A Murderer Among Us (22 page)

“Where are you off to this time?” Peg asked.

“I’m babysitting this weekend.”

“Have fun.”

“I will.” She drove away wondering what Peg would think of her friend, Marshall Weill, if she knew what he was up to.

Seventeen

Lydia’s breathing slowed to normal as she drove away from Twin Lakes. She put her concerns about Marshall and Roger’s chicanery on hold and gave her complete attention to Brittany and Greta. Since Meredith had been clever enough to present Grammy’s visit as a special treat, the girls were in good spirits and behaved like angels. Saturday afternoon, Lydia dropped Brittany off at a birthday party and took Greta to see a movie. Her small granddaughter sat enthralled, while Lydia’s thoughts returned to the morning’s revelations.

First thing Monday morning, she’d contact George and Benny and the other board members to let them know what Marshall and Roger were scheming. The board would probably resist hearing more bad news coming from her. No doubt they’d insist on talking to Roger and Marshall to get their side of the story. The two men were wily enough to concoct a tale that might deceive the others, at least temporarily.

She’d better speak to Caroline and Barbara first. They’d believe her and would help convince the board that, at the very least, any expenses incurred while Roger was still treasurer had to be checked and counterchecked by the other board members.

It was fortuitous that she hadn’t managed to speak to Marshall, after all. Lydia shuddered as she considered the consequences had she vented her fury at this incorrigible, amoral thief. If he’d lied to her about his intentions to lead an honest life, he might very well have lied about killing his wife. She frowned, thinking how stupid she’d been to go with him to his house while he drew up a list of suspects. Suspects! He must have had a good laugh over that.

She had to face the fact that he’d managed to bamboozle her despite everything she’d known about him. Face it, then put it out of her mind. She’d let the police deal with the likes of Marshall Weill.

A small hand clutched her arm. “Look at that, Grammy!”

“Awesome,” Lydia whispered.

She focused on the funny chase scene, then found herself speculating about Marshall and Roger Patterson. What had driven them to commit felonies? She didn’t have access to their bank accounts, but she doubted that either Marshall or Roger lacked for funds. They enjoyed a lifestyle of luxury, as did many of the others she read about almost daily—people in high positions who embezzled and stole from clients, coworkers or the companies they worked for.

Maybe they loved the power that money endowed. Maybe they wanted more expensive possessions—a kind of keeping up with the Joneses. Because, as Lydia well knew, no matter how much money one had, there were always people who had more.

How did they reconcile their consciences with stealing from people they knew, people with whom they lived? Even worse, people whom they were supposed to be helping? What rationale did they concoct that allowed them to live with themselves?

Lydia had seen her share of trickery and thievery in her years of running Krause Gifts and Furnishings. It angered her as much as it pained her the few times she’d encountered employees pulling some deal or shortchanging the company, and she’d seen to it those employees were punished to the full extent of the law. Even when Carley, her beloved secretary of four years, cried and apologized over and over for skimming money off five months of orders and swore she’d make restitution, Lydia remained firm and prosecuted. In her heart, she was glad Carley had managed to repay some of what she’d taken and that she got off with a fine and a suspended sentence, but she would never have the woman anywhere near her company again. In this world, people had to rely on one another’s ethics and good will. Without honesty there was no trust, and a world without trust was a scary place indeed.

Lydia took the girls out for an early dinner, then played games with them until it was time for bed. Sunday, she made them waffles for breakfast and let them put ice cream on top. Then they went shopping at the mall, where she bought them each a toy. Meredith called to say that she and Jeff would be a little late—they’d be arriving home around nine. The sound of her daughter’s happy voice squelched the retort about to leap off the tip of her tongue. Spending a few extra hours with her granddaughters was well worth the price of saving their parents’ marriage.

