“Maybe I will,” Lydia said.
Merry blinked, startled by her mother’s response. “I have to go or I’ll be late.” She paused, then asked, “Can you still watch the girls tomorrow afternoon?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Merry sounded relieved. “If you want to go out with your friends Saturday night, I’ll see if I can find a sitter, though they’re so damn expensive.” She gave Lydia a peck on her cheek and went into the den to say good-bye to her daughters.
Lydia welcomed her moment of solitude. She felt drained. Why did every conversation with Meredith turn into a battle of wills? Meredith strode through life, assuming people and events would bend to her expectations. That included Lydia, now that she was widowed.
She never fought with Abbie. Lydia smiled as she thought of her younger daughter. But then she’d given up trying to tell Abbie what to do when she was very young. In exchange, Abbie respected her mother’s life choices. How different her two daughters were. Why, they were as different as she and Samantha!
Nodding at this insight, Lydia went to the sink to make herself a fresh carafe of coffee. She was startled when Merry reappeared in the kitchen, a large, beautifully wrapped gift in her arms.
“Mom, I want you to know your living five minutes away makes everything more—complete somehow. The way things were before you took over the company.”
The old familiar guilt flushed through her body. Merry had never adjusted to being left in the care of babysitters—all fine and caring women, except for the college student who once had been too busy talking to her boyfriend to notice that her older charge had wandered off. That had been at the beach, and to this day Meredith refused to take an island vacation.
“You’re thirty-four now, Meredith. You have your own family.”
“Right, and I’ll only leave the girls in the charge of someone I completely trust.”
Lydia’s head sank to her chest, her daughter’s parting words reverberating in her head like a life sentence.
Four
As soon as their mother departed, her granddaughters traipsed into the kitchen, saying they wanted Grammy to take them to the playground. Lydia obliged. She sat Greta in her stroller, and the three of them set off for the playground a few blocks away, where the girls played for an hour. Lydia fed them an early lunch, after which Greta fell asleep on the den couch. Lydia straightened up the kitchen, then helped Brittany change into her soccer clothes. Parkas zipped up against the November chill and Greta once again in her stroller, they set out for Brittany’s game.
Why was she panting? she wondered, as she chased after her two-year-old granddaughter for the fifth time in the past half hour.
“Greta, honey, stay here beside me.”
“I’m bored, Grammy,” Greta protested.
“I know, sweetheart, but I have to watch Brittany play. It won’t be for much longer.”
Shortly after halftime, she was delighted to see her son-in-law striding toward them.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Greta shouted as she flew into his arms.
Jeff grabbed her up then bent down to kiss Lydia. “How’s my favorite mother-in-law?”
“Fine. Brittany assisted on a goal.”
“That’s my girl!” He went to the sidelines to wave to Brittany, who waved back.
“I’ll ask one of our friends to keep an eye on Greta while I drive you home,” Jeff said.
“Well, all right,” Lydia agreed, thinking how nice it would be to stretch out on her den couch for a cat nap. “I am kind of wiped out. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I don’t blame you. Not with a murderer in your midst. Any new developments?”
“Nothing I’m aware of.”
“They’ll catch who did this. Just keep your doors locked.”
“Oh, I will.”
Jeff bussed her cheek. “Thanks for looking after the girls. I’m glad they have a grandma who dotes on them.”
Lydia was fond of her son-in-law. She gave him an extra squeeze. “Your mother would have doted on them, too.”
Jeff nodded. “Don’t I know it.” He shook his handsome head as though to rid it of sad thoughts.
As they got into his car, Jeff said, “Did Merry tell you she’ll probably be working again?”
Lydia stared up at him. “No, she didn’t mention it.”
He drove slowly out of the school parking lot. “Her school called to see if she would fill in on a maternity leave starting in February, even though her own extended leave isn’t over.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’s seriously considering it but wants to give it more thought.”
“Really?” She met Jeff’s eyes as a sinking sensation settled in her stomach. “You mean Meredith’s willing to hire a woman to take care of the girls?”
He gave her a wry smile. “Not exactly.”
“Oh. She wants me to watch them.”
