A Murderer Among Us (3 page)

Lydia’s hand flew to her pounding heart. “I didn’t kill Claire Weill! Why should I? Besides, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to use my own car!”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “That might be considered a stroke of genius.”

Lydia gasped. This detective managed to twist whatever she said into a damning statement.

“And you left the ignition key magnetized to the car,” he went on casually as if they were discussing the weather, “accessible to anyone.”

“Anyone” included her. Lydia felt the blood rush to her ears.

“Mrs. Taylor vouches for you,” Molina murmured. “She claims she was up most of the night and that you tended to her each time she awoke.” He allowed a small smile to brighten his face. “She places you somewhere between Mother Teresa and an angel.”

Lydia brushed the compliment aside. “You’ve been checking up on me.”

He raised his eyebrows. Now his eyes appeared darker—light brown with flecks of green. Of course! They were hazel, not green, and changed color according to his mood.

“Despite her good intentions, Mrs. Taylor can’t account for your actions when she finally slept—from about five-thirty until a few minutes before nine.”

So, she was a suspect.

“What about the guard on duty at the gatehouse? Didn’t he notice my car coming or going?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What do you do next?”

Her question caught him by surprise, but he covered it quickly. “We continue to question everyone who knew Claire Weill.”

“I suppose you’ll focus on people who live at Twin Lakes, since they had easy access to my car.”

“Who knew of your habit of leaving your key under the fender?”

She shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I found the magnetic key chain about ten days ago when I was unpacking. Anyone might have noticed where I put the key whenever I parked near the clubhouse. Or no one.”

Lydia bit her lip, wishing the last three words hadn’t slipped out. “Never offer information,” Samantha always said. Not that Lydia had ever needed such advice before today.

Molina shrugged as though her last comment were of no importance. “It’s a common if unwise practice to leave a car key where you did. It’s like leaving a house key under a planter. Actually, some people can start up a car without a key, though that’s getting more and more difficult, with all the safety features they’re installing.”

Was he trying to make her feel better or was he pretending? Did he want to put her at her ease so she’d confess?

Reggie sauntered into the kitchen. He rubbed his tawny body against her legs, purring loudly.

“Excuse me. I have to feed my cat.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” Lieutenant Molina bent down to stroke Reggie’s back. To Lydia’s immense surprise, the cat rolled over and waited to have his belly rubbed.

“He doesn’t do that with anyone but me!” she exclaimed, ashamed of the note of injured pride that had crept into her voice.

“I have three of my own,” Molina said.

She’d no sooner set a plate of treats down on Reggie’s placemat when her phone rang.

“Lyddie, it’s me,” her sister said. “What’s up? I’m due in court in five minutes but your message frightened me. You sounded absolutely frantic.”

Lydia eyed Molina as he headed for the living room corner he favored, already deep in conversation on his cell phone. She drew in a breath and began. “Warren Mannes is living here at Twin Lakes. He’s changed his name, and he’s the HOA’s financial advisor.”

“In which case he’s breaking the law and a condition of his early release. He lost his license to advise and handle another party’s finances for ten years and a day. He can reapply, of course, but not for four years.”

“Sammy, listen to me!”

Detective Molina turned from his own conversation and eyed her curiously. Lydia lowered her voice and explained why Detective Molina was questioning her.

“Oh, Lydia, how awful! Don’t say another word to this cop. I have a friend in Manhattan—a brilliant criminal lawyer. Take his number and call him ASAP.”

“Okay.” She reached for a pen and pad. “Shoot.” Too late, she realized that wasn’t the best expression to use, given the circumstances, but Molina was talking too intently into his cell phone to look her way.

Samantha rattled off the name and number. “Jack’s a good friend from law school. Call him any time. They must be a bunch of fools if they think you could do anything like vehicular homicide.”

Lydia sighed. “I can’t help thinking she’s dead because I spilled the beans about her husband’s past. Mannes is handling some residents’ portfolios, too. Could be he’s been skimming money, and the victim decided to pay him back.”

“I doubt anyone would go after his wife for his thievery. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why did the murderer use my car? Even if he noticed I kept the key under the fender, he took a chance being seen.”

“Oh, Lyddie, you’re not doing that again!”

“Believe me, I’m tossing that magnet key chain in the garbage—as soon as the police finish checking it for fingerprints.”

