Murder in the Milk Case (4 page)

Max and I were standing at the front door in the process of a very nice good-bye. He looked devastatingly handsome in a navy pinstripe suit that always distracted me. I ran his lapel through my fingers and wished for one whole day alone together without disruptions or the guilt I now carried.

After he thoroughly kissed me, he leaned down and picked up his briefcase. “Dad’ll be home from Florida in a few days. Today I’m going to finalize plans with the architect for the new facility outside Baltimore.”

Max and his father had big plans for a self-storage empire, although that was only one of their many business ventures. The fact that my in-laws were returning soon wasn’t good news.

“Honey?”

I glanced up.

He brushed hair from my face. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

Was he checking up on my activities? “Well, I don’t intend to find another body, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He inhaled. “That’s not what I meant.”

I relented. Inner turmoil was making me snappy. “I’m sorry. Abbie’s coming over, remember? Then I’ll do some bookkeeping since I didn’t get to work today.”

Sammie arrived as he was leaving, and they had a little powwow, apparently discussing the possible addition of another hamster to our family. She and I ate lunch together, then I got her settled in the family room, feeling guilty that I was entertaining my child with television. I could only imagine what my mother would say about that. Seemed lately that my life was one huge guilt trip.

As I made coffee in preparation for Abbie’s visit, her shadow appeared at the back door, and I waved her in.

“Hi, hon.” She kissed my cheek and put a bag on the table. “Your mother says she never sees you anymore.”

“She always says that.” I pulled two mugs from the cupboard and placed them on the table.

Abbie laughed and slipped fluidly onto a chair, crossing her long legs at the ankles. The pink of her sweater shouldn’t have looked good with her red hair, but on her, the effect was stunning. In her black jeans, she looked like one of the heroines in the novels she wrote. If I hadn’t known her since kindergarten and loved her so much, I’d be rabidly jealous of her good looks.

“How is the book coming along?” I pulled the bag off the coffee cake. It smelled wonderful, as do all my mother’s baked goods.

She laughed. “I’m at the point where my brain is fried. I needed a break.”

“I can’t wait to read it.” I leaned against the counter. “Are you sure working at the health fair this Saturday won’t be a problem for you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. Another mental health respite. Besides, how could I break our yearly tradition?”

As I poured coffee, she watched me closely. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

“Finding a body will do that.” I put the carafe back on the coffeemaker and grabbed a knife from the drawer. The blade glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the kitchen windows. My mind flashed to Jim Bob’s body. I put the knife on the table and shoved it toward Abbie. “How about you cut?”

She nodded and glanced at me with narrowed eyes. “Sit, Trish. You look like you’re going to fall over.”

I sat down and put my chin in my hands. She served both of us and then settled back in her chair. “Okay, tell me about what happened at the store.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t start there. I had to start earlier. “Do you remember that rash of road-sign thefts eight years ago?”

I jabbed my fork in the coffee cake, breaking it into pieces. She raised her eyebrows. “What does that have to do with anything, especially Jim Bob’s murder?”

Unwanted tears sprang into my eyes. I dropped my fork and picked up a napkin. “He was threatening me, Abbie. He said that Russ was involved in those thefts, and he was going to tell Max and his family. That gives me motive to murder Jim Bob.”

She put her fork down, too. “Why in the world?”

“Because Max’s wife was killed at an intersection where a stop sign had been removed.”

Chapter Four

“Oh, Trish.” Abbie stared at me with wide eyes.

“Remember that big fight I had with Jim Bob at the pharmacy a week ago?” I asked.

She nodded.

“I threatened to report him to whatever board supervises pharmacists. Frank intervened, but Jim Bob told me I shouldn’t throw stones.” I continued to poke at my coffee cake. “I figured he was just referring to my tendency for mishaps. Well, last Friday before Shirl got in the office, Jim Bob came by Four Oaks Self-Storage. That’s when he told me about the stop sign. He said if I didn’t give him free storage units he was going to tell Max and his family, plus get Russ kicked out of the Navy. Involuntary manslaughter or something like that.” I glanced at Abbie. “I haven’t told Max yet. I need to know for sure.”

She frowned. “Why can’t you ask Russ?”

“Boot camp, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed. “Okay, well, do you think Russ was involved?”

“I have no idea. But I do remember when I was watching him pack I saw what could have been sheet-covered road signs in his closet.” I bunched up my napkin. “You know this makes me look guilty in the cops’ eyes.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Perhaps.”

“I have a feeling that Detective Eric Scott suspects something.”

She sat up straight. “So he’s the lead investigator?”

I nodded. “Yeah. And this morning, I was down in the interview room for the second time. I think he knows.”

Her gaze met mine. “You didn’t tell him?”

