Mahjonged (An Alex Harris Mystery) (11 page)

“Who are you?” the young man asked more harshly.

I immediately assumed they were brother and sister because they looked so much alike. As a matter of fact, it looked like they could be twins. or at least very close in age. And they were foreign. Their English sounded perfect but I still heard an accent.

“I’m a friend of Penelope,” I exaggerated. I didn’t know these people and wasn’t sure if they knew Penelope was dead. They were obviously here for a visit and I wondered if Penelope had invited them.

The young man and woman exchanged glances and then looked at me. “I’m sorry, but Penelope died on Friday night,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Els Radamaker and this is my brother Wilhelm.”

“Radamaker? Then you’re…” my words failed me.

“We’re Penelope’s stepchildren. Penelope married our father. He died at the beginning of the year.”

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “About your father and Penelope.”

“Thank you. Poppy was sick for a long time, so we knew it was coming. But Penelope….” Els let the words trail.

Wilhelm turned and took the suitcases into the house.

“Would you like to come in?” Els asked.

“Yes, that would be nice.” I followed Els into the house. Both she and her brother were dressed in jeans and sweaters. They were both tall, though Wilhelm still had a few inches on his sister, and both were blond with blue eyes. And obviously Els was psychic because she turned and looked at me.

“We’re twins. In case you wondered.”

“Yes, the resemblance is quite striking. I thought you might be.”

We entered the house and I took a quick look around. A sparkling chandelier dominated a foyer with a gleaming hardwood floor. In the living room it looked more like spring than fall with flowering plants on side tables and chintz covered chairs flanking a solid sofa in moss green. The walls, painted the lightest of yellows, gave the room a cheery feel despite the fact it was still rather gray outside. It all hinted at good taste and fell in line with the prevailing theory that Penelope had money.

“Our flight was long and I really need a cup of tea. Would you care to join me?” Els asked.

“I would love a cup of tea.” I followed her into the kitchen. Wilhelm disappeared up the stairs and I could hear him walking around.

“Oh, my God!” Els said. “This is worse than Penelope told me.”

I looked around the kitchen. There was no countertop on the island in the middle, just a wooden board. The frame around a door leading to what I assumed was a pantry had been pulled away. The grout around the sink was peeling, and the new sink, one of those farm house sinks, had a large gash in it. The long concrete counter extending from the sink over to where the refrigerator stood had been placed in several pieces rather than one long flowing top. It also had several cracks running throughout. Some of the kitchen walls were painted but most had exposed plaster showing.

Els filled a tea kettle and pulled cups out of a cupboard and then went directly to the canister with the teabags. She obviously knew her way around Penelope’s home.

“Penelope hired someone to redo her kitchen and it looks like she had the same trouble with her contractor that we have in Holland. Contractors. They’re the same everywhere,” Els said none too kindly.

This must be the work Penelope refused to pay Bert for. I took another look around and sighed. I wouldn’t pay him either. Not only was it shabby work, but it wasn’t finished. Why did Bert expect her to pay?

“How did you hear about Penelope?” I asked Els.

“Pen’s neighbor, Mrs. Pedersen, called us. The police contacted her early Saturday morning and she called us immediately. We were able to get on the first flight out of Amsterdam. I have a key,” Els said, reading my mind again. “We used to come and spend every summer when Poppy was alive and he gave us a key so we could come and go.”

“I guess that’s why your English is so good,” I said, marveling at Els’ language skills.

“Well, yes, and the Dutch love everything American, except for your last president, the son of the other president, so we grew up watching American TV shows and American movies and of course the music,” she said as she poured water into the mugs. “Milk? Sugar?”

“No, nothing, thanks.” I followed Els into the living room where she took a seat on one of the floral chintz chairs and I sat on the sofa.

“So how did you know Pen?

It was the second time she had referred to Penelope as Pen. My sister would have a fit if she heard. Penelope didn’t strike me as a Pen but maybe it was what the family called her.

