Susan didn’t expect to join them, but Brett insisted that they stay together. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Of course; it’s your canapés that we’re going to talk about, remember?”
“Oh, Susan, they know that you made them,” Ellen breathed.
“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, Ellen.”
“Well, of course, you couldn’t, could you? After all, everyone saw the sign-up sheet for food that was passed around the PTA meeting the month before the luncheon. And your name was right at the top of it with what you were bringing. And, come to think of it, didn’t Martha Hallard ask out loud at that meeting for you to bring the same sandwiches that you had made the year before? Yes, she did. I remember because you were mad that she had suggested it. You told me the next day—”
“Any reason why?” Brett interrupted.
“Because the damn things take forever to make, and when she asked out loud like that, I couldn’t refuse. I mean, when someone says, ‘Oh, will you make those wonderful little sandwiches you brought last year? We all loved them soooooo much,’ you can’t refuse, can you?” Susan asked, knowing damn well that, if she had any spine at all, she would have told Martha Hallard that she didn’t have the time, the energy, or the desire to repeat that particular performance, and that, if she had known how much work they were going to be, she wouldn’t have made them that first time either.
“I thought we were going to talk down at the curb,” she continued, noticing that they were returning to the house.
“No need. You’ve told me just what I wanted to know, Mrs. Cooper,” Brett said. “And you’ve been a very big help.”
“Well, I always try to be,” Ellen said proudly. “I’ll just go take care of the kids, shall I? Oh, my work is never done,” she continued, obviously enjoying the fact.
Brett turned to Susan immediately. “So everyone who was at the meeting the month before the luncheon would have known that you were going to make those canapés?”
“Yes.”
“And did anyone else have the recipe for them? Did anyone else try to make them?”
“I don’t know. Anyone could have, I know that. The recipe comes from Cheers—it’s a cookbook published by the Hancock Historical Society to raise money for a restoration of an old foundation that was found a few years ago out near the reservoirs. Everyone in town bought a copy when it was put out …”
“And that was?”
“Two years ago in the spring. About the time of the PTA lunch that year. A picture of the crab canapés was on the cover and I thought I would try the recipe for the lunch. Everyone raved about them and I would think that everyone knew just where they came from. It took a lot of time. But they did end up looking like the picture on the cover when I was finished.”
“So anyone could have duplicated them. Is that right?” Brett asked, stopping before they arrived at the steps to the front door.
“That’s right.”
“Great.”
Kathleen wondered just what was so great. That “anyone” knew about the canapés being present in advance and “anyone” was able to get a copy of the recipe and “anyone” was able to duplicate them didn’t seem to be much progress to her. Weren’t they ever going to eliminate anyone in this case? It seemed clearer than ever that every one of them could have murdered Mrs. Ick and Mrs. Porter, and that was where they had started.
“Let’s see if John Mann minds us sitting in on his questioning of the Vooses and the Ameses,” Brett suggested, ringing the bell.
“Do you think he might?” Susan asked. Kathleen was still thinking about “anyone.”
“No, I suspect he’ll be glad to see us.”
“Glad?” Kathleen repeated, as the door opened. A uniformed policewoman whom she didn’t recognize stood there.
“I’m afraid that there is confidential police business going on here,” she began.
“We’re here to see Sergeant Mann,” Brett said, holding out his identification for the woman to see. “I think if you tell him that we are here—”
“I’ll be more than happy for their help, Ann.” John appeared in the doorway to the spacious living room. “Why don’t you just go back there with everyone else while I bring these people up to date,” he suggested. She followed his directions immediately.
“I didn’t know we had a woman on the police force,” Susan commented.
“She doesn’t belong to us directly,” John answered. “She’s on loan from the Hartford Narcotics Unit. They sent her down here when they heard we were asking questions about Farnsworth Import/Export. They were very interested in what we’ve been able to find out.”
“And just what is that?”
“Sorry, I should have told you about it sooner. Well, to start at the beginning, Kevin and I called the Vooses and found out that they were having a business meeting with the Ameses at their house. So we came over here and confronted both couples with Kevin’s statement. We have a stenographer who is still trying to translate some of the profanity that resulted from that little confrontation.”
“You mean Miles admitted to selling drugs out of his garden shed?” Kathleen asked, thinking that had been an easy catch.
“Miles Ames didn’t know anything about it. Oh, he or his company have been bringing coke in from South America for some time now, but he thought it was going directly to his own dealers in New York City. He diverted a little once in a while for a private snort or two, and that’s the problem …”
“I don’t understand,” Brett said.
“Sorry. My fault. Let me be more orderly. This is the biggest thing that I’ve ever run into, and I guess I’m a little excited.” He was quiet for a moment before beginning again. “The drugs came in with other products and were distributed to one or two hoods in the City, who passed them along to dealers—the city police will have to do the work there. A small amount of drugs came into Hancock for the Ameses’ and the Vooses’ personal amusement, as it were …”
“They used drugs too!” Susan breathed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please go on.”
“Yes, that’s true. And Julia Ames had the name of the man in the organization who would slip some of the coke out here to her house and then they would have a little party or something. It might have gone on like that forever except that Julia got greedy.”
