Murder as a Second Language (26 page)

I shooed him away before he started blubbering. He'd played his role well, I had to admit. Mothers probably beamed with pride as he ushered their daughters down the sidewalk to his car. I would have a conversation with Inez's mother, too. I nearly yelped when Inez sat down next to me.

“Are you satisfied? You grilled him for ten minutes like he was applying for a job in your bookstore. Did you run a background check on him, too?” Her eyes, no longer hidden by smudged lenses, were flickering with anger.

Her transformation was more than skin-deep, I realized. It was high time, but not the most opportune time. “I was asking him about what he saw at the Literacy Council Monday night. The investigation is still open, and he's a potential witness.”

“He looked like he was going to cry.”

“He was talking about his career in the pros. He has to play well this season in order to get a scholarship, then off to the pros before he has to take any upper-level classes. He's worried, naturally. It's a lot of pressure.”

The flicker disappeared. “Wouldn't it be absolutely hysterical if his best offer was from Stanford? He wouldn't stand a chance in remedial freshman English.” She squeezed my hand. “Don't worry about me, Ms. Malloy. I know how to play the game, but this is the first time I've been invited to participate.” She looked down for a moment. “The rules are more intricate than I'd supposed. It's all about achieving a goal, no matter the degree of significance. You wouldn't believe the level of postpubescent angst.”

“I was there once,” I said, “but I suspect it was simpler. No cell phones, perpetual texting, social media. We led lives of quieter desperation.”

Inez smiled sadly.

The party progressed under my benign supervision. At eight o'clock, the guests began to gather up their towels and bags and straggle around the corner of the house to their cars. Two of Caron's friends stayed to help her clean up. I watched from the chaise longue, having lost the spirit of volunteerism.

Caron came to the door. “Did you listen to your messages, Mother?” She sounded concerned.

“I'll get to them later,” I said. “It's been a long day. Do you want some money to go to the movie or hang out at the mall?”

“Sure.” She hesitated for a moment. “One of the messages was from a guy with a heavy accent. I think he said that you should mind your own business. I guess he doesn't know you.”

It was really too much. My head was crammed with fragmented bits of theories, hypotheses, facts, and lies. I couldn't remember what I had—and hadn't—told Peter or Jorgeson. Now the mysterious villain had decided to butt in with no regard for my sensitive nature. “If you're here when he calls back, tell him to stuff it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I'm just tired. Run along and have a good time. Midnight, right?”

She hesitated. “If you want, I can wait until Peter gets here.”

“See you later, dear.” Once she'd gone inside, I dragged myself to my feet and looked in the direction of the apple orchard. No one was visible. I uttered an unladylike oath and went through the French doors. I clicked the dead bolt, surveyed the almost tidy kitchen, and lay down on the leather sofa. I was still there, sleeping fitfully, when Peter came home. He kissed me on the forehead.

What took place afterward has no bearing on the story.

 

14

I woke up the next morning when I heard Peter turn on the shower. I went into the kitchen. My darling husband had started coffee. I searched for bread or bagels and had hot dog buns under the broiler when he joined me, smelling divine. I told him so and then rescued the buns. We ended up at the small table on the terrace.

“Did you run down that German pharmaceutical company?” I asked.

“Somebody's working on it. If you're right, it does give Gregory a motive. Are those meadowlarks in the meadow?”

“One would think so.” I wasn't going to let him distract me with an ornithological ploy, although I could have tossed out the number of breeding pairs of emperor penguins in Antarctica, which would have led to further irrelevant comments. “Would you please check on Willie?”

He took out his cell, looked at me, and went inside. I drank my coffee quickly so the caffeine could kick in before he returned. Gregory not only had a motive, he had the opportunity. Everyone had left except Ludmila, and by eight thirty, she was dead. Toby arrived at ten. It meshed perfectly—or would have if all sorts of people hadn't muddied it up. Miao had gone underground and sent Luo to the Literacy Council on a transparently feeble pretext. An unknown man with an accent was threatening me as though I knew something of immense significance. Keiko had turned on me, however briefly, when I'd done nothing to annoy her. Leslie was in deep trouble with an ill-tempered man named Waterford and was playing matchmaker with her students. Or something, anyway.

