Murder Among Neighbors (The Kate Austen Mystery Series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  Mrs. Stevenson nodded seriously. “This whole thing is very upsetting. There’s never been anything remotely like it in this neighborhood before. But times are changing. I said that to Mrs. Lucas just the other day. What with all the drugs and guns and immigrants . . .”

  Pleading an appointment I couldn’t be late for, I excused myself and jogged home with Max following at my heels. Inside, I kicked off my shoes and contemplated the kitchen, which was a mess. Even by my standards. Shower first, then the kitchen. But first I needed something to drink.

  A few minutes later I was standing at the sink downing a glass of orange juice and listening to Max lap water from his dish, when the doorbell rang. My first inclination was to simply ignore it, but Max had already run into the hallway and begun scratching at the door, dripping water from his chin onto the hardwood floor. Besides, it was too early in the day for anyone to be concerned with saving whales, spotted owls or starving children, and the Jehovah’s witnesses had given up on me long ago. Dismissing a salesman, I thought, would be easier than contending with Max’s incessant barking.

  With my most menacing, what-the-devil-do-you-want scowl firmly in place, I opened the door, not even bothering to rein in Max. Strangers who ring my doorbell, especially at nine-thirty in the morning, do not receive a warm welcome.

  “Mrs. Austen?” The man on my doorstep shifted from one foot to the other and stifled a yawn. “I’m Lieutenant Stone. With the homicide division.”

  No uniform. No paunch or receding hairline either. What with his blue oxford-cloth shirt, open at the collar, and brown, slightly scruffy loafers, Lieutenant Stone looked more like a head-in-the-clouds history professor than a cop.

  A decidedly attractive one at that.

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions. About Pepper Livingston.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, the lieutenant flipped open an official looking ID which I didn’t even bother to examine. I was too busy thinking about how dreadful I looked, and probably smelled.

  “Actually I’m kind of in a hurry right now,” I explained, concealing myself as best I could behind the opened door. It was true that I had a meeting at the nursery school in a little over an hour, but had my hair been cleaner and my clothes less ratty, I would probably have been more accommodating. Murder is, sifter all, a far more fascinating subject than the school’s need for a new slide. And it wasn’t every day that a good-looking male showed up on my doorstep.

  Maybe you could come back later,” I suggested.

  “It won’t take long.” Lieutenant Stone was already stepping through the doorway, and I realized that I did not really have a choice.

  Moving aside, I forgot to hold onto Max, who immediately nudged against the detective’s thigh, leaving a large wet splotch on the front of his trousers.

  “Sorry,” I said and grabbed the dog’s collar. “I’ll lock him up.”

  “Don’t bother.” Stone reached down and tickled Max behind the ears. A second, smaller spot appeared near the first.

  My scowl had faded the moment I opened the front door, and now, as I led the way to the living room, I tried for my utterly gracious, somewhat provocative smile. “Can I get you anything? Coffee or some soda?”

  “Thanks. I’d love some coffee.”

  The lieutenant peered into the living room when I gestured in the direction of the couch, nodded politely and then followed me into the kitchen, taking a seat on the far side of the table, away from the gluey mound of Cheerios that Anna had left behind before going to nursery school.

  I had hoped to run a comb through my hair and maybe dot a little blusher on my cheeks while the water boiled and the Lieutenant was safely out of site in the living room, but that was now clearly out of the question.

  “Cream or sugar?”

  “Just black.”

  Max perched eagerly next to Stone, waiting to see what fine morsels might happen his way.

  “Come here, Max,” I said, opening the back door and silently praying that for once in his life Max would obey.

  “He’s not a problem.”

  “He has very bad manners.”

  “No worse than many of the people I deal with.” The corners of Stone’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. Then he rocked back in the chair and ran a hand through his hair, which was dark and thick, and a bit longer than I would have thought befitted a police officer.

  While I fixed the coffee and set out some of the muffins I had baked for the nursery school meeting, Stone gazed out the window into the garden. He seemed, not pensive exactly, but immersed in some private rumination. I wondered if he was studying the layout of the Livingstons’ house or merely taking a moment to watch the birds peck at the feeder. Finally I handed him a mug, one of the remaining few without a chipped rim, and sat down across from him, wishing fervently that I had opted for exercise classes and colorful leotards instead of running and grubby sweats.

  “Thanks.” He stared into his coffee, taking his own sweet time about getting down to business. Finally, he asked, “You were home Wednesday night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see anything unusual?”

  “I already spoke to Officer, uh, Jenkins I think was his name. He talked to me yesterday afternoon.”

  Stone nodded. “I know, but this is the way we do things, so humor me, okay?” His voice had the calm, easy drawl of someone accustomed to taking charge. “Did you hear anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t mean just screams. How about cars, footsteps, thuds, anything at all?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “He’s . . . he was out of town that night.”

  Stone took a long, slow sip of coffee and then reached for a muffin. “Good coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, tell me about Pepper Livingston.”

  “There’s not much to tell. She was one of the movers and shakers of the Walnut Hills social set—president of the Benefit Guild, social chairman at the club, director of Sunshine House, head of the Save Our Hills Action Committee, that sort of thing—and from what I hear, a wonderful hostess. One of those people always on the go, yet never frazzled or annoyed.”

