Murder at the PTA Luncheon Page 9

  “And you?” Brett didn’t seem terribly interested in the good deeds of Mr. Ames, especially those that took him on a drive of less than ten miles into the neighboring state.

  “Well, everyone was gone by five-thirty, I’d guess, and the police had taken everything they needed, so I left Gertie to straighten up the kitchen and—”

  “Gertie?”

  “My housekeeper. Anyway, she’s been with us two years now and I knew I could trust her to do everything right, so, since Charline had the kids, Miles and I went out to dinner at the Hancock Inn. We picked up the kids on our way home. And that’s it, as far as I can remember.” She recrossed her slim ankles and looked from one police officer to the other. “Is there anything else?”

  “What does your husband do for a living?” Brett asked.

  “He’s in the import/export business. Mostly clothes and yard goods, but also some hard goods. He’s very successful.” She looked around her home as if to prove it to herself and the others.

  “And what did you do before you were married?”

  “Why,” she looked surprised and answered with a slight laugh. “I was his secretary, of course. Why else would I know shorthand?”

  Brett considered Susan’s assumption that Julia Ames had had a glamorous job designing clothes and then decided that there was a great need to double-check everything in this case. “You’ve been more than helpful, Julia. I think that Charline Voos is next. Would you mind taking the time to call her and see if she is home for us? We’ll walk down to the back of the yard while you’re doing that, unless you’d rather we didn’t?”

  “Of course not. I’ll just be a second.” She got up and walked purposefully into the house.

  “Come along, Officer Somerville.” Brett got up and left the patio in the opposite direction, Kathleen following.

  “Why did you give her a chance to warn her friend that we were coming?” she asked quietly.

  “Shhh. Did you think that she wouldn’t phone to her best friend the moment we left anyway? And I want to see that ladder before the workmen actually fix it. Just follow along, pretend you’re casually going through those statements because there is nothing else to do, but check to see if Gertrude was questioned. See if there’s a statement from her in your notes.”

  “I …”

  “Please do as I say. I’ll be right back.” And he strolled over to the workmen.

  She sat on a small bench under a large larch tree and thumbed through the papers. She was quick and was finished by the time Julia Ames returned.

  “Men!” Julia said, coming up to Kathleen. “Just look at them all standing around talking about that ladder. If my husband were here, he’d be back there with them, talking and waving his arms just like they are.”

  “Detective Fortesque is very good at these things,” Kathleen said, not knowing if it was true or not.

  “I hope so. The men from the pool company sure don’t know what they’re doing. Oh, here he comes. Maybe he can tell us what is going on.”

  “They’re waiting for a cement worker,” Brett explained without being asked. “Those poles are going to have to be reset permanently. They’re very dangerous the way they are now, you know.”

  “That’s what I told Miles, but he was always too busy to do anything about it.” She sighed. “We’ll just have to use the stairs on the other side for a while, I guess.”

  “Did you reach Mrs. Voos?” he asked, turning his back on the pool and its problems.

  “Yes, and it was lucky I called. She was just leaving the house. But she’s going to put off”—she paused—“put off whatever she was going to do until you have questioned her.”

  “Wonderful. It’s fabulous how cooperative everyone has been, isn’t it, Officer Somerville?”

  “Wonderful,” she agreed, trying to sound a little less cloying than he.

  “Well, we’ll be on our way … oh, one more thing, Julia.”

  “Yes?”

  Kathleen wondered if that was apprehension in the other woman’s eyes; she had seemed so calm until now.

  “Why wasn’t Gertrude asked to make a statement the day of the murder?”

  “Gertrude?” She sounded as if the name were foreign.

  “Gertrude. You said that was the name of your housekeeper,” he reminded her.

  “It is. But no, she wasn’t. Why should she be? She was in the kitchen all the time. All the serving and everything was done by PTA members. We do the luncheon for the teachers ourselves.”

  “Of course. I was forgetting. By the way, were you at the Field Club yesterday?”

  She smiled. “I met Charline there for lunch. Both of our oldest children are on the Club’s swim team, and their practice is at one-thirty on Fridays. So, since the kids had to be there in the afternoon, we met for a long lunch in the clubhouse. And then spent the day going over some plans for next year. We’re going to be co-presidents again and everyone will be expecting us to outdo ourselves.”

  “I’m sure you will. Now, if you’ll just tell us how to get to the Voos house?”

  Charline Voos, it turned out, lived just three blocks away, but Hancock wasn’t Manhattan and the blocks weren’t square and there were, even in that short a distance, many opportunities for them to get lost. They found most of them. But the mile or two that they went out of their way gave them a chance to chat.

  “What did you think?” Kathleen asked, looking ahead for legible street signs. The town tradition of placing the street names on discreet cement posts instead of standard metal rectangles made it very difficult to know where anything was.

  “She’s an awfully organized person to forget that there is a phone on the patio in an emergency and go all the way into the house to use one.”

  “You noticed that too,” she said. “Who do you think she called before the police?”

  “Well, we don’t know before or after, but I’d say that the call was made to her husband to get him home.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I worked on the narcotics task force before this assignment, you know,” she told him. “Import/export is a convenient business to be in if you want to get illegal things in and out of the country.”

