by Barbara Ross
That must be what life was like at Marguerite’s great age. A constant round of friends needing hospice care for dying spouses, siblings, and themselves, even in Marguerite’s tragic case for a child, or for someone she thought of as her child, even though he had once been someone else’s.
The doorbell sounded, deep and resonant.
Marguerite sighed. “Vivian has forgotten her key once again.”
“I’ll get it,” Rose said, but Jake was already on his feet.
He returned, followed by Detective Salinsky. “I told you I’d be back and I am,” Salinsky said.
Marguerite spoke from the head of the table. “I hope you are here to tell us this silly business is over, and my son died of cancer, as we all expected.”
“No,” Salinsky responded. “I’m not. I’m here to tell you the medical examiner has determined Mr. Morales was murdered. I’ll need to speak to each of you individually.”
Chapter 21
Salinsky planned to talk to me last, or at least last of the people who were present. Vivian and Clive still hadn’t turned up. I could see why the detective wanted to begin with the people who had been in the house when Hugh died.
After she finished her interview, I spent time in the kitchen with Rose preparing the lasagna. She focused on the task, mixing ricotta, Italian parsley, Romano cheese, and eggs in the food processor, while ground beef and onions sizzled in a deep frying pan on the stove.
“What did Detective Salinsky ask you?”
“What?” She cupped her ear, trying to hear over the frying meat and the thrum of the ancient stove fan.
After I repeated the question, she answered. “He asked about my medical practice. Hugh died twenty-four hours after a doctor arrived at the house. He asked about Hugh, and about everyone in the house.”
“Does he know who Hugh really is?”
“Yes. That ship has sailed. Someone he interviewed before me must have told him, probably Marguerite.”
Or he got there on his own. Salinsky would suspect someone in the house of the murder, wouldn’t he, if in those last days Hugh couldn’t leave and no one from the outside came to see him? I’d just found these people, and now all of them were murder suspects.
“Marguerite seems worn out by all this,” I said.
“Can you blame her? First Hugh’s illness and death and now the police and a murder,” Rose responded.
“How is her health generally?”
Rose stopped working and looked at me. “Remarkably good, actually. That happens sometimes. If human beings get past the cancer years and then the heart disease years, then the dementia years, they can sometimes go on and on. Marguerite takes medication for high blood pressure, but that’s quite recent. She could live for years, into her hundreds, possibly.”
“I’d like my mom to meet her.”
Rose gave my arm a squeeze. “I’m sure she will.”
She put a giant roasting pan on the table and I helped her assemble the lasagna. She layered sauce, then noodles, the ricotta mixture, then the ground beef, then the Italian sausages she’d cooked in the sauce, then mozzarella. She covered it all with a layer of sauce and we repeated the pattern.
“Where did you learn to make lasagna?”
“Med school roommate. My study group was always starving.”
“Looks delicious.”
After she put it in the oven, we chatted in low voices about our lives. She told me about her husband, who was also a physician, and her teenage son. I told her about the Snowden Family Clambake, and Chris, Mom, Livvie, Sonny, and Page.
At last there were footsteps on the stairs and Salinsky appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Your turn, Ms. Snowden.”
* * *
I seated myself kitty-corner from him at the dining room table. He had dark hair flecked with white and bushy eyebrows. His whiskers were more noticeable than they had been earlier, and I wondered if he was the type of man who had to shave twice a day.
He flipped back through his handwritten notes, not speaking for a long time. I got more and more nervous. If Salinsky had checked me out through law enforcement databases, he wouldn’t have found me there. But if he had done what I would have, and typed my name into a garden-variety search engine, he would have seen plenty of mentions of me in the Maine press, including the murder and a fire on Morrow Island in the spring and another corpse stowed in our clambake fire over the summer. I was not a murderer, but I had been murderer-adjacent all too many times.
I concentrated on breathing evenly. I hadn’t killed my cousin Hugh. I hadn’t known until after he was dead that he’d been alive the last thirty-some years.
