Mahjonged (An Alex Harris Mystery) Page 24

  I looked at the concern in her eyes and I remembered how she sat at my grandmother’s table coloring with Henry and instantly realized I had nothing to fear from this woman who had killed another. “Yes, Jean, he’s fine.”

  She looked at me and then let out a breath she had been holding for the last few seconds, maybe for the last week and a half. “You know, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Well, not all of it, no, but yes, I know you killed Penelope.”

  “Come in.”

  I entered the living room and took the same seat on the sofa where I sat last week while Jean went into the kitchen. She came back with a cup of tea for me and set it on the coffee table. She followed my eyes to the small painting on the wall.

  “You recognize it.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s the church that’s in the background of the picture you tossed into Penelope’s grave.”

  Jean shook her head. “It was our favorite place. They had a lovely garden inside the walls of the churchyard. The flowers were the most beautiful I had ever seen. We went there often in the beginning. And then we never went at all.”

  “We?” I asked. I felt certain I was about to find out who Mystery Man was.

  “Bruce. My husband. He got this wonderful opportunity with the large accounting firm he worked for to go to Amsterdam. Europe!” Jean smiled at some distant memory. “We were so happy. But you see,” Jean said, pausing to take a sip of her coffee, “his new office was in the same building as a law firm.”

  “The firm Penelope worked for?”

  “Yes, that’s right. And Bruce had a weakness for red hair.” Jean caught me looking at hers. “Back then mine was a beautiful color. Bruce always said it’s what he noticed first.”

  “What happened then?” I asked quietly.

  “I didn’t suspect anything at first. Just long hours working. But he started to act differently toward me. Never wanted to go to our special place, always said he needed to work on the weekends.”

  “How did you find out? Did you hire someone to follow him?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” Jean got up and walked over to the small painting of the park with a bench and a woman sitting on it. She turned to me, arms crossed in front of her chest. “I had wonderful news to tell him. We tried for so long to have a baby and nothing ever happened. I spent years having test after test and no one could find a reason. And then I got pregnant. It really was a miracle. I made a special dinner, bought flowers, got all dressed up and waited. And waited some more. He finally came home around midnight and before I could say a word he told me he loved another woman he met in his building. An American, a lawyer, he said. He told me about her as if sharing this wonderful news with his best friend and wondered why I wasn’t happy for him.”

  Jean sat down on the chair across from me again and picked up her cup. She slowly sipped her coffee and I just waited for her to start again.

  “I never told him about the baby. It wouldn’t have made a difference and I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want him to stay with me for that. He moved out the next day and I packed up my things and arranged to return to the States. I went to the office once before I left and watched the two of them come out, arm in arm, and sit under a tree and eat their lunch together. Just like we used to do at the church. I only saw her once but the hair was striking.”

  “So you recognized her at my party,” I said.

  “Actually, no. I didn’t.” Jean pushed a piece of limp hair over her ear and sighed. “I had no idea when we first arrived, but then I sat with her at the first game and she started to tell everyone about living in Europe. It didn’t ring a bell until she said Amsterdam. Someone asked what she did there and she said she worked as a lawyer with an international firm. Someone mahjonged, maybe me, and then we changed tables. Would you like another cup of tea?” Jean asked me.

  I hadn’t even realized I finished it. “Yes, that would be nice.” Jean went back to the kitchen and I looked more closely at the picture of the park. The woman on the bench was clearly pregnant. In the next painting, the bench was empty. Where was the baby?

  “Here you go,” Jean said returning to the living room. “Where was I? Oh, yes, so we changed tables but I kept my ear focused on Penelope’s conversation. She dominated most of it all night, but I had a hard time hearing. At the last hand I sat next to her again. I asked her if she was married and she told me he died. I lost touch with Bruce after I left. I heard through the grapevine he began to drink quite heavily and I figured he died from that, but then Penelope said something like, ‘oh, I miss Pieter so much.’ Pieter? I almost blurted out something at that point. Who was Pieter? I wanted to ask about Bruce but of course I couldn’t. She continued to chatter on and it came out she hadn’t loved Pieter at first but he looked good on paper and after all their years together she did love him after all. From the time frame I figured she met Pieter at the firm and dumped Bruce. Poor Bruce.” Jean put her head down and looked into her coffee cup.

  “Jean, why after all these years did you feel the need to kill Penelope?” I asked. “It’s a long time to carry a grudge against someone.”

  Jean looked up from the cup and smiled at me. “I didn’t kill her because of Bruce. I was devastated when he left me, I admit. It took me a long time to get over the hurt and the betrayal, but it never would have lasted with us. We wanted different things, really.”

  “So why?”

