“Well, mainly you,” Signe answered. “She told me that you had been involved in solving murders—not as a police officer, though. That you did it on your own. I didn’t know what to say, so I just listened. I think that’s when she told me that the reason she and my father had moved to Hancock was to be your neighbors.”
“What?” After thirty years of marriage, the Henshaws spoke as one.
“That’s what she said. I’m sure of it.”
“Did she explain?” Jed asked.
“Did she tell you that she—or your father—had known us before coming here?” Susan asked.
“She didn’t explain—” Signe paused. “—exactly.”
“What do you mean?” Susan asked.
“Did she say she knew either of us before she came to Hancock?” Jed asked again.
Signe answered Jed’s question first. “No, she didn’t say anything about that. I’ve thought this over. I knew you’d ask. All she said was that she and my father moved here— to Hancock—to be your neighbors. But that’s not all she said. She also said that if something happened to her, I should remember that it was important that they live near you. That’s all there was time for. My father came into the room to ask her to help him pick out a tie, and she didn’t say anything else—about you, or moving here, or what she thought might happen to her.”
“That’s so weird,” Susan said.
“What did you do then?” Jed asked.
“Nothing much. I suggested that maybe a present would be a good idea, and I headed downtown to Twigs and Stems. To be honest, I was looking for Erika more than anything. I was glad Mother was found not guilty, of course, but if we weren’t going to go out to dinner to celebrate, there really wasn’t anything for me to do in Hancock. I . . . You can probably tell that I haven’t maintained a close relationship with either of my parents. I thought that checking in with Erika would mean that the trip here wasn’t a complete waste of my weekend.
“Of course, Erika wasn’t there. The girl minding the store said she had been in earlier in the day, but had gone home to get ready for a party. I had no idea what to do.” Signe got up and wandered over to the kitchen window and looked out at the backyard. “There was a present there waiting to be picked up and taken to the Landing Inn. I offered to deliver it, and I did. That only took about an hour. Then I stopped in at the McDonald’s out on the highway, ate an incredibly fattening dinner, and drove back to my parents’ house. I wasn’t surprised to find that they had already left. In fact, I was counting on it.”
“What did you do then?”
“Fell asleep in front of the TV. I was exhausted. I didn’t even wake up when they first arrived home.”
“They arrived home? Both of your parents?” Susan jumped in with a question.
Signe looked surprised. “Yes, of course. . . . Oh, I see what you mean. I . . . I thought my mother and father had come home together. And they weren’t all that late, either. When did your party end?”
“Heavens, it was well after one A.M. when we finally went upstairs, wasn’t it?” Susan checked with Jed.
“At least. But Ashley and Doug left before it had really gotten started, remember.” He looked at Signe. “When did your parents arrive home?”
“The news—the eleven o’clock news—was just ending.”
“It’s probably a half hour drive to Hancock from Oxford Landing that time of the night,” Jed said. “Maybe less.”
“But that’s an hour round-trip,” Susan said slowly.
Signe looked at Susan, a puzzled expression on her face. “When did you find Mother?”
“A little after one, but she must have been murdered and placed on our bed quite a while before that. I mean . . .” Susan looked at Signe. “You look a bit pale. This must be awful to hear. Maybe—”
“No, I’m okay. I need to know about this. Really. Go on.”
Susan pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “It’s the time frame that puzzles me. I thought . . . I knew your parents left the party early, but I just assumed that they never left the inn.”
“Or my father either?” Signe asked.
“I didn’t really think about that. I just assumed they were together . . . until your mother was killed that is,” she added.
“So you think my father killed her.”
“Of course not! I . . .” Susan stopped and tried to think of a nice way to answer the question. “Look,” she began slowly, “that is what most people will—or are, I guess— thinking.”
“But my father came home early. I spoke with him.”
“Signe, I hate to ask you this,” Susan said. “And I know the way the question sounds, but were you watching TV in the family room next to the kitchen?”
Signe looked surprised, but answered promptly. “Yes.”
“And your parents entered the house through the garage. That is, they came in through the kitchen.”
“Yes.” Signe paused. “That is, I assume they did. I didn’t actually see both of them. That’s what you’re getting at, right?”
“Yes. Who . . . Which one did you see?”
Signe looked scared. “Father. He . . . he came to the doorway and said that Mother was tired, so they’d left early and were going straight to bed. He . . . he asked if I needed anything. I said no. Father said that we’d all have a big breakfast together in the morning and for me to get a good night’s sleep. I . . . I said good night and turned back to the television. I meant to go up to bed, but I just wasn’t all that sleepy after my nap. I watched a Cary Grant movie on TV for a while, and then, around the time I started to doze off again, the phone rang with the news about Mother’s murder.”
“You answered the phone?” Jed asked the question.
“Yes.”
“Who called?” Susan asked.
“I think it must have been Chief Konowitz, but I’m not sure. He introduced himself right away, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I was half asleep. All I heard was a male voice asking who I was, and when I told him, the caller said that my mother was dead and that he would like to speak to my father right away. I hung up.”
