The Deceivers

Linda and her stepmother glared at each other across the breakfast table. “You’re just like Cinderella’s stepmother, you know that?” Linda’s hands trembled as she set her coffee cup down. She pushed aside her plate with the half-eaten scrambled eggs and toast.

“And you’re the ugly stepsisters. All combined,” Mindy spit back, her mouth a dark red slash, her blue eyes icy. At eight in the morning, she was perfectly dressed, perfectly made up. A tiny woman, she worked hard to keep in shape. Thirty-two, she was only six years older than Linda who knew from the moment she met her the woman was after her father’s money. Mindy had set her mind on marrying Lyndon with the dedication of a marathon runner.

But her father couldn’t see it. Blindly in love. Linda shuddered, stood up, and put her dishes in the sink, carefully. She would not slam them; she would not throw them. They had been her mother’s cherished china. She suppressed a sob, turned away from the odious woman and started for the back stairs to go to her room.

She saw her father coming down and bumped into him.

“Whoa, whoa.” He grasped her elbow. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” He looked at her more carefully. “What’s wrong?”

She turned her head and blinked away her tears. She’d held back all her feelings about Mindy so as not to hurt him. But she didn’t know how much longer she could do that. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “Put too much pepper on my eggs.” She faked a cough.

“Lyndon, darling,” Mindy said behind her. “Good morning.”

Linda looked back at her stepmother. Mindy gave them both a beatific smile. And her father hurried down to take Mindy in his arms.

In her room, Linda threw herself on the bed. She wished she’d never moved back in after she left Giles. She thought it would be okay while she looked for a place of her own. Huge mistake. It was so bad, she was even thinking about moving back in with him.

***

When Linda came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, Mindy sat slumped over her cereal bowl, arms outstretched across the table, an egg-shaped lump on the back of her head.

Linda shrieked and backed out of the room. She ran upstairs and pounded on her father’s bedroom door. “Dad, Dad, come quick. Mindy’s hurt.”

Her father opened his door and peered at her, frowning. “What happened? She trip again?” It had become a standing joke about how clumsy Mindy was.

“No. No, not that.” Linda tugged on her father’s sleeve, and he dashed ahead of her down the back stairs and into the kitchen.

When he saw Mindy and staggered backwards, Linda knew she should have warned him. His gaze turned from Mindy to lock onto hers.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“I think so.”

“You did this,” her father said.

“What? No!” Her hands began to shake.

“You hated her.” He pulled himself up straight and walked over to his wife. Took her hand, felt for a pulse. Laid her hand gently back on the table. He crouched down and stared at his wife’s face. Kissed her brow.

Linda turned away, walked into the living room and sank into one of the damask-covered couches. Her thoughts flew from one thing to another. She wanted Giles to hold her again. She’d wanted Mindy dead, but hadn’t realized how awful it would be. And her father accusing her of murdering Mindy.

She shuddered when the doorbell rang. Her father let two paramedics in, leaving the door open behind them. Police officers arrived, both uniformed and plain clothed. They went into the kitchen for a few minutes, then the two plain-clothed officers came into the living room again.

An officer held out his hand. “Andy Carlson.”

“Linda Summerfield.”

“You live here?”
“Temporarily.”

“Who found the woman?”

“I did.”

“Okay, we’re taking you and your father downtown to get your statements.” When she jerked in surprise, he said, “Routine. We can’t stay at the crime scene.”

Crime scene. Linda’s stomach churned.”Can I get my purse?” The idea of being without her purse made her feel panicky. “How long before we’ll be able to come back here?”
“It might be a day or two.”She raised her chin. “Then I need my purse.”

The officer nodded. “Where is it.”

“In my room. Upstairs.”

“Okay, lead the way. Try not to touch anything.”

She wanted to hang onto the banister as they climbed the front stairs but forced herself to go up slowly. In her room she grabbed her purse and turned to leave.

The officer stopped her. “I’ll have to search that before we go.”

She clutched it to her chest, then reluctantly handed it to him.

