A Murderer Among Us Read online

  Abbie saw her. Todd immediately rose to his feet as Lydia went to join them.

  “Hi, Mom,” Abbie greeted her. She leaned over the table to kiss her. “This is Todd.”

  Lydia started to put out her hand, but Todd came around and gathered her in a bear hug. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you, Mrs. Krause.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, too, Todd,” she answered, meaning it.

  Abbie was grinning. “Surprise! Todd has none of the British reserve you hear so much about. It must be his Jewish roots.”

  So he was Jewish—her daughter’s first Jewish boyfriend since she’d turned sixteen. Todd was compactly built and only inches taller than Abbie. He had brown hair and eyes, and good, even features that gave him a boyish look. In fact, he appeared to be eighteen years old. But after five minutes in his company, Lydia saw he was a sound and savvy young man who knew what he wanted in life and how to pursue it. Lydia quivered because it was clear he wanted Abbie.

  “I understand you’ve moved into a new community and you’ve taken a new job,” Todd said.

  Lydia smiled. She found his accent delightful. “I’m doing my best to settle in.” She glanced down at her packages. “Each time I come into the city I spend a fortune on furniture or clothing.”

  “If you’d rather stay home, you can order anything you like online,” he said.

  “I know that,” Lydia said, grinning, “but I much prefer old-fashioned shopping.”

  Abbie laughed and rubbed the nape of Todd’s neck. “Todd’s permanently connected to the Web. His machine runs on his blood instead of electricity.”

  “Computers—serving businesses, actually—are my livelihood and my passion.” He winked at Abbie. “My only passion besides Abigail.”

  A man who speaks his mind and his heart, Lydia thought, warming to him even more.

  “Any news about the two murders?” Abbie asked.

  “Nothing really,” Lydia said, “though Marshall Weill swears he had nothing to do with either of them.”

  “That’s precisely what he would say if he killed them,” Abbie said. “Be careful, Mom. There’s a murderer wandering around that gated community of yours.”

  “Of course I’m careful, honey,” Lydia reassured her.

  Their waitress approached and they turned their attention to the menu.

  After they ordered, Abbie asked, “Was Merry pissed because we didn’t come to Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “I don’t think so. She didn’t say anything to me,” Lydia answered, thinking Meredith had other things on her mind.

  “Well, that’s good,” Abbie said. “I hate when she projects her hurt feelings long distance. I wanted you and Todd to meet first, before making him face the rest of the family.”

  “You make your sister and her family sound like monsters,” Lydia joked, though after the shock of meeting Steve Thiergard, she was glad Abbie and Todd had decided to visit his relatives instead of coming to Long Island.

  “I’d be happy to meet them,” Todd offered, “but we’re very close to my cousins, and they invited us to Thanksgiving Day dinner last month.”

  “Oh,” Lydia said. Things were more serious between her daughter and this young man than she’d thought.

  She asked Todd what he was doing in Manhattan and he explained that he was here to make contacts for his computer company, which was something like Google but different in many ways.

  “There’s every kind of information on the Web, available to everyone—if they know how to access the right sites. My job is to gather and facilitate the flow of information for businesses who hire our company. It’s as simple as that.”

  “There’s a lot about everyone on the Internet,” Abbie told her. “Even about you, Mom.”

  “Me?” Lydia asked, surprised.

  “There are pages and pages about Lydia Krause. Articles about the company, articles you’ve written.”

  “Interesting,” Lydia said. “I never realized.”

  “Everything ends up on the Web,” Todd said. “Check out Google and see for yourself.”

  “Maybe I will.” Maybe she’d google Steve Thiergard and discover something really reprehensible about him, bad enough to persuade Merry to end their affair. Not very likely, she told herself.

  Their food arrived and they chatted as they ate. When they were done, the waitress removed their plates and asked about dessert.

  Lydia shook her head. “I’ll just have more coffee.”

  “Please try the chocolate cake, even if you take but one bite,” Todd said. He winked at the waitress. “It’s the best in the city. I’m going to miss it when we leave.”

