Lethal Lasagna (17 page)

Just because Sara collected both didn’t mean she took them from Mitzi’s. I tried to think of a motive. As far as I knew, Sara and Mitzi had never met. I thought back to the first time Sara had inquired about Mitzi. She’d acted as if they’d never met. Was I allowing my over-active imagination to run wild?

Sprocket stopped to visit a cute Cocker Spaniel puppy. While they sniffed at each other, I allowed my thoughts to ramble to the vandalism of my room. Working in a sewer would have given Sara access to the rats. Anyone could get a chicken from the farmers market. But rats, well I really needed to check with the pet store and see if any had been purchased in the last few weeks.

The dogs said goodbye, and I was on my way again. “Why hadn’t the police thought of that?”

We were almost back to the house. Sweat poured off my brow, and my head felt woozy. I looked to Sara’s house and found her staring back at me.

“Claire, why don’t you come in for a cup of peach tea?” She called.

This was my chance. If I could look at her collection again, I might be able to prove to myself that she hadn’t killed my best friend. “Thanks, I could sure use a glass of iced tea.” I tied Sprocket to the front porch.

She smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. “Sure. Come on inside.”

Was I walking into a murderer’s home, or had a fever consumed me, and this new fear was just a figment of my imagination?

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“Mom and I really enjoyed the spiced tea you gave me, Claire.” Sara closed the door behind me. A soft click sounded and then she led the way into her kitchen. “My mom told me to find out where you got it. It helps to calm her nerves.”

I looked about the kitchen that was so much like my own. She’d added a border of black and white pigs near the ceiling. White curtains covered a window that looked out over the back yard. A small round table sat in the center of the room.

Sara looked over her shoulder at me. “Oh please, sit down. You look as if the sun has cooked you alive.”

Thankful, I slid into one of the chairs at the table. My head throbbed and my body felt as if it were on fire. I should have waited to do this, I thought. “I feel like it, too.”

Sara turned back to the counter. She took a small clear glass bottle down. “You want iced tea, right?”

“Yes, please.” I laid my head on the cool surface of the wood. Maybe I should have gone home and taken the nap I told Brandon I’d take.

Ice cubes clanked into glasses. The sound rebounded in my aching head.

Sara sat down across from me. “It will take a few minutes for the tea to boil. Until then, we can catch up.” Without taking a breath, Sara pressed on. “You’re a member of the Mad Hatters aren’t you?”

I lifted my head and looked across at her. “Yes. You know. I’m not feeling too well. I appreciate the offer of tea, but I think I’ll go on home.”

She put a large hand over mine. “You stay put. The tea will be ready in a few minutes, and you’ll feel much better.”

I looked into her eyes. They seemed hard and cold. I lowered my head. At the moment I felt as weak as a newborn lamb, but knew something wasn’t right. “Okay, but just one glass. I left Sprocket out in the sun.”

“I heard you’ve been asking a lot of questions about Mitzi’s death. Mama’s in the Mad Hatters, and she says you asked everyone about it. Why did you do that?”

I groaned. “I want to know who killed her.”

“But with all those warnings, weren’t you scared the killer would come after you?” She pushed her chair back and went to make the tea.

I tilted my head and watched her. She poured the boiling water into a plastic pitcher. Steam circled her head. “A little. But, Brandon was sleeping on the porch, so I felt pretty safe.” I lowered my eyes. The pressure behind them felt almost unbearable.

“He wasn’t there when someone put rats in your bedroom.”

Had the police questioned Sara about the vandalism? “That’s true. Whoever put them there did so when neither of us was home.”

“I guess they should have used real blood instead of ketchup.” She mumbled. I heard the tea being poured into the glasses.

Someone rang the doorbell.

Even with the headache and fever, I knew Sara had killed Mitzi and put the dead animals in my room. The police wouldn’t have told the public about the ketchup, and only the killer would have known that piece of information. What I didn’t know is why she did it. I forced myself to sit up.

She ignored the visitor and handed me the beverage.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked.

“No, I’m not expecting company.” She sat down and stared at me. “Go ahead and drink up. It will make you feel better.”

I raised the glass; the scent of peach caused me to feel queasy again. I set it on the table. I had to know for sure. “Sara, why do you think the person who killed Mitzi messed up my bedroom?” I rocked the glass between my hands. It felt wonderful against my palms.

