Murder by Proxy (3 page)

“What did she have to say about that? Didn't she object?”

“Object? No.” Grant glanced at his mother with a grimace. “According to Michele, Rice told Anita it would be good experience for her, give her the challenge she needed to improve her skills. She, in turn, was going to show him what she could do, and she has. That territory was one of the worst for sales, and she's been bringing it around. The latest figures show the region's numbers are up twenty-seven percent over last year.

“Rice was very attentive toward Anita during the few days each month she spent in town. Apparently, everyone but she knew he wasn't being faithful. At least, she didn't say anything to us about it, if she did suspect. Maybe she had her doubts but didn't want to believe the worst of her husband. She was always defending him, no matter what.”

“She sounds like someone who doesn't give up easily,” Edna observed. “Maybe she felt she could turn her husband around, like she did with her sales territory.”

Grant snorted. “You're right about her being a fighter, but Rice can be a real bastard. Sorry, Mother, but there's no nicer word for him. Anita left him a couple months ago, and I was glad to help her move out.”

“And he doesn't know where she is.” It was more a statement than a question she posed to her son.

He frowned for a moment before his face cleared with understanding. “You heard the disagreement.” When she nodded, he turned his eyes back to the road and said, “I'm not so sure that wasn't one of Rice's acts. I think he knows exactly where she is. If he doesn't, he has enough money to put a detective on her trail.”

“Do you know where she is?” His mention of a detective brought Ernie's face to her mind, but she was smart enough not to wonder aloud if the man she'd just met might indeed be working for Anita's estranged husband.

He was silent for several minutes before replying. “No, I don't, but I've been hoping to hear from her. With Dad visiting last week and Karissa getting sick, and all the extra work I have preparing for a big software conversion at the office, I haven't had a lot of extra time even to think about looking for her. Since Lia's fatal accident was all over the news, I thought for sure she'd be at the funeral. But she hasn't called, and now that she didn't show up today when one of her best friends was being buried, I'm really starting to worry.”

“What made you change her telephone recording? That detective told me you rerecorded it yesterday. He thinks she asked you to do it.”

Grant looked surprised. “Is that what he said?” After a brief pause, he explained matter-of-factly. “I did change it, but not because she told me to. She was very particular about her message when I first recorded it. She wrote it down and had me read it exactly. I thought if she were monitoring her phone, she'd call to find out why I changed it. It's a reach, I admit, but it's the only thing I could think of and the only thing I have time for right now.”

He took a hand from the wheel and ran it through his close-cropped curls in a gesture of frustration. “It isn't like her not to have called us before this. I would have thought she would at least want to talk to Jillian. She's like a favorite aunt to Jillybean.” He paused for a heartbeat before adding with a tone of equal distress, “Even if I had the time, I wouldn't know where to begin to look for her.”

Edna considered for a minute before asking, “If you're as anxious to contact her as you say, why won't you talk to that detective? Why won't you let him help you find her?”

They had reached his house, and before answering, he turned into the driveway, parked and shut off the ignition. Facing her, he said, “Because I don't know this guy from Adam. Why is he looking for Anita? For all I know, he's working for Rice.” He pushed open the car door, adding, “And whatever her reason, Anita doesn't want to be found.”

Three

Edna slid out of the car and rushed after Grant to the front door of his ranch-style, brick house. “What do you mean she doesn't want to be found? Why not? Are you saying that only because you haven't heard from her or because she told you not to look for her?”

He glanced at his watch before opening the door with his key. “I don't have time to discuss it now, Mother. I'm going in to check on Karissa and then I have to get back to work. Please. Stay out of this. I don't want to have to worry about you, too.”

Before she could answer he had opened the door, ushered her in, and disappeared down the hall to the master bedroom. Taking her time, she removed her hat, hung up her coat in the small closet to the left of the front door, and looked in a nearby mirror to fluff her gray curls. She was running out of excuses to loiter in the entryway when Grant strode purposely down the hall and through the living room toward her.

