DEATH COMES TO AN OPEN HOUSE (22 page)

“That’s not the way most people look at it.”

“Then most people are wrong. They can confess to their priest or a friend, but not to the person it would hurt the most.”

“And if he finds out?”

“Then I tell him exactly what I’ve just told you. Maybe this is an idea I ought to bring up in general terms, maybe about somebody else, so he already knows the way I feel. Then, if confession time comes, he won’t feel
quite
so betrayed. I can remind him of that conversation.” Thought slowed Rita’s usually rapid verbal pace. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

“But—”

“You think George ought to have a chance to cancel the whole thing, right?

Jean’s silence answered for her.

“Makes sense to you, maybe, Jeannie. But I vote for the ‘why hurt the guy if you don’t have to’ because George would marry me anyway. He just wouldn’t be as happy.”

There was logic in what Rita said. It just didn’t sound quite right.

“We have to get together. This is too much for a phone call. Coming in to the office?” Jean asked.

“No way. You woke me up. I’m shot. Much bed, but not much sleep, if you get my drift. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Ah. You’re at George’s, He’s at work?”

“Not George’s. Stan’s. Gorgeous man. Seriously buff. Very young, very tiring. Up and gone to school already. And he’s not a buyer. This is not for money. I
like
him. Talk to you later, girlfriend.”

The line went dead.

That was good. Jean wouldn’t have known what to say.

 
Chapter 40

Life was different in many ways. The most obvious thing to Jean was that she felt different. Independence was comfortable now. If Theresa were at her desk, watching, she would have felt like a child still. Fear being arrested and of Harold never quite went away, but they were fading. Vivian was wise and encouraging, more a friend than a mother. They met for lunch often, talked a lot about all of the things Jean had never been able to discuss with Ellie, skated and worked together. Residence at the Brumms had turned out to be a comfortable situation for all of them. Guilt faded. There was always something to do for the Brumms and it had become clear they had no need for her space.

“We’re getting older, Jeannie,” Ed said one night at dinner. “Even with a girl coming in to clean a couple of hours every week, we can’t run the business and this house any more, not with my bad back and heart. You’ve been a terrific help. Please consider staying permanently.”

He was obviously sincere. Vivian was even more convincing.

“Maybe until I’m through college, if that’s all right. And I insist on paying a share of the utilities. You know I can afford that.”

They agreed.

Ellie called frequently, always short of money. It helped that Jean could honestly say she couldn’t invite her mother to stay with her current, unnamed, “roommates,” but she felt guilty about not helping her mother financially. Rita gave Jean a lecture on weak people.

“I know from experience they cause more trouble than evil people because there are far more of them and you can’t get them out of your life with a clear conscience. You feel responsible, you care, they
need
you! And they need all over you! They make you unhappy, mess up your plans, eat up your time and your money and your life and you can’t even get mad at them because they can’t help it! Helping people who really deserve help is okay. But don’t be an enabler. She’s the mother and there’s nothing wrong with her except she’s not very bright and is seriously irresponsible. She needs to be forced to think ahead instead of thinking she can always come to you. Time enough for that, maybe, when she’s a doddering eighty.”

Her times with Wayne were often wonderful beyond anything Jean had experienced, but when classes started, it became more and more difficult for them to find times they were both free outside the office. Wayne was always polite, but underneath the politeness, there gradually developed a noticeable irritation. He didn’t like adapting to her schedule and their private time together outside the office dwindled. Jean was grateful for all that Wayne was teaching her. She was beginning to see why classical music was classical. At concerts, he explained what to listen for, told her the names of steps in the ballet, which she found both beautiful and astonishing in its grace and control. They tried the opera and it was, as Wayne said, frustrating that it was in a different language, but it was also amazing that the music of a human voice could be so beautiful that tears stung her eyes. Rita was impressed with her ability to choose a good wine. Jean felt the need to assert herself more, but with so little time together, she hesitated to damage a relationship that had brought her much more than she had anticipated.

There had been no mention of her moving into Wayne’s elegant apartment.

