by Deany Ray
“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in close.
“Absolutely. After last night, I could use some time with you.”
“I’m glad,” he said smiling. “And Becky, please let the police do the investigating. And convince Rosalie to do the same. This is not a game and you could get hurt.”
I could see his jaw tighten and his dark brown eyes bore into mine. I knew he was right. I just couldn’t back out.
“I will. Don’t worry.” And with that, he gave me a long, burning kiss. I sighed, melting into his arms.
“See you later,” he whispered after he pulled away.
I watched him walk out the door before returning to Rosalie in the back. She had a grin on her face, but didn't say anything.
***
Two hours later the ladies from the book club came in: Mrs. Mildred Jones, Mrs. Virginia Archer, Mrs. Irene Polacek, and Mrs. Evelyn Rosenwald. They were in their sixties but looked great for their age, dressed like Queen Elisabeth in colorful skirts, blouses, and blazers with matching hats and gloves. I smiled at their fancy dress for such a casual kind of meeting.
While Rosalie wiped down the counter, I walked up to the table the ladies had reserved so I could take their drink orders. Before I could say anything, Mrs. Jones spoke up.
“Oh you dears,” she said. “You must be so traumatized. The entire town has heard the news. It is the talk of the town. How are you doing?”
I guess I shouldn’t wonder that the whole town already knew.
“Well, we're surviving,” I told her.
“Poor Mrs. Haggerty,” Mrs. Archer said, shaking her head. “She must be so devastated to lose her husband.”
Mrs. Polacek stifled a chuckle behind her fist. “Well, she is quite fond of her pills. She’s probably so doped up that she doesn't even realize what’s going on.”
Turning to me, Mrs. Jones said, “We all have our own accounts at the bank and we're the same age as Mr. and Mrs. Haggerty. We used to go to the most wonderful cocktail parties with them.”
“It wasn't just cocktail parties, Mildred,” Mrs. Polacek said. “There were all sorts of events.”
“Yes, well the cocktail parties were my favorite,” Mrs. Jones told me.
Mrs. Rosenwald, who hadn't yet spoke up, suddenly leaned over the table. “My nephew has a friend who works at the police station,” she whispered. We had to lean in to hear. “He told me that just before he died, Mr. Haggerty had written something on a check that belonged to Rosalie, but they couldn't figure out what it said.”
My stomach dropped. The ladies gasped.
“Poor Rosalie! What could she have to do with any of this?” Mrs. Archer asked.
“She's such a sweet girl!” Mrs. Jones said. “What do you think happened?”
Before they could continue gossiping, I quickly spoke up.
“Well, I’m sure the police will figure it out. Do you want me to bring coffee?”
The ladies nodded and I went back to the counter to repeat the conversation to Rosalie. She shrugged it off.
“It's okay. Maybe they know something we can use.”
She helped me fix coffee for the ladies and we took them their food and drinks. Mrs. Archer placed her hand on Rosalie's arm. “Do the police have any ideas about what the message on that check was supposed to mean?” she asked.
We shook our heads and Rosalie replied, “Not that I'm aware of.”
The ladies stayed for about two hours, mostly gossiping but talking a little bit about their book. They clearly enjoyed the vanilla bean cake I had made for them, as each of them asked for a second slice.
When they finally left and the café was empty, Rosalie told me she had an idea.
“I think we should start by visiting Mrs. Haggerty. We can find out a lot from her.”
I hesitated for a moment.
“That’s a good start,” I said. “But I'm sure the police have already talked to her by now. Why would she say anything more to us?”
“Hon, it's one thing to talk to the police. It's completely different to talk to neighbors who come to check on you and bring cake.”
I laughed. “That’s true. Then we’ll take Mrs. Haggerty a cake.”
Chapter Four
That night Houston picked me up for dinner. Since it was such a nice evening I had decided to wear a yellow sundress dotted with small blue flowers. I usually wear my honey-blond hair in a ponytail or a bun, but for this occasion I had let my hair down so that it brushed my shoulders.
He smiled when he saw me and kissed me lightly on the lips. I was so happy to see him that I wrapped my arms around him and planted my lips firmly against his.
When we pulled away, I smiled.
“Where are we going to eat?” I asked.
“I've heard of this great Italian restaurant that I want to try,” he said as he opened his car door for me. “Are you okay with that?”
“Pizza and pasta? I could never say no to that.”
We took our seats at the table and he took my hand after we’d placed our order.
“I have some news,” he said. “I got a phone call this afternoon from the company I'm representing. They need me to go to Dallas for a few days.”
My heart sunk as I realized how much I would miss him, even for just for a few days.
“I understand. You’re a big shot lawyer in Ouna Bay now,” I teased him.
“The best, ma’am,” he said with a sparkle in his brown eyes.
“So, when do you leave?” I asked.
“First thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “I want you to know that I'll miss you while I'm gone.”
I couldn't help but smile. He was so sweet.
“I'll miss you, too,” I said. “But we can always talk over the phone. At least I can hear your voice.”
Because he was going out of town, I decided not to tell him about our planned visit to Mrs. Haggerty. I figured it would all be resolved by the time he got back. So what was the point in telling?
