Murder by Yew (19 page)

Twenty

Edna rushed to her car, fumbled the key into the ignition, and peeled away from the curb without looking. Only after driving several blocks did she stop to think what might have happened if another car had come by or someone had been crossing the street. She felt her stomach churn at the idea, as the picture of Aleda’s bowed head burst into her mind. “That’s all I’d need on top of everything else,” she moaned, “arrested for running someone down.”

The rain pounding on the roof did nothing to calm her nerves. She could see barely two feet in front of the hood, and after turning into Mary’s driveway, she finally decided that brooding about Danny or fanning the flames of her anger at Norm weren’t doing her any good. She had to be able to think clearly, and her emotions were getting in the way.
Easier said than done,
she thought, getting out of the car and racing toward the house.

Hank greeted her at the back door, tail wagging. Benjamin, lying nearby on the radiator cover, lifted his sleepy head and blinked at her. Despite her resolve, Edna couldn’t keep her mind off Danny’s disappearance and the image of the green van driving away from Norm’s office. She went into the dining room and sank onto a chair, thinking she might light a small fire in the hearth and warm herself, but at the moment, she didn’t have the energy.

As she sat, her eyes strayed to the yearbooks. Reaching over, she opened the one for Tom’s senior year, idly flipping pages until she came to the shots of the Thanksgiving rally. She studied the picture of the boys climbing the bronze statue and the waiflike face of the young girl who looked so familiar. Daisy, Mary had said her name was, Daisy Farwell.
Where have I seen you before?

Curiosity got the better of her, and she roused herself to get a notepad and pencil from beside the phone on one of the divider shelves between kitchen and dining room. Returning to her seat, she pulled over the open book and began to sketch. First some eyes … make them large, thin out the lids, slant the sides, not too much. A nose … a shorter one, skinny and upturned. Sketch another nose and slope it down. Cheeks, chin. She drew a few variations of each facial feature, as she would as an exercise in art class. The ear, she copied exactly as it appeared in the photo. People don’t usually change the shape or size of their ears.

As she doodled, what had been merely an impression became firmer in Edna’s mind. Ripping off the top sheet of the small telephone pad, she put the rounder eyes together with a small straight nose, added fuller cheeks, and surrounded the face with a curly, more modern hair style. When she’d finished, she held the small scrap of paper next to the yearbook photo, comparing what she’d drawn with the face in the picture. What she saw made her gasp.

It didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t she said anything?
I must be mistaken,
Edna thought.
Maybe I’m sketching what I want to see instead of what’s there.
She examined her drawing again. No, she didn’t think she’d made a mistake. It was Dee Tolkheim.

Edna tried to remember what Mary had told her about Dee as a girl. Shunned by her classmates, no father, raised by a mother who, apparently, had more than her share of boyfriends. Her mother’s funeral had been the same day as Tom’s graduation. She was the one who had run away with Tom’s friend, Bobby.

Had Tom recognized her?
Edna looked at the photo in the yearbook and could understand if he hadn’t. She thought back to Thursday when she had come out of the house and found Dee standing beside Tom.
What had they been talking about?
All Edna could remember was that Dee had flirted outrageously with him. Had they recognized each other as high school classmates?
No, I would have remembered that,
she thought.

Dee may have said something when Edna had gone off to get the rue. Maybe she told him then who she was.
Is that why he had driven off without saying goodbye to me?
Edna wondered. At the thought, she brightened. Dee had to have remembered his mentioning an appointment book. Maybe he had gotten it out after all, after Edna had left the two of them alone. He could have told her where he was going to be Thursday afternoon. It would be natural if he was looking for an available time to fit Dee into his schedule.

Here was another connection to Tom, another lead to follow. Edna hurried to the phone, hope lightening her step. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became that Dee would know where Tom had been going when he’d left on Thursday. Picking up the receiver, she pressed buttons for local information, then raised the instrument to her ear. No dial tone.

“
Not again,” she wailed. The storm must have knocked out the lines a second time.

Returning to the table, she watched the rain lashing the windows and listened to the wind rattle the shutters while she fiddled absently with the small sketch.
I can’t sit here and do nothing,
she thought. Shoving the small portrait into the pocket of her slacks, she hurried to get her coat, snatched up the tote bag, and dashed back out to her car.

After a long, harrowing drive through the blinding rain, Edna reached Watch Hill and turned in through the gates of a large white house with a widow’s walk at the top. A tall iron fence separated the property from the road, and just inside it were laurel bushes that provided a noise and privacy barrier. The tarred driveway slanted down toward the house and curved gracefully off to a four-car, detached garage with what looked like a horse stable beyond. She knew from having seen the estate on a clear day that in back of the buildings a gentle slope of lawn continued for several hundred yards down to meet the sea.

The main house looked like a shimmering apparition through the rain sheeting her windshield. As she turned off the ignition, Edna felt her pulse quicken. Was she being too hasty in coming to see Dee? Why hadn’t she said anything about knowing Tom before—or Mary, for that matter? When they’d had lunch together, Edna knew Mary hadn’t recognized her former classmate, nor had Dee mentioned it. Why not?

“
Nonsense,” she muttered, getting out of the car. “If she doesn’t want to bring up her past, that’s her decision. All I need to find out is what she knows about last Thursday and Tom’s appointment book.” Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what Dee was hiding—or hiding from, perhaps.

There was no
porch or overhang at the front door, but the house itself provided a bit of shelter from the wind. Edna lifted the heavy brass knocker in the middle of the
door and pounded it three times against the companion metal plate. While she waited, she huddled close to the door, trying unsuccessfully to keep out of the rain. She was about to knock again when the latch clicked, and Dee peered out through a three-inch crack. When she saw Edna, her eyes widened in amazement, then delight. If Edna hadn’t just scolded herself for being overly suspicious, she would have said the look on Dee’s face was almost mischievous.

