Summer Garden Murder Read Free Page B

enjoy that immensely.” He’d implied that Louise had made some overture to him, rather than the reverse. She should have sensed at once the significance of his statement. She gasped and raised her hand to her mouth to hide the fact that she was nearly in tears.
    Somewhere nearby, Louise could hear Sarah Swanson protesting Hoffman’s presence, while her husband tried to quiet her. Meanwhile, Hoffman swept on through the room as if making a royal procession. His wife trailed well behind, eyes downcast. He approached the white couch where Hilde Brunner sat and stood over her as if she were to be his first dinner course.
    Louise thought the young woman, lounging there with her long legs extended before her, looked like a scared deer. And it was no wonder. First, Mike Cunningham had monopolized, no, positively enveloped her. Now a new male was demanding her attention. Her perfect oval face with its big green eyes turned and focused on Hoffman. “Hello,” she said quietly.
    â€œWell, who do we have here?” said Hoffman. “Someone new since I left Sylvan Valley.” He reached down and took Hilde’s hand, as if no one else in the room existed. There was faint air of perplexity on his face. “You, my dear, are like a dream,” he said, in his deep, resonant voice. “Botticelli comes to mind, or perhaps Titian.”
    In this fixed moment, Louise saw Phyllis Hoffman’s body stiffen and a blush suffuse her neck and face. Phyllis looked over and met Louise’s stare. Even from halfway across the room, Louise could feel the hatred and she trembled despite herself. Perhaps it was natural that Phyllis hated her. She had been the messenger who’d brought the bad news that Peter was the mulch murderer. Louise knew Phyllis no longer lived the life of luxury that she had before Peter’s crime was discovered. She had moved from their sleek mansion to a modest house on the edge of the neighborhood a mile away from the Eldridges. She went to work at Saks, selling designer clothing. Louise understood her resentment at the change in her lifestyle.
    She exchanged a glance with Bill in which they wordlessly agreed to abandon the party. But then Ron Radebaugh reappeared, and Louise could tell he was sizing up the situation. She told Bill, “Thank God Ron’s come back.”
    Ron strode into the living room and practically bounded over to Peter. “Well, well, what a surprise,” he said, in a tone that one might use greeting a long-lost friend. But his actions belied his words. With one arm clamped around Hoffman’s shoulders and the other gripping his arm, he propelled the uninvited guest back into the entrance hall. “Peter and I need to talk,” he explained to the guests. “You must be hungry. Please help yourselves to the food.”
    Afterward, Louise realized that this horrible scene had taken only a matter of minutes. Assured by the noises in the hallway that the Hoffmans were being gently kicked out of the party, she and Bill joined the others to serve themselves, then drifted toward the patio to eat.
    The outdoor air was thick with moisture and resounded with the songs of cicadas. Louise, who’d found it chilly in the Radebaughs’ living room in her sleeveless gown, now found herself sweating in the almost unbearable heat. The cicadas’ love songs, usually beguiling to a nature lover like herself, jarred her nerves. Or was it Peter Hoffman’s rude appearance that had caused all her bodily senses to shift out of control?
    People began talking all at once. “How dare the man ...” “What nerve ...” “His poor wife, so humiliating. . .” Louise and Bill sat down with the Swansons at a table for six, and Hilde joined them. Louise looked around for Mike Cunningham. Apparently he was busy at the front door, trying to smooth the exit of the unwelcome guests.
    â€œWhat colossal arrogance,” said Sarah Swanson, a