The Grilling Season Read online

  “Yes.” I exhaled. “A woman is dead, and like it or not, at the moment I’m feeling extremely guilty because I never pressed charges against him and got him sent to jail. If I had, maybe Suz Craig would be alive today.”

  “Don’t feel too bad, Goldy.” His face assumed its typically philosophical expression. “Nobody can go back in time. It’s a bummer, but there it is.” He shrugged.

  I took another discreet sip of my coffee and bit into one of the biscuits. It was moist, hot, and comforting. “Macguire, do you know if my ex-husband had other current girlfriends besides Suz Craig? Did you hear or see something … at his office, say? Why did you say ‘one’ of his girlfriends?”

  Macguire scraped back his chair and avoided my eyes. “Uh,” he replied slowly, “maybe I should just talk to Tom about it.”

  “Probably that would be a good idea. But it’s unlikely Tom will be assigned to this case.”

  “Bummer.” He sighed.

  “Did Dr. Korman have another girlfriend that you know about?”

  “Oh, well, no, not exactly. Maybe I’m just imagining things because I was, like, jealous. I just thought … that he had something going with ReeAnn.”

  “You saw John Richard and ReeAnn together? Away from the office?”

  “Weil, yeah. He was over at ReeAnn’s house once, in the evening, when I dropped by to give her a book about Porsches. I mean, I didn’t have to take it over. I was like, taking it instead of mailing it because I just wanted to see her. But Dr. Korman was over there and they were cooking out.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Oh … end of the school year, I think. You know Arch and I walk over to the office sometimes. But ReeAnn and I never talk about any deep stuff while Arch is visiting his dad. Or seeing if his dad wants to visit.” He thought for a moment. “But one time I did ask her if she wanted to go to the CD store with me—”

  “Macguire.”

  “Yeah. Well, when we went to the store, we looked at CDs and talked about this and that and I asked ReeAnn if there were, like, any guys in her life at the moment, and she got all secretive and said, maybe. Then I asked her about her job, and she had all kinds of things to say. She didn’t like the secretary who had worked there before her, because that woman was fired to make way for ReeAnn. Or so ReeAnn thought.”

  “Beatrice Waxman.”

  “She called her Battleaxe Woman. Battleaxe Woman wouldn’t help ReeAnn learn the filing.”

  “Filing?”

  “Filing, filing claims, something. But the person ReeAnn really hated big-time was this Craig lady with the HMO. Suz Craig. Some hotshot veep, right?”

  “A vice-president, yes.”

  Macguire shook his head, remembering. “Well, Tom might want to get somebody from the department to talk to ReeAnn about Ms. Craig. ReeAnn was trying to work on billing with the HMO, and Ms. Craig drove her crazy. I’m telling you, I don’t know why, but ReeAnn really hated that Craig woman’s guts.”

  Chapter 8

  From our front porch I watched thin, sweatsuit-clad Macguire lope painfully down the sidewalk after Arch, who had changed into too-large green Bermuda shorts and a faded green T-shirt—both garments left behind by Julian. With his short arms outstretched and his glasses slipping down his wrinkled nose, Arch tugged unsuccessfully on Jake’s leash. The bloodhound’s long tawny legs lunged briskly down the pavement. When the unlikely trio spun past the corner store in the direction of John Richard’s office, I wearily turned to go back to my kitchen. Your dad’s under arrest. Despite Marla’s beliefs to the contrary, no amount of walking was going to make that better.

  At the front door I was brought up short by the security system panel that had been installed two summers previously. Back then, after almost four years of being on my own, I’d begun to go out again. To go out occasionally. To go out occasionally with men. And just when I’d thought John Richard had mended his ways, his behavior suddenly became a problem. Why should I have been surprised? He hadn’t liked the idea of me dating. To demonstrate his opposition to my new social life, he’d threatened a reduction in child support—through his lawyer, of course—and then had taken to driving slowly past our house. Well, I’d been a psych major in college; I knew passive-aggressive behavior when I saw it. Amid the Jerk’s protests of uninvolvement—I never went near your place, bitch—I’d gotten the system, both for deterrent and for actual security. And by and large, the system had done the trick.

