A Dead End (A Saints & Strangers Cozy Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

For a moment, Kit wondered whether there was another reason he’d asked for her number but chalked it up to wishful thinking.

“A neighbor mentioned that you’d removed the living room carpet recently,” he said.

“It was a crime against good taste,” she said and then winced. The man was investigating a murder in her house and she was making jokes. Classy.

“It may contain evidence,” Romeo said. “Where’d you put it?”

“I called the borough to have it taken it away,” Kit said. “Phyllis and Thora warned me that Peregrine would have a cow if I left it too long on the front lawn for the world to see.”

Romeo looked thoughtful. “Phyllis Chilton, Thora Breckenridge and Peregrine Monroe.”

“Impressive,” Kit said.

“I have a good memory. It helps with my detecting.”

“What color are my eyes?” she asked and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Blue,” he replied without missing a beat. “With gold flecks. Pretty.”

Kit opened her eyes and smiled. “Very impressive.” And smooth. Kit may not have committed any crimes, but looking at the handsome detective across from her, she knew she was definitely in trouble.

By the time Kit arrived home, the officers on her front lawn had been replaced by neighbors and other nosy Westdale residents.

“We thought something had happened to you,” Phyllis said, rolling toward Kit on her scooter.

“Not me,” Kit said. “Your old neighbor.”

Phyllis nodded solemnly. “Ernie was a jackass, but may he rest in peace.”

Kit noticed a woman standing on the sidewalk with two metal forearm crutches. “Who’s that?”

Phyllis craned her neck. “Adelaide Pye. She lives at the far end, on the corner of Thornhill and Virginia Street.”

“Why does she have crutches?”

“Car accident,” Phyllis said quietly. “Best thing that ever happened to her, really. She was a nasty piece of work before that. No one could tolerate her. Now that she’s maimed, she’s everybody’s friend.”

“Says the woman in the electric scooter,” Kit said wryly.

“I can walk.” Phyllis raised her chin a fraction. “I just choose not to.”

“Will you choose to walk if I invite you inside to see where I found the skeleton?”

Phyllis’s eyes lit up. “Would you?”

Kit nodded. “Quickly, I need to collect a few things before I decamp to Greyabbey.”

Phyllis put her fingers to her lips and let out a shrieking whistle. “Thora,” Phyllis called. “Come on over. We’ve got an invite.”

Kit saw Thora step out from behind her thriving rose bushes. What a difference a year without a motor home made.

The two older women gave the other gawkers a victory sign with their fingers as they made their way into Kit’s house.

Kit went straight to the living room. There was no need to point. The location was obvious now that the police had been there. More floorboards were ripped up and the house was far messier than Kit had left it. She picked up an empty Coke can in disgust.

“Okay, seriously. They can at least take their own trash with them,” Kit huffed. “Can I get you ladies a drink? Hot tea?” Kit knew from childhood that older ladies in Westdale liked their hot tea.

“Yes, please,” Thora answered.

Phyllis and Thora stood perfectly still, staring at the gaping hole where the body had been buried.

“That could have been either one of us,” Phyllis murmured.

“Do you two have outstanding debt?” Kit asked.

They shook their heads mutely.

“Do people hate you?” Kit asked.

They shook their heads again.

“Then it couldn’t have been either one of you,” Kit said simply and turned to find where the kettle had been stashed in the kitchen. There were unpacked boxes everywhere she stepped, but she’d already unearthed the kettle the day before.

Fifteen minutes later the three women sat at the small, round table by the sliding glass door, discussing Ernie.

“I have to admit I’m relieved,” Thora said. “I’ve been so frazzled since he disappeared. I’ve had horrible dreams about him this past year, riding on top of his motor home like it was a wild buffalo, trying to run me down. I even saw visions of him when I went to visit my daughter in Naples in the spring. Can you imagine?” She shook her head in dismay and set down her cup. “Not that I’m happy to learn he’s dead, you know. But maybe now I’ll stop imagining him.”

“You had dreams that you were Ronald Reagan’s mistress, too,” Phyllis said. “His death didn’t stop you.”

“I have been known to have prescient dreams,” Thora insisted. “My mother used to say I took after my Aunt Hazel who was well-known for her third eye.”

“That’s a psychic thing, not a deformity,” Phyllis whispered to Kit. “Thora’s batty as hell, but she’s not in-bred.”

