Lydia nodded. Clearly, the interview was over. She stood and waited for Sol to do the same. Instead, he cleared his throat. “Would it be too much trouble to boil some water for coffee? I forgot to eat lunch.”
“No trouble at all,” Lydia said formally. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
He followed her across the dining room. Reggie came racing from a bedroom and rubbed up against Sol’s leg. Smiling, Sol bent down to pet Reggie’s flank. The cat began to purr.
“Good boy!” Sol grinned up at her. “Reggie remembers me.”
“He’s a friendly feline,” Lydia said, though in truth Reggie rarely sought attention from her guests. Damn Sol! She smiled to herself when Reggie dashed into the kitchen ahead of them to meow beside his dish.
“I just fed you! Eat what’s left,” Lydia told him.
For once, Reggie obeyed, eliciting a look of admiration from Sol. “You have him well trained.”
“For a cat,” Lydia amended, thinking cats obliged their human companions only when they chose.
She filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove. With a sigh, Sol dropped into a chair and stretched out his legs. “It feels good to take a five-minute break.”
“Make yourself at home,” Lydia said sarcastically.
“Lydia….”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it is.”
“Me make it difficult?” She let out a humorless laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You knew this would be treated as a homicide, which is why you called me.”
When she didn’t respond, he continued. “I have to question you and everyone else who was present when they unearthed those remains.”
“You or someone on your homicide team. I bet Officer McKlusky is questioning George or Benny this very minute.”
He laughed. “You’re quick, Lydia. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”
Lydia sat down and stared him in the eye. “I never would have guessed you liked anything about me.”
“Couldn’t you tell the last time we were out together?”
“The last time? Let’s see, that was back in February. The second Saturday in February, to be exact. If I remember correctly, you jumped up from what we were doing and said you’d be calling.”
“And I never did.” He sounded mournful.
A silence descended. Lydia stifled her natural inclination to encourage a reluctant speaker. She would not give Solomon Molina the satisfaction of asking why he’d never called again.
After a long minute, he asked, “Didn’t you wonder why?”
Lydia glared at him. “Of course I wondered why! I ran through every stupid thing I might have said or done to chase you away.”
Sol covered her hand with his. Lydia tried to pull free, but he held fast. “I was frightened, all right? Afraid I was falling for you big time. Now go ahead and laugh.”
“I’m not going to laugh,” she said, doing her best to absorb Sol’s admission. He liked her. He really liked her. But to her great surprise, she tossed back her head and roared with laughter until tears streamed down her cheeks. His shocked expression set her off on another peal. Lydia reached for a napkin and dabbed at her eyes.
“I’m sorry, but seeing those remains must have unhinged me. It’s just that you’re a homicide detective who deals with murderers and corpses, yet I scare you away?”
Sol leaped to his feet, his now-hazel eyes narrowed with anger, his earlobes red with humiliation. “Knock yourself out,” he muttered, and strode toward the front door.
“Sol, wait!” she called after him. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He reached for the doorknob.
Lydia’s heart thumped as she touched his shoulder. Sol Molina was an unknown quantity. He was relationship-phobic and would break her heart. Or things between them would change for the better.
“Of course it matters. I know what you mean—about being afraid.”
“Lydia, I don’t want to discuss it.”
“There may not be another time so I want to discuss it.” She took a deep breath. “Everyone’s afraid when it comes to relationships, including me.”
He gave a snort. “I doubt that sincerely.”
She shrugged. “Sol, no one likes to get hurt, and you hurt me by not calling.”
“I apologize. I thought it would be easier if I made the break when I did. We’re too different, you and I. We live in different worlds.”
“So what?” She felt the laughter rising again, along with the urge to croon “Two Different Worlds We Live In.” This time she managed to control herself. “We’re not getting married, lieutenant. No need to be so dramatic. Please, Sol.” She gazed into his troubled face.
He rubbed her arms. “I’ve missed you, Lydia Krause.”
“Then do something about it.”
He bent to kiss her lightly on the lips. “I’ll call you. This time I mean it.”
*
The discovery of the body put a stop to all work on the site for the rest of the week. From Tuesday afternoon until Friday noon, the site was secured and bound off by yellow tape as various crime teams investigated the root cellar and rummaged among the remains of the razed house in search of clues.
More than ever, Lydia appreciated her part-time job at Carrington House, which removed her from the hothouse community of Twin Lakes. The old mansion had been converted into a restaurant-catering house, with a world-famous chef at the helm. Though Lydia had been hired as bookkeeper, her duties now extended to interviews with prospective clients and handling bookings. Business was good, and the corporation had begun the construction of Carrington Suites—an elegant hotel for guests attending Carrington affairs. Lydia had been offered the position of managing Carrington Suites, and she still hadn’t made up her mind if she’d take it or not.
“An impossible task,” Sol told her late Wednesday afternoon as she poured them both a cup of coffee. “The lab estimates the body’s been down there between fifty and seventy-five years, and they’re leaning toward the longer time period.”
“Whew!” Lydia shook her head. “For three-quarters of a century families lived in that house, along with a body in the root cellar. Any idea who it was?”
