Poisoned (The Alex Harris Mystery Series) (19 page)

It was still very early but John had already gone to the station. He usually spent several nights a week at my place and I wondered if I should ask him to move in altogether. The thought crossed my mind more than once but my house was small with only one bathroom; perfect for me, but toss in a man and it could be quite crowded. And it didn’t have to be a big man. When my nephew spends the night, I feel the walls closing in. Of course, my sister lives in a big house with lots of room and even she feels the walls closing in with Henry around. The little guy has boundless energy that keeps him in motion from the time he gets up until the time he goes to bed.

Before I met him, John inherited his grandmother’s old house and worked on renovations whenever time allowed. It would be lovely when completed, but who knew when that would be? Now with another murder, he didn’t have time to work on the place. If it ever got done maybe I could move in there, though the thought of leaving my little house didn’t sit well with me. Whenever John asked my opinion about some new sink he wanted to add or paint color, I used the opportunity to pick something I knew I could live with if and when I moved into his house.

After making my bed, something I did without fail every day, I took a shower and got ready to go out. I still wanted to talk to a few others and I figured it would be easy to catch them home on a Sunday morning. Trish Hollander’s desire to find a job opened up the perfect excuse to go barging into someone’s home this early—I would deliver a brochure about my firm. I was, after all, an astute businesswoman always on the prowl for an asset to Always Prepared. The fact that Trish had absolutely no viable skills as far as office work went momentarily eluded me. The fact that Trish’s father, Steven, would most certainly be home at such an ungodly hour did not.

I found the Estenfelder’s address on the Internet, and practically ran out of the house, Always Prepared literature tucked firmly in my purse. Steven and his daughter lived in a house located in an entirely different price bracket from mine, though this being Indian Cove, physically not all that far away.

I shivered inside my oversized sweater as I headed down a leaf-laden country road not too far from the Sound. I made a right turn at the next intersection and headed inland.

Even in this affluent section of the city, signs of Halloween dotted the landscape. My own front porch still lacked a jack-o-lantern but I planned on remedying that fact this week. As I drove further into Steven’s area, the houses grew. Most included circular driveways and I spied tennis courts through thick, well-manicured hedges. Finding the correct number, I drove down the long driveway, at the end of which stood a very traditional home with a lot of stone and a beautifully landscaped front garden. Two large oaks stood in the front framing a large portion of the house; a two-story structure painted colonial blue where it wasn’t covered with fieldstone. It looked like something out of a Thomas Kincaid painting but without all the tacky stuff and horrible colors. On second thought it didn’t look like one of his paintings at all. I locked my car and walked firmly up the path, not the least bit ashamed to be knocking on someone’s door at nine-ten on a Sunday morning. Taking a recently shined brass knocker into my hand, I knocked with two quick raps. Any thoughts of making a hasty retreat vanished as the door opened.

“I know you! You’re the woman who’s helping Aunt Roberta.”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m Alex Harris,” I said, silently thanking my lucky stars to be greeted with a smile and not a scowl. “We met the other day. You said something about wanting to find a job, and I thought I would drop off an application.” I opened my purse and took out the papers I tucked in there only fifteen minutes earlier.

“How nice. Come in, please.” Trish stepped back and held the door open for me. Not only was Trish Hollander up and perky at such an hour, but dressed in far different attire than the first time I met her. Her simple but expensive stone-colored slacks set off a forest green sweater. Her short hair was clean and blown dry into soft layers. She had an easy smile, and pretty, soft green-gray eyes. For a minute, I thought I had the wrong person and wondered if Trish had a twin sister everyone forgot to mention.

“I’m sorry. Did I catch you at a bad time? You look as if you’re ready to go out.”

“No. Not at all. I’m an early riser. Always have been. I guess that’s why I want to find a job. Getting up as early as I do, I seem to have a lot of time on my hands.”

Trish showed me into the living room, which, like the outside of the house, was not what I had expected. Decorated in a traditional New England style with an oversized fireplace and lots of pewter ware around, the room looked lovely. A large sofa in a very busy fabric with lots of earth-toned colors and big overstuffed pillows in russets and greens dominated the room along with two winged back chairs.

