The Busy Woman's Guide to Murder (26 page)

I needed to think about Mona. I called Brian and got him on his cell phone. He was continuing to try to reach Mona without any luck either. At least the police hadn’t told him to mind his own business. Finally, I decided I could do something to help her when she did show up or get in touch.

First I headed home and borrowed Jack’s brown Mini. I changed into a green winter jacket and a white wool hat that covered my hair. I drove the short distance to Amsterdam Avenue and pulled in. I could have walked easily, but I wanted to be able to depart quickly if I had to.

A dark sedan was parked in Bethann’s driveway. I took a deep breath, picked up the package of black-and-white fudge I’d intended for Dr. Partridge, and headed over.

I found a middle-aged man with a gray brush cut and bags under his eyes. He was just leaving.

“Hello,” I said. “I was at school with Bethann and I just heard the news. I wanted to offer my condolences to the family.”

He nodded, sadly. “I’m her brother-in-law. No one else is here.”

I handed him the package of fudge and said, “I am sorry for your loss. It was a shock.”

“Yes.”

I added, “It’s very strange. People from our high school class appear to be getting phone calls and reconnecting after all those years. Some of the reconnections are quite upsetting. But more importantly, the people who have been killed were all linked to St. Jude’s and the person who’s been calling around to reconnect. I’d been going to ask if Bethann also had any of those calls.”

He stared at me blankly. “I don’t know. My wife might.”

“Would you mind asking your wife if she knows of any upsetting calls that Bethann had? I don’t want to bring any more grief to your family, but there may be things that the police should be informed about.” I passed him my card and said, “Please give me a call if there was anything odd that happened to Bethann in the last couple of weeks. Or if she heard from or met with someone from her high school days.”

I left him staring at it and hightailed it out of there before I ran into one of Woodbridge’s finest.

I returned the Mini, collected the Miata, and drove to the uptown end of Long March Road, where I trudged through the endless snow to the old arcade. Margaret Tang’s new law office was on the second floor over my favorite kids’ store, Cuddleship. I thumped up the stairs and opened the door. She still hadn’t added D’Angelo to her name on the door although she used it in her private life. Maybe she didn’t want her clients to know about the police connection.

Margaret always seemed to have an intermediary guarding her privacy. For years, I’d been trying to get past her mother. Her new husband didn’t necessarily pass on messages. In this case it was her equally new legal assistant who seemed ridiculously young even to me.

“I’m sorry. Do you have an appointment?” she said, shaking her dark hair as she said it.

Margaret’s voice carried the day. “It’s okay, Alison. This is my friend Charlotte Adams.”

I thought Alison muttered, “Everyone in town knows who she is.” But that could have been my imagination.

Everything in the office was like Margaret, reserved, practical, muted, and solid. Well thought out too. You could count on this furniture, the same way you could count on Margaret. I sure hoped that Mona could count on her too. She was going to need one hell of a lawyer. These days, Margaret wanted a life. She did mostly real estate, business contracts, and wills. But she was the smartest person I knew. If she hadn’t come back to Woodbridge to be near her parents, she would have had a meteoric career somewhere.

I launched into my long story about Mona’s calls and her latest claims that she had dissociative identity disorder and one of her alters was killing people. Margaret listened with her usual sangfroid. She did not roll her eyes, which must have been difficult.

“She could use some legal advice, even if the police don’t think she could have done it. That could change. I know that the hard way,” I said.

“She’s better off with representation, for sure.”

“Will you do it? After all, we were there when she was being traumatized by Serena. I don’t know what she can afford, but I can pay.”

Margaret exhaled. That’s a huge emotional reaction for her. “I’ll do it pro bono, but MPD, I’m not so sure that multiple personality disorder or dissociative identity disorder, whatever term, will fly in court. It’s been known to blow up in the defendant’s face.”

“But it shouldn’t get to court, if she’s not guilty of anything. I find it hard to believe and it does fly in the face of evidence.”

“If she keeps saying she’s guilty, there’s bound to be trouble. For instance, if someone else is tried for those hit-and-runs, Mona’s ravings will be good news for that defense.”

“But we don’t believe it.”

Margaret said, “However, she has a
theory
that she’s guilty. Let’s make sure no one else hears that until they need to.”

“Right.” Oh crap. Who had I told? “I mentioned it to Jack. And Sally. Her 911 colleague Brian. I left a message for Dr. Partridge. And a few for Pepper. I think that’s it.”

