We had now learned of a large and surprising gift of jewelry to her nieces. That and other clues suggested she may have taken her own life, but why? She might also have been the victim of a murder that had been made to look like suicide or a heart attack, but again, we had no legitimate suspects or a motive. Until we knew more, we were nowhere.
“What about Angela Roncaro?” I asked. The non sequitur caught Ginny by surprise.
“What about her? She died approximately two months ago under similar circumstances.” Awareness dawned in her eyes.
“Maybe she and Margaret had other things in common. They both lived here. Dr. Petersen was their physician, and he signed both death certificates. They both enjoyed massages administered by Tommy Garcia, according to Bert Rosenthal. What else?”
We looked at the file cabinets against the wall and then at each other.
“If anyone finds out that I let you see these files, my tail will seriously be in a sling.”
“No one will find out from me.”
In a minute we had Vista View’s paperwork on Angela Roncaro and Margaret Butler spread out before us, the abandoned lunch tray on the floor. After a few minutes we compared notes.
“You first,” said Ginny.
“Angela Roncaro was a local woman. She owned a house in Wethersfield for thirty-eight years, but she had outlived her parents, siblings and spouse, and listed no other relatives in Connecticut. Her emergency contact was a married son in California. She paid her rent out of a Webster Bank account. Her physician was Petersen, as we know. She died and was cremated, and her ashes and personal effects were shipped to the son.” I paused for effect. “I did find one other similarity between her and Margaret.”
Ginny circled her fingers in a hurry-up gesture.
“Angela’s attorney was Gerald MacRae, too.”
~
At half past three I dragged myself into the office, where Strutter and Emma had their heads together over an open file on the desk. I dropped my briefcase and flopped onto the sofa.
“Momma? You look terrible.”
“Who ran you over and left you for dead?”
“Nice, very nice,” I told them. “Your concern is very touching, but your phrasing needs some work. I just had the day from hell, and I’m tired, headachy and hungry. Mostly hungry,” I growled, picturing my beautiful, uneaten lunch in Ginny’s office.
Wordlessly they slipped up the stairs and returned bearing sustenance: hot, sugary coffee from Strutter and a container of strawberry yogurt from Emma.
“It’s the kind with the fruit on the bottom,” I grumped. Emma removed the lid, stirred it and handed it back to me.
“Not any more. Eat.” She and Strutter returned to their file.
I ate. Actually, it wasn’t bad, or more likely, I was too hungry to care. Whichever, down it went. By the time I got around to the coffee, I could feel my headache starting to ease.
“Thanks, that’s better,” I said more civilly.
“Oh, look at that. She has a little color in her cheeks,” Emma remarked conversationally.
“Some lipstick and a comb, and we could probably even take her out in public,” Strutter agreed. They abandoned their paperwork and pulled chairs around to face the sofa. “Spill it,” Strutter ordered, “but make it quick. I have to pick up Charlie at the high school before those girls eat him alive.”
I complied by filling them in on the day’s events with a minimum of editorializing.
“So the poor cousins from Kansas are totally confused, and Ginny’s more convinced than ever that something’s not right about Margaret Butler’s death …” Strutter summed up.
“ … but she’s trying not to alarm them,” Emma concluded.
I looked from one of them to the other. “That’s pretty good. Which one of you is the ventriloquist?”
“Okay, Mom’s back,” Emma said, rising to retrieve the file. “It’s safe to leave her now.”
Strutter checked her watch and leaped to her feet. “Where are my car keys?”
I stared at them in disbelief. “Wait just a darn minute. That’s all I get? No thoughts, no advice?”
Halfway up the stairs, Emma turned back. “I think Ginny’s right about there being something funny about Margaret’s death. I also think there’s no way in hell we’re ever going to find out what it is.”
“We should probably stop trying,” Strutter added as she, too, headed for the stairs. “The only reason we got even peripherally involved is because Ginny and the Henstocks are our friends, but there’s nothing we can do here.” They both vanished.
