ILL-TIMED ENTANGLEMENTS (The Kate Huntington mystery series #2) (5 page)

Betty offered him coffee and invited him to sit down. Once again they went over the same ground as the day before. Then Lindstrom threw in a new question. “Mrs. Franklin, can you explain why your fingerprints and several of your hairs were found in Mrs. Blackwell’s living room?”

Betty didn’t miss a beat. “Of course. That was where we discussed her book idea.”

“How long ago was that?” Lindstrom asked.

Betty stood up and walked over to the calendar hanging on her kitchen wall. She stared at it for a moment, counting backward. “It was around the middle of April, after one of our meetings. The 11
^th
was just before Easter. We didn’t meet then, so it had to have been April 18
^th
.”

Kate winced and swallowed hard. That was the day after the anniversary of her husband’s death. She shook her head to bring herself back to the here and now.

“But surely the apartment has been cleaned since then,” the detective was saying in a skeptical tone.

“Did you look at the place?” Betty said. “Doris was the world’s worst housekeeper, and she was too cheap to use the cleaning service.”

Kate jumped in with a question of her own. “Detective, what was the cause of death?”

Lindstrom hesitated. “Won’t know for sure until the autopsy this afternoon, but it looked like she was hit with a fireplace poker. It was laying next to her.”

“Oh, please,” Betty scoffed. “Next you’ll be telling us that the butler did it.”

“Mrs. Franklin, this is hardly a joking matter,” the detective admonished.

Betty raised an eyebrow at his tone. “I didn’t mean that as a joke. I just meant to say that someone getting clobbered with a poker is the second biggest cliché in murder mysteries. The first being the butler did it.”

“Well, cliché or not, that was probably what happened. It looked like Mrs. Blackwell was arguing with someone, they lost their temper, and grabbed the closest convenient thing to hit her.” He paused. “It wouldn’t be premeditated murder. Only second degree. Maybe could be plea-bargained down to manslaughter.” He paused again, on the off chance that his suspect might be inclined to confess.

“Want to guess where Mrs. Blackwell was hit?” he continued.

Kate quickly said, “On the back of her head.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Mrs. Huntington.” The detective shot her a perturbed look. “And how did you know that?”

“I guessed it from the rest of what you just described. If you’re assuming the attacker was acting on impulse during an argument, then she was probably hit when she turned her back on them. Were Mrs. Franklin’s fingerprints on the poker?”

Lindstrom hesitated, then shook his head. “It had been wiped clean, which is the other reason we think it was the murder weapon.”

Betty excused herself with her little girls’ room euphemism. Once she was out of the room, Kate said, “Surely, Detective, you don’t really think that little old lady is a killer?”

The detective gave a half shrug. “It looks like all of my likely suspects are little old ladies, or little old men.”

“So you are looking at other suspects?” Kate said.

“I would, if I had any.”

Kate disguised her exasperated sigh by pretending to blow an unruly curl out of her eyes. “I know there’s no way I can convince you of this, but Betty Franklin wouldn’t hurt a soul, and you’re wasting your time focusing on her.”

The detective let out a small chuckle. “You left out the part about how meanwhile a murderer is going free.” When Kate just glared at him, he softened his tone. “Look, I’m not in the habit of railroading old ladies into jail on bogus murder charges. I’ve got officers questioning every resident of this community and I will be looking at this case from all angles, and then I’ll turn it over and look at it some more.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. “That is reassuring.” After a quick internal debate, she decided to propose another idea. “It occurs to me, Detective, that some people might be more forthcoming with a female civilian than they might be with an intimidating police officer. I’m stuck here anyway until this evening, when Mrs. Franklin’s nephew gets here. I’d be more than happy to help with the interviews.”

The detective’s reply was quick. “That’s best left to the professionals, the trained observers.”

“Which is what I am,” Kate said. “I’m a psychotherapist. I’ll bet I can tell when someone’s lying or leaving something out better than some of your uniformed officers. Quite a few of them look like they still belong in high school.”

