The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder

by Mary Jane Maffini

  At the door, she said, “I haven’t let myself come back in here. I suppose I’ll have to face it sooner or later.”

  In the bedroom, the bed was still made but rumpled, as if someone had slept on top of the covers. A glass of water had been knocked from the bedside table onto the floor. A jumble of clothing lay on the floor—pants, shirt, hand-knit brown sweater, socks, and underwear. Nothing else was out of order to my mind. There was no sign of an appointment book.

  “But understandable,” I said. “My guess is that somebody didn’t want anyone to find out that she had been to see him.”

  “That would explain it,” she said, frowning, as she bent to pick up a pair of pants and a shirt. “Now, that’s odd.”

  “Let me guess. He always hangs everything up before he goes to bed.”

  “And his laundry’s in the hamper. I don’t think Sam’s clothes would have ever touched the floor before this. I’ve never had to pick them up. What does it mean?”

  I could feel the answer explode in my head. I knew what it would mean for me. “It means that he was drugged before he went upstairs. Someone slipped him an extra dose of whatever medications he was taking.”

  “But how?”

  “Perhaps they slipped something into his coffee or tea.”

  “Oh, coffee. He was always drinking coffee.”

  “And he took it very sweet.”

  She smiled. “Three sugars in each one.”

  “So perhaps he wouldn’t notice the taste. Did you find a cup or a mug?”

  “Mug. He always used a mug. Oh my heavens. I washed them up when I saw them.”

  “Them?”

  “Yes. There were two in the living room. If there was something in one of them, that would be gone now.”

  “You had no way of knowing. He would have been extremely groggy by the time he got up here and that might explain the clothes on the floor. It would have been all he could have done to get on the bed. He must have knocked over the glass of water then and fell and hit his head trying to get it. Or maybe he had been reaching for the phone to call for help and lost consciousness.”

  “Who could have done such a terrible thing?”

  “Like I said before, it’s someone with a lot to lose, perhaps. I’m guessing it was a bully-turned-murderer who was afraid that Dr. Partridge would reveal her secret.”

  A small voice in the back of my head said, Don’t forget Mona.

  Clutter is a huge waste of time. Keep everything in its proper place and you won’t waste hours hunting for papers, clothing, tools, or products—or buying items you already own.

  13

  You would think with all the social networks in our lives that it would have been easy to find photos of Serena and her nasty little clique. But you would be wrong. I tried Google Images. I stuck my nose into Facebook. Serena was represented by a large golden retriever. Haley wasn’t even on Facebook. Tiffanee was represented by a yoga symbol and Jasmin by a bouquet of flowers. I called the library and asked Ramona to see what she could turn up. An hour later, Ramona called back and said, “No luck.”

  I struck out with my next tactic, even though I’d been counting on Sally.

  “High school yearbooks? You must be kidding. That wasn’t a good time for me and, except for you and Margaret and Jack, I hoped never to be reminded of it.”

  “So, long gone then?”

  “Right. Don’t you have yours?” Sally was teasing. “Or did you declutter it?”

  “It would have been worth keeping actually, but every memento of my life was disposed of when I went away to college. Thanks to my mother. She views sentiment the way some mothers view germs.”

  Sally chuckled. “Try Margaret.”

  “I did. No luck. She felt the same way you did.”

  “Jack?”

  “He did have it, but he has no idea where it is now. Probably in storage with his parents’ things. Jack just stashed everything they owned in the other two bedrooms on my level and left it at that. Their whole lives are in there. I don’t even like to think about what that space is like.”

  “Would you ever ask Pepper?”

  “Not in this case.”

  “I guess you’re out of luck,” Sally said.

  “Maybe not. You just gave me an idea. Thanks.”

  Sally said, “Oh no. Not Nick.”

  I pulled up at the house on Old Pine Street and was happy to see “Nick the Stick” Monahan’s shiny truck in the driveway. I was even happier to note that Pepper’s vehicle was not there. Nick was ridiculously glad to see me. So was Little Nick. Both appeared to have been playing with an astonishing selection of toy cars and trucks in the living room.

  “What can I do you for, Charley?” Nick said.

  “I need a big favor.”

  “Anything for you.” I swear he licked his lips.

  “I need to borrow your high school yearbook.” I didn’t bother to ask if he still had it. Of course he did. He’d been a big man in high school, a football star if not too twinkly in academic terms. Nick would never let go of that.

  “What for?” I thought that brought on a nervous twitch.

  “I need a photo.”

  “Of me?”

  “Afraid not, Nick. Serena Redding and her friends.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

  Nick could no more keep a secret than he could build a nuclear reactor, but it seemed rude to mention that, especially as I needed this favor. “It’s sort of a reunion thing. I want to do some Photoshopping for fun.”

  “Why didn’t you say so? I won’t mention it to anyone.”

  “Especially not Pepper.”

  “I won’t tell her you were here. She might get—you know. I don’t have my yearbook anymore because she destroyed it one night after a fight. She thought I might have been eying this one girl. I mean, it was what, fourteen years ago, and I see girls every day, but try talking to her about that. Actually, don’t, Charley.”