Salinsky finally spoke. “When did you arrive in Boston, Ms. Snowden?”
“Yesterday evening.”
“And you came straight here?”
“I checked into my hotel first.” I gave him the details.
“What brought you to Boston?”
Well, that was the rub, wasn’t it? I was perched on the razor’s edge. If I didn’t tell him about the Black Widow at this first opportunity, it would be infinitely more difficult to tell him later.
I didn’t answer right away, and Salinsky went on. “Your mother was left a bequest in Hugh Morales’s will—all of his personal property. Did you know he changed that will, adding your mother, just three months ago?”
“I didn’t know about the will at all, until I got here.”
Salinsky nodded and made a note. “Attorney Dickison has no doubt about the validity of the will. Mr. Morales was fully competent when he made it. By all reports, he was fully competent until he died. So I ask you again, what brought you here?”
It was do or die time. “A few days ago, someone sent a package to my mother.”
“Someone?”
“I don’t know who. There was no return address information. I didn’t even know we had family in Boston. Or about Rose in California. Once we got the package, I tracked the family down.”
“Must have been a pretty important package for you to do all that work and then travel here from Maine. What was in it?”
I took a deep breath. “A necklace. A diamond necklace with a large black diamond in the center, called the Black Widow.”
“A large diamond? How large?”
“Seventy carats.”
He whistled. “How much would something like that be worth?”
“I’ve had an estimate of around two million dollars.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow at me. It was like a caterpillar wiggling across his forehead. “Two million dollars? No wonder you got in your boyfriend’s truck and drove down here.”
Boyfriend’s truck? He’d already checked me out.
“So it wouldn’t surprise you to know,” he continued, “that Attorney Dickison is in possession of an inventory of Mr. Morales’s personal property and it includes a diamond necklace valued at 2.25 million?”
I exhaled in a whoosh. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. Thank goodness I’d told him the truth. “I wouldn’t be surprised, no. But I’m kind of relieved. Until this moment I wasn’t one hundred percent certain the necklace had come from Hugh.”
“When did the package arrive, exactly?”
“Friday. At least, that’s when Mom opened it. She hadn’t picked up her mail for a couple of days because of the snow. The postmistress told me it was mailed on Tuesday.”
“My understanding from everyone in the house is that Mr. Morales had not left the premises for some time before his death. Someone else must have sent it.”
I nodded my agreement. “I’ve been trying to figure out who since I got here.”
“You haven’t told anyone in the house you have the necklace?”
“Not directly. I’ve asked a few people if Hugh had asked them to mail something.”
Salinsky arranged his craggy features into a serious expression. “Excellent. Please don’t mention the necklace to anyone.”
“I won’t. But why not? If the necklace is in
Hugh’s will they probably all know.”
“It’s not in the will. It’s in an inventory of personal property no one in the family has seen. In my experience, wills changed shortly before death to favor unexpected beneficiaries can be a motive for murder.” As he talked, he leaned across the table, bringing his face closer to mine. “Do you have any reason to suspect anyone in this house of murdering Hugh Morales?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to steer him wrong and I had only suspicions. “I don’t think Vivian’s fiancé, Clive, is who or what he says he is.”
Salinsky glanced at his notes. “And what does Mr. Humphries say he is? I haven’t interviewed him yet. I’m told he lives here, but he’s not at home this afternoon.”
“He says he’s an entrepreneur, trying to raise funds for a phone app, but he has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.”
“And you base this impression on your years in venture capital, specifically in technology investment?”
He had checked me out. “I base it on my years of being a sentient human being.”
Salinsky smiled. “I bet he wasn’t happy to run into you.”
“I don’t think Clive knows my background. No one in the house seems to be aware of my recent past, except Rose.” I left aside the topic of the scrapbook and how everyone in the house knew a creepy amount about my growing-up years.