He stood at her dresser and removed each item, making a note about it in a small, black notebook. He pocketed her cell phone, then handed her the purse. “At the station someone will check out your phone, then probably give it back to you before you leave.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She knew it would be useless to argue. He motioned her to go downstairs. Numbly, she descended, wanting to close her eyes, make the whole thing go away.

They reached the bottom as another officer led her father out of the kitchen. He didn’t look at her as he walked out the front door. At least they’d let him get dressed.

At the station, a female officer took Linda to a small interview room, asked if she wanted something to drink, then left. Linda stared bleakly at the mirror, realizing someone was probably watching her from behind it. She sat up straight, feet flat on the floor, and clasped her hands together, resting her forearms on the table and waited. When would this nightmare be over? At least the money-grubbing bitch was dead.

***

A couple of hours later outside the interview room, Detective Andy Carlson watched Linda Summerfield sitting quietly facing the two-way mirror. The stepdaughter. He already had a dozen or so questions for her.

She was attractive in a casual way. No makeup, and she wore jeans and a tiny plain green T-shirt, red and black athletic shoes. A black scarf held her light brown hair away from her face. She looked fit, and her hazel eyes were wary.

When she saw him enter the room, her full lips thinned with tension, and her knuckles turned white as she clenched her hands more firmly together.

His partner, Dan, took another chair and sat hunched over his ever-present notebook, pen at the ready.

Andy introduced her to Dan, then said, “You found Mrs. Summerfield this morning.” He slumped into his chair, going for casual.”Yes.”

“Would you tell me about that?”

“Don’t you have to read me my rights? Aren’t you going to record this?”

“You’re not under arrest. Officer Reynolds will take notes. This is just a preliminary investigation.”

“Oh.”

He waited. “You want to tell me about finding Mrs. Summerfield?”
She looked him in the eyes then, her own chilly. He figured he would have to work hard to get anything extra out of her. “I came down for breakfast. Found her slumped over the table.”

“What time was that?”
“About eight, eight-fifteen.”

“Where was your father?”

She shrugged, so slightly he almost missed it. “I guess he was in his bedroom. He wasn’t with me, so I can’t be certain where he was. Perhaps he was in the bathroom. Maybe he was in the sitting room adjoining his bedroom.” Her voice flat, her face expressionless.

Either in deep shock, or she had something to hide and was throwing in non-essential details to distract him.

Detective Andy Carlson was not easily distracted, however.

“Where was your father when you went to tell him about your mother?”

“Stepmother. She was my stepmother.”

He noticed the past tense. He knew Dan had, too, and was making a note of it.

He repressed a sigh. “Where was your father when you went to tell him about your stepmother?”

“In his bedroom.”

“Tell me what happened after you went to get him.”

“I told him Mindy was hurt, and we ran to the kitchen. He checked her pulse, then kissed her.”

“Who called the police?”

“Not me.”

She was leaving something out, he could tell.

“Why weren’t you together when the police came?”

She looked surprised by the question, and it took her a few beats too long to answer. “He stayed in the kitchen with her. I . . . I couldn’t do that.”

Still something left out. He shifted in his chair. “How long had your father and stepmother been married, Ms. Summerfield?”

“Almost a year. A year next month.”

“And how did you get along with her?”

“Fine.” Her lips thinned some more, though, and she wouldn’t look at him.

“Who has access to your home, Ms. Summerfield? Who has a key?”

She thought for a few moments. “Our next-door neighbor, and my friend, Jenny.”

“Full names?”She told him.

“What was their relationship with Mrs. Summerfield?”

Linda blinked. “What do you mean, their relationship? Felicia is our neighbor. She’s been our neighbor since before I was born. And Jenny is my friend. She hardly knew Mindy.”

“Was Felicia Conway close to your mother?”
“You mean my ‘biological’ mother as people say now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” She didn’t shift in her chair. Totally controlled for such a young woman. Hiding something.

“Was Felicia Conway close to Mindy?”
“No. They were, of course, from different generations. And Mindy didn’t have a lot of spare time.”

“What did she do all day?”

Linda smiled and gave a brief headshake. Not really amused. More disdainful, he thought. “Exercised, lunched with the girls, napped, went to the day spa for a massage, her nails, her hair and her skin. Shopped. That was a big one.”

