Encounters and Enemies

by Diana Xarissa

  “I can’t just call her out of the blue and tell her that I think someone is tracking down and killing all of the women who might have slept with Paul Clucas,” Fenella protested. “Anyway, warning her is Mark Hammersmith’s job. Daniel said he was going to take care of it.”

  “So just make an excuse to see her,” Mona suggested. “Then you can work the conversation around to the deaths and make sure that Inspector Hammersmith really has warned her.”

  “Maybe after my shower,” was as far as Fenella was willing to go. She took her time in the shower, conditioning her hair and shaving her legs, postponing what was feeling like an inevitable phone call. By the time she was dressed and had her hair and makeup done, she’d accepted that she was going to have to call Patricia Anderson, even though she didn’t want to do it.

  “Just tell you her want to help with the Manx Fund for Children,” Mona suggested as Fenella stood next to the telephone. “Maybe you could meet her for lunch today to talk about it.”

  “I don’t want to get roped into actually helping, though,” Fenella complained. “I just want to make sure she’s been warned, that’s all.”

  The phone rang, interrupting the debate. “Hello?”

  “Ah, Fenella, it’s Patricia Anderson. Melanie and I were just talking about you and we’ve agreed that we simply must get you on board for our next big event. We’re having a dinner at Castle Rushen, which will be the island’s most sought-after charity fundraiser of the year.”

  “That sounds great,” Fenella said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “I knew you’d think so,” Patricia said. “Anyway, Melanie and I are having tea at the Seaview tomorrow at two. Please meet us there so we can work out how best to use you in our planning.”

  “Tomorrrow? I’m not sure…” Fenella said.

  “We’ll see you then,” Patricia interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I really must dash.”

  Fenella stared at the phone. “She hung up,” she said to Mona.

  “What did she want?”

  “We’re to have tea tomorrow at the Seaview,” Fenella told her. “She wants me to get involved in planning for a dinner at Castle Rushen.”

  “That sounds very nice,” Mona said. “But do your best to get out of getting involved. Patricia will dump all of the work on you and then blame you when it all goes wrong.”

  “I’m not sure I want to talk about all of the deaths in front of Melanie,” Fenella mused.

  “She’ll be late,” Mona predicted. “She was overdue by a fortnight when Patricia was expecting and she’s never been on time for anything since. You’ll have plenty of time to talk to Patricia, who’s never late for anything, before Melanie gets there.”

  While Fenella had been in the shower, a steady rain had begun to fall outside her windows. Walking to the Manx Museum held little appeal as the skies continued to darken as the morning wore on. Fenella curled up with a few Agatha Christie books from Mona’s shelves and relaxed. She was just thinking about lunch when someone knocked on the door.

  “If that’s Inspector Hammersmith, I’m shutting the door in his face,” Fenella told Mona as she crossed the room. “If he’s here to tell me that something has happened to Patricia, I don’t want to know.”

  “Smokey was wondering if Katie would like a play date,” Shelly said, holding up the cat, when Fenella opened the door.

  “Of course, do come in, both of you,” Fenella said.

  Shelly set Smokey down and both women watched as she raced toward Katie. The smaller animal waited until Smokey had nearly reached her before springing up from the ground and streaking away with Smokey on her heels.

  “I’m tired out just watching that,” Fenella laughed.

  “Have you had lunch yet?” Shelly asked. “I have some potato and leek soup in my refrigerator that needs eating up. Would you like to share it with me?”

  “That sounds delicious,” Fenella said. “How would it be with garlic bread? I have another loaf of that frozen kind we had the other night with our pizza.”

  “I think it would be wonderful,” Shelly said. “I’ll just go and get the soup.”

  Fenella switched on the oven while Shelly was gone. It didn’t take long, once the oven was hot, to heat the garlic bread. Shelly’s soup was already in a pot, so she simply heated it on the stove while the bread was in the oven.

  “That smells wonderful,” Fenella said as the soup heated.