“No ID yet, except he was a young male between thirteen and seventeen years of age.”
She nodded, making her calculations. “Any unusual deaths in the family who lived there seventy-five years ago?”
Sol grinned as he stretched out his legs. “We’re checking on that, Miss Marple. We’re following every possible lead, every which way—going through town records, old newspapers, old police files. You name it, we’re working on it. It’s not easy when most of the people you want to question are living in another state, dead, or too senile to remember.”
“I wonder who killed him and why?”
Sol grinned. “You don’t give up, do you?”
Annoyed, Lydia demanded, “What do you mean, ‘give up?’”
“Playing detective is what I mean.” His green eyes twinkled mischievously. “The boys at the station house can’t get over how you were in on the discovery scene.”
Lydia stood up. “I was not in on discovering the body. I was there because my co-chair swore he’d watch all demolition and construction then went on vacation instead.”
Sol stood, also, and placed his hands on her waist. “Regardless, the fact is you were there when they made the discovery, and it stirred your curiosity.”
She shrugged, refusing to admit he was right.
“But you won’t go poking around on your own, correct?”
“I’ve no intention of usurping your job, if that’s what you mean!” Lydia broke free and strode out of the kitchen. “Sorry to be so abrupt, but I’ve been working all day and I’ve things to see to.”
“No need to get all heated up,” he said.
Lydia turned, startled to discover he was close behind her. The m
an moved as swiftly as a cougar.
“But I’m serious about your not getting involved.” He paused. “Remember when the homeowner died last fall?”
Lydia nodded. “The old man was in his nineties and refused to go into a nursing home.”
“As soon as the house became vacant, local drug dealers took to using it to make sales and shoot up.”
“Really!” Lydia exclaimed. “I had no idea.”
Sol laughed. “Your ignorance of the matter blows me away.”
Lydia wasn’t amused. “I don’t know everything that goes on around here, nor do I want to. You needn’t fear. I’ve no intention of ‘poking around,’ as you put it.”
He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “If only I could believe that were true.”
Chapter Three
The following week, Lydia had to contend with a barrage of phone calls from Twin Lakes’ residents, all of whom assumed she had the inside track regarding the police investigation. Neighbors stopped her in the clubhouse, as she power-walked, and as she shopped in the local supermarket to inquire about the boy: What was his name? How had he died? Who had stuck his body in the root cellar? Lydia’s insistence that she knew no more than they did was waved away with fluttering hands and the blithe declaration that Detective Lieutenant Molina was sure to keep her apprised of any new developments in the case. After all, she’d taken part in the investigation of the murders that had occurred the previous autumn. And—wink, wink—didn’t she and Lieutenant Molina enjoy a special friendship?
Even Meredith, her own daughter, decided that Lydia had chosen to be involved in this new Twin Lakes mystery.
“Honestly, Mother, I would think you’ve had enough of murder and mayhem to last you a lifetime,” she’d called to tell Lydia the evening the body had been found.
“You thought correctly, Merry.”
When Merry remained silent, Lydia let out a snort of indignation. “You can’t imagine for one minute that I wanted to be there.”
Merry paused, then said, “Of course not, but it’s odd that you happened to be on the scene. Almost as though you’re drawn to dead bodies, or they’re drawn to you.”
“Thank you, dear. I appreciate your support,” she said dryly, and Meredith quickly apologized.
Relieved, Lydia sent her love to Jeff, Brittany, and little Greta, and ended the conversation. Merry seemed happier these last few months, now that she was back teaching school. Lydia was delighted Merry and Jeff had agreed to let her pay half of their new nanny’s wages. Kirsten was a bright, energetic young woman who added a dimension to her charges’ lives. These days, whatever time Lydia spent with her granddaughters were special occasions instead of a baby-sitting chore.
*
The autopsy on the remains showed that the boy had been between fourteen and sixteen years of age when he’d died, and he’d been dead for seventy-five years. But a week later, his identity still remained a mystery. Driving home from Carrington House, Lydia found herself wondering who he was. Had he lived in the house? In the neighborhood? Why hadn’t anyone reported his disappearance? But even if they had, who would have considered investigating root cellars?
Still musing over her unanswered questions, Lydia drove into the garage and stepped out of her car. She was about to press the button that shut the automatic door, when someone called her name. She turned to find Daniel Korman, who lived across the street, standing in the entrance.
“Daniel, I didn’t see you! My God, I almost closed the garage door on you!”
Daniel chuckled. “You can’t imagine I’m too decrepit to move out of the way. You’re speaking to last summer’s winner of the over-seventy-five singles’ tennis tournament.”
“So I’ve been told.” Lydia nodded approvingly at his erect six-foot frame. “Not to mention, you’re the most handsome eighty-five-year-old I know.”
“Much appreciated, my dear, though my birthday’s not till Tuesday.”
“We’re all looking forward to celebrating with you tomorrow night. Evelyn stopped by before to go over some last-minute details. You’re going to have the best party Carrington House has to offer. You’ve my word on that.”
