Murder Among Neighbors (The Kate Austen Mystery Series)

by Jonnie Jacobs

  The notion of Connie being approached by a man like McGregory provided me with a private moment of amusement. I was certain she wouldn’t have declined the offer politely. If it was true. “Do you believe Tony?” I asked.

  “Unfortunately,” Michael sighed, “I do.” Suddenly he looked tired, beat in fact. His face was drawn, his eyes flat, his skin pale and etched with shadows.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, patting his knee. “You look as though you’ve become a prime suspect yourself.”

  “I was so sure this thing with Jake and Tony would turn out to be an important lead. Tie off a few loose ends so we could wrap up the case. Now it looks like we’re back at the beginning, with nothing. Less than nothing, in fact. Our list of potential suspects gets shorter by the day.”

  I tried to be encouraging. “Something may turn up,” I said, so brightly that it sounded hollow even to my own ears.

  “Yeah, and scientists may discover the moon is made of green cheese.”

  My hand slid from his knee to gently run up his thigh, but Michael only smiled wanly. “I’ve got to go into headquarters and make a report.”

  “That’s okay, Heather will be happy to get off early.” I pulled my hand back to my lap and stared at it for several moments. “You could come by a little later. I’ve got stuff for dinner and a whole case of beer in the basement.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think I’d be very good company tonight.”

  “Well, if you change your mind ...”

  His right hand touched my cheek. “I’m sorry, Kate. This isn’t the afternoon I wanted.”

  “Nor I,” I whispered, kissing his fingertips. Then I got out of the car and quickly went inside, where I found a card from Andy, addressed, for a change, to me as well as Anna. The message was brief: Thinking of you both, Love, Andy.

  When I’d paid Heather and straightened the mess in the kitchen, dropping the card unceremoniously into the trash, I contemplated the ways I could spend what was left of the afternoon. I could do something loving and motherly with Anna. I could do the laundry or mow the lawn. I could even sit in the yard and read a book.

  Instead, I settled Anna in front of a My Little Pony tape, pulled my slinky, easy-to-get-off dress over my head and climbed into bed. A brief nap first, then I’d tackle the question of what to do next.

  Closing my eyes, I cuddled up to the image of Michael and the pleasant afternoon we’d planned. But Andy kept intruding. From the murky realm of unconsciousness, memories forced their way to the surface and clicked through my mind like a progression of unwelcome commercials.

  There was the crisp November afternoon we went sailing on the bay with Jim and Daria. I could see Andy, blond head thrown back, laughing into the wind and cold ocean spray while the rest of us trembled and held on for dear life.

  There was the time, before Anna was born, when we rented a small cabin outside Yosemite and were snowed in for three days. We lived on Oreo cookies, dried salami and a case of champagne—and danced endlessly to the only album we could find, a scratchy recording of The Grateful Dead.

  And the night of the big earthquake when I was alone in our San Francisco apartment, without power or phone service. I’d stood at the window watching the orange sky and wept with the fear that Andy had been killed.

  Snippets of conversation, the scent of his aftershave, the pleasant roughness of his hands against my skin. These visions came and went with a life of their own. Finally they blurred into one misty dream, and I slept, drawn into the pleasurable tide of muted memory.

  I dreamed that Andy and I were making love, the way we did in the beginning before tension and doubt edged out the joy. He was caressing me, my whole body, with long, slow strokes which turned eventually to kisses. His mouth and tongue were everywhere, and I could feel the pleasure mounting. It grew deeper and hotter, until it began to sear. Then I saw that he wasn’t licking at all, but wrapping a red-hot wire around my belly, tighter and tighter. Pleasure turned to pain, and the pain grew sharper. Finally Andy laughed and left me lying in a pool of tepid water.

  I awoke in a sweat, but the pain did not subside. If anything it was stronger. Then I felt the warm stickiness between my legs and knew, without looking, that it was blood.

