NAILED (9 page)

“You mean like drug cartel scary?” Shirley said, clearly playing along while I let my crazy imagination run wild. “No, she wasn’t scary-looking, no machine gun slung across her chest, and he didn’t hand over a briefcase full of cash.”

I laughed. “Okay, fine. So it’s not drugs, but it’s something. Keep on it. What else do you have? And you have to let me pay you for this.”

Shirley waved her hand in a dismissive manner. “Please. Remember I told you that both Vic and Jenna each had a large insurance policy?”

“Yes.” I took a bite of my sandwich. The bread was toasted just the way I like it and the bacon was crisp. I was eating an awful lot of sandwiches lately, but they really were the perfect warm-weather meal. Plus this one had tomatoes and avocado, and my soup was full of vegetables, so I was covering a lot of food groups as well.

“Well, shortly after Jenna died, Victor stopped making payments on his policy.”

“He got a nice payout from Jenna’s after she died and maybe he felt a half million dollars was enough to put Moshi through school. Besides, the premiums on a policy like that have to be huge,” I said.

“Jenna’s policy still hasn’t been paid out. Because the Maine police questioned the manner in which she died, the insurance company is now looking into it. They’re not about to pay out all that money to a killer.”

“But now that Victor is dead, they’ll have to pay it out to Moshi.”

“Probably. It will go into a trust that was set up. The trustee will decide what to do with it and disperse as they see fit until Moshi is twenty-five. Victor was the original trustee.”

“And now? Don’t tell me it falls into the hand of some lawyer,” I said.

Shirley took a couple of spoonfuls of her soup. “It’s not lawyers.”

“It’s not? Oh, gosh, not the drinking gambling mother?”

“Nope, not her either. It’s the sister. Jenna’s sister. Maddi Wickersham is the new executor. Did she tell you that?”

“No. No she did not.”

“Very soon she will be coming into a lot of money, plus the house and everything else to do with as she sees fit until Moshi is old enough. What do you make of that?”

I leaned back in my chair and shook my head back and forth. “I think I need to visit Maddi Wickersham again.”

After lunch I headed over to the victim’s house where presumably his mother, Ruth Sanjari, was living. I still wanted to speak with Maddi again, but I thought it might be a good idea to get Ruth’s take on things before I did. Victor and his family sounded like a bunch of crazy people to me, but I only had Maddi’s word on that. And my sister’s, though she only knew Victor and obviously didn’t like him one little bit. And didn’t Suzette say that something was going on in the construction company? Would that have anything to do with Victor Sanjari or was that solely the hand of Gary Hachmeister?

Once I was back in Indian Cove, it didn’t take long to find the house. The Sanjari home was in the general area of my sister’s house.

I pulled up in front of a gray, two-story house. The garage door was open and there was a car parked inside. I saw a girl’s bike and a woman’s bike. Jenna’s? Or did grandma go out riding with Moshi?

I stepped out of the car and was hit by a wall of humidity. Geesh. I really do not like summer. There was a brick walkway leading up to the house. It divided the front lawn into two equal rectangles. One rectangle was bordered by the driveway, the other by a tall hedge shielding the Sanjari property from the neighbors. Three steps led up to the front door. The bottom one had a large pot on either side planted with spring flowers. They were wilted in the heat and looked as if they hadn’t been watered in a while.

I rang the bell and waited. I heard nothing. I couldn’t see in the windows unless I hung way out over the railing, and I didn’t want to do that. I rang one more time because the garage was opened and I assumed someone had to be home, but maybe not. Two times was my limit for ringing doorbells. I hated when people kept pushing the darned thing. The way I looked at it, if someone didn’t answer after a second ring they were either not at home or didn’t want to be bothered.

This time I heard footsteps coming. The door opened and a woman in a pair of baggy sweat pants and a stained tank top, which probably wasn’t the best choice for her ample bosom, answered the door. She held onto the door with one hand while she tried to steady herself, and the other hand held a glass of what I thought might be Scotch. Or maybe it was just weak iced tea.

“Hello, are you Ruth Sanjari?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Alex Harris and I was acquainted with your daughter-in-law Jenna. My niece goes to school with Moshi.”

