Camilla T. Crespi - The Breakfast Club Murder

by Camilla T. Crespi

  Lori’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Beth.”

  Beth lifted Lori out of her chair, turned her toward the hallway. “You’re jet-lagged and we’ve both had a lot of wine on empty stomachs.”

  Lori pushed herself away from Beth. “Why did he leave Jess and show her that love can break her heart. Why didn’t he love me enough to give Valerie up? I’m not drunk. Just slowly falling to pieces. I’ll go to bed now, but no sleeping pill. I want to hear the phone when Margot calls.” Lori headed to the hallway table, lifted the large bouquet of lilies, roses, and peonies out of its blue ceramic pot, separated it into more or less equal parts, and held out a dripping part to Beth. “Friends share the good and the bad.”

  Beth started to protest, but Lori pushed the dripping flowers against her best friend’s chest. There was no saying no, not with Lori as vulnerable as she was. “Thank you. You’re the best,” Beth said and kissed her friend on both cheeks. Then she whispered, “Rob’s not worth killing.”

  CHAPTER 9

  * * *

  Margot’s luxurious home, paid for by her dead father’s Wall Street fortune, sat at the end of Tree Haven, a cul-de-sac facing the Long Island Sound. It was a sprawling modern house designed by a Danish architect who, much to Margot’s disappointment, had died before becoming world-famous. A nest of smooth granite boxes spread across an emerald green lawn. On the Sound side, the granite was replaced by enormous plate glass windows open to the sky and the vast lawn that dipped down to the water. From the street, all an onlooker could see, between the four copper beeches, were small square windows that echoed the shape of the boxes. The other homes in the cul-de-sac were traditional five-to seven-bedroom colonials and Tudors. Each was meticulously landscaped and enhanced by the century-old maples, oaks, and beeches that had given this exclusive section of Hawthorne Park its name.

  The cul-de-sac was in deep shadow thanks to the many tree branches that extended into the street and covered the street lamps. At eleven fifteen at night, the late June sky was finally dark, the moon hidden behind dense, rain-filled clouds. In the red den, Margot, in a purple silk pant outfit, sprawled on the leopard-skin patterned sofa and made a phone call. “Angie and Jess are going to be late. They had to wait a long time for their table. Valerie’s bringing them home. Yes, Valerie. Rob is sick or something.” After she hung up, she settled back to watch Charlie Rose. She’d already told Lori, waking her up.

  At eleven thirty, Margot switched off the television and went to her bedroom at the back of the house. At eleven-forty, Rob’s new BMW slid smoothly into the circular driveway. Angie got out first from the back. “Thanks a bunch,” she said, bending down as the passenger side door opened and Jessica got out.

  “Bye,” Jessica said, with a quick wave. The two girls headed for the front door. Once they were safely inside, the BMW slipped quietly down the dark street. Just as it was leaving the cul-de-sac to turn into winding, unlit Caldwell Street, a car came up from behind and swiftly passed the BMW. The drivers did not glance at each other.

  At eleven forty-seven, Lori’s cell phone rang.

  “I had the best time, Mom. I ate mussels and the best French fries I’ve ever tasted and you won’t believe who I saw!”

  A wave of relief engulfed Lori. Jessica was safe, happy, bursting with excitement, and Rob had kept his mouth shut about slapping Valerie. “Who did you see?”

  “Sarah Jessica Parker! She’s so gorgeous and she gave me her autograph on a Pastis matchbook. Angie too. She’s really tiny.” Jessica went on about all the cool downtown people she had eaten with. She now felt part of the Manhattan “in” crowd. The mysterious man who had sent the flowers and her mother’s bad memory seemed forgotten. Lori simply listened. Finally Jessica said, “Bye now. I’ll be home around ten tomorrow morning. Margot’s giving me a ride.”

  “Thank her. I’ll be with Mrs. Ashe catering her birthday.”

  “Cool. Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you back.” Jessica hung up. Lori listened to the steady dial tone as her head sank back into the pillow. She closed her eyes. Life was going okay after all.

