An agitated Lettie Balfour sat at a stoplight, her left foot rapidly tapping the floorboard of her van. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" blared from the radio tuned to the local FM oldies station. Her jiggling foot did not keep time with the music emanating from the four speakers but was the result of her irritation at being late. Lettie had little patience for tardiness, especially her own, and right now she was late for her biweekly bridge game. A smile did cross her lips despite her nasty mood, because she found it mildly amusing that the song contained the word "bridge."
Today Lettie had broken a hard fast rule of hers--scheduling appointments to show houses on Wednesday afternoons. Catching up on paperwork was her normal routine for the past eighteen years, but occasionally she needed to make exceptions. The Oldham family could only see properties on Wednesday afternoon. After showing these new clients one house, they decided to buy it on the spot. Her elation over the sale dwindled somewhat when the time-consuming negotiations and paperwork delayed her departure for bridge. Her right foot jammed down the accelerator when the stoplight turned green, but her left foot continued its tapping. Reaching her destination in record time, she parked and galloped up the flower-lined sidewalk to Gloria Spencer's two-story brick colonial as fast as her short legs would carry her. Her concern over being late was unnecessary because she was not the only one who was late for this evening's bridge game.
Gloria was tonight's hostess and one of the newer members of the bridge club. A nervous type, anxious to please, she was most likely not happy that Lettie was causing this inconvenience, Lettie thought. Her finger, poised to ring the doorbell, didn't reach the button. The front door flew open and Gloria grabbed Lettie's hand and propelled her into the traditionally furnished living room.
"I'm sorry, Lettie, I was watching out the window and when I saw you coming I ran to get the door. You're never late! What happened?"
"I know I'm late, and I feel terrible, but I got an offer on a house. My clients fell in love with the house and decided to make an offer the minute they finished seeing it. I know I should have called you, but I didn't have a minute to spare. I confess that I get engrossed in my work." Abruptly changing the subject, she remarked, "let's get started--maybe I'll make a slam tonight and really make this a tremendous day."
"Not so fast, Lettie, you're not the only one who is late," Gloria commented. "Charlotte hasn't shown up."
Charlotte Downey, the other tardy bridge player, was a longtime member of the Covered Bridge club. The original eight members of the group chose the name as a joke because their hometown of Stafford had a covered bridge within the city limits.
"I called Charlotte earlier today, and offered to drive tonight. We usually ride together since she lives directly across the street." Thus spoke Sophie Lambert, Lettie's best friend. "She told me that she was having her hair frosted this afternoon and was going to grab a bite to eat and come directly here. She didn't indicate there would be a problem getting here on time." Gloria, as hostess, took control of the situation and decided to wait fifteen more minutes before trying to locate Charlotte. The seven members present had no trouble filling the time catching up on the latest news and gossip. Although many of the members had been playing bridge together for years, they didn't necessarily see each other between games. Therefore, conversation among the members might outweigh the time consumed playing cards. On many Wednesdays the women played very little bridge and animated discussions took place on a variety of topics.
By 8:30 Charlotte was an hour late. Sophie's concern was evident when she asked, "Where could Charlotte be?"
The assembled women started talking in unison. Each person offering theories for Charlotte's tardiness.
"I'm going to call her home." Sophie proclaimed. After dialing, she counted the rings. Mentally counting to ten, she announced, "No one is answering, and I know Jeff is away at a business meeting. Does anyone have any ideas?"
"How about calling her hairdresser. Does anyone know who does Charlotte's hair?" Patty McNally, the oldest and founding member of the Covered Bridgers, asked.
During another chaotic discussion among the members, they eventually arrived at the name of Veronica Collins at the Harried Hare Salon and all agreed that it was highly improbable that she would be at work at this time of night. After Gloria plucked the phone directory from the bookcase in her den and located the number of the beauty parlor, she phoned the Harried Hare Salon and asked to speak to Veronica. It was a miracle that anyone was working this late, she thought.
