Moss Hysteria (8 page)

“Yes,” Reagan said. “Carissa's husband, for one. Now he's her
ex
-husband. She's the only one in our club who was affected by Mitzi's wandering eye.”

Then I was right to mistrust Mitzi. I took out my notebook and pen. There was no way I'd remember everything they said, especially after two glasses of wine. “I don't trust my memory. I hope you don't mind.” I looked at them and got smiles, so I proceeded. “Did Mitzi tell you she and Dirk were having an affair?”

“Actually, we didn't hear it from her this time,” Spring said. “Mitzi tells about her affairs only after she ends them. She hadn't gotten to that point with Dirk because of the jewelry theft or she would have spread the news.”

“Considering everything you know about Mitzi, could she have murdered Dirk?”

“I'd hate to speculate without having all the facts,” Spring said.

“What you have to keep in mind is that Mitzi is a player,” Reagan said, refilling my wineglass. “But this time
she
was played.”

“And a played Mitzi isn't a woman anyone would want to tangle with,” Spring said with a shudder. “We've witnessed how vengeful she can be. If she feels wronged, watch out. She's the reason we split away from the Bees' book club.”

I wrote it down and then had a hard time reading it. Time to stop drinking the wine. “Can you think of anyone in Brandywine besides Mitzi who had a major beef with Dirk?”

“I'd have to say Brandon Thorne,” Reagan said, and Spring nodded in agreement.

“About what?” I asked.

“Dirk's irresponsibility,” Reagan said. “From what I picked up at the monthly meetings, Dirk's carelessness cost Brandon a lot of money, and Thorne Enterprises is all about making money.”

“I wish you could have witnessed how Dirk behaved toward Brandon during those meetings,” Spring said. “Every time Brandon addressed him about a problem in the community, Dirk answered either in a condescending manner or with a smirk, like he knew more than Brandon. It was apparent to me by the end of the meeting that Brandon could hardly stand to have him in the room.”

“Quite apparent,” Reagan said.

“I live next door to the clubhouse,” Spring said, “and after that last meeting, I could see the two of them arguing through the window. I couldn't hear what they were saying, of course, but they were shouting. Brandon even stuffed his fists in his pockets as though he was trying to keep from punching Dirk. Then Connie came in, so Dirk turned around and left the building.”

“It might be a good idea to ask Connie what she heard,” Reagan said.

I made a note to do just that. “Besides Dirk's contemptuous attitude, was anything discussed at the meeting that would lead to such a heated argument between them?”

“Several hot-button topics came up that Dirk was supposed to be handling,” Reagan said. “The biggest one was the moss problem on the pond. When we questioned Brandon as to why nothing had been done after two months, he turned the question over to Dirk, who reported he'd had a pond expert come out to treat it.”

“But that never happened,” Spring said. “Not only was there no invoice on the monthly financial statement, but also the moss is worse than ever, and the residents who back up to the pond are seething. When we're angry and Dirk isn't responding, we e-mail Brandon, and that makes
him
unhappy. So he took Dirk to task in front of the room, and later, like I said, I saw them arguing. That was probably the reason why.”

“Are any of the residents with pond lots furious enough to have confronted Dirk?”

“Theda Coros gets more upset about the moss than anyone,” Spring said, “because it's worst behind her house. I think it's even creeping over her lawn. But if you're asking whether she would kill him, I don't know her well enough to say.”

That wasn't what I was hoping to hear.

“Another issue Brandon took Dirk to task about was the pond pump,” Reagan said. “It's a retention pond, so during a dry spell the water level drops dramatically. A pump was installed to keep water flowing into it from a natural spring north of here, but it broke down last fall. Brandon told Dirk months ago to get it repaired, but as of Friday, nothing had been done.”

“What was Dirk's reason?” I asked.

“He claimed he couldn't find a plumber who knew how to repair it,” Spring said, “but amazingly, that very day a plumber was going to meet him at the pump after work.”

“I'm confused,” I said, fearing the wine was muddling my thoughts. “
When
was the Brandywine meeting?”

“Friday morning,” Reagan said. “The day Dirk drowned.”

“And
did
the plumber meet with Dirk?”

“All I know is that the pump is working again,” Spring said.

“Where is the pump?”

“It's on the north end of the pond behind Theda's house,” Reagan said. “She should be able to tell you whether the plumber was there.”

I wrote it down with an asterisk beside it. “Let's go back to Mitzi's affair with Dirk. If you didn't hear about it from Mitzi this time, who told you?”

“Theda,” Reagan said.

I didn't like the way my next-door neighbor's name kept coming up.

