A Mother's Day Murder (Mt. Abrams Mysteries Book 1) (9 page)

Viv smiled. “Me too.”

Mary Rose sniffed and put the coffee pot back on the stove, giving us her back a little longer than was probably necessary.

She sat with us. “Yes. Well, what were you saying? About the Mitchells? I saw you there yesterday morning, Ellie. You too, Maggie. It must have been awful.”

I nodded. “Yes. But I want to ask you about the power of attorney you notarized for them last week.”

She took a long sip of coffee and looked thoughtful. “They came to my door just as Fred was coming back, so that was about ten o’clock.” Fred was her husband, who every morning, no matter what the weather, walked from Mt. Abrams to the CVS way down on Rt. 51. It was said you could set your clock by his coming and going, so if Mary Rose said ten o’clock, you could bet she was dead on.

“They were very nervous. Apparently, she had printed off the form on the computer, and they were very anxious to have it notarized,” Mary Rose said.

“Excited nervous or scared nervous?” I asked.

Mary Rose narrowed her eyes and thought hard. “Scared. He was scared. In fact, at one point, she put her arms around him, to comfort him. She kept telling him it would be fine.”

“What would be fine?” Maggie asked.

Mary Rose lifted her shoulders, then let them drop. “I have no idea. They were very secretive people, you know. I don’t think anyone really knew them. I’d invited them to join Garden Club, of course, but Lacey said they weren’t joiners.” She raised her eyebrows. “Did you know anything about them?”

Viv shook her head. “I sold them the house three years ago, and signed the contract to sell it again, and I don’t even think I exchanged ten words with them in between.”

“They were not,” Mary Rose said, “very good neighbors.”

“Was she scared as well?” I asked.

Mary Rose shook her head. “Not so much. In fact, she was in control of the situation. She had the paperwork, had filled in most of it before they got here, and told him where to sign. She seemed in a hurry.”

Maggie looked at me. “They sign the power of attorney, call Viv, then what? Why was she in a hurry?”

I had been watching Mary Rose, and she leaned forward. “What do you ladies know that the rest of us don’t?”

“Nothing,” I said. I stood up. “Thank you, Mary Rose. For the coffee and information.”

She got up in a hurry. “Ellie, wait now. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Mary Rose. Honestly. We were just curious about what happened that might have caused Lacey to leave so suddenly.”

Mary Rose folded her arms across her chest. “Leave? Who said she left? I’m betting Lacey disappeared because her husband killed her, and then killed himself out of guilt.”

I made my way to the front door. “You’re probably right. Thank you, Mary Rose.”

We hurried down her walk and up the street.

“So, what are we thinking?” Maggie asked.

“I’m thinking that we need to know what happened after the boys got picked up by the bus. Between then and ten, they saw something or heard something that shook them up,” I said.

“Or not,” Viv said. “Maybe he made it all up. Maybe he did it just to get her to sign, so he could kill her.”

“Or maybe
she
made it up so she had an excuse to get the hell outta Dodge,” Maggie said.

“But when he was talking to me, he said something like he didn’t know she had made friends. That she was using me. If he wasn’t talking about Lacey, who else could it have been?” I asked. The more I thought about what had happened, the more confused I got.

“Well, since it’s easier to find out if something did happen than if something didn’t, where should we start looking?” Maggie asked.

“Oh girl,” Viv said. “You have to ask? The post office.”

“I have to see my mother this morning,” I said. “Do you think—“

Viv grinned. “Leave this to us, Ellie. We’ve got this covered.”

M
y mother’s
assisted living facility nestled at the foot of a gently rolling hillside in Sussex County. It was an old mansion that had been carefully converted, added on to, improved, and improved again until it met all the state safety standards, yet still managed to look like a very rich person’s gracious country estate. Mom had a room on the second floor. Large and sunny, she had a narrow bed, all her books and pictures, her phone chair and a small television. In the bay window was her dresser and another chair, and that’s where I sat, every Friday before going down to have lunch.

