Mahjonged (An Alex Harris Mystery) by Elaine Macko Page B

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