Howloween Murder Page 5

  Always before, her impassioned response had been in defense of another member of the Howard Academy family. Now she needed—and deserved—one of us to step up and do the same for her. I wondered if she was worried that I wouldn’t be willing to take on the task.

  There was no possibility of that. I was just hoping I wouldn’t let her down.

  “Harriet?”

  She’d almost reached the door when I called after her. Harriet stopped and turned around. Her features were set, as if she’d steeled herself in case I was going to deliver bad news.

  “What’s your last name?” I asked.

  Harriet relaxed then. Her shoulders shifted beneath her tailored suit. She gave me a small smile. “It’s about time you asked. It’s Bloom. My sister and I are Harriet and Bernadette Bloom.”

  “I’m looking forward to getting to know you better,” I said.

  Her smile widened. “Me too.”

  * * *

  By the end of my school day, Harriet had emailed me a list of the people to whom she’d delivered marshmallow puffs. There were six names in all, three belonging to couples. Harriet had also supplied her home address and cell phone number. There was a note at the bottom of the page indicating that she expected her sister to be at home this afternoon. Bernadette would be able to corroborate everything Harriet had told me.

  In addition to that, she’d already spoken to Cheryl and everything was copacetic on the party front. Harriet was a wonder at getting things organized. I suspected she was also sending me the message that she’d done her part—and now it was time for me to do mine.

  Glenville was a hamlet on the west side of Greenwich. Formerly a mill town, it bordered the Byram River. Housing was relatively affordable compared to the rest of Greenwich. Lots were modest in size and many homes were of an older vintage. Small, quiet neighborhoods abounded.

  Glenville was in the opposite direction from my house in Stamford. Fortunately, Kev had a playdate that afternoon and his friend’s mom was picking both boys up at school. That solved one problem. But I also had Faith to think about. It was cool enough outside for her to safely wait for me in the car. I just hated when I had to do that. Faith did too.

  Harriet’s address was on a side street lined with 1930s-era Cape Cod–style homes. Her house was painted white, with pine-green shutters, and had ivy growing up one wall. There was a jack-o’-lantern in a front window and a wreath decorated with Indian corn on the door.

  A small sedan was parked in the narrow driveway. I left my Volvo at the curb beneath a maple tree; its vivid yellow- and orange-colored leaves would provide plenty of shade.

  Faith looked at me balefully as I cracked the car’s windows. She knew what was coming.

  “I won’t be long,” I told her. “Promise.”

  It was a short walk up the driveway to the home’s front door. It swung open as I approached. My first thought was that Bernadette Bloom didn’t look anything like her sister.

  Harriet was petite, her sister was several inches taller than me. Harriet dressed to blend into the background. Bernadette was wearing bright yellow pants with a figure-hugging sweater. A multicolored scarf was twined around her neck. Blond curls framed a face whose artful makeup was working hard to conceal her age.

  Bernadette had a mug containing a hot beverage in one hand. She used the other to push the storm door open. “You must be Melanie. Harry said to expect you. Where’s your Poodle? Don’t tell me you left her in the car?”

  “Umm . . . yes?” Faith had many admirers at Howard Academy, but I hadn’t expected her fame to travel off-campus.

  “What, are you kidding me?” Bernie braced the door with her foot and gestured with her free hand. “Go get her. Harry told me she’s the biggest Poodle in the whole world. I want to see that. You’d better bring her inside. That is, if she can fit.”

  Bernadette laughed at her own joke as I went to fetch Faith. She stared at us from the doorway as we approached. “Harry wasn’t kidding,” she said, ushering us into the house. “That’s some Poodle. Does she do any tricks?”

  “A few,” I admitted reluctantly. I didn’t want to sidetrack our conversation. “But she doesn’t like to show off.”

  “Performance anxiety, huh? I get that.” Bernadette shrugged. “Too bad. I bet she’d look great in a tutu.”