“But it explains why he took your car.”

“Which makes me feel guilty.” Lydia sighed deeply. “Any way you look at it, I helped cause that poor woman’s demise.”

“You didn’t, Lyddie! Get a hold of yourself!”

“The only way I can get a hold of myself is to find out who killed her.” Lydia gave a snort of disgust. “Suspect Number One is always the husband. In this case, for good reason. Mannes is a thief and a runaround.”

“Leave the investigating to the police. Promise me you won’t get involved!”

“I’ll just talk to residents. Learn what I can about the Mannes/Weills.” She glanced at Detective Molina still on his cell phone. “I bet I can find out more than some male cop trying to sniff out secrets.”

“Don’t, Lyddie! Asking questions is dangerous. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. I love you more than anyone in the world!”

“Nothing will happen to me,” Lydia said firmly, touched by her sister’s unusual burst of emotion.

“Keep your doors locked and don’t go anywhere alone in the dark.”

“I’ll be careful. Speak to you soon.”

She hung up as Detective Molina returned to the kitchen. Talking to Samantha had bolstered her confidence and enabled her to ask what she’d been dreading to put into words.

“Are you considering me a suspect, Lieutenant Molina?”

Molina raised his eyebrows. “How can I answer that, Mrs. Krause? We’ve yet to determine whether this was a hit-and-run or an intentional murder. If it was, in fact, your car that struck Mrs. Weill.” He shrugged. “But if this case turns out to be a homicide, you had a motive of sorts, the weapon, and an alibi a good prosecuting attorney could rip to shreds.”

“Well!” Lydia exclaimed, her confidence evaporating like raindrops on a hot summer day.

He nodded to her. “That’s it for now. Thank you for your cooperation. I’d like to know you’ll be available the next few days. In case I have more questions.”

“I’ll be here. You took my car, remember?” she said, trying for levity.

“So we did.” He turned to leave.

“By the way, that was my sister on the phone. She told me Mannes lost his investment advisor’s license when he went to prison. He’s violating that with impunity.”

“It sure sounds that way.” Molina pulled out his notepad and wrote a few lines. When he was finished, he said, “Good-bye, Mrs. Krause. We’ll be in touch.”

Fatigue washed over her like a giant wave. Lydia went into her bedroom. She longed to crawl under the covers and sleep the day away. But she couldn’t. She had to make sense of what was happening. Claire Weill had been killed, accidentally or on purpose. And if it proved to be murder, Detective Molina had made it clear that she was a suspect.

Who killed Claire Weill? As an executive, Lydia had become adept at finding solutions to complex problems. Solving a murder couldn’t be that different, could it? What she needed were facts, information. Who hated Claire? Who hated her husband? Who wanted Claire dead? Did Warren/Marshall do it?

Lydia reached for a pad of paper and a pen, and was about to jot down her ideas when the doorbell rang.

“Damn!” she exclaimed. “What now?” She considered ignoring the intrusion when the bell sounded more insistently. She peered through the glass panel and groaned when she saw her next-door neighbor. Peg noticed her and waved.

Reluctantly, Lydia cracked open the door. “Hello, Peg. I really can’t talk. I’ve been up all night.”

Peg’s rabbity eyes gleamed with excitement. “I stopped by to make sure you’re okay.” She lowered her voice. “I saw the police car in your driveway. I knew it was that detective. His men are questioning practically everyone in Twin Lakes.”

“Did you see anyone take my car this morning?” Lydia asked.

“No—sorry. I went outside for my newspaper about eight-thirty, but didn’t so much as glance at your driveway. I told all that to the policeman who just left my house. Poor Claire.”

“Yes, poor Claire,” Lydia agreed.

Peg reached out to touch her arm. “I hope the police don’t think you had anything to do with this tragic accident.”

“Actually, I believe I’m one of their chief suspects.”

Peg gasped. “How awful!” A sly expression crossed her features. “It was eerie, how you recognized her husband after all these years.”

Lydia pressed her lips together. “I wasn’t likely to forget his face.”

“Really? Why?” When Lydia didn’t explain, Peg went on. “People are upset about the way you broadcast his past history. You can’t imagine the to-do after you left last night.”

