“Actually, I’m teaching a
yoga class in about an hour,” Tammy said, looking at her watch. “And then I’ve
got some paperwork to do at the office. But thanks anyway.”
Savannah looked over at the
garage where Sydney had disappeared. Just beyond the garage she could see the
corner of what she figured was probably the gardener’s cottage where Marie
lived.
“Tell ya what, guys,” she
told them. ‘You take off if you’re done here, but before I leave, I think I’ll
go have a girl-to-girl talk with Marie. See if I can console her.”
“Console her?” Dirk
chuckled. Yeah, right. I know you; you’re gonna squeeze her.”
Savannah grinned and
shrugged. “Squeeze, console.... whatever.”
Chapter
S
avannah sat in Marie’s cozy
apartment, sipping mint tea, eating fresh-out-of-the-oven oatmeal cookies, and
feeling a little guilty that she had even considered “squeezing” this gracious
lady.
“I love your place,” she
said sincerely as she looked around the apartment with its feminine floral
fabrics, delicate lace doilies, fresh flowers in milk-glass vases, * and
sepia-toned family portraits in silver- and gold-leafed frames hanging in
clusters on the walls.
Sitting in a rocking chair
across from her, Marie was also drinking tea, a large yellow tabby cat curled
in her lap. It was the first time Savannah had seen her wearing anything other
than her black-and-white housekeeper’s attire. She had changed into a soft pink
fleece pullover and a pair of cream slacks. Her eyes were red and swollen, as
though she had been crying, but when Savannah had knocked at the cottage door,
Marie had warmly welcomed her inside and offered her refreshments. Having
skipped lunch, Savannah welcomed the sugar boost.
“I still can’t comprehend all
that’s happened,” Marie was saying as she stroked the sleeping cat. “I couldn’t
even believe that Miss Eleanor had died, and now to hear that someone killed
her....”
“We don’t absolutely know
that for sure,” Savannah said. ‘Try to shield your heart from that grief until
we find out what really happened. There’s no point in suffering over something
that may not be true.”
Marie nodded and sniffed.
“I understand.” She hesitated, then added, “But at the moment, you think that’s
what happened?”
“Yes,” she said gently. “We
think it’s a strong possibility.”
Savannah watched the
housekeeper over the rim of her cup as she sipped the fragrant tea. Marie had
looked pale, even fragile, the first time she had met her. She seemed even more
so now. Savannah guessed she was in her late thirties or early forties, but she
looked as if her years had been hard ones. Deep lines in her face, a sallow
complexion, and dark circles under her eyes gave the impression she wasn’t
terribly healthy. But she did radiate a certain quietness of spirit that led
Savannah to believe she was content with her life.
Or at least that she had
been, before Eleanor had died, changing everyone’s world around her.
“What will you do now?”
Savannah asked.
Marie shrugged her thin
shoulders. “I’m not sure. I don’t know if Louise will keep the house, or if she
does, if she’ll want me to stay on.”
“Did you like working
here?”
“Yes, actually, I did. Miss
Eleanor could be demanding sometimes, but I love the house and I enjoyed
keeping it.”
“You did a good job.
Everything was spotless. I’ve done enough housecleaning to appreciate what a
lot of work it is.”
She smiled. ‘Thank you.”
“We searched Eleanor’s
bedroom suite....” Savannah paused, wondering how to word her question.
But Marie said it for her.
“And you wondered why those rooms are such a mess.”
“Something like that.”
“Miss Eleanor would hardly
ever allow me in there. Maybe once every few weeks to change the sheets and
clean the bathroom fixtures.” She hesitated, as though considering how much she
should divulge, then continued. “Miss Eleanor had problems, serious problems,
with depression. Sometimes she found it difficult to function, and she would
stay there in her room for days at a time. She’d pull the drapes and—”
“Eat and drink?”
Marie nodded. “Yes, mostly.
