We Wish You a Merry Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  She picked up a shrimp, dipped it in sauce, opened the book, and started to read. Was it surprising that Kelly’s name was on the first page?

  THIRTY

  The phone had been ringing since eight a.m.

  “Do you always get so many calls on Saturday mornings?” Claire asked, handing Susan another Santa-and-elf covered package.

  “Always on the morning after a party,” Susan answered, removing the paper. “Another bottle of Irish Cream! There must have been a sale at the store!” The import of Claire’s question hit her as she put the liquor on a tray with half a dozen twins. “Why do you ask? Did the phone wake you this morning?”

  “It’s just that Bobby said he would call early and I don’t see how he’s going to get through.” The phone rang as she spoke.

  Susan answered and then passed the receiver to Claire. “It’s for you. The call you’ve been waiting for.”

  Claire beamed and took it. “Hello? Bobby … Yes. I know. Susan’s friends have been tying up the line all morning.”

  Susan decided to open the rest of her hostess gifts later and left the room just as Jed came downstairs, a notebook in his hand.

  “I gather this is what you were reading in bed last night.”

  “I thought you were asleep. I’m sorry if I bothered you. It’s Kathleen’s. She asked me to go through it and add any ideas I had—”

  “Mother!” Chrissy appeared in her father’s wake. “Seth said he was going to call this morning—early this morning. And I don’t see how he’s going to get through. Can’t you ask your friends to call some other time? Can’t—”

  “Your grandmother is on the phone with Dr. Barr,” her mother interrupted. “Why don’t you wait until she’s off, then call Seth before the next call comes through?”

  “But he’s supposed to call me!” Chrissy wailed.

  Susan shrugged. She couldn’t handle her family’s romantic problems. “Then I don’t know what I can do about it.” She turned to her husband. “I thought you were going to get up early and hit the malls?”

  “Best laid plans.” He laughed. “But I’m on my way out the door.”

  “What about breakfast?”

  “I’ll get something while I shop. Don’t worry about me.”

  “If you’re sure.” Susan looked around the hall. Chrissy had vanished and Chad had yet to appear. “Are you going to be able to pick up the stuff at the ski shop? They promised everything would be wrapped and ready for you. But, if you’re in a hurry, I could do it.”

  “Would you mind? I really could use the time.”

  Christmas was tomorrow. She wouldn’t kill him. “No problem. Have a nice time.”

  He didn’t even pause long enough for her to grab a kiss. Susan shrugged again and glanced down at the notebook Jed had handed her. She could return it to Kathleen when she dropped the skis off at her house. She could hear her mother-in-law and her daughter chatting in the kitchen. Let them take care of each other she decided, and headed upstairs to tell her son that she was going out.

  Twenty minutes later she was standing in line at the ski shop. Sure enough, she’d been right when she told Jed that the stores were going to be jammed; this place was packed with shoppers. Cranky shoppers, Susan found out to her embarrassment when she asked one of the people behind the counter if she had to wait in line just to pick up a purchase. Half of the people in line frowned at her; the other group made audible comments. She resumed her place in line (had that woman with the ugly brown coat cut in front of her?) and, feeling like hiding, opened Kathleen’s notebook. Maybe she’d go through the names of the suspects one last time …

  “What is my name—and my husband’s name—doing there? What are you reading?”

  Susan snapped the book shut and spun around to face Barbara St. John.

  “Well, what’s my name doing there? You can’t deny it; it’s written down in block letters and I had ample time to see it.”

  “I—um … Barbara, what are you doing here? Last night you were saying that you were finished with your Christmas shopping!” Susan evaded the subject, trying desperately to think of an answer.

  “You’re not answering my question, Susan. Don’t try to put me off by babbling about Christmas gifts.”

  That was the answer. “Then you’ve probably guessed,” Susan said, working to place a smile on her face. “You were looking over my shoulder at my Christmas gift list—the list of people I bought presents for this year,” she explained.

  “Christmas gifts …” Susan watched as the look on Barbara’s face changed from anger to embarrassment and then to something resembling irritation as she realized she was going to have to return the favor—that her Christmas shopping wasn’t finished after all. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said sincerely.

  “Well, we’ve seen so much more of each other this year. With the kids dating and all.” Susan tried to explain this sudden closeness with the St. John family. “I just thought …”

  “But it’s so nice of you, Susan. So thoughtful.” Barbara seemed to be thinking about something.

  “So what are you doing here?” Susan asked, more to keep the conversation going than because she was interested.

  “Waiting for Rebecca. She asked me to meet her here. She’s buying new boots for the boys for Christmas. I got here early and decided to wait in line. To save her a place.

  “That was a nice party last night. I was a little surprised that you had invited both Kelly and Rebecca, though. It was very embarrassing for Rebecca, you know. You really should have altered your guest list—especially after Evan’s disappearance.”

  If she had bought this woman a gift, she’d never give it to her now, Susan decided. Just why did Barbara think she could censor the guests Susan had in her home? How rude. And this was the woman who was always claiming to be so au courant about manners and social customs. She almost, but not quite, sniffed aloud her disapproval. “I sent out the invitations before Evan disappeared, and I certainly couldn’t change them when he vanished. Besides, how was I to know that he wasn’t going to return from this business trip … or whatever it is that Rebecca says he’s taken?”