We lingered on the porch that night, knowing that we wouldn't see each other for a few days. Finally, he kissed me good night and I walked in my house, swooning over my good luck.
***
In the early afternoon on Sunday, I met Rosalie outside of Mrs. Haggerty's house. I carried the leftover vanilla bean cake with chocolate ganache frosting from the day before.
“That looks so yummy,” Rosalie said, looking eagerly at the cake.
“Thanks, but try to leave a piece for Mrs. Haggerty too,” I said.
Rosalie knocked on the door and after a moment the widow answered. She held a martini glass that was halfway full. She was in her sixties with messy hair and glassy, green eyes.
“Yes?” she said with a slight smile.
“Hi,” Rosalie said. “I'm Rosalie and this is my friend, Becky. We were the ones who found your husband's body. I'm so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh, hello!” Mrs. Haggerty cried. “Welcome. Please come on in.”
As we walked in, Rosalie gave me a look that signaled her thoughts: Mrs. Haggerty seemed far too happy for a woman who had just lost her husband.
She led us into the living room where dark brown couches were arranged around a large fireplace. The mantle held framed pictures of Mrs. Haggerty and her late husband.
As we took our seats, she spilled some of her drink and giggled. “I took some pills to help with my grief. I'm not supposed to mix them with alcohol, but really I think I'll be fine.”
Again, Rosalie sent me a look. The ladies in the café the day before were right: Mrs. Haggerty had some addictions.
I placed the cake on the coffee table and said, “I hope you like this cake. Again, we are so sorry for your loss.”
“Oh how kind of you, dear!” Mrs. Haggerty said.
She jumped up from the couch and disappeared through a swinging door.
“This is weird-o,” whispered Rosalie.
“Shh, she could be back any se
cond,” I whispered back.
“So? It’s not exactly like she has a tight grasp on reality.”
Mrs. Haggerty returned with plates and forks and a knife for slicing the cake.
“I'll only eat a piece if you two join me,” she said.
Rosalie happily accepted the cake and began to dig in. I took a small bite and set the plate back on the table.
“Mrs. Haggerty,” Rosalie said, “this must be a very hard time for you.”
“It is but I’ll be okay,” the widow replied. She had made quick work of her piece of cake and was slicing herself another.
Rosalie nodded. “We wanted to ask you some questions about Mr. Haggerty, if you don't mind.”
“Well there's not much to tell,” Mrs. Haggerty said. “He was a good man and a hard worker.”
“Did he, by any chance, get into an argument with someone lately? Maybe with someone at the bank, or with an acquaintance?” I asked.
Mrs. Haggerty thought for a second.
“No, I don’t think so. But I don’t think he would tell me even if he had. He kept his business very private. But we had always had a marvelous time. So many parties...,” she seemed to drift into her memories.
“So you two did a lot with friends?” I asked further.
“That’s what was expected, dear. We donated a lot to museums, operas, charity organizations. People expect you to show up at all the parties for these kind of things. And the best thing of all is that the liquor is free,” she giggled. “Never an empty glass!”
And with that she raised her martini glass, said cheers and happily took a sip of the numbing drink.
At that moment, I realized how Mrs. Haggerty had developed her drinking problem.
“How about his work life?” Rosalie asked. “Did he get along with everyone there or did something unusual happen? I worked at the bank myself, as a cashier, but didn’t work much with Mr. Haggerty.”
“Oh, you worked at the bank too, dear? Wasn’t it a great place to work?” she asked more to herself than to us. She took another sip. “My husband did work a lot. And he was so good to his employees. Lately he'd been working late quite often; practically every night. He told me the job had become so much more demanding.”
“Is that so?” I asked, wondering what could have taken up so much of his time.
“Yes, dear. The director of the bank has a lot of responsibilities. Good thing he had a secretary helping him out. She was so devoted to her job. Always there when he needed her.”
Rosalie and I perked up.
“So his secretary helped him out? Even when he worked until late?” I asked.
“Well I don’t know if she was in the office every night, I just know she was very dependable,” Mrs. Haggerty said and then quickly stood.
“Oh my gosh! What kind of hostess am I? I haven’t offered you anything to drink.” And with that, she half-stumbled into the kitchen mumbling something about good manners.
“Oh right. I totally forgot he had a secretary!” Rosalie exclaimed. “Her office is in the very back of the building and I always worked in the front.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he had an affair with her?” I asked as my mind turned to Roger who had cheated on me with his secretary. I had a flashback to the moment I walked in on them and how I felt at the time.
“I don’t know,” Rosalie said and thought about it for a moment. “If he did, then he wasn’t such a nice man after all. His secretary seemed to keep to herself. I never saw her much around the bank.”
“Really? There is a person that you don't know?” I teased.
She gave me a wry smile. “Yeah, I know. It's kind of weird.”
Mrs. Haggerty came back from the kitchen with a martini bottle and two glasses.
“Don’t you worry, dears. I have your drinks now,” she said while she opened the bottle.
“Oh, Mrs. Haggerty, thank you very much, but we really have to go,” I said.