I
tiptoed across the bedroom in the dark, trying not to wake Marco, but I wasn't as steady as I'd thought and ended up stubbing my toe on the dresser. I muffled a curse and rubbed my throbbing digit only to have Seedy hobble around the bed to see what game I was playing. I whispered to her to go lie down, then carefully slid under the covers and lay still, listening to see if Marco was breathing deeply or if I had disturbed him.

I heard no sound at all so I reached for him and found the other side of the bed empty. What day was it? Thursday? Of course. Marco was at the bar. Silly me.

Sometime much later I heard, “Abby. Roll over. You're snoring.”

I was
snoring
? “Sorry,” I mumbled sleepily. “I might have had too much wine.”

He slid his warm body against my back and put an arm around me, saying in an amused voice, “Enjoy the book club, did you?”

“Mm-hmm.” My brain began to chug to life as details of the evening came back. “Those women like wine. Every time I turned around, someone was refilling my glass.”

I rolled toward Marco and propped myself up on my elbow, eyes only half-open. “This group is different from the Bees. They don't gossip; they discuss books. I had to postpone my questions about Dirk's murder until after the meeting. And wait till I tell you what I learned about Mitzi.”

Marco yawned. “You sure you don't want to talk about this tomorrow?”

“Too late. I'm awake and thirsty. Anyway, I found out that Mitzi has had numerous affairs, including one with a Books and Bottles book club member's husband. They're divorced now, by the way.”

“Two questions. How does that help our case and do I deserve that pointed look?”

I gave him a playful push. “Here's where it gets interesting. Mitzi likes to brag about her flings, but only
after
she's ended them. She hadn't told anyone about her affair with Dirk, which means it was still going on when she discovered her jewelry missing.”

“And that makes her the killer?”

“It might, given that Mitzi is known to get even when she's been wronged.”

Marco yawned again and turned onto his back. “It sounds to me like Mitzi has been tried and convicted by a court of women.”

“Come on, Marco. You have to admit it puts Mitzi in a bad light. And by the way, she's the reason the Books and Bottles club split away from the Bees.”

“If she's so bad, why have the rest of the Bees stayed with her?”

“Maybe they're just like Mitzi.”

Marco put his arm over his eyes. “Are we done yet?”

“Almost.” I sat up and crossed my legs, fully awake now. “The women told me about the issues Brandon Thorne had with Dirk. I'll tell you tomorrow about the argument one of them witnessed. And here's new information. Dirk was supposed to meet a plumber at the pond behind Theda's house Friday after work. Apparently there's a pump back there to keep the pond filled, but it hasn't been working.”

Marco raised his arm to peer at me. “Did they say who the plumber was?”

“No. They don't even know whether a plumber came out, except that the pump is working now. But if someone did meet with Dirk, that person might have been the last one to see Dirk alive, and we may have a new suspect.”

Turning away from me, Marco mumbled, “Remind me to call plumbing companies tomorrow.”

“Okay. I'll be right back. I need a drink of water.”

I returned to the bedroom to find Marco fast asleep. I eased myself under the covers and closed my eyes, but my mind didn't want to turn off. Instead of counting sheep, I was making a mental list of questions to ask Brandon Thorne. I was also preparing my case for a total floor replacement. I finally got so frustrated, I went to the kitchen and wrote everything in the notebook to clear my mind.

Friday

•   •   •

When at last I felt myself drifting off, I could hear birds chirping, which meant dawn was not far off. And when the alarm went off at seven a.m., I waited until Marco left the bedroom then pulled the covers over my head and went back to sleep.

I was deep in a dream when I felt a shake. “Hey, babe,” Marco said, “I let you sleep as long as possible, but you're going to be late if you stay in bed any longer.”

“I don't care. I was awake most of the night, so I'm sleeping till nine.”

“Sorry, Sunshine. That won't work. I have to be at the bar early to meet the electrician. We're starting the new lighting project today.”

“That's nice. You go ahead. I'll come in later.”

“On your bike?”

Oh, crap.
The car situation. I heaved a frustrated sigh. I had no choice but to get up. I didn't feel safe riding on the hilly country road that led to town.

“Can Lottie or Grace come get you when they go out for a delivery?”

“That might not be until noon, and we're too busy for them to leave midmorning.” With a groan, I flung off the covers and stumbled to the bathroom. My eyes were scratchy and my head hurt. Clearly, when it came to alcohol, I was a lightweight.

“I put your coffee in a travel mug,” Marco said when I emerged from the bedroom in jeans and white button-down shirt. “You can eat your almond toast on the way. I'll keep Seedy with me.”

He tried to make conversation as we rode into town, but I was too crabby and my mouth was full of sticky almond butter anyway. By the time I walked into Bloomers, the coffee had kicked in so I felt halfway human, but as noon approached, I began to drag. I decided to borrow