"What went on here?" Lieutenant Black asked Officer Mattson as they passed through the polished oak double doors of the Tudor style house in an exclusive neighborhood.
An archway off the wide front hall led into a spacious living room. On one side stood a white clothes rack, about 4 feet long. On the rack hung dozens of plastic hangers holding frilly long nightgowns, sheer ruffled teddies, and silk lounging pajamas. A piece of satiny fabric edged with silk roses trailed from the rack. The thing stood on the edge of a muted Oriental rug looking as out of place as a bag lady among the Duncan Phyfe sofas and elegant upholstered chairs.
"The lady of the house was having some kind of home sales party. Ladies lingerie. Expensive, I'm told." Mattson nodded toward the rack.
"Was the victim one of the marks - er - guests?"
"Yes. She'd had one of these parties at her house a few weeks back. What they call a 'former hostess.' A 'former hostess' gets special treatment at any future party booked by a guest at her party."
"They don't usually wind up dead from the special treatment, do they?"
"No, sir." A brief smile curved Mattson's lips. "The victim was Connie Lowe. The other guests had left except for Ms. Lowe and Karen Maden, the lingerie company consultant who conducted the show slash sale."
"Suspects?"
"Ms. Lowe argued with both the hostess, Greta Tome, and Ms. Maden. Her cell phone rang and she went to the powder room at the end of the front hall to take the call."
"But wound up in the pool in back."
" Mrs. Tome and Ms. Maden went into the kitchen and a few minutes later heard the front door slam."
"So they alibi each other?"
"No. Mrs. Tome went up the back stairs to the master bedroom for a garment she was returning for credit. Sliding doors open from the bedroom to a deck with a flight of steps down to the back yard. A back door from the kitchen leads outside. But neither room has a direct view of the back yard and swimming pool."
"Who found the body?"
"Frank Tome, the husband. He was next door at the Lowe house during the party. Building a barbecue pit. He's a wealthy stockbroker, lays brick as a hobby. Says he walked over to his tool shed for a trowel and saw her body floating in the pool."
"Drowned?"
"Need the autopsy on that. Severe blunt trauma to the head, but she could have been alive when she went in the water."
"Weapon?"
"Brick, likely. We found one with blood on it among several piled near the pool. Mr. Tome had built a fancy barbeque set-up for this place and Ms. Lowe wanted one, too. He agreed, though his wife sounded as though she wasn't too happy about it."
Mattson led the way outside along the walkway around the house. Rustic red bricks were jumbled on the ground between one end of the pool and an impressive barbeque pit.
A purse lay on an umbrella table next to a pair of work gloves. "Mr. Tome has identified the gloves as belonging to him, and that they were near the edge of the pool when he pulled the body out," Mattson said.
The Lieutenant opened the purse and took out a wallet, cell phone, and
gold compact. He replaced the items and picked up the gloves. A small oval object, slightly curved and rose-colored on one side, fell out of the right hand glove. He placed the object in a transparent plastic bag.
"I'll talk to the suspects now. Go over to Ms. Lowe's place." After instructing Mattson on what to look for, the Lieutenant re-entered the house.
"I'm Lieutenant Black." He leaned against a wall next to a narrow door in the pleasant sitting area off the kitchen. "You are -?"
The taller of the two women waved slender fingers, ending in long dark red nails. "Greta Tome. My husband, Frank. Karen Maden."
"Mr. Tome. Did you come back to your house at any time before you found the body?"
"No, Lieutenant."
"Ms. Maden, did you look out the kitchen window and see Ms. Lowe or Mrs. Tome moving around the house toward the pool area?"
"No, I didn't, Lieutenant."
"What was your argument with Ms. Lowe about?"
"She wanted to order an expensive hostess gown and claimed I wasn't giving her the credit she was entitled to as a former hostess."
"Mrs. Tome. What was your dispute with Ms. Lowe?"
"My husband insisted that I order nearly a dozen garments at Connie's show. Her husband left recently and she was trying to make some extra money. She promised to place a substantial order at my show, but didn't do so."
Lieutenant Black opened the narrow door beside him and the scent of roses drifted through the opening. Opposite the door a crystal bowl sparkled on a glass shelf affixed to a mirrored wall. The reflected image doubled the drift of rose petal potpourri spilling from the bowl to the shelf. Black stepped into the room. He idly sifted a few petals through his fingers and spoke, a little louder than before. "Mr. Tome."
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
Black moved back to lean against the door frame. Officer Mattson came into the room, caught the Lieutenant's eye and nodded twice.
"Why did you call Ms. Lowe's cell phone from her house, Mr. Tome?"
"Ah - I needed to ask her a question about the barbeque pit."
"She needed privacy for that?"
"I could hardly see where she took the call," Mr. Tome snapped.
"But your wife could. You suspected they were having an affair, didn't you, Mrs. Tome?" Mrs. Tome crossed her arms and pressed her lips together. Her husband stared at her, eyes wide.
"A common wall separates this powder-room from the one off the front hall. With your ear against that wall, you heard Ms. Lowe on her cell phone threaten to tell you about their affair, then agree to meet your husband at the pool. We know this is possible as Officer Mattson just indicated that he heard me speaking a moment ago from the other powder room."
"I only stepped inside for a moment, to be sure the room was tidy for Karen. Then I went up to get the robe I was returning."
"You hurried up to your room and down to the backyard. You grabbed the work gloves your husband had left lying in the grass and picked up a brick. You met Ms. Lowe as she came along the walk, slammed the brick against her head, dumped her in the pool, and ran back up the steps to your bedroom."
"Greta! You were panting when you ran downstairs and into the powder room after you practically threw the robe to me." Karen Maden's voice rose and she edged away from Greta Tome.
"Ridiculous!"
"Is it? Will you all allow me to examine your hands? If so, I think we will find the truth."
Ms. Maden and Tome thrust their hands forward. "Mrs. Tome?"
Slowly, she put her hands out, fingers curled. Black flattened his hand under her right one and straightened her fingers. The long index fingernail drooped instead of being straight and firm like the others. He tugged on it. It detached and fluttered gently downward, red against the pale carpet. Black cupped his hand under the object and allowed it to settle softly on his palm.
He pulled the clear plastic bag from his pocket and showed her the artificial nail which had fallen from the work glove. "Inventive. You must have been back downstairs before you noticed it was gone. You had to stay near Ms. Maden for an alibi. But you remembered the rose petals in the powder room. A good match, if no one examined it closely."
"I hoped it came off anywhere else. Frank was the logical suspect. Stacking bricks, like a common laborer, for a common tramp."
"So you tried for two birds with one stone, er - brick."
The End