She telephoned the glazier, who said he’d come by at eleven the next morning to make the repair. That accomplished, Lydia draped an old quilt over the curtain rods and secured it so it cut down much of the frigid chill permeating the house.
But when the sun went down, she put aside the novel she couldn’t focus on and faced her dark thoughts. Where had she found the chutzpah to tell Marshall to draw up a list of potential enemies from which she’d try to deduce who had murdered his wife? The idea would be laughable if it weren’t deadly serious.
She started for the kitchen, intent on boiling water for tea, but found herself staring at the quilt that covered the shattered window. The rock thrower had, in one fell swoop, both vandalized her home and rendered her vulnerable. Lydia shuddered, knowing she wouldn’t sleep a wink that night until the damaged pane was replaced. She dialed Barbara’s number and smiled with relief when her friend picked up on the third ring.
“Hello there!” Barbara was in good spirits. “I got back from my son’s house an hour ago. It was fun but hectic. I’ll be happy to spend a quiet evening in front of the TV. How was your weekend?”
Lydia gave her an abbreviated version of all that had transpired since Thanksgiving morning.
“Whew!” Barbara exclaimed when she’d finished. “I’m exhausted just listening to everything that’s happened. Your life sounds like an action-packed movie.”
“They’re fun to watch, not live through. Actually, I feel kind of creepy staying here knowing anyone can push his way through the broken glass. Do you mind if I come over?”
“Of course come over!” Barbara exclaimed. “Stay the night. The guest room’s made up and I’ve plenty of Thanksgiving leftovers, courtesy of my daughter-in-law.”
“I don’t think I can eat anything.”
“Maybe not now, but you’ll be hungry later. Pack your nightgown and toothbrush. I’ll leave the garage door open for you.”
* * *
Hours later, after being fed and cosseted by Barbara, Lydia felt like a convalescent recovering from a debilitating illness. As they chatted over decaf coffee in Barbara’s cozy den, she reveled in the tranquility that had settled about her like a worn cardigan. Murders and rock-thrown threats were incidents one read about in the newspaper.
“How lovely to babble about trivial matters,” she mused. “I’d forgotten the simple joys of everyday living.”
“Something you haven’t enjoyed in quite some time,” Barbara observed.
“Not since Izzy took sick. But I refuse to dwell on that anymore. I’ll tell Marshall I can’t help him, and leave solving the murder or murders to Sol Molina.”
Who kissed me, kind of, but I’ll keep that to myself.
“Good for you!” Barbara said. “You’ve one happy
simcha
ahead of you—Abbie’s marriage.”
“Oh yes,” Lydia agreed. “Todd’s perfect for her. He’s motivated and clever, adoring and kind. But then I thought Merry and Jeff would live happily ever after, and look at them now.”
“They’re no different from thousands of other young couples overwhelmed by small children and responsibilities.” Barbara patted Lydia’s arm. “Don’t imagine the worst-case scenario. Things may very well work out.”
“I don’t know. Merry thinks she’s in love with Steve Thiergard.” Lydia grimaced. “Given her state of mind, this was an affair waiting to happen. A gorgeous hunk of a man appears from her past and offers her affection and sympathy—for problems real or imagined.” She groaned. “She must stop seeing him or her family will suffer. My granddaughters will be traumatized. Poor Jeff will be devastated.”
“From what you told me, I got the feeling Meredith was receptive to your advice.”
Lydia sighed. “I certainly hope so. I have to get it through her stubborn head Steve Thiergard isn’t the answer to her problems. It didn’t faze her one bit when I told her he’s selling potentially dangerous capsules to older women. Now Doris is dead, possibly of a coronary. Brought on, no doubt, by those damn capsules Steve sold her.”
“Didn’t Merry tell you the compound’s contraindicated for women with heart conditions? If Steve told her that, he must have made it very clear to anyone asking to buy the capsules.”
“Maybe,” Lydia reluctantly conceded, “but Steve’s been underhanded about this entire business. And charging a thousand dollars a bottle is gouging, any way you look at it.”
She remained silent as an idea took shape inside her head. “I’d love to hire a professional to investigate this miracle capsule and Steve Thiergard so I could prove to my daughter her boyfriend is less than perfect. What I want more than anything is immediate proof.”
