Chapter Nine
Nine
“All right, Catherine, Margaret. I’m going to write something down. Please be aware of our surroundings. We do not want to cause a scene.”
Geoffrey took a small police notebook from his inside jacket pocket. Margaret dabbed some pastry crumbs off her plate and put them into her mouth. As soon as Catherine’s brownie had arrived, Margaret had wondered if she’d made the wrong choice.
Geoffrey wrote down one word, looked over his shoulder, and then placed the notebook at the center of the table for Catherine and Margaret to read.
“MURDER?” said Margaret.
“Shhh!”
She said it lower this time. “Murder?”
“Are we ruling out suicide?” asked Catherine. “Or just a fall? Why murder?”
“I’m ruling nothing out.” Geoffrey took the notebook and scribbled again. He slowly slid it back to the center of the table, reveling in the tension.
“CAROL? YOU THINK CAROL KILLED DESMOND?”
“I think perhaps, Geoffrey,” said Catherine, “that if you just talk to us, rather than writing things down, then Margaret will stop yelling them out.”
Margaret leaned forward, whispering this time, “You think Carol killed Desmond?”
“I think it’s certainly a possibility. Here’s what we know: Deaths, at Sheldon Oaks, are not a rare occurrence. We are, all of us, in life’s final chapter.”
“Really, Geoffrey,” said Catherine. “I’d rather not dwell on that, if you don’t mind. I feel I have a ways to go.”
“Your skin is looking lovely today, Catherine.”
“Thank you, Margaret.”
“Is it a cream?”
“Could be. I have some samples from Liberty, if you’d like.”
“It’s diet, genes, and a lack of direct sunlight,” snapped Geoffrey. “Now, as I was saying, there are plenty of deaths at Sheldon but they’re all pretty much the same. Natural causes or whatnot.”
“Strokes. Lot of strokes this year,” said Margaret.
“What is unusual is people falling off of roofs. And our first such death comes when? Shortly after we gain a new resident who happens to be a convicted killer. And who is the first to supposedly witness that death? That very same killer.”
“Carol,” said Margaret firmly, warming to his theme.
“I can see what you’re saying, Geoffrey,” said Catherine. “It seems a little bit of a stretch to me, but you could be right. I’m sure that if she was involved, the police will catch her soon enough.”
“Catherine. It gives me no pleasure to say this but the police force are, in my opinion, too politically correct to solve this crime. They should be at Sheldon Oaks right now, scouring the place for evidence, pinning Carol up against the wall, extracting the truth. But where are they? They’re back at the station.
Most likely putting the final touches on some rainbow flag bunting for their weekly parade.
Or…or…” He scrambled, looking for another made-up scenario.
“Or practicing a dance routine for the Notting Hill Carnival or…”
“Geoffrey, is this because they wouldn’t let you get involved?” asked Margaret.
“No! Absolutely not.”
“I think it is,” teased Catherine. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man look so sad.”
“They are failing to see what they have at their disposal,” said Geoffrey. “A man on the inside!”
“So what are you suggesting?” asked Catherine.
“I think we should investigate it ourselves. This is important. If Carol did do it, then it’s unlikely to be a one-off event, is it? Any one of us could be next.”
“I really don’t think this is the sort of thing Margaret and I want to be getting ourselves involved in.”
“You speak for yourself,” said Margaret. “I think I could have a lot to offer the investigation. And Geoffrey’s right. We may need to act quickly before it turns into a…what’s the word?”
“Killing spree?”
“Yes, that’s it. Killing spree! We need to prevent a killing spree! Thank you, dear. We’re ready for the bill now, if you are.”
The waitress cleared the table. Margaret thought she had seen her double take at “killing spree,” but she was far too excited to stop her train of thought. “So what do you two think we should do, then?”
“Well, I think it’s obvious,” said Geoffrey. “We need to do what the police have thus far failed to do. Question the chief suspect.”