'Tis the Season to Be Murdered

by Valerie Wolzien

“Which means intentional poisoning …,” Susan began.

  “Which means I shouldn’t be talking like this.”

  “Kathleen, why not?” Susan said, hoping that last question didn’t sound like a whine.

  “Susan, there are very good reasons that you shouldn’t be mixed up in this investigation.”

  “Then tell me what they are,” Susan insisted. “Kathleen, you know I’m discreet. And I’m not judgmental at all—well, not about people I care about,” she amended. “I’m really very understanding.”

  Kathleen looked seriously at her friend. “This is no place to talk about it. Why don’t we meet tomorrow morning … early?”

  Finally. “Sure. Why not the inn for breakfast.”

  “I have a few errands to do downtown. Why don’t we meet at the diner?” Kathleen suggested.

  Susan switched from images of a nice light waffle to fried potatoes and eggs sunny-side up with rye toast. “Sounds good to me. What time?”

  “This is going to run late, and I should take care of Jerry’s mother and father before I leave the house. Is nine too late for you?”

  “Not at all,” Susan assured her as Kathleen stood up. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to get more of that eggnog—it’s delicious. There’s a hint of something citrus.…”

  Susan decided to keep The Holly and Ms. Ivy’s recipe a secret. “Well, now that I know it’s safe, I think I’ll have some, too,” she said, getting up and following her friend to the dining room.

  The main courses had been laid out in here, and Susan recognized the risotto and the ravioli, the promised ham and turkey. Suddenly eggnog seemed rather trivial. She picked up a large plate and started serving herself. Kathleen followed suit.

  “Well, I guess if the police are eating the food, it must be safe,” came a voice from behind them.

  “Maybe,” she heard someone say, “maybe we should go back to Alexis’s house and eat there.”

  “No,” the unknown person’s companion suggested. “Let’s show up there for brunch tomorrow. The leftovers are going to be terrific.”

  “This is wonderful. Really wonderful!”

  Susan agreed completely with the unknown speaker. She moved out of the way as more and more people crowded into the room behind her. She hoped there was enough food. It sounded like Gillian was going to be feeding both parties. Turning the corner, she ran into her hostess.

  Gillian interrupted a conversation she was having with one of the waiters. “Susan. Thank you for coming. Thank you for eating! Everyone from The Holly and Ms. Ivy is talking about it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did. Everyone knows your connection with the police department. Once they saw you eating, they knew the food was safe.”

  Susan looked down at the almost empty plate in her hand. She hoped everyone was right. “I noticed that people weren’t eating at Alexis’s party, but …”

  “That bitch. Can you imagine anyone doing this to their friend?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Planning a party for the same day. I don’t know what she told you, but I was planning on having this party for weeks before she decided on a date. And then, the day before my invitations were to be mailed, her invitation arrived! She blamed Gwen Ivy, but that woman doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “It was lucky that you were both giving open houses so people could go to both. I know that’s what lots of guests do at my New Year’s Eve party,” Susan added quickly, not wanting to offend.

  “Yes, but they’re always comparing. Not that I think her party could possibly be better than mine. I know American food is all the rage now, but I think Alexis took that a little too seriously. Who serves pies for dessert except on Thanksgiving? And homemade ice cream? Does she think it’s summer?”

  Susan wondered if Z had been less than discreet when talking about Alexis’s party. But, even if he had been, it wouldn’t be a motive for murder.

  Or would it? she asked herself, seeing the anger on Gillian’s face.

  “Do you know that some people actually thought that Alexis and I should give a joint party? Cocktails and dessert at her house, and the main course at mine? Or maybe we should have invited a third person to join us and had some sort of progressive dinner. Really.”

  The English have such expressive voices, Susan thought. Especially good at expressing disdain. “This is certainly a wonderful party,” was all she said. “Your home is beautiful.”

  “All except for the kids’ rooms upstairs. Their psychiatrist said we should allow them to express their individuality in their personal space. I keep the doors closed when they’re off at school.”