“I told Merry she had no right to ask it of you. Certainly not on a daily basis.”
Lydia’s nostrils quivered as they did when she was truly agitated. “I love your daughters and I enjoy spending time with them, but…”
Jeff put his hand on her arm. “You needn’t say another word. I don’t know where she gets her sense of entitlement with you.”
“I think I do.”
He looked at her questioningly, but Lydia didn’t explain. Instead, she said, “Hiring a capable woman is costly. I’ll be more than happy to contribute toward that expense.”
“That’s kind of you, but we can manage, especially if Merry’s working again.”
* * *
Monday morning Lydia arose early and spent twenty minutes on the same aerobics and yoga routine she’d been following for the last thirty years. It kept her limber and slim, except for the small belly she decided all women over fifty toted around. Instead of swimming laps, she decided to walk over to the arboretum across Bellewood Road. She spotted the site of the murder immediately. It was set off with yellow tape and signs were posted to keep people away. No one was there, not even a police officer to guard the area.
Lydia glanced around then stepped over the tape. The brutal evidence spoke for itself—three sets of car tracks rutted the ground like furrows. A rhododendron bush lay crushed to the ground from the impact. Lydia shuddered. Whoever did this had gone over the body more than once. The proverbial lamb had stirred up strong emotions.
Shuddering, Lydia turned and headed for home, thinking as she walked.
Someone had hated Claire Weill—hated her with enough passion to kill her consciously and deliberately.
The murderer lived at Twin Lakes.
* * *
Caroline called as Lydia stepped out of the shower, to see how she was holding up.
“All right. I walked over to the arboretum to see where Claire was killed. Someone had it in for her, all right.”
“I took a peek there, too,” Caroline admitted. “Benny thinks I’m being gruesome. I called to see if you’d like to attend a Women’s Club meeting tonight. I forgot to mention it Saturday, which I should have as I’m the president. Anyway, Shari Morgan’s going to give a talk on when she lived in Italy and show slides.”
“Sounds great, but let me think about it. I’m babysitting today.”
“Again?” Caroline asked. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added quickly. “Both my daughters live in California. I’d give my eye teeth to see the grandkids more often.”
Merry was taking advantage, Lydia decided, and now was as good a time as any to break her of the habit. “Yes, I will come. What time?”
“Seven-thirty. I’ll pick you up.”
She took her time getting dressed, and was just putting on her lipstick when the doorbell rang, startling her. Lydia glanced at the clock. She didn’t expect Merry until one. She opened the front door and felt her heart race at the sight of Detective Sol Molina standing before her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Krause. Sorry to be barging in on you like this.”
“That’s all right.” Lydia felt a stab of pleasure as he eyed her discreetly and seemed to like what he was seeing.
“More questions, Lieutenant?”
He raised the leather attaché in his right hand. “I came to bring you a copy of your statement. I’d like you to read it and sign it if it’s accurate.”
“Now?”
“If you don’t mind.” He offered her a real smile. “I’m caught up on my paperwork, and I’m trying not to fall behind.”
“All right.” She led Molina into the living room and they resumed the places they’d taken during their first interview. Molina reached into the attaché case and handed her a stapled report. She read through it, surprised that it was concise, well written and—except for two slight changes which she made—exactly what she’d said. How on earth had he managed that with pen and note pad?
She looked up, disconcerted to find him studying her.
“Yes, it’s basically what I told you on Saturday. But why don’t you use a tape recorder?”
“Old habits die hard.”
“Yes, they can.”
She signed the three copies in the places he indicated and handed back the papers. “Have you found out anything new about the case? Anything,” she quickly amended, “that you can share with me?”
He shook his head. “Nothing conclusive, though judging from the site of impact, it does appear that whoever struck Mrs. Weill did so intentionally. The point of collision is several feet beyond the road.”
“Yes!”
“Oh?”
Lydia bit her lip, wishing she’d kept quiet. “I walked over there before and saw the damage done to the shrubs and the ground.” She shuddered. “Who would do such a thing?”
“People do some awful things to one another.”
“How much longer will you need my car?”
