Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (24 page)

“Friday,” I repeated. I turned the key in the ignition. “When we went to look for back entrances. The cop. The gun—”

“Oh, that,” she said, her frown disappearing. “There was a full dumpster blocking the side the way I went around, so I came back around your side and stepped in some more garbage. Jeez-Louise, those people have a lot of garbage…”

She chattered on happily as I got back on the road. I was relieved by her explanation. Apparently her absence was based on nothing more sinister than garbage. I tuned back into her words once I had steered the Toyota safely onto the highway.

“…gotta be someone in the class. Or one of the Snyders. All we have to do is—”

“Maybe this murder will never be solved,” I cut in. I’d had plenty of time for brooding while Vesta and Wayne had been arguing. My conclusions hadn’t been happy ones. “It’s been almost a week, and I don’t think the police are any closer to an answer than we are.”

“Kate!” Barbara objected. “Don’t give up. It’s not like a mugging or something. There’re only a few people who could have done it—”

“But which one of them?” I asked, my jaw tight with impatience.

“Well,” she said. Her eyes went out of focus. “How about Ken? You saw him after the murder, smiling that weird, nerdy little smile. And he hasn’t answered our phone calls—”

“He’s out on an audit,” I interrupted, my impatience growing.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Barbara answered thoughtfully. She looked at the dashboard absently for a moment, then started back up. “What about Meg Quilter? She’s another weird one. That woman’s so pale, she looks like a vampire. I mean, she’s obviously way out there, some kind of genius. Her artwork’s fantastic! So why’s she so shy? It’s like she’s hiding something.”

“Shy doesn’t mean murderous,” I argued.

“Which brings me to Alice,” Barbara continued, her voice deepening now. “Alice, who’s in love with Dan Snyder. You saw her at the funeral yesterday. A week hasn’t passed and she’s already putting the moves on him. And…” Barbara paused significantly. “She set up the class.”

“But if Alice did kill Sheila to get Dan, why’s she so obvious about him?” I demanded peevishly. I took a deep breath and went on in a more reasonable tone. “She’s not stupid. She must realize how it looks.”

“Who knows?” Barbara dismissed my question blithely. “Leo’s another one. Drunk as a skunk all the time. Maybe he killed her and just doesn’t remember.”

“Barbara, you’ve named four people already—” I began.

“And how about Paula?” she continued, oblivious to my interruption. “She’d do anything to protect Gary—”

“Now you’ve named another!” I shouted in frustration. I gripped the steering wheel so hard, I would have choked it if it had been a neck. “How do we narrow it down to
one
person?”

Barbara turned to me, startled by my outburst. “But Kate, that’s why we’re investigating,” she said slowly, as if explaining the concept of God to a three-year-old.

I sighed, and Barbara continued with her theories until we took the highway turnoff. Then she directed me to April’s Garden, the restaurant where we were meeting Iris and Rose.

April’s Garden was hung with a collection of ceramic pots filled with all-too-perfect flower-laden plants. I would have bet they were silk, but they were too high to check.

“Yoo-hoo,” Iris called to us. She sat with Rose at a sunny table by the window. She waved and smiled.

As we walked toward them, I was struck by the contrast between the two women. They were probably close in age, each with a head full of silvery hair. But Iris’s silver head was held erect, while Rose Snyder’s drooped. Iris’s strong face was all planes and angles, Rose’s doughy curves.

“We were just talking about children,” Iris told us as we sat down. “Do either of you have any?”

Barbara and I both shook our heads.

“Ah,” said Rose, her voice a sigh. I couldn’t tell if that sigh denoted disapproval or sadness. Or maybe envy.

“So nice to be born in an age where you have a choice,” Iris commented brightly. “When I was married, we didn’t question having children.”

“We just did it,” Rose added glumly.

“What are your children like, Iris?” asked Barbara.

A flush tinted Iris’s skin. I hadn’t seen her flushed before. I felt a tingle of curiosity.

“Oh, my,” she said with a little nervous laugh. “My children are…well, different than I am. Really quite their own unique selves. I’ve always thought it was such a mistake to expect one’s children to share one’s interests.”