Trish asked if I’d like a cup of coffee or tea and disappeared down the hall toward the kitchen. Through the large glass doors leading to the back of the house, I could see a pool, covered now, and a little further what appeared to be a rose garden.

“Here we are,” Trish set a tray with coffee for her and a tea for me, on the table. She picked up her cup and looked at me. “You didn’t really come here on a Sunday morning just to give me an application now, did you?”

I blushed and took a sip of tea to try and cover my embarrassment. “Well, no, I mean, I wanted to give you the application but I really wanted to speak with your father.”

“Of course you do,” Trish said knowingly.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed. He may be my father, but even I can see he’s a very attractive man, and to be honest, you’re not the first woman to want to get to know him a bit better.”

I choked on my tea. “No. You don’t understand. I have a boyfriend. I just wanted to speak to your father about…” I tried to regain my composure before continuing. “You see, I saw him at my health club and someone mentioned he might join. I thought I might be able to, well...well, I just thought I might be able to answer any questions about the place.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, about having a boyfriend, I mean. Daddy could do a lot worse. As a matter of fact, he has.” Trish leaned forward and raised her eyebrow. “With my mother.” She made a disgusted look. “But you must be mistaken, about the club, I mean. My father belongs to the Highlane Club in Westport. As a matter of fact, that’s where he is now. He plays tennis there every Sunday morning.”

“That’s funny. I really thought I heard someone say he wanted to make a change.”

Trish shook her head and a strand of hair fell appealing across her face. “Not likely. He’s been a member of the Highlane forever.”

I shrugged. “I guess I got it wrong. You have a lovely home here.”

“You like it?” Trish smiled again showing off her lovely teeth. When she dressed up and fixed her hair, she looked quite adorable. “I had my own place for a while, but after the divorce, I moved back here. It works out fine. Daddy’s not home a lot so we don’t get in each other’s way. And as I’m an only child, he’s always been a bit doting.”

“I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out,” I said sincerely. I began to feel differently about Trish.

“Oh, well. Just one of those things. We were much too young. It happens.” She shrugged.

“Were you close to Bradley?” I asked, catching Trish a bit off guard with the change of subjects.

“Oh, not really. After my parents divorced, I went to live with my mother in Massachusetts for a while, but it didn’t work out so I came back here. I didn’t see Bradley very often growing up. We’d see each other at family gatherings, but Aunt Roberta and my grandmother aren’t very close, as you’ve probably noticed. And Bradley and I never had anything in common. Though I really like Kendra. I feel so bad for her. I think they planned on marrying soon.” Trish paused to take a sip of her coffee. “I actually got along better with Stuart. He’s older than Bradley so he and I have an even bigger age gap, but he seemed to like me. He always acted like an older brother.”

“Did Kendra and Bradley get along well?” I asked remembering what Sam had suggested yesterday.

“Yes. As far as I could tell. They seemed to be absolutely in love with each other. I wish I could find that kind of relationship,” Trish said wistfully.

“Did they ever argue?”

“I suppose so. Just like everyone else. But if you’re asking if I ever saw them argue, no. I never did. They seemed very much the happy couple whenever I saw them. What’s this all about?” Trish asked, but without any suspicion in her voice.

“Nothing really. Just trying to get a clear picture of your whole family. What they’re like, that sort of thing,” I said. “Did you ever help Bradley with the family history?”

“Family what?” Trish asked.

“Family history. The one Bradley worked on.”

“That’s news to me,” Trish said, with what I could only decide was total honesty.

I thought for a moment about the fact Trish was closer to Stuart. Sure, Steven and Stuart are gambling buddies. Stuart probably hangs out here a lot. Maybe I could find something out about Steven this way. “Do your dad and Stuart spend a lot of time together?”

“Daddy and Stuart? Not that I know of. Stuart’s been over here a few times lately, but I think it might be business. My dad is looking for another partner for his finance company. The man he works with, well actually, they started the business together, is retiring. I think my dad might be considering Stuart as his next partner.”

