DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE (10 page)

“You said you arrived after four.”

“Yes. I was watching the time closely, hoping Theresa was still there. It was about seven minutes after four.” The curt tone was making her defensive now. “Harold can tell you when I left my open house.”

“He fell asleep. Doesn’t remember when you left.”

Were they suspecting her? It sounded like it. After being the object of sympathy for two days, this was a shock. She decided to put an end to that immediately.

“I couldn’t have predicted I would write an offer, so why would I have that awful… awful …” Jean tried to keep the image of the letter opener in Theresa’s neck out of her mind. “…
thing
with me!” She took a deep breath and calmed down a little. It seemed clear to her that she had made her case. “I had to have Ed check my offer. Or Theresa. Theresa was closer. I’d never written one myself before and it’s office policy. Ed can tell you.”

Jack Turok sat down across the table and leaned toward her.

“But you didn’t have to have it checked then. You could have closed up your open house at four and then waited for Mr. Brumm.”

It took only a few seconds to register that fact for the first time. He was right. Why had she never seen this before? Nervousness, a new situation, the need for reassurance, all had propelled her to Theresa. But it could have waited. The offer only needed to be reviewed before it was presented to the DeLuccas.

“It could have waited,” she echoed. Her heart was beating uncomfortably. “But I never expected to write an offer. Anyone can tell you how unlikely that was. So I wouldn’t have brought … that letter opener.”

It had become disconcerting that the other detective was taking notes.

“True. Although at the time you left, your open house was due to close in a few minutes. You could have had the letter opener with you, planning to go to her on some pretext, perhaps only to report on the experience. They say you called her your mentor. Wouldn’t it have seemed logical for you to want to talk to her about it?”

Panic was rising again. Perhaps that was the point. Jean determined to remain calm. An innocent person would be calm.

“I could have killed Theresa any time. Why go there?”

“To make it look like it was the same killer involved in the other two incidents.”

“They weren’t related, you said.”

“You didn’t know that at the time.”

He had an answer for everything. Jean couldn’t find anything to say. The detective had no such problem.

“You didn’t know Mr. Brynowski had left earlier. You would have assumed he would have gone to pick up the signs just about the time you arrived. You did the same thing for her on many occasions.”

The conversation with Ed came to her suddenly.

“Those others who were in the office Saturday …”

Nervousness denied her their names.

“Eleanor Harding, Joshua Evanston and Timothy Docketter,” the detective supplied. “We have interviewed them.”

His words dismissed them.

“But it wasn’t
any
of us! It would have been stupid! We would have brought a different weapon, not one that made us look guilty! Ed said you knew that. It
has
to be one of the ones who came in on Saturday afternoon.”

The detective said nothing.

Jean tried her trump card again.

“Anyone in the office can tell you how much I needed Theresa! She brought me my only income! I worked for her, did the stuff she didn’t want to do. She paid me!”

What did those lifted eyebrows mean? Jean felt like an object in an art gallery, carefully examined for every detail. It struck her as ironic that she had entered this room hoping, with the help of Rita’s experienced makeup job, to impress this sexy man. Now she only wanted him to believe her.

“Can you tell us why your fingerprints would have been on the murder weapon? You told us Sunday you didn’t touch it.”

Jean was aware of her heart beating. She was breathing too fast. But she had an answer for this one.

“I opened Theresa’s mail! A lot! Anyone can tell you that!”

A moment of quiet allowed the voices of Rita and Ed downstairs to come faintly through the floor. Jean wished one of them could be with her.

“What about the other three? Eleanor and all. Do they have alibis?”

“You seem to have given a great deal of thought to alternative suspects.”

Jean closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t helping herself here.

“And Frank. You were really interested in Frank at the meeting.”

“Yes. And Frank.”

A frown this time. That was good.

“We were hoping you could tell us a little more about him. Something more recent than when they separated. It seems you were the one closest to Ms. Vanderhoff. You didn’t contribute anything this morning.”

“I only know what I heard today.”