“Wasn’t your girl a violinist?” Rose asked, perking up. There was genuine interest in her face now. She looked more alive, less doughy.

“Not anymore,” Iris answered briefly. “Married an insurance salesman. She has five kids now. That keeps her busy.” She sighed. “We had such hopes for her.” She shook her head, then made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Of course, it’s her own life. She’s quite…quite contented.”

“How about your son?” Rose pressed.

Iris flushed again. “He’s really a very well educated boy. He took his M.A. in art, you know,” she told us, her voice a little too high. “Such a bright, bright, artistic boy. He’s in Great Britain now.” She paused and whispered across the table. “He’s incarcerated, you know. Some misunderstanding about drugs with the authorities there.”

Rose clicked her tongue, and their roles seemed to reverse for a moment, Rose sitting straight, Iris drooping. But then Rose slumped again.

“Our Johnny was killed in an auto accident before he even had a chance to finish college,” she murmured. “They said he was driving too fast. We should have trained him better, I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders as if attempting to shrug off the pain.

My stomach knotted in pity. Losing a child that way had to be hard. And her son Dan couldn’t be much consolation right now.

“So, so tragic,” Iris breathed, her own shoulders straight again. “And your Daniel—”

“Have you decided yet?” a young woman in a flowery apron demanded. Our waitress, I assumed.

“Decided on what, dear?” Iris asked, a reproof in her tone.

The waitress paused for a moment to think. “What to eat,” she explained finally.

“It might be a little easier if we had menus,” Iris told her.

“Uh-oh,” the waitress muttered and trotted away.

She brought us the missing menus within a minute. April’s Garden offered lots of salads, a few sandwiches, soups and more salads. Iris pointed out the vegetarian choices. The Spring Salad (assorted greens and vegetables with marinated beans) looked good. I closed my menu. Iris was talking again.

By the time the waitress asked us for our orders the second time, Iris had drawn the conversation back to Rose’s son Dan. There was a flicker of annoyance on Iris’s face as the waitress interrupted her once more.

“I’ll have the Sunshine Salad,” Iris said with uncharacteristic brevity.

Suddenly, I realized that this wasn’t just a social luncheon for Iris. She was sleuthing. Either that or she was helping Barbara and me sleuth. I was sure of it.

I looked across at Barbara, wondering if she’d caught it. She winked back. Of course she had. That’s why she had allowed Iris to so fully dominate the conversation.

“Such a shame your poor boy has to go through all of this,” Iris said to Rose once the waitress was gone. “He was so…so upset at the memorial service.”

It was Rose’s turn to flush. A tide the color of the rouge circles on her cheeks washed across her entire face.

“Danny was drunk,” she said sharply. Finally, she was showing some spirit. I felt like cheering. “I told him there was no excuse. His own wife dead, and he pulls a stunt like that.” She sighed, and the spirit was gone again. “I guess he was upset, though,” she amended.

“Oh my, yes,” Iris cooed. “The shock of coming home and finding his wife dead must have been terrible.”

“He was out with his friend Zach,” Rose told us, swallowing the bait without a struggle. “Zach is an awful influence on Danny.” She lowered her voice. “Zach takes drugs, I think. And he doesn’t work. Oh, he says he’s a house painter, but when I asked him for a quote to paint my house, he never gave it to me. Now what kind of house painter is that?”

Iris shook her head sympathetically. “Our children’s friends can be such powerful influences,” she commented encouragingly.

“Danny was always out with Zach. Left Sheila in a lurch at the Good Thyme as often as not. I just don’t know what I did wrong with that boy.” Rose sighed. “He wasn’t a very good husband to Sheila.”

“But he loved her, didn’t he?” Iris asked softly.

Rose sighed again, a big sigh that heaved her shoulders and bosom like a wave. “I guess he did,” she said in a small voice. “I mean, they argued all the time, but look at him now. I guess he didn’t realize how much he loved her till she was gone.”