I took a sip of coffee then set the cup down hard. “I sort of hoped that with Jim Bob dead no one would ever have to know.”

She gazed at me with one delicate eyebrow raised. “So you’re saying if they find Jim Bob’s murderer today you’re going to keep this a secret the rest of your life? Even from Max, and even if it’s true?” She paused and tapped a finger on the table. “And if they don’t find his murderer right away and you’re somehow implicated in all of this, then the secret’s out. Russ could be yanked out of the Navy, charged with Lindsey’s death, and Max will feel like you betrayed him.”

Put that way, it all sounded horrible. Was that what I was saying? Could I not tell Max for the rest of my life? And if he did find out before I told him. . .I mashed a piece of coffee cake into my plate with my fingertip. “I guess I’m just scared. Sometimes it’s hard enough living with what feels like the ghost of a first wife and the kids’ real mother. Being a stepmom is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But you’re right. I’m not thinking clearly at all. I don’t know what to do.”

She leaned across the table. “Come on, Trish, it’s not like you to be so helpless and obtuse.”

Her words felt like a slap. I glared at her. “What exactly does that mean?”

She smiled serenely and leaned back in her chair. I could see cogs turning in her brain. “Seems to me you’d want to find out what you can yourself. And remember, if Jim Bob knew, then he had to have heard it from someone else. Besides, Eric isn’t going to let up.”

I hadn’t thought about it all quite like that. Then I realized she’d used the detective’s first name. “You know Detective Scott?”

“Know him?” She shrugged and glanced out the window. “He’s the person I ended up with as a writing consultant at the sheriff’s office. The other guy who was helping me retired and sent me Eric’s way. Ironically, he doesn’t seem to like my books.”

Who could not like Abbie’s books? “Maybe he just doesn’t like to read.”

“Who knows? But he’s nothing if not persistent.” She nibbled on a piece of coffee cake and then put her fork down, meeting my gaze with a grin. “Do you remember when we were in sixth grade and decided we were going to be the Hardy Boys—only we were girls?”

I nodded. We’d called ourselves the Hardier Girls and ordered fingerprint powder and other detective stuff from mail-order places. We spent that summer following people around, looking for crimes. My mother finally banned the two of us from using the powder in the house because it was so messy.

I frowned. “So you’re saying I need to investigate?”

“You have to tell Max, Trish—sooner than later. But it would be nice if you knew the facts. We need to look into this further. Find some answers.”

“You know what?” I sat up straight. “Maybe I could find out who killed Jim Bob. Then Detective Scott would leave me and my family alone.”

One corner of her mouth turned up. “That’s my girl. Tell you what. I’ll go to the library, look through old newspapers, and see what the articles say about Lindsey’s accident. I have to go there anyway.”

I nodded. Abbie took another bite of coffee cake. I didn’t feel well, so I left mine uneaten.

“Because I’m on a deadline, I can’t help much, but this is a good plan. It’ll take your mind off things and give me satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction?” I asked.

“Yes.” She smiled but didn’t explain.

I had a feeling she wanted to one-up Detective Scott. That was fine with me, for two reasons. First, he annoyed me, too. Second, turnabout was fair play. She helped me. I could help her. My mind was already formulating ideas. “Thank you.”

“What are friends for?” She held out her index finger.

I held out mine, and we touched the tips.

Our old sign of friendship. When we were little, we’d pricked our fingers, made them bleed, and held them together. Blood sisters.

“Here’s to crime solving,” she said.

“Yes.” I felt a stirring inside me. “Here’s to crime solving.”

After Abbie left, my three oldest children came home, leaving me no time to think. Charlie grunted at me as he ran through the kitchen to the family room.

Tommy kissed my cheek as he passed through. “Hey, Mom. I’m working this evening, so I won’t be here for dinner. Dad knows.”

“Okay.” I looked at Karen. “How was school?”

“Fine.” She opened the refrigerator. “I’m going over to Julie’s in a while. Tommy’s taking me on his way to work.”

She was spending a lot of time at the Snyders’ house. Thin, sad-eyed Julie was Lee Ann’s only daughter. The girls’ relationship benefited my shopping. Lee Ann always clued me into the meat sales at the Shopper’s Super Saver, and she didn’t mind doing special cuts for me. But I was concerned about Karen. As she and Julie got closer, there was a distinct deterioration in Karen’s behavior. She’d recently dropped all of her extracurricular activities, which disturbed us because she needed them to get into college. Max and I were praying for wisdom about how to handle the situation.

A long silence ensued while she rummaged through the shelves.

“I’m going to eat dinner there,” she finally said.

“That’s fine. Does your father know?”

She snatched a diet soda from the refrigerator, slammed the door, and turned to face me. “I’m sure you’ll tell him.”

