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11
All day, I tried to convince myself that Richard Stokes's accusations were ridiculous; no one could possibly believe him. But I thought of Denise and the way the police had hammered at her. If they suspected Denise because of a friendship that, to their way of thinking, gave her access to the pharmacy—who would believe me? Their suppositions about her interest in Harry could apply to me, too. I thought how awkward it would be, even though they could never prove anything. And, my inner voice said, how embarrassing if Michael were to hear of my romantic fantasies.
Stop being so foolish, Ruthie, I told myself. I tried to be logical about it. Despite a prescription department full of drugs, I had no idea how to kill a person. If anyone supposed I had a motive for murdering Harry Stokes, did they really believe I could have dropped arsenic or strychnine in his coffee? I relaxed a little at this idea—we didn't even have arsenic or strychnine in the store. Not only that, I'd never had coffee or anything else with Harry Stokes.
But would Frank Moreway believe me? An accusation of murder was a serious charge and he'd have to investigate. On the other hand, Richard Stokes had already accused his stepmother. Surely, if he showed up at police headquarters today and accused someone else, he would lose whatever credibility he'd had.
I couldn't afford to let someone like Richard Stokes unnerve me. Since Bob's death, I'd become used to coping alone, and I was stronger for it. But this was no ordinary predicament; I needed advice, and I didn't know where to turn. I couldn't bother Denise; she had her own troubles. As for my other friends, I didn't relish telling any of them I might be a murder suspect. There's Michael, I thought. And I knew he had been in my mind all along.
When I got home from work that night, I ran through possible conversations with him. The next day, Saturday, was my day off this week. I could invite Michael for lunch or dinner. No, that might give him the wrong impression; it was better just to ask him over to talk. If he demurred, I would add details. Otherwise, I preferred to say nothing on the telephone about Richard Stokes and his accusations.
Possibly Michael had gone back to Tucson by now. I had heard nothing from him since our dinner three nights ago. But surely his daughter still needed him, and somehow I didn't think he'd leave town without saying goodbye to me.
I dialed, expecting Betsy Stokes to answer the telephone—after all it was her home I was calling—so when I heard Michael's voice, I forgot my carefully prepared words. "This is Ruthie Kantor ... I mean Ruthie Morris."
He laughed and that deep, joyous sound brought back the old memories, but I refused to let myself get caught in the past again. "You didn't have to give a name," he said. "I recognized you right away."
"I wasn't sure you were still in Scottsdale."
His voice sobered immediately. "Yes, of course, I'm still here."
Why was it so hard to ask him to stop by tomorrow? It wasn't a date. And if Michael suspected an excuse for seeing him again, he'd soon discover the real reason for my call. I closed out the schoolgirl reactions and invited him.
Michael said he'd drive over as soon after eleven o'clock as possible. "I have something to do earlier, but I should be finished by then." I gave him my address and directions. Like the Stokes home, mine is on a cul-de-sac that makes it hard to find.
After we said our goodbyes, and despite telling myself over and over that this wasn't a social call, I checked to see what refreshments I had on hand. Coffee, that's all you need to serve, I insisted to myself. But that was an error in the opposite direction, for any friend or neighbor who came to the house would be offered cake or ice cream along with a cup of coffee. I always kept a raspberry or lemon danish log and two flavors of ice cream in my freezer, just in case. Embarrassment would come not from too much hospitality but from treating Michael less cordially than anyone else.
I fell asleep that night before I'd decided what to wear. During the long Arizona summers, I usually preferred shorts and knit shirts on my days off. Even though I still looked reasonably well in shorts, I decided on a pale blue sleeveless dress instead. The air-conditioning would be blasting away anyhow, and I'd feel more comfortable that way.
In the morning, I quickly straightened the house, trying to look at it through Michael's eyes. The Gorman prints Bob and I had bought over the years added color to the champagne walls and dark traditional furniture, and I was proud of my collection of old pharmacy beakers from Dad's store, grouped on end tables and shelves throughout the house. I knew my birch kitchen contrasted sharply with the sophistication of Betsy's starkly modern one, but I had no idea whether Michael's taste was similar to that of his daughter.
He's only an acquaintance now, I told myself. Maybe we can be friends, but expecting anything else will only lead to disappointment. And be honest, while it's pleasant to dream of might-have-beens, we're both different people now.
