“Interesting,” he murmured.
She watched him jot all of this down.
“Anything else you remember?” he asked.
Lydia thought. “Just that Claire thought her husband was having an affair, though Doris didn’t know if that was true or simply that he was busy handling people’s finances. Though Doris did say Marshall was a flirt.” She gave a humorless laugh. “But we already know about that side of him.”
He nodded, his expression gentle, his eyes now apple green. “Do you have Mrs. Fein’s address and phone number handy?”
Lydia went to get the Twin Lakes telephone directory. As Molina copied down the information, she had a sudden thought. “Do you want me to contact you if I hear anything else about Claire Weill?”
He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Please don’t start playing detective like that woman Angela Lansbury used to portray on TV. What was her name?”
“Jessica Fletcher,” she supplied. Thank God he hadn’t compared her to Miss Marple.
“Right. My wife used to watch that program.”
His wife. Of course he had a wife. Her disappointment was as keen as a child being told there’d be no birthday party after all. “I suppose you’re not interested in hearsay.” Something perverse, a desire to rile him, made her add, “Though I should pay a shiva call and offer Marshall Weill my condolences.”
“What!” He frowned at her. “Have you already forgotten what happened to you this morning? I suggest you send him a card.”
“So, you think he murdered his wife and had a stab at killing or warning me.”
“It’s too early to say in either case, but the circumstances and evidence point to someone in this community.”
“And the spouse is always the first suspect,” she murmured, remembering the case she’d built against Marshall Weill last night as she tried to fall asleep.
“Yes, and please keep that and everything else we’ve spoken of to yourself,” he said as he turned to leave.
So they were back where they’d first started.
“Of course I will. I’m not a gossip!” She skirted past him to unlock the front door.
“I’m sure you’re not.” They stood close enough in the small entrance hall for her to catch a trace of his Davidoff aftershave.
“The thing is, I don’t want to have to worry about your welfare while we follow through on this investigation. You were attacked this morning. Your vehicle was taken and misused.” He gave her a half smile. “But if you should happen to hear something relevant to the case, by all means, pass it on to me.”
He withdrew a card from his sport jacket’s breast pocket. “Here are a few numbers where you can reach me. Call if you learn something relating to the case. Please, no more interrogations, though. That’s our job.”
She took the card. “Of course.”
“We’ll talk again.”
Lydia nodded, savoring the words as though they were a promise. She watched Lieutenant Molina get into an unmarked car and drive away.
Six
Claire’s funeral was held the following afternoon. Lydia heard Marshall Weill had pressured local rabbis and politicians to get the autopsy done ASAP so the body could quickly be laid to rest as Jewish law required. Caroline, who attended the funeral with her husband and the Linnetts, called Lydia later that evening.
“We just came from paying a shiva call at Marshall’s daughter’s in Smithtown. Lots of Twin Lakes people were there. I’ve never seen anything like it! Widows and divorcées—even married women like Sally Marcus—swarmed around Marshall as if he were Hugh Hefner or Bob Guccione. In a matter of days, he’s gone from Man with a Scandalous Past to Bachelor of the Hour. Makes you wonder if he bumped off Claire for all this female attention.”
Caroline giggled. “Oops, you didn’t hear that! And coming from a board member’s wife.”
Lydia laughed as her friend intended her to. “Who knows how deep his criminal tendencies run, but since the police have no evidence connecting him to the crime, he’s free to go about as he pleases.”
“Oh?” Caroline asked coyly. “Have you gotten a private update on the case from that handsome detective?”
“Of course not!” Lydia denied, though Lieutenant Molina had said as much last night when he called to see how she was feeling after her ordeal in the pool.
Caroline laughed. “Have it your way. But keep us informed if you hear anything more about the case.”
“If I happen to,” Lydia said carefully.
She wondered why both Barbara and Caroline spoke of the detective as though he were interested in her. He had to interview her since her car was the weapon used to kill Claire Weill and she was halfway to being a suspect. After that, he came by to let her know he’d found out about Allison. Then there was the swimming pool cover incident and a brief follow-up call. Every communication concerned Claire Weill’s murder. Besides, Lieutenant Molina had mentioned his wife, which meant he was happily married. No doubt, with a slew of grandchildren who visited every Sunday.
