'Tis the Season to Be Murdered

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Have a seat,” Alexis offered, plopping down on a couch covered in fabric printed with green-and-gold duck decoys.

  Susan followed the instructions.

  “We should talk before the caterer’s people start to spread out up here.”

  “This is going to be a big party then?”

  “Very. Of course, it would have been bigger if Gillian hadn’t decided to give a party the same night. Naturally, we invited many of the same people, and they can’t possibly be at both parties simultaneously.”

  “Surely people will go to both,” Susan suggested. That, at least, is what she and Jed were planning to do.

  “Yes, I suppose so, but there will be fewer guests here at one time.”

  Susan had to agree.

  “Do you have questions about Z? Or did you come here to talk about last night? I can’t say I want to talk about that.”

  “It was pretty upsetting, wasn’t it?” Susan agreed. “All those people getting sick, and someone even having a heart attack.”

  “True. And it’s the first time I’ve ever had a date pass out on me—or on the decorations, to be more accurate,” Alexis agreed in a bored tone.

  “Dan Irving was your date! I had no idea!”

  “Yeah, he’s not much, is he?”

  Susan was a little shocked by Alexis’s attitude, but she didn’t want to offend her before asking a lot of questions. “Have you two been dating long?” she asked politely.

  “I date a lot of men,” Alexis answered. “I get asked out a lot, and I accept if I don’t find my date repulsive and if I want to go wherever he’s taking me. There are a lot of couples-only events in suburbia—and the annual hospital ball is certainly one of them. Dan asked me, so I accepted.” She shrugged. It was apparently as simple as that.

  “Do you like him? Jed says he is a hypochondriac—although apparently Dan was truly sick last night.”

  “Jed’s your husband? Well, he was right,” Alexis continued after Susan had nodded her head yes. “That man is obsessed with every ache, every pain. Every cool wind is just waiting to give him a cold, and every bit of cholesterol is planning ways to escape his detection and end up on his arteries. I never accept a date with him unless someone else is choosing the food. Otherwise we would end up at one of those macrobiotic places near a university. I know that food is fashionable in some groups, but I don’t like it at all. And last night, he only ate from the platters that were guaranteed to be health food. Ugh! Even The Holly and Ms. Ivy can’t make that stuff taste good.”

  “But he drinks.”

  “He’s a drunk,” Alexis corrected her. “But only red wine to keep that nasty cholesterol level down. Apparently no one ever told him what a couple liters of red wine a day are doing to his liver. Not that, in my experience, drunks ever listen to reason.”

  Susan was wondering if this woman dated a lot of men she would describe as drunks when Alexis continued, explaining.

  “There aren’t a lot of single men in the suburbs. You’d never move here if you were single, and most men get the hell back to the city as soon as their divorce is final—unless they’re remarrying immediately. That’s usually the case. A lot of men just don’t seem to be able to survive without wives.”

  Susan wasn’t terribly surprised by that. She knew how much schlepping and caretaking was done by the wives of the most liberal of men. Every man needs a wife, she had heard. And so, of course, does every woman. “Why do you stay here then?” Susan asked. “I mean, you could move to the city and—”

  “And lose my divorce settlement?” Alexis interrupted her. “No way. I got this house. My ex has to keep up payments, taxes, even pay for repairs. Believe me, I don’t make enough money to live like this anywhere else. So I stay.” She shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I’ll catch one of those men who are divorcing before they make it back down the Merrit Parkway to the city.”

  Susan had always assumed that those men were actually marrying the women they were involved with when they were previously married, but she didn’t know how to ask a woman she hardly knew whether or not she dated married men. But she did know one question she had to ask. “You dated Z, didn’t you?”

  “Well, sort of. We only met recently. And we spent a lot of time together planning my party, of course. He was wonderful. He spent so much time on all the details, from the decorations to the food. He even helped me pick out invitations. And everything was done with such style. This is going to be my first party since my divorce, and Z understood that I wanted everything to be perfect. And it would have been, if Gwen Ivy hadn’t screwed up the date of Gillian’s party!” She frowned. “I’m going to miss him terribly. You might not call it dating, but we spent a lot of time together recently. And I felt very close to him. You’re wondering what Gillian and I were doing in his apartment that day, aren’t you?”

  “It did seem strange,” Susan admitted. “You were both obviously looking for something.”

  “That’s easy to explain. Embarrassing but easy. You see, Gillian and I are a little competitive.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, a lot competitive. And these parties we’re giving are bringing out the worst in our relationship. We’ve both been trying for weeks to discover the plans for each other’s party. I know for a fact that Gillian went to Gwen Ivy about it. Gwen told me so herself. But Gwen couldn’t tell her anything. Z was doing the planning for both events. That’s what we were looking for in Z’s apartment. We didn’t know he was murdered then, you see.” She looked earnestly at Susan.

  Susan smiled back. This was going to make her job easier. Alexis was a dreadful liar. “So you were looking for plans for Gillian’s party.”

  “No. I was looking for the plans for my party. I didn’t want Gillian to see them. Z kept a lot of his work at home. He met with … with clients there.”

  “With you, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “And with Gillian?”