Then she’d get it together and come out and tape her show and catch up on all
her overdue business. But it didn’t last long. A few days later, she’d hole up
in there again. She would have me just leave the food—and bottles—on a tray
outside her door.”
“How did you communicate
with her?”
“On the house phone.”
“Do you know what she was
so depressed about?” Marie gave her a quick, guarded look, then went back to
petting her sleeping tabby. “First one thing and then the other,” she said.
“Family problems. Everyone has them.”
“True. But some are worse
than others.” Savannah broke one of her cookies in two and took a bite, chewing
thoughtfully. “I understand that Eleanor and her husband were recently
divorced.”
Marie gazed out the window,
not meeting Savannah’s eyes. “That’s right.”
“I know you’re a
professional, Marie,” she said, “and I’m sure you’re a discreet employee. I
hate to put you in a difficult position, asking you to reveal confidential
matters. But I’m a professional, too, and my job is to find out what happened
here.”
“I understand.” She took a
deep breath. “Ask whatever you need to. I’ll answer as best I can.”
“Thank you.” Savannah
pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse. “Don’t mind this. I just don’t
have the world’s greatest memory and it helps me if I take notes. Is that
okay?”
Marie nodded.
“Can you tell me who
initiated the divorce, Eleanor or her husband?”
“She did. And I suppose
you’d like to know why.” The cat in Marie’s lap woke, stretched, yawned, and
jumped off her lap.
Savannah reached down to
stroke him as he walked by her, on the way to the kitchen. “If you can tell
me,” she replied, “it might be helpful.”
“They had a lot of
problems, from what I could tell,” Marie said. “But the last straw, I think,
was that Eleanor discovered he was having an affair.”
“Do we know with whom?”
“I have my suspicions, but
I don’t know for sure, so I’d rather not say.”
Darn, Savannah thought.
Gossipy, tell-everything-you-know-and-make-up-the-rest types were so much
easier to interview than discreet people like Marie.
“Okay, I understand,” she
said, trying to sound more understanding than irked.
“Do you think that their
divorce had anything to do with... you know.... her dying?” Marie asked.
“I really don’t know. At
this point, I’m just gathering information.” She took another bite of the
cookie and jotted down a couple of notes on her pad. “Marie, this is strictly
between you and me,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “If you were
conducting this investigation, who would you check out first?”
Marie hesitated, then
reached over and warmed her tea from the pot on the tray in front of them. “I
hate to point a finger at anyone, when it’s such a terrible thing as murder,
but...”
“It’s okay. Nobody but you
and me will ever know that you pointed anything at anyone. I’m just looking for
a little guidance here. You know all of the people who come and go around here;
I just met them. Please, help me help Eleanor.”
Marie lifted the teacup to
her lips with both hands, and Savannah saw that she was trembling. Her eyes
registered her fear, like a raccoon in a tree with a brace of hounds baying
right underneath him.
“Okay,” she finally said.
“Martin.”
Savannah waited for
elaboration. When none was forthcoming, she said, “Martin?”
“Yes. Start with Martin.”
“Do you want to tell me
why?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Savannah searched the
housekeeper’s face, trying to read anything in her expression. But all she saw
was fear.... and maybe a little shame. Marie appeared to be one of those rare
people who actually disliked saying negative things about her fellow humans.
People like Marie made
wonderful friends, but they provided lousy interviews. Savannah realized she
had gotten just about all of the juice out of the housekeeper that this
“squeeze” was going to produce.
She stuck the rest of the
cookie in her mouth and washed it down with the remainder of her tea.
Folding her notebook and
putting it in her purse, she said, “Marie, thank you for your hospitality, and
for telling me what you could. I apologize for putting you in a difficult
position.”
“I understand.” Marie stood
and walked her to the door. ‘You’re just doing your job.”
Savannah paused, her hand
on the doorknob. “Marie.... one more question. If you really knew who killed
Eleanor Maxwell, would you tell me?”
She watched as the woman
considered her answer. Savannah could tell that she was deciding whether to be
completely honest or not.
