Dying for a Change (20 page)

Mr. Marburger proved to be quite chatty. Most of his conversation was about the virtues of Sharon.

“
A very efficient little lady. Yes sir. She’s kept this whole deal on track right from the beginning. Why, when she first approached us, a couple of years ago, I would have said we’d never get this done, and here we are, almost ready to close.”

“
I didn’t realize this had been going on so long. Somehow I thought you’d only been negotiating a few months.” I wasn’t really listening. Where was that house? I couldn’t remember, and was starting to panic.

“
Oh, no.” Mr. Marburger chuckled gently at my naiveté. “These things take time, lots of it.”

“
I’ve only been back in town a few weeks,” I hoped that would serve as an excuse for my obvious ignorance. But I’d found the house.

Mr. Marburger politely, but firmly, let me know he hated it. This whole thing was turning out to be a fiasco. Mr. Marburger wanted to see more houses. I desperately wanted to go home. I found three more houses, which he didn’t like any better, and finally, after what seemed like days, delivered him back to City Hall.

“
Now, Ellen,” he said, in what I’m sure he thought was a kindly voice, “don’t feel bad. You know what I want now, and next time I’m in town, we’ll look again. It takes a while for someone to become as good as Sharon, you know. Don’t be discouraged.”

I didn’t know it showed. Besides, it wasn’t discouragement I felt. It was rage. At Mr. Marburger for being nice, and Sharon Harper for putting me in an impossible position.

Mr. Marburger drove off, and I went back to the office to pick up messages. There weren’t any. Neither was there any sign of Sharon. It was lunchtime, and I decided I was starved. Eating alone held no appeal, so I dialed the police station, looking for Dan. A bored voice told me he wasn’t in, didn’t know where he was, or when he was expected. The implication was strong it was none of my business. I sat at my desk, trying to decide what to do, when I spotted a piece of paper I hadn’t noticed before. I glanced at it, and then picked it up. It was information on the house Sharon had listed Sunday afternoon. As I read it, I became more and more excited. This was Mr. Marburger’s house, I was sure of it. Size, view, everything. I knew exactly what I was going to do. Never mind lunch. I was going to preview that house. Right now.

The Pierpont house was on the west side of town, on top of a hill. The view of the town and surrounding almond tree draped hillsides was spectacular. Mrs. Pierpont, a sweet-faced lady somewhere in middle age, was at home and grateful someone had finally taken the time to come look at her lovely home.

“
We had it remodeled last year. We never dreamed George would be transferred, we’ve been here so long, but with this kind of promotion you don’t say no, so I guess we’re on our way.”

She hesitated, obviously embarrassed. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

I knew what was coming. I didn’t blame her, but I didn’t want to answer. No choice presented itself however. “Of course not.”

“
This is hard to say.” She turned her ring round and round, not looking at me at all. “I know how difficult this last week has been for all of you, so much tragedy, but we can’t help wondering--we really need to sell--your office seems so--well, we’re wondering what is going to happen.” She finally blurted it out and looked directly at me. “We like Sharon so much, and she has such a good reputation and all. She was so nice last Sunday, coming in all wet and not minding. I was afraid she’d ruin those beautiful blue shoes. Anyway, she explained everything so well and we don’t want to lose her, but we did wonder if your office is going to keep going.” She started on the ring again. “I don’t mean to be rude, but...”

I wasn’t feeling any more comfortable than she was. I’d had some of the same thoughts, but it didn’t seem the time to tell her that, so I opted for vague and comforting.

“
At this moment we don’t know either, Mrs. Pierpont, but we are doing everything we can to keep the office open and to continue to provide our clients with the best possible service. The next few days should give us a better idea of what we need to do.”

She looked doubtful, but nodded. “All right then, we’ll hear from Sharon in a few days?”

Praying I was telling the truth, I assured her she would. No wonder she was uncertain. First a client, next our secretary, both murdered, and one of our agents practically under arrest. I was surprised she was willing to wait a few days. I hoped Alice didn’t have the same doubts. Perhaps I should be thinking of other possibilities, other offices, but I knew I couldn’t be so disloyal. Sharon had been patient with me since I’d started, I could certainly return the favor. Besides, I wanted to know how all this turned out.

