Lie of the Needle(37)
“I heard what happened on the house hunt, Daisy.” He gave me a meaningful look. “I figured Martha would like to hear the story directly from you, so I invited her for dinner.”
My kind, thoughtful husband knew that news about the murder would have reached her already and she’d be panic-stricken for Cyril’s safety. The Millbury village grapevine was faster than any ultrahigh-speed fiber-optic network.
I smiled at him. “Thank you, Joe.”
“Daisy!” Martha got up and flung herself into my arms, and I braced my legs so we both didn’t topple over backward. “I hope you don’t mind that I accepted your dear husband’s invitation, but I am simply beside myself with worry.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.” I kissed her soft cheek and urged her to sit down at the butcher block table. Jasper slid in between us and rested his head on her knee.
“You need to tell me exactly what went on today,” she said. “Everything. Don’t you dare leave anything out.”
Joe poured me a glass of cabernet and I told them the story from beginning to end, including every tiny detail I could remember.
Martha seemed to relax a little as I spoke, as if the information gave her some sense of control. “Do the police think that Roos was attacked at the house? Or earlier in the day?”
I shook my head. “They don’t really know anything yet.”
“You know, if Cyril needs his space, as everyone keeps telling me, why isn’t he calling after all this happened? So I don’t worry?”
She was twisting the long chains around her neck into a tangled mess. I took her hands gently away and set them in her lap before a million beads burst all over the kitchen floor.
I was worried about Cyril, too, but I tried to hide my anxiety for Martha’s sake. I didn’t tell her about finding the cigarettes on the farm. Perhaps it was kinder for her to think he was safely out of the picture, blowing off steam in some dive bar somewhere.
When I got to the part about the disgruntled homeowners complaining about the quality of their Cassell-built homes, she sniffed.
“Well, the only thing well-built about that man is himself. His houses are a rip-off. I can tell you about so many people who have had problems. Even with a brand-new place. Take Terri Jones, for instance. Mold throughout, and so bad that her poor child has terrible asthma now.”
I sipped my wine thoughtfully. “You know, I could see if it was Beau Cassell who had been murdered instead of Alex. There must be a thousand people who bear him a grudge.”
At that moment, Joe came to the table with a steaming casserole dish. I breathed in the aroma of pot roast as he ladled out three generous portions. Jasper took great, gulping sniffs of the air.
Conversation ceased as I dug in, savoring the succulent meat and trying not to moan at how spectacular it was. “Joe, this is so good.” Pot roast was one of Joe’s signature dishes anyway, but he’d really outdone himself tonight.
He smiled at me, but then a shadow crossed his face as he glanced at our other dinner partner. “Don’t you like it, Martha?”
She sighed, a long breathy sound that could have given Marilyn Monroe a run for her money. “Oh, it’s wonderful, you darling man. It’s just that my stomach is completely and utterly in knots.”
I looked up guiltily from where I had been shoveling in the delicious meat, potatoes, and carrots as fast as I could go. The aftermath of the adrenaline surge from the discovery of a dead body, plus the fact that I’d missed lunch, had left me famished.
But Martha’s plate was barely touched. Her stress-o-meter must be through the roof, yet she wasn’t eating a thing.