“Expose an old crime,” Sol echoed. “Interesting.”
“Who lived in that house in the nineteen thirties?”
Sol rubbed his forehead as he searched his mind for the name. “A family named Evans.”
Billy Evans, she thought, this time careful not to utter the name aloud. Though why shouldn’t she tell Sol what she knew? Had Ron Morganstern succeeded in intimidating her? If he and Mick had killed Daniel, it was her responsibility to tell Sol everything she’d learned.
Lydia grimaced. Once she told Sol, he’d be furious that she’d gone to talk to Ron on her own, and advise her not to do anything like it again.
“Why does Daniel Korman’s daughter believe he was murdered?” Sol asked.
“The week before he died, someone tailed him when he left Twin Lakes. And he’d gotten some weird phone calls.”
Sol took out his notepad. “Dan-iel Korman,” he sounded out as he wrote. “And his daughter’s name, address, and phone number, if you know them.”
“It’s Polly Ellenberg. She lives in The Knolls, near my daughter, Meredith. I can’t remember her address or phone number.”
“Did Mrs. Ellenberg call you specifically to tell you her suspicions about her father’s death?”
“I paid a shiva call at Polly’s house after the funeral and walked in on an argument she was having with her brother and sister, about exhuming Daniel’s body. Arnold and Denise thought Polly was overreacting to their father’s death and wouldn’t agree to it.”
“Interesting,” Sol observed. “I’ll get their names and addresses from Mrs. Ellenberg and speak to them. Please continue.”
The note of formality that had crept into Sol’s voice made her self-conscious. “I went to see Evelyn Hammond, Daniel’s fiancée.”
“She wasn’t at the shiva?”
“No. Arnold made a nasty crack at the funeral—that Daniel would still be alive if not for Evelyn’s birthday party. Evelyn fell to pieces.”
“Do you think he did it deliberately? To stir up discord? Gain sympathy?”
Surprised, Lydia shook her head. “Why—I don’t know. I never considered it until now.”
“Did Mrs. Hammond sense something was amiss with Mr. Korman?”
“Actually, she did. Daniel had been very secretive and upset before his birthday party.”
Sol put down his notepad and met Lydia’s gaze. “No doubt he tried to find out what really happened seventy years ago. I’m not saying he was murdered, but I intend to do what I can to have his body exhumed ASAP.” He reached for her hands. “People die, and not always by natural causes. You see where playing detective can take you?”
“I do.” Now was the time to tell Sol about Ron and Mick Diminio. But the police couldn’t hold them indefinitely, and then they’d be free to come after her! She’d be better off waiting to see what else developed.
Sol squeezed her fingers. “Go on, Lydia. Tell me the rest.”
“That’s all there is to tell.” Damn it, why did she sound like a teenage boy whose voice was about to change?
Sol let out a belly laugh. “Out with it.”
Feeling foolish, she jerked her hands free.
“Evelyn insisted that I open Daniel’s computer files. I didn’t want to, but she said if I didn’t, she’d get someone else to do it. He was keeping records on two people he was friends with at the time Timmy John vanished—Ron Morganstern and Mick Diminio.”
“Diminio!” Sol whistled. “Isn’t he related to Michael Diminio, our stand-in town supervisor? Of course! The old man’s his father. He’s an old pol himself.”
“So I gather. Ron and Mick Diminio were both at Daniel’s party Saturday night. Ron Morganstern lives at Twin Lakes. He had no problem talking about the good old times. But when I mentioned Timmy John’s name, he reacted like he’d seen a ghost.”
Sol reached over the table and gripped her shoulders. “You did what?”
“Ouch! You’re hurting me.”
“Sorry. I can’t believe you did such a stupid thing. And where did this conversation take place?”
Lydia swallowed. “In his den.”
Sol smacked his hand to his forehead. “You’re an intelligent woman! You ran your own company, for God’s sake! How could you walk into the home of a possible homicide suspect and dangle information in front of him that could make him want to kill you too?”
