Poisoned (The Alex Harris Mystery Series) (13 page)

“Afterward, you all went home? Together?” I asked while massaging my temples.

May sat up on the sofa. “Yes, we all left together. June and J.T. dropped me off at my house.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes, I do. I have a housekeeper but she doesn’t live in. She comes several mornings a week and is gone by six. I couldn’t stand to have someone in my house. Especially a stranger.”

The cool breeze generated by the hankie fanning May continued gave me goose bumps. I turned toward June. “And you, Mrs. Doliveck, did you go directly home?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, young woman, but yes, I did. And I, too, live alone. I agree with my sister about the help living in. It’s just not proper! You can see for yourself what can happen!”

“Are you blaming Mrs. Platz for Bradley’s death?” I asked incredulously, even though I planned on interrogating the woman the first chance I got.

“Maybe the poison was meant for Roberta,” J.T. said as he came back into the room holding a wet washcloth. He smiled his crooked grin. What he thought amusing I didn’t know.

The consensus was in. They all agreed Mrs. Brissart was the one intended to die. But something didn’t sit well with me on that front.

With Chantal due to return tomorrow, I needed to do something before I went to see Mrs. Platz. Going into the study I sat at the computer and scanned several documents until I found the one I wanted. “Ah,” I said smiling. “
Study history, study history. In history lie all the secrets of statecraft
.” I hoped Winston’s words also applied to family. Sending the document to the printer, I sat back and sighed. If John thought the answer to Mrs. Brissart’s supposed guilt was somewhere in the pages of the family history, then I needed to read through it again. Gathering all the printed pages into a folder, I tucked them into my purse and went to the kitchen.

“Alex. I’m sorry. I never did get that cup of tea for you, did I?”

“Not to worry, Mrs. Platz, I can get it.” I took the kettle to the sink and filled it with water, but first I took a quick peek inside, and finding nothing, filled it half way. “I can understand why Mrs. Brissart has a difficult time with her sisters.”

“Most disagreeable, those two.”

“Have they ever gotten along?” I asked, as I leaned against the long counter.

“Not as long as I’ve been around.”

“Does she have more problems with one sister than the other or are they both equally annoying to her?” I asked, wondering if Mrs. Platz knew about Charles.

“Now that you mention it, I would say Roberta and June seem to have more animosity between them. Roberta thinks May is a pain. Period.”

“Any particular reason why she and June don’t get along as well as she and May?”

“She doesn’t get along with either one of them. Things are more strained with June. I don’t know why. Just personalities, I suppose.”

So Mrs. Platz didn’t know of the feud between the sisters over a long-lost love. Which seemed odd. Mrs. Platz and Mrs. Brissart spent almost every evening playing cards. Surely they talked of such things over the years. Of course, Mrs. Platz may well know the whole story and didn’t want to share the information with me.

“How long have you worked here, Mrs. Platz? I asked, while pouring the water into a freshly washed cup.

“Many years. More than I can remember.” Mrs. Platz heaved a huge sigh.

“Have they been happy years?” I asked totally aware my question sounded odd.

Mrs. Platz straightened up from bending under the counter. “I can’t seem to find our blender. Getting back to your question, yes, they have. I wouldn’t stay if I didn’t like it here,” she answered indignantly. “Why do you ask?”

I tried hard to keep the excitement out of my words. “No reason. Just that it must be difficult working so closely with someone every day. I work with my sister and while I love her dearly, it can be trying at times. When was the last time you saw the blender?”

Mrs. Platz waved her hand. “That old thing. Who knows? I just thought it’d be nice to have a berry shake. And it’s not trying to work with Roberta,” Mrs. Platz said flatly. “She’s been like family to me. I couldn’t have asked for a better employer. Or friend,” she added.

I took a sip of my tea using this as an excuse to regroup my thoughts. It certainly didn’t sound like Mrs. Platz had any hidden vendetta against her employer. And, I thought with a sudden letdown, this must be the reason the police weren’t focusing any attention on the woman. If I couldn’t collar Mrs. Platz as a murderer and declare myself a hero, then the least I could do was to offer the woman some sympathy.