“You want to bet?” I called after them, but the only sounds I heard were the front door slamming behind Strutter and Emma pounding up the stairs to her office. For a moment I wondered how Emma’s thinking on single motherhood was progressing, but I decided now wasn’t the moment to ask. She’d had a long, tough work week and was probably anxious to get out of harness and join her friends for a well-deserved evening out. I didn’t know where she found the energy, since I couldn’t even remember having that kind of stamina. I suppose I must have had it once.
Wearily, I shuffled papers into order and collected the ubiquitous briefcase, which was beginning to feel like my personal albatross. Before I could switch the phone to voicemail and make my escape, it rang. I debated answering but ultimately picked it up.
“Mack Realty,” I chirped as brightly as I could manage. “Kate Lawrence speaking.”
“Oh, Kate, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to. I’m so glad I caught you.”
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “How can I help you? I was just closing up the office for the day.”
“Sorry, I hate people who don’t identify themselves on the phone, just expect you to recognize their voices. This is Bitsy Grant, Margo’s friend. We met this morning at Vista View.”
Ah, yes, the taller, blonde one. “Bitsy, of course. Don’t tell me you’ve decided to sell your unit,” I joked lamely. “I’m afraid our supply is exceeding the demand a bit these days.”
Her polite laughter was hollow, and I winced at my insensitivity. The woman had just lost a good friend.
“Janet and I were wondering if you and Margo might be free for brunch tomorrow morning. Margaret Butler’s cousins, the Hendersons, are in town and seem to have some new concerns about her death. They’ve made an appointment to see Janet’s husband Gerald this evening. He was Margaret’s attorney, you know.” She paused as if interested in my response.
I did know, but for Ginny’s sake, I wasn’t about to say so. “Is that right?” I returned noncommittally. “You want to see us about Margaret, then?” We really didn’t even know her to talk to, I’m afraid.”
“In a roundabout way it is about Margaret,” Bitsy replied. “The thing is, as the sales reps for Vista View, you and your partners must be a bit worried about the effect the deaths of two of our youngest residents might have on sales. Since Janet and I both serve on the residents’ committee, we thought it might be worthwhile to put our heads together and see if we can come up with a way to put everyone’s minds at ease.” Again, the laugh that didn’t ring true.
I thought quickly. Strutter had to drive Charlie to yet another game, but Margo could join us if she moved one appointment around. “As a matter of fact, I am free tomorrow, and I know Margo would love to see you. Shall we say the Town Line Diner at eleven?”
“Perfect,” Bitsy agreed a bit too enthusiastically. “We’ll see you then.”
Curiouser and curiouser. I switched on the voicemail system, turned off the lights and trudged up the stairs. Well, I thought, what with one thing and another, at least I hadn’t thought about turning fifty all day. As if on cue, a tsunami of a hot flash rolled over me, and sweat broke out on my scalp. Shouldn’t have tempted fate, I reflected as I secured the door and headed for my car.
Nine
“I’m not sure why we’re even talking to you about this except that Margo said you’
ve been involved in one or two unofficial inquiries over the years. We thought you might have taken an interest in our little situation at Vista View,” said Bitsy the next morning.
The four of us were ensconced in one of the Town Line’s window booths a discreet distance from the other late breakfasters. A gray rain dripped persistently, which didn’t encourage the locals to make any unnecessary stops on a Saturday morning. Charlie’s soccer game would probably be postponed, I thought, apropos of nothing. I’d had a restless night and felt strangely lethargic. I forced my attention back to Bitsy.
“It’s not as if we have a reason to go to the police, or of course we would.” She and Janet regarded Margo and me uncomfortably from their side of the booth. “We’re just trying to understand how our friend could simply get up from the bridge table on a Thursday evening, walk out the door and expire in her bed at some point over the ensuing two days. Dr. Petersen, who signed the death certificate, specified natural causes, but it seems completely unnatural to us.”