Michael arrived just after eleven, and I tried to seem calm as he followed me into my living room, but I knew my face was flushed and my eyes were too bright. We settled across the room from each other; he sat on the turquoise-striped sofa and I went to one of the turquoise-and-peach floral armchairs. I was glad he hadn't taken the other armchair, the one I still thought of as Bob's, because I didn't want to compare Bob and Michael. Michael had been my first love, but Bob had been my husband for more than thirty years.
"At least one worry is gone," he said. "I took Betsy to her doctor this morning and everything's fine."
I didn't know whether to acknowledge awareness of her pregnancy, but he continued before I could react. "She's in her third month, and she was desperately afraid of losing the baby. But, of course, you probably knew about the pregnancy before anyone else."
"Actually, I didn't know until I looked at her prescription record two days ago. Tim, he's our other pharmacist, must have filled the Stuartnatal 1 + 1."
"Yes, I know Tim Barnard," he said drily.
"That's right. He was at the funeral."
Michael didn't want to talk about Tim. "Surely, you must have guessed when you saw us buying a stuffed elephant at the mall."
"It never occurred to me."
"Didn't you think it a bit unusual for her to be buying toys at such a time?" He didn't wait for my reply. "Betsy was so unhappy that I wanted to whiz her out of that house. I'm sure you know talk and sympathy only go so far."
I could feel my eyes fill and I turned away from him. The conversation was too intense, and I looked for an escape. "Can I offer you some coffee and cake?"
Michael must have understood, for he said that coffee sounded great and followed me into the kitchen. As I stood at the turquoise Corian counter, my back toward him, he continued.
"I thought a tangible link to the future might help, so I suggested buying toys for the baby. Maybe it was a silly idea, but it seemed to work until we met you and that nosy neighbor of Betsy's."
"Denise is okay," I assured him.
"Possibly, but she always seems to be around when we leave the house or pull in again."
I had regained some self-composure now and hurried to defend Denise. "She's a good person, Michael. I value her friendship."
"Okay, forget I said that and tell me what's worrying you." He reacted to my startled look by assuring me he could still sense when something was wrong. Again, I resolutely shut out the past and concentrated on telling Michael of my encounter with his daughter's stepson. I tried to keep a neutral tone and subdue my emotions.
Michael surprised me again. He did not adopt the easy tactics of reassurance and insist that Richard would talk but not act. Nor did he make light of my unease and embarrassment.
"You're right, Ruthie. He could put you in a difficult position professionally."
"And personally," I added.
"Yes. Although I think he'd have to offer some proof that you and Harry were seen together other than at Food Go." By this time, we were seated at my kitchen table with untouched cups of coffee and plates of danish pastry in front of us.
"Harry was a friendly type. Are you sure you never did see him outside of the store?"
I got to my feet, indignation fueled by the knowledge that I would never tell him about my daydreams. "You know I'm not a liar."
"Indeed, you've always been painfully honest."
"Then, why ...?
"Because I can tell that you're holding back something."
"Well, if you must know, you're right," I burst out. "He was a handsome man, and he and I were both alone, so I imagined he'd ask me out. It was a fantasy. He never noticed me as anything but his 'friendly neighborhood pharmacist.'" I phrased the last words sarcastically.
Michael jumped up, too, and took my hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to push you into confidences. And it's nothing to be ashamed of. If we were all held accountable for fantasies, they couldn't build prisons fast enough for everyone." He moved away from me, picked up our two coffee cups and nodded toward the microwave. "Why don't I reheat these?"
Two minutes later, we sat at the table again, sipping hot coffee. We talked about Michael's work. He was on unpaid leave from his job as director of a busy hospital pharmacy. He managed four full-time pharmacists and three technicians, and the hospital administration was being very supportive, using part-timers to fill in for Michael.
"I'd like to hijack Betsy back to Tucson for a time, but she wants to stay here."
"Let her do it her own way," I advised. "Sometimes people mean well, but they don't realize we need to adjust to living alone in familiar surroundings. Otherwise, we face a second bereavement when we do return."
His intense look warmed me. "You had to go through it all alone, didn't you?"
"Betsy's so much younger," I said. "At least Bob and I had many years together. And these suspicions of suicide or murder—that must make it much harder."
"You've been drawn into this mess, Ruthie, and you should know what's been happening. Let me clue you in."
I refilled our coffee cups and listened, half afraid of what he would say, but glad that I'd finally hear facts instead of rumors.