“Mrs. Platz, I’ve been through the same thing you’re going through now. I mean, finding a body.”

Virginia Platz looked up from her own cup of tea I fixed for her. “Yes, I think someone mentioned you had found a…found someone as well.”

“I did. I know what you’re going through. And I wish I could say you’ll forget about it soon, but you won’t. I haven’t, even though it’s been almost a year.”

Mrs. Platz’s eyes filled with tears. “It was Bradley, not some stranger. Did you know the person you found?” Mrs. Platz asked tentatively.

“Yes. Not very well, though. Just an acquaintance. But still…” I let my voice trail off.

“I can’t talk to Roberta about it. She’s in enough pain.”

“Did Mrs. Brissart go into the room when you found Bradley?”

“After I screamed, Mr. Kaminski and Roberta both came running. Ralph got there first and after he saw what I saw, we tried to keep Roberta out. But she had to come in. Had to see for herself. We got her out of there quickly by telling her we had to get the police, and we shouldn’t disturb anything. But no one should see their beloved like that. No one.” Mrs. Platz’s voice softened to a whisper. She wiped at her eyes with a dishrag on the counter and looked up. “They will find who did this, won’t they?”

“Yes. They will, Mrs. Platz,” I answered, hoping I spoke the truth. But looking at the woman I felt certain about one thing. Mrs. Platz had no part in killing Bradley or trying to kill Roberta. For beside sorrow and deep pain in the woman’s eyes, I saw something else. Fear.

From the outside, the modern two-story structure was deceiving. A large oak and two young maples framed the façade, and though the many windows lining the front wall were tinted, the poor souls entering through the double doors knew what they were in for. And most of them, except for the few guests, paid for the service.

I parked under a small birch and took a purple canvas duffel bag from the trunk of my car. “I can do this,” I said as I walked into the Indian Cove Health Club. I hadn’t been here in almost two weeks and silently apologized to my muscles for the pain I was about to inflict.

By the time I changed into a pair of baggy sweat shorts and a faded T-shirt, all the treadmills were in use. From my vantage point at the back of the large workout room, which gave me quick access to the next available treadmill, I picked up two hand weights and watched while a group of men lifted objects that weighed as much as my car. Blue veins appeared on their foreheads and necks, threatening to burst at any moment. I looked down at the two five-pound weights I held. There would be no popping veins on this body, I thought as the men heaved and gasped, sweat sliding down their faces onto chests barely covered by sleeveless T-shirts. My own muscles strained to keep from collapsing under the gravity of the weights while the rest of me strained to keep from giving in to gravity, period.

Glancing at the still-occupied treadmills, I walked to a machine that worked the legs. I liked this one. I felt a sense of accomplishment whenever I used it. Across the room, by the hallway leading to the reception area, Steven Estenfelder stood talking with the young woman who taught the aerobics class.

A few minutes later Ann came over to my machine. “Hi, Alex. Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Oh, hi, Ann,” I said to the petite goddess who stood at my side. “No, I haven’t been in for almost two weeks. I really needed it today. I’m waiting for one of the machines to free up.” I motioned with my chin to the treadmills. “Was that Steven Estenfelder I saw you talking to?”

Besides aerobics, Ann taught the yoga class. She stood next to me in a violet leotard that showed off her curvy figure and her beautiful skin, which always reminded me of milk chocolate. I wanted to ask her to move to the other side of the room so I wouldn’t feel so intimidated by her flawless figure. I suspected the men who took her classes liked watching her more than they liked the workout. Looking at Ann I knew no matter how many exercises I did, my boobs would never be firm little mounds again. A depressing thought if you dwelled on it too much, so I didn’t. I just bought better bras. I initially signed up for Ann’s classes but after a while I found I never had the time for them. Something always came up, but I also liked working at my own pace with the weights and other equipment.

“Yeah. That was Steven Estenfelder. Do you know him?”

“Not really. I know his family, though.” I moved to another machine and Ann followed. “Is he a member here?”

“No, but he’s been here a few times so I wonder if he’s planning on joining. He’s a member at that exclusive country club in Westport but maybe he’s thinking about changing. If you want to know the truth, which I will deny to my dying day that I told you, I think it’s too pricey for him.”

