We Wish You a Merry Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Was it really?” Susan had to turn around in her chair to look.

  “Yes. Definitely. I wonder why she’s in the city.”

  “Probably shopping just like we are,” her mother said from behind the menu.

  “With Evan d—missing?” Susan looked at Kathleen.

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” Kathleen returned her look.

  “Well, I don’t see why you think it’s so significant,” Claire said, poohpoohing their concerns. “So she’s in the city. She was here yesterday, too.”

  “She was?”

  “Yes. She told me so herself,” Claire insisted.

  “When?” Susan asked.

  “Last night. We ran into her at the inn.”

  “We?” Susan asked.

  “Bobby and I. He’s staying there, you know.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Did she say why she was in the city?” Kathleen asked.

  “No, but she was in this part of town,” Claire added. “Because she ran into Bobby at Rockefeller Center; his office is somewhere near there. That’s how I know she was in the city. They did one of those ‘fancy seeing you twice in one day’ things in the lobby last night. Then Bobby explained about running into her earlier.”

  “That’s interesting,” Kathleen commented.

  “Do you think it might mean something?” Susan asked as the waiter put her soup down in front of her.

  “I think it’s something to keep in mind,” Kathleen said, picking up her spoon.

  “Isn’t this interesting? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything quite like it,” Dolores said, sipping.

  “Bobby would approve. Not a bit of fat floating on top,” Claire agreed.

  “It is interesting.” Kathleen put down her spoon after the first mouthful.

  “Unique.” Susan imitated her motion. “I don’t think I’ve ever had bad soup in a Japanese restaurant before.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  They were on their way home. Finally on their way home, Susan thought.

  “My feet are killing me,” Kathleen moaned, slipping her boots off and leaving them on the floor of the car. “You must be exhausted. The traffic has been horrible all the way in and out of the city.”

  “I am a little tired,” Susan admitted. “I think that we should all eat at the inn tonight, Claire. The kids both like it. I can call Jed and have him meet us there. All right with you?” she asked, thinking that if that didn’t suit her family, they would just have to put up with pizza—and hearing what Dr. Bobby Barr, the famous podiatrist/dietitian, would think about that.

  “Good idea—” Kathleen began.

  “We still have some of my pasta and calamari left over,” her mother interrupted. “It will be fine heated up in the microwave. You and Jerry eat out an awful lot, you know. Some men don’t like that.”

  “Jerry does.”

  Dolores shrugged.

  Susan carefully maneuvered around a large chunk of ice in the middle of the highway and wondered briefly about the energy of the older generation. For six hours, Claire and Dolores had visited store after store, Christmas tree after Christmas tree, and restaurant after restaurant. They had criticized the traffic, the dirt, the rudeness, and the cold of New York City in the Christmas season. They had been offended by the prices of everything sold by everyone from the street vendors to Saks Fifth Avenue to Cartier. They had walked for miles, been bumped by fellow pedestrians, and yelled at by impatient cabdrivers. They had had a wonderful time. And they still had energy left. Susan and Kathleen were worn out.

  “I wonder why Rebecca’s been in the city so frequently,” Kathleen said.

  “It does seem a little unusual. With Evan missing and all.” Susan was so tired she could hardly get the words out.

  “She could just be doing the last of her Christmas shopping. We don’t want to make too much of this,” Kathleen said.

  “Yes. She might also be working, I suppose. Even without Evan, the business has to go on.”

  “His business was located in New York?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course; he and our husbands commute in and out of the city together. Why? Do you think it’s significant?”

  “Just interesting. I wonder what Rebecca’s exact function at his office is.”

  “Doesn’t she describe herself as his partner?”

  “Yes, but is she actually doing half the work—or does that simply mean that he turned over half of the assets of his business to her?”

  “Good questions,” Susan muttered.

  The women in the car were silent for a few moments.

  “So what time do we have to be at the high school?” Claire broke the mood.

  “Where?” Susan asked before she remembered. “The Christmas concert! I’d forgotten all about it!”

  “Are you going to spend a lot of time getting ready for it?” Kathleen asked. “Remember, we were going to try having a talk with Thomas and Travis this afternoon.”

  “Damn. Yes, I did forget. They’ll be at the concert, though.”

  “They will?”

  “Yes, they’re part of the high school chorus; they came around caroling at our house a few nights ago,” Susan answered. She wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on in the car; she was too busy worrying about what she was going to serve tonight now that a leisurely dinner at the inn was ruled out.

  “Do you suppose we’ll be able to find Thomas and Travis after the concert?” Kathleen asked.

  “Well, Rebecca will be around, too,” Susan said. Maybe there was chili stashed somewhere in the back of the freezer in the basement—but enough for five people? “Do you want to talk with them alone or with her?”

  “Alone. Definitely.”

  “You think that they’re covering up for her?” Susan asked quickly, sighing with relief as she turned the car off the highway onto the country lane that led into Hancock.

  “Possibly.”

  “But she couldn’t have killed him. She was busy at the party,” Susan protested.

  “Everyone thought that Evan was busy at his party, too, remember.”

  “True. But that would mean that the whole thing was planned well in advance.”

