“There’s more to it than this.”
“I agree.”
Apparently reaching a decision, Max got up and locked his work away, something he didn’t normally do: with Chez in town, nothing was safe from prying eyes.
“I’ll follow you home, Val. If I don’t warn Davina what kind of man Chez is, things might get out of hand.”
An admirable resolution, but doomed to failure. When Max let himself in the front door he could hear the coquettish peal of Vina’s laughter emanating from the living room, and felt his battered heart sink.
The Chester Malcuzinski he remembered had been a pimply youth and then a pimply man in his twenties, but the fifteen years that had elapsed between the last time he had seen Chez and today had wrought wonders. Today’s Chez was tall, lithely athletic, had a skin free from pustules, and considerably more good looks than his sister, whose early prettiness had not fared well. He was the picture of a fashionable man, from his carefully coiffed, shoulder-length hair to his bell-bottomed hipster trousers and the full-sleeved shirt open to show a hairy chest. In coloring he was dark, yet, despite his reputation as a thug, his appearance was neither vulgar nor greasy. In fact, he would be immensely attractive to the wealthy women who formed his clientele — a very smooth operator, Max saw at a glance. And Vina was responding as Vina always did to personable men; she was flirting outrageously, giving him the impression that she would be on a bed with her legs open at the soonest possible moment. Oh, Vina, Vina! Not with this man!
All that aside, Max came into the room smiling, his hand extended. “My dear Chez!” he said, shaking the manicured member given him. Then his face saddened. “I wish it were a happier occasion.”
And, Chez being Chez, he turned his back on Davina to give his attention to someone he thought could help him. “What happened, Max? Tell me.”
“I wish I knew, but none of us does, and that’s the truth. My long lost son, John, was poisoned at a dinner here a week ago yesterday, then the new Head Scholar of the Chubb University Press was poisoned at a banquet in his honor a week ago today. Finally poor little Em was poisoned in her sculpting studio last Wednesday, though her body wasn’t found until Thursday afternoon,” said Max in the most conciliating voice he could summon.
Chez stiffened. “You mean Val didn’t miss her on Wednesday night? Is he cheating on her?”
“No, no,” Max said pacifically, noting out of the corner of his eye that Vina was pouting — she didn’t like being ignored. “Emily was right into her sculpting, she often stayed in her studio overnight if the clay was going right — don’t ask me, I’m not a sculptor!— and Val was delighted. Absolutely delighted! She’d found a satisfying hobby now Ivan was a family man. As the only one without printing skills, we suspect Em had felt like a square wheel, so when she took to sculpting, we helped her in every way we could.”
“That’s true, Chester,” said Davina.
He spared her an impatient glance, then focused on Max again. “How was she poisoned?” he demanded.
“In a carafe of water. You needn’t fear there’s poison in any of the food, it’s all been replaced. Lily did that.”
Chez lunged to his feet, fists clenched. “I want to see.”
“You can’t, Chez,” said Max, alarmed. “The shed’s sealed.”
“Fuck that!”
Max hurried in his wake, but not before turning to Davina. “You, madam, stay right here until I get back. I want a word with you.” He encountered a glare from Uda, and glared in return. “That goes for Uda too. Right here, understand?”
He caught up with Chez halfway to Val’s house. “The shed has a police seal across the lock,” he said to Chez, panting slightly from so much effort and emotion.
“Fuck that!” was the only answer.
The piece of police tape was ripped away, Max compelled to tender a small key.
The stench hit them both; Max reeled, refused to enter, but after an angry glance at Max, Chez walked in.
“Who cleaned up?” he asked when he emerged, white-faced.
“Her daughter-in-law, Lily. A wonderful girl. I think she felt it was the least she could do.”
“I’ll do something for her. From the stink, it must have been terrible. You’re right, Max, Lily is a wonderful girl.”
He produced a wad of tissues and ran them over his face. “Emily was amazing, eh? Them — those cats and horses’ heads — clever as well as pretty. Tell Val I want them — all of them,” said Chez, jaw rippling.
“We’d like to keep the family busts,” Max said timidly, “but you can have the rest. None of her pieces is glazed or fired yet, though.”