The detective, whose weathered face and gray-sprinkled hair pegged him as forty-something, smiled. “They do seem to be getting younger every year,” he acknowledged.

He paused for a long moment. “As an agent, so to speak, of Mrs. Franklin’s attorney, I can’t stop you from asking questions. But stay out of the way of my people, and anything you find out, I want to hear about it immediately.

“And be careful!” he admonished as he rose and offered Kate his hand. “This isn’t a game.”

“I know that all too well, Detective,” Kate said, as Betty re-entered the room. Kate decided not to elaborate that she’d had some previous experience with investigating murder, that of her own husband.

Detective Lindstrom shook Kate’s hand and then took Betty’s in both of his. “Try not to worry, Mrs. Franklin. As I was telling Mrs. Huntington, we are going to be looking at this case from every angle.” He patted her hand, then made his exit.

Kate wasn’t sure if he was truly trying to reassure Betty or was trying to throw her off guard.

•   •   •

By the time Rob arrived that evening, Kate and Betty had, with the help of the community’s directory, compiled a list of those residents who might know Doris. Unfortunately, since The Villages’ ten buildings housed over four hundred residents, the list was long.

That afternoon, Kate had tracked down and interviewed several of the women on the list. But none had said anything that seemed all that useful. When asked about Doris’s possible enemies, they had all commented that they shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, implying agreement with Frieda’s assessment that Doris had nothing but enemies.

Betty had not been surprised. “I’m afraid we’re going to find too many suspects, rather than not enough, when we start listing people who didn’t like Doris.”

She was pointing out that Kate should probably stop her interviews for the day, since senior citizens tended to eat dinner and go to bed early, when the doorbell rang.

After greetings had been exchanged and Betty had determined that her nephew hadn’t stopped for dinner, she went into the kitchen to make soup and sandwiches.

Rob reassured Kate that Edie was being spoiled rotten by his daughter and wife. Then Kate told him about their conversation that morning with the lead detective.

Rob took a sandwich from the plate Aunt Betty held out. “Don’t let your guard down with this guy,” he said to her. “He may truly be seeing you as one of many possible leads or he might be trying to trick you into saying something he can use against you.”

“I know, dear.” Betty patted his arm. She handed the sandwich plate to Kate, who was contemplating how easy it was to fall into the trap of assuming Betty was naive just because she looked so sweet and innocent. After all, the woman had been alive for eighty-five years.

“Lindstrom has assured me he’s going to look at this case from all angles, as he put it, but…” Kate hesitated to say out loud that the detective might not pursue other leads with great vigor when he had a suspect with a good motive. She and Rob knew firsthand about that. The detective investigating Eddie’s murder had jumped to the conclusion that they were lovers and had accused
them
of killing her husband.

“So Betty and I have come up with the beginnings of a plan.” Kate outlined their ideas for investigating on their own and showed Rob the list of names.

“We were thinking you and I could interview these folks this weekend. I’ve already talked to some of the women. Since people are less likely to be totally honest with Betty, her job will be to take our notes from the interviews and try to organize them.”

“Sounds like it’s worth a try,” Rob said, then hesitated. He knew he should be a good friend and insist Kate go home to her child, now that he was here. But the thought of spending the weekend talking to strangers and worrying about Aunt Betty, without either Liz or Kate’s company, was daunting. Liz had been on him lately about reducing his stress level and taking better care of himself. Tonight, his aching body and tired mind were proving the truth of her words.

Reading the mixed emotions on his face, Kate reassured him. “Yes, I miss Edie, but it’s not like she’s going to be ready to leave for college by the time I get home. I want to stick around and help. The sooner we can clear away the suspicions about Betty, the sooner everyone’s lives can get back to normal.”

She desperately longed to hold her child, but she had taken note of the drooping shoulders and the fatigue in Rob’s face. Kate knew Edie was being well cared for. Her friend needed her more right now.

•   •   •

By Saturday evening, enthusiasm for their plan was beginning to wane. The interviews were taking far longer than anticipated. Half the time, people were not home and they had to try again later. Kate was realizing that the stereotype of retirees sitting around doing nothing was a myth. Quite a few of the residents seemed to spend very little time in their apartments, as they went about their busy lives of leisure.

