Thirteen Diamonds

CHAPTER 16

“Okay, Tess, are you ready to review the evidence to date?”

“Ready when you are.”

Tess sat on my couch with her yellow pad, her pen poised for writing. We had just returned from our Monday morning water aerobics class and the endorphins flowed in our bodies. Or maybe acid flowed in our stomachs. Tess had decided that I was incorrigible and would never drop the case, so she saw her job as trying to keep me out of trouble. I poured her a cup of coffee, which she promptly smothered with cream and sugar. I poured myself a cup and left it black.

“Let's start with Gerald's will. First, he left $500,000 to Silver Acres.”

“A goodly sum of money. And people have been known to kill for an inheritance, but in this case that would be weird because the money is going to a nonprofit organization.”

“Right. Next, he's leaving $100,000 to his grandniece, who is apparently supporting a surfer. But she inherited the house she lives in and makes big bucks-or at least big compared to what our generation made. I did some chatting with her surfer boyfriend and asked him whether April had had a vacation recently-very innocently, as if I were concerned for her health. He said no, not for six months. She has taken some business trips, but nothing to North Carolina. There's no evidence that she has been here during the last two years or that she has any connection with anyone here.”

“Besides,” Tess said, making a note, “from what you've said about her, in some ways you wish she were your granddaughter instead of Sandra.”

I laughed. “Well, Sandra could use an attitude adjustment in regard to men. The other significant provision of Gerald's will-actually, an attachment-is forgiving Dora a $25,000 loan. Dora told me she didn't know about Gerald's forgiveness provision, which is actually more incriminating than if she had known about it. And from the way she almost fainted when I mentioned it, I believe it was a complete surprise to her.”

“And you said Gerald's copy of the note mysteriously disappeared.”

“I don't know how mysterious it was but the lawyer said he hadn't found it. Anyway, the fact that she owed Gerald money gives Dora a theoretical motive. Let's move on to other evidence. Ida-I believe the word is, allegedly-sleeping with Wesley, our beloved bridge leader. If Gerald had found out and threatened to tell Wesley's wife…”

“Now it sounds like a soap opera.” Tess made more notes. “Wesley could be an assistant or an accessory, or something. Instead of narrowing down the motives and suspects, it seems like they're expanding.”

“I know,” I admitted. “I guess I'm not cut out for this detective business. I prefer everything to be mathematically precise. And there's one more thing that I've only just touched on with you. Ellen used to live in San Diego and was married to an economist who worked with Gerald. And…Gerald apparently took credit for work Ellen's husband had done that helped Gerald get the Nobel Prize.”

“Aha! The plot thickens, as they say. So there's a revenge motive for Ellen. Didn't you say you talked to Ellen's son in San Diego? I wonder how she likes that.”

It didn't take us long to find out. A few minutes later the phone rang; it was Ellen. She got right to the point. “My son said that you talked to him.”

I admitted it.

“How dare you sneak around behind my back? How dare you talk to my son as if I were a murderer?”

“I didn't say you were a murderer. I didn't even say that a murder had been committed. But I did tell him something that you had neglected to, namely that his father, your husband, got screwed by Gerald. And, while we're on the subject, you conveniently forgot to tell me and others that you knew Gerald from before Silver Acres.”

“It was none of your damned business. I'm going to sue the pants off you for accusing me of murder.”

“I'm not accusing you of murder. You're the one who's doing that. Look, Ellen, the smartest thing you can do right now is bring everything about your relationship with Gerald out in the open. Until you do that there are people who will be suspicious of you.”

The silence lengthened and I wondered whether she was still there. Then she said, “And just who should I confess to?”

“Me.” I realized that probably wouldn't sell so I added, “And Tess. She's a neutral observer.”

“She's your friend.”

“True, but she's trying to keep me from flying off the deep end. I'll tell you what; come on over to my place for lunch.”

Typically, when I made lunch for myself, I would throw together a sandwich or a bowl of soup and be done with it. But Tess and I decided to do it up right. We took a quick trip to the supermarket and then, between her cooking ability and my talent for baking we prepared a feast, with a salmon dish, Caesar salad, hot rolls and apple pie for dessert.

Ellen arrived, wearing a red jacket over a white blouse, and blue slacks. I had to admit that she was one of the better looking women at Silver Acres, even with her dyed hair, but you have to understand that if we had held a beauty contest nobody would have won.