  Susan had forgotten that Gillian was the mother of a boy and girl, twins of around nineteen or twenty, she’d guess. She couldn’t recall very much about them, in fact. They’d always seemed to be away at boarding school or camp when they were young, and she was fairly sure that they were both attending college somewhere on the West Coast. “They’re not home for vacation this year?” she asked politely.

  “They’re with their father and his new wife at some posh resort down in Costa Rica. They were going to kayak around the swamps and look at bird life. Sounded dreadful to me, but they chose to go.” She shrugged. “You know how children are. Selfish.”

  Susan considered her own children and the thought they’d put into buying her Christmas gift. They weren’t perfect, but there were days when they came close. And then there were other days …

  “You must miss them. Is this the first holiday you’ve spent alone?”

  “Yes. A completely adult life at last.”

  “Then you’re enjoying it,” Susan said since she got the feeling that it was what she was supposed to believe.

  “Definitely. It’s so difficult to have a real social life with children around.”

  Susan realized that Gillian was talking about sex. She smiled, embarrassed as well as curious. She remembered the comments that Alexis had made, implying that Gillian was promiscuous. “Are you dating someone seriously right now?” she asked.

  “We’re a little old for girlish confidences, don’t you think?”

  Susan couldn’t miss the put-down. She was thinking hard for an appropriate reply when Gillian continued. “It’s not like being a teenager, is it?”

  Susan started thinking of Gillian’s daughter. Maybe there was more than one reason for her to be away for the holiday. That thought would have led her to Cameo Logan even if her mother hadn’t appeared by their side.

  “Gillian, wonderful party,” Camilla Logan trilled. “And people are eating the food. Amazing.”

  “Camilla! How nice of you to come.” The two women exchanged air kisses.

  Susan would have felt left out if she had particularly liked either of them. She took one step backward and absently ate the last ravioli on her plate.

  “Where’s your host this evening?” Camilla continued. “I thought you were dating that nice young lawyer who just graduated from Yale a couple of years ago.”

  “He’s not that young,” Gillian protested. “And he’s not here tonight. He’s spending the holidays in Akron with his mother—and not because he’s young, but because she’s old. She fell down the stairs and had surgery. He didn’t think she should be in the hospital over Christmas without a close relative around.”

  “How thoughtful. So you’re giving this party without help?”

  “Well, I have The Holly and Ms. Ivy—and there are two or three men around here somewhere.…” Gillian glanced around as though expecting to find Paul Newman lurking behind a ficus tree. “I’m lucky to have so many friends here in town.”

  “I didn’t know there were that many unmarried men in Hancock.”

  “Who said anything about unmarried?” Gillian ended her sentence with a smirk.

  Camilla scowled, and her next words were spoken with strained sweetness. “I heard that you and Z Holly were involved. And you know what I thought when I heard that?”


  Gillian shrugged as though the answer was of no interest to her, but Susan noticed that she didn’t leave.

  “I thought that the two of you deserved each other. You’re not very nice people.” Camilla Logan spun around and stalked off.

  “I guess she’s going to leave,” Susan said to fill the silence.

  “Not a chance. There are about a half-dozen people here that the mayor has to schmooze. She’ll stand by her man until her feet drop off.”

  Susan decided to change the subject. “Do you know Camilla is the first person who has said anything negative about Z Holly since he was murdered?”

  “Really? I would have thought that any woman whose daughter was seduced by him would feel the same way. You’ll excuse me, won’t you? I should check on my other guests.”

  Susan was on her way back to the dining room when Buck Logan grabbed her arm.

  “Susan. You look angry. Come with me.”

  He had a tight grip on her arm, and Susan had no choice but to follow his directions. She preceded him up the stairs to the second floor, regretting that they were moving too quickly for her to examine the decorating scheme. Buck sat her down on the couch in the family room and grasped both her hands in his. “I’m so sorry about anything Gillian might have said to you. The woman’s a bitch.”

  He continued. “She’s a very attractive woman, but getting a bit long in the tooth; she’s probably just jealous of the effect these young girls had on Z.” He chuckled.

  Susan was stunned by the way he was speaking about his own daughter. “Cameo is so lovely …” she began.

  “Cameo? Who’s talking about Cameo?” Buck’s smile faded, and he began to frown. “There is positively no proof that there was ever anything between my daughter and that … that caterer. And repeating any stories could make a person liable to a lawsuit. And I’ll thank you to remember that, Susan Henshaw!”

  And she was left alone. Susan stood up and looked around the room. It was as beautifully decorated as the first floor, still modern and pastel. But there were dark, muddy-looking footprints across the light carpet. Susan remembered Alexis’s house next door and realized that someone must have been up on the deck at the top of the house. She walked over and peered up the stairs.

  A sharp wind was coming from above, and a muffled bang convinced her something was wrong. She looked around, embarrassed at the possibility of being caught going through private areas, but unwilling to leave without checking to see if the door up there had blown open. She hurried toward the stairway.

  It got colder as she climbed, and the noise was getting louder and louder. She hurried through the narrow, dark hallway to the door. It was, as she had suspected, ajar. She reached out to pull it closed, but there was something blocking the way. She almost had a heart attack when she saw five fingers lying on the ground.

  Her second thought was to wonder who was missing one tan pigskin glove. It wasn’t very practical in this cold weather, but it was a beautiful piece of clothing. She pulled it gently from the door jamb and continued on up to the roof deck, vaguely thinking of searching for its mate. The full moon was reflecting off the snow, and she could see a couple of modern chairs and a table with a glass mug of eggnog freezing in it. The snow had blown to one side of the deck, and she could cross without getting her feet wet. It was cold, and Susan would have gone back into the house if she hadn’t heard a commotion on the ground below.

  Leaning over the balcony, Susan watched as a delicate bunch of red-and-green balloons rose into the air above her head. She was admiring how elegant they looked sailing between the bare branches crackling in the breeze when she became aware of voices below. Angry voices.

  “I thought you said he’d ignore us.”

  “I said me, not us! I never said us!”

  “If he doesn’t investigate you, he can’t investigate me. You know that as well as I do.…”

  “You’re getting hysterical. None of this matters. As long as we stick to our story, no one can prove anything. Besides, there are lots of other suspects.”

  “Name three.”

  “More than a few husbands, fathers, and mothers in this town. No one’s paying any attention to us, and no one’s going to unless you panic and forget the story.”

  “You and your stupid story. Do you think you’re some kind of literary genius or something just because you’re English?”

  “I think my story was better than anything you could dream up on the spur of the moment.”

  “Okay. It served the purpose. I’ll give you that. Even Susan Henshaw believed it.”

  “There’s no reason to worry about Susan Henshaw. She’s not involved in the investigation. I heard Kathleen and Brett talking about it the day Z was found. But I think I’d better get back to my party.”

  “I should, too. A good hostess sets the mood of the party, as Z used to say.”

  “I remember Z’s pearls of wisdom as well as you do. But I think I should get inside. Brett may have arrived …”

  “You wish!” Susan heard a door slam.

  “Bitch!” Apparently the houses were identical down to the smallest detail: Gillian’s door sounded just like that of her next-door neighbor.

  Susan, now that the scene was over, realized she was getting cold. She would have loved to go back inside. And she would have, too, if only the door hadn’t locked when it blew shut.

  SEVENTEEN

  Susan was trying to decide whether toasted stollen was a better breakfast than gingerbread cookies when her husband asked another question.

  “So how did you get back in?” Jed was sticking to his nonholiday breakfast of Grape Nuts and coffee.

  “There was a lot of traffic between both parties all night long. I just waited until I heard someone outside, and then I screamed my head off. Whoever heard me told Gillian about it, and she came up and rescued me.”

  “Weren’t you embarrassed?”