  Even Faith looked nonplussed by that comment. She felt it was beneath her dignity to wear clothing of any kind. She’d have been horrified if I tried to dress her up like a circus Poodle.

  “You drink coffee, don’t you? Everybody does. Let me pour you a cup.” Bernadette was still talking nonstop. “I can add a little kicker to it, if you want. Maybe a splash of whiskey?”

  “No.” I gulped. “Thank you, but just coffee would be fine.”

  “Come on, follow me into the kitchen. It’s the sunniest room in the house this time of year. We’ll sit and talk in there. Cream and sugar?”

  “Just milk, please.”

  I’d expected to be interviewing Harriet’s sister, but I’d barely gotten in a word thus far. At this rate, I’d be lucky if she let me ask a single question.

  The kitchen was small and tidy. It had been updated since the house was built—probably during the 1970s, judging by the fact that all the appliances were avocado green. They matched the specks in the linoleum floor. There was a wide window in one wall and the room was flooded with bright afternoon light.

  I took a seat at a kitchen table that looked older than I was. Faith sat down beside me. Bernie filled an earthenware mug nearly to the brim and sloshed some milk on top. Then she set it down in front of me.

  “How about Faith?” she asked. “Does she want a bowl of milk?”

  “No, thank you. Faith doesn’t need anything.” And certainly not milk. My mug was steaming. I took a cautious sip and scalded the tip of my tongue.

  Bernie sat down opposite me. “Harry’s told me all about you. Like how you’re good at solving mysteries and stuff like that. She said you’re going to get to the bottom of things. Thank God for that, because someone has to do it.”

  I nodded. It didn’t even slow her down.

  “Ralph was an old man, but nobody wanted to see him die. All I can think is, this must be some kind of horrible mistake. The way I see it, Harry’s in need of a miracle. And you’re going to be it.”

  Chapter Seven

  Well, that set the bar pretty high.

  No one had ever called me a miracle worker before—and with good reason. Miracles were way beyond my abilities. It occurred to me that maybe Bernadette had added a splash—or more—of whiskey to her own coffee.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Harry told me you’d have questions. Ask me anything.”

  “I’d like to go over some of the details of the story. Harriet told me what she knew, but I also want to hear your version of events.”

  “I can start at the beginning,” Bernadette offered.

  “That would be great.” I tried for another sip of coffee and burned my tongue again. You’d think I’d learn.

  “Harry and I grew up right here in this house. Thank God we did, because we’d never be able to afford to buy it now. The neighborhood has changed a lot through the years, but it’s still a great place to live.”

  She was going back to their childhood? That wasn’t the beginning I’d had in mind. Faith and I exchanged a glance. We were probably thinking the same thing. We were going to be here awhile.

  “Harry is older than me,” Bernadette continued. “You can probably tell that by looking at us.”

  Not really. But a nod seemed called for, so I obliged her.

  She smiled happily. “There’s not as much of an age difference as you might think. Just two years. Harry’s the one with the brains. She went to college, and everything. She got married for the first time right after she graduated.”

  “The first time?” I repeated. I’d never previously given Harriet’s love life any thought. But if I had, I wouldn’t have imagined multiple marriages.
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  “Yes, she tried it three times in all. If you ask me, Harry just couldn’t figure out how to settle down.”

  This was a whole different side to Harriet than the one I knew. It was also one I’d have never envisioned. Harriet always seemed to be the most settled person around. I winced at a sudden thought. If I was wrong about that, what else might I be wrong about?

  “I was married just once, but I made it stick,” Bernadette told me. “Seth and I lived together here in this house until he passed away ten years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Thank you. Seth was a good man. But when your time comes, there’s nothing you can do about it. Harry was living over in Cos Cob back then. She’d already kicked Nate—he was number three—to the curb. At that point, it seemed silly for both of us to be rattling around separate houses on our own. So I set out the welcome mat and she moved in.”