Those people who were home had greeted Kate and Rob with enthusiasm and had plied them with tea, coffee, and cookies, as they were asked about their life stories. Interviews that should have taken fifteen to twenty minutes had taken closer to an hour each.

After dinner, Betty took them into the den to show them her handiwork. She had listed the names of the members of the writers’ club on one of two large pieces of white posterboard, with room under each name to add notations. On the second, she had written the title “Other Suspects” and had listed several names. All she lacked was a bulletin board to tack them to.
You can take the teacher out of the classroom
, Kate thought.
But you can’t take the classroom out of the teacher.

They compared notes from their interviews and Betty made some notations. Their main accomplishment of the day had been the elimination of several people from their list. Both Kate and Rob had felt they were telling the truth when they’d claimed to have only known Doris in passing.

By nine, Betty was yawning. She went into her bedroom to get ready for bed, but she would be sleeping on the small settee in the living room as she had done the night before. She had insisted that her tall, big-framed nephew take the queen-sized bed in her bedroom.

“I’m way too wired to sleep yet,” Kate said. “Too much tea and coffee today. I’m not used to it anymore.” She’d been avoiding caffeine for over a year, while she was pregnant and then nursing.

“I’m still a bit wound up myself,” Rob said. “Why don’t we take a walk. I’ve got a key, so we can slip back in later and not disturb Aunt Betty.”

Kate and Rob walked down the short hallway to the atrium in the center of the building. At nine, the area was already deserted, although they could hear televisions playing and the low murmur of conversations in several of the apartments. “Pretty much roll up the sidewalks at sunset around here, don’t they?” Rob said, as they headed for the front doors of the building.

Kate glanced outside at the gray July dusk. “Yeah, it’s not even completely dark yet.”

As they pushed through the doors, Kate studied her friend’s broad face. Rob was looking downright haggard.

They chose a direction at random and strolled along the sidewalk. Streetlights surrounding the parking lots were coming on, then some blinked off again, their sensors unable to make up their minds.

“Anything the matter, Rob?” Kate asked.

Rob gave a low chuckle. “Besides the obvious that my aunt is a murder suspect?”

“Yeah, besides that.” Kate smiled at him.

“This case is getting to me a bit. It’s going okay so far, but a lot is at stake. My client’s wife is an alcoholic. Originally, she was divorcing him so she could party without him nagging her about trivial things, like not leaving the kids home alone when she wants to go to the bar, and not driving drunk with them in the car.

“So he assumed she would agree to him having custody of the kids, but she’s balked at that. Now we’re duking it out in front of a judge. If she gets custody, the kids will be at risk even more than they were before.”

“How old are the kids?”

“Six and four.”

Kate winced.

“Yeah,” Rob said, “way too young to be the rope in a parental tug of war.”

“Not that there’s ever a good age for that.” Kate noticed a bench beside the sidewalk. “Let’s sit for awhile.”

The temperature was dropping with nightfall but heat was still radiating from the asphalt of the parking lots. A slight breath of cool breeze ruffled their hair. They sat down. Rob stretched his long legs out in front of him and let out a sigh.

“So is your client going for full custody?”

“Yeah, and supervised visitation for the mother, which he’s not going to get. Now she’s claiming she’s sober, going to AA. But she’s promised him before that she would clean up her act, and it’s only lasted a few days.”

“With the courts still leaning toward the idea that young children need to be with their mother, he may not get custody at all,” Kate said.

“That’s what I’m afraid is going to happen. I can present the best possible case, give a performance to rival Perry Mason, and this still may not turn out good.”

“You’re dating yourself with that reference, my friend,” Kate teased.

He gave her a lopsided grin, then his face sobered again. “I should be back in Maryland right now, working on my arguments and combing through case law to find more precedents for giving dads custody. But I couldn’t let Aunt Betty down.”

Kate took one of his big hands and held it in hers, unable to think of a thing to say to bolster his mood. Realistically his client wasn’t likely to get all of what he was asking for.