Janet nodded her agreement. “We don’t want to accuse anyone of anything, but for our own peace of mind we need some clarity about this. Margaret was as fit as either of us. She may even have been in better shape. She watched her diet like a hawk, played tennis and golf, took yoga classes, got plenty of rest. She traveled, had lots of friends and interests.” She looked at Bitsy. “What else?”
“That’s about it, but you have to admit that with that profile, her death seemed premature, to say the very least.”
I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “I can understand how upsetting this must be for you, but physically fit people die unexpectedly all the time.”
“Remember that young figure skater some years ago, Sergei Grinkov?” Margo chimed in. He was married to another skater, a lovely young thing. He practiced for hours every day of his life, but he just collapsed on the ice one day and died instantly of some previously undiagnosed heart condition. So heartbreakin’. Then there was that marathon runner who died in his early fifties. It turned out that his arteries were almost totally blocked despite all that exercise. I’m afraid death is the one thing that none of us is immune to.”
I stirred my coffee innocently and hoped my silence would spur them to a more detailed account of their misgivings about Margaret’s death. When trying to elicit information, I’ve found that silence loosens tongues far more effectively than prodding.
“There’s more,” Janet ventured after a few moments of tacit consultation with Bitsy.
“How so?” I asked, trying not to let my eagerness show. Margo nudged me under the table.
“We understand that some prescription medication was found in Margaret’s medicine cabinet, the kind for pretty severe pain, but Margaret never once mentioned any kind of problem to me.” She looked at Bitsy for confirmation.
“Nor to me, and she beat the socks off tennis players in our league who were half her age,” Bitsy mused.
“Perhaps she didn’t want to make her infirmities common knowledge,” I suggested. “She obviously took pride in her prowess and didn’t want her image to be diminished. Some people are very private about their ailments,” I shrugged, hot flashes on my mind.
Janet and Bitsy laughed at that. “Are you kidding? Around Vista View aches and pains and who’s seeing which specialist this week are the main topics of conversation,” Janet scoffed. “A little pain wouldn’t even have raised an eyebrow, but not to tell us, her closest friends? That seems very odd, don’t you think?”
Bitsy nodded. “And Dr. Petersen was so strange about it when I asked him. He wouldn’t even confirm or deny that Margaret had a problem.”
That got my attention. “You asked Dr. Petersen about it? When?” I cut myself short. There was that avid interest creeping into my voice again. Fortunately, Bitsy didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh, gosh, just a couple of days after Margaret died. It was my six-month blood pressure check, and I was sitting there with that uncomfortable cuff wrapped around my arm. It reminded me of what I’d heard about the meds in Margaret’s medicine chest, and I told him how surprised everyone had been to learn she had health issues. He got very huffy, all but told me it was none of my business. He was so curt that my blood pressure shot up five points.” She laughed at the memory. “Of course, he was perfectly correct. It was none of my business, but really, the poor woman had passed on, and it wasn’t as if she had a social disease or something embarrassing like that. It wasn’t exactly an invasion of privacy at that point.”
“So he didn’t say yes or no?” I asked carefully. “Doctors take that patient confidentiality thing pretty seriously these days. HIPPA and the lawyers …” Margo nudged me again, harder this time. “Sorry, Janet. I didn’t mean your husband, of course, but everyone in the health field seems to be running scared of lawsuits now. ”
Bitsy shook her head. “No, he didn’t say a word. He removed the cuff, told me to make another appointment for April with the nurse on my way out and then stalked out of the examining room. That was very unlike him.”
I took my time and chose my words with care. “Has Dr. Petersen been your primary care physician for a long time or just since you’ve lived at Vista View?”
“Oh, just forever,” Bitsy assured us. “You too, right, Janet? This really is a small town, and Dr. Petersen has practiced here since I can remember. He’s the primary physician for about half of Vista View’s residents. That’s one of the reasons the board invited him to be our on-call physician. It seemed as if everyone was already comfortable with him, and he has two younger associates who are available when he isn’t.”
