An Anniversary to Die For (14 page)

If he could write a thank-you note on the computer, he could write a couple of dozen longhand. “There’s a copy of the guest list right under your desk light. You can just write on it.”

They got to work. Susan pulled bottles of champagne, wine, and liquor from their elegant wrappings. Jed wrote down the salient facts next to the name of the person or couple who had given each gift. They were having a good time, talking about the various vintages, what they would serve them with, who they should invite to share some of the more precious bottles, when Susan found it.

“Jed! Look at this!” She held up a bottle with a fancy label.

“Isn’t that the wonderful white wine we had on our last trip to Lucca?”

“It was. Now it’s an empty bottle.”

“You’re kidding! Is it broken?”

“Nope.” Susan turned the bottle upside down. “Looks to me like it was emptied the normal way. Someone probably used a corkscrew. I just hope it was someone with enough sophistication to appreciate what he was drinking—not one of the kids who were passing appetizers.”

Jed had gotten up from the desk and moved to his wife’s side. “Susan, don’t you think this is a little odd? Don’t you think we should report it?”

“But we don’t know who did it. What do you expect the Twiggs to do? Question their entire staff about one missing bottle of wine? Not that the bottle’s missing—just the contents.” She giggled.

Jed reached in his pocket for a handkerchief and, protecting his fingers, removed the bottle from her grasp.

“You can’t cut yourself. Nothing’s broken,” Susan said, seeing what he was doing.

“Susan, this could be evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“What if this bottle was filled with poisoned wine? What if that’s what killed Ashley?”

“You think someone in Italy . . . Oh, you mean someone opened the bottle at the inn, added the poison, and then served it to Ashley.”

“It’s possible.”

“I guess. Maybe someone invited her to our room, offered her wine that had already been poisoned, and then . . . Oh, Jed, that might be the first concrete evidence we’ve come across!”

“The bottle has to be tested.”

“Of course.”

“That’s why I’m holding it so carefully. We have to get this bottle to the Oxford Landing Police Station as soon as possible.”

“Are you nuts?” Susan jumped to her feet, sending wrapping paper and cards cascading to the floor.

“What exactly were you planning to do with it?” Jed held the bottle away from his grasping wife.

“I thought of maybe mentioning it to Brett.”

“Who would then tell you to call the Oxford Landing Police Department. Or, perhaps, offer to have it taken there by someone from the local department.”

“You don’t know that’s what he would do,” Susan insisted.

“Yes, I do. And so do you.”

Susan frowned. “I suppose. But we don’t want one of our good friends to be a suspect in a murder investigation just because he generously gave us this present.”

“What are you doing?” Jed asked as Susan sat back down and began to rummage around in the papers at her feet.

“Looking for the card.”

“What card?”

“The one that came with that bottle,” Susan answered. “Although I didn’t notice . . .” She reached down and scooped up a white silk bag printed with the image of a white dove. “This is it!”

“What?”

“The bag that bottle came in. Oh, but there’s no note. There wasn’t a card on the outside. I noticed that when I pulled off the ribbon, but some people have put notes inside the bags, and I thought there might be one in here. But there isn’t.”

“So you don’t have to worry about incriminating anyone we invited to the party. Now let’s call Oxford Landing.”

“I don’t know, Jed. This changes things.”

“What?”

“Well, now we not only don’t know who killed Ashley; we don’t know if she was the person who was meant to die.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we don’t know who the bottle is from, but we do know one thing. We know it was in with our gifts. It may have been intended for us.”

FIFTEEN

SUSAN AND JED WERE WALKING THE DOGS AROUND THE block.

“Did we have a real meal today? I know we’ve been eating constantly, but I’m talking about real food. You know, meat and vegetables.”

“Please don’t mention food. Those beasts will start begging again.” Susan reached down and ran her hand over Clue’s solid head. She glanced at the bull mastiffs, striding by Jed’s side. “I’m glad you’re here to walk them. They don’t listen to a word I say. And I’m always afraid they’ll pull me down.”

“They’re actually sweet dogs,” Jed said, trying to untangle the two leashes he held in one hand. “Just a bit overenthusiastic perhaps.”

