Design on a Crime (18 page)

"I remembered you like the Starbucks House Blend." She patted a five-pound sack of my favorite source of caffeine.
"Let me know if it's too weak."

I helped myself to a brimming mugful. I closed my eyes to
savor the aroma and the taste in my mouth. "It's perfect, Ina,
thanks. But you didn't have to go to that much trouble just
for me. I'll drink any coffee, especially in the morning."

"I know that, but your father's told me and Sandy how
much you like this particular kind. It's only a few pennies
more per pound than the regular grocery-store stuff, and it
does seem to wake one up a bit faster."

Yay for a quicker return to full function!

Although I bumbled my way through the meeting, by the
time I adjourned it, the society was still intact and I hadn't
throttled Penny. The temptation had hit more than once
though.

I'd begun to gather the folders of fundraiser info that Sarah
Osborn had put together, when the hiss of gossip came from
my right.

"Did you catch last night's late news?" Penny asked.

I looked over to see whose ear she was bending. I should've
known. Carla Stewart was the town's human repository of
rumor and innuendo, and outright slander and gossip too.

Carla nodded. "Who could've missed you-know-who's
merry widower splashed all over the place?"

"Well," Penny answered, "we all warned Marge about that
gold-digger pretty boy, but she wanted the guy enough to
marry him, no matter what anyone told her."

I should have said something to stop them, but I hated to
miss anything that could help.

"Noreen gave Steve an ultimatum," Carla said.

Penny shrugged. "Sure. She told him it was either divorce
court or the road for him. But he was in no hurry to dump
Marge."

"Why would he be?" Carla countered. "My niece knows
Noreen's housekeeper's daughter, and she says Noreen
wasn't going to share her millions with Steve. She'd had her
lawyer do one of those prenups, and he was only getting an
allowance once they married."

Penny tsk-tsked. "That would crimp his style. Marge
spoiled him with the goodies her money bought."

"A gold digger never falls in love with anyone but himself," Carla added. "Besides the other fool's money, that
is.

"Oh, Steve isn't in love with Noreen any more than he was
with Marge." Penny chuckled. The sound grated on my ears.
"My dentist is the one who did Steve's caps, and she says he
complained plenty about Noreen. He said she was fun for
... well, for kicks, if you get what I mean, but he also said
more than once that he'd never tie himself to that shark in
any way, shape, form, or fashion. And Dr. Worley says that's
how he said it too."

Carla pursed her purple-lipsticked mouth. "I believe it."

I'd had all I could stomach. I fixed them both with my
sternest glare. "I think you should think before you spread
that kind of thing. Gossip's nasty, and it reflects back on those
who pass it on. Besides, Marge hasn't been dead long, and
look at the kind of stuff you're saying about her. Let her at
least rest in peace for a few days."

Penny gave me one of her poisonous looks. "Marge wasn't
much better herself."

My temper did a rapid boil. "Watch what you say about a
woman who can't defend herself anymore."

"She couldn't have defended herself," Penny shot back.
"She didn't have the gall to complain about that gigolo she
married, not without coming across as the biggest hypocrite
of all time."

She'd gone too far. "How can you say that? Marge was no
hypocrite."

"Maybe," Penny conceded, "but she would've been if she'd
complained about her husband's flings. She had no room to
talk."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Are you accusing
Marge of adultery?"

Penny smiled her smarmy, pompous grimace and crossed
her arms. "She was what she was."

I didn't know what to say. I'd never known Marge to be
anything but devoted to Steve, and I said so to Penny.

"Oh no," she answered. "Marge didn't cheat on Steve, at
least not that I know-"

"Me neither," Carla cut in.

I frowned. "Then why ... ?"

"You knew her now," Penny said with an expansive gesture. "It was a while back when she was up to her tricks. For a
while there, it seemed there wasn't an adult male in Wilmont
who she hadn't ... shall we say, sampled?"

Carla chuckled. "Some women even started to drive their
husbands to work, and then they'd pick them up in the evening. That way they were sure the men weren't going off
with Marge."

"That's crazy," I said. "You're so off base-"

"Carla might have exaggerated a bit," Penny said, "but
Marge had a terrible reputation. No one understood why
your sainted mother wanted to have anything to do with
the woman."

I shook my head in disbelief.

"Haley," Bella said, her hand on my forearm. "It's pretty
hard to hear bad stuff about people you love, but Marge
did some crummy things back then. I never understood
why she messed around with married men, but that's the
truth."

"But-"

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't have loved her," Bella
added. "And it doesn't give these two snakes the right to go
smarmy just days after the woman died."

"Give me a break, Bella." Penny huffed and puffed a
bit, then said, "You probably did the same, back when you
looked better than what passes for high-priced models these
days."

Bella snorted. "Thanks for the weird compliment, but I
don't paint myself holier than thou like you two. Marge had
flaws. We all do. Christ's the perfect one, and God forgives
us thanks to him."

'Amen," Ina said, joining the conversation. "And what
you two were just doing is just as sinful, in its way, as what
Marge did."

Carla narrowed her brown eyes. "Fine. If you feel better
calling me a sinner, then fine. But I'll have you know that
Marge was up to her old stuff again."

"No, she wasn't!" I cried before I could stop myself.