  “And we’ll miss you guys,” the waitress answered. She turned to Lydia. “The cake is very good. I’d say it’s our most popular dessert.”

  Lydia didn’t hear her. Her mind was four sentences behind as she turned to Abbie. “You’re leaving? I thought you planned to stay in New York for several more months.”

  “Mom.” Abbie stroked her mother’s arm. “Share a piece of chocolate cake with me, okay?”

  Obediently, Lydia nodded.

  “I’ll have the raspberry custard tart,” Todd said, “and refills of coffee and decaf all around.”

  When the waitress left, Lydia stared at Abbie. “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”

  She hadn’t meant to sound confrontational, but was only half sorry when Abbie flinched and Todd’s arm went around her shoulders.

  “We’re getting married,” Abbie said. “The first Saturday in January. The wedding’s at Todd’s cousins’ house in Connecticut.”

  “Abbie!”

  Joy, pain, relief and jealousy commingled and sparred for dominance in Lydia’s heart. Why was Abbie telling her this now, after having made all her wedding plans? It wasn’t like they were eloping. They were getting married in Todd’s relatives’ home.

  She mustn’t criticize or reprimand or question. Abbie had always taken her own path. Lydia forced a smile. “That’s wonderful, dear! Though everything seems so sudden.”

  Abbie got up and put her arms around Lydia. Lydia sniffled and did her best not to burst into tears. Honestly! Her daughters were sending her emotions on a roller coaster ride.

  “I didn’t mean to spring it on you so suddenly,” Abbie said, “but Todd just found out he has to return to England on January tenth, and we want to go there as a married couple. We decided to have the ceremony in the rabbi’s study, then yesterday, Todd’s cousin Karen offered her house. I accepted since I didn’t think you were up to making a wedding.” Now she was sniffing. “Mom, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

  Lydia blinked and tried to smile. “I am happy for you, Abbie. For you and Todd. It just takes some getting used to.”

  “We wanted to tell you first,” Abbie said. “I’ll call Merry Sunday night—I promise—and fill her in.”

  “After the wedding you’ll leave for England,” Lydia said, remembering the upsetting part of Abbie’s news.

  “We have to,” Todd said quietly. “I’ve gotten a promotion, and they need me back in the main office before the other chap leaves. But you’ll come and visit us, Mrs. Krause, just as soon and as often as you like.”

  Lydia nodded. She both liked and admired this young man who knew his priorities, and made no secret that they would shape his life.

  “Thanks for the open invitation, Todd. I certainly will come and visit. And please call me Lydia.”

  “I’ll do so with pleasure,” he said, and stood to hug her.

  Their care and concern made Lydia feel as though they were consoling her when she should be happy for them. She was happy for them, only everything had come as a surprise. They’d made their plans and she had no part in the planning.

  She grew calmer once their desserts arrived and the conversation turned to wedding arrangements. When it was time to go, Todd insisted on paying the bill. Abbie and Todd waited with her outside the restaurant for the taxi they’d called to take her to Penn Stati
on.

  It arrived too soon. Lydia clung to Abbie for a long good-bye. They’ll be happy, she thought as she kissed them both. But once the cab started uptown, all reserve broke down.

  “Oh, Izzy, how I’m going to miss her,” Lydia whispered, and sobbed all the way to the station.

  Twelve

  When she got home, Lydia stifled her impulse to call Meredith to discuss Abbie’s news and dialed her sister’s number instead. Sammy was home, deep in her work. She was delighted to hear that Abbie was getting married.

  “He’s nice, doing well and Jewish! You must be thrilled.”

  “Of course I’m happy for her. I just wish she would have let me host the wedding instead of having it at Todd’s cousins’ house.”

  “You said Todd lived with these cousins for three years, so they’re really very close. Abbie probably figures you have enough to cope with these days. She doesn’t want to burden you.”

  “I’m going to miss her, living far away in London,” Lydia moaned.

  “You never made a fuss when she took off for India or China months at a time.”

