by Mary Daheim
“Men can be difficult,” Vida noted.
“Can't they?” Henrietta made a face. “I've had three husbands, and only the first one was worth a damn, even if he did up and die on me at the age of thirty. Still,” she added wistfully, “it's not much fun to live alone.” Her quick glance took in the room, which was full of memorabilia, knickknacks, and a trio of bowling trophies. There were photos of a Hawaiian beach, the Inner Harbour at Victoria, BC, Hurricane Ridge on the Olympic Peninsula, and Mount Rainier with the wildflowers in bloom. The ceramic figurines that sat on end tables and shelves looked as if Henrietta had made them herself, all kinds of colorful creatures to keep her company during long, lonely days.
“I live alone,” Vida said quietly. “It suits me fine. For the most part.”
“Divorced?” Henrietta asked.
Vida looked faintly shocked. “Widowed. For almost twenty years.”
“Oh.” Henrietta wore a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like you were one of the lucky ones. I guess you still miss him.”
“I do indeed,” Vida replied.
“Anyway,” Henrietta went on, “Roy'd show up now and then at Carol's and there'd be a big row. Then, around Christmastime, he and Maybeth started seeing each other. It seemed kind of natural. Two people who'd been unlucky in love finding each other. To be honest, I thought it was sweet.” She winked.
“Do Maybeth and Roy fight?” I asked.
Taking a sip of coffee, Henrietta shrugged. “I can't really say, with Carol's apartment between me and May-beth. I wouldn't call her—what's the word?— docile, I guess, but she's not as ornery as Carol could be.”
“Do you know if Roy had had any contact with Carol before she was killed?” I inquired.
Henrietta frowned. “Let me think—I did see him at her door one night when I came home late from work. That was probably a week or so before the murder. Carol wouldn't let him in. At least not while I was outside.”
“In other words,” I suggested, “Roy may have still had the hots for Carol?”
“Or just wanted to cause trouble,” Henrietta said. “He strikes me as a bully.” She drummed her fingernails next to her coffee cup on the end table. “I didn't speak very well of your cousin, Emma. May I call you that?” She saw me nod and went on. “Sometimes I tend to sum up people kind of fast. He was lazy and he drank and all that, but the only reason I thought he killed Carol was because the police said so.”
“You don't agree?” I asked.
Henrietta's expression was uncertain. “Let's say that if you have doubts, then I shouldn't be so hasty. Ronnie seems like the most likely suspect, but I'd never think of him as having what you call a killer instinct. Does that make sense?”
I didn't say that killer instinct wasn't always necessary when it came to murder. Sometimes people killed out of frustration, stupidity, blind rage. They murdered almost by accident, and grieved as much as any loved one's survivor. Instead, I agreed with Henrietta. “He's much too easygoing.” It seemed to be true, but in fact, she probably knew Ronnie better than I did.
She nodded. “He seemed too laid-back. The few times I saw him and Carol together, he treated her real nice. Of course they did fight, but I figure it was Carol who started things.”
Once again, I inquired about the dog, and asked if I could get Mr. Chan's number. Henrietta knew it by heart and told me to use the phone in her bedroom. “Ronnie was real fond of that dog,” she said. “He taught it to do tricks. Last Christmas he got Budweiser one of those red-and-green hats with bells on it. It was real cute, even if the dog was a pest.”
I left Vida to continue the conversation and made my way into the bedroom. It took some explaining to make Mr. Chan understand who I was and what I wanted. His English wasn't proficient. At last he told me that the dog was at his son's place in Lake City. It was unclear whether or not they intended to keep the animal, but I got Peter Chan's number and called his home in the city's north end.
Peter, who sounded as if he'd been born in this country, was in, but hedged about Budweiser. The younger Chans had two boys, five and seven, who liked the dog. He told me to call back in a week or so.
Vida and Henrietta were discussing Kendra when I returned. Apparently, Vida had told our hostess about the new apartment and the boyfriend.
“Shenanigans,” Henrietta said with a wink.
