A Murderer Among Us (12 page)

Several hands shot into the air. George turned around to Roger Patterson, the treasurer. “Roger, you’ve been doing all the research. Would you do the honors and read off the costs?”

A woman stood and shouted, “I’m against spending all that money. This isn’t a golfing community, though some try to force it down our throats. Why should we go ahead with these highfalutin’ plans?”

George shook his head wearily. “Because they were voted on and passed.”

“That’s not fair!” the woman retorted. “I wasn’t living here at the time so I didn’t get the chance to vote against buying that piece of property. Besides, only the putting green was mentioned, not a miniature golf course or a clubhouse.”

Andrew stood up. Without waiting for George to call on him, he began to speak.

“Muriel has a point. The proxies regarding the miniature golf course and the clubhouse went out in February and were voted on in March. Many Twin Lakes residents are away those months and have their mail held so they never had a chance to express their views.”

The rumble of angry agreement surged through the room. Lydia wondered if it would be terrible if she left right now. She’d heard about condo and homeowner association meetings—how they often turned into shouting matches where residents lost all social restraints and screamed out whatever came to mind—but she hadn’t expected this!

A compact, wiry man, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, rose from his seat on the dais where the board members were seated.

“Perhaps I can explain the situation.” His booming voice silenced all comments and asides. “The putting green, miniature golf course and small clubhouse were in the original plans for Twin Lakes. The builder was in the process of acquiring the lot when the owner, an elderly man close to ninety, withdrew it from the market. His two sons informed the builder they would sell the land to Twin Lakes once it was theirs. With this understanding, those of us who lived here the first year signed an agreement that we would have the amenities built within two years of acquiring the property.

“The owner died last winter, and the board was informed the HOA could buy the property no later than December of this year. We got estimates of costs, then sent a letter and a proxy to every resident asking if a) they were in favor of clearing and leveling the ground and only laying down the putting green immediately or b) they agree that we’d have all three done ASAP, as this would prove cheaper in the long run. The majority approved doing it all. Therefore we break ground in the spring.”

Marshall Weill stood. “Roger, I’ve no quarrel with the new additions, though I wasn’t living here when all this was decided. I think they’ll enhance our community and increase the value of our homes when any of us decides to sell. My question is how did the board go about choosing the contractors for the various projects?”

“The way we go about hiring any company—we get estimates from three or four companies of good reputation and choose the one that’s reliable, does good work and charges a reasonable fee.”

“That’s very interesting,” Marshall drawled as he leafed through some papers, “because I contacted three demo and excavating companies. All three gave me an estimated figure varying from eight to fifteen percent cheaper than the company you selected to level the house and grade the terrain. There was even a greater discrepancy among the landscaping and construction companies.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on the two men. Roger Patterson nodded, to all appearances unperturbed by Marshall Weill’s accusation.

“No doubt you failed to factor in certain hidden costs. For example, the company we hired to clear and level the land will be filling in a small pond.”

Marshall smiled, revealing the space between his two front teeth. “Trust me, I factored in everything, using the figures the board mailed out to homeowners. We’re being overcharged every step along the way, and I’d like to know why.”

Before Roger could reply, Doris Fein stood up.

“Marshall Weill, you have some nerve accusing the board of ripping us off when that’s your specialty! I let you invest my savings and half my principal’s gone.” Her voice trembled. “How could you do that to me?”

The color drained from Marshall Weill’s face, leaving it a chalky white. “Doris, I’m sorry your stocks went down, but I warned you they were volatile and bound to fluctuate. It’s the state of today’s market.”

“So you say! I say you robbed me like you robbed those poor people in Chicago!” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Doris headed for the doorway.

“Doris, wait! The worst thing you can do is panic. In time those stocks will soar again. You’ll have the big gain you’re after.” His voice turned shrill. “They’re good stocks. I’d have my own mother buy them!”

Doris shook her head and exited the room. Marshall stared after her, stunned that she paid him no mind. He bent down to whisper something to Peg then set off after Doris. The other residents were exchanging glances when Roger spoke.

