Birthday Party Murder (15 page)

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Authors: Leslie Meier

BOOK: Birthday Party Murder
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Julia sat down on the bottom step of the kitchen stairs. It was a long climb up to the attic. Two flights, and the back stairs were much steeper than the fancy front stairs. Julia had never climbed that far and she wasn't sure she could do it.
She looked at the cookie jar. It was full of molasses cookies Mama had baked just yesterday. She wanted a cookie very much, but she knew she must not take a cookie without asking. She could only ask, she realized, if she climbed up to the attic. She stood up and grasped hold of the flimsy railing that wobbled on its bracket.
The steps were steep and she had to lift her knees very high and then haul herself up by pulling on the railing. It was a lot of work, but Julia was determined to get to the top. Mama would be so surprised! Especially when she told her she had climbed up two flights, all the way from the kitchen.
After the first flight, Julia stopped to catch her breath and to stoke up her courage. She didn't like the attic. It was dark and smelled dusty and there were spiderwebs. Julia didn't like spiders—the way they seemed to appear out of nowhere and scuttled across the floor made her hair stand on end and her stomach clench.
“Mama!” she yelled, from the bottom of the attic stairs.
The only answer was a long scraping sound, and a grunt. Mama was definitely in the attic.
Before she knew it, Julia had climbed up the stairs.
“Mama! I woke up and I couldn't find you!”
Mama was on her knees, leaning on a wooden trunk with a rounded lid. Her hair had come loose and there was a streak of dirt on her cheek. Her shirtwaist had come loose from her skirt. Julia had never seen her so disheveled. She stared.
“I was just putting the winter clothes away,” she said. “We won't need our heavy woolen coats until next winter.”
Julia looked around the shadowy attic nervously. “I'm hungry,” she said.
“I suppose you want some cookies,” said Mama. “We'll have some just as soon as I get this trunk back where it belongs.”
Mama gave a great shove and the trunk slid about six inches.
“It's very heavy,” she said, panting.
“Can I help?” offered Julia.
“I think I can do it,” said Mama, rising off her knees and throwing her weight against the trunk with a great grunt.
The trunk moved about a foot. Mama slid to the floor, leaning her back against the trunk and blowing at a dangling strand of hair.
“Sometimes I think you need a lot of muscle to be the lady of the house,” she said, lifting her arm and bending it, like the weightlifter Julia had seen at the circus. “I wring the laundry and beat the carpets and turn the mattresses. Who do you think is stronger? Me or Papa's secretary, little Miss Kaiser, who sits at a desk and uses a typewriting machine?”
Mama gave a great heave and shoved the chest back under the eaves, then stood up and dusted off her hands.
“You are,” said Julia, looking down at her dusty, stockinged feet. She hoped Mama wasn't going to spank her.
“Where are your shoes, little miss?”
“In my room.”
“Couldn't do the buttons, could you?”
Julia shook her head. “No.”
“Well, let's get those shoes on and then we'll have some cookies. What do you say to that?”
Julia let out a big sigh. “Good.”
 