Barbara stood suddenly and tossed Lydia an impish grin. “In that case, let’s google Steve Thiergard and his herbal compound.”
Lydia laughed. “Funny, that’s precisely what my future son-in-law advised me to do.”
Barbara booted up her computer and typed in Steve’s name. They ignored the other articles and sites related to people with the same name—Stephen Franklin Thiergard, a Texan rancher and aviator, and Professor Steven Thiergard, authority on California migrant workers from 1940 until 1948. There were only a few articles about Steven Daniel Thiergard.
Barbara printed out two similar articles he’d written in praise of the botanical compound. Lydia highlighted the individual herbs with the intention of reading about them later, then she studied the articles with care. Steve referred to earlier tests of two groups of people, each taking one of the two principal herbs. Most claimed to have more energy after ingesting the herb on a daily basis.
Testimonials from people who had taken the herbal compound were more dramatic. Over ninety percent insisted they had more vitality and enjoyed better health after two weeks of use. Steve made it very clear that the compound was not for anyone with heart problems. Everything appeared technical and aboveboard—and dull.
“Here’s an article about Hadley Health Products, the company that created and will distribute this compound,” Barbara said above the sound of her laser printer. “It has a bio of its CEO, Paul Hadley. Gee, he’s young.”
“Steve said he’s a friend of his,” Lydia said, picking up the printouts.
“Hmm, all these other articles are about the other Steve Thiergards. No, here’s one from three years ago. It’s a wedding announcement.” Barbara clicked on the article. Lydia read it aloud.
“‘Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Hadley of North Caldwell, New Jersey, are pleased to announce the wedding of their daughter Marigold Catherine to Steven Daniel Thiergard.’” Blood rushed to her face as she scanned down several lines to a quote from Paul Hadley.
“‘I’m as happy as Marigold regarding this marriage. Steve’s been my best friend these last five years, and now he’s going to be my brother-in-law.’”
Stricken, Lydia gaped at Barbara. “My God, the louse is married!”
Barbara burst out laughing.
“It isn’t funny! I know Merry’s married, but she has no idea that Steve is.”
“Maybe he isn’t any longer. Some of these kids marry and divorce in the few years it takes other people to buy a new car.”
Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think he’d be involved with his brother-in-law’s company if he divorced his sister.” She marched to the coat closet and pulled on her jacket. “God knows where he’ll be off to tomorrow morning. I’ll speak to him now.”
“Now?” Barbara glanced at her watch. “It’s almost ten-thirty.”
“I’m not going far. I’ll be back soon.” Lydia started for the door.
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, you stay here. If I’m not back in an hour, call Molina.”
Fifteen
Pinpoints of light escaped above the drawn drapes at John Trevor’s house. Lydia parked in the driveway and rang the doorbell. Steve, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, came to open the door in his stockinged feet. When he saw her, he grinned.
“Lydia—Mrs. Krause! What a pleasant surprise!”
“I’m glad to find you’re still at your uncle’s. I wanted to speak to you but was afraid you’d gone home.”
“I’m here through Friday, then I’ll be gone for a month. Come on in.”
Without waiting, he turned left into the den where canned laughter emitted from the TV. Lydia squelched the urge to dash back to her car and the comforting warmth of Barbara’s home. She was about to do something she despised. At best she’d be considered an interfering mother; at worst she’d be facing a murderer in his lair.
Don’t be melodramatic! she chided herself. Steve didn’t kill Claire or Doris. At least not intentionally.
She forced one foot in front of the other until she stood in the middle of the now silent den. It was a man’s room, furnished with a maroon leather couch and matching leather armchairs. A deer’s head with large antlers topped the fireplace.
Steve stood beside one of the chairs. “Please sit down. Can I get you something? A drink?”
His manner was hospitable and friendly, but she detected tension in his hunched-up broad shoulders.
“Nothing, thanks. I’m sorry to bother you so late. This won’t take much of your time.”
“Be my guest.” He gestured toward the couch and sat in the armchair opposite her. “What would you like to talk about?”
She decided to be straightforward. “I’m not happy that you and my daughter, Meredith, are involved. I’d like you to stop this relationship now, before anyone gets hurt.”
Steve nodded as though he were considering her request. “I see. What does Merry have to say about this?”
