An Anniversary to Die For (5 page)

“Where?”

Susan was surprised by the question. “In the bathroom, of course. Over there.” She pointed.

“So she was killed while you were in an adjoining room taking a bath.”

“No, of course not!” Susan protested, horrified by the idea. “She was dead before I got into my bath. But I didn’t see her,” she added quickly. “The bed was covered with gifts.”

“Gifts?”

“Presents for Jed and myself. We’re celebrating our thirtieth anniversary.”

“If the bed was covered with gifts for you and your husband, where was the body?”

“She was under the stuff . . . gifts,” Jed answered, sounding tired. “I’d better explain. You see, my wife and I came up here to go to bed after our party ended downstairs and found that the bed was quite literally piled high with presents for us—”

“I offered to help Jed move them—” Susan broke into his explanation.

“Susan also wanted to take a bath and I thought it would be easier—and faster—to move things without her around,” Jed interrupted. “Susan loves opening presents, and I was afraid that once she started we’d never get to bed,” he added to Brett.

Brett glanced around the crowded room and smiled. “I can see how that would take a while.”

Susan decided it was time to tell the story in her own words. “But I fell asleep in the tub, and when I got out Jed had found Ashley.”

“And called me,” Brett added. “You did call me right away, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I had no idea what else to do. She was obviously dead. I knew a doctor couldn’t help her. I didn’t know what else to do,” Jed repeated.

“And when your wife got out of the . . . uh, tub . . . you told her about this?” Peter Konowitz asked.

“No, Susan came into the room and saw the body. I was on my cell phone. There.” Jed pointed. “The calls to and from the inn go through an old-fashioned switchboard. I didn’t want anyone to overhear my call. I suppose I should have called the local police department, but I just didn’t think. I called Brett—at his home.”

“We’re old friends,” Brett explained to his colleague.

“Yes. Well, I called, and then Susan went to the kitchen to get some coffee. I stayed here.” He looked over at Ashley. “I didn’t know how to cover the body. I didn’t want to call anyone, and I couldn’t get a sheet without disturbing her. And she really doesn’t look all that bad—just . . . well, just dead.”

Everyone stared at the body.

“Does anyone know who she is?” Peter Konowitz asked.

“We all know her,” Brett answered. “This is Ashley Marks. You may have heard of her.”

“The woman on trial for poisoning her husband?”

“She was acquitted yesterday,” Brett said.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Peter walked around the bed, examining the body more carefully. “So how did she turn up here, do you think?”

“She was a guest at our party,” Susan explained.

“You invited a woman accused of murdering her husband to a party celebrating your thirtieth wedding anniversary? Good God! No wonder you’re always stumbling over dead bodies. . . . I mean . . .” Peter glanced at his former superior, and then looked away quickly.

“Ashley is our next-door neighbor,” Jed explained. “We thought it would be rude not to invite her.”

“And we didn’t know she was going to be acquitted. We sent out the invitations over six weeks ago,” Susan added. “I mean, we had to invite her, but we never actually thought she would show up.”

“Especially not like this.” Peter motioned toward the bed.

“She didn’t show up like this!” Susan protested.

“The Markses were at the party earlier in the evening,” Brett explained.

Peter looked dubious. “Together?”

“Yes.”

“That must have surprised you and your guests,” Peter said.

“To be honest, I was more annoyed than surprised. I mean, they were getting an awful lot of attention. On the other hand, now that I think about it, I can see why they came.”

Peter looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Well, they had to appear in town sometime. And think how difficult that would be. They would keep running into people one at a time and having to be polite and say everything is okay—over and over again. I mean, once or twice would be difficult. Dozens of times could drive anyone nuts! By coming to our party, they got it over with all at once.”

“But why together?” Peter asked.

“Why not?” Jed asked, surprised by the question.

“She was arrested for the attempted murder of her husband, right?”

Brett nodded. “True. And she was acquitted, remember.”

