Dying Wishes (11 page)

Ginny
quickly gave me a reality check. “Money, that’s the point, and Margaret had a
lot of it. Maybe the terms of her will change somehow if it’s discovered that
she took her own life. Maybe there’s a huge life insurance policy that won’t
pay off in the event of suicide. You can just bet there’s something like that
at work here.”

I
blinked. “If the
Hendersons
are her only living
relatives, won’t they get everything anyway? Maybe not the life insurance if
there’s a suicide clause, but …”

Ginny
interrupted. “I think Faye and Art are very nice people who just want some
closure about their cousin’s unexpected death. That package has confused them
and created a lot of doubts, that’s all. It’s not the
Hendersons
I’m worried about.”

Now
I was really at sea.
“Who, then?”

Ginny
picked up her fork and put it down again. “Faye and Art are the emergency
contacts listed in Margaret’s file. That doesn’t mean they and their daughters
are her only living relatives. Who knows who else may be mentioned in her
will?”

“Gerald
MacRae
knows,” I answered, and she nodded. “There
could be dozens of greedy relatives who come out of the woodwork now that the
death notice has been published. Maybe they already have. And there’s a second
possibility.”

My
head was beginning to throb. “What’s that?”

“What
if Margaret didn’t die of natural causes and didn’t commit suicide? What if she
was killed by someone who wanted it to look like one of those things, and the
package and the advance directive and all of that was just coincidental?”

The
incipient headache blossomed behind my eyes. “Kind of brings us full circle,
doesn’t it?”
 
I rubbed my temples and
tried to think through the pain. “So Gerald
MacRae
was one of Margaret’s closest friends, but he was also her attorney, which
would prevent his disclosing anything to the
Hendersons
except the contents of the will. When is that being read, by the way?”

“I’m
not sure. It was supposed to be next week, according to Faye, but I guess it
will be moved up now.”

I
sat quietly for a while, reviewing the events of the past week and the few
concrete facts we had about them. Margaret Butler had died. She was discovered
two days later and pronounced dead from natural causes by her personal
physician, who also happened to be the on-call physician at Vista View that
night. According to her own advance directive, her remains were immediately
cremated.

We
had now learned of a large and surprising gift of jewelry to her nieces. That
and other clues suggested she may have taken her own life, but why? She might
also have been the victim of a murder that had been made to look like suicide
or a heart attack, but again, we had no legitimate suspects or a motive. Until
we knew more, we were nowhere.

“What
about Angela
Roncaro
?” I asked. The
non sequitur
caught Ginny by surprise.

“What
about her? She died approximately two months ago under similar circumstances.”
Awareness dawned in her eyes.

“Maybe
she and Margaret had other things in common. They both lived here. Dr. Petersen
was their physician, and he signed both death certificates. They both enjoyed
massages administered by Tommy Garcia, according to Bert Rosenthal. What else?”

We
looked at the file cabinets against the wall and then at each other.

“If
anyone finds out that I let you see these files, my tail will seriously be in a
sling.”

“No
one will find out from me.”

In
a minute we had Vista View’s paperwork on Angela
Roncaro
and Margaret Butler spread out before us, the abandoned lunch tray on the
floor. After a few minutes we compared notes.

“You
first,” said Ginny.

“Angela
Roncaro
was a local woman. She owned a house in
Wethersfield for thirty-eight years, but she had outlived her parents, siblings
and spouse, and listed no other relatives in Connecticut. Her emergency contact
was a married son in California. She paid her rent out of a Webster Bank
account. Her physician was Petersen, as we know. She died and was cremated, and
her ashes and personal effects were shipped to the son.” I paused for effect.
“I did find one other similarity between her and Margaret.”

Ginny
circled her fingers in a hurry-up gesture.

“Angela’s
attorney was Gerald
MacRae
, too.”

~

At
half past three I dragged myself into the office, where
Strutter
and Emma had their heads together over an open file on the desk. I dropped my
briefcase and flopped onto the sofa.

“Momma?
You look
terrible.”

“Who
ran you over and left you for dead?”

“Nice,
very nice,” I told them. “Your concern is very touching, but your phrasing
needs some work. I just had the day from hell, and I’m tired, headachy and
hungry. Mostly hungry,” I growled, picturing my beautiful, uneaten lunch in
Ginny’s office.

Wordlessly
they slipped up the stairs and returned bearing sustenance: hot, sugary coffee
from
Strutter
and a container of strawberry yogurt
from Emma.

“It’s
the kind with the fruit on the bottom,” I grumped. Emma removed the lid,
stirred it and handed it back to me.

“Not
any more. Eat.” She and
Strutter
returned to their
file.

I
ate. Actually, it wasn’t bad, or more likely, I was too hungry to care.
Whichever, down it
went.
By the time I got around to
the coffee, I could feel my headache starting to ease.

“Thanks,
that’s better,” I said more civilly.

“Oh,
look at that. She has a little color in her cheeks,” Emma remarked
conversationally.

“Some
lipstick and a comb, and we could probably even take her out in public,”
Strutter
agreed. They abandoned their paperwork and pulled
chairs around to face the sofa. “Spill it,”
Strutter
ordered, “but
make
it quick. I have to pick up Charlie
at the high school before those girls eat him alive.”

I
complied by filling them in on the day’s events with a minimum of
editorializing.

“So
the poor cousins from Kansas are totally confused, and Ginny’s more convinced
than ever that something’s not right about Margaret Butler’s death …”
Strutter
summed up.