I wiped the sweat from my forehead. “The country club? How can that be? He’s loaded, from what I hear.”

“I think that’s the impression he tries to project and, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he has a lot, more than I’ll ever see. But he’s trying to cut back on expenses, I’m sure of it. See that guy over there?” Ann pointed to a beefy sort across the room who was lifting a zillion-pound weight. “That’s Asir. He has a concession at the track in New York. He saw Mr. Estenfelder come in here last week and told me he’s seen him at the track a few times with some guy.”

“Hmmm. Interesting.” So Stuart
and
Steven liked the ponies. “Oh, good, one of the treadmills is free.” I sprinted across the room and managed to hop on just as an overweight man made his way toward me. He turned with a sigh and I felt a bit guilty—but not enough to give it up.

“I tried to convince management that we need a few more,” Ann said eyeing the treadmill. “They’re the most popular things here, next to my class, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Well, I’ll be off. My class starts in about ten minutes. Sure you won’t do it?”

“Not tonight. But thanks.”

“See ya, Alex. Take care.” Ann walked across the room with just about every male eye on her.

I increased the speed to a brisk walk and set the incline to a steep hill. Across the room, Steven Estenfelder now talked with a young man I knew to be one of the sales representatives for the club. It seemed almost everyone in Mrs. Brissart’s family needed money except for Mrs. Brissart. And who knew if that was true or not? I chided myself for my sudden doubts of the woman but I needed to remain totally impartial in my investigation of her. I suddenly felt sorry for John. He was in an awful position.

After forty-five minutes of hard walking, I relinquished the treadmill to a young man who promptly turned it up to high and jogged his way to a better body.

Steven Estenfelder still sat at the bar drinking a fruity concoction when I walked over and took the seat next to him.

“I didn’t know you were a member here,” I said brightly.

Steven turned to me. A vague look crossed his face momentarily before he placed me. “I’m not.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Steven took a sip from his glass and wiped a frothy bit of juice from his lips. “Yes, it’s a terrible thing. Kenneth and Lillian are devastated. Not to mention Aunt Roberta.”

I wanted to get home but I also wanted to know Steven’s thoughts on who the killer might be.

“It seems to be the consensus of your family that one of you did it.”

“It would seem so,” Steven said and then drained his glass, wiping a bit more juice from his mouth. “I’m sure the police will figure it all out before too long. Shall we leave it to them?” He gave me a steely stare and placed a ten-dollar bill on the counter and got up. “Nice to see you again, Miss Harris.” He left before I had a chance to ask him if he planned to join the club.

I took the large bowl of salad, with a can of tuna tossed in, to the sofa and placed it on the coffee table. I turned the TV on very low, and picked up the papers I printed a few hours earlier.

I found the association Mrs. Brissart’s ancestor had with Napoleon fascinating. It was almost like reading a history book, but with real people, people I had a connection with, if one wanted to stretch the facts quite a bit. I read the pages and paused when I came to the murder of Raymond. It brought a sudden sadness to think such a wonderful and long friendship and partnership ended so tragically. How difficult it must have been for Raymond’s wife, alone in a foreign country and not speaking the language. I picked up the papers again and reread the passage.

In 1820, Lucien’s young, beautiful wife gave birth to their first child, Pascal. While she attended to the increasingly luxurious home fires, Lucien and Raymond diversified their holdings and opened a fastener factory having the foresight to see iron-ore deposits would not last forever.

Raymond’s family would also expand. But luck and good fortune would not last for Raymond. Sometime around 1837, Raymond Thiry was found murdered by factory workers arriving for their day. Robbery was the assumed reason behind the murder. The men kept a hefty amount of cash in the company safe and on the morning of Raymond’s murder, the cash had disappeared.

This event had a profound effect on both the Cournet and Thiry families because of the way all business agreements had been drawn up between Lucien and Raymond. Both men reverted to “Tontine,” an agreement by which all assets, jointly owned, would automatically revert to the survivor. The Cournet family invested their personal holdings wisely. The Thiry family, sadly, had not been quite as fortunate.