  “Well, she did seem to know where he lived, didn’t she?” Alexis smiled slightly.

  Susan resisted rolling her eyes. Alexis must think she was stupid.

  “You see, we were jogging along, and we saw all the police cars at the carriage house. So I went in and overheard someone talking about Z’s death. And I went back outside and told Gillian. And then she said something about Z living nearby. And I said yes, I knew. And she said they had planned her party at his apartment. And I said Z and I had done the same. And one thing led to another and … well, you saw what happened.”

  “You really demolished that apartment,” Susan said.

  “We would have cleaned it up if the police hadn’t come when they did.”

  “What did Chief Fortesque say?”

  “Brett?” Alexis asked airily. “I know him, too. Not that I have any intention of getting serious about a policeman, but he’s really a lot of fun and so good-looking. Well, he started to get angry, but I explained what had happened, and he sort of laughed and didn’t say anything else about it.”

  Susan wondered if that could possibly be true. “He wasn’t mad at you and Gillian for possibly destroying evidence?”

  “Not that he mentioned. Of course, I understand that he and Gillian were once very close. If you can believe what she says about her personal life. Maybe you should ask her about him.”

  The sound of glass breaking traveled up the stairway and Alexis leapt up. “I think I’d better check out what’s going on in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

  Susan took advantage of being left alone to stretch her legs—and look around. She walked to the doorway and peered out into the hall. There were three other rooms on this side of the house. One was a blue-and-white tiled bathroom. The other two were bedrooms: in one, yellow and white daisies predominated; in the other, slate gray and maroon formed a more masculine color scheme. They looked more like rooms in magazines than places where anyone lived. And, considering the size of Alexis’s family, no one probably ever did live in them.

  She walked back to
the room she had been in and was looking up the stairway when Alexis returned.

  “Just a small problem with some martini glasses—theirs not mine,” she explained, joining Susan. “Want to go up?”

  “Where does it lead to?”

  “The poop deck,” Alexis said mysteriously. “Come on up, I’ll show you.”

  Susan followed the other woman up the stairs and found herself in a long hallway. Because of the slanting roof, it was only possible to stand in the middle, and the women walked straight down the hall to a door, which Alexis opened. Two steps down and they were standing on a small deck set into the roof. A redwood lounge, a table, and two chairs filled the space. And, right now, everything was covered with snow.

  “I can’t believe it,” Susan exclaimed. “Who would ever have known this was here?”

  “It’s how I maintain my all-over suntan,” Alexis bragged. “No one can see over the sides when I’m lying down—and the sun feels so sexy.”

  Susan was busy looking next door. “Is Gillian’s house exactly like yours?”

  “They’re identical. She has a deck just like this one. Although I think she only uses it at night. She seems to like that deathly pale skin.” She shivered. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go back down.”

  They returned to the room they’d been in before, and Alexis flipped a wall switch and the gas jets in the fireplace burst into flame. “It doesn’t actually warm the room, but it does make you think it’s warmer.” She sat back down on the couch.

  Susan, who was dying to ask Alexis some really personal questions, began to worry about her own party. “How are The Holly and Ms. Ivy doing? Do you get the feeling that Z’s death is going to affect your party?”

  “I know what you mean. I panicked and bought every frozen canapé down at the cheese shop last night. But they arrived on time this morning and began setting up just like we planned.”

  “You and Z.”

  “Yes.”

  “Gwen really didn’t do any of the planning?” In Susan’s case, Gwen had done almost everything, with Z appearing at her home once or twice to talk about logistics.

  “No, none. I’d only seen her a few times in the background until today. She arrived at dawn and stayed around for a few hours until she was sure everything was going the way she wanted it. Then she headed over to Gillian’s. There were already vans there …” Alexis paused. “Gillian seems to be having hundreds of balloons delivered. I think balloons are tacky, don’t you? I prefer more natural decorations. Z and I decided to go with the house, and everything has a country accent—the food is real Americana, and all the decorations are green and alive. Nothing synthetic.”

  “That will certainly go with the rest of your house,” Susan agreed. “And did Z help you pick out everything?”

  “Yes. He was wonderful. You know, I was thrilled to get The Holly and Ms. Ivy to do this party. I know Gillian’s been trying to hire them for two years, and they were always busy. In my case, it seemed that they couldn’t fit me into their schedule until after my divorce.”

  Susan wondered if she had just heard something significant.

  FOURTEEN

  Susan decided that she needed to find out what had happened to Dan Irving. But she had no idea where she was going to get that information. She had worked with the police so much that she had come to automatically assume that she had access to inside information. Even when Brett had been out of town last spring, she’d had a source inside the department. Susan smiled.

  “I’m brilliant, Clue,” she announced to the dog who was waiting for her in the car. “I just thought of someone who might be able to tell me exactly what I need. And you,” she added, turning the key in the ignition, “could probably use a nice walk on that wide lawn down at the municipal center.”