  “It probably was,” Kathleen mused aloud. “The cover-up alone would suggest careful planning. Think of it. Not only was Kelly’s living room carefully set up, but the backyard was trampled down. Then the body was taken, the blood was cleaned up, and the living room was redecorated.”

  “Maybe not. The blood had fallen on his shirtfront,” Susan said. “I don’t think there would have been much to clean up.”

  “Still,” Kathleen continued, “it must have all been done in a matter of minutes. I don’t see how one person could have accomplished all that.”

  “Of course,” Susan agreed. “And it must have meant a lot of passing through the shed … at least if it was done by someone at the party.”

  “I think it was,” Kathleen said. “I’ve thought about that a lot. If Evan didn’t get a phone call—and we think that he didn’t—then he wouldn’t have left the party with an outsider; it had to be one of the guests.”

  “Or a member of his new family,” Susan added.

  “Unless he made an appointment with someone during the party intentionally—to cover up maybe.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Evan. He took his job as a host seriously. He might give a party for business reasons, but he wouldn’t neglect his guests to do something else. I don’t think he would, at least.”

  “So someone present at the party probably killed him,” Kathleen said. “Unless it was Kelly, of course.”

  “But she was in the hospital when he was killed—or on the way home from the hospital in my car,” Susan protested.

  “Maybe. I only hope that the police will believe that.”

  “They haven’t even found the body,” Susan answered.

  “Yes, but—”

  “What are you two tal
king about?” The question came from the backseat.

  Susan and Kathleen abruptly stopped talking and glanced at each other.

  “I thought you had given up worrying about murders and missing people, Kathleen.”

  “I run a security company, Mother. Sometimes—”

  “You’re talking about Evan Knowlson, the man who disappeared in the middle of his own party the other night, aren’t you?” Claire asked. “I thought that was very strange. And Bob said he’s never heard of anything like it.”

  “I don’t think Evan planned on disappearing in the middle of his Christmas party,” Susan insisted, feeling odd about defending someone she knew was dead to her mother-in-law. But she was tired of hearing Dr. Bobby Barr’s opinion of everything she or any of her neighbors did.

  Susan was pressing the button on her automatic garage door opener, and Kathleen was pulling on her boots, when another thought hit her. “Is there any way to find out if Evan really got a call during the party?”

  “Well, the phone company has records, but it takes a court order to get at them, and even then … The computer system! Susan, you’re a genius. Of course we can find out if there were any calls. The information will be stored on Evan’s hard disk—unless it’s been intentionally erased.”

  “Do you think Rebecca would give us access?” Susan asked, getting out of the car.

  “It would be simple to ask her. And it certainly would be interesting to find out. If no one called in, then it appears that one of us is the murderer.” Kathleen winced at her own words. Her mother wasn’t going to let that lie.

  “We’re going to have to hurry, if I’m going to feed the kids dinner before the concert,” Susan said, trying to end the discussion.

  “I’ll find out about the computer and give you a call,” Kathleen whispered to Susan as Claire and Dolores pulled their many packages from the trunk.

  “Are you going to try to talk to the twins?” Susan asked.

  “Yes. Grab them after the concert, if you have a chance.”

  “We usually take the kids out for ice cream after—”

  “Let Jed take them. Find out how long those kids are claiming they were in the shed,” Kathleen urged, and then, turning back, she added, “Dr. Barr won’t approve of the ice cream anyway.”

  Susan rolled her eyes, ground her teeth, and smiled. “Can I help you with some of that, Claire?”

  “No. Bobby would say that it’s good exercise for the back.” She draped herself with four large bags from Saks and an even larger box labeled F.A.O. Schwarz. “I’ll take these up to my room.”

  “We won’t leave for dinner for another hour, if you’d like to take a short rest,” Susan offered, picking up a few boxes of her own. “Oh, I think I have something here that belongs to Dolores. I’d better call her …”

  “I’ll take it. I know what it is.” Claire reached out a finger, and Susan draped the tiny Tiffany’s bag over it. “It may as well stay here.”

  “Here?”

  “It’s her gift to you and Jed,” Claire explained, starting for the door to the house.

  “For us? Why is she giving us a present?”

  “You invited her for Christmas Day. You didn’t expect her to show up empty-handed, did you?”

  “Well, she certainly didn’t have to bring a gift—” Susan began to the back of her departing mother-in-law. She sighed and followed her, realizing that now she would have to buy something for Dolores.

  But there was no time to think about that now. Chad was demanding her attention before she had taken off her coat.

  “I don’t have black slacks,” he announced, standing in the middle of the kitchen floor munching on a cookie.

  “You’re going to spoil your appetite for dinner. No more cookies,” Susan said automatically.

  “I need black slacks tonight,” Chad repeated, continuing to eat. “I told you last week.”

  Susan stared at her son. “I don’t remember a conversation about black slacks. What do you need them for?”

  “For the concert. The boys have to wear black or navy slacks and yellow, blue, or pink button-down dress shirts. No sneakers or basketball shoes; only leather dress shoes. The girls have to wear—”

  “I’ll see what the girls are wearing tonight. That’s not my problem. You don’t have black or navy slacks. You have gray wool and two pairs of chinos.”

