Murder as a Second Language (33 page)

I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. I was trying to come up with anything but the obvious when Rick came to the door. “What's wrong, Claire? I thought you wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. Are you going to join in the fun or take a nap?”

“I never pass up an opportunity to snoop with a handsome guy who lies to me so eloquently.” I returned the note to its hiding place and rose with the grace of a cherry blossom.

“I didn't lie to you,” Rick said as we went back to Leslie's office. “I lied to everybody. You just happened to be there—and frankly, my dear, I didn't know if I could trust you. Austin's the only one who's heard the whole story.”

“Is that why you called him to rescue you at the beer garden?”

“At the time, I didn't trust you, but I'd figured out that you're one tough broad. I was afraid that if you tried to pin me down about my mythical cousin in Oregon, I might lose control and get emotional. I didn't trust myself, either.” He gestured at Leslie's computer. “It's password protected, and there's no way I can break into her files.”

I sat down to go through her drawers. The smaller ones had folders of worksheets, class rosters with notes in the margin, a map of the United States, and another folder filled with letters from grateful students. The bottom drawers, one on each side, were locked. “Damn it,” I muttered.

Rick looked up from his squatting position in front of the bookcase. “What?”

“The large drawers are locked, and I didn't see any little keys in Keiko's office.” I rechecked the unlocked drawers and felt underneath the middle one in case she'd taped it there. “We are not going to pry them open, and I don't have my burglary kit with me. Whatever she's hiding is going to stay hidden for now. Let's go.”

“She has a whole lot of government booklets about immigration and citizenship. Is that significant?”

“It would be if you'd been able to discern her password so I could look at her e-mails and files.”

For some reason, Rick took my remark as an insult. “I don't know her. I don't know her birth date, her current and past telephone numbers, her Social Security number, her mother's maiden name, or her wedding anniversary. I don't suppose you have any hackers on call?”

I did, but I doubted Caron and Inez could ferret out the password without the same information. “I don't want to confront Leslie until we have enough evidence for a warrant. She might delete the files.”

“You haven't told me what's in these files or why she's making overseas calls.”

“Because I'm not sure,” I admitted. “I have a very feeble theory, that's all. Let me think about it tonight. Do you have any friends in the CIS?”

“I have a friend in the regional passport office, who's been able to expedite visas for me. I've dealt with people at several American consulates. There's an American Chamber of Commerce in Hong Kong. Bunch of guys in ties that take us out to dinner and offer perks of a licentious nature. The ambassador throws holiday cocktail parties. But the CIS? I've never had anything to do with them.”

“Then you have a homework assignment. See if you can find someone named Waterford who's employed by them. I don't know his first name or where he's located, but you might try Phoenix.” I paused and shook my head. “Not that I know if he works for the CIS. It's one of the more feeble premises in my theory.”

His look had a tinge of dubiousness. “I'll see if I can find out anything. Do you want to swing by the hospital?”

“After that, will you come up with something else to do to avoid meeting Rosie's friend? Have a snack in the hospital cafeteria? See if Sonya's car is parked at Gregory's house? Track down Austin and ask him to come play with us?”

“I know that whatever she says will upset me. We could take a bottle of wine with us as a gesture of hospitality.”

“It's Sunday, and the liquor stores are closed. All right, we'll go by the hospital and say hello to Willie. If you don't want to meet Lilac, you can go home and watch some golf tournament on TV. There's a show about restoring antique motorcycles on later.” A good wife listens to her husband, especially when she needs to sneak out of the house.

“The hospital and this Lilac woman,” Rick said. “What kind of name is that?”

Uninformed about lilacs, I had little to say as we drove to the hospital. Because Sunday afternoon was prime visiting time, we were lucky to find a parking place in the same area code. I felt a distasteful dribble of perspiration in the middle of my back as we trudged uphill to the main entrance. Rick stopped at a desk and ascertained Willie's room number. We rode the elevator with people holding flower arrangements, helium balloons with perky messages, and bags of contraband. The confined space reeked of pastrami.

