An Anniversary to Die For (9 page)

“What do you mean?” Erika wanted to know.

“It’s not easy to explain. Say there was a burglary. No weapons involved. No assault or anything of that nature. The house is empty one evening. No one bothers to turn on the alarm system and some jewelry and a computer are snatched. Happens all the time in Hancock.”

“A routine case,” Erika said, nodding.

“Exactly. Only Peter didn’t—or couldn’t—act as though it was routine. He jumped in as though it was a major case, wanting to investigate everyone who had access to the home in the past year, checking out the company that provided security, talking about setting up a sting operation to catch the burglars. It was a pointless waste of time and upsetting for everyone involved.”

“Sounds like Brett must have been glad when he moved on.”

“Thrilled is what I heard,” Kathleen said. “Peter Konowitz isn’t a team player. And that’s hard on everyone on the force—especially the person who’s in charge.”

“Brett said that he was ambitious—that a police department the size of the one we have here in Hancock didn’t provide enough room for him to advance. So why is he working in an even smaller town now?” Susan asked.

“That’s not unusual. Peter Konowitz moved to a bigger department to get experience and then moved to a smaller one to become chief of police.” Kathleen shrugged. “That’s the way promotions work for people willing and able to move around.”

“I suppose it’s not important here anyway,” Susan said.

“Oh, it’s important,” Erika said. “After all, if Peter and Brett didn’t have some sort of relationship, we would never have known that Signe might be in trouble.”

“Do you think Brett will have advance notice of whatever else happens?” Susan asked Erika.

“I have no idea. And I hope Signe is only being questioned—that she isn’t being considered the primary suspect in the case, frankly.”

“But what if she is?” Susan asked. “What are we going to do then?”

“Then you’re going to have to find out what’s been going on in that house next door,” Kathleen said.

“We’re not just talking about the present,” Susan said. “Signe admits this all started years ago—on her grandparents’ farm.”

“Which is near where it all ended,” Erika added.

“What do you mean?”

“Signe grew up about fifteen miles from Oxford Landing. Didn’t you realize that when she was telling us about her past?”

“I had no idea! How do you know?”

“Brett and I got lost on the way to your party. We became intimately acquainted with that part of Connecticut,” Erika explained. “Signe’s mentioned her grandparents’ farm to me over the years, and I recognized the name of the town when we drove through it—for the second or third time—on the way to your party.”

“You really were lost,” Susan said, momentarily diverted.

“You know the little towns up that way—many of them were built around a colonial green, and so the roads going in and out of town don’t make a whole lot of sense. We circled many statues noting an obscure historic event more than once. Anyway, that’s how I know how close the two places are.”

“What an odd coincidence,” Kathleen said.

“
Odd
is just the word for it,” Susan agreed. The three were silent for a moment before she continued. “What do you think we should do now? It really isn’t our place to call a lawyer for Signe.”

“I’d hate for Signe to think we’ve abandoned her—or for her to think we don’t care,” Susan said slowly. “After all, whether we want to be or not, we’re involved here. Whoever killed Ashley left her body in my bed.”

“So what do you want to do?” Erika asked.

“I think I’ll call and leave a message on Doug’s machine. I can tell him that we’re thinking of him and, of course, the usual anything-we-can-do statement. If he wants to take us up on it, fine. If not, we’ve offered.”

“Okay. And I think we should go to the inn for an early lunch,” Kathleen suggested.

“Revisiting the scene of the crime?” Erika asked.

“Exactly.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Susan said enthusiastically. “Let’s take the Jeep. It’s just possible that the police will have released my presents.”

“Your presents? Why did they impound your presents?” Erika asked.

“They were in our bedroom—where Ashley was found. In fact, she was found underneath some of them.” Susan paused. “It’s a little creepy to think that I may end up using something that lay on top of a dead woman.”

“Didn’t you say Jed found her body?” Kathleen asked.

“Yes. I was in the bathtub, and he was clearing the bed.”

“So you don’t actually know which gifts were . . . in contact with Ashley.”

“Not actually.” Susan grimaced. “No, I don’t.”

“But you know your friends really wanted you and Jed to have those gifts,” Kathleen continued.

“I do know that. So you think I should just ignore where they were and . . . and enjoy them?” Susan asked.

“Yes.”

