“I have to call Chrissy,” Susan insisted.
“You can let us worry about her,” Kathleen said. “You get your clothes changed and go. We’ll make sure Chrissy is taken care of. Maybe I should help you get dressed …”
“No, I’m fine. A good meal will help, I’m sure.” She didn’t sound sure, but no one argued, so she got on with the job. But Susan wasn’t going to ignore her daughter. One phone call and she knew that Chrissy was still with Nickie and was thrilled to stay there for dinner. So, with her children taken care of, Susan decided to ignore the horrors of the last hour and enjoy herself. She put on a new blue dress, fixed her hair, and spent a little extra time on her makeup, trying out the new eye shadow colors that she had received as a bonus with a recent purchase of cologne. When she was finished, Jed had showered and shaved and was ready to go.
“Ready?” she asked as he walked into the room wearing a navy sports jacket over his usual summer chinos.
“I sure am. New dress?”
“Yes, do you like it?”
“Terrific. We’d better hurry. I made the reservation for seven and that was five minutes ago.”
But they were well known at the Inn, and arriving fifteen minutes late didn’t keep them from getting a table in the better part of the room. The Hancock Inn was a direct descendant of the 1774 original on the outside. From its cobbled drive to its wooden gutters, it was as close to the Revolutionary original as money, time, and research could make it. Inside was another story. Shunning wide-planked floors, muskets over the fireplace, and wooden paneling, the Inn’s most recent decorator had chosen to pickle the beams, lighten the floors, and scatter French country prints wherever possible. Susan loved it.
The food was as light as the decor, and Susan was just beginning her appetizer of bay scallops when she noticed that, around the corner, were two people she knew: Brett and Kathleen. From the position of their table, she knew that she wasn’t supposed to see them, but that they planned on watching her. She put down her fork with a bang.
“Something wrong with the food?” Jed asked, looking up from his melon.
“It’s fine,” she replied, looking at him carefully. “You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?”
“You know that I’m being watched. I was just thinking how nice it was that you weren’t asking me a lot of questions about this afternoon. But you don’t have to ask any questions, do you? Kathleen or Brett have told you everything. Including that they’re watching me.”
Jed surveyed her angry face and put down his fork. “You’re right,” he said slowly. “I thought you might act this way …”
“This way …” Her voice was louder than she had meant it to be and some of the diners looked toward their table.
Jed put his hand over hers. “Susan, you couldn’t expect me to ignore what’s happened. Darling, someone wants to kill you. Tried to kill you. You need protection.”
She thought about what he was saying and then picked up her fork. The scallops were really too good to waste. She finished off her portion before looking at her husband. “Okay,” she started, putting down her fork again. “But am I going to be watched forever?”
“Just until this maniac is caught. We were planning to tell you about it. Actually, we have to. Kathleen is moving into our guest room tonight. I just wanted you to have a good meal and make sure you were feeling better before telling you. I suppose it wasn’t a good idea.”
Susan sighed and watched Jed spoon melon into his mouth. She was going to say something, but the wine steward arrived with the list for Jed, except, since they were known here, he gave it to Susan. She was the wine expert in the family. She had taken a few courses in wine at the New School before the kids were born and Jed had happily left the selection to her after that.
“Chateau Gris seventy-six,” she ordered. “How are you, Pierre?” she asked of the man writing down her order. His name wasn’t Pierre except professionally, but in all the time they had been coming here, Susan had never learned his real name.
“We could ask them to join us,” she suggested to her husband when they were alone again, nodding at Brett and Kathleen in case there was any doubt whom she meant.
“Not on your life. I want to be alone with my wife” was the answer.
“Because you think it may be a long time before we’re alone again?”
“Not necessarily.”
But his answer came too quickly for Susan to believe. “You do think that. You know it. We won’t be alone until they’ve caught the murderer.” But Pierre’s return, the activity that surrounded opening a bottle of fine wine in a chic restaurant, and the arrival of their food interrupted their conversation. Around the corner, almost out of sight, but not quite, Kathleen and Brett were not to know the luxury of any break.
“You think she knows something?” Kathleen was asking, picking the Crenshaw melon, the same appetizer Jed had eaten.
“She must. Why else would she suddenly become a target for the murderer?”
“Why would she hide it from us?”
“I don’t think she would. She just knows something that she doesn’t know she knows, just like I was telling her when her husband came in.”
“You mean …”
“Or maybe the killer just thinks that she knows something. But that’s not what interests me most,” Brett continued.
“What does?”
“Either she didn’t know it until recently or else the killer didn’t know until recently that she knew it.”
“Because he just tried to kill her today,” Kathleen confirmed, catching on to what he was talking about.
“Nothing, just iced tea for both of us.” Brett interrupted their conversation to chase away the wine steward. “I know it seems a shame to have a good meal like this without wine, but I think we had better stay as clearheaded as possible. Do you mind?”
“No, I agree. I’m feeling a little strange about moving my things into the Henshaws’ guest room without Susan knowing. I hope he’s telling her now.” She looked over her shoulder at the woman they were guarding.