  “Rats.”

  “But I have some pictures and she doesn’t know about them. They’re in my workshop with my tool manuals. You know I can’t use my closet anymore.”

  Nick trotted downstairs to the basement and returned in no time with some prints.

  I sat on the sofa and checked through them quickly. Sure enough, there was one of the Cheerleaders’ Club. There they were: Serena, Tiffanee, Haley, and Jasmin. The gorgeous big smiles, the luminous perfect skin, the fashionable (for the time) hair, the trim yet curvy figures. They radiated confidence and wholesome sexiness. Hard to believe that appearances could be so deceiving. All four had written cute, provocative notes to Nick.

  “I’ve got a copy of the class photo,” he said. Of course he would. Nick managed to make all the other guys seem lackluster. More than one girl was beaming at him.

  In fact, Nick also had individual photos of most of the girls in our graduating class.

  “Can I borrow these?”

  Nick blanched. “What? Borrow them? Why? They’re my only copies. What if something happens to them?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen. They’re in much more danger from Pepper in your house.”

  “But what if something does? Everyone wrote captions for me. You couldn’t ever replace that.”

  I was short of time so I played the guilt card. “You owe me, Nick.”

  “Aw, come on, Charley. Don’t be like that.”

  “Just sayin’, your life and Little Nick’s too. I’ll bring these back tomorrow morning.”

  Nick acquiesced sadly. “Just don’t tell Pepper.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” I had no intention of telling Pepper anything until I had a bit more information. Even then I didn’t think that Nick’s photos had to be part of any discussion. I got the hell out of there, before Nick got either amorous or sentimental or depressed or any of the other Nick emotions I didn’t care for.

  I took a few minutes to
swing by my apartment and pop the dogs out briefly. They were anything but grateful. Left to their own, they would have slept until spring, if it ever came. I wondered if they would enjoy coming along with me on my errands that afternoon. They love the car, but there seemed no appetite for that. After I dried their little paws and sent them back to their blanket, I headed for my office and the combination printer/fax/photocopier. I copied the photos of the bullies and the class photo. I glanced around the small, usually tidy office. All my administrative plans for the week’s work had been derailed. I was now behind on my invoicing, planning for the downsizing clients, marketing plans, and more. But what choice did I have? I know what I would have told a client. But then, most of my clients weren’t trying to solve a trio of murders.

  The third time I arrived at Dr. Partridge’s home, I followed fresh footsteps in an inch of snow right up to the front door. I shivered and stamped my feet. It had stopped snowing, but the bitter cold chilled right to the bone.

  Lydia let me in with a grim smile. She seemed glad to see me, but worried about what I might have to say this time. She had a merry blaze going in the living room fireplace and I was glad to join her in front of it. “I just got back from the hospital twenty minutes ago. It felt so cold here that I felt I had to make a fire. Hot tea is made too,” she said. “It’s the one thing I can manage to do consistently.”

  “How is Dr. Partridge doing?”

  “There’s not much change. It’s very disheartening to—” She turned away, shoulders slumping. I knew that Sam Partridge was the only important person in Lydia’s life. I could only imagine how upset she must feel. I reached over and gave her a hug. I felt her shudder. “Thank you, Charlotte. I’ll get the tea now.”

  In no time at all, she was back with a tray, a teapot, and pretty cups, different ones this time. She seemed composed, but her eyes were rimmed with red once again.

  As we sipped tea and munched on shortbread cookies, I said, “I’d like to show you some pictures.”

  “What kind of pictures?”

  “Just pictures I had copied.”

  “What am I looking for?”

  “I’m not sure. Let’s see if anyone strikes you as familiar.”

  I didn’t want to prejudice her answers, so I started with the large shot of the entire graduating class. She chuckled and pointed to me. “You haven’t changed that much.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Anyone else?”

  “Hard to say. She followed each student with her finger, starting with the first row and pausing from time to time. She stopped at Sally. “I know her. Her husband’s a physician at the hospital, a colleague of Sam’s.” Her face was serious, intent. Her finger paused by Serena. She frowned and moved on. She slowed by Tiffanee and Haley too, as well as a few others. Of course, each figure was so tiny and the photo had been taken years earlier. Also, there were quite a few attractive blondes and brunettes. “They’re all the same type, aren’t they? I can’t be sure. Although, she’s familiar. And so is this girl.” She pointed to Tiffanee and then Jasmin.

  Her finger came to a stop at the end of the third row; a slight diffident figure, sloping shoulders. Lydia tapped at the face.

  “She’s different. And familiar.”

  I blurted, “Can you really see her face? It almost could be anyone.”

  Lydia shot me a startled glance. “Of course I’m sure. I recognize that girl. For sure. She’s quite distinctive. I think she came here to see Sam when she was a girl. She seemed to be very jumpy and easily upset. Her skin was broken out and she bit her nails. I’ve seen her more recently. She’s older and more presentable, I suppose you’d say, but I’ve seen her right here in the neighborhood.”

  Oh no. Mona.

  “Visiting?”

  “No, just driving by. It took me a while to place her, but as I said, she is distinctive.”