“I’ll send Marshall a sympathy card,” Lydia said. “Somehow I feel I’m partly responsible for his wife’s death.”
Caroline’s tone changed from that of a teasing friend to a scolding mother. “Now that is absolutely ridiculous. Barbara and I have told you a dozen times—your car was chosen because someone noticed you put the key under the fender and for no other reason. You’ve nothing to blame yourself for.”
Lydia gulped back a lump of emotion. While she couldn’t shake her sense of culpability, she appreciated their concern. “Thanks for your support, Caroline. I feel as though I’ve known you and Barbara for years instead of days.”
“That’s how it goes in a place like Twin Lakes when people click. Good-night. See you tomorrow.”
Lydia put the phone down. A fragment of one of their discussions resounded in her mind. Marshall Weill must have had many adulterous affairs during his marriage to Claire. What if he were conducting an affair here at Twin Lakes and it had gotten out of control? What if the woman wanted him to marry her, and when he said he couldn’t she decided to take matters into her own hands?
Lydia shook her head in disbelief at the lengths to which her thoughts had taken her. At their brainstorming session, she, Barbara and Caroline had agreed most of the Twin Lakes residents were well past the age of passion. Certainly past the age when one died—or killed—for love.
Of course there was the possibility that Marshall was involved with someone considerably younger.
Someone who lived outside Twin Lakes and had access to the community. Someone like Allison.
She changed into her nightgown and robe, and was about to turn on the TV when Barbara called. “Don’t forget we’re going to the supermarket tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at ten-thirty.”
Peg also called—to tell her about the funeral and to rave about Marshall’s daughter’s gorgeous home. “It’s huge and chock full of antiques and modern paintings. She and her husband own a multimillion-dollar antiques business. Elinor’s smart as a whip and as beautiful as a movie star—takes after her dad.”
“He is a nice-looking man,” Lydia agreed. She remembered what Caroline had said about women swarming around Marshall at the shiva. “How did Marshall seem to you?”
“How do you think he seemed?” Peg snapped. “He was awfully upset by Claire’s death but touched that so many friends and neighbors came to pay their respects.”
Was this a barb because she hadn’t gone to the funeral or paid a shiva call? Or was Peg annoyed at her for making Marshall Weill’s criminal record public knowledge? Probably the second, Lydia decided.
“By the way, your detective friend—what’s his name?—came to the service and to the cemetery.”
Lydia’s heart began to race. “It’s Lieutenant Molina, and he’s not my friend.”
“Right, Molina.” Peg let out a derisive laugh. “He stood in the distance, the way they do in the movies, no doubt expecting to identify the murderer by his guilty expression.”
“The murderer could have been at the funeral,” Lydia said, her irritation with Peg making her forget the promise she made to herself not to discuss the subject with anyone but Barbara and Caroline. “He probably lives right here at Twin Lakes, since he used my car to kill Claire.”
When Peg said nothing, Lydia mused, “I wonder who stands to gain financially from her death.”
“Claire was wealthy, all right. Her first husband left her a fortune that never stops growing. It’s being handled astutely.”
“By Marshall, no doubt.”
“By her first husband’s team of investment advisors,” Peg retorted, almost defensively. “It was a cleverly drawn-up trust. Now that she’s dead, most of the money goes to Claire’s son and daughter from that marriage—if you’re so interested.”
Lydia ignored Peg’s hostility because yes, she was extremely interested. “Oh? Marshall receives nothing?”
“Not all that much. Claire handed over quite a chunk of her money to Elinor and her husband when they started their antiques business. Why do you ask? Do you think Marshall ran Claire down?”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to think.”
“Because he wouldn’t! He’s not that type of person.”
“Peg, how do you know so much about the Weills’ finances?”
Peg gave a little laugh. “When you get friendly with Twin Lakes people, they talk freely—about their children, their health and their money.”
“What about their love affairs?”
“What love affairs?” Peg sounded shocked.
“I’ve no idea. Doris Fein told me Claire was worried her husband was running around again.”
“Really? Whom did she suspect?”