"I'm sure you know from his prescriptions that Harry had diabetes and high blood pressure, so we expected his doctor to certify either one or both as the cause of death. But he refused to do it." Michael, who had always seemed so sure of himself, looked disconcerted.
"Of course, we wanted to know why, and we were told that both conditions had been under control. Neither was considered life threatening in Harry's case." Michael continued to look uneasy.
"But his physician couldn't be sure of that."
"I know, and before we could challenge him, the son and daughter claimed Betsy had driven their father to suicide."
"Why?"
"You've met Richard. Does he strike you as a rational person?"
I laughed despite the serious turn of our conversation. "You know what they say—even paranoids can have enemies."
"They've made things very difficult for Betsy. I guess it's to be expected when the stepmother is younger than the children of the first marriage."
"And even when she isn't," I said.
"That's probably true in some cases." His intent gaze was directed toward me again. "I won't insult you by asking for promises of confidentiality, but I want to tell you about my daughter's situation. Too many people have misjudged her."
I put my elbows inelegantly on the table and leaned forward. He paused for a moment as if to collect his thoughts, or perhaps he was still hesitant about revealing too much.
"After the divorce, Betsy lived with her mother from the time she was five until just after her ninth birthday. She was with me every other weekend and for a month in the summertime. And I talked to her on the telephone nearly every day.
"Then her mother remarried and moved to London, and Betsy came to live with me. But those formative years ... I know what the shrinks say about needing a father figure. When she became serious about someone a little older than me, I guess I should have expected it."
"Are you saying it was a complete surprise?"
Michael took a moment to reflect, although I was sure he'd already considered the facts many times. "Before Harry, her few serious relationships were with men in her own age group, like Tim Barnard," he said. "Yes, I was surprised. In fact, I didn't expect it to last.
"Betsy always talked about a large family; she missed having siblings." He smiled ruefully. "Well, I was wrong about one thing. I told her Harry was too old to give her a child."
"Do the Stokes family know she's pregnant?"
"I'm not sure. She isn't on close terms with them. They haven't treated her very well—innuendos about marrying for money. That sort of thing."
"Even grown children find it hard to believe their parents are attractive to others," I said.
"Maybe that's part of it. But I think it's more like projection."
Michael's coffee cup was empty again, and I quietly refilled it without interrupting him. He went on, slowly, as if weighing every word. "I don't enjoy discrediting my daughter's family by marriage, even though they haven't acted like family."
I thought it was time to help him along. "What exactly happened?"
"Betsy tells me they constantly tried to get money from Harry. Not small loans, either. You may not know that Richard lost his job recently. He wanted his father to be his venture capitalist."
"He expected Harry to finance him in a new business?" Even Denise hadn't seemed aware of this turn of events.
"Yes, Richard and his wife constantly badgered him. They tried to make him feel guilty about remarrying. And the daughter was just as relentless."
"I thought she was doing well in real estate sales." I'd heard all about Sheila's wonderful career from Denise.
"But not well enough to help her boyfriend buy the jazz club where he works."
It looked like they all viewed Harry as a cash machine. I wondered whether Betsy had wanted anything special for herself. They'd certainly spent a bit on remodeling the house, but that might have been Harry's idea.
Michael again anticipated my thought. "Betsy loved him, and all she wanted from him was a family."
"Suspicion of suicide is bad enough," I said, "but now that they're talking of murder, what will happen?"
"The police are probing in all directions. If they had anything concrete to go on, something would've happened by now."
"As long as we're being frank with each other, Michael, I have to tell you I did hear suicide mentioned. But as soon as I knew about the baby, I figured they were wrong; he had everything to live for."
Michael's expression changed, a strange look that I couldn't read. He said nothing, so I went on. "And you? Do you think it was suicide?"
"I don't know."
This answer surprised me, for Michael had just told me how much Betsy wanted the baby. I wondered if Harry Stokes had reacted differently to the news.
"I guess I should tell you: when my daughter's pregnancy was confirmed, Harry wanted her to have an abortion."
"An abortion! But you just told me how much she wanted children."
"Yes, she did and she still does. On the other hand, Harry's family is grown. He has grandchildren. So, he said he was past that stage in life; he didn't want to start all over again with a baby that would be mistaken for another grandchild.
Michael's eyes seemed to ask something of me, but I couldn't decipher his meaning. He paused and then spoke in a rushed voice, as though he wanted to get the words out as quickly as possible.
"I may as well be frank with you. They argued constantly about it from the time they knew about her pregnancy until his death a couple of weeks later."
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