“She’s in a confused state and doesn’t know her own mind. I told her an affair wasn’t the answer to her problems.”
“Confused or not, it’s Merry’s call. It’s Merry’s life.”
“Don’t give me that! Merry’s behavior affects my granddaughters and my son-in-law. I don’t want their family destroyed because Merry’s going through a difficult period and you—a former boyfriend—happened to come along and made her feel better.”
“I’m sorry you see it that way. Merry and I give each another emotional support.”
“I see.” She eyed him balefully. “Do you love my daughter?”
“I care about her a great deal.”
Which wasn’t the same as love. Lydia slapped her thigh in frustration. This was getting nowhere!
“If you care about Meredith, you must realize you’re not helping her. You’re only making matters worse.”
Steve said nothing. Lydia’s anger dissolved, replaced by a heart-pounding panic.
“Please, I beg you to end the affair. If you break it off, I won’t tell the police you supplied both murdered women with those herbal capsules.”
Steve stared at her in amazement. “Do you imagine for one minute I had anything to do with their deaths?”
He leaped to his feet then paced up and down the length of the room. “I’d stake my life on that herbal compound. In fact, I’ve sunk most of my own money into the product, and I expect it to make me a wealthy man in a few years.”
“You lied about it, didn’t you? You told me the herbal compound wasn’t what you’d sold to Claire and Doris.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t…” His eyes widened as the full impact of her words sank in. “How did you find out about Doris?”
“Detective Molina told me.”
“Oh, no!” He sat in his chair and covered his face with his hands. Moments passed before he was calm enough to continue. “My uncle mentioned the herbal supplement to a few women at Twin Lakes. Claire and Doris approached me. I explained it wasn’t yet on the market and would be terribly expensive, but they insisted on buying it ASAP. I swear I made it very clear the capsules were not to be taken by anyone with a heart condition. Obviously, Doris lied to me.”
Stunned, Lydia asked, “How do you know?”
“Because when the police questioned me, they asked me if I knew Doris had a weak heart.”
Lydia was puzzled. “The police questioned you?”
“They aren’t completely incompetent, you know. Twin Lakes is a close-knit community. People talk. Besides, I never swore anyone to secrecy. I didn’t have to.”
He returned to his seat and leaned forward. His voice took on the eager, enthusiastic tone he’d used when speaking about the compound on Thanksgiving Day. “Taken properly, these capsules are beneficial. They’re neither lethal nor illegal. I don’t appreciate your threatening me, Mrs. Krause.”
Lydia felt her ears redden with shame. What she was doing was contemptible. If Steve told Meredith about this conversation, her daughter would probably never speak to her again! But more was at stake than her feelings or Merry’s. She had to make one more stab at ending this relationship. She stood.
“Does Meredith know you’re a married man?”
His eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
Lydia pursed her lips. “I see. You forgot to mention that small fact.”
Steve shook his head, his face suddenly grim. “My wife suffers from severe depression. She’s been at a clinic since last May and isn’t making progress.” He lowered his voice so Lydia could barely hear what he was saying. “They give her so many meds, she sleeps most of the time. I’m not happy about this, but since our insurance ran out and her father’s footing the bill, he calls the shots.”
Lydia moved toward him and, before she realized what she was doing, touched his arm. “I am sorry, Steve. How awful for you!”
He nodded, blinking back tears. “It’s worse for Marigold. She’s a wonderful girl and I love her. We knew each other for six months when we married. I had no idea she’d suffered from depression during her teenage years. The miscarriage set it off again worse than ever.”
Lydia’s heart went out to him. “Merry said you’ve been very supportive of her. Her problems are nothing compared to what you’ve been going through.”
Steve gave a joyless laugh. “Being with Merry keeps me from thinking of Marigold—if you can understand what I’m saying.”
“Certainly I do, but Merry knows nothing about your wife’s existence. She thinks she might have a happy life with you.”
All color drained from his face. “That can’t be! We never talked about being together in the future. I swear I didn’t lead her on!”
Lydia gave him a bittersweet smile. “Didn’t you know? As soon as a woman’s involved with a man, she thinks about the future.”
Dazed, Steve got to his feet. “Your coming here is so weird. Merry and I aren’t two kids, you know.”