“I’m sure he will. I’ve called the locals and there will be men stationed outside, too.”
“You spoke to John Mann and told him what was going on?”
“Sure did. It surprised him, but he immediately called in some off-duty officers and will have the guards set up before we get back from here. He’s really cooperating with us. The locals may not be as incompetent as I first thought … Thank you,” he said to the waiter who was serving him. “No salad dressing?” he asked Kathleen, after their food had arrived and they were alone again.
“Only oil and vinegar and some herbs—more French,” she explained.
So she ate in a lot of places like this, Brett thought to himself. Not on her salary. Must be the reporter. He sighed.
“Did you say something?” asked Kathleen, hearing his sigh.
“No. I was just sighing. You know,” he added before she could ask why, “I was just thinking. There’s too much going on here: drugs, PTA jealousies, women having affairs with kids … I feel like I’m missing something. Something significant.”
Kathleen looked down at her food: breast of duck, braised fennel, gnocchi. It looked wonderful and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate on it. Alas. “Maybe if we go over everything in order?” she suggested.
“Excellent idea.” Brett cut into his beef fillet and tasted it. Delicious. He’d eat in more places like this, too, if he could afford it.
“So we start with the murder of Jan Ick,” Kathleen suggested.
“No, we start with two things: one, Kevin Dobbs became involved with a group of kids who use drugs sometime in the spring or late winter of the last school year; and two, Ellen Cooper and Susan Henshaw volunteer to be co-presidents of the PTA—”
“And before that, Carol Mann told Julia Ames that she was interested in becoming vice-president, don’t forget,” Kathleen interrupted.
“
Okay. Number two is that Carol Mann, Ellen Cooper, and Susan Henshaw all wanted to be on the executive board of the PTA, and all were turned down,” he amended. “And three, Jan Ick calls Julia Ames and offers the services of herself and Paula Porter for the fund-raising committee for the following year.”
“Wait! How do you know that?”
“What? Oh, you mean about Jan and Paula volunteering for the fund-raising committee?”
“Exactly.”
“Easy. I read a note by the phone. Haven’t you noticed how Susan always picks up a pencil or pen and scribbles while she’s on the phone? Even during short conversations? Well, I noticed a freshly filled page of a scratch pad by their phone while you were checking to see if she had a concussion. The message was very clear.” He stopped and took a second bite of his rapidly cooling meal.
“And?”
“Now wait for me to tell you,” he insisted as she started to interrupt. “It said, and I quote, ‘Jan Ick called and said that she and Paula Porter would repeat their jobs as co-chairmen of the fund-raising committee.’ Exclamation point. Exclamation point. ‘Without being asked.’ Exclamation point. Exclamation point. Ex——”
“I get the idea,” she interrupted.
“But not the whole story,” he said, chewing the food her interruption had given him time to consume.
“What else was there?”
“Well, after the second series of exclamation points were four very interesting words: ‘before the PTA lunch.’ Then there were a lot more ex …”
“Exclamation points. Yes, I know. But let’s go back to the beginning. I don’t see how Kevin’s involvement in drugs could possibly have anything to do with Jan’s death.”
“Neither do I, but I won’t leave it out. It may be involved in some way. In fact, I think it was …”
“Possibly the murderer wanted to kill Paula the first time and Jan ate the poisoned food accidentally?” Kathleen offered.
“I don’t think so,” Brett said. “I think that food was meant for Jan. Remember more than two months went by before Paula was killed. There didn’t seem to be much hurry to get rid of her, and there might have been if the killer had killed the wrong person on the first try.”
“Okay. But the only things we can find in common between Paula and Jan is their involvement in the same committee. We don’t know that Jan was involved in drugs in any way …”
“Let me write that down,” Brett suggested. He took a small notebook out of his pocket and scribbled a few words. “That drug connection is certainly something we want to check out. And while we’re at it, we could use more information about just what the fund-raising committee did last year and what it was planning to do in the coming year.”
“You think the PTA activity had something to do with the murders?” Kathleen was incredulous.
“I don’t see how it couldn’t; it’s a common theme running throughout this whole investigation.”
“Well, okay.” Kathleen conceded the point. “So what’s next?”
“Well, number four is Jan Ick’s murder.”
“Okay.”
“And next in order is that Kevin was at the Ames house the day of the murder. So Kevin is number five.”
“Then he has to be number six, too,” Kathleen said. “Because number six has to be that Kevin and Paula started taking drugs together—with or without sex. Because people talked about their affair starting in the early summer and the drug use must have begun at about the same time.”
“Yes, so six is Kevin and Paula’s involvement. And seven is Paula’s murder. And eight is Kevin’s disappearance—whether he was kidnapped or ran away. And nine is …”
“Is the attempt on Susan’s life,” Kathleen finished for him.
“Right.”
“And so what do we have?” Kathleen asked, eating more of her meal.
“Beats the hell out of me.”
“Okay. If we’re going to list events, maybe we should also list the questions,” Kathleen suggested.
“I think that list would run somewhere close to a thousand items. I feel like all I have are questions.”
“Like what? I’m not sure I even know what to look for anymore.”
“You’re not the only one.” He stopped talking and started eating again, but the steak didn’t seem quite as tender, nor the potatoes as flavorful. Damn. An investigation always did this to him. He hated unanswered questions. He was almost incapable of living with loose ends. And right now that was all he had. That and two dead women, one lost boy, and another woman with a lump on her head.
“Shit.” He put down his fork.
“You don’t know where to start,” Kathleen diagnosed his comment.
“Oh, I know where to start. I just don’t know how to find out what it is that Susan Henshaw knows that threatens the murderer so much if she herself doesn’t know what it is.”
“You think that’s the most important part of this investigation?”
“I think that if we can find out what it is, even if it does not solve the murders, us knowing could keep Susan alive. And I’d rather be investigating two murders than three.”
He returned to his food, and Kathleen, seeing that he needed time to think, returned to hers. And she was thinking too. Thinking hard, because she felt that she had been no help at all solving these crimes. She ate automatically and sifted through the information. Somewhere, she thought, somewhere there must be a connecting link between all nine events, but it wasn’t until dessert that she had decided what it must be: drugs. Over vanilla mousse, she offered this suggestion to Brett.
“Yes.” He agreed it did seem like the connection. “We still don’t know how Jan Ick was involved—or the PTA—but it seems to me that drugs are the likely answer to a lot of our questions. You know,” he continued, “I’d like to know more about the import/export business that the Ameses and the Vooses run. That might give us some information. I can get the people in Hartford to look around for us. Maybe the company isn’t exactly what it’s supposed to be. They’ll have the contacts with the federal customs people who might know something.”
“I’ll check with my friends in the narcotics squad, too. There may be more there than we know. What else?”
“Let’s find out more about Jan Ick. Maybe it’s because her death is further in the past, but I don’t feel I know very much about her. Besides the fact that she was bossy.”
“You know, I wonder if this doesn’t go back to Jan. I wonder if Paula realized that she knew something—either about that death or about something going on in the fund-raising committee or just about Jan Ick herself, and that’s why she was killed, Brett.”
“Well, that’s a possibility.”
“It’s more than a possibility. It’s like Susan’s murder attempt. I mean, the attempt on her life. You think she knows something and so she has to be killed to protect the murderer. Why not the same for Paula?”
“Well, Paula’s death doesn’t seem so impromptu. I keep thinking that the man who hit Susan on the head tonight took a terrible risk. Anyone could have walked in on him. But Paula’s death was like Jan’s. Someone placed the poison where they knew the victim would eat it and then the murderer walked back into the crowd and waited for it to happen.”
“But how did they know it was going to kill the right person? How did they know Jan would eat the sandwich? Of course, Paula could be expected to drink the lea from her own glass, but how did that particular sandwich end up on Jan’s plate?”
“I think,” Brett said gently, pushing aside the remains of his cake, “I think this is where we came in.”
FIFTEEN
“You might glance over at who just came in yourself,” Kathleen said. “And they’re heading straight for the Henshaws.”
“Well, look at that.” His voice picked up interest. “Look at that. No—I was just using that expression—don’t look! You look at me and, no, move a little to the left to shield me. No, I mean your right. Great, now stay there.” He
was silent for a moment. “I can’t wait to hear what they’re saying.”
Brett was interrupted when the waiter appeared to refill their coffee cups. He noticed where they were looking. “Ah, I see the Vooses found the Henshaws,” he commented casually.
“They were looking for them?” Brett asked, equally casual.
“Yes. I was at the desk turning in some charges a few minutes ago and the Vooses called. Actually, I believe it was Mr. Lars Voos who called and asked if the Henshaws were dining with us tonight. He said he needed to talk to Mr. Jed Henshaw about something. That it was urgent.”
“And you told him that the Henshaws were here?” Kathleen asked.
“No, I was just there turning in my receipts. I told them nothing, but Mrs. Turner, she is hostess here, told them. Usually, of course, we keep the identity of our patrons confidential. Of course …” He stopped.
“Of course,” Brett soothed, praying the man wasn’t going to stop now. “But you know both these couples and so …”
The waiter was quick on the uptake. “Of course. That’s right. We know both couples so well and we know that they are good friends and have many things to talk about, so of course we tell Mr. Lars Voos where he could find his good friends.”
“That just shows what a friendly place Hancock is,” Kathleen said, knowing it was an inane thing to say, but feeling someone had to make the effort, since Brett seemed to have shut up.
Brett appeared to wake up. “You’re sure it was Mr. Lars Voos who asked about the Henshaws?”
“Yes. I remember exactly. Mrs. Turner said Mr. Voos’s name several time on the phone. I’m sure of that.” He suddenly grew suspicious, and, perhaps, aware that he was not living up to the Inn’s reputation for discretion. “You are friends of the Henshaws, too, are you not?” he asked hopefully.
“Yes, very good friends” was Brett’s answer. “We were just giving them some time alone before going over to greet them. A couple deserves an evening out without everyone they know stopping at their table to chat, don’t you think?”
Murder at the PTA Luncheon Page 19