I took a quick sip of my tea and put the cup down on the coffee table. “Actually, I didn’t. Not really. I just met her. At my house on Friday night.”

“On Friday night?” Els asked, putting her cup down next to mine. “The police said she was killed at someone’s house. At a party or something? Are you telling me Pen was killed at your house?” Els’ peaches and cream complexion turned to something closer to tomatoes and ketchup and she gave a small gasp at something that caught her eye.

I turned to look at whatever it was Els had seen and let out a blood curdling scream.

“Wilhelm!” Els screamed while I scrambled onto the floor and crawled closer to the sofa. “What on earth are you doing? Put that down!” Els jumped off the sofa and walked over to her brother and tried to pull a very large and heavy-looking bookend from his hand.

Wilhelm tried to slap her hand away but Els slapped his back and tugged harder. I was on my feet now inching my way to the front door.

“Els! You know nothing about her. She’s probably here to kill us, too,” Wilhelm hissed, his hand still on the bookend.

Too? Did he say
too
? Why on earth did they think I killed Penelope? “Ah, excuse me,” I managed to squeak out. The twins turned to look at me. “Are you under the impression I killed Penelope? Because I didn’t.”

“How do we know if we can trust you?” Wilhelm asked. He had something in this mouth and his speech sounded a bit garbled.

I took a moment to think about that one. “Well, if I did, I would be in jail.”

Els looked at her brother and gave him a nod. “That’s right. She would be.”

“But maybe they haven’t figured it out yet or maybe they don’t have enough evidence to bring her in,” Wilhelm said to Els sounding more like a cop on a bad police show then a twenty-something young Dutchman. Not that I knew what a twenty-something young Dutchman would sound like, exactly.

They both turned in unison to look at me once more obviously waiting for my next declaration of innocence. As the bookend was still not back on the shelf I tried to think of something that would convince them I wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.

“If I came here to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as you can clearly see,” I said looking down at my jeans and light sweater, “I don’t have a weapon.”

Els gave the bookend one final tug and placed it back where it belonged. “There. See? She’s not a killer.”

Wilhelm, not quite ready to concede defeat took one last stab, no pun intended. “Then why is she here? Why are you here?” he asked again, this time looking in my direction.

“Idioot.”

I didn’t speak Dutch but what Els just said sounded a lot like
idiot
in English. My sentiments exactly.

“Alex, please, come sit down before your tea becomes cold.”

I took my seat again but first checked to make sure Wilhelm wasn’t behind me. He was, but got the hint along with the evil eye from his sister and went and sat on the chair next to Els.

“It’s a very good question? Why are you hear, Alex, if you didn’t know Pen?” Els asked.

I picked up the now cooled tea and took a sip while I tried to regroup and come up with a plausible answer. Telling them I hoped to find an open window somewhere so I could enter without breaking in didn’t seem the right thing to say in front of Wilhelm. I fleetingly wondered if they would let me go through her things if I asked politely but I didn’t think it likely. Finally I decided on just telling them the truth.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I didn’t know her and yet she came to my house with a friend for an evening of mahjong…”

“Mahjong?” they both asked.

“Yes, it’s a game. And she came to play and then the lights went out and she was killed. And I feel responsible.” At Wilhelm’s look I quickly put up my hand. “Not because I killed her, but because it happened in my house.”

“But that still doesn’t tell us why you’re here,” Wilhelm said in a testy manner.

“No, it doesn’t and I don’t have an answer for you. I just wanted to see where she lived. I wanted to know more about her than I do.” I smiled at the twins and hoped I didn’t sound like an
idioot
.

“Hmmm,” Els mused. “I think I can understand your reasoning. But I’m not sure what you are going to be able to find out about Pen just from sitting here.”

“Well, maybe the two of you can help me,” I smiled at the twins. “Maybe you can tell me about her and from what you tell me I can figure out why she was killed.”

“That won’t take long. I can tell you everything you want to know about Pen in one word,” Wilhelm said with a sneer.

“Wilhelm! Be nice. Pen is dead,” Els admonished her brother.

