DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE

by Yvonne Whitney

  “Ms. Arendtz?”

  Jack Turok was in the doorway, looking good as always. He led the way upstairs. Marian, with that same smile of anticipation Jean had found so appalling during the sales meeting, followed.

  The phone began to ring again. Jean fended off the curiosity seekers and took two messages for Hua. At least, she hoped she took them. Sometimes it was hard to understand Hua’s people.

  Rita returned and the world brightened.

  “Get out your chart,” Jean ordered as she relinquished the duty desk to Rita.

  “Oh?”

  Rita dumped her briefcase on the desk and opened it.

  “You got something new since Harold?”

  “I got something! Jack Turok is upstairs interviewing Marian.”

  “Marian?”’

  Rita made a face.

  “She was on our list, but only because she didn’t have an alibi.” Rita shook her head. “I can’t see her killing anyone, can you?”

  “No. But she’s up there.”

  “Not at the police station. Is his partner with him?”

  Jean’s expression answered that.

  “So he just found it convenient to meet her here on his way somewhere. Marian is so-o-o not possible. What we need is to fill in blanks. You know which squares are blank.”

  “That much I do know. Motives.”

  “Motives. That goes for both of them, Marian and Harold. But Harold’s easier to see as a murderer after that phone call this morning.”

  “So both of you are playing this game.” Jack Turok was standing in the doorway. He jerked his head toward the stairs. “Better go up to her. She’s in bad shape.”

  And he was out the door.

  They got up, ready to follow orders.

  “Wait!” Rita said. “Light’s on the upstairs phone. Better wait.”

  As soon as the light went off, they ran for the stairs.

  Marian was sobbing, her head on her arms. She seemed a stranger. Jean had never seen her in serious distress. Girls cried a lot in high school. Jean took the usual approach, taking a seat beside her, putting an arm around the woman who had always seemed so impervious to disaster and asked her what was wrong. Rita sat on the other side of the table. Consolation wasn’t her thing.

  “He—all this stuff I do—girl scouts and—weekends!”

  Weekends sounded important.

  “Weekends?” Jean prompted.

  “He wanted me gone! Can you believe—that’s why—I thought—supportive, you know. Wanted me to be successful. I thought! Wanted—gone!”

  Marian looked up at Jean with eyes red from crying and cheeks with running mascara lines.

  “You’re talking about your husband, Marian? Jeffrey? He wanted you gone? Why?”

  “This nurse! This freaking nurse!”

  Sorrow had turned quickly to anger. Jean withdrew her arm.

  “He’s having an affair with a nurse?”

  Marian took a tissue from her purse and smeared mascara around.

  “I thought—supportive! That’s what I thought! I thought, how many husbands would not mind no dinner and … and he kept praising me, telling me I was so great! He—”

  Whatever Marian was going to say, she changed her mind. The tears were stopping, but she made the little hiccupping noises of a young child.

  “He’ll be back, Marian.”

  “Or not.” Rita was a realist. “What’s this got to do with the police?”

  “Theresa! That damned Theresa!”

  Jean was offended, but now wasn’t the time to object.

  “Why damned?” she asked.

  “She—” hiccup “—told Jeff about Mike!”

  There were too many disconnected names.

  “Mike,” Jean said encouragingly.

  “Just once. Maybe—maybe twice. I mean, he sort of seduced me! I didn’t mean to!”

  Marian’s head went down on her arms and the sobs began again. Jean and Rita looked at each other. As much as Marian craved admiration, seducing her seemed doable. But how did Theresa get in there?

  “Theresa told Jeff?” Rita asked.

  Another wail. “At the Christmas party! And Jeff told the detective!”

  “But why?”

  This time, Jean felt like wailing.

  “What part don’t you get?” Rita asked Jean. “Marian had everything Theresa didn’t. Nice little revenge there.”

  Jean wasn’t surprised that Rita had translated all this before she had.

  “But why did you tell Theresa?”

  “I didn’t. Mike kept calling. She heard me.”

  “She eavesdropped,” Rita corrected. “She heard you both. Does—did it all the time.”

  Marian’s head came up. “The bitch!”

  “The bitch,” Rita agreed.

  “I called. Thought maybe—misunderstanding—but no—Jeff says he wants—he loves this nurse and he wants to leave me!”

  At this, Marian lost the little control anger had bestowed and started sobbing again.

  Rita looked at the wilted flower across from her and said, loudly, “Marian!”

  It was a command. Marian’s head lifted. One always obeyed Rita’s commands.

  “Pull yourself together. You want to keep this letch?”

  “He’s not a letch! He’s never had an affair before!” Marian’s usually smooth face was broken by deep furrows. “I think. And I—”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Since Marian was apparently about to mention her own affair, Jean didn’t think this was quite accurate.

  “What matters is getting him back if you want him.”

  For the first time, Marian’s features went back into place.

  “How?”

  “Don’t do what you’re doing. Men like to feel stronger than women, but they don’t like pathetic and they hate crying. Especially if they’re the cause. So stop! Men also want what they can’t have, so accept this as if you had no problem with his leaving. Any other men interested in you?”

