Murder at the PTA Luncheon

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Hi, Sue. Have you been napping? You sound sleepy.”

  “No,” Susan lied, recognizing Charline’s voice and hating to admit her fatigue.

  “Susan, I’m calling because I don’t know who we can get to run the fund-raising committee next year. Jan and Paula were going to do it again, you know.”

  They were? Then they were probably both glad to be dead, Susan thought. Anything to escape that responsibility two years in a row. Why would they volunteer to do it again?

  “And we’re going to have to look for substitutes right away. You know how long it could take to find someone willing to do it. Any ideas?”

  This wasn’t what she wanted to think about now, but Charline was right. It did have to be done. She tried to focus on the problem. “Well, who did you ask to do it before you talked Jan and Paula into doing it again?”

  “No one.”

  “No one?”

  “That’s right. In fact, we didn’t even have to ask them to repeat. Jan volunteered to Julia right before she died.”

  “Right before she died? How soon before she died? That day?” Was there some sort of pattern here? Something she should tell Brett?

  “Well, it wasn’t her dying words, if that’s what you’re getting at. She called a few days before the luncheon. I think the Sunday before. And she said that she and Paula had such a good time that they were willing to do it another year. At least, that’s what Julia told me.”

  “Did Paula know that Jan had volunteered them both?” Susan thought about Paula last year: how tired and overworked she had seemed, how endlessly she had complained about the hours she was putting in on the two school fairs, of the bitching about the phone calls that interrupted her family’s mealtimes, of Jan’s bossiness, and what an irritant it all was.

  “Of course, we thought of that right away. But when Julia called her, Paula said she thought it was a great idea …”

  “What?” Susan couldn’t believe that.

  “Honest. Julia called and told Paula that Jan had volunteered them both for next year’s chairpeople and Paula said great. That the whole year had been a lot of fun and that it would be easier to do a second time. I was in the room when Julia called and she let me hear the answer. We thought that Paula had had a nervous breakdown after all the crabbing she did all year long.”

  “But you accepted her offer?”

  “Of course we did. Do you know how hard it is to find someone willing to do that shit?” Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence and Susan knew they were both remembering that Charline had convinced her to run the fund-raising committee the year before—and had convinced her by telling her what fun it would be. Charline rushed back to the subject. “So, anyway, we never asked anyone else for next year. Do you have any ideas? Julia is going off to Rome in a week and we’d really like to get this settled before then.”

  “I can’t help you, Charline. I really don’t know anyone who’s willing to take on that task.” And I certainly wouldn’t recommend one of my friends to do what you yourself call “that shit,” would I? she added to herself. “But I’ll think about it and if I get any ideas, I’ll pass them on to you. Okay?”

  “Fine.” Charline sounded so complacent that Susan began to wonder if this really was the reason for the call. “So what’s happening in your life?” Charline asked politely.

  “Not too much. I was just thinking about …” She paused, wondering what she could say she had been thinking about. “I was wondering what to wear to the funeral tomorrow morning,” she finished her sentence, as her eyes fell on the hand-written note left near the phone. It read, “Susan, Paula Porter’s funeral is being held tomorrow at noon at the First Presbyterian. Burial immediately after. Do I need to call in and tell them I’ll be late for work, or can you do this alone? Love, Jed.”

  “Oh, I bought a wonderful black sundress last month. Not too naked or anything. I thought I would wear that,” Charline said and then stopped suddenly.

  She’d probably realized that the funeral of a woman who was willing to do “that shit” for two years in a row shouldn’t be considered a fashion show, Susan thought.

  “Whoever imagined that we would be going to two funerals for two PTA members in the same year?” Charline continued. “I get so frightened sometimes.”

  “Frightened?”

  “Of course. Don’t you think it’s a little odd that two PTA members have been murdered? Two of us?”

  “Well, I …”

  “Two members of the board, not just members,” Charline went on, warming to her subject. “Not officers, exactly, but they were chairpeople of a very important committee.”

  Susan had a sudden vision of masked men carrying machine guns bursting into a PTA meeting, crying, “Officers and committee chairpersons first!” She swallowed a giggle. She was tired, that’s all, just tired. “I don’t think they were killed just because they were PTA members, Charline.”

  “You don’t? What else did they have in common?”

  What else indeed?

  “What do the police think?”

  “The police?” Susan tried to sound noncommittal, now knowing why Charline had called.

  “Susan, everyone in town knows that gorgeous Brett Fortesque has practically lived at your house ever since Paula was killed. Surely you know what their investigation is about … what they’re thinking of?”

  “They just ask questions, Charline. They don’t give out information.”

  “But you must know something!” The voice implied that if she, Charline, had the same contact with the police, she would certainly know something—and probably quite a lot.

  “Well, of course …” Shut up, Susan, she ordered herself. The only way to prove you know something is to tell her. Was she going to do that? She made up her mind. “Of course, I do know more than others in town, but the police, especially Brett, have asked me to be discreet.” She smiled in a rather nasty way, but after all, she was human. “I would tell you if I could. You know that,” she added, knowing that Charline knew just the opposite.

