Death by Association

by Paula Darnell

  My smartphone’s chiming interrupted my reverie, and I could see that Amy was calling me.

  “Hi, Amy. How goes it?”

  “Better than yesterday, that’s for sure. Funerals make me feel so depressed that I avoid them whenever possible, but Cynthia didn’t want to go to Victor’s alone—of course, Pete had to work—so I agreed to go with her.”

  “Well, some good came out of it. I’m sure Alice appreciated the help you and Cynthia gave her.”

  “That’s true. She’s a sweet lady. I made her promise that she’d call me anytime she needs a ride. It’s not as though I have no free time now that Jim’s gone,” Amy said, sighing deeply.

  “It’s nice of you to volunteer to drive her, Amy,” I said, somewhat at a loss for words. Amy was having a terrible time trying to adjust to life as a widow, and I didn’t know how to comfort her. Mere words, I knew, didn’t help much.

  “I’m happy to do it. The reason I called, Laurel, is that I was wondering whether you might be interested in going to the Greek Food Festival with me this evening. Cynthia and Pete asked me to go with them, but, honestly, whenever I tag along with a couple, I feel like a third wheel.”

  “Oh, thanks, Amy, but I have sort of a date.”

  “It’s not firm?”

  “Right. My friend warned me that he’s scheduled to be on call tonight.”

  “Oh, is he a doctor?”

  “Noooo. He’s a policeman, actually.” I hadn’t planned to tell anybody except Tracey and Liz about Wes, but, on the other hand, I didn’t see any need to hide it.

  “I didn’t realize you were dating anyone, Laurel. That’s great.” Amy liked nothing better than to play matchmaker, but when she was too late for that role, she loved to hear all about a romance.

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we’re dating. Tonight would be our second date.”

  “At least there is a second date—sounds promising to me. Where did you meet your cop?”

  “He’s one of the detectives investigating Victor’s murder.”

  “The tall, handsome guy, I’ll bet.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Lucky you! Well, I definitely don’t want to interfere with a budding romance.”

  “Remember, Amy, there’s a chance he may have to cancel. If he does, I’ll call you, and we can go together.”

  “That’s nice. Yes, let me know; otherwise, I think I’ll just curl up with my latest romance novel this evening. I can always go to the Greek Food Festival with my neighbor Lisa and her kids tomorrow afternoon if I don’t go tonight.”

  Naturally, I was hoping Wes wouldn’t have to work that evening, but just an hour before he planned to pick me up, the phone rang, and I had the sinking feeling that it was Wes. Sure enough, there’d been a multiple homicide, and he’d been called in to investigate. Ah, I thought, the joys of dating a policeman. If we continued to see each other, there would probably be lots of cancelled dates along the way. In this case, at least I could offer Amy some company for the evening. I knew how terribly lonely she was, so a little distraction, even for a few hours, would do her good.

  As usual, Saturday night was the busiest time at the three-day Greek Food Festival, held annually in Center City at St. John the Baptist Greek Orthodox Church. Streets around the church were packed with parked cars as hundreds of people flocked to the event. Amy had offered to drive, and she knew better than to try to park close to the church, so she found a spot several blocks away, and we walked, skipping a ride on the roving shuttle bus that regularly collected people going to the festival who’d parked blocks away. Once at the church, we joined the long line of people waiting to pay their general admission fee, but the line moved quickly, and we soon moved past the crafts vendors and out onto the grassy lawn in back of the church where tables were set out in the center and tents with Greek food lined the sides. There was a stage at one end, where costumed members of the church’s youth groups performed Greek folk dances and Greek bands played.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to find a place to sit?” Amy asked. “It looks really crowded.”

  “Over there,” I said, pointing to a table close to one of the food tents. “Those people are leaving.”

  We almost ran to the table to grab chairs and sit down. Although we could have stood to sample the food, we both planned to eat dinner, and it would be much easier to enjoy our Greek goodies if we had a place to sit. A couple with several children sat at the same table. Although they greeted us, they didn’t try to engage us in conversation. They had their hands full, feeding and taking care of their little ones, none of whom looked older than five.