“Really? I thought Stuart worked in the legal profession. Does he also have a background in finance?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve overheard them a few times and they always seem to be talking about money.”

But not necessarily high finance, I thought. Despite the way Trish dressed the other day, she seemed very naive. I had a feeling she didn’t have many friends and spent a lot of time in this house.

I took another look around the room, so tastefully done and nothing like the garish horror of June Doliveck’s. “I went to your great aunt June’s the other day. Her house is so different.”

Trish started to laugh. “Is it ever! Terrible, isn’t it?”

“Well, now that you mention it, it wasn’t to my taste.”

“I don’t think Auntie June likes it much either. But she pretends to.” Trish laughed.

“She doesn’t? Then why doesn’t she change it?”

Trish took another moment to stop laughing. “Before her husband died, he really ran the show, if you know what I mean. Everything in the house was exactly the way
he
wanted it. He bought some lovely things. But things he wanted. As soon as he died, Auntie June went a bit nuts. Had walls torn down, sold all his stuff, gave some away, and remodeled the house”

“If she’s tired of it, why doesn’t she redo it again?”

“It cost a fortune, from what I’ve heard. The gold in the mirrors is real gold and she knocked down so many walls. I know to look at it, that sofa looks cheap and tacky, but it’s not. Got it at some designer gallery in New York. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing missing is red velvet drapes and the whole thing could be a brothel.”

Now I laughed. It all fit with what John told me about June getting a second mortgage on the place. She obviously couldn’t afford to change anything.

“I get the impression June and Mrs. Brissart have some long-standing feud. Over a man, I think.” I took a sip of my tea and watched Trish over the rim.

“I think I know what you’re talking about, though I don’t really know all the particulars. Living up in Massachusetts with my mother all those years, I missed out on a lot of the family gossip. My mother never liked my father’s side of the family so we didn’t talk about them a lot.”

“But you heard some of it?” I asked hopefully.

“Once, over at my grandmother’s this summer. Aunt June came by. She was very upset and crying and my grandmother asked me to go out so they could talk.”

“So you didn’t hear anything.”

“No. Not at first. I went outside. But then I came in through the back door and went into the kitchen to get something to drink. They’d been talking for quite some time, and to be totally honest, I wanted to get out of the sun. I stayed in the kitchen and made some lemonade, I think,” Trish continued, “and I heard Aunt June crying over some letter. Someone died, a man named Charles. I remember because Aunt June used to have a little dog she called Charles, and I remember wondering if the dog had been named after this person.”

“Did you hear any more?” I asked.

“Yeah. I did. I was intrigued. Okay, nosy,” Trish said, her light skin turning a flattering shade of rose. “So I took my glass and stood in the hallway. They couldn’t see me and never heard me.”

“What did they say then?”

“Just that this man died, and his sister wrote to Aunt June to let her know. And in the letter, the sister said that her brother, Charles, always loved June and hoped she had had a good life.”

I settled back onto the sofa. “Wow!”

“Is this the man Aunt Roberta and Aunt June argue about?”

“You’ve heard them?”

“Oh, once, maybe twice, I heard Aunt June accuse Aunt Roberta of ruining her life.”

“If he always loved June then I wonder why he never contacted her?” I asked.

“He knew she got married. I got the impression he didn’t live in Connecticut. Oh!” Trish said, startling me. “And I remember Aunt June cried over a passage in the letter that said, oh….” Trish tried to gather her thoughts. “Oh, something like, ‘I never wanted to ruin your life. I would never think of breaking up your marriage and family.’ Well, this last bit really had Aunt June wailing. What does all this mean, Alex? Do you think it has something to do with why Bradley was killed?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Trish took our cups to the kitchen for a refill. I thought the letter might have been the last straw and it was then June decided to get her final revenge. But this happened several months ago. Why did June wait? I thought about what I would do if I wanted to kill someone. I didn’t have a gun and didn’t have any idea about getting one that wasn’t traceable but I could see me lying in bed at night and plotting. And it would all build up in my mind. Is that what June did—let it fester for months and then couldn’t stand it anymore? I couldn’t see June waving a gun. Poison was definitely the way June would go.