by Roslyn Woods
“So, not a private investigator?”
“I think not.”
“And I take it the other person was a man?”
“Yes.”
“A student?”
“I don’t know, but she mentioned him in connection with the co-op where she was a sort of director.”
“And she was paying these people?”
“Yes, I assume so. She used the word ‘hired.’”
“You don’t know how much she paid them?”
“No.”
“There are rumors, Dr. Carter, that Doris Leone had a lover. Can you tell me anything about that?”
“I can only tell you that she seemed quite heartbroken about what she perceived as her husband’s infidelity, and it seemed to me that she genuinely loved him. She never spoke of another man. She was quite fixated on her husband.”
“How did she determine that he was cheating on her?”
“She said she smelled perfume, and she said she noticed a distance in him that hadn’t been there before.”
“Had she confronted him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Anything else?”
“No. I can’t think of anything else.”
“Will you come in again if we have further questions?”
“I will.”
That evening after work, Donald was feeling worried again as he headed home. Maybe Margie was feeling overwhelmed. Maybe that was why she didn’t explain about lunch.
He drove by her house on 2nd Street. It looked better. The windows had been repaired, and someone had come by and mowed the tiny lawn. Probably the landlord. He wondered if Margie was still bringing Tabitha over in the mornings before she left for work or if the dog was staying with Shell.
He drove north along Chicon to his own place on 9th. It only took him three minutes to get there from Margie’s house. All this time she had been three minutes away from him and he hadn’t even known she was in the world. Get hold of yourself, man. You’re smitten, and there’s no getting around it. Now what are you going to do?
He pulled into his own driveway and parked the truck. Maybe this place is too shabby. Maybe I should find a more attractive place and keep it spruced up. Maybe I need a nicer car. Not a pickup, but something classy.
He unlocked the front door and went in. He’d always thought of it as a nice, clean little place. It never occurred to him that it needed to be stylish or pleasing for anyone but himself. His bookshelves looked nice, as did his Audubon prints, but the furniture had mostly been purchased on Craigslist and probably needed to be replaced. The kitchen was way too small for a real cook like Margie. Wait a minute here! What are you thinking?
He sank onto the worn sofa and let his head drop back on the arm as he kicked up his feet. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and he was feeling old. He needed some rest.
Just then his phone buzzed. It was the sound of a message coming in, and he pulled it from his jacket pocket.
Hey, could you meet me and Shell for a beer and some food at Ginger Man? She has some news about the mystery.
Donald was flooded with relief. She was contacting him. She must not be feeling overwhelmed or she’d have found a way around seeing him tonight, even if Shell did have news about the murder.
Chapter 32
Donald noticed she had taken the bow from her hair. It hung in long curls down the front of her green blouse and framed her porcelain face. He took a deep breath and tried to look anywhere else.
The Ginger Man was an old Austin place and a good place for a craft beer and a sandwich. Margie and Shell were waiting for him at a small square table near the front.
“Hello,” he said trying not to smile at Margie, keeping his eyes on Shell. “I hear you have news,” he added.
“I do. You wanna beer?” Shell asked as he sat down across from them.
“Sure. And are you ladies eating?” he asked, careful to keep his eyes on Shell alone.
“We thought we would,” she answered, looking to Margie for confirmation.
“Yes. Let’s do,” Margie said, but her voice sounded deflated.
A server came up to the table to take their beer order while handing them menus.
“I’ll have a Rio Blanco,” said Donald.
“And I’ll have a Live Oak IPA,” said Shell, glancing at Margie who nodded. “Make that two IPAs.”
After a minute or two they had also ordered sandwiches and hummus, and the three were alone again.
“Donald,” said Shell, “I went to see Brigitte this morning.”
He was surprised. “By yourself?” he asked, glancing at Margie.
“Yeah,” Shell answered.
“She doesn’t listen to me. She thinks she’s invincible,” Margie said, still sounding down.
“She should listen to you,” Donald said.
“I know, Donald,” Shell repeated, “but I couldn’t be afraid of her. It’s a sixth sense thing. I just knew she wouldn’t be violent, and I knew she could give us some important information.”
“I take it you learned something.”
“Yes. Brigitte said she wasn’t seeing Irving Jansen. She said the person who was seeing him was Lacy Michaels.”
“Lacy Michaels? She’s the one who told you Brigitte hates you?”
“Right. And, at least according to Brigitte, Lacy is the one who hates me. She was upset that Dr. Leone and I were—”
“On the same wavelength? I think your teacher spoke to me about you in a session.”
“She did?” Shell asked, stunned.
“She told me about a painting of a tree—”
“That’s my painting! The one that’s lost!”
“I thought so. She loved it,” he said.
Suddenly Shell had tears in her eyes and was looking over at the bar when two servers came to the table with beers and sandwiches and began distributing orders to the three of them. When they were gone, Shell was still looking out of sorts.