  “We were lucky to find a spot.” Amy said. “Shall we take turns going to the tents to get dinner? That way, we won’t lose our seats.”

  “Sure, you go ahead, Amy, and I’ll wait until you get back.”

  As Amy rose, I took off my light cotton jacket and draped it over her chair to signal that the seat was taken. The aroma of cooking food wafted my way on a light breeze, and I thought about which dishes I’d select for dinner. Spanakopita, the Greek version of spinach pie, topped my list of favorites, along with dolmades or stuffed grape leaves, and saganaki, a Greek flaming cheese dish.

  Amy returned, setting her plate filled with pastitsio, a baked pasta dish, and a gyro on the table. She reached into her roomy denim shoulder bag and pulled out two bottles of water.

  “I bought some water for us. I didn’t know if you wanted anything else to drink, but I figured we can’t go wrong with water.”

  “Thanks for picking that up. Water’ll be fine.”

  The antics of the children at our table kept us entertained while we ate our dinner, and the family was still there when we departed so that we could move closer to the stage and watch the dancers. It was crowded at the foot of the stage, but we persevered long enough to watch several folk dances.

  “Ready to look through the booths?” I said after the dance group finished and was making way for one of the bands to take the stage.

  “Sure, I always like to look at the crafts and especially the jewelry. The dessert tables are right next to the arts and crafts, so we can pick up something on the way out.”

  I agreed, and we wandered over to the vendor booths in the bazaar area that was set up close to the festival’s entrance and exit area. Although we spent some time looking through the various wares, we didn’t find anything we wanted to buy, the Greek food being the main attraction at the festival.

  “Well, I think I’ll get in line for the baklava,” I said. “Should I pick up some for you?”

  “No, I’m going to go for the honey puffs; I think they’re called loukoumathes in Greek. I love those things, and this is the only place I can get them.”

  “Okay, well, it looks as though the lines are pretty long, so this might take us a while. Let’s meet next to the exit when we’re done.”

  “See you there.” Amy went off toward the booth where the honey puffs were sold, and I joined the line for the baklava. I’d promised to pick up some for Tracey, so I had the church member who took my order prepare two boxes, each with several pieces of the small traditional baklava, chocolate dipped baklava, and mocha caramel baklava. The pieces were small, I reasoned, so the calorie count couldn’t be too high. Even as I thought about the calories, I knew I was fooling myself, but I figured a little splurge once in a while wouldn’t hurt. After all, the festival happened only once a year. I paid for my purchase and moved out of the way as the people in line surged forward.

  Amy hadn’t come yet when I arrived at our meeting place, but a familiar figure in the crowd caught my eye. Although her back faced me, I would recognize that long, black ponytail anywhere. It had to be Sonya. She stood next to a big blonde man. Both were dressed casually in t-shirts, shorts, and sandals—nothing too unusual there—typical attire for festival-goers. What was most noticeable about the couple was that they had their hands all over each other, embarrassingly so for a public venue. As I watched them
, the man leaned down, swooped Sonya into his arms, and planted a passionate kiss on her lips as her arms circled his neck. Amy had joined me while I watched this scene and saw the surprised looks the couple was drawing from the crowd.

  Nudging Amy, I asked, “That is Sonya, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Who’s the big guy with her?”

  Amy shot me a look. “It’s her husband Tommy.”

  “Really? I’ve never seen him before, so I didn’t realize he was her husband. I thought they weren’t getting along. In fact, she told me he had actually threatened to divorce her. Guess he must have changed his mind.”

  “Now that Victor’s no longer around to harass them.”

  Sonya whispered something to Tommy, and the couple disentangled as Tommy strode off toward one of the tents, leaving Sonya sitting on a ledge under a tree, but only after the duo had exchanged another passionate kiss. What was going on? Not ten days earlier, Sonya had confided that she and Tommy were at each other’s throats because he blamed her for their swimming pool fiasco. Now a piece of paper couldn’t pass between them.

