Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) (8 page)

The wooden table was simple and modern—somewhere between a corporate conference table and patio furniture. I counted the clear-plastic chairs. It seated twenty. Did he often have dinner parties with nineteen of his closest?

“Here, Mustang, sit next to me.” He pulled out a sleek chair.

“Okay.” I sat down, and he scooted me under the table. What else could I do?

“Max.” Ben pulled the chair on my right out for Max.

Max sat down, and Ben pushed his chair in.

“Monica and Landon.” Ben pulled out the chairs across from us but didn’t wait for them to sit down. “Let me get more place settings.”

Max leaned into me. “What are we supposed to do with all of these forks?”

I looked down. Two white-and-gold-rimmed plates were stacked under a bowl. Surrounding the plates were an excessive number of forks, knives, and spoons. I understand flatware on the left and right side of the plate, but when it comes to above the plate—come on—who needs all of those extra forks? Okay, so maybe I can see having a salad fork and a dinner fork...sort of. Why can’t people just lick the salad dressing off of the first fork and use it for dinner? There were five forks, four knives, and three spoons. Add five glasses of various sizes, and one place setting was enough to fill up the dishwasher. Oh wait, there were probably hand was only.

Ben came out of the butler’s pantry carrying a stack of plates and two handfuls of flatware. I wasn’t sure I owned two handfuls of flatware.

He set his armload down in front of Monica and looked around. Two softball-sized patches of red blushed his cheeks. “My housekeeper actually set the table. I don’t know where all of this stuff goes.

“Thank God.” I picked up my napkin, which was thankfully ring-free, and set it in my lap. “I didn’t want to offend you by using the wrong fork. Now that I think about it, do we need forks for soup?”

“No, but I was trying to impress you.” Ben sat at the head of the table. “Now I see that it’s just fork intimidation.”

“Fork intimidation. That’s the perfect name.” Monica sorted out the plates and bowls. She nodded to the giant bowl between us. “Would you like for me to serve?”

“No, thank you.” Ben lifted the top off of the huge bowl in the middle of the table. Steam wafted up from something that looked like potato soup. Thank God. I’d hate to have been brought here on false pretenses. “I had Mrs. Hailer, my housekeeper, put it in the soup tureen.” He picked up a sterling-silver ladle.

Crap, he might be bi; the soup tureen wasn’t a gravy boat, and I didn’t see any napkin rings, but the ladle didn’t bode well. If he had tons of throw pillows on his bed, I was in some serious trouble.

“You have a housekeeper?” Monica didn’t sound surprised; more like she was trying out dinner conversation—it was somewhat polite, so I was immediately on the defensive. “Does she look like Alice from
The Brady Bunch
?”

“No, she’s...um...” He looked around for prying ears while he scooped soup into bowls. Not finding any prying ears, he whispered, “She’s very old school. I think she used to be a nun who taught Catholic school. Honestly, she scares the heck out of me.”

“How does a nun become a housekeeper?” Did nuns retire, and if so, wouldn’t they still be nuns?

“A fallen nun. How interesting.” Monica was all ears.

“What’s a fallen nun?” Landon eyed the bread basket. He really was a man after my own heart. I picked it up, served myself one deliciously warm roll, and passed it to him.

“It’s a nun who left the order...” Monica helped Landon put his napkin in his lap. “I mean, stopped being a nun. If you stop being a nun, you have to leave the order. You can’t retire like Grandpa—you have to stop all the way.”

“A fallen nun...I bet she gets along with your Aunt Astrid.” I’d have loved to be a fly on the wall when Ben and Astrid were in the same room.

“Ms. Astrid gave me a pretty crystal.” Max watched Ben closely as he placed the bowl of soup in front of my son. “It’s supposed to help with bullies.”

Maternal alarm bells went off in my brain.

“Bullies?” My spoon stopped midway to my mouth. Someone was bullying my baby? I could give a lioness a serious run for her money when it comes to being a vicious mom.

Max grinned. “Not anymore.”

“That’s right. Now Cougar and Couper Jester leave him alone.” Landon nodded as a watermelon-slice grin spread across his face.

“Do I want to know what happened?” I did, badly, but prying mom never got me very far.

“He punched Cougar in the face and kneed Couper where it counts.” Landon was so proud of his best friend.