“Grant, just a minute.”

“I'm late. Mother, I've really got to get back to work.” Gently, but firmly, he took her by the shoulders and moved her to one side so he could open the front door. Before he released her, however, he looked straight into her eyes. “Please don't mention any of this to Karissa. She's asleep, so I didn't wake her. You know she's not to be upset. I've been telling her the reason Anita hasn't called is because she wants to be completely alone for a while.”

“But …” was all Edna had time to say before the door closed behind him.

Still depressed over the funeral and newly frustrated at not being able to discover more about the mysterious Anita, Edna went to her small bedroom to change out of her dress into more comfortable slacks and blouse. Returning to the living room, she sat on the cushiony sofa, facing wide French doors that opened onto a redwood deck, and stared out at the backyard.

What was she going to do with herself all day? The weekly cleaners had been in yesterday, and there wasn't enough laundry yet for another load. Jillian wouldn't be home from school until three this afternoon, and it was barely eleven, a good hour before time to make Karissa's lunch. Leaning forward to grab a magazine off the thick wooden coffee table, Edna glanced to her right and down the hall. She would look in on Karissa, but Grant had said she was asleep. Edna didn't feel entirely comfortable with this daughter-in-law yet. She missed Michele and felt that Karissa could never take her place. What was Grant thinking of, marrying so soon after Michele's fatal accident? How could he? Edna leaned back and flipped through the magazine, seeing neither words nor pictures.

If only Albert had stayed to keep her company. At least they would have been able to play cards and keep each other entertained until Jillian came home from school. Right about now they would have been walking around the neighborhood, looking at and discussing various landscaping ideas for their own new home. But Albert had seemed almost relieved when his colleague had called and asked him to consult on the case. He had made the decision to return to Rhode Island instead of trying to advise long distance. “I'm useless around here,” he had said. “You'll be fine. I'll call you.”

Resenting her husband's desertion, Edna wondered if she shouldn't put her coat on again and take a walk before lunch, but the idea of trudging along the same sidewalks without Albert didn't appeal to her. Tossing the magazine back onto the coffee table, she rose and strolled around the couch. She trailed one hand along the corded fabric on the back of the sofa and studied the room. The furnishings, overstuffed and blockish with little wood showing, were not what she was used to. Definitely not the delicately carved pine and maple antiques that Michele had preferred, but perhaps more practical for a family with young children. Edna had to admit the colors were warm and inviting with a definite western flare in the desert beige, sandstone red and deep sky blue. A large woven basket beside the flagstone fireplace held discarded newspapers. Several small cactus dish gardens set out on side tables complimented the Native American paintings and pottery.

A comfortable, lived-in room, Edna thought, at the same time wondering what had happened to all of Michele's prized possessions she had been so insistent on bringing with her from New England. It must have been expensive to replace an entire houseful of furniture. Michele's pieces had been perfectly serviceable.

She let her mind fill with memories of her late daughter-in-law. Edna had been surprised at Grant's choice in women when she'd first met Michele. The young couple had been undergraduates together at Boston University, where he was studying computer science and she was an art history major. Michele had been as exuberant as Grant was quiet. Edna, conceding that sometimes opposites attract, welcomed Michele with open arms. She seemed good for Grant, interesting him in parties, dinners and concerts he ordinarily would have shunned. Edna thought back to the elaborate wedding at Michele's family's mansion in East Providence and the huge celebration nearly a year later when Jillian was born.

Since Michele seemed to be the driving force in the marriage, Edna had been amazed when Grant announced their move to Colorado, a decision Michele had opposed vehemently. But he had been enthusiastic about the job opportunity in Denver and relocated his family to the western city five years ago. Although missing them very much and hoping the move was only temporary, Edna had been glad to hear Michele eventually talk animatedly about her new surroundings.

