An Educated Death (36 page)

"Can't. Got to get back. I shouldn't have left in the first place and neither should you. Being the first ones at a crime scene and all. The ADA will probably chew my ass but I didn't want to keep you there. It only gets worse, the longer you stay around."

"But someone is trying to kill me, too."

His eyes were pleading with me to forgive him. Nice eyes, too. A kind of greenish brown. I was slipping slowly into spinsterhood, just as my mother always said. Too busy working to notice the world around me. I'd just spent four hours with this guy and even trembled in his arms, and I hadn't ever noticed what he looked like. "I'd stay if I could," he said. "The chief's sending someone over. It shouldn't be long. Just don't eat or drink anything, okay?"

He meant it as a joke, but today my sense of humor was a little bit dulled and I didn't smile. I didn't want another baby-sitter; I liked the one I had. I got out of the car and plodded up the steps, feeling unreasonably aggrieved and abandoned. I half expected someone to launch a huge stone at me from the upper reaches, or jump at me from the shadows, but no one did, and I reached my office without incident. Josh was sitting in the chair, his arms wrapped tightly around his body, looking young and fragile and needy. His head jerked my way as I came in. "Lori let me in," he said. "I hope that's okay."

He took in my blotchy face and bedraggled appearance. "You've found Mrs. Frank, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid so."

"She's dead." It wasn't a question. He buried his face in his hands and his poor, bony shoulders began to heave. I got some tissues from the desk, knelt beside him and pressed them into his hand. He grabbed my hand and held on, clinging to me as if I was a lifeline. With my other hand, I rubbed his back, the vibrations of his sorrow traveling up my arm and straight to my heart. He was so thin it made me want to cry right along with him. When he was calmer, I called Lori and asked if she could bring us both some tea. The peppermint tea Ellie had brought me was still on the desk but it was cold. I set it in the corner of the bookcase, thinking I might nuke it later. Even cold, it smelled soothing.

Over tea, we got down to business. I apologized for dragging him back again. "I'm not trying to harass you. I just keep hoping someone will come up with a clue that will tell us who the other man was. Is there anything Laney said, anything at all, that might help us identify him?"

He shook his head, a slow, helpless gesture. "Why do you keep asking me? Don't you see? I was the last person she'd tell. She was afraid I might do something violent. And I would have, too. If he hadn't done what he did, she'd still be alive. Did you ask Merri?"

"She says she doesn't know."

"She might be lying. Merri is neither as sweet nor as innocent as she appears."

"So I hear." His eyebrows went up but he didn't ask what I'd heard. "Josh, is there anyone else I could talk to? Anyone she might have confided in?"

"I don't think so. I wish I could help." He looked like he really meant it. He studied his hands, then looked at me. "Are more people going to get killed? My dad is making me come home. He's picking me up on Saturday. Sure took a lot to get him to take an interest. I used to think I'd have to be dying before he'd notice. I guess other people dying is enough. That sounds awful, but you haven't met my dad. He was born with a telephone connected to his ear. He even has a fax in his car so he won't miss anything, but I've been in five plays and he hasn't made it to a single one."

"Next time you're in a play, call me," I said. "I'd love to come and see you perform."

"You already have," he said. "I'm a pretty good actor, too. Can I go?"

"Of course."

He left. And I sat staring at the closed door, pondering his last remark and hoping I hadn't been conned. No one had a better motive for killing Laney than Josh did... except for the baby's father. And we had only Josh's word that it wasn't his. But wasn't his Friday evening accounted for? And wasn't that Rocky's problem, not mine? My staring and pondering was interrupted by the phone.

"Thea? It's Lori. You have a call. She didn't give her name but I think it's that woman from your office who's been trying to reach you. She's on ninety-two."

I pressed the button and said "Hello?"

