when I met her at Molly’s and she certainly was uptight when I talked to her on the phone to ask about coming here today.
As the aroma of coffee began to fill the room, Fran set about trying to get Edna Barry to relax and let down her guard. “I went to school with Molly at Cranden,” she said. “Did she tell you that?”
“Yes, she did.” Edna took cups and saucers from the cabinet and placed them on the table. She peered at Fran over her glasses for a moment before sitting down.
She’s thinking about the library-fund scandal, Fran thought, then brushed her concern aside and went ahead with her interview. “But I understand you’ve known her even longer than that?”
“Oh, yes. I worked for her parents from the time she was little. Then they moved to Florida right after she got married, and that’s when I started working for her.”
“Then you knew Dr. Lasch very well also?”
Edna Barry considered the question. “I guess the answer to that one has to be yes and no. I was there three mornings a week. The doctor was always gone off to work when I got there at nine and seldom home at one o’clock when I left. But if Molly was giving a dinner party-which she did fairly often-then she’d have me in to serve and clean up. That’s really the only time I saw the doctor and her together. When he was around, he was always very pleasant.”
Fran noticed that Edna Barry’s lips tightened into a straight line as though whatever she was thinking as she spoke was not very pleasant. “When you did see him and Molly together, did you get the feeling that they were happy?” she asked.
“Until that day I came in and Molly was so upset and packing to go to the Cape, I never saw even a hint of a quarrel. I will say that before that day, I had felt time hung a little heavy on her hands. She did a lot of volunteer work in town, and I know she’s a very good golfer, but sometimes she’d tell me that she missed having a job. And, of course, she had some tough breaks too. She was so anxious to start a family, and then, when she had that last miscarriage, she seemed different, very quiet, very withdrawn.”
Nothing Edna Barry was saying was really of any help to Molly, Fran thought, as a half-hour later she finished her second cup of coffee. She had only a few questions left to ask, and so far the woman hadn’t been very forthcoming. “Mrs. Barry, the security system wasn’t on when you got to work that Monday, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Did you check to see if there might have been an unlocked door that an intruder might have used?”
“There was
I’ve hit a nerve, Fran thought, and there’s something she’s not telling me. “How many doors are there in the house?”
“Four,” she answered without pausing to think. “The front door. The kitchen door. They had the same key. A door from the family room to the patio. That only opened from the inside. A basement door that was always locked and bolted.”
“Did you check
“No, but the police did, Miss Simmons. Why don’t you talk to them?”
“Mrs. Barry, I’m not questioning what you told me,” Fran said, her tone conciliatory.
Seemingly mollified, Edna Barry said, “On that Friday afternoon, when I left, I checked all the doors to be sure that they were locked. Dr. Lasch always came in the front door. The floor bolt wasn’t fastened that Monday morning, so that means over the weekend someone used that door.”
“The floor bolt?”
“At night, Molly always put it on. The kitchen door was locked when I came in. I am positive about that.”
Edna Barry’s cheeks were flushed. Fran could see the woman was on the verge of tears. Is she afraid because she thinks she may have been careless and left the house unlocked? she wondered.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Barry, and your hospitality,” Fran said. “I’ve taken enough of your time for now, but I may want to ask you a few more questions later, and possibly we’ll ask you to be a guest on the program.”
“I don’t want to be a guest on the program.”
“Of course. As you wish.” Fran turned off the recorder and got up to leave. At the door she asked a final question: “Mrs. Barry, let’s just assume the possibility that there
“Not to my knowledge.”
“I’m going to suggest to Molly that they should be changed. Otherwise she might be in danger from an intruder. Don’t you agree?”
Now the color drained from Edna Barry’s face. “Miss Simmons,” she said, “if you’d seen what I saw when I went upstairs-Molly lying in that bed, covered with crusted blood-you’d know that no intruder came into the house that night. Stop trying to make trouble for innocent people.”
“What innocent people am I trying to make trouble for, Mrs. Barry?” Fran demanded. “I thought I was trying to help a young woman, someone you’ve known for years and say you care for, to perhaps prove herself innocent of this crime!”
Mrs. Barry said nothing, her lips a grim, straight line as she opened the door for Fran to leave. “We’ll be talking again, Mrs. Barry,” Fran said, unsmiling. “I have a feeling I still have a lot of questions for you that need to be answered.”
29
As Molly suspected, when her phone rang on Saturday afternoon, it was Jenna calling.
“I was just talking to Phil Matthews,” Jenna said. “I understand you’re cooking dinner for him. I approve.”
“Good Lord, don’t even think in those terms,” Molly protested. “I would have had him pounding on the door if I hadn’t let him come over, and since I’m not ready to go to a restaurant, it just seemed like the logical thing to do.”
“Well, we decided that, invited or not, we’re coming over for a drink. Cal is anxious to see you.”
“You’re not invited,” Molly said, “but come over around seven.”
“Moll,” Jenna said, then hesitated.
“Say it. It’s okay.”
“Oh, it’s nothing dramatic, my friend. It’s just that you sound like yourself again-and I love it.”
Who is “myself”? Molly wondered. “Nothing like windows without bars and a satin quilt on the bed,” she commented. “They do wonders for the soul.”
“Wait till I get you in to Manhattan for the makeover. What are you up to today?” Molly hesitated, then decided that she was not ready to share, even with Jenna, the fact that she was going through Gary ’s daily reminder and appointment books, searching day by day for clues. She settled instead for a half-truth. “As long as I’m a hostess, however unwelcome that role, I’m getting a few things started in the kitchen. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like that.”
That much was true. The rest of the truth was that Gary ’s date books going back several years before his death were stacked on the kitchen table. Working backwards, starting with the date of his death, she had been going through them page by page, line by line.
Molly remembered that Gary ’s schedule always had been crowded, and that he was always jotting down reminders to himself. She already had come across several such notations, entries like “5 P.M. Call Molly at club.”
She remembered with a pang that there were times he’d phone her and ask, “Why is it in my book that I’m supposed to call you now?”
At 5:30, just before she set the table for that night’s dinner, Molly found the notation that she wanted. It was a phone number that showed up several times in Gary ’s last reminder diary. She checked with the information operator and learned that the area code for the number given was in Buffalo.
She dialed the number, and when a woman answered, Molly asked if Annamarie was there.