“Jenna’s dead.” The woman started to close the door.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. And I’m very sorry about your son as well. That’s why I’m here. To ask you about your son.”

“Well, he’s dead too.”

“Yes, I know. I’m so very sorry. Would it be possible to speak with you for a few minutes, Mrs. Sanjari? You are Mrs. Sanjari?”

“Yeah, I’m Ruth. Come on in. I got nothing else to do.”

She stepped aside and tripped on a small area rug in the foyer. I reached out and helped steady her. To my left was what looked like the formal living room.

“Why don’t we talk in here?” I led her to the sofa and took a seat on an identical one facing her.

“Do you want something to drink? All I got is Scotch and that’s just about gone.”

“No, nothing. I’m fine, Mrs. Sanjari. If you’re up to it, I wanted to ask you a few questions about your son.”

“Well, aren’t you polite. So far only my daughter and a couple of my close friends have come by. Vic didn’t have a lot of friends and Jenna’s family doesn’t talk to me.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

Ruth Sanjari took a gulp of her drink and then put the glass on the coffee table. The glass was wet with condensation and there were no coasters in sight. She rolled to her side and reached into the pocket of the sweat pants. She pulled out a lighter and a little case. She took a cigarette from the case and lit it. I wanted to ask her to put it out, but I didn’t think she would. I was also in her house and I wanted information. I wondered how much second-hand smoke a person had to inhale to get lung cancer.

“So you were about to tell me why Jenna’s family doesn’t talk to you.”

Mrs. Sanjari took a drag off the cigarette and then looked around the room. “No God damn ashtrays in this house.” She flicked the ash on the floor and smooshed it into the carpet.

“Hold on.” I got up and walked down the hall until I came to the kitchen. I opened up a few cupboards until I found a small bowl, and brought it back to the living room. It was better than having her set the place on fire.

“Here. You can use this. So you were saying.”

She gave me a blank look through the haze of smoke.

“You wanted to tell me why Jenna’s family didn’t like you?” I coaxed.

“Oh, right, right. Yeah, ever since Jenna died they wanted nothing to do with me or Vic.”

“And why was that, Mrs. Sanjari?”

She took another puff, inhaled deeply, and said, “Because Victor killed Jenna.”

Oh my God! Did she just admit that her son killed his wife? And why didn’t I have a phone that could have recorded all that? Darn! Maybe Victor broke down and told his mother what he had done, or maybe she and Victor conspired to get rid of a troublesome wife who didn’t want her mother-in-law to move into the family home.

“Are you telling me that your son admitted to you that he killed his wife?”

Mrs. Sanjari picked up her glass and drank the rest in one big noisy slurp. She put it down and shook her head. “Of course not. I’m telling you why Jenna’s family won’t talk to me. They think my boy killed Jenna and that he did it so I could move in here.”

“Did you ever think maybe they were right?”

“My son’s dead. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to speak ill of the dead?”

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering if you ever had any questions about how your daughter-in-law died.”

“I know how she died. She was being stupid. Walked too close to the edge of a cliff is what Vic told me. They were out hiking and she wanted to get a better view of something. She was like that with Moshi, too. Always letting her ride her bike. Letting her go off to the movies with her friends. Said she wanted Moshi to grow up to be independent and all that crap. Vic and I knew what was best for Moshi. You gotta keep these kids in the house with you all day, but Jenna wanted to work. She shoulda been here for the kid.”

I suddenly felt the need to defend Jenna. “She was, Mrs. Sanjari. She taught school and was home with Moshi for all the holidays and the summer. And she took her to school every day and picked her up in the afternoon after her drama classes. Tell me, how did your son seem after his wife died?”

“What does that mean
how did he seem
? He was upset. His wife just died. What kind of cockamamie question is that?” Mrs. Sanjari reached for the glass again. Finding it empty she took another puff off the cigarette, this time blowing the smoke in my direction. “Who did you say you were?”

I told her I was looking into her son’s death to help a friend of mine. I didn’t give her any facts and she didn’t ask anything further.

“Mrs. Sanjari, what happened on Tuesday night when your son didn’t come home? Weren’t you worried?”

