Read Online Murder Can Ruin Your Looks by Selma Eichler - Free Book Online
Authors: Selma Eichler
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Any
thing at all?’’
Springer’s high forehead wrinkled up like an accordion. Then, closing his eyes and pursing his lips, he seemed to retreat into an almost trancelike state. But when he spoke a few moments later, it was to tell me what I already knew: that, years ago, Meredith had had a falling out with her brother over her future husband and that Mary Ann had been engaged to some lowlife whose name he couldn’t re
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49
member. (In fact, he had serious doubts it had ever even been mentioned.)
I wasn’t ready to give up yet. ‘‘Mary Ann never had problems with anyone else?’’
‘‘If she did, she never told me about it.’’
‘‘And Meredith?’’
‘‘Meredith was very closemouthed. I didn’t even hear about this thing with Eric—that’s the brother—from her. Mary Ann brought it up after one of Eric’s trips to New York; she said how bad she felt that there was this rift in the family.’’
‘‘Mary Ann used to confide in you?’’
‘‘No, not really. As a matter of fact, she didn’t talk much more about personal things than Meredith did. And neither of them liked to dish, either. It was very disappointing sometimes,’’ Springer declared, grinning mischievously,
‘‘but I guess that’s one of the things that made them so nice.’’ In an instant, he turned serious again. ‘‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,’’ he said sadly.
Well, that was that. I might as well have stayed home and watched Cheers for all I’d found out here tonight. Then, just as I was getting to my feet, Springer stopped me cold. ‘‘Wait!’’ he commanded excitedly. ‘‘I just thought of something! I don’t see how it could have slipped my mind! It was only about a month ago, too!’’
‘‘What is it?’’ My heart was starting to thump like crazy.
‘‘Well, one night I went over there to see if I could store this casserole in their freezer; mine was packed, and theirs is always practically empty. Meredith answered the door—
she was home alone—and she said sure, no problem. But once I got inside, I realized she’d been crying. I didn’t know whether to mention anything or let it pass. But I didn’t want her to think I didn’t give a damn, you know? So I just asked if there was something wrong.’’
‘‘What did she say?’’
‘‘She said no, but the minute she said it, she burst into tears. I stood there patting her shoulder like a useless turd—I couldn’t think of what else to do; I’m terrible when it comes to things like that. And after a couple of minutes she pulled herself together and told me she’d just broken up with this guy she started going with recently. I’ve never met the man, but his name is Larry Shields and he was directing this new show she was in. Anyway, she said it
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Selma Eichler
was all her fault, that she’d done this terrible, unforgivable thing—I remember her using that word: ’unforgivable.’ And then she said she wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to kick her out of the show. She said that even if he didn’t, though, he’d probably never come near her again.’’
‘‘Did she tell you what it was she’d done?’’
‘‘No. That was all she said.’’
‘‘Did she ever mention it after that?’’
‘‘Well . . . no. The thing is, I was really busy with work right around then, so I didn’t see her for maybe five or six days. But I was concerned,’’ he put in quickly. It was obvi
ous the poor man’s overactive guilt mechanism was at it again. ‘‘Besides,’’ he rationalized, ‘‘she didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to come off like some kind of a Nosy Parker, you know?’’
He waited for my nod before going on. ‘‘And then when
I did see her, she seemed happy enough. So I figured it had just been a little lover’s spat that she’d blown out of proportion—the way we all do, you know?—and that they probably got back together again.
thing at all?’’
Springer’s high forehead wrinkled up like an accordion. Then, closing his eyes and pursing his lips, he seemed to retreat into an almost trancelike state. But when he spoke a few moments later, it was to tell me what I already knew: that, years ago, Meredith had had a falling out with her brother over her future husband and that Mary Ann had been engaged to some lowlife whose name he couldn’t re
MURDER CAN RUIN YOUR LOOKS
49
member. (In fact, he had serious doubts it had ever even been mentioned.)
I wasn’t ready to give up yet. ‘‘Mary Ann never had problems with anyone else?’’
‘‘If she did, she never told me about it.’’
‘‘And Meredith?’’
‘‘Meredith was very closemouthed. I didn’t even hear about this thing with Eric—that’s the brother—from her. Mary Ann brought it up after one of Eric’s trips to New York; she said how bad she felt that there was this rift in the family.’’
‘‘Mary Ann used to confide in you?’’
‘‘No, not really. As a matter of fact, she didn’t talk much more about personal things than Meredith did. And neither of them liked to dish, either. It was very disappointing sometimes,’’ Springer declared, grinning mischievously,
‘‘but I guess that’s one of the things that made them so nice.’’ In an instant, he turned serious again. ‘‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful,’’ he said sadly.
Well, that was that. I might as well have stayed home and watched Cheers for all I’d found out here tonight. Then, just as I was getting to my feet, Springer stopped me cold. ‘‘Wait!’’ he commanded excitedly. ‘‘I just thought of something! I don’t see how it could have slipped my mind! It was only about a month ago, too!’’
‘‘What is it?’’ My heart was starting to thump like crazy.
‘‘Well, one night I went over there to see if I could store this casserole in their freezer; mine was packed, and theirs is always practically empty. Meredith answered the door—
she was home alone—and she said sure, no problem. But once I got inside, I realized she’d been crying. I didn’t know whether to mention anything or let it pass. But I didn’t want her to think I didn’t give a damn, you know? So I just asked if there was something wrong.’’
‘‘What did she say?’’
‘‘She said no, but the minute she said it, she burst into tears. I stood there patting her shoulder like a useless turd—I couldn’t think of what else to do; I’m terrible when it comes to things like that. And after a couple of minutes she pulled herself together and told me she’d just broken up with this guy she started going with recently. I’ve never met the man, but his name is Larry Shields and he was directing this new show she was in. Anyway, she said it
50
Selma Eichler
was all her fault, that she’d done this terrible, unforgivable thing—I remember her using that word: ’unforgivable.’ And then she said she wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to kick her out of the show. She said that even if he didn’t, though, he’d probably never come near her again.’’
‘‘Did she tell you what it was she’d done?’’
‘‘No. That was all she said.’’
‘‘Did she ever mention it after that?’’
‘‘Well . . . no. The thing is, I was really busy with work right around then, so I didn’t see her for maybe five or six days. But I was concerned,’’ he put in quickly. It was obvi
ous the poor man’s overactive guilt mechanism was at it again. ‘‘Besides,’’ he rationalized, ‘‘she didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to come off like some kind of a Nosy Parker, you know?’’
He waited for my nod before going on. ‘‘And then when
I did see her, she seemed happy enough. So I figured it had just been a little lover’s spat that she’d blown out of proportion—the way we all do, you know?—and that they probably got back together again.
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