Whoops. Worse than normal. Maybe she had PMS. “No doubt I will.” I eyed her. “You want some chocolate?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Is that a joke?”

“Do you want it to be?”

She grabbed her pants and shook the fabric. “I don’t need any more calories. I’m too tall. I’m getting fat. And I hate my hair.”

Was that a slam against mine, which looked very much like hers? Long, blond, and very, very curly.

“You’re lucky to be short and skinny,” she said as she stomped from the kitchen.

Well, that didn’t go too badly considering how things had been recently. I hoped Sammie wouldn’t grow up to be as moody as her older sister. So far, she’d shown no signs. When I’d told her about the body in the grocery store, she’d shrugged it off as if everyone’s mother found dead men in the milk case. Then again, she got most of her information from Charlie, and who knows what he’d told her. He’d questioned me in a manner that would have made Detective Scott proud.

Strains of discordant, eerie music drifted from the family room. I peeked in. Sammie sat on the couch. Charlie was hunched two feet in front of the wide-screen television. Over his spiky hair, I saw a man dressed in a white suit, walking from the shadows, slowly filling the screen. The spooky music subsided slightly as he droned on in a grim, melodramatic voice. “The accounts you will see today are real, although some of the drama is represented by actors.” He paused, staring intently into the camera, which closed in on his face. Aided by makeup and lighting, his facial bones protruded, making him appear almost skeletal. “My name is Perry Mitchell. Welcome to”—he paused dramatically
—“Mysterious Disappearances.”

No wonder Charlie saw dead people. Max and I had to talk about this. “Charlie, please turn that off.”

“But, Mom, I watch this over at Mike’s. It’s great! You wouldn’t believe how many people disappear all the time. I mean, even you or Dad could be faking everything and really be serial killers.”

I gazed at Charlie, disturbed and amazed at the way his brain worked. It didn’t seem right for an eight-year-old kid. Besides, Sammie’s rapt, openmouthed attention to Charlie’s words and subsequent quizzical glance in my direction told me I’d better stop this serial-killer rumor right here; otherwise, I’d be hearing about it from my mother.

“Don’t be silly, Charlie,” I said. “You know Dad and I are who we say we are—you know our parents. Now turn it off.”

“But I—”

The ringing phone interrupted him.

“Maybe that’s Mike.” Charlie galloped to the kitchen to grab the cordless. He probably hoped that Mike would invite him over so he could watch the show there.

I heard the sound of his murmuring voice, then he bounced back into the family room. “It’s Grandmom. She wants to take me and Sammie out for ice cream tonight.”

Sammie squealed and clapped her hands. “Please say yes, Mommy.”

“Okay.” I took the phone from Charlie, turned off the television, and the two scampered out of the room. I took a deep breath and put the receiver to my ear. “Hi, Ma. That’s nice of you to offer. They’re excited.”

“Well, I don’t see any of you often enough, so I had to take things into my own hands. I love my grandchildren, you know.”

I did know. About taking things into her own hands and loving the kids.

I dropped onto the sofa. Perhaps I could distract her. “How is Daddy doing at that sale. . . ? Where is it? Pennsylvania?”

“Yes. He bought two cows. Why we need them is beyond me. But he’s worried about you. He’ll be back in time for Sunday dinner. So did you work today?”

“No. I went to talk to Detective Scott. I—”

“Did you remember that Jim Bob’s deceased wife Estelle was one of my dearest friends?”

“Yes.” I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise, which was just as well. Then I wouldn’t have to hear her interpretation of my words months later.

“It’s terrible,” she intoned. “Horrible.”

“Yes, it is.” I wondered if she realized how horrible it was for the person who found Jim Bob. “When did his wife die?”

“Not long enough for him to have remarried last year, but he did anyway.” The indignant tone in her voice indicated there was much more to the story. “Don’t you remember that? I told you all about it. She went so quickly.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” I murmured.

She sighed. “After only five years—can you believe it? He had the nerve to marry again.”

“Five years,” I repeated. “I would think five years would be plenty of—”

“Well, that shows how much you know.” She snorted. “As far as I’m concerned, he should have waited forever. What in the world does a man his age want with a woman thirty years his junior?”

Well, I could think of at least one thing.

“And not only that, he let her redecorate the house. I’m sure Estelle turned over in her grave. It’s indecent. And now this. I tell you, what goes around comes around.”

I chewed on my fingernail as I tried to figure out what had gone around and come back again. Then I realized I was missing a valuable opportunity to gather clues. “So Jim Bob’s widow is young. . . .”

“Didn’t I say that? You need to listen to me. Oops, I have a customer. Gail had to leave early for a doctor’s appointment. It’s been a busy day. I’ll talk to you later.”