  I lay there for minute, muted as much by sorrow as pain, thinking that if I closed my eyes again it might all go away. But I was gripped suddenly by a fiery spasm so strong it brought tears to my eyes and took away my breath.

  I did the only thing I could think to do. I rolled over and phoned Daria.

  Chapter 17

  “Is the pain gone?” Daria asked, brushing a cool hand against my forehead. She was sitting by the side of my bed on a white plastic, hospital-issue chair. She’d been by my side ever since we’d arrived at the hospital earlier that afternoon, except of course for the hour or so I’d been in surgery. Even then, I suspect, she’d hovered about by the nurses’ station, awaiting word that she would be allowed into recovery.

  “It’s much better anyway,” I told her. I was still feeling a little groggy, and what pain there was, felt far away.

  “I’m so sorry it turned out this way, Kate.” It was probably the tenth time she’d told me that, but her effusiveness was tempered by the fact that she’d never once said it was all for the best, or that this way, at least, the decision was out of my hands. She leaned forward and offered a wan smile. “Can I do anything for you?”

  “You’ve done so much already.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “I’m fine, honestly. It’s only because Dr. Lewis is such a fussbudget that I have to stay overnight anyway. You go on home, there’s no need for you to stay any longer.”

  “I won’t stay forever. I’ve got to rescue Anna from Jim before he lets her eat a gallon of ice cream. He thinks that’s how you charm children.”

  “Tell him I appreciate this. And everything else.” I reached for the glass of ice water by my bed, but Daria beat me to it, adding fresh water from the pitcher before handing it to me. “He’s been so kind to me since Andy left,” I told her. “Both of you have.”

  She gave me one of those oh-nonsense looks she’s so good at, but it was tinged with genuine affection. “I talked to him about twenty minutes ago,” she said. “He and Anna were playing hide-and-seek.”

  “I hope you reminded Anna not to climb on the furniture.” Daria’s house was always picture perfect. Nothing worn or mussed or out of place. Even the flowers she habitually bunched in vases seemed to dip and fall with artistic grace. It was the sort of place Anna could destroy in short order.

  “We’ll get along just fine. Don’t worry.” Daria took my half-empty glass and placed it on the bedside table.

  I took her hand and held it between my own. “I’m so lucky to have a friend like you. I can’t begin to tell you how much it means.”

  “Don’t be silly. That’s what friends do, they help one another.”

  When Daria left I closed my eyes again, but didn’t sleep. In a little while the nurse came in, took my temperature and blood pressure, then leaned over the bed and peered at the pad between my legs, like a mechanic doing a quick oil check. “You’re coming along just fine,” she observed, scratching something on my chart before turning to an older woman in the next bed who had been snoring and moaning in her sleep since I’d arrived. When she’d poked and muttered around there for a bit, she left.

  Fifteen minutes later the nurse returned with two trays which she placed next to our beds. “Enjoy,” she announced brightly as she swooped out of the room.

  The older woman sat up in bed. “You got anything serious?”

  I shook my head. “I had a miscarriage.”

  She removed the lid from her tray and inspected the meal. “Well, you’re young, plenty of chance to have another. Least you can go home tomorrow. Me, I’m here for a while.”

  “Oh.” Then, thinking my response probably sounded rude, I added, “I hope it isn’t bad.”

  “Just the usual female complaints.
” With that, she switched on the television and fixed her attention on the screen.

  My mind sorted through possibilities, trying to determine what, exactly, the usual female complaints were. Finally I gave up, pushed away my tray, rolled over and pressed a pillow to my ears to block the sound of the television.

  But I didn’t sleep. I didn’t cry either, at least not outwardly, but warm tears stung my eyes and tightened my throat. It wasn’t the sharp, all-consuming grief you’d feel for the loss of a child or other loved one, but there was a sadness all the same. A quiet sadness deep inside.

  If Andy had been there with me, would he have been sad? Would he have felt any sort of loss at all? Part of me was glad I was alone, so that I wouldn’t have to know.

