Death on the Diagonal - By Nero Blanc Page 0,59
while in the company of flesh-and-blood companions was something she frowned upon.
“No matter. I was simply rambling on about the Dew Drop Inn during its prime. Actually, I called to tell you that Dawn Davis just phoned to say she was not able to keep our date this evening.” Belle’s ears perked up. She looked over at Rosco, who caught her glance, and sent back a quizzical look in return. It’s Sara, Belle mouthed, then turned around and strolled farther off. The elusive Ms. Davis didn’t need to become a subject of discussion among those gathered on the inn’s sodden lawns.
“Apparently, her odious boyfriend didn’t want her ‘hobnobbing with the rich’ . . .” Sara continued with more than a little ire. “That happens to be a quote, if you can believe such nonsense.”
Belle frowned into the air, and the expression grew into a scowl as Sara’s voice continued:
“Of course, the poor girl was mortified, and so attempted to pass off his remarks as a jest. But I could detect the ruse. I’m genuinely concerned about her, Belle. I understand the scheme you and Rosco suspect her of orchestrating, and I realize that I was chomping at the bit in my desire to aid you. But I cannot believe that such a sweet young lady would—” More yaps and yips and growls and snarls cut short Sara’s remarks again. Belle covered her free ear with her hand.
“But Sara,” was her response once the hullabaloo had died down, “these are precisely the characteristics Ms. Davis presented to Walter Gudgeon: an innocent and helpless victim who only wanted a friend—”
“And so she does,” Sara swiftly interjected. “Remember, Dawn all but stated that her boyfriend physically abuses her.”
“That’s what she told you,” Belle persisted. “She gave Gudgeon another story: an ex-boyfriend who wouldn’t help when she most needed it.”
“She should have kept him confined to a list of former friends,” was Sara’s swift retort. “Instead of taking him back, or whatever she did. We women can be so foolish where our hearts are concerned—”
“But you don’t know what she said is true . . . whether he’s a current lover or not. You haven’t seen him; you don’t know if he even really exists—”
“I know what I heard in her voice, and that’s good enough for me.”
Belle stifled an anxious sigh. “And did you extend a second invitation to your home?” she asked in as reasonable tone as she could muster. Sara’s sudden and staunch defense of Dawn Davis was beginning to worry Belle. The pattern seemed uncomfortably similar to the ploy she’d used on Gudgeon.
“Well, no. She told me she’d call when she learned her new work schedule—which apparently is changing.”
“I gather Ms. Davis didn’t provide her telephone number,” Belle prompted.
“Her boyfriend doesn’t like her receiving calls from people he doesn’t know—”
“In other words you didn’t get it.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was excruciating. Holding the machine close to her ear, Belle could almost visualize Sara’s proud and defiant face, and she squinted in nervous anticipation of the old lady’s patronizing response.
“I did not choose to pry any further, Belle. To do so would only have added to her discomfort.”
Belle did her best to conceal her exasperation. “But don’t you see, Sara, this is the same approach she used on Mr. Gudgeon—”
“What the young lady is alleged to have done in the past, and what my present experience of her is, are two very different things—”
“But they’re not! This is precisely how Dawn Davis works her con—”
“Well, she hasn’t asked me for a dime!” was Sara’s irritable reply. “And I assure you she doesn’t intend to.” Then the old lady did something Belle could never have imagined. She hung up without a single word of farewell.
Returning to her friends who were now trying to corral the excited dogs, Belle’s expression was troubled.
“Is Sara okay?” Rosco asked.
“Oh, sure,” Belle lied, and everyone there immediately recognized the fib—if not its motivation.
“Oh dear,” Martha tossed in, “I hope that tumble she took in Maxi’s shop isn’t the sign of more serious problems to come.” She released a lengthy sigh. “Don’t feel bad, Belle, honey, your face is like an open book.” Martha sighed anew. “It’s a tough business getting old. My dad became real cantankerous when his health started to fail . . . forgot simple facts, couldn’t remember where he was sometimes or with whom. It got so bad, I had to take his checkbook away from him; and if