Murder in the Air

by Marilyn Levinson

  “What about?”

  “Money.”

  “Interesting. Who was present?”

  “Arnold and his wife, Polly—I can’t remember if her husband was there or not—Denise. Oh, and Bennett.”

  “Any other grandchildren?”

  “Sorry, I don’t remember.”

  “Were the gifts still on the table?”

  “I’d imagine so. The hosts usually collect them when they’re ready to leave.” When he said nothing, Lydia said, “You’re thinking someone in the room arrived early and injected the poison somehow?”

  “Or substituted a box of doctored chocolates for Daniel’s favorites, which happened to be what you and Barbara brought.”

  Lydia shivered. “How diabolical! The killer exchanged boxes, attached our birthday card, and that was that.”

  She thought a minute, then asked, “But how would he know when Daniel would eat the candy? Though he did finish off a Bertran’s Best box pretty quickly.”

  Sol’s eyes were a dull green. “There was no chance of error. Every candy had been doctored.”

  “A family member,” she mused.

  “Maybe, though any guest could have made the candy switch some time during the party.”

  Lydia nodded. “The murderer intended Daniel to die, and soon. Which means, if it was a family member, he was operating under the premise that Daniel was going to change his will when he married Evelyn.” She stared up at Sol. “Unless they knew he’d already changed it.”

  Sol shook his head. “I asked Evelyn about this very issue. Daniel only told his children that he and Evelyn were getting married. The murderer assumed he or she had to act before the wedding, not knowing the will had already been changed.”

  Lydia continued. “Then, when the murderer found out the terms of the new will, he or she went after Evelyn.”

  “Went after her twice.”

  “Thank God she’s safe in Atlanta,” Lydia said.

  Sol frowned. “She wanted to come home. I had to all but threaten her with protective custody to get her to stay put, at least for a few weeks.”

  “I’m glad she’s out of harm’s way.” She stood.

  “I want you to be careful as well.”

  “Nobody’s after me.” She shuddered. “Or was that red pickup truck after two birds with one stone?”

  “I’d say that was the murderer’s final attempt to get at Evelyn before she left Long Island. But there’s no saying whoever it is won’t go after you, should you start to snoop around.”

  Lydia grimaced. “I have no intention of—as you put it—snooping around.”

  “Good. No investigating, no following up hunches. Promise?” He raised her chin with one finger.

  She thought he was about to kiss her, and was disappointed when he didn’t. “I promise,” she said, feeling like a child.

  “Talk to you soon,” Sol said, opening the door.

  “You never told me—what kind of poison was in the chocolates?”

  “It wasn’t poison exactly, but a very strong dosage of digitalis. The same medicine Mr. Korman took to keep his congestive heart failure under control.”

  “Something a close friend or relative would know.”

  “Exactly.”

  This same person would happen to know Evelyn was catching an early Sunday morning to Atlanta, Lydia thought, but didn’t say aloud.

  *

  Lydia drove slowly to Carrington House, her mind awhirl with everything Sol had told her. Daniel was dead because someone had injected a strong dose of digitalis into his chocolate. Her birthday gift, which she and Barbara had chosen with Daniel’s preferences in mind. She was overcome by a sense of rage, so powerful she almost sailed past a red light. How vile, to kill a man while pretending to celebrate his life! Who, among Daniel’s family and friends, was that intent on wiping him off the face of the earth? Was the murderer after Daniel’s money, or was there a personal vendetta involved?

  As soon as she stepped inside the business office, she knew that Len had gotten word of Daniel’s postmortem. He cut short his conversation with Jessica and Betty, the head of the wait staff, to glare at her.

  “A Lieutenant Molina called to say your friend, Mr. Korman, was poisoned, possibly right here at the mansion. He’s coming by later to question as many of the staff as I can round up who were on duty the night of his party.” Len’s small eyes bore into her. “That’s your Mr. Korman, Lydia.”

  Lydia resisted the urge to smack him. “Yes, Len, Mr. Korman was my friend and neighbor. I’m just coming from the police station, where Lieutenant Molina gave me the sad news.”

