by Elaine Macko
“Well, if this is a slow time,” Sam said, “I’d hate to see it when everyone’s here.”
“Yeah,” the young woman laughed, “it can be a bit hectic, but we have a lot of fun. I don’t know what I would do without it.”
Wanda had said the same thing at the cookout and I began to get the feeling living in a foreign country was a lot different than just being a tourist. There were only so many days one could go off to see another castle before you wanted to do ordinary things. Wanda had explained most of the women gave up their own careers to follow their husbands and the club provided a much-needed creative outlet for the wives.
When the volunteer left with our orders I turned to Sam. “I’ve been trying to get Donna’s attention but she’s really busy. Maybe we came at a bad time.”
“We’ve got all day. She’s got to finish some time. We’ll just sit and eat our lunch.”
“Can you see us living here and not having the agency to go off to everyday? I’m not sure I would like it much. Maybe for a year or two,” I mused.
“Well, I think that’s about all they stay, isn’t it? Didn’t someone mention the usual stay is about three years?” Sam asked. “I think it might be fun. But I would miss Mom and Dad too much.”
“And Meme. For grown, married women, we sure are Momma’s girls, aren’t we?” I laughed.
“Two iced teas?” Donna stood at our table. “Oh! Alex. Sam. What are you doing here?”
“Having lunch,” Sam said brightly.
“We’re at loose ends today. Sam’s husband is off observing a surgery and John is working with Inspector Willix on Martine’s murder.” Donna’s face went pale. “Can you join us?” I asked.
Donna looked around. There was a full crowd in the café but no one new had walked in for a while. After making sure everyone had a drink, she took a seat, keeping an eye on the bar. “It feels good to sit. I’ve been here for about three hours stocking the bar and washing glasses. We’re a bit limited on volunteers this time of year.”
“I would imagine you’re probably still upset over Martine’s death, too,” Sam said. My sister was really getting into the swing of things. I knew some of our friends thought it was odd she joined me on my honeymoon, but I was having a blast. And considering the groom was occupied with other things, I was happy she and Michael came with us.
“I haven’t given it much thought.” Donna picked at something on her shorts.
“Really? But she was Doug’s secretary. I thought it would really bother you,” Sam said.
“I didn’t know her well. I only saw her when Wanda had her various parties. We never did anything together outside of that.” Donna’s expression had become stern and she tensely folded her arms across her chest.
“Doug and Bill must be having a hard time. They were all together for several years,” I offered knowing I was being a bit insensitive and feeling guilty for it.
“I don’t know about Bill,” Donna shrugged, “as for Doug, I haven’t asked him and he hasn’t said.” Donna crossed her legs and started to swing one.
Sam asked, “Is there going to be a funeral? Are you going?”
“Look,” Donna said, trying to keep her voice down but having a difficult time of it. “If you must know, I wasn’t all that fond of Martine, for reasons I won’t get into. So if there’s going to be a funeral, I wouldn’t know and I wouldn’t go even if I did.” Donna tapped the fingers of her left hand on the table. “I’m sorry. I sound rude and insensitive, I know, but I have good reason. Oh hell. You’ll probably hear about it before long. Now that Martine is dead, these things have a way of showing their ugly selves to the world. And your husband is helping that Belgian detective, right?” She gave me a less than friendly look. Donna took a deep breath. “Doug had an affair with Martine several years ago. It didn’t last more than a month and we had a lot more important things going on in our lives at the time so I really didn’t give it much thought. It wasn’t important and I’ve forgotten all about it. And even if he hadn’t had an affair with her, I’m sure she and I wouldn’t have been close. We had nothing in common and we were, well, we were just different.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Donna. It’s none of our business. We didn’t mean to pry.” I had become quite proficient at lying. I wasn’t too happy about that, but I couldn’t very well tell the woman we knew most of what she just said and that the murder and everyone’s part in it, whatever that turned out to be, had become our primary topic of conversation.
