“Of course,” Joy said, sounding disappointed. “The cops could sure use some new leads.”
We hugged and I walked home. Gayle pulled into the driveway as I was unlocking the front door. She looked drained. I opened the garage so she could park there, then steered her toward the kitchen and filled the kettle for tea.
“How did it go?”
She offered me a wan smile. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“So Paulson doesn’t consider you a suspect.”
Gayle shrugged. “One of many. The results of the knife came back. Evidence of blood. No fingerprints.”
“No surprise there,” I said, but inwardly I breathed a sigh of relief. I told her about finding Len Lyons’ initials in Mike’s weekly diary.
Gayle simply shrugged. “It doesn’t mean a thing. For all you know, Mike might have wanted him to fix a faucet or some such thing. Lyons was a handyman, right?”
I laughed, suddenly relieved. “I never thought of that.”
“Everyone in your book group is connected one way or another to Len Lyons,” Gayle said.
I grimaced. “Just like in an Agatha Christie novel.”
“But not in one by Josephine Tey?” Gayle asked, surprising me by remembering her name.
I shook my head. “Though Tey wrote a few traditional mystery novels, the two our group read and discussed are most original. One involves the solving of a five- hundred-year-old mystery; the other, Brat Farrar, concerns a stolen identity and an eight-year-old murder.”
“Murders that took place in the past,” Gayle mused. “Len Lyons was a career criminal and involved in plenty of illegal activities. What if he was murdered because of something that happened some time ago?”
I shrugged. “We’ll never know.”
The kettle whistled. I poured hot water into our mugs. As I set out an array of teabags and cookies, another thought occurred to me.
“Josephine Tey believed facial expressions reveal a person’s character,” I said. “In The Daughter of Time, Alan Grant takes on the task of proving Richard the Third’s innocence based solely on a photograph of a portrait painting. He works on the premise that Richard looked extremely unhappy and responsible, that he suffered illness as a child and wasn’t the sort of man who would kill his nephews for the crown.”
“Okay,” Gayle said, not knowing what I was leading up to.
“I think I’ll give it a go.”
“Lexie, what on earth are you talking about?”
“Even better, I’ll have the person in the flesh to work with, not some photograph of a painting.” I grinned. “I’m going swimming this evening, Gayle. Stay here and hold down the fort.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I entered the pool area wondering how a person could feel hot, damp and chilled, all at the same time. I wrinkled my nose at the strong chlorine fumes, one of the many reasons I avoided coming to the high school pool, which remained open Tuesday evenings for Ryesdale residents throughout the school year. Though I was a good enough swimmer, the idea of going out into the cold after being in an environment suitable for delicate flowers, restricted my swimming to dips in friends’ pools during the summer months. But I couldn’t pass up the chance to speak to Mike tonight.
There were about thirty people in the pool, mostly parents and their elementary school-aged children. One man in his sixties was trying to swim laps, and seemed annoyed whenever a splashing child got in his way.
I walked over to the shallow end and stepped down. Though the water wasn’t cold, I shivered at the idea of wetting my entire body as well as my hair, then having to dry off before dressing again and stepping out into the nippy November evening.
“Lexie! I didn’t know you came to Family Swim Night?”
I forced myself down the next two steps, and walked over to where Mike was holding on to Ruthie while she kicked her feet vigorously.
“I thought it would be fun,” I said, trying to smile though Ruthie was getting me all wet.
“Hi, Lexie,” Ruthie said.
“Hi there, kiddo.”
“I heard you babysat for Brandon today,” Mike said. “Thanks.”
“How’s Zack?”
“He’s good.” Mike grinned. “Carried on something fierce about missing swimming tonight. I started to say that maybe he could come after all, but Joy squashed that idea pronto.”
“A mother knows best. Zack had a concussion. He needs to remain quiet for as long as the doctor says he should.”
“I guess.”
“Daddy, can I go over and play with Jodie?” Ruthie asked.
“Sure, sweetie. Remember our pool rules.”
“Yes, Daddy,” she tossed over her shoulder as she dog-paddled away.
I moved a bit in order to face Mike directly. I wanted to study his every expression as we spoke, though I felt silly. Mike looked the way he always did—friendly, cheerful, as though he had nothing to hide. I opened my mouth to ask if he needed any help with Joy’s party, when he beat me to the punch.
“Joy tells me Paulson grilled Gayle this afternoon.”
“Yes. They found Len Lyons’ blood on the knife, but no fingerprints.”
“Meaning they can’t hold her.”
I grimaced. “As Gayle put it, she’s now one suspect of many.” I looked him in the eye. “Do you realize every person who’s in the book club, including Joy and me, knew Len Lyons?”
Mike shrugged. “Why not? He did handyman-type jobs around town.”
“Right. Did you know him?
“Sure. I guess so. Why do you ask?”
My turn to shrug. “No reason. I just wondered. Joy said he never did any work for you guys.”
Mike drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Some of my former brothers in blue thought he was responsible for local B & E’s. Couldn’t prove it, though.”
“Tim Draigon and Evan Billings are pretty sure he burgled their homes.” I lowered my voice. “Turns out Len had all sorts of criminal connections.”