  This morning John Richard Korman had once again been utterly adamant concerning his innocence. But we weren’t talking about cruising past someone’s house or making financial threats. Still, he’d almost convinced me he hadn’t killed Suz Craig. At least for a brief moment, I’d suspended disbelief and accepted his story. Now, of course, I was equally certain he’d been lying. They’d mixed it up, he’d said. John Richard Korman always had an explanation ready for losing his temper and beating the living daylights out of whatever woman was offending him. People couldn’t change that much in two years. People couldn’t change that much in a lifetime. I made a mental note to ask Tom if Suz Craig’s house had a security system.

  I was about to punch the panel buttons when a sheriff’s department car pulled up in front of the house. Two women got out—Sergeant Beiner and a uniformed woman I didn’t recognize. I nodded and waved. Of course. Sergeant Beiner had said she’d be coming over later. I would have to answer more questions. Well, maybe they could tell me a thing or two.

  Sergeant Beiner’s step was spry as she strode up our sidewalk. Her high, feathered top of blond-gray hair shook when she asked me how I was doing. When I said I was passable, she smiled briefly, showing slender, yellow teeth, and asked if she could run a few more things by me.

  “Deputy Irving will take notes.”

  Deputy Irving, a curly-haired brunette with a plump face and a uniform that pulled tightly around her midsection, nodded. Deputy Irving was under thirty, with no wedding ring.

  “I’m sure you know the questions,” Sergeant Beiner began in a soothing, apologetic tone. When she smiled, her face wrinkled pleasantly. “Down at the department, we’re aware of your record of detection.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. “I want to help.”

  “We also remember that you managed to break somebody out of jail once. Somebody who was innocent, as it turned out.”

  “You have nothing to worry about this time,” I assured her. “Would you like some coffee? I’ve had the equivalent of about sixteen cups today, I think. One more can’t hurt.”

  Both women shook their heads. I invited them to be seated on the porch chairs. When the three of us were settled, Deputy Irving dutifully pulled out her notebook and recorded my name and address. Again I told the sergeant about spotting Suz Craig in the ditch by her home around a quarter to seven and about phoning for medical help.

  “Did you suspect she was dead?” Sergeant Beiner asked mildly.

  I looked away. “Yes. But I know the drill too, Sergeant Beiner. That’s why I phoned EMS.”

  “A woman on the street named Lynn Tollifer saw you through her front window. She didn’t know why you went back to Schulz’s car after starting up the street. She figured you were calling about vandalism. Mrs. Tollifer said she couldn’t see the ditch from her window. See the body, you know.”

  “My friend Marla Korman got a call from Lynn about Suz, and Lynn said her son told her about Suz …” I paused. “You don’t think vandals had anything to do with …”

  Sergeant Beiner shrugged. “You were there for the arrest.” It wasn’t a question. She regarded me with the same calm manner that infused her voice. “Of course you’ve got somebody to vouch for your whereabouts during the night.” That wasn’t a question, either.

  “Tom can vouch for me. He came in at midnight. What exactly did Lynn’s son see?”

  Sergeant Beiner gave me the same wrinkle-faced smile she had when she arrived at the house. “How well did you know Suz Craig?”

  I tried not to
envision the pale corpse in the ditch when Suz’s name was mentioned. Impossible. “I catered for her once,” I replied. “And of course she was my ex-husband’s girlfriend. His current girlfriend. Or at least one of them,” I added. Deputy Irving scribbled away. “I’m not sure if he had other girlfriends, but he might have. His secretary, ReeAnn Collins, might know. She keeps his calendar. Plus, it’s possible ReeAnn might have been seeing John Richard herself.”

  When asked, I spelled ReeAnn’s name for them.

  Sergeant Beiner rocked back in her chair. “How long ago did you cater this event for Ms. Craig?”

  “Little less than a month. July tenth, I think. No, wait, the eleventh. It was a Friday, and the group of people had all been visiting for a week at the Denver office of the AstuteCare HMO. ACHMO.”

  “What group of people?”

  “Human Resources. That’s what one of them told me. ACHMO is based in Minneapolis and that’s where the team was from.”

  “Did any of them talk to you?”