  “Well …” There was a pause. “Let me know if you think of anyone to replace Jan and Paula. Ta.”

  There was a click and the phone went dead. Susan put down her receiver and she was smiling. It wasn’t often that she got the best of Charline Voos, but oh, how she enjoyed it when she did. But that wasn’t the point, she reminded herself. The point was that Jan and Paula had volunteered for a second year of the most thankless and hardest job the PTA offered. Why? Could it possibly have anything to do with their deaths? Deaths that followed—at least in Jan’s case—within a few days of their generous offer to Julia. It was probably a coincidence that Brett and Kathleen should hear about. She reached out for the phone and then stopped herself. Wouldn’t it be nice if she could give them more than a little bit of information? Maybe she should wait and see if she could come up with more.

  What more?

  Well, just how many people knew that Paula and Jan were going to do the same job next year? That was what the police would want to know, wasn’t it?

  And how would they find out the answer?

  Good question. Well, maybe they would just ask people, and she could do that herself.

  Of course. This time she reached for the phone with assurance. She would call Martha Hallard. Martha was pretty good friends with Julia and Charline. At least, she was closer to them than Susan was, and besides, Martha knew what was going on in town as well as anyone. And with a lot of luck, she might even find her at home.

  She wasn’t. Dan answered the phone. Susan had the presence of mind to remember the party last night gave her an excuse for calling. “Dan, I was just calling to talk to Marty. But I may as well thank you for the lovely evening last night. Everything was wonderful. As usual,” she gushed.

  “Well, I don’t know how Marty does it, with all that she has to do, but she always puts on a good party, I think,” Dan said. Neither of the Hallards was ever loath to sing the other’s prai
se. Reflected glory and all that, Susan thought.

  “Well, we do thank you for asking us, Dan,” she continued out loud. “And, by the way, I do have some questions for Marty. If you will just tell her that I called?”

  “Thinking of selling your house? Need more room? You aren’t going to add to your family without letting me know?” her obstetrician kidded.

  This was one of the disadvantages of having your doctor as a personal friend, Susan thought. “Now you’d be the first to know, Dan,” she answered as gaily as possible when she really wanted to gag. It was a good thing Dan Hallard was a good doctor because his jovial bedside manner was a little too fifties for her taste. “It’s just some PTA business. I won’t bother you with it.”

  “You gals. Still busy with school even in the summertime.”

  “You’ll tell her I called?”

  “Of course. Of course. Say hi to Jed for me, will you?”

  After more small—very small—talk, Dan Hallard hung up. But Susan wasn’t going to let things rest. If Martha wasn’t home, she would have to wait. So who else would know? Possibly Fanny Berman, she decided. Not only had she been treasurer of the PTA last year, but she and Julia were good friends. So Fanny it was.

  This time she was lucky. Not only was Fanny at home, but she had a ready answer to the question. No, she didn’t know that Jan and Paula were going to repeat their posts.

  “But that’s good news,” Fanny suggested.

  “Why?”

  “Because it means that none of the PTA members could possibly be suspects.”

  “Just how do you figure that?”

  “Because we wouldn’t want them dead. Now Julia and Charline are going to be calling around and trying to talk some poor sucker into that job. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to answer my phone until I hear that they’ve found someone. You know how persuasive they can be.”

  Susan laughed. “Then how are you going to hear that someone has said yes?”

  “Good question. But I’d rather remain ignorant than be badgered to work. I was planning to cut back on my involvement next year. I’m going back to school, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Their conversation changed directions and it wasn’t until Susan had heard all about Fanny’s plans to return to NYU and finish her graduate degree in social work that she hung up and returned to her investigation.

  So whom to call next? she asked herself, her hand on the phone. Maybe …

  There was a sharp pain in the back of her head and she knew she was falling to the floor.

  FOURTEEN

  On waking, her first thought was that it was true that people did see stars when they were knocked unconscious.

  “I was hit on the head,” she informed Kathleen, who was hovering above her. “I saw stars.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Kathleen said. “Are you feeling nauseous or faint?”

  “My heard hurts.”

  “It must. Can you get up or shall we carry you to the couch?”

  “I think someone hit me,” Susan told her, putting her hand on the back of her skull. Was she going to have an egg just like a little kid? Well, why not?

  “Yes, I think someone hit you,” Kathleen agreed. “Why don’t you just not say anything and let us get you off the floor? Unless you think we ought to call the doctor?”

  “No.”

  “Or maybe you should go to an emergency room,” she suggested.

  “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll get myself on the couch,” Susan said. She lay back on the pillow that Kathleen had placed under her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brett talking on the phone. “Who’s he talking to?” she asked.

  “Hancock Police. We’re putting out an all-points to find the man that hit you.”

  Susan sat up. “You mean you know who did it?” she asked, but the effort was too much for her and she was forced to lie back down.

  “Don’t overdo,” Kathleen ordered. “No,” she continued, “we don’t know who it is, but we were able to send out a reasonable description: adult middle-aged male, Caucasian, blond hair, about six feet tall, wearing jeans, running shoes, polo shirt, with a cotton sweater hung over his shoulders …”

  “But that description fits all the men in Hancock who aren’t brunette or bald,” Susan protested.