  It had started to rain. The BMW turned into the first leg of a sharp S-curve at the end of Caldwell Street. Valerie slammed on the brakes, the rear of the car fishtailing. Thank God the road was barely wet or she would have ended up like the car that was now blocking the lane, its trunk hanging over the dividing line, the front fender against a tree. What to do? Her headlights, aimed at the driver’s side of the car, shone through the open window onto the driver, who was hunched over the steering wheel, face out of sight. Valerie reached for her cell phone, punched 911. Nothing happened. She tried again. Again nothing. She turned on the overhead light and checked her phone. “Shit!” She lowered her window and called out, “I’ll have to drive to get the paramedics. We’re in a no-service zone here.”

  In her bedroom, Angie, dressed for the night in a torn soccer shirt, slipped the DVD of an old episode of Grey’s Anatomy into the player. Jessica was brushing her teeth in the bathroom. “I just can’t get enough of Patrick Dempsey. He sends shivers up my spine.”

  Jessica rinsed out her mouth and walked back into the bedroom to get undressed. “He’s too old.”

  “That’s what Margot said.” Angie sat crossed-legged on the bed, waiting for Jessica to join her. “But that’s just because she goes for him, too.”

  “Where is she? Did you tell her we’re home?”

  “Her bedroom door is closed. She’s probably fast asleep.”

  “Maybe she’s watching TV and didn’t hear us. I think you should tell her.”

  “Okay, I’ll go tell her.” Angie scrambled off the bed. “You want a Coke, or chocolate, or whatever?”

  “No, thanks.” Jessica put on a short cotton nightgown and climbed into bed.

  “I’ll be right back,” Angie said. “Mom is just at the end of the corridor.”

  Angie’s house was huge. The end of the corridor could be a mile away. Jessica lay back on a stack of embroidered pillows. Angie might take forever getting back. Jessica closed her eyes. She was tired from the excitement of the dinner, the amount of food she’d eaten.

  A door slammed. Jessica forced her eyes open and sat up. How long had she slept? Where was Angie? She looked at the heart-shaped clock on the bed stand. Only a few minutes had gone by since Angie left the room. Jessica shook her head to wake herself up. A show about sick people wasn’t her idea of fun, but if Angie wanted to watch it, she’d watch too.

  Angie strode in, two Snickers bars in her hand. “Okay, I’m ready for show time.” She climbed into bed.

  Jessica moved over to make room for her. “I heard a door slam.”

  “That was the wind. The window was open in the kitchen. It’s raining now.”

  “Was Margot asleep?”

  “She’s out. I looked everywhere.” Angie unwrapped a Snickers bar.

  “She leaves you alone in this big house?”

  “You’re here.” Angie took a bite of her candy bar. “You’re not scared, are you?”

  “No way!” Jessica hugged a pillow tight against her chest and inched closer to Angie.

  Valerie thought she heard the driver moan. She wasn’t sure because of the wind. Then she thought she heard mumbled words. Was the driver asking for help? God, she’d better check. Valerie got out of the car. Her hair, which had been wet from the shower when Rob called from the restaurant to say he wasn’t feeling well and would she take the girls home, was tucked inside his Giants baseball cap. She had put on tan slacks, a starched white shirt, loafers.

  The rain was coming down steadily now. Just her luck. Her Tod loafers would get soaked. Valerie climbed out of the driver’s seat and slowly approached the other car. The driver stayed slumped over the steering wheel. He or she, whatever, better still be alive. Bodies gave her the creeps. That’s why she’d chosen teeth instead of organs. “Hello there?”

  She heard another moan. The driver wasn’t moving, but there wasn’t any blood tha
t she could see. “You’ll be all right.” She walked closer to the car. She mustn’t touch this person. She could get sued. “Just hold on. Okay? I’m going back to Hawthorne Park. I’ll get help. Hold on now.”

  Before she turned, she heard a deafening brief burst of noise. She looked at the car in surprise. Something dark had splashed against the door. The driver was sitting up, facing her. An “oh” of recognition escaped her lips just as another burst of noise rang out. Valerie fell on her knees, and her body eased onto the blacktop. She clutched her stomach. It was wet and sticky. “Why?” she asked herself, and then her mind went blank.

  CHAPTER 10

  * * *

  “What the hell did you do with Valerie?” Rob yelled into the phone.

  Lori glanced at the clock. It was five twenty-three on the morning of her first job interview in sixteen years and from the sound of Rob’s voice, he seemed hell-bent on ruining it for her. So what if she’d slapped Valerie. The woman deserved it and Rob deserved a lot worse.