"Hello, Veronica, this is Gloria Spencer. I am a friend of Charlotte Downey. Did you do her hair this afternoon? I'm concerned because she's late for a bridge game at my house." "She was here for her standing appointment, but it took longer than usual because she had her hair frosted. She left here a little after three." Veronica hesitated briefly, "Mrs. Downey received a phone call which seemed to agitate her, and she told me she needed to hurry home and she left here with wet hair."
Gloria hastily concluded the call and relayed the information to the curious bridge players. Without hesitation, Lettie, being both curious and concerned, jumped to her feet and announced that she was driving to Charlotte's house. Sophie immediately volunteered to go with her in order to lend moral support.
"The rest of us can continue with lambasting Mayor McCormick's proposed beautification project," Kate Anderson announced as Sophie and Lettie beat a path to the front door. "We'll wait to hear from you," Gloria added. The two friends jumped into Lettie's green van, which had been part of her divorce settlement. She had rejoiced that the judge recognized her need for the large vehicle in her business. Her ex-husband, Douglas, had received their small compact car, which was fine for his needs.
Normally conscientious about obeying traffic laws, Lettie made an exception this evening. She floored the accelerator and sped out of Gloria's lovely suburban neighborhood and headed in the direction of Charlotte's house. Being a realtor had given her the knowledge of every shortcut in Walker County. However, traffic on the narrow back roads of Stafford was heavier than she had seen in some time.
For forty-eight years, this town of 50,000 residents had been her home. Since it was the home of Midwestern University, the population swelled to 60,000 during the months students were in residence. Traffic increased proportionally, and on this May evening the snarled traffic was particularly maddening.
Her tires screeched as she turned into Conner Farms subdivision--the most exclusive place to live in Stafford. Sophie was nauseous from the wild ride but suspected some of her nausea stemmed from anxiety rather than Lettie's erratic driving methods. At that moment, Lettie slammed on the brakes in front of an English Tudor style house. Both women were propelled forward increasing Sophie's nausea and causing a temporary kink in her neck.
Charlotte Downey and her husband, Jeff, had built the home ten years ago, and Charlotte had lovingly decorated it. Large enough to house an army, the house seemed excessive for a couple who had no children. After seeing a particularly attractive English country home while honeymooning in the British Isles, they agreed to duplicate its beauty when they built their dream home.
Lettie's short legs and her hurry to get out of the van caused her to trip over a clump of spring flowers nestled near the curb. After recovering her balance, she joined Sophie in running a slow 100-yard dash to the double front doors. No lights showed through the front windows of the home, but a streetlight cast an eerie glow on the front of the Downey residence. "Sophie, this doesn't look promising, but let's ring the doorbell anyway. Maybe Charlotte is asleep." After what seemed liked an eternity and repetitive ringing of the Downey's doorbell, no one answered. "What are we going to do now, Lettie?"
Lettie thought for a minute and suggested they look in the back of the house. The two women hurried along a brick-paved walkway at the side of the house, which lead to the three-car garage at the rear of the property. Windows dotted the top of each garage door and both ladies arrived at the same idea and rushed to the front of garage doors.
"Sophie, for heaven's sake, don't just stand there. Look in. You're the tall one. You know I can't possibly see in."
Lettie's height and recently her weight gain annoyed her. Adding to that problem, her appetite had grown to gargantuan proportions after she hit forty. She was not more than twenty pounds heavier than in her teenage years but tended to obsess about her weight.
Sophie and Lettie were a study in contrasts. Lettie had blonde shoulder length hair, and Sophie had a mop of short, curly black hair. The disparity in their heights gave an almost comical appearance when the two appeared together--Lettie being five foot two and Sophie being six feet tall. Their choice of apparel was another distinction. Lettie dressed impeccably and Sophie tended to be more of the earth mother type. Denim was the fabric of choice for Sophie, and Lettie leaned toward silks and cashmere. While Sophie shopped the L. L. Bean catalog, her best friend would frequent Talbots and other high-end department stores. Despite their differences, the two were fast friends.
"It's so dark, I can't tell much of anything. Do you have a flashlight in your car?" Sophie inquired.
"Hang on. I'll be right back."