  “I need black or navy. Although I’d rather have black. We have to have them, Mom. I can’t be in the chorus unless we’re dressed properly. I told you last week,” he repeated.

  “I don’t remember, Chad. I don’t remember you saying anything about needing new clothes for the chorus—but that isn’t going to help anything now. Get in the car. Thank goodness the stores are open late this week.”

  Susan called up the stairs to Chrissy—asking her to tell her grandmother about the unexpected shopping trip—and returned to the garage. She hoped the chorus and orchestra planned on playing quiet music tonight. She was in serious need of a nap.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The familiar lyrics of “Silent Night” pealed over the attentive audience—as well as over the less attentive.

  “Jed, I think your wife is asleep.”

  “Susan? Honey? Wake up.”

  “Shh. Tell your mother to be quiet. I’m not asleep. I was just resting my eyes. Aren’t the kids cute?”

  “Which ones? The boy on the end with the diamond earring in his left ear? Or maybe the girl with the crew cut?”

  “Jed! Shh! They’re teenagers; they’re expressing their individuality. Remember how your parents hated your long hair?”

  “I remember.” Claire leaned around her to assure Susan.

  “Shh!” came an order from the seats behind them. Susan just hoped that it didn’t come from a parent of one of the children whose appearance Jed had criticized.

  Actually the concert was going well. Most of the children were adorable and the music was charming. Susan crossed her legs, placed her hands in her lap, and prepared for an uninterrupted half hour of time to think.

  It took less than a minute for her to decide to pick up a large bottle of bath salts for her cleaning woman. She also reminded herself that she had to get Claire’s Christmas present tomorrow morning. With her mental chores completed, she settled down to think about the murder. It had occurred to her, waiting outside the dressing room where Chad was trying on and complaining about every pair of navy slacks the men’s shop in Hancock had for sale, that one of the Stevensons or the St. Johns was probably the murderer. Well, at least right now they appeared to be the most likely suspects. They had been at the party, and they could have planned a murder and carried it out more easily than someone working alone. No matter which one of them did it, the other partner of the couple could cover up while they were absent from the room. What was more likely than for a husband to explain that his wife was in the bathroom? Or for a wife to say that her husband was on the phone? Two perfect suburban alibis.

  But why? Motive seemed to be the problem here. What exactly did she know about each couple and their relationships with Evan Knowlson? She decided to consider Elizabeth and Derek Stevenson first—mainly because they seemed the least likely of the two couples to be found murdering someone. Anyone.

  Elizabeth was, of course, Kelly’s best friend, but that was no way to start. She should think of them as individuals and then in relation to the others around them. What she thought of first with Elizabeth was her appearance.

  Elizabeth Stevenson was a buyer for a large consortium of department stores: the Asian buyer. She had a fabulous wardrobe of leather and embroidered silk clothing that she wore with remarkable casualness for everyday. In the evening and on more formal occasions, she usually had on one of her many antique kimonos or a handwoven sari picked up on an occasional detour into India. Her hair was prematurely gray (she was two years younger than Susan, and Susan certainly didn’t expect to have gray hair soon!), and she wore it swept up off her neck and into a chigno
n. On her, the style seemed ageless. She and Derek had two children, but they had sent them off to boarding school so young, and kept them busy with camp and European ski trips during vacations, that they managed to lead the life of a childless couple. Except, naturally, during graduation ceremonies and on parents’ weekends. As Derek would say, One had one’s obligations.

  If that sounded pompous, it was probably because she thought of him as pompous. Now, wait, Susan reminded herself. This wasn’t a popularity contest. It didn’t matter if she liked Derek. But did Elizabeth like her husband? And did either of them like Evan? (Although Susan remembered his admonition to his wife that they shouldn’t speak poorly of their host the night that Evan had died, she didn’t know what he really felt. Such a statement could have just been more pomposity.)

  Actually, if Susan thought of Elizabeth’s clothes first, her immediate impression of the husband was his bossiness. Derek was always telling people what to do—followed by how it should be done. His relations with his wife followed form. Susan had more than once over the years watched Elizabeth leap when he said leap and, for some reason, she always seemed to do it happily. Susan had wondered about a woman independent enough to travel into exotic corners of the world, succeeding in a highly competitive business, and developing an independent image for herself, who was apparently content to follow her husband’s instructions when they were together. The contradictions in a person’s life always interested her.

  Of course, both Elizabeth and Derek had spoken of the difference in their backgrounds. Derek came from an upper-class family and had spent his entire life moving in various prescribed paths between such places as Bar Harbor and Palm Beach, between Hancock, Connecticut, and Madison Avenue. He had gone to the right prep schools, the right colleges, and was settled happily into the right Wall Street brokerage house. Elizabeth had been born and raised in New Jersey. Not Princeton, not Bernardsville, just a tiny town in the middle of a state without cachet. She had worked her way from a scholarship at a state teachers college, to a masters in marketing at NYU by commuting into the city five days a week for one and a half years. Then on to a beginning job in the basement of Macy’s, to stores further uptown, and from assistant buyer to buyer, to where she was today. She had made the most of every opportunity.