Murder as a Second Language (22 page)

I stayed where I was because it was a very nice place to be. “I underestimate her. One day she has a junior high mentality, the next day she's an adult. Almost an adult, anyway. A year from now she'll be letting me buy new clothes for college and driving away in whatever extravagant car she can weasel out of you.”

“She may have forgotten to mention one of those junior high moments,” he said as he wiggled around to get more comfortable. I am slender, but not emaciated. “It seems that she and Inez drove by the Literacy Council on Monday night. They wanted to hide in the bushes and try to get a photo of Toby with a mop.”

“They what! She told you, but not me!” I plunked down on the adjoining chaise. “Those little vipers! What did they see?”

“They saw Bartek pounding on the door. They decided to try another night. Before you charge upstairs, you might think about the two dozen deviled eggs in the refrigerator.”

I sank back and stewed on this for a long while. All they'd done was drive by and omit to tell me. Their story confirmed Bartek's version. I decided not to convene a grand jury until I heard all the details. It could wait. I went inside and returned with wine. When a buzzer went off, Peter announced that it was time for dinner.

I called Caron, and we all sat at the island to eat. Peter was highly amused for some reason, but I didn't let it irritate me. We conversed about a greenhouse and perhaps a water lily pond with koi. Caron pointed out their life expectancy was limited due to the herons we'd seen by the stream. Peter said he was more willing to invest in goldfish. Caron wondered aloud if they were good for sushi. I thanked her for the deviled eggs, and she smiled smugly.

She insisted on cleaning up after we finished. I wasn't sure if she knew she'd need lots of brownie points in the future, but I kept it to myself. Peter went into his office. I leaned my elbows on the granite surface and said, “Why don't you invite over some friends tomorrow afternoon to swim? There's no reason for you to hide in your room until Joel gets back.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I just want you to enjoy the summer. I wasn't thinking about a big crowd, just Ashley, Carrie, Edison, Inez, the Maxwell boy, Toby, and a few others. I'll spring for hot dogs and chips.”

“You didn't give birth to any knuckleheads, Mother. Do you want to interrogate Toby about Monday night? Sure, I'll text everybody, but he'll freak out when he sees that it's from me. He's never glanced at me in the halls between classes. We were in the same world history class, but he sat in the back corner and slept. I'd be surprised if he knew my name.”

“Maybe it would be better to have Inez invite him.”

“Yeah, right.” She dropped the dish towel in the sink and returned to her room.

Now that I was no longer in a cold sweat about the potluck, I went into my library to make more lists. I realized that I was fixated on the issue of lights in the building. Caron and Inez has seen the lights when they drove by; more importantly, they'd seen Bartek at the door. It was unfortunate they'd hadn't pulled over to see what happened next. I needed to talk to Toby and to Gregory. I could corner one at the potluck and the other in my own backyard.

I took out the directory and found Duke Kovac's number. The phone was answered by a woman with a heavy Southern drawl. I asked to speak to Duke. After a moment of silence, she said, “Now just who is this?”

“Claire Malloy. It's about an old friend of his named Ludmila.”

“That bitch?” Each word had at least two syllables. “Duke hasn't seen her in ages. What's this about?”

I added her to my list of suspects, sight unseen. I repeated my request, then winced as she muffled the receiver and yelled his name.

He came on the line. “This is Duke.” I explained who I was and told him about the potluck. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I dunno, but I guess I'll try to make it. Tillie wasn't real fond of Ludmila. Noon, right?”

I confirmed the time and hung up. I made a note to explore the cause of Tillie's antipathy, although Ludmila had not endeared herself to many people. Duke seemed to be the sole exception. He'd either liked her (for some peculiar reason) or had felt so sorry for her that he put up with her. I decided to put it all aside for the time being and was searching the bookshelves for a distraction when the phone rang. I waited to see if Peter might answer it in his office, but after five rings I conceded that he would not.

“Hello,” I said. “This is Claire.”