“She didn’t tell Doris. I suppose that’s a secret she kept in her diary.”
“Claire kept a diary?”
Lydia let out a breath of exasperation. “It’s just an expression, Peg.” Then she gave voice to the bitchy thought that had crossed her mind. “What about Sally Marcus? Do you think she and Marshall were having it off?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Peg said good-night and hung up.
Lydia waited until the following afternoon, after food shopping and lunching out with Barbara, to call Detective Molina. She was told he was on another line and asked if she could hold. When he came on, he sounded rushed.
“What’s up?” he asked.
She repeated her conversation with Peg and felt a twinge of guilt when she told him Caroline’s observations at the shiva.
“Interesting.” He sounded wistful when he added, “That spread of food must have been something awesome to behold. I bet she served really good belly lox and a mean whitefish.”
“Oh!” Lydia exclaimed. “You like bagels and lox and—all that stuff?”
Detective Molina laughed. “Why not? It’s my heritage, at least the Solomon half.”
“Oh!” Lydia repeated, surprised. “You’re half-Jewish.”
“And my mother saw to it that my daughter was a Bat Mitzvah.”
And your wife? Lydia wanted to ask. What’s her part in all this? What’s she like? But there was no time. Detective Molina had changed the subject.
“Getting back to the case, your neighbor’s on target regarding Mrs. Weill’s finances. We’ve checked out the terms of her will.”
Curious, Lydia asked, “How long were Claire and Marshall Weill married?”
“Thirty-two years. They have one daughter, Elinor Weintraub. She of the beautiful house.” He paused, as though debating whether or not to tell her something else. Lydia held her breath, then exhaled when he continued.
“Claire’s son and daughter from her first marriage flew in from California and Michigan to attend the funeral. A taxi drove them from the cemetery to Kennedy Airport.”
“No shiva call for them,” Lydia commented. “Which leads one to assume they have no use for Marshall Weill or their half-sister.”
Molina laughed. “Actually, they’re very fond of Elinor and her husband, but they think Weill’s the lowest of the low. He married their mother two years after their father’s death—when they were thirteen and eleven. A difficult age to acquire a stepfather. According to both of them, their worst fears proved true. He turned out to be a thief and a runaround.”
“Kids have good antennas about people.” Lydia remembered the creepy-crawly sensation she’d felt when she’d shaken hands with Weill at Bingo. Of course, she might have picked up negative vibes because, on a visceral level, she knew immediately who he was. “It sounds like he cheated on Claire all through their marriage. Do you think he married her for her money?”
“Could be he assumed she had more money at her disposal and only found out about the trusts after the marriage. Harry Kleinfeld was a successful businessman, considerably older than Claire. Knowing he had a bad heart, he set up trusts for her and the children. Most of Claire’s money goes to her children and five grandchildren.”
“So Marshall didn’t stand to gain from his wife’s death.”
Molina laughed. “I wouldn’t say that. Just under a million dollars, the home in Twin Lakes and one in Florida are nothing to sneeze at.”
“I suppose,” Lydia agreed.
She heard noises in the background. “Gotta go,” Molina said. “Talk to you soon.”
Lydia felt forlorn. She’d hoped to find out when she would see him again. Which was silly. If she happened to see Detective Molina, it would be because she had something vital to tell him that might shed light on the murder. There was no sense fooling herself that he would share sensitive information with her. No doubt what he’d just told her was common knowledge to half the residents of Twin Lakes and was being bandied about in the clubhouse this very minute. If she didn’t watch it, she’d turn into one of those pathetic widows who cooed and fluttered at the smallest sign of attention from any virile man.
The phone rang. She beamed when she heard Detective Molina’s voice again.
“I forgot to say—the SCI people have finished checking out your car. You’re free to come and collect it, or tomorrow someone from the station could drive it over to your place.”
Lydia sighed. “Could someone meet me at the Lexus dealer instead? I’m trading it in, remember?”
“Sure thing. I forgot. Give me the dealer’s address, and if nothing urgent comes up on any of my cases, I’ll drive the car over myself. Around one-thirty good?”
“Sure. I’ll get there around one—to fill out the paperwork for my new car.”