“You what?”
“I hung up. I thought it was some sort of joke, frankly. You have to understand how strange things had been in that house for the past few months. My father had stopped answering the phone completely. He said the only people who called were reporters or idiots—people making crank calls, suggesting the names of lawyers for my mother, and other sorts of junk that either upset him or hurt his feelings. He had been using the answering machine to screen phone calls since the day after Mother was arrested. I just assumed that this call was one of the ones he had described to me.
“Anyway, the phone rang again, and I picked it up planning to tell off the idiot on the other end of the line—only it turned out to be Erika. She knew about the murder, had called my apartment in the city, and when she didn’t find me in, she thought I might be here. She . . . she told me that my mother was in fact dead.” She frowned and looked down at the floor.
“And you went upstairs to tell your father,” Jed prompted when Signe had been silent for a moment.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I did.”
“And what did he say?” Susan asked, hoping she didn’t know the answer to her question.
“Nothing. He wasn’t there.” Signe looked at the Henshaws. “I know what you’re thinking, but my father would never ever have killed my mother. I’m sure of it.”
“What did you do then?” Susan asked.
“I didn’t know what to do. I walked around the house for a bit. I think I turned on the radio. I was thinking that perhaps the news of the murder might be on. I didn’t know what to do,” she repeated. “And then . . .”
“And then,” Susan prompted.
“Then my father walked in the front door.”
“Where had he been?”
“He couldn’t sleep,” Signe insisted. “He told me that he couldn’t sleep so he went for a walk. He didn’t really go anywher
e in particular. He said something about walking around the block a few times.”
“Did you tell him about your mother’s death?” Susan asked gently.
“Yes. Of course. What else would I have done?”
“He must have been shocked,” Susan suggested.
“Did he tell you why your mother had stayed at the inn after he left?” Jed asked.
“Yes. He said that something had happened at the party that upset them and they had planned on leaving together, but while they were walking to the car, they’d had an argument about something he had said to someone, and my mother stalked off. He said he tried to follow her, but she just took off down some path by the river and he got lost. Anyway, he couldn’t find her, so he finally came home.”
“He left her at the inn?” Susan asked.
“Yes, he said she knew so many people at your party that he was sure she would find a ride home. He didn’t say anything to me when he got home because he didn’t want me to worry. But it turned out that he was so worried he couldn’t sleep.” Signe stopped speaking and looked up at the Henshaws. “I know it sounds odd, but it could be true!”
“I suppose . . .” Susan started.
“You have to understand what I’m going to say to you,” Signe said urgently. “I know Father. He did not kill my mother.”
Susan patted Signe on the shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what we believe. What matters right now is what the police think happened.”
“They’re going to look to the family for suspects first, aren’t they?”
“Probably,” Jed answered.
“But that doesn’t matter in the long run,” Susan added quickly. “There must be other people who wanted your mother dead.” She realized that what she was saying was not necessarily comforting and stopped.
But Signe didn’t seem upset by Susan’s words. “I guess. I don’t know much about their lives. My father could tell you about that—if you can convince him to.”
“Why would he need convincing?” Jed asked. “He certainly would want suspicion to fall away from the family.”
“Of course, but he’s spent years and years protecting my mother.”
“Your mother always struck me as a very strong person,” Susan said.
“She was. It’s just . . .” Signe took a deep breath and then exhaled. “It’s a little difficult to explain.”
“Try.”
Signe started by asking a question of her own. “Did you get along with Mother?”
“We’ve always gotten along with our neighbors,” Susan said. “We make a point of doing so. Of course, your parents hadn’t lived in Hancock all that long, and we were very friendly with the Hallards. They were already living in the house that your parents bought before we moved to Hancock. Martha Hallard was the first person to knock on our door the day after we arrived here. Dan Hallard is a gynecologist. He delivered our son Chad.”
“You’re saying that my parents couldn’t have replaced the Hallards in such a short time, but you’re not answering my question. Did you get along with Mother?”
Susan and Jed exchanged glances. “Not really,” Jed answered.
“It’s just that—” Susan began to excuse Jed’s lack of tact.
“It’s just that Mother was an almost impossible person to get along with. You don’t have to tell me that. You’re being nice, and there’s no real reason to. I . . . I care a lot about my parents, but Mother and I have always had a difficult relationship. I still have feelings for her, of course, but I know her too well to be blind to her faults. But you don’t have to tell me any more. Most people have trouble getting along with Mother. She was demanding, domineering, and difficult.” Signe’s lips crumpled into a tiny half smile. “The three Ds. That’s what my grandmother used to say about her—that she represented the three Ds.”
“You could say that about a lot of people, but most of them have not been murdered,” Jed reminded her.
“I know. It’s just that Father spent an awful lot of time keeping other people from knowing how horrible my mother could actually be. That’s what I meant when I said he protected her.”
“How did he do that?” Jed asked.
“Well, there were simple things. Like he would send flowers to someone she offended by being what she called honest. I don’t know how much time you spent with Mother, but she always claimed to place a high value on her honesty.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Susan said. “Ashley did tend to tell people what was wrong with them or their family or . . . or even their yard. I remember when she and your father moved in last spring. I have a fabulous bed of peonies lining the driveway. The weather was perfect for them last May, and they were looking their best. I invited your parents over for drinks the day after we met, and I’d picked a large bouquet for the mantel in the living room. Of course peonies do attract ants, and I thought I’d shaken off the blooms enough, but there was one ant crawling on the mantel. Your mother spied it and made a comment about how she would never have such filthy flowers in any house she lived in. I know it sounds innocuous, but there was something about the way she said it that made me feel as though I’d done something much more terrible than bringing a little garden ant or two inside. I . . . I don’t know why it upset me, but it did.”
“I do. You were trying to be a good hostess. You were offering the best you had to some people you didn’t know, and Mother turned it around and made you feel as though you had done something wrong. What did Father do?”
Susan smiled at the memory. “He made a joke at the time. To be honest, I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I do remember appreciating that he was trying to make me feel better. Then, the very next day, he sent over that little watercolor.” Susan pointed to a small, framed painting sitting on a stand under a lamp. “He wrote a note telling me how much he and your mother appreciated our hospitality and kindness to them, and he enclosed that. I had it framed,” she explained.
Signe got up and looked down at the picture.
“It’s a peony,” Susan added.
Signe nodded. “I know.”
“He didn’t actually mention what had happened over the flowers and the ant. I mean, it was such a small thing. . . .”
“But it was a hurtful thing,” Signe said. “And my father knew that. So he did what he could to make it up to you. And, being his kind self, he did it in a way that didn’t reflect badly on my mother, as well.”
“You know, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. You say he’s done that type of thing before?”
“All the time. Why?”
“Well, a man who took care of his wife like that surely shouldn’t be considered a possible murder suspect, could he?”
“There are just two problems with your idea,” Signe said. “First, my mother offended so many people over the years, how will anybody find the time or energy to search out a suspect?”
“And what’s the second problem?” Jed asked.
“We have to convince Chief Konowitz to look at all those people instead of Father or me.”
FOURTEEN
“SOMEONE NEEDS TO CHECK OUT YOUR PRESENTS. I THINK Wet and Wild have been sampling in there.” The front door slammed, and Susan realized their son had just exited the building—again.
Susan and Jed were sitting quietly in the living room. Signe, having seen her father’s car drive up to his house, had left half an hour ago, but the Henshaws, both tired, hadn’t moved. Now Susan opened her eyes and glanced over at her dozing husband. “Do you think he’ll manage to spend the entire summer here without having a single intelligent conversation with us?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Chad!”
“I don’t know what you mean. We’ve had lots of intelligent conversations. He and I had a long discussion about the politics of appointing minorities to the Supreme Court just the other day.”
“That’s not the type of conversation I’m talking about! I’m interested in personal things.
You know, if he’s serious about any one particular girl, what he plans to do after he graduates. Things like that.”
“You want to sit on the edge of his bed, ruffle his hair, and hear all about his day,” Jed suggested quietly.
Susan grimaced. “Okay. Yes, that is exactly what I want.”
“And you think that would be appropriate at this time of his life?”
“I know it wouldn’t be. But it’s what I want. He’s nice and polite and everything, but I miss the closeness we had. You know?”
“I know. But he’s a great kid, Sue. He . . .” Jed stopped and scratched his head. “What did he say as he went by? Something about the dogs and our presents?”
“Oh, Jed! Our presents!” Susan jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.
They had decided to leave their anniversary gifts in Jed’s study, thinking they could use his desk to organize the thank-you note writing process. They hurried there now.
“I guess,” Jed said as they stopped in the doorway, “we’re going to have to keep this door closed.”
A large wicker basket of cheese and crackers that had been on Jed’s desk was now scattered about on the Aubusson rug. The mastiffs had managed to remove the cellophane and had consumed most of the cheese, crackers, wrappings and about half of the basket itself.
“Oh, no! Is the card around somewhere?”
Jed walked over to the mess. “A card? You’re worried about a card?”
“We need to know who to thank, Jed.”
“I guess. Too bad those beasts can’t write. They’re the ones who should be saying thank you for that gift.” He turned around and examined the piles of presents for the first time. “Wow! We’re going to have to buy a wine cellar for the basement.”
“Hm. There are lots of bottles here. Wine and champagne. I peeked at some labels.”
Jed was doing the same, slowly wandering around the room. “Looks like we’re going to be well stocked for the winter. Hon, are you sure you want to get involved in this murder?”
“We’re already involved!” Susan picked up a rectangular box and shook it. “What do you think this is? A book?”
“I don’t know. Susan, this is an odd family. Signe seems sweet, but she was accused of attempted poisoning when she was young. And you know you never particularly liked Doug or Ashley. Why don’t you just let the police do their thing, and we can enjoy the rest of the summer?”
An Anniversary to Die For Page 10