  “It sounds like that was a good idea,” I said.

  Bernadette shrugged. “Some days better than others, but mostly we get along fine. Now where was I?”

  “Perhaps we could skip forward to the day your neighbor, Ralph Penders, died?” I suggested.

  “Oh yeah, Ralph. He was a nice guy. If he was poisoned, like the police said, he sure didn’t deserve that.”

  “Is his house right next door?”

  “No, it’s down a couple from here. But that didn’t make any difference to Harry. She handed out those marshmallow puffs to anyone who wanted them. She called it being neighborly.” Bernadette snorted under her breath. “I don’t even want to know what the neighbors are going to think about that now.”

  “I’m sure they’ll feel the same way you and I do,” I said. “That what happened couldn’t have been Harriet’s fault.”

  “I hope so.” Bernadette didn’t sound convinced.

  “How did you find out about Ralph’s death?”

  “It was the two policemen that told me. Pounded on the door yesterday morning when I was still running around in my nightgown. They nearly scared the bejesus out of me. After I let them in, I had to race upstairs and put on some clothes.”

  “Why did they come here?” I asked curiously. “What made them think you would know anything about Ralph’s death?”

  “They didn’t. Leastways not at first. They were just walking up and down the whole street, talking to anyone who was home. This is a pretty close neighborhood. So when Ralph collapsed a couple of days ago, we all knew about it.”

  She paused for a gulp of coffee. “The dying part, though. That came as a surprise. The two policemen told me about that. They asked if I’d seen anything suspicious happening around here recently. I told them, of course not. What kind of a place did they think this was?”

  “Did they tell you how Ralph had died?”

  “No, that was the funny thing.” Bernadette frowned, thinking back. “They didn’t tell me much of anything at all. They just kept asking questions. The kind of questions that I didn’t have any answers to. But the two of them had interrupted my morning routine. And I hadn’t had my coffee yet. So I went into the kitchen to make some.”

  “By yourself?”

  “One of the officers came in here with me. Like I needed an escort or something. I mean, what was the man thinking? It’s not like I was going to go running out the back door before I even had my makeup on.” She chuckled at the thought. “So he was standing there when I opened the refrigerator to get out the milk. I wasn’t paying any attention to him until he glanced inside and jumped back. I mean, he really jumped.”

  Bernadette hopped from her chair to demonstrate. Faith and I both watched in amazement as she leapt up in the air. This conversation was turning out to be all kinds of entertaining.

  “He ran out of the room, then right away he came back with the other cop. The two of them started going nuts because Harry and I had marshmallow puffs inside our fridge. That was the first inkling I got that maybe something was wrong.”

  Maybe something was wrong? If I ever had a policeman jumping up and down in my kitchen, I would know right away that something was wrong.

  My coffee had cooled enough to be drinkable and I took a grateful sip. I needed a good jolt of caffeine to keep up. “What happened next?”

  Bernadette walked over to the coffee machine on the counter and topped off her mug. “One of the officers asked where I’d gotten the puffs from. I thought maybe he wanted to try one, you know?”

  I did know. The treats looked every bit as good as they tasted.

  “He said, ‘No siree, ma’am.’ Then he asked where they came from and what they were doing in my refrigerator. So I told him all about Harriet and her famous marshmallow puffs, and how she baked plenty to hand out around Halloween because everybody loved them so much.”

  The steady stream of words came to an abrupt stop. Bernadette inhaled a deep breath. “That’s when the officer told me that when Ralph collapsed, he’d been eating one of Harriet’s marshmallow treats. And that later on, when he died in the hospital, they discovered he’d been poisoned.”

  “It must have come as a huge shock to you.”

  She didn’t speak. Instead, she just nodded.

  “That’s when you called your sister and told her the police were on their way to Howard Academy?”

  Bernadette sniffled. She looked as though she was on the verge of tears. “Well, first I went and put on my makeup, because at that point, who knew who else might come barging into my house? Then I called Harry to let her know what was happening.”