Our salads came. I pondered the truth of Rose’s last statement as we ate. Not that I thought she was lying. I felt sure she was telling the truth as she understood it. Unless she was a lot trickier than she looked. I took a bite of vinegary beans. I believed Dan Snyder had loved his wife and grieved her loss. But there were so many kinds of love, I thought as I swallowed. I speared an artichoke heart and wondered. Was there a kind of love that could encompass the murder of the loved one?

“So nice that Sheila’s friend spoke at the memorial service,” Iris threw out after a few moments of quiet chewing.

I was beginning to see the pattern in her questions. Did she have a checklist in her mind? Find out where Dan was the night of the murder. Check. Find out how he felt about Sheila. Check. Find out about Sheila’s friends—

“Most of Sheila’s friends were from AA,” Rose said. “She spent too much time working to have a real social life. Maybe I should have offered to help more. Maybe…” She faltered, her eyes on her salad, unseeing.

I wanted to tell her she wasn’t to blame, but I was afraid to interrupt Iris’s act. I took another bite of salad.

“Sheila certainly seemed well loved,” Iris assured Rose. “Did her friends visit much at the Good Thyme?”

Rose’s head came up with a jerk. She stared at Iris for a moment, squinting through her wire-rimmed glasses but not answering. Had she just figured out she was being interrogated?

“No, they didn’t,” she said brusquely and began eating her salad in earnest.

Iris, Barbara and I all made small talk after that. Rose held back for a long time, but finally joined in a discussion about gardening as we were dividing up the check. Then she stood, laid some bills on the table, and said goobye. The rest of us stood too as she disappeared through the doorway.

“Such fun,” Iris cooed as we walked out to the parking lot.

“You’re all right, Iris,” Barbara said and gave her a quick hug.

Iris’s eyebrows jumped at the sudden attack. Her mouth dropped open for an instant as Barbara released her. But then she smiled.

“Thanks for lunch,” I said.

“My pleasure,” she sang. “So good of you girls to come.” Then she strode off to her car, her back as straight as ever.

I was surprised to see Barbara frowning as she got into the Toyota.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Zach,” she answered. “We forgot about Zach.”

Barbara had found another suspect. We hadn’t narrowed our list. We had widened it. Damn.

When Barbara asked if I wanted to come up to her apartment for a while, I said yes. I wasn’t ready to go back to the house and listen to Vesta and Wayne quarreling just yet. Unfortunately, Felix was waiting when Barbara opened the door.

“Howdy-hi,” he greeted us as we walked in. He had something in his hand that looked suspiciously like a fried chicken leg.

“Goddammit, Felix!” Barbara shouted. “You’re not supposed to eat that stuff anymore.”

“But, babe,” he shot back. “My gout’s disappearing faster than the ozone layer. My toe hardly hurts anymore—”

“Because of your diet, Felix,” Barbara snapped and ripped the chicken leg out of his hands. Pieces of greasy batter dropped to the floor. She looked at the leg for a moment, then took a bite herself. “If you eat this stuff,” she mumbled through the chicken, “you’ll just get sick again.”

“But I’m hungry!” he exploded. “I am sick to friggin’ death of vegetables. Do you know how many bags of groceries I have to carry for one friggin’ low protein, low fat, low acid meal?”

“See you later,” I interjected. I could go home if I wanted to listen to an argument.

“Hold your horses,” Felix called out as I got to the door. “I have zee informations about zee suspects.” He twirled his mustache in a continental manner and grinned as I turned back. “You wanna do a deal? My dope from the police department for a little scuttlebutt on your end?”

I opened my mouth to answer.

“No, Felix!” Barbara hollered. “This isn’t a game! Tell us what you found out right now.”

“But babe—”

“Right now, Felix,” she repeated, her voice dangerously low, her eyes narrowed and angry. “Give.”

Felix gave. It wasn’t much. Paula Pierce had racked up a few arrests associated with various political protests. That wasn’t surprising. Dan Snyder was a little more interesting—an arrest for possession of cocaine a few years ago. It was a small amount, and he was sentenced to community service instead of jail. But, still, it looked like his friend Zach wasn’t the only one doing drugs. Leo’s record was predictable, a series of drunk driving citations resulting in the loss of his driver’s license.