Salinsky flipped through his notebook. “You may be interested to know that others have expressed doubts about Mr. Humphries, specifically, Mrs. Morales, Dr. Morrow, Tallulah Spencer, Jake Spencer, and Paolo Paolini.”
“In other words, everyone you interviewed today.”
He nodded. “Everyone presently at home. Mr. Humphries is not well liked, though being a fraud and being a murderer are two quite separate things.”
“Hugh was so sick,” I said. “How do you know he was murdered?”
“There are several indications that lead the medical examiner to that conclusion. There was an impression of your cousin’s teeth on his upper lip, as if someone had pressed down hard on his face. There were goose feather particles and other textile matter in his airway. Hugh Morales was smothered with a bed pillow.”
“But why? He was going to die, and soon.”
Salinsky closed his notebook. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Who benefits by your cousin dying days before he otherwise would have?”
Chapter 22
After my interview, I found the others gathered in the living room, having well-deserved cocktails. The conversation died as soon as I entered the room. I was sure they’d been trading notes about their interviews with Salinsky. Their silence reminded me that though I was family, I was a stranger in their midst. The smell of Rose’s lasagna bubbled up from the kitchen downstairs. My stomach growled so loudly they must have heard it. I poured a glass of wine. “Did we find out where Vivian and Clive are?” I asked.
“We were wondering whether to hold dinner for them when they called and asked us to wait,” Marguerite answered. “They’re on the way.”
She’d no sooner said that than the door burst open and the sound of Vivian giggling came from the hall. “Oh, you silly boy.” Giggling? Had they been out in a bar?
Vivian charged through the doorway into the living room, her left hand held out in front of her. Clive followed, still disentangling himself from his scarf.
“We got married!” Vivian crowed.
The reaction in the room was stunned silence.
“How? Where? Now?” Tallulah finally sputtered.
“By our friend who is a justice of the peace,” Vivian said. “We got the license several days ago, but then Hugh died and the timing wasn’t right.”
“You thought better timing was the day before his memorial reception?” Tallulah’s voice would have cut glass. “He’s not even cremated.”
“Nor likely to be soon,” Paolo murmured.
“Don’t be mad.” Vivian stepped backward and took Clive’s hand. “Before lunch, we got to talking. Life is short, as Hugh’s death proves. We need to grab what happiness we can. There was no reason to delay and every reason to go forward.” She stopped and looked around the room. “Isn’t anyone going to offer congratulations?”
Jake raised his glass. “I know what Hugh would have said. ‘My dear cousin Vivian.’” He imitated the voice I’d never heard. “‘I wish you every happiness, as I have wished it for you six times before.’”
Only Tallulah laughed out loud. Rose and Paolo suppressed smiles. Marguerite didn’t seem capable of finding amusement in the subject.
Vivian poured wine for both herself and Clive. She raised her glass. “Thank you, Jake, for channeling Hugh’s best wishes, which, by the way, would have been sincere.”
We all raised our glasses, offering tepid congratulations, while Marguerite struggled to her feet. “Let’s dine, shall we? I’m famished.”
* * *
I thought the meal might be saved by Rose’s delicious lasagna. It was like heaven in a pasta bowl, piquant with tomatoes, sweet with sausage, savory with cheese, and warm and comforting on a winter night. Rose served it with a simple salad of greens, oil, vinegar, and herbs, and a loaf of Italian bread, loaded with butter and garlic.
Even Marguerite seemed momentarily buoyed by the deliciousness. “This is so good. It reminds me of a lasagna I had in Rome in 1957. One would think you were Italian, dear Rose.” Rose smiled, pleased by the compliment. Marguerite went on. “You’ve been too kind, caring for the family while you’ve been here.”
“It’s the least I can do to help out. I loved Uncle Hugh, and I’ve loved coming here all these years. You’re the only family I’ve got left.”
“I suppose after the memorial reception is over, you’ll be leaving us?” Vivian suggested.