The doorbell rang again. Sara got up and walked to the window. She looked out and frowned.

Why didn’t she answer the door? I looked to the tea. “I’d better be going.”

She turned as I stood. “Mitzi was a Miss Perfect. She made my mother’s life miserable. She had to die. Drink the tea, Claire.”

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“Why?”

She advanced toward me. “You know why. I warned you.”

I stepped back. “So it was you.”

Sara picked up my glass. “Drink the tea. I promise it won’t hurt.” She continued to walk toward me as I backed up. “I like you, Claire; I promise it won’t be painful. Drink the tea.”

The sound of splintering wood filled the house. Sara didn’t miss a step. “You have to die, too, Claire. Mom can’t think of nothing but you and Mitzi. I thought when Mitzi went away, she’d stop worrying and would do stuff with me again. But then you started nosing around.”

Detective Howard and a police officer entered the room. “Stop right there.” He ordered.

We both stopped.

Sara turned to face them. “What are you doing in my house?” She demanded.

“You are under arrest for attempted murder.” The detective told her. At the same time he motioned for the officer to cuff her.

Attempted murder? The words echoed in my feverish mind.

She tossed the tea at him and made a dash for the back door. I slumped against the wall. The officer was on Sara before she could get the door open. He cuffed her and then hauled her past me.

“Are you all right?” Detective Howard asked, whipping out his handkerchief. He picked up the glass. I noticed a small amount of liquid still rested in the bottom.

I stared.

“Claire?” His concerned blue eyes stared up into mine.

“I’m fine.” Fine, I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be the same again. I’d faced Mitzi’s killer, knowing she planned to kill me, too. “The tea is poisoned, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Probably. We’ll check it out at the lab. Did she confess?”

Brandon rushed into the room. “Oh Claire, please tell me you didn’t drink it.” He wrapped my shaking body in his arms.

“I didn’t.” I assured Brandon as hot tears ran down my face and into his shirt.

Detective Howard’s soft, commanding voice said. “I need to know, Claire. Did she confess?”

I pulled myself away from Brandon’s tight hold, aware that the police officer had already asked that question. I turned my attention to Detective Howard. “I don’t know.”

He took me by the arm and guided me to one of the kitchen chairs. “Okay, tell me exactly what she said.”

I spent the next half hour answering their questions regarding what had taken place since I’d arrived at Sara’s. When I finished, I asked a question of my own. “How did you know I was here?”

“We picked up Darlene Lowery about half an hour ago. She confessed to killing Mitzi, but when we questioned her about the things that had happened to you, she didn’t have a clue what we were talking about. But then when I—”he cleared his throat—”asked about the rats and the chicken that were in your room, her face paled, and she begged us to come check on Sara.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Brandon said. “Why did she want you to check on Sara?”

“She was afraid that Sara would try to kill Claire.”

If it hadn’t just happened, I wouldn’t have believed it, but she had just tried. And, might have succeeded, if the police hadn’t arrived.

The Detective must have been thinking the same thing because he asked, “And you didn’t drink the tea?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.”

“You’re sure?” Concern laced his voice.

I tried to smile. “Very sure.”

More officers filled the room. Detective Howard nodded to me and then started giving orders.

Brandon pulled his attention back to us. “Detective, I’d like to take Claire to the hospital.”

“Okay, but Claire I’d like to have your official statement before you leave, if you feel up to it.”

I turned to face Brandon. He’d started to protest but I laid a hand on his arm. “Would you put Sprocket back in the yard? Then we can go.”

Detective Howard indicated we step outside, and then he whipped out his notebook. He shot off several questions. I answered each of them. While I did so, I watched Brandon take Sprocket home and release him in the front yard. Then, he jogged back across the driveway.

“Did Darlene say why she killed Mitzi?” I asked.

“She just kept muttering that it wasn’t fair that Mitzi was always the center of attention and got everything her way.”

“So it was jealousy.” I sighed. Sadly, my friend had died because someone was jealous of her.

“And Sara almost killed you for the same reason.” Brandon reminded me.

The thought of my near-death immediately drained all my energy. “I’m sorry but I’m tired. Can I go now?”