  “Let’s go say ‘hi’ to Sonya,” I suggested.

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait for you here,” Amy said. “I see Cynthia and Pete coming this way.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a few, I promise.”

  I walked away, hurriedly joining Sonya so that we could talk before Tommy returned.

  “Hi, Sonya.”

  “Hi, Laurel. It’s a fun festival, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I always enjoy it.”

  “Tommy’s gone to get us some ouzo. It’s not my favorite, but he loves the stuff.”

  I’d only sampled ouzo once myself, and I hadn’t cared for the characteristic licorice flavor of the drink, but I knew it was Greece’s most popular alcoholic beverage.

  “Oh, the two of you must have reconciled?” My inflection suggested a question. I really wondered what had happened to change the situation between the two.

  “We have. Tommy has a hair-trigger temper, and I guess he thought the mix-up with the HOA’s approval of our backyard project was all my fault. In his mind, there was plenty of reason to be angry, but once Victor died, he calmed down quite a bit. He said that he was sure we could get the HOA to back down now that Victor’s dead, even if we have to plead our case before the full board to do it. Tommy said that whoever shot Victor did us and everybody else in Hawkeye Haven a huge favor.”

  “Sonya, you don’t think that Tommy could have….”

  “No way—my husband didn’t shoot Victor! He doesn’t even own a gun.”

  “The person who murdered Victor used a stolen gun.”

  “Well, it wasn’t Tommy! He has an alibi.”

  “Oh?” Sonya was easy to interview. She answered questions before I ever asked them!

  “That’s right. Last Thursday night, Tommy had been drinking, and things got a little heated at home, so I called the cops. Tommy spent the night in jail, and the kids and I went over to my parents’ house. They didn’t want me to bail him out the next morning, but I hoped that a night in jail had cooled him off, and I knew he’d really be furious if I didn’t post his bail. Just after we arrived home, we heard that Victor had been shot, and Tommy’s mood improved tremendously.”

  “Well, I hope everything works out for you.”

  “See you in class next week.”

  I walked back toward Amy, who stood near the exit chatting with Cynthia and Pete, before Tommy returned with the ouzo. If Sonya were telling the truth, there was no need to ask Tommy about where he’d been when Victor had been shot. As Sonya had said, her husband had an alibi, one that would have been simple for the police to confirm immediately. When she’d attended my last class, Sonya hadn’t seemed too concerned that the detectives had questioned Tommy and her. Now I understood the reason, although her breezy attitude towards the entire situation puzzled me a bit.

  “Hi,” I greeted Cynthia and Pete. “It looks as though you’re taking some goodies home with you.”

  “Too many, but I can’t resist delicious food,” Pete said. “Every time we go to the buffet on Sunday, I feel as though I’m rolling out of there.”

  “I remember Karl mentioning the same thing when we saw you there.”

  “We like to kid ourselves that playing eighteen rounds of golf makes up for stuffing ourselves at the buffet every Sunday. We haven’t missed a Sunday since he hired a manager for his landscaping company.”

  “My downfall has always been sweets,” Cynthia added. “I’ve never met a dessert I didn’t like.”

  Amy nodded in agreement. “Me either. I like the baklava well enough, but these honey puffs are to die for,” she said, holding up her bag of pastries.

  “How about you, Laurel?” Cynthia asked. “I see that you bought something, too.”

  “Yes, baklava for Tracey and me. She had to go to dinner with a client tonight, so I promised I’d bring her some.”

  “Say, I noticed you were talking to Sonya a minute ago,” Pete said. “I’ve always thought that Tommy might have been the one who shot Victor. I thought he was going to kill him right there in the locker room the other day.”

  “According to Sonya, Tommy has an air-tight alibi. She just told me that Tommy spent that night in jail because she called the police after they had a big argument.”

