“You might say that!” Denise snapped. Then she remembered she needed a favor and her voice changed. “So you’ll talk to Polly?” she wheedled.
“Talk to Polly about what?” Polly asked, resting her hand on Lydia’s shoulder.
Lydia squirmed. She wished she could fly out the door and disappear.
“About your far-fetched idea that someone killed Dad,” Denise said. “Lydia agrees it’s ridiculous.”
“You do?”
Lydia flinched under Polly’s scrutiny, the shock of betrayal in her eyes.
“I don’t believe it! You knew Daddy was upset about something serious.”
“That’s true, but I’ve been thinking it over….” Lydia found she was unable to finish the sentence. She couldn’t very well explain that while Daniel’s old friends had admitted to harassing him, she believed them when they swore they hadn’t harmed him. “The fact that your father was upset doesn’t prove that someone killed him. In fact, the emotional turmoil might have brought on the coronary.”
Tears of frustration glistened in Polly’s eyes. “The other day you were on my side! Now you’re treating me like a kid who’s made up a wild story because she can’t cope with her father’s death!”
Denise, suddenly composed, patted her sister’s arm. “You have to calm down, Pol. You don’t want to work yourself into another stint in the hospital.”
Matt appeared and wrapped his arms around his sobbing wife. “Polly, honey,” he crooned.
“I’m so sorry,” Lydia said. “I didn’t mean to make matters worse.” She moved to comfort Polly, but Polly stuck out her hand to ward her off.
Mortified, Lydia fled to the bedroom where the sweaters and jackets were strewn across the bed. She grabbed hers and Barbara’s.
“What’s the matter?” Barbara asked as Lydia thrust her jacket at her.
“I’ll explain in the car,” Lydia said, making a beeline for the front door. She breathed a deep sigh as she stepped onto the porch, then stopped short to avoid crashing into Nicole and Gillian, who faced one another with the antagonism of spitting cats.
“Sorry,” Lydia apologized.
In silence, the twins moved apart to let them pass. Despite her own agitation, Lydia knew something was terribly wrong. Before stepping into Barbara’s car, she turned to observe them. The girls practically touched foreheads as they argued in whispers. Finally, Gillian threw up her hands and stormed inside the house. Nicole ran past the two women, to a car parked halfway up the block. The driver stuck out his head. Lydia recognized Nicole’s scruffy boyfriend from Daniel’s party. A minute later, the two were entwined in a passionate embrace.
Once they were in the car, Lydia turned to Barbara. “I wonder why Nicole’s boyfriend didn’t go into the house? And why were the girls fighting like that?”
“I’ve no idea,” Barbara said, turning the ignition and backing out of the parking space. “Before you strong-armed me away, I heard Nicole’s cell phone ring and saw her run outside. Gillian chased after her a minute later, looking mighty determined.”
“Clearly, Polly doesn’t approve of Ringo, or whatever his real name is.”
Barbara stared at the two lovebirds, still lip-locked, as they drove by. “But why is Gillian so angry? Unless her sister stole her boyfriend. This Ringo looks more her type than Nicole’s.”
Lydia shook her head and sighed. “Today’s so full of calamities, I can’t even begin to imagine what’s troubling the girls.”
As they passed Meredith’s house, Lydia felt a wave of gratitude that she and Merry had ironed out their difficulties. There were enough people angry with her as it was.
“What on earth did Denise want from you?” Barbara asked. She shuddered. “That woman gives me the willies.”
Lydia sighed. “She asked me to help convince Polly there’s no need to exhume Daniel’s body. Though I don’t much care for Denise, her son, or her brother, I tend to believe they’re right—that Daniel died a natural death—so I agreed to talk to Polly. At which point, she joined us, and was hurt and angry because I’d changed sides. I gather from a comment Denise made that Polly once had a nervous breakdown. At any rate, Polly now sees me as a traitor and wants no part of me.” She rubbed her temples. “I think I’m getting a headache.”
“Poor Lydia,” Barbara said, patting her knee. “Today isn’t your day.”