“Definitely!” Erika agreed.

“Then let’s go!”

“I need to call Jerry to make sure he takes care of the kids for the rest of the day.”

“And I should leave a message on our answering machine for Brett and let him know I’ll be out until dinner.”

“And I’d better leave a note telling the first person home to walk Clue. Who knows how long we’ll be gone.”

“Let’s go over in one car so we can chat on the way,” Erika suggested. “Of course, there won’t be as much room for presents on the way home.”

“So it will give us an excuse to go back again tomorrow if we have to,” Kathleen said. “After all, it’s not like this all happened in Hancock. It won’t hurt if anyone else involved thinks that we’re just minding our own business instead of investigating a murder.”

“I gather you don’t think Chief Konowitz is likely to be too enthusiastic about amateurs getting involved in his investigation,” Erika said.

“I think he’d hate it if he knew.”

“So we won’t tell him,” Susan said, standing up. “We’ll just be two suburban housewives and one very successful entrepreneur going about our own business. No one can stop us from doing that, can they?”

“Well . . .” Kathleen started.

“We have a reason to return to the inn. Who we talk to and what we talk about is really no one’s business,” Erika stated flatly.

“So let’s make those calls and get going,” Susan said.

TEN

THE TWIGG SISTERS WERE SITTING IN MATCHING ROCKING chairs on the wide front porch of their inn, entertaining the local press corps with coffee, doughnuts, local legend, and a sprinkling of fact. They seemed to be enjoying all the attention. And Susan, Kathleen, and Erika appreciated the distraction they provided, allowing the three women to park in a far corner of the not-too-big lot across the street from the inn and then dash around to the back of the main building unnoticed.

Here, away from the eyes of inn guests, the business of giving a party was displayed. Slick, black plastic bags stuffed with garbage were piled high against centuries-old stone walls. Disused plastic crates, names of local dairies embossed on their sides, had been flung upon the remains of a kitchen herb garden, squashing large basil plants while barely making an impression on a thriving bed of mint. Three garbage cans overflowed with empty bottles, causing Susan to wonder if perhaps her headache wasn’t the result of something other than Ashley’s murder and Signe’s arrest.

“I wonder where they are,” Kathleen said, ignoring the mess and glancing back over her shoulder at three police cars parked illegally in the spaces reserved for delivery trucks.

“Good question,” Susan said. “I’d rather avoid running into anyone official as long as possible. It will give us more time to look around.” She glanced at her companions. “Do you think anyone on the local police force will recognize either of you?”

“I doubt if anyone knows me,” Kathleen answered. “Except for the one case when I came to Hancock, I never worked around here, remember. And while I was in contact with a few cops from other districts when I was running my security company, I didn’t have any jobs this far north.” She turned to Erika. “What about you?”

“You know, it is possible. Brett and I have attended quite a few official functions—some local, some state—in the past few years. I can’t tell you how many cops I’ve met. I don’t remember many of them, but it’s possible that some of them remember me.”

Susan and Kathleen exchanged looks. Erika’s distinctive style would stand out—and be memorable—in almost any group.

Erika saw the look and smiled. “So I don’t know the answer to your question. Sorry. But I agree it’s a good idea to avoid as much contact with anyone official as possible.”

“Then let’s not go through the kitchen. My guess is that any cop in his right mind would head straight for the origin of the inn’s homemade doughnuts.”

“Good idea.” Kathleen nodded. “You know, there’s a ladies’ room behind the bar. And I think there may be a passage from there straight to the bedrooms upstairs.”

“Great!” Susan enthused. “Lead the way.”

Kathleen did just that, and in a few minutes they were standing on the second-floor landing outside the bedroom Susan and Jed had planned to share last night.

“So now what?” Erika asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Susan whispered back.

“Why’s everybody whispering?” Dan Hallard had never felt a need to modulate his booming voice, and now was no exception. “You lovely ladies chatting about something you don’t want us men to know about?” His words echoed up and down the chestnut-paneled hallway.

“Not really,” Erika, the most forthright of the trio, started to answer, but Susan interrupted her.

“Actually, I am planning a surprise for Jed. And Erika and Kathleen are helping me,” she added quickly.