  “Sure would be,” he agreed. “And I wonder just what was in the house that he didn’t want the police to see.”

  “You think drugs?”

  “These days I think drugs first, last, and always, but that doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have been some other type of contraband.”

  “Do you think we should get a warrant and search the house?”

  “Absolutely not. In the first place, I think it would be a waste of time. The man has had two months to find a new place to stash anything. Besides, we have only a suspicion, no evidence of any sort. And we’re looking for a murderer, not a pusher, remember?”

  “I remember. Hey, here it is: Yale Terrace. Turn left, Mrs. Ames said, and then it’s the third house on the right … two … three. Looks like this is it. Our two co-presidents sure live on the ritzy side of town, don’t they?”

  “The ritzy side of a ritzy town,” he agreed. “That must have been Charline Voos at the window.”

  “Where?”

  “You just missed her. The curtain is back in line.”

  Kathleen pulled the car around the semicircular drive in front of the impressively large Tudor house. The lawn swept beyond them to a small stream, furnished with a tiny rustic bridge and an equally rustic gazebo. The two stepped out of their vehicle onto the cobbled walk that led to the door.

  “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Kathleen commented, ringing the discreetly placed bell.

  “How so?”

  “There’s no logic to the placement of houses. A Tudor sits next to a contemporary, a Colonial next to a fifties ranch, a very large fifties ranch, but still—”

  “You must be Brett Fortesque. And you’re Kathy Somerville,” the woman who opened the door identified them. “Julia called and told me you w
ere coming. But you must know that, of course. Please come in.” She stepped back to allow them to enter while she held open the door. They walked into a hall that rose up two stories to a beamed ceiling; a dark wood stairway spiraled up the same distance, carved and picked out in gold.

  “What interesting carvings,” Brett noted.

  “They were copied from the grand stairway at Knoll in England. At least that’s what we’ve been told. You may find them interesting, if you like that sort of thing.” She led him to the stairs, leaving Kathleen standing at the door. She took the time to examine their hostess.

  As much as Julia Ames fit into her environment, Charline Voos didn’t fit into hers. Like her friend, Charline Voos was a beauty: chic, well-groomed, and expensively dressed. Her year-round tan was maintained in tanning parlors when she couldn’t get away in the winter, nails were done once a week, and her permanent was touched up every few months to maintain its artless crinkling, and her dark good looks contrasted nicely with Julia’s cool blondness. But her house demanded a romantic type, not the best of Saks Fifth Avenue.

  “This was all done before we moved in,” Mrs. Voos was saying as they rejoined Kathleen. “We’re in the middle of redoing the living room right now. Come on in.”

  The room they entered was exactly as Kathleen would have expected, had she thought about it. Here the beams, though present, had been bleached or painted or otherwise covered with a light material, the delicate details wiped out. Here Charline Voos was right at home. She sat down on a paisley couch against one wall, offering seats to the others. Two crystal pitchers sat on a tray in the middle of the large marble coffee table between them.

  “Iced tea or lemonade?” she offered.

  “Iced tea,” Brett responded, without waiting for his partner to answer. “This is a wonderful room, Charline,” he added, as she handed him the glass, a sprig of mint decorating the drink.

  “Thank you. I think the decorator has improved it immensely. You’re sure?” she checked perfunctorily at Kathleen’s refusal of her offer.

  “Kathy’s fine,” Brett insisted, ignoring her fuming at his shortening of her name. “I’m sure Julia told you what we’re doing, Charline. First, we’d like you to read over your statement of June second and see if you remember anything you’d like to add, if you will.” He already had the paper in his hand.

  “Of course, Brett.” She read it aloud. “ ‘I’m Charline Nelson Voos. I’m thirty-six years old and I’ve lived in Hancock for eight and a half years. I live at eight Yale Terrace with my husband Lars Hansen Voos and our two children: Peer, who’s eight, and Kristen, who is three. Peer is in third grade at Hancock Elementary and Kristen is at the Montessori preschool in Darien. My husband is in the import/export business …’ ”

  “Excuse me,” Brett interrupted. “Kathy, did you say something?”

  “I just choked. I have a dry throat. I’ll just have some of this tea, if I may … I can pour for myself.”

  “Fine. Let me see, where was I? Oh yes, right here. ‘I’ve been co-president of the Hancock Elementary Parent Teacher Association for this school year and I will be again next year. I suppose Julia told you about that? I’m talking about Julia Ames—she’s right over there taking notes.

  “ ‘I was sitting at a table on the side of the lawn when Jan Ick died. Did—did Julia tell you I was the last to get my food? Well, I had only been seated for a minute, but I didn’t see anything that happened. I heard a cry and then rushed over to where Jan lay. She was already dead, anyone could see that. I told everyone to stay away from her and give her air—not that it was going to do her much good at that point. Julia ran to the phone to call the police. The town’s sirens went off and the police and ambulance were here almost immediately. The paramedics did their job and tried to revive Jan, but of course it was hopeless. They spent about fifteen minutes on her and then took her away in the ambulance. I’m sure she was pronounced dead by the first doctor who saw her at the hospital. No, I don’t know anyone who would want to kill her and I didn’t notice anything unusual about the food except that it killed one of us.’ That’s all.” She looked at Brett as she handed him back the statement. “I can’t think of anything else to add.”

