Auld Lang Syne (13 page)

Twelve

“So the bottom line is you have a bunch of unlikely suspects with ancient motives who had virtually no opportunity to murder Mindy but decided to do it anyway in the middle of a public function,”
Strutter
summed up when I finished telling her about my activities over the previous two days. She sat across from me in our regular booth at the Town Line Diner and dabbed her lips with a napkin. Margo hadn’t joined us this morning, presumably because she was still enjoying her reunion with her husband.

“You would think after the past few years I’d be better at this investigating stuff, but I’m getting nowhere fast on this one,” I groused and drained the last of my coffee. The after-church crowd was beginning to file in. I signaled our waitress for a check so we could make the table available.

“There are almost too many people who had legitimate grudges against Mindy, and most of them were at the reunion,”
Strutter
mused, “although how anyone could pull off a stunt like that in a tiny, cramped bathroom before someone else came in is beyond me. They would have had to knock Mindy out with something, administer the fatal dose, glue her eyelids shut, plant the phony insulin syringe and leave without anyone noticing anything peculiar. That’s just crazy.”

I nodded. “I agree with you, but I’m afraid crazy is what we’re dealing with here—a nut case who not only planned and carried out this bizarre execution but is now showering the entire planning committee with veiled threats and stalking me, to boot.” I sighed in frustration. “I wish I could talk to John
Harkness
about this.”

“So you will when he and Margo come up for air,”
Strutter
soothed.

I gave up and changed the subject. “What’s going on with Charlie and Duane? Still working on some top-secret project?”

Strutter’s
smile transformed her face. “As a matter of fact, they are, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy, so I can’t tell you about it yet.”

I frowned. “Well, when can you let me in on it? I’m feeling clueless enough at the moment. Can’t anybody tell me anything?”

“Another few days should just about do it. Unless I miss my guess, everyone in Wethersfield and lots of other places besides will know all about it then. You do have a
Facebook
account, right?”

“No,” I moaned, “anything but that. I used to have one, but I was so appalled at the constant stream of drivel, I quit using it. Quite frankly, I don’t care if Susie Smith has to go do a load of laundry now or if Jim Jones has a cold today. The level of discourse, if you can even call it that, is pathetic. Leave it to the kiddies, I say.”

Strutter
picked up our check as I left a tip on the table. “Normally, I’d agree with you, but this is a special occasion. Just reactivate your account and invite me to friend you.” She winked. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

“Okay, but I’m using an alias. Look for a friend request from Kate Velasquez. What’s on your agenda for the rest of the day?” I asked as we picked our way through slushy ruts to our respective cars in the parking lot.

“J.D. and I have to endure a dance recital at Olivia’s pre-school, God help us, and I have to make a supermarket run. That’s about it for my suburban excitement today. Margo promised Suzanne and Dennis Flaherty another open house this afternoon, but we don’t expect much traffic. Even the
looky-loos
will stay home on an afternoon like this.
How about you?”

I considered my options. Vacuuming and dusting went down in flames as I had a thought. “Maybe John will keep Margo
company
at the
Flahertys
’, and I can crash the open house and pick his brain,” I said, cheered by the idea.

Strutter
shivered and beeped open
her car door. “Good luck with that. John’s had a hard week, and he probably just wants to hunker down in front of a game on TV.”

“You could be right, but I’m going to call and ask anyway. John could invite Armando to watch the game with him, and I can talk to him during breaks.” I gave her a little wave and headed to the
Jetta
.

“You’re relentless,” she called after me, and I had to admit she was probably right about that, too.

To my surprise Margo informed me when I phoned her that John was already planning to accompany her to the open house. “He can watch the game there as well as at our house, and I want him to see the place and meet Dennis and Suzanne. Did you know Dennis attended the police academy a few years back?”

I hadn’t known that and told her so. “Did he ever join a department?”

“My
understandin
’ is that he never actually graduated.
Somethin
’ about a family emergency and his
bein
’ needed at home. Then he and Suzanne got married, and he wound up
workin
’ for some big security company, the one that laid him off about a year and a half later.”

“They sure have had a run of bad luck, and now he’s out of work, and she’s expecting a child. I wonder if Dennis knows about that
yet?
”

“He’d almost have to. Last week Suzanne’s baby bump was
startin
’ to show, which is what gave me the idea.”

I frowned at the phone.
“Idea about what?
Are you and John planning to adopt?”

Margo’s ladylike laugh tinkled in my ear. “Not their baby, no. Heaven forbid.”

“I think Dennis and Suzanne already have parents,” I warned, only half-kidding. For a woman who lacked maternal instincts, Margo was certainly acting motherly these days. Usually, she lavished such feelings on Rhett Butler, her ancient chocolate lab, and his companion Sassy, a female rescue dog she and John had adopted just a year or so ago.

“Like I told you, Sugar, everyone needs a fairy godmother from time to time and maybe a
godpapa
, too.”

“I don’t think there is such a thing,” I pointed out tartly, “at least not the kind that waves a wand and grants wishes.”

“Oh, now, don’t pout. You’re
nitpickin
’ because I’m not
revealin
’ my absolutely wonderful idea to you at this moment. Tell you what. John and I will drop by your place after the open house, and I’ll give you the details then,
dependin
’ on how things go with John and the
Flahertys
.”