  “Quite a lady.”

  “She was one of the most composed and polished women I’ve ever known.”

  These were qualities I noticed in others because I lacked them, despite years of effort. With me it was usually speak first and think later, but even when I remembered to think first it didn’t make much difference. I usually said the wrong thing anyway. Some women were simply born with the right instincts, and some were not.

  “But she wasn’t all fluff,” I continued. “She took her responsibilities seriously.”

  One of Anna’s Barbie dolls was lying, unclothed, on the counter off to my left, and I was considering how best to move it to a less conspicuous location. I found it somehow unsettling to have a naked woman, even one that was only eleven and a half inches tall, stretched out between Lieutenant Stone, whom I found quite attractive, and myself.

  “And everyone loved her.” I added. “Well, not loved maybe, but they admired her.”

  Stone sat up straight and frowned. “Mrs. Austen, I am not asking for a character reference. I’m trying to get a handle on a murder. Do you understand the difference?”

  I nodded and nonchalantly tossed the morning paper over Anna’s Barbie.

  “Now, the husband says you were one of Mrs. Livingston’s best friends—”

  I interrupted. “That’s not really true. We were friendly, but that’s different than being friends.”

  Stone’s mouth grew tight. “Look, Mrs. Austen, I’m tired, I’m under a lot of pressure and—”

  “Kate. Please call me Kate.” The words just popped out, and I was embarrassed. This wasn’t exactly a social call.

  He nodded but didn’t smile. I suppose if you investigate murders for a living you don’t do a lot of superfluous smiling. Still, his manner softened just a b
it. “Kate. I’m under pressure. The investigation is going nowhere fast, and I’d really appreciate any help you can give me. You knew Mrs. Livingston; I didn’t. So help me out here.”

  I took a sip of coffee and thought hard. “Pepper wasn’t the most diplomatic person in the world. Some people thought she was pushy and maybe a little snooty, but that’s hardly grounds for murder—particularly in this community.”

  Stone reached for another muffin. Still no smile, but I thought I detected a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

  “What about this Sunshine House she was involved with?” he asked. “Isn’t that the place that runs programs for troubled kids?”

  “ ‘Kids on the edge,’ that’s what Pepper called them.”

  “They’re a pretty tough group. Did she ever bring any of them to her house?”

  I laughed. “Hardly. She was a founding director and member of the board, but I don’t think she ever set foot in the place herself.” Pepper’s civic mindedness had its limits.

  “Had she mentioned noticing anything unusual recently—strangers, odd phone calls, that kind of thing?”

  I tried hard to remember, but drew a blank. “Not that I recall.”

  Stone slouched down in his chair and chewed grimly at his lower lip.

  I really did want to help. I wanted Pepper’s killer to be properly punished; I wanted our town to be safe again so that I wouldn’t get goose bumps every time I heard the wind rustling the leaves; and most of all I wanted Lieutenant Stone to appreciate what a clever, cooperative and remarkable woman I was. But there was nothing I could tell him.

  I stood up and started for the stove. “More coffee?”

  Stone shook his head. “But thanks.”

  I sat down again, and in the process turned my chair slightly to the left so that my better side faced Stone. “It’s strange that the kitchen window was unlocked.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Pepper didn’t usually open those windows,” I explained. “Only the ones at the back and on the far side of the house where there are screens. And she wasn’t the sort to go up to bed without checking first.”

  “There’s no sign the window was forced, and even the most careful people sometimes make mistakes.” He broke off part of the muffin and fed it to Max who swallowed it in one bite and then resumed his attentive watch. “She apparently took an Ambien, or maybe two, that evening. so that might account for her unusual carelessness.”

  “Ambien?”

  “A sleeping pill, it’s one of the—”

  “I know what Ambien is.” It was just that I couldn’t believe I’d heard right. And this, I thought somewhat smugly, in a woman who took some Chinese herb concoction for headaches and scoffed at me for drinking caffeine!

  With a weary sigh, the lieutenant looked out the window again in the direction of the Livingston house. “You’re the only neighbor close enough to have seen or heard anything that night. You sure you didn’t?”

  I shook my head sadly. “I’m not being much help, am I?”

  “It’s not you, it’s this case. There’s nothing.” He reached for yet another muffin, his third. He looked to be a bit older than I was, maybe in his late thirties, yet his abdomen was flat and taut, like that of a younger man. Not your standard three-muffin physique.

  “You mean no fingerprints, that sort of thing?”

  “No fingerprints, although they’re vastly overrated as an investigative aid. No one who saw or heard anything that night. No reports of strangers casing the neighborhood.”

  “What about footprints or . . . blood?” I asked pertly. “Surely there has to be something.” I’d readjust enough about criminal investigations to think I knew what I was talking about.

  “Look, Mrs. Au—Kate—I’m the detective here. I’m asking the questions, okay?”

  “But you’re also trying to get a handle on a murder, remember? And you asked for my help.”

  “I didn’t mean that kind of help.”

  “How am I supposed to know what might be useful to you if I don’t know anything about the case?”