“I heard that,” Thora said. “I’m batty as hell, not deaf.”

“I told Peregrine about the body,” Kit said.

Both sets of eyes widened.

“What did she say?” Phyllis asked. “Did she confess?”

Kit laughed and sipped her tea. “Not exactly. Did you know she’s planning to move to Sedona?”

“Her sister lives there,” Phyllis said. “They’re both widowed now. I guess they want to live nearer to each other.”

“Peregrine mentioned something about your rose bushes,” Kit said, eyeing Thora suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell me that you complained about his motor home?”

“Who are you, the fuzz?” Thora asked.

“Not anymore,” Kit said.

“Not ever,” Phyllis pointed out.

“Either way, I’m surprised you didn’t mention it.”

“Why would I complain about my old neighbor to my new neighbor?” Thora bristled. “It’s impolite.”

Thora had a point.

“Nobody on the street liked looking at that beast in his driveway,” Phyllis said. “It bothered everyone, not just Thora and Peregrine.”

Kit eyed Phyllis. “So it bothered you?”

Phyllis leaned forward and met Kit’s gaze. “Of course it bothered me. It was an eyesore. A giant motor home on a bucolic street. He may as well have put a rusty Chevy up on bricks and called it a day.”

Kit realized that she’d need to be mindful of her neighbors in Westdale. Not that she planned to drag down property values single-handedly.

“I hate to interrupt the society tea,” Officer Jamison said, poking his head into the kitchen. “But you ladies aren’t supposed to be here. You need to get going.” He pointed to Kit. “That includes you, Officer Gold.”

Kit began to clear the table. “Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for the tape, by the way,” he said. “It’s my first real crime scene.”

“You don’t say,” Kit replied, feigning surprise.

“Ms. Chilton, can I help you out?” he offered.

Phyllis stood in an effort to demonstrate her electric. “No, thank you. You just go about your business here so our neighbor can move back in. It’ll be a nice change, having a neighbor we don’t need to pretend we don’t see.”

“Give it time, Phyllis,” Thora advised. “She’s only just arrived.”

Kit walked up the long lane to Greyabbey, rolling a suitcase of her belongings behind her. She wouldn’t put it past her mother to have staged the entire incident in order to force Kit back into her controlling arms.

A flash of white linen caught her attention. Huntley lingered outside with the dogs, presumably awaiting Kit’s arrival.

“Is it true, Sassafras?” he asked.

“All true,” she said. “I’m sure my mother is finding the whole thing mildly amusing.”

“Dr. Nina is with her now.”

Kit started. “Is she ill?”

Huntley patted her back. “I forget you’ve been away. No, Dr. Nina is the local vet. She comes by once a week, barring any emergencies, to check on the menagerie. Jade is in kidney failure so Dr. Nina is here to change the drip.”

Kit’s nose wrinkled. “Which one is Jade?”

“That hairball with eyes called a Maine Coon. Terrible temper but your mother is overly fond of her.”

Kit found it incredible that her mother doled out her particular brand of patient love to every stray animal within the Westdale town limits.

She located her mother in one of the lesser-used parlor rooms. The room was much altered since Kit’s last visit. It looked like a makeshift animal hospital now.

“Katherine, welcome home,” Heloise said, one hand placed protectively on Jade’s back. “Dr. Nina, this is my daughter.”

“It’s only temporary,” Kit warned. “As soon as the police have finished, I’m going back.”

Heloise smiled. “Well, you’ve timed it just right. It’s almost gin o’clock.”

Dr. Nina closed her bag. “And that’s my cue to leave. Nice to meet you, Katherine. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

“I’ll escort her out,” Huntley offered.

“Then fetch my popsicles,” Heloise ordered.

Did she say popsicles? They were a bit beneath Heloise’s culinary snobbery.

As if reading her mind, Heloise added, “They’re cucumber and gin with white currants.”

Ah, gin-based popsicles. Now that made more sense.

“Are you sure it won’t spoil my dinner?” Kit asked.

“Oh Katherine, you’re such a card. No amount of gin could possibly spoil a meal.”

They enjoyed their gin-based popsicles on the veranda overlooking a courtyard garden. Kit begrudgingly accepted the fact that her mother’s experiment had paid off. The popsicle was both decadent and delicious.

“There’s a Pilgrim Society meeting next week that you should attend,” Heloise said, managing to appear elegant as she licked the icy concoction. “If nothing else, it’s a good way to meet eligible bachelors.”