  <><><>

  When Daria arrived at ten the next morning, I was already fully dressed, discharge papers in hand.

  “You don’t have to prove how tough you are, Kate, especially to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes you are. Up and dressed before I arrive, refusing to come stay with me for a couple of days, talking about work already. Just as though nothing had happened.” Without looking at her, I started gathering my things, but Daria placed a hand lightly on my arm, momentarily halting my frenetic activity.

  “You would have had the baby, wouldn’t you?” she asked softly. “Even though it would have made things more difficult with Andy.”

  “Things are already about as difficult as they can get.”

  Then her arms were around me, gently rocking, quieting the raw, uneven breaths that caught in my chest. “It’s okay to feel sad, Kate. This isn’t something you can just ignore.”

  Wiping a wayward tear, I hugged her in return. “It’s not just that. I’m beginning to feel like I’m mired in quicksand. Every step sends me deeper. You’ve got a family, a husband who adores you, a job you’re good at ... a sense of purpose. Me, I’m floundering.”

  “Just take things one step at a time. It’s the only way.”

  I thought it an odd comment from a woman who had her calendar for the following year half filled by July. Never one to leave things to chance, Daria orchestrated her life with a precision I was sure the CIA would find admirable. But the advice was sound, particularly for someone like myself, who couldn’t think far enough ahead to manage a whole week’s grocery shopping at once.

  Following hospital regulations, I left in a wheelchair and Daria picked me up at the front door. She drove slowly and carefully all the way home.

  “I’m not ill,” I told her.

  She smiled. “Are you sure you won’t come to my house for the afternoon? Chris and Heather took Anna to the park, so you’d have quiet if that’s what you want.”

  “I’m sure, but thanks.”

  “How about an early dinner then? Jim’s got a poker game.”

  “Can I let you know later?”

  “Of course. Give me a call this afternoon.”

  <><><>

  In the end I went to Daria’s, sooner rather than later. My own house was empty and cold, like my body. The lone message on the machine was from Michael. Although the sound of his voice was instantly soothing, I couldn’t bring myself to call him. Not yet anyway.

  Jim was leaving just as I arrived, but he got out of the car to give me an affectionate bear hug. “You managing to hang in there?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of months for you—what with Andy, Pepper . . . and now this.”

  I’d never thought about it in that way, but he was right. There’d certainly been a lot of loss to deal with. “You and Daria have been a big help to me,” I told him.

  He tweaked my chin. “It’s good to see you feeling so chipper.” Then he trotted back to the car and drove off with a wave.

  Daria was in the kitchen, making salad. Although it was only four o’clock in the afternoon, she was already sipping a glass of wine. “Pull up a chair and pour yourself some. I’ll be finished in a minute.”

  While Daria was accustomed to midday imbibing, I was not But the idea sounded suddenly appealing. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured with theatrical flourish. “I guess this is the silver lining. I can drink again.”

  I caught Daria about to utter one of her infamous caustic remarks, but she stopped short and handed me an avocado instead. “Why don’t you cut this while I finish up with the dip?”

  “Dip no less. I might have known you couldn’t keep a simple meal simple.” Daria was given to excess, and before I knew her well enough to understand that she didn’t expect people to reciprocate in kind, I had been intimidated by her lavish spreads. Now I simply enjoyed them.

  “Dips are hardly complicated.”

  To my mind, anything that didn’t move directly from freezer to microwave to table was complicated. “How did you make out with the little terror last night?”

  “If you’re talking about your daughter, we made out splendidly.” Daria began chopping tomatoes. “You act like I’m some frail old thing.”

  “It has been a number of years since you’ve had a five year old around full time.”

  “I’m only a year older than Pepper, and she seemed to manage just fine.” Her voice had a clipped, almost arrogant tone to it, a tone I’d noticed before when she spoke of Pepper. Envy was an uncomfortable companion, I thought. “By the way,” she chided, “I understand you spent yesterday morning with that detective friend of yours, the one who’s investigating Pepper’s death.”