“Who’s Dr. Partridge?”

“He’s a psychologist who I believe treated one or more of the bullies. And at this moment, he’s in the hospital fighting for his life.”

“Are you serious? Another hit-and-run?”

“Sally said that Benjamin thought Dr. Partridge might have taken a double or even triple dose of decongestants and antihistamines and painkillers all at the same time. Apparently he fell and hit his head. Between the overdose and the head injury, he’s in a bad way.”

“So . . . an accident?”

“I don’t believe it was. I suspect someone knew I was talking to him about the bullies and they wanted to silence him before he revealed a name. It’s all very upsetting. I am sure that Serena is behind that and the other deaths. It was easy to find where he lived. He saw clients at home and someone with a dangerous agenda could have dropped in and slipped a little something into his coffee if he left the room. He liked his coffee very sweet and might not have noticed. That’s speculation, of course. And I haven’t worked out all the details yet. But we shouldn’t overlook the possibility that Mona could be involved. Or one of her so-called alters.”

“No argument.” Margaret handed me her business card. She wrote her home and cell numbers on it. “Make sure she gets this somehow. Tell her I’ll be there for her.”

I found myself overcome with emotion. When I could speak, I said, “We all have to be, even in the unlikely event she’s guilty.”

Margaret nodded. “We’ll pull together. Don’t worry. I’ll be kind of glad to have something interesting to work on.”

I added, “But first we have to stop the killing.”

“We don’t. Say no to that, Charlotte. Give Mona the card. Leave the rest to the police. Take that advice to heart. Otherwise, one of these days you could be the person who gets killed.”

I called Woodbridge Police. For some reason, I knew their number as well as 911. I was trying for Dean Oliver. Of course, he wasn’t on that day. I should have realized that, as I had seen him at the end of his shift the night before. I tried all the Olivers in the Woodbridge phone listings until I recognized his voice when he picked up.

He said, “I’m glad to talk to you. I’ve been studying hard to make sergeant and the exam is coming up. You will be a nice change of pace.”

“Great. What’s your favorite lunch place? On me.”

“Sorry. I can’t do lunch.”

Damn. Another cop who didn’t want to give me the time of day. I didn’t want to give up though. “Do you have time for coffee?”

“How about dinner?”

That was better. “I’m way behind this week. But if you don’t mind casual and early, I’d like that.”

“Name the place.”

I said, “What about Jalapeño? It’s very relaxed, downtown, and there should be good parking on a snowy night.”

“Hey, every night’s a snowy night. Say six?”

It was a deal.

The wind was swirling surplus snow as I trotted up the walkway to Dr. Partridge’s house the second time. It was yet another trip out in the bone-chilling winter that just wouldn’t quit. I was hoping that Lydia Johnson was still there. The walkway had been shoveled since my earlier visit and the downstairs lights were glowing warmly.

She answered the door and looked surprised. I took the initiative. I handed her the gift of Kristee’s black-and-white fudge, in its distinctive black box with the shiny sheer white ribbon. “I know you are having a tough time, but can you help me, Lydia?”

I had correctly gauged that this was a woman who loved to be helpful. “Of course, come in. I’m glad of the company. I’ve been going crazy waiting for word and I’ve been trying to keep busy.” Her eyes were still rimmed in pink, but keeping busy had obviously helped.

I stepped into the hallway. Something delicious was cooking, stew perhaps, and there was a faint whiff of fresh bread.

“I’m keeping busy,” she said again. “I’ve decided to be optimistic and make his favorite meals and fill up the freezer. It’s . . .”

“A good idea,” I said. “This won’t take long.”

“Take all the time you want. Do you like living room or kitchen? I have to check my soup.”

“I like kitchens. Especially if someone has been cooking in them.”

That earned me a weak smile and soon I was sitting in the bright kitchen and inhaling the aromas of soup and what turned out to be rolls.

She bustled about and produced some hot tea and a plate of rolls with butter and a choice of cheddar, or strawberry jam. “I’m not sure how I can help you, but I’m glad you dropped in.”

The truth is the best option. I gave it a shot. “There have been some incidents in town that appear to be connected with bullying incidents that took place at St. Jude’s High School about fourteen years ago.”

“Fourteen years ago? Sam had just finished setting up his practice in Woodbridge not long before that. He came here because of his wife, you know.”