“Thank goodness. I wasn't sure this was the right number. Willie gave it to me, but she can be such an airhead. There's a rumor she got confused in her chambers and undressed before she put on her robe. There she was on the platform, buck-naked underneath. That's our Willie.”

I recognized Sonya's high-pitched chatter. “Can I help you, Sonya?”

“I heard there's going to be some kind of memorial service for Ludmila, and I thought all of us on the board ought to go. Do you know the details?”

“Yes, indeed.” I felt a tremor of glee, since I was sure she didn't have two dozen deviled eggs in her refrigerator. I tried to keep my voice neutral as I told her about the upcoming potluck, emphasizing that Bartek would be there. “He had her body cremated, so this is the only time for us to offer our condolences. Do you think the other board members can make it?”

“I can, because I set my own hours. Frances is on vacation this week, so she can come. Willie takes two hours for lunch; she can skip her nap this one time. Austin and Rick will have to work it out with their employers. Drake can make arrangements, too. That's everybody, isn't it?”

“Yes. Please let everyone know it's a potluck. The students take great pride in bringing dishes from their native countries. It's up to us to provide good old-fashioned American dishes.” It was almost nine o'clock, I noted happily.

“That's not a problem,” Sonya said. “I'll pick up a chocolate cake in the morning. Frances made some dynamite baked beans for the picnic last summer. If Austin and Rick show up with lemonade, be careful. Thanks so much, Claire. I'll see you tomorrow.”

An Anglo-Saxon expletive came to mind.

 

12

I carried the platter into the Literacy Council and left it in the back classroom. The air-conditioning was on, so I presumed most of us would not come down with salmonella. The tables already held a large number of mysterious dishes from the first wave of students. I stuck my head into Keiko's office to announce my arrival and took my position at the reception desk. It was growing tedious. I'd envisioned tutoring for a couple of hours a week. If I was lucky enough to have Yelena as a student, we would have hilarious sessions attempting to make sense out of idioms and other English-language anomalies. If I was burdened with Ludmila's evil twin sister, I would decline politely. Volunteerism has its limitations—unless you need it on your college application.

Leslie was teaching a class. Some of the tutors brought food and, at my suggestion, took it to the back classroom. Miss Parchester's African student entered empty-handed and disappeared into a cubicle. I forgave him, since it appeared that we would have enough food to feed all the pupils at Frances's school. Which reminded me of two pertinent tidbits about her: She drove a black car, and she was on vacation all week. The idea was still absurd, but I decided to have a conversation with her about her free time—and with Sonya or Rick about their private meeting in Leslie's office, and with Gregory about locking up the building on Monday night, and with Miss Parchester about her guest room. I wondered if I would have time to sample the food.

The phone rang. “Waterford. I need to speak to Leslie Barnes.”

“She's teaching right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Tell her if she doesn't contact me, she'll be in worse trouble. She's got twenty-four hours.”

He hung up before I could formulate a question. I was baffled. It would be interesting to see her reaction when I gave her the message, which I supposed had something to do with her divorce. Waterford might be a lawyer, or he might be a private detective. It reeked of nastiness or even blackmail. I debated calling Peter, but he would point out patiently that Leslie was not a suspect in the investigation and her personal life was precisely that.

At ten o'clock, Leslie's students streamed out of the classroom and she headed for her office. I intercepted her and handed her the slip of paper. “He said to tell you that you'll be in trouble if you don't get in touch with him,” I said evenly. “He was pretty gruff.”

“I'm sure he was.” Her tone was unconcerned, but she looked pale.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No.” She continued into her office and slammed the door.

I spent the next hour reading the newspaper and exchanging pleasantries with the students and tutors. I was no longer terrified of callers with limited English. Two potential students came in, one from Sweden and the second from Estonia. I gave them forms to fill out and alerted Keiko. A tutor called in to cancel a session; I duly wrote a note. After a quick visit to the ladies' room, I started a fresh pot of coffee and took out cups, spoons, and the customary accoutrements. The tables were crowded with foil-covered dishes and plastic containers. When Keiko had given her report at the board meeting, she had said there were about a hundred students and fifteen tutors. There would be ample food for all if they escaped from their day jobs.

