Murder Under the Tree (12 page)

Then I heard another car engine start up and saw Robert Peterson backing down his driveway. He looked like he was in a hurry and took the corner Elizabeth had taken at a clip. Was he following her? I supposed there were only two ways to go: right or left, but...

Phil yawned. “Kay, what time is it?”

I looked at the alarm clock. “Almost nine o'clock.”

“That late!” He bolted out of bed.

I went downstairs and made a pot of coffee. I loved the warmth of my kitchen. It felt reassuring, especially after yesterday.

Phil came down the stairs. “Kay, I'm going to be gone much of the day. The boys and I are going to have a long practice.”

“Today?” On our anniversary? I had hoped we would spend the day together at the art museum, anywhere. A moment's pause. “Okay, I won't plan on you for lunch.”

Realization dawned on Phil's face. “Kay, I'm...”

The phone rang and I picked it up. “Kay, happy anniversary to you and Phil!”

“Thank you, Deirdre!”

I smiled at Phil and covered the mouth piece of the phone. “Deirdre says, ‘Happy Anniversary.’”

Phil smiled sheepishly and picked up his coffee cup. “Tell her thanks,” he said, and went into the other room with the newspaper, looking back at me as he left the room.

I told Deirdre that I was planning to spend some time this morning searching the internet since Phil would be out most of the day practicing for their gig. She invited me to bring my laptop over and share the fresh scones she had just made. She too would be doing some searches of her own.

I hung up the phone and finished my coffee. Phil came into the kitchen. “I'm going over to Deirdre's in a little while.”

“Do you want to take your shower first, then?” Phil asked as he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

“No, you can go first.”

I took sugar out of the cupboard and a container of mascarpone cheese and everything else I needed to make lemon curd out of the refrigerator: eggs, a couple of lemons, and butter.

Phil sipped his coffee while he watched me cook.

I zested and juiced the lemon and whisked the eggs, sugar, and butter together.

“Kay, let's go somewhere special tonight for our anniversary!”

“That'd be great,” I said as I put the mixture on top of a double boiler. “Where do you want to go?”

He stood up. “Gatsby's.” He put his empty cup into the sink. “Think I'll jump into the shower.”

“Sure.” I snickered. Somewhere special indeed. Phil just wanted to scope out the venue where his band would be playing New Year's Eve.

After cooking the lemon curd over low heat for several minutes, I set it over ice to cool, then quietly hurried upstairs to try and surprise Phil in the shower. Too late; he was already dressing.

When I was ready, I gathered everything, and made my way over to Deirdre's, walking up her herringbone brick path that was laced with snow. I couldn't stay long as I had lots to do today, which included going to the clinic. What would be my excuse to get into medical records to look up Lola's file? Last time, when I was investigating the big ginseng conspiracy, I had nearly gotten caught when I broke into an office to collect a coroner's report. This time, I would try to get at the records using a “legitimate” excuse.

Deirdre must have seen me coming and opened the front door.

As I walked through Deirdre's feng shui arranged living room towards the sunroom, I was unsure if I felt the positive energy flow it was supposed to give off. A strong smell of freshly ground coffee emanated from her kitchen as I passed by and entered the sunroom. This seemed to have a more energetic effect on me than the placement of her sofa.

Deirdre had production for her future herbal shop in full swing in her sunroom. The bright room was brimming with baskets of dried herbs and flowers. Terra cotta flowerpots planted with rosemary, basil, thyme, and oregano lined the space in front of her French doors. Garlic and pepper braids hung on the wall along with wreaths made of dried flowers, all waiting to be taken to the new shop once it was ready.

Deirdre had already set the table with the scones on a cut-glass plate. The table overlooked her backyard where in a few months, large raised flower gardens and herb beds would provide for her shop. I added my dishes of lemon curd and marscapone cheese to the breakfast spread.

She handed me an envelope which read,
Happy Anniversary to Kay and Phil, our best friends!
I opened the card and read out loud, “'May the stars you follow always guide you to happiness. Happy Anniversary! Love, Deirdre and Mike'. That's so sweet. Thank you, Deirdre.” I gave her a hug.

“You're welcome! Now, please help yourself to a scone.”

