For Every Evil (34 page)

“Why?”

“Listen, Ivy, you’re a friend of Kate Chappeldine’s.”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“I’m not. The police think she may have murdered Hale.”

“Really?” Her eyes blinked rapidly. Hopefully.

Sophie was sickened by the response. “I don’t believe she did it.”

“Come on! The police must have their reasons.”

“They do. But without knowing about what you and Max were up to, they don’t have all the facts.”

“No!” she shrieked, her voice becoming desperate. “It’s not true. And besides, what was it you said yesterday? Something about a threatening note from Ezmer Hawks? Maybe he’s responsible! I don’t see how he could know …” Her voice trailed off.

“About Eric Hauley?”

Her head snapped up. “What did you say?”

“I know the whole story, Ivy. I assume you do, too.”

She just stared.

“You were protecting Hale all these years. Why?”

Her expression was full of amazement. “How did you find out?”

“Another long story.”

She shook her head, a sneer pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You always were a snoop.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Even in kindergarten, you were into everyone else’s business.”

“I was not!”

“I heard your nickname in high school was ‘The Nose.’“

“You’re making that up!”

“Am IT”

Sophie was livid. “Whatever you may think of me, I have a good reason for trying to get to the bottom of Hale’s murder.”

“Your son.”

“Exactly.”

“You think he’s innocent.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Well, so was Hale. What happened to Eric was an accident. Hale came to me that same afternoon. He was beside himself with grief. The problem was, it could have ruined his life!”

“And yours as well.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t. But why are you still protecting him?”

Her eyes searched the room for an answer. “I don’t know. A reflex, I suppose.”

“After all that’s happened, you’re still concerned about his innocence. Maybe you can understand why my conscience won’t let me condemn an innocent person. I have to tell the police what I know about you and Max.”

“No!”

Carefully Sophie stood, backing toward the exit “I think I need to be going, Ivy. Bram is expecting me.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Please. You’ve got to calm down.”

“I am calm! Perfectly calm. And lucid. Just like the night Hale told me he wanted a divorce! He had the audacity to suggest he was going to divorce
me!
”

“I didn’t know.” Sophie was in the hallway now, inching toward the front foyer. “I really have to be going. Thanks for the tea.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw she was almost to the front door. All she wanted to do was get the hell out.

“You don’t believe I’m innocent, do you?” demanded Ivy, flying at her out of the kitchen. She swooped in front of her and laid a heavy hand over the doorknob.

“If you tell me you’re innocent, then you’re innocent.”

“It’s Max!” she snapped. “I don’t know how to get away from him. He wants to own me, just like Hale. Why do I always pick the same kind of man? What’s wrong with me?”

“I don’t know,” said Sophie.

Ivy stared at her, all color draining from her face. After what felt like an eternity, she turned away, muttering, “Get out. This was a mistake.” Without another word, she rushed up the stairs. A second later, a door slammed, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silent mansion.

“Are you sure you did the right thing by talking to Cross this afternoon?” asked Bram. He was propped up in bed, eating the last bite of a cherry Popsicle. It was nearly midnight.

“I did what I had to do,” answered Sophie, shutting her book. “If the information about Ivy and Max can help Kate, then so be it. Detective Cross seemed more than interested. And I called Betty Malmquist as soon as I got home, too. She would have walked into a hornet’s nest if she’d gone to Ivy’s house tonight. I had to warn her away.”

“Good thinking,” he said, dropping the Popsicle stick on a plate. He quickly unwrapped another. “And Charles, a blackmailer. To think he had it in him. Did you mention that to Cross as well?”

“Since I have no proof, I was a bit more reticent. But he’s pretty quick. He got the message.”

Bram waved the Popsicle back and forth in front of him, thinking. “One last question?”

“What?” She leaned over and bit off the tip.

“Who murdered Hale?”

“I’m still working on that.”

“To no avail?”

Wearily she nodded, shutting off the light.

“Hey! How’s a fella supposed to eat a Popsicle in the dark?”

“You’re usually quite proficient in the dark, darling. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Sophie slept fitfully. Every half hour she looked at the clock on the nightstand and changed positions. She kept coming back to the murder scene.
What was she missing?
There were the two chairs in the front of the desk, one pulled up close. Undoubtedly Hale had had a visitor. But who? Rudy had seen a woman go into the back door of the mansion. Was it Ivy — or Kate? Neither had worn a red or pink dress. Come to think of it, the only red dress she remembered seeing was worn by Rhea Kiran. But why would she be outside? Sophie could still see the cigar in the ashtray — the tip crushed, the cigar itself broken in half. An empty glass rested next to it. Crumbs were scattered on the desktop. What had Hale and this visitor been talking about? Up until the final moments, had it been a friendly conversation?

Sophie changed positions, rolling over on her right side. Thankfully Bram could sleep through anything.

She thought again of the people she’d talked to during the past week. Kate and John. Ivy and Max. Louie. Charles. Even Ben. One thing she knew for sure. Someone was lying. But-why was Hale murdered that particular night? And what was the motive? Money? Revenge?