  “Jeez!” Len rubbed the bald spot on his head, messing up his comb-over. “I hope you told him we run a respectable facility. Nobody who works here had any reason to kill the old geezer. Nobody even knew him—except for you.”

  Lydia’s nostrils flared. “Daniel Korman was a wonderful person and not a geezer, as you put it.”

  Len waved his hand. “It’s an expression, that’s all. No need to be so thin-skinned. The point is, we don’t want adverse publicity. The board hears about it, and there goes the money I practically had to beg them for to do our much needed renovations.”

  You’re afraid they’ll blame you if the suites aren’t a moneymaker, and you’re chewing me out to let off steam. Well, buster, you picked the wrong patsy.

  “Tell you what, Len. I’ll make today my last day at the mansion and turn down the offer to manage The Carrington Suites. That way you and the board won’t be tainted by any connection to me because someone I recommended was poisoned.”

  “No, Lydia, you can’t leave!” Jessica wailed.

  Lydia felt a pang of remorse. She was fond of Jessica, who was young enough to be her daughter. Though she held the title of office manager, Jessica was overworked and understaffed. Lydia held her ground.

  “I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch, Jessica, but I can’t work here knowing Len blames me for bringing trouble to the mansion.”

  “I never said—”

  “Then I quit, too,” Jessica broke in staunchly. “I can’t manage without Lydia.”

  Len’s eyes rolled like a wild man’s. “Don’t say that, Jessica. I’ll raise your salary fifty bucks a week.”

  “Oh, sure,” Jessica said. Tears streamed down her face. “Just like you said you’d hire two more people. Well, now you’ll have to hire four more.” She fled from the room.

  Len chased after her. “You can’t go, Jessica! What will I do without you?”

  Jessica swirled around, making him stop in his tracks to avoid crashing into her. “You’ll get what you deserve!”

  “Please stay, Jessica.”

  “I won’t—unless Lydia stays, too. She helps me with things you should be teaching me, things you have no time for with your precious renovations.”

  Len paused. Lydia nearly laughed at the agony he was going through, stewing in a situation he’d created. He swallowed once. Twice. He cleared his throat.

  “Would you reconsider staying, Lydia? I didn’t mean to speak harshly about you or your friend. I’ve been burdened with business concerns—”

  “You haven’t been taking care of your home office,” she broke in smoothly. “That should always be your first concern. I’ll come back if you make the hiring of two office workers a priority. Jessica can’t go on as she’s been doing.” Lydia grinned. “She’s a terrific asset. You’d be a fool to let her slip through your fingers.”

  *

  Driving home hours later, Lydia reexamined her exchange with Len and all that had ensued. She wasn’t proud of having allowed herself to be sufficiently provoked to offer to quit, though the results were mostly positive—a raise for Jessica, and ads for more personnel were placed online and in the papers. The downside was Len now saw her as a threat to his authority and was bound to seek retribution somehow. She shook her head. No matter. If he made things unpleasant, she’d quit and find a job in a more congenial workplace.

  S
he stopped at a gourmet market and bought fruits, vegetables, and flounder for dinner. She ate her dinner, stacked the dishwasher, and was planning to call Barbara when the doorbell rang.

  “Coming!” she called out, hoping to see Sol when she opened the front door.

  Her smile disappeared when she saw Ron Morganstern and Mick Diminio standing there instead. They looked grim. Her heart jumped to her throat, but she refused to show her apprehension.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. I’ve nothing to say to either of you.”

  Mick met her gaze. “But we have something to say to you—if you’ll let us.”

  He lowered his head, awaiting her decision. Ron nodded reassuringly.

  Puzzled but no longer frightened, she shrugged. “In that case, come on in.”

  She led them into the living room, and they sat side by side on the sofa opposite the one she favored.

  Ron cleared his throat. “First off, Mick and I want to thank you for not running to the cops about Timmy John.”

  “Something I hope I don’t live to regret,” she said wryly.