  I thought back. Steamed trout, vegetable frittata, coleslaw, wild rice salad with porcini mushrooms, fruit cup, chocolate truffles. Everyone had seemed to be in a good mood. “They were happy. Suz seemed pleased, too, with all her landscaping underway. She was pointing out the plants that were being put in as part of a landscaping project. I think it was being done by Aspen Meadow Nursery.”

  A look passed between the two officers. Sergeant Beiner regarded me with pursed lips, then said, “Suz Craig fired Aspen Meadow Nursery. By all accounts, she was pretty hard to work for.”

  “Really? Well, I think she fired the nursery because one of her department heads fell down the stone steps. He sprained his ankle, and she mentioned she was going to fire her landscapers.” I paused. “Actually, I’m surprised. She seemed so excited about their work.”

  “Was Suz Craig a demanding client when you catered for her?” Beiner wanted to know.

  I thought for a minute. Had Suz been hard to work for? Not even slightly. Although most of my clients were wonderful, I’d had enough horrendous ones to know the type. “I didn’t have any problem with her. It was a one-shot deal, though, not a long-term project. If anything, she seemed unusually accommodating.” I remembered Suz, her blond ponytail bobbing, her shiny blue silk skirt skimming her knees as she stepped along the newly laid path. “She praised me to the skies for my food, and insisted I go around her property with the guests. She even helped me with the cleanup.” When the two policewomen said nothing, I added, “That’s unusual, believe me.”

  “Were these people from Minneapolis still around when she was so magnanimously cleaning up?”

  “All five department heads were there. The Provider Relations man left because of his injury. He was the one who fell down the steps. The HR guy asked me for a recipe.”

  “HR?”

  “Human Resources. The head of HR at the Denver office of AstuteCare is Brandon Yuille. Do you know him? His mother died last year, and his father, Mickey Yuille, bought the Aspen Meadow Pastry Shop not long after. Now that Mickey keeps baker’s hours, I hardly ever see him. But I’m friends with the Yuilles. We swap recipes and food. I made them some fudge last week and they gave me some Thai peanut sauce.” I paused. “So. That’s who was there that I can remember.”

  Beiner raised her eyebrows. “All those people were still around when Ms. Craig was doing the dishes with you?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Maybe she wanted to impress the Minneapolis people with her versatility. Do you know anything else about her?” Beiner prompted me.

  “She was single. Wealthy. Smart. Very pretty.”

  “Right.”

  I sighed deeply, because I knew what was coming next.

  “Okay, Mrs. Schulz,” said Beiner. “You have any idea why someone would want Suz Craig dead?”

  If Arch were here, he would say, “Don’t answer, Mom.” And of course, really, I didn’t know that John Richard would want Suz dead. But he could lose his temper so easily. Especially if the woman with command of the purse strings had pulled those strings shut.

  “My ex-husband, Dr. John Richard Korman, is having money problems. Severe money problems. He’s a member doctor of the AstuteCare HMO, they pay him a salary. What I heard was—”

  “What you heard from whom?”

  “His other ex-wife. Marla Korman. You might want to talk to her. Marla told me that John Richard hadn’t yet received his bonus. Apparently, Suz was the one who decided whether he got it or not.”

  Beiner nodded; Irving wrote and flipped a page.

  “Know about her relationships with anyone else? Neighbors? Friends?”

  “She was fairly new in the community. To be fair, I think she moved up here to be closer to John Richard.”

  “What did your ex-husband say to you about their relationship?”

  What did he ever say to me about a relationship he was having? The woman I’m with now is so much nicer/smarter/prettier/more together than you. I shrugged. “The usual. He adored her.”

  “Mrs. Schulz? Does your ex-husband have any reason to think you disliked Suz Craig?”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “John Richard believed I was jealous of Suz. Which of course I was not. I really didn’t know too much about their relationship. He was going out with her last night, I know that. Then this morning he mentioned that they’d ‘mixed it up.’ That’s one of his terms for beating up a woman. Another one is ‘getting physical.’” As if his losses of temper were bouts. “You know that my complaints of his violence against me, including photographs of my face and body, are part of police record.”

