Murder the Tey Way: A Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mystery (The Golden Age of Mystery Book Club Mysteries 2) (13 page)

Joy grinned. “I told you—Ruthie said to share her loot with Aunt Lexie.”

“Why?” I demanded. “Do I look undernourished?”

“My kids feel sorry for you because you have no little ones at home.”

“Sweet,” I said, reaching for a Mars bar. “Your children are very thoughtful.”

“Not Zack. He won’t part with one piece of candy, not even for his dad. Poor Mike! The kid almost bit off his head when he asked for a Milky Way.”

“I’m glad to see you’re supporting your spouse once again.”

Joy grinned the grin of a well-satisfied woman. “Of course, now that I know he deserves my love and support.”

“He’s an idiot,” I mumbled.

“What did you say?” Joy asked sharply.

“Nothing.”

She nudged me. “Care to share what he has planned?”

“I do not. Don’t ask me again.”

She nudged me again. “Will you be bringing Brian to whatever it is?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Joy grabbed my arm. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, but I had no idea there was trouble in paradise. I got the impression you were crazy about Brian.”

“Oh, I am, but I’ve been thinking that being crazy about Brian Donovan isn’t a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“The usual—with homicide cops, the job comes first. They keep irregular hours. None of which is very helpful to a budding relationship.”

Joy eyed me keenly. “I wouldn’t think you’d mind since you keep odd hours. And you’re not especially traditional. You wouldn’t care much if your Saturday night plans were canceled because Brian had to go to the scene of a murder.”

“True.”

“Then what is it? Al?”

“For one thing. I hate talking to him across the Atlantic Ocean, letting him believe I’m considering moving in with him.” I grimaced. “Oh, I’ll be moving, all right. When he comes home and I tell him I’m involved with Brian, he’ll tell me to leave this house.”

Joy laughed. “I doubt it. So what’s the real reason you’re fighting your feelings for Brian?”

I sighed. “For me, romantic involvements have always been rather complicated. I go for guys who are interesting, but not especially responsible. I hope I’m not choosing someone like that again. I mean, Al is responsible!” I didn’t mean to shout the last word.

“And therefore you should fall in love with Al?”

“He’s reliable, dependable, and wants a long-term relationship.”

“I don’t claim to know Brian well, but I consider him reliable and responsible. So does Mike.”

I grimaced. “Maybe I’m just nervous.”

“Deal with it, and don’t screw things up,” Joy said, getting to her feet. “Time to head home. The school bus will be dropping the kids off soon. Then I have to pick up Brandon at his play group.” She giggled. “I lied and said I had a doctor’s appointment so I could come here instead of coffee-klatching with the young mothers. They bore me.”

“Bad mommy,” I said, hugging her. I handed over Ruthie’s depleted stash of candy. “Don’t forget this. And thank Ruthie for me.”

Joy left me mulling over what she’d said about Brian. I knew he was good guy, but it was nice hearing it confirmed by Mike, who had been in the police department. Not that Brian’s character had me worried. It was my caring for him that set me on edge. I’d made so many mistakes in the past, I no longer trusted my judgment when it came to relationships.

That settled for the moment, I thought about Joy’s comment regarding the bank robbery. Did she think the bank president was involved? Or Corinne? I chuckled. What a preposterous idea!

Puss ambled by, meowing to inform me it was feeding time. Actually, it was two hours too early for his dinner, but I put some food in his plate and left him purring as he ate.

I graded a few papers, then took out my work in progress. I felt bad that I hadn’t done any writing in weeks. I reread the last two chapters, changed a few sentences, then decided it was time to start dinner.

I made a Swiss cheese omelet, which I ate watching the news in the den. The police had no leads on the bank robbers. There was no word about Len Lyons‘ murder. I supposed this was considered old news, and wouldn’t be mentioned until new information leading to his murderer was uncovered.

Brian called. We chatted about our day, and he invited me out for dinner Thursday night. “I’ve lots of paper work to catch up. My desk should be cleared by then.” He hung up shortly after, leaving me with a smile on my face.

I stretched out on the couch and watched a few mindless shows on TV. When Puss jumped onto my chest and began kneading me like dough, I glanced at the clock. It was close to eleven. Bedtime.

