asked.
“Nothing much for me, but Jim’s birthday is next week, so I managed to get him a couple of hard to find CDs.” She took them out of the bag and showed them off.
“Operas?”
“Yes, Jim loves it. His mother is first generation Italian and loves all things Italian, including music. She instilled the love in her son, too.”
“How about you? Do you like it?”
Becky shrugged. “It’s all right. I can listen to it on the CD player as background when I read, but find sitting through a live performance a bit tedious.”
Anne read the titles. “Rigoletto and The Best of Enrico Caruso. Wasn’t Caruso a tenor?”
“Yes, Jim just loves him. I paid an arm and a leg for the Rigoletto thing. Caruso plays the Duke. It’s a toughie to find.”
Anne handed the CDs back to Becky and remembered the surveillance tapes of the opera lovers’ meeting a
t the hotel the day Fran died.
“Is he a member of that opera group that meets at the hotel?”
“The Opera Lovers of San Sebastian? Lord, yes, but he hasn’t been to a meeting in several months. His work has kept him busy.”
The waiter brought their wine and as they sipped, Anne thought. How hard would it be for Jim Lawrence to wear a tux jacket, close it up to the throat to resemble a waiters’ uniform, and sneak into the writers’ meeting?
“So, is there any word yet on what happened to Fran?” Becky asked.
“Nothing other than she died from anaphylactic shock after accidentally ingesting peanuts.” She didn’t mention the shellfish angle.
“Do the police have any clues yet?”
“Not that I know of, but I think they’re looking for someone who came dressed as a ghost.”
Becky shot her a surprised look. “A ghost? Why?”
“Apparently, this ghost was caught on surveillance nosing around the food carts in the hall, then disappeared shortly before the entrée was served. Nobody knows who it was. He or she never spoke or removed the headpiece.”
“How odd.” Her voice now had an element of fear in it. She stroked the stem of her wine glass and stared into the liquid. “I think we’ll discover it was a silly mix up in the kitchen. Hotels are so careless about stuff like that. I once ordered unbreaded eggplant parmesan and got a load of tasteless crumbs on my dinner. I heard you were investigating, too.”
“Well, as president I feel it’s my duty to give as much assistance to the police as possible. And besides, my name came up as possible poisoner.”
“Susan Lynch? I heard about that and read the loop. Pay no attention to her. She’s a bona fide whack job.”
Anne sipped her wine and took a shot at getting Becky to talk.
“I know Fran and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on things, but her death was such a shock.”
“She was a bitch,” the other woman said with still downcast eyes. “I suppose you’ve talked to Rose about Fran and Jim.”
“She told me. I’m sorry.”
Becky cleared her throat and took a large sip of wine. “The affair didn’t last long and has been over for a while, but I didn’t trust her. I tried to keep clear of her at chapter meetings. Terry Whiting and I were thinking of starting a support group for wives wronged at the hands of Fran Harrison.”
Strange. Becky told Rose she suspected the affair had rekindled.
“I heard a rumor that Terry’s husband might have been on her hit list.”
“Terry was convinced there was something going on, but had no real proof. She didn’t like Fran before the conference, but afterward it turned into out and out hatred. And Terry said she’d never attend another special event as long as Fran was around. I’ll tell you, Fran loved those Christmas parties. They were a hunting ground for her. All that booze loosening up inhibitions was like an aphrodisiac.”
“I kind of remember that you haven’t been to a meeting in a while.”
“Like I said, I try to keep clear of her whenever possible. Maybe now, I can attend without wanting to throw up. I wouldn’t be surprised if Terry didn’t do a happy dance when she heard the news Fran was dead.”
Since Anne had gone this far, she decided to go further.
“And another odd thing. It seems a waiter for the meeting was AWOL, yet Jane Whittaker swears a man served her.” She leaned forward as if telling a secret. “The real waiter was later found dead of a drug overdose.”
“How… how awful,” Becky said with a strange expression. She looked at her watch and gulped a large portion of wine. “Wow, it’s after five. I’ve got to get out of here. It was nice seeing you, Anne, and thanks for the drink. Maybe I’ll make the next meeting.”
She gathered up her purchases and left.
Anne watched until she lost her in the crowd. Fine at first, Becky had become more nervous the longer they talked. Her departure had bordered on panic driven.
She’s hiding something. Like maybe she has no idea where her husband spent Saturday morning? And could the ghost have been someone working with Jim Lawrence to eliminate a pest? Someone like Terry? Or Becky herself?
She hadn’t really gained much information about the affair. And if Becky suspected the fire had been rekindled, she wasn’t admitting it. However, other information was useful.
So, Jim Lawrence is a member of the Opera Lovers club. He could have disguised himself, but what would be his motive for killing his former lover, Fran Harrison?