“Well then, there’s more for me,” she said with a chuckle.
She emptied her martini glass and stretched out on the couch. Within just a moment she had fallen asleep. Quietly we stood up and left, closing the door behind us. As we walked to the street where our cars were parked, we talked about what to do next. Rosalie wanted to go to the bank first thing in the morning to talk to her former co-workers. We wanted to make sure that we talked to the secretary too.
I also mentioned to Rosalie that Houston was on a business trip for a few days. She thought this would be the perfect opportunity to spruce up his office while he was gone because she’d been inspired by her Feng Shui book. I told her Houston is not a raving Feng Shui and that while he appreciates her help so far, he likes his office the way it is. Rosalie sighed and said she might just redecorate her own house in that case so that her Feng Shui energy doesn’t go to waste. I told her that was a great idea.
After I drove home, I started to fill my tub so I could soothe some of the tension out of my back. The meeting with Mrs. Haggerty had been more than weird and I felt bad for her. She didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Her husband had been murdered and she was drinking away her sorrow with martinis and God knows what else. I just hoped it wouldn’t get worse.
The phone rang before I could climb into the tub.
“Becky, it's Roger,” said the voice on the other line.
“Oh. Hi,” I said, surprised.
“Listen, I know I'm not supposed to talk to you about police stuff, particularly the investigation,” he said. I could hear the tension in his voice. “But we've found the weapon that the murderer used to kill Mr. Haggerty.”
“Really?” I asked. “What is it?”
He sighed. “This is the part that worries me. It's an envelope opener...and it has Rosalie's fingerprints on it.”
Gasping, I dropped the phone. The world around me went black and for a moment I thought I would faint.
Chapter Five
I took a deep breath and leaned over, putting my hands on my knees for support. I wished I had something to sit down on, but instead had to rely on the wall for support.
“Becky? Becky!” I could hear Roger calling my name from the phone that I had dropped onto the carpet. I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, picking the phone back up.
“I'm here,” I managed to say.
I could hear him sigh in relief.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you, but I knew you would want the heads up. I know how much Rosalie means to you.”
Nodding even though he couldn't see, I replied, “Yeah, thank you. Where did you find it?”
“A waste management employee found it in a trash can on Highland Street,” he said. “It was covered in dried blood. It seems to be some kind of fancy envelope opener. It has a golden handle. There were other employees’ fingerprints on it as well. It seems they all used it for whatever reason. But it's not looking very good for Rosalie.”
“This is getting worse and worse!” I said, lightly banging my head against the wall.
“I know. I'm sorry. It's not by any means solid proof, but those in charge of the investigation are going to be taking a closer look at her. I certainly don't think she's a killer, but my personal opinion doesn't matter here,” he said.
Sighing I said, “I guess it's a good thing she's supposed to go to the police tomorrow morning for another statement. Then she can explain her fingerprints on the envelope opener.”
“Good point,” Roger replied.
“Listen,” I told him. “Thanks for calling me and telling me. I know you've taken a risk to warn me about all this.”
“You bet,” he said. “Try to get some rest, Becky.”
“Thanks. Good night.” I hung up the phone and rested my head against the wall, closing my eyes. I couldn't believe what was happening. For a moment I thought about calling Rosalie but changed my mind. There was no point in causing her to have a sleepless night like I was certain I was going to have. Especially when I knew I was seeing
her in the morning and could just warn her about it then.
***
In the morning, I met Rosalie at the bank before I had to open up the café. When I got there, there was no Rosalie in sight.
Fifteen minutes later there was still no Rosalie. Just as I was about to get worried, I heard screeching tires coming from around the corner. And there she was, speeding like there’s no tomorrow. Rosalie parked at the curb, got out and came running to me.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She had red cheeks and was all flustered.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I overslept, damn it. Again, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“That’s okay, Rosalie. You just had me worried.”
She looked at me and frowned.
“Did you sleep okay? You kind of look like you didn’t. Oh, I get it. Hot phone night with Houston, right?” she said, elbowing me in the ribs.
“No. No hot night and I didn’t sleep okay,” I told her, thinking about the big, brown bags I was sure I had under my eyes.
“Well that’s a shame.”
She began to walk toward the bank, expecting me to follow, but I stopped her.
“Rosalie, wait. Before we go in, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay. What's up?” Rosalie asked.
I quickly told her about the phone call I had received from Roger the night before. By the time I was done, her jaw had dropped and I could have sworn it was touching the ground it was so low.
“What?” she exclaimed in a high-pitched sound. “The envelope opener is the murder weapon? Well, of course it had my fingerprints on it!”
She threw her hands in the air in frustration. “I’m guessing it had everyone else's on it, too! It was a special gift for Mr. Haggerty that we passed around and admired. That golden handle was a beaut.”
“I think that’s a valid explanation and you can tell that to the police,” I told her.
She huffed and began walking toward the bank. I hurried to keep up with her.
“It was nice of Roger to call you, though,” she said. “When I go to the police station after the bank I'm going to tell them exactly what I've just told you. They have to believe me. I’m telling the truth.”