Alex Harris 00 - Poisoned

have a large walk-in closet, but it works like a dream.” April smiled and then instantly frowned. “There was that one incident with the woman in Branford, remember Larry, who couldn’t get the thing to stop and had to run down to her basement to turn off the power. Her cat got tangled in some of her garments and was pretty freaked out by the time she turned the thing off. Bit her several times. But she probably had faulty wiring. Her house was very old,” April commented in a matter-of-fact way. “We could probably install one for you at a good price if you’d like?”
    “Thank you,” I said, “but I have a very limited amount of clothing. I think I can manage.” April looked a bit hurt but smiled anyway while Larry swiped, in vain, at a new drip on his tie.
    “Is my cousin boring you with his inventions?” asked a woman at Larry’s side.
    “Not at all. It’s very fascinating,” I said while April smiled and patted my hand.
    “I’m Marsha Doliveck and these two are my kids, Susan and Donald.” Marsha was joined by two rather angry looking teenagers. With just a bit of imagination, I could see Donald in a few years, on a rooftop somewhere taking aim, with Susan handing him the bullets. “I need something to eat. Can I offer you a sandwich or a bit of salad?”
    I tried to hide the rumblings in my stomach. “No, thank you. But I’ll join you for a bit.” I smiled at April and Larry and removed myself from between the two.
    “So what do you think of all of us? Quite an assortment, wouldn’t you say?”
    “I haven’t met everyone yet, but I think you’re no different than other families,” I said, hoping that that wasn’t true because the country was in more trouble if it were.
    “That’s kind of you to say, but untrue. We’re an odd bunch, all right. Right, Susan?”
    “If you say so, Mother,” the young girl managed to say while still looking in the opposite direction. Susan and Donald looked embarrassed by their mother, if not the entire family.
    “Do you mind?” Marsha picked up her cigarette lighter. I did in fact mind, but knowing it would do no good to say so, why give Marsha the satisfaction. Marsha took a drag off of the filterless cigarette and blew smoke toward the ceiling of the room—her effort at trying to be a polite smoker. She pocketed the lighter and picked up a half full glass. Susan and Donald rolled their eyes and walked off in another direction.
    Marsha Doliveck could be a beautiful woman, probably was at one point, but years of smoking and sunbathing turned her skin to the consistency of a sun-dried tomato. And the hint of alcohol on her breath and the amber liquid in the glass probably also made its contribution to her well-worn look.
    I remembered Mrs. Brissart mentioning that Marsha was divorced, though no one seemed sure whether a marriage had ever taken place.
    “So the detective on this case is your boyfriend,” Marsha continued after savoring the little smoke cloud she created.
    “How did you....”
    “Nothing much happens in this town that someone from my family won’t find out about. He’s kind of cute. A bit too serious.” She took another drag on her cigarette. “The other one with him is a hunk, too, though maybe a bit young for me.”
    Considering that Detective Maroni was probably only a few years older than Marsha’s two children, I agreed and nodded my head. Anxious to change the subject before Marsha asked about my relationship with John, I asked a question that seemed to be a good opening line. “Were you close to Bradley?”
    “With Bradley? No.” Marsha shook her head quickly. “Different age group entirely. I played with his father when we were younger. They’re a lot alike. Kind. Smart.”
    “Doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would get himself killed.”
    “Bradley?” Marsha Myers said with a wave of her hand. “No one wanted to kill Bradley. It was Aunt Roberta who was supposed to die. I know it. You know it. And the police know it. So don’t look so surprised.” We stood in the dining area now. Marsha picked up half a sandwich and pulled out one of the chairs at the table.
    “Well, I heard something to that effect,” I said vaguely. “But I just can’t believe someone would want to kill Mrs. Brissart. She’s such a lovely woman.”
    “She is. She’s also got a lot of enemies.” Marsha put the cigarette to her lips again and finding it burned out, relit it with her gold lighter.
    I looked