Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) (10 page)

“Hey, Tweet.” No idea why she went by Tweet. As far as I knew, it was her real name.

“Mustang, so good to see you.” She grabbed my arm and practically pulled me inside.

Wire racks holding thousands of can goods lined the huge, square room.

“Let’s get you all fixed up.” Tweet pulled me deeper into the food pantry. “Don’t worry, we are all about confidentiality.” She nodded her blonde bob. She was wearing tennis whites, complete with a visor. The fact that they were still white and not sweaty meant she was on her way to play tennis after her shift at the food pantry. Or maybe she didn’t sweat. Or possibly she paid someone to sweat for her.

“Confidentiality...okay.” No idea what she was talking about. Then again, Tweet had never been much of a mental giant. In my experience, trophy wives aren’t former Mathletes or Mensa candidates. They’re former cheerleaders who only don their uniforms in private when they want more diamonds.

“Do you have any dietary restrictions?” Tweet led me to a row of sparkling, new grocery carts.

“Oh, I’m not here for food.” I might straddle the poverty line, but canned goods wouldn’t help. I didn’t own a can opener; plus, in my kitchen, all cans would do was collect dust.

Tweet’s face fell. “Too bad. You’re my first customer.”

“Today?” Maybe they’d just opened.

“Ever. I’ve been volunteering here for six months and no one ever comes in.” She straightened a row of creamed corn that didn’t need straightening.

“I guess people out here don’t need a food pantry.” I was pretty sure that Monica and I were the only people in the Lakeside zip code who didn’t either make six-plus figures or were retired from making six-plus figures.

“Just for something to do, I used to box up canned goods and drop them off in the collection barrels outside of HEB until I figured out that all the food just came back here.” Tweet was so proud of herself for having figured out that the donation barrels labeled “Lakeside Food Pantry” actually went to the Lakeside Food Pantry. It was a wonder that think tanks around the world weren’t lining up at her front door.

“Yeah, life’s funny that way.” I was pretty sure that Tweet couldn’t count high enough to finish a Paint by Number. “I know that Big Tommy worked here sometimes. Did you ever work with him?”

She thought about it, and thought about it, and thought about it. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember if Big Tommy worked here?” It wasn’t that big of a place.

“Yeah, I think he did.” She nodded slowly. Slo-mo seemed to be her state of being.

I wanted to ask her if being stupid was like being high all of the time, but I didn’t want to distract her.

“Who organizes the work schedules?” I wasn’t getting anywhere but frustrated with Tweet.

“You mean Phyllis?” Tweet blinked slowly. “She makes sure we always have someone here working.”

“Phyllis Neighbors?” This was bad. Phyllis and I went way back...and I may or may not have destroyed—her words, not mine—her most valuable piece of art. It wasn’t my fault. It had looked like a trashcan, so I’d spit my gum into it. How was I supposed to know it was by some famous artist? It was a big, black trashcan...full of trash.

“Yes, Phyllis is president of the Junior League.” There was awe and reverence in Tweet’s voice.

Since I equated Junior League with Crack Whore on my list of people to avoid, I was going to hand this one off to Haley.

Today I’d learned a whole lot of nothing. Tonight, I hoped, would be better.

That evening, my little guesthouse was bursting at the seams. Haley set down a large pan of fettuccine alfredo next to the one full of lasagna she’d brought from Rocco’s.

I threw an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Fettuccine alfredo was my favorite food—well, behind cupcakes, cake, pie, cookies, bread, and chocolate. Okay, it made the top ten.

“You just love me for my lasagna.” Haley set down a paper sack of bread.

I picked up the sack, unrolled the top, and sucked in a nose full of yeasty goodness. When I die, my heaven’s going to smell like fresh-baked bread, baby shampoo, and New Orleans chocolate cream sno-balls. Do they have food in heaven? Do calories count in heaven? Forget about the pearly gates and streets paved in gold. My heaven’s going to be paved in croissants, and I’m going to eat my way to Jesus.

“We love you for your kind heart and your willingness to feed us.” Monica put her arm around Haley. “Plus, I know you keep chocolate in your purse, so all I need to do is hold your head under water for a couple of minutes and that Godiva’s all mine.”