 
In the kitchen, Shirley was washing up the tea things. Ridiculous, she fumed, dumping the tea leaves into the garbage. Instead of four mugs she had all this china to wash, just because the old biddy wouldn't use tea bags. As if anybody could taste the difference! And what was the matter with setting a piece of cake or some toast on a paper napkin, instead of a plate, to save on washing? Not that there was a heck of a lot to do in this place, with no color TV and nobody except Her Nibs to talk to. It was enough to make her miss Snake, for goodness' sake.
The phone started to ring and she grabbed it, hoping the old lady wouldn't wake up.
“Ma! What's up?'
The gruff voice was music to her ears.
“Snake! I was just thinking about you.”
“I told you you'd miss me, didn't I? So what do you say? Is it time for my big entrance?”
Shirley considered. It was a risk. What if the old bag got uppity? Well, what if she did? She could handle her, as long as those nosy women stayed away. And she was pretty sure they wouldn't come calling once Snake was on the scene.
“Like they say on TV: ‘Come on down! ' ”
“Get ready to rumble, Mama!”
Shirley replaced the receiver and went into the living room just as Miss Tilley was awakening.
“Guess what?” she cooed to the blinking old woman. “Your grand-nephew is coming to visit!”
“How wonderful!” exclaimed Miss Tilley, clapping her hands together. “I can't wait to meet him.”
Chapter Sixteen
L
ucy was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee but skipping her usual English muffin because she was going to have breakfast later with the girls, and thinking about Toby. She was so disappointed in him. If he were home, she could shake some sense into him. But he was miles away in New Hampshire. Maybe she should drive out for a visit and see for herself what was going on.
Bill had laughed when she suggested the idea the night before. “Don't be ridiculous,” he'd told her. “Toby's a big boy now. If he's got himself in a pickle, he'll just have to get himself out.”
“But we can't just let him throw away an opportunity like this,” she'd protested.
“You know what they say: ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.' We got him to college, but we can't study for him. He's got to do it for himself. It's his life, after all. He's got to take responsibility for it.” He paused, studying her expression. “You know I'm right.”
“I know,” agreed Lucy. “But I don't have to like it.”
She was startled out of her reverie by Sara, who thumped in, yanked open the refrigerator door and stared inside.
“There's never anything good to eat in this house,” she said.
“There's OJ, V8, bananas, hot chocolate, milk, cereal, oatmeal, toast, English muffins, bagels, yogurt, frozen waffles, eggs, ham and cheese, fresh fruit—what do you mean there's nothing good to eat?”
“It's all way fattening,” complained Sara.
“Nothing is fattening, if you eat a sensible portion. Those are light yogurts, by the way. A hundred and ten calories. Definitely not fattening. V8 only has thirty-five calories, and it's full of fiber.”
Sara poured herself a glass of V8 and cautiously took a sip. “That's disgusting,” she exclaimed, pouring the rest of the glass down the sink.
“Waste not, want not,” muttered Lucy as Zoe arrived on the scene.
“Cereal?” asked Lucy.
“Yes, Mommy,” said Zoe, taking her usual seat and taking a banana from the fruit bowl in the center of the table. She peeled it and took a bite while she waited for her mother to fix the cereal, then dropped her head to her hands.
“Are you tired this morning, sweetie?”
Zoe nodded. “I couldn't sleep because Sara was on the phone late last night.”
“Tattletale,” hissed Sara.
Lucy and Bill had reluctantly agreed to let the girls have a phone extension in their room on the condition that it not be used after eight o'clock, which was Zoe's bedtime.
“Is this true?'
Sara's expression was defensive. “She wasn't supposed to tell! It was an emergency, Mom! Honest.”
“An emergency?” Lucy was puzzled. There had been no sudden asthma attacks, no falls down the stairs, no fires that she was aware of.
“Davia Didrickson says she might not come to my party,” wailed Sara.
“Well, you have plenty of other friends.”
“You don't understand, Mom. Davia is the coolest girl in the eighth grade. If she doesn't come, nobody will.”
“Nonsense. All your old friends will come.”
“Not the boys. The boys won't come without Davia. The party will be ruined. We'll just be a bunch of sad, unpopular girls, getting fat on pizza and doing each other's nails in social Siberia.”
“Well, at least you've got a sense of humor about it,” observed Lucy. “That's a step in the right direction.”
“I wasn't joking, Mom.” Sara grabbed her backpack and marched out the door.
Watching from the window, Lucy saw her wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“You're going to miss the bus if you don't hurry, Pumpkin,” Lucy told Zoe. “You better scoot, and take Sara's jacket. She forgot it.”
“Okay, Mom.” Zoe held out her cheek for a kiss.
If only they could stay little forever,
thought Lucy, watching as Zoe ran down the driveway after her older sister. Arrest growth at second grade.
Why not? Think of the anguish it would save.
 
