An Anniversary to Die For (13 page)

But Signe didn’t seem upset by Susan’s words. “I guess. I don’t know much about their lives. My father could tell you about that—if you can convince him to.”

“Why would he need convincing?” Jed asked. “He certainly would want suspicion to fall away from the family.”

“Of course, but he’s spent years and years protecting my mother.”

“Your mother always struck me as a very strong person,” Susan said.

“She was. It’s just . . .” Signe took a deep breath and then exhaled. “It’s a little difficult to explain.”

“Try.”

Signe started by asking a question of her own. “Did you get along with Mother?”

“We’ve always gotten along with our neighbors,” Susan said. “We make a point of doing so. Of course, your parents hadn’t lived in Hancock all that long, and we were very friendly with the Hallards. They were already living in the house that your parents bought before we moved to Hancock. Martha Hallard was the first person to knock on our door the day after we arrived here. Dan Hallard is a gynecologist. He delivered our son Chad.”

“You’re saying that my parents couldn’t have replaced the Hallards in such a short time, but you’re not answering my question. Did you get along with Mother?”

Susan and Jed exchanged glances. “Not really,” Jed answered.

“It’s just that—” Susan began to excuse Jed’s lack of tact.

“It’s just that Mother was an almost impossible person to get along with. You don’t have to tell me that. You’re being nice, and there’s no real reason to. I . . . I care a lot about my parents, but Mother and I have always had a difficult relationship. I still have feelings for her, of course, but I know her too well to be blind to her faults. But you don’t have to tell me any more. Most people have trouble getting along with Mother. She was demanding, domineering, and difficult.” Signe’s lips crumpled into a tiny half smile. “The three Ds. That’s what my grandmother used to say about her—that she represented the three Ds.”

“You could say that about a lot of people, but most of them have not been murdered,” Jed reminded her.

“I know. It’s just that Father spent an awful lot of time keeping other people from knowing how horrible my mother could actually be. That’s what I meant when I said he protected her.”

“How did he do that?” Jed asked.

“Well, there were simple things. Like he would send flowers to someone she offended by being what she called honest. I don’t know how much time you spent with Mother, but she always claimed to place a high value on her honesty.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Susan said. “Ashley did tend to tell people what was wrong with them or their family or . . . or even their yard. I remember when she and your father moved in last spring. I have a fabulous bed of peonies lining the driveway. The weather was perfect for them last May, and they were looking their best. I invited your parents over for drinks the day after we met, and I’d picked a large bouquet for the mantel in the living room. Of course peonies do attract ants, and I thought I’d shaken off the blooms enough, but there was one ant crawling on the mantel. Your mother spied it and made a comment about how she would never have such filthy flowers in any house she lived in. I know it sounds innocuous, but there was something about the way she said it that made me feel as though I’d done something much more terrible than bringing a little garden ant or two inside. I . . . I don’t know why it upset me, but it did.”

“I do. You were trying to be a good hostess. You were offering the best you had to some people you didn’t know, and Mother turned it around and made you feel as though you had done something wrong. What did Father do?”

Susan smiled at the memory. “He made a joke at the time. To be honest, I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I do remember appreciating that he was trying to make me feel better. Then, the very next day, he sent over that little watercolor.” Susan pointed to a small, framed painting sitting on a stand under a lamp. “He wrote a note telling me how much he and your mother appreciated our hospitality and kindness to them, and he enclosed that. I had it framed,” she explained.

Signe got up and looked down at the picture.

“It’s a peony,” Susan added.

Signe nodded. “I know.”

“He didn’t actually mention what had happened over the flowers and the ant. I mean, it was such a small thing. . . .”

“But it was a hurtful thing,” Signe said. “And my father knew that. So he did what he could to make it up to you. And, being his kind self, he did it in a way that didn’t reflect badly on my mother, as well.”

“You know, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way before. You say he’s done that type of thing before?”

“All the time. Why?”

“Well, a man who took care of his wife like that surely shouldn’t be considered a possible murder suspect, could he?”