“The woman you call your mentor never mentioned she had a husband?” The detective raised his eyebrows in disbelief. He didn’t look like Sean Connery any more.

“Never. Hua knows more about him than I do. Have you talked to him?”

Rather than answering, the detective stood up and began pacing again. It was a relief to have his eyes elsewhere.

“You say you often collected her mail. Ever see his name on a letter?”

Jean didn’t need to stop and think.

“No.”

“And Ms. Vanderhoff never said anything about being married?”

“Never.”

The detective frowned at the papers in front of him.

“Smart of your boss to change locks every year. If Ms. Vanderhoff’s key was at any time missing, you would have heard about it, I presume.”

“I’m sure I would have. We worked together a lot. And she would have told Ed.”

Why am I hurting my case?

Jack Turok put his palms on the table and leaned toward Jean. “Are you absolutely sure she never, maybe not mentioned his name, but gave some indication that he might have been here? Did she ever bring up the subject of divorce, express any opinions about it?”

Jean thought for a moment. She wanted to help. Even more, she wanted Frank to be the preferred suspect. No relevant memory surfaced. The slow shaking of her head told him that.

“Do you know exactly what time Mr. Akana left and returned from McDonald’s?”

He had gone out for food! Or at least said he had.

“No. I didn’t even realize he was gone. But these other two …”

She stopped. There was no sign of affirmation on this man’s face.

“Who knew the letter opener was quite sharp?”

He would have asked everyone else by now.

“I suppose all of us did.”

Jack Turok looked at the other detective, who shrugged his shoulders.

“We’ve kept you long enough,” Jack Turok said without turning back to her. “Thank you for your help.”

 
Chapter 17

When Jean returned, Rita was at the duty desk.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Rita asked. It wasn’t a question.

“Mm.”

Jean was still a little dazed from the interview. Rita didn’t notice.

“Never date guys like that,” Rita said. “Women always after them. Temptation will win every time. Go for a homely guy who’ll adore you forever.
If
you’re looking for something permanent.”

Jean didn’t comment. She knew Rita was basing her opinion on the men in her own family, who were probably as desirable as Rita until they began losing their teeth.

“You okay?” Rita asked.

Jean was not at all okay. Nausea kept attacking her stomach. There were thoughts she could use as medicine. The police hadn’t taken her away. They had seemed much less threatening during the latter part of the interview. And they had talked about Frank and Harold and Kevin.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

Jean wasn’t sure why she didn’t mention her fears to her best friend. Was it because it made her feel ill? Because she needed to sort it out in her own mind first?

“Where is everyone?”

“They left as soon as you went upstairs. To see Stan’s listing. Except Ed.”

Rita didn’t need to explain that her job was to stay with Jean. She turned toward Ed’s room as she got up.

“We’re going to lunch, Ed!”

“Go ahead! I’ll take the calls!”

On the doorstep, Jean closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her heart was just beginning to slow.

“I’m better out here,” she said.

She was. Theresa filled the office like smoke.

The July sun hit hard as they left the building. During the walk, Jean found the courage to tell Rita about the police interview. It was the right thing to do. Rita found it absurd to suppose Jean would carry Theresa’s letter opener to the open house. She dismissed their objection that she had no need to be there.

“Of course you had to be there! You were afraid you’d done something wrong! Your open house was almost over and she was only a few minutes away. And you have no motive! You have a negative motive! You’re going to
lose
money! Most of what you earned was from Theresa. They were just trying to keep you off guard.”

It was easy to believe Rita. She knew much more about such things. And they were words Jean wanted to believe. By the time they walked under the green awning and up the worn steps of the restaurant, Jean had relayed Hua’s information and relief was making lunch possible. She wasn’t old enough to drink legally, but the badge she wore identifying her as a Brumm agent diverted questions.

“Pinot Grigio,” the two said simultaneously. This was not a time for iced tea.

“Sometimes I think you’re a bad influence,” Jean accused. “I never drank before.”

Rita had an impish smile that, combined with the auburn, kinky hair and green eyes, made one think of an Irish fairy tale.

