Murder Can Rain on Your Shower

by Selma Eichler

  cherry Jell-O mold—and I’m not much for Jell-O

  molds to begin with—might have been made by Goodyear. The croissants were burned almost to the point of incineration. And dessert was a lumpy custard of

  some kind that smelled like Shalimar Perfume. (I

  swear!) But if all this wasn’t enough to induce a per

  son to consider fasting, there was the pie`ce de re´sis

  tance: a cup of the only coffee I’ve ever experienced that’s on a par with my own. A fitting finale, I sup

  pose, to what had preceded it.

  I could now appreciate why Carla was always on

  ‘‘another silly diet.’’

  Anyhow, my hostess and I had agreed to postpone

  any talk of Bobbie Jean until we were through eating.

  But once the meal was blessedly over and the table

  was cleared, we got down to business.

  Robin was the one to kick things off. ‘‘So Bobbie

  Jean’s salad was poisoned,’’ she said matter-of-factly.

  ‘‘I see the word has traveled.’’

  ‘‘Allison told me. And then yesterday I got a call

  from that police chief, who also let me know she’d

  been murdered. What’s his name again?’’

  ‘‘Porchow.’’

  ‘‘Yes, Porchow. He’s paying me a visit this evening.

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  I gather somebody informed him that Bobbie Jean

  and I weren’t on the best of terms.’’

  ‘‘Would you mind telling me what happened be

  tween the two of you?’’

  Robin didn’t answer at once. And when she did,

  there was bite in her voice. ‘‘My feelings about Bobbie

  Jean have nothing to do with anything that happened

  between the two of us. They’re the result of what she did to Carla. The woman not only wrecked my

  daughter’s marriage but ruined her health in the pro

  cess.’’ And now Robin focused her attention on the

  few crumbs remaining on the tablecloth. With the side

  of her palm, she swept those that were within her

  reach into a neat little pile in front of her before add

  ing, ‘‘Carla and Roy were happy together, too—until

  Bobbie Jean came along.’’

  I shook my head in commiseration. ‘‘How did they

  meet, Bobbie Jean and your son-in-law?’’

  ‘‘They enrolled in the same class—some sort of pho

  tography course. She was quite a bit older than Roy, but evidently love closes its eyes to wrinkles. Because it didn’t even take a month for Roy Connell to aban

  don his wife of only two years and move out of their home. Carla, as you might expect, was a physical and emotional wreck after Roy left her. In fact, she was barely functioning. She stayed with me for eight

  months, you know. But eventually she got back to

  herself again, thank God.’’

  ‘‘And moved to Manhattan,’’ I contributed.

  ‘‘That’s right. She was determined to make a fresh

  start. So she took a job there and found a cute little one bedroom not far from her place of employment.

  She resumed using her maiden name, too. In the

  meantime, Roy had obtained a quickie divorce, and

  he and that miserable woman made it legal.’’ A mo

  ment later Robin tagged on defiantly, ‘‘And I don’t

  care if she is dead—she was still a miserable human being.’’

  ‘‘I was informed that your former son-in-law died

  in an automobile accident.’’

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  ‘‘Yes. Before Roy and Bobbie Jean were even mar

  ried a year. I understand that not only had he been drinking that night, but that he’d been boozing it up for months because he and Miss Hot Pants weren’t

  getting along that well anymore.’’

  ‘‘Tell me something,’’ I said. ‘‘Had Carla and the

  victim ever been friends?’’ (I asked this not because it was really relevant, but because I’m really nosy.)

  ‘‘No. Naturally, they were acquainted with each

  other. Bobbie Jean used to live right next door—with Allison and Wes. And even after she got her own

  place, she still spent a great deal of time there. But she and Carla were too far apart in age for there to be any sort of friendship.’’

  ‘‘Well, I can appreciate why you and your daughter

  had such bitter feelings toward Bobbie Jean,’’ I

  commented.

  ‘‘Listen, there’s something I want to make clear.

  Although neither of us ever forgave Bobbie Jean for

  what she did, we had nothing to do with her death. It’s been seven years since Roy walked out on Carla, and she’s been over him for ages. She has a new life now, and there’s a new man in it, too. Believe me, if Carla or I had wanted to slip whatever it was into Bobbie Jean’s salad, we wouldn’t have waited this long

  to do it.’’

  ‘‘Well, the victim did live abroad for quite a while,’’

  I pointed out.

  ‘‘Yes, but on and off. She was back in the States

  often enough. Even when she made her home in Eu

  rope, she’d visit her brother about every six months.’’

  ‘‘I’m assuming that Sunday wasn’t the first time you

  were in her company since she ran off with your sonin-law.’’

  ‘‘No, it wasn’t. Over the years we would occasion

  ally bump into her at various functions.’’

  ‘‘When did you see her last? Prior to the shower,

  I mean.’’

  Robin frowned in concentration ‘‘I think it must

  have been about two years ago, when Carla and I

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  attended a surprise birthday party for Wes. Bobbie

  Jean was there with her newest acquisition, that poor Geoffrey Morton. They’d just relocated to this country

  from some London suburb.’’

