Thirteen Diamonds

CHAPTER 20

I'm not the sort of person who gets pleasure from confronting people with their faults, especially when one of those faults is murder, but in a way I felt I owed it to Ellen to talk to her before going to the police.

For one thing I felt compassion for Ellen; after all, Gerald did pull a dirty trick on her husband, possibly even defrauding him out of a share of a Nobel Prize, and Ellen out of reflected glory, not to mention the money that goes with it.

I guess I hoped there could be a resolution other than throwing Ellen in jail for life. Perhaps she could plea bargain and get off with probation.

Tess wouldn't go with me; she had even less stomach for this confrontation than I did and she fervently hoped that Ellen hadn't murdered Gerald. She still hoped that he hadn't been murdered.

I called Ellen and told her I needed to talk to her and that I would be right over. I didn't give her a chance to say no. She didn't say much of anything.

When I knocked on the door to her apartment she opened it, still not speaking, ushered me in and pointed to the couch, under which April had found the deck of cards. I checked the chairs in her dining area as I walked by. There was no sign that prowlers had been there.

Ellen didn't offer me anything to eat or drink, but I wasn't expecting hospitality. She sat straight as a ruler in a chair, opposite me, and said, “Well?”

Well, here goes. I said, “Ellen, I want to tell you what I know about you and Gerald.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “I know about your husband's relationship with Gerald, of course, because you told me yourself. I believe that constitutes a motive for murder. Even more so now because of the recent revival of interest in his book.”

I used the word murder on purpose, hoping to get a rise out of her, because she was too contained, too cool. And her very coolness threatened to upset my plan, destroy my confidence. I would prefer that she be raving mad, perhaps even threaten to attack me, to her being this composed.

Her eyes blinked when I mentioned murder, but she made no other sign that I had upset her. I had to go on. “I know that you switched card decks before Gerald dealt, taking the shuffled deck and replacing it with one that you had fixed.” I had confirmed with Wesley that the deck April found under the couch was one of the “official” club decks of cards. I hadn't told him where I had gotten it.

“I know the reason you did it; when you and Gerald lived in San Diego he was once dealt 13 diamonds in a bridge hand. But he regarded it as bad luck because his partner was killed soon afterward. So you were telling Gerald that he was about to have bad luck. You hoped that this psychological ploy would hasten his death. And because you were the only one who knew about this episode in his history, you were telling him that you were his murderer.”

“That's an interesting theory,” Ellen said, with her irritating coolness. “What else do you have?”

“Of course you knew about Gerald's allergy to shellfish. It was common knowledge among the people in the Economics Department at UCSD because you all socialized together, played bridge together.

“I know that you ordered lobster from the Sea Chantey Restaurant on the day Gerald died. I know who delivered it to you and he is prepared to testify in court that he did so.” Didn't all interrogators stretch the truth a bit?

“If you know so much about me you know that I have a fondness for Maine lobster,” Ellen said, “because I grew up in New England. It just so happens it was my birthday and I wanted to treat myself. I had eaten at the Sea Chantey and so I knew they served it. End of story.”

Ellen's arrogance grew as my confidence waned. I felt as if we were on opposite sides of a tug-of-war and I was on the side that was slowly being pulled into the mud puddle. Wasn't the suspect supposed to confess at this point? That's what always happened on the television series, Murder She Wrote.

But I wasn't through yet. I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as Ellen's, “I know when you put the lobster into the casserole. You took the meat out of the shell, of course, and pureed it so it would easily blend in. Then, during the fire alarm scare, when everybody else was outside, you went back into the recreation room. You had time to mix the lobster into the bowl so that nobody would know the difference.”

Ellen looked at me with an expression that said I still hadn't broken her. She reached for a cordless phone, which sat on the table beside her, and punched in a number. Her eyes burned into mine while the phone rang, making me wish I were in Lapland, watching the reindeer.

She said, “Hello, Wesley? This is Ellen. Do you remember back to the day of the fire alarm? Lillian is with me and she has a question about where I was after the alarm went off? Would you tell her, please?”