After breaking my scone in half and slathering it with mascarpone cheese and lemon curd, I said, “Elizabeth called me yesterday to let me know that she's having lunch today with Robert.”

“She called me also. I thought she was happy with John.”

I shrugged. “It's hard to figure her out.”

Deirdre poured each of us another cup of coffee. We finished, cleared the table, and brought out our laptops.

“Now to find some dirt on Robert Peterson,” Deirdre said with glee.

I laughed.

“I wish we knew his birthday. I could look up his star sign.”

“Just look him up in the public records; I'm sure you can find out at least that much about him. I'll start with Nancy.” I brought Deirdre up-to-date on what I had learned about Les, Nancy, and the male residents.

“I can't believe it! Why didn't Les report Nancy's activities? She would have been out of there, and he might be alive,” Deirdre said.

I shrugged my shoulders again. “Maybe he was planning to, but Nancy finished him off first. We don't really know, considering the lack of evidence at this point. Anyone could have killed Les.”

“Besides Sarah's friend, Anne Niven, the murder expert with no real motive, who?”

I told Deirdre about Les' obsessive ex-girlfriend Lola and how I would be going to the clinic to look at her chart later.

“Isn't that illegal? What if you get caught?”

I shrugged my shoulders and didn't say anything.

Deirdre rolled her eyes. “Any other suspects?”

I told her about the new nurse who I hadn't met yet and about the epi-pens missing in the kitchen or dining room during the murder. “That's either suspicious or neglectful.”

“But she was new. What would she have against Les? What about Dr. Lee? Do you still suspect him of any foul play?”

“I haven't been able to talk to him yet about the food. He wasn't in his office when I went to see him.” I hesitated. “Before the attempt on my life.”

“Attempt on your life? Where? You didn't say anything!” I told her about what happened with the shadow on the roof and the killer icicles.

“Does Phil know? Are you okay?”

I didn't answer her question about how I was. I would have lied. “Of course I haven't told Phil. Phil's not going to know, Deirdre. It would only make him upset, and he would insist I stop investigating.”

“Kay, someone must think you're asking too many questions. You had better be more careful! Who do you think it was? The ice queen?”

Nancy? Hmm, that's what Nancy told me yesterday. Would be fitting. “There's so much that we don't know yet. As far as I'm concerned, everyone is suspect. We have to dig deeper.”

We both started to key away on our computers. I knew it was important to find out who I was dealing with at Hawthorne Hills before something else happened to me. I keyed in Nancy Reinhardt's name, then stopped for a moment and looked out the window. Heavy snowflakes starting to come down. A good morning to stay inside and search for clues.

“Kay.” I looked over at Deirdre, who was staring intently at her screen. “Robert Peterson received his MBA at the University of Chicago. He was Executive Vice-President at Marquette Financial, Chicago for fifteen years. Then Co-President of Stanley Chase for twenty-five years. What's he doing in Sudbury Falls?”

I told Deirdre about his buying Hawthorne Hills. “Although it seems like acquiring Hawthorne Hills would be small potatoes for him. Deirdre, is there any more coffee?”

While Deirdre was in the kitchen I thought about how I was suspicious of Robert being in the Home when someone tried to kill me. Now that I knew that he was to be the new owner of Hawthorne Hills, well, that was a good enough reason why he might be there.

Deirdre came back into the room carrying the coffee pot. “When you think about it, there isn't any privacy anymore with the internet.”

I snickered. An ironic thing to say as we both were doing background checks.

I looked down at my screen. Nancy K. Reinhardt, alias: Nancy Kathleen Reinhardt has lived in: Sudbury Falls, Wisconsin; Two Rivers, Wisconsin; Green Bay, Wisconsin. Connections: Sheila Reinhardt.

I went into my purse, took out a credit card, and paid for a criminal check on the director. It only took a minute or two. “Doesn't look like Nancy has a criminal record.”

Deirdre shrugged her shoulders, took a sip of her coffee, and returned to her keyboard. “Not yet, anyway.”

Next I keyed in Les Hollings’ name. Nothing. Nothing? No record at all! Could it be that Les was a nickname? I tried Lester, Leslie. I looked up. “Deirdre, can you think of any name besides Lester or Leslie that Les could be short for?”

She paused. “No. Are you spelling his last name correctly? Are you using one L or two.”