 
Half an hour later she was parking the Subaru in front of Jake's. Joining her friends at their usual table, she ordered the day's special: Belgian waffles.
“Going a little overboard, aren't we?” asked Sue, nibbling on her wheat toast, no butter.
“I need nourishment. It's been a rough day.”
“It's only eight-thirty,” said Rachel.
“Tell me about it. Sara's upset because Davia Didrickson is threatening to skip her coed sleep-over birthday party.”
“Ah, Davia,” said Pam. “The queen of eighth grade.”
“You know her?”
“I have not been so fortunate. I know of her. From volunteering at the middle school. Even the teachers are smitten with Davia.”
“How does this happen?” demanded Sue. “Why do some kids become popular and others don't?”
“Hormones?” ventured Lucy.
“Did you say coed sleep-over?” inquired Pam. “I don't think I heard right.”
“You heard right.” Lucy paused while the waitress set the plateful of Belgian waffles in front of her. “But if Davia doesn't come, the boys won't come and then it will just be Sara's regular friends. Which would be fine with me but would break Sara's heart.”
“This is what they call a lose-lose situation,” said Sue.
“I know all about those,” moaned Rachel. “I'm in one now, with Miss Tilley.”
Lucy's and Sue's eyes met. “Shirley?” they said in unison.
“I know I should be happy for Miss T that she's got Shirley to take care of her, but I can't help feeling a little resentful about being displaced. Now I don't know whether I should keep going or what. They don't really need me over there anymore since Shirley moved in. She does everything I used to do. And more.”
“You could visit,” suggested Lucy. “Miss T enjoys your company.”
Rachel put down the muffin she was about to bite. “The truth is I don't feel welcome there anymore. Shirley just glares at me. I'm afraid I'm going to go over there and she's not going to let me in.”
“That couldn't be true!” exclaimed Pam. “I'm sure you've misunderstood.”
“I don't think she's misunderstood anything,” said Lucy. “There's something that isn't quite right about Shirley, if you ask me. You know she wears a wig? And she's been hitting Miss T's sherry. I found the empty bottle hidden behind the cleaning supplies.”
“She's probably having chemo, poor thing,” said Pam.
“That's what I told Nancy Drew here, but she doesn't believe me,” said Sue.
“I think Lucy may be on to something,” said Rachel. “That Shirley's sneaky. Why didn't she just put the sherry bottle with the other bottles to be recycled?”
“Who knows?” said Pam, impatiently. “Maybe she's got some hang-up about alcohol. Listen, we've got to talk about the party. I've got the music lined up. Who else has something to report?”
“I've got the food organized,” said Sue. “And Lucy's going to send some notes to Sidra. How's that coming?”
“It's coming,” said Lucy, uncomfortably aware of how little she'd accomplished. “I'll fax it today,” she promised.
“I only hope Shirley will let the birthday girl out of the house,” said Rachel.
“Don't be silly,” said Pam, dismissing her concern with a wave of the hand. “She can't lock her up!”
“I suppose not,” said Rachel.
“I still can't get over it,” said Pam, finishing up her oatmeal. The woman is going to be ninety years old. It's amazing.”
“Not that amazing these days,” said Sue. “There was a report on the evening news last night that said the fastestgrowing segment of the population is the extremely old. We could all live to be a hundred.”
“I'll never make it,” groaned Lucy. “I'm ready to retire now.”
“What will we look like?” asked Sue. “I'd rather die young and stay pretty.”
“You've got to exercise, of course,” advised Rachel. “The news report said exercise was a big part of it.”
“Exercise can only do so much,” complained Lucy. “I've been exercising, taking vitamins, drinking water, smearing myself with lotions—and I found a new wrinkle this morning.”
Sue studied her face. “What moisturizer are you using?”
“Forever Young. I got it at the drugstore. I put it on every time I wash my face.”
“You're not using soap, are you?”
“Of course. What else would I use?”
“Cleanser. If I were you, I'd head straight to Markson's, at the new Galleria. Go to the Countess Irene counter and ask for Natalie. She'll fix you up.”
“Do you really think I should?”
“If you want your face to last until you're a hundred, you'd better hurry.”
Lucy looked at her watch. “Actually, I'd better hurry if I want to keep my job. See you all next week!”
“I've got to go, too,” said Rachel. “Bye, guys.”
She walked out of the restaurant with Lucy, pausing on the sidewalk to ask her if she'd learned anything about Cobb's death.
“I'm pretty much at a dead end,” Lucy admitted. “I spoke to Chap Willis at the funeral, but I didn't get much information from him.”
“Really?” Rachel was surprised. “They were best friends.”
Lucy shrugged. “He didn't want to talk about it. I think he's grieving.” She paused. “I didn't find much at the house, except for a safe deposit box key. I'd love to take a look inside, but I don't know the procedure after someone's dead.”
“I'll have Bob give you a call. He'll know.”
“Thanks. Oh, and there's one other thing. I've been trying to find out if any of the cops on patrol that night saw anything unusual. I've already spoken to one, but the other is on vacation until Monday.”
Rachel nodded excitedly. “You know who else you might try? The cleaning service. They might have seen something.”
“That's a good idea,” said Lucy, jotting down the phone number Rachel gave her. “Well, it's off to the salt mines for me. What about you?”
“I'd like to go over to Miss T's, just to see if she's all right, but I feel funny about it. Shirley just doesn't seem to like having me around.”
Lucy thought for a minute. “You know, I could use some more information for Sidra. Why don't we go together and see what's going on?”
“Great idea.”
When they arrived at Miss Tilley's little gray house, they were surprised to see that the window shades were drawn. It gave the house a blank, unwelcoming look.
“That's weird,” said Rachel. “She never draws the shades. Not even at night. Says she likes to wake up to the sun shining through the windows.”
“You don't think something's happened? After all, she's very old.”
“Don't say that, Lucy.”
Together they hurried up the walk and knocked on the door.
After what seemed a long wait, it was opened by Shirley.
“Oh, it's you two,” she said, scratching her head.
Definitely a wig, thought Lucy. Shirley was only standing a few feet from her and she had an up-close view.
“We just thought we'd drop by for a little visit,” said Rachel. “Can we come in?”

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