“I might have more questions for you later but you can go for now.”

Brandon helped me into his truck.

While he walked around to the driver’s side I rolled down the window. “Detective, I’m glad you figured out Darlene murdered Mitzi. Thanks.”

He smiled. “I’m glad too.”

I rolled the window back up.

Brandon pulled out onto the road. I rested my head against the seat and enjoyed the cool air that came through the air conditioner. “How did you know I was at Sara’s?”

“I saw Sprocket tied to her front porch.”

“So you called the police?” I asked.

He reached across and took my hand. “No, they were already there.”

I enjoyed the coolness of his palm over the back of my hot hand.

He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Sara said something about her mother not spending time with her because of Mitzi and me. Isn’t that sad?”

“Yes. I wonder if Fred feels the same way.” Brandon rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand.

“Fred and Sara are brother and sister?” I opened my eyes and turned to look at him.

His other strong hand controlled the truck, and his eyes remained on the road. “Adopted brother and sister. Darlene Lowery adopted them both when they were just kids. Sara has always resented that her mother adopted Fred, too. I think she planted his manuscript in Mitzi’s house. If he were arrested, she’d be an only child and the center of attention.”

“Darlene never gave Sara her last name?”

“Nope, seems Sara wanted to keep her father’s last name. She had been in a series of foster homes and had been a troubled child. The only thing her father left her was that old truck and the feeling that she wasn’t good enough to keep around.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I went and talked to Fred. He told me how much Sara hated him.”

We pulled into the emergency parking lot. Poor Darlene, even though I hated the fact that she killed Mitzi, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I couldn’t imagine Megan going to jail for attempted murder. No matter how badly our children behave, we still want to believe the best of them.

I wondered how Darlene had given Mitzi the poisoned lasagna. Had they been friends? Or had she left it for Mitzi with a note like Sara had the brownies at my house? And if so, what had happened to the note? Had there been a note? My head really hurt from all the unanswered questions racing around in my brain.

Brandon held my door open for me. He hustled me into the emergency room. After that, all talk of Mitzi and murder was dropped.

Why does it take all day to find out you have the flu? I hate hospitals, and I hate waiting when I feel bad. It was a great relief when they finally released me into Megan’s care, with a prescription for an antibiotic and the standard caution to drink plenty of fluids. All I wanted was to get home where I knew Brandon waited for me. Even though I wasn’t feeling well, I wanted to be with him.

She drove home and asked for all the details of what happened at Sara’s house. “I can’t believe you went to her house thinking that she killed Mitzi.” She scolded as we drove up in my driveway.

I blew my nose. Then climbed out of her car. Brandon’s pickup was parked in the drive. His cot was in the back and two suitcases were propped against the cab of the truck.

He was putting the greenery back in place as I stepped onto the screened-in porch. Disappointed, I asked a stupid question. “You leaving?”

“With Darlene and Sara behind bars, you no longer need me here.” He pushed the chair I used for my morning Bible studies back into place.

How could he think I no longer needed him? I’d grown to love him. It dawned on me he’d never said he loved me. I’d called him my protector, my friend, and my teacher but I had never called him my boyfriend. Well, not to his face, anyway.

Megan came through the door. “All packed up?” she asked.

He grinned. “Yep, I’ve got it all.”

What should I say? I wanted to throw my arms around his neck, tell him I love him and beg him not to leave. But Megan stood staring from one of us to the other. “Thank you for staying with me.”

“It was my pleasure, except I wish you hadn’t been in danger.” He looked about the porch. “Well, it looks like I got everything.”

I looked about also. Not seeing anything else, I had to agree. “Yes, I guess so.”

“Then I’ll be seeing you.” He waved and left. The screen door slammed behind him.

I stared at it. I’d grown so used to him being here. Even though he hadn’t driven out of the driveway yet, I missed him.

“Come on, Mom. I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

I followed like a child after its mother. Depression settled over me. Tears stung my eyes, and my chest felt as if someone had taken a hammer to it.

For the next few days, Megan stayed with me. She fixed my meals, made my bed, and treated me like a child. On the fourth day, I got up and proclaimed myself healthy enough for her to go home.

“Are you sure, Mom?”