  “Thanks. It’s one of my favorites. I made a big batch of it because Gordon was meant to be coming over, but he had to cancel again. There’s no way I can eat all of this by myself.”

  Fenella gave Shelly a measured look. “Are you okay?” she asked, pretty sure she’d detected repressed tears in the other woman’s tone.

  “I’m fine,” Shelly said, waving a hand. “Let’s eat.”

  Fenella found large soup bowls and let Shelly ladle soup into them while she sliced the garlic bread and piled it onto a serving plate. There was still enough coffee left in the pot for them each to have a cup with their meal.

  “This is delicious,” Fenella said after her first bite. She managed to empty her bowl twice while Shelly had a much smaller second helping. The talk over lunch had been general, but as Fenella tidied up the dishes, she tried again.

  “So you haven’t seen Gordon since our evening at the pub?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  “No, I haven’t. He’s very busy with work,” Shelly said. After a moment she sighed deeply. “At least that’s what he keeps telling me. He’s even working today, or so he claims. I don’t know. Maybe he’s found another woman.”

  “Surely, if he had, he would have told you,” Fenella said. “You two are just friends, right?”

  “I don’t know what we are,” Shelly said. “At the moment, he’s certainly not my favorite person.”

  “Meerreew,” Smokey said. She’d walked over to Shelly while Shelly had been talking. Now she jumped into Shelly’s lap and snuggled up against her.

  “Yes, my dear, you are my favorite person,” Shelly murmured as Smokey began to purr loudly.

  “I hate to say it, but Smokey isn’t a person,” Fenella pointed out.

  Shelly laughed. “I’m so upset, I don’t even know what I’m saying,” she said after a moment. “Which is crazy. Even if I was falling for Gordon, and I’m not even sure I was, it isn’t like we had a decades-long romance or anything. We’d never even kissed and I’m carrying on like my husband died again or something. Just ignore me. I intend to.”

  Fenella laughed. “You and Gordon were spending a lot of time together. Maybe you just miss having someone to do things with.”

  “There is that,” Shelly agreed. “When you’ve been half of a couple for nearly all of your adult life, it’s horrible suddenly being on your own all the time. Gordon was nice to have around.”

  “He seems like a nice person.”

  “He is a nice person. I just wish I knew what he was thinking.”

  “If he’s like most men, he probably isn’t thinking anything,” Fenella said. “Except maybe about the football scores.”

  Shelly laughed. “You could be right. Maybe I’m reading too much into all of this. Maybe he is just busy with work and I’m worrying unnecessarily.”

  “Maybe she needs to find another man,” Mona suggested.

  “I’m meant to be having dinner with Donald tonight, but I can cancel if you need me,” Fenella offered.

  “Oh, goodness, no,” Shelly said quickly. “Gordon is going to ring later and we might get dinner together if he finishes work in time, but even if he doesn’t, I don’t want to interfere with your social life. Smokey and I will be fine on our own if we have to be.”

  Smokey sat up on Shelly’s lap and nodded at her before jumping down and pouncing on Katie. The pair rolled around on the floor for a minute before Katie raced away again. Smokey followed for a few paces and then gave up and curled up near the windows for a nap. A moment later Katie came back and joined he
r.

  “Where are you and Donald going?” Shelly asked.

  “He said something about trying a new restaurant in Peel,” Fenella replied.

  “I heard some top chef from London has opened a tiny little restaurant in Peel,” Shelly said. “Apparently there are only a handful of tables and he’s only open one or two nights a week, but the food is said to be fabulous.”

  “It sounds very fancy,” Fenella said worriedly.

  “It’s Donald,” Mona said. “Of course it will be fancy.”

  “You’ll have to borrow something from Mona’s wardrobe again,” Shelly said.

  The pair spent a happy afternoon trying on various dresses from Mona’s wardrobe. Shelly found two dresses that fit her perfectly and that weren’t at all to Fenella’s taste.

  “Take them,” Fenella insisted. “I won’t wear them and they’re perfect for you. Let’s look to see if there are matching shoes.”