  Rob started yelling again. She lowered the cell phone against her chest to muffle his words and listened instead to the wind making a racket in the trees, the rain pelting against the window. A rip-roaring summer storm—thunder and all—to accompany the tirade Rob was screaming into her chest. How fitting and ugly. Lori cut him off and buried her head in her pillow.

  Seconds later, Beethoven’s Fifth chimed again. Lori reached for the cell to turn it off. She opened an eye. What if it was Jess? Lori sat up, both eyes open. Nope, a 212 number. Rob again. She pressed the talk button, quietly said, “Valerie deserved it,” and turned the phone off before Rob could answer. She was shaking now with that awful feeling of loss, of not knowing who she was, that had first come to her when Rob announced he was leaving her. Lori curled herself into a ball. She felt as if the bones of her legs had melted and her spine had turned to sponge. When was she going to find herself again? What had Beth said yesterday? Something about nice thoughts. Think them. That was it.

  Lori shot out of bed, threw on her bathrobe, and hurried downstairs to look at Alec Winters’s bouquet. She let her eyes feast on the lusciousness of the flowers. She inhaled their perfume. What a sweet gesture, she thought. It deserved a thank you. Maybe he could become a friend, and they could go out together to a movie, maybe even get to the point where they would end up having heart-to-heart chats while gulping down cheeseburgers and fries at Callie’s.

  Lori left the flowers and walked into the kitchen. The answering machine was flashing. One message. When Lori pressed the play button, she heard Rob’s voice, “It’s three o’clo—” She pushed erase and switched on the small TV, pressed the TiVo button to the Food Channel. Lori cut two slices of semolina bread, covered them with Dijon mustard, added imported Fontina cheese, slipped the slices into toaster oven, and settled down to forget Rob and watch skinny, grinning Giada De Laurentiis take her back to Italy’s glorious food.

  The elevator of one of the new luxurious apartment towers in White Plains whisked shut. Lori checked herself in mirrored walls, reapplied lipstick, and took several deep breaths before pressing the penthouse button.

  At the top floor, the elevator opened to reveal a large, stocky woman with a protruding chest, a jutting jaw, and a stern look on her face. “Hello, Mrs. Ashe.” Lori extended her hand and introduced herself. Mrs. Ashe nodded and moved aside to let her in. She was wearing a gray suit with matching pearls, and as Lori looked around the living room, she noticed that Mrs. Ashe also matched the decor. The walls, the furniture, the carpet were all done in varying tones of gray. Even the art—prints and oils—were black and white. Only the plants on the terrace that flanked one side of the vast living room displayed another color, green. No flowers that Lori could see. Maybe the family was color-blind, Lori thought as she sat down on the velvet armchair Mrs. Ashe indicated. Or maybe it had something to do with the name. She was glad she’d picked a white skirt and matching top instead of the turquoise dress she first tried on. She might have lost the job right off.

  Lori reached into her straw tote. “I’ve brought four menus for to you to choose from.” What if she had to come up with gray food? Gray sole? Overcooked veal? She held out the sheets she had typed at six this morning. Mrs. Ashe was still standing, the sun from the terrace streaming on her back. It was awkward, having to crane her neck to meet her client’s eyes.

  Mrs. Ashe took the menus with twisted fingers. “Forgive me for standing, but to add to my mishaps, my body has decided to humiliate me. If I sit for more than two minutes, I have difficulty getting up.”

  Lori jumped up. “Then I’ll stand, too.”

  One side of Mrs. Ashe’s mouth rose in what Lori assumed was a smile. Lori smiled back.

  “Do you want to see the kitchen or shall we walk the terrace? Movement is good even for the young. And it calms me down.”

  “Movement.” It would help steady her nerves, too. “The kitchen can wait.”

  Mrs. Ashe donned a large white hat, offered one to Lori. The night’s storm had swept the sky clean of any clouds to temper the sun’s heat. Lori took the hat and thanked her, at the same time wondering why Mrs. Ashe’s nerves needed calming.