  There was a light knock on the back door. Almost immediately it was drawn open. Startled, Faith jumped to her feet. I reached out a hand to steady her as a man came striding into the kitchen.

  He was probably in his late forties, but his full head of dark hair—bangs falling forward over his eyes—gave him a boyish look. He was wearing a cashmere sweater with pressed jeans, and his loafers had recently been shined. His gaze went immediately to Bernadette.

  “Hey, babe, I hope . . . Oh!” He noticed Faith and me, and stopped in his tracks. “Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t know you had company.”

  “No problem. Come on in.” Bernadette met the man in the middle of the room. She rested her hands on his shoulders as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “This is Melanie. Harriet sent her to see if she can figure out how the hell Ralph died from eating marshmallow puffs. Melanie, this is my boyfriend, Hugh Grainger. He’ll be happy to answer your questions too.”

  “You don’t look like a policewoman,” Hugh said with a smile. “And that definitely doesn’t look like a police dog.”

  “I’m not with the police,” I told him. “I’m just a friend, trying to help out.”

  He was still staring at Faith. “Does she help too?”

  “Sometimes, in her own way. She’s a Standard Poodle. Her name is Faith.”

  “Pretty girl.” Hugh hunkered down in front of her. He held out his hand. “Do you shake?”

  Faith sniffed his fingers politely.

  “Shake?” When he made the request a second time, this time more forcefully, I knew what was coming.

  Faith responded to the command in the way that show Poodles are trained to do. She shook. The motion started at her nose, with her feathered ears flying around her head. Then her body rolled from side to side. The spiraling movement ended at the tip of her pomponned tail.

  Hugh stumbled back in surprise. That caused him to lose his balance and tip over. He ended up sitting on the floor.

  Bernadette burst out laughing. I had to admit, it was pretty comical.

  Hugh quickly scrambled to his feet. “What the hell was that?”

  “You asked her to shake,” I said. “So she did.”

  He wasn’t amused. Taking a pratfall in front of Bernadette had injured his pride. “Is that supposed to be a joke? Because it’s not very funny. I was just trying to be friendly.”

  I reached down and pat Faith so she’d know not to take his irate tone personally. “She was trying to be
friendly too. Faith used to be a show dog. Poodles compete with a big coat of hair that gets scissored into shape. It’s best if the dog shakes out first so the hair settles naturally into place. So Poodles learn to shake on command. And you gave her the command.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Hugh was still grumpy. “I was asking her to give me her paw. That’s what she was supposed to do.”

  “I’m guessing you’ve never trained a dog,” I said.

  Hugh walked over to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was, I noted, very much at home in the Bloom sisters’ kitchen. “Actually, I don’t know much about dogs at all. It’s probably my fault for trying to engage with her when I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  Hugh picked up his mug and joined us at the table. “Sorry about the mixed signals,” he said to Faith. “I guess you’re a good dog, even if you did make me look foolish.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Bernadette said. “You could never look foolish.”

  Their gazes met across the table. For a moment, it looked as though he might lean over and kiss her again. Then Hugh seemed to remember that Faith and I were watching. He settled back in his seat.

  “So you’re here to ask questions about what happened to Ralph,” he said. “How can I help?”

  “Did you know Mr. Penders?” I asked.

  “Not really. I’d seen him around the neighborhood a time or two, when I was here visiting Bernadette. He wasn’t a friendly type of guy. We never had a conversation or anything. He had this way of standing there and looking right through you. I found it pretty unnerving.”

  “That wasn’t Ralph’s fault,” Bernadette said quickly. “The poor man had dementia. It had been growing worse too. Ralph had good days and bad ones. Just like my family, he’d lived in this neighborhood for years. Even so, sometimes when he went out walking, he’d lose his way or forget where he was. Then one of the neighbors would have to go out and steer him back home. He never meant anybody any harm.”