Camilla T. Crespi - The Breakfast Club Murder (28 page)

Lori gazed at the swan gliding by in the distance and wished herself away. A new thought came to her, one that should have come much earlier, but she found detecting hard. You had to be cynical and tough like Scardini. You had to be willing to probe into people’s private lives and not care if you hurt them with your questions. Unpleasant as it was, Rob was innocent and she had to help him, for Jessica’s sake, if not for his. That had to be her focus. She turned back to Ruth. “Did you know Valerie had changed her will?”

“Why should I?” Ruth said after swallowing a forkful of
cavatelli.

“You’re her office manager. She could have asked you to make the appointment with her lawyer.”

“Next you’re going to ask me if I know who inherited under the old will.”

Lori shifted uncomfortably in her chair, too embarrassed to admit Ruth was right on. The thought that had finally come to Lori was that Ruth, as Valerie’s only relative, could have been the original beneficiary and if she had suspected that Valerie was about to change her will, she would have a good motive to stop her.

“I don’t know anything about any will,” Ruth said when Lori didn’t answer. “And I didn’t make any lawyer appointment.” Ruth took a long, slow sip of her second glass of wine. “I think you should know,” she said, a self-important gleam appearing in her eyes, “what I told the two bulldog detectives this morning.”

Lori leaned forward, happy to change course. “What did you tell them?”

“Valerie was in love with someone for a long time. At least since I started working for her. That’s why she married Rob.”

Lori felt herself turn cold. “I don’t understand.”

“This guy wasn’t going to marry her so she upped and married Rob to spite him.”

Ruth was giving her a new lead, but all Lori felt was a new sense of sadness. Rob had shattered the family for a woman who didn’t love him.

“Are you sure?”

Ruth finished her wine, smacked her lips. “Yep.”

“Do you know who this man is?” Lori forced herself to ask. What she really wanted to do was walk away from Ruth and this new information. She had pictured Rob and Valerie as passionately in love, so irrationally in love they could not stay apart. Thinking this had somehow mitigated the cruelty of the divorce. It was a romantic notion, but one Lori had clung to in her need to soften the blow. “Do you know him?”

“All I know is she called him a lot, made dates. I heard her argue with him over the phone. Two days before she got married, she called him and cried. That floored me. I didn’t think Valerie had tear ducts. She had to be really gone on this man.” Ruth looked at the empty wine glass longingly. “She didn’t quit him when Rob came along. Played them both. Maybe she thought her lover would get jealous and propose, but I guess he didn’t because she married Rob.” She put the glass down.

“Do you know his telephone number?” Lori hoped Rob would never find out about this other man.

“It starts with 914. That’s all I got to see once before she walked back into her office. As you know, I worked in a separate cubicle. After that she was very careful to dial another number right after her phone call.”

The Westchester area code was 914. Lori’s area code was 203.

“She often asked me to buy her round-trip tickets to White Plains at Grand Central on my way home, if that’s any help. I’m pretty sure White Plains was their meeting point. I guess he could be her murderer, huh?” Ruth looked around for the waiter, fingers ready to snap again. “Don’t you want some dessert?”

Lori didn’t answer. She was thinking:
White Plains. That’s where Jonathan lives.

The large concourse of Grand Central Terminal was dotted by National Guardsmen in their camouflage uniforms, looking nonchalant despite the fact that they carried guns. A bevy of students with backpacks weighing down their young shoulders walked past them without a second look. A foreign couple took in the guardsmen for a stunned moment and hurried out to the open space of the street. Most visitors gazed up at the beauty of the renovated barrel-vaulted ceiling depicting the sky with all the constellations. Like New Yorkers themselves, they took the guns and the barricaded streets in stride. It was the latest look of a city that was always changing. At three o’clock in the afternoon, the concourse was fairly empty and quiet.

Lori’s cell phone rang as she was standing in line to buy a ticket back to Hawthorne Park. “Was Ruth any help?” Beth asked.

“Yes, she was.” Lori spoke softly. “But I don’t want to talk about it now.” The news she had wasn’t something she wanted overheard even by strangers.

“You sound down,” Beth said.

“I’m tired. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“I’ll be home by six and I may have some information for you. I’m on my way to the county clerk’s office on Centre Street to find out who’s behind Waterside Properties.”