She handed the phone to me. I hate it when a person shoves a phone in my face because they want me to talk to somebody I am completely unprepared to talk with, but if I refused to take it she would win, so I said, “Hello.”

“Hello, Lillian? This is Wesley.”

“Hello, Wesley. This is Lillian.”

“Do you want to know where Ellen was after the fire alarm went off?”

“Why, do you know?” I hoped that answering a question with a question would give me the upper hand, somehow.

“Yes, she was with me.”

“The whole time?”

“Yes. We walked out together and we walked back in together. I remember because we talked about calligraphy the whole time. Calligraphy is a hobby of mine. Sometimes I wish I had lived back in the days when the monks made beautiful copies of the Bible by hand. Ellen is interested in it too. We had a fascinating conversation. She's seen some of those Bibles on her travels to Europe.”

So had I, but somehow I hadn't known that either Wesley or Ellen had an interest in calligraphy. I mumbled something about having seen Bibles and Wesley said, “What is this all about, anyway?”

“Oh, we were just playing a game called, 'What did you do when the fire alarm went off?' It's all in fun. Go back to your calligraphy.”

I hung up the phone and tried to clean the mud off me. The tug-of-war had ended and I had lost. Ellen still watched me. It was too late for me to make a graceful retreat. I said, “I guess you win this round.”

“I plan to win all the rounds,” Ellen said, as she showed me to the door.

I stared at Carol Grant, across her desk, and couldn't contain my astonishment and rage. “You're kicking me out of Silver Acres because I accused Ellen of murder?”

“We're asking you to leave,” Carol said, smoothly, her fingers playing with a pencil.

So this is what Ellen meant when she said she planned to win all the rounds. She must have phoned Carol immediately after my visit because here I was on the hot seat in her office barely two hours later.

When I had been the accuser and Ellen the accused she had been calm and I had been agitated. Now Carol was the accuser and I was the accused and she was the calm one while I was about to explode. In fact I was so infuriated that I wanted to throw myself across the desk and strangle her.

I remembered my blood pressure and tried to cool down. But my voice betrayed my feelings when I said, “Exactly what are the grounds on which you're asking me to leave?”

“Harassment,” Carol said. “It's all spelled out in the 'Code of Conduct' that the board enacted two years ago. I'm sure you have a copy.”

Of course I had a copy, but who reads those things? It would be one thing if I were kicked out for breaking and entering, because even I would have to admit that I deserved it in that case, but harassment? “Harassment? You mean like sexual harassment?”

“Harassment doesn't have to be sexual. Hate speech is a form of harassment because it creates a hostile environment.”

I didn't hate Ellen. “It sounds to me as if you're treading on the first amendment here.”

“I don't want to be legalistic with you, but I don't think you'll fight it. I've already talked to Albert and he agreed…”

“You called Albert at his office?”

“That's where he usually is at this time of day. He agreed that you could move in with him. He has several spare bedrooms, as you know, and a beautiful house. Your dog will have a good place to live. And you can help take care of Albert's flowers.”

I was never a flower child. So Albert was also involved in this conspiracy. I felt like Julius Caesar when he said, “ Et tu, Brute?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday so the timing is perfect. Albert said he'll rent a truck to move you. He mentioned something about getting Sandra's boyfriend to help with the big pieces of furniture, such as the couch.”

My God, they already had every little detail of my future all planned. Next, they would have me declared out of my mind so that Albert could take over my assets. But why would he bother? He was going to get them all, anyway. And Albert wasn't that kind of a person. And I wasn't squandering my money buying magazine subscriptions in hopes of winning the sweepstakes, like one woman I knew.

Albert was just trying to do what was best for me. But he had caved in to Carol, without even consulting me. Was he in love with her? That would be the final blow, getting her as a daughter-in-law, after the way she was treating me.

The events of this day had just about shattered my dignity completely. I wrapped about me what little dignity I had left, like a tattered coat, and said, “You don't have to worry about me causing you any trouble. I'll go peacefully. I'll even give Silver Acres a good recommendation, if anybody asks. I'll tell them it's a place where they can live in confidence that they won't be harassed.”