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Authors: Ann Ripley

Summer Garden Murder (21 page)

BOOK: Summer Garden Murder
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“Not a happy pair these days, are they?” said Bill. “Though they probably don't look any different than other couples sitting in front of mindless television, not connecting, zoning out ...”
Louise felt a twinge of guilt about the two men, as if she were responsible for the cooling of their relationship. “Let's move on. We can go through the backyards of the Mougeys and the Radebaughs.”
As they made their way through the Mougey yard, Louise couldn't help but peek at their friends Richard and Mary. The view here was obscured only by a little grove of see-through amelanchiar trees. They were cuddled on a couch in the family room, Richard's morose head in Mary's lap, watching a rerun of
Law & Order
.
“They look like newlyweds,” murmured Bill.
“They know how to do it,” said Louise.
“Do what?”
“Do marriage.”
“So, don't we?”
She squeezed his hand. “Of course. That's taken for granted.”
“Just don't take me for granted.”
She drew closer to him, pushed his cap back on his head and gave him a soft kiss. “I try not to, honey.”
“Mmm,” said Bill, nuzzling her neck. They approached the Radebaugh backyard, but there was no sign of the occupants, Ron and Nora. Louise pointed to a dim light in a room whose draperies had been drawn. “That's the master bedroom.”
“Damned good sign,” said Bill. “Keep your fingers crossed for my friend Ron.”
“We can skip the Kendricks, I think,” said Louise. “I saw Roger and Laurie go out for the evening. They're probably not home yet.”
“Fine. Then that just leaves your quarry—Mike Cunningham and Lee Downing.”
She aimed an elbow at him as they continued through the woods. “It's annoying sometimes how well you can see through me. But I also thought it was good that we looked in on Phyllis Hoffman.”
“Indeed,” said Bill in a droll voice, and she couldn't tell whether or not he meant to tease her. “We snooped in on a woman consulting a lawyer.”
“And rifling through files. Don't forget the files.”
“So, here we are at Cunningham's house. Which way d'you want to go in?”
“Let's stay in back,” said Louise. “It's safer. Head for that light. It's faint, but it's a light.” With Bill again using the small flashlight, they carefully approached the house.
They slid their way through some thick scrub brush until they were ten feet away from the room with the light. They could just barely make out the shapes on the couch, turning, writhing. Suddenly, one shape sat up and turned up the dimmer switch on a nearby table lamp. Now the couple was in plain sight. Hilde Brunner's long hair was strewn carelessly around her face, her bronzed legs in short shorts intertwined with the legs of Mike Cunningham. Cunningham's hair, too, was disheveled, and his shirt halfway out of his pants. Hilde leaned against Cunningham, ruffled his hair further and appeared to be laughing at him. The attorney made a move with his hand toward Hilde's breasts, at which point she leaped from the couch and threw her hands up in dismay—the classic damsel-in-distress pose.
“We've seen enough,” said Louise.
Her husband mumbled. “Let's go home.”
Louise realized later what a mistake it was, but at the time it seemed logical to continue around the back of Cunningham's house and exit through the front yard. When they got there, they heard the front door slam and saw Hilde run down Cunningham's front walk, apparently heading for her studio apartment at the Swansons'.
Unfortunately, Louise hadn't known what was going on behind Cunningham's newly installed Leyland cypress hedge at the front of the house. She and Bill were making their way through the darkness and had only twenty feet to go before reaching the sidewalk when Louise bumped into something hard. The whole world appeared to be falling, including her. She could feel the black scarf ripping away from her neck as Bill grabbed her before she toppled over with a concrete object.
It stood almost as tall as Louise and Bill on top of a pedestal of some kind and fell to the ground with a crash. Bill dared a quick glimpse with the pinpoint flashlight. “We've totaled a classical statue of a lady in loose garments.”
“Oh, no,” said Louise, “it's a fountain.”
Bill turned the light on the broken statue once more. “I think we'd better get out of here. We can settle up later with Cunningham, maybe make an anonymous donation to pay for the thing.”