  The streets had been plowed and sanded, and Susan quickly arrived at her destination. She was able to park nearby, walking around her car and letting Clue leap out into a nearby snowdrift. They were alone, so Susan allowed her dog to romp in the snow. The animal streaked after a large black crow, and then, failing to achieve flight, ran in circles for the pure joy of it. Susan pulled up her collar, tucked her hands in her pockets, and watched, hoping that Clue would trade all this for a dog biscuit in a few minutes.

  She heard the jingle of bells before hearing the voice.

  “Your dog is sure having a wonderful time.”

  Susan turned and found herself with Emily Benson, the police dispatcher. “I was just thinking about you!” she exclaimed happily. Emily’s niece had helped her on her last case, and Susan was hoping the family tradition might continue. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.” The woman wore her fluffy gray hair in a topknot tied with red-and-green ribbons and dozens of tiny gold bells. She shook her head. “Like it? My niece gave it to me. You know, she’s still dating that nice young man she met last spring at the hospital. They’re going to get married as soon as he finishes up at the seminary. I like to think of Betsy as a minister’s wife. She’ll sure perk up that congregation!”

  Clue, ever sociable, had dashed back to greet the woman, and Susan attached the leash while they were speaking. “You know,” she began slowly, “I came here to see you.”

  “I’ve been wondering where you were. Kathleen Gordon has been around ever since the day after Christmas. I just assumed you were out of town. Maybe lying on a beach somewhere warm.”

  Susan glanced at the steely sky. “Sounds good, but I’m here for the entire week. I’m even giving a party on Saturday night. Would you and your niece like to come? And maybe her fiancé, too? I’d love to see them again.”

  “Sure. I’ll ask. Why don’t we go inside and get warm? There are some wonderful Christmas cookies that someone brought in this morning.”

  Susan hesitated. “I really wanted to speak to you without being overheard.”

  “So we’ll whisper. Don’t worry. You don’t even have to tell me why you’re not involved in this investigation. But let’s get warm.”

  “Let me put the dog back in the car. She’ll be happy there, and we won’t have to worry about her tracking snow all over.” Or chewing on anything she shouldn’t, Susan added to herself.

  “I’ll meet you inside.”

  The office was toasty warm, and Susan was happy to accept a cup of coffee and three sugar-coated crescents.

  “So what do you want to know?”

  Susan wasn’t startled by Emily’s characteristic directness. “I was wondering what made Dan Irving so ill. Whether it was his heart or food poisoning—”

  “He’s not ill,” Emily interrupted her. “He’s dead.”

  “Dead? Are you sure?” Susan was astounded.

  “Definitely. Everyone’s been talking about it all morning.”

  “Then it must have been his heart,” Susan muttered. “Although I don’t know if a person can die from food poisoning.”

  “You can if you get dehydrated, that’s for sure.”

  “But could he become dehydrated so quickly?” Susan asked, trying to put the pieces together.

  “I wouldn’t think so. There’s bound to be an autopsy, and that will probably cross my desk sometime, but you don’t want to wait around for sometime, do you?”

  “It would be helpful to know now,” Susan admitted. “But if there’s no way to find out …”

  “There may be. Just let me make a few calls. I know some people down at the hospital. I might be able to find out something. Why don’t you wait in the coffee room? There are more cookies on the table there and things to read.”

  Susan wasn’t actually here for a break, but she didn’t know what else she could do. She went into the small room off the lobby and sat down at the Formica table underneath a happy holidays sign falling from the ceiling. She was reaching out for another cookie when she realized what was under her hand—a pile of notes about food poisoning, notes written in what she realized was Kathleen’s handwriting. Kathleen doodled when she was thinki
ng, writing down phrases, ideas, whole thoughts. Susan examined the sheets before her. These pages looked like the result of the medical examiner’s interview. Susan stopped snacking and concentrated on the words.

  When she was finished, she decided to go on a diet. She’d eat only bread—no, that wasn’t right, she reminded herself, skimming through the papers. She could still get mycotoxicosis from grain if it had been stored in a damp environment. She scanned the pages again. The only answer was to live on vitamin pills. The repeated references to salmonella bacteria reminded her of a conversation she’d had with Gwen Ivy during the initial phases of planning for New Year’s Eve. Susan was looking for a festive drink that would replace the punch that Jed had become famous for concocting during the holidays, and Gwen had suggested eggnog made with Grand Marnier instead of the traditional brandy or bourbon. And then she’d mentioned salmonella.

  “Everyone thinks of eggnog at Christmas, but for the last few years no one drinks it. Raw eggs are completely out of favor, and we have to cook chicken to death before anyone will touch it,” Susan remembered Gwen saying. She looked down at the notes in front of her and wondered what else caterers worried about serving. She’d noticed that Caesar salad wasn’t served for the same reasons as eggnog, but she and Gwen had considered sushi for Saturday night and nothing had been said about parahaemolyticus, cholera, or hepatitis—according to Kathleen’s notes all could be contracted from eating raw shellfish. And there was a bacteria called Clostridium perfringens, which was found in food that had been cooked in quantity and then left out in a warm place—in restaurants, cafeterias, and the like. Maybe she’d just serve water Saturday night. No, they’d have champagne, she decided, remembering the tragic deaths resulting from drinking polluted water in Wisconsin a few years ago.