"Are you Dorrie's consultant? The one that called about Columbus Day weekend?" It was a girl's voice, young and full of emotion, but whether it was anger or distress, I couldn't tell. She sounded vaguely familiar.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"It's Angie. Angie Drucker. I heard my dad telling you that he was at Cornell for my brother's parents' weekend. My dad, the jerk who just grounded me when the coolest concert of the year is happening? Well, he was lying. My mom and I went but he didn't go. He said he had too much work to do to take the time off." She disconnected before I could say anything.

 

 

 

Chapter 19

 

I rushed down the hall and into Lori's office, almost knocking over Ellie Drucker, who was standing in the hall. She stared at me in total surprise as I went by, a sort of openmouthed what-are-you-doing-here surprise, an expression that didn't flatter her broad, shiny face. Perhaps, having seen me earlier, she hadn't expected me to still be working, or perhaps the vigor of my movements astonished her. It was certainly true that I'd been moving very slowly earlier. Poor woman. If it turned out that the folks at the Monadnock Valley House recognized her husband, she was in for some unhappy times.

Lori was fluttering solicitously around a distinguished-looking older man in an expensive suit, collecting his hat and coat and offering him coffee. He turned toward the door when I came in, obviously expecting Dorrie. His craggy, rough-handsome face was familiar from many years reading the business section of the paper. Oliver Caldwell Dawes, CEO of the Dawes Company and chairman of the Bucksport Board of Trustees. He stared at me for a moment, tapped his forehead lightly, and held out his hand. "Thea Kozak, right?"

"What a good memory you have, Mr. Dawes. I'm flattered."

"I don't imagine many men forget you once they've met you," he said. It was the kind of flattering courtesy older men could still get away with and younger men had to use very carefully now that we were in the age of political correctness and a sexual harassment claim lurked behind every encounter. It was silly and it was trivial, but after the last twenty-four hours, the idea that anyone could even claim to find me attractive was very pleasant.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Thea," Lori said, obviously flustered at being left in charge under such difficult circumstances. She ushered Oliver Dawes into Dorrie's office, where several of the other trustees were waiting, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, rubbing her forehead with both hands. "There isn't enough extra-strength pain killer in the world to handle this headache. I can't even remember how he said he'd like his coffee, and I've been fixing him coffee almost every week for two years."

"Black. One sugar," I said.

She gave me a faint smile. "Thanks. And what can I do for you?"

"Got any pictures of Chas Drucker around?"

"Not here, but I'm sure there are lots of them in the yearbook office. Or you could just look in last year's yearbook. Or any yearbook for the last twenty-five years. There's a bunch of 'em over there on the shelf. What's the matter? Seen so many people you've forgotten who's who? Or do I mean whom? I know this is an educational institution, but if you ask me, the word 'whom' is for the birds. It never sounds right even when it is."

Good old Lori. Still cheerful even if it was a forced cheerfulness. She was a peach of a secretary in a time when good secretaries were hard to find. She fixed the coffee and carried it into the other room.

I got the most recent yearbook and thumbed through it. There were several good pictures of Drucker. There were also pictures of Josh, of course, and Russ Hamlin, and even a picture of the now-vanished Chris Fuller, smiling a predatory smile and looking primitive and virile and dangerous as he bent forward over the handle of the shovel he was holding. It was the perfect thing to show to people at the Monadnock Valley House. No need even to point out Drucker, just let them browse and see if anyone picked him out.

I was impatient for Rocky to get back so I could share what I'd learned. I had no idea how long he might be tied up dealing with Carol. I thought of getting in my car and driving to the inn myself, but a couple things held me back. First, I had no car. Rocky had said he was going to get it repaired and have it ready this afternoon, but I hadn't seen it out there and now he was busy with more important things. Second, I didn't want to take a chance on tainting the identification. A very coplike phrase. Maybe I'd been in this business too long. It needed to be done by someone who knew how to do it properly.