“I guess that would
depend,” she said.
“On what?”
“On who it was.”
“Okay. That’s fair.” Savannah
offered her hand and Marie shook it. “But I should focus on Martin, huh?”
Something flickered in Marie’s eyes. Savannah saw it, but it was too brief for
her to analyze its significance before it was gone.
“Yes,” Marie said quietly.
“If I were you, I’d start with Martin.”
Savannah checked her watch
as she got into her car. Five-thirty. She debated about how to spend the rest
of the evening, and her conscience got the better of her. With a sigh of
resignation, she pulled her cell phone from her purse and punched in some
numbers.
On the second ring, Tammy
answered, “Moonlight Magnolia Detective Agency.”
You still there, huh?”
“Ye-e-e-es.”
Savannah grinned. The kid
sounded stressed. “Can you ta-a-alk?”
“Nooo-o.”
“Is she right there next to
you, telling you her whole life story in depressing detail?”
“Absolutely.”
Savannah laughed and made a
mental note to treat Tammy to a facial or a massage. As a friend/employee she
went way beyond the call of duty. “Go home,” she told her.
“Really? Mother, may I?”
“Get. Now. Call me on your
cell phone when you’re outta sight.”
Savannah was barely out of
the gates and on the highway when her cell phone rang. It was a much relieved
Tammy.
“Wow, that was a speedy
escape,” Savannah said.
“I resisted the temptation
to run out of the house screaming,” she replied. “I just walked... really
fast!”
“I’m so proud. Driving you
nuts, was she?”
“Good grief! She’s really
got some heavy problems. She was telling me about all these support groups she
belongs to: Victims of This, Survivors of That, Ten Steps to Another Thing.
She’s got more support than Playtex! ”
“Eh, Cordele’s still
searching.”
“For what?”
“She’s not sure. That’s
what makes it particularly challenging.” Savannah turned off the highway and
headed downtown. ‘Tell me something, kiddo.... what exactly does somebody who
only eats ‘healthy’ crap have for dinner?” She listened for a moment. “Yuck.
All right, where do I buy some of that?”
About forty-five minutes
later, Savannah walked into her house. She found Cordele curled in her big,
cushy chair, the two cats on the ottoman next to her feet. She was deeply
engrossed in a mystery novel from Savannah’s bookshelves.
For a moment, Savannah
thought of all the times she had seen her sister hunched over a book. It was her
primary memory of Cordele as a child. Of the nine Reid siblings, Cordele had
been the most avid reader, the best student in school, the quiet, somber one of
a rowdy group.
Seeing her sister there in
her own favorite chair, the cats warming her feet, the light from the lamp
shining on the chestnut highlights in her hair—the same dark color as her
own—Savannah felt a tug of familial connection and affection. She was glad she
had made the decision to spend the evening with her rather than working on the case
with Dirk.
She cleared her throat, and
Cordele looked up from her book, startled. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in,” she
said.
Savannah smiled at her and
was relieved when it was returned. “Have you eaten yet?” she asked.
“No. Have you?”
“Nope. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Bring a
sweater.”
The sun was nearly setting
when Savannah pulled the Mustang into the beach parking lot. The turquoise
skies, streaked with clouds of coral, slate gray, and white, provided the
perfect ambiance for a seaside picnic. The palm trees that lined the beach were
black, stately silhouettes against the marbled sky. They dipped and swayed in
the evening breeze, their dry fronds rustling as they danced.
“Wow, this is cool,”
Cordele said as they got out of the car. “A picnic at the beach! That’s a great
idea!” See, big sisters can occasionally do something right, Savannah thought.
But she said nothing as she reached into the backseat for an old army blanket
she kept there and the bags of food she had purchased at a local restaurant
that catered to the “nutrition-conscious.”
“What have you got there?”
Cordele asked, trying to peek into the bags.
“Nothing. Here, you take
the blanket and let’s go before it gets any darker.”