  “Well, he can’t have gone far. We might have a chance of getting him if he’s hiding out in someone’s yard. But, of course, if he lives nearby and just ducked back into his own home, well …”

  “A car. How do you know he didn’t just get into a car?”

  “He ran off through your backyard …”

  “Someone saw him?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. We saw him, but just his back.”

  “You saw him and you didn’t catch him?”

  Brett had hung up the phone, and coming over to the two women, heard Susan’s question.

  “You mean saving your life wasn’t enough? You wanted us to catch the potential murderer too?”

  “Potential murderer?”

  “Well, he would have qualified as a full-fledged murderer if he had succeeded in what he set out to do.”

  “We arrived here in time to scare away the man who hit you,” Kathleen explained. “In fact, if you had locked your door or if you hadn’t made so much noise when you hit the floor, you’d probably be dead.”

  “He tried to kill me by hitting me over the head?” Susan asked.

  “Probably not, but look at this.” Kathleen held up a long slender strip of plastic that had once held packing cases together. “Whoever he is, he had this around your neck when we came into the room.” Susan put her hand to her neck. She could feel no evidence of this story. “I was knocked out and then this man was going to strangle me?”

  “It looks like that. When he saw us enter the room, he dashed into the hall and through the kitchen and out the back door.”

  “Which means that he knew the floor plan of the house. That he must have been here before. That he might even be a … friend.” Susan closed her eyes and let that sink in.

  “But you must have known that the person who killed Jan and Paula is someone you know, someone you see all the time, probably,” Brett said.

  “I’ve tried not to think about it,” Susan answered. “I don’t know how to deal with the thought that I know a murderer. And now I have to think that he tried to murder me.” She struggled to her feet.

  “You should lie down,” Kathleen urged, but not convincingly. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep still if she had just been told someone had tried to kill her.

  “You think the man who tried to kill me is the same one who killed Jan and Paula?” Susan asked, standing shakily.

  “There’s no way of knowing that,” Brett answered. “We’ve been assuming that the same person murdered both women because the method used was identical and the poison content the same.”

  “And this is different,” Susan offered.

  “Yes, and it isn’t the same type of crime.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, both Jan’s and Paula’s deaths were planned. It’s not likely that someone just dropped by and put poison in their food. Those crimes were thought out. This seems more spur-of-the-moment. And there was a real risk that someone would just walk in on him, like we did. It’s Sunday evening. Most of your neighbors are home or coming home. Anyone could have walked in while he was sliding that piece of plastic around your neck.”

  “But neither of the other murders took place in private. That’s one of the things I don’t understand about them. They both happened in such public places,” Susan said.

  “I know. But think of it this way: a public place, especially when it’s full of people, is a good place to hide. How many suspects do we have for the two murders? But if you come into a room with one dead woman and one very much alive man, you have a pretty good reason to suspect that the man is the murderer. And, as I was saying, anyone could have come into
the room and found this man here. I think he took a great risk. He must have been desperate.”

  “Desperate?” Susan squeaked, supporting herself against the sofa with her hands.

  “He must have a very good and immediate reason for wanting you dead,” Brett explained.

  “Why?” Susan sat down. There seemed little point to being brave and strong when the police were saying that someone was desperate to kill her.

  “I don’t know. I think you do, but maybe you just don’t know that you know,” was Brett’s answer.

  “You don’t know that you know what?”

  Susan and the two police officers looked up at Jed standing in the doorway. “What don’t you know?” he repeated, entering the room.

  “Oh, Jed, someone tried to kill me,” Susan cried, rushing to him and relishing the security of his arms.

  “I have a feeling that I’ve missed another exciting event in your life,” he said, holding her tighter despite the half-kidding tone of his voice. “Is someone going to explain what’s been going on?” he asked.

  “Oh, Jed. Wait. Where is Chad?” Susan asked, thinking she didn’t want her son to hear about this.

  “He’s over at the Rands’. We ran into Malcolm and Teddy at the game and Chad was asked for dinner and to spend the night. I said I thought it would be okay, but that I would check with you and, if you agreed, we’d take his clothes over after our own dinner. I was hoping we could get rid of Chrissy and go over to the Inn, but I have a feeling that isn’t going to work out, is it?”

  “Actually, it’s an excellent idea, if Susan’s feeling up to it.”

  Susan stared at Brett. What did he have to do with this? Why should she go out with her husband? What about that talk she was going to have with Chrissy, come to think of it? But she reconsidered; she could use a good meal in a nice setting. “Why don’t you call the Inn and make reservations, and I’ll try to find someplace for Chrissy to stay? I’m not feeling that bad.”

  “Don’t worry about Chrissy. Kathleen can fix her something to eat here,” Brett offered. Kathleen gave him a dirty look, but said nothing.

  “Well, then it’s just a matter of getting reservations and going,” Jed said, picking up the phone. “You can tell me what happened today while we eat,” he added.