Lori was the first in line now. “Hold on a sec.” After she paid for her one-way ticket, she picked up her cell again and walked toward her gate. “Why are you doing that?”

“Because I have time to waste before my next meeting in Soho,” Beth said. “Because I’m curious. Because if you don’t ask you’ll never know. Look, I’ll call you the minute I get back.”

“Dinner with Alec Winters is early.” He was going to pick her up at six.

“Then call me when you get back from dinner.”

“All right.”

When she got home, Lori found that Jonathan had left a message announcing that they were all set for the weekend. “We’re going to rural Pennsylvania, a bed and breakfast near Pleasant Gap. I liked the name.”

What if she didn’t want to go to Pleasant Gap, Pennsylvania? Pleasant Gap. Lori was sure she’d heard of the place only recently, but she couldn’t remember the context. She and Rob had driven through Pennsylvania once, many years ago, and she’d found the farms, the rolling hills, the intense green of the land beautiful. She would enjoy visiting again, but Jonathan could have asked.

Lori kicked off her shoes and padded to the kitchen, switching her thoughts to Valerie and her lover. Valerie calling a 914 number, Valerie taking the train to White Plains. Jonathan driving Lori to New York, straight to Rob and Valerie’s just-bought apartment. Had Rob told him where he lived?

Lori ran her hands through her hair, a nervous gesture of hers whenever her mind raced.

She reached into the refrigerator for the milk carton. Of course, Rob had told Jonathan where they lived. Why was she being so suspicious of Jonathan? Because someone had killed Valerie, that’s why. Lori poured herself a glass of milk and drank it down in one gulp. She could just hear Beth guffawing, saying, “Dear Lori, you’re suspicious of Jonathan because you’re dying to go to bed with him and you’re scared stiff.”

Well, maybe.

Lori reached for the phone and called Margot’s cell.

“Talk loudly,” Margot said. “I’m at Leonardo’s getting my hair blown dry.”

She had planned to ask Margot about leaving the girls alone at home the night of Valerie’s murder, but Margot would never yell the answer for all in the hairdresser’s to hear. “Just a quick question,” Lori yelled over the noise. “Do you remember the name of Valerie’s housekeeper?”

“Whatever for?”

“I’d like to talk to her.”

“What for?”

She wasn’t going to shout out the reason. “I want to check something out.”

“Ellen. I never knew her last name. Who knows where she is now.”

“Thanks. Bye.” Lori hung up and welcomed the sudden silence of her home. Slowly she went upstairs to her bedroom to undress. Maybe Mrs. Ashe’s friend would know how to get hold of Ellen. Probably Ruth had lied about being reunited with her stepfather to save face, but there was also a chance she had lied to protect herself from suspicion. As Beth had said earlier, if you don’t ask, you’ll never know. She should call Mrs. Ashe now, call Jonathan back, call Rob to ask where her check was and get him to talk about his money troubles. Call Seth, her mother, Jessica.

Lori lay back on the bed in her underwear and shut her eyes. She didn’t want to call anyone, not even Jess, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to go anywhere with Jonathan. Whatever sexual heat he’d stirred up was now at a very low ebb. She was depressed. Above all, she wanted out of this murder mess.

Half an hour later, Lori was in the shower, hiding behind a wall of steam as she soaped up for the fourth time and thought about her evening with Alec Winters. What would he spill on her tonight? She should wear something indestructible like jeans. He had said to dress casually. Jeans and an old dark shirt just in case. Pleasant Gap, Pennsylvania. She remembered now. That’s where Alec lived.

“This place is perfect,” Lori said, turning slowly around to luxuriate in the vista. “Thank you.”

When Alec had appeared at her doorstep, in perfectly ironed khakis and a white polo shirt, he had asked if she’d like to go on a picnic.

“Most definitely,” she had told him, happy not to have to sit in a noisy restaurant where she might be recognized and stared at as a possible murderer or ex-wife of one.

Now here they were, in an opening among the fir trees in the 144-acre PepsiCo Sculpture Garden in Purchase, stunning grounds filled with every variety of tree imaginable and the best sculpture of the twentieth century from such artists as Henry Moore, Alexander Calder, Giacometti, Claes Oldenburg, and David Smith. Lori had power-walked the grounds with Beth many times, but only in the early morning. The garden was only a twenty-five-minute drive from her home. She had never taken in the late afternoon light, which was now golden green, or had a picnic here.