We had once been able to go out for lunch, but last year she went to the ladies room at a local Panera, wandered past where we were sitting, out the door, and was found three hours later, sitting in the middle of the freezer aisle of a Pathmark almost a mile away.

Now, we had lunch in the common dining room, which was not a bad thing. Aside from the excellent food, the other residents were more or less delightful characters who put on a never-ending floorshow for their guests.

We sat at a table next to the nimble-fingered Justine Caldwell, who barely had the strength to hold her fork. My mother kept glaring at the poor woman, who, since she was fairly deaf, just smiled and nodded. After lunch we walked around the grounds for about half an hour before going back inside and upstairs. My mother became agitated, as she often did when she sensed my visit coming to a close.

“Justine is taking all my Agatha Christies,” she muttered.

“Mom, how is she even getting up the stairs?” I asked.

My mother sat in her phone chair, rocking back and forth. She was still a lovely woman, her thick hair almost completely gray, her big, dark eyes angry and confused. I had inherited her creamy skin and thick, perfectly shaped eyebrows, for which I will be eternally grateful, as well as her stubby fingers and love of eating, for which I was not so grateful. Now, I could feel her irritation growing. Sometimes I just kissed her good-bye and she’d smile happily. Lately though, our partings were getting harder.

“And I don’t know why I can’t just live with you. I know Marc wouldn’t mind.”

“Mom, you need to be with somebody all the time now. You know that. I can’t watch you. I have to work.”

“You work from home,” she whined.

“Yes, until I’m off at a conference or a festival or meeting with a client somewhere,” I said. My arguments didn’t matter to her. She’d heard them all before. She just didn’t remember them.

“This is a terrible place. They do bad things here.”

“No, Mom, they don’t. You love it here.”

“And the food is awful. Gruel.”

I sighed and picked up my purse. One of the aides, Liz, poked her head in. “Leona,” she called loudly, “we’re getting ready for cards downstairs. You want to come with me?”

My mother’s head snapped around. “Yes. Yes, I love cards.” She waved in my direction as she got up. “See you tomorrow, Ellie. Give your babies a kiss for me.”

I smiled gratefully at Liz, who took my mother’s arm and led her out of the room.

I sat there for a few minutes more. My high school graduation picture was on one of her shelves. I looked at it closely. I was a very pretty girl back then, pretty enough to have had lots of young men offer me beer and pot and sex. In the spirit of the seventies, which was when I had come of age, I took many of them up on their offers.

That was then. This was now. I closed the door behind me when I left my mother’s room.

S
am Kinali called
while I was walking down to get Tessa at the bus stop.

“How are you?” he asked, like he actually meant it.

“I’m fine. What have you found out?”

“I’m fine too, thanks for asking,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I realize it’s short notice, but can I take you out for dinner this evening?”

“Cait is working, and on a Friday night on such short notice, getting a sitter for Tessa might be tough.” I tried to remember what was in my freezer besides Smart Ones frozen meals, sugar-free ice pops and Cait’s chicken potpies. “How do you feel about spaghetti and meatballs?”

“Two of my favorite things.”

“I have homemade sauce, and I’ll get some salad. About seven?”

“I’ll bring wine and dessert,” he said, and hung up.

Damn. Dessert.

Tessa and I made a quick run through Stop and Shop, and only spent one hundred and forty seven dollars. That little girl grabbed everything her little arms could reach. When we got home, I pulled the sauce and meatballs out of the freezer, put away everything but the salad fixings and the box of pasta, and quickly dusted the dining room. The girls and I ate in the kitchen, and the weekly housekeeping routine tended to be a little lax.

Cait came down, dressed for work, halfway through the process. “You’re dusting? Are we expecting the queen?”

“No. Sam Kinali.”

“Do you like him?”

“Do you like Kyle Lieberman?”

“Fair enough,” she said, and left without further comment.

The sauce was still frozen when I threw it in the pot, but by ten to seven, it was bubbling gently, and the house smelled amazing. It had been my mother’s recipe, and every time I made it I remembered Sunday dinners when my father was alive, and he and my mother were still in love after thirty years.

“Why are we having the policeman over to dinner?” Tessa finally got around to asking. “And why did you change? Is this a date?”

“No,” I lied. I did not want Tessa to start getting attached to anyone, or think that I was. “But after we eat, you are going to excuse yourself from the table and go upstairs and watch TV up in the spare room. We may be discussing grown-up things.”

“Like that dead Mr. Mitchell?”

I nodded. “Maybe.”

“Is there a mad killer on the loose in Mt. Abrams?”

I shook my head. “No, there is not. And if there was, we have the worlds most protective dog to scare anyone away, right?”

She nodded. “Can I bring popcorn?”

“Yes.”

“And Oreos?”

“No. Just popcorn. And if you don’t behave, I’ll return the Oreos and all the other junk you bought today. Understand?”

She nodded.

The doorbell rang exactly at seven. I hurried to answer, opening the door to find Maggie and Viv standing there, looking excited and each holding a bottle of wine.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying not to look disappointed.

“Don’t you want to hear what we found out today about Lacey Mitchell?” Maggie asked.

Before I could answer, I saw Sam Kinali step up on the porch behind them. He had a bottle of wine in one hand, and what looked to be a bakery box in the other. “I’d love to,” he said.

Viv turned around and immediately got it. “Come on, Maggie, we’ll come back another time.”

Maggie, however, missed all the clues. “Detective Kinali, what luck. We found some very interesting things out today. They might help your case.”

My shoulders slumped as Viv poked Maggie with her elbow. “No, Maggie. Let’s take our wine to Shelly’s house. We’ll talk to Ellie later.”

“Please, ladies. Don’t let me run you off,” Sam said, his eyes dancing. “I find all this amateur sleuthing very entertaining. Unless, Ellie, dinner is ready right this minute?”

He was something else. “No. I haven’t even put the pasta on,” I said. “But it’s a beautiful night, let’s stay out here on the porch. I’ll get glasses and a corkscrew.”

“Here,” Sam said, openly grinning now. I recognized the box. Pirelli’s Bakery. I knew Pirelli’s. They made things filled with sugar and cream and candied fruits.

I was doomed.

T
hey were
all laughing quite companionably when I went back out on the porch, holding a tray of glasses and a bowl of pita chips. Sam was enjoying himself very much. Viv rolled her eyes apologetically and grabbed the corkscrew, opening her bottle of wine. She poured, and we all drank. I introduced Sam and Viv, but they already seemed like fast friends.

The evening was starting to cool off, but the air smelled fresh and clean, with the faint scent of lilacs, and it was still light. I looked out toward the lake, and of course, the Mitchell house. There was still yellow crime scene tape everywhere.

Sam snagged a pita chip and motioned toward Maggie. “So tell us, what did you find out?”

Maggie cleared her throat. “Well, we talked to Joanie. Joan Dudley, down at the post office. That’s kind of the information hub out here, if you know what I mean.”

Joan was something over seventy, and had been postmistress for fifty years. She heard every single word that was spoken in the post office, even if it wasn’t spoken to her. We often joked that if she could, she’d have tables and chairs in the lobby so that people could sit down and gossip longer. As it was, she pretty much knew everything that was going on in town.

“Lacey came in every morning at the same time,” Maggie went on. “I guess right after she came up from the bus stop. Joanie said that she was always polite, never chatted, and didn’t get a lot of junk mail. She also said that Doug brought the boys in every Saturday, and that he was much friendlier, but still not much for idle chitchat.” She leaned confidentially toward Sam. “Joanie lives for idle chitchat.”

Sam nodded encouragingly. “I see.”

“Anyway, Joanie noticed that Lacey had a postcard from the library, the ones they send to tell you a book you’ve reserved has come in, so she thought that’s where Lacey went next. So we went there as well.”