  “Of course there are matching shoes,” Mona said from where she’d been sitting and watching the fun. “And matching handbags.”

  “I can’t take the shoes and the handbags, too,” Shelly protested.

  “What am I going to do with shoes and handbags in those colors?” Fenella asked. “They go with the dresses and would be useless to me.”

  “Are you absolutely sure?” Shelly asked.

  “I’m positive, and I know Mona would be, too,” Fenella replied. She looked over at Mona, who winked at her.

  By the time Donald arrived to pick her up for their dinner date, Fenella was wearing her favorite dress out of the five or six she’d tried on that afternoon. It seemed as if there were dozens more in the wardrobe, but she’d stopped looking when she’d found this one. The matching shoes were comfortable and pretty and the matching handbag was just the right size for what she needed to carry.

  “Stunning as ever,” Donald said when she opened the door to him. “Shall we?”

  13

  The restaurant in Peel was everything that Fenella was coming to expect from an evening out with Donald. The food was perfectly prepared and beautifully presented, if a little fussy for Fenella’s taste. Left to her own devices, she was quite happy with simple foods, although she would never think of complaining about even the fanciest of desserts.

  “Work has been taking up for too much of my time lately,” Donald said over drinks, after they’d ordered. “I’m hoping to start delegating more to my assistant so that I have more free time. And I’m hoping to spend some of that extra time with you.”

  “I am supposed to be writing a book,” Fenella replied. “But I don’t seem to be doing very well with that.”

  “Maybe you need to get away. I understand some writers find it useful to go on a retreat where they don’t have television or Internet access, or some such thing. I’m sure there must be cottages in the wilds of Scotland that would take you away from the real world and let you focus on your work.”

  “I’m not ready to lock myself away yet,” Fenella laughed. “I couldn’t justify the expense, anyway. I very much doubt that I’ll ever find a publisher for my masterpiece, even if I ever do get it written.”

  “I have friends in the business. Once you have a solid draft, let me know.”

  Fenella thought about the offer for a moment. While she really wanted to find a publisher based on the merit of her book, she also knew that getting published was an enormous challenge. If Donald could help her rise to the top of the slush pile and actually get someone to read her book, she might actually have a chance.

  “Your starters,” the waiter intoned, placing plates in front of each of them.

  Fenella’s mouth watered as she picked up her fork. Her salad, with spicy grilled chicken and warm walnut dressing, was every bit as good as it had sounded on the menu.

  “Would you like to try the caviar?” Donald asked after a few bites.

  “Not even a little bit,” Fenella replied. “But you’re welcome to try my salad, if you’d like.”

  Donald shook his head. “I’d really like to hear how you’ve been and what you’ve been doing lately,” he told her. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

  “You saw me on Tuesday,” Fenella reminded him. “And I haven’t been doing all that much, really. If you take away all my conversations with the police, I haven’t been doing anything at all.”

  “The police? Do you mean Daniel, or is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

  “I have spoken to Daniel a couple of times, but mostly I’ve been talking to Inspector Mark Hammersmith. He’s investigating the three accidents that have recently taken the lives of three women that I’d only just met. He seems to think the deaths might not have been accidents.”

  “I’m not sure how you fit in?” Donald made the statement a question.

  “Anne Marie Smathers told someone that she was coming to see me the day that she died,” Fenella explained. “And I had plans with Margaret Dolek the day she died. Hannah Jones passed away the day after we’d had lunch together.”

  Donald took her hand. “I’m so sorry,” he said staring into her eyes. “I had no idea. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, just frustrated. All three deaths look like accidents, but now that there have been three of them, that seems like too convenient of an explanation. I know Inspector Hammersmith is taking a good look at all three cases.”

  “He can’t possibly think you’re involved in any way.”

  “I don’t know what he thinks. I barely knew the women, of course, so that has to be a point in my favor.”

  “If they weren’t accidents, I assume the police are thinking murder. Who could possibly want to murder three harmless older women?”