  “Of course. An invitation to an open house doesn’t generally offer unlimited access to every nook and cranny. Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

  “No one will notice. Nothing much is happening this week. I wouldn’t even bother to go in if I hadn’t scheduled lunch with a client.” True to his word, he poured himself another cup of coffee.

  “I haven’t been into the city since the second week in December,” Susan said, sighing. She loved New York City during the holidays.

  “Why don’t you come in with me? I can drive, and I don’t even work this afternoon. Maybe we could have an early dinner.”

  It was tempting. “But I should do some investigating.”

  “Well, if you’re busy …”

  Actually, she wasn’t. In fact, she had no idea where to go or what questions to ask. After last night, Gillian and Alexis probably weren’t too anxious to see her. The mayor and his wife were fed up with her. Everyone at The Holly and Ms. Ivy was busy, and she didn’t seem to be finding any answers there either. And, painful as it was to admit, Kathleen had broken their date for breakfast and was probably out with Brett solving the murder at this very minute. Maybe a break was exactly what she needed. “Can you wait about half an hour so I can get dressed and put on some makeup?”

  “Don’t rush. The roads have been cleared. We won’t have trouble getting in.”

  Susan ignored his advice and hurried upstairs. She stopped in her son’s room. He was still asleep, which might be why he agreed to make sure the dog got outside as much as was necessary. Her daughter was dozing in the next room, but she woke up enough to announce that she wasn’t going to be in for dinner, but that she wouldn’t be home too late.

  Susan was so excited planning her day that she didn’t stop to think about any of this. She hurried to get ready, mentally comparing the merits of uptown and downtown. By the time she was back downstairs, she’d decided to spend the day in Greenwich Village and Soho. She grabbed an elaborately embroidered ethnic scarf to hang around her neck, knowing such an accessory was almost required in that part of
the city, and returned to her husband.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Great!” Jed grinned. “You look super. Just let me get my coat.”

  Susan smiled back, wondering exactly why a compliment from someone she’d been living with for twenty-three years would still mean so much. She paused to say good-bye to Clue before following her husband to the garage.

  After a surprisingly relaxing trip into the city, Susan and Jed parted at the parking garage. He continued on to his office; Susan found a cab to take her to a favorite shop on Waverly Place. She spent the next few hours poking around stores that were old favorites and exploring exciting new ones. She bought a dozen handwoven napkins, large green bars of soap purporting to smell like rainwater (probably not acid rain, Susan thought), a turquoise silk shirt, a new calendar, and a bright orange felt hat that she hoped wasn’t too young-looking for her. She was glancing into windows as she passed, trying to find an answer to the last question, when she realized she was staring at gleaming white cloths on tiny tables in a wood-paneled restaurant. A wonderful scent of beef was in the air. Lunchtime.

  A handsome waiter led her to a table near a window where she could watch the people passing as she sipped the mulled wine that he recommended while waiting for her shepherd’s pie to arrive. She tucked her packages around her chair, feeling a little like a drooping Christmas tree. She was going to head south after lunch to forage in Soho, and she had to admit that she hadn’t thought about Z’s death all morning long. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. She was having a wonderful time.

  And so, apparently, was Chrissy who had just entered the restaurant with a young man who reminded Susan of Robert Redford—about fifteen years ago. Her daughter was looking up at him and laughing. The laughter stopped when she spied her mother.

  “Mother! What in the world are you doing here?”

  Susan had been a mother for almost twenty years; she had become very good at recognizing when she was embarrassing one of her children. The look on Chrissy’s face told her that she had surpassed herself this time.

  But Chrissy’s young man apparently wasn’t of the same opinion. He hurried forward, a smile on his face. “This is your mother, Chrissy? You know how I’ve been wanting to meet your family.” He took the hand Susan held out in both of his. “Mrs. Henshaw. I am Klaus Hoffmann. It is so nice to meet the mother of the woman I love. Wait, let me get us a larger table so we can all sit together.” He turned and directed waiters and busboys until they had achieved the results that he desired. Susan was impressed with his self-assurance, and she could tell that her daughter was also proud of Klaus.