Monica loved sarcasm as much as I loved latte. Maybe it was the Diet Coke—was it was full of preservatives and sarcasm? If so, her molecules were marinated in it.

“I’m choosing to ignore the part where you drown me and going with you love me for my kind heart.” Haley put her arms around us, and we group hugged. She dropped her arms. “Let’s eat before all of this gets cold.”

Monica’s phone buzzed with a text. She pulled it out of her back pocket and checked the screen. She rolled her eyes. “T-Rex Hands. He wants to go out again.”

“He seems like a nice guy.” Haley avoided eye contact.

“Yes, but his little hands creep me out.” Monica slid the phone back into her pocket. “I don’t know what to do.”

“If you didn’t like him, you would have blown him off by now.” Haley opened the drawer next to the sink and grabbed silverware.

“She has a point.” I got the plates, and Monica snagged the glasses. Together we set the table.

“Okay, guys,” I mom-yelled to the kids. “Dinner’s ready.”

In my house, calling “dinner’s ready” means that food has been delivered.

Thirty minutes later, we were all blissfully carb coma-ed out. The kids were in the living room Xboxing while we waited for Ben to arrive.

I went to the one kitchen cabinet that I kept under lock and key. I opened it, pulled out a folded piece of cardboard, and brought it to the table. I glanced over at the kids to make sure they weren’t watching, and then I unfolded the cardboard.

“You still have Molly Miars’s murder board?” Monica picked it up and traced the picture of Molly’s body.

“I forgot about it.” It had been locked away. I didn’t ever open that cabinet. “I thought we could flip it over and use the other side for Big Tommy. He was a passionate recycler—reduce, reuse, recycle.”

Both ladies shot me a one-eyebrow-up “really” look.

“What? I thought the irony was wonderful...and I forgot to get more poster board.” Jeez, what was the big deal?

Monica reached behind her to her leather messenger bag and flipped open the top. “I printed these out.”

She handed me some eight-by-eleven color pictures of the crime scene.

“Ben sent you these?” I didn’t remember her asking him for them.

“No, when he was too busy flirting with you, I texted them to myself.” Monica was really good at this.

“I still can’t believe y’all had dinner with him.” Haley looked from me to Monica and back to me. “He’s enemy numero uno.”

“Oddly, he’s being really helpful.” Okay, I still didn’t trust him. Yes, he was helping, but he was still in a probationary period.

Monica rummaged around in her bag and came up with a large, folded piece of paper. “I took several pictures of the basketball court last night, and then today I taped them all together so we could get a complete view of the crime scene.”

She unfolded the paper and set it down on the table in front of us. It was several color photos of the reenacted crime scene taped together so that we got the panoramic view.

Haley looked it over. “There were definitely two explosions.”

“At lunch, I went to three places where Big Tommy volunteered and struck out. I’ll visit more tomorrow.” I glanced at the crime scene photos. Nothing new. It just looked like a giant mess. I patted Haley’s hand. “Would you mind grilling Phyllis Neighbors about Big Tommy? Apparently the Junior League staffs the food pantry.”

Haley knew my past with Phyllis—heck, all of Lakeside knew my past with Phyllis.

“Will do.” Haley picked up the crime scene photos and went through them. “There’s not a lot left.”

“No.” Monica drummed her fingers on my kitchen tabletop. “I can’t wait to hear what Ben found out.”

“Speaking of that, I think we should keep our murder board secret until we see if we can trust him.”

Monica pulled a Sharpie out of her messenger bag and wrote what little we knew about Big Tommy on the board. “I don’t think we need to Velco the pics to the board. We’ll just lock them away with the board.”

“Too bad we can’t check his house.” You could tell so much about a person by the things they had in their house. I looked around. What did my house say about me?

“What about the restaurant?” Haley pointed at the murder board with her glass. “We should check out the restaurant.”

In the lower left-hand corner of the murder board, Monica made a to-do list.

“How about we go to the restaurant tomorrow after work?” Haley nodded toward the kids. “I’ll have Anise pick them up and take them to the park. The restaurant has been closed since Big Tommy died, but my neighbor two doors down told me that the spare key is hidden in a fake rock.”

“A convenient way in.” I looked at Monica, who was on her phone checking her calendar. I wondered if maybe I should check my calendar, but there was never anything on it, so why waste the energy?