“Don’t worry about it. It happened a long time ago. It’s all in the past.” Donna flashed her smile again showing off a set of teeth that would make Michael proud. “Don’t give it a second thought. I never do. Martine and I were able to get past it and we found a way to be cordial to each other. She was never a threat. Look, I’ve got to go. A few more tables have filled up.”
“Donna, one more thing,” Sam said. “If you and Martine got along so well, then why were you so mad at Wanda for inviting her?”
Donna’s eyes blazed into Sam and I grimaced. Donna turned abruptly and stormed off without saying another word as I glared at my sister.
“Why did you say that?”
“Why not? That’s what we’re here for, aren’t we?”
“Well, yes,” I conceded, “but you didn’t have to be so blunt.”
“Blunt. She’s the one telling us, complete strangers by the way, her husband had an affair with his secretary.”
“Sshhh! Keep your voice down. She probably hasn’t made a public announcement to the club yet,” I added sarcastically.
“Look, I’m just pointing out all this forgiveness stuff is a bunch of bunk. You said she was angry with Wanda. Well, if she’s pretending to not have any ill feelings toward Martine, beside despising the woman—but we know she did—then who’s to say she didn’t take a piece of floss from the medicine cabinet, or better yet, maybe she already had it with her, her teeth are impeccably clean, by the way, and just mosey on into the bathroom to teach Martine a lesson.”
“Samantha. Really. Not getting along with the woman your husband has slept with doesn’t necessarily mean you would kill her.”
“I don’t get you. I thought that’s what we wanted to do, shake things up and find ourselves a murderer. I don’t know about you, but if Michael were to have an affair with his nurse, murder would be at the top of my list.”
“Sorry, it took so long,” the waitress put two steaming plates of coq-au-vin in front of us. “We’re a bit behind in the kitchen. We got very busy all of a sudden. The chef wasn’t expecting such a turnout today.”
After she left, I continued. “You’re right. About trying to shake things up a bit, not about killing Michael. I just hate to upset someone. For all her talk, Doug’s affair is obviously still a sore point.”
“Exactly. And that sore may have been in need of a good dose of a soothing balm in the guise of a few pieces of mint floss twisted just a tad too tightly, n’est ce pas?”
“Honestly, Sam. You’re taking this sleuthing a bit too seriously. What have I created?” I always knew my sister’s way was a bit like a steamroller gone berserk, but I hoped I could keep the brakes on before we both got killed.
We ate our coq-au-vin while Donna remained on the other side of the room ignoring us completely. We had just ordered dessert and hot tea and coffee, delivered by a volunteer other than Donna, when a somewhat recognizable voice startled us.
“Mind if I join you?” Jobeth Mulberry asked and then promptly called after the waitress and ordered a piece of cake.
“Certainly. I’m sorry, we didn’t see you come in.” I hoped Jobeth hadn’t heard our conversation.
Jobeth’s roots were still peeking out from under the beehive—maybe she was out ministering to a member of the flock instead of going to the hairdressers, I thought as I moved over to allow her room to put another chair.
“You two certainly get around. Did you manage to see Tom?”
“Yes, we did. He was kind enough to
give us a tour of the church and the school,” I said.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jobeth beamed and I felt fairly certain the church and Tom were her favorite subjects. “Though, correct me if I’m wrong, but you two don’t strike me as churchgoing women.”
“Oh, we are. We’re Catholic, you see,” I said.
“Yes. Christmas and Easter, no doubt,” Jobeth said with a mocking tone. “You young people are all alike. Martine was all enthusiastic about coming to our church when we first met her but then she stopped coming and we didn’t see her until the cookout the other night.”
“But Tom was…” Sam started to say until I uncrossed my legs and gave my sister a good kick under the table, hitting Jobeth instead.
“Ouch! What on earth!” Jobeth bent to look under the table.