“Soon,” Rose said. “Though I haven’t booked my ticket yet.”
Vivian turned to Paolo. “And how long will we be graced with your presence?”
Paolo blushed and stuttered slightly. “Mrs. Morales said I could stay until I find my next job. Since I am living here, I have no place to go until I am working again.”
Vivian put down her fork. “How inconvenient. For us, that is.”
“Enough,” Marguerite said. “Paolo will come with us to the reception for Hugh tomorrow. There will be plenty of people there with an interest in his services.”
Vivian nodded. “If your friends turn out, Mother, it will be a veritable convention of the halt and the lame. Paolo could stand on the front stoop of the Harvard Club and wait for someone to slip down it.”
“I only work with the terminally ill,” Paolo corrected. “I am a trained hospice—”
“And you.” Vivian turned to me. “You’ll be leaving town after the memorial reception as well?”
I didn’t want to go. I hadn’t figured out who had sent the Black Widow to Mom yet. Or why. But I had to get back to running the restaurant. And Livvie was due any moment. I realized with a pang that I hadn’t checked in with Mom since her call at lunchtime. “My boyfriend is flying into Logan on Saturday,” I answered. “I’ll leave with him.” I would run out of hotel points before then, and would have to charge my room to a credit card I had no immediate prospects of paying off, but that was a small investment in the face of two million dollars.
Marguerite smiled. “Rose and Julia, you are always welcome here. You must think of this as your ancestral home. Julia, you will move here from your hotel tomorrow morning.”
“I . . .” The invitation surprised me. We’d met for the first time twenty-four hours earlier. But it seemed very like Marguerite to want us all under the same roof. Of course, if Salinsky was correct, one person under this roof was a murderer, who might have been motivated by the diamond necklace sitting in the safe deposit box in Busman’s Harbor.
Clive had said nothing through the meal, eating little and pounding down red wine. His complexion had grown ruddier, his chin closer to his plate. “Well, not always welcome here,” he said.
Th
at was a conversation stopper. Everyone looked at him.
“What do you mean?” Tallulah’s voice shook.
He looked up from his plate, all innocence. “What’s the matter? If this week has taught us anything, it’s that no one lives forever. Not even you, Marguerite.” He looked from Marguerite to Tallulah. “And when Marguerite is gone, you can expect some changes in our house.”
Rose gasped. Tallulah’s mouth fell open. Paolo clenched his fists on the table. Even Jake, who seemed like the nicest guy in the world, looked like he wanted to punch somebody. One particular somebody.
“Stop it,” Marguerite commanded. “I, and I alone will decide who is welcome here. Paolo and Rose stay, and Julia will move her things over in the morning. This is still my house. I’m not dead yet.” She wiped her mouth with a red cloth napkin. “You will never be the owner of this home,” she said to Clive, emphasizing each word so he couldn’t miss the meaning. “And neither will Vivian, who has this once and final time proved herself too . . . too imbecilic to handle the responsibility. After the memorial, I will speak to Mr. Dickison about leaving the house, along with the money Hugh provided to run it, directly to Tallulah.”
Vivian stood up. “You’ll never get away with it, you sad, old bat. I’ll have you declared incompetent. I’ll speak to a lawyer too. You’ve dedicated your life to thwarting me, making sure I never got anything I wanted.” Vivian’s voice had risen throughout the tirade and by the end she was shouting. “Clive, come along. We’re going upstairs.” She looked back at her mother. “It is our honeymoon.”
Marguerite rose on unsteady legs. “Vivian, when will you learn that to hurt me, there is no need to hurt yourself?”
Vivian shot her mother a look of pure hatred, and then she and Clive bolted out of the dining room.
Tallulah was on her feet as well. She pointed at me. “If you came here to find family, this is it. Welcome to our happy home.” She rushed from the room too, with Jake following. From below, those of us who remained heard first one bedroom door, and then another, slam.