  Her remark caught me by surprise, and I looked up. “Anna mentioned it,” she explained.

  I watched as she scooped the tomatoes into a bowl, biting her lip to avoid the question she didn’t want to ask. “It’s okay,” I assured her, “nothing happened. We spent the day questioning a potential suspect.”

  “Oh? Who?” She leaned across the counter eagerly, her curiosity apparently topping her relief in having my virtue confirmed.

  I explained about Tony as best I could without mentioning Jake. I wasn’t sure what information was classified, but I didn’t see how clearing Tony could hurt anything. “So now they’re back to looking for leads,” I told her.

  “What about Robert? I thought he was on their list.”

  “I guess he is, but there’s nothing that ties him to the murder.”

  “Still, he doesn’t have an alibi for the night she was killed.”

  I agreed, he didn’t.

  “And then there’s the stuff with that car. What did the police decide about that?”

  With a groan, I explained they hadn’t decided anything. Not that I was aware of at any rate. “They questioned Mrs. Stevenson, and now she’s not so sure what she saw, and they talked to Robert who says the Tom he told me about was a client, not an employee; I just got it mixed up.”

  “The way women are apt to do.”

  “Right, only I don’t think he said that in so many words. It turns out the man’s car isn’t a Cherokee anyway, but some other kind of similar car, and now Robert thinks I’ve been meddling.”

  “And your detective, what does he think?”

  Unfortunately, I’d been too preoccupied with the kisses and caresses to find out. “He’s keeping an open mind,” I told her, figuring it was probably the truth.

  Forehead creased in thought, Daria dumped a bag of blue corn chips into a basket. “I don’t like to gossip,” she said after a moment. Like hell she doesn’t, I thought. “But in times like these we have to be objective. Robert does drink heavily and you know what that does to people with a temper.”

  “We’ve been over this before. Besides, he seems to have adored Pepper.”

  Daria scowled. “Maybe. But she could be a real bitch. And for a man of his disposition, not to mention his prominence in the community, well, having a wife like Pepper must have been quite a challenge. Then this thing with Tony. I mean a grown son popping up like that out of nowhere. Imagine if Robert found out. Maybe he never planned to kill her, but something set him off and h
e just . . . just snapped.” She punctuated her last words with a click of her fingers.

  “I don’t know, I can’t imagine Robert snapping. I’m not sure he even knows the meaning of the word.” I drained the last of my wine and refilled my glass. “This is all so sordid. Let’s talk about something more cheerful.”

  “I just hope the police are keeping their eyes on Robert, that’s all,” Daria said. Then she smiled, a perfect dental-ad smile, handed me the chips and salsa, grabbed the bottle of wine and motioned to the back deck. “Let’s sit outside. You can give me some ideas for Jim’s birthday next week. I got him a book, some golf stuff and a new leather briefcase, but none of it is really special.”

  Daria liked things to be special. Anniversaries, birthdays, Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day. She had even discovered holidays most of us had never heard of. And she orchestrated them all to the hilt.

  “Since we’re going to Mexico the following week, I didn’t want to plan a big trip for his birthday, but I can’t just treat it like an ordinary day, either. What do you think? Maybe a simple breakfast of croissants and fresh fruit, and then a drive through the Napa Valley. I’ve already set things up with his receptionist so that he has the day off, but of course he doesn’t know that.”

  “It will be a wonderful surprise,” I told her. Knowing Daria, I was certain the house, and maybe the car too, would be decked out with balloons and streamers and cutesy little heart decals. She’d wish him happy birthday at least a dozen times, then ask if there wasn’t really something he would rather be doing that day than whatever she had planned. And she would meet his reassurances with grateful kisses and tender little love pats.

  We poured ourselves a third glass of wine and settled down to the serious business of nibbling and catching up. I leaned back in the warm sunshine and stretched, feeling, in spite of everything, remarkably lighthearted.

  The amazing powers of wine and friendship.