“You were not fond of your stepmother, Ms. Summerfield.” He made it a statement instead of a question.

“Fond? No. She wasn’t someone I could be fond of, Detective. Her focus was on men, not women, and she didn’t much care what women thought of her. Everything she did was to attract a man, and she succeeded very well with my father. He was crazy about her.”

“So, they didn’t have a falling-out? No argument yesterday, for example?”

“No. It was simple. Anything she asked for, she got. And my father was happy to give it to her. I don’t know if that would have lasted through the years, but they hadn’t yet celebrated their first anniversary.”

“As far as you know, then, your father had no motive to kill her.”

The look of shock on her face told him a lot. The thought had never crossed her mind. Then what was she still hiding?

***

The police finally gave Linda her cell phone and let her leave. But she couldn’t go back to the house yet. They’d let her know when they were done there. She thought of Giles first, but called Jenny. Relief flowed through her when her best friend answered, traffic noise in the background.

“Thank God you called,” Jenny said. “I’ve been frantic. I saw what happened on the news. They showed pictures of the front of your house. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m at the main police station. Can you pick me up?” Her voice shook, and her hands trembled from the strain of not telling the police her father had accused her of killing Mindy. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

“Of course. I’ll be there in less than five minutes. Are you okay?”

Jenny let out a long sigh. “I’ll be okay. I’ll tell you everything when you get here.” Almost everything.

“See you in a few minutes,” Jenny said and hung up.

Linda stood in front of the station, watching traffic. At least the weather was pleasant. No rain, hardly any wind, no snow, although it was too early for snow. About sixty-five degrees, she guessed. What few trees were in the city were turning color and losing most of their leaves. She remembered collecting and identifying leaves when she was a girl, so excited to bring home a new one to her mother who always exclaimed over them.

Jenny drove up, and Linda hopped into the car “Let’s have lunch,” Jenny said.

Startled, Linda looked at her watch. “It’s that time already?” She took in another huge breath and realized she’d scarcely been breathing at all until now.

“What happened?” Jenny pointed the car further downtown toward their favorite restaurant.

Linda shuddered. “It was terrible. I found Mindy this morning, at the breakfast table. Someone hit her on the back of the head. The police took Dad and me in for questioning. I don’t know where Dad is right now. I can’t go back to the house. You know he still won’t carry a cell phone.”

Jenny smiled. “Yeah. That’s so cute of him.”

Cute of him? Linda looked at Jenny. She had a strange smile on her face, but when she glanced at Linda, quickly wiped it off. Linda’s stomach fell. Something in her brain clicked. Jenny was in love with her father. Why hadn’t she seen that before? She’d flirted with him, Linda now realized. She’d asked Linda how he was, what he was doing, all kinds of questions, especially since Linda’s mother died. Linda had thought she was just being kind, wanting to be sure he was all right. But now she knew better. And didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

Jenny kept glancing at her. “You okay? You look sick.”

Linda nodded. “I feel sick. Don’t think I can eat lunch after all.” She wanted to get out of the car, go somewhere. But where could she go? She’d broken up with Giles just two weeks ago. Her other friends would be at work or at the club or shopping. And she didn’t want to see any of them anyway.

Giles would be at his studio. The break-up had been friendly. They just didn’t have a lot in common, except explosive sex, and he wasn’t stable enough for her to get serious about. The starving artist and the poor little rich girl. A cliché which she knew hardly ever worked. But at least he wasn’t a foolish old man like her father.

“Take me to Giles’ place, will you?” she asked Jenny.

Jenny nodded. Linda guessed she was afraid to say anything more. After Jenny pulled up in front of the rundown building where Giles lived in the loft, she put the car in park and placed her hand on Linda’s arm. “You won’t tell the police? I know you’re wondering if I killed her. I didn’t. I couldn’t do something like that, and even if I had, how would it have benefited me? He’ll never look at me.”

Linda hugged her, taking comfort from Jenny’s arms holding her. “Find someone else. He’s become a foolish old man. You can do better.”

