Diane Davidson - The Grilling Season

“I thought for a minute. Had Suz been hard to work for? Not even slightly. Although most of my, clients were wonderful, I’d had enough horrendous ones to know the type. “I didn’t have any problem with her. It was a one-shot deal, though, not a long-term project. If anything, she seemed unusually accommodating.” I remembered Suz, her blond ponytail bobbing, her shiny blue silk skin skimming her knees as she stepped along the newly laid path. “She praised me to the skies for my food, and insisted I go around her property with the guests. She even helped me with the cleanup.” When the two policewomen said nothing, I added, “That’s unusual, believe me.”

“Were these people from Minneapolis still around when she was so magnanimously cleaning up?”

“All five department heads were there. The Provider Relations man left because of his injury. He was the one who fell down the steps. The HR guy asked me for a recipe.”

“HR?”

“Human Resources. The head of HR at the Denver office of AstuteCare is Brandon Yuille. Do you know him? His mother died last year, and his father, Mickey Yuille, bought the Aspen Meadow Pastry Shop not long after. Now that Mickey keeps baker’s hours, I hardly ever see him. But I’m friends with the Yuilles. We swap recipes and food. I made them some fudge last week and they gave me some Thai peanut sauce.” I paused. “So. That’s who was there that I can remember.”

Beiner raised her eyebrows. “All those people were still around when Ms. Craig was doing the dishes with you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Maybe she wanted to impress the Minneapolis people with her versatility. Do you know anything else about her?” Beiner prompted me.

“She was single. Wealthy. Smart. Very pretty.”

“Right.”

I sighed deeply, because I knew what was coming next.

“Okay, Mrs. Schulz,” said Beiner. “You have any idea why someone would want Suz Craig dead?”

If Arch were here, he would say, “Don’t answer, Mom.” And of course, really, I didn’t know that John Richard would want Suz dead. But he could lose his temper so easily. Especially if the woman with command of the purse strings had pulled those strings shut.

“My ex-husband, Dr. John Richard Korman, is having money problems. Severe money problems. He’s a member doctor of the AstuteCare HMO, they pay him a salary. What I heard was – “

“What you heard from whom?” “His other ex-wife. Marla Korman. You might want to talk to her. Marla told me that John Richard hadn’t yet received his bonus. Apparently, Suz was the one who decided whether he got it or not.”

Beiner nodded; Irving wrote and flipped a page.

“Know about her relationships with anyone else? Neighbors? Friends?”

“She was fairly new in the community. To be fair, I think she moved up here to be closer to John Richard.”

“What did your ex-husband say to you about their relationship?”

What did he ever say to me about a relationship he was having? The woman I’m with now is so much nicer/smarter/prettier/more together than you. I shrugged.

“The usual. He adored her.”

“Mrs. Schulz? Does your ex-husband have any reason to think you disliked Suz Craig?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “John Richard believed I was jealous of Suz. Which of course I was not. I really didn’t know too much about their relationship. He was going out with her last night, I know that. Then this morning he mentioned that they’d ‘mixed it up.’ That’s one of his terms for beating up a woman. Another one is ‘getting physical.’ ” As if his losses of temper were bouts. “You know that my complaints of his violence against me, including photographs of my face and body, are pan of police record.”

Her voice a tone lower, Beiner said, “You’re saying there’s not much to like in John Richard Korman.”

“I divorced him.” The sergeant made a circular motion with her finger and Deputy Irving closed her notebook. In the same low tone, Beiner asked, “So do you have a theory on this? I’d really like to know.”

Unexpectedly, the old rage surged up. The thought of sitting on my porch and calmly saying, Yes, I think he beat this woman to death, made me ill. I clenched my teeth, cleared my throat, swallowed hard. “The facts of the case will tell you what happened,” I said finally. “Just beware of John Richard Korman. He’s the most accomplished liar you’ll ever meet.” When no more questions were forthcoming, I asked, “Are we done?”

The two women stood. Sergeant Beiner followed Deputy Irving down the steps. Then she turned back.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs. Schulz? You look kind of green around the gills. Do you need a victim advocate?”

“I need Tom.”

The sergeant nodded. She said, “I’ll call him from the car, an strode away.

Back in my kitchen, I decided against calling g Marla. It was getting on to late morning. No matter; how difficult, I had to put this catastrophe behind me. I had to do the rest of the food prep for the j hockey party. Besides, Marla was undoubtedly on the phone at this very moment, chatting up her country-club cronies to glean everything she could about Suz Craig and her relationship with John Richard Korman. Marla would give me an exhaustive report of her findings before long, of that I could bet the contents of my refrigerator.

I tried to stir the chilled frosting with a wooden spoon. Too cold. I stared at my silent phone. Good old Marla. While I’d done everything in my power to distance myself from John Richard, the fact that we had Arch in common meant I had to deal with my ex-husband, at the very least, on a biweekly basis. Marla, on the other hand, had no children in common with the Jerk, had no reason to see him at all, in fact, and yet she took the greatest delight in following, and reporting on, his every escapade. Her way of despising John Richard was to gloat over and widely publicize each of his setbacks, even if they were slight. And when he had some kind of triumph, like being bought out by ACHMO, her compensation for his good fortune was that she got a cut of the deal.

I set aside the icing, booted up my computer, and studied the menu for tonight’s party. The last thing I wanted to do was work an event. My thoughts slipped back to poor, sweet, confused Arch, and I suddenly realized I’d been selfish. He needed a victim advocate. I put in a quick call to the office of the therapist Arch had worked with several years ago. An answering machine at the shrink’s office picked up. Feeling disconsolate, I left a message saying my fourteen-year-old son was going through a crisis and needed help asap.

Work, I told myself. You’ll feel better. The kitchen clock was closing in on eleven-thirty. My contract time for the party setup was five o’clock, and I had miles to go before packing up and taking off.

I filled my pasta pentola with water and set it on to boil. Three salads for this evening and one of them was… One of them was…

One of his girlfriends was … John Richard had a girlfriend besides Suz Craig? Black-haired, perky, distance-cyclist ReeAnn Collins, of all people? Of course, I’d always been convinced that John Richard had fired his previous secretary, stodgy, reliable Beatrice Waxman, and hired nubile ReeAnn, because of the latter’s looks. I doubted ReeAnn – whose father, according to Macguire, had promised her a Porsche if she’d get a job-had any prowess with word processing. Or, heaven only knew, computerized billing.

And how did Macguire fit into all this? He’d gone over to ReeAnn’s townhouse – another gift from Daddy – at dinnertime, with the flimsy excuse of delivering a book. He’d found John Richard there before him, barbecuing with his secretary. Dinner with the secretary did not an affair make, although with John Richard it probably did. Well, I would tell Tom, as I’d promised Macguire. And I would go over to visit ReeAnn, I suddenly decided.