The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [39]
In the wake of this small debacle, things at home came to a head. We had a cruel exchange in which I drew tears if not blood. Diantha asked me, as it were a matter of idle curiosity, if I had murdered Heinie.
Again that question caught me off balance. My automatic “Of course not” sounded hollow, and fear of possible guilt seized my heart along with a recollection of the awful wrath that could have made me murderous. I chafed that wound, nearly wanting the pain of it as I snarled, “Did you talk to him about using it on me?”
For a moment something akin to shock registered in her swollen eyes. She said, “Never.” Then she gave me a look of sincere loathing. “For Christ’s sake, Norman, I’ve tried to explain. It was a fling. It wasn’t even that. I was bored. I drank too much. I smoked some dope. I couldn’t wait to get away from him. The second time … He begged. He turned pathetic. It was a … mercy f*ck.”
“I wish I could believe you, Diantha,” I said quietly. “I wish …”
“What do you wish?”
Her tone of bored annoyance maddened me. I couldn’t resist saying what I had said before. “You told me, you swore that you had stopped seeing that ridiculous man.”
“So that’s what it comes down to. I screw a guy a couple of times and you can’t get over it.”
“You swore to me you wouldn’t see him again unless I was there.”
“Look, I wasn’t seeing him like that. I never ‘saw’ him after that stupid weekend on the boat. He kept calling. What could I do, close the door in his face? So I gave him a drink and listened to him complain yet again about Max and Rissa. He knew you had a gun. He said he needed it to protect himself because he thought they were plotting to have him murdered …” She broke off as though having said something she meant not to.
She quickly resumed. “Anyway, It was getting late in the afternoon and I didn’t want you to come home and find him here. So I said screw it and gave him the gun just to get rid of him. How was I to know someone would get it from him and shoot him with it.”
I might have missed her lapse had not my penchant for sleuthing twitched into operation. I took a moment to calm myself. “Diantha,” I said with as much quiet authority as I could muster, “please tell me everything you know about Max and Merissa and what Heinie said about them.”
It only exacerbated things. “God, Norman, please don’t play detective with me.”
“Diantha, I am not playing anything with you. You told me before that he needed the gun to protect things on his boat. Now you say he wanted it because he felt threatened by Max and Merissa.”
“I thought I told you that before.”
“No, you didn’t. But isn’t Max well off if not wealthy?”
“Yeah, maybe. But Heinie told me he had found out through friends that Max had lost a bundle on some sort of Franklin Mint coin deal. You know, a replica of an old gold dollar. He didn’t lock it in when the price of gold was a lot lower than it is now. It kept rising, making the thing too expensive for most collectors. The ones that watch television ads. Anyway, he lost his investment.”
It all fit neatly. Max loses a bundle. He takes up with Merissa, and then murders Heinie for his money. It fit too neatly. “I’m not sure it signifies,” I said. “Still, I wish you had told me.”
“I suppose I should have.” Her tone, like mine, had grown conciliatory. Then she said, “Norman, I think I’m going to take Elsie and spend some time at the cottage.”
I nodded, not wanting her to say what she said anyway.
“I really can’t stand being around you when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know. You don’t trust me anymore. You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t touch me or smile. I feel like a … leper. In my own house.”
I wanted to protest, but I knew she was right. Better than I, she understood that this latest betrayal revived the other one. Although our life together had resumed quickly and facilely after her affair, the wound had yet to heal completely.