Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

her comments to Chantal, “and then Bradley is coming. He has more of the family history for you to type if you don’t mind.”
    “Not at all. And it’ll give Alex a chance to meet him.”
    “He’ll probably arrive about noon so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your work. I’m going to make a batch of macaroons.” Mrs. Brissart gave me a small wink. “Bradley loves them and I haven’t made any in ages.” She clapped her hands together and left the study.
    “Who’s Bradley?” I asked as soon as Mrs. Brissart was out of earshot.
    Chantal moved around the desk and turned on the computer. “Grandson. His father is Mrs. Brissart’s only child. Kenneth, that’s his name, and his wife, Lillian, live in London. You’ll like Bradley. He’s a gem—kind, intelligent, good looking. Too bad I’m married.” Chantal shrugged and I laughed. “The history is very interesting. You’ll have to read it if you have the time. Why don’t you grab a chair and I’ll explain the system to you. Mrs. Brissart is very fussy about how her correspondence goes out.”
    An hour later, the sound of the doorbell startled us out of our thoughts.
    “Mrs. Platz will get it,” Chantal said.
    I tried to pick up my train of thought again. I drafted a letter to the Center for Abused Families outlining the ideas Mrs. Brissart came up with for charity events throughout the year. The Center wanted to relocate to bigger quarters and with Mrs. Brissart on the finance committee, they hoped to raise more donations.
    “Roberta! Where are you? We must talk!”
    Chantal slammed her hand hard on the desk. “Damn. They’re back. That high-pitched voice is none other than June Doliveck. And wherever June goes, May is sure to follow. Come on. You might as well meet Mrs. Brissart’s sisters and get it over with.”
    I stopped typing and followed Chantal out to the hallway.
    “Roberta! I know you’re here!”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Doliveck,” Chantal said to the shouter. “Mrs. Estenfelder.” Chantal nodded to the other woman.
    “Where is Roberta?”
    “I’ll go find Mrs. Brissart.” Chantal turned toward me and rolled her eyes.
    I quickly followed not sure I wanted to be alone with these two women.
    “I know. Don’t tell me. They’re back,” Mrs. Brissart said as Chantal and I walked into the kitchen.
    “Yes, they are, and anxious to see you,” Chantal said.
    “Well, they can wait!” Mrs. Brissart said peevishly. “Sorry, Chantal. You know how I feel about them. Can’t believe they’re my sisters. Wish they weren’t. It’s not a nice thing to say, but I can’t help myself.” Mrs. Brissart paused, visibly trying to regain her composure, and then added a cup of chopped nuts to the macaroon mixture sitting in a metal bowl on the tiled counter.
    Mrs. Platz, the housekeeper, came into the kitchen after hanging up the coats of the two waiting down the hall, and went over to the old stove and put the kettle to boil.
    “If you’re making tea for them,” Mrs. Brissart spat out the them , “you can just forget it.”
    I looked at Mrs. Platz across the room and gave a little shrug. “Well, I’d like a cup, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Platz.”
    Mrs. Brissart picked up an empty package of shredded coconut and the eggshells scattered on the counter, and dropped them into the trashcan. She wiped her hands on her apron and took it off. “Well, I best go out there and tell them to go on home.”
    Chantal and I followed the woman out of the kitchen and back down the hall. I had a feeling fireworks were about to explode and I didn’t want to miss a thing. That nosy thing again.
    “There you are, Roberta. I began to think you were trying to avoid us.”
    “I was. I just came to tell the pair of you to get out! I’m busy making macaroons.”
    May Estenfelder took a hankie from her purse and dabbed her eyes. Really. Just like they do in the movies.
    “You can cut that phony baloney crying of yours, May. It won’t do. Not in my house.”
    “Well, you don’t have to be so gruff, Roberta,” June said, going to sit by her sister.
    June and May. Twins. Five years younger than Roberta, from what Chantal told me. Though not biologically identical, they nonetheless looked very much the same down to the penciled-in eyebrows in a hideous shade of brownish red.
    May dabbed again at eyes surrounded by an overly tanned face. A leathery tanned face.
    June stood up and walked to the fireplace. “We’ve asked a few people to