Free A Murderer Among Us by Marilyn Levinson Page A

Lieutenant Molina had mentioned his wife, which meant he was happily married. No doubt, with a slew of grandchildren who visited every Sunday.
    “I’ll send Marshall a sympathy card,” Lydia said. “Somehow I feel I’m partly responsible for his wife’s death.”
    Caroline’s tone changed from that of a teasing friend to a scolding mother. “Now that is absolutely ridiculous. Barbara and I have told you a dozen times—your car was chosen because someone noticed you put the key under the fender and for no other reason. You’ve nothing to blame yourself for.”
    Lydia gulped back a lump of emotion. While she couldn’t shake her sense of culpability, she appreciated their concern. “Thanks for your support, Caroline. I feel as though I’ve known you and Barbara for years instead of days.”
    “That’s how it goes in a place like Twin Lakes when people click. Good-night. See you tomorrow.”
    Lydia put the phone down. A fragment of one of their discussions resounded in her mind. Marshall Weill must have had many adulterous affairs during his marriage to Claire. What if he were conducting an affair here at Twin Lakes and it had gotten out of control? What if the woman wanted him to marry her, and when he said he couldn’t she decided to take matters into her own hands?
    Lydia shook her head in disbelief at the lengths to which her thoughts had taken her. At their brainstorming session, she, Barbara and Caroline had agreed most of the Twin Lakes residents were well past the age of passion. Certainly past the age when one died—or killed—for love.
    Of course there was the possibility that Marshall was involved with someone considerably younger.
    Someone who lived outside Twin Lakes and had access to the community. Someone like Allison.
    She changed into her nightgown and robe, and was about to turn on the TV when Barbara called. “Don’t forget we’re going to the supermarket tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at ten-thirty.”
    Peg also called—to tell her about the funeral and to rave about Marshall’s daughter’s gorgeous home. “It’s huge and chock full of antiques and modern paintings. She and her husband own a multimillion-dollar antiques business. Elinor’s smart as a whip and as beautiful as a movie star—takes after her dad.”
    “He is a nice-looking man,” Lydia agreed. She remembered what Caroline had said about women swarming around Marshall at the shiva. “How did Marshall seem to you?”
    “How do you think he seemed?” Peg snapped. “He was awfully upset by Claire’s death but touched that so many friends and neighbors came to pay their respects.”
    Was this a barb because she hadn’t gone to the funeral or paid a shiva call? Or was Peg annoyed at her for making Marshall Weill’s criminal record public knowledge? Probably the second, Lydia decided.
    “By the way, your detective friend—what’s his name?—came to the service and to the cemetery.”
    Lydia’s heart began to race. “It’s Lieutenant Molina, and he’s not my friend.”
    “Right, Molina.” Peg let out a derisive laugh. “He stood in the distance, the way they do in the movies, no doubt expecting to identify the murderer by his guilty expression.”
    “The murderer could have been at the funeral,” Lydia said, her irritation with Peg making her forget the promise she made to herself not to discuss the subject with anyone but Barbara and Caroline. “He probably lives right here at Twin Lakes, since he used my car to kill Claire.”
    When Peg said nothing, Lydia mused, “I wonder who stands to gain financially from her death.”
    “Claire was wealthy, all right. Her first husband left her a fortune that never stops growing. It’s being handled astutely.”
    “By Marshall, no doubt.”
    “By her first husband’s team of investment advisors,” Peg retorted, almost defensively. “It was a cleverly drawn-up trust. Now that she’s dead, most of the money goes to Claire’s son and daughter from that