  “Alex, have you ever wanted something so badly the fact you couldn’t have it consumed you night and day?”

  I shook my head. So far my life had been pretty easy and I usually got what I wanted if I worked at it.

  “Well, I did. I wanted a baby. Bruce didn’t care one way or another, but, oh, how I wanted to be a mother. After I left Bruce, I came back here. I filed for divorce and that was that. I was lucky I had an inheritance to live off though I worked some. Maybe it was hormones running rampant, I don’t know, but I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t eat well, and I just existed under a cloud of stress. I was so happy about the baby but very sad at not having anyone to share it with. Then my mother died and it threw me into a depression I can’t even describe. I didn’t take care of myself.

  “And then I went into labor. I held my little boy in my arms until he died and they took him from me. They said no one was to blame, these things happened, but I blamed her. Penelope. For taking Bruce, for forcing me to come home when I had been so content in Amsterdam, for my sleepless nights, for everything. And when I saw her it all came back. Not that it’s ever been far from the surface. And I heard your sister talking about Henry. He sounded like a wonderful little boy, so full of life. I named my baby Henry. After my father. And so I killed her.”

  I sat there silently watching Jean and realized I had tears coming down my face.

  Jean got up from the chair and came to my side. “It’s okay, Alex. I feel better telling you all of this. I knew I couldn’t get away with it and I really didn’t want to. I died a long time ago with my baby. Could I ask you a favor?”

  I couldn’t manage to say anything and just shook my head.

  “I’d like to go to the police station now. Would you drive me?”

  Just like that. Jean stood up and I realized she meant now. She didn’t take her purse, she didn’t grab any clothes. Nothing. She turned out the light and we walked out the door.

  When we got to the station, Jean insisted on going in alone. I walked her to the front door and asked if she was sure?

  “I am. I need to do this on my own. I don’t want to put you through that. Just go.”

  I turned to leave and headed down the walk.

  “Alex?”

  I turned back to Jean. “Yes?”

  “Don’t tell Henry what happened to me, okay. I want him to think of me as the nice lady who gave him the coloring book.”

  She opened the door and walked into the Indian Cove Police Station. Through the window I saw Detective Maroni walking down the hall, probably leaving for the night. I watched as Jean
stopped him and they exchanged a few words. He took her by the arm and started to lead her back the way he had come when he caught sight of me.

  I gave him a small shrug and then walked away.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  No one was home when I got back and I felt relieved. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Taking Jean to the police station had to be one of the hardest things I ever did. I made a cup of tea, took it up to my room and burst into tears.

  The next morning I got up before everyone, dressed and went out to breakfast. I still didn’t want to face anyone but after consuming three pancakes, four strips of bacon and a pot of tea I felt better and headed to the office. I called my mother, Sam, and Meme and asked them to come by as soon as they could. An hour later they all sat in my office, along with Millie, and I told them the story.

  “I can’t believe it,” my mother said, shaking her head.

  “I shouldn’t have been talking about Henry. That was probably the straw that broke the camel’s back,” my sister said. “No wonder she felt so close to him.”

  “That poor woman,” Meme said.

  My mother turned to my grandmother. “What are you saying? She killed someone.”

  I shook my head. “I have to agree with Meme. I know she killed someone but she said something as I drove her to the station. She said ‘I’m not a killer. I know that sounds odd considering I killed someone, but I’m not a killer.’ I think I understand,” I finished, though I wasn’t sure if I did.

  My mother sat there quietly for a minute and then looked up through wet eyes. “Your father hasn’t slept since Henry got hit by that texting bastard,” she spat. “I think if the man had stopped instead of driving away, or if Henry had, well, I think your father would have pulled him from the car and I don’t know what he would have done.” My mother’s hands shook.

  Meme reached over and patted her daughter’s hand. “It’s okay, Mable. We all love that boy and would do anything for him.”

  My sister cleared her throat and asked, “What about the mahjong hand? Did you ask her about that? How did she manage to put it on Penelope’s rack in the dark? And why didn’t Penelope recognize her last name?”

  “She uses her maiden name. And she didn’t put all the tiles on Penelope’s rack. It was her own hand and she just dumped Penelope’s and slide the tiles on Penelope’s rack. But the thing is she planned to kill Penelope even before the lights went out. She just got the knife and didn’t expect to get away with it and she didn’t care. But then the lights went out and she stabbed Penelope and then just blended back in with the group and couldn’t believe she didn’t get caught.”

  “But you said she was happy you figured it out,” Millie said.

  “She didn’t want to get away with it. I think she would have turned herself in pretty soon even if I didn’t figure it out. I think that might be why she tossed the picture into the grave. She knew I saw the painting and would put two and two together.”

