“Susan, we’ve all been wondering where you were,” Jerry Gordon greeted her.
“Just over the fence,” she answered, pointing in the direction of her yard. “Where’s Kathleen?”
“Sitting down out back,” he answered. “She looked tired. I made her promise to rest for a while.”
“I’ll go find her,” Susan said, smiling at friends as she passed through the house into a large Victorian conservatory and then out into the yard. Kathleen was sitting on a teak bench, a glass of yellow liquid by her side.
“Lemonade? Isn’t there any wine?” Susan asked.
“There is, but for some reason Jerry brought me this.” Kathleen grimaced. “He’s been acting a little strange lately.”
“He’s just trying to take care of you. He told me you looked tired.”
“I feel tired. I was hoping a glass of wine would perk me up.”
“I’ll get us each one in a minute. But listen first. You’ll never guess who I’ve been talking to!” Susan explained what she had just heard.
Kathleen sat quietly, nodding once or twice. “You know, this Fanny had some good points. Doug certainly could have been poisoning himself. And he also had ample opportunity to poison Ashley’s food or drink at your party.”
“He has all those guns,” Susan mused. “If he wanted to kill someone, wouldn’t he just shoot them?”
“No, too obvious,” Kathleen said. “He’s too smart to do that.”
“Probably. And you know if he had been poisoning himself, it would explain one thing.”
“What?”
“Why he was such a supportive husband during the trial. He was the only person who really did know that Ashley was innocent.”
“That’s true.” Kathleen looked around the yard. “Do you know who does this lawn? There’s not a weed in sight.”
“That’s funny,” Susan said. “Just the other day Doug was asking me what lawn service I used. . . . Kathleen, that’s it! Weeds! I saw Doug weeding the day after Ashley was killed. I didn’t think anything about it at the time. I mean, who knows what a person will do when they’re in shock. But what if it wasn’t shock? What if Doug was pulling up poisonous plants to get rid of the evidence? What if he used those poisonous plants to kill Ashley!”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Kathleen said. “But wasn’t Doug being poisoned with insecticides, and wasn’t insecticide what had been used years ago back in Oxford Landing?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But that doesn’t mean something else wasn’t used to kill Ashley last weekend,” Kathleen continued.
“That’s what I was going to say! We must get hold of the autopsy results. Then, once we know the type of poison, we can find out where to get it—and if it’s something that might be or might have been growing in this yard,” Susan ended enthusiastically. “And that would help clear Signe, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.” Kathleen paused. “I never even considered the possibility that Doug was poisoning himself. I did consider the possibility that he killed Ashley, though—and I’d bet that thought has at least crossed the mind of every single person here.”
“That’s true.”
“So tell me, if your theory is that Doug poisoned himself so that Ashley would be blamed and sent to prison, why, when that didn’t happen, would he kill her? Do you think he just became fed up with her, and once she was acquitted, he decided he couldn’t live with her one second more and he poisoned her?”
“Ah . . . I suppose that’s a possibility. Unlikely, but a possibility. But there is another possibility that would fit in with what we’re saying. Suppose Doug did poison himself—with whatever poison—and suppose Ashley was accidentally poisoned with . . . well, with whatever Doug was using before she was arrested.”
Kathleen pursed her lips and thought about Susan’s idea. “To tell the truth, I don’t think that’s much of a possibility. Remember that Doug was poisoned over a long period of time. A few weeks, right? It doesn’t make sense that he would do that and then be so careless with the poison that Ashley could accidentally take a lethal dose the night of your party.”
“The trouble is, we need the results of the autopsy done on Ashley. And for that, we’re going to have to go see Chief Peter Konowitz.”
“Well, here are two of the best-looking women in Hancock, sitting all alone and without drinks.” Dan Hallard walked up, grinning, hands behind his back. “What are you two talking about?”
“Poison,” Susan answered.
“Can’t help you with that. But I do happen to have this.” He brought out a bottle of Chardonnay and four wine-glasses.
The women smiled. “Just what we were looking for,” Kathleen said.
“Yes,” Susan agreed. “Wine and a man who graduated from medical school.”
THIRTY
“I GATHER YOUR ACCEPTANCE OF THIS WINE MEANS YOU’RE not pregnant,” Dan said, handing a full glass to Kathleen.
“Pregnant?” Kathleen glanced down at her completely flat stomach. “Why would you think I’m pregnant?”
“I don’t. But your husband does. He’s been asking me questions about the OB/GYN man who bought my practice. Things like is he competent and whether he believes in natural childbirth. I assumed he was asking because he was worried about you.”
Kathleen looked at Susan. “Why would Jerry think I’m pregnant?”
“How would I know? Oh, Kathleen! Your knitting! He probably assumed—”
“—that I was working on that baby blanket again because we were going to have another baby. Oh, I hope he’s not disappointed when he finds out it’s Chrissy who—”
“Chrissy is going to have a baby?” Dan interrupted. “You and Jed are going to be grandparents! Well, well, well. Congratulations. I should have stolen a bottle of champagne from the bar instead of wine!”
“No one knows yet,” Susan said quickly. “You won’t tell anyone . . .”
“Susan, as one of the best gynecologists in Hancock, I’ve kept more secrets than you’ll ever know. You can count on me.”
“Thanks, Dan.”
“So I hear that Ashley’s only daughter is so broken up by her mother’s murder that she didn’t make it to the funeral.”
“That’s the story you heard?” Susan asked.
“Is that what everyone here believes?” Kathleen said, her eyes running over the large crowd.
“Don’t know what they believe. I, myself, think it’s mighty odd for a daughter not to come to her mother’s funeral. Of course, it was a mighty odd funeral.”
Kathleen smiled. “That’s true. It’s the first time I’ve been to a funeral where the minister couldn’t decide what to call the deceased.”
“You did a nice job, though, Susan. Anyone listening would have thought you were close friends with Ashley.”
Susan frowned. “You know, I’ve just learned that more than a few people in town think that very thing.”
“Why?” Kathleen asked, sipping her wine.
“Apparently that’s what Ashley had been telling people.”
“How weird!” Kathleen said.
“Not so weird. I know Martha thinks I’m nuts, but I got the impression that having you as a next-door neighbor was a real selling point for the house,” Dan said.
“Why?”
“Well, there was a lot of publicity about how you solved the murder of that woman killed out at the discount mall— I don’t remember her name. I do remember there was a front-page article about it in the Hancock Herald the weekend we had the open house. And you know Martha—she didn’t become the biggest realtor in the area without learning to use every single advantage she could find to sell a home. That issue of the Herald was on more than one coffee table—just sort of casually flung there.”
“You mean it really is true that Ashley and Doug might have bought your house just to be our next-door neighbors?” Susan asked, wondering what this could mean.
“Well, not just to be your neighbors. I
like to think that our home had something to do with it,” Dan suggested, smiling.
“Of course, but . . . but why?”
“Maybe it made someone—either Ashley or Doug—feel safer to have you living nearby. You know, if there’s a murder in the area, you’re bound to investigate,” Kathleen said.
“And you do find the murderer,” Dan Hallard added.
Susan frowned. “Yes, usually,” she said.
“On the other hand, everything I’ve heard about Ashley Marks indicates that she sure was one status-conscious individual. Maybe she just wanted to shmooze with one of Hancock’s local celebrities.”
“That is possible. You just told us that she had been bragging about being good friends with you,” Kathleen reminded her.
“I know, but it still doesn’t make sense. There are lots of truly famous people living in Hancock. If Ashley had been interested in status conferral, she could have bought a house near one of our local celebrities, not next to me. Or she could have run around town lying about being friends with them instead of with me.”
“That’s probably true,” Dan Hallard agreed cheerfully. “She could have snuggled up with that morning talk show host. I hear he’s not too choosy about who he hangs out with. Oh, there’s Doug. I’d better go offer my condolences. See you later, ladies.”
“Bye, Dan. Thanks for the wine.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Susan muttered, putting her almost-full glass down on the bench by her side.
“Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?” Kathleen asked.
“No, it sure doesn’t. I wish I knew more about that first poisoning case.”
“Didn’t you say that woman you went to school with was investigating that?”
“Jinx Jensen? Yes. She probably still is.”
“Not unless she’s looking through church records. She was at the funeral with a very good-looking gentleman.”
“Is she here? Did she come back to the house?” Susan asked quickly.
“I may have seen her companion when Jerry and I came in. But that was a while ago.”
Susan stood up. “Let’s try to find them. It could be important. I’ll go into the house, and you look around out here. And if you find Jinx or Sam Redman—that’s the man she’s probably with—um, bring them back here. This is as good a place to talk as any.”
“Fine, but . . .” Kathleen looked down at her watch. “Let’s meet here in ten minutes even if we don’t find them. Otherwise we could end up wandering around until we’re the last people here.”
“Good idea,” Susan said, starting back toward the house. The crowd had thinned out, and she ran into Sam almost immediately, his height making him easy to find.
“Very nice speech, Mrs. Henshaw. I was wondering if I could have a copy of it to print in the paper.”
“Oh, of course.” Susan looked around. “Didn’t you come here with Jinx?”
“Yup. She’s around here somewhere. Jinx Jensen is one very independent woman. She said she needed to find someone and took off.”
“Oh, well, I need to find her, too. If you see her . . .”
“I’ll let her know you’re looking for her. She had a whole pile of stuff in her purse to show you.”
Susan smiled broadly. “That is good news.”
Jinx was sitting on a hideous crushed velvet chaise lounge in the living room, peering at the crowd. She waved when she spied Susan, spilling her glass of wine on her seat. “Damn, I didn’t mean to do that. Do you have a napkin?”
“No, but I wouldn’t worry. It would take more than a little wine to damage that ugly thing.” Susan sat down beside Jinx. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I found Sam, and he said you have some papers.”
“Yes! You don’t want to know how much work it took, but I finally found a few articles about the Markses, and even a mention of the first poisoning.” Jinx looked around the crowded room. “Maybe this isn’t the best place to look at them.”
“We could go next door, but I haven’t seen Doug yet and I wouldn’t want him to think I’d leave without talking to him. Why don’t we go upstairs?” Susan suggested. “If anyone wonders what we’re doing, we can claim to be looking for an empty bathroom.”
“Lead the way.”
There turned out to be an unoccupied bathroom conveniently located at the top of the stairs. Susan and Jinx slipped in and carefully locked the door behind them. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you copied the articles,” Susan said, holding out her hand.
“Where do you think that came from?” Jinx asked, staring at a hideous oak toilet surround.
“Who knows? Where are the papers?”
“Here. Sam said it was okay if I circled the relevant bits. He said I’m only the third person interested in searching through the morgue since he’s been editor of the paper, so there’s no reason to be too fussy. They’re not in any order.”
But Susan didn’t care. She sat down on the closed toilet seat lid and picked up the top issue of the Oxford Democrat. She’d been waiting so long.
She looked up five minutes later. “I just remembered. I told Kathleen I’d be back in ten minutes.”
“Where is she?”
“In the backyard by the rose garden. She’s sitting on a bench.”
“You go ahead and finish reading, and I’ll go tell her what’s going on,” Jinx offered.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
“I know who she is. It was her husband who offered the toast at your party, right? And they both ate dinner with you.”
“Exactly. Tell her I’ll be out as soon as possible.”
“No problem.” Jinx opened the door. Susan, hearing her explain to someone that the bathroom was still occupied, returned to her reading.
The articles about the Marks family were on top of the pile. Susan learned that not only had Doug been active in Scouts and 4-H, but that he had won the egg toss at the annual July Fourth picnic held in the Oxford Landing town square. There was a charming photograph of him as an eleven-year-old, dripping raw egg on the ground and grinning proudly. She skimmed articles about his science fair wins and studied in detail the article announcing his wedding to Ashley. As Jinx had said, Ashley had been a beautiful bride. Susan found herself staring at the black-and-white photograph, wondering whether the young woman there had had any inkling of what the future held for her and her new husband.
Signe’s birth was announced properly, but there was little more of note until Susan found three clippings concerning the untimely illnesses of the owners of the Marks farm. Jinx had implied that Sam’s father was intimidated by the important citizens of Oxford Landing, and the shortness of these articles attested to her belief. Poison, as a possible reason for the family’s continuing illness, wasn’t even mentioned until the final article, when it was stated that authorities had sent samples of various bodily fluids off to state forensic experts for identification. What the samples revealed had either gone unreported or else that article was still hidden away in one of the Oxford Democrat’s filing cabinets.
There were four more articles clipped together underneath those she had already studied. Susan picked them up and removed the paper clip, frowning until she recognized the photograph accompanying the top article. The Twigg sisters, years younger but still recognizable, stood together on the steps leading to the front door of the Landing Inn. Alvena was smiling broadly; Constance’s expression was more reserved. The women’s arms were outstretched in a gesture Susan didn’t understand until she read the article. They were supposed to be welcoming guests to the Landing Inn after what the article called “a major remodeling” of the inn. The article went on to enumerate the various improvements, many of which, it claimed, had been suggested by the inn’s guests. The next article concerned a crime wave that had “held Oxford Landing in its grip”— Jinx had added red exclamation marks after this phrase— seven years ago. Among the various problems, cars in the inn’s parking lot had been broken into and various personal
items stolen. Alvena was quoted, confirming her belief that Peter Konowitz, a local boy she had known for years and who was now attending the state police academy and had been hired as a security officer for the inn, would easily catch the perpetrators of these horrors. There was no mention of whether or not that had happened.
The last article concerned the hiring of Peter Konowitz by the Oxford Landing police force. The new Officer Konowitz was described as good-looking, young, and enthusiastic. The accompanying photograph confirmed the first two qualities. Alvena Twigg confirmed the last. “I’ve known Peter since he was in ninth grade,” Miss Twigg was quoted as saying. “He’s smart, ambitious, and hardworking. He will be a real asset to the Oxford Landing Police Department. I, for one,” she ended, “will sleep better knowing Officer Konowitz is on the job.” Susan read the story once again. Then she put the articles in calendar order and reviewed what she’d just read. Why, she wondered, had no one bothered to mention the fact that the first poisonings had taken place only a few months after Peter Konowitz had been hired?
Susan stood up. Time to return to her family and friends. She opened the bathroom door and found herself face-to-face with Doug Marks.
“Doug . . . I didn’t mean to be in here so long,” she said, stuffing the clippings into her purse.
“Some of my guests were concerned about the length of time this bathroom has been in use. I just came up to make sure everything was okay. But now that I’ve found you, I can tell you how much I appreciate your participation in Ashley’s service. I know she would have felt the same way I do.”
“I was happy to be asked,” Susan lied, following her host downstairs. “I was looking for you earlier. I haven’t had an opportunity to express my condolences. We’ll all miss Ashley.”
The tears that suddenly appeared in Doug’s eyes came as a complete surprise. He took both her hands and squeezed them. “Not everyone will miss her. I know how she could be. But I will, and I believe Signe will. And that might just be enough, don’t you think?”
“I . . . Yes, of course.” Susan didn’t know what else to say. It was a relief when another neighbor appeared to offer condolences. Susan hurried off to the backyard and found Kathleen and Jinx chatting together. She collapsed onto the spot they cleared for her on the bench and sighed. “He loved her. Doug Marks really loved that awful woman.”
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