They scuttled across the cul-de-sac and into the confines of their own deep woods. Putting her hand to her throat, she realized her scarf had been torn off. She decided not to tell her husband.
Once safe in the tall sweet gums, they turned and looked across the street. The noise had brought Mike Cunningham to attention. His front porch light was on, and although they couldn't see him through the trees, Louise guessed he was standing there viewing the damage to his concrete work of art.
A little voice inside her said,
Serves him right for bringing such a tacky ornament into our neighborhood.
To Bill, she said, “Let's go in and not worry about it tonight. He'll be calmed down by morning. I doubt he'll recognize the scarf.”
“The scarf?” They made their way up the flagstone path to the front door.
“Um, yeah, it was torn off back there at his house.”
“Louise, that has your initials on it. I know. I gave it to you.”
“Sorry, honey.” They slipped into the house and went to the kitchen, where Louise poured each of them a glass of cold water and handed one to Bill. “Or would you rather have sherry?”
“Yeah. Sherry would be good.” He reached down into a cupboard and got the bottle, and she handed him a small glass. Slumping against the kitchen counter, he took a sip, then ran a tired hand through his blond hair. He pursed his lips as if thinking carefully about what he wanted to say next. “Louise, the idea of surveillance is to slip quietly through the neighborhood without people knowing you are there, not to knock things down. I have a real problem now. I hate to pull rank, but I've just been elevated to a higher position at State: special U.S. liaison with the IAEA.” He grinned and shook his head. “You might say there's a certain discrepancy between the dignity of my professional life and the degradation of my personal life at the present time.”
“Bill, that sounds stuffy.”
“Then how can I make it plainer? That guy's going to find that scarf, and it won't take him long to figure out who ‘L.E.' is. He's going to come after us, and you know it. How the hell can I explain at the State Department why I was out at midnight vandalizing a statue in my neighbor's front yard?”
26
A
couple of sherries and Bill was ready for bed, joining Louise, who was already in her nightgown. When they heard the girls coming in the front door, she said, “Do you think we should check with them and see what they've been doing?”
Bill nodded. “That's a good idea.” She opened their bedroom door and called to them.
Martha came to their bedroom door. “Hi, guys. Want to come out and talk for a minute?”
They settled in the living room. Janie was flopped on the couch and looking worn out. Her pretty white cotton dress was rumpled and grass-stained from whatever the day's activities had been, her blue sash dragging. Louise noted how lovely she was, even in this state of dishabille. Their equally handsome older daughter, wearing jeans and tan blouse, looked as fresh and wide awake as she'd been this morning. She sat in the antique straight-backed chair, looking like a professor conducting a late-night seminar. Her straight back and high chin said it all:
I'm in charge.
Martha said, “Janie and I've been all over the place, and in fact we saw the two of you a little while ago skulking in the woods.”
Louise, tucked into a corner of the couch, looked amazed. “You mean you and Janie were out there too?”
Janie shrugged. “Sure. Just checking out the neighborhood.”
Bill bowed his head. “We all have to remember that this murderer could be some distant business connection of Hoffman's, or it could be someone local. Martha, I thought I told you to not get Janie involved in something dangerous.”
“Dad, tonight is the first time Janie's come along.”
Janie gave her sister a cold look. “Thanks. Why are you all being so careful of me, when I'm more experienced than Martha is?”
Bill put up a cautionary hand. “Are we talking or just bickering? So where did you go tonight, and did you notice anything at Mike Cunningham's house?”
Janie said, “We circled his house, then camped out back when we saw Hilde come visit. A very insect-heavy experience. Then they started making out on the couch. And then you two came along, and we retreated into the forest, so to speak. Didn't want to upset you, Ma.”
“We saw you leave,” continued Martha. “Then we saw Hilde leave. Then we heard a big crash out front. We were afraid to move at that point. Mike Cunningham was cussing up a storm, yelling something about how he'd get even ‘with the asshole who did this.' What did you do, break his statue?”
“Yeah,” said Louise. “I bumped into it. I couldn't believe it would break so easily.”
“Good,” said Janie. “It was a horrible statue.” She giggled.
“Janie,” Bill admonished, “this isn't funny. Your mother's initialed scarf was torn off. He's going to know we were there.”
Their younger daughter found it hard to keep the smile off her face. “Well, Ma, maybe you'll get the death penalty for that.”
“Very funny,” said Louise.
Martha said, “Cunningham sounded apoplectic. We hunkered down for a long time before we dared sneak home.”
“Okay,” said Louise, “can we get off the topic of Mike Cunningham? You were headed downtown today. Did you go shopping?”
Martha briefly recounted their trip to Saks and subsequent lunch at the same restaurant as Phyllis Hoffman and Mort Swanson. “I think he's her lawyer,” said Martha.
“And,” said Janie, “she's not a happy camper. In fact, she's frantic.” Her big blue eyes grew bigger as she related the tale. “Maybe she's not getting any money from Peter Hoffman's will or something. So if she offed her old man, it's not been worthwhile.”
“Janie.” Louise's rebuke was gentle but firm. “Don't be too rough.”
“Ma,” said Janie, “I know murder's hell and you don't like it and the violence that surrounds it. But I'm only describing to you what I saw.” She smiled. “I got all that just from reading Mort and Phyllis's body language, which your fine older daughter told me I should do. Of course, I knew all about that already.”
“How remarkable,” said Louise. “Your father and I peeked in Phyllis's window about an hour ago, and she and Mort were busy looking in file cabinets. Bill, maybe it is a will they're after.”
Bill stroked his chin, rubbing the day-end whiskers gently with his fingers. “Could be. Okay. Now let's think about any significance to the fact that Mike Cunningham is involved with a young woman like Hilde Brunner. Do you think there's any more to it than—”
“Than what,” asked Martha, “lust?”
“Yeah,” said Janie, “he's even got a pot belly. Why doesn't she go with someone her own age?”
Martha paused for a moment to gather her audience's attention. “I think it's a power trip for Hilde. An older, prestigious Washington lawyer takes a fancy to her and she thinks she's succeeded in this country. I don't know if you heard this, Dad, but Ma's reporter friend Charlie Hurd is nuts over our Swiss Miss. So it isn't as if she hasn't had some younger man's attentions paid to her. But Charlie doesn't turn her on at all. Maybe she likes older men, just like older men like younger women.”
Louise noticed that Martha had the grace to blush.
“For instance, when we played our tennis foursome on Sunday, I found it quite easy to, um, flirt with that silver-haired devil Lee Downing. He must be fifty if he's a day. He would have been game for anything.”
“You told him you were getting married, didn't you?” asked Louise.
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Because, Ma, a good investigator doesn't go around talking about herself. The less people know, the better.”
Janie nodded in agreement. Louise was happy the two girls appeared to be getting along better than previously.
“Okay,” said Bill, “now let's talk about Lee Downing. What did you learn about him?”
Martha stifled a yawn, now unable to disguise her fatigue, which meant she was catching up with the rest of her family. “To put it mildly, he has issues with Mike Cunningham. Talked about someone ‘cooking the books.' It must be over the sales deal of Hoffman Arms—what else could it be? He had a mess of files with him the night I first met him. Then Sunday, the day after that, he complained to our neighbor lawyer that he couldn't find some information he wanted from the files. Alas, I didn't pick up any details, only that the two of them seem seriously pissed with each other.”
“Martha,” admonished Louise.
“Sorry, Ma, it's late, and I've been associating with Chicago politicians. But anyway, lots of people say ‘pissed.' ”
“Martha,” said Bill, “the police should have been told.”
“They have been. I phoned Mike Geraghty and told him my little tennis gossip right after the game. I would have told you, too, but we haven't crossed paths for a day or so.”
“Okay,” said Bill, “ point taken. Today your mother heard that Hoffman was the one who reported to the SEC about Lee Downing's industrial spying.”