  Her voice a tone lower, Beiner said, “You’re saying there’s not much to like in John Richard Korman.”

  “I divorced him.”

  The sergeant made a circular motion with her finger and Deputy Irving closed her notebook. In the same low tone, Beiner asked, “So do you have a theory on this? I’d really like to know.”

  Unexpectedly, the old rage surged up. The thought of sitting on my porch and calmly saying, Yes, I think he beat this woman to death, made me ill. I clenched my teeth, cleared my throat, swallowed hard. “The facts of the case will tell you what happened,” I said finally. “Just beware of John Richard Korman. He’s the most accomplished liar you’ll ever meet.” When no more questions were forthcoming, I asked, “Are we done?”

  The two women stood. Sergeant Beiner followed Deputy Irving down the steps. Then she turned back.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs. Schulz? You look kind of green around the gills. Do you need a victim advocate?”

  “I need Tom.”

  The sergeant nodded. She said, “I’ll call him from the car,” and strode away.

  Back in my kitchen, I decided against calling Marla. It was getting on to late morning. No matter how difficult, I had to put this catastrophe behind me. I had to do the rest of the food prep for the hockey party. Besides, Marla was undoubtedly on the phone at this very moment, chatting up her country-club cronies to glean everything she could about Suz Craig and her relationship with John Richard Korman. Marla would give me an exhaustive report of her findings before long, of that I could bet the contents of my refrigerator.

  I tried to stir the chilled frosting with a wooden spoon. Too cold. I stared at my silent phone. Good old Marla. While I’d done everything in my power to distance myself from John Richard, the fact that we had Arch in common meant I had to deal with my ex-husband, at the very least, on a biweekly basis. Marla, on the other hand, had no children in common with the Jerk, had no reason to see him at all, in fact, and yet she took the greatest delight in following, and reporting on, his every escapade. Her way of despising John Richard was to gloat over and widely publicize each of his setbacks, even if they were slight. And when he had some kind of triumph, like being bought out by ACHMO, her compensation for his good fortune was that she got a cut of the deal.

  I set aside the icing, booted up my computer, and studied the menu for ton
ight’s party. The last thing I wanted to do was work an event. My thoughts slipped back to poor, sweet, confused Arch, and I suddenly realized I’d been selfish. He needed a victim advocate. I put in a quick call to the office of the therapist Arch had worked with several years ago. An answering machine at the shrink’s office picked up. Feeling disconsolate, I left a message saying my fourteen-year-old son was going through a crisis and needed help asap.

  Work, I told myself. You’ll feel better. The kitchen clock was closing in on eleven-thirty. My contract time for the party setup was five o’clock, and I had miles to go before packing up and taking off.

  I filled my pasta pentola with water and set it on to boil. Three salads for this evening and one of them was … One of them was …

  One of his girlfriends was … John Richard had a girlfriend besides Suz Craig? Black-haired, perky, distance-cyclist ReeAnn Collins, of all people? Of course, I’d always been convinced that John Richard had fired his previous secretary, stodgy, reliable Beatrice Waxman, and hired nubile ReeAnn, because of the latter’s looks. I doubted ReeAnn—whose father, according to Macguire, had promised her a Porsche if she’d get a job—had any prowess with word processing. Or, heaven only knew, computerized billing.

  And how did Macguire fit into all this? He’d gone over to ReeAnn’s townhouse—another gift from Daddy—at dinnertime, with the flimsy excuse of delivering a book. He’d found John Richard there before him, barbecuing with his secretary. Dinner with the secretary did not an affair make, although with John Richard it probably did. Well, I would tell Tom, as I’d promised Macguire. And I would go over to visit ReeAnn, I suddenly decided.

  The hockey-party menu indicated that I had promised Mediterranean orzo salad, a vegetable mélange I’d dubbed Grilled Slapshot Salad, and Vietnamese Slaw, all of which needed to be prepared and chilled. While the pasta was cooking, Marla called.

  “That didn’t take long,” I commented as I began to pit Kalamata olives.

  “Give me a break, I’ve been worried about you. How are you doing?” Her voice trembled with concern. I felt the usual pang of gratitude that she was such a long-suffering friend.