Three staccato sounds rang out. Gunshots? I ran to the window, but saw nothing but the lights of the house across the street. A car zoomed away. A minute later, someone was pounding on the front door.

“Who is it?” I asked, praying Pete Rogers hadn’t returned.

“It’s me, Lexie! Please open the door!”

Felicity stumbled into the hall, her face white with terror.

“What happened?”

“Johnny Scarvino drove by and shot up the house! One of the bullets went through Corinne’s bedroom window!”

“Oh, no! Did he hurt her? Is she all right?”

Felicity began to hyperventilate, drawing deep, rasping breaths that shook her body. I sat her down on the living room couch and raced into the kitchen for brandy.

All the while my brain was spinning.

Should I call 911 or go next door to see if Corinne was hurt? For all I knew, she could be lying in a pool of blood as her life faded away.

I wanted to do both, but dared not leave Felicity, who was close to hysterical.

She pushed the brandy aside, almost spilling it over herself, then gulped it  down and set off a coughing fit.

Finally, she was calm enough to speak. “Corinne’s not home.”

I wanted to shake her for frightening me so. Instead, I said, “That’s a relief!  Where is she?”

“She had a dinner meeting with some bank bigwigs in Manhattan. She called around nine-thirty to say she’d be taking the next train home, and not to wait up for her.”

“She should have been home by now.”

Felicity shrugged. “She must have stopped at the supermarket. We needed a few things.”

“So late?”

“Corinne’s a night owl. She often goes for a drive at night. She says it clears her head after being cooped up in the bank all day.”

“How do you know it was Johnny who shot at your house?” I asked.

“Who else would want to hurt Corinne?”

I was fed up with her weird sense of logic. I headed for the kitchen. “I’m calling Detective Donovan.”

Felicity yanked my arm, bringing me to an abrupt stop. Her strength surprised me. “Why call
him,
Lexie? This has nothing to do with Len’s murder.”

It was late. Though I knew she was upset, she was sorely trying my patience.

“I know, but Brian will make sure the police come immediately.” I glared at her. “You do want them to know what happened, don’t you? So they can protect you and Corinne from Johnny or whoever it was that shot at you.”

I hadn’t meant to come across as a bully, and was appalled at how my sharp tone deflated her. She gripped my arm, her eyes wide with terror.

“Please don’t call him, Lexie. Corinne will be so angry.”

“Why will Corinne be angry?”

Felicity shook her head from side to side as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I never should have come here. Pretend I never came here. Please, Lexie. For my sake.”

I tried to lead her into the kitchen, but she squirmed out of my reach and ran out the front door. I considered following her home, then decided that would only upset her more. Puzzled, I called Brian and told him everything that had happened.

“I’m glad you called me, whether Felicity wanted you to or not. I’ll send a car over there to check things out and file a report.”

Minutes later I heard them arrive, three black and whites, their sirens blasting the silence of the neighborhood.
Not necessary!
I thought as I peered out my front door to watch. Car doors slammed and six officers approached the Roberts sisters’ house. Guilt shot through me as they descended on Felicity, about to cause her untold anguish. A cop rang the bell. The door opened, and Felicity exchanged words with two of the officers. They entered the house. Relieved that the other four cops remained outside, no doubt to wait for the crime scene technicians, I stepped inside and tried not to think of what was happening next door.

I felt uneasy as I got ready for bed. Felicity needed emotional support, yet shied away from it when the police were involved. Her Johnny sounded like a gangster to me, yet he’d worked for the girls’ father. And Corinne used to date him. For some reason Brat Farrar flashed into my head. He’d appeared on the scene under false pretenses. Were the Roberts sisters not who they said they were? Were they in hiding because they’d witnessed a crime?

Another thought occurred to me: had Johnny found Corinne through her photo in the newspaper?

A thumping at the front door interrupted my musings. “Coming!” I called as I ran to see who was there. Not Pete Rogers, thank God, but a furious Corinne. Reluctant to let her in, I cracked the door a few inches.

But Corinne had no desire to come inside. “I’ll thank you to keep out of my family’s business!” she screamed.

“Felicity came here. She was terrified because someone took shots at your house.”

“She told you not to call the cops, but you called them, anyway. Keep away from my sister and me, Lexie, or I’ll take out an order of protection against you!”