Chapter Eleven
Lydia refused Barbara’s dinner invitation, preferring to stew in private. She punched in her garage door code with a vengeance. Her headache felt as though several elves were pounding on her skull with tiny hammers. She wanted to close the drapes in her bedroom, crawl under her quilt, and fall into a dreamless sleep.
What was happening to her? Had she lost all her managerial know-how in the one short year since she’d retired as CEO of Krause’s Gifts and Furnishings? Had her people skills withered away, now that she was no longer a player in the business world? Lydia shuddered as she reviewed the way she’d leapfrogged from one calamitous situation to another in the last few days, leaving unhappy or furious victims in her wake.
She splashed water into a glass and downed two aspirins. Reggie came in, tail high, meowing loudly for both a show of affection and his dinner. Lydia scooped him into her arms and pressed her face against his furry haunch.
“Thank God I have you, Reginald Redcoat.”
He butted his face against hers, then struggled to be free.
“Your meow is my command. Dinner’s coming up,” Lydia said, following him to the kitchen.
The essence of her problem occurred to her as she watched Reggie gobble down his chicken in gravy in a most unfeline way. She wasn’t anyone’s boss any longer. Why had it taken her almost a year to realize this fact?
Lydia stumbled into the living room and dropped onto a sofa. Running her company all those years, she’d grown accustomed to making unilateral decisions. She’d issued orders, which her employees had carried out. Not that she’d ever related to her family or her friends in this manner.
Now this side of her—this CEO persona—reared its head when she played detective, seeking information regarding what were murder cases—what she thought were murder cases—with dire consequences. She felt the heat of a blush as she recalled how she’d encouraged Polly to view her father’s death as a homicide. How she’d badgered Ron Morganstern until he told her about Timmy John. She was relieved to learn that he and Mick hadn’t murdered him, but uncovering such information was the police’s job, not hers. No wonder Sol was furious at her. She’d give him a few days to calm down, then call to beg his pardon for interfering in his business. And hope he hadn’t decided to kiss their relationship good-bye.
His meal finished, Reggie set about cleaning himself. Lydia checked her messages. Nothing. The phone rang. Her heart thumped away as she lifted it, hoping it was Sol. Her spirits plummeted when the caller identified herself as Evelyn’s daughter, Gayle.
“Lydia, I hope I’m not imposing on you, but my husband and I are leaving for Atlanta. We’d hoped to stay longer, but our daughter, Lynn, has been taken to the hospital.” Gayle made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “Why does everything happen at once?”
“I’m so sorry!” Lydia exclaimed. “What can I do to help?”
“Lynn will be all right. She has a chronic medical condition that requires frequent hospitalization. Her husband’s in the Far East, and we want to be there for the little ones. I’ve asked Mom to come back to Atlanta with us, but she refuses.
“What I want to ask you,” Gayle went on, “is would you please spend some time with my mother? She’s been turning away friends and neighbors, but she feels comfortable with you. I know she’d welcome your company.”
“I’d be happy to,” Lydia reassured Gayle, pleased that at least someone wasn’t angry with her. “I’ll stop over later.”
“Thank you, Lydia. You’re an angel.”
I’m no angel, she thought as she put down the phone. Still, it was nice to be called
one after being driven from the home of a mourner.
Evelyn put up little resistance when Lydia called and offered to bring over dinner for both of them.
“That would be lovely, Lydia. I’ve plenty of cake, so don’t bother with dessert.”
Lydia agreed to come at seven so Evelyn could fit in a nap. She’d been sleeping badly at night and was thoroughly exhausted.
At first, Lydia contemplated ordering a variety of dishes from the take-out Chinese restaurant in town. Then she decided that cooking a meal would be just the thing to take her mind off Daniel and Timmy John’s deaths and the people she’d recently upset. She sautéed chicken breasts, which she then placed in a deep dish, alternating the chicken with tomato slices, grilled eggplant slices, mushrooms, peppers, and cheese. While the casserole baked, she made a rice pilaf and a salad. When everything was done, she placed the three dishes in the refrigerator, along with a nice bottle of chardonnay, and went into the den to watch the news. When she got to Evelyn’s, she’d pop the casserole and the pilaf into the microwave oven.
