A Murderer Among Us (2 page)

Lydia awoke hours later with the panicky sensation of not knowing where she was. She groaned as it all came back, confrontation and all. She glanced at her watch. It was almost ten o’clock.

She sprang out of bed, used the bathroom, then followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee into the kitchen. Barbara sat at the table, munching an English muffin. She smiled up at Lydia.

“Good morning! I’ve no idea what was wrong with me, but I think it’s passed, thank God.”

“I’m glad,” Lydia said. The sound of the dryer running in the adjacent room told her Barbara had been up for some time.

“Want some toast and coffee?”

Lydia thought a moment. “Well, okay, but then I must get going. I’d no idea it was so late.”

“Do you have an early appointment? Are you expecting a workman?”

“No, but I’m usually up by seven. I’ve slept half the morning away.”

Barbara laughed. “For good reason. You were up most of the night. You must be exhausted.”

“Not really. Just discombobulated. Thanks,” she said as Barbara set a glass of orange juice before her.

They ate in virtual silence. A comfortable silence, Lydia thought. She felt free of any obligation to make the usual conversation expected of a newcomer to the community. She thanked her lucky stars when she realized Barbara knew nothing of her scene with the Weills, as they now called themselves. She wanted to put that behind her.

Barbara cleared the table then offered to drive Lydia home.

“No need. I love to walk,” Lydia said. “Besides, you’re still weak.”

Barbara smiled. “If you insist. The car probably reeks.” She chuckled. “I know spending the night here wasn’t on your agenda, but I’m grateful that you stayed. More for the company than anything else. It’s times like this I miss Robert the most.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Lydia said.

“How long has your husband been gone?”

Gone. Yes, that’s exactly what Izzy was. Gone from her everyday life. “Eight months, though at times it feels like eight days—or eight years.”

Barbara rested her hand on Lydia’s arm. “I wish I could say it gets easier with time, but after two years I feel the loss as keenly as ever. I keep busy and the days pass. I’ve good friends and a good life here at Twin Lakes. I’ll call you the next time a group of us goes out for dinner and a movie. We often do that on Saturday night.”

Lydia smiled. “I’d love that. If you give me a pen, I’ll jot down my phone number. It’s not in the directory yet.”

She left Barbara’s house with the knowledge that she’d made her first real friend since Izzy’s death. She appreciated the instant camaraderie she’d felt in another widow’s company, of being with someone who understood exactly what she was going through. But it was more than that. Even sick to her stomach, Barbara was witty and resilient. Too bad Lydia had decided to leave Twin Lakes.

Maybe she wouldn’t move, after all. Lydia considered her options as she walked along the woods bordering the rear of the development, then followed the curve of N Boulevard around to her house. There would be hell to pay for having exposed Mannes in such an open, direct manner, but eventually the furor would die down. Maybe they would move away. At any rate, she needn’t act in haste. Finding the temperature surprisingly warm for November, Lydia unzipped her parka. It was a delightful morning for a power walk—if only she were well rested.

Her car stood smack in the middle of the two-car driveway. Was that how she’d left it? Out of habit, she still parked on the right side of the driveway because Izzy used to park on the left.

As she punched in her code on the pad beside the garage door, Lydia caught a glimpse of the front of her car. She moaned. No, it couldn’t be! She blinked, her mind refusing to accept the sight that met her eyes.

She walked around the vehicle, shaking her head in distress. Her beautiful Lexus had been badly damaged. The hood was crumpled, a headlight smashed, and the windshield was cracked in several places. What on earth had happened? How had it gotten in this condition?

She unlocked the door that led to the kitchen and rushed inside. Her red tom, Reggie, came meowing to demand his breakfast which was hours overdue. Lydia set down food and water then, with trembling fingers, dialed 911.

Two

“Mrs. Krause, I’d like you to tell me everything you did, from the time you left for Bingo last night until now.”

Lydia stared incredulously at the police lieutenant sitting at her kitchen table while outside the crew of CSIs scrutinized her car and the taped-off area of her driveway. She could only imagine what her gawking neighbors must be thinking.

“What does it matter what I’ve been doing? I called the police to report that someone vandalized my car.”