  ‘‘Her presence must have made it pretty awkward

  for you—you and Carla, I mean.’’

  ‘‘It did. A little, anyhow. But we weren’t seated

  anywhere near Bobbie Jean, so it wasn’t too bad.’’

  ‘‘This birthday party—were Lorraine Corwin and

  Grace Banner also there?’’

  ‘‘No. Lorraine was living in California. As for

  Grace, she sent a very nice gift and her apologies, claiming she’d come down with the flu. But if you ask

  me, the real reason she didn’t attend was that she still

  wasn’t up to any contact with Bobbie Jean. To be

  honest, I half-expected that she’d be a no-show at El

  len’s shower, too.’’

  ‘‘Speaking of the shower, it couldn’t have been very

  comfortable there, either, for you and Carla. Particu

  larly since it was held at Bobbie Jean’s country club, and, in a way, that made her one of the hostesses.’’

  ‘‘We never regarded her as any hostess. Of course,

  we’d have preferred her being anyplace but. We man

  aged to avoid her, though. Look, it was a shower for Mike’s fianceé, and neither Carla nor I would have

  dreamed of missing it. Besides’’—and Robin smiled

  here—‘‘it was an opportunity to see what Silver Oaks was like.’’

  Now, there was something very sly about that

  smile—you really had to be there to appreciate what

  I’m talking about. But at any rate, I got the strong impression that Robin was holding back something of

  significance. So I gave her an ‘‘Oh?’’ which almost


  unfailingly produces a response.

  Sure enough, she got up and moved her chair closer

  to mine. Then once she was seated again she cupped

  her hand to her mouth and spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper. (I’m surprised the woman

  didn’t check under the table, too, while she was at it.)

  ‘‘Carla’s been dating this very nice young man lately.

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  He recently became a member of Silver Oaks—pri

  marily for the golfing facilities. And we . . . umm, wanted to have a look at the place.’’

  Well, considering the nature of that smile Robin

  had flashed me before, along with this hush-hush atti

  tude of hers, I put two and two together. ‘‘Does this mean that Carla and her beau are thinking of getting married at Silver Oaks?’’

  My hostess seemed to instantly regret having shared

  any confidences with me. ‘‘I’ve already said too

  much,’’ she muttered, looking agitated. ‘‘Carla will kill me if she ever finds out I mentioned Len to you. The two of them aren’t even close to that stage yet,

  honestly.’’

  I clasped her hand for a moment. ‘‘I’m glad Carla

  has somebody she cares about again. And don’t worry.

  I’ve already forgotten that I ever heard the name Len.

  Let’s talk about the other guests at the shower for a couple of minutes, okay? Are you aware of anyone

  else who had it in for Bobbie Jean?’’

  ‘‘I don’t doubt that a pretty sizable portion of the women who were present that day had reasons to de

  spise her.’’

  ‘‘I presume this would include Grace and Lorraine.’’

  ‘‘I guess. But take my word for it, they weren’t the only ones.’’

  ‘‘Can you be more specific?’’

  ‘‘Uh, not really. I wish I could help you out, but I’m just going by what I know of Bobbie Jean.’’

  ‘‘Let me ask you another question. Did you happen

  to see anyone either entering or leaving the dining

  room before we were called in to lunch?’’

  ‘‘No, I didn’t.’’

  ‘‘All right, then. Was there anything that struck you as being odd or maybe a bit unusual?’’

  ‘‘Nothing,’’ Robin answered ruefully.

  Well, this seemed as good a time as any to find out

  a bit more about that other matter Allison had

  touched on last Tuesday. ‘‘By the way, didn’t you

  yourself have some kind of quarrel with Bobbie Jean

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  at one point? Apart from this thing with your son-in

  law, I mean.’’

  Robin chuckled. ‘‘As a matter of fact, I did. I had almost forgotten about that. It wasn’t what I’d con

  sider a quarrel, though. I just wouldn’t have anything to do with her after what occurred.’’

  ‘‘And what did occur?’’

  ‘‘One day—and this dates back more than twenty

  years—I caught Bobbie Jean in our backyard engaging

  in a little me´nage a` trois with our fifty-five-year-old gardener and this young kid who was doing some

  work on our pool.’’

  Now, I didn’t want to reveal that this wasn’t exactly

  news to me, so I feigned shock. ‘‘Good God!’’ I ex

  claimed. I even waited a few seconds (which I figured

  I’d have needed in order to regain my composure)

  before saying, ‘‘And Bobbie Jean and her playmates

  carried on like this when you were at home?’’

  ‘‘Actually, I came home. Only they had no idea I’d returned, so they figured the coast was clear. Cliff, my

  late husband, was in Florida visiting his mother that weekend—this was on a Saturday. And Carla and I

  had left to catch a train into Manhattan. We were

  planning to go to the circus. But while we were at the station, Carla complained of nausea. So we turned

  around and went back to the house. Luckily, we used the front door; otherwise, my preteen daughter would

  have been treated to the same disgusting spectacle

  that I witnessed a short while later. And—’’ Suddenly

  Robin broke off and glanced at me quizzically. ‘‘But how did you find out about this, anyway?’’