“To return to the matter at hand. Let me reassure you, the board made a careful study of costs and quality of work before choosing the companies we did. I saw photographs of their various projects, of golf courses and greens and small but utilitarian clubhouses that would suit our community’s needs.”

He droned on, spouting more details and figures, until a shout interrupted.

“Someone call an ambulance!”

Lydia and everyone else turned to Marshall Weill standing in the doorway.

“What happened?” voices asked.

“Doris fell down the pool steps.” He shuddered. “I’m afraid she’s dead.”

Ten

After a moment of shocked silence, pandemonium broke out. Residents leaped up, intent on finding out if Doris was indeed dead. To Lydia’s amazement, George Linnett whipped out a whistle from God knew where and blasted it three times.

“Everyone remain seated! We can’t have a stampede.”

His wife, Katherine, stood up. “George, I’m going to see to Doris. She may be dying this very minute for want of attention.”

He made no pretense of debating the matter. “Good idea, Katherine. Go and help her if you can.” He turned to Benny Lieberman. “Benny, call nine-one-one. Tell them we need an ambulance and the police.”

“Roger’s on the line with them now,” Benny said.

Andrew Varig made his way to the exit. “She’ll need a physician in any case.”

Shaken by another death—this time that of someone she’d known and liked—Lydia stumbled to her feet. She’d help Doris if she could. And if Doris was beyond help, she intended to make sure the scene of death wasn’t disturbed.

“Lydia, please stay here,” George pleaded, but she ignored him and continued to squeeze past agitated residents to reach the aisle. Other people got up, ready to follow her example. George blew his whistle again and stopped them in their tracks.

“Please sit down,” Lydia heard Roger address the crowd. “The police and an EMS crew will be here any minute.”

Lydia followed Katherine and Andrew into the hall. The doctor pulled open the glass door leading to the indoor pool. Doris lay sprawled face down on the half-landing. Her neck was twisted in such a way that Lydia knew she was dead.

Katherine gasped. “The poor thing! Andrew, do you think she’s…?”

“I’ll check her pulse and see if she’s breathing.”

He started down the steps. Lydia followed after him. “I think it’s best not to touch her,” she said softly. “In case this was no accident.”

“You mean, in case Weill pushed her?” Andrew let out a gruff laugh. “You have a point. Women around him are dying like flies.”

Lydia nodded. “First his wife and now poor Doris. I visited her the other day. She gave me carrot cake and tea. Now she’s dead.”

“And I have the distinction of being the fool who brought Weill to Twin Lakes.”

“Oh?” Her tone turned chilly. “You knew he’d gone to prison for embezzlement and said nothing when he started investing HOA monies?”

Andrew’s steely gray eyes bored into hers. “I knew nothing about the man. It was a casual encounter while playing golf at my friend’s club. Weill was a guest there, too. He mentioned he was looking to move to this type of community and I told him where I lived.” He sighed. “We get older and take people at face value. A mistake.”

He crouched down next to Doris and gazed into her face. Then he reached for her outstretched wrist. He knelt closer and put his hand close to her mouth and lips. He shook his head and stood. “She’s gone.”

He glanced down at Doris one final time. “We’ll leave her to the authorities.”

“Is she dead?” Katherine asked as soon as they joined her on the main level.

“I’m afraid so.” Andrew’s voice was gentle.

Katherine sniffed and blew her nose. “Doris was terribly upset this past week. She said her investments were taking a nosedive. She was afraid she’d have to sell her house and move in with her daughter, something she dreaded.”

Andrew rested a hand on her shoulder. “Doris was in a state of agitation. There’s the possibility she tripped and fell down the steps.”

Katherine’s sorrow turned to fury. “Running away from Marshall! Any way you look at it, he caused her death. Doris never would have bought those risky stocks if he hadn’t convinced her they’d practically double her income. Doris, being so desperate, believed him.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “The man has caused more trouble than he’s worth. Maybe one of these days someone will close his eyes for good.”