Peter resumed his seat. “Judge Constantine required dialysis, but the prognosis is good. Jorgeson put an officer outside her door. No visitors allowed, not even her clerks—and especially not any board members. That includes you, Claire. I want you out of this now. I listened to the messages on the machine before you woke up. We're tracing the number, but it's likely to be a throwaway cell. Criminals watch cop shows on TV, just like everybody else.” He moved his chair next to mine and put his hands on my cheeks so I would have to look at him. “He's a nutcase, and we know what he did to your tires. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“So I should stay in my house, which is isolated and surrounded by woods?” I may have shivered a wee bit. “And no, you are not going to assign some rookie to sit outside and play bodyguard. I'm not going to give in to anonymous phone messages. This nasty person is keeping his distance. If he gets too close, I'll handle it.”

“Well said, but you could spend more time at the Book Depot. Have lunch with your friends, go to matinees, shop. Just stay away from the Farberville Literacy Council until this is resolved.”

He had enough sense not to suggest I volunteer somewhere else. “I will stay away from the Literacy Council for the time being,” I said solemnly. “Maybe I can look online and find a culinary school. I've always liked Greek food. In a week's time, we can be dining on
moussaka
and grilled feta sandwiches.”

“All I'm asking is for you to promise to stay away from there. Call that weepy Asian girl and tell her that you're resigning as receptionist. You don't have to resign from the board, since the next meeting is several weeks away. Once we have the perp, you can tutor to your heart's content.”

I felt myself melting as his molasses-colored eyes gazed into mine. I knew he needed to leave, or I would have lured him back into the bedroom to have his way with me. Rather than swooning, I obediently repeated my promise. After all, the Literacy Council was closed until Monday, and I didn't have a key.

As soon as he left, I found the creased brochure in my purse and called Frances. She wasn't home. I tried Sonya's number and was sent to voice mail. I was irritated with Rick for his failure to confide in me, but I called out of duty—and to no avail. Drake was not hovering over the phone for an update on Willie's condition, nor was Austin. I left messages for everyone, took a shower, dressed, and returned to the terrace. I could not keep myself from glaring at the apple orchard.

Caron sat at the table, texting. She paused long enough to say, “Did you tell Peter about that weird caller?”

“He's having the number traced, but it may not lead anywhere. We both need to be careful until the jerk's caught. Stay in a group and keep an eye out for swarthy types.”

“That's racial profiling.”

“I suppose it is, but you heard the accent. I still suspect a man I saw talking to Leslie earlier in the week. The police don't agree. They have been known to be wrong. You don't have to overreact every time you see a Middle Eastern man in the vicinity.”

“I rarely accept rides from strange men with twitchy eyes—unless they want me to help them find their lost puppies.” With a snort, she resumed texting.

“Use common sense, okay?” I spread out my notes and morosely tried to make sense of them. I'd taken excellent notes in college, but it seemed I'd lost the knack. The napkins were so flimsy that my pen had left rips and the ink had seeped into the fiber. I flipped over one of the paper notes. The potluck had been chaotic and packed with students, tutors, and the rest of us. Bartek and Duke were there, but they most likely didn't know who Willie was. I'd seen her with various board members. It was going to be a major task to find out with whom she spoke, what she ate and drank, and whether or not she'd been present for Yelena's presentation and Frances's speech. I needed to question all of the board members to patch together a scenario of Willie's movements. It was ten o'clock. There was one very popular destination in Farberville on Saturday mornings, and it was a not unreasonable place to look for at least some of them.

“What are your plans?” I asked Caron.

“Inez's uncle is going to take us out on his boat all day. I'll come back here to shower and change. After that, I don't know. By the way, I was kidding about accepting rides with strange men who'd lost their puppies. I never get in their vans unless they have candy, too.”