  ‘‘I didn’t,’’ I stated firmly. ‘‘All I heard—and I can’t

  even recall who mentioned it—was that there’d been

  some unpleasantness between you and Bobbie Jean a

  long time ago. But you were telling me . . .’’

  ‘‘Yes. Well, I’d just made Carla some tea when it

  began to rain, and she remembered that she’d left her

  brand-new sweater on the patio. So I went to get it—

  and got the shock of my life. There were the three of

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  them, oblivious to the weather, rolling around on the grass in all their natural glory.’’

  ‘‘Were they aware that you saw them?’’

  Robin actually giggled now. ‘‘They had to be. I

  screamed bloody murder.’’

  ‘‘Did you ever say anything to Allison and Wes

  about this?’’

  ‘‘I’d decided not to. Bobbie Jean was responsible

  for enough friction between them as it was. Oh, I

  didn’t mean—’’ And now Robin’s entire face turned

  crimson. ‘‘There was never any real trouble between

  Allison and Wes, Desiree,’’ she hastily put in. ‘‘They loved each other a great deal—they still do. But Wes has— had—a tendency to be overprotective of that sis

  ter of his, who, I assure you, was hardly deserving of his loyalty. And every once in a while his attitude got

  on Allison’s nerves. Look, it got on my nerves, and I wasn’t even living with him.

  ‘‘At any rate, eventually it was Bobbie Jean herself who

  forced me to turn snitch. The little witch had gone ahead

  and related the incident to Allison, just in case the story

  should get back to Wes. Only she put a slight twist on things. In her version I was the female member of the threesome, and she’d caught me in the act. And listen to this. She also said I’d threatened that if she ever went to

  her brother or sister-in-law with what she’d seen, I would

  claim I’d caught her in that compromising situation.’’

  ‘‘A resourceful soul, wasn’t she?’’ I commented.

  ‘‘What did she say she was doing at your house in the

  first place?’’

  ‘‘She told Allison that she’d come over to borrow

  something or other—my turquoise earrings, I think.

  And when I didn’t answer the doorbell, she went

  around to the rear to see if I was on the patio.’’ Unex

  pectedly Robin grinned. ‘‘But you know what really gets me, Desiree? Bobbie Jean was just visiting Alli

  son and Wes that day—she was close to thirty by then

  and had already taken her own place. So why didn’t

  she carry on in her neighbor’s backyard?’’

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  I grinned, too. ‘‘Good point.’’

  ‘‘But seriously, that incident didn’t cause any real

  damage. Allison came to me with Bobbie Jean’s story

  in order to learn the truth about what had gone on that morning. She didn’t believe Bobbie Jean’s balo

  ney for a second.’’

  ‘‘And Wes?’’

  ‘‘As far as I know, he never heard anything about

  it.’’

  ‘‘Well,
I think that about covers everything,’’ I an

  nounced soon after this. ‘‘I really appreciate your co

  operation, Robin.’’ I pushed my chair back from the

  table. ‘‘Oh, and thanks for the delicious lunch.’’

  Robin positively beamed at that.

  Like I’ve said many times, truthfulness is not always

  a virtue.

  Chapter 16

  Just as I left Robin Fremont’s, the rain let up. Still, making it home wasn’t the breeze it should have been.

  The thing is, I got lost twice attempting to find the parkway, and driving around in circles can really eat up the clock.

  The prolonged trip did allow me to do plenty of

  thinking, however. Which, in turn, provided me with

  the rationale that I was too preoccupied with the in

  vestigation to pay attention to where I was going.

  I began with a close look at the Fremonts, mother

  and daughter—although I didn’t regard the poisoning

  as necessarily a joint venture. Now, it had been seven years since Roy ditched Carla for Allison’s sexpot

  sister-in-law. And as Robin pointed out, both she and

  Carla had had ample opportunity to send Bobbie Jean

  heavenward or—and this was much more likely—

  somewhere-elseward way before last Sunday. More

  important, Carla currently appeared to have a serious romance in her life. So I had some trouble accepting that she and/or her mother would have murdered

  Bobbie Jean at this juncture. And as far as that nasty little lie the dead woman had told about Robin twenty

  years earlier, that’s exactly what it was: a nasty little lie. It didn’t amount to diddly when you measured it against all of the heavy-duty unhappiness Bobbie Jean

  had been generating for so long. In fact, I didn’t feel that this incident was even worth taking into account. Next I examined Lorraine Corwin’s status as a sus

  pect. The suffering that the victim had caused this

  woman was pretty much ancient history by now. I

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  mean, if Lorraine had wanted to do in Bobbie Jean,

  why hadn’t she gotten in her licks ages ago? Yes, I know, until fairly recently Lorraine was living in San Francisco. But she could always have come east for a visit and, armed with a dose of something lethal, got

  ten herself an invite to some earlier function at which

  Bobbie Jean had been a guest. Listen, while they say that revenge is a dish that’s best served cold, keeping your hostility on ice for thirty-three years is ridiculous.