But where did this all get her? she wondered, picking up another cookie. (The hell with Yersina enterocolitica, Campylobacter jejuni, and Shigella bacteria! These were great cookies!) Any one of these things could be making the people sick, but none of them could have killed Dan Irving instantly. And putting that aside, why would some people get food poisoning and others feel just fine?
Emily joined her, and Susan asked the question aloud.
“I don’t know much about that. I don’t go to a lot of fancy dos, but at the PBA party, there are lots of different trays passed around. I don’t suppose everyone samples everything.”
“One tray of bad food,” Susan muttered. “That makes sense. Even at the mayor’s house, there was a large selection of canapés. Maybe the people who got sick ate mushroom tarts and not miniature, sun-dried-tomato quiches … or something.”
“Whatever happened to California dip and potato chips?” the dispatcher muttered, taking a cookie. “Find anything to help you here?” she continued.
“Not really. Just a lot more questions. Did you get hold of your friend at the hospital?”
“Left a message. Don’t worry, she’ll call me back.”
Susan stood up. “I suppose I should be going.”
“Where?”
“I don’t actually know.” She peered out a window. “Looks cold out there.”
“Well, there’s no one else to talk to here—unless you need to see the mayor. I think he’s the only person besides those of us in this department who are working regular hours this week.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” Susan said, inspired. “I think I will see him. I have a few questions—that I don’t know how to ask.”
“Ask him anything. Remember his platform was open government for Hancock.”
“But I don’t think that included being open about his teenage daughter’s morals,” Susan said, starting off down the hallway to the rest of the municipal offices.
“I was thinking more of things like why there aren’t annual raises for the municipality’s clerical workers,” Emily chuckled, bells on her head ringing. “Or maybe large holiday bonuses.”
Susan chuckled and continued on down the hallway lined with pictures of Hancock’s past mayors. Someone had draped balsam boughs over the top of each one. The effect was cheerful, despite the fact that drying needles had made the floor slippery.
Buck Logan was ensconced behind the large, antique, mahogany desk that dominated his spacious office. Sun streamed in velvet-curtained windows and fell on the carpet. Bookshelves lined one wall. Hancock chairs were provided for guests. Flags of the United States, Connecticut, and Hancock unfurled protectively behind the snoring man. Mayor Logan was taking a nap.
Susan knocked gently on the door jamb—and then more firmly. Then she cleared her throat and knocked again. She was beginning to wonder how she was going to wake Buck up without actually touching him when the phone rang.
Buck, without opening his eyes, felt around on his desk for the noisy object. When he found it, he was forced to punch more than one button before he connected with his caller.
“Hello!” The voice was strong and alert. The person on the other end of the line would never guess that he or she had just interrupted a sleeping man.
“Yes, of course I know it’s you. Do you think I don’t recognize your voice after twenty-one years of marriage?”
He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and Susan backed up a step, wondering if she could make a fresh entrance.
“I’m not angry, but you know I asked you not to call me here. My elected position is not a hobby, and people will only respect the office if they respect me. So what’s the emergency?” He listened a while, still not opening his eyes, but turning redder with every word that his wife spoke.
“So what the hell do we have lawyers for, if they won’t sue people who are trying to kill our guests?” he finally exploded.
Susan used his loud anger as an opportunity to make her escape. She backed away, just out of view, but where she could eavesdrop on this half of the conversation.
“You just tell that man … all right, then tell his secretary that I expect immediate action … Yes, action, not just threatening calls. Does he think Gwen Ivy is a simpering woman who will quake at the first word from some unknown law firm in the suburbs? The woman has been dealing with New York lawyers for years. It’s going to take action, not words, to scare her. You tell him that … Well, then call him again … Yes, again … I keep telling you that I’m here working. I can’t be making a lot of personal calls. You’ll just have to do it. Okay. Good. Call me back when you’re done. I have to go now. There’s someone here to see me.”
Susan was in time to turn his lie into truth.
“Hello? Buck?” she asked, turning the corner as though she didn’t know he was in his office. “It’s Susan Henshaw.”
By the time she was through the door, he had hung up, and was coming around the side of his desk, hand outstretched, all signs of his afternoon siesta vanished. “Susan, my dear, good to see you.”
They shook hands, and Susan accepted the seat she was offered.
“I just thought I’d stop in to thank you for inviting me to your party,” she said politely.
“It was wonderful to see you,” he answered in the same vein. “Camilla and I are always saying that we don’t see enough of you and Josh.”
Susan didn’t correct him for a second time. She just smiled and leaned back in her chair. “We’re always talking about you two, too.” In fact the other night, Jed was blaming the mayor for the fact that their street was always one of the last ones plowed after a snowstorm, and she winced, remembering something catty she had said about Camilla’s new hair color. But she mentioned none of that.
He didn’t bring up the food poisoning, apparently not caring whether or not Susan had felt any ill effects after his dinner party. He didn’t offer her refreshments now either, glancing at his watch as though hoping she would leave quickly. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked pointedly.
“I was wondering about your daughter,” Susan said.
“Cameo?”
Thank goodness he’d said her name; Susan was wondering how she was going to get around this continuing amnesia. “Yes. You said she was skiing,” Susan began.
“I believe I did. She is. Skiing. In Switzerland.”
“Where?”
“In Switzerland,” he repeated a little more loudly, evidently assuming she was hard of hearing.
“But where in Switzerland? You see, Jed and I are planning on taking a family holiday sometime in February, and I was thinking of skiing in Switzerland, and I didn’t remember the place you … well, you or your wife mentioned the other night. And someone said that it was a wonderful place. So I wanted to know the name,” she ended feebly.
“How do I know? Camilla keeps track of all that type of thing! And how would you feel if I came into your home and started asking silly questions about your daughter? You wouldn’t be thrilled by that, would you?”
“I … I don’t see why not,” Susan answered, startled and confused. Here she had tried to pick a neutral topic so she could start asking questions about The Holly and Ms. Ivy, and apparently she had stumbled on a very sensitive subject. Just as Susan was wondering what was going on here, the phone rang, and Buck Logan was distracted.
“Hello.” The mayor glanced angrily at her, and Susan wondered if she should take this opportunity to leave. But his next words captured her interest. “I don’t believe it. Why would anyone murder Dan Irving? He could be irritating, but not lethally so. Okay, I’ll come on over to the hospital.” He was standing before he hung up the phone. “I have to head over to the hospital. That stupid man got himself killed last night apparently.”
“Was it food poisoning?” Susan asked, hoping to get a question in before he vanished.
“Food poisoning? Food poisoning doesn’t kill perfectly healthy middle-aged men. He was murdered like I
said. Someone suffocated him overnight in ICU at the hospital.”
“Wait!” Susan grabbed his arm. “Some people thought he died last night at the ball.”
“No. He went into cardiac arrest, but he was revived on the way to the hospital. He was killed sometime last night. At least, he was found dead this morning at five a.m. That’s what that call was about. Why they think the mayor can do anything about this …” His phone rang again. “I’ll bet that’s the press. I’m leaving.”
“But it could be your wife,” Susan suggested as he left the room. “Maybe,” she continued softly to herself, “maybe I should go talk to her myself.”
Susan hurried back toward the police department’s offices. Emily Benson was on the phone and waved wildly at Susan’s appearance. “I know something,” she whispered loudly, putting her hand over the mouthpiece.
“About Dan Irving?” Susan asked. “I heard. Murder. Buck Logan just told me. I have to get going. Can I call you later?”
The other woman nodded yes, and her bells rang, and Susan hurried back out into the cold air.
She had forgotten that Clue was waiting in the car, and she screamed when the large square head popped up as she put her key in the lock.
“Susan! Susan, are you okay?”
She turned around and saw Brett running across the parking lot in her direction. “Are you okay?” he repeated.
“Yes. I’m fine. My dog just scared me,” she admitted, feeling a little foolish.
“That dog scared you?” Brett asked, chuckling at the goofy-looking, drooling animal. “Isn’t that the dog with the strange name?”
“Clue,” Susan admitted, not, however, admitting that her family had registered the dog as “Susan hasn’t got a clue.” Today that was too true to joke about.
“Named him after the game, did you?” he asked, and Susan didn’t argue. “What are you doing here?”
There was a serious note to his voice, and Susan decided it was time to go. “I just stopped in to ask Emily to my New Year’s Eve party. Her niece and her boyfriend may show up, too. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think …,” Brett answered, probably confused because Susan hadn’t extended him an invitation until now.
“I sure hope Kathleen asked you,” Susan continued, opening the car door and getting inside. “She was supposed to,” she added and started her car. “Got to go. Lots to do.” She waved and drove off, feeling more than a little foolish.
But she didn’t have time to worry about that. It was time to find Camilla Logan and hear more about this lawsuit—and maybe what her daughter really was doing over the Christmas holidays.
FIFTEEN
Camilla was in her entryway, picking tiny rosebuds from the topiaries on the side table. She looked furious—so furious that she didn’t notice Susan peering in the storm door.
Like husband, like wife, Susan thought, knocking gently.
But Camilla wasn’t asleep. She spun around and frowned at Susan.
Susan smiled.
Camilla bent the ends of her lips upward very slightly.
“Hi,” Susan tried.
“Hello. I’m a little busy,” Camilla said, and then looked down at her hands, still shredding the flowers. “Actually, I’m waiting for someone.”
“Oh? I just saw Buck,” Susan said, hoping she could convince Camilla to invite her in. Surely it was extraordinarily rude to leave her standing here on the doorstep, yelling through the closed door like this.
“I hope you told him he could drop dead,” Camilla surprised her by saying. “The gall of that man, leaving me here to cope with all this while he pretends he has something to do as mayor of this little town. Men are idiots.”
It was a sentiment she occasionally agreed with, so Susan just nodded and entered the hallway when the door was opened for her. “What did he leave you to deal with?” she asked, knowing that angry people frequently said more than they would when calm.
“Lawyers. Lawsuits. What do I know about that type of thing?”
“Surely no one is suing you or Buck?” Susan said, deliberately misunderstanding.
“No. We’re the ones suing … the plaintiffs, I think.”
“Who?”
“The Holly and Ms. Ivy. We’re suing The Holly and Ms. Ivy for making our guests sick. They had food poisoning after coming to our party the night before last. Didn’t you hear about it?”
“I heard something,” Susan admitted. “Were you and Buck sick, too?” She thought it only polite to be concerned about them. Someone had to display some manners around here.
“No, just Dan Irving and that woman he brought as his date. He met her at his acupuncturist. The strange woman wearing orange velvet slacks—the vegetarian. I can’t understand why people would go to dinner parties and refuse to eat almost everything there. Why don’t they just stay home and graze on greens?”
Susan tried to remember the notes she had read down at the police station just a few minutes ago. “I’m not sure you can get food poisoning from salad,” she started and then remembered the grain stored in moist places. “Although …”
“It’s amazing that anyone ate anything with Dan talking about cholesterol, HDL, sugar, and heaven knows what else. You were at the other end of the room, but near the fireplace, everyone was forced to listen to a list of ingredients that could kill you. What a pest that man is. We always have to provide special foods for him when he’s our guest.”
“So he and his date ate a special meal?”
“Yes. And they were the only ones sick. I’m not even sure they ate the bad food at my house. They may have had a snack before they arrived.”
“But I thought you were suing The Holly and Ms. Ivy.…”
“Only because Buck is worried that Dan might sue us.…”
“Dan Irving is dead,” Susan said. “He died last night in the hospital.”
“I thought he was revived. In the ambulance … that’s what we heard this morning,” Camilla insisted, looking confused.
“That’s true. But he was murdered in the hospital.”
Camilla looked at her and opened and closed her mouth a few times before deciding on her words. “Do you think it’s too early for a drink?” she asked, turning and heading for the large oak dresser that served as a bar without waiting for an answer.
Susan followed her, wanting conversation not alcohol. The large picture over the fireplace reminded her of Cameo’s now mysterious vacation. “Where’s your daughter skiing?” she asked.
“In Switzerland.” Camilla poured herself a large glass of red wine before remembering to offer Susan one.
“No thanks.” Susan refused the wine. “But where in Switzerland? Your husband didn’t seem to know.”
“That doesn’t surprise me—you know men. I’m surprised he remembered which country she’s in. She’s there with friends from school. They’re traveling from place to place. Or from slope to slope.” Camilla laughed nervously. “She’ll be coming home late next week.”
Camilla was rearranging ornaments on the large tree in the window, so Susan sat down and made herself at home. She had an hour or so before she had to be home to fix dinner for her children and get herself ready for the party—parties—tonight, and watching the way Camilla was polishing off her glass of wine and heading for another, she expected that she might learn something here.
But Camilla was more interested in asking questions than in answering them. “Who told you about Dan Irving?” she asked, sipping her second glass more slowly than the first.
“I heard about it down at the municipal center,” Susan answered truthfully.
“Funny that he’d be murdered,” Camilla said slowly. “He was always so sure that he was going to die from a heart attack.”
“That’s what my husband says about him. Did he have a bad heart? A history of heart attacks?”
“I always assumed so. He was so concerned about his health—what he ate and all.”
“And all?�
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Camilla chuckled. “Well, maybe only what he ate. I know he didn’t get enough exercise, and he drank too much.…” She glanced down at the glass in her hand, shrugged, and polished it off in one large gulp. “But he did worry about what he ate. I hate health-food freaks, don’t you? Cameo was dating this long-haired boy before her freshman year of college, and he was what they call a vegan. He ate almost nothing. Brown rice, beans, greens, squash. There was almost no way to have him to dinner. I understand it’s very popular on college campuses right now. Has your daughter run into it?”
“Chrissy is dating a young man who’s a gourmet,” Susan announced proudly, ignoring the fact that her daughter had as yet failed to produce this paragon of the food world.
“The good-looking young man she was with at the ball last night?”
“Uh, yes.” Well, she thought so.
“How did she meet him?” Camilla asked.
“I’m not sure. It happened at college.”
“Oh. I thought maybe it had something to do with The Holly and Ms. Ivy.”
“Not that I know of.” Did this woman think they were a dating service as well as a caterer?
Camilla seemed to lose interest in the conversation and returned to her wine and her Christmas tree.
“It’s a beautiful tree,” Susan commented, although she wasn’t terribly fond of “decorator” trees herself. “Buck said that you planned all this yourself.”
“Not this year. This year I had a lot of help from The Holly and Ms. Ivy. When they agreed to cater my annual Christmas dinner party, they also agreed to take over the theme decorating.”
“Really? Did you ask them to decorate for the holiday as well as your party?” This was something that Susan hadn’t even considered. Everything that The Holly and Ms. Ivy were doing for her party Saturday was going on top of the decorations she already had up. There had never been any mention of anything else. Just some pots of fresh flowers on the bar and at the back of the serving tables in the dining room, napkins and tablecloths to match, confetti on the table, colored streamers hanging from chandeliers already decked with pine roping. That was it, and she couldn’t remember anyone suggesting anything else.
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