In front of the picnic area was a small lake with an island on which a lone blue heron reigned. On the opposite side of the lake, a row of willow trees surrendered their boughs to the pull of the water. It had been a scorching day, but the trees made the air bearable. There was even a whisper of a breeze swaying the leaves.

“Let me help,” Lori said. Alec was unpacking china plates, glasses, and silverware from a large wicker basket sitting on the grass. He straightened up, his lanky body towering over her—he had to be at least six-four—and shook his head. His blond-gray hair was dark, still wet from the shower. His face was scrubbed pink. He looked serious, professorial, Lori thought. She wondered how old he was. Somewhere in his mid-forties was her guess.

“Let me do it all,” Alec said, leaning close to her as he lifted the picnic basket onto the bench. “You worked hard on Saturday.” He tore off a paper towel and started wiping the scoured wood table. “Mrs. Ashe and her ladies wouldn’t stop talking about how good your food was. I’m sorry I got there late.”

Lori smiled at the compliment and sat down on the bench. She picked up one of the plates he had stacked on one side of the table. It had a homey blue-flowered pattern. “Did you bring this china all the way from Pennsylvania?”

“I wish I always traveled prepared to have a picnic,” Alec said, “but everything except the food is courtesy of the kitchen of friends of mine. I’m staying in their house in Bedford for the next two weeks while they’re on vacation.”

“What brought you up here?” At the near edge of the lake a duck raised her bill in the air and came waddling in their direction. Other ducks untucked their bills from under a wing and followed.

“I’m restoring a horse farm not too far from them. Here.” Alec held up a clear plastic bag filled with torn pieces of bread. “You can give them this, if you like.”

“You think of everything.”

“Chris used to feed the ducks in Central Park.” Alec watched the ducks approaching, their necks eagerly extended in front of them. “And he fed the sparrows, and the pigeons, and the squirrels. He loved animals, but thank God he drew the line at rats.” He held the bag toward her, a gentle sadness washing over his face, despite his smile. “Do you want a go?”

Lori wanted to say how sorry she was about Chris dying. She wanted to stand up and press her hand against his cheek. She wanted to hold this man and make it better.

“I’d love to.” Lori took the bag and turned toward the ducks. Four adults and two younger ones made a semicircle around her feet and waited. She tossed bread. The ducks scrambled for the pieces. A few sparrows joined them, the birds looking up at her after each swallow with undivided attention. She could see how one could get hooked on this. She kept it up until all the bread was gone, while Alec set the table. Lori thought of Beth and her raccoon family. When Jess left for college, maybe she’d come here every day and adopt a bunch of ducks. She heard the pop of a cork and turned around. Alec was pouring Prosecco into two glass champagne flutes. The blue plates were now resting on white linen placemats, flanked by real silverware and two cloth napkins. Lori looked up at Alec in surprise. “This is a picnic fit for royalty. What are we celebrating?”

Alec smiled. “I’m apologizing for destroying a very beautiful dress and ruining your evening in Rome.”

“Oh, you’ve apologized enough with those beautiful flowers. And there was no reason to. The cleaners got the stains out. The dress is fine.”

“As I told you, I restore houses for a living,” Alec said. “I’ve become pretty good at judging what can be saved and what should be razed to the ground.” He handed her the flute and his smile widened. “I appreciate the fib, though.”

“Your flowers were more than enough apology.” Lori’s eyes absorbed the warmth radiating from Alec’s face, noticed how handsome that warmth made him. Lori took the glass Alec held out to her.

“To a no-spill meal.”

Lori laughed and they clicked glasses and drank. Alec then unwrapped a plate of sliced tenderloin of beef. Next he uncovered a small bowl filled with creamy horseradish. A larger bowl held a mozzarella, tomato, and basil salad. “That’s it,” he said, sitting down on the opposite bench.

“This is fabulous,” Lori said. She felt strangely confident in his presence. And serene. “Thank you. Did you make this?”

“I can manage simple things.”

“I haven’t had a meal home-cooked by someone else in years. All my friends do takeout. This is just what the doctor ordered.” She meant that. His generosity moved her. “How did you know?”