Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) (16 page)

“His name’s Johnny Scarvino.”

He frowned. “Now why does that name sound familiar?”

I felt a tingling of excitement as I told him what Felicity had told me about Johnny Scarvino, plus what I’d found out about his father being in prison for killing a Mafia leader and his wife.

“You’ve been a busy little researcher,” he said dryly. “Does anyone know what you’ve been up to?”

“I was about to tell Joy when she asked me to baby sit for Brandon. Zack got hurt at school, and she had to bring him to the ER.” My face grew warm as I told him what I’d come across in Mike’s diary.

“But Mike had nothing to do with Len Lyons‘ murder,” I exclaimed. “He told me so in the high school pool tonight.”

Brian burst out laughing. “Add two more to the list of people who want you to mind your own business.”

I stared at him, horrified. “Mike and Joy would never throw a rock through my window.”

“Well, someone did.” He stood up. “Time to clean up the glass and tape the window shut, and get whatever sleep we can catch. I’ll question everyone you ticked off in the morning.”

It was close to five o’clock when we finished cleaning up the glass shards and crept into bed. I left a message with the English Department secretary that an emergency prevented me from coming in for my classes, but that I’d be able to attend the department meeting later that afternoon. My plan was to call a glazier and have him install a new window before I left the house. I slept until ten-thirty, not surprised to find myself alone. I smiled when I read Brian’s note:

“I fed the feline and called this glazier I know. He’ll be over soon as he can. B”

I grinned. Fed the cat and called the repairman. What more could a girl ask for?

The doorbell rang, and I went to let in the glazier and his two assistants. We spoke about cost and insurance. I called the insurance company, then I showered and got dressed.

The workmen finished around one, leaving me enough time to go food shopping before my department meeting. I walked across the street and rang Mrs. Seidman’s bell. The old woman came to the door and squinted up at me.

“Is that you, Lexie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Seidman. Did you hear the noise last night?”

She shook her head vigorously. “Nope. Heard nothing. Why, what happened?”

“Someone took your dog statue and tossed it through my front window.”

Mrs. Seidman pursed her lips. “it must be those hooligans who live down the block. During the summer, they moved it to Joy and Mike’s front yard.” She cocked her head. “So where is Winston? Didn’t you bring him home?”

“The police have him. They’re checking for fingerprints.”

“Good!  Maybe this time they’ll catch those bad kids and throw them in juvie hall.”

“I hope so. Good-bye, Mrs. Seidman.”

I turned around and crossed the street.

“Lexie.”

Corinne waved at me from her driveway, taking me by surprise. The Roberts sisters had moved into an undisclosed hotel a few days after the shooting. Corinne had probably stopped by the house just now to pack up some of their possessions.

I made a beeline for my front door. I wanted nothing to do with Corinne. She’d accused me of interfering in her family’s privacy when I was only trying to help Felicity. For all I knew, she’d tossed Winston through my window.

“Lexie!” she called again as she dashed across my lawn. I’d unlocked the door and was stepping inside when she grabbed hold of my arm.

“Lexie, I’m sorry about the other day. I know you only wanted to help us. I had no business attacking you as I did.”

I met her gaze straight on. “Why did you?”

Corinne hunched into herself. For the first time, I saw the family resemblance she shared with Felicity—the same well-shaped nose and perfectly sculpted chin. When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes.

“My sister and I have been through so much because of—that person. We know from experience that calling the police to chase after him only makes matters worse. It incites him to commit more spiteful acts.”

“Shooting up your home is more than a spiteful act. He could have killed one of you.”

Corinne nodded. “He must have seen my picture in the paper.”

“Johnny Scarvino?”

Corinne gave a start. “Felicity told you his name.”

I nodded. “She told me you used to go out with him.”

She gave a sad little laugh. “What a mistake that was.”

“Is that why he did it? Is he stalking you?”

Corinne nodded. “I can’t even tell you where we’re staying. I’ve put the house up for sale. A realtor’s holding an open house this weekend.”

“Corinne, you can’t let him drive you away! Let the police handle it.”