Tess had counseled me against firing questions at Ellen as soon as she walked in the door, on the theory that she might be more open with us on a full stomach. We ate at my small table, which seats four comfortably-but no more-and talked about trivial things.

As the meal progressed I used my growing powers of observation to note Ellen's body language. I could see her relax; her muscles lost their tenseness and her shoulders settled perceptibly, like an over-inflated tire when you let some of the air out.

She started talking while eating apple pie a la mode. “I met Max when we were both graduate students at the University of Michigan. We got married two weeks after he received his Ph. D. His first job was teaching at a small college in Ohio, but then he was offered a job at the University of California at San Diego. We were thrilled because both of us had always wanted to live in California.”

Ellen stopped talking and ate a piece of pie. “I love apple pie,” she said.

I glanced at Tess; she gave me a signal to keep quiet.

“At first I taught high school,” Ellen continued, “but then I started having children and quit teaching. I didn't teach again until my youngest boy-Michael-started school.

“After Max had been at UCSD a few years, Gerald joined the faculty. Max and Gerald hit it off immediately. They collaborated on several papers that were published in various places. Then they decided to write a book together.”

“ Fiat Money Madness,” I blurted out before Tess' warning look could stop me.

“That's right.” Ellen nodded and savored a spoonful of real vanilla ice cream. When you get to be our age you can treat yourself once in a while without feeling guilty. “They both thought it had a lot of potential. They divided up the chapters…they worked very well together.”

Ellen said the last in an ironic tone. She looked as if she was about to say something more, but then she paused and sipped her coffee. She swallowed and continued, “Just when the book was about ready for publication Max had his stroke. He became completely incapacitated. Gerald was sympathetic and said he would handle everything regarding the book.

“I let him do it; I was overwhelmed with taking care of Gerald and teaching. I still had kids in school and I had to have money coming in. Max did receive a modest advance for the book. He had already signed the publishing contract when he got sick. I was looking forward to seeing the book in print. But when I saw my first copy I was completely shocked.”

“Because Max's name wasn't on it,” I said.

“ There was no mention of Max anywhere in the book.” Ellen looked from one of us to the other, her eyes blazing, her body shaking, reliving the moment from the past.

An awkward pause ensued; I didn't know what to say. Finally, Tess asked, “Did Max receive royalties?”

“Yes, over the next several years he…I received royalty checks, but they were never large. If you know anything about the writing business you know that very few people make a living from it.”

I knew. “Did you confront Gerald?” I asked.

“Of course. He had the audacity to claim that Max's contribution hadn't been that great. He said Max was getting half of the royalties and that I should be satisfied with that.”

“But none of the credit,” I said.

“I should have sued him, of course, but I didn't have the heart-or the time-or the energy. When he received his Nobel Prize I wouldn't go to the dinner at the University honoring him and I never did congratulate him.”

“I'm curious about one thing,” Tess said. “How did you and Gerald both end up at Silver Acres?”

Ellen laughed, shortly. “I see now that I made a mistake. Gerald came here first, after his wife died. I was still working, still putting kids through school. After Michael, the last one, graduated from dental school I told them, “Okay, you're on your own.” I stayed in our house for a few more years, but it was too big, too lonesome.

“Believe it or not, one of the reasons I came here was because Gerald picked it. Whatever else I can say about him, he always did his homework, so I figured that if he had selected Silver Acres it must be a good place. I thought I could put the past behind me and coexist with him.”

“And play bridge with him just the way you used to,” I said.

Ellen smiled a grim smile. “I suppose so.”

“Was Gerald the one who was dealt the hand of 13 diamonds you saw once before?”

“I'm sorry?” Ellen looked blank.

“You told me that you had seen a hand of 13 diamonds dealt once before, a long time ago.”

“Not me. You must be thinking of somebody else.”

All right, play that game, I thought. I had another point to make. I said, “Back when Max and Gerald were working together, you must have invited each other over for dinner.” Ellen's expression became guarded so I continued, quickly, “So you obviously knew about his allergy to shellfish.”

Ellen pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “I have to go,” she said, coldly. “Thank you for lunch.” She marched past us and out the door, without looking back.

Tess watched the door close behind her and then got up and retrieved her yellow pad. She riffled through several pages, stopped at one and said, “When you talked to Ellen on the croquet course she told you that she didn't know about Gerald's allergy to shellfish because they weren't close friends.”

I said, “I think we're seeing a pattern of lying here.”