Susannah was already home. Her VW Rabbit was parked beside the back door, barely leaving me enough room to squeeze by. I stared at her open trunk. Dirty laundry spilled everywhere. I wondered if it was worth trying to make it into the garage, decided it wasn’t, parked behind her and headed through the back door, loaded down with grocery bags.

“
Hey.” I hollered to be heard above the stereo while I looked for a clear space to set the sacks. My clean kitchen was now anything but! Evidently Susannah had made lunch.

“
Hi, Mom.”

She came through the door, carrying the remains of a glass of milk, gave me a peck on the cheek, and started to unload the sacks. I watched her, amazed as always that I had produced this beautiful thing. We’re both about five six, but that’s where the similarity ends. Her hair is dark, and curls luxuriously over her shoulders. Mine is somewhere between blond and brown with only a hint of a wave. Her eyes are violet, mine smoky blue, her lips and cheeks have a natural rosy hue, lovely against the slight tan she manages to maintain even in winter. Me? Well, thank goodness for Este Lauder.

I ran upstairs to trade my wool slacks for jeans, stopped for a quick look in the full-length mirror, then turned around for a better view. Possibly, just possibly, middle age hadn’t caught me yet. With this not too humble thought cheering me, I pulled my sweatshirt over my head, and rejoined Susannah in the kitchen.

Jake was investigating the empty sacks and Susannah was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking Blackberry tea. She’d also discovered the Oreo’s.

I’ve done two loads already,” she announced. “Want some tea?”

“
Sure.” I sank gratefully into a chair. This morning, the last few days, had taken their toll. “I’m glad you’re home. How many loads do you have left?”

“
Quite a few,” She didn’t look at me, just jumped up to get my tea.

Suddenly suspicious, I said, “Susannah, how many people are you washing for?”

“
Oh, Mom,” was her reply, “you know how it is when you share an apartment. You take turns doing stuff.”

Translated, that meant Susannah was the closest one to a washing machine that wasn’t coin operated. Arguing about laundry was the last thing I needed, so I sat at the kitchen table and gratefully accepted the mug she handed me. She scooped Jake out of the paper sack he’d been killing, set him on her lap, and offered him a piece of Oreo, which, to my surprise, he accepted. “Okay, tell me the latest.”

I brought her up to date between sips of tea and a cookie or two. She was horrified, and satisfactorily concerned about my involvement.

“
Who do you think did it?”

“
I don’t think it was Tom, even though Dan seems to have the most evidence against him.”

“
Dan?” Susannah raised both eyebrows. I ignored her.

“
I think Benjamin’s the most likely, although Ray Yarborough isn’t out of the race.”

“
Go slow. Remember, I don’t know these people. Now, Tom’s the young guy who worked in your office, the one with the pretty wife.”

I nodded.

“
Why don’t you think he did it? You told me about his temper.”

“
I’ve never seen any signs of temper. Besides, Tom would never shoot Dottie, or anyone, in the back. That I’m sure of.”

“
But Benjamin Lockwood would? Wait. Don’t answer. I’ll be right back.”

She got up, pulled clothes out of the dryer, dumped them in the basket, filled both the dryer and washer again, started them, and slid back into her seat. “Okay. Go on,”

College had taught her a lot. She’d done that in record time. “Where were we? Right. Benjamin. Would he shoot someone in the back.” I thought about it. “He might. He’s a fanatic on the Stop N Shop subject.”

“
But why Dottie? She sounds pretty harmless.”

I told her my theory. She was impressed. “Yeah, something like that could have happened. But how do you find out?”

That stumped me. I had no idea. It didn’t matter. Susannah was off in another direction.

“
How about this Ray? He sounds pretty smarmy, and, if all that stuff about his license is true, he had plenty of motive.”

“
But shooting Dottie in the back. I don’t know about that.”

“
He sounds like the type who wouldn’t have the guts to shoot her if she was looking at him,” Susannah observed callously. Unfortunately, she had a point.

“
I wish it didn’t have to be anybody, at least anybody I know.”

“
That doesn’t appear to be a choice.” The teakettle whistled. Susannah got up, poured water over fresh tea bags for us both, returned Jake to his sack, and sat back down. “Aren’t there any other possibilities? Some irate husband vowing vengeance?”

“
Even if there were, he’d hardly be declaring vengeance on Dottie.”

“
Why does it have to be the same person?” Susannah asked. “Maybe someone else killed Dottie. After all, Hank was beaten to death. Dottie was shot. On all the TV programs, the killer uses the same method. It’s called MO.”

“
Why are you watching TV,” I asked, in a mother like voice. “Why aren’t you studying?”

“
I do that, too.” She smiled at me complacently. “What do you think?”

“
It’s the same person.” I was positive and I let it show in my voice. “There’s some link between Hank and Dottie we’re not seeing. Aunt Mary thinks so too, and when we find that, we’ll know who killed them.”

“
Wow,” said Susannah. “So, what are you going to do?”

“
Tonight I’m going to a Little Playhouse meeting. Hank and Dottie belonged, and everybody there knew them. Want to come?”

Susannah eyed me thoughtfully. “You mean you’re going sleuthing, like one of the heroines in those books you read. Maybe I’d better go. Someone needs to keep tabs on you. Okay, it might even be fun.”

She set her mug down and pushed back her chair in answer to the insistent buzzing of the dryer on the back porch. “I’ll be V I Warshawski, you can be Mrs. Polifax.” Laughing uproariously at her not funny joke, she went back to her laundry. Mrs. Polifax, indeed! Why, I’ve never grown a geranium in my life.

I sat a little longer, savoring my tea, thinking up excuses why I shouldn’t get up and start dinner, when I remembered Mr. Marburger. I’d better try Sharon again.

This time she answered on the second ring. I went into a long dissertation about my improvised trip around town with her client and finished with, “Where were you, anyway? You don’t usually forget appointments.”

“
We didn’t have one.” Her voice was distant and stiff. “Only an understanding I’d try to fit him in if he found time, and I’m sure you did fine. Mr. Marburger is a most understanding man.”

After deftly inserting that little barb, she went on, somewhat thoughtfully. “You’re right about the Pierpont house, that might work. Mrs. Pierpont was there? What did she say?”

“
She’s understandably worried about us getting her house sold, but I held her hand a little. You’d better call her, Sharon. She really trusts you. She told me all about how you got caught in that downpour Sunday afternoon and got soaked but didn’t mind, and how clearly you explained everything. I hope I get that good someday.”

“
Yes, well...” Sharon brushed off my compliment and abruptly changed the subject. “What have you heard about Tom? Has Dan arrested him?”

I told her I didn’t think so, but was afraid it might happen soon, and went into my theory about Benjamin. She emphatically informed me Benjamin had never spoken to one of ‘her people’ about Stop N Shop, and then, rather graphically, described what she’d do to him if he tried. I doubted I was supposed to take her description literally, but, given her mood, decided I wouldn’t bring up Ray. Sharon said she’d be in the office sometime on Saturday, and asked if I was coming in. I was noncommittal, and we hung up. It wasn’t until I was staring at a couple of chicken breasts, wondering how creative I wanted to get, that I realized she hadn’t offered any information about her mysterious absence. One more example of the tension these murders were creating in all of us. Dan had better find out who was responsible soon, or this town was going to come apart. Of course, everyone can use a little help, I thought cheerfully, as I decided on Chicken Parmesan, and reached for the olive oil. Even Dan.

“
Brr,” Susannah complained. “It’s a lot colder here than in Santa Barbara. Is it always like this?”

“
Yes, and it’s hotter in the summer. Nice, isn’t it?”

We were climbing the steps to the Veteran’s Hall, on our way to The Little Playhouse meeting. Susannah wore a heavy jacket she’d found in my closet as well as a UCSB sweatshirt over her jeans. She’d pulled a knit hat down over her curls and had on heavy socks and LL Bean hiking boots. She looked like she was on her way to climb Everest.