“You don’t mean … ?” Brett began.
“Yeah, I do. She started having the city contact send out more and more drugs, without her husband knowing. And she started dealing in coke here all by herself.”
Julia Ames is a drug dealer, Susan thought. She would have believed more easily that she was a murderess. Of course, she reminded herself, she might be both.
“She started dealing to the kids?” Kathleen asked, knowing now why she had disliked this woman so much at first sight. In her mind a murderess was almost preferable to a dealer, if the dealer was dealing to children.
“Yes, her baby-sitter first of all, if you can believe that,” John said ruefully.
“That’s right. Amanda Gordon used to sit for her,” Susan cried. “I remember thinking of that when Kevin was talking about the kids who were arrested last spring. In fact, she had recommended her to me when I was having trouble getting any of my regulars.” She stopped, thinking how close she had come to putting her own kids into the drug world. “Oh, God,” she muttered, wondering if she would ever be able to trust anyone again. Kathleen reached over and put her arm around her shoulders, seeming to know how she felt. Susan was glad of the support.
“Anyway,” John Mann continued, “she was selling the drugs through the gardener that Kevin told us about. She must have thought that the kids were pretty stupid not to realize that a guy who can hardly speak English isn’t going to be dealing drugs all by himself. Or maybe she thought that everyone would think that someone else was his partner or something. I suppose that we’re lucky that Kevin saw her and Charline watching the transaction that day. If the gardener had told us it was Julia
or Charline and they had denied it, we might have had some trouble proving it.”
“Have they admitted it then?” Kathleen asked.
“When Kevin told the story of seeing them, they both started blaming each other. Such screaming and hollering—you wouldn’t believe they were good friends. Right now we don’t know exactly what is true or when Charline became involved. Everything is rather a mess in there.” He indicated the living room. “But they’re all making sure that they don’t take the fall for this one alone. Miles Ames was real surprised that his wife was taking in money on the side. Seems he had no idea this was going on and still doesn’t know what the money was for. They’ll have time to get it all straightened out, though. And they’re going to need lawyers to defend them. Right now, everyone is accusing everyone else of everything …”
“Of murder?” Kathleen asked quickly.
“Well, not of murder. Not yet, but I’ll bet that’s coming. Lars Voos just confessed to trying to strangle you, Susan. Seems he thought you were getting a little too close to their drug activities. Said something about you seeing him and Mrs. Voos in the bushes at the Hallards’ party Saturday night.”
“They were …” Susan began.
“Snorting coke,” he filled in for her.
Susan shook her head. Was she ever going to know what really went on?
“Do you want to come in now?” Sergeant Mann asked.
“I think we’ll let you handle it, John,” Brett said.
“I …” Kathleen began.
“Why don’t you meet us at your office downtown later, after all this is sorted out,” Brett suggested, interrupting Kathleen before she could protest. “We’ll be at the Henshaws’, if Susan doesn’t mind.” He looked for her agreement and got it. “You’ll arrest everyone and keep them in jail overnight, won’t you?”
“Yes, that’s what we always do. Although we only have two cells. Well, I’ll call you when we get there.” He returned to the living room, presumably thinking about dividing two cells among two married couples and the gardener, if the gardener could be found.
Kathleen was professional enough to wait until they were in the car and out of range of the people in the house to blow up. Then she let Brett have it.
“Are you so damn sure that this murder has nothing to do with those people in there? With all this mess about drugs and drug dealing, you are willing to just turn your back on that house and go off without getting any more information? Are you so sure that you don’t need to know any more about the Vooses, the Ameses, Kevin …”
“No,” Brett answered, quietly and firmly enough to stop Kathleen’s ranting. “But, and I will repeat this—I think I know what happened at the PTA lunch that day and I think I know how the murder of Jan Ick was carried out and, yes, I do think I know who did it. Now I have some questions to ask Susan, if she doesn’t mind, and I have some thinking to do. If you want to go back to the Ames house and sit in on that interview, I will be happy to turn this car around and take you back there. You certainly don’t have to follow me around. If you think you know who the murderer is, and you think you know a better course for an investigation to follow, then please say so. I don’t want to cramp your style or anything,” he ended quietly.
Shit, Kathleen thought. She knew that he had her trapped. She didn’t know where he was going. She didn’t know enough to be sure whether he was right or wrong. But she did know that she wanted to be around when and if the last pieces of this puzzle fell into place.
“I’ll stay with you.” And dammit, you better know what you’re doing, she thought.
“Is there any particular reason for going to my house?” Susan asked. “I mean, I know that you told John he could call you there, but what I’m asking is: Is there anything you’re looking for there? I mean …” She knew that she wasn’t explaining well.
“I need to think and I want to go over this with you again,” Brett answered. “I just thought that your house would be convenient. I don’t expect to find cyanide stashed away in the bathroom medicine chest, if that’s what you’re asking. You should have figured out by now that I don’t think you’re a murderess.” He flashed a smile at her in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks.” She wondered if there was anything left in the house to offer them for lunch. Was it possible that four days had gone by without her being inside a grocery store? The last time she could say that, she had been in the hospital giving birth to Chad.