“Thanks, Lydia. I appreciate your special efforts on our behalf.” Daniel’s smile wreathed his face. He was handsome, with his strong chin, classical nose, and high forehead. And a full head of white hair. “I’m not one for a big fuss and dressing up, but Evelyn’s insisted on the works to celebrate my birthday. And who am I to say no? She’s the light of my life.”
“You picked one terrific lady,” Lydia agreed. “Evelyn has more energy than most women half her age.”
“I don’t know how I managed to live eighty-five years without her,” he murmured, retrieving two candies wrapped in gold foil from his shirt pocket. Daniel’s other passion—Bertran’s Best—was probably the most expensive Belgian chocolate on the market.
He extended his hand. Lydia smiled and shook her head. Daniel unwrapped both dark chocolates and popped them into his mouth.
She was about to make a wisecrack about finding romantic love in one’s golden years, but refrained. Despite his joviality a minute ago, Daniel’s expression had turned somber. His shoulders slumped as though weighed down by unseen burdens.
“Is something wrong, Daniel?”
He shrugged. “Could be. If you don’t mind, I’d like to run something by you—get your input, so to speak.”
His manner set off warning bells in her head. “Sure. Come inside and we’ll talk about it.”
He refused her offer of coffee with a quick shake of his head. The gesture struck her as decisive rather than rude. It reminded her that, until a few years ago, Daniel had been a powerful corporate wheeler-dealer. He’d taken over several companies on the verge of bankruptcy, and breathed life into them via bold innovations. She managed not to trip over a hungry Reggie weaving in and out of her legs, and led Daniel into the living room.
“Have a seat. I’ll be with you as soon as I feed the feline.”
A minute later, she perched on the sofa opposite him and offered her full attention. “What is it, Daniel?”
He studied her for a minute as though wondering how she might receive his words, then cleared his throat.
“All my working life I’ve made important decisions, decisions affecting hundreds if not thousands of employees. But this is something else entirely.” He frowned. “Normally I’d discuss it with Evelyn, but she’s up to her ears in plans for my birthday festivities. Since my son, Arnold, and his crew are staying over, she insists on hosting a Sunday brunch at our place.”
Seconds passed. Lydia pressed her lips together to keep from urging him to continue. Daniel would divulge what he had to say in his own good time. When she could bear it no longer and opened her mouth to encourage him, he asked, “What would you do if you learned that a crime you suspected of occurring many years ago actually had taken place? And that you knew who’d committed this crime, but had no way of proving it.”
Lydia immediately thought of the dead body discovered ten days before. Surely Daniel wasn’t referring to that! It was too preposterous. The corpse had been found behind Twin Lakes.
“I’m not sure what action I’d take,” she answered as calmly as she could manage. “It would depend on the severity of the crime. How certain I was of the person’s guilt.”
“A friend of mine disappeared, Lydia. Now I’m sure he was murdered.”
“Are you talking about the body the excavators unearthed? Was that your friend?”
Instead of answering, he stared at her intently. “I’ve no proof, but now it all adds up. The question is, do I let sleeping dogs lie after all these years, or do I make the guilty pay for the crime?”
The guilty. “Are you saying there’s more than one person responsible? I think you should tell the police.”
“Tell them what exactly? They investigated years ago and came up with zilch.”
“But these days the police have DNA and other tests the
y can use.”
“It’s too late for tests,” he said, then added more softly, “And Evelyn invited them to my party.”
Lydia stared at him. “You still talk to them?”
Daniel stood and patted her hand to soften his dismissal. “My dear, I’m not sure of what I’m saying. You’ve been very kind, letting an old man ramble on.”
“But Daniel,” she protested. “If this has something to do with the body they found, you need to tell the police what you know.”
He kissed her cheek “I’ll take what you say under advisement. Meanwhile, I trust I can count on your discretion not to breathe a word of this to anyone, including your friend, Lieutenant Molina.”
Dumbly she nodded, feeling she’d been sworn to a lawyer-client or doctor-patient oath of silence, and walked him to the door.
*
Daniel’s birthday party was called for seven o’clock. Lydia slipped into the simple black designer dress she knew did wonders for her figure and scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her light brown hair had been cut and blown that afternoon so it framed her face, making her look years younger. It was a pity Sol Molina couldn’t see her now. Even more of a pity that he wasn’t her date for the evening. Actually, she’d considered asking him to be her escort, then immediately squelched the idea. Not only was it a bad move—such an invitation would probably send him fleeing for his life—but he’d feel ill-at-ease mingling with Twin Lakes residents, all of whom were bound to ask a barrage of questions regarding the unidentified body.
She finished applying her lipstick and shook her head. She wouldn’t waste time speculating about Sol Molina. Either he’d call when the case was over or he wouldn’t.
As she lined her eyelids, she ruminated about what Daniel had told her. Clearly, he was disturbed by what he considered to be proof that someone had been murdered. Lydia had assumed this involved the recently discovered body, but now she was no longer sure. Just as Daniel couldn’t decide whether or not to take his suspicions to the authorities. When she’d run into him and Evelyn earlier in the day, he’d greeted her warmly then whisked Evelyn away. She’d heard Evelyn chiding him for being rude and asking where they were off to in such a hurry.
Murder in the Air Page 2