“And I can fill John in on the Mindy situation,” I agreed, warming to the idea.
“Poor John.
Everyone seems to want his advice at the same time.”

“It’s good for his ego, makes him feel missed and needed.”

“He was, and he is,” I reminded her.

“Damn straight,” Margo agreed. “See you later, Sugar.”

Despite my earnest efforts to avoid housework, the prospect of having visitors later in the day motivated me to attend to the vacuuming and dusting while Armando finished up the laundry. As I pushed my old Hoover upright over the rugs and flipped a duster over the furniture and lamps, I sorted through the events of the previous two days and attempted to make some sense of them. I’d had conversations with Detective
Hagearty
and Harold King. I’d met with Joanie,
Maryellyn
, Jean and Joanne, all of whom had received anonymous warning notes along with Ariel, who was currently among the missing. I had also met with Pat Connelly, who had not received a warning note but had been captured on film outside the restroom in which Mindy had perished. In the course of all of these conversations, I’d learned quite a bit about my former classmates but nothing at all about Mindy’s demise.

I returned the Hoover to the front hall closet and set about putting out cheese, crackers and fresh fruit for nibbling while we enjoyed a glass of wine, and Armando carried in logs and laid a fresh fire in the fireplace. The prospect of a warm blaze brought Gracie running, and Armando brushed her thoroughly in deference to Margo. Animal lover that she was, whatever designer outfit she wore would not be improved by a layer of ginger-colored hair.

As I was getting some wine glasses out of the cupboard, the doorbell rang, and hellos could be heard in the hall as Armando helped Margo and John hang up their coats.
 
I beamed at Margo’s handsome husband, who had become a good friend since she and I and
Strutter
had gone into business together.
 
As always, I noticed how immaculately groomed the lieutenant was, his barbered good looks set off by a tailored charcoal blazer and blue pinstriped shirt. The shirt was open at the neck, and his black loafers shone with polish.
 
Blond, blue-eyed men sometimes don’t age well, but John
Harkness
was doing just fine. Since his marriage to Margo a couple of years ago, even the little tension lines around his eyes had eased.

We all settled companionably in front of the fireplace. Armando and I lounged in the big double recliner with Gracie between us. Margo and John left their shoes at the front door and sat on the sofa, their stocking feet propped side-by-side on the coffee table. They held hands like newlyweds. No one in the Wethersfield Police Department who had known “Lieutenant
Hardnose
” in his pre-Margo days would believe the transformation she had wrought in him.

“How did the open house go?” I prompted.
“Any lookers?”

“Not unless you count my husband, but he gave the house a good
goin
’ over. He was up in the attic with a flashlight, down in the cellar
lookin
’ for signs of water damage, the whole nine yards.”

“I like to take my time with important things,” John pointed out. “What’s wrong with that?”

Margo smirked. “Not a thing,
Darlin
’. I like that about you, too.” She winked at us over her wine glass, and John’s face grew rosy.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “Do you know someone who might be interested in buying the house? It’s such a cute place. I hate to see Dennis and Suzanne lose it, but I don’t want to see them go bankrupt either.”

“Especially now that a little one is on the way,” Armando added. He scratched Gracie gently, and she spread her toes in bliss.

“Does Dennis know he’s going to be a father yet?” I asked. Is he happy about it?”

“Yes, and yes,” Margo replied. “He wasn’t all that tickled about it at the
beginnin
’ of the afternoon, Suzanne told me privately, but he’d cheered up considerably by the time we left.” She and John exchanged grins.

I arched an eyebrow at them. “And what brought about this attitude adjustment?”

“Do you want to tell them, or shall I?” Margo asked John.

He made an after you gesture. “It was your idea, Blondie, so go for it.”

My impatience was starting to show, and Margo abandoned her cool demeanor. She put down her wine glass and clapped her hands in delight like a little girl.

“John and I made ‘
em
an offer. It’s not the full
askin
’ price, but it’s enough to cover their debt and then some, plus they won’t have to pay me a sales commission.”

My jaw dropped open, and even Armando looked surprised. “You already have a home, do you not? I did not know you had plans to move.”

“We don’t,” John confirmed. “This is strictly an investment. We plan to rent this house to some nice young couple.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Margo, and I began to get the drift.

“Like, say, Dennis and Suzanne Flaherty?” I asked, amused and touched.

“Yup, but just until they get their feet back under them financially.
Then we’ll sell them back their house for exactly what we paid for it,” Margo beamed.

Armando and I looked at each other, puzzled. “Um, how is
this a
good investment for you if you do not make any profit on the transaction?”

“Tax breaks,” John told him, “a little accounting magic. I have the money from my parents’ estate socked away, so we won’t have to take out a mortgage on this purchase. It will be a private sale for cash, which should make the bank very happy. Anyway, it won’t be for long.”

“How can you know that? In this struggling economy it is impossible to determine how long the young husband will be out of work,” Armando protested.

“Oh, not too long.
With a degree in law enforcement and an almost-completed stint in the policy academy, I predict Dennis will be on the job within the year,” John said confidently.