  “Well, what do you know about that?” Pete asked. “If he was in jail, he sure couldn’t have shot Victor. I wonder if we’ll ever know who the murderer is.”

  Chapter 19

  “See you later, Amy, and thanks for driving. It was fun.”

  As soon as I closed the car door, I could hear Bear barking inside. He knew Mommy was home. Jumping up and down in excitement, my big Lab blocked the doorway, making it difficult for me to enter the house, but I finally managed to nudge my way inside and deposit my boxes of baklava in the refrigerator before I stooped to give him a hug.

  “I suppose you want a treat, huh, Bear?” He panted his assent. “Of course, you do. Here you go, boy,” I said, tossing him a pumpkin treat. “That’s all now.” Both of us had had ample food for the day. I still felt full—all that spinach pie had had plenty of calories, not to mention the stuffed grape leaves and the saganaki.

  While I tried to read the boring novel that my book club was scheduled to discuss at our September meeting—the one that had put me to sleep the last time I tried to read it—Bear plopped down on his bed in the den, curled up, and was soon snoring softly. This time I managed to read the first two chapters. I was a few pages into the third chapter when my attention began to flag.

  I kept thinking about what I’d learned that evening. I’d considered both Sonya and her husband Tommy strong suspects before I’d learned that they had alibis for the time of the murder. Feeling sure that the police had confirmed those alibis, I’d crossed them off my mental list of possible killers.

  Now what? I had the nagging feeling that I had missed a significant clue somewhere along the line. Snippets of all the information I’d gathered whirled around in my head like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and I felt the need to put each piece in the right place for the whole picture to emerge. As midnight approached, I could only hope that the cobwebs would disappear by morning. I decided to stop trying to solve the puzzle until after I’d had a night’s sleep.

  Somehow, in my dreams that night, my subconscious mind made a crucial connection that had eluded my conscious mind. I remembered where I’d seen the unusual brooch that I’d noticed Diana wearing in the photo in Liz’s album, and I remembered who had been wearing it. I thought that I just might know who the killer was. Now, I needed to decide what to do about it.

  As I dutifully walked with Bear that morning, I reviewed my options. I could call Wes and tell him what I knew and how I’d interpreted it. I’d missed the chance to see Wes again when he’d been forced to cancel our date for the Greek Food Festival, and I hadn’t received a call or a text message from him in the meantime. He must be tied
up with his most recent case, and I hated to bother him with speculation. To be honest, I had to admit that I was a teensy bit disappointed that I hadn’t heard from him later in the evening. Was he really so busy that he couldn’t take the time to send me a brief text message?

  I also resented the fact that he expected me to share any information I picked up with him, but, on the other hand, he refused to share what he found out with me. Okay, I knew I was being unreasonable because he was a Center City detective who had to follow the police department’s procedures and stick to its policies, but that didn’t mean that I liked his mum’s-the-word strategy when it came to Victor’s murder.

  Then there was the issue of my snooping around, which was sure to spark the handsome detective’s ire. Wes’s official-Mr.-Detective attitude might work wonders on suspects, but it left me with feelings of guilt and anger, not the emotions most conducive to a new romance. I liked Wes a lot better when he was being a human being, rather than when he was being a detective. So, maybe my first step in seeking to confirm my theory shouldn’t be sharing my suspicions with Wes.

  If I hadn’t known that Tracey was tied up in a breakfast meeting, I would have asked her what she thought of my deductions, but I couldn’t interrupt her while she worked, especially since I knew how hard she’d been trying to land her money-bags client’s business.

  Why not go ahead and ask my suspect a couple of seemingly innocent questions? I could find a pretext for my curiosity and perhaps confirm my suspicions in doing so, probably without the murderer ever realizing the purpose of my inquiries. At the moment, this plan seemed to be the best course of action. If I could ferret out pertinent answers, I’d turn all my evidence over to Wes and let him and his obnoxious partner take it from there. The more I thought about it, the more my plan appealed to me. If I was wrong, no one would be the wiser. If I was right, I’d have solved a murder.