Lori came bustling back, shaking her head. "We are in the midst of a catastrophe here," she said, "and they want tea and sandwiches. Someday, just once before I die, I want to be the person who gets to be waited on. I am supposed to be at home right now getting lots of lovely little snacks and desserts ready for a bunch of our friends. Twenty-five people coining at seven and I've done nothing. Al is happy to help, but he's a man who needs direction. I know it sounds heartless, but I don't care if even more people get killed, I'm out of here at four." She picked up the phone, called the dining service, and explained her need for sandwiches and cookies. Whoever she spoke to was very understanding and she came away from the phone smiling.

"The people Dorrie has hired are so nice! They never say it can't be done, they just do it. The last person in charge over there thought it was too much trouble to put out cocktail napkins with the hors d'oeuvres."

"Are you really in trouble with your own hors d'oeuvres? Because I've got some great quick and dirty recipes."

"Shoot," she said, sitting down and picking up her pen. "I was just going to go to the market and hope for inspiration."

Maybe it was callous of both of us, when Carol Frank and Laney Taggert were both brutally dead, to sit and exchange recipes, but life goes on. And anyway, I had to keep my mind moving or the image of Carol would came back to haunt me. "Hope you don't mind cream cheese. It's the staff of life."

"Not at all."

"Get some smoked trout, about half a pound. You have a food processor?" She nodded. "Okay, you mix it with a package of cream cheese, horseradish, and lemon juice. Thin it with some half-and-half if it's too thick. Great on crackers. It's also wonderful on cucumber slices. Use the English kind, they don't have those big seeds. Next, a can of crab, another package of cream cheese, a little lemon juice, and a teaspoon or two of curry, mix it together in the food processor, put it in a dish and bake for about twenty-five minutes." She scribbled frantically.

"Now, everyone is impressed by piles of food. Doesn't have to be special, it just has to be massive. So get a couple pounds of shrimp, pile 'em on a platter on a bed of lettuce, use a green pepper filled with cocktail sauce in the middle and lots of lemon wedges. Do the same with a platter of raw veggies. Use sugar snap peas, red, yellow, and orange peppers, those ready-peeled baby carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli. Hollow out a small red cabbage and a small green cabbage, fill one with ranch dressing and one with honey mustard dressing."

I paused to give her a chance to catch up. "Belgian endive. Separate it into spears, fill the big end with herbed cheese, arrange on a tray like flower petals and sprinkle with sprouts."

"But how do you know all this?" she said. "You never entertain. You're always at work. I know you are."

"I used to have a life once. And my mom is the world's greatest cook. Don't forget little smoky sausages and Swedish meatballs with a dish of mustard. Don't forget toothpicks."

She wrote it down. "So you're what people are talking about when they say 'get a life,' is that right?"

"This is a good life, too. Keeps me out of trouble."

She regarded me skeptically. "Excuse me," she said, "but that's bullshit. If you wanted to stay out of trouble you wouldn't be sitting here right now, would you?"

"It's my job," I said. I got up, tucking the yearbook under my arm.

"I've offended you, haven't I?" she said.

"No. I just don't want to start feeling sorry for myself. It's too easy to fall into it, especially after the last twenty-four hours, and it gets me nowhere. Good luck with the food. As for dessert, it's too late to suggest you get your guests to bring it... you can remember that for next time. Just hit a bakery. The stuff doesn't always taste that great, but for appearance it can't be beat. And people get so excited being given a choice of goodies. A cheesecake. Something dense and chocolate. A plate of elegant cookies."

"Thanks, Thea," she said. "You're wonderful."

"Let me know when Rocky shows up, will you please?" I didn't respond to the compliment. I never know how to take them.

I didn't have time to sit and ponder, because as soon as I was back in my office, Ellie Drucker came in with another cup of tea. Maybe it was just me anticipating the sorrow she had ahead, but I thought she looked older and wider and utterly worn out. She was wearing a coat and gloves and had a canvas tote bag slung over her shoulder. "Thought I'd try again," she said. "I know you never got to drink your last one, with all the running around you've been doing. Isn't it just terrible about poor Carol! I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt such a nice person. Or why? I mean, if Delaney Taggert was involved with some man, what did that have to do with Carol?"