“Oh, yes, I can,” Lydia answered wryly. “Sally Marcus, who was all smiles and good cheer when I first met her, gave me the cold shoulder this morning.”

Peg shrugged. “Friends of the Weills think you should have kept what you know to yourself. I’m sure Marshall learned his lesson and put all those shenanigans behind him.”

“That’s being naive, Peg. For all we know, he killed his wife.”

Peg looked at Lydia as if she’d accused the Pope of going out on a date. “How ridiculous! Marshall’s not capable of hurting anyone, much less Claire. They were deeply devoted to one another.”

Lydia stiffened. “The man’s a Lothario—as deceitful as they come.”

“How can you say that? You hardly know him!”

“I’ve no idea if he killed his wife or not, but I intend to find out.”

Peg blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Someone made a big mistake when he used my car to kill Claire Weill. I won’t stop till I find out who he is. Good-bye, Peg. I have work to do.”

Three

Now that she was finally alone, Lydia found she was too restless to do much of anything. Last night’s encounter with the Mannes/Weills followed by Claire’s death had shocked her system. Though thoroughly exhausted, she was much too agitated to nap. If she closed her eyes, she feared she’d see herself in prison garb, sitting on a thin mattress in a cell. God, what had she gotten herself into?

She made herself a cup of tea, then settled down at her desk in the den to pay bills. The phone rang. “Hello?”

No answer. It happened again. Disgusted, Lydia disconnected the phone. She reconnected it fifteen minutes later. Immediately, it started to ring.

“Hello!” she thundered.

The caller identified herself as Viv Maguire, a good friend of the Weills. Lydia recognized the raspy voice of Claire Weill’s staunch supporter.

“You killed a wonderful woman. I’ll see that you pay for it!”

Shaken, Lydia hung up. She had to get away from Twin Lakes. She opened the residents’ directory and dialed Barbara’s number. When Barbara answered, Lydia gave a gasp of relief.

“Barbara, it’s Lydia. Lydia Krause.”

“Just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Barbara was gone for such a long time, Lydia was beginning to think she had no intention of speaking to her. She was about to hang up when Barbara came to the phone sounding breathless.

“Sorry, Lieutenant Molina just left. How awful, Lydia, that someone took your car and killed Claire while she was out jogging.”

“Yes.” Lydia’s heart pounded like a jackhammer. “What did he want?”

“To talk about you, about last night. I don’t know why, since I told the other policeman all I knew. But some of his questions were a bit different.”

Lydia heard herself panting. She was hyperventilating. “How different?”

“For one thing, he found it odd that I knew nothing about the incident between you and the Weills in the ballroom. I explained I was too sick to discuss anything and you were too busy looking after me.”

“Did he ask anything else?”

“Let’s see—was I sure you’d spent the night. I told him you most certainly did. I knew since I was up most of the night.”

But not early in the morning. Molina was right. Barbara gave her a partial alibi at best. “Barbara, I was wondering. Are you busy right now?”

“I was going to run to the supermarket, but that can wait.”

Suddenly an ordinary trip to the supermarket was as appealing as a weekend in Paris. “Would you mind if I came along? I could use a few things.”

“Of course, Lydia. I’d be happy for your company.”

“The truth is I’ve received some unpleasant phone calls. I’d like to leave the house, but the police impounded my car to examine it for clues.” She shivered. “Not that I want to set foot in it ever again.”

“Poor Claire, killed—for God knows what reason. And poor you—to be embroiled in this mess when you’ve just moved in.”

“Thanks, Barbara.”

“I’ll come by in half an hour.”

A shower did much to revive Lydia’s spirits. She got dressed and decided to wait outside for Barbara. An old Cadillac slowed down as it approached her house. Lydia jumped out of the way as the driver swung erratically onto her driveway, partly missing it, cutting a deep rut in the lawn.

Was someone out to kill her? Lydia wondered, about to dash back into the house and phone Molina. She paused as a woman with short, iron-gray curls peered out at her from the driver’s window.

“Are you Lydia Krause?” the woman asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I am.” No longer afraid, Lydia moved closer to the car.

The woman looked over one shoulder then the other. Satisfied, she spoke in the same low voice. “I want to commend you for exposing Marshall Weill. You did a mitzvah, putting a stop to his shenanigans. Now he won’t dare fleece any more people of their life savings.”