“Nah,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Vic called and said he would be late. Didn’t say why, but I think he had a new friend.”

“A new friend?” I asked.

“Yeah, a lady friend. He didn’t say, but a mother knows. He was staying out more lately. He’s been alone for several months now, and a man has needs, you know what I mean. He had urges.”

Yuk. I didn’t want to hear anything more about Vic’s urges, so I pressed on. “So when he wasn’t here on Wednesday morning, you still weren’t worried?”

Mrs. Sanjari let out a phlegmy laugh and then started to cough. I waited quietly for the coughing to subside.

“I thought whoever his friend was that she must a given him one hell of a ride.” The laughing and coughing started again.

“So you took Moshi to school?”

“Yeah. If Vic was here, he took her, if not, I’d—”

She stopped talking abruptly and the tears started to flow down her cheeks. “My son is dead. Dead. What’s going to happen to me? Maddi came by yesterday to pick up a few of Moshi’s things. The kid wanted one of her dolls to help her sleep. Maddi wants to start cleaning out the house to get it ready to sell. Where am I supposed to go? Who’s going to pay for me to go to the casino and the track?”

“What about your daughter?”

Mrs. Sanjari made a noise that sounded like a warthog. “That one with all her beads and stones. She doesn’t fool me. Pretends nothing is important to her but all the flowers and the animals and mother earth. Who came running over here the minute she heard Vic was dead wondering what was in it for her? Huh? I told her everything is for the kid. She thought maybe we could keep Moshi. Then I told her that Maddi was now the executor of the trust. That threw her for a loop. She just about had a heart attack. But that’s how Jenna had it written up, and that son of mine did nothing. Once I told Delilah about that, she wanted nothing more to do with Moshi.”

“Mrs. Sanjari, do you have any idea who would want to kill your son?”

I had no idea how many drinks the woman had consumed before I arrived, but she was in bad shape. She wiped her tears on the back of her hands and then fell over on the sofa.

“My son was a good boy. Why would anyone want to hurt my little Victor? Why? Why!”

I went over to her and put a pillow under her head. I lifted her feet up and put them on the sofa. I made sure the cigarette was out, and then I found a blanket and covered her.

“You rest now, Mrs. Sanjari. It’s going to be okay,” I lied.

I left her there and quietly walked to the front door and pulled it closed behind me.

The truth was if Ruth Sanjari was my mother-in-law, I wouldn’t want her living with me either, but I wasn’t totally heartless. I wondered if Victor had made any provisions for her at all in his will. Did he even leave a will? And what was going to happen to her? She had to have lived somewhere before Victor brought her to his home, so maybe she could return to wherever that was. Or maybe she could go live with her daughter.

Delilah Sanjari lived in a tiny apartment above a bicycle shop a couple blocks off of Main Street in the center of Indian Cove. I knew this because Shirley had told me, and I was now standing on the sidewalk in front of said bike shop trying to figure out how to get up to the apartment.

“Can I help you? Oh, Alex, is that you?” Mr. Annunzio, the owner of the shop, asked me.

“Hi, Mr. Annunzio. I was just wondering how to get upstairs to the apartment.” I looked up, shielding my eyes from the bright sun.

“There’s a staircase around back. Do you know Delilah or are you looking for yourself?”

I shook my head and laughed. “No, I’m not looking for myself.” I felt like adding that my husband might be in the need of a new place soon if he didn’t stop arresting my family members, but this town loved a good rumor, and I didn’t feel like having my private business spread all over Indian Cove like a wildfire. “I was just over at Victor Sanjari’s house talking with his mother.”

“How is Ruth doing?” Mr. Annunzio asked with a caring tone.

“Not so good. She pa—she fell asleep on the sofa, so I covered her and left.” I figured Mrs. Sanjari had enough troubles without making her the object of gossip.

Mr. Annunzio had been a fixture in this town tuning up bikes since I was a kid. He could fix anything, and I had purchased several bikes from him over the years. He even refurbished Sam’s old bike, which she then gave to Kendall for her birthday. But the man loved gossip.

We moved under the big blue awning that helped shade the front of the shop from the sun.