Mike’s laugh was as phony as a two cent coin. “Brian shouldn’t be telling tales out of school.”
“It wasn’t Brian,” I said. “I heard Len hooked people up with loan sharks and other illegal providers, then held up the deal if they didn’t fork over more cash.”
He gave me an indulgent smile. “Crooks are killed every day for being too greedy.”
“Did Len arrange a loan for you?” I asked.
“Of course not.” The smile disappeared. Shutters clamped over Mike’s eyes like mirrored sunglasses. “And would I tell you if I did?”
“You just told me,” I said softly. “Do the cops know? Does Joy know?”
He grabbed my arm. “Hey! You got the wrong idea!”
I jerked my arm free, suddenly aware of his large size. “I think the cops have no idea you went to Len for a loan or some such thing.”
“I didn’t!” he shouted.
People stopped conversations to stare at us. Mike reached out to place his hands on my shoulders then thought better of it.
“I’ve no idea why you’d think I had anything to do with Len Lyons,” he said.
“So many people we know used his services,” I said, hoping Mike wouldn’t realize I’d snooped in his diary. “It almost seems logical that you would have, too.”
He let out a defeated sigh. “I considered asking him to arrange a loan with this guy he knows. We sure could use it.”
My mouth fell open in surprise. “I had no idea. Sorry.”
Mike’s lips pushed in and out. “With Joy not working and three kids to feed, the cash doesn’t flow like it did before Brandon appeared on the scene. I’m up for a raise, but it won’t come through for several months. I heard Len knew a guy who made short-term loans, but you had to go through Len.” He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe his own actions. “Stupid, I know, but I was feeling desperate. Then I found out Len played dirty, so I never called him. I should have known he was unreliable scum.”
H
is bittersweet smile told me he was speaking the truth.
“Please don’t tell Joy,” Mike said softly. “She’ll feel guilty enough to rush back to work when she wants to stay home with the kids. And she’ll insist that I cancel her birthday surprise.”
“I won’t say a word,” I promised. I turned to go, but he put out a hand to stop me.
“I know you’re worried sick about your sister being charged, but I wouldn’t worry too much.” Mike’s grin was back in place. “Word on the street is the cops are looking for a mob connection for Lyons’ murder.”
“A mob connection,” I echoed. “Thanks, Mike.” I returned his grin. “I never figured you for a murderer, anyway.”
Back home, I found Gayle in her room, packing her duffel bag.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Brian’s coming by in half an hour to drive me to a safe house.”
My heart started pounding. “Why! What happened?”
Gayle sank onto the bed. “He caught up with Pete Rogers and they butt heads.” She let out a heartfelt sigh. “Pete won’t leave Long Island and Brian can’t make him. But the Nassau Police can put me in a safe house as a person of interest.”
I sat down beside her and held her close. “If it makes you feel any better, the cops here don’t think you killed the handyman.”
Gayle shrugged. I didn’t realize she was crying until her tears dribbled down my neck. I rubbed her back.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get this all sorted out.”
“Two murder cases,” she mumbled. “How did I ever get involved in two murder cases?”
Brian arrived. He kissed me then headed for Gayle’s room and closed the door behind him. He came out ten minutes later, carrying her duffel bag. Gayle’s face was wet with tears. She threw her arms around me.
“You’ll be all right,” I crooned. “Everything will work out in the end.”
I looked over her shoulder at Brian. “Will she be able to call me?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Lexie. Any electronic communication puts the safe house in danger. But I expect Gayle won’t be staying there long. If you don’t mind, we’ll leave her SUV in your garage.”
“Sure.” I bit back the questions I longed to ask for fear they’d only upset Gayle, and watched my sister and my lover leave the house.
“I’ll get her settled and come back,” Brian whispered. Still, I felt bereft and totally useless as I closed the door behind them.
Brian called me an hour and a half later to let me know he was on his way over. When he arrived, I flew into his arms. Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Oh, no,” he said gently as he traced a tear with his finger. “I can’t have both Gruen sisters sobbing on my shoulder in one night.”
“How is she?”
“Fine. She’s in good hands. The woman who runs the safe house has plenty of experience looking after wounded birds.”
I took Brian’s hand and led him to the living room couch where I nestled against his chest. If only we could stay this way for hours. I’d been looking forward to filling him in on everything that had happened these last few days—Felicity and Corinne’s weird behavior, Johnny Scarvino, Mike’s almost calling Len Lyons the day before he was killed—but now none of that seemed urgent. I needed this tranquil respite, and was miffed when he opened his mouth for a jaw-cracking yawn.
I sat up and huffed. “Sorry if I’m boring you.”
Brian let out a deep belly laugh. “Lexie, asleep you couldn’t bore me. I’m dead on my feet. I’ve been up since four-thirty this morning.”
I grinned at him. “You could stay here for the night.”
“I could. And get up early to go home, shower, and change my clothes.”
“Or you could get up even earlier,” I suggested. “We’ll make love, then you can shower with me.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” he said, turning to kiss me.
Suddenly, both of us were wide awake and raring to go. Brian moved his hands under my sweater. “Or we can make love now and in the morning.”