“Oh my God. Are you okay?” My baby had been in a gang fight at the age of ten.

“Don’t freak. I’m fine. They started it and I finished it.” Max was so matter-of-fact, but there was pride there too.

“When?” My voice was helium-high and squeaky. Tomorrow, bright and early, I was taking that school by storm. There was no way Principal Dean was avoiding me as usual. If I had to crawl through his office window and sidestep his assistant, that’s the kind of mom-zilla I am.

“I don’t know. Last month...I guess.” Max sipped his soup like it had been just another day in the life of Max Ridges.

“Good job.” Monica threw up a long-distance fist bump. “Never start a fight, but never back down.”

“That’s terrible advice.” I thought about it for a second. “No, it’s not. She’s right...only, try not to make a habit of it. Violence isn’t good unless you’re defending yourself or someone else. If you’d been hurt...” My heart was pounding in my ears. “Do I need to have a talk with Missy Jester about her terrible boys?”

“No.” Max’s eyes went huge. “Don’t butt in. I’m good.”

“That’s it. Missy’s in charge of cleaning out the port-o-toilets for the Spring Carnival.” And I was having a talk with her. Clearly, her husband’s ninety-year-old sperm had been a decade or two past its expiration date. That defective sperm had created some mean boys. Then again, it could have been Missy’s clueless ovum. The only thing she brought to the marriage was her size-two body and a willingness to spend her husband’s money. After all, a trophy wife’s only insurance policy against working a day job was to pop out a kid...or two. Only, her two were bullies. If I couldn’t make the boys pay, then I’d make Missy pay.

“We don’t have port-o-toilets at the Spring Carnival.” Monica spooned in a mouthful of soup.

“We do now, and we need to make sure they’re extra nasty for Missy. She’s got the common sense God gave deodorant, so she probably won’t notice.” But I would know, and that was all that mattered. Payback was important.

I tried to think of a way to turn the dinner conversation to Big Tommy’s blowing up, but I couldn’t think of a way to talk about it in front of the kids. Talking murder at the dinner table seemed like a bad idea.

After dinner and while the boys were Minecrafting...all bets were off.

“Dinner was wonderful.” And very carb-y, thank God. As we sat on the back row of Ben’s in-house cinema room and watched the boys play Minecraft on a screen that took up an entire wall, I whispered, “Anything new on Big Tommy?”

Ben’s stare turned vacant, like he was trying to figure out what I was talking about. “What about Big Tommy?”

Monica leaned across me and whispered, “He was murdered.”

“No, not again.” He shot us an are-you-kidding-me-right-now glare. “Not every death is a murder.” He spoke slowly in case English was our ninth or tenth language.

“That’s what you said about Molly Miars.” Apparently the Lakeside PD only investigated real crimes like dognapping and people who watered their lawns more than two times a week. Even with the recent rains, the water shortage in Central Texas mandated yard-watering restrictions. Since Lakeside Yard of the Month was cutthroat, it was every man for himself. A lush, green lawn was as good as a signed confession.

“Yes, but that was different. Molly wasn’t the person we all thought she was. Big Tommy...well, he had nothing to hide. Everyone loved him. His death was an accident.” Ben sounded so sure. “And last time, I was going off only what was in Molly Miars’s case file. I did the investigation myself, and I know what I saw.”

Ben had a point about Big Tommy. He had been the town teddy bear. In addition to running a successful restaurant, he’d also run the food pantry, coached Little League, and volunteered for every charity under the sun.

He was Jesus with a beer gut.

Who would want to kill Jesus? Well, apart from the Romans, who I’m fairly certain hadn’t come back from the dead and blown up Big Tommy.

Instead of leaning over me again, Monica got up, walked to the row in front of us, and knelt in the chair directly in front of Ben. “Okay then, why did his house blow up?”

“Most likely a gas leak, or a burner on the gas stove was on but not lit.” Ben leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. It was like he wanted to take up more space. If he thought that made him dominant, man, he didn’t know me or Monica.

“Isn’t that odd? He leaves the gas on in his house and also on the burner in the front yard?” For me, it was just too coincidental. I nodded toward Monica. “Tell him about the fire-washing-down-the-body thing.”

“I just had a case—you know I’m a workers’ compensation adjuster, right?” Monica propped her elbows on the chairback.