Enrolling as a student at the University of Maryland as a business major was an Olympic event, involving multiple trips to guidance counselors, the financial assistance department and many wrong turns, but it got done.

Marian never came back. She engaged a large suite at the Marriott Residence Inn on Wisconsin Avenue and found that her new life with her daughter and dating the many men attracted by the combination of beauty and money more appealing than anything the small real estate office had to offer. She stopped in rarely.

Rita did marry George. At his insistence, it had all the trimmings, wedding planner, fittings, tastings, endless selections, all of which interested Rita only mildly. George wanted everyone he knew to see his bride. Rita invited only a few neighbors in her apartment building and the office staff. Her relatives were in her past and needed to stay there, she said. Jean was her only attendant. There was nothing modest about the food and drink at the Sheraton afterwards or their extended honeymoon in Europe.

The marriage was not at all what Rita herself had predicted, freedom and continuing to work and playing around a bit. Rita was accustomed to admiration, to lust, but never before had she experienced the constant, caring love that George offered.

“He loves me more than he loves himself,” she said to Jean in Rita’s living room a few weeks after the honeymoon. “I never really believed in that before. He trusts me absolutely. I can’t break that trust.”

Rita laughed lightly, but it was clear there was no humor intended.

“And you think you can do that?”

“The life I’ve had? Where I came from? What I was doing?” Every phrase painted an unpleasant picture. “You think I don’t treasure what this man is giving me?” Rita paused for a deep breath. “I know millions of women take all this—” her hand swept the living room, now mostly furnished with Rita’s possessions “—and a good man, a faithful,
nurturing
man for granted.” She smiled, her eyes in the distance. “He’s sort of the mother I never had. And I will never,
never
risk hurting the one who gave me the life I have now.” Her eyes came back to her friend. “Whatever I am, Jean—and you know what I am—I’m not a fool. What you may not know is that I also know how to be grateful.” She closed her eyes and nodded slightly, as if assuring herself. “And maybe more.”

There was a moment’s silence before she added, softly, “I hope you find something like that with Wayne.”

Jean knew she wouldn’t.

 
Chapter 41

It was almost noon. On Route 66 West, Jean was on the way to inspect three houses in Chantilly, Virginia, a long distance from D.C., already an area being settled by a few commuters who could drive part way and then take the Metro into D.C.. The radio was tuned to WRC talk radio. Jean was only half listening when she heard the words “power people.” Rita had always said Theresa was one of these, so Jean turned up the volume. It took very little time for her to become excited. Everything that was said by the guest author and the callers fit. Rita hadn’t known all the aspects of this personality type. This author did. The title of his book escaped her, but it had the word “nasty” in it. These people controlled others as a way of assuring themselves of their own value. Theresa was one of those who, by helping, admiring, approving, then stinging with criticism, created a need to regain approval, a dependence that Jean recognized. Kevin and Marian came to mind, too.

Calls began coming in to the station, some from victims of this treatment who might never recover from parents like this. Jean had only Theresa and only for a short time. The anger in the voices resonated with Jean.

They sounded angry enough to …

Jean needed to think. A huge black limo was on her tail. Drug dealer, she thought, and decided to pull off. Cars, trucks and vans streamed past her as she processed what the radio was telling her. Finally, she turned it off. Never had she and Rita thought of this constant destruction of self-worth as a motive for murder. She had blossomed with Theresa gone, even before she had inherited money or been chosen by Wayne.

Did Theresa contribute to the destruction of Marian’s marriage by forcing her to work at too many things to prove her worth? Little jabs, not always subtle criticisms had been aimed at Marian quite a lot, hadn’t they? We thought Marian was too—what? Stupid? Confidant?—to be affected by them. Theresa was saying what everybody thought, but the rest of us—we didn’t want to hurt Marian. The more obvious possibility is Kevin. Harold doesn’t fit. Had Theresa sensed the danger in him? We eliminated Kevin. Yet Kevin was the almost daily victim of Theresa’s sarcastic put-downs. Could the tears have been guilt as well as grief? Then how to explain his not knowing what Theresa was wearing? Overwhelmed by what he was doing so it didn’t register? Dad never remembered what anybody was wearing. Did we excuse Kevin on flimsy evidence? I have to talk to Rita! Not on this overcrowded highway.