She sang along with the radio as she drove home, thrilled by the way things had turned out. She’d been right to confront Meredith about the affair. Thank God her daughter had come to her senses and was back where she belonged—in the center of her family. Watching Meredith and Jeff bump rears as they laughed over a silly joke made Greta cackle with delight and Brittany shout “stop acting silly!”
One less thing to worry about,
she thought as she turned onto Bellewood Road. Now to persuade Merry to return to school ASAP. She’d offer to pay for a nanny three days a week and watch the girls the other two days herself. She was willing—no, happy—to help ensure the smooth running of Meredith’s household. Merry, Jeff and the girls were an important part of her life.

A police car blocked the visitors’ lane of the Twin Lakes’ gatehouse. Lydia’s heart began to pound. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. She inched up to the residents’ electric eye, then stopped when a young police officer stepped out of the car and held up his hand. He asked her name and address, then glanced at his clipboard.

“Are you going home now, Mrs. Krause?”

Fear formed a ball in Lydia throat. She had difficulty swallowing. “I was planning to. Why?”

“I’ll follow you, if you don’t mind.”

She gripped her hands together to stop them from trembling. “What’s wrong, Officer? What’s happened?”

“There’s been another death. Lieutenant Molina told me to escort you home when you arrived.”

The shivering was now uncontrollable. “Who is it this time?”

“A resident named Marshall Weill.”

“Oh, no!” To her astonishment and his dismay, tears streamed down her face, spilling onto her corduroy jeans.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Krause? Would you like me to drive you home?”

Lydia wiped her face with the back of her gloves. “Give me a minute, I’ll be fine.” She sniffed. “When did it happen? How?”

“This morning a neighbor thought he noticed something odd near the tall grass growing along the lake back of Mr. Weill’s house. When it was still there noontime, he walked over and discovered Mr. Weill face down in the water.”

She shivered. “Was he murdered?”

The officer shrugged. “Too early to say. Lieutenant Molina will fill you in. Do you feel up to driving now?”

Then it struck her. “Why does Lieutenant Molina want you to escort me home? Am I in danger?”

“We’re taking precautions with everyone who knew the Weills.”

She nodded, too numb to speak.

“Fine. I’ll follow you, and see you into the house.”

When they pulled into the driveway, the officer insisted on checking out every room before he allowed her to enter the house.

“All right, Mrs. Krause. Please don’t open the door to anyone, and I mean anyone, except the lou. I just spoke to him. He’ll be along in about fifteen minutes.”

She collapsed onto a living room sofa, too shaken to feed Reggie. Someone had murdered Marshall Weill! This took some getting used to. For all his venal ways, Marshall had been a vibrant, charismatic figure. Now he was dead like his wife, killed by someone he’d offended.

Lydia shook her head, refusing to speculate about who that someone might be. She took some deep breaths, then went into the kitchen to feed Reggie and call Barbara.

“Lydia, I’m so glad you’re home! Did you hear the news?”

Lydia sank into the comfort of Barbara’s concern. “I just heard. I’m still reeling from it.”

“I called you at Meredith’s this afternoon, but you were out. I didn’t leave a message as I didn’t want to upset you. Detective Molina agreed.”

“Oh?”

Her suspicion and jealousy must have come through, because Barbara laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re not carrying on behind your back. He stopped by after they finished going over the crime scene to ask me when I’d last seen Marshall, etcetera. He asked if I knew where you were and when you were expected back. I told him I thought around eight tonight.”

“Merry and Jeff were delayed. The weekend was a success. They’re happy with each other.”

“They can thank you for that.”

“Who killed him, Barb? I get dizzy running through the many possibilities. And you can add Roger Patterson to the list.”

“Really? I know they didn’t especially like each other, but I never heard they quarreled.”

“When they were plotting to rip us off, they were the best of friends. But a falling out among thieves is a strong motive for murder.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Barbara exclaimed.

Lydia told her about the conversation she’d overheard on Saturday morning. “I considered calling Sol to tell him, but didn’t think it was relevant to Claire’s murder.”

“Maybe not, but the board has to be informed.”

Lydia sighed. “Oh, I’ll inform them all right. Once I catch my breath.”

“Lie down. Take it easy. I’ll speak to you tomorrow,” Barbara said, and hung up.