"Hurry. I don't want to stay back here by myself."
"Don't be silly! I'll just be at the front of the house." Lettie made a mad dash for her van and was out of breath by the time she reached it. Grimacing that she must get in shape, she dreaded the fact that regular exercise would need to become a part of a healthier lifestyle.
Lettie always carried a flashlight in her glove box. She had shown houses without the benefit of electricity on several occasions and having a flashlight handy was a necessity. With sweaty hands, she unlocked the glove box and retrieved her trusty Eveready and hurried back to the garage and her waiting friend.
"I'm getting more nervous by the minute," Sophie murmured. Lettie handed Sophie the flashlight. Sophie's shaky hands lifted the light and directed it through the garage windows.
"I can see Jeff's green Jaguar and his red truck."
"Can you see Charlotte's BMW?"
Sophie moved down to the third garage door. There in the beam of light was Charlotte's gray BMW. "Her car is here. That means she has to be in the house," Sophie paused for a moment. "Doesn't it?" Lettie pondered this latest development. "Not necessarily. She could have come home and left with someone else."
Not knowing what to do next, the two women drove to Sophie's a few houses down the block and across Prairie Drive from Charlotte's house.
The well-tended Dutch colonial home far exceeded the Lambert’s present space requirements. It contained five bedrooms that were necessary when Sophie's four boys were in residence. Harold, a law professor at Midwestern University, occasionally mentioned that they should sell the big home and move to more manageable quarters. Sophie, a homemaker whose world had revolved around her family, would not consider the thought. This home echoed with happy memories of a satisfying life.
"I can hear Fluffy barking," Lettie said, breaking the nervous silence between the two, as she recklessly drove up Sophie's concrete driveway.
"Everyone can always hear Fluffy barking. Harold and I are the only people who escape her yapping. The mailman and UPS delivery person are her particular favorites." "I think all dogs love the UPS delivery trucks! When I show houses, I notice a doggie chorus before I can even see the truck."
It seemed helpful for Lettie and Sophie to make small talk to keep their thoughts away from Charlotte. The women entered Sophie's homey kitchen through the back door. Lettie thought that this kitchen was the perfect setting for lively family discussions.
"Coffee sounds good to me, and I know you won't turn it down," Sophie spoke in a soft voice. "What do you think we should do next?"
Lettie considered the question and started thinking aloud. "Maybe we should try Charlotte's sister. She might know where she is or have a number where we could reach Jeff. Do you remember her name?"
"That's a good idea. Her name is Amelia. While I look up her phone number, check in my freezer and find the package of homemade sticky buns."
Sophie was infamous for her sinfully delicious home baked goodies. It suddenly occurred to Lettie that she hadn't eaten any dinner, because she had counted on having dinner at Gloria's by munching her way through the evening’s snacks. Her mouth watered at the thought of sticky buns; of course, they weren't on her diet, but she couldn't diet all the time.
"Lettie, here's the number. Why don't you phone Amelia, while I warm the buns." Amelia Williams answered her phone after several rings. Lettie identified herself and explained the reason for her call. Amelia did not seem particularly disturbed that her sister was not anywhere to be found. It was well known in the Stafford community that Charlotte and Amelia were not close.
Amelia chose to participate in the family lumber business at an early age. Instead of playing with dolls or neighborhood children, she loved to spend her after school hours at her father's knee in his oak-paneled office. At age eight, Amelia began walking to the Williams Lumber Company after school each day, and this practice continued until she left Stafford for college in the East. There was never a doubt that she would come home to help her father in the family business.
Two years younger than her sister, Charlotte had been perfectly happy to discover the world of paper dolls and frilly clothes. Her parents left no doubt about their desire for their second daughter to graduate from college also, and she dutifully complied with her parent's wishes. Charlotte was a good student, but she did not have any desire to work at Williams Lumber Company. Instead, she majored in home economics at Midwestern University, received her teaching degree, and chose to do volunteer work instead of following a career path.