“Yes. I think Mustang mentioned it once or twice.” There was a faint spark of interest in his eyes.

“I had a case where a woman lit a gas burner in her yard for a crab boil, not knowing that her husband had left the burner on. She was blown back a little, but not blown to pieces. Propane is heavier than air, so the fire washed down her body.” Monica’s hands washed down her body to drive the point home.

“The blown-to-pieces part could be caused by the house explosion.” There was a hint of doubt in his tone. “Different circumstances than your case.”

“It’s different, but wouldn’t he have to have been inside the house or at least on the front porch when it blew?” Monica looked at Ben then me and back to Ben. “Lighting the outside burner wouldn’t have caused enough force to blow him up, and he was too far away from the house for that to have done more than blow him back. Also, lighting the burner outside wouldn’t have ignited the gas inside the house. Even without all of the doors open, the gas would have dissipated.”

Ben leaned back and crossed his feet at the ankles, muddling it over. Or at least, I think he was muddling. He might have been observing a moment of silence to honor Big Tommy.

“Okay.” His tone suggested he was playing along to placate the insane. Like when I’d played along with crazy cousin Ralph who kept using potato chips as the Eucharist after he insisted on confessing his sins to me. Since I got to eat one chip per sin, I’d still play along. “Let’s map it out. I got the fire investigator’s report this morning. Let’s go next door and map it out.”

Monica and I exchanged a look. This could work. At least we’d know for sure that Big Tommy was murdered.

“Guys, we’re going next door to the basketball court to look at something. If you need anything, the door is directly across the hall from this one.” Ben pointed to the open doorway. “Come and get us.”

It was nice that he’d thought of Max.

He stood, offering a hand-up to me. I took his hand and stood. He put his hand in the small of my back and led me next door, glancing back to Monica as if to say, “Are you coming or what?”

“What am I...invisible?” Monica’s tone reeked of eye roll.

“Don’t mind her. She’s just testy because she’s allergic to strawberries and couldn’t enjoy that fantastic cake.” Only being able to eat one kind of cake would have made me cranky too. But I’d suffer in silence because I’m a martyr for the carb cause.

“I think the basketball court will be big enough.” Ben flicked on a bank of light switches and opened one of the glass-and-metal double doors for me.

Three clean white walls and polished white-oak floors nearly blinded me. The only thing that saved my retinas was that the fourth wall was nothing but glass overlooking the lake. I got that the reason you lived on the lake was to look at the lake, but I was starting to feel a little waterlogged. Privacy seemed like an issue. If I lived across the lake from him, I’d totally have the binocs and telescope at the ready. Did he ever dance around in his boxers while lip-syncing “Pour Some Sugar on Me”? If only I lived across from him, I’d know.

“Let me grab my iPad and a tape measure.” Ben walked out of the room.

“Why do you need your own basketball court?” Monica sat down on the gray metal bleachers against the right-hand wall.

“I can almost understand the court, but bleachers?” I sat down next to her. “Does he really have people come over to watch him play?”

“Good point.” Monica crossed her legs, and one of her black-motorcycle-booted feet vibrated up and down like it was marking time until she could get back to doing something useful.

Ben stepped into the room with an iPad, three rolls of black electrical tape, a stack of white note cards, a black Sharpie, and a tape measure.

He was really getting into this.

He handed me the note cards and Sharpie and Monica the measuring and electrical tapes.

“Okay, here we go.” He rolled back the black cover on the iPad. “Let me pull up the pictures and measurements.” He thumb typed. “I haven’t gotten the Travis County coroner’s report yet, but we should be able to map everything we need.”

Lakeside now used the Travis County coroner after the last coroner/town doctor had been killed by Haley. He’d been the murderer. Easy to cover up murder when you hold all of the cards.

Ben analyzed whatever was on his iPad. “Let’s use the bleachers as Big Tommy’s front porch and work our way from there.”

Monica and I nodded like we knew what we were doing. Fake it until you make it—that’s how I roll.

Ben held the iPad between us. On it was a picture of the crime scene complete with those yellow-plastic number thingys and measurements. There were lots of chunky red globs. I hoped it was chili.

“One of the chili pot handles was found twenty-seven inches from what had been the bottom step of the front porch.” He looked up at Monica. “Measure twenty-seven inches southwest of the middle of the bottom step.”