Murder After Hours Page 8

  Is that true? Lea wondered. Had Brooke been so forgiving years ago? How did she feel when her best friend ended up marrying her former boyfriend?

  She considered the episode at the Cave where Sandra embarrassed Brooke in front of Henry and others.

  Did years of built-up resentment explode into a fiery episode which resulted in the death of her so-called best friend?

  • • •

  Lea decided it was time to obtain the information Tom wanted. “I understand there was an argument between you and Sandra the night of her death.”

  Brooke turned her head sharply. “How do you know about that?”

  Lea held her breath, reluctant to divulge she was acting on a request from the detective in charge of the investigation.

  Before she could respond, Brooke answered her own question. “Someone at the Cave must have told you.”

  Her lips thinned in disgust. “Everyone there heard Sandra's ranting.”

  “The person who told me wasn't present, but I doubt anyone knew what caused the upset.”

  Lea checked over her shoulder. Though there was no one in the immediate vicinity, she moved closer.

  “The police are looking into all possible motives. A heated exchange overheard by witnesses is certain to draw their attention.”

  Brooke glanced away.

  Maddy put her hand over Brooke’s. “My sister’s here to help. You’re in a bad position.”

  Brooke looked from Maddy to Lea, then back to Maddy. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are. That’s why I asked her to come.”

  Lea leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “The homicide detectives consider you a suspect.”

  “Don't be absurd!” Brooke hissed.

  Lea continued. “If we can diffuse the significance of the conversation between you and the deceased, it will help establish your innocence.”

  A curtain crossed Brooke’s face, changing her expression from anger to panic.

  “Their suspicions haven’t been made public, have they? If the station gets the slightest whiff of scandal, my career could be over.”

  “Being a suspect qualifies as scandal in most circles,” Maddy informed her.

  The celebrity's eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s so unfair. I don’t deserve this.”

  Lea reached out. “I’m sorry. I—”

  Brooke’s lips curled in an ugly sneer. Her words were filled with venom. “That woman causes trouble all the way from the grave!”

  A crack in her guarded demeanor, Lea thought. A change from the winsome personality to a person on edge, even falling apart.

  Brooke took a deep breath and continued. “I have nothing to hide. What would you like to know?”

  “Your best defense is to level with us. Tell me what was going on.”

  “Oh, all right. I extended an invitation for them to join our couples’ group. Sandra took offense and warned me about asking Henry.”

  The sisters exchanged glances.

  Maddy sought clarification. “Couples’ group?”

  “Once a month, we have a party and exchange partners.”

  She shifted in her chair before assuming an expression of arrogant nonchalance.

  “It’s all innocent fun. Monogamy eventually becomes bland. Changing partners keeps the excitement alive.”

  Maddy barely concealed her surprise. “You hardly seem the swinging type. Is your spouse comfortable sharing you with other men?”

  Brooke squirmed slightly. “Couple swapping is his idea. I tell myself the reason he wants to share me with his friends is because he thinks I'm so great.”

  Lea sensed more than Brooke was saying. “How do you feel?”

  She searched the woman's eyes. “I mean, what are your honest feelings?”

  Brooke smiled indifferently. “I’m more old-fashioned. The first time we did it, I realized one relationship is enough for me.”

  “Have you told your husband?”

  “He’d laugh. Besides…”

  Lea hazarded a guess. “Are you afraid he doesn't share your feelings?”

  “Worse than that.” Brooke shielded her face to hide the fear. “He may feel that way, but not about me.”

  “If you’re worried, wouldn't it be better to find out? Maybe then, you could live how you want. In a relationship that makes you happy.”

  “That’s always the question, isn’t it? Whether the truth will make us happy?”

  Lea had no answer. She changed focus.

  “So the disagreement with Sandra was over wife swapping and Henry's involvement?”

  “That wasn’t her only objection. She was afraid of how he might act if we were drinking.”

  “By treating another woman the way he treated her?”

  It was Brooke’s turn to be surprised. “You're aware of the abuse?”

  “Donna told me.”

  “Believe it or not, Sandra didn’t want people thinking poorly of Henry.”

  “But why didn’t you help her?” Maddy asked. “I know what I’d do if anyone hurt Lea.”

  “I tried several times,” Brooke replied. “My words fell on deaf ears. She blamed herself as much as him.”

  “Were you worried for her safety?” Lea asked.

  The woman’s eyes teared. “I begged Henry to get counseling. Both of them denied there was a problem. Nothing could be done. They had to seek help themselves. No one could do it for them.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to run.”

  “One last thing,” Lea said. “What were you doing Monday evening?”

  “I have an alibi, if that’s what you’re asking. I gave it to the police.”

  Lea kept her voice casual. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it.”

  Brooke pouted, then relented. “I gave the weather report on the early news. After the show, I treated the film crew to a glass of wine at The Cave. That’s where I ran into Sandra and Henry. Later, we went to the pier to film a segment on how climate affects the ocean.”

  The strain was showing. “I really have to go. The producer won’t tolerate anyone being late.”