Her future husband, Jeffrey Downey transferred to MU in his junior year, and the couple began dating after meeting in a personal finance class. After graduation from college, Charlotte and Jeff were married with her parent's blessing, and Jeff took a position with Williams Lumber. Since he had majored in marketing and had graduated with honors, Charlotte's father, Charles, thought that Jeff could give his business a shot in the arm. Needless to say, Amelia was not pleased with her brother-in-law's entrance into the family business.
When Charles and Edna Williams perished in a small plane crash, Amelia became president of Williams LumberYard and Jeff became vice president. Amelia, consumed with her career, had never married, and she and her sister rarely socialized except at business functions or holiday gatherings. "Amelia, we are terribly concerned about Charlotte and wonder if you know where she is or how we could reach Jeff. She told Sophie Lambert this morning that she would be playing bridge tonight.” Silence.
Lettie continued, trying to elicit some response. “As you well know, she is a responsible person and would never not show up for our regular game without telling someone."
"I have no idea where Charlotte could be, but Jeff is at the Diplomat Hotel in Chicago at a trade show. I don't have the hotel number here at home, but I'm sure you can find that out. If you don't have anything else, I must get back to some work I'm doing here. Goodbye."
"Goodness. Everything I've heard about Amelia seems true. She didn't seem to give a hoot about Charlotte's whereabouts, but I did get out of her that Jeff is in Chicago at the Diplomat Hotel." "Do you think we should call and bother him? After all, we don't know anything is really wrong." "What else can we do? I think we need to look inside their house to see if Charlotte is there," the quizzical Lettie explained.
"I suppose you're right, but maybe we're making a mountain out of a mole hill." "Come on, Sophie,” an exasperated Lettie exclaimed.
The ever-logical Sophie tried not to jump to conclusions but did admit she was concerned. Lettie, impatient as usual, jumped at Sophie’s confirmation and dialed long-distance information for the number of the Diplomat Hotel. She scribbled down the number and dialed the Chicago hotel. "Good evening, Diplomat Hotel."
"Would you ring Jeffrey Downey's room, please," Lettie told the hotel operator.
After several rings, Jeff answered, and Lettie hurriedly related the evening's events.
"Lettie, I can't imagine where Char could be. I left this morning about nine, and she told me not to call her until late this evening because she would be playing bridge. So we agreed I would call early tomorrow instead. This is unusual behavior for her; she's so dependable." Jeff hesitated for a minute and continued, "This morning she had a headache. Maybe it got worse, and she took some painkillers and fell asleep at the house."
"She doesn't answer the phone, and Sophie let it ring ten times. We also went to your house and rang the doorbell. She can't sleep that soundly, can she?"
"Not normally, but she had some pain capsules that were left over from her surgery earlier this year. They really zonk her, so if she took one of them, she might not hear the phone or the doorbell." "I think that we ought to check to see if she is in the house. Is there any way to get in?"
"Amelia has a key."
"I just talked to her, and she didn't offer to help. She acted as if I were imposing." "Well, our cleaning lady, Ingrid Swenson, has a key. Also, there's an extra key in my desk at the lumberyard, but that wouldn't be any help at this hour. Let me get my address book, and I'll give you Ingrid's phone number. Please have Char call me as soon as you locate her. I'll be in my room the rest of the evening."
After relaying all the information Jeff had given her, Lettie phoned Ingrid Swenson who agreed to meet the two friends at Charlotte's home.
"We should call Gloria and cancel tonight's game. There is no way we're going to be able to play bridge at this late hour."
"Okay, Lettie, let me call Gloria, so you can have some sticky buns and coffee." Lettie decided that was the best offer of the day except for the offer to purchase on the Meese house. She was famished. Since she had passed the magic age of forty, famished was a constant state most of the time. When she was nervous, her appetite soared to new heights. Right now her stomach was cruising at about 30,000 feet.
"Everyone elected to come over here. No one seemed to think they could sleep without knowing where Charlotte is. I'd better see what else is in the freezer. That way we can have enough food to keep all the girls satisfied."