I'd just sat down at my desk when Miss Parchester tottered in. “Good morning, Claire. How are you?”

“Fine, Miss Parchester. I'd like to have a word with you, if you don't mind. It's about Miao.”

“Is Mudada here?”

I pointed at the row of cubicles. “I really would like to talk to you now. I'm sure you know why.” I gave her a steely look.

“I know you would, dear, but I can't keep Mudada waiting.” She took a package of cookies out of her bag and put it on my desk. “I finally found them on a high shelf in the cupboard. Will you please find a plate for them?” She tottered away.

“That went well,” I said under my breath. If I couldn't catch her during the potluck, I knew where she lived. It might be tricky to catch any one of the people on my list, I thought glumly. Caron and Inez came in. The latter was carrying a pizza box, but they both were texting madly. I sent Inez to the back room and asked Caron if her e-vites were successful.

“Yeah,” she said without looking up from her cell, “but the word got around, and you're going to need more than one package of hot dogs.”

“What about Toby?”

“For some reason that defies me, he wants to come. Maybe he's got the hots for you, too.”

“Please don't tell me he has ‘the hots' for Inez. I don't want to shave her head, but I will if I have to.”

Inez appeared from the bookshelves. “You're going to what?”

“Just a little joke,” I said. “Your hair looks wonderful. How was your date with Toby Whitbream?”

She glowered at Caron before saying, “Fine, Ms. Malloy. It wasn't really a date. We went to his little brother's baseball game. The kid got a home run, and his team won. That was about it.”

“What did you think about him?” I prodded.

“He's okay for a jock. I'd better find Aladino.” She went into the lounge area.

Caron grimaced. “So now you're the Grand Inquisitor? I am So Embarrassed. Inez will never tell me anything now. If this gets out no one will.”

“Isn't Nasreen waiting for you? You don't want to run over your hour and miss your chance to taste all the exotic food.” Thus spoke Torquemada.

Gregory was the next to appear onstage. He wore a dark suit and muted tie appropriate for funerals (and court appearances). “Good morning, Claire. Does Keiko have everything under control?”

“She's not sobbing in her office, so she most likely does. These potlucks happen every month. Don't you attend them?”

“Not if I can help it. I have an aversion to raw fish, incendiary curry, and unidentifiable glop. I prefer to have the bland buffet with the Rotarians. At least I know what I'm eating.” His smile was faintly condescending as he continued into his office.

“How about a glass of water from the great, gray-green, greasy Limpopo River?” I said to his closed door. I did not stick out my tongue at him, although the thought crossed my mind. I resumed answering the phone, sending offerings to the back classroom, sorting thumbtacks by color, and scribbling cryptic notes to myself in what I hoped was an indecipherable code.

It was indeed indecipherable, and I was trying to recall the code names I'd assigned to people when Yelena perched on my desk.

“Good morning, Claire. I must ask favor from you. I am going to make speech in front of everybody about Ludmila. I looked on Internet and found traditional things, but I do not understand. Am I supposed to talk about ashes and dust? Ludmila is now ashes but not dust. Dust is what I have under sofa. That seems like bad thing to say.”

“Why don't you just say a few words about how much Ludmila will be missed at the Farberville Literacy Council. Say she was part of our family, and we're all sorry that she passed away.”

“Passed away?”

“It's a euphemism for ‘died.' The mention of death makes some people uncomfortable,” I said.

Yelena picked up a pen and crossed out part of her script. “So I say she didn't die, she passed away. I tried very hard to think of nice things to say about her, but I couldn't think of any. Please help me, Claire. Her grandson will be hearing me.”

“He didn't like her, either.”

Yelena gazed over my shoulder for a moment. “Then I shall present Russian poetry about death. I will be dramatic and everyone will weep, even if they do not understand words. I have black coat in car. A basket of flowers would be good.” She leaned down and hugged me, then went off in search of props.