Lydia found herself babbling. “I wanted to see Ron’s reaction when I mentioned Timmy John’s name. He nearly jumped out of his skin at Daniel’s funeral when someone mentioned the remains were being identified. He told me himself that he, Daniel, Mick Diminio, and Billy Evans were friends when they were kids. When I saw Daniel’s notes on Ron and Mick Diminio, I knew they had something to do with Timmy John’s death.”
“Let me get this straight.” Sol took a deep breath. “After you found out all these connections, you let Morganstern know you’re on to him, forgetting that, if he already killed two people, he might consider knocking you off, too?” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I shouldn’t have,” she said softly.
Sol’s fist pounded the table, making her jump and sending glances their way. “What you should have done was call me! I’m a homicide detective, remember? Or were you planning on solving these murders on your own?”
“I’m sorry, Sol. I won’t do anything that stupid again.”
“Indeed you won’t.” His voice remained soft, but it managed to send chills down her spine. “Come on, we’re leaving. I’m following you home.”
Chapter Eight
Lydia sat on a living room sofa, her arms wrapped around her knees, feeling very much like a child who’d been subjected to an unfair tongue lashing. At the same time, she was red hot angry. She wasn’t a child, and Sol Molina certainly wasn’t her father! While she’d had no business going to Ron Morganstern’s home to ring his chimes, blow his cool, or whatever the expression was these days, she’d come away convinced he was involved in Timmy John’s death. She’d leave it to Sol Molina to find out exactly what part Ron and his friend, Mick Diminio, had played all those years ago.
Reggie came to snuggle beside her, and she was grateful for his purring companionship. She had hoped for a human kind of closeness to end the evening, but that hadn’t happened. Reggie left, and she went into the den and turned on the TV.
She flipped from one program to another, too restless to watch anything for more than a minute. Everything was boring. Predictable. She pressed the “Off” button and dialed Barbara’s number. Her friend picked up on the third ring.
“Care for some company?” Lydia asked.
“I thought you were having dinner with the handsome detective.”
“I did. We had words.”
“In that case, come on over. I’ll leave the garage door open.”
Five minutes later, Lydia was sitting at her friend’s kitchen table. Barbara filled a plate with miniature Italian pastries.”
“Don’t bother with those. I couldn’t eat another thing,” Lydia insisted. But after downing her second, she laughed as she pushed away her empty plate. “Those were awesome.”
Barbara grinned. “I know. They come from the new bakery on Main Street.” She got up to fill their mugs with boiling water for tea. “Now tell me what happened.”
Lydia shrugged. “I did something dumb.”
“Before going off to meet Sol?”
“Actually, yes. We agreed on a time and place for dinner, and I had just enough time to check on something.”
“Something you knew would make him angry.”
Lydia squirmed under Barbara’s penetrating gaze. “Meaning what?’
“Meaning maybe you did what you did for a reason.”
“Like?”
“Like you’re afraid to get too involved with the guy so you do something you know will set him off.”
Lydia opened her mouth to argue then shut it. “You might have a point.”
Barbara grinned. “At least you�
��re honest enough to admit it. You may leave my one-hundred-dollar therapy fee on the coffee table as you leave.”
“What about Sol? That’s the part I wanted to tell you. He got furious.”
“Maybe he’s afraid you’ll get yourself killed one of these days.”
“Trust me, Barbara, the man overreacted. I bet he feels threatened because I find out things he knows nothing about. Like the fact that Daniel may have been murdered. And the connection between the dead boy and Daniel’s old friends.”
“And the fact that you’re a strong, effective woman who built up and ran a successful company.”
“Whatever.” Lydia frowned. “I think Mr. Macho doesn’t like my venturing into his jurisdiction, which is pretty childish.”
“I’d say all of the above are true, and you both have involvement phobia.”