Margo introduced a new topic. “How did your husband’s meeting with Margaret’s cousins go last night? Was he able to reassure them at all? I’m assumin’ that if they were close enough for Margaret to send them all those expensive jewels, there were in her will.” She let that one dangle in front of Janet.
“Goodness, I have no idea about that. Gerald is such a clam when it comes to his clients’ affairs, even with me. We both know it’s difficult to find any privacy in a little community like Wethersfield as it is. Everyone seems to know everyone else’s business, but frankly, I’ve always been happier not knowing who’s sleeping with whom.” She clapped one hand over her mouth and blushed violently. “Metaphorically speaking, is what I meant.”
“Uh huh,” Bitsy teased her. “In the literal sense, that sort of thing seems to be common knowledge anyway.”
Margo smiled her sympathy at Janet. “It’s the same with my husband. My John is as close-mouthed as can be when it comes to police business, and I’m glad he is. Despite my best efforts to remain ignorant, you wouldn’t believe what some of our most upstandin’ citizens get up to.”
“Oh, yes, I would,” Bitsy assured her. “Having been involved in a political campaign yourself, you shouldn’t be surprised at the dirt that gets dished about the candidates and everyone else.”
Margo snorted into her coffee, and I tried to get the conversation back on track. “So we agree that we’re all clueless in the matter of Margaret Butler’s unfortunate passing and are likely to remain so. Perhaps it’s time that the Vista View community accepts that her early death was lamentable but not suspicious in any way, and it’s happening so soon after Angela Roncaro’s death was purely coincidental.”
An unmistakable gleam of satisfaction came into Bitsy’s eyes as she signaled our waitress Sherri for more coffee.
Janet relaxed visibly. “I guess you’re right,” she agreed, trying in vain to sound disappointed. “We should all put this behind us and move on. If there were things in Margaret’s life that she wanted to keep private, she had every right to do that, and we should respect her wishes.”
“Great,” Margo said as Sherri refilled our coffee cups and flew off to take an order at the next table. “Meetin’ adjourned. Now, does anyone know where I can get a good massage? Spendin’ all my nights hunched over a hot computer is just killin’ my back.”
Half an
hour later Bitsy and Janet made their excuses and headed out after thanking us for our time. Margo tucked a slip of paper on which Janet had noted Tommy Garcia’s name and phone number into her wallet.
“What do you think the real agenda was here?” she asked me.
“To find out what we know and head us off,” I answered promptly.
“How about the manufactured distress about the circumstances of Margaret Butler’s demise?”
“Misdirection. If they can convince us that they have minor misgivings, we won’t be suspicious of them. Unfortunately, they weren’t very good at concealing their glee when they thought they’d successfully put us off the scent.”
Margo grinned as she gazed out the window to the parking lot. “Still aren’t,” she observed, pointing one beautifully manicured finger to where Janet and Bitsy were sharing an ill-timed fist bump before getting into the blue Audi. “Guess those little ol’ gals think we were born yesterday.”
“Nice to know we’re holding up. Did you catch the blush on Janet when she made that ‘who’s sleeping with whom’ gaffe?”
“Mmmm, a bit extreme for a woman of her age,” Margo agreed.
“Which one of them do you think is covering up for the other, and what are they covering up is what I want to know. So now that we’re more convinced than ever something’s very wrong here, what’s next?”
Margo patted her wallet. “I’m getting myself a massage, and I believe Strutter may want to get some complaint or other checked out at Dr. Petersen’s establishment, get chummy with the nurses. As for you,” she paused, considering, “I think it’s time you got your legal paperwork in order. Do you have a livin’ will, Sugar, because there’s a lawyer livin’ right there at Vista View I believe can fix you up with one.”
Dying Wishes Page 8