“There are just two problems with your idea,” Signe said. “First, my mother offended so many people over the years, how will anybody find the time or energy to search out a suspect?”

“And what’s the second problem?” Jed asked.

“We have to convince Chief Konowitz to look at all those people instead of Father or me.”

FOURTEEN

^“
SOMEONE NEEDS TO CHECK OUT YOUR PRESENTS. I THINK Wet and Wild have been sampling in there.” The front door slammed, and Susan realized their son had just exited the building—again.

Susan and Jed were sitting quietly in the living room. Signe, having seen her father’s car drive up to his house, had left half an hour ago, but the Henshaws, both tired, hadn’t moved. Now Susan opened her eyes and glanced over at her dozing husband. “Do you think he’ll manage to spend the entire summer here without having a single intelligent conversation with us?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Chad!”

“I don’t know what you mean. We’ve had lots of intelligent conversations. He and I had a long discussion about the politics of appointing minorities to the Supreme Court just the other day.”

“That’s not the type of conversation I’m talking about! I’m interested in personal things. You know, if he’s serious about any one particular girl, what he plans to do after he graduates. Things like that.”

“You want to sit on the edge of his bed, ruffle his hair, and hear all about his day,” Jed suggested quietly.

Susan grimaced. “Okay. Yes, that is exactly what I want.”

“And you think that would be appropriate at this time of his life?”

“I know it wouldn’t be. But it’s what I want. He’s nice and polite and everything, but I miss the closeness we had. You know?”

“I know. But he’s a great kid, Sue. He . . .” Jed stopped and scratched his head. “What did he say as he went by? Something about the dogs and our presents?”

“Oh, Jed! Our presents!” Susan jumped to her feet and ran out of the room.

They had decided to leave their anniversary gifts in Jed’s study, thinking they could use his desk to organize the thank-you note writing process. They hurried there now.

“I guess,” Jed said as they stopped in the doorway, “we’re going to have to keep this door closed.”

A large wicker basket of cheese and crackers that had been on Jed’s desk was now scattered about on the Aubusson rug. The mastiffs had managed to remove the cellophane and had consumed most of the cheese, crackers, wrappings and about half of the basket itself.

“Oh, no! Is the card around somewhere?”

Jed walked over to the mess. “A card? You’re worried about a card?”

“We need to know who to thank, Jed.”

“I guess. Too bad those beasts can’t write. They’re the ones who should be saying thank you for that gift.” He turned around and examined the piles of presents for the first time. “Wow! We’re going to have to buy a wine cellar for the basement.”

“Hm. There are lots of bottles here. Wine and champagne. I peeked at some labels.”

Jed was doing the same, slowly wandering around the room. “Looks like we’re going to be well stocked for the winter. Hon, are you sure you want to get involved in this murder?”

“We’re already involved!” Susan picked up a rectangular box and shook it. “What do you think this is? A book?”

“I don’t know. Susan, this is an odd family. Signe seems sweet, but she was accused of attempted poisoning when she was young. And you know you never particularly liked Doug or Ashley. Why don’t you just let the police do their thing, and we can enjoy the rest of the summer?”

“I don’t think Signe killed her mother.”

“I don’t think we know Signe all that well. And I thought that story she told about Ashley and Doug moving to Hancock because we live here was just plain weird.”

“You think she lied?”

“I don’t know what to think. It seems to me that someone is lying. Certainly Doug’s story about the fight and then coming home alone but not wanting Signe to know he was alone is suspicious.”

“It sure was! But that would have been Doug lying, not Signe.”

“Why are you so sure that Signe’s telling the truth?” Jed asked. “You don’t know her at all.”

“I know. But you should hear the way Erika talks about her. She really relies on her in her SoHo store, and I think Erika’s a wonderful judge of people.”

“I agree, but that doesn’t mean you have to be involved in the investigation of her mother’s murder.”

“I don’t like Peter Konowitz.”