Lettie finished her sticky buns and poured herself another cup of coffee. Sophie puttered around her kitchen laying out cheese, fruit, her famous chicken liver pate', several kinds of crackers, rare roast beef, sourdough and rye bread, and various condiments.
This was a feast to Lettie who rarely cooked anything from scratch. She only cooked when her daughter, Renee, was home from college. Cooking for one just wasn't any fun and low-calorie TV dinners had become her bill-of-fare. Once in awhile she baked homemade bread. For some reason, she found that baking bread had a calming influence on her, and the smells coming from the oven made her condo seem cozier.
Since her divorce from Douglas, her husband of twenty‑two years, she had moved from their spacious brick ranch home into a two‑bedroom condominium. No amount of decorating made her new domicile have the comfortable homey feeling that she had with Douglas and Renee in their house. Their home on Bakersfield Drive smelled like a bakery most of the time. Now when she baked bread, she recalled her early married days which were happy and peaceful. Douglas was especially fond of homemade bread, and she was more than willing to bake all the bread he wanted. What a fool she had been trying to please him all those years.
Lettie found herself marveling that Sophie still cooked as if all her boys were home. Long-term habits were hard to break, as she well knew. If it pleased Sophie to cook for six instead of two, then so be it.
Lettie's divorce had dampened her enthusiasm for certain domestic chores, especially cooking. She found the freedom from planning menus, doing extensive grocery shopping, and cooking a liberating experience. TV dinners and eating out were the mainstays of her culinary exploits these days. Other habits had been harder to break. Being alone in the house was not her favorite thing. She knew she was daydreaming again about the good old days. She mentally shook herself and finished her second cup of coffee.
"Sophie, if you're finished, let's walk to Charlotte's house."
"Let me leave a note instructing the girls to help themselves to the food. I told Gloria I would leave the back door unlocked since we're not going far. It will certainly startle Harold if he finds six strange women waiting for him. Come to think of it, I'd better leave him a note in case he gets here first."
Although Lettie knew Sophie was fussing around as a means of dealing with her anxiety, she could not contain her lack of patience. She lashed out and said, "Come on. Let's get going. It's been at least fifteen minutes since we spoke to Ingrid."
"Lettie, for crying out loud, settle down. The housekeeper couldn't possibly be here yet. Let's face it, we're both on edge. We can wait a few more minutes."
Lettie took several deep breaths. This routine to relieve stress had served her well in the past. She calmed down a little, but she wished she had her knitting with her. Knitting was not only her hobby but also her natural tranquilizer. Normally a small project such as socks or mittens was in her van; however, since she had known she would be busy until late in the day she had not brought along her knitting. She needed her needles and yarn.
"Lettie, I'm ready to go."
"Okay. I'm trying to relax. Of all the times for me not to have my knitting."
"I thought you looked like you were missing something."
"Funny."
The women walked in silence, each embroiled in her own thoughts. Lettie reflected on how cool the evening had become. Earlier that day the weather had been sunny and in the mid seventies. She shivered.
Upon arrival at the Downey house, Lettie felt butterflies in her stomach. This had nothing to do with her downing three sticky buns and two cups of coffee. It was that feeling in the pit of her stomach she always got when extremely upset. "Jeff was probably right about Charlotte taking one of those pain pills. It's the only logical explanation for her behavior. I remember when I visited her in the hospital after her surgery she told me that her pain medication made her sleepy. If she took one of those pills, she must have had one monster of a headache," Lettie rambled to reassure herself.
Sophie added, "I bet you're right, but I know that Charlotte hated to take medicine. You're right about it being a horrible headache if she resorted to taking those strong pain killers." Lettie and Sophie paced up and down the sidewalk in front of Charlotte's house anticipating the arrival of Ingrid Swenson. After a short while, a blue Ford Pinto slowed and turned into the driveway. A head poked out the driver's side window.
"Are you Sophie and Lettie?"
"Yes, and you're Ingrid."
"Yes, I am. I'm sorry to be so suspicious, but it never hurts to be safe."
