Built in Victorian times, this castle didn’t have moats or drawbridges, but it made up for the loss of these picturesque features with enough towers, turrets, and pinnacles to satisfy any king. Susan had been told that there even was a rampart encircling the roof, but she had never been allowed above the first floor. The castle had been built by an eccentric millionaire who claimed to be a direct descendant of Henry VIII. While his marrying habits imitated those of his more famous alleged ancestor, laws had changed over the years, and after building his castle, all his income was required for alimony and child support. He died penniless. Susan thought it served him right. His heirs had sold the castle to the first available buyer. Fortunately for Penelope Thomas, that buyer had been her husband’s father.
Susan pressed the small cross that she knew, from experience, was the doorbell and waited. She knew that Penelope Thomas, who, in her own words, “despised the ordinary,” rarely traveled without her Mercedes (except for time spent crossing the ocean on the Concorde or “gallivanting up to Martha’s Vineyard” in her husband’s World War I biplane. It was typical of Penelope that she managed to speak of the popular island as though she knew Martha personally.).
As she expected, Penelope herself opened the door. From the expression on her face, it was fairly obvious that she had been expecting someone other than Susan Henshaw.
“Susan.” Well, at least she remembered her name. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“I’d like to talk with you about Ivan Deakin’s murder,” she explained.
And was surprised when the door was held open for her.
“I forgot for a moment,” Penelope explained, “that you are a close friend of Chief Fortesque, aren’t you?”
“I guess you could say that,” Susan admitted, tossing her coat upon a tall gilded rack and following her hostess across the marble foyer, through a pair of carved wooden doors, and into the surprisingly comfortable living room. Oriental carpets lay on the floor, a pair of plaid couches stood before a blazing Adams fireplace, and on a side table, full decanters and tiny glasses waited on a gleaming silver tray.
Apparently they were going to keep waiting. Penelope sat down and motioned for Susan to follow suit. “So what do you want to know?” she asked abruptly.
“Were you at the Women’s Club on Tuesday night?” Susan asked, taken aback by the blunt question.
“Are you hoping that I saw someone put poison in Ivan’s water pitcher?”
“How did you know there was poison in the pitcher?” Susan asked quickly.
“It’s in the evening paper,” Penelope answered, nudging the Hancock Herald that lay on the coffee table with the toe of her well-polished, handmade shoe. “I read it every single evening. As well as The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times in the morning. I never understand people who don’t insist on being well informed. Do you?”
Susan thought guiltily of the papers that were lying unfurled on the kitchen counter. She always meant to read them daily. She gave herself a mental shake. “So were you at the Women’s Club?”
“Certainly. I believe I have an obligation to be at important events in town—no matter how silly.”
“You thought it was silly?”
“Not the murder, certainly. But the idea of Ivan Deakin running for office was ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous.”
“Why? I … I didn’t know him at all,” Susan added quickly when Penelope granted her a haughty stare.
“Then, of course, you won’t understand,” Penelope admitted begrudgingly. “The man is a cad. Was a cad, I suppose I should say.”
“I’ve heard that he was involved with a lot of women,” Susan muttered. In fact, she hadn’t really heard anything else about him.
“A lot! Ha! I think I am the only woman he ever met that he didn’t make a pass at.”
Susan couldn’t imagine anyone making a pass at Penelope—although certainly Mr. Thomas, one assumed, whoever he might be, had done just that at one time or another. Susan glanced over at the tray of drinks. They were waiting for someone. Perhaps for Penelope’s husband?
“I thought you were here to ask me questions?”
The question startled Susan from her reverie. Why was she acting like a foolish child? She remembered the story Lyman Nearing had told and the image of Penelope wetting her pants (though many years ago) gave her courage. “How a man treats women frequently has little to do with how electable he is,” Susan reminded her.
“Well, I won’t argue with you there,” Penelope agreed while implying that it was practically the only thing she wouldn’t argue about.
“So are there any other reasons you don’t think Ivan would have made a good mayor?”
“You mean besides this foolishness about the Landmark Commission?”
“What foolishness? I thought you agreed that all the homes built before 1939 should be regulated by the commission—”
“Protected by the Landmark Commission. Not regulated, protected! Do you have any idea what has happened to much of Hancock’s heritage in the past few decades?”
“I—”
Apparently excited by this subject, Penelope began to wave her arms in the air. “The old mill on the river—turned into a restaurant. A Japanese restaurant! The old wooden bridge that spanned the same river, the very bridge that possibly Washington and his troops marched across, torn down and a new cement-and-metal thing built in its place. The traffic on that road has increased at least twofold, making it a danger to people who walk there. The old elementary school converted into expensive condominiums. There are rich people with absolutely no taste bathing in the corner of my first-grade classroom!”
“Well—” Susan began.
“And that’s not the worst of it. Look what people have been allowed to do to their homes. Old Victorians with graceful wraparound porches have added modern wings with hideous square lines. Nice, sensible fifties ranches have second, third, and even fourth floors added. Hancock was a charming residential community before all these new people came in with all their money and poor taste. The Landmark Commission is going to stop all that!”