  “Are you accusing me of lying?”

  Susan didn’t have to turn around to find out who was talking this time. “Rebecca.” She paused. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I was just explaining to Barbara why Kelly was invited to the party last night.” She had to face her. She turned slowly.

  “You know, Susan, you’re beginning to believe this silly little game you play. You’re not a real detective, you know. Aren’t you going to move up?” she continued before Susan could think of something to say. “Everyone ahead of you appears to have been waited on.”

  “Oh, yes, Susan. You’d better move,” Barbara agreed.

  Susan recognized that they had closed ranks; she wouldn’t learn more. She handed the receipt she had been clutching in her hand to a tired-looking salesman and, collecting a note to take around to the loading dock, she said her farewells and departed. A quick glance behind her as she opened the door for an elderly woman juggling a gigantic pair of Muk Luks and a snowboard revealed Barbara and Rebecca deep in conversation.

  Fortunately the line at the loading dock moved more quickly than the previous one, and she was done and out of the parking lot in minutes. Knowing she would never get such large packages into the house undetected, Susan had arranged to drop them off at Kathleen’s. She drove over to her house immediately.

  And almost ran into her friend’s car backing out of the driveway.

  “I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes,” Kathleen called, slowing down for just a minute. “I have one quick errand. My mother’s home. She knows where to put the skis. Wait for me; I want to talk to you!” She waved out the window of the long sports car and sped off down the road.

  Susan didn’t think she had any choice but to do what Kathleen asked. She and Kathleen had to decide how to get these gifts to the Henshaw house before tomorrow morning.
Besides, she wanted to return the notebook in person. “Hello?” she called out, opening the front door.

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Hi. Would you like some company? I’m going to wait for Kathleen to return. Or maybe you could use some help?” Susan leaned the skis against the wall and looked around the room. Dolores seemed to have filled the kitchen with tomato sauce. There were copper pans of it, ceramic bowls of it, even a large enameled stockpot bubbling over with crushed tomatoes and little bits of herbs.

  “I’m just getting the gravy ready for tonight.” Dolores stirred as she spoke.

  “Gravy?”

  “That’s what we call tomato sauce in my family. This is a traditional recipe; I brought some of the ingredients from the market in Philadelphia. I wasn’t sure I could find fresh oregano and fennel in Connecticut.”

  “You can probably buy it at that wonderful herb shop up near Kent.” Susan continued to expound on her adopted state’s resources—until she realized no one was listening. She shut up, took off her coat, and dropped it across a chair.

  “Watch where you put that. Kathleen was sitting there when she chopped the onions and garlic for me,” Dolores warned, stirring the pot vigorously.

  “I see what you mean.” Susan laughed, flicking yellow onion skins off the seat and sitting down. “Is there anything I can do to help?’ she offered again.

  “Just keep me company. I can’t imagine how Kathleen manages to cook on this terrible electric stove; I keep having to stir, stir, stir. If I leave it for a minute, it starts to scorch on the bottom.”

  “Maybe the pan—”

  “I brought this pan from home. I’ve been making gravy in it for years. Years,” she repeated, stirring away, “and I’ve never had any trouble with burning.” She sighed and changed the subject. “Who do you think killed Evan Knowlson?”

  “I wish I knew. I think the police suspect Kelly,” Susan answered.

  “Kelly didn’t do it.”

  “She— How can you be so positive?” Susan asked. But, if she was hoping for proof, she certainly wasn’t getting any.

  “She loved that man— No, she was obsessed by him,” Dolores corrected herself. “She would kill for him, but she wouldn’t kill him. At least, that’s the way I read it.”

  “I—” Susan began.

  “I know Kathleen thinks I’m nothing more than a domestic, but my husband used to depend on my intuition. I don’t know anything about law enforcement, but I have a lot of feminine intuition .… Damn this stove.” She stirred vigorously.

  “But you don’t have any proof that Kelly didn’t do it—or that someone else did?”

  “I just know she couldn’t have done it.”

  “Me, too,” Susan agreed. “But our combined intuition won’t hold up as a defense.”

  “I think Rebecca did it. Prove that and Kelly won’t have to worry.”

  “But Rebecca loved him, too—apparently,” Susan added, interested that Dolores had happened on her favorite suspect.

  “Maybe. Or maybe not. But she gets all the money, doesn’t she?”

  “The money?” Susan repeated.

  “Yes. She was his wife at the time he died; she gets his estate. She profits. Kelly, on the other hand, loses. After all, you can’t collect alimony from a dead ex-husband.”

  “No, that’s not true,” Susan said, and explained about the two-million-dollar insurance policy.

  “But Rebecca? How large an insurance policy did he take out in her name?” Dolores wasn’t as willing to give up.

  “None.”

  “None? That doesn’t make any sense. Maybe that means he didn’t love her … Maybe that’s the reason she killed him—revenge for taking better care of his ex-wife than of her.” Dolores was ready to change her theory to fit new facts—just as long as the same party was guilty.