A plump, stern looking woman methodically removed herself from the Pinto. She had white hair and wore a flowered cotton dress topped off with a bulky beige sweater. With a gigantic tapestry tote in hand, she made her way toward the front door. "I hope you didn't get me over here for nothing. Mind you, I would do anything for Mrs. Downey. I've been her cleaning lady since she married Mr. Downey."
"We really appreciate your coming over. Charlotte doesn't miss our bridge games without calling us, besides she told Sophie earlier in the day that she would be at the game tonight. When she didn't show up, we were concerned. We called Jeff in Chicago, and he said you had a key and would let us in," Lettie repeated what Ingrid already knew but let her finish.
"Never you mind, if Mister Jeff said to call me, then it's all right." While Ingrid was fishing through her ring of keys, Lettie and Sophie watched in anticipation. It seemed like it was taking Ingrid forever, but only a few seconds had passed. Ingrid inserted her key in the lock of the oak double front doors, turned it, and swung open the door. She immediately turned on the lights in the massive two-story entrance hall, and the illumination momentarily blinded all three women but they soon recovered. The women sounded like a badly rehearsed chorus as they yelled Charlotte's name repeatedly. No one answered.
"Sophie you and Ingrid check upstairs, and I will look down here." Lettie addressed the others. Lettie began her search in the living room and worked her way through the library, dining room, family room, and kitchen turning on light switches and yelling Charlotte's name as she went. She observed Charlotte's familiar copper teakettle perched on the stainless steel stove, and her package of herbal tea sitting next to the cooktop. Recalling her friend's love for tea brought to mind her intense dislike of the same beverage.
She moved into the long hallway and saw a shadow lurking ahead. Her hands fumbled for the hall light switch. The shadow did not move toward her, but by now her throat had constricted and her mouth felt like cotton. Frantically, her hands searched for the elusive switch all the while keeping her eyes riveted on the shadow. Wondering if it could be Char, she decided to call her name yet again. No answer. Someone else is in the house. Her hands moved furiously and finally found their target.
The illumination revealed a six-foot tall Ficus plant in the corner of the hall near the door to the master bedroom. Lettie took several deep breaths to return her heartbeat to normal. She chuckled at her vivid imagination.
After a few seconds, she resumed her search in the master bedroom where a rumpled bed greeted her, and she noticed the familiar teacup on the night table beside the king-sized bed. Her eyes swept the room and eventually wandered to the floor to the right side of the bed where a disheveled Charlotte Downey lay face down. That feeling crept into the pit of her stomach again. She had never discovered a dead human before, but she felt that Charlotte Downey was surely dead. Her chalk white skin and the blue tinge on her face were consistent with death.
Weak knees and spinning head did not deter Lettie from going to the side of the bed. Her hands quivered as she moved her right hand to feel Charlotte's neck. Although she had taken anatomy in college and reading mysteries was one of her pastimes, she was not prepared for this task. As she feared, she felt no pulse on the cold skin of Charlotte's neck.
She jumped up and moved to the phone, which was on the night table along with her late friend's teacup. In her haste in reaching for the phone, she tipped the half-filled teacup, and cold tea splashed on the wrist of her right hand. Her left hand swiftly and automatically grabbed the bone china cup and righted it. She wiped the wet wrist on her navy linen pants. Her hands shook so badly that she doubted her ability to lift the receiver of the phone and to leave things in tact on the nightstand. Several deep breaths later, she picked up the receiver. The emergency number of the Stafford Police was automatic. Often when her ex-husband had come home in a drunken rage, she found it necessary to call the police. She punched 9-1-1 into the phone, and impatiently waited for an answer. Her heart raced and tears welled up in her eyes. Lettie had never imagined in her wildest dreams that she would be reporting the death of one of her friends.
As she relayed the information to the Stafford authorities, her voice sounded unreal--high pitched and rapid. She replaced the phone in its cradle and started shaking uncontrollably. Never liking even to go to a funeral home and see a dead body cleaned up, this was more than she could stand. "Lettie, where are you?" She had completely forgotten her friends were also in the house.
"I'm in the master bedroom, but I'll meet you in the kitchen. I've just found Charlotte. I think she's dead."