And now she was gone, killed in a skiing accident early last December. Only ten months ago, and Grant had married Karissa in late January, barely two months after Michele's funeral. Except for his younger sister Starling, who had flown out for the ceremony, he hadn't even informed his family until it was over.

How could he have been so disloyal to his first wife? Where had he met Karissa? Were they having an affair while Michele was still alive? There were too many questions for which Edna feared the answers, and she wouldn't pry into her son's private affairs, not until she found a way to do so diplomatically, that is. She had tried getting Starling to talk to her, but all her daughter would say was, “Why don't you ask Grant?”

Starling and Grant were the closest of Edna's four children, in friendship as well as in age. Mathew had been twelve, Diane eight, and Grant fourteen months when Starling was born. It had been like having a second family when the last two came along and they had been almost inseparable growing up. Starling and Michele had become best friends, but what puzzled Edna was that Starling seemed to get along with Karissa just as well. Grant's sister flew to Colorado at least twice a year to visit and vacation. Edna would have been worried that her youngest child would move to Denver, too, except that Starling had a real love affair going with the city of Boston where she was part owner of a photography studio.

And what about Jillybean? Edna smiled, feeling cheered and warm inside thinking of her granddaughter, now eight years old. The family's pet name always made her think of a Mexican jumping bean, an apt description for the energetic youngster. She had inherited her father's looks and her mother's personality.

Karissa, on the other hand, was quiet, like Grant. She smiled a lot and seemed very pleasant, but she wasn't an open book like Michele had been. It would take a while to get to know her, Edna thought with a sigh.

She had been walking around the living room with her thoughts, and as she passed the large-paned window that looked out to the front of the house, a motion caught her eye. Moving to the gauze curtains, she pushed one aside an inch or two so she could peer out at the person coming up the walk. What in the world was he doing here?

Hurrying to the door, she pulled it open before he could ring the bell and wake Karissa. She stepped out onto the narrow cement stoop and frowned up at the big man. “Grant isn't here. He's already gone back to work.”

“I didn't finish talking to you,” Ernie Freedman said with his sad smile, removing his hat.

“My son says I shouldn't speak to you.” But despite what Grant had said, she found herself liking this man in the rumpled suit and crumpled tweed hat. Trying not to show her feelings, however, she said, “I'm still not certain who you are or what you want with me.”

Wringing the cloth hat in his hands with what she was beginning to recognize as a nervous gesture, he said, “Look, Mrs. Davies. Edna. I've already told you. I'm looking for Anita Collier. I need to find her soon, or she'll lose an enormous fortune. Besides that, her great-aunt will die without any family around. Please, just give me ten minutes.”

A sudden gust of wind blew the door inward and chilled Edna in her lightweight blouse. She hesitated for a moment, studying his face. Thinking of how bored she had been just minutes before, she made up her mind.
What’s the harm in listening to what he had to say?

“All right. Come inside. I'll heat some coffee. You can tell me your story. That's what you said at the cemetery, isn't it? That you had a story to tell me.”

Ernie's face brightened as he slapped his hat back onto his head. Taking a step forward, he quickly removed it again and stuffed it into a pocket of his suit coat. “Yes, Ma'am, uh, Edna Ma'am.”

She almost laughed aloud at his excitement but instead put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Quietly, please. My daughter-in-law is resting. We mustn't disturb her.”

Quickly, she preceded him across the living room and through the narrow archway that led to a dining area and kitchen, at the opposite end of the house from the bedrooms. A broad counter separated the two sections of the room, and she indicated he should sit on one of the swivel stools at the bar while she poured what remained of the morning's coffee into two mugs and set them in the microwave.

“At the cemetery you told me you are a detective,” she said, waiting for the coffee to heat. She thought of the police officer back home whom she had met recently and who seemed very interested in dating her daughter, another reason for Starling to stay in New England. Aloud, she said, “Are you with the Denver police?”