Dusk was darkening the sky by the time Lydia carefully placed the two shopping bags filled with dinner into her car. She felt ridiculous driving the short distance, but she couldn’t manage to carry everything on foot. She pulled into Evelyn’s driveway, surprised to find the house in darkness. Evelyn was one for lights, and plenty of them. But maybe she’d taken a pill to help her sleep and was still off in dreamland.
Lydia grabbed her pocketbook and knocked on the front door. “Evelyn!” she called, loud enough to be heard inside. Silence. She went around to the back and tried the kitchen door. The knob turned easily. Lydia switched on the light and stepped cautiously into the house. Something was wrong. Evelyn never left the door unlocked.
“Evelyn!” she shouted. “Can you hear me? Are you awake?”
She turned on the hall light and started down the narrow hallway toward the bedrooms. The door to the master bedroom was ajar. Lydia approached the queen-sized bed and gasped. Evelyn lay on her side as still as a stone. A dark stain spread on the pillow beneath her head. Though the light was dim, Lydia knew it was blood that had seeped from a wound on the back of her head.
“Evelyn!” Lydia trembled as she knelt beside the motionless woman. Her moan was barely audible, but Lydia exhaled with relief. Her friend was alive.
“Stay calm, dear, while I call for help. You’ll be all right, I promise.”
Lydia squeezed Evelyn’s hand, and was heartened by the slight return of pressure. She turned on a lamp and peered down at the wound. It appeared to have stopped bleeding, but there was no telling if there was internal damage.
The sound of footsteps, of the front door opening, chilled her to the quick. Lydia remained frozen, her heart pounding against her ribs as she realized how close she’d come to being swatted as well. She’d walked in while Evelyn’s attacker was still in the house!
She waited for what seemed like minutes before venturing into the hall to close the door. Still trembling, she called 911 from her cell phone. She relayed Evelyn’s age and the extent of her injuries, gave her own name and Evelyn’s address, and told them to send an ambulance as soon as possible. Next, she punched in Sol’s cell number, grateful that she’d entered it into her cell phone’s memory. She held her breath while the phone rang three times.
“Molina.”
“Sol, it’s me, Lydia.”
“Lydia.” She cringed at the impatience in his voice. “I can’t talk now.”
She felt her ears burn but forced herself to continue. “Someone’s attacked Evelyn Hammond, Daniel Korman’s fiancée. She was expecting me at seven with dinner. When she didn’t answer the bell, I figured she was napping. I went around to the back and found the door unlocked.” Lydia faltered. “Evelyn’s in her bed, barely conscious after being struck on the head. I called for an ambulance, then I called you.”
“Damn it, that place is a war zone! Sorry,” he apologized before she could protest. He paused, then asked, his voice deadly calm, “Is anyone else in the house?”
She fought to control the tremor rippling through her body. “Not any longer. The intruder made a run for it while I was with Evelyn.”
“You’ve got to stop playing detective! One of these days something terrible will happen, and I won’t be around to help you.”
She bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. She’d been trying to be a good neighbor, not play Sherlock Holmes! But now wasn’t the time to argue.
“Stay with Mrs. Hammond. I’m on my way. What’s the address?”
She told him. “It’s a few houses past mine, on the other side of the street. My car’s in the driveway.”
“See you.”
Lydia checked to make sure Evelyn was breathing, then sank into the armchair in the corner of the bedroom beside an antique armoire. Such a lovely room, she thought, as tears welled up in her eyes. Would Evelyn be well enough to live here? Would she want to live here after all that had happened?
The shrill whine of a siren growing louder startled her from her reverie and she went to open the front door.
Three young emergency medical technicians, two men and a woman, entered the house. The woman—a buxom, cheerful type—checked Evelyn’s vital signs, examined her wound, then nodded. The two men lifted Evelyn onto a stretcher.
The EMT in charge, a bearded bear of a man, asked Lydia several quick questions, which she answered as best she could. Then she said, “I’d like to go with her in the ambulance.”
“Are you a relative?” the woman asked.
“I’m her friend and neighbor. Evelyn’s almost eighty and she lost her fiancé a few days ago.”
“Sorry,” the bearded man said. “Our rules won’t allow you to ride in the ambulance.”