Martha's eyes shone. “That's an even stronger motive, isn't it? Mr. Downing seems to be between a rock and a hard place.” She turned to Louise. “There, see, I said it poetically, instead of just saying he's being screwed from both sides.”
“Never mind, Martha,” said Bill. “Well, girls, I congratulate you on your observational powers. What else are your mother and I missing out on?”
Martha ticked off the items. “As of today, we know Mort Swanson is trying to help the anxious and troubled Phyllis Hoffman—”
“Probably signed on as her lawyer,” said Bill. “Sorry. Continue.”
Martha went on, “As of two days ago, we know Mike Cunningham and Lee Downing are arguing over the lack of papers, possibly headed for a lawsuit or at least a fistfight.”
“As of tonight,” said Janie, “we saw that Sam Rosen and Greg Archer have had a serious falling out. Yet Greg has no motive to kill, or does he?”
Bill said, “I don't think he does.”
Martha continued. “On the lighter side, the
Entertainment Tonight
segment of our investigation, we know Mike Cunningham and Hilde are fooling around, and she's teasing him and not wanting to go the whole way. Right, Janie?”
“Right,” said Janie. “I interpreted that couch scene the same way. She's what I believe one would call a cock-teaser.”
“Janie,” said Louise, “you don't need to say everything you're thinking. So, I guess everybody admires Hilde a lot.”
“Everybody except Elsebeth,” rejoined Martha.
Bill raised an eyebrow. “Elsebeth met Hilde and didn't like her?”
“Yes,” said Martha. ”She met her when she came over for lunch. Elsebeth was a little annoyed at Hilde—some minor flap over language.”
“So that's your report.”
“Yes,” said Martha, “and you are free to share any of this with the cops, of course. But now I think I need to leave for Chicago. I talked to Jim earlier today, and he's stressed out over the wedding. Can't seem to find time to handle all that detail about the church and the reception and still campaign for alderman. He needs me there.” She turned to her younger sister. “And I think I need Janie.”
Louise heard this and sat up. “Yes, you both should go. Janie will be a big help.”
Their younger daughter perked up. “I'd love to go. I'm the perfect wedding planner. Does that mean we drive together to Chicago?”
Martha looked at her sister. “There's no other way unless we pay a fortune to the airlines. It'll give us a chance to get, uh, you know, in sync.”
“Yeah,” said Janie, relaxing back on a sofa pillow, “or else kill each other.”
Ignoring this remark, Martha said, “Once in Chicago, we can hit a lot of discount stores and buy clothes. As for flowers, Ma, I've decided I'm going to carry fall crocuses. You know, those pale lilac flowers.”
“
Colchicum autumnale
,” said Louise.
“Won't that be fab?” said Martha.
Louise looked benignly at her daughter. “What a wonderful idea. I can just picture it.”
“There's just one shadow on the wedding plans, Ma,” said Martha.
“What's that?” asked Louise.
“The question is, will you be there or will you be in jail? Nobody's going to care what I wear as a bride if my mother's in prison for murder.”
Bill jerked his head up and glared at his older daughter. “Martha, your mother's not going to be imprisoned for murder. I'll see to that. We love you very much, and you're a fine person. But it's just as well that the two of you leave. I think it will be a relief for all of us. You get the wedding planned, and we'll resolve things with the police.”
“If you really think you can do without us,” said Janie, her blue eyes wide with concern.
“We can, Janie,” said Louise. “But don't think we aren't grateful to you for all that you and Martha have done.”
“Just one more thing,” said their younger daughter. “Be careful, because the murderer is someone who lives in the neighborhood, not some distant business connection.”
Bill frowned. “How can you be so sure of that?”
“Just say it's a premonition,” said Janie.
Louise gave the girls a good-night hug, then turned to her husband. “Come, darling. We both need some rest.”
Louise wished she were as sure as Bill was about her future. Although she probably would never be convicted, it would be heartbreaking to be arrested by the Fairfax sheriff's department, the beneficiary of so many of her intuitions.
BOOK: Summer Garden Murder
3.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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