Jean pulled her cell from her pocket and covered one ear.

“Rita! Thank goodness you’re in! I
have
to talk to you! Can you meet me, maybe at the office? I can get there in about half an hour, maybe forty minutes.”

“Was going out soon anyway. Meetcha.”

The next off exit offered an opportunity to turn around and head back to town. Everybody else was going eighty miles an hour, so Jean did, too.

They arrived at the office at almost the same time. It was not unusual that the sales room was empty.

“You look positively grim,” Rita said.

It didn’t take long to explain. Rita got it right away.

“Then Kevin’s back in, isn’t he? Funny. Remember I said I never did see any tells? He was so damned upset, it didn’t work? Harold? We didn’t have much chance to talk to Harold. Theresa did make a lot of snotty remarks about being fat. Remember when she asked Harold to get out of her chair because he might break it?”

“And then that’s where he sat the meeting after she was killed. But he doesn’t seem to fit this reason. He’s not insecure. He’s on the list because he’s nuts.”

“Nuts is good. But this gets us nowhere.”

“Nowhere?”

“Just a couple more suspects, although I still think Marian isn’t likely, but there’s not a damn thing we can do that we haven’t done.” Rita grinned. “Just don’t make Kevin angry.”

“Sorry I brought you here for nothing. It
doesn’t
get us anywhere, does it?”

Jean felt deflated. It had seemed such a discovery.

“No apology necessary. This whole thing, it’s a dead issue. Too much time has passed. Can’t find Frank, obviously. And I’ll bail you out if you need it. Maybe this theory brings Kevin back in, but Harold is still our best bet. Frank comes second. Now.” Rita was looking at her watch. “Gotta run. Meeting George for lunch.”

Jean walked very slowly up the stairs to Wayne’s office, knowing he would be there waiting for her report on the Chantilly properties. What slowed her steps was that same talk show. It tied in with Wayne’s growing irritation with her inaccessibility, his always ordering restaurant meals for her, his expectation that she would adapt to his preferences. She had never picked a show or a restaurant and she never initiated sex. He had said that one of the things he liked about her was her flexibility.
Does that mean always doing what he wants to do? He’s the boss. That makes sense upstairs where he pays me for my work. But our personal
relationship?
That thought led to another that had always bothered her. He always insisted he was rich, she was just getting started and he paid for everything. It reinforced his controlling position.
Maybe it was time to have a talk. Maybe that talk is long overdue
.

Jean walked into the office and her first thought was how beautiful the man sitting at the huge walnut desk was. Her second thought was that she was a fool to think that he would be hers forever. Maybe it was Rita’s influence that made Jean get right to the point.

“You don’t ever want to marry me, do you?”

Wayne looked up, his face breaking into lines of concern.

“I’m sorry, Jean, if anything I said or did led you to expect that.”

“You said I was exactly what you wanted.”

“That was true. You were perfect.”

“Were.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again and his distress was real. “I haven’t dated anyone so young for—well, since I was almost that young myself, I guess. It was my responsibility to make myself clear. I’ll probably never marry, Jean.” He was standing now, looking directly at her, his expression asking for understanding. “I like coming home to an empty apartment,
my
apartment, free to do what I want. I have no interest in children. I see no other reason to marry and …” He looked down, embarrassed. “I’m afraid I’m not much good for the long haul.”

Jean was not surprised. She could almost feel his relief that she had been the one to initiate the end of their relationship. She couldn’t move. Even her face was frozen.

He came around to stand in front of her, put one hand on her shoulder, brushed back her long hair with the other, kissed her gently on her forehead and said, “Thank you. I will always care about you. You know that. And you are perfect for this job and I know you need it. Please stay. I know you might not want to be with me right now, but please, take a few days off. Come back when you’re ready.”