Moss Hysteria (11 page)

“Does that mean you believe the accusation was false?” Marco asked.

“I hoped it was, but when the detective came a second time, she brought proof. How could I deny it?”

“What kind of proof?”

Jane began to list it on her fingers. “Witnesses' statements. The fact that he had access to the victims' homes and knowledge of when they were away. And a pawnshop owner who identified Dirk from a photo.”

“Why wasn't he charged with theft?” Marco asked.

“I was told the detectives were still building their case against him when he died.”

“Before that first visit by the detective, did you have any inkling that Dirk had stolen anything?” Marco asked.

She averted her gaze. “No.”

Marco and I exchanged glances; he didn't believe her, either. “Did Dirk ever bring you an expensive piece of jewelry or make an extravagant purchase with money you knew you didn't have?” he asked.

She kept her gaze lowered, nibbling her lower lip as though she couldn't bring herself to say it. After some thought, she finally nodded.

“Did you ask him how he got the money for those purchases?”

She shook her head.

“Didn't you wonder?”

She curled her hands into fists and said angrily, “Of course I wondered, but I wasn't allowed to question him. When we had to pack up suddenly and move from our home in Wilmington, I couldn't ask why, nor could I ask when we moved from Fort Collins to New Chapel.
Just do it
was the motto I lived by. It made life easier.”

“Was Dirk abusive?” I asked.

“Verbally,” she said, “but only when I crossed him, so I didn't. He was away most of the time anyway, so we didn't see him much. I raised my sons myself and thank God for it.”

“Looking back,” Marco said, “do you think you had to pack and move because Dirk was stealing in those other cities as well?”

“I'm sure it was something he didn't want to go to jail for.”

“Why did you stay with him?” I asked. It wasn't on the list, but I had to know.

“I can give you a whole slew of excuses. The boys were young. The money was good. And look at this house. I knew deep down we couldn't afford a place like this on his salary, and yet here we are.” She shrugged. “It took a visit from the detective to force me to face reality. That was when I consulted a lawyer about a divorce.”

“What was the outcome?” Marco asked.

“The outcome was that Dirk died, so I told my attorney not to file the papers.”

“What lawyer did you see?”

“Gary Gillen.”

I wrote it down. I'd met Gary several times while clerking for Dave Hammond. Since Jane hadn't proceeded with the divorce, I was hoping he'd be able to verify what Jane had said.

“Was there a will?” I asked.

“Why would Superman need a will?”

“Excuse me?”

“That was how my husband thought of himself. So now we have to go through the long probate process. Luckily Dirk put away a lot of money in CDs—which I didn't know about until my attorney did some research. They're in my name, thank God, so I can withdraw money to live on.”

“They're solely in your name?” Marco asked.

“Yes. And if you want to know how it's possible that I was unaware of them, the answer is that Dirk taught himself how to forge my signature. He was probably trying to protect the money in case someone came after him.”

“Did Dirk know you were going to divorce him?” I asked.

“No way. I'd planned to take my boys and go stay with family on the day he was served his papers.”

“You were that fearful of what he'd do?” I asked.

“I didn't know how he'd react. That was the thing about Dirk. His moods were so mercurial, you just didn't know from one moment to the next.”

“Was Dirk ever unfaithful to you?” Marco asked.

“I don't have any names, but I've long suspected that he was cheating on me.” Jane glanced at her watch. “I need to feed my sons lunch.”

“Sure.” Marco rose, so I put away my notebook and stood up beside him.

“Your boys are well behaved,” I said. “I haven't heard a peep out of them.”

“Thanks. They're my life.” She walked ahead of us and opened the door. “I'd do anything for them.”

“J
ane was certainly prepared for that interview,” Marco said as we headed home. “She ran through her answers as though she'd memorized them. And I didn't get the feeling she's grieving much.”

“Can you blame her? He cheated on her, stole, forged her signature, dragged her around the country, and verbally abused her. I'm guessing he wasn't Mr. Nice Guy with the boys, either.”

“All of which gives her a very strong motive. I also find the timing of Dirk's death interesting. If Jane had divorced him, she'd get just a portion of his estate. Now she'll get all of it.”

Marco was building a case against her. “She signed the papers, Marco. She was ready to go through with it. That takes a lot of courage.”

“What's rule number one, Abby?”

“I know. Verify. I'll make a call to Gary Gillen on Monday. I think he'll remember me, but whether he'll tell me anything, I don't know.”

“What are your thoughts about Jane's alibi?”

“It sounded like a typical busy evening for the mother of two kids.”

“I saw it as the perfect way to set up a crime. Jane left her house at six o'clock in the evening and returned after nine. That three-hour window gave her enough time to buy something quickly from each store to establish an alibi then be at Brandywine to wait for Dirk to show up for his late meeting with Theda. How convenient that she didn't keep her receipts, because the time stamps would show what times she made her purchases.”