“Sorry, I was just trying to get into a comfortable position. Guess I’ve been sitting here too long,” I said feeling the color rise in my cheeks. Sam gave me a what-the-hell-is-going-on look.
“You were about to say something, Sam?”
“Oh, no. Nothing.” My sister smiled.
“Well, like I said, people today just don’t take commitment to Christ seriously. Why, in our very own congregation we, too, have parishioners who choose only to show their heads for the holiday services. We’ve tried to do our best, but well, with some it’s just impossible to alter their ways. Much like the two of you, I would guess.”
“Excuse me?” Sam said, the color rising in her own cheeks but for an entirely different reason. I knew when my sister was about to blow.
“Don’t take offense, Samantha.” Jobeth patted Sam’s thin hand with her own chubby one. “Let’s face it, you young women just don’t have the time for worship, or so you say. I think if more people would find the time, the world would be a better place.”
“I just don’t happen to think I need to sit in a church every Sunday listening to some pompous, pious man who has never been married and probably never lived in the real world try and tell me how to live my life. I don’t think I’ve done such a bad job of it on my own without benefit of the church.” Sam put her dessert fork down a bit too loudly and drew stares from several women at a nearby table.
I looked at my sister and rolled my eyes.
“It’s so easy to find excuses, isn’t it?” Jobeth smiled snidely.
I felt the need to jump in before Sam started a fistfight right there at the club. “We were both raised in the church, Jobeth. Catechism, Holy Communion, the whole bit, but you’re right, we do make excuses for not going to church more often. For me, and for Sam, I guess, we just don’t get much out of it.”
“Well, that’s the fault of your church. Now we—Tom—makes sure his sermons have something for everyone. And we have many groups within the church to fit the needs of the entire congregation. Perhaps you should think of joining a different religious organization. You might be pleasantly surprised.” Jobeth popped the last piece of coconut cake into her mouth, having decided earlier lunch wasn’t necessary as long as there was dessert.
“Maybe you’re right,” I offered. “Perhaps I’ll look into some other church when I get home. It may be just what I need.”
“Hmmm. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have some volunteer work to do upstairs. Hope to see you again before you leave. And please, feel free to come to our service this Sunday. It starts at seven-thirty.” Jobeth lifted her sizable self from the chair, patted her mouth daintily, and walked away without leaving any money for her cake.
“What a bitch,” Sam said under her breath, though loud enough for me to hear. “Why did you try to kick me?”
“Because it’s obvious Jobeth doesn’t know Tom counseled Martine. If she did, she would probably badger him to death for all the details and I just wanted to spare him that ordeal. I think the guy probably has his hands full what with a wayward flock and his sanctimonious wife.”
“She just makes me so mad. The nerve of her.”
“Well, hold that mood for a while longer. You’re going to need it.”
Sam looked at me. “Why?”
“Because the next person on our list is Jane Tillingsworth.”
Chapter 20
Jane Tillingsworth stood in her front garden as we drove up. A good thing considering we knew the street but not the exact house. Garden. I liked that. It sounded very lovely and European. From now on I would refer to my own yard as my garden as soon as I got home.
We decided to tell Jane we had just stopped by Wanda’s but no one was home. I just hoped Jane hadn’t just been over to Wanda’s for tea and cookies, but judging by the amount of dirt all over her, the chance seemed slim.
The Tillingsworth house was smaller than the others in the area but nicely kept. It was built of a cozy brick, which looked very old but probably wasn’t. Green wooden shudders hung on all the windows with little wrought-iron clasps to keep them in place during a storm. Large rhododendrons formed a nice border along the front and the walkway was edged with pansies, or were they petunias? Though I loved them I am not good at identifying flowers, with the exception of lilacs. They’re my favorite.
Jane looked up as we approached, the scowl permanently in place. “Over at Wanda’s, were you?”
“Yes, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone home.” I held my breath and hoped we didn’t get caught in the lie.