* * *

“So, have you arrested Marshall Weill for killing Doris Fein?” Lydia asked. It was Wednesday afternoon, and once again Detective Sol Molina sat at her kitchen table discussing a dead woman.

He let out a hearty chuckle. “Get right to the point—don’t you?—when I’ve come to ask you questions.”

Lydia smiled. “This is my day off. Now that I’m working again, every minute counts.”

“Can’t give it up, can you?” he teased.

“I enjoy it. Besides, it’s safer at Carrington House,” she quipped back. “More coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Lydia reached for his mug. She felt his eyes—hazel at present—follow her as she walked the few feet to the coffee maker on the counter. She was glad she was wearing a trim baby blue sweater and black jeans that flattered her figure.

He added milk from her small Italian creamer and drank. “Ah, great coffee. A welcome change from the vile stuff down at the station.”

“I’m beginning to think that’s why you come around.”

“One of the reasons,” he said. Lydia blushed.

“As for Weill, we haven’t charged him because we’ve no evidence or witnesses that say he killed Doris Fein. We’re not even certain Doris Fein’s death was a homicide. Believe me, the county crime lab’s hard at work.”

“What kind of evidence are they looking for?”

“For one thing, they can determine if she suffered a stroke or a coronary at the time of death. Unfortunately, this will take a while. Probably a week.”

“It sure looked to me like her neck was broken.”

“The break might have been the result of her fall.”

“Did she fall or was she pushed?” Lydia murmured.

“I don’t know,” Sol Molina acknowledged, “but Weill swears up and down he never touched her because he never caught up with her.”

“How did he explain the fact that Doris fell down the steps leading to the indoor pool?”

“He assumed she ran there because she was determined not to talk to him. He claims he reached the glass door as Mrs. Fein tumbled down the steps.”

Lydia sipped her coffee and considered. “As Dr. Varig pointed out, the women around Marshall Weill are dying like flies.”

“How soon after Doris Fein left the meeting did Weill follow her out in the hall?”

This was an important question. Lydia closed her eyes and thought back to the meeting.

“He stood by his seat and watched her leave. She wasn’t gone half a minute when he started after her.”

“How long was he gone?”

“About five minutes.”

The detective nodded. “That seems to be the general consensus. Could anyone else have come into the hall before you, Mrs. Linnett and Dr. Varig went to check on Mrs. Fein?”

“I didn’t see anyone. I suppose the girl at the desk last night could tell you.”

Sol Molina’s barely perceptible nod let her know he’d already interviewed the receptionist.

“Did the three of you leave the meeting together?”

“Yes.”

“How did that come about?”

Lydia told him, thinking Detective Sol Molina had a very slick way of finding out exactly what he wanted to know. Well, she had one or two surprises of her own.

“Did you know Marshall Weill came to Twin Lakes through Andrew Varig?”

“No, but I expect you’ll tell me about it.”

This wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for, but she told him what Andrew had said just before he examined Doris. “He made a comment that maybe someday someone would close Weill’s eyes for good. I got the feeling he held a grudge against Mr. Popularity, though it could be because he feels responsible for bringing him to Twin Lakes. Everyone here is loaded with secrets.”

“It’s the story in every case,” Sol said.

“And I was no exception,” Lydia murmured, aware that she still hadn’t told Barbara and Caroline about Allison.

“Poor Lydia. This can’t be easy for you.”

“I’ve had to face the reality of Allison’s life,” she said, doing her best to ignore the rush of warmth spilling over her because he’d used her first name. “Marshall Weill is scum. He took advantage of Allison and he stole from her.”

She breathed deeply. “The truth is, Allison was fragile and reckless—a deadly combination. I think it was only a matter of time before something or someone pulled her down to the depths of despair where she couldn’t cope. I don’t hold him responsible for Allison’s suicide any longer.”

Sol stood and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I admire you, Lydia Krause. For daring to face issues people run from all their lives.”

“Thank you.” She reached up and covered his hand with hers. After a moment, she shook her head as though coming out of a daze and stood, too.

“I have a doctor’s appointment in half an hour.” Then she remembered why he’d come. “Aren’t you going to ask me more questions?”