Poor Ivy. She was trapped all over again in a relationship she didn’t really want, with a man who not only ignored her feelings, but one whose jealousy frightened her. She would never rest easily until she knew where that bag of pretzels had gone. She needed a good friend right about now, but Louie was part of her problem. Max saw him as a threat. Sophie had tried to call Louie earlier in the evening, but all she’d gotten was his answering machine. In her mind’s eye, she pictured him sitting on his couch surrounded by no smoking signs, a drink in one hand, a bag of — Her eyes popped open.
A bag of pretzels on the coffee table!
“Oh, my God!” she said out loud, siting bolt upright in bed. He’d been at the party that night. He’d obviously had access to the kitchen. She felt a sinking feeling inside her stomach as she realized he
was
sick. He’d called it the flu, but what had that book on poisons said? The symptoms of arsenic poisoning were gastric in nature, often misdiagnosed as gastroenteritis. And wasn’t there something about vomiting?

She poked Bram in the ribs. “Get up.”

He groaned. “Call my secretary. Make an appointment.”

She poked him again. “I’ve got to make a phone call. I think I know where that bag of pretzels went.”

“What?” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“It’s Louie! Somehow or other, he managed to get hold of it. He’s already sick. I hope we’re not too late.”

Bram sat up as Sophie turned on the light.

After punching in die number, she held her breath as the call went through. “It’s ringing,” she whispered. After almost a minute, she let her breath out slowly. “He’s not answering.”

“Maybe you should call 911. The paramedics can get there a lot faster than we can.”

“What if I’m wrong? What if he really does have the flu?”

“Then I apologize in advance for employing a cliche: Better safe than sorry.”

“Good point.” She jumped out of bed and pulled on her jeans. “You phone them. I’m going downstairs to use the other line in your office. I want to call Ivy.”

“Okay, but —”

“And then get dressed. We’re driving over.” As she pulled on a sweater, the murder scene flashed once again inside her mind. Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what she’d missed.

“What is it?’ asked Bram.

“No time. I’ll explain it to you in the car. Call 911 and meet me downstairs right away.”

Sophie saw the flashing red lights as soon as they turned onto Louie’s street. As they came closer, she saw that one of the first-floor windows had been smashed to allow the paramedics to enter.

Bram swung the car into the drive. “I’m blocking the ambulance here,” he said. “I’ll have to find another place to park. I’ll meet you inside in a few minutes.”

“Great,” she said as she leapt out She couldn’t lose another minute. She raced in through the open front door and dashed to the rear of the building. She remembered enough of the layout to know that’s where the bedrooms were.

A tall man in a brown uniform stopped her before she got very far. “Wait just a minute, lady. Where do you think you’re going?”

“My husband called about the owner of the house.

Louie Sigerson. Is he all right? Did you make it in time?” She made a move toward the bedroom where she could see several others had gathered.

The man grabbed her arm. “Sorry. You can’t go in there.”

“But —”

“No buts. The man is dead.”

Sophie could feel a lump rise into her throat. “Oh, God,” she gasped. She turned her face away. The poor man. If she’d just put it together sooner! He was the only one who knew for sure what had happened that night, and now that he was gone, they might never know the truth. “How — how did he die?”

“We don’t know that yet. I’m waiting for my supervisor.”

She nodded, covering her mouth with her hand. The smell in the house was rank.

“Was he a friend?” asked the paramedic, a bit more sympathetically.

“Yes. He was.”

“Looks like he was pretty sick before he died.”

She didn’t have to ask for details. “He’d been sick for several days.”

“Does he have any family you could notify?”

“I only know about his wife. And she died very recently.”

He withdrew his hand from her arm. “I’m sorry. But you still can’t go in there.”

She glanced into the study. “Would you mind if I waited in there?” She pointed. “I promise, I won’t touch anything.”

The man hesitated. “Well, I shouldn’t… but seeing as how he was your friend … I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Thanks.” She waited for him to return to the bedroom and then, very quietly, she entered the study. The room was a mess. On the floor next to the couch was the bag of pretzels. Stepping closer, she saw that there were three left. She shivered. Well, at least the police would have proof how he died. As she turned to the desk, she noticed that the painting above the bookcase was missing. That was odd. She wondered what he’d done with it. She examined the books he’d been reading before his death. Law books mostly. And a
People
magazine. A piece of paper was lying next to his typewriter. Switching on the desk lamp, she bent closer and read:

To Whom It May Concern:
March 5

 

I, Louie Sigerson, being of sound mind if not sound body, wish to make a statement concerning the death of Hale Micklenberg. I am afraid my health will not permit me to make this statement in person. On the night of Mr. Micklenberg’s death, I delivered a message to him from his wife, Ivy. His response was, to me, so hateful, that the longer I thought about it, the more angry I became. I had been drinking rather heavily that evening. I am not blaming the champagne for any of my actions, but I
am
unused to alcohol. As I came through the kitchen, I grabbed a sack of pretzels from the cupboard, a bottle of Scotch from the counter, and made my way out to the gate house. The front door was ajar. I noticed Charles Squire’s car speeding out of the drive and assumed he must have just come from talking to Hale.

As I climbed the stairs, Hale appeared at the top. He was holding a gun and swearing. When he saw the bottle of Scotch, he seemed to reconsider. He ordered me up, saying, “You might as well wait with me.” I had no idea what he was waiting for, but as I meant to talk to him about the way he treated me, as well as his wife, I accepted his invitation.

As I sat down, I noticed that Hale seemed terribly nervous. I poured the Scotch. To be honest, I gave myself more than I gave him, because like now, I was a little drunk. Just as an aside, I find that alcohol doesn’t do as much for emotional pain as I’d originally thought. A pity. Nevertheless, Hale and I drank for a few minutes in silence. I asked him, finally, why he had the gun. He answered that he needed it for protection. I suggested that if he were a bit nicer to those around him, he might not need it at all.