  “This is different. She’s getting married. Soon she’ll have children.”

  Sammy chuckled. “All the more reason to get on a plane and stay a month or two. How’s Meredith?”

  “Meredith?” Lydia’s distress over Abbie’s departure turned into a hot ball of anger at the mention of her older daughter’s name. “She’s carrying on an affair with a fellow whose uncle lives here at Twin Lakes. She had the absolute chutzpah to invite him over for dessert on Thursday, along with some friends.”

  Sammy let out a bark of laughter that sounded dangerously like admiration to Lydia’s ears.

  “It isn’t funny! Think of Greta and Brittany. And poor Jeff, who adores my selfish daughter. I’ve decided to stop tiptoeing around her moods and give her a piece of my mind!”

  “Do you think she’ll listen to you?”

  Lydia considered the question. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “My life has lost its continuity. Everything familiar is changing, spinning out of control. I wish Izzy were here.”

  “To share the experience,” Sammy said softly, “not to change the course of your daughters’ lives.”

  Lydia sighed. “I suppose. Thanks for listening, Sam.”

  “Hey, that’s what sisters are for.”

  * * *

  Saturday morning Lydia rose with the sun. She’d spent a restless night, then fallen into a deep sleep and dreamed she was a guest at a wedding in a foreign country and the rabbi was Marshall Weill. Though she felt strung out and tired, she decided a vigorous walk followed by a swim would do more for her than trying for two more hours of slumber. She dressed quickly, promising herself she wouldn’t mull about her daughters. Abbie was going to be fine and Meredith—well, she’d deal with Meredith tomorrow.

  She turned left, taking the longer route around the lake. As she reached the juncture where N Boulevard met Lake Boulevard, she remembered that beyond the woods lay the parcel of property the HOA was in the process of buying. The new additions they planned to build would be a plus to the community. Though Lydia didn’t enjoy golf, she looked forward to playing on the miniature golf course with her granddaughters.

  Impulsively, she forged a path through bushes and trees to peer through a crack in the stockade fence at the house that, come spring, would be razed to the ground. The siding was weather-beaten, almost colorless from neglect, and a few shutters hung askew. The last owner had lived there until well into his nineties and had allowed the house to fall into disrepair. Still, it was sad that what had once been the home of various families for almost a century would soon be destroyed.

  Lydia resumed her walk down Lake Boulevard, greeting the few dog walkers she passed. She felt as though she’d come home after being away for some time. Her concerns about her daughters these last two days had pushed the tragic events into the far corner of her mind. Now they clamored for her attention.

  She considered what she knew about the two dead women, focusing on what they shared. Both Claire and Doris had a relationship with Marshall. Even more curious, he was possibly the last person each had seen before dying. Quite a coincidence for an innocent man.

  Lydia’s pulse quickened. Maybe not such a coincidence if the murderer hated Marshall with an intense passion that drove him to seek vengeance through insidious means. That was it! She had to discover who detested him enough to kill his wife and an innocent woman in order to frame him for the crimes. Excited by her premise, she formulated a plan. She’d ask Marshall for the names of everyone who might hold a grudge against him and eliminate them, one by one.

  Lydia had the swimming pool to herself. After checking the pool cover switch to make sure it was indeed out of the reach of any fingers, she swam laps then showered and changed. Eager to carry out her project, she strode home along Lake Boulevard, intent on calling Marshall the moment she walked through the door.

  The sound of shouting unnerved her. It came from Steve Thiergard’s uncle’s house, she realized. She recognized Marshall Weill’s voice, though the familiar sardonic tone was gone as his anger spilled into the street, disturbing the peace of a Saturday morning.

  Lydia stepped up to the screen door and peered inside. At the far end of the living room, Marshall screamed accusations and obscenities at Steve.

  “You killed her! Just as sure as that car drove over her. You filled her body with dangerous drugs. Poisons never approved by the FDA.”

  “The botanical compound never harmed Claire,” Steve answered. “Civilizations have been using youth-enhancing herbs for centuries.”