As she stepped out of the car, Linda knew it was bitterness that made her say those words, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her father accusing her of killing Mindy. At least she’d been able to keep that from the police.

“hanks for the ride. I’ll call you.”

Jenny nodded and took off. Linda climbed the three flights of stairs to Giles’s loft, her mind churning. He answered the door wearing cut-off jeans and nothing else. His brown hair, always a bit too long, hung over his electric-blue eyes. He had a thin nose and sensuous mouth, a hard-body chest that she used to love to put her head against, feeling his strength. His hands and feet had long, tapering fingers and toes. Yes, even his feet were sexy. She felt the heat rise to her face as she looked at him, and a tightening in other regions of her body.

He seemed surprised to see her. “Hi.” He opened the door wider. “Change your mind?”

She couldn’t help smiling. Arrogant as ever. “No,” she said. “I just need a friend right now.”

He closed the door, and they sat down across from each other in the small area where he’d placed a navy blue couch and an ecru easy chair with a long, glass-topped coffee table between them. She sat in the chair, and he lounged on the couch, watching her.

She didn’t know how to begin, so she looked over the studio, seeing not much had changed. Canvases stacked along the walls, some finished, some unfinished. The easel under the skylight. She squinted at the painting on it. Looked like a woman. Looked something like her.

“Yeah,” he said. “Trying to get you down. Not easy.”

“Before you forget me?” she asked, trying for lightness.

He shook his head. “I’ll never forget you. You were good for me.”

She couldn’t look at him, so she stared at the small area he’d made into a kitchen. They used to sit for hours at the little table for two, talking.

Then she remembered her father’s kitchen.

“Mindy’s dead,” she said.

“What?”

“Murdered. I found her this morning. Spent the rest of the morning at the police station.” Her throat caught. “My father wanted to know if I’d done it.”

“What?” Giles leaned forward, started to reach for her. “How could he think that?”
“He was besotted.”

Giles leaned back on the couch. “He may have said that to throw you off. Maybe he killed her.”

“Giles! You can’t think that. My father was crazy about Mindy.”

“And that can make a man do crazy things. What if he found out she was having an affair, for example?”

Linda’s hands began to tremble. “You think she was having an affair?”

“I don’t know. But it wouldn’t surprise me. She came on to most men she met, me included.”

Linda put a still-trembling hand to her mouth. “You never told me.”

“I didn’t want to make you hate her more than you already did.”

She crumbled then. Began beating her hands on her knees, sobbing. He came to her, picked her up and took her to the couch, fitting her into his lap. She put her head on that wonderful chest. “I feel as if I lost my father today. I’d already lost part of him, but now I feel . . . I feel as if he’s all gone.”

“Then we’ll have to work on getting him back.”

“How?”

“First, find out who killed Mindy. Next, tell him you forgive him. You’re his daughter, his only daughter. That’s a unique relationship. And he’s your father. The only one you’ll ever have.”
Linda heard him, but she was wondering why she’d given Giles up. She knew now it had been a mistake. She cried some more, for her father, for Giles and for herself.

When she wound down, Giles put her in his bed, and she fell asleep, exhausted, with the smell of him in her nostrils, his pillow under her head.

She woke up two hours later, her head stuffy, her eyes stinging. She smelled coffee and bacon, and she got up, realizing she was hungry. In the kitchen alcove Giles sat watching the news channel on his tiny TV. He looked up when she came into view and smiled.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.”

“Good. Sit.”

She sat down, and he put bread in the toaster, eggs in a pan, and pulled some warm bacon from the oven. “I thought breakfast would be appropriate.”

She managed a smile. As she ate, he told her what he’d been doing. “I called the police station, and with my golden tongue told them I was your lawyer.”

She felt a faint smile on her lips. “You sneak.”

He grinned at her. “I asked them when the house would be ready for you to come back to it. They said sometime tomorrow. I don’t think it would be ready so quickly if your father wasn’t a rich man, and if I hadn’t pushed them as your representative.”

Linda shook her head a little, amused. Giles had always been quick thinking and able to dissemble with the best of them.