  He appeared to consider my argument for a moment; then he stopped scowling into his coffee and looked at me. “If I tell you what we have, which in this instance means what we don’t have, would you be willing to go over there this afternoon and have a look—before they clean things up. You might see something that we missed. The husband hasn’t been much help so far. Couldn’t even give us a description of the missing jewelry.”

  The thought of poking around the room where Pepper had been murdered, where her lifeless body had sprawled across the bed, did not appeal to me, but I thought it was the least I could do. And I did want to know what they’d found.

  “Okay. Deal.”

  “The physical evidence is minimal. A few bloodstains, which have been identified as Pepper’s. She was struck in the face with something that had a hard edge to it. Some hairs, which are also Pepper’s, and a bit of fresh mud on the carpet. No unusual tire marks, no footprints, no carelessly dropped monogrammed handkerchief. There’s really nothing but a small fragment of fabric, a heavy silk, the kind in good neckties. Looks like yellow and black and maybe a little burgundy. We’re not even sure it’s connected with the murder. It was caught in the joint of the brass headboard.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much. Looks like entry and exit was made through the window. Front door was locked up tight If I had to guess I’d say it was some drug addict or two-bit burglar who assumed the house was empty and then panicked when he found it wasn’t.”

  Stone picked the last muffin from the plate and took a bite. My stomach was full from just watching.

  “What do you want me to look for?”

  “Anything unusual or different. You knew Pepper; you might notice things we wouldn’t.”

  I knew Pepper, but not as well as everyone seemed to think. And I’d only been in her bedroom a couple of times. Once to admire a new chaise longue and armoire, and another time to retrieve a pair of tennis shoes Anna had left there. It was a spacious room, bigger than our living room, and, like the rest of the house, decorator perfect.

  Lieutenant Stone eyed the empty plate, then said, “Tell me about the husband. Did he and Pepper get along?”

  “She never said much about him—no gushing about how wonderful he was but no complaining either. He’s an executive with North Coast Bank, does something like managing money for rich clients. Always very cordial but in a starched sort of way. In fact, until last night, I’d always considered him to be slightly pompous.”

  “Last night?”

  “We had dinner.”

  Stone leaned across the table. “You had dinner with Robert Livingston the night after his wife was murdered?” He sounded surprised, as though we’d been dining at The Blue Fox.

  “It was only an omelet.”

  “Just the two of you?”

  “The girls were upstairs.”

  “And your husband was still out of town.”

  “Yes.”

  I could see the wheels churning, concocting some elaborate scheme. Perhaps Robert and I had conspired to bump off Pepper so that we could enjoy an illicit affair, covering our tracks by pretending to be strangers.

  “It’s not the way it seems,” I said. “Before yesterday I had hardly spoken to him. But our daughters are friends, and I offered to watch Kimberly for a bit. When he came to pick her up he stayed for a drink. It was late, so I fixed him something to eat.”

  That seemed to satisfy him, maybe because the idea that I might kindle unbridled lust was beyond belief. “Did he seem upset?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “One that merits an answer.”

  “Of course he was upset. His wife was just murdered.”

  “Upset, how?”

  “You know. . . sad.” The bottom of my foot itched, and I tried scratching with the tip of my other shoe. “Actually. I’m not sure Pepper’s death has truly hit him yet.”r />
  “So he wasn’t distraught.”

  Although I had found myself surprisingly comfortable with Robert last evening, I had to admit feeling slightly put off by his composure. But maybe expecting hysterics from a middle-aged banker was asking too much.

  “No, not really distraught,” I said. “Why, he isn’t a suspect is he?”

  “In theory, the husband is always a suspect in a case like this. And he has no alibi. Supposedly he was at the office, but no one else was there to corroborate his story. Besides, something about his manner doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “That’s just Robert,” I told him breezily. “He’s not the sort of guy to drop over for a beer and a bit of gossip.” I watched Stone brush the crumbs from the table onto his hand and then deposit them on the now empty muffin plate.

  “Well, I guess that’s about it.” Standing, he handed me his card and said, “Don’t forget about checking the Livingstons’ bedroom.”

  “I won’t.”

  Max had fallen asleep at the lieutenant’s feet the moment the muffin plate was empty, and he didn’t budge now, even when Stone moved the foot his head was resting on.

  “Thanks for the coffee. And the muffins.”

  “Would you like another? You know, to take with you?”

  He smiled then, for the first time all morning, and it was a wonderful, boyish grin that made the lines around his eyes crinkle.

  “That would be great.”

  I put two muffins in a plastic bag, then walked with him to the door. If Mary Nell was still on her diet and I didn’t eat any, there would be just enough muffins for the meeting.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  Hidden by the drapes, I watched until he climbed into an older model Ford and drove away. Then I raced upstairs to take my shower and noticed, for the first time, a large glob of toothpaste smack in the middle of my left breast.

  <><><>

  “Kate, we’d just about given up on you.” Susie Sullivan flashed me one of her perfect smiles, then added, “Though of course we knew you weren’t busy with the Guild Wine Festival. That’s where the others are—there are always so many last-minute details to be taken care of.”