“ …
but she’s trying
not to alarm them,” Emma concluded.

I
looked from one of them to the other. “That’s pretty good. Which one of you is
the ventriloquist?”

“Okay,
Mom’s back,” Emma said, rising to retrieve the file. “It’s safe to leave her
now.”

Strutter
checked her watch and leaped to her feet. “Where are my car keys?”

I
stared at them in disbelief. “Wait just a darn minute. That’s all I get? No
thoughts, no advice?”

Halfway
up the stairs, Emma turned back. “I think Ginny’s right about there being
something funny about Margaret’s death. I also think there’s no way in hell
we’re ever going to find out what it is.”

“We
should probably stop trying,”
Strutter
added as she,
too, headed for the stairs. “The only reason we got even peripherally involved
is because Ginny and the
Henstocks
are our friends,
but there’s nothing we can do here.” They both vanished.

“You
want to bet?” I called after them, but the only sounds I heard were the front
door slamming behind
Strutter
and Emma pounding up
the stairs to her office. For a moment I wondered how Emma’s thinking on single
motherhood was progressing, but I decided now wasn’t the moment to ask. She’d
had a long, tough work week and was probably anxious to get out of harness and
join her friends for a well-deserved evening out. I didn’t know where she found
the energy, since I couldn’t even remember having that kind of stamina. I
suppose I must have had it once.

Wearily,
I shuffled papers into order and collected the ubiquitous briefcase, which was
beginning to feel like my personal albatross. Before I could switch the phone
to voicemail and make my escape, it rang. I debated answering but ultimately
picked it up.

“Mack
Realty,” I chirped as brightly as I could manage.
“Kate
Lawrence speaking.”

“Oh,
Kate, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to. I’m so glad I caught you.”

The
voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. “How can I help
you? I was just closing up the office for the day.”

“Sorry,
I hate people who don’t identify themselves on the phone, just expect you to
recognize their voices. This is Bitsy Grant, Margo’s friend. We met this
morning at Vista View.”

Ah,
yes, the taller, blonde one.
“Bitsy, of course.
Don’t
tell me you’ve decided to sell your unit,” I joked lamely. “I’m afraid our
supply is exceeding the demand a bit these days.”

Her
polite laughter was hollow, and I winced at my insensitivity. The woman had
just lost a good friend.

“Janet
and I were wondering if you and Margo might be free for brunch tomorrow
morning. Margaret Butler’s cousins, the
Hendersons
,
are in town and seem to have some new concerns about her death. They’ve made an
appointment to see Janet’s husband Gerald this evening. He was Margaret’s
attorney, you know.” She paused as if interested in my response.

I
did know, but for Ginny’s sake, I wasn’t about to say so. “Is that right?” I
returned noncommittally. “You want to see us about Margaret, then?” We really
didn’t even know her to talk to, I’m afraid.”

“In
a roundabout way it is about Margaret,” Bitsy replied. “The thing is, as the
sales reps for Vista View, you and your partners must be a bit worried about
the effect the deaths of two of our youngest residents might have on sales.
Since Janet and I both serve on the residents’ committee, we thought it might
be worthwhile to put our heads together and see if we can come up with a way to
put everyone’s minds at ease.”
Again, the laugh that didn’t
ring true.

I
thought quickly.
Strutter
had to drive Charlie to yet
another game, but Margo could join us if she moved one appointment around. “As
a matter of fact, I am free tomorrow, and I know Margo would love to see you.
Shall we say the Town Line Diner at eleven?”

“Perfect,”
Bitsy agreed a bit too enthusiastically. “We’ll see you then.”

Curiouser
and
curiouser
.
I switched on the voicemail system, turned off the lights and trudged up the
stairs. Well, I thought, what with one thing and another, at least I hadn’t
thought about turning fifty all day. As if on cue, a tsunami of a hot flash
rolled over me, and sweat broke out on my scalp. Shouldn’t have tempted fate, I
reflected as I secured the door and headed for my car.

Nine

“I’m
not sure why we’re even talking to you about this except that Margo said you’ve
been involved in one or two unofficial inquiries over the years. We thought you
might have taken an interest in our little situation at Vista View,” said Bitsy
the next morning.

The
four of us were ensconced in one of the Town Line’s window booths a discreet
distance from the other late breakfasters. A gray rain dripped persistently,
which didn’t encourage the locals to make any unnecessary stops on a Saturday
morning. Charlie’s soccer game would probably be postponed, I thought, apropos
of nothing. I’d had a restless night and felt strangely lethargic. I forced my
attention back to Bitsy.

“It’s
not as if we have a reason to go to the police, or of course we would.” She and
Janet regarded Margo and me uncomfortably from their side of the booth. “We’re
just trying to understand how our friend could simply get up from the bridge
table on a Thursday evening, walk out the door and expire in her bed at some
point over the ensuing two days. Dr. Petersen, who signed the death
certificate, specified natural causes, but it seems completely unnatural to
us.”

Janet
nodded her agreement. “We don’t want to accuse anyone of anything, but for our
own peace of mind we need some clarity about this. Margaret was as fit as
either of us. She may even have been in better shape. She watched her diet like
a hawk, played tennis and golf, took yoga classes, got plenty of rest. She
traveled, had lots of friends and interests.” She looked at Bitsy. “What else?”

“That’s
about it, but you have to admit that with that profile, her death seemed
premature, to say the very least.”

I
smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “I can understand how upsetting
this must be for you, but physically fit people die unexpectedly all the time.”