“You can stay here tonight,” Giles said. “I called your father’s office. No one has seen him. I called his club. Hasn’t been there. You have any idea where he might have gone?”

“Maybe the cabin in Connecticut, but he probably holed up at the Library Hotel on Madison. He’d call his favorite clothing store, and they’d deliver some clothes. Our drug store would send out an order for whatever he needed–razor, shaving cream and so forth. I’ll try the hotel first.”

When someone answered, she found out he was registered and asked to be put through to his room. It took five rings for him to pick up, and he sounded hoarse.

“Dad?”

“Linda.” Relief in his voice. “Where are you?”

“With Giles.”

“Oh. Good. Are you okay?”

“I will be when this is over. How did it go with the police?”

“Not too good.” She could imagine him running his hand through his gray hair, frowning. “They acted as if they knew I did it. I understand they always suspect the husband, but it was difficult. How about you?”
“A little pressure, but they just seemed to want a list of suspects from me. Giles checked with them a while ago, and they told him we should be able to go back tomorrow. Will you want to do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I want to look things over, see if I can find anything the police might have missed. You’re with Giles?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know where else to go.” She glanced at Giles who looked disappointed. “And,” she said quickly, turning her attention back to the phone, “I was thinking, like you, that we should check everything out to see what might have been missed by the police.”

“Linda.” His voice broke. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I know you could never . . .”

The lump in her throat made her unable to speak.

“Linda? Please.”

She coughed a bit to get rid of the lump. “It’s okay, Dad. I know you were upset. But it hurt. I promise you, I didn’t do it.”

“I believe you. We’ll work together to find out who did.”

“Okay. You rest up. Giles and I will get the exact time we can go back, and I’ll call you then.”

“Sounds like a plan. Give my best to Giles.”

That was gracious of him, Linda knew. He’s always been leery of Giles. Fortune hunter? A rich father could never be sure. Ironically, he’d never thought Mindy might be one.

***

The following afternoon Linda and her father searched Mindy’s dressing room. Her signature scent, Joy, still lingered. They found her daily planner tucked between two novels on her nightstand. There seemed to be a few codes in the address section, but they couldn’t figure them out.

Lyndon took it down the hall to his study. There, Linda saw the huge dictionary on the bookstand. The one where she and her mother pressed autumn leaves.

Her father noticed her looking at it. “Mindy used to like to look through that.”

“Really?” Linda opened it at random. While her father thumbed through Mindy’s address book, Linda flipped through a few dictionary pages. Leaf flakes were scattered at the beginning of the Fs, a few falling onto the carpet. She searched through it some more and found more flakes. As if someone had taken each leaf, crumbled it in her hand and then put them back in the book, shutting it tight.

Her father glanced up. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

She said nothing, only showed her father a handful of leaf flakes.

It took him a moment to realize what they were. “How did that happen?”

“You tell me. It’s your office, your dictionary.” She brushed the flakes off into the wastebasket.

He stood up. “You think Mindy did that.”

“Who else? I didn’t. I’m sure you didn’t.”

Lyndon ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Well, even if she did, she’s dead now. We can’t ask her to explain it.”

Linda rifled through a few more pages. And found a whole leaf. She picked it up and stared at it. As she went to put the leaf back, she read the definition of a circled word. “Dan–the son of Jacob and the traditional eponymous ancestor of one of the tribes of Israel.”

She put the leaf on the page and began to look through the rest of the dictionary. She found several more pulverized leaves, and then another whole one. And another word circled. “Reynolds–Sir Joshua, 1723-1792 Eng. Painter.”

Dan Reynolds. “Dad, come look at this.” She showed him what she’d found, and they both stood a few moments, thinking.

“We need the phone book,” her father said. “You don’t know anyone by that name?”

“I’m not sure. Sounds familiar, but not someone I know well.”

No Dan or Daniel Reynolds in the phone book. If he lived in town, his number was unlisted.

Lyndon looked though the address section of Mindy’s planner. Between the phone numbers for her podiatrist and dermatologist, he found a listing for “DR” with no other identification and showed it to Linda. He dialed the number, waited through ten rings, then hung up. “No answer. No offer to leave a message.”