“Of a most peculiar sort,” Vida asserted. “Whatever happened to classic lovemaking?”
Henrietta let out a gusty laugh. “Variety's the spice of life. A little innovation can perk things up. If you know what I mean.” She winked again.
Vida apparently didn't know. But instead of showing disapproval, she moved uneasily on the sofa. “Perhaps,” she allowed, then changed the subject. “You never saw Kendra with the boyfriend?”
“I hardly saw Kendra,” Henrietta replied, looking pained. “She seemed pleasant enough, but not one to visit with the likes of me. You know how these young folks are. If you've got a few wrinkles and a couple of gray hairs, they think you should be put to sleep.”
“So true,” Vida sighed, feeding into Henrietta's opinion of The Young, even though I knew of no one in Alpine, regardless of age, who would dare ignore my House and Home editor.
“Look here,” Henrietta said as she showed us to the door, “if you have any more questions or if I can help you in any other way, feel free to stop by. I don't go back to work until Thursday.”
We assured her we'd be in touch. She was smiling as we headed for the parking lot, but when I glanced over my shoulder a moment later, Henrietta's shoulders were slumped, and her expression was sad.
We were getting into the Lexus when we saw the white Mazda Miata pull in. It was Kendra, and she was alone. The sports car stopped halfway into the parking area, where Kendra whipped out a flip phone and dialed frantically.
“What's she doing?” Vida asked, craning her neck.
I hadn't yet started the car. “She's calling somebody.”
“I see that now,” Vida replied, still gawking.
The phone disappeared, but Kendra didn't move the car. The Miata blocked our exit. After a few moments she rolled down her window and leaned out.
“I don't know who you are,” she shouted, “but you're stalking me. I just called the cops.”
KENDRA IMMEDIATELY ROLLED the window back up and sat with her arms folded. She looked furious. I compared her with the graduation photo I'd seen at the Addison house. Kendra's face had changed, matured, the cheekbones more prominent. Her curly golden hair with its reddish highlights was pulled back into what appeared to be a ponytail.
“I guess postcoital bliss doesn't agree with her,” I muttered.
“Emma…” Vida's tone was heavy with reproach.
“Let's try to explain,” I said, but Vida was already getting out of the car.
“See here, young woman,” she began as I dutifully followed on the parking lot's gravel surface, “we're not stalking you. We're trying to help Ronnie Mallett.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Kendra thrust out her chin and bared her teeth. They were excellent teeth, white and even, and had no doubt set the Addisons back a few grand, courtesy of the orthodontist.
Vida was undaunted. She bent far down to bang on the window. The gravel's uneven footing threw her off balance; she staggered and fell against the car, the cartwheel hat sailing off to land on the Miata's hood.
Kendra not only stopped making faces, but burst out laughing as she finally rolled down the window.
“That's… too… funny,” she gasped between peals of laughter. “How much would you take for that hat? It's wonderful!”
As she righted herself, Vida looked furious. “That's not funny. Look what's happened to my butterflies. One fell off.”
Kendra stopped laughing, but she still seemed amused. As Vida retrieved her hat and tried to stick the blue butterfly in with its red, yellow, and orange mates, I approached the car window.
“I'm Ronnie's cousin,” I said. “I'm trying t
o help him. Could we ask you a couple of questions?”
Kendra rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother!” She paused, palms pressing against the steering wheel, gaze now fixed on Vida, who was putting her hat back on. “Okay, I'll give you five minutes. I'm still cleaning out my mother's apartment.”
Vida and I walked slowly back toward Carol's unit. I half expected to see Henrietta in the doorway, or at least peeking out between the drapes. There was no sign of her, however. Perhaps she was making more coffee.
“Okay,” Kendra said as she joined us, her step and speech brisk. “Let's get this over with.”
She unlocked the door and went in ahead of us. The apartment looked exactly as we had left it when Henrietta gave us the tour. Like her adoptive mother, Kendra didn't offer us chairs. She merely stood in the middle of the room, fists on hips, her trim figure clad in blue jeans and a black knit top.