When the elevator doors slid open, Rick took off confidently toward the ward. I wished we'd stopped in the gift shop for flowers, although Willie might have preferred a discreet flask. I spotted a uniformed officer seated in a chair in the corridor. I was quite pleased when I recognized him as one of the men Peter had sent to supervise Caron's party Friday afternoon. He stood up as we stopped.

“Sorry, no one's allowed to go into this room,” he said.

I gave him a wounded smile. “You don't remember me? You attended a swimming party at my house a couple of days ago.”

“I was on duty, ma'am.” His voice was shaky, and his ears were turning red.

Rick glanced at me, then stepped into the doorway. “Willie, you're looking a lot better. Feeling better, too?”

The policeman opened his mouth, but I said in a low voice, “I haven't told Deputy Chief Rosen about your conduct with the nubile young creatures in bikinis—not yet. We're close friends of the patient, and I think she'll prefer not to have to shout across the room. Don't you agree?”

“I'll have to go in with you.”

“No, you'll have to stay right here. If either of us pulls out an ax, you can spring into action.” I gave Rick a light shove as I entered the room. “Hey, Willie, I'm so glad you're better.”

“They're doing one final round of blood tests just to be sure. If everything's copacetic, I can go home in the morning. This place is gawdawful. The PA system barks all night. When my glucose bag needs to be replaced, the machine beeps like a giant cricket. I seem to be the only one who hears it.” She turned her attention on Rick. “Enough about me. Did you find out anything of significance about … the anomaly?”

“I told Claire, so you can speak openly. I studied the bills yesterday, and something's fishy. I called the overseas numbers, but ninety percent of them were disconnected. I got voice mail with the rest. Will the Literacy Council reimburse me when my telephone bill arrives?”

“Sure, drop the bill in Frances's lap. She'll love it.” Willie studied me for a moment. “Well, Claire, do you think Rick and I are delusional, that we're persecuting poor Gregory?”

“Not at all. He's a crook.”

“Do you think he murdered Ludmila?” she persisted in her sternest courtroom voice.

Had I been in the witness chair, I would have been too terrified to speak. I cleared my throat. “I don't know. It seems to be a matter of who turned on the lights and when.” I would have elaborated, but a nurse came into the room.

“Out, both of you,” she said in a tone devoid of any hint of loving, tender care. She looked capable of lunging at us with a syringe if we dared linger for another second.

The young officer pretended not to notice us as we came out and turned toward the elevator. When we were out of earshot, Rick said, “Who turned on the lights? Really?”

“Could you and Austin see the Literacy Council from your booth at the sports bar?”

“We sat at a table, and the window blinds were closed. Would you care to explain the importance of the lights?”

“I need to explain it to my husband first, but I have to find the right time. He's annoyed because he knows I'm once again meddling in affairs best left to the boys in blue. Not that he wears blue, mind you. He usually wears a suit and tie. He does have a lovely blue dress shirt that goes well with the tie I gave him on his birthday.” By this time, we were halfway to Rick's car. I let my voice fade, but I was prepared to resume rambling if he asked me the same question.

I gave him directions to Lilac's house and then gazed out the window. He made a few innocuous comments about the weather and his bank's softball team. I responded politely. I was relieved to see an SUV parked in the driveway. A man was pulling golf bags out of the rear section, and a woman was carrying a suitcase toward the house. I told Rick to park and then hurriedly got out of the car and caught up with the woman before she reached the front door.

“Are you Lilac Benjamin?” I asked, panting a wee bit.

“You must be Claire Malloy. My daughter texted me yesterday after you left.”

She was a pretty woman, dressed in shorts and a blouse. She wore a visor with the logo of a country club on her short blond hair. Most importantly, she appeared to be a reasonable sort.

“I hope this doesn't distress you, but it's about Rosie Whistler.” I gestured at Rick, who was fidgeting. “This is her cousin, Rick Lester. You may know him as Paddy.”