Susan half-expected to find someone from her family home when she got there, but there wasn’t even a note on the kitchen table. It looked as if she was the first to arrive.
The phone rang as she entered the kitchen.
“Hello?”
“Susan, hi. It’s Marty. Listen, I know that the police are there with you. I can see their car out my living room window. You probably can’t talk as freely as you would like, but you have to tell me: Do they know who did it?”
“Did what?” Susan asked, mentally calling herself a bitch for doing it.
“Killed Jan and Paula, of course. Now I know that the police have Kevin Dobbs with them—not that I would tell anybody. Nancy called here and asked me if I know the name of a good criminal lawyer. She was so upset that she told Dan that it was Kevin they needed him for—the lawyer, I mean.”
“Did you know one?” Susan asked, thinking of a friend of theirs who had a thriving criminal practice in the City.
“Yes. Dan’s brother. Remember? I know you’ve met him at some of our parties. Anyway, Nancy was so upset that Dan thought that he should go over to her house and check on her. The first trimester is the most dangerous in terms of losing the baby, of course, and he wants her to calm down. She’s really a little old to keep producing offspring so regularly. Anyway, I’m here all alone and I don’t know what’s going on, and when I saw the police car drive up to your house and then saw you get out, well, I just had to call.”
“I can’t say much at this point, Marty. The police aren’t telling me anything,” she lied. “You know, though, you could go over and help your husband with Nancy. You might learn something that way.”
“Oh, I thought of that. Dan wouldn’t let me. He’s very big on doctor-patient confidentiality, you know. Well, maybe I’ll go over to Carol’s. You know how she loves to snob us about her husband’s inside information. Bye.”
“Friend?” Kathleen asked, as Susan hung up.
“Martha Hallard. Her husband’s gone over to check out Nancy Dobbs. Seems Nancy called there looking for a lawyer for Kevin, and Dan was worried about the coming baby. Marty’s just looking for information. She saw your car.”
“I wonder why she’s so interested,” Kathleen commented, considering Dan and Martha Hallard as possible murderers. Both of them had been at the Club when Paula died, and Martha, at least, had been at the PTA lunch. Were they in this together? She looked around and found herself alone by the phone. Susan had followed Brett through the house and into the backyard.
When she joined them, Susan was staring at a perennial bed that desperately needed weeding and Brett was gazing off into space. Kathleen sat down on a chair right between the two of them and, finding her own little patch of blue sky, focused her eyes and did some staring of her own.
Fifteen minutes passed this way. Brett did interrupt the time by getting up and making a thirty-second phone call. Everyone appeared content, except Susan, who was itching to get up and attack those weeds but thought that by doing so she might possibly disarrange the complex mental processes that were going on around her. Wasn’t Brett going to ask her some questions?
As if he could read her mind, he asked, “Who was on the phone?”
Well, it might not be what she was expecting, but nothing had been so far. “It was Martha Hallard,” Kathleen answered before Susan had a chance.
“Oh.”
Well, that was about as noncommittal as a response could be, Susan thought. And then, when she could restrain herself no longer, she asked, “What are we waiting
for?”
“The guys from Hartford. I asked for two officers because I thought we should have more help before anybody attempted to arrest anybody.”
“Who are we arresting?” Kathleen was on her feet. “And why didn’t you let the locals help us? Why do we have to wait for people an hour or so away?”
“In the first place, they aren’t an hour away. It’s more like fifteen minutes. They’ve been on another case a few towns over. Lucky for us, really. And as for why I called them: well, you don’t expect a man to arrest his own wife, do you?”
EIGHTEEN
“Carol Mann!”
“Of course, Carol Mann,” Kathleen echoed Susan.
“ ‘Of course’? What’s so ‘of course’ about it?” Susan demanded.
Kathleen appeared to be talking to herself. “I guess I’d forgotten everything I’ve been taught. Here I was looking at two different events and trying to see the similarities between them and all the time I should have been studying the differences. How could I have been so stupid?”
“So stupid?” Susan echoed.
She was ignored.
“When did you realize what was going on?” Kathleen asked Brett.
“Not until recently,” he confessed. “I’d been bothered by something all along—something I’d known and then forgotten—and when I saw Ellen Cooper standing near the street this morning, I remembered what it was. Then the last piece fell into place.”
“Is someone going to explain this to me?” Susan raised her voice. “What differences?”
“The major difference between the two murders was the way the police handled them,” Kathleen explained. “After Jan Ick died, they did some very credible investigative work. In fact, everything was according to the book, with the exception of allowing Julia Ames to take notes. And that wasn’t significant: it was just a case of a small police department trying to make up for something that they lacked in an emergency situation.”
“And it helped our investigation in the long run,” Brett added. “It was obvious that Julia Ames was lying about something—that she had called her husband to come home before calling the police. Now a woman who’s upset because someone dropped dead in her yard has every reason in the world to call her husband for help. But there was no need to try to hide that from us unless she needed him there for something besides support. In this case, to hide the drugs that she was selling …”
Murder at the PTA Luncheon Page 23