“You’re growing up. In some ways, I was where you are when I was about ten. I don’t recommend my upbringing. Still, I think I got to haul you up to at least sixteen or so.”

Jean thought about that for a moment and decided to object.

“I know socially I’m … I’m a little immature maybe. And that’s only maybe. But I’m a lot more responsible and serious than most of the girls I knew at school.”

Rita did something unusual for her. She stopped to think before answering.

“You have a point. I’m judging you by my childhood standards. Drinking, swearing, sex and … how shall I put this? Not wearing lame clothes, I guess. Sorry. My tight dresses may not be your style, but that suit’s got to go. Those things don’t signal maturity, though, do they?” Rita put her arms on the table and leaned toward her friend. “Forget all that. What I want for you, Jeannie, is confidence. Don’t look for another what you call ‘mentor’. Don’t think of this office as family. Trust yourself. Figure out what you want and go for it!”

Rita leaned back in her chair as the two glasses of wine were set on the table. They gave their identical orders, salmon salads, and Jean smiled at the waitress as she left. Rita didn’t.

“That’s kinda what I mean, girlfriend. You always smile at waitresses. It’s nice, but she’s doing her job. You don’t have to work to please her or anybody else.”

“Maybe trying to please my Mom for a lot of years did that. Dad, too, a little.”

“Stop psychoanalyzing yourself. That stuff’s crap, anyway. Who cares where problems come from? Fix it if you need to, but don’t worry about being yourself. And quit worrying about everybody else!”

“But, Rita, I think that’s kind of who I am.”

Rita gave Jean a long look and then decided, “Maybe so. Maybe that’s why everybody likes you. But take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay.” Jean smiled. “But see? You’re doing just what you’re telling me not to. You’re worrying about me!”

Rita shook her red curls.

“For the moment. Then I’ll quit and get on with
my
life. If helping you ever hurts me, I come first.”

Jean lifted her glass. “I get that.”

“To us and who we are,” Rita added, and lifted hers in a mutual salute.

“We are different, aren’t we?” Jean said. “I need to move out soon. You have dates. I don’t.”

“You don’t have to move out.”

Jean hesitated. This was something they never discussed. Jean assumed Rita was being tactful. Jean never had a date.

“I think I need to give you your privacy,” she said

“No, you don’t. I never bring guys to my apartment. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? No.” Rita paused for emphasis. “I’ve had enough of being one of the sleazy families in town. My neighbors are friends. Well, acquaintances anyway. And I like to be thought of as respectable.”

A whole lifetime lay behind these words. Jean could almost feel the strong emotion coming from her friend. For the first time, it occurred to Jean that Rita might have changed from the early years she had described and was really being, as she said, “respectable.”

“Now. When those salads arrive, I want to concentrate on food. Let’s brainstorm.” From her oversized handbag, Rita pulled out the now considerably wrinkled table she had made Monday. “Let’s add anything you got from Hua. I got some stuff, too, but not much. Stan’s got no alibi. No one came after Ed left. His parents did leave because of Theresa. They’d hoped Ed would kick Theresa out, but it didn’t work that way. Kevin gave me nothing. Didn’t want to talk about it. Tell thing doesn’t work because he could be feeling guilty about killing her or abandoning her.”

“What about the tell thing with Stan?”

Rita frowned. “Passed that test, I guess, but it’s a problem that we covered so damn much on the phone. Just talked a little about his parents today. Not much more to say and he had homework to do. Tim’s gone, too.”

That was surprising.

“How do you know that?”

“He’s an agent, right? Phoned their office and caught him in. He wrote an offer Sunday. You know how long that ties you up. Got the address. He was telling the truth. It’s in the computer. Sold, contingent for two weeks from Sunday on an inspection.”

Rita crossed off names on her chart, then said, “Now your stuff. Hua?”

The conversation with her desk companion was vivid in her mind.

“Hua liked Theresa. No motive. No tells, either. Very open. No strength, probably. No leverage. She’s a foot shorter.”