  Maddy waited while her sister bought melons.

  After leaving the store, they stopped in front of their cars.

  “I’ll let Tom know what we learned,” Maddy said. She watched cars passing on the busy street. “It's sad. Sandra won the boy they both had a crush on in high school to find she married a wife abuser.”

  “And Brooke's husband shares her with other men.”

  “In my opinion, they both lost.”

  “No matter how you look at it, Sandra was the bigger loser.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Lea’s mind was still reeling when she turned on the street where she lived. A woman in a bright red sweater bending over a flower bed caught her attention.

  Mrs. Allen’s letter. I almost forgot.

  She drove into her garage and let the dogs out.

  “I have something for you,” she called to her neighbor, waving the envelope.

  The canines raced to the woman's yard, eager for treats the lady carried in her pocket.

  Ida leaned over and patted each dog before allowing them to snatch the morsels and run away.

  She straightened up. “What have you got for me?”

  “Something from Ian Alexander. I was at his office. He asked me to drop it off to you.”

  “A copy of the addendum he sent last week, no doubt.”

  “He said to remind you—”

  “To mail it to him, I know.”

  Ida waved her hand dismissively.

  “Throw it away. I don’t need it. I already returned the original.”

  The older woman’s eyes twinkled. “Ian thinks I’m a doddering old woman who forgets things.”

  Lea returned the envelope to her purse. “Maybe he was trying to save postage.”

  “He shouldn’t have to worry about money with the premiums he charges,” the older woman grumbled. “The additional insuranc
e he talked me into buying costs enough to pay his expenses for some time.”

  “Are you getting coverage for floods?” Lea asked.

  Since the city expanded the boundaries of flood zones, homeowners close to the ocean were required to carry natural disaster insurance.

  “I added it last year,” Ida replied. “This latest addendum is for my antiques and the stuff in my attic.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Lea's interest was piqued. Knowing her neighbor was a collector, she could imagine what treasures collected dust in the top story of Ida’s house.

  “Come in. I’ll show you. Bring the pooches. I’ll give them water.”

  Lea waited in the living room while Gracie and Spirit followed Ida to the kitchen.

  Every inch of wall space was covered with pictures and hangings. Display cases enclosed collections of antique dishes and porcelain figurines. A stained glass lamp decorated each table. The room resembled a museum.

  Ida returned with the dogs, water drooling from their mouths.

  She eyed the collection the way a proud mother looks at a child.

  “They’re beautiful,” Lea told her.

  She pointed with pride to a bronze figure of a peasant holding a scythe.

  “This is my newest addition. I corresponded with the man who owned it for weeks. He kept changing his mind about selling. I know how difficult it is to give up anything you cherish. I think he needed the cash. Thankfully, I’ve never been in a position where I had to sell any of them.”

  “I can see how much joy they give you.”

  “Collecting them is worth more to me than money.”

  “At least having them insured will give you peace of mind,” Lea said, calling the pets.

  The woman touched her arm. “Wait. You haven’t seen the attic. You’d be interested in something there.”

  Lea glanced at her watch.

  “It won't take long,” Ida assured her. The woman sounded lonely.

  Lea looked at the dogs lying under the skylight. They appeared to be in no hurry to leave.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  She raised one hand in front of the animals. “You stay.”

  Gracie lifted her head, stretched, and fell back on the floor. Spirit didn’t bother to open his eyes.

  • • •

  Lea followed Ida to the second floor. At the end of the hallway was another stairwell. The steps to the attic were narrow and uncarpeted. They creaked as the two women climbed. Lea worried how safe they were for the older woman to climb.

  Ida turned a doorknob at the top of the stairs. They entered a room barely high enough to stand upright. Wood beams sloped from the unpainted walls to the roof. A thin layer of dust covered everything. The only light came from a small window where a spider spun a web.

  Lea sneezed.

  “Sorry,” Ida said. “I don’t bother to dust this room.”

  There was a bookshelf filled with leather bound editions, a flowered quilt covering a hope chest, and a box of miniature picture frames, none of which contained photos. Paintings were stacked against a wall in the far corner of the room. The largest frame was covered with bubble wrap. A thin chain hung from the knotted twine.

  Ida removed the wrapping, uncovering a gold-framed oil painting of a seascape.

  Lea gasped. “That looks like a Kinkade original.”

  Ida's face beamed with pride. “It is.”

  “It’s wonderful. Why don’t you hang it in your living room where people will see it?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no space on the walls. Besides, I’ll let you in on a secret.”

  She made a clucking sound. “I keep the most valuable stuff up here where burglars won't find it if I'm robbed.”

  I’m missing logic in Ida’s thinking. Why collect beautiful art, then store it where no one enjoys it?

  Ian may be right about her being dotty.

  “That’s the purpose of the insurance, Ida.”

  The woman stared absently out the window. “This is my rainy day piece. The one I’ll sell if I ever need money.”

  “Do you have any idea what it is worth?”

  “Only from an appraisal done for insurance. Ian is diligent about ensuring my collections are adequately covered.”