“That's comforting to know.” I took my notes inside and left them on my desk, found a canvas shopping bag in the utility room, and headed for the farmers' market held weekly on the square surrounding the old post office. After ten minutes, I finally got lucky and eased into a parking space in the municipal lot. I put on sunglasses and strolled along the busy sidewalk. The four sides of the square had been allotted to the vendors. Most of them had backed pickup trucks into their slots or set up tents. Fresh fruits and vegetables, crafts, and flowers covered all the available surfaces. The crowd was composed of seniors, families with children, yuppies, old hippies, and people dressed oddly. A guitarist sat on the steps, singing ballads. Since I was not in search of the perfect summer squash, I kept my eyes on the shoppers and the wanderers.

My brilliant idea dimmed after I'd circled the square twice. I encountered a few friends and loyal bookstore patrons and commented on the pleasant weather half a dozen times. I was unable to resist a display of eggplants and bought several, along with a bag of vine-ripened tomatoes (
ratatouille
came to mind). After another half hour, I was ready to give up when I caught a glimpse of a yellow bow tie. I wormed my way through a group fighting over asparagus and caught up with Austin.

“Good morning,” I panted.

“The same to you, Claire. I'd like to introduce you to the second-loveliest woman on the planet, my close friend Delilah. You are, of course, the loveliest. Delilah, this is Claire. She's on the Literacy Council board.”

Delilah was indeed a lovely young woman with flawless skin and large eyes. Her lips smiled, but her eyes did not. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Delilah's a film major at the college,” Austin added. “She's my summer intern. I'm doing my best to sour her on the advertising business.”

“I'll just take a minute,” I assured her, flattered that she would consider me as a potential rival. “Austin, I need to tell you about Willie.”

“Frances left a message on my machine late yesterday afternoon. How's Willie doing? Still in the hospital? It wasn't food poisoning, was it? I felt queasy this morning, and I'm still kinda shaky. Of course, that may be due to a couple of bottles of wine last night.”

“Willie is recovering,” I said. “The hospital is keeping her to run some more tests. I wanted to ask you if you talked to her during the potluck.”

“Delilah, honey, why don't you see if you can find some decent tomatoes?” After she stomped away, he said, “Not really. I saw her loading a plate with mysterious stuff, but after that she was lost in the crowd. She's not very tall, you know.”

“That's a problem. She's shorter than most of the Asian students. Did you see her afterward?”

“I didn't hang around. What's this about, Claire?”

I scrambled for a response. “Well, if she's allergic to shellfish or nuts and inadvertently ate something, she would have started to feel ill pretty quickly.”

“Or gone into anaphylactic shock within seconds, and died unless someone administered a shot of epinephrine. I didn't arrive in town on that turnip truck over there. I'm allergic to bee venom. I carry an EpiPen with me everywhere and make sure my companions know what to do.”

“Someone may have slipped something in her food or drink.”

Austin sat down on the edge of a flower bed. “Sheesh, what the hell is going on at the place? First the Polish woman, and now Willie. It's supposed to be a big happy family of international students, volunteers, and caring staff members—or that's what I thought when I joined the board.”

“Why did you?”

“I used to tutor, but I don't have time anymore. I still want to help.”

I sat down beside him. “Can you think why anyone would do this to Willie? She may be a terror in her courtroom, but she hasn't said much of anything at the meetings I attended.” I frowned as I recalled a snippet. “What's going on between her and Sonya? Do they know each other outside of the Literacy Council?”

“Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Sonya would be slapped with a fine or tossed in a cell for contempt of court if she acted that way in another judge's courtroom. It's embarrassing for the rest of us. Willie just clenches her jaw and takes it. If Sonya pulled that crap with me, I wouldn't be nearly so meek.”

“Could she and Sonya be related?”

“If they are, it's the best-kept secret in town. The press would have themselves a fine ol' time if they caught Judge Constantine's granddaughter carousing on Thurber Street.”