Margie said, “So Lacy Michaels, also twenty-three years old, was having an affair with Irving Jansen, fifty-six,” and she took a sip of her beer. “What’s the age difference, Shell?”
Aside from not liking the fact that the conversation had turned to age differences, Donald was conscious of what Margie was doing. Even though she seemed to be feeling down, she was forcing herself to participate in the discussion to help her friend get through her sadness.
“Let’s see,” said Shell, biting her lip, trying to come back, “thirty-three years?”
“That’s quite a span of years between two people,” Margie added.
“Yes, it is,” said Donald quietly. Nothing like ten years. Ten years is practically nothing.
“What was the age difference between Doris Leone and her husband?” Margie asked.
Why is she harping on this subject?
“I think eighteen years,” said Shell.
“That’s not as bad,” said Margie.
No, it isn’t bad at all, he thought. Not if two people love each other and are committed and aren’t plain crazy.
“But Dr. Moreno said Dr. Leone thought she might have made a mistake marrying an older man,” said Shell.
“I don’t think the problem was their age difference,” said Donald. “The problem was that one of them was a narcissist. That’s all. Age difference shouldn’t have been a factor.”
And could we please talk about something else?
“And yet it so often seems to be in these May-December unions,” said Margie.
“Yes, it does,” said Shell.
Donald sat there with his heart sinking and gave up trying not to look at Margie. She still sounded down. What had happened?
“What exactly would you call a May-December union?” he asked, his heart thudding against his ribs.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Margie, not looking back at him. In fact, it suddenly seemed that she had hardly looked at him since he arrived. “I guess seventeen years or more. What would you say, Shell?”
“Ye
ah, something like that. I think I’d be more likely to call it May-December if one of the partners is old enough to be the parent of the other one.”
Well, at least that’s been cleared up.
“I think you should go to the police, Shell,” he said. “I saw them today. With the details I gave them, and with the details you can give them, they might actually bring some of these people in and question them. They might figure this thing out.”
“You saw them?” Margie asked, surprised.
“Yeah,” he answered, really looking at her now. “I called them and told them I was Doris Leone’s counselor and I thought I had some information that could be useful in their investigation.”
“I’m glad you did that, Donald!” said Shell. “Okay. Me next, then. I’ll call them in the morning.”
“You know what I wish?” Donald said, feeling much lighter than he had all day.
“What?” Margie asked, since he was looking directly at her.
“I really wish I could have a piece of that Italian cream cake for dessert.”
“I’ll have to make another one soon,” she said, but she was looking distant as she spoke.
“Yes,” said Shell. “We plowed right through that one!”
“By the way, Donald,” said Margie, “We’re staying at my house tonight. Gina went back to her place, and Shell got a complaint about Tabitha, so we’ve decided—”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea just yet,” he said. “I could take Tabitha to my house if you need—”
“That’s nice of you, Donald, but I can’t ask you to do that. Shell and I will be together, and Tabitha will be there to alert us.”
“Yeah, Tabitha, also known as ‘Killer’ in some circles,” said Donald, sarcastically.
“Make fun if you want, but she was really patrolling at Shell’s apartment, even if her bark is tiny,” Margie argued.
“Well, I’ll be three minutes away, so you can call me if anything makes you nervous. You know the cops aren’t likely to get there fast enough to help with anything, so call me first if something comes up.”
“Okay, we will,” she said quietly, studying the condensation on her beer glass.
“Actually,” said Shell, “I need to go get my stuff at the apartment, and I’m not very hungry for some reason.”
“What?” asked Margie, looking at her friend. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I think I just ate too much Thai food at lunch.”
“You could go get your stuff,” said Donald, “and Margie and I could meet you at her house if the two of you would like.”
“Would you mind, Donald?” Shell asked. “I don’t want to cut everything short here, but I just don’t feel like I can eat another bite.”
“Shell, what are you doing?” Margie asked accusingly.
“I think I should go get packed and bring my stuff up to your house,” she answered. “It’ll take me a while, and you’re probably too tired after work to add that to your day. Donald says his house is only three minutes from yours, so it won’t be too out of the way, will it?”
“Not from my perspective,” Donald said. “It’s just whatever you want to do, Margie.”
He was feeling injured at that moment. Margie didn’t seem to want to spend time alone with him. Still, he had to give her the opportunity. If she refused now, it would make everything clear. He could see her hesitating.
“What do you say, Margie? Don’t you want to finish your beer and talk to me? I haven’t heard anything about your day yet,” he said. Now I sound pathetic, he thought. Why don’t I just get down on my knees and beg?
But she appeared to be relenting and glanced at him and back at her glass.
“Well, if you’re sure you’re not going somewhere after this and it won’t be too much of an imposition,” she said.
“I’m sure,” he said.
“Great,” said Shell. “I’ll text you in an hour—maybe an hour and a half. Whenever I leave my apartment.”
“Okay,” said Margie.
