duck pond. Didn't Howard Hughes used to meet people at midnight in cemeteries? At least this meeting wasn't that clandestine. The duck pond had one permanent resident, named Louie, who couldn't fly. The other ducks summered somewhere north of us, but in the fall and spring flocks would stop here for a few hours or a few days on their way to wherever it is that ducks migrate.
Wooden benches with metal frames faced the duck pond, where residents could sit and wait for the ducks to come. I recognized Hazel when I saw her; she was already seated on one of the benches. I sat down on the same bench, but not too close to her, as she had instructed me over the phone. She looked small and furtive.
She looked around before she spoke, apparently checking for spies. The only potential spy I saw, other than Louie, was a squirrel who might be wired for sound, but I didn't voice this thought, fearing that Hazel might take it seriously.
Finally, she said, “It's about Ida Wilson.”
“What about Ida?” I asked when she lapsed into silence.
“I take a walk every morning when the weather's good. I pass Ida's apartment.”
Hazel looked at me as if that had great significance. I didn't remember passing her in the morning. She must be one of the clockwise walkers, also. I said, “Ida goes for a walk every morning too. She walks her dog.”
“But I start before she does. When I pass her place her light is on, but she's still there.”
She became silent again. I wanted to tell her to spit out whatever she was trying to tell me, but she was busy looking over her shoulder.
Satisfied that nobody threatened our privacy, she said, “Several weeks ago I saw somebody else through her kitchen window on two different days.”
“Who did you see?”
“I saw a man, but I didn't recognize him for sure. I was surprised, of course, but I figured that Ida could have whoever she wanted in her apartment, so I didn't think anything more of it.” She gave me a crafty look.
I said, “I think who she has in her apartment is her business and nobody else's.”
“True. Unless it leads to murder.”
“Why don't you just tell me what you know,” I said, trying to cut through the melodrama.
“One morning the man came out of Ida's apartment as I approached and walked away fast. He didn't see me in the dark but I got a good look at him because he went close to a streetlight.”
“Who was it?” I asked, anticipating her answer.
“It was Wesley Phipps.”
“Are you sure?” If she thought she was going to shock me, she was right. The fastidious Wesley, who doted on his sick wife?
“There's nothing wrong with my eyesight,” Hazel said, indignantly, but she was pleased at my reaction.
“But he's married.”
“His wife's an invalid and has been for years.”
True, but how could he sneak out on her at night? And what did Ida see in him, anyway? He was not exactly a prime specimen of manhood. “Okay, I believe you,” I said, “but what does this have to do with murder?”
“Isn't it obvious? Ida was supposed to be the girlfriend of Gerald. Gerald must have found out about her and Wesley and threatened to tell Wesley's wife. So they killed him.”
Just like that. “What makes you think Gerald was murdered?”
“Everybody in the bridge club knows Gerald was murdered. And everybody knows you're trying to solve it. Somebody put the shellfish in the casserole on purpose, in order to kill him. Either Ida or Wesley. They did it after the fire alarm went off. I was just trying to help.” Hazel looked hurt.
I suspected that “everybody” was limited to busybodies like Hazel, but she had told me something I didn't already know, assuming she was a reliable source. I thanked her for her assistance. She made me swear that I wouldn't tell anybody she had told me this and said we had to leave separately.
That was fine with me. I walked away first. After I had gone a few yards I looked back at her. She still sat on the bench, staring at the
Wooden benches with metal frames faced the duck pond, where residents could sit and wait for the ducks to come. I recognized Hazel when I saw her; she was already seated on one of the benches. I sat down on the same bench, but not too close to her, as she had instructed me over the phone. She looked small and furtive.
She looked around before she spoke, apparently checking for spies. The only potential spy I saw, other than Louie, was a squirrel who might be wired for sound, but I didn't voice this thought, fearing that Hazel might take it seriously.
Finally, she said, “It's about Ida Wilson.”
“What about Ida?” I asked when she lapsed into silence.
“I take a walk every morning when the weather's good. I pass Ida's apartment.”
Hazel looked at me as if that had great significance. I didn't remember passing her in the morning. She must be one of the clockwise walkers, also. I said, “Ida goes for a walk every morning too. She walks her dog.”
“But I start before she does. When I pass her place her light is on, but she's still there.”
She became silent again. I wanted to tell her to spit out whatever she was trying to tell me, but she was busy looking over her shoulder.
Satisfied that nobody threatened our privacy, she said, “Several weeks ago I saw somebody else through her kitchen window on two different days.”
“Who did you see?”
“I saw a man, but I didn't recognize him for sure. I was surprised, of course, but I figured that Ida could have whoever she wanted in her apartment, so I didn't think anything more of it.” She gave me a crafty look.
I said, “I think who she has in her apartment is her business and nobody else's.”
“True. Unless it leads to murder.”
“Why don't you just tell me what you know,” I said, trying to cut through the melodrama.
“One morning the man came out of Ida's apartment as I approached and walked away fast. He didn't see me in the dark but I got a good look at him because he went close to a streetlight.”
“Who was it?” I asked, anticipating her answer.
“It was Wesley Phipps.”
“Are you sure?” If she thought she was going to shock me, she was right. The fastidious Wesley, who doted on his sick wife?
“There's nothing wrong with my eyesight,” Hazel said, indignantly, but she was pleased at my reaction.
“But he's married.”
“His wife's an invalid and has been for years.”
True, but how could he sneak out on her at night? And what did Ida see in him, anyway? He was not exactly a prime specimen of manhood. “Okay, I believe you,” I said, “but what does this have to do with murder?”
“Isn't it obvious? Ida was supposed to be the girlfriend of Gerald. Gerald must have found out about her and Wesley and threatened to tell Wesley's wife. So they killed him.”
Just like that. “What makes you think Gerald was murdered?”
“Everybody in the bridge club knows Gerald was murdered. And everybody knows you're trying to solve it. Somebody put the shellfish in the casserole on purpose, in order to kill him. Either Ida or Wesley. They did it after the fire alarm went off. I was just trying to help.” Hazel looked hurt.
I suspected that “everybody” was limited to busybodies like Hazel, but she had told me something I didn't already know, assuming she was a reliable source. I thanked her for her assistance. She made me swear that I wouldn't tell anybody she had told me this and said we had to leave separately.
That was fine with me. I walked away first. After I had gone a few yards I looked back at her. She still sat on the bench, staring at the
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