  “It doesn’t mean that. Evan tried to get another policy right after he got married,” Kathleen explained, entering the room. “He couldn’t find an insurance company that would sell to him.”

  “Why not?” Susan asked. She hadn’t heard this before.

  “Not even Lloyd’s of London would sell two large life insurance policies to a slightly overweight, definitely overstressed man in his late forties, Susan.”

  “So who gets the houses? The business?” Dolores asked.

  “The houses are both mortgaged and the business recently seems to have been collecting massive debt. There isn’t any estate. Evan hadn’t even paid the bill I sent him for security for the new house.”

  “I guess you’ve run into another dead end,” Dolores said smugly.

  “Maybe not,” Kathleen insisted, with a slight smile at her mother.

  “Would you kindly explain instead of making these abstract statements?” Dolores asked, and turned to Susan. “She was just like this when she was a little girl. Totally unwilling to admit that she’d made a mistake.”

  “I think—” Susan began.

  “I didn’t make a mistake, Mother. You did.”

  “I was just explaining what I thought were possible motives. You appear to be taking this the wrong way. After all, I was a great help to your father in his investigations. You could have merely said something if you wanted me to mind my own business. I was just trying to help, you know.” She stirred so energetically that tomato sauce spurted out of the stockpot and over the stove top. “There, look what you made me do. This wouldn’t have happened if you had bought a proper gas stove. How do you ever expect to learn to cook on this thing?”

  “I am doing just fine,” Kathleen said angrily, grabbing a sponge and dabbing furiously at the mess. “Jerry is very happy with my cooking.”

  “Why, Kathleen!” Her mother stepped back and looked at her in surprise. “Just last night he was saying that he had gained five pounds since I arrived! Now if that isn’t a sign that he prefers my cooking, I don’t know what it is.”

  “Jerry doesn’t need to gain weight.” Kathleen talked and ground her teeth at the same time.

  Susan was impressed with this talent, but didn’t feel the need to witness it for long. “Isn’t that nice? But Jerry is always talking about what an inventive cook Kathleen is; she even makes sushi!”

  “And I know why. If I had to use this stove, I’d serve raw food, too,” Dolores muttered, moving the pot off the hot burner. “You and Susan had better leave me alone, if I’m going to get this meal ready before tonight.”

  “I—”

  “We will. I know how good cooks like to be left alone in the kitchen,” Susan said loudly, drowning out Kathleen’s voice and pushing her out of the room in front of her.

  “I—” Kathleen began again.

  “Shut up!” Susan insisted as the door swung shut behind them. “How are we going to solve this murder if you spend your time fighting with your mother?”

  “It keeps us busy when you’re not worrying about your mother-in-law!” Kathleen hissed back.

  Susan opened and shut her mouth without saying a word. What was there to say?

  THIRTY-ONE

  It was a topic that was tiring Susan. “Jed and his mother,” she said pensively. “You know, it’s worse than you think. He’s talking about hiring a detective to find out what’s going on there.”

  “Well, that is ridiculous. She’s a grown woman; no matter what she might be doing with Dr. Barr, it’s certainly her own business.”

  “He’s not worried about what they’re doing—at least that’s not what he’s telling me. He’s talking about hiring someone to look into Dr. Barr’s finances … His diet food company and all. He’s acting like Dr. Barr is a fortune hunter of some sort and his mother is an heiress. It’s crazy.”

  “Well, maybe not so crazy. I thought the same thing for a while. In fact, I had a friend of mine get hold of all the information he could on Dr. Barr’s Diet Plan and it’s on the up-and-up. I mean, I don’t know if it works, if it will actually help anyone lose weight, but the company is solvent—and growing. He recen
tly got a contract from a chain of health food stores. It’s not millions of dollars, but it’s pretty good for a business that’s only a few years old. I don’t think Jed has anything to worry about. Unless he objects to a rich doctor being his new stepfather.”

  “Maybe he just objects to having a stepfather.”

  “Susan, do you really think Jed is like that? Don’t you think he would be happy for his mother to find someone to spend the rest of her life with?”

  “Well, I would have thought that until she appeared with this particular someone. But Jed doesn’t seem to be able to cope.”

  “This being the man, not the situation,” Kathleen said gently.

  “Yes. I guess you’re right. He really is an awful man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. Do you know how they met?”

  “Sure. Claire told me about it the other night. She evidently considers it to be a romantic story.”

  “So tell me,” Kathleen urged.

  “Well, you know Claire had been on this cruise since Thanksgiving …”

  “Yes, it was just a normal vacation, right?”

  “Right. In fact, from the postcards she was sending, we were even beginning to worry that she was finding the whole trip a little boring. On one of them she said that she had run into the Jeffersons—you know, Marge and Donald from over on Spring Court—and they had spent hours together talking about Christmas in Hancock. What a way to spend an evening in Istanbul! Anyway, after she told us about that, Jed and I got the idea that she was anxious to get off the boat and come home to celebrate. In fact, that was my first thought when she appeared a week earlier than expected. Who thought she was here to be with Dr. Barr, not us?”