  Mona, Mona. What have you done? Were you stalking Dr. Partridge? I’d been hoping that the cabal would get fingered, and instead, here was something that just made things worse for Mona. I felt sick to my stomach. Even though I knew it was wrong, I could understand Mona wanting revenge on the people who had harmed her. But nothing would explain harming Dr. Partridge.

  “I suppose,” I said with great reluctance. “Here, I’d like to show you one other picture.” I flipped through the photocopies to where the cheerleaders were featured. Serena, Tiffanee, Jasmin, and Haley were all there, white smiles gleaming, hair poufy, perfect lips glossy, and lots of leg showing. The photo was larger and each face clearly recognizable.

  “Do any of these girls appear familiar?” I said. I tried not to emphasize Serena in this. As much as I wanted her to be implicated, I wanted the truth and to be sure of the truth more.

  Lydia stared at the picture and then back to me. “They all do.”

  “They came as clients?”

  “One of them did. I think the others used to pick her up. If I remember correctly, she was only seeing Sam because her parents insisted. I don’t remember which girl was which. They were such a collective, except for the girl with the long black hair. Those big smiles, but I always felt they were ready to sneer. You don’t think it was one of them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about the other one?”

  I knew she meant Mona. “I hope not.”

  “In that case, I hope not too. It is odd isn’t it, to see them again recently.”

  “What?”

  “Some of them—” She stopped as the phone rang. She held her hand over her heart as she answered it. I realized that I was holding my breath.

  Her hands were shaking. “They want me back at the hospital. Sam’s brother, Will, has flown in. He is coming for me any minute.”

  In the rush as she got ready—hat, coats, boots, gloves—I waited for my chance. Once she was ready, standing, white-faced, by the front door, I said, “You said you saw some of them recently. Which—”

  She turned to me, agony written on her face. “Please, Charlotte. I am unable to think about anything but Sam today. Oh, there’s Will pulling up outside now. You’ll have to excuse me. I can’t keep him waiting. I am sorry to leave like this.”

  “Please let me know what happens. I hope he is all right. I’ll call you.”

  She shuddered and opened the door. We both emerged from the warm and friendly house into the bitter wind and eternally swirling snow.

  I stood there for a while, watching the car drive out of sight. Then I climbed into my frigid little car and drove off slowly. Where was Mona? What had she done? And worse, what would she do? I wanted to believe that one of the others was responsible, but I had nothing at all to go on. Mona was the one that Lydia was sure had been in the neighborhood. The point was, had she been in the house too? And which of the cabal had been by, perhaps to see Dr. Partridge when he was alone in the house? With Lydia gone, there was no way to know. Or was there?

  I circled by again and stared at the buildings across the street. The late afternoon was gloomy because of the endless snow, and lights gleamed from the front windows of three of the houses. Some people were home during the day. Maybe they looked out those windows.

  The first neighbor refused to open her door to me. The second one didn’t even come to answer it. I could sense the presence of someone hiding in the back of the house to avoid me, whoever I was. I was chilled and stiff by the time I pounded on the third door.

  A small, round Hispanic woman, with a moon face and black hair in an updo, answered. She flinched at the snow. “Is it ever going to end?” she said.

  “Hello,” I said, my teeth chattering. “My name is Charlotte Adams and I wanted to ask you some questions about what happened to Dr. Partridge.” I turned and pointed to the white Cape Cod across the street.

  “Oh! I recognize you from the television,” she said.

  Was that going to be a bad or a good thing?

  Turned out to be good. Her name was Maria and soon I was in her very warm living room, being se
rved steaming hot chocolate and empanadas. I couldn’t believe my luck, although my waistband was already beginning to feel tight.

  “I will never get used to this country,” she said. “I dream of Venezuela all through the winter, but it’s not enough, is it? I stay inside all day.”

  I shook my head. “I have some photos. I’d like to know if you recognize any of these people.”

  She took her time, staring at the photos, much as Lydia had done. Nodding to herself and uttering soft Spanish comments.

  “These are old photos.”

  “Yes, but I think most of them are still recognizable.”

  “This one,” she said, pointing. “She has been here yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Last night.”

  “I knew it! Serena.”

  That said it all. I was going straight to the police.

  “And this one,” she said, fingering Mona. “I saw her, but not at the house. She seemed to be behind the other one, watching from the car.”

  “Could you tell that from the window?”

  “My husband noticed. We were coming home from Hannaford’s and he noticed the car was still there after all the time we were gone. The windows were clear of snow. It struck him funny.” She offered me another empanada. They were spectacular. Who could refuse?

  “What kind of car?” I asked.

  “A small red one. So much tragedy in that man’s life. Losing his wife so young. Now this other terrible accident.”

  “The other woman,” I started to say.

  “The beautiful one?”

  “Yes.” It bugged me to say it. “Was she in the house long?”

  “I would say at least forty-five minutes. She seemed upset when she left.”

  “You could tell that?”

  “She came out just as we arrived back. My husband noticed the little red car. I noticed the woman. She’d been crying. She got into her car.”

  “What kind of car?”