I watched her pack her suitcase. “I’m sure.” I hugged Megan to me. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re my mom. I’ll always be here for you.” She returned my hug and then stepped away.

Half an hour later, I waved goodbye to her and sighed. Sara had loved her mother enough to kill for her attention. “Lord, please get Sara and Darlene the help they need.”

For the first time in a long time, I was alone. After locking myself in, I fixed a grilled cheese sandwich and turned on the television.

Half way through my game show the phone rang. Thinking it might be Brandon, I grabbed the telephone and practically yelled into the receiver, “Hello!”

“Missed me that much, did you?” Gloria asked.

I laughed. I’d forgotten she’d left to visit her brother and had been gone all week. “How was your trip?”

She sighed heavily. “Long and boring. Tell me about your week.”

I told her about Darlene and Sara. And then I told her that I’d been sick and that Brandon had left.

She ignored the part about Brandon. “I wish I’d have been here. I could have saved you from Megan’s mothering.” She giggled.

Her amusement was contagious. I laughed, but then confessed that it wasn’t that bad.

“How about we do lunch tomorrow, and you tell me what happened between you and Brandon?” Gloria offered.

Would I be able to talk to her about Brandon? So far, I’d only confided in God my true feelings. “I’d love to have lunch, but can’t promise what the conversation will revolve around.”

“Deal.”

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S
he has to die.

Mitzi Douglas is sweet and kind, but she’s making my life miserable. I can’t have her coming into the room and being the center of attention, it’s just not fair. A layer of lasagna noodles went into the pan.

She makes me sick! A chuckle filled the kitchen. Now that is funny...she makes me feel bad, and so I’m making a special dish to make me better, much better.

The fragrant scent of meat sauce rose as it poured on top of the pasta. Ummmm. This smells good enough to eat. But, I won’t. It’s for Mitzi alone. She’ll just die when she gets a taste of this.

Laughter filled the room, and more layers were added to the poisoned pan.

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Chapter 4

“What made you decide to observe my class?” Brandon cupped his coffee between his palms.

Being a Christian it is my duty to answer as honestly as I can, at moments like this I’d rather not answer at all. What did I really know about Brandon Harvest—besides the fact that he’s easy on the eyes? He could be the killer. “I’m an old friend of Mitzi Douglas.”

Sadness entered his caramel eyes. “She was a very talented writer and a good friend. Still that doesn’t tell me why you joined a creative writing class.”

Mitzi had never told me her professor was her friend. She’d not told me about Brandon at all. If I’d been the one to meet him first, I felt sure I’d have told her what a hunk he is, and she would have said, ‘step into the twentieth century Claire, men are no longer hunks. They’re hotties.’

I’m not sure if it was the melancholy sensation I’d just walked into or what, but I answered. “I plan on finding Mitzi’s murderer.”

His brows drew together, and he ran a hand through his thick looking hair. “You think you will find him in my class?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Right now, I’m just going where she went and doing some of the things she did.” I took a careful sip of my hot tea. The aroma of lemon and honey filled my senses.

“Ah.” He focused on his drink.

I waited. Nothing more came from his lips. He simply stared into the dark liquid in his cup. That was it just ‘ah’? Where were the questions? The comments? Anything at all would be better than his silence. Maybe he thinks I’m a crazed woman. If so, what did I have to lose by confessing? “The police think I did it.”

His head came up and serious light brown eyes studied me. “I doubt that is true.”

I felt the heat rush into my face. Had I actually said those words aloud?

“You don’t look much like a killer to me.”

Yep, I’d said them. “Thanks but if the killer looked like a murderer I’m sure the police would have caught him by now.”

A warm chuckled greeted my ears. His laugh enough to send my heartbeats into overtime. Not since Frank, had a man brought my senses to life like this. I found myself joining his laughter.

He continued to smile when he asked, “So, if you are the main suspect what’s kept them from arresting you?”

The question sobered me up. “I’m the one who found Mitzi. She was laying on the floor beside a pan that had lasagna in it. When I saw her, I pushed the pan away and left my fingerprints. I gave them the details when they arrived. So, on one point they believe me, because I’d told them I’d touched the pan, but on the other hand they aren’t sure because mine are the only prints at the scene that aren’t Mitzi’s.” I stirred my tea.