  Marian nodded, a hint of a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth.

  “Sort of.”

  “You could mention that. Don’t throw it in his face. Just say something like maybe if you’re separating, you’ll go talk to what’s-his-name—not Mike!—for support. If he asks why him, just say he’s always been a good friend. I don’t have to tell you to always look your best. You know that. You look good naked?

  Marian lifted her head. “I do!”

  “Better than this nurse?”

  “Damn right!”

  Jean wondered how she could be sure, but it was not the time to question Marian’s confidence.

  “Then let him see you naked or almost naked. Accidentally. As often as reasonable. You have a pool. Go topless if you can. Don’t be too obvious. And finally—this is important—are you listening?”

  “Of course. I’m looking right at you!”

  “Yeah, but your problem is your head is always in ten places. That’s probably what drove him away.”

  “Drove him away? That’s not fair! This other woman—”

  “Forget the other woman. You’re the woman who’s got to win him back and you drive us all nuts with your broken pieces of sentences. You need a translator.”

  Silence. Then Marian looked at Jean.

  Jean had to nod agreement.

  “Well, why didn’t somebody tell me?”

  “Fair question,” Rita admitted. “If we’d really been friends, we’d have told you. You need to listen to yourself. Focus on what you’re saying and if it’s not interesting, shut up.”

  Marian cringed. “I’m not interesting?”

  “Do you realize you recite grocery lists and Girl Scout plans? Who cares?”

  Marian took it. She thought about it.

  “I do, don’t I?”

  It had all been said. Jean and Rita waited to be sure it was okay to leave.

  After a few minutes, Marian said, slowly and with studied deliberation, “I’d
better go fix myself up. I have things to do. I thank you for your honesty and your help, Rita. And Jean.”

  “Much better, Marian,” Rita approved.

  “Thank you.” Marian took a breath. “I think I can manage complete sentences if you think it’s important.”

  She picked up her purse, took a few steps toward the door and turned back.

  “And screw the Girl Scouts!”

  They heard the water come on in the bathroom sink.

  “Do you think she’ll be all right?” Jean asked.

  “Jeff’s not much of a loss except for his money. A dweeb. And her family’s got money.”

  “But she adores him.”

  “She adores him adoring her. The big blow might be doubting her desirability. Maybe the first time. Mirrors don’t reflect sound.”

  They started downstairs, Jean in the lead. Halfway down, she stopped and looked up at her friend.

  “Wait! Okay, so she must have called Jeff. The upstairs phone light went on. But why would Jack Turok tell her about the affair?”

  “To find out if she killed Theresa.”

  Jean had nothing to offer but a blank look.

  “She only had a motive to kill Theresa if she knew who ratted on her. And if she knew about Jeff’s other woman. Hello-o! Isn’t it clear this was all news to her?”

  “But you said if she was a suspect, she would have to go to the police station.”

  Rita shrugged.

  “So I was wrong. Needed to catch her off guard, didn’t he? If she was guilty and knew they suspected her, she’d be prepared to put on an act.”

  “But wouldn’t she kill Jeff?”

  “Or the other woman if logic had anything to do with it. Emotions don’t lead to logic. She wants Jeff, obviously. Wouldn’t you hate the woman who ratted on you, pushed your husband into an affair and destroyed your marriage? And you know how Theresa treated her in the office. Like the dingbat she is.”

  Marian’s ravaged face was clear in Jean’s mind. She saw what Jack had seen.

  Rita gave Jean a gentle push.

  “Sad thing,” Rita said as they continued down the stairs “is that none of this had to come out. We could have told him Marian didn’t do it.”

  “Well, yes, I agree with you. But what makes you say that?”

  “You’ve watched her. Girl Scouts, meetings, massages, shopping. She didn’t have time.”

  Jean laughed. What would life be like without Rita?

  Chapter 22

  Jean marched silently and obediently beside the beautiful Wayne Schumacher, sneaking a look now and then. Wayne’s tan silk jacket was slung over one shoulder, his eyes straight ahead as he guided her through the foot traffic, explaining what he was looking for: someone to answer the phone, keep the office organized, run computer searches and scout for houses for sale that would make good rentals initially, to be sold when the market improved.

  It was hard to keep up with his long legs. Jean synchronized the points of her pointed black pumps, slightly grayed at the toes where the leather was worn, with the blunt toes of the well polished oxblood loafers. At last he stopped.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is too fast for you, isn’t it?”

  He took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his forehead. The day was only beginning to cool.

  “It’s too hot for this pace, anyway.” Wayne looked at her approvingly. “You know how to be quiet. That’s nice. I talk too much. So we’re a good match. We’re almost there. Le Chateau Noir.”

  Le Chateau Noir? It was too expensive for anyone Jean knew. Her head was full of questions, but how could she ask them when she had just been complimented for being quiet?

  There was no further conversation until they were out of the noisy street and seated in the darkened, cool restaurant. Almost immediately, a waitress came for drink orders.

  “Wine?” Wayne asked.