  She suddenly focused her attention. “Oh, there’s that nice young man come to trim my tree. I must give him my condolences.”

  She covered the painting and attached a tiny gold object to the chain.

  “Isn’t that trinket from one of your collections?” Lea asked.

  A touch of color brightened the pale skin of Ida’s cheeks.

  “A silly habit of mine. My way of cataloging pictures. The sailboat trinket tells me this is the seascape.”

  They hurried downstairs where Lea went to wake Gracie and Spirit.

  Outside, Ida caught her breath. “You didn’t have to come today, Henry. I heard what happened. Tragic, simply tragic.”

  He looked down and shuffled his feet. “I don't mind, Mrs. Allen. It’s better for me to keep busy. I can’t sit home stewing over it.”

  “I understand,” Ida sympathized. “Do whatever makes you feel better.”

  The man’s face lit up when the dogs scampered out. He squatted beside the canines to receive a slobbery kiss.

  “Have you two met?” Ida asked, when Lea joined them.

  “Under the worst circumstances, I’m afraid,” Lea said. She smiled at Henry. “Hello, again.”

  He stood and brushed dog hair from his shirt. “Hello.”

  “Let me get you a cinnamon roll, Henry.” The older woman beamed. “And lemonade.”

  “That would be nice, Ida.”

  His smile, coupled with the way he ran his hand through his hair, made him look more relaxed.

  “I guess I haven’t eaten today.”

  “Will you join us, Lea? I baked the rolls fresh this morning.”

  “I’ve got work to do. Another time.” She looked at Henry. “You’re in for a treat. Ida is famous for her cinnamon rolls.”

  “I know. I’m a big fan.”

  He seems more chipper by the moment, Lea noted. Recovering quickly from his loss.

  Perhaps, enough for me to ask some questions.

  She pointed at the bushes in her front yard.

  “I’ve been meaning to have some landscaping done. As you can see, my roses are practically crying out for help.”

  Henry laughed. “I’ll be glad to take care of them. Don’t worry, I’ll bring them back to life.”

  His reference stunned them all. He turned away, flustered.

  Lea stepped in to cover his gaffe. “Come see me when you finish your work in the neighborhood.”

  She walked the dogs home.

  Entering her office, she pulled Ida’s paper out of her purse. Curiosity caused her to pause before discarding it.

  After scanning the document, she sat down and leaned over her desk, thinking

  Those numbers don’t look right. The values for Ida’s collections seem inflated.

  She turned to her work, then quickly put it aside, unable to concentrate.

  I need an expert. Maybe Maddy knows one.

  She saw a missed call when she picked up her phone. She listened to the message.

  “Hi, Lea. Ian Alexander calling. Ida’s addendum arrived in today’s mail. You don't need to worry about it.”

  A slight pause in the recording.

  “There’s something else I’d like to discuss with you. Call me when you can.”

  Ian’s message told her not to worry.

  But she was worried.

  Enough to think twice about returning his call.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lea was making progress on a client presentation when the doorbell rang. She looked up, startled.

  Several hours had passed.

  That must be Henry.

  She glanced at the files in front of her.

  I wish I hadn’t requested a bid. Paul may be
right about sleuthing interfering with my work.

  Then, she remembered her father’s words. Every hour of an unsolved murder reduces the chance of catching the killer.

  After welcoming the landscaper, she walked through the yard explaining what she wanted.

  Henry took notes.

  When they finished, he lowered his clipboard. “I’ll work up a bid and send it to you.”

  She pointed toward a patio table covered by an umbrella.

  “I don’t have lemonade or cinnamon rolls, but I can offer you a beer.”

  He glanced at his watch. “There’s nowhere I have to be. Beer would taste good.”

  “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

  Moments later, Lea returned with a beer, a glass of wine for herself, and a bowl of pretzels. The dogs followed and took positions at Henry's feet, eager for attention.

  She let him unwind as they sat quietly, listening to sounds of the neighborhood. Roller blades on concrete sidewalks, dogs barking, seagulls squawking.

  “How are things going?” she finally asked.

  “With the business or dealing with my wife’s death?”

  “Both.”

  “Business is good. People seem to want to help by throwing jobs my way. I’m grateful for the work. As far as Sandra, I’m not sure.”

  He stared at the birds overhead. “I suppose it was a blessing we had no children. I can’t imagine coping as a single parent.”

  “How is the investigation going?”

  “It’s strange,” he said, watching for Lea’s reaction, “but I can’t help feeling the police don’t believe me.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. There’s no reason to feel guilty. Still, they make me feel defensive.”

  “Police have that effect on everyone. Any time a police car passes, I look at my speedometer even though I never speed.”

  Henry smiled. “Our inborn response to authority figures, I guess.”

  Lea watched as he stroked the dogs and scratched behind their ears. She felt people showed their character by how they treated animals. The man Donna described was at odds with the man sitting across from her.

  Is this man capable of cruelty? Is there, in fact, a darker side lurking behind his engaging personality?

  Or, had Sandra fabricated stories about Henry?