 |
|
|
|
As they passed beneath the dazzling crystal chandelier, Lydia gazed longingly through the glass wall to the indoor swimming pool on the lower level where she swam laps most mornings. She dutifully accompanied Peg into the elegant ballroom now filled with round tables. A few women were setting up refreshments in the corner nearest the kitchen. Peg stopped suddenly. She reminded Lydia of a bird dog as she sniffed and surveyed the room. “Why don’t we sit – over there.” She pointed to the middle table and took off, expecting Lydia to follow. She placed her pocketbook on a chair, urged Lydia to do the same, then, never breaking stride, headed for the refreshments. “Let’s get our decaf while it’s fresh.” “Mmm,” Lydia said. She was used to giving directives, not taking them, but she fell into step, determined to be sociable. Two gray-haired women joined Lydia and Peg at their table. Peg introduced them as Audrey and Carla. Lydia greeted them and answered their questions: yes, she’d moved from a large home – in Queens – and had to dispose of years of accumulated possessions; yes, living at Twin Lakes was like living in a resort. As Carla and Peg got on the subject of their canasta game, Audrey moved her chair closer to Lydia and laid a plump hand over hers. “Peg tells us you’re a widow,” she said in compassionate tones. Lydia was rendered speechless. She had no desire to discuss her personal life with a perfect stranger, but Audrey never paused for a response. “I lost my poor Frank in May. He loved to birdwatch, Frank did. All spring and summer, he was never without his binoculars. Kept an accurate record of every bird he saw. Wrote it down in his diary.” Lydia opened her mouth to commiserate and change the subject, but Audrey pressed on like a steamroller. “That morning he went to his favorite spot – the arboretum across Bellewood Road. You know where it is?” Lydia nodded. The older woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Frank died with his binoculars around his neck. The police said he must have fallen and hit his head on a rock, but I don’t believe that for a minute.” Audrey shook her head. “Not my Frank. He was always cautious where he stepped.” Was she implying someone had struck him? Before Lydia could ask, Katherine Linnett, the handsome, buxom wife of the board president, quieted everyone down. She gave a welcoming speech, presented the bingo rules and regulations, and arranged for helpers to hand out cards and collect money. Peg bought two cards and advised Lydia to do the same, which she did. “Marshall! Claire!” Peg hailed a couple walking toward a table in the far corner of the room. They paused to exchange words, then the woman continued on her way as the man approached Peg and Lydia’s table. Shoulders back, he strode toward them. He was disciplined or vain enough to keep in shape, though judging by the lines on his neck, Lydia decided he was close to seventy. His well-styled salt-and-pepper hair minimized the balding pattern that broadened his forehead. Everything about him was stylish, from his Italian loafers to the elegant suede jacket. And yet – “Lydia, this is Marshall Weill. Marshall, meet Lydia Krause, my new neighbor.” “Pleased to meet you,” he said. Marshall Weill? The name meant nothing, but up close he seemed familiar somehow. Familiar and sleazy. Lydia hesitated before shaking his extended hand then wished she hadn’t. His palm felt too smooth, almost as if it were slimed with sweat though her hand wasn’t damp. She broke contact immediately, and lifted her hand to cover a false cough. At the same time, she questioned her visceral reaction. Was she suddenly psychic – able to detect sleaze with a handshake, or was her negative frame of mind getting the better of her? “Marshall’s our HOA’s financial advisor,” Peg offered with pride. “He’s also handling several residents’ portfolios. ” Financial advisor? Portfolios? A frisson ran down Lydia’s spine. This couldn’t be a coincidence! The growing certainty that she faced an amoral, malevolent monster vied with her mind’s insistence that he couldn’t possibly be the person she supposed him to be. To cover her dismay, she spoke disparagingly. “I didn’t realize the homeowners’ association had accumulated enough funds in three years to warrant managing.” Marshall Weill gazed down at her. “Regardless of the amount, money must be managed. You don’t want to let it lie fallow in a bank. Put it to work, I always say.” He smiled, revealing a gap between his front teeth. All doubt vanished. Lydia gasped. “You’re Warren Mannes,” she murmured, suddenly light-headed. She gripped the edge of the table. The smile returned, but this time it was forced. “You’re mistaken. My name is Marshall Weill.” The fear and anger she read in his eyes empowered her. Lydia drew herself up and plunged ahead. “You’re Warren Mannes, and you’ve no business handling the HOA’s funds.” Though she hadn’t raised her voice, residents sensed something sensational was happening and paused in midconversation to gape and listen. Lydia, usually so in control, was too enraged – too outraged -- to watch her words. “You went to prison for stealing millions of dollars from people who gave you their trust, not to mention that company you took down!” He gripped her arm. “Stop it! You’ve confused me with someone else.” She jerked herself free. “Oh, no, I haven’t!” “Lydia, get a hold of yourself!” Peg hissed, grabbing her other arm. “You’re spouting nonsense.” “I wish I were.” Her baby sister’s face flashed in her mind, and Lydia winced in pain. Here stood Warren Mannes, decked out in designer clothes and a salon hair cut, enjoying a lifestyle paid for with stolen money, while Allison lay dead in her grave! Incensed, Lydia went on. “Six years ago I heard victim after victim testify that this man took their life savings. I’ll show you newspaper articles, Peg.” The short, stocky woman who Lydia had assumed was the man’s wife pushed her way through the crowd until she faced Lydia. Her coiffed, stiffly sprayed hair bobbed as she exclaimed, “I hope you’re pleased with yourself, exposing a man before his friends and neighbors for a mistake in the past.” Taken aback by the woman’s fury, Lydia blinked. Her silence spurred the wife on. Ignoring the pleas of friends urging her not to upset herself, Claire Mannes’s voice rose higher.
“Who
asked you to move to our quiet community and start trouble? We were
happy here until you arrived.” Claire Weill/Mannes drew in such a deep gasp, for a moment Lydia feared she was about to expire. Instead, she retaliated. “You’ve ruined our lives! I wish you’d never come here. Better yet, do us a favor and die!” Furious, Lydia retorted, “Someone should put an end to you, you stupid cow! Open your eyes and face facts. Your husband destroyed lives. He’s the guilty one here, only you’re the loyal little wife and refuse to see it!” A blonde woman with an incipient dowager’s hump came to stand beside Claire. “Claire, honey, don’t upset yourself. You know we have complete trust in Marshall.” She glared at Lydia through tortoise-shell cat’s eye-shaped glasses. “Stop badgering the poor woman!” She spun on her heels and ushered her charge away. Lydia grabbed her parka and fled the room. Noting that Claire and her staunch supporter weren’t in pursuit, she headed for the Ladies’ Room where she leaned heavily on the marble counter until her heart beat returned to normal.
|
|
|
©Copyright 2006-2007 Marilyn Levinson. All Rights Reserved. |
||