“But still.” Peter apparently couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“You probably haven’t been following the case, but everyone in Hancock sure has. And we all know that they’ve been together throughout the entire trial,” Susan said. “Doug was in the courtroom each and every day, according to the newspaper articles. He didn’t think she was guilty. At least that’s what he told the press over and over again. It was even on network news one night—until the latest scandal in Washington.”

“Odd that a Connecticut story got so much attention anyway,” Peter said. He was still staring at the body. “I mean, it’s not as though the Markses were famous—or even related to anyone famous.”

“It was the fact that Doug maintained Ashley’s innocence that interested the press,” Brett said. “They repeated that fact over and over.”

“I haven’t been paying all that much attention, frankly,” Peter admitted.

“Well, changing jobs and moving and all . . .” Brett said.

Susan glanced over at him. It wasn’t like Brett to be so vague. “Doug was not only in court every day of Ashley’s trial, he sat right behind her. He got there as soon as the doors to the courtroom were opened and waited for her entrance. They hugged and kissed each day when she arrived and hugged and kissed before she was led back to jail each night. At least that’s what the newspaper reported.”

“And they came to your party together?” Peter asked.

“Yes.”

“And they left together?”

Susan glanced over at Jed. “Yes, they did, didn’t they?”

He shrugged. “I assumed so.”

“So where’s the faithful husband now?” Peter asked.

“Good question,” Jed said.

“Why are you looking for him?” Susan asked.

“For a few reasons,” Peter answered. “First, someone has to inform him of his wife’s murder. And, of course, he’ll have to be questioned concerning his movements since leaving here tonight.”

“So you think Doug killed Ashley,” Susan said.

“Peter didn’t say that he did,” Brett reminded her. “But as far as we know they left the inn together. A few hours later Ashley was back here. . . . What are you looking at?” Peter was now kneeling down by the bed, peering at Ashley’s face.

“Just wondering how she died.” Peter stood up and stretched. “I don’t know why we’re assuming this was murder. There’s no evidence of violence.”

Brett frowned at his colleague. “An autopsy will show how it happened. But I think we can assume it was murder. Look how the body was arranged. Whoever killed her also hid her under all those presents. That is what it looked like to you, right?” he asked Jed.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you took the presents off the bed.”

“Yes.”

“Did you get the impression that they had been carefully piled on her? I guess what I’m asking is whether or not it’s possible that the gifts were placed on the body accidentally.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. She’s not . . . she wasn’t covered with anything. And it’s not as though she’s flat. . . . I mean, the first layer of gifts were placed very carefully. Bigger boxes on either side of her and . . . sort of a bridge formed across her by the larger gifts so that she wasn’t squashed or anything.”

Peter stopped staring down at Ashley and looked across the bed, obviously interested in Jed’s words. “Almost as though the murderer was taking care of her? Like a husband might do?”

Jed thought before answering. “Not necessarily. Everything was placed very carefully, but that may have been because whoever placed the gifts on the body was worried about them falling.”

“Afraid something might break?” Peter asked sarcastically.

Susan had turned and was examining the gifts now piled all over the room. At his words, she turned back. “Are you suggesting that a murderer is unlikely to care about something so . . . petty?”

“I can’t believe that a person who is so casual about human life would be so careful with a bunch of . . . of stuff. It’s not consistent. It doesn’t make sense,” Peter said, walking out of the room.

“At least he didn’t insist that we go back to the police station for questioning,” Jed said.

“No, he didn’t, did he?” Brett mused.

Susan frowned. A whole lot of things weren’t making sense. She just hoped she would be allowed to go to bed before that changed.

SIX

THE SKY IN THE EAST WAS BARELY BEGINNING TO LIGHTEN as Jed drove into his driveway.

Susan pressed the automatic garage door opener and turned to her husband. “Jed—”

“Susan, I figure we don’t have all that long before every reporter in this part of Connecticut is trying to get hold of us,” he interrupted her. “And I’m just hoping the police give us an hour or two before they think of other things to ask. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got to get some sleep. . . . My God, what is that noise?”

“Just Rock and Roll greeting us. Our canine house-guests, remember?”

Jed pressed the accelerator as the garage door swung up. “Rock and Roll, my foot. Dribble and Drool is more like it!” The car moved into the garage, and the barking got louder.