“But she did offer to show us her credit card statement.”

“All the statement would show was that someone had made purchases with her card on that date. Here's another point to consider. Jane usually attends a jiujitsu class on Friday evenings, but last Friday she opted to go shopping instead. If she had shown up for class and then left early, someone would have noticed.”

“She said she had errands to run.”

“They couldn't have been done on Saturday or Sunday?”

“Maybe they couldn't, Marco. We didn't ask her that. And besides, Theda was waiting for Dirk to show up. Don't you think she would've said something to us if she'd seen him and Jane behind her house, especially if there was a struggle?”

“Why would Theda be watching her backyard? Wouldn't she be waiting for Dirk to come to her front door?”

“Okay, so how would Jane know where Theda lives?”

“For a smart woman, I don't think that would be a problem. I would even bet that Dirk kept a Brandywine directory on his computer. As far as I'm concerned, Jane had the means, motive, and opportunity, and right now she's at the top of my suspect list.”

“I'll give her motive and opportunity, but she'd have to be pretty strong to knock Dirk out and drag him into the water.”

“Desperation gives people incredible strength.” Marco pulled into our driveway and pushed the button on the garage door opener. “And think about her last comment. She would do anything for her sons. Maybe that includes murdering her husband.”

•   •   •

After lunch and a walk with Seedy, Marco and I headed to a large furniture store in Maraville where there were more choices than at the smaller store in New Chapel. But once inside the warehouselike showroom, I began to think I would've been better off with a limited selection.

“Now,
that's
what I'd like,” Marco said, and began to weave through living room suites. I started to follow then saw a spring green sofa and love seat and detoured toward that instead. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo of them and then saw two upholstered chairs in a pastel orange that looked pretty.

“Abby, come take a look,” Marco called.

“Just a minute.” A sofa and love seat in a purple-and-green abstract print were calling to me, so I took a photo before going to see Marco's pick.

He was seated on one end of a massive sectional sofa, running his hands over the leather cushions. “Isn't this awesome?”

I was appalled. “That's a lot of black, Marco.”

“But look at this.” He pressed a button and a footrest sprang up. He folded his arms behind his head and smiled. “Isn't it great? There's one on the other end. Try it.”

So much for our tastes being in sync. I sat down on other end and had to scoot myself back, which caused my legs to dangle like a child's. “It's really big.”

A saleswoman came scurrying up, a spiral binder in her hands. “I see you've found
the
most popular item on the floor. Isn't she a beauty? Such fine leather, too, but tough. Really tough. I promise this sectional will make quite a statement in your house.”

The Black Hole of Calcutta?

She turned to Marco. “Did you see that the armrest folds back to reveal cup holders?”

Marco folded it back, smiling like a child opening a Christmas present. “Nice.”

“If you press that button, your chair will become a recliner, too,” she said to me.

“Doesn't matter. My feet won't reach the footrest.”

“Nonsense.” She fluttered over to demonstrate then stood back, a frown on her face, as she contemplated my situation.

“I told you,” I said.

“Just stretch out on it,” Marco said. “That's what you usually do anyway.”

I turned over the price tag hanging off the armrest then showed it to Marco. He put his footrest down and rose. “Okay, then.”

“We have a smaller sectional over here, also in leather,” the saleswoman said, motioning for us to come with her as she headed off in another direction.

Marco was about to follow until I said, “Hey. Leather Man. I don't want a dark living room or all-leather seating or something that's too big for me. I need color, soft fabrics, and a seat that fits
my
seat.”

“Then show me something you
would
like.”

Which I did. But he didn't go for the purple-and-green print. Or the spring green set. Or the orange armchairs. Or the pesky saleswoman who kept trying to show us more leather. “We'll let you know if we find something,” he finally told her. She handed him her business card and faded away.

“How about this?” he asked, sitting on an overstuffed dark brown tweed love seat.

“The fabric is rough and almost as dark as the black leather. How about that set back there?”

“The navy set? I'd go for navy.”

“Behind it.”

“I'm not sure which set you mean.”

“That one.”

“The yellow?” Marco gave me a look. “Really? A yellow room?”

We wandered around the floor for another hour, and although I took a lot of photos, we couldn't decide on anything. I finally said, “What do you say we look at kitchen tables?”

Fortunately, within half an hour we found a table and chairs in a medium brown stain just like Jillian had suggested. What made it even more stylish was that the chair backs and legs were in a darker shade of brown than the table and the seats. The set also came with a self-storing leaf and two extra chairs. It was to be delivered on Tuesday around noon, and Marco would be home to accept delivery.

“What are we going to do about the living room?” I asked as we drove home.

“We'll have to come back when we have more time.”

“Marco, we were there for three hours. Do you really think more time will help? Do you see why Jillian needs to do this? All I have to do is tell her what we don't want and let her do the rest.”

“Are you absolutely sure that's the route you want to take?”

“I'm positive.”