"Sure, she was," Carla argued. "My niece said Marge was getting phone calls from some man at weird hours,
times when Steve wasn't around or else had gone to sleep.
Always the same man. And I'll have you know Marge's
housekeeper is my baby sister, Molly. So you can trust everything I say."

"That's it," I said. "I've had it. And besides, I adjourned
this meeting a while back. You'd all better go home. That's
where I'm going. I can't stand any more slander from anyone
else."

Bella ran up as I reached the door. "I'm sorry, Haley. I
wouldn't have said anything about it. They're sort of right.
At least, they're right about Marge's past. It's gonna be hard
for you to accept, but at least people do change when they
get older. We do-sometimes-grow wiser."

I sighed. "Thanks, Bella. I'll keep that in mind."

I did. So much so that I couldn't think of much besides Marge,
the allegations of promiscuity, and Noreen and Steve.

Had either of them killed Marge?

If Steve wasn't willing to give up Marge's generosity,
he might have been driven to murder if Marge found out
about the affair and threatened to kick him out. At the same
time, Noreen might have wanted Steve so much, an obsessive thing, that jealousy might have driven her to kill her
rival.

On my way back to the manse, I remembered the woman
with the endless patience for a wounded soul. Marge hadn't
been the religious kind like Penny and Carla, but I'd always
thought she was a good person. Now, in the last two days,
I'd learned things about her that made me wonder about my mentor. There was that business with Ozzie, and now all this
stuff about adultery too.

Who had Marge really been? And was that what I had to
know to find out who'd killed her?

Who knew?

Not me. I only knew that the more I tried to learn about
the woman I'd admired, the less I seemed to know her.
And the more questions I had. Was I going to have any
answers before it was too late? Before Detective Tsu locked
me up?

I felt iced, numb, scared.

Only time would tell.

Later that evening I followed through on my promise to
check up on Gussie. But rather than telephone, I decided to
drive over. Even if she was still too medicated for a visitor,
I could at least keep Tom company for a while. He always
seemed lost when Gussie wasn't around.

He opened the door at my first ring. "Haley! Gussie
said you might call to see how she was doing, but this is
unexpected."

"I figured you could put up with me for a bit even if she
was too sleepy for a visitor."

"Well, of course I can." He stepped aside. "Come on in."

Even though his words were welcoming, something about
the way he wouldn't meet my gaze told me things weren't
kosher with him. Once I stood in the living room I was redecorating, I faced him.

"What's wrong, Tom? Is it Gussie? Is she worse? Is there
anything I can do to help?"

He turned away. "You're right. Gussie's not well, not a lot
better than this morning. But that's pretty typical. When these
flare-ups hit, it takes her days to get over them."

I watched him fold the day's newspaper into precise rectangles. Then he slipped the bundle into a rack that already
had its share of newsprint, and then some. But when he folded
the quilted throw Gussie used on her legs to keep away even
the hint of a chill, I'd had enough.

"What is it, Tom? Please tell me."

When he faced me, I realized he looked awful. His words
confirmed that he felt as bad as he looked.

"Detective Tsu stopped by earlier today. She had a number
of questions for me, and I hated to answer them."

That sick feeling in the pit of my stomach took hold of me
again. "Why is that? What did she want to know?"

Tom fisted his hands at his sides. "She wanted to know
what I saw the day of the auction."

My flaky stomach was up to its tricks again. I wondered
if I'd make it to the toilet if it turned itself inside out. Still, I
had to know what had upset this kind man.

"What did you tell her?"

He took a deep breath, and only then did he look me in
the eye. "I told her I saw you leave the parlor right after
Marge did, and that not long after that I saw you behind the
house, near the portable toilets, close to where you found
Marge."

I gasped but couldn't talk.

Tom went on. "She wanted to know if I ever saw you
again-before you screamed for help when you found Marge's
body, that is."

"Wha ... what did you tell her?"

"I couldn't lie, Haley. I had to tell her I didn't see you
again. Not until I saw you on the ground by Marge's body.
I had to tell her you were holding the rock she says killed
Marge."

How do I always wind up in this kind of mess? Here, the man
tells me he's practically sealed my fate-a lousy one-and
I have to reassure him that he's done the right thing, that I
don't hold it against him.

Truth is, I don't. How's that for insane?

"Don't let it upset you so much, Tom," I said for about the
zillionth time. "I did leave the parlor right after Marge announced the intermission, and I left because I had to use the
toilet. You did see me back there by the port-a-potties."

"But the policewoman seemed to think that proved you
killed Marge."

"She's been trying to prove it from the start. I didn't do it,
and I'm just going to have to show her."

How? I didn't have a clue.

A clue? You bet I didn't-have one, that is. Was I in trouble
or what?

I went on. "That's up to me, you know. You did the right
thing. You had to tell the truth. Someone else will have to
do the same and remember me at the catering tent. In fact, I should find the guy who sliced my turkey and the girl who
served my pasta salad. They'll remember me."

Tom smiled, with way too much relief. "Oh yes! Of course,"
he said. "I'm sure you'll jog their memories. You're a memorable young woman. I feel so much better now. I couldn't live
with the knowledge that I'd consigned you to jail just because
you went to the bathroom."