“I just hope Clue’s okay,” Susan said, referring to the family’s golden retriever. Clue had been an active, happy companion—until Rock and Roll, Chrissy and her husband’s bull mastiffs, had arrived for a visit. Then Clue spent most of her time moping, feeling underfed and unappreciated. “Rock and Roll keep stealing her food.”

“Clue can stand to lose a few pounds,” Jed said, sliding out of the car and stretching. “I hate to admit it, but I’m just too old to pull an all-nighter.”

“I’m thirsty. I’m going to make some chamomile tea. Would you like some?”

“No, thanks.” Jed opened the door connecting the house with the garage, and a mound of fur propelled itself into his chest. “Oooph! Down, Clue! Down!”

Susan grabbed Clue’s collar and yanked her back onto four paws. “Come with me, Clue. I’ll get you a cookie after I’ve had my tea. Jed, you go on upstairs. That racket Rock and Roll are making must have woken up the kids. Tell them to plan on fixing their own breakfast and, for heaven’s sake, to let us sleep as long as possible.”

Jed padded up the wide carpeted stairs to the second floor of their colonial home, and Susan walked into her country kitchen, filled a teakettle, and put it on the stove. She turned on a burner and sat down at the large pine table in the middle of the room. Clue flopped at her feet, sighing loudly. “I think I know how you feel,” Susan said to the dog. She didn’t have a whole lot of energy; on the other hand she wasn’t particularly sleepy. She sat there until the kettle began to boil, and then she got up and made herself a cup of tea, got a dog biscuit for Clue and . . . and sat back down and stared at the table.

She was nervous, keyed up. Usually she’d just take a nice warm bubble bath, but her last bubble bath hadn’t turned out to be terribly soothing. And if she started thinking about that, she’d never get any sleep. She looked down at the dog. “How about an early-morning walk, Clue? Just let me find some flip-flops or some Keds and we’ll get going,” she added, knowing she could assume an enthusiastic response from the dog.

It was a gorgeous morning. The sun was already warm. The automatic sprinkler system had drenched the sidewalk, and Susan’s rubber soles squished in the puddles. She turned right at the street, noticing that the Markses’ new green Jaguar was parked at the top of their drive as though nothing untoward had happened—as though Ashley and Doug had partied until late and were sleeping in. For a moment, Susan wondered if she should walk up to the house and knock on the door. If Doug was home, she could offer her condolences. And then she realized that she was being stupid. The police would have called Doug hours ago. More than likely, he was at the Hancock Municipal Center answering their questions right now. Or making arrangements for his wife’s funeral—although that wouldn’t happen until the autopsy was completed. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking about Ashley . . . or Ashley’s body. She looked down. Clue was enormously interested in something at the curb. “Oh, no! Come on, Clue! Heel! Now!”

After years of reluctant attendance at obedience classes, Clue understood the words and knew what to do—even though it was obvious that she found the squashed squirrel immensely more compelling. The dog sighed, got into position, and accompanied Susan down the road.

Anyone walking by would assume this was usual for the pair—anyone who didn’t know them. But Kathleen Gordon wasn’t fooled. She jogged around the corner, long hair flying out behind her.

“Hey, isn’t it a bit early to be working on dog training? Besides, I thought you and Jed were spending the night at the inn. What are you doing here?” Her words came out between deep gasps for air.

“We were, but something happened,” Susan explained as Kathleen reached her.

“Susan, you can tell me all about it. But first, do you have any juice in your refrigerator? I’m ready to pass out.”

“Of course. Let’s go back to the house. Did you run all the way here from your home?” Susan asked as they turned around.

“Yes. I ate so much at your party last night that I thought I’d at least get a start on burning some of it off.” Kathleen was breathing much easier now. “So what are you doing home so early? Is Jed with you?”

“He’s asleep.”

“You left him sleeping at the inn and came home to walk Clue? Oh, Susan, you should have given me a call. I’d have been happy to take Clue out for you.”

“Kathleen, Jed’s not at the inn. We both came home. We had to. Ashley was in our bed.”