Which was what we were in the middle of doing when his phone rang. He reached for it. “Donovan.”
I watched his face grow grim as he listened to the caller. “Be right there,” he said. He stood and adjusted his clothing.
“Gotta go,” he said, bussing my cheek. “There’s been a homicide.”
“Oh.” He was getting into his jacket when I thought to ask. “Anyone I know?”
“Timothy Draigon. Someone shot him as he was leaving Sadie Lu’s house.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I turned out the light and tried to sleep, but my brain spun like a hamster on a wheel as it churned out reasons why someone might want Tim Draigon dead. His was the second local homicide in as many weeks. Even more relevant, Tim had been a member of our mystery book club.
Had the same person who killed Len Lyons also murdered Tim? Tim had business dealings with Len. He’d borrowed money from Len’s money lender. But assuming Len had burgled Tim’s house meant they weren’t close friends.
I flipped on my side and rearranged the quilt. Maybe there was no direct connection between the two murders, but some kind of horrible coincidence. After all, Len had been knifed and Tim had been shot.
According to Felicity, the girls next door had been shot at by Johnny Scarvino. He was a gangbanger. Maybe Tim had done business with Scarvino.
Maybe Scarvino also killed Len Lyons. After all, they were both in the same line of work. Which made me wonder if Tim had another connection to Corinne and Felicity other than the book club.
Finally, pure exhaustion took over and I fell into a fitful sleep only to be awakened by a horrific crashing sound. I leaped out of bed and raced into the living room. My mouth fell open at the sight of the large bay window in ruins, shards of glass scattered all over the floor.
The security alarm sounded, filling the house with an ear-splitting siren that went on and on. Puss let out a screech, the likes of which I’d never heard before. I lifted him into my arms and turned off the alarm. Then I ran into the kitchen to call Brian.
He sounded groggy with sleep. He must have just gotten to bed, given the new homicide, and here I was waking him up at three-thirty in the morning. I ignored the pang of guilt and told him what had happened.
“Be right over,” he said. “Don’t touch a thing.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” I said, but he’d already hung up.
The phone rang. It was the alarm company telling me they were sending an officer over to check the house. I was about to tell them a police detective was on his way, but decided not to. Gusts of cold air blew into the house, sending shivers down my back. For all I knew, the person who had thrown the stone was still outside, planning to climb in through the broken window.
Officer Johnston, a handsome black man who seemed remarkably alert considering the hour, arrived first. I told him the little I knew regarding the incident. He was asking me if I had any idea who might have done this when Brian arrived. He introduced himself and Officer Johnston repeated his question. I looked at Brian, not certain if I should answer.
“There have been two homicides in the neighborhood,” Brian said. “This may or may not be related.”
“And I’m obliged to fill out a report for my precinct and the alarm company,”
The men eyed one another like two rams about to butt horns. I had to cover my mouth to stop the giggles from frothing over and making matters worse. Brian called the officer into the kitchen, where they conversed in tones too low for me to hear. I assumed they’d reached a compromise, because after asking me a few basic questions and jotting down the answers, Officer Johnston left. He grunted something to Brian and gave me a lilting smile.
“Good-bye, Ms. Driscoll. Hope you have a good rest of the night.”
So much for solidarity among all men in blue.
I found Brian at the kitchen table, slumped over and rubbing his eyes. “Coffee, please,” he said
.
“Are you sure? It’s after four. You could go to sleep here.”
“Coffee, please. I don’t plan to go back to sleep any time soon.”
I filled the coffee maker as Brian staggered toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” I cried.
“To take a look outside. Then I’ll check the living room. Don’t go in there. We’ll clean up the mess when I’ve finished.”
“Nothing outside,” he reported some minutes later, then disappeared from view.
I held off pouring out his coffee until he returned to the kitchen with a small statue of a dog in his gloved hands.
“This is what someone tossed through your window.”
“I think it comes from the rock garden of my neighbor across the street.”
“We’ll return it after it’s checked for prints. A note was tied around his neck.” He unfolded the paper and read aloud: “Stop interfering or die.”
“Oh.”
Brian looked fierce when he asked. “Care to tell me what that means?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s that awful Pete Rogers.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, put some cookies on a plate, and sat down.
“Maybe,” Brian agreed. “He was pissed when I told him we were looking after your sister.” He gulped down half of his coffee and turned to me, now as alert as Officer Johnston. “Or maybe it has to do with your playing Miss Marple.”
I cleared my throat. “Possibly.”
“Care to tell me about it?”
Reluctantly, I started telling him all that I’d looked forward to sharing with him earlier in the day. “First off, you’ll remember that Felicity came running over here the night their house got shot up.”
“Of course. You called me and I put out the call. Three cars went over there.”
“What I never got to tell you is Felicity was insistent that she knew who’d done the shooting.”
“Really? She never told that to the officers.”
“I’m not surprised. As upset as she was when she first came over here, she was half out of her mind because I’d called you. Later, big sister Corinne came over to give me a piece of her mind. I should have respected Felicity’s wishes and kept my mouth shut instead of calling the cops.”
Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) Page 12