  Mick reached across the table, as though intending to pat her hand, and thought better of it. “I’m deeply sorry for making asinine threats against your family. That was stupid and unconscionable, and I certainly didn’t mean it.”

  Lydia glared at him. “It was the most awful thing anyone ever said to me.”

  He gave her a thin smile. “I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. Will you forgive me?”

  Lydia thought a minute. On a visceral level, she’d never forgive him, but there was no point in refusing his olive branch. She nodded. “Apology accepted. It’s rare to hear an old pol say he’s sorry.”

  Mick sighed. “Thank you. Ronnie and I have a lot to be sorry for, but I swear to you, we didn’t kill Timmy John. I’ve regretted that afternoon these seventy years.”

  “We’re sorry we can’t undo what we did that day,” Ron said, “but we want to help set things right—by finding Daniel’s murderer.”

  “Yeah, we want to make sure the rotten skunk gets what he deserves!”

  Lydia gave a start. “How did you find out he was murdered?”

  Mick winked, giving Lydia a glimpse of what a charmer the man must have been in his prime. “You underestimate an old pol’s connections. My son called me as soon as he heard the news, and I called Ronnie.”

  “Can you believe it—Danny done in by one of his own flesh and blood?” Ron shook his head in disapproval. “I thought that all along, ever since he died.”

  “So you did,” Lydia mused, remembering his comments about Daniel’s mercenary children the day of the funeral.

  “Now, Ronnie, don’t go jumping to conclusions,” Mick admonished his friend. “There are a few other possibilities. That fellow, Allen Holtstein, has a real murky past.”

  “Excuse me.” Lydia held up her palms. “I think it’s admirable that you want to help find Daniel’s murderer, but the police are on top of it. I’m sure they’d appreciate hearing whatever you know about any guests who attended Daniel’s party.”

  “Are you kidding?” Mick got to his feet and paced a bit before turning back to her. “The last thing Ronnie and I want is to draw attention to ourselves. If we went to the cops, they’d go digging into our personal histories.”

  “They’ll find out you were both at the party. I’m sure they’ll question you along with every other guest. They’re bound to ask how you knew Daniel.”

  “No doubt they will,” Ronnie said. “And we’ll tell them we knew him when we were kids, which is true enough. But that’s them coming to us, not us going to them. Makes a big difference to the cops.”

  Mick came to stand beside her. “The thing is, Lydia—may I call you Lydia?”

  She nodded.

  He smiled. “Ronnie here tells me you’re pretty friendly with Lieutenant Molina in homicide. Is that right?”

  “I am,” she said, feeling the blood rise to her ears, “but—”

  “And you’re no slouch yourself when it comes to finding crooks and murderers.”

  She nodded, wondering where this was going.

  “The thing is, I have the ways and means of learning everything there is to know about people—the real dirt, not the face they show to the world. I can tell you what I dig up, and you can pass it on to your friend.”

  Lydia bit her lips so she wouldn’t laugh aloud at the absurdity of his suggestion. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Sol will want to know the source of my information.”

  Mick put up a hand to halt her objections. “Let me give you a for instance. You know Danny’s grandson, Bennett?”

  Lydia nodded.

  He let out a humorless laugh. “The kid’s thirty-five and has been involved in more crooked deals than you could shake a stick at.”

  She nodded again, though she couldn’t see what shaking a stick had to do with anything.

  “In high school he hooked up with a gang of thieves and started selling some of their booty to his classmates. Until a kid ratted them out.” Mick’s eyes narrowed. “Bennett arranged for one of the gang’s goons to teach the kid ‘a lesson.’ The kid almost bled to death. He required thirty-nine stitches. Bennett ended up in juvie hall.”

  Lydia knew enough about the law to be impressed by this piece of information. Juvenile records were closed. “Nice guy,” she commented. “It’s difficult to believe he’s Daniel’s grandson.”

  Mick frowned. “The kid’s father was a drunken sot who tried his hand at forging checks instead of working. The first time he got caught, Daniel hired a top lawyer who got him off with a slap on the wrist. The second time, Daniel told Denise to divorce the guy and she listened. She cleaned up her act for a while then met husband number two, a druggie who got her hooked on pills.”