Vida formally introduced us. Kendra didn't put out a hand. “So why do you think I can help you and your dorky cousin?” she demanded.
I tried to phrase my words carefully. “You must have been happy to meet your birth mother. I'm sure that experience answered many questions for you. But I'll bet it also opened up some new ones. Such as, why she had a rather poor track record with men. You knew that your birth father hadn't married her, that she'd been divorced, that her other boyfriends seemed to be unsatisfactory. When you finally met her, she was going with my cousin Ronnie, who—I'll admit—is no prize. Tell me—did you bad-mouth him to the police simply because he was there?”
I thought I'd exhibited tact and self-control. Kendra didn't agree. She burst out laughing. “What a bunch of crap. My real mother's problem was low self-esteem. Her brother was the family favorite, a son, Pop's pride and joy. She told me all about that. He doted on Chuckie, and ignored my mother. Grandma Nerstad was a real cipher. She did everything that her jerk of a husband wanted.”
I glanced at Vida. I could tell from her expression that she didn't disagree with Kendra's assessment of the Nerstads.
“As for Ronnie Mallett,” Kendra went on, a faintly vicious note in her voice, “he was a real loser. So were the other men in her life, but what would you expect? All she needed was a good therapist to show her how special she was. Right after we met, I tried to get her into therapy, but she put it off.”
Simple solutions for a simple teenage girl, I thought. “Someone who's a loser isn't necessarily a killer,” I pointed out.
“Ronnie didn't like being bossed,” Kendra said, her tone turning bitter. “He drank too much. He lost it and strangled my real mother. End of story.” The girl's face was now frozen, and there was sadness in her blue eyes.
I shook my head. “That's not evidence, Kendra. I got the impression you had it in for Ronnie because he made a pass at you.”
“So? Lots of guys do that. Besides, it wasn't real hard to discourage Ronnie. All I had to do was tell him that Gavin would beat the crap out of him if he ever touched me again.”
“Gavin?” Vida said. “Is that your beau?”
“My what?” Kendra laughed some more. “How quaint. It goes with the hat. Let's say that Gavin Odell is my main squeeze.”
“He's rather good-looking,” Vida remarked, feigned innocence accompanied by an uncharacteristically sweet expression.
“How do you know?” Kendra shouted.
Vida smirked. “We're stalkers, remember?”
For the first time I saw a hint of alarm in Kendra's face. We were two and she was one. Maybe she was thinking we could actually be dangerous.
“Is that it?” she asked, slightly surly.
“No,” I responded, taking advantage of her weak moment. “Please tell me what happened the night your… mother was killed.”
“I wasn't here.” She swung her head, the ponytail sailing at her back.
“You found her,” I persisted.
Kendra bit her lip. “I did. Why do you want to know about that? I don't like talking about it.”
I softened, for her emotion seemed genuine. “I don't blame you. I lost my parents in a car crash when I was just a little older than you. The hardest thing I ever did was go to the morgue with my brother and identify them.”
Kendra winced. “I guess.” The bravado seemed to have deserted her. “I'd been out with Gavin. We stopped by around ten-thirty so I could pick up a sweater I'd left here. We were coming from a movie at the Oak Tree on Aurora and going on to a bonfire picnic with some friends on the beach at Golden Gardens. It was kind of cold when we got out of the movie, and it was closer to stop by the apartment than to go all the way to my folks’ house by Green Lake.”
“You hadn't yet moved?” I asked.
Kendra shook her head. “I moved in the first of April. This was March twenty-seventh. I can't forget the date.” She paused and sat down on the arm of a recliner. “I had a key—my mother made one for me—so when she didn't come to the door, I let myself in. Gavin was waiting in the car.” Again, she paused and swallowed hard. “She was lying there”— Kendra waved at the area where Vida and I stood— “and at first, I thought she'd passed out. Then, when I bent down, I saw that awful cord around her neck. Her face was all purple and her eyes—” Covering her face with her hands, she stopped and didn't go on.
“That's okay,” I soothed, wishing it were possible to pat her shoulder. “What did you do next?”