  “I don’t know. You’re part of their social circle. Can you think of anything that might link them together and motivate a killer?”

  Donald shook his head. “Off the top of my head, no, but I’ll think about it.”

  Fenella finished her salad while Donald nibbled on his food, staring into space. After a while, the waiter cleared their dishes.

  “I’ll have your main course for you in just a few minutes,” he promised.

  When he’d gone, Donald shook his head. “My father knew all three women well. I’m a generation younger, but I remember many years of social occasions with them present. I can’t think of any reason why someone would want them dead after all these years.”

  “Phillipa Clucas was pretty upset at the party. According to Paulette, her mother found her father’s memoirs on his computer and it was full of stories about his infidelity.”

  “And you think Phillipa is killing all of her husband’s former lovers?” Donald asked incredulously.

  “It was just one possibility,” Fenella said quickly. “Apparently, when Paul checked the computer, he couldn’t find any trace of the memoirs. Paulette is sure that her mother dreamed the entire thing. Apparently Phillipa is taking very strong sleeping pills that cause vivid dreams, I’ve been told.”

  “Even if the memoirs were there and she’d found them, Phillipa wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Donald said. “I’ve known her my entire life. I’m sure she was devastated when she thought that Paul had cheated on her, but there’s no way she’d try to get revenge in that sort of manner.”

  “What about Paulette or Paul?”

  Donald blew out a long breath. “I’ve known both of them forever. I just can’t see it. Paul, Junior, knew his father well, and Paulette? It just isn’t in her nature.”

  “Was Paul unfaithful to Phillipa?”

  “I don’t know anything for sure,” Donald said. “Certainly, once Anne Marie Smathers was widowed, she seemed determined to have affairs with every man she met. I doubt Paul would have resisted. I can’t see either Hannah or Margaret actually sleeping with him, though.”

  “Here we are,” the waiter said brightly, delivering plates. Fenella’s chicken with rice and steamed vegetables looked wonderful, even if she couldn’t remember the names of all of the f
ancy sauces that decorated the plate. Donald’s steak looked good as well, smothered in peppercorn sauce, with vegetables and baby new potatoes.

  “Anne Marie told me as much the night we met,” Fenella picked the conversation back up when the waiter had gone. “But I don’t know about Margaret or Hannah.”

  “You’re asking me to remember things that happened a long time ago, when I was pretty young,” Donald protested. “As I said, even I knew about Anne Marie. She was not interested in discretion. But the other two women were married. I would assume, if they did have affairs with Paul, that they did so very discreetly.”

  “What did you mean when you said that Paul, Junior, knew his father well?”

  “Just that Junior must have known about his father’s other women. Phillipa never came to the parties or charity events, so Paul wasn’t always as discreet as he probably should have been, especially once his son started coming along.”

  “But you don’t remember him with Margaret or Hannah?”

  “I knew about him and Anne Marie because that was Anne Marie. The only other woman that I’m certain he had an affair with is Patricia Anderson, and I’d rather you didn’t repeat that to anyone.”

  Fenella nodded. “Do you think Paul, Junior, knew about his father and Patricia?”

  “Probably. He would have been at all of the parties by the time it happened.”

  Fenella sighed. “The food is delicious,” she said. She was working hard to try to remember to taste everything, as her mind was elsewhere.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Donald said. He topped up her wine glass and the patted her hand. “Maybe all three women did have accidents,” he said.

  “If they didn’t, can you think of any other motive? Someone suggested that it might all be tied to Herbert Smathers’s death.”

  “Ah, poor Herbert. My father used to talk about him. He loved Herbert’s car and very nearly bought himself the same model. When Herbert crashed, he was awfully glad he hadn’t.”

  “I understand Anne Marie drove the same type of car.”

  “Anne Marie had her own unique approach to life,” Donald said with a laugh. “I’m sure she’s in the afterlife now, laughing at the fact that she ended up dying in the same way Herbert did.”