“Well, she may be dead,” Wilhelm said to his sister and then turned his gaze upon me. “But she was also a bitch.”

With that little tidbit hanging in the air, Els and Wilhelm started speaking in high tones. The problem was their high tones were in Dutch and I didn’t have the slightest idea what they were saying, though I heard
idioot
a couple of times and the
B
word made a few appearances.

I sat there listening to them rant and rave while I finished my tea. I watched them thinking they were two very nice looking people. Penelope’s husband must have been a good-looking man or maybe they got their good looks from their mother. And what about their mother? Was she dead? Or did she and their father divorce? Suddenly I had a few questions for the twins and I wondered how much longer their arguing would last. When I was younger and my grandmother and her younger brother would argue in Italian, it seemed to go on for hours. I wasn’t willing to take the chance the Dutch were as verbal as the Italians and so I put my cup down on the table with a clatter which seemed to get their attention.

“Well, it looks like you just might be able to tell me something after all,” I smiled sweetly.

Els pushed a strand of her shiny blond hair away from her face. “My apologies, Alex. For myself and my brother.” She gave Wilhelm a reproaching look.

I got the feeling Els was the older twin, probably by a few minutes, but she seemed to use it to her full advantage.

“So, I take it you didn’t like her much, Wilhelm. Why?”

Wilhelm reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of something, little things wrapped in paper. “
Zwolse Babbelaar
?” he asked me extending his hand.

I pulled back not knowing what a zwolse whatever he said was.

“It’s a candy,” Els sighed. “He carries them with him. All different kinds. Can you imagine someone being addicted to little candies?” She gave her brother a disgusted look.

I took a furtive glance next to me on the sofa. I couldn’t remember if I had grabbed my bag of M&Ms and brought them with me or not. I didn’t see any and no telltale signs on my person like chocolate fingers, so I smiled and said, “Gee, I guess you must really like your…what was it you called them?”

“Zwolse Babbelaar. Here, try one.”

I took the candy and unwrapped it.

“It’s a hard candy. Butterscotch. And this particular one is made in Zwolle,” Els explained.

I popped it in my mouth and found it to be very good. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I wanted to know why you didn’t like Penelope?” I asked Wilhelm again.

“I think it would be apparent. She married our father.”

“And was your father still married to your mother when Penelope came on the scene?” I asked.

Wilhelm folded his arms like a petulant child. “Yes.”

Els slapped at his arm lightly. “Wilhelm. Don’t tell lies.” Els turned to me. “Yes, they were still married, but separated for many months before Pen came along. And our mother already had a boyfriend before Poppy began seeing Pen. My brother is very close to our mother and, well, it just bothered him our parents were no longer together.”

“And what about you, Els? Did you get along with Penelope? And by the way, why do you call her Pen? She was very adamant on Friday night that we call her Penelope.”

Wilhelm laughed. “That’s exactly why we called her Pen. She despised it.”

Els blushed. “I didn’t hate her if that’s what you’re asking, but we were very young when our parents divorced. My father was a lawyer of high standing and we had a good life. Once he left, we still had a good life, but things were different. Pen liked nice things and Poppy was more than willing to give them to her. And then after a while they moved back to America. We came for visits all the time, but it wasn’t the same. We continued to live with our mother and her boyfriend until she kicked him out and then it was just the three of us. We missed our father very much.”

“Mother would have liked to get back with Poppy, but by then it was too late.” Wilhelm looked as if the wound of his parents separating still bothered him deeply. “I don’t think we should be telling you any more. We don’t know anything about you. You could still be a killer.” He gave his sister a stern look before she could say anything.

Els sighed. “My brother is right. I think we need some answers from you, Alex.”

“By all means. But would it be all right if I got another cup of tea first?”

I followed Els back into the kitchen while Wilhelm brooded in the living room. Els put the kettle to boil and then rummaged through the pantry finally producing a package of cookies. She placed several on a plate and when the water was ready we made more tea and returned to the living room. Wilhelm put something into a little dish on the coffee table.