She sipped her wine. Unless, Fran was pressuring him to begin seeing her. Maybe the affair had heated up again. Maybe Jim wanted to break it off and Fran threatened to tell Becky.
She remembered Gil telling her Becky’s husband had been at work the morning of the murder. But what if he wasn’t? And what if Becky knows where he went and why? Then another thought struck her. Suppose Becky had heard about Fran’s allergies, dressed like a ghost, doctored the food, and then her husband served it?
She shook her head. Wouldn’t Fran have noticed her lover serving her? But Fran wasn’t in the room at the time. And what part did the dead waiter play in all of this?
Anne ate a light dinner and arrived back home before seven. Once inside, she looked at her cell and realized she’d missed a call from Jen. She replied immediately.
“Hi, Jen, are you home?”
“Got in a couple of hours ago. I tried calling, but didn’t bother to leave a message.”
“I was at the mall. Ran into Becky Lawrence and we had a drink. Guess the background noise drowned out my phone ringing. How’s your mother?”
“She’s going to be fine. Dad is playing chief nurse and she loves it. Anything happening on this end?”
“Boy, I’ll say.” Anne filled Jen in on the latest developments, especially with Jane.
“She actually tried to kill herself?” Jen said in a shocked tone. “And Susan is responsible? God, what is wrong with that woman?”
Anne also told her about the petition that might be circulating.
“If it’s a recall, then she’d have to have some kind of cause, wouldn’t she? And if she’s trying to void the election, then she has a problem with those board members, like Rose also elected. Nancy’s right about that. Gets awfully sticky. Nancy’s also right that you shouldn’t worry. Susan is her own worst enemy.”
“I guess what you’re saying makes sense. I need to let it go.”
“Oh, and I don’t know how important this is, but when you mentioned Fran’s shop, I remembered something odd from the day I was there. I was talking to Fran when this guy comes in, doesn’t look at anybody, but heads straight for the office. He doesn’t knock or anything, but just walks right in. A few minutes later, he walks back out cradling this really ugly urn-like thing in his arm. He gets to the front door when Fran runs after him, saying something like, ‘You need to pay for that’ and the guys says, ‘I settled up with the man in charge’ and waltzes on out.”
Jen stopped to take a breath. So did Anne.
“The man in charge? I’ll bet Fran loved that.”
“Are you kidding? Her jaw clenched and her eyes practically shot sparks. She turned to me and said something like ‘I’ve got to talk to George. Look around all you want. If you need help ask up front.’ Next thing I knew she stomped off. I looked around for a while when Fran came back out. I heard her tell the salesperson at the counter that she didn’t feel well and was going home.”
“I suppose the customer could have put in an order for some kind of special merchandise Fran didn’t know about.”
“I guess.”
She needed to think and couldn’t do it with Jen yammering in her ear.
“Look, Jen, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later. Glad you’re home again.”
Anne hung up and tapped her fingers against her lips. In spite of her explanation to Jen about the customer with the urn, she had her doubts. And why would the customer refer to George as the person in charge? According to Fra
n’s sister, George was only there occasionally to inspect deliveries and do the books. Fran ran the day-to-day operations. On the other hand, maybe George liked to give the impression he owned the business, perhaps to the extent that he made deals on the side without informing his wife. And keeping the proceeds for himself.
That explanation was possible, but was it probable?
I’m missing something here, but damned if I know what.
Chapter Fourteen
Saturday morning was a busy time in downtown San Sebastian. Anne had to circle several blocks before finding a parking space. Luckily, it was only a short walk to Fran’s store and only a little farther to the farmer’s market.
She’d tossed and turned all night, her head spinning with theories about Fran’s and Wainwright’s deaths, plot lines for her current work in progress, and Jen’s information about her experience at the shop. To be honest, she wasn’t sure why she was returning to the place.
Anne switched her tote bag from her right to left shoulder and followed two other shoppers into the store. The salesperson, a man, turned to her when the ladies stated they were just browsing.
“How ’bout you? You need help?”
“I’m afraid I’m the browsing type this morning, too,” she said with a laugh. “I was in here the other day and bought a lovely bracelet, so decided to come back for another look around. I believe a lady helped me.”
“Yeah, well, she ain’t here no more.”
She was taken aback by the lack of good grammar. Come to think of it, the man himself looked rough around the edges. His long black hair was slicked back into a ponytail and his clothing consisted of jeans and polo shirt with a recent coffee stain on the front.
The bell over the door tinkled again as another customer arrived. “My goodness, you seem busy this morning.”
The man shrugged. “It’s Saturday.”
“I’ll bet you miss having help. I mean, I’m sure the other lady knew the merchandise so well. I was under the impression she worked here for quite a while.”
The man sent her a piercing look, his narrowed dark brown eyes making her want to take a step back.
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