“I saw her drive away about twenty minutes ago. You must have just missed her.”
“We got a little lost trying to find our way back to the main road,” I lied again.
“Yes, it can be a bit tricky. Lots of blind alleys around here.”
“Blind alleys?” Sam asked.
“I believe you Americans call it a dead-end or cul-de-sac.”
“Oh. Yeah, we noticed,” I said.
Sam and I stood there in awkward silence while Jane continued to pull weeds.
“Well, that’ll have to do for now.” Jane rose to an upright position. “I’ve been at it for hours and my back is killing me. Care for a drink? I was just about to have one. You might as well join me because the summer school down the road gets out in about a minute and you’ll be in a gridlock behind all the mothers picking up their little ones.”
Without waiting for an answer, Jane gathered up her things and walked to the front door. Sam and I followed just as two little things—dachshunds, at a better look, yapped at our feet.
“Don’t mind them, they don’t bite but they’ll lick you to death. Just push them away.”
I bent down to pet the two tiny little bodies. One male, the other female, they were dark brown in color with a long coat. True to Jane’s warning, they proceeded to lick my hands, feet, and face when I bent closer.
“Tennison, Morse! Stop that right now. The pair of you.” The two dogs jumped off of me and ran toward the kitchen. “They’re just puppies. I got them about six months ago.”
I recognized the names from two British shows I used to watch on PBS. “I like their names. I used to watch Morse and Prime Suspect.”
“Yes, two of my favorite shows as well. What’ll you have? I’ve got coffee, tea, water, Pepsi.” She looked up at us while she kicked off her dirty green boots.
“Whatever is easiest,” I offered as we followed Jane into the kitchen. Tennison and Morse were sitting in two little baskets by the back door.
“Tea it is, then. Why don’t you go through to the lounge and I’ll bring it in.”
Assuming the lounge was the living room, Sam and I went in and took a seat. The room was heavy in chintz and houseplants. They were everywhere. The floors were hardwood, highly polished, and in good condition, with several rugs scattered around. Beside the plants, Jane liked pictures. Framed photos occupied every place not already taken by a plant. Sam reached over and turned on a small lamp on an antique table. Though it was summer, and still afternoon, clouds had rolled in seemingly within seconds and darkened the room. One thing we were beginning to understand since our arrival in Belgium was the weather—never take it for
granted because it could change, literally, from one minute to the next.
The house, though charming and warm, was not the large monstrosity the other ex-pat families seemed to live in. There was a small formal dining room off to one side forming an L-shape, and other than this good-sized room, kitchen, and garage, there didn’t seem to be anything else on the first floor, or rez-de-chaussee, as it was called in Belgium. Obviously, all ex-pats didn’t have the same perks-package.
“Here we go.” Jane carried a flowered tray laden with a delicate china pot and three cups and saucers. She reached behind her and turned on another lamp. “It looks like rain.”
“Has it been forecast?” I asked.
“You don’t need a forecast in this country,” Jane said abruptly. I took no offense as I was realizing it was just her style. “You just look out the window several times a day. The weatherman never gets it right anyway, changes too quickly. Much like England.” She poured tea for us and seated herself on the floor in front of the coffee table.
“What part of England are you from?” I took a sip of a marvelous blend.
“Manchester. A very gloomy place, but there you have it.”
If memory served, I knew Manchester indeed was a bit gloomy and very industrial. Probably not the place where Jane picked up her very polished accent.
“Have you been in Belgium long?” I asked then.
“Several years. We like it.” Jane’s long fingers wrapped around a small milk pitcher. She poured quite a bit into her cup. “We bought this house, so I guess we’ll stay for a while.”
“I would imagine it’s a lot easier for you to go home than it is for people like Wanda,” I said.
“I don’t go home. There’s nothing in Manchester I want to see. We do go to London often. Shopping, Malcolm’s family. Belgium is very expensive but I guess we’re lucky to be able to go over as often as we do.”