Read Online Murder Can Spoil Your Appetite by Selma Eichler - Free Book Online
Authors: Selma Eichler
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so charming that no one seemed to notice.”
“But some people must have caught on to what he was actually like,” Lou countered. “He couldn’t have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes.”
“Well . . . I am exaggerating. But he did manage to fool an awful lot of people. Frankie was a very clever man. He could play you like a violin.”
“Did you know that Mrs. Vincent was planning to divorce him?” I asked.
Marilyn didn’t miss a beat. “No, but I’m not exactly shocked. And good for her.”
“Are you saying this for any reason in particular, or are you just speaking in general?”
“Oh, I’m saying it for plenty of reasons in particular. For one thing, Frankie made Sheila give up the catering business almost the instant they walked down the aisle. Then for another, when he was running for the state assembly, he had her practically chained to this place, whipping up goodies for his endless political get-togethers. The only way she could have done any writing was standing at the kitchen stove.”
“Writing?” Lou repeated.
“Uh-huh. Since Frankie refused to let her go out and work, Sheila decided she’d occupy herself with the kind of work she could do at home. So she started to channel her creative energy into composing cookbooks. But then that had to go on hold, too, so she could help Frankie get into office. It was only after he lost the election that he permitted her to start writing again. She’s on her third cookbook now. Did you happen to notice that good-looking gray-haired guy she was talking to when you came in?” Marilyn’s glance went from my face to Lou’s and then back again.
“ I sure did,” I answered with a grin.
“That’s Morgan Sklaar, Sheila’s publisher. But what I was going to say was that even after she was able to pursue her own interests, things weren’t exactly ginger-peachy between her and Frankie. He was hardly a doll to live with. Everything always had to be his way. He dictated where they went, what they did, who they did it with . . . That stupid all-white living room? Frankie’s choice. Sheila was dying for chintz and cabbage roses.”
The more I heard, the more surprised I was that Sheila Vincent hadn’t dumped her lout of a spouse a long time ago. And I said so.
“I think that at first she was determined to make a go of it. Maybe she even thought she could change him,” Marilyn conjectured. “Later she probably decided to wait until the election was over. But right after that her father had a stroke, and I know his health was uppermost in her mind. I imagine she didn’t want to risk upsetting him with the news that her marriage was kaput.”
“The father’s all right now?” Lou asked.
“Pretty much. He still isn’t a hundred percent, but even months back Sheila was telling me how much better he was doing. She must have been holding off on the divorce, though, until she was absolutely sure he could handle it okay.”
“I’d have thought Mrs. Vincent would have mentioned something to you about wanting a divorce,” Lou remarked. “You do seem to be pretty close to her.”
“We’re extremely close. But Sheila’s always been a very private person. Besides, although we’re in constant touch, we don’t actually spend much time alone together. Between her writing and my job—I work at an ad agency now—we’re both pretty tied up during the week. And then weekends Frankie is—was—always around, so there weren’t that many opportunities for a heart-to-heart.”
I had another question. “Do you have any idea if there were other good friends Mrs. Vincent might have confided in?”
“Well, she was sort of tight with this woman who lives across the street—Doris Shippman. But if she didn’t say anything to me about splitting up, there’s no way she would have talked to her about it.”
“You know,” I remarked, “from what I’ve seen of your friend today, she seems like a pretty sharp lady. So I’m having trouble
“But some people must have caught on to what he was actually like,” Lou countered. “He couldn’t have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes.”
“Well . . . I am exaggerating. But he did manage to fool an awful lot of people. Frankie was a very clever man. He could play you like a violin.”
“Did you know that Mrs. Vincent was planning to divorce him?” I asked.
Marilyn didn’t miss a beat. “No, but I’m not exactly shocked. And good for her.”
“Are you saying this for any reason in particular, or are you just speaking in general?”
“Oh, I’m saying it for plenty of reasons in particular. For one thing, Frankie made Sheila give up the catering business almost the instant they walked down the aisle. Then for another, when he was running for the state assembly, he had her practically chained to this place, whipping up goodies for his endless political get-togethers. The only way she could have done any writing was standing at the kitchen stove.”
“Writing?” Lou repeated.
“Uh-huh. Since Frankie refused to let her go out and work, Sheila decided she’d occupy herself with the kind of work she could do at home. So she started to channel her creative energy into composing cookbooks. But then that had to go on hold, too, so she could help Frankie get into office. It was only after he lost the election that he permitted her to start writing again. She’s on her third cookbook now. Did you happen to notice that good-looking gray-haired guy she was talking to when you came in?” Marilyn’s glance went from my face to Lou’s and then back again.
“ I sure did,” I answered with a grin.
“That’s Morgan Sklaar, Sheila’s publisher. But what I was going to say was that even after she was able to pursue her own interests, things weren’t exactly ginger-peachy between her and Frankie. He was hardly a doll to live with. Everything always had to be his way. He dictated where they went, what they did, who they did it with . . . That stupid all-white living room? Frankie’s choice. Sheila was dying for chintz and cabbage roses.”
The more I heard, the more surprised I was that Sheila Vincent hadn’t dumped her lout of a spouse a long time ago. And I said so.
“I think that at first she was determined to make a go of it. Maybe she even thought she could change him,” Marilyn conjectured. “Later she probably decided to wait until the election was over. But right after that her father had a stroke, and I know his health was uppermost in her mind. I imagine she didn’t want to risk upsetting him with the news that her marriage was kaput.”
“The father’s all right now?” Lou asked.
“Pretty much. He still isn’t a hundred percent, but even months back Sheila was telling me how much better he was doing. She must have been holding off on the divorce, though, until she was absolutely sure he could handle it okay.”
“I’d have thought Mrs. Vincent would have mentioned something to you about wanting a divorce,” Lou remarked. “You do seem to be pretty close to her.”
“We’re extremely close. But Sheila’s always been a very private person. Besides, although we’re in constant touch, we don’t actually spend much time alone together. Between her writing and my job—I work at an ad agency now—we’re both pretty tied up during the week. And then weekends Frankie is—was—always around, so there weren’t that many opportunities for a heart-to-heart.”
I had another question. “Do you have any idea if there were other good friends Mrs. Vincent might have confided in?”
“Well, she was sort of tight with this woman who lives across the street—Doris Shippman. But if she didn’t say anything to me about splitting up, there’s no way she would have talked to her about it.”
“You know,” I remarked, “from what I’ve seen of your friend today, she seems like a pretty sharp lady. So I’m having trouble
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