  “Maybe you should have been a detective,” Lydia said.

  Mick laughed, this time with genuine pleasure. “In my line of work I had to know everything about everyone I dealt with. Right now I’m making it my business to check out the people in Daniel’s circle.” He turned serious. “The way I see it, someone at the party poisoned Daniel. I intend to find out who.”

  Mick’s intent—with her as a conduit to the police—took on a new gravity that appealed to her sense of morality. With or without her assistance, the old pol would find a way to get his information to the police. But Lydia suddenly saw this as her chance—her obligation—to assist Mick and Ron for Daniel and Evelyn’s sake.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” she said as she stood.

  To her astonishment, Mick enveloped her in a bear hug that swept her off her feet. “Good girl! We’ll get the mother—er—person who poisoned Danny.”

  They left shortly after. Lydia dropped down onto the sofa and considered the logistics. She’d promised Sol she wouldn’t get involved in playing detective. Well, she wasn’t—merely acting as a messenger girl. The trick was to offer up whatever information Mick gave her as something she’d learned in the course of conversation with Twin Lakes’ residents.

  “He wants me to tell him what the neighbors are saying,” she said aloud. It wasn’t quite true, but it helped assuage her guilty conscience for defying Sol’s instructions, which, if he found out, would create a rift between them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Evelyn called her that evening, spilling over with apologies.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear, for repaying your hospitality by implicating the box of chocolates you and Barbara gave Daniel.”

  “Please Evelyn, that’s the least of it. Sol figures the murderer must have switched boxes and replaced our gift with doctored chocolates. Be sure to tell Sol everything you can remember about the night of Daniel’s party and the morning after.”

  Evelyn gave a rueful little laugh. “Which isn’t very much, I’m afraid. I didn’t notice anyone acting suspicious around the gifts at the party or the house.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on everything.” Lydia drew in a breath, then ventured to say wha
t was at the forefront of her mind. “Stay in Atlanta and enjoy your family. There’s no reason to hurry home.”

  Evelyn sounded forlorn when she said, “So Gayle keeps telling me. Good-bye, Lydia. Thanks for everything.”

  Lydia placed the phone down, and ignored the newspaper she’d been reading. Instead, she called Polly to make amends for what Polly considered her cruel betrayal. Polly’s fear that someone had murdered her father had proven correct. While Lydia could never explain why she’d changed her mind about Daniel’s death, she felt obliged to offer her sympathy and support.

  Polly dismissed her apologies almost perfunctorily, and laid all her resentment at Denise’s feet.

  “She’s a snake, always conniving and wheedling men for drug money.”

  “I thought she’d stopped using.”

  “Denise? Never. Oh, she pretends to stop. My sister’s great at dissembling and lying. I know for a fact she tried to hit Dad up for money a few days before the party. And you know what? I’m beginning to think she killed him.”

  “Polly!” Despite all she knew about Daniel’s family, Lydia was shocked.

  “Who else could it be? Denise knows all about hypodermic needles. And getting hold of Dad’s meds would be easy enough. She used to raid the medicine chest when we were little.”

  “Still. This was a deliberate act of homicide.”

  “Patricide, you mean.” Polly’s voice grew shrill. “Denise hated my father, and she wanted his money. I know she did it!”

  “Polly, dear, please calm down so we can discuss this. I agree Denise is a possible suspect, but you’ve no proof that she’s guilty.”

  “Maybe not for a court of law, but I’ve seen enough to know what I’m saying. The night of Dad’s party, Arnold wanted us to hold a meeting at ten o’clock. I didn’t want to, but he insisted. I figured it would be easier to go along, stay for fifteen minutes at the most, then leave. Just before ten, I went into the ladies’ room off the entrance hall. You know where it is.”

  “Of course,” Lydia said, remembering her own visit there minutes later, in time to overhear Polly’s siblings arguing about Daniel.