“You women and your little secrets. Just let me know if I can be of help. You know me—anything I can do to support a nice long marriage—especially if it’s between two of my all-time favorite neighbors. I’m off to join my own lovely lady for a very late brunch. Can’t believe I’m hungry after all the food you fed us last night, Susan. We both slept like rocks, but our room’s over the kitchen, and the smell of bacon woke me up this morning.”

“Dan, I didn’t know doctors ate cholesterol,” Kathleen kidded him.

“They don’t if they’re at home and their wife’s doing the cooking, but here I can order whatever my little heart desires—even if it doesn’t know what’s good for it.”

“Well, enjoy your meal,” Susan said, wanting to get on with their task.

“Thank you. And you enjoy your planning.”

“Ah . . . Thanks, we will,” Susan sputtered before remembering what he was talking about.

“So what do we do now?” Erika asked when they were alone again.

“We go in there.” Susan pointed to the door. A swath of yellow tape printed with the words
Police Line Do Not
Cross
had been taped across it.

“But . . .” Erika pointed to the tape.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Susan assured her. “If they really didn’t want anyone in there, there would be a police officer posted at the door.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Erica said, looking skeptical. “What do you think?” she asked Kathleen.

Kathleen shrugged. “Susan’s talked me into ignoring that before—and we’ve never been arrested.”

“Not yet,” Erika muttered as Susan peeled down one side of the tape and pulled something from her pocket.

“So convenient when you have the key,” Kathleen said, examining the old-fashioned skeleton key the inn provided.

“I think someone may be coming up the stairs,” Erika whispered.

Susan turned the key, and they all pushed into the room. “Don’t move!” Susan whispered. The order was obeyed immediately. They listened intently. The old, worn floorboards creaked with every step, and whoever had come up the stairs continued on down the hall, entering another room and slamming its door behind him.

Susan sighed with relief. “Whew! For a minute there I thought it was a police officer.”

“Let’s look around and get out of here before one shows up,” Kathleen suggested.

“But there’s so much to look at,” Erika said. “I can’t believe all these people ignored the ‘no presents please’ note on your invitation.”

“But you gave us something. At least I thought . . .” Susan was suddenly embarrassed, not wanting Erika to think she had expected a gift from her.

“Of course we did! You and Jed have done so much for Brett and me. Heavens, we probably would never have gotten married if you hadn’t kept pushing us together, inviting us to the same parties and all. And you gave us that wonderful engagement party! Heavens, I can’t count all the things you’ve done for us. We wanted to give you something nice.”

“Jerry and I felt the same way,” Kathleen added. “You introduced us to each other. On the other hand, I can’t believe you were involved in this much matchmaking. There must be fifty gifts here.”

“Fifty-seven was my count.”

The correction came from behind. Spinning around, they discovered Alvena Twigg standing in the doorway. “I’ll just close this door so we’re not interrupted, shall I?” she twittered, suiting action to words as she spoke. “I’m so glad to see you and your friends, Mrs. Henshaw. My sister and I have been wondering if you were going to show up today. You must have come in the back way?”

“Yes,” Susan admitted.

“Excellent idea. So many problems getting through the foyer with all the policemen and the esteemed members of the press corpse. That’s what my dear father used to call them: the esteemed members of the press corpse.” Smiling, she began to flutter around the room, straightening up a package that had fallen off its pile here and fluffing out a curtain there. Susan, Kathleen, and Erika watched silently.

“Interesting group of people, the esteemed members of the press corpse. Very well dressed as a rule, but such a display of bad manners! Not only are they inclined to shout, but they have no compunction about interrupting each other. And no respect for personal property. We are always having to ask guests to stop sitting on the porch railings—they’re over a hundred years old, after all. So I shouldn’t, perhaps, be surprised by how many of the esteemed members want to perch there. But no one has ever crushed the flowers and hedges like this group. Disgraceful. And they don’t seem to know how to pick up after themselves. They leave coffee cups—half full and likely to be tipped over—in the oddest places; I found two in the pie chest just outside this doorway a few minutes ago! If we give them paper napkins, they toss them on the ground or in the fireplace. Surely anyone can tell we’re not going to start a fire in the middle of August. And if we give them cloth napkins, they toss them in wastebaskets as though they’re disposable. One wonders where—and by whom, oh yes, by whom—these esteemed members of the press corpse were raised.”