She shook her head. “He’s too wily for the cops. There’s no stopping Johnny Scarvino when he sets his mind to something.”

“But you need police protection!”

She let out a humorless bark of laughter. “Went that route. Let me give you my cell number.”

I pulled out my cell phone and entered her number.

“Don’t give it to anyone, all right?”

“Of course not.”

Corinne pointed at my bay window. “What the hell happened?”

“Someone tossed Mrs. Seidman’s dog statue through my window in the middle of the night. She thinks it was the kids down the block.”

Corinne shook her head. “First the murder, then attacks on both our houses. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving this neighborhood,” she tossed over her shoulder as she headed for home.

Maybe moving wasn’t a bad idea, at all.

It was a relief to find myself sitting in a roomful of my colleagues amid humdrum discussions of finance, syllabus changes, and new directives from the administration. The rise and fall of familiar voices lulled me into a state close to oblivion. No smashed windows, threatening repo-type men or murderers on the loose. But a drifting mind pays the consequences. Lorrie Pruitt, my sly department chairman, took advantage of my inattention and I found myself heading a committee for students with special needs. I gulped to attention, nodded my reluctant agreement, and said I’d get moving on it ASAP.

Joy called me the minute I hit the Northern State. “Can you talk?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. What’s up?”

I braced myself for a tirade for having cornered her hubby at the pool, only it never came. Mike must have felt guilty for even considering getting a loan through Len Lyons and didn’t tell Joy I’d checked him out as a suspect.

“What’s up?” she tossed back at me. “I saw the glazier at your house. This is the first free moment I’ve had to call.”

“Oh, that.” I drew in a deep breath. “Someone heaved Mrs. Seidman’s pooch statue through my window in the early hours.”

“Do the police know who did it?”

“I haven’t spoken to them in the past few hours. It could be any number of people—that Pete Rogers who’s after Gayle, the murderer running loose around town.”
Your husband, pissed because I considered him a murder suspect.

“I heard about Tim. Isn’t it awful?”

“Terrible,” I agreed. “Do you think the two murders are connected?”

“Could be. Come over soon and tell me what you were so excited about yesterday.”

I sighed. “Now I wonder if it’s relevant. It’s like the Wild West around here. I can’t believe everything’s related.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Zack’s feeling better,” Joy said. “Of course I kept him home from school.”

“I’m glad he’s okay.”

“How’s Gayle doing?”

“All right, I hope. Brian escorted her to a safe house last night.”

“Where she’ll be safe,” Joy pointed out. “Now we have to work on keeping you safe. Step number one: stop asking questions.”

Joy’s words shot out like a warning. A chill ran down my spine. “Why do you say that?”

“Why do you think, dummy? The note.”

I braked hard at the red light and, despite the belt across my chest, jerked forward in my seat. “Who told you there was a note?” I demanded.

“Who do you think? Your boyfriend. Brian asked Mike and me to keep an eye on you.”

Which he wouldn’t have done if he considered Mike a suspect. But how humiliating—friends being asked to watch out for me like I needed a baby sitter! I was caught between being annoyed by Brian’s presumption and happy that he cared.  Happy won out. I felt a huge smile break out on my face.

“I won’t go snooping,” I promised.

“We’ll talk and figure out what we can do,” Joy said. “Tonight, if you’re free.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Right now I want to run something by you.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Our book club’s scheduled to meet to discuss one more Josephine Tey mystery.”

“Right.
Miss Pym Disposes
next Wednesday.”

“Do you think I should hold the meeting?”

“I don’t see why not.”

I let loose a sigh of exasperation. “Joy, Tim’s dead. The Roberts sisters are talking about moving. Our group is dwindling.”

“A meeting’s a great idea. It will take people’s minds off reality. Shoot off emails as reminders. Include that I’ll be bringing a red velvet cake and lemon squares. That will hook them for sure.”

The wisdom of her words made me smile. “Joy, you’re a treasure.”

I drove home slowly, trying to sort through everything that had happened since we’d met to talk about
The Daughter of Time
. Two murders—three if I included Gayle’s boyfriend—and two houses vandalized. It was like living in a battle zone. However, Joy was right. A book club meeting would take our minds off these awful events. I’d start emailing everyone as soon as I got home.