“Yeah, just a bit,” Susan said as the larger of the mastiffs spied a chipmunk crossing the street and lunged after it.

“You just have to keep control.” Jed jerked on the leash, and the mastiff sat down with a bump. “And you didn’t seem to be bothered by their enthusiasm an hour ago.”

“To be honest, I was thrilled,” Susan said, smiling. The call to Chief Konowitz had brought almost immediate results. He had shown up at their front door, a scowl on his face. But it wasn’t the scowl that had interested the mastiffs. It was the splash of catsup on his uniform shirt. Acting as though they had been starved for years and catsup was their favorite nourishment, the dogs had thrown themselves on the police chief, licking enthusiastically.

Jed had been horrified, Susan thrilled. Like Queen Victoria, Chief Konowitz had not been amused. But he did have a way with dogs. “Sit,” he ordered. The dogs sat, and the Henshaws rushed forward to apologize for the animals. But Peter Konowitz was not interested in hearing their explanations. “I understand you have more evidence in the Marks case,” he stated flatly, staring around the room as though he expected to find yet another body.

“You won’t believe what we found!” Susan said.

“Perhaps what I won’t believe is that you found it,” he had replied ominously as Susan handed the bottle to him.

Fortunately, Chief Konowitz had announced his intention of immediately placing the empty wine bottle in the hands of his forensic team and had departed. “Otherwise,” Susan said, as she and Jed discussed the day’s events, “I might have grabbed that bottle back and used it to hit him over the head.”

“Hon, Peter Konowitz is the best reason I know to stay out of this. He doesn’t like us, and he’ll resent anything you do.”

“I know. I’ll just have to stay out of his way as much as possible. And I know how to do that,” she added earnestly. “Remember, Brett wasn’t all that enthusiastic about my involvement in his investigations to begin with. I used to investigate and avoid Brett at the same time. So I can do that with Chief Konowitz now.”

Jed smiled, but he didn’t say anything.

Susan glanced over at him and laughed. “You’re thinking that he still isn’t always appreciative of my help, right?”

“Right now I’m thinking that after thirty years of marriage, I’ve finally learned to keep my mouth shut.”

“Oh, Jed.”

They continued around the block, but the subject of the murder didn’t come up again.

The Hancock police chief’s cruiser was parked in their driveway, and they could see Brett leaning against the rail on their porch steps as they got closer.

“I wonder . . .” Jed began.

But Susan was a mother. She didn’t wonder anything. She moved straight to panic. “The kids! Do you think there’s been an accident? Come on, Clue,” she ordered, starting to jog.

The mastiffs picked up the chase, dragging Jed behind. They came together on the steps in one lunging, drooling bunch, and by the time Jed had untangled the leashes, Susan had been assured of her children’s safety.

“So what can we do for you?” Jed asked, following the mastiffs into the house.

“I’m actually here to ask Susan for a favor,” Brett explained.

“If you don’t need me, I’ll make sure the dogs have water and then I’ll head on up to bed. Frankly, I’m exhausted. And Sprinkle and Spray are sure to wake us up when Chrissy and Stephen get home.”

“Good idea.” Susan was enthusiastic; she wanted to speak to Brett alone.

“I wanted to speak to you alone,” Brett said, echoing her thoughts as she led him into her living room.

“What’s up?”

But Brett asked a question instead of answering hers. “You’re investigating Ashley’s murder, aren’t you?”

“Well, it did happen in my hotel room, and I know the wrong person is the major suspect, and . . .”

“Susan, I’m not going to suggest you stop. In fact, I’m here to encourage your investigation.”

“You’re kidding.” Well, it was true. There was a first time for everything, she thought.

“No, I’m completely serious.”

“Why?”

“I need your help.”

“I didn’t think Hancock had anything to do with this investigation.”

“That’s not true for a couple of reasons. Sit down and I’ll explain.”

Susan sat and waited.

“In the first place, we rarely reopen a murder investigation without new evidence in the case. But the case of Doug being poisoned was never completely closed. And something else has happened, of course: Ashley was poisoned. Just because her murder didn’t happen in Hancock, there are too many connections to Doug for the cases not to be connected. I think we have a poisoner loose, possibly in Hancock. And I can’t ignore that fact. I can’t directly investigate the Oxford Landing murder, but I can look into the original case again.”