Lydia sipped her tea. She thought a minute, and then said quietly, “It sounds pretty hopeless to me.”
Barbara laughed. “The relationship does have a few hurdles to overcome, but I think Sol Molina’s worth it.”
“So do I,” Lydia said softly.
“Then stop provoking him. Talk to Polly and Evelyn as much as you like, but keep away from the bad boys, and pray they keep away from you.”
Lydia went home an hour later. Barbara’s words of wisdom worked as a sedative and she slept deeply. The following morning she practiced yoga for forty-five minutes then walked to the clubhouse and swam laps in the indoor pool. The exercise left her invigorated yet calm, and she felt more positive regarding her relationship with Sol. She hummed as she stepped out of the clubhouse and into the May day. A noisy May day, because the gardening service was out in full force, mowing and edging the large expanse of lawn.
“Lydia!”
She turned at the sound of her name. Andrew Varig came trotting toward her, tennis racket in hand.
“Hi, Andrew. Lovely morning for tennis.”
“Sure is. Some of the men have gotten up a morning game. Would you be interested in playing later on in the day?”
Lydia laughed as she shook her head. “Sorry, but I gave up tennis ten years ago. Besides, I’m off to work.”
“I’m spending a few hours at the construction site this afternoon. They’ll be filling in the root cellar and leveling the ground.”
She gave him a perky smile. “I’m so glad you’re home again, Andrew, so I can leave all that in your capable hands.”
Andrew grinned—a shocking sight, since Andrew never smiled. “Fear not. I’ll stand guard.”
“That’s music to my ears,” she told him and continued on her way. She’d progressed only a few yards when he called to her. Puzzled, she turned around. “Yes?”
He caught up with her and glanced furtively from side to side before speaking. “When was the last time you were in Manhattan?”
“Let me think. I took the railroad in after my daughter Abbie’s wedding in January. Of course! The Women’s Club went to the Metropolitan Museum last month.”
Andrew seemed to be bristling with nervous energy, which was not like him at all. When he spoke, his words spilled over like a waterfall. “I was wondering, Lydia, would you like to go into the city some time, to take in a play or a show?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. Was Andrew asking her out on a date?
He added quickly, “Unless you have an understanding with your detective friend.”
“No, we’ve no understanding.” She smiled at the quaint use of the term.
He returned her smile, which filled her with trepidation. She hadn’t meant to encourage him.
“Then I hope you’ll say yes. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed the city until I visited some of the European capitals with my kids.”
He looked wistful, an unusual expression for the confident Dr. Varig. Lydia decided she liked this side of him, liked it enough to say, “I’d love to go to the theatre with you. It’s been some time for me as well.”
“Wonderful! How about Saturday?”
Lydia was struck dumb. When she found her voice, her impulse was to stall for time. “I—I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar and let you know.”
“Meanwhile, I’ll see what shows are available, then we can choose something we’ll both enjoy.”
“All right. Bye.” She fled before he could utter another word.
She race-walked home, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. She liked Andrew, but not in a man-woman sort of way. She was emotionally involved with Sol, though they argued half the time they spent together. And they weren’t lovers, by any stretch of the imagination.
As for Andrew, she hoped he had no designs on her that way because she certainly wasn’t interested in him. But how would she know—the perverse thought occurred to her—unless he kissed her?
Lydia shook her head vehemently at the idea. She turned fifty-nine in August, and had no desire to return to those awkward dating days of her youth. She’d see a show or a play with Andrew as a friend. A companion. If he wanted more than that, she’d be up front with him, and explain she wasn’t interested in anything romantic.
After she rebuffed him, would they end up feeling awkward every time they ran into one another? That would be often, considering they were co-chairs. They lived within the confines of a small community and attended the same meetings and activities.
Take one step at a time, she lectured herself. You’ll go to the city with Andrew and have a good time. If you don’t want to go out with him again, you’ll say so. He’ll get over it. End of discussion.