Sam drank some wine. “And?”

Viv took over. “Carol said that yes, Lacey was there Friday morning. And she did pick up a book. But then something weird happened. Kate Fisher and Lynn Fahey were talking about something, probably the damn Garden Club, and Carol said that Lacey just kind of froze and listened. Kate has a big mouth, just so you know. Not only does she talk a lot, but she’s loud. Whatever Lacey heard, Carol said she turned white and practically ran out of the library.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Really? And Carol—this is Carol Anderson, yes?—didn’t remember what the conversation was about?”

Maggie and Viv both shook their heads.

“We were going to Carol’s tonight and ask her,” Viv said, “but she’s got a hot date as well.”

Sam grinned, and I gulped my entire glass of wine.

Viv stood up. “Well, hate to leave, but we’ll take our bottle here and go tell Shelly what we’ve learned. Maybe we can all talk to Carol tomorrow, Ellie?”

I stood up, and so did Sam.

“Great idea,” I said.

“It was a real pleasure talking to you ladies,” Sam said, bowing graciously. Maggie giggled as she and Viv walked off into the evening.

Sam and I settled back down. My solar lights went on. My front porch wasn’t as neat and chic as the Mitchell’s porch. My furniture was older and a bit creaky, but I had painted it all last year, and the cushions had been dusted off. It was cozy and comfortable, and with the view of the lake, it was one of my favorite places on earth.

“This must be a good life for you.” Sam said softly. “I can smell your spaghetti sauce from here. Good food, a beautiful lake, and friends who come by with wine.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m very lucky. This is a good place to live. I’ll put on the pasta. I’ll be right back.”

Inside the house, I turned up the water for the pasta, lit a few candles, and turned on some music. Tessa made a face at me from her reading chair in the living room, and I stuck my tongue out at her as I went by.

Boot followed me back on the porch. She growled softly at Sam, who patted her on the head and behind her ears, making them friends for life. She hopped up on a chair and sat back, ready to join the conversation.

“I suppose it’s terribly unprofessional to talk about an active case?” I asked.

Sam nodded. “It is indeed. But Lawrence isn’t too strict about things. The preliminary autopsy shows that Doug Mitchell may have been injected with something prior to his death by asphyxiation. There were no signs of struggle or any other trauma, which indicates he sat there quietly in the car until he passed out. We have to wait for toxicology reports before we can determine what, if anything, was in his system. That will determine whether he either did, in fact, kill himself, or if he was drugged and murdered.”

“When will you know for sure?”

“Hopefully by tomorrow. In the mean time, we’re looking for Lacey.”

“She’s a suspect?”

He shifted in his seat. “When a person is murdered, the spouse always gets looked at very closely.”

I nodded. A few cars had gone by, and the clubhouse on the lake suddenly lit up.

“What’s going on there?” Sam asked.

“That’s the lake clubhouse. Every Mother’s Day, the Historical Society holds a brunch, a fundraiser for Founder’s Day Weekend. They’re over there now, starting to get ready.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. I take my mom every year. The food is good; it’s lots of fun for my girls, and you can’t beat eating out by the lake on a beautiful spring morning.” I stood up. “Ready for dinner?”

We went inside. Tessa was solemn and polite. The dinner was delicious. Sam and I finished the second bottle of wine, and inside the bakery box were perfect little butter cookies that melted in your mouth, and after months of sugar deprivation, may have been the best tasting cookies ever. I made espresso, and Sam and I sat at the dining room table, talking and laughing, and when he left, he gave me a goodnight kiss that did more than send electricity to my toes—it sent all sorts of other feelings to all sorts of other parts of my body. This was a man who really knew his way around a woman, and I was pretty sure I wanted him to get to know mine a lot better, and the sooner the better.

It wasn’t until I was going to bed that I saw the text from Marc. Asking about Sunday, with a little heart emoji at the end.