  “What else tipped you off, honey? You said a few things fit into place,” Meme asked.

  “Meme, remember when I said I should have another party and you said you wanted to be on Jean’s team because she played so well?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. She won a lot of games.”

  “Because she played the version we played in Amsterdam. She belonged to an international women’s group with quite a few military wives as members. So she knew all along how to play. And when I admired her paintings she said she painted from memory or postcards. The church in the painting is in Holland.”

  “I just don’t know what to say. I really liked her,” my mom said.

  “Well, Mable, I bet she would like some company every now and then when she’s in prison. We could drive out together and visit.”

  My mother was sparred having to answer Meme by my ringing phone.

  “That was John,” I said a minute later. “He should be home in about an hour and a half. Millie, can you cover for me again? And Sam, I need you to go with me and get all my stuff out of mom and dad’s and take it back to my house.”

  Meme started to cackle. “Boy, honey, you cut it real close.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Mom took Meme home while Sam and I gathered up all my stuff from my old room and piled it all into her van along with Henry who wanted to go see the murder house. My sister really needed to watch what she talked about in front of the kid. We took everything back to my house and she opened up all the windows to air the place out while I restocked my closet upstairs.

  “Do you think he’ll notice any telltale smell?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s not like she died in here and no one found her for days, Alex. And besides, I’m pretty sure when he goes in to work tomorrow, someone just might mention the little episode that happened at his house last week.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “And I’ll bet the crime scene tape over there is going to be a dead giveaway,” Sam said gesturing to the library door.

  “Oh shit!”

  Henry started to laugh. “Mom’s going to wash your mouth out with soap, Auntie.”

  “Sorry, kiddo,” I said as we heard a car door slam.

  “I’m outta here. Come on, Henry, Auntie Alex and Uncle John are going to have a fight.”

  “Can we watch?”

  “Nope, it’s going to get nasty.”

  At Henry’s startled look, I glared at my sister. “She’s just kidding you. Your mom is such a kidder. Now go out there and keep him busy while I get rid of the tape,” I said as I pushed Sam out the door, probably harder than I should have.

  I ran to the tape and started pulling it from the molding. A piece got caught on my sweater and when I tried to pull it away the piece hanging from the door attached itself to my back. My fingers were sticky and another piece of tape had managed to wind its way around my thumb just as John walked in.

  “Alex, why is Henry in a cast? Your sister said you would tell me all about why Henry is in a cast. What happened to him? Is he going to be…What is that all over you? Is that crime scene tape? Alex, what the hell is going on here?”

  I gave one last tug on a piece of the tape from hell and it came off my sweater with a snapping sound. I played around with it a bit longer while I tried to think of how to explain all that had happened to John. I looked up at him and smiled brightly. He sure did look good with a bit of scruff on his chin. Maybe I could entice him up to our room if I batted my eyes. Apparently he was having none of it because he came over and stood right in front of me.

  “What the heck is wrong with your eyes?”

  So much for trying to be seductive. I tried to turn away, but he grabbed hold of my hands and held them, a bit too tightly if you asked me. This certainly wasn’t the reunion I planned on.

  “Alex? Talk to me? What have you been up to?”

  “Why do you think I’ve been up to something?”

  “You’re covered in crime scene tape,” he said with his voice raised much too high to suit me.

  “Well, if you’re going to yell, John…” I began, trying my delaying tactic again.

  “And I want you to start at the very beginning. Don’t leave anything out. I mean it.”

  “At the very beginning?” I asked thinking he should really watch what he wished for.

  “At the very beginning.”

  “Okay. Well,” I said taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “It was a dark and stormy night.”

  The End

  BIO

  Elaine Macko is a transplanted New Englander living in California. From a very young age, she possessed an over-active imagination finding intrigue and mayhem in everyday situations, often with hilarious results.

  In the 1980s bored with life in general, it was time to change direction. Signing up for a six-day vacation to London and Brussels in the dead of winter, Elaine found time to meet and fall in love with a local Belgian man and extended her trip to last 12 years. While living abroad Elaine
became a board member of a charitable organization and taught Mexican cooking classes to the expatriate community. With a love of writing always lingering on the back burner, Elaine decided to try her hand writing a mystery and after several months, completed a draft of her first book, Armed, and moved on to three other books in the series.

  Elaine never forgot her New England roots and centers her books in the fictional town of Indian Cove, Connecticut. Each book includes a European connection bringing together her love of both places.

  An active member of Sisters in Crime, Elaine takes comfort in knowing that there are many others like her out there spending all their free time trying to come up with inventive ways to kill people.

  Contents

  Title page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE