Going Out in Style (5 page)

Janovy said, “What do you do for a living, Miss Whitaker? I assume your name is still Whitaker, is that right?”

“Oh, yes. After the divorce, I took back my old name. I didn’t want anything of my husband’s, believe me.”

“And where do you work?”

“I’m a journalist for the local paper—you know, the
Ridgewood Star
. I write a column on child care—some people who have met Harold think that I’m not really qualified to tell other parents how to raise their children—and I do a little reporting, whatever’s around. Nothing too exciting. I’m afraid my mother’s death will be the big news around here for a while.”

“What was your relationship with her?”

“My mother? Oh, well, not too good, really. I mean, I left home years ago to get married—I was way too young, but I was desperate to get out. Then, after the divorce, I
moved back here with Harold. I don’t know why … I’m close to my brother and I guess I wanted to be near him. And Harold always adored his grandmother.”

“You were desperate to get out of the house?”

“Yes, well … my mother was a marvelous person, you know, full of life and all that, but she was a little
domineering
, if you know what I mean. Look at poor Albert, he’s nearly forty years old and he still lives at home. Why do you think that is? It’s because my mother liked it that way.”

“She liked it that way?”

“Oh, yes. My father died a long time ago, and I think my mother liked to pretend she was still married—to Albert. It’s terrible, but there it is. She liked having a man around the house, she said so all the time. Albert’s been seeing some woman he teaches with for years now—they go out together once a week like clockwork—really, it’s sort of pathetic. Just sneaking around behind my mother’s back. Albert’s the firstborn and I think my mother would have had a fit if he decided to get married. And he’s so nice, he never even realized he was being—well, being
used
.” She fell into a reverie, still absently twisting a lock of golden hair. Then she came out of it with a start.

“Oh, well, I shouldn’t be telling you all this, should I? After all, you’re the
police
.”

“What about your relationship with your mother, Miss Whitaker?”

“Me? We didn’t get along too well, I’m afraid. Recently I’ve gotten engaged again—to someone Mother didn’t approve of at all. Not that that makes any difference to me. She hated my first husband, too.”

“Your fiancé’s name?”

“George Drexler.” She gave him the address.

“Please tell me about last night, Miss Whitaker.”

She gave him a sudden sweet smile, and her features, more symmetrical and ordered than her brother’s, suddenly looked like his. She had none of his vagueness, but they had the same intelligent dark gray eyes. “Oh, my. My
alibi
. Well, thank goodness I have one. You’ll have to take my word for it that I didn’t know ahead of time I’d need it. But I guess I pretty much have an alibi every night, since Dora comes over all the time. That’s my friend, Dora Kelly. She lives at three-twelve Old York Road—you know, near the fire station. I called her last night and she came over with her baby around—oh, around seven o’clock, and stayed until a little after ten. Before that, Harold and I had dinner here together, and after Dora left I went to sleep. Harold goes to sleep much earlier, around eight-thirty.”

Janovy jotted down the times and the address. “Thank you. So you weren’t at your mother’s house anytime yesterday evening?”

“Oh,
no
.”

“Did your mother have any enemies that you know of?”

She looked at him wearily, and for the first time he could see the fatigue and sadness in her eyes. “No … not that I know of. My mother was very popular in this town, you know, Officer. A leading citizen and all that.”

“Yes. One more question. Why didn’t your mother approve of your fiancé?”

Susan shrugged impatiently.

“For the simple reason, Officer, that George is poor. My first husband was poor, and I had to ask my mother for some money to help tide me and Harold over the rough spots after the divorce. She had so much, of course, it shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow it did. And then when she found out that George and I were thinking of
getting married, she had a fit. She said she wouldn’t support another poverty-stricken husband of mine. She said some pretty ugly things.” She flushed. “It doesn’t make any difference to me, of course. I’ve always done pretty much what I wanted. And Mother would have come around eventually.”

Janovy sat looking at her thoughtfully. Susan Whitaker, he decided, was really a very attractive woman, all the more so because she seemed completely unconscious of her good looks. Now she gave a muttered exclamation, undid the rubber band binding her hair, and let it loose over her shoulders in abundant red-gold waves. Then she gathered it deftly up, twisted it into a bun and fastened it with a large tortoiseshell clip she scooped up from the floor.

“Harold plays with these things,” she said by way of explanation. “I suppose I should worry about it, but then there are so many things about Harold I have to worry about. Which reminds me, he’s so upset today that I really should be around in case he needs me. Is there anything more?”

No, said Janovy, and thanked her politely. She showed him to the door, made sure that he had both addresses down correctly, and waved him a friendly good-bye.

Dora Kelly turned out to be a buxom blonde with baby-doll features. She insisted on breastfeeding her infant daughter during the interview. Janovy found it difficult to focus his eyes anywhere in particular. Dora, however, was not perturbed by this. She laughed and said in her booming voice, “Don’t know where to look, do you? Hah! Men! They’re all the same!”

She detached the infant, whose name appeared to be
Pumpkin or Pooh, Janovy was not sure which, and said heartily, “Now, what’s all this fuss? What are you running all around town for, stirring up people and asking them stupid questions? How do you know that Bella Whitaker didn’t commit suicide, huh? Huh?”

Janovy replied cautiously that no one in his experience had ever succeeded in strangling themselves to death.

“Maybe there was a hook, and she hanged herself,” Dora volunteered. The prospect did not seem to faze her. She attached Pumpkin to her other breast and boomed, “All right, then! Ask away! I did it! I’m the guilty one!”

Janovy’s normally cheerful expression vanished and he proceeded with alacrity to take control of the interview. “How long have you known Susan Whitaker?”

“Susan? Why, we’ve been friends since we were in grade school together. Ever since I was a little girl. I lost touch with her when she got married and moved away, but we’ve been best friends ever since she came back here to live. That was about four years ago … that’s right, four years ago. Harold was six months old. What a boy that is, eh, Detective? Did you get to meet him when you were there?”

“Did you go over to Miss Whitaker’s house last night?”

“Yes, I did,” Dora Kelly responded cheerfully. “We sat and had coffee and a nice long chat, let me think what it was about. Probably about Princess Di, you know, I’m
so
interested in anything to do with the Royal Family. Aren’t you?”

Janovy glanced down at the stack of glossy magazines on the floor. Most of them featured photographs of the Princess of Wales on the cover, “No,” he said frankly.

Dora laughed uproariously. “Ah, well, perhaps it’s a woman’s thing,” she said. “A woman’s thing. I suppose the psychologists would say it’s a contrast with my own life,
although to tell you the truth I’m perfectly happy here with Phil and the baby. I just like to read about the Royal Family. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Janovy felt the interview slipping away from him again.

“Can you tell me the times you arrived and left Susan Whitaker’s house?”

“Oh, my goodness, let me think—here, Pumpkin, I think that’s enough for now, we might as well let the nice detective focus his eyes … that’s right, there you go, little Pooh. What time I went over there? I guess it was around seven o’clock when I arrived. Yes, that’s right, seven o’clock. I know because I had to leave in the middle of
Gilligan’s Island
, right in the middle of the episode where the professor and Mary Ann—oh, well, you’re not interested in that, are you? Anyway, I went over there around seven and left around ten o’clock. I know because Phil—that’s my husband, Phil—was angry that I got home so late. He didn’t like spending the evening alone. Oh, Pumpkin, what’s
that
?”

That
was a viscous gloppy white liquid which Pumpkin had suddenly thrown up all over her mother’s lap. There was a short break in the interview while this was cleaned up. Three minutes later Dora sat back down with a hearty laugh and said, “Now, where was I?”

Janovy was feeling a little sick. He said, “Miss Whitaker told me that she’s engaged.”

“That’s right.” Dora Kelly glanced at him, and for an instant he got a view of a pair of disconcertingly shrewd blue eyes. Then the look was gone, to be replaced by her usual expression of near-idiotic vacancy. “To George. She told you about her mother’s objections?”

“Yes. What more do you know about it, Mrs. Kelly?”

“Not much more. I know Susan’s mother wasn’t happy about the engagement, and I know Susan didn’t care. But
George did. He cared a lot. He was all upset when Susan’s mother threatened to cut her out of the will.”

Janovy was interested in this. “Cut her out of the will?”

“That’s right. She didn’t tell you? Her mother pulled every string in the book. Susan said she didn’t mean it, that she’d come around, but I don’t know. She thought George was a loser and she didn’t want him marrying her daughter.”