Unperturbed, Lieutenant Detective Solomon Molina looked up from his note taking. He was good looking, Lydia noted. Dark rather than fair. Nice, even features set off by a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. She judged him to be a few years younger than her fifty-eight years.

“We have reason to believe your car was involved in a serious accident involving a pedestrian.”

Ice water coursed through her veins, momentarily rendering her incapable of speech. “Oh, how awful!” Images flitted across her mind, turning her horror to fury.

“I think I know who’s responsible, Lieutenant, though I’m shocked that even he would harm an innocent person to get back at me.” She swallowed. “Was the pedestrian badly injured? Will he or she be all right?”

“Who do you think took your car, Mrs. Krause?”

“Warren Mannes, a convicted embezzler. Last night in the clubhouse, my neighbor introduced him as Marshall Weill. When Peg said he was the homeowners’ association’s financial advisor, I told him I knew who he was and expressed my outrage that he was handling other people’s money.”

“Did this exchange take place in public?”

Lydia paused, recalling the shocked expressions on residents’ faces, the awful exchange with Mannes’s wife before she fled to the ladies’ room. “Oh, it was very public.”

“Were you angry?”

“Furious. The thief stole the life savings of several of his clients. I didn’t want a repeat at Twin Lakes.”

Molina’s green eyes, bright as emeralds, studied her. “Were you or someone close to you one of his victims?”

Lydia grimaced. “My youngest sister, Allison.”

He nodded, his face softening with compassion. “You have my sympathy.”

Lydia looked away so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. Taking Allison’s money had been the least of it. The unscrupulous predator had seduced her sister then threw her away like a used condom. Depressed by Mannes’s rejection, the last in a series of failed relationships, Allison had swallowed all the pills in her medicine cabinet and ended her life at thirty-eight.

“How do you think Mannes or Weill managed to drive your car?”

Lydia dreaded having to explain her stupidity. “I left it in the driveway, the key magnetically affixed to the underside of the fender. I thought it was safe, here in a gated community. Anyway, I intended to park it in the garage when I came home last night. Only I didn’t come home until just now.”

“Where were you, Mrs. Krause?”

“I spent the night at a neighbor’s house because she’d taken ill.” Lydia described her encounter with Barbara in the ladies’ room.

“How very kind of you, Mrs. Krause.”

Was he commiserating with her? Mocking her? Lydia couldn’t be certain what he intended as his remarkable green eyes fixed on her like tines piercing her soul. The effect was sobering but somewhat exciting, as these days men gave her as much attention as a piece of furniture.

“Especially since Mrs. Taylor can’t be a close friend of yours,” he continued in a reasonable tone. “You moved to Twin Lakes less than a month ago.”

“What does that matter? Last night she needed looking after.” Lydia glared at Molina. “It was the decent, humane thing to do.”

He ignored her implication that he was a heartless bastard and asked, “Did you get much sleep last night?”

“Very little.”

“What time did you leave Mrs. Taylor’s house this morning?”

Lydia twirled a strand of curly hair as she thought. “Almost ten-thirty.”

“You arrived home when?”

“About seven minutes later. I saw the damage to my car and called nine-one-one.”

“Did you meet anyone as you walked home from Mrs. Taylor’s house?”

“I don’t think so. Oh, yes—I passed Sally Marcus speed walking just before I turned down Nissaquage Boulevard. I know she saw me, though—”

“Though?” he prompted.

Lydia felt her face grow warm. “She looked the other way.”

He jotted down what Lydia had told him then asked, “See anyone else?”

“No.”

“And why would Mrs. Marcus choose not to greet you?”

“She’s a board member. I assume she resents me for outing someone she’s worked with on Twin Lakes business.”

He wrote in his notepad, then said, “We’ll see what Mrs. Marcus has to say.”

Lydia stiffened. Lieutenant Molina was treating her as a suspect! She gave a nervous laugh. “Why? Do you think I’m lying? That I ran down a pedestrian last night, left the car in the driveway, then called the police?”

He shrugged. “Why would you do that, Mrs. Krause?”

Lydia had had enough. “Who is this person I’m supposed to have hit? Is he young? Old? A man or a woman?”