The doorbell rang, making them both jump. “I’ll get it,” Linda said and rushed down the front stairs.

The bell rang again before she could open the door. Detective Carlson stood there, his partner beside him. “Good afternoon,” Detective Carlson said. “We have a few more questions for both you and your father. Is he here?”

“Yes.” Linda held the door open, and the two men entered. She showed them into the living room. “My father’s upstairs. I’ll go get him.”

“No, wait. We’ll talk to you first, if you don’t mind.”

“All right.”

They all sat down, and the other detective took out notebook and pen.

“I had the feeling,” Detective Carlson began, “that you weren’t totally forthcoming with us yesterday. Do you have anything to add to your statement?”

Linda frowned. “No. No, I don’t. I don’t know why you think that. However, my father and I found Mindy’s planner this afternoon. We’re surprised you missed it.”

Detective Carlson looked surprised himself, but the other man only straightened a bit in his chair and scribbled a note in his notebook.

“She had some notes and initials that didn’t make any sense. And she may have left a clue in an old dictionary. I think she was afraid of someone. Someone with the initials D.R.”

Detective Carlson raised his eyebrows, and the other man’s eyes widened. His glance darted around the room as if looking for an escape.

“D. R. for Dan Reynolds,” Linda said. “You knew Mindy?”

Carlson whipped around in his chair, but he was too slow. Reynolds dropped his notebook and pen, jumped up and pointed his gun at his partner.

“That’s why the book was left here. You didn’t want it in evidence.” Linda’s voice rose to a squeak. “You killed Mindy!”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Dan, put the gun down.” Carlson sounded calm, but his left hands shook.

“She’s gonna put it on me, Andy. I can tell. You know I can’t go to prison–a cop in prison.”

Behind them, Linda saw her father creeping down the carpeted stairs. Did he know what was happening? How much had he heard? Could he see the gun?

“Dan,” Carl tried again, “if you’re innocent, we’ll prove it. We’ll find out who did it.”

“I know how it works. We get a suspect, we don’t look any further. You know that.”

“Not if it’s one of our own. You’ve always been a little paranoid, you know. I’ll do everything in my power to prove you innocent. I guess you were seeing her, though?”

“Yeah. And probably someone saw us together. But I didn’t kill her. I swear I didn’t kill her.”

“And I believe you. Now put your weapon down.”

Linda looked at her father and saw the gun in his hand. He pointed it at Dan Reynolds.

She couldn’t breathe. Something in her face must have alerted Andy Carlson. His eyes widened, but he didn’t move for a moment. Then his own weapon was in his hand, and he spun around. “Drop it!” he shouted at Lyndon.

The gun in her father’s hand spurted fire, and Linda ducked. Another shot rang out almost at once. Lyndon stumbled, then fell down from the third step, face first.

Without thinking, Linda ran to him. Turned him over. He groaned. Alive. “Dad, Dad!” She looked for a wound, saw blood coming from his chest.

“Sorry, little girl. I found out about them. He killed her, I know he did.” He closed his eyes and stopped breathing.

“No.” She glanced over at the two police officers, Reynolds flat on his back, a hole in his forehead. Carlson’s gun was still aimed in their direction. “So, it’s over,” she whispered.

Carlson nodded, holstered his gun.

Linda walked to the sofa and sat down. It had worked, although she hadn’t expected her father to die. But she was clear. Her father had scared her when he accused her of murdering Mindy. When she’d learned about Mindy’s affair with Reynolds, she’d set everything up–the address book, the dictionary. But she hadn’t known her father knew about Reynolds.

Now it was finished, and she owned what Mindy had wanted so badly. The money, the house and everything. And of course, Giles. He wanted her back, and she should never have given him up. Who said you couldn’t have it all?

 

BIO: Jan is a writer of short stories (over 70 published), mystery novels (12 published), and non-fiction. She’s passionate about time management, personal organization, and writing of any kind. Settled down on the Texas Gulf Coast after traveling all over the USA, she’s finally able to devote more time to writing.