“Works for me.” Monica put her phone down. “Maybe we’ll find a list called ‘People Who Want to Murder Me’ in his desk drawer.”

“Think he knew someone was out to get him?” Was anyone still out to get me? Should I make a list called “People Who Want to Murder Me”?

There was a knock on my front door.

Monica stacked all of the information we had on Big Tommy, folded the murder board, and stuffed it all in the cabinet I kept locked.

I answered the door.

Ben stood there holding a brown cardboard Whole Foods bakery box. The man knew how to make amends.

“Dessert.” He extended the box toward me. “Chantilly Cake. It’s white cake with mascarpone and whipped cream frosting.”

“Yum.” Was cake from Whole Foods healthier than other cake? I took the box and stepped to the side, letting him in. “Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

He leaned in to hug me. I tried to step back, but the open door was in my way, so I stood there trying not to drop the cake as he wrapped his arms around me. It was awkward.

Ben finally pulled away, and by the sad look on his face, I could tell he’d felt how much I didn’t want the hug.

“It’s good to see you.” He turned to the living room. “Hey, Max.”

Max waved without taking his eyes off of the Xbox.

Ben followed me into the kitchen. I put the bakery box down on the table and nodded to the open chair next to Monica.

“Have you eaten?” I asked Ben over my shoulder as I gathered clean plates and forks.

“Yes.” He took the seat next to Monica.

I stacked the forks on top of the plates and set them next to the cake. I cut everyone a slice, plated the slices, and handed them around. Haley delivered cake to the kids.

I took the seat on the other side of Ben, and his smile doubled in wattage.

“So, what did you find?” Monica sat forward and didn’t seem interested in her cake.

Who wasn’t interested in cake?

Ben worked his smartphone out of his back jeans pocket and pulled up pictures. “It’s hard to tell for sure because of all of the debris, but it looks like the blast was focused toward the front of the house.” He handed Monica his phone so she could look at the pictures.

She nodded. “I see what you mean about the debris, but there’s clearly more at the front of the house than the sides and back.”

She handed him the phone back, but not before forwarding the pics to her own phone.

“What about dinner tomorrow night?” Casually, Ben dangled his arm around the back of my chair. To give him credit, he didn’t do the old high school move—scratch his neck, stretch, and then have his arm accidentally land on my chair. No, he just went for it.

“Sorry.” I shook my head disappointedly. “We have a PTO meeting tomorrow night.”

He grinned. “Okay, what about day after tomorrow?”

I might have overplayed the disappointment. Next time, I’d go with gleeful.

“Um...” I shot Haley a help-me-out-here look.

“She um...can’t, because she um...has to wash her hair.” Haley slumped back. Did I mention that she’s a terrible liar?

Everyone turned to look at my hair. It was clean, I swear. “Dinner sounds fine.”

After Haley’s hair-washing comment, what else could I do? Monica had taken one for the team by going to dinner with T-Rex Hands...I guessed it was my turn.

The next day, I took an early lunch and pulled into the parking lot of Jan’s Restaurant and Coffee Shop. According to Haley’s gossip grapevine, which could find just about anyone, Lulu Montgomery, Big Tommy’s second wife, waitressed at Jan’s. The restaurant was in Oak Hill about ten miles southeast of Lakeside. It was open twenty-four-seven, and the coffee was black, hot, bottomless, and thick enough to tar a roof. During the day, hardcore truckers with bulletproof digestive systems and retirees on a budget lined the grimy, blue-vinyl booths, ordering platters of chicken-fried everything and sucking back rotgut Folgers. At night, Jan’s was full of drunk college kids who had the munchies after a night of partying.

I pulled open the glass-and-chrome front door, and the scents of day-old oil and apple pie nearly knocked me over. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the bad fluorescent lighting. Yep, just as dingy as the last time I’d eaten here in college after a night of partying.

A short, blonde woman in her early fifties wearing a blue T-shirt with “Jan’s” stenciled across the front smiled up at me. I glanced at the nametag pinned above her left breast...Lulu.

Bingo.

“A table for how many?” Lulu’s blue eyes were downright cheerful, and her hair was cut in flattering waves that complimented her heart-shaped face. She had on Nikes and looked like a suburban grandmother.