  “What did you do after making that statement, if you can remember?”

  “I went back out onto the patio with the other PTA mothers and the teachers. Everyone was allowed to leave after making their statements, but I was the first to make mine, so everyone was still there, except for Dr. Tyrrell. He went into the house to be questioned as I came out.”

  “Was there any order in which people were questioned?” Kathleen asked.

  “I don’t think there was, at first. I was called because I was nearest the door or something, but I don’t know why Charlie went next.”

  “Charlie?”

  “Dr. Tyrrell’s first name is Charles. We call him Charlie. Anyway, after he was questioned, I think he insisted on the teachers’ being questioned first. I wouldn’t guarantee it, but they all went in right after him and before all the mothers. Charlie probably thought that they should be allowed to leave first, since most of them—well, all of them, in fact—live out of town.”

  “Did any of the mothers object?” Brett asked.

  “Well, I don’t think anyone said anything about it at the time. We were all pretty shocked by Jan’s death—the hospital called right away to let the police know that she was dead, so we heard almost immediately and no one was thinking about anything else. Except for the normal things.”

  “I don’t understand,” Brett replied.

  “You know, the normal mother worries. What is going to happen if I get home late? Will the sitter stay with the kids? What am I going to fix for dinner? Things like that. In fact, we spent a lot of time thinking about how this was all going to be explained to the kids.”

  “Mrs. Ick’s kids, you mean?”

  “Yes, them, of course, but also our own kids. Hancock is a pretty small town, you know, and our elementary school has only around two hundred and twenty kids, so most of them know each other, at least to say hello to. And they know the parents too. We were worried about the effect a violent death would have on the children. We knew that it couldn’t be kept from them. In fact, we were even talking about the PTA sponsoring a psychologist to come in and speak to the kids, but decided that it was too late in the school year. Of course, now with Paula’s death, maybe we should do something in September.”

  “So you stayed with the people waiting to be questioned. That’s very interesting. Could you tell us your general impression, besides the obvious shock and grief, and the more, uh, practical concerns of the mothers and their children? Did anyone in particular seem more upset than anyone else, I mean?”

  “I don’t think so.” She paused. “I don’t think there was very much talk at all. We were all thinking our own thoughts, I guess. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything else.”

  “How many people call you Charlie, Charline?” Brett asked.

  “A few. My husband and Julia and some old friends from college. I was a tomboy when I was growing up, and the nickname was obvious. But I thought I had outgrown it when I graduated from college and started calling myself Charline.”

  “So you knew Julia in or before college?”

  “No, she picked it up from my husband.”

  “Then the four of you socialize outside of the PTA and school functions? At the Club, I guess?”

  “Of course, we socialize most of the time. It’s important, since Miles and Lars are co-owners of Farnsworth Import/Export.”

  “Farnsworth Import/Export?”

  “Their business. Didn’t Julia tell you? Lars and Miles are business partners … you really should get a doctor to look at that throat, Kathy. A persistent need to clear your throat could be serious. You don’t smoke, do you?”

  “I’m fine,” Kathleen insisted, gasping for breath. “I just need some more tea.” She poured herself another glass.

  Brett
gave his partner an annoyed look and continued his questioning. “Julia told us that you were a big help to her and to the police that afternoon.”

  “Oh?”

  “She said that you showed the police around the house, and things like where the rest of the food was in the kitchen, where the phones were located, and helped convince them that refreshments could be safely served from the refrigerator in the basement.”

  “Yes. Things like that.”

  “What did you think I meant?”

  “I didn’t think you meant anything. I just didn’t know what you meant when you asked that question, but yes,” she hurried on, “I helped the police. I know Julia’s home as well as my own and I was certainly more than glad to do what I could, of course.”

  “And your housekeeper kept Julia’s kids for her—all evening, I understand?”

  “Yes …”

  “Mommy, Mommy! Peer hit his head on the diving board and he bleeded all over the pool. You should have seen it! The water was pink, pink, pink!” A blond, blue-eyed nymph jumped into the room, hopping from one foot to the other, dripping water from her very pink swimsuit onto the wood floor and waving a beach towel with a picture of Kermit the Frog at the room. “It was pink, pink, pink,” she repeated happily.

  “Kristen. Shut up. You’ll scare your mother to death. Your brother is just fine now.” A tall man, presumably the origin of Kristen’s fair coloring, entered the room. Even in his madras slacks, his Adidas sneakers, and his faded purple Ralph Lauren polo shirt, he looked like a sixth-century Viking.

  “Mommy. Daddy said ‘shut-up’ to me. Daddy said—”

  “Your father is right, Kristen. Stop yelling and tell me where your brother is.” Charline Voos had leapt up from the couch, obviously alarmed at her daughter’s words.

  “It’s okay, Charlie, he’s gone home with one of the other kids on the swim team.…”

  “If he hit his head, he should be home resting, Lars. Where is he? We’ll go get him and bring him home this minute!”