“But we have zoning laws—” Susan began.
“They are not enough! These people are good at using the law to their own advantage. If Bradley Chadwick is elected, the Landmark Commission will prevent these desecrations from happening.”
“I—”
“I know that your husband is running on Tony Martel’s ticket, but believe me, Susan, Bradley is the only opportunity we have to keep Hancock the charming village it has always been.”
She might have continued, except at that moment the doorbell pealed. Penelope leaped up to answer it, smoothing down her hair as she went. Susan sat back on the sofa and thought about what she’d just heard. She had barely begun to process the information when Penelope returned, Bradley Chadwick at her side.
“I’m sorry, Susan, but you will have to excuse us. Bradley and I have a lot to discuss. Maybe we could talk some other time.”
Susan said hello to Bradley and agreed that another time would be better. “I can let myself out the door,” she offered after Bradley’s perfunctory if charming greeting.
“Fine.” Penelope had turned to the drinks tray and managed only a vague wave at Susan’s departing back.
Susan collected her coat and let herself out the door. She would be back to talk with Penelope. There was something else to be discovered here—she just didn’t know what it was.
THIRTEEN
Susan decided to go see Erika Eden after dinner, so she headed for the grocery store, trying to think of a meal she could make quickly that would keep until Jed and Chad appeared—and that she hadn’t made a half-dozen times in the past two months. Chad would be going off to college next year—if he ever got around to filling out those application forms—and Susan was looking forward to having to provide only one late meal each evening. Of course, if Jed lost the election, he might actually have his evenings free to spend with her. Maybe they cou
ld even sign up for a class at the New School and she could meet him in the city. She could do a little shopping, meet him for dinner before class. It would be like twenty-five years ago when they were in college.… What was she thinking? she asked herself, parking in front of the grocery store. It almost sounded like she wanted her husband to lose the election!
Once inside the store, she quickly realized she was dreaming if she thought she was going to come up with an unusual entree for dinner. Salmon was on sale, but Chad didn’t eat salmon. She headed for the butcher. Chicken again. Without skin or cream sauce for Jed, who was always talking about cholesterol. Without vegetables no matter what the sauce for Chad. Susan spent almost half an hour in the store and ended up standing in line at the checkout counter with the same items that she put in her cart each week. Oh, well, it would be Thanksgiving in a few weeks—and she loved having turkey with all the fixings. Except, she realized, and paused in placing her groceries on the checkout counter, that Chrissy had recently called and talked about bringing home a young man she had met—and casually mentioned that he was a vegetarian.
Susan was so busy imagining a tofu turkey that she didn’t realize Kathleen was trying to get her attention until she grabbed her sleeve. “What the …”
“Susan, it’s me. What in heaven’s name are you thinking about?”
“Thanksgiving,” Susan muttered.
“So that’s why your meals are so inventive. You’re always thinking about food,” Kathleen said, pulling her cart in line behind Susan.
“That’s why my thighs are so fat. I’m always eating food,” Susan muttered, grabbing the latest Vogue from a metal rack and dropping it on the moving belt. Maybe the models’ bodies would inspire her. Although, actually, she’d only had those muffins today. “Do you have time to stop over at the house? I’ve been talking to all the members of the Landmark Commission—except for Erika Eden—and I need someone to help me sort through what I’ve heard.”
“Everyone except Erika Eden?” Kathleen mused. “Sounds interesting, but you’ll have to come to my place. I have a new girl staying with the kids and I want to see how things are going.”
Susan thought for a moment. It was cold enough for the frozen groceries to wait in the car.…
“Jerry went to the liquor store yesterday. We can have some wine and cheese and relax,” Kathleen suggested.
“Sold! I need to make one more stop and I’ll meet you there,” Susan said, offering the young man at the cash register her credit card. She had considered charging groceries to be an insane financial decision until she and Jed got a credit card that awarded frequent-flier miles for dollars spent. She now thought of it as eating her way to Italy. She packed up her food while Kathleen unloaded her cart, and then, with a wave and a promise to see her friend shortly, she hurried back to her car.
Susan had meant to stop quickly in a nearby drugstore and pick up a notebook to keep track of her investigation but a rack of toys near the door caught her eye. She loved all these little plastic things now that she wasn’t constantly picking them up off her own floors. A windup turkey caught her eye; she thought it would impress baby Alice. And Alex was always thrilled to receive another Matchbox car for his collection—there was a hideous purple Ferrari that she knew he would love. Susan added the toys to the bright red notebook she had picked out and went to the counter to pay for her purchases. She got in line, admiring the swirling French twist of the blonde in front of her for a few minutes before she realized that it belonged to the head of Cassandra Chadwick.
“Cassandra?” Susan hesitated over the name, unsure whether or not a nickname would be more appropriate. Cassy? Or maybe Cass? She was glad she had chosen the more formal route when the woman turned and looked down on her. And it was down, since Cassandra Chadwick was a half dozen inches taller than Susan.
“Oh, Susan. I didn’t see you.”