  “Really? For centuries?” Marshall loomed closer to Steve, his hands balled into fists. “Then why were you gouging Claire, charging her a thousand dollars for one lousy bottle?”

  Steve, who was taller, broader and less than half Marshall’s age, stood his ground. “The compound’s expensive because it’s made from ingredients difficult to harvest. One in particular. It comes from the bark of a rare tree in China.”

  “Bull shit!”

  “No, really. You know what? The herbs were helping Claire feel more energetic. She looked great, which you would have seen if you had taken the time to notice.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Marshall shook his fists in rage. His face was as red as a trumpet player’s after three hours on the horn. Lydia, fearing another death—this time a heart attack—reached out to the door handle. It yielded to her touch.

  “Cool it, man.” Steve pushed Weill away. Marshall let out a gasp as he tottered backwards and landed on the sofa. Steve shook his head as he gazed down at him.

  “What a piece of work you are, acting the grieving widower. Christ, everyone knows you neglected Claire. She only wanted some of the attention you spread around.”

  “I loved my wife!” Weill got to his feet and lowered his head to butt Steve in the stomach.

  Lydia had seen enough. Any more of Marshall’s shenanigans and Steve was likely to punch him out. She opened the door and spoke loudly as she entered the house.

  “Hello, fellows. I could hear you from outside.”

  Steve turned to her, all apologies. “I’m sorry about that, Mrs. Krause. Marshall and I were having a discussion.”

  “He and his damn herbs put Claire’s life in danger. If she wasn’t so hopped up, she’d never have taken to running outside the community where it wasn’t safe.”

  His logic was so skewed, Lydia didn’t know what to say. Steve was determined to clear himself. He walked toward Lydia.

  “Claire was fine before someone killed her.” He tossed a glance at the glowering Marshall. “She told me she felt better than she had in years. Mrs. Krause, I swear the capsules I sold her aren’t dangerous in any way.”

  “Was Mrs. Weill taking the herbal supplement you talked about at my daughter’s house?”

  “Of course not! It hasn’t been thoroughly tested.”

  “They so
und like one and the same to me,” Lydia said.

  “Well, they’re not!”

  He’s lying, Lydia thought, but saw no point in arguing. Her immediate concern was convincing Marshall to leave.

  “At any rate, the supplements didn’t cause Claire’s demise,” she said as she gripped his upper arm. “Come, Marshall, we need to talk. I’ve an idea how we might get to the bottom of what we were discussing the other day.”

  “If you insist,” he said testily, shaking off her hand. He thrust back his shoulders and frowned at Steve. “You haven’t heard the end of this. I’m sending the police over here. They’ll want to know what kind of racket you’re into, preying on innocent women.”

  Steve laughed. “Me preying on innocent people. That’s good. Even the police will get a chuckle out of that one.” He turned to Lydia. “Thanks for stopping by and collecting him.”

  Lydia ignored him as she followed Marshall out of the house. Her sympathies, erroneous though they no doubt were, lay with the apparent loser of this round.

  Marshall walked slowly toward his black Mercedes. The altercation had sapped much of his energy. He appeared frail and foolish in his expensive hip clothes.

  Once they were inside the car, he breathed deeply, then leaned back in his leather seat. “The little creep! He doesn’t even live here, and he’s set up a lucrative business for himself.”

  Lydia was astonished. “You mean other women are buying his herbs?”

  “So I’m just beginning to find out. What great idea did you come up with?”

  Lydia ignored his sarcasm. “First tell me how you found out it was Steve.”

  “Your friend Detective Molina and I wondered if the substance found in Claire had any connection to the two cash withdrawals Claire had taken from her account for a thousand dollars each. Last night I went through her personal items. In her sewing basket I came upon pamphlets about herbal supplements and receipts with Thiergard’s name on them.”

  “A thousand dollars a bottle,” Lydia murmured. No wonder Steve could afford a Jaguar. The more she heard about her daughter’s friend, the less she liked him. She forced herself to ask the next question because she dreaded hearing the answer.