I keyed in Holings. Nothing. What would explain this?

Going back to Nancy, I said aloud, “Nancy, where did you work before Sudbury Falls?” as I keyed in her name to check on her employment history. “Bingo! Harbor's Edge Village. Two Rivers. She worked there for five years. That's almost as long as she's been in Sudbury Falls.”

“That's a start.”

“There's a phone number. I'll give them a call. See what kind of an employee she was. If she left on good terms. Or if she scammed residents into putting her in their wills,” I said facetiously.

“Anything on Les yet?”

“Les Hollings obviously got a paycheck. He must have a social security number.”

“Could be Les Hollings isn't his real name.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. I searched a lot of public record sites. Nothing. It's like he's off the grid.”

“Now, what will you do?” Deirdre asked.

“Leg work.”

“Huh?”

“I need to find a connection between Les and someone, anyone. Talk to the right people.”

“I'm going to call Elizabeth after she gets home from work,” Deirdre said. “Find out how her lunch went with Robert.”

“Let me know. I've got to get going. Thanks for the scones and the stellar card!”

After lunch I went to Hawthorne Hills, and headed straight down to Viktor's office in the basement. He was eating what smelled like a corned beef sandwich. He started to get up when he saw me.

“Viktor, sorry to interrupt you while you're eating,” I said. “I'll come back.”

“No, that's okay. What can I do for you?” He took another bite of his sandwich and tossed a couple of potato chips in his mouth.

I closed the door. “I appreciate you letting me stay. I have a few questions about Les.”

I waited a few moments while he finished chewing, but he had the bag of chips in hand and showed no signs of slowing down.

“I get the feeling you also don't think his death was an accident,” he said. “You think Les was murdered, don't you?”

That was rather a strange comment. Why wouldn't I, after what he told me at our last encounter? I watched as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, then took a bigger bite of his sandwich. Mustard squished out of the bottom of the sandwich and landed on his desk. Was his eating his way of avoiding a conversation with me? Or was eating just his response to grief? Or was he always this enthusiastic about his lunch? Either way, I didn't give up that easily.

“The circumstances are suspicious,” I said. “Others at the tea had the same allergy as Les. They didn't have any reaction to the food.”

His eyes watered. He stood up holding on to his sandwich, looking away as if he didn't want me to see his reaction. Then he popped the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and turned back to me. “Do you know where Les lived before he came to Sudbury Falls?” I asked. “Chelsey said she started the same day as Les.”

He stared at his soda then took a swig. “Some small town in eastern Wisconsin. Why? What would that matter?”

“I thought if someone wanted to do Les harm, it might be someone from his past.”

He seemed hesitant. Was he holding something back? Or was Les' past just as much a mystery to Viktor as it was to me? “I can't think of anyone who would want to harm Les. He was the kindest, big-hearted guy. Everyone—” Viktor's eyes filled up with tears. He looked away. “—loved him.”

I felt bad for him. “Viktor, the last time we met, you almost said the name of a resident Les saw Nancy in an embrace with, in his apartment. Could you please tell me who that was? It could be very important.”

He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.”It was James Barnowski.” Viktor shook his head. “I have no idea why him. I have thought about this so often. Barnowski has a humorless disposition, a really unpleasant old bastard. I've heard the guy is filthy rich, but there are many well-to-do gentlemen here with a lot better temperaments.”

Oh my gosh, James Barnowski was Uncle Ben's friend. Viktor didn't seem to share Ben's opinion of James.

I tried hard to hide my surprise. “Did Les ever mention others?”

“Yes. Les heard her set up a time to meet with a different man in his room. But his wasn't a garden apartment.”

Viktor sat back down. “Les said that Nancy always seemed to be chummier with the richer fellows, the ones who didn't have family or anyone coming around.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “He planned to start keeping track of her targets.”

I wonder if he had, and Nancy had found out. “Why didn't Les go to the police?”

“It would have been his word against hers. His wouldn't have meant anything, her being the director.”

It might have if any of those men had died and their wills checked. I leaned forward in my chair. As long as Viktor was talking, I might as well get as much information as I could. Maybe I could get clues to some other suspicions of wrongdoing. “Did Les mention anyone else? Someone who might have died suddenly?”