Or the other slugs, was what Susan heard. “Oh, well, I didn’t notice you for quite a while either,” she answered. “I always get a little frazzled waiting in line—I worry if I’ve forgotten something,” she added, thinking that the first statement sounded terribly rude.
“I find that a list helps.” Cassandra made the suggestion as though it was an original idea.
“Of course, but at the last minute …”
“I keep two lists on the refrigerator—one for groceries and one for other essentials. And then I don’t go out of the house without one or the other in my purse. I find that it saves a tremendous amount of time.”
“I’m sure it does. I just can’t seem to get organized—”
“Of course. With the election, it is more difficult.” Cassandra surprised Susan by agreeing with her. “I’ve been asked to make so many speeches, and the public appearances have been truly onerous.”
Susan had been about to make a comment about cottage parties and teas but decided to change the topic and discuss the murder. After all, Cassandra’s husband might be running for mayor, but her own relationship with the chief of police was unique. “How does your husband think Ivan’s death will affect the election?” she asked. They had time for a long conversation; it was becoming obvious that the woman in front of them had managed to pick out several unmarked items with bar codes that did not scan.
“Bradley is, of course, heartbroken,” Cassandra began.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were good friends.”
“They weren’t. Ivan Deakin and the Chadwicks do not travel in the same circles. I was speaking of the election. Ivan added a lot to the race.”
“Well, of course, I believe that Tony Martel is an excellent opponent,” Susan said.
“Naturally, I would expect you to say that. He is not exactly a charismatic personality. And his programs are so far out—almost libertarian, wouldn’t you say?”
“A libertine!” Susan gasped. “Nothing could be further from the truth! He and his wife have been happily married for—”
“I said libertarian. Not libertine,” Cassandra said, a large smile on her face.
Susan assumed the teeth were capped. “I certainly wouldn’t say libertarian either. Anthony is very well informed and his ideas are”—she searched for a word—“very mainstream. He’s a hard worker, dedicated to the town, and—”
“Heavens, Susan, no one asked you to stump for the man. He can at least do that himself, can’t he?”
Susan wanted to punch Cassandra in her perfect little pug nose. What sort of adult chose to have a nose like that? But that wasn’t exactly what they were talking about. “I’ve been talking to a lot of people today and some of them think that Ivan’s candidacy was going to hurt your husband’s chances of becoming mayor,” she said.
“Susan, how can you say that? Ivan Deakin was a flake. The citizens of Hancock are well educated and naturally conservative. They weren’t going to vote for Ivan.”
“But you said that Bradley wanted him to run!” Susan reminded her.
“Just to keep the voters from getting bored,” Cassandra said, her smile becoming a smirk. “Just to make things interesting.”
“When is the debate?” Susan asked quickly, seeing that the checker was starting on Cassandra’s order.
“On Friday night. Why?”
“You don’t think it will be canceled because of Ivan’s death, do you?” Susan asked, ignoring Cassandra’s question.
“I shouldn’t think so. It’s the last opportunity for the public to hear the two candidates before the election next week. Why?”
“Because I think you’ll see something then that will make this election just as interesting as you and Bradley think it should be,” Susan announced loudly.
“A surprise? Will you give me a hint or will my viewers have to wait until Friday night?”
Susan realized that they had been joined by Tom Davidson. The young man was standing by her side, a long thin notebook in one hand, a pencil poised above it in the other. “Any statement?” he asked again.
“Yes, Susan. Gi
ve Mr. Davidson a statement,” Cassandra urged, picking up the bag of toiletries she had just paid for.
“But then …” Susan began, thinking fast, “it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”
“Can’t argue with that,” Tom agreed, writing something down.
“I think I’d better pay for my things,” Susan muttered, moving up to replace Cassandra at the counter.
“And I guess I’ll see you Friday night—if not before,” Cassandra said, managing to include both of them in her good-bye.
Susan noticed that Tom was blushing at the attention he had received from the attractive woman. She resisted the admittedly bitchy urge to tell him how little of Cassandra was natural. “I—” she began.
“I’d be happy to make a statement to the press if you’ll accompany me to my car,” Cassandra said.
And the two of them left Susan to her purchases. It made her nervous, and she was glad that the transaction took little time. Nevertheless, she was surprised to see Tom Davidson and Cassandra still talking seriously when she left the store and headed back to her car. She would have loved to have known what they were talking about, and was still thinking about it when Kathleen opened the front door of her house a very few minutes later.
“You will not believe what just happened,” Susan announced, stepping inside and putting the package from the drugstore on the side table in the hallway.
“Probably not, and you’re going to have to come upstairs to tell me about it. Alice is in her crib and I have to give her a bath right away.” Kathleen started up the stairway without waiting for a response from her friend.
Susan trotted up the stairs, stopping for a moment on the top landing to try to decipher a strange noise coming from one of the nearby bedrooms.
“That’s Alex. He’s crying,” Kathleen explained. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t been hurt. He has to stay in his room to think about what he’s done for another few minutes.”
“What has he done?” Susan asked.
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