“The crime scene people work pretty fast. You should have it back by the end of the week.”
“Not that I’ll ever drive it again! I’ll trade it in for a new Lexus—if they’ll take it.” She looked at him. “Or do you think that’s too awful of me, letting someone else buy a car that killed someone?”
He shook his head. “Once it’s repaired and cleaned thoroughly, it’s just another car.”
He stood. Lydia felt an opportunity slipping past her. Determined to find out what she could, she blurted out, “Do you think Claire’s husband took my car and ran her down?”
Detective Molina shrugged. “I couldn’t say. Seems he had a breakfast meeting at the local diner at eight forty-five.”
“Eight forty-five? Then he could have killed his wife, right?”
“It’s possible, though he was on time for his meeting.” He followed her to the front door. Relieved that he hadn’t asked her any more questions, Lydia put her hand on the door knob when he spoke again.
“By the way, Mrs. Krause, I find it odd you never thought to mention that your sister had been involved with Warren Mannes.”
Lydia froze. “I—I didn’t think…”
“Didn’t think it was important for me to know?”
She turned to face him. “No, I didn’t,” she said softly. “How did you find out about Allison? We don’t have the same last name.”
She struggled to hold back her tears, but they spilled down her cheeks. She allowed Molina to lead her back to the living room.
This time he sat beside her on the same sofa. Despite the few feet between them, he was close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from his vibrant body.
“I’m a detective, Mrs. Krause, remember?” he said gently. “I sent for the transcript of the trial, called all my Chicago connections to find out about Claire and her husband. Along the way, I learned a bit about your sister, the assistant DA.”
“Samantha?”
“Yes, Samantha. I heard what a hotshot litigator she is. That she would have been the prosecutor to try Warren Mannes, but she had to recuse herself because her sister, Allison, was one of his victims.”
Lydia buried her face in her hands. “He stole her hard-earned money. But the worst was he took her as his play toy. My poor, foolish Allie. She thought she’d finally found a man who knew how to love. Instead, he was a thief. A villain of the worst kind. She was devastated. She went berserk, swallowed all her medicine. Everything. Bottles and bottles of pills. They couldn’t revive her.”
* * *
Lydia washed her face and put on fresh lipstick. Reggie rubbed against her legs, then jumped up to the bathroom counter to keep her company. Lydia stroked him and kissed him between his eyes. Cats were affectionate and attentive to their owners, despite their bad rep.
She was glad Molina had let himself out without further ado. She had no idea if he considered this latest revelation further proof that she might have killed Claire Weill or what. The truth was, she was relieved he’d found out about Allison. Now she had nothing to hide. And his knowing seemed to forge a bond between them, God only knew why.
She was calm by the time Merry came to pick her up. Her daughter had on skin-tight jeans and a cashmere sweater. She was bristling with energy.
“Your hair never looked better,” Lydia said. “Why on earth are you going to the salon?”
“Oh, Mom, it needs a cut. Badly.” Meredith flashed her mother an annoyed look, but Lydia caught the high color on her cheeks. What was churning in that overactive mind?
They rode the rest of the five-minute trip to her daughter’s house in silence. Meredith carried a sleepy Greta up to her room for a nap. Then she ran through her list of instructions as she slipped into a leather jacket. Lydia noted it was new and had a fur collar. Jeff was doing well, but Meredith, who loved to shop, often bought expensive items without thinking. Were Meredith’s extravagances the reason Jeff was working so many hours? Were finances becoming a problem in their marriage?
Was Meredith carrying on an affair?
“I called the school to tell them you’ll be picking up Brittany. Do you still want to walk over?”
Lydia nodded.
“Then make sure you wake Greta at two-thirty the latest. Otherwise you’ll have a whimpering child on your hands every step of the three blocks. Take the stroller, regardless of what she says. Brittany may watch TV for half an hour. If she asks, please help her with her homework.”
“Of course I will. That’s what grandmas are for.”
Merry was at the door leading to the garage when she turned. “I should be back at six the very latest.”
“That late?” Lydia stared at her daughter. “Since when does a trim and blowout take so long?”