But first I needed to stop for groceries. I turned onto Main Street and parked in the lot behind our most popular supermarket.

Chips and dip, I told myself, mentally preparing for our next meeting and my future dinners. Cheese. Bagels and bialys. Cat food. Chicken breasts. Why hadn’t I written out a list?

Because I’d been occupied with more serious matters was why. Which left me with the time-eating task of rolling my cart up and down each aisle, starting at fresh produce. I tossed a package of salad, a head of broccoli, and an acorn squash into my cart, then zipped around to the next aisle. A large woman stood with her face pressed into the cereal boxes as she sobbed her heart out. With a pang, I recognized her.

“Marge?” I hesitated before patting her broad back. It felt surprisingly muscular.

She gave a start. “What?”

I apologized. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Marge wiped her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. “They took him away.”

The bawling started again.

“You mean…Evan?”

“Ye-e-e-s-s.”

“The police took him?”

She nodded vigorously.

It clicked. “They took Evan in to question him about Tim’s murder?”

“I told that Detective Donovan, the one you brought to the Halloween Party, that the only gun we ever owned was a rifle. And Evan gave that to our neighbor when we moved to Long Island. But it made no difference. He nodded and thanked me, then dragged poor Evan down to the station. I didn’t know who to call to act as our lawyer since Tim was our lawyer, kind of.”

She sniffed. I rummaged in my pocketbook for a tissue. She took it and blew her nose loud enough for people two aisles over to hear.

“How could they think Evan killed Tim?” I said. “That’s crazy.”

“Your boyfriend saw them arguing at the Halloween party. But that was
weeks
ago.” She glowered at me. “Why did you have to bring him to the party?”

I shrugged, not having an answer she’d appreciate. Instead, I asked, “What were they arguing about?”

Marge scrunched up her face and hunkered down, then gestured that I join her. I felt foolish, huddled as if we were two football players setting up a play, but I had to know.

“We weren’t getting any results from that fellow Tim had set us up with to bring our granddaughter to the States. The guy wanted more money. He said he had to pay off more people than he realized. Also, he would have to go back to Peru, which he claimed was highly dangerous.” Marge gave a grunt of frustration.

“We told Tim, and he agreed to speak to the guy. He came back to say if we wanted our granddaughter we had to pay another ten thousand dollars, which we were to give to Tim.” She shook her head. “I never saw Evan so furious. We’d paid that fellow forty thousand dollars already. Evan got to thinking Tim was in on the scam to squeeze us for more money.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“Wow is right,” Marge agreed. “At the party, Evan told Tim he wouldn’t pay another cent. He accused Tim of cashing in on our misery.”

“And then someone shot Tim to death,” I mused.

“Turns out Tim was as crooked at Len Lyons.”

“Do you really think so?” I asked.

Marge bit her lip. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, except I know my husband didn’t kill Tim. I think Tim and Len both stiffed someone and that person got very angry and killed them both. That’s what I think.”

“Could be you’re right,” I said.

At home I put away the groceries, then composed an email regarding our next mystery book club meeting, making it as appealing as I knew how. I mentioned Joy’s home-made goodies, and said we needed to be together in companionship at this time of stress and sadness to escape the harsh realities fate had bestowed upon us.

But who would come? Tim was dead. Corinne and Felicity planned to move ASAP. Evan was Suspect Número Uno. Sadie was in mourning.

Unless she’d killed Tim. Now what made me think that? Sadie and Tim appeared to be a happy couple at the Halloween party. But they both had had financial dealings with Len Lyons. What Marge told me made me wonder if Tim was taking over where Len Lyons had left off—scamming people who needed his services. Sadie was compassionate the way a good guidance counselor should be. But she also was accustomed to living above her means.

I sent my email into cyber space and picked up the ringing telephone.

“Hi, Lexie, it’s Sadie.”

For a moment I was afraid she’d read my mind and had called to insist she was innocent.

“I was talking to Tim’s sister about the funeral. Moira asked me to call some of his friends regarding the arrangements.”