  Jean nodded.

  He ordered in what seemed to be flawless French, even those funny R’s, and the waitress left.

  “Order for you?’

  Jean nodded again, enlarging her smile for variety. She was beginning to feel like a dummy. Somehow during the walk, he had gotten even better looking.

  “Good. Then that’s settled. And we covered a lot on the way here. I’m glad you were free tonight.”

  Wayne took her menu, put it on top of his and set them both aside. There was one question Jean had to ask.

  “Are you definitely going to work in our office then?”

  Wayne frowned.

  “Still thinking. Tempting. I need someplace soon. Ed has a great reputation and a small enough staff that he’s free to give me the help I need. I’m dealing with some very knowledgeable clients. Ed even knows more about these REIT’s than I do.” Wayne laughed with a noticeable lack of concern. “And I’m the one selling them! Most importantly, he has the time to help me get this thing started.”

  “It isn’t started?”

  “Seemed pretty simple at first. Buy houses. Put them in a trust. My investment broker can take care of that. Rent them until the market comes back. Then sell for a profit. Doesn’t matter when. The rentals are good enough on their own. I have people interested. Talking to them in their homes, giving them the general idea, that’s my thing, but I found a couple of them knew more than I did. That’s damned embarrassing! I need an office and I can’t take this any farther without a licensed real estate broker. Ed’s perfect. But …”

  Wayne left the sentence dangling.

  “But until Theresa’s murder is solved …” Jean continued for him.

  “Right. Sort of a shadow over the office. Especially …”

  Another sentence awkward to finish.

  “Especially since one of us might have done it.”

  Wayne laughed again.

  “See? Already we’re a team. You got it, darlin’.”

  The wine and bread arrived. Wayne sniffed the cork, the aroma of the initial small offering, sipped and approved. Not something that ever happened at Manny’s. And wine had legs? How very peculiar. The glasses were filled, not as generously as at Manny’s, and there was more French before the waitress left and Wayne continued.

  “You also have an empty room to offer me, a pretty rare item in a Bethesda real estate office and one for a friend I want to bring in, a loan officer.” Wayne frowned. “Situation’s perfect.” He leaned toward her. “You’ve just talked to the police. Do they really think someone in your office is the killer? Ed was honest enough to warn me. I can’t afford to be associated with anything shady. Not with this clientele.”

  Jean wanted to assure him that it was probably Eleanor Harding or Joshua Evanston or even Frank, but Harold’s bulk stood massively in front of that assumption. Was Harold associated in any way with the office now or was he really gone? And do the police really suspect me?

  “Yes, I see that,” she said.

  Wayne picked up on the emotion in her voice.

  “Not a good situation for you, is it?” he asked. “How did you get into this business at your age, anyway?”

  She told him of her father’s death, her mother’s instability, her entry into real estate and that final, awful day that had begun so well. Wayne was a good listener. That was probably part of what made him a good salesman.

  She finished with, “You owe me your story. I told you mine.”

  He shrugged. It quickly became apparent why his story was difficult to tell after hers. He defined himself as the spoiled only child of wealthy parents. He didn’t have to work but, as he put it, “there was this pride thing.”

  “I’m not all that bright,” he admitted. “Didn’t do well in college.” His eyes went into the distance. “Had a good time, though.”

  He joined in her laughter. She liked that, someone who could laugh at himself.

  “Came to my senses in time. Graduated. Gave up women who were into their own looks. Too demanding. Maybe I’m too spoiled to cater to anyone else. Someone like you, now �
��”

  It was an echo of Rita’s advice.

  “You’ve had responsibility young and apparently handled it well, from what Ed says. Says you’re independent, not looking for a father to take care of you.”

  That was exactly what she had been looking for. It was amazing how fast plans could change. But the huge question was: was he asking these questions for personal or business reasons?

  “No, of course not,” she assured him as the waitress put their salads on the table.

  Conversation was easy. That was probably part of being a great salesman, too. She didn’t know sports or politics or classical music, so Wayne left those openings behind. They found they were both avid readers and traded titles and authors until dinner arrived.

  The empty salad plates flew away, the glasses were refilled and without words they agreed to concentrate on the food. The music was good, mellow selections Jean didn’t recognize. Sort of classical, she thought.

  “I have no idea what I’m eating, but it’s wonderful,” Jean said when her plate was half empty.

  Wayne laughed.

  “I love that you admit it! French country dish, coq au vin, chicken in red wine.”

  “With a lot of other stuff.”

  “With a lot of other stuff,” he agreed.

  Walking back to the office, Jean realized she hadn’t thought of Theresa or Harold for over two hours. They were hours she was going to enjoy reliving. The office was locked, but she had her key. It was dark just inside the door and, as they stood next to each other, he looked at her in a way that signaled clearly that he was wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

  Wayne only touched her cheek with one finger.

  Jean collected her gear and they walked to their cars.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said as she got into hers.

  That stopped her breath.

  “Ed said you’d be on duty tomorrow morning if I wanted to talk to you then. We’re going to review what he would do with the office. That’s if I join you.”