“
What a surprise. Come on in.” Dee swung the door wide and pulled Edna into the foyer.

Once inside, Edna threw back her hood as water dripped off her slicker and puddled on the black and white tile.

“
You’d better take that off.” Dee held out a hand for Edna’s coat. Shoving her car keys into a pocket, Edna shrugged off the sodden wrap. “What are you doing out in this weather?” Dee helped her with the sleeves, then held the dripping garment at arm’s length.

Edna snorted a laugh, half in embarrassment. “It wasn’t this bad when I left home. I think the storm is getting worse.”

“
There’s a fire in the living room.” Dee held a hand toward the door straight ahead. “Right through there. Go get warm while I hang this in the bathroom off the kitchen and brew up some nice, hot tea.”

Edna walked into a large, rectangular room and felt the warmth of the blaze before she spotted the large fireplace to her left. Shivering, she went to stand on the hearth and set her bag to one side of the stones, where she hoped it would dry out a little.

Rubbing her hands before the flames, she was beginning to warm up when she felt a tingling run up and down her spine, as though someone were watching her. She spun around. There was no one, but straight ahead, on the opposite wall of the long, expansive room, she saw the portrait of an elderly man staring back at her. From the style of his thick white hair and gray pinstriped suit, she assumed it was Dee’s late husband, Joel Tolkheim, Senior. He was seated in a brown leather chair, one hand on the armrest, the other on the cover of a book in his lap. Neither smiling nor frowning, Joel looked as if he were about to make a comment to the artist. She grimaced at the idea of a painting causing her unease. Her nerves must really be shot. She needed a good night’s rest, she thought as the heat from the fire began to make her feel drowsy.

Relaxing slightly when she realized no one else was in the room, she put her hands behind her, palms to the blaze and studied her surroundings. The decor spoke of old money, warmth and comfort. Across the long wall opposite the door she had entered, heavy rose and cream drapes were pulled against the storm. She guessed that behind the curtains was a magnificent view of the Atlantic Ocean.

Throughout the room, several groupings of tables, loveseats and chairs were arranged in small conversation areas, including one directly in front of her. To the right of Joel’s portrait, narrow, built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves met to form the corner. The same leather recliner as in the picture stood in front of the books. Strange effect, thought Edna, having a painting of that corner hanging next to the real thing. Warmer now, she wandered around the room, looking at the knickknacks and potted plants on different tabletops and shelves.

Having inspected the entire room, she was beginning to wonder what was taking Dee so long when her hostess bustled in through a door recessed in the paneling between the fireplace and the draperies. As Edna returned to the fire, Dee lowered herself onto a settee, placing a silver tray on the low coffee table before her.

“
I’ve made one of my special teas. You must tell me how you like it.” Dee grinned up at Edna as she lifted a white china teapot and began to pour.

Edna moved to sit on an upholstered chair opposite her hostess, openly admiring the flowering mum plant on the small table at her elbow. “Your plants give the room a cozy feeling.” She was much too nervous to drink anything, but not knowing how to refuse gracefully, she took the cup and saucer Dee offered her. Playing with the delicate china, she turned the cup on its saucer, wondering if this would be another false lead. What if Dee and Tom hadn’t even looked at his schedule? What if they only continued to flirt? More to stall for a few more minutes than any desire for a drink, she started to raise the dainty cup to her lips when she was startled by the sound of a burning log falling apart. Sparks erupted from the fireplace onto the hearth.

Dee leaped to her feet. “I’ll take care of it. Drink your tea.” Grabbing an iron poker and a small broom, she swept hot embers back into the fire and adjusted the log.

With her stomach in knots, Edna felt she would choke if she tried to swallow. She didn’t know why, probably due to the desire not to displease her hostess, but while Dee's back was turned, Edna poured half her tea into the mum plant beside her. She had returned the cup to its saucer and was setting both on the table at her elbow by the time Dee turned around.

Standing on the hearth, her back to the fire, Dee looked at the cup and smiled. “How do you like it?”

Before Edna could think of an adequately noncommittal reply, a man stepped quietly from beside the fireplace. He must have come through the door Dee had used to bring in the tea tray. Edna wouldn’t have noticed him if she hadn’t been faced in that direction, and she must have jumped, because Dee turned to see what had startled her.

Edna recognized him immediately. Thick curly hair and dark mustache, he was the man in the photograph on her daughter’s trial wall, the one who’d been sitting with Beverly Lewis and her brother at Quincy Market. Edna frowned, turning to Dee, uncertain.
Had Dee been the fourth person at the table, the woman Starling described as wearing a floppy hat and dark glasses?

“
Sorry, didn’t know you had company.” The newcomer spoke to Dee but his eyes remained fixed on Edna.

What an odd thing to say, Edna thought. My car’s parked right out front. She didn’t say anything, however, but waited for an introduction.

The man was turning to leave when Dee stopped him. Obviously, she had seen the look of recognition on Edna's face. Holding up a hand, she said, “It’s okay, Zach. You might as well stay. She’s already made the connection.” Picking up Edna’s half-empty teacup, she smiled. “Nothing to worry about, though. Come in and meet Edna Davies. Edna, this is my fiancé, Zachary Linden.” As she spoke, Dee bent to put the cup and saucer onto the silver tea tray.

Zachary moved to stand beside Dee. He grinned down at Edna, but his eyes were cold and watchful. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding once.

“
How do you do?” Edna was at her most formal, inclining her head slightly. What was he doing here in Rhode Island in Dee’s house? Dee had just said they were engaged to be married. Did she know the police were watching him? Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Edna started to rise. “I’m intruding. I should go.”