“I see.”

Dora said abruptly, “Well, Pooh, time for nappy-bye. Time for nappy-bye. How’s that, little Pumpkin?”

Little Pumpkin seemed to think that was fine. She was cooing and making eyes at a nearby table lamp.

Dora Kelly looked at Janovy, and again he got a flash of intelligent blue eyes. “That’ll be all, then?”

“Yes, Mrs. Kelly. Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome!” she boomed at him.

After the detective departed, Dora Kelly put her daughter down for a nap in her crib. She sang to her softly for a while, until Pooh (whose real name was Penelope) was sound asleep, splayed out in the effortless posture of babyhood. Dora went downstairs, made herself a cup of coffee, took out a big slice of crumb cake, and settled down by the phone.

She dialed rapidly. “Hello, Susie? It’s me. He was just here—that detective, you know.” She let out a booming laugh. “What a doll! I think—you know, I’m not sure, but I
think
you made quite an impression on him. That’s right, Susan. Oh, don’t laugh at me, your Auntie Dora knows about these things. That’s right.” She listened for a moment, then said, “Well, of course I did. Of course I did.
You know you can count on me, don’t you?” Another booming laugh. “You can count on me!”

George Drexler met Detective Janovy at the door with an apron on and a large kitchen mitt shaped like a whale on his right hand.

“Excuse me a minute, just a minute, please come right in here,” he said, ushering Janovy into the living room of his small apartment with a vague wave of the whale. He rushed back into the kitchen while Janovy glanced around. It was a pleasant little room with skylights and two big square windows. Over in the corner was a music stand, stacked precariously high with folios. There was an old broken-down stereo on the bookshelves, with two speakers standing on the floor. The furniture was old and comfortable-looking. Janovy sat down on the sofa, which groaned in protest. George Drexler shouted from the kitchen, as if in response, “I’m coming, don’t worry, I’m coming!”

“Take your time, Mr. Drexler.”

George finally appeared, his face flushed, and sank down in a chair. He had neglected to take off his whale mitt, and now gestured vaguely with it. “Cinnamon loaf,” he said. “Damned tricky. What can I do for you, Detective?”

“You’re Susan Whitaker’s financé?”

George smiled triumphantly. “That’s right. Have you met her yet? Am I a lucky man, or what? Isn’t she gorgeous? Terrible news about her mother,” he said hastily. “Just terrible.”

“I take it you’re not very unhappy over Mrs. Whitaker’s death?”

“Well, Officer, I can’t say I am. Bella never liked me … no, she never liked me. She thought I wasn’t good
enough for Susan. Of course, I’m not, but then, who would be?”

Janovy regarded him silently. George Drexler was a tall, thin, gentle-looking man with large dark eyes. He had droopy brown hair, a faintly puzzled expression and an ascetic-looking face. His clothes were wrinkled and his shirt looked as if it could use a washing. Now he smiled and said:

“Bella never really knew me. No, she never really knew me. She hated me simply because I wasn’t rich, and wasn’t ever likely to be rich. She thought I would just sponge off of Susan, which is ridiculous. She never really gave me a chance to prove myself.”

“What is it you do for a living, Mr. Drexler?”

He gestured toward the music stand. “I’m a violist. I’m trying for a concert career, of course, or perhaps steady work with a quartet, but until then I play where I can, here and there, whenever I get a call. Of course it doesn’t pay the bills, so I also work for the
Ridgewood Star
. I write a weekly music column and do a little bit of reporting. Perhaps you’ve seen my column?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, well. Not many people have. I review concerts in the city, that kind of thing. I don’t mind the work, and it was through the
Star
that I met Susan, so I’m grateful for that.”

“Please tell me where you were last night.”

George, like Susan, looked faintly amused. “My alibi, you mean? Well, fortunately I have one. I got a call earlier this week from a group I play with now and again, and we gave a performance last night at a community center near Springfield, Massachusetts—nice little place. Good acoustics. I would have enjoyed myself, except the first violinist—it’s an octet, a double string quartet, you know—anyway,
the first violinist insists on playing everything much too fast, so we whipped through the Mendelssohn Octet at a breakneck pace. It’s supposed to be half an hour, and we were done with it in twenty minutes. My head was spinning, I’ll tell you. Would you like to hear a little bit of it?”