At home we took Seedy for a walk, changed clothes, and headed for Café Venezia, a rustic Italian restaurant in town, to meet Marco's mom for dinner. I couldn't wait to find out what the surprise was. With Francesca, I never knew what to expect.

She was already seated at a table for four covered with a red checkered cloth. She waved when she saw us, but I'd spotted her even before she lifted her hand. A woman as strikingly beautiful as Francesca Salvare, with her large dark eyes, voluptuous mouth, and prominent cheekbones—a Sophia Loren lookalike—was hard to miss.

Her thick dark hair framed her classically Italian face and fell in loose waves onto her shoulders. As usual, she wore black—tonight a black silk blouse and black slacks with red heels and a red patent leather purse that she'd hung on the back of her chair. I suspected her color preference had influenced Marco's tastes, too.

“Buonasera,”
she said, giving us kisses on each cheek. “How are you, my precious son? And Abby, you look
bellissima
this evening.”

I glanced at Marco for a translation and he whispered, “Pretty.” Francesca liked sprinkling Italian words into her conversation.

“I hope you brought your appetites with you,” she said as Marco pulled out a chair for me. He took the seat to my left, directly opposite his mom.

“I'm starving,” I said, to no one's amazement.

Marco took a long, thirsty drink from his water glass. “We shopped for furniture this afternoon.”

“I ordered a bottle of a nice Italian Chianti,” Francesca told us. “It should be here momentarily.”

That was odd. She hadn't questioned us about the results of our shopping expedition. I picked up the menu just as a waiter in a white shirt, black tie, and black pants stopped at the table to take our orders.

Francesca waived him away. “We're not ready. Just bring the wine.”

“So what's your big surprise?” Marco asked.

“Not yet, Marco,” she said, her dark eyes dancing mischievously. “Be patient.”

As I perused the menu, many ideas crossed my mind as to what that surprise might be. Perhaps Marco's younger sister, Gina, was having another baby. She'd always said she wanted three children. Or Francesca was taking us on a cruise to Italy. She'd been longing to do so for years.

On the other hand, maybe Marco's mom had decided to move back to Ohio. She often mentioned missing her friends there. Or perhaps she had decided to build a house in our new subdivision. She'd talked about it at Christmas, but I'd assumed she was joking.

I took a sip of water and then nearly spit it out. Dear God, that was it. She was going to build a house across the street from us so she'd have a perch from which to direct our lives. She would make our bed, rearrange my kitchen cabinets, and organize my closets while I was at work. And I didn't even want to think about what she'd do with my messy underwear drawer.

She'd already tried reorganizing my things at Bloomers while we were on our honeymoon. I'd arrived after a blissful week to find all my florist's tools and supplies, every single item that I'd placed so carefully, put in alphabetical order. It had been a disaster. Marco and I had spent a day putting everything back the way I liked it.

I gripped Marco's arm to warn him just as the sommelier delivered the Chianti. As the man wielded his bottle opener and chatted with Francesca about the vintage, I leaned close to Marco's ear to whisper my terrible suspicion. He pulled back to search my gaze and I could see that my worry had now become his.

After the sommelier had poured our wine, Francesca raised her glass and invited us to do the same. “To my new adventure,” she said, and we clinked rims.

“Are you going on a vacation?” Marco asked, a note of desperation in his voice.

“I might,” she replied, then took a drink of wine. “But that's not it.”

Marco and I exchanged glances.

Another waiter stopped behind Francesca's chair, so I said, “We need a few more minutes.” But instead of leaving, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around Marco's mother's neck.

Marco was on his feet before Francesca tilted her head back and said with a laugh, “Here you are at last!” As my startled husband sat back down, his mom pulled the waiter around beside her. “Marco, Abby, I'd like you to meet Alfie.”

If someone had taken our photo at that moment, they would have captured us with our mouths open. This pudgy, balding server was her new adventure?

As it turned out, Alfie wasn't a waiter at all. His choice of attire was just unfortunate. He was a pleasant-looking middle-aged man, although a bit on the short side and slightly overweight, with a spare tire around his waist, a double chin, and thinning brown hair combed over to one side. Because of his girth, his pants sat low on his hips and his shirt bagged over his belt. He was not the type I'd ever imagine the classy Francesca to be interested in.

The new adventure extended a hand toward Marco. “Alfred Donnerson. It's a great pleasure to meet you, Marco. Your mom talks about you all the time. Yep, she sure does. So I know all about Down the Hatch and your Army Ranger years and your private investigation business and your stint on the police force and, well, every amazing thing you've done. Wow. That's all I can say. Wow.”

He sat down beside Francesca then reached across the table to shake my hand. “Abby, also a pleasure to meet you. I've heard all about your charming flower shop and your fondness for investigations and how you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps after flunking out of law school. Franny has told me what a remarkable young woman you are, but she didn't warn me about how pretty you are.”