When he didn’t answer, she glowered at him. “I have every right to know since my car was involved.”

His cell phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Lydia watched him stride through the dining room to hunch over his cell phone in the far corner of the living room—a trim, well-built man just under six feet, who carried himself as though he hadn’t a fear in the world. He stood beside
Family
, her favorite of Izzy’s large sculptures. One of his less abstract works, it represented four figures meant to be their family when the girls were young. The detective spoke for some time, too softly for her to make out the words. Then it was his turn to answer—two yeses and a no.

He ended the call, glanced at his notebook and punched in a phone number. Was he calling Sally Marcus, whom she barely knew? Barbara? Lydia’s heart thundered as she wondered just exactly when her Lexus had been taken and used to run someone down. Did this happen in Twin Lakes? Was the person dead? Lydia prayed the victim wasn’t a child. Her breath came in gasps as her anxiety grew intolerable. She had to know what was happening.

She was about to interrupt Lieutenant Molina’s conversation and insist he answer her questions, when he returned to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry to have kept you, Mrs. Krause. You must have things to do. I’m afraid your car will be impounded for several days while the crime lab people run various tests. Whoever drove it struck a pedestrian. We’ve yet to determine if the death was an accident or murder.”

Death! Murder! Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth. “How awful! Who was killed, Lieutenant?”

“Claire Weill. According to her husband, she was taking her usual run right outside the Twin Lakes community. A young fellow on his way to work spotted the body on the side of the road. He called from his cell phone. An ambulance and a police car went out immediately. The body was still warm, so death must have occurred shortly before he arrived.”

Lydia sank back against the kitchen chair. She had to swallow a few times before she could speak. “Claire Weill, Marshall Weill’s wife,” she said wondrously, as if speaking the woman’s name would help her comprehend the fact of her death. “When did he find her?”

“Eight-twelve this morning.”

“Oh.” The sound came out as a moan.

“Did you know Mrs. Weill?”

Lydia shook her head. Though she made every effort to speak calmly, her voice came out an octave higher than normal.

“No. She came over to our table while I was talking to her husband.” The blood rushed to Lydia’s cheeks as she recalled the short, pudgy woman in elegant clothes, her stiffly sprayed hairdo bobbing like a helmet during their heated exchange. “Claire Weill lashed out at me, and I’m afraid I lost my cool.”

“What exactly did you say to her?”

“She accused me of bursting her bubble of happiness, and I told her to put the blame where it belonged, on her husband. That fueled her anger even more. She said I’d ruined their lives and should do them a favor and die.”

“And?” Molina prodded.

Lydia frowned. “I reminded her that her husband had ruined the lives of many people by stealing their life savings and—I can’t remember what else I said.”

Detective Molina turned pages and read, “And someone should put an end to you, you stupid cow.”

So he’d known all along! Lydia’s ears burned with shame. “It was stupid of me, but I had to expose Mannes before he duped more people out of their money. Then hearing his wife blame me for telling people what kind of man they’d asked to be their financial advisor—it made me see red.”

Oh God, she shouldn’t have said that!

“How is it that you knew about Mr. Weill’s criminal past and no one else at Twin Lakes did?”

“He was tried in Chicago six years ago. My sister Samantha is an assistant DA there. I watched part of the trial.” For Allison’s sake.

“Seeing him here on Long Island must have been a shock.”

“Oh, it was.” She added wryly, “I’m usually the calmer-downer, Detective Molina. The voice of reason. I regret having lost my cool last night. I should have gone about it differently.”

“How so?” he asked, curious.

“I should have informed the Board of Directors, had them inform the community instead of confronting Warren Mannes at a Twin Lakes event.”

Molina gave her a half smile. “Don’t beat yourself up. You probably would have ended up with the same results.”

“What do you mean?”

“Regardless of how you presented the facts, some residents would have been outraged on Weill’s behalf. His wife might still have attacked you verbally.”

Lydia shook her head. “I felt morally obliged to expose that man. I never considered the fallout that would follow.”

Detective Molina appeared deep in thought. Finally he spoke. “It’s quite a puzzle we have: two women, both Twin Lakes residents, argue in public. The following morning, one woman’s dead, struck down by the vehicle of the other.”