Three Bedrooms, One Corpse - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,24

companion could work over her.

I saw one of the local doctor’s nurses in the family room and told her quietly that Helen had collapsed. She hurried to the bathroom, and feeling that I’d done the best I could, I looked around for someone to talk to. I couldn’t leave yet—I hadn’t been there quite long enough, my inner social clock told me.

I spied Franklin Farrell’s head of thick gray hair over the heads crowding the room, and “excuse me’d” over to him. Franklin, a spectacularly tan and handsome man, had been selling real estate since coming to Lawrenceton thirty or more years before.

“Roe Teagarden,” Franklin said as I reached his side, giving every appearance of great pleasure. “I’m glad to see you, even though I’m sorry it’s here, on such a sad occasion.”

“I’m sorry it’s here, too,” I said grimly. I told him about Helen.

He shook his handsome head. “She has always been wrapped up in Tonia Lee,” he said. “Tonia Lee was Helen’s only child, you know.”

“And Donnie’s only wife.”

He looked taken aback. “Well, yes, but as we all know .. .” Here he realized that bringing up Tonia Lee’s infidelities would hardly be proper.

“I know.”

“I brought a fruit salad with Jezebel sauce,” he said, to change the subject. Franklin was one of the few single men in town who didn’t mind confessing that he cooked for himself and did it well. His home was also definitely decorated, and beautifully so. Despite his flair for interior design, and his penchant for cooking something other than barbecue, no one had ever accused Franklin of being effeminate. Too many well-known cars had been parked overnight in the vicinity of his house.

“I brought a pumpkin pie.”

“Terry’s bringing marinated mushrooms.”

I tried not to gape. It was hard to picture Donnie and Helen Purdy appreciating marinated mushrooms.

“Terry doesn’t always have a solid sense of occasion,” Franklin said, enjoying my expression.

Franklin and Terry Sternholtz were certainly the odd pair of the Lawrenceton realty community. Franklin was sophisticated, smooth, a charmer. Everything about him was planned, immaculate, controlled, genial. And here Terry came, covered dish in her hand, her chin-length red hair permed and tossed into fashionable disarray. Terry Sternholtz said just about anything that entered her head, and since she was well-read, an amazing number of things did. She nodded at her boss, grinned at me, and mouthed “Let me get this to the kitchen” before being swallowed by the crowd. Terry had freckles and an open, all-American face.

In sharp contrast, I found myself staring at a picture of Tonia Lee that hung over the fireplace. It had been taken at one of those instant-glamour photography places that dot suburban malls. Tonia was elaborately made-up, her hair sexily tousled and softer than her normal teased style. She had a black feather boa trailing across her neck, and her dark eyes were smoldering. It was quite a production, and to have hung it over her fireplace where she could view it constantly meant Tonia Lee had been very pleased with it.

“She was quite a woman,” Franklin said, following my gaze. “Couldn’t sell real estate worth a damn, but she was determined her personal life was going to be memorable.”

That was a strange but appropriate epitaph for the misguided and horribly dead Tonia Lee Greenhouse, nee Purdy.

“You go out running every evening right after work, don’t you?” I asked him.

“Yes, almost always, unless it’s raining or below freezing,” Franklin said agreeably. “Why?”

“So you must have been out Wednesday evening.”

“I guess so. Yes, it hasn’t rained this week, so I must have run.”

“Did you see Mackie Knight?”

He thought. “So often I see the same people who exercise at the same time I do, and I’m not sure if I did see Mackie that evening or not. I don’t always, because I vary my route. There are two I like, and I pretty much alternate them. Mackie seems to pick his at random. I remember it was Wednesday when I saw Terry and Eileen; they walk together most evenings. But I remember only because Terry congratulated me again on a sale I’d made that day. I saw Donnie, riding his bike, that new ten-speed . .. I’m sorry, Roe, I just can’t remember about Mackie specifically. How come?”

I told him about Mackie’s questioning by the police.

“I can’t believe they’re so sure another car wasn’t there!” Franklin looked very skeptical. “Someone must have shut their eyes for a minute or two, either the woman across the street or the couple