There was a strange awkwardness when Shell left that Donald had never experienced with Margie before. They sipped their beer and he asked about work.
“It’s fine,” she answered. “How is your work?”
“It’s fine.”
There was another awkward silence before Donald plunged in.
“I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Have I offended you?”
“No. Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. You seem different.”
“You seem different.”
“Look, whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. I don’t like feeling there’s a problem between us.”
“You’re the one who’s not looking at me.”
“I’m not looking at you? You’re not looking at me!”
“That’s not true, Donald. The only person you’ve looked at since we got here is Shell, and I totally understand that. She’s beautiful and she’s a wonderful person. So if you’re interested in her, you should just tell me right now.”
“Margie! I’m not interested in Shell as anything other than as your friend. I hope she likes me because I like you.” There. That’s laying it on the line.
She was looking at him with her chin tilted up the way she did that first night he met her. She was defiant and redheaded and smoking hot.
“I like you, too,” she said without dropping her chin one iota.
“And we’re very good friends,” he said.
“Right.”
“And I’m never interested in doing anything that you find displeasing, so if I am, you need to tell me about it.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“I guess so I can argue with you about it.”
Suddenly Margie was smiling, and he was smiling, too. “It’s not fair,” she said, “to amuse me when I’m mad at you.”
“I don’t promise to play fair.”
“Well then, neither do I.”
Chapter 33
Lacy Michaels had the money, but she wasn’t sure she was giving it to Jeremy. Not now that she knew Shell Hodge was watching him. When he arrived, she was going to test the waters and make a decision.
She watched from the window and waited. There was the yellow car, and there was the yellow-haired blackmailer who threatened to ruin everything. He approached the steps looking as cocky as ever, his perfect hair carefully tousled. She could see what he was aiming at—the casual look of a Calvin Klein commercial.
“Hey, Lacy!” he said as he pounded on the screen door. “Open up!”
She thought about not answering, just letting him knock on the door till his knuckles were raw and his voice was rough.
“I mean it, Lacy!” he said. “Open up!”
She wondered what kind of patience he had. Was he as volatile as Shell had said he was? Would he throw everything away over a moment’s anger? She knew there were people who would, and it was obvious he had lost it—at least temporarily—when he thought he could get away with vandalizing his ex’s car and house.
She walked slowly to the door, turned the lock, and opened it while keeping the screen latched.
“Have you got it?” he asked without greeting her.
“No.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” he said. There was no emotion in his voice, just words without feeling. Even the look in his eyes didn’t change.
“Yeah, well what are you going to do about it?” she asked, trying to read him, trying to see if he was as unhinged as Shell had suggested he was.
“I can go to the police and tell them about your little affair,” he said quietly. “I can even go to the papers. You’ve seen the constant coverage of Doris Leone’s murder. Everyone in Austin will be titillated by hearing you were doing the big nasty with her husband.”
Maybe the lack of emotion was a bad sign. Maybe he was so calculating that emotion didn’t enter into it at all for him. Maybe he was reading her the same way she was reading him. The question was, should she
take the chance?
“I think I’ve given you my last dollar,” she said, pushing further.
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re in trouble yourself, Jeremy. There’s a restraining order on you, and Shell Hodge told me there’s a video of you smashing a wedding cake at your ex’s bakery. She says your ex has that video and is going to take it to the police. You’re going to jail.”
“When did you hear this?” That definitely got his attention.
“Today,” she lied. “Just now. Shell Hodge came by to warn me off of you. She thinks you’re my boyfriend. That’s how subtle your stupid car is. You can’t park it anywhere without someone noticing where you are. She thinks we’ve been seen together a lot. As if I’d ever have been with you. It’s like an asinine joke.” That’s it. Rile him up some. See what he’s made of.
“Says the woman who’s sleeping with an old man,” he said, just a trace of anger in his voice. Yes. His agitation was building.
“Who are you with now, anyway?” she continued. “Shell knows you’re sleeping with somebody.”
“That’s none of your affair,” he answered, looking anxiously at his car parked right on the curb in front of her house.
“Oh,” she said sarcastically, “good word choice! You were sleeping around and lost your girlfriend. Now you’ve thrown a moronic fit, and the cops and everybody are onto you!”
“Even if that were true—and it isn’t—that wouldn’t keep me from telling the cops about you and your boyfriend. And, considering where you’re standing, you’re in no place to judge anybody for their sleeping practices.”
“I’m warning you, Jeremy, tell the police about me and Irving and something really bad’s gonna happen.” She hadn’t wanted to be the one to resort to threats. This wasn’t going the way she wanted it to.
“Like what?” he asked. “Like your boyfriend is going to kill some woman somewhere? I know he’s the one who did it, and I know he did it to get her out of the way so he can have you. You’re skating on thin ice with me, girl, and you’d better pay up if you want me to keep quiet.”
She fidgeted with the latch for a moment. No, this wasn’t at all what she wanted.