Lydia opened her mouth to argue, when she felt a tug on her arm. She turned and was astonished to see Sol Molina. When had he arrived?
“I’ll drive you to the hospital after the crime scene team arrives. Meanwhile, I’d like you to fill me in on everything you know.”
*
Half an hour later they were traveling swiftly along Sunrise Highway on their way to Brookhaven Hospital. Lydia glanced over at Sol, but his face was as unrevealing as a mask. She found it both surreal yet oddly appropriate that she should be riding beside him in his unmarked car on their way to see Evelyn. He’d questioned her in detail regarding what she’d seen and heard before entering the house—if she’d heard cars pass while still at home or if she’d noticed any parked on the street. As she had nothing to offer, the interrogation lasted five minutes. When Sol asked her to accompany him to the hospital, she was puzzled but saw no point in asking him why. Of course she agreed to go.
Sol pulled up to the curb of the emergency room entrance. “Lydia, why don’t you go and find where they’ve put Mrs. Hammond. I’ll park and catch up with you.”
She nodded and stepped out of the car. She stopped at the security desk for her visitor’s pass and learned that Evelyn was being attended to in the ER. She could go right through.
She found Evelyn being cared for in one of the cubicles set off by vinyl curtains.
“How is she?” she asked the young woman taking Evelyn’s blood pressure.
“In and out of consciousness. Breathing on her own.”
The nurse moved aside and indicated Lydia could take her place. Lydia reached for Evelyn’s hand. “Hi, Evelyn. It’s me, Lydia.”
Though Evelyn’s eyes remained closed, Lydia was gratified to see a ghost of a smile.
“You’ll be fine,” Lydia said emphatically to cheer them both up.
A volunteer—a sweet-faced woman in her late sixties—asked Lydia if she had the patient’s information. When Lydia said she did, the woman directed her to a secretary seated behind the round office in the center of the ER. Lydia pulled out Evelyn’s Medicare and secondary insurance cards from her wallet—which Sol had reminded her to bring along—and handed them to the secretary. She answered what questions she c
ould, and gave the secretary her phone number and that of Evelyn’s daughter, whom she intended to call as soon as she found a spare moment.
Sol strode into the ER and returned the greeting of an attractive young nurse with a wink and a smile, causing Lydia’s heart to thump with jealousy. His smile faded as he caught sight of Lydia.
“How’s Mrs. Hammond doing?”
“Coming along. They’ll take a CT scan and keep her overnight for observation.”
“Good. Be right back.” Sol disappeared inside Evelyn’s cubicle. It was minutes before he rejoined Lydia. “I hope you don’t have anywhere important to be for the next two hours.”
“Not really,” Lydia said. “What’s happening?”
“The doctor’s in there with her. He expects her to be fully conscious in an hour. When she is, they’ll put her in a semi-private room. I’ll post an officer outside her room throughout the night.”
Lydia’s heart quickened. “Do you think whoever did this will come to the hospital to finish what he began?”
Sol grimaced. “I’ve no idea, but I intend to keep her safe while we find out.”
Lydia shuddered. “Maybe Polly was right. Maybe someone did kill Daniel and now he’s after Evelyn.”
“First things first. When the doctor gives his okay, I want to ask Mrs. Hammond a few questions. And I’d like you to be there.”
“So that’s why you had me come along.” Despite her willingness to help Evelyn any way she could, Lydia felt deflated. She should have known his request had nothing to do with her!
“Of course. Your friend will feel more comfortable with you beside me.” He offered her a half smile. “I’m sorry for snapping at you before. I tend to do that when I’m worried.”
Lydia nodded. “Apology accepted.”
“Why don’t you go ahead to the cafeteria? I’ll catch up with you there after I make a few phone calls.”
“Sure.” Lydia forced a smile, but Sol was gone, off to hold his conversations in private.
She checked on Evelyn. Reassured firsthand that her friend was indeed recovering, she called Evelyn’s daughter. In the calmest tone she could conjure up, Lydia left a message for Gayle to please call her on her cell phone as soon as she arrived home, and gave her the number. Then she headed for the hospital cafeteria.
Murder in the Air Page 10