“I can’t imagine many people do, but—”

“And he threatened to arrest me for being in my own hotel room.”

“He had a perfect right to—”

“He’ll arrest the wrong person. I just know it.”

“And you’re worried that it might be Signe.”

“Yes. She’s such a sweet girl, and I feel as though she needs my help.”

“Is it possible that this has to do with the fact that your own children need less and less of you?” Jed asked gently.

“I suppose. Maybe. But, Jed, if she’s innocent—”

“Look, you’re going to do what you’re going to do. I know that. But, for God’s sake, be careful, hon. Poisoning is an easy way to kill someone. And I don’t want you to be next.”

Susan held a bottle of Tattinger’s sporting a silver bow and a tag around its neck up to the light. “What do you mean? Why do you think it’s any easier to poison someone than it is to kill them in some other way? Because there’s no blood?”

“Because you don’t have to be around. You could poison a person’s food or drink and then vanish. The death—and all its disgusting side effects—can happen without you.”

“That’s true. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before.” She peered at the foil cap around the bottle in her hands. “You don’t think . . .”

Jed grinned. “No, I don’t think any of our guests was trying to kill us.”

“That’s not what I was thinking. Suppose Ashley ingested the poison at our party. Maybe it wasn’t even meant for her. Maybe the poisoner was trying to kill someone else.”

“You know, that’s just possible,” Jed said. “Ashley could have gotten the poison by mistake and died, then been brought up to our room. Although I don’t understand why anyone would put her on our bed and cover her with our presents if she wasn’t the intended victim.”

“And she probably didn’t die that far away from our room. The inn was full that night, and remember, the farther you carry a dead body, the more likely it is that someone will see you doing it.”

“That’s true,” Jed agreed.

“Is it possible to take a poison and not die immediately?” Susan asked.

“I would imagine that it would depend on the type of poison ingested.”

“And we won’t know that until the autopsy is completed.”

“No, you won’t know that until the autopsy is completed and you can find someone to share the results of the autopsy with you. Remember, this isn’t Brett’s case.”

Susan ignored him. “Do you think they work on Sunday?”

“It depends on what ‘they’ you’re talking about.”

“The county medical examiner. That’s who does the autopsy, right?”

“I guess each county has its own medical examiner, but remember not every county is as populated or as wealthy as ours is, Sue. I don’t know who would take care of this type of thing in Oxford Landing.”

“This is getting more and more confusing. We really don’t know anything at all.”

“We know Ashley was murdered. We know whoever killed her moved her body into our room, piled all our presents on top of the body, and then left it—her—there for us to find. You know, we might know something else.”

“What?”

“That whoever did this—whoever moved the body into our bedroom—wanted you to get involved in the murder investigation.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Susan, have you ever found a body and then not investigated?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean . . . Well, the truth of the matter is that . . . Jed, what would anyone do when they found a body?”

Her husband laughed. “Susan, most people would run like hell in the opposite direction. Or go home and hide under the bed. Or—most likely—call the police. Most people would never, ever think of trying to find out who the murderer is.”

“I guess that’s true, but—”

“But you have to do what you think is right. I know.” Jed paused and looked around the room. “So what are you going to do now?”

“Why don’t we start opening presents? We’re going to have to hide in the house until we see what’s in all these.”

“Why?”

“Jed, I can’t risk running into friends all over town who went to the trouble and expense of buying us gifts and not thank them immediately! Some people would be offended!”

Jed pursed his lips. “I suppose you have a point. Listen, this won’t take forever if we get organized. Bottles first. I’ll sit at the desk and write down what was given as well as the name of the giver. You know, we could do a form thank-you on the computer.” He glanced over at his wife and read—accurately—the expression on her face. “No? Well, let’s get going anyway.”

Susan loved getting presents, and Jed’s practical approach to the towering piles of wrapped gifts seemed to be lacking in enthusiasm. On the other hand, as much as she loved getting presents, she hated writing thank-you notes. Maybe getting Jed involved would be a good thing.