“So you have officially reopened the case.”

“Yes.”

“Who . . . ?”

“Susan, we’re looking everywhere. Into Doug’s present-day relationships and into his past. We haven’t come up with a single thing. Doesn’t surprise me, frankly. We didn’t find any suspects except for Ashley the first time around.”

“So why do you need my help? Do you want me to ask Doug some questions—you know, without him knowing that the answers he’s giving me are going straight to you— or what?”

“What. Remember, I said that I need your help for a couple of reasons.” Brett stopped talking and took a deep breath. “Susan, this is very sensitive. And I can’t tell you how much I hate talking about it. The papers are always full of stories about the Blue Wall—how policemen protect their peers. You know the type of thing.”

“Sure.” She leaned forward, more curious than ever. Did Hancock have a crooked cop?

“I don’t think cops who do bad things should be protected, but you’ve got to understand that being a police officer isn’t like other jobs. And even in a quiet suburb like Hancock, every officer knows that his or her life may depend on a fellow officer. So a reluctance to criticize peers is really self-preservation as well as loyalty.”

Susan understood what he was saying, and the expression on his face showed how difficult it was for him to say it. She only nodded.

“So you must understand that what I’m telling you is completely confidential—and must remain so. I think Kathleen may know something about him, but no one else. I don’t believe I’ve even mentioned this to Erika.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“It’s about Peter Konowitz.”

“Really! I knew there was something odd about him. What did he do? Something illegal, right?”

“No, in fact, Peter did the right thing. It didn’t make him popular. It’s actually made him incredibly unpopular, but he did it anyway. You gotta give him credit.”

“What did he do?”

“Peter’s a stickler for rules. He doesn’t like to see them broken. He doesn’t even like to see them bent.”

“I know that from personal experience,” Susan said.

Brett’s face lost its solemn look for a moment. “That’s right, you do. You and Kathleen and Erika. Well, then you understand a bit. We’re not talking Serpico here. Peter hasn’t been, as far as I know, involved in uncovering anything like police brutality, illegal acts, or racial profiling— all things any good cop hates. Rather, Peter has a habit of noting any little infringement of the rules and then reporting it to his superiors.”

“Sounds like he wouldn’t be a very popular officer.”

“Damn right. He wasn’t liked when he was here in Hancock. I actually suggested that he would be happier moving to a larger, urban department. I thought that if he was around more and more serious corruption, he would focus on that and be . . . well, less of a pest.”

“And more of a conscience to his department,” Susan suggested.

Brett seemed relieved by her words. “Yes, exactly.”

“And did it work?”

“Apparently not. I’ve been asking around. He left Hancock over seven years ago, and I understand he’s worked with five different departments since that time.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Very. Not many cops jump about from place to place. And, while you could look at Peter’s moves as attempts to improve his career, I think there may have been something else involved. I suspect he simply couldn’t get along with his coworkers and was encouraged to leave all his various positions.”

“I gather you’ve contacted people in the other places he worked?”

“No, but over the years, they’ve been in contact with me. You see, I’m on Peter’s resume as a reference. Unfortunately.”

“He couldn’t have used your name without permission.”

“No, I gave it. Years ago when he wanted to leave Hancock, he asked me if I minded being listed as a reference. Since I had suggested that he would be happier someplace else, I didn’t feel I could refuse. Especially as I had never expressed to him my concerns about his ability to get along with his fellow officers.”

“Oh . . .”

“It’s a mistake I’ve never made again. I should have told him outright that he was alienating himself from his coworkers and that it was dangerous, stupid, and arrogant of him. Instead I foisted him off on a precinct in New York City and assumed he would learn his lesson there.”

“I gather he didn’t.”

“Nope. Well, not at least that I know about. And it’s not as though I’ve been following his career step-by-step. But from what I do know, he’s moved to smaller and smaller departments, and I do believe there always have been some questions about his ability to work with his fellow officers. At least that’s the impression I get from the questions that I’m asked by whoever is hiring him.”