  The east-facing terrace was long and narrow, with a part of White Plains spreading below it. Lori could see all the way to Bloomingdale’s on her right, in the center the hilly park of the New York Presbyterian Hospital, to the left the Stop and Shop, the gas stations, the car wash where Rob took his car every Saturday. White Plains was only twenty minutes from Hawthorne Park.

  “It’s not a view that compares to the one I had in Manhattan,” Mrs Ashe said, as she and Lori walked down the length of the terrace and then back. “At last, I have found an apartment that is ideal, small, only one bedroom, but not far from my old one. Jonathan is vehemently opposed. I would have thought he’d be more than happy to get rid of his mother, wouldn’t you?” Mrs. Ashe stopped walking and turned to Lori for confirmation, a mixture of disappointment and frustration on her face.

  Lori felt sorry for her. “I’m sure he’s only looking out for your best interests.” She hadn’t expected intimacies.

  “I’ve embarrassed you. Please excuse me,” Mrs. Ashe said, resuming her walk at a faster pace. Lori kept up. “Do you have children, Mrs. Corvino?”

  “A thirteen year-old daughter.”

  “Children can be difficult.”

  “And wonderful.”

  “That, too,” Mrs. Ashe conceded with what Lori thought was some reluctance. So mother and son did not get along. It was none of her business.

  “I would like to tell you about the menu I had in mind for the dinner,” Lori said.

  “Please do.”

  She went down the list of hors d’oeuvres. Cheese puffs, artichoke toasts, prosciutto rolled on breadsticks, cherry tomatoes stuffed with bacon bits, varied French and Italian cheese platters and fresh vegetables and low-fat dips for those on a diet.

  Mrs. Ashe stopped in her tracks.

  God, she hates my menu already, Lori thought.

  “Before you go on, Mrs. Corvino—”

  “Please call me Lori.”

  “There is something I need to know.” Mrs. Ashe looked at her sternly.

  “I brought recommendations with me,” Lori said. Okay, so they were written by friends. Margot, Janet, her next-door neighbor for whom she had actually cooked a Thanksgiving meal the year the neighbor was undergoing chemo.

  “Those won’t be necessary,” Mrs. Ashe said. “It has to do with your husband.”

  “Ex-husband,” Lori corrected.

  “That is what my son said, but I wanted to make sure. The divorce is final?”

  “He remarried last Saturday.”

  Mrs. Ashe linked her arm through Lori’s and started walking again. “I’m relieved. You see, I’m not a fan of Mr. Staunton’s and had you still been married to him, I couldn’t bring myself to hire you. I hope you will forgive me for my prejudice.”

  What’s Rob done to you? Lori was dying to ask
, but, for her job’s sake, it was better not to.

  “I do hope I can work with you, Mrs. Ashe. I’ve been divorced eight months and I need this job to start getting back on my feet financially and mentally.”

  “Being a widow is not the same as being divorced, and my husband left me well off, but I do understand the hurt, dear. Above all the disorientation of being suddenly and irrevocably alone, despite children.” She squeezed Lori’s hand. “It’s dizzying, but you’ll manage. Women always do.”

  Lori squeezed back, happy to discover Mrs. Ashe had a soft side to her. “Let me tell you more about the menu. Since the weather has been so warm, I thought you could start with a chilled tomato soup dotted with crabmeat and cilantro, followed by a veal loin poached in broth and white wine, thinly sliced and then bathed with a tuna sauce and served cold. For side dishes, steamed asparagus and orzo pasta with tiny diced yellow and red peppers sprinkled over it. For dessert, roasted peaches cradling a dollop of crème fraîche. And an ice cream birthday cake. How does that sound?”

  “You are making me hungry, Lori. I have some good croissants in the kitchen we will both enjoy. At my age, a birthday cake is embarrassing. Let’s limit dessert to the peaches with a dollop of ice cream. I do fancy ice cream.”

  Lori’s heart lifted. “Done!” Her first job was in her pocket. This was the beginning of good things; she could feel it.

  Once out on the street Lori took out her cell phone. There were six messages. They were probably all from Rob, and she was in too good a mood to listen to his angry sputtering. Lori called Jessica’s cell. There was no answer. She called home and got the answering machine. Jess had said she’d be home by ten, but maybe something more fun had come up. She’d call Margot in a minute to find out what the girls were up to. First she needed to talk to Janet.