gossipers’
minds?
“According to Theresa—who was their secretary, remember—Lee
Wessex had been talking for months about leaving his wife,” Janowski told me. “She
admitted as much last year when he disappeared. She blamed Connie’s affairs for
his wanting to end the marriage.”
Affairs. In the plural. Okay, apparently they had been real.
Had one of her lovers killed him? It would have to have been someone who didn’t
know he was planning on leaving her anyway.
“Why didn’t Wessex just leave?” I asked.
“The money was all hers,” Lizzie told me. “If he left he
wouldn’t have had anything. So he stole everything he could get his hands on
and was heading out.”
“Now there’s a thought,” Janowski mused. “Think Connie
killed him to get it all back? She’s been complaining all year about not having
some of the jewelry that had belonged to her mother and grandmother.”
“Yes, poor dear.” Lizzie’s lip curled. “She’s had to buy new
diamonds and rubies, hasn’t she? I bet she complained all the way to the
jewelry store.”
I glanced at Lizzie. She wore a gaudy bead necklace and
flashy earrings but they were costume jewelry, nothing expensive.
Lizzie caught my look and sniffed. “I don’t waste money on
jewels,” she said. “I use it to take care of my dogs. And if there’s any left
over I give it to Merit County First. And I certainly didn’t kill Lee Wessex
for the money or the charities would be in better shape.”
But might she have killed him in fury over his hitting her
beloved Mazda? If she had though, what did she do with the money? Over the
course of the intervening year it had never turned up. If Wessex had never
managed to escape with it, where had it gone?
My gaze strayed back to the stage where Connie had now been
joined by two men and another woman, all in evening dress, two with violins and
one with a viola. They seated themselves on chairs Pete Norton produced and
began warming up without the frequent screeches usually associated with string
instruments. They also didn’t have musical scores which implied they’d done a
lot of practicing.
The other woman in the group wore a simple gold-toned chain.
Connie wore a beautiful triple strand of large cultured pearls with more hanging
from her ears. Old family money, Janowski had said and jewelry she had
inherited. If she had caught on that her husband had stolen her money and
jewels and was leaving her, might she have intercepted him and killed him in a fury?
But then what would she have done with everything he’d stolen? She could hardly
tell the world he had taken her jewels and then be seen wearing them.
Or course she could always produce the pieces one by one
saying she’d had copies made of her favorites.
The string quartet progressed from scales to Mozart. They
were amazingly good, the cello superb. Could anyone who played like that be a
murderer? I didn’t want to believe it but then Sarkisian tells me I’m too
sentimental, especially where art and music are concerned. And chocolate of
course.
Connie seemed to be a woman who demanded perfection. Both
her playing and her appearance hinted at that. She might not have been able to
bear the stigma of having her husband rob her—not to mention everyone else—in order
to leave her.
Chapter Seven
It was almost nine o’clock before we finally called it quits
for the night. I was hungry and grouchy, a matter that wasn’t helped any by the
fact that even though I could now go home, Sarkisian couldn’t. I had a few
choice swearwords for dedicated law enforcement officers but he knew I wouldn’t
have him any other way. But just this once I’d have liked him to whisk me off
to a candlelit dinner with white linens and flowers on the table and something
succulent accompanied by a vintage wine. What I was likely to get would be a
bowl of cereal in a house empty of all except seven cats and my
parakeet—hopefully not sharing a room.
My beloved Aunt Gerda,
minds?
“According to Theresa—who was their secretary, remember—Lee
Wessex had been talking for months about leaving his wife,” Janowski told me. “She
admitted as much last year when he disappeared. She blamed Connie’s affairs for
his wanting to end the marriage.”
Affairs. In the plural. Okay, apparently they had been real.
Had one of her lovers killed him? It would have to have been someone who didn’t
know he was planning on leaving her anyway.
“Why didn’t Wessex just leave?” I asked.
“The money was all hers,” Lizzie told me. “If he left he
wouldn’t have had anything. So he stole everything he could get his hands on
and was heading out.”
“Now there’s a thought,” Janowski mused. “Think Connie
killed him to get it all back? She’s been complaining all year about not having
some of the jewelry that had belonged to her mother and grandmother.”
“Yes, poor dear.” Lizzie’s lip curled. “She’s had to buy new
diamonds and rubies, hasn’t she? I bet she complained all the way to the
jewelry store.”
I glanced at Lizzie. She wore a gaudy bead necklace and
flashy earrings but they were costume jewelry, nothing expensive.
Lizzie caught my look and sniffed. “I don’t waste money on
jewels,” she said. “I use it to take care of my dogs. And if there’s any left
over I give it to Merit County First. And I certainly didn’t kill Lee Wessex
for the money or the charities would be in better shape.”
But might she have killed him in fury over his hitting her
beloved Mazda? If she had though, what did she do with the money? Over the
course of the intervening year it had never turned up. If Wessex had never
managed to escape with it, where had it gone?
My gaze strayed back to the stage where Connie had now been
joined by two men and another woman, all in evening dress, two with violins and
one with a viola. They seated themselves on chairs Pete Norton produced and
began warming up without the frequent screeches usually associated with string
instruments. They also didn’t have musical scores which implied they’d done a
lot of practicing.
The other woman in the group wore a simple gold-toned chain.
Connie wore a beautiful triple strand of large cultured pearls with more hanging
from her ears. Old family money, Janowski had said and jewelry she had
inherited. If she had caught on that her husband had stolen her money and
jewels and was leaving her, might she have intercepted him and killed him in a fury?
But then what would she have done with everything he’d stolen? She could hardly
tell the world he had taken her jewels and then be seen wearing them.
Or course she could always produce the pieces one by one
saying she’d had copies made of her favorites.
The string quartet progressed from scales to Mozart. They
were amazingly good, the cello superb. Could anyone who played like that be a
murderer? I didn’t want to believe it but then Sarkisian tells me I’m too
sentimental, especially where art and music are concerned. And chocolate of
course.
Connie seemed to be a woman who demanded perfection. Both
her playing and her appearance hinted at that. She might not have been able to
bear the stigma of having her husband rob her—not to mention everyone else—in order
to leave her.
Chapter Seven
It was almost nine o’clock before we finally called it quits
for the night. I was hungry and grouchy, a matter that wasn’t helped any by the
fact that even though I could now go home, Sarkisian couldn’t. I had a few
choice swearwords for dedicated law enforcement officers but he knew I wouldn’t
have him any other way. But just this once I’d have liked him to whisk me off
to a candlelit dinner with white linens and flowers on the table and something
succulent accompanied by a vintage wine. What I was likely to get would be a
bowl of cereal in a house empty of all except seven cats and my
parakeet—hopefully not sharing a room.
My beloved Aunt Gerda,
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