Feeling demoralized and ill-treated, I crept into bed vowing to have nothing more to do with the Roberts sisters. I hated to abandon Felicity, but our relationship was limited by all sorts of restrictions, the major one being Corrine.

I was half asleep when I realized Felicity had given me a clue when she’d mentioned Johnny’s last name. Scarvino. Tomorrow I’d Google him as soon as I returned home from my classes.

The sound of pounding woke me from a deep sleep.
What now?
I jumped out of bed, scaring Puss, who had snuggled up beside me during the night. I glanced at the clock. Three-thirty. Frightened, I headed for the front door.

“Lexie! Thank God you heard me! I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

Gayle grabbed me in a tight embrace that started me coughing.

She let go. “Sorry. I have to park the SUV in your garage so no one knows I’m here.”

I held off on my “call the police” lecture. Gayle looked stressed out and thoroughly beat.

“I’ll move my car to one side of the garage. That should give you just about enough room. Or better yet, I’ll park on the street,” I said.

“No! Don’t do anything out of the ordinary! Pull your car to one side of the garage. I’ll park next to you.”

My sister followed me into the garage, where we maneuvered both vehicles side by side with barely two inches between them. Gayle lifted her duffle bag from the back of her SUV and carried it into the house.

“Do you have anything to eat?” she asked.

“Sure. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

She dropped off the bag in her room, used the bathroom, then joined me in the kitchen. I had a dozen questions I was dying to ask, but I settled on one.

“Where did you stay this past week?”

Gayle finished chewing the huge bite she’d taken of her tuna salad sandwich and washed it down with soda.

“With friends of my friends whose nanny left suddenly. They needed someone to watch their kids until the new nanny could start, so it worked out. I was glad not to have to drive anywhere, since you said the cops put out a BOLO for me.”

I nodded. “The new detective on the case called a few times to find out if I’d heard from you. I told him about your last call. They tried to trace it, but came up with zilch.”

She gave me a bittersweet smile. “So now that you’re dating a cop, you’re on their side. Are you going to turn me in, Lexie?”

“Don’t be stupid.” I took a deep breath. “What are you planning to do?”

Gayle shook her head. “I’ve no idea. It’s all I think about, night and day, and I still can’t come up with an answer. I can’t go back to Utah. Not with Shawn Estes on the loose.”

“Did you ever consider contacting a higher official in Utah? Someone like the Attorney General?”

“I’ve heard he’s a decent guy. Maybe if your boyfriend contacted him and convinced him to investigate Shawn Estes, I’d take my chances. But now there are these new charges.” She looked so sad. My heart ached for her.

“Lexie, I swear I didn’t kill Len Lyons. I don’t know how I got entangled in two messes, but I’m innocent.” She reached for my hand. “Do you believe me?”

“I do.” I squeezed her hand and, though I swore to myself I wouldn’t, launched in on my “call the police” spiel. “But you’re going to have to speak to Detective Paulson.”

“Why, if I didn’t kill that man who ended up dead in your backyard? I never saw the knife I was supposed to have hidden.”

“Because they’re questioning everyone who might have had anything to do with the murder. And the possible murder weapon was found in the room you slept in.”

Gayle frowned. “Screwy logic, if you ask me.”

I could see her point, but the police had their policies and procedures.

“You have to cooperate and answer their questions, Gayle. I’m sure the crime lab will report the knife doesn’t have your fingerprints. Then you’ll be free of all this.”

“No, I won’t! It will only prove someone wiped the fingerprints off the knife. They can throw me in jail if they like.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, but I was beginning to wonder if Gayle was right.

“Lexie, I can’t do this now. Give me a day to think about everything. Either I’ll talk to this Detective Paulson or I’ll disappear from your life.”

I nodded to put an end to the discussion and not because I agreed. I sat quietly watching Gayle wolf down the rest of her sandwich, then we both went to bed.

She was still sleeping when my alarm woke me, tired and disgruntled. I left her a note and set out for school, a new idea forming in my head. Why not have Brian contact the District Attorney or Attorney General in Utah and tell him everything Gayle told me? Explain that the man who’d murdered her boyfriend had sent someone to threaten Gayle and she was too terrified to return home. It was too early to call now. I decided to talk to Brian on my drive home.