Lilac stared at Rick. “You're Paddy? I didn't expect to ever meet you. I heard so much about you from Rosie. If she hadn't shown me your letters and postcards, I wouldn't have believed you were real. Can you really dance on the head of a pin?” She dropped the suitcase, barely missing her foot. “Wow, this is such an incredible surprise. You'd both better come inside. My knees are shaking, and I'm light-headed. Is it too early for a glass of wine?”

Rick pretended to frown as he looked at his watch. “About an hour early, but this is an auspicious occasion that merits breaking the rule. Please let me take your arm, Lilac. Where would you like us to sit?” They went into the house.

Dr. Benjamin stood beside the SUV, looking bewildered. I went over to him and explained who Rick was. “He's still grieving for Rosie,” I added. “Talking about her with Lilac might give him closure.” I despise the term “closure,” which is akin to “foreclosure” and implies that the feeling of loss can be erased by slamming a door.

He thought for a moment. “Tell Lilac I'm going to the club to brag about winning our flight.” He leaned the golf bags against the garage door, climbed into the SUV, and drove away. I'd seen pain in his eyes, and I suspected he'd cared about Rosie, too.

I went through the house. Lilac was sitting in a bamboo deck chair on her patio. Rick came out of the house with three glasses of white wine. Once we were settled, I let Rick start the conversation. I was the outsider; I'd never met Rosie. I paid minimal attention as they talked about her childhood antics with Rick, stories that he laughingly denied, stories that made him blush, her delight with a sweater he'd sent from Manila. When I heard Gregory's name, I stopped trying to invent a semitruthful version of how I'd spent the afternoon. Lilac said that she'd liked him initially but had grown to despise him. Rick had harsh things to say. Lilac seconded them. Finally Rick brought up the suicide.

Lilac's eyes grew wet, and her voice was unsteady. “I should have suspected something when Rosie didn't answer my phone calls. She had an appointment with her gynecologist that morning. We were going to have lunch at a new bistro, but she left a message saying she had a headache and needed to take a nap. She was getting migraines frequently. Gregory always dismissed them as hangovers.” Her eyes flickered with anger. “Rosie rarely had more than a glass of wine at parties, and we always drank iced tea at lunch. She told me that Gregory blamed her when he found empty bottles. He drank so heavily at night that he didn't remember in the morning.”

“When did you go over to her house?” I asked.

“Around ten o'clock that evening. I was so edgy that my husband insisted I go check on her.” Now her voice was ragged, filled with pain, and she was trembling. “I wish I could forget what I saw, but the image is etched on my brain. I am so sorry, Rick. I should have gone over right after I heard the message, but I let myself get distracted by the petty tasks that fill my days. When I called at noon, and again late in the afternoon to invite her to dinner, I assumed she was asleep. I'm in therapy, but I still feel so awful…”

He stood up and pulled her to her feet. They hugged tightly. I kept wiping away tears forming in the corners of my eyes. They were mourning. I was seething with fury, but I willed myself not to say something that might add to their grief. I listened to birds and the cries of golfers beyond the tree line, forcing myself to breathe slowly. Rosie had brought joy to their lives; Gregory had brought misery to hers. He'd sapped her self-confidence until she was a beaten puppy.

I thought about what Lilac had said about Rosie having an appointment with her gynecologist. What she'd learned must have been devastating. The autopsy would have indicated a pregnancy. Lilac and Rick had talked about her love of children, and Gregory had told me that she was eager to have babies. Finding out that she was pregnant would not have driven her to suicide. Finding out that she never would be pregnant, however, might have been too much to bear. I kept my thoughts to myself.

Lilac finished her wine in a gulp. “I'm sorry, but I can't handle any more of this today. I haven't even said hello to my kids. Rick, you're welcome to come back anytime. Rosie used to write the funniest things on birthday and Christmas cards, and I'd like to share them with you.” She stood up and attempted to sound normal and brisk, as befitting a suburban wife. “Another time, then. Claire, thank you for bringing Rick. My daughter is still awed. She'll throw a fit when she finds out you were here and I didn't invite her to join us. That's what she deserves for staying in her bedroom texting as if she's trying to set a record for nimble fingers. I don't understand why they don't just call each other and talk.”