Lydia stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes. She dozed until the doorbell rang, startling her awake. She bolted upright and moved to open the door. Too late, she remembered the police officer’s warning, but there was no need to worry. Detective Sol Molina stood before her. She wanted to throw herself in his arms, have him hold her close, stroke her head and promise everything would be all right.

His hazel eyes were bloodshot with fatigue. The half smile he offered was more of a grimace as he stepped inside the hall.

“Sorry to be so long,” he said. “You look like you just woke up.”

“And you look like you could use some sleep.”

He nodded. “Marshall Weill is dead and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Come into the kitchen. I’ll put up some coffee.”

“None for me, thanks.”

Puzzled, she led the way to the living room. “Fine. We’ll talk in here.”

She sat on the sofa where she’d been sleeping and puffed up the cushions. He perched, tense and upright, on a nearby chair, notepad and pen in hand.

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Weill?”

Mr. Weill? “Yesterday morning.”

“Where?”

“He and Roger Patterson were conversing on property the HOA’s in the process of buying.” She pointed. “Over there, beyond the woods. They were laying plans to pad building expenses, expenses that would go directly into their pockets.”

“Ah.”

She watched him jot down what she’d said, disappointed that he didn’t seem at all surprised. No doubt he’d found notes or figures on Marshall’s desk and had a good idea what they meant. Still, she couldn’t understand why he was acting so distant and formal. Almost as though he were angry with her.

“Did you speak to either man at the time?”

“No.”

“Did either Mr. Weill or Mr. Patterson notice your presence?”

“Of course not. They certainly wouldn’t have spoken so freely if they had.”

“How did you happen to overhear their conversation at that particular time?”

She glared at him. Did he suppose she was tracking Marshall Weill, for God’s sake? “I was taking a walk. I often take the route that passes by the new property. When I heard voices, I went up to the fence to see who was there.”

He sighed, exasperated. “And afterward?”

Lydia pressed her lips together. “I got furious and called Marshall.”

“Why?”

“To let him know what I thought of him. To tell him what a despicable person he was, and that I had every intention of informing the board of what he and Roger Patterson were up to.”

Sol Molina slapped his knee. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” he said sarcastically. “The man’s a convicted felon. You overhear him arranging another crime so you decide to call to let him know you’re on to his scheme. If that isn’t a death wish, I don’t know what it is.”

“I—” Lydia began, but he gave her no opportunity to explain herself.

“Then there’s the small matter that he might have arranged his wife’s murder. Remember we discussed that the spouse is always the first suspect?”

Lydia nodded, but Sol didn’t notice. His eyes narrowed to slits as he demanded, “Or are you one of those women who were half in love with Weill and willing to use any pretext to call him?”

“Of course I’m not! What a ridiculous idea.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.”

He was relieved, she noted with some pleasure, watching his shoulders relax.

“What did he say when you told him off?”

“Nothing,” Lydia said. “I called three times and got his tape. No, once the line was busy. Anyway, I gave up and left to babysit my granddaughters for the weekend.”

He nodded, a smile on his lips. His smugness made her want to smack him.

“But you know all that, don’t you? My calls must have registered with Marshall’s Caller ID, even though I left no message. And Barbara told you where I was.”

“Regardless, it’s always refreshing to hear verification from the interviewee. What time did you return to Twin Lakes?”

“You know to the minute. Your officer called you as soon as I drove through the gate.”

“You didn’t come back here last night?”

“Certainly not. Why do you ask? Do you suspect me of murdering Marshall Weill?”

Sol shook his head and leaned back into the chair. “Of course I don’t. But, as you pointed out, his caller ID showed you tried to contact him repeatedly yesterday. It’s my job to question everyone who had contact with the victim over the last forty-eight hours of his life.” He gave her a wry smile. “And, in your case, wonder why you didn’t consider this important enough to tell me.”

She felt the blood rush to her ears, no doubt turning them beet red. He had asked her to keep him informed of anything important that happened which might have bearing upon his murder investigation. She’d let him down.

“I was going to call to tell you what I overheard, then realized I had no proof on which you could act.”