“You mean appropriate bachelors,” Kit corrected her. “If they’re in the Pilgrim Society, then they’ve already been vetted. Right, Mother?”

Heloise sucked her popsicle thoughtfully. “You say it as though there’s something wrong with it.”

Kit focused on the nearby butterfly in an effort to control her temper. “I don’t need to meet any Westdale men stamped with your approval.”

“Katherine, you really need to consider your age. A woman’s childbearing years are fleeting.”

“Then maybe you should’ve been more ambitious in your youth.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Imagine the number of little Pilgrims you could have produced.”

Kit caught the brief look of anger that flashed in her mother’s clear blue eyes.

“Alas, you, Katherine darling, are my legacy.” She finished off her popsicle and set the stick on a nearby cloth napkin. “Now you understand why it’s so important that you accept the mantle of responsibility that comes with the Winthrop Wilder names.”

Kit shrugged. “Do I?”

Huntley stepped onto the veranda, dabbing his forehead with a spotted handkerchief. “My sincere apologies for my tardiness, ladies. Crispin called about the next Pilgrim Society meeting and you know how that boy can talk.”

That boy was Crispin Winthrop — Kit’s first cousin who ran the local newspaper, the Westdale Gazette.

“Indeed, I do,” Heloise replied as Huntley took a seat on the settee. “If you attend the meeting, next week, it might be a good opportunity to say hello to your family.”

“Or I can swing by the paper,” Kit suggested. “His office is right next to campus.” Check and mate, she thought to herself.

“So tell me about school,” Heloise suggested.

“Not much to tell. We’re still doing orientation,” Kit replied.

“Let me know if you have any issues and I’ll speak to Josiah.” Dr. Josiah Sorenson was the president of the college and a former golf buddy of Kit’s father.

“I don’t need you to solve my problems,” Kit said.

“You seem to have so many,” Heloise said. “I’d just like to lighten the load.”

“Dinner is served,” Diane called from inside.

“What does she think this is, a Friendly’s?” Heloise remarked. “She must be acting up for your benefit.” She shot an accusative glare in Kit’s direction.

Kit stood on the edge of the pasture, her gaze fixed on the Tennessee walking horse with its head lowered to the ground. Peppermint had always loved sniffing the daisies; it was something that Kit adored about her horse. She was a magnificent creature still.

“Hey girl,” Kit called and the horse’s head rose in response, her ears twitching.

Kit approached the horse slowly, not wanting to startle her. She held out the apple in her palm and watched Peppermint for signs of interest.

“Apples are still her favorite,” a voice said, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Kit turned around to see an unfamiliar young man behind her. His scrawny body was emphasized by his thin T-shirt and jeans. He wore a red Phillies cap, a familiar sight in this part of Pennsylvania.

“Hi, are you the stablehand?” Kit asked.

“Paul Krasensky. I started working here about two years ago.”

“That explains why you don’t look familiar.” Kit returned her attention to Peppermint. “How is she?”

“Give her that apple and you’ll see for yourself,” he suggested.

Kit held the apple within reach and Peppermint took it, chomping gingerly.

“Watch, it’ll be like a sugar high in a minute. She loves her apples, especially Pink Lady and Gala.”

Kit warmed to him immediately. A stablehand who knew the brand of apples her horse liked. Now that was a good employee. “Did Abe train you?” The family’s previous stablehand, Abe, had retired while Kit was in Los Angeles so she wasn’t sure of the timeframe.

“Yep, my older brother used to shoot pool with him before the old guy’s hip surgery so he recommended me for the job.”

“Who’s your brother?” Kit searched her brain for another Krasensky. “Does he work here, too?”

Paul shook his head. “Nah. Carl works odd jobs. He isn’t a big fan of steady employment, if you know what I mean. Ain’t seen him in some time.” He spat on the ground. “Not unusual for my family, though. Too many Krasenskys spoil the broth. Someone should’ve warned my mama about that before she went and had six kids.”

Kit smiled, stroking the horse’s soft mane. “Sometimes even one is enough.”

“I like your mama,” Paul said, surprising her. “Anybody who takes care of animals the way she does is okay in my book.”

Kit didn’t argue. Most people assumed that Heloise’s nurturing side extended to her daughter. Her mother was an enigma, though, and Kit gave up trying to figure her out years ago.