“I ran out and got Gavin. Then we called 911.” Kendra rubbed at her mouth, as if she were trying to rid herself of death's foul taste. “We waited in the car. I couldn't stand being inside with… the body.”
“Naturally,” Vida said. “Did they arrive soon?”
For the first time in several minutes Kendra looked at Vida. “I honestly don't know. It seemed like hours. We had to go to the station out there by Northgate. I called my folks, and they came out, too. It was like two in the morning before we could go home. I was completely drained.”
I gave Kendra a moment to compose herself. “Had you been at the apartment earlier in the day?”
“Yes,” she replied. “That's when I forgot my sweater. Gavin and I stopped by on the way to the Oak Tree. My real mother wanted to tell me about jobs up in Alaska.”
“Was Ronnie there?” I inquired, hoping that the mention of his name wouldn't set Kendra off again. We were approaching cordiality, and I didn't need any roadblocks.
But my cousin hadn't been on the scene. “He might actually have been working,” Kendra said sarcastically. “In Friday-night traffic, it takes him a long time to come in from Lynnwood. Gavin and I had gotten there about six. I got off work at QFC at five-thirty and he picked me up after I changed out of my courtesy clerk outfit. We left around seven because we wanted to eat before the movie started. Ronnie still wasn't home. He'd probably stopped off for a few dozen beers on his way.”
“Did Carol say anything about him while you were there?” I asked, thinking it'd be nice to sit down.
Kendra shrugged. “I don't remember. If she did, it was probably the usual.”
“Which was?” I prodded.
“Oh— ‘Ronnie's late. I wonder why? Ha-ha.’ Or ‘I hope he didn't have too many beers and get into a wreck.’ Nothing important.”
“Nothing to indicate that they were on the outs?” Vida asked.
“No.” Kendra didn't seem much interested in the question.
I wasn't giving up on my initial query. “So why do you think he killed her?”
“I told you,” Kendra scowled. “They had a fight. Probably over money. Ronnie wasn't paying his share. He spent more on his dumb dog than he did on helping pay the rent.”
Money, I knew, was the number one reason why couples fought. Not sex, not religion, not even infidelity, but who was cheap, who was extravagant, who didn't earn enough, why the bills didn't get paid. Yet it still didn't sound like a motive for my cousin. The more I heard about Carol, the more I could see her picking up Ronnie and shaking him by the ankles until his wallet fell out of his pocket.
Vida gest
ured toward the apartment next door. “What about this Roy? Was he still pestering Carol?”
“Roy?” Kendra looked puzzled. “Oh, him. Talk about a creep—that's Roy's middle name. Yes, my mother complained about him a couple of times. He came over once when I was here, a couple of months ago, and started bragging about what great sex he and Whatshername were having. My mother told him to get lost.”
“Did he?” Vida asked.
“Yes,” Kendra replied, a touch of pride in her expression. “He went off like a whipped puppy.”
A pounding at the door startled all of us. Kendra's blue eyes grew wide, then she slapped a hand to her forehead. “The cops. I forgot about them.”
Two young men, one white, one black, and both very good-looking, stood on the threshold. They tipped their caps as the black officer, whose name tag read BILLINGS, politely asked Kendra what was going on.
Kendra was already blushing prettily; I sensed she knew how to deal with handsome young men. “I feel terrible. I made a huge mistake. I wasn't being stalked. These two women were trying to track me down to ask some questions about my mother's murder.”
“Oh?” The white officer, whose name tag identified him as PLANCICH, eyed Vida and me with curiosity. “How's that?”
I stepped forward and explained. Billings nodded gravely. “We weren't on duty the night of the homicide, but of course we got in on the case later.” His chest seemed to puff up a bit as he looked at Kendra.
“Well, now.” Vida had edged her way between Kendra and me. “You certainly solved it quickly. Back home in Alpine, our sheriff takes forever to bring a murderer to justice. Of course he's shorthanded and of a most deliberate nature. Not to mention that we don't have many violent crimes. So safe in Alpine.”