Why were relations between men and women so awfully complicated?
At home, Lydia showered and dressed, then drove to work. During the trip she wondered if she should say yes to managing the Carrington Suites. The position would demand a good deal of time and effort, especially at first. Was she willing to give up the luxury of working three days a week at a pleasant job that required limited responsibilities? Then again, she’d enjoy the challenge of starting something brand new. She was good at dealing with people, at resolving crises. Frankly, she found it exhilarating. She’d have to decide soon. Len said they wanted her answer no later than a week from Friday.
Her workday passed quickly, giving her no opportunity to mull about Daniel and Timmy John or her personal life. At five o’clock, Lydia was back in her car heading home. Reggie greeted her by rubbing against her legs. She filled his dish with dried food, which earned her a look of reproach.
“That’s all you’re getting for now,” she scolded. “You’re getting fat again.”
He must have gotten her message because he began to eat. The doorbell rang.
“Coming,” Lydia called out as she walked toward the front door. It was probably Barbara, stopping by to borrow the book they were reading for the next meeting of their newly formed book club.
Mick Diminio stood before her in Bermuda shorts, a short-sleeved shirt, and a Yankees cap. His attire, along with his short, stocky legs and beer belly, was that of an innocuous old man, but his frown of displeasure sent a chill down her back. She resisted the impulse to slam the door in his face.
“May I come in, Lydia? I’d like to talk to you.”
“I don’t—” Lydia’s heart thumped as she searched her brain for a polite way of refusing him. The man had been a powerful politician. For all she knew, he had mob connections. How stupid she’d been, tipping Ron off to her suspicions. She should have realized he’d run straight to Mick Diminio. Who might very well have killed Daniel as well as Timmy John.
Mick read the terror in her face. He raised his palms. “Hey, relax. I’d like us to talk, okay?”
“All right.”
Reluctantly, Lydia led the way to the living room, hoping he meant what he’d said. No one knew he was here, except Ron, who must have sent for him to deal with her. She perched on the edge of one of the sofas. Mick Diminio sank heavily into the other. He rubbed his hand along the fabric.
“Nice couches. My wife’s been looking
for something like these. Maybe you’ll give her the name of the place where you bought them.”
“Sure.”
He glanced around, nodding his approval of her décor. Then he placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.
“Ronnie tells me maybe Danny didn’t die of a coronary.”
“His daughter thinks he was murdered. He told Polly he was getting nuisance calls. And someone followed his car when he was out running errands.”
Mick let out a guilty laugh. “That was me tailing him.”
Lydia stared at him, dumbfounded by his admission. “Why?”
He shrugged his beefy shoulders. “He pissed me off, coming around asking questions that were none of his business. But I swear on my grandson’s head, I didn’t kill him.”
Of course he’d deny it. “Did Ron Morganstern make the phone calls?”
“How should I know? You’ll have to ask Ronnie.”
Lydia swallowed. “I’ll do that.”
“Speaking of which, he said you were checking into business that doesn’t concern you.”
Lydia pressed her elbows to her sides to control a rising tremor.
Mick continued, his tone now conversational. “I heard you were a big help solving some murders around here. Last autumn was it?”
He stared at her, willing her to speak, but fear kept her tongue-tied. She managed to nod.
“Very commendable, but your snooping days are over, at least where Ronnie and I are concerned.” He leaned over the table separating them. Lydia jerked back.
“No little chats with your detective friend about him or me, including what I said before about tailing Danny. Got it?”
She nodded.
Having said what he’d come to say, Mick struggled to his feet. His hoarse breathing made her realize how much it had cost Mick Diminio to come threaten her this way.
He’s just an old man used to ordering people around. She was annoyed that she’d allowed his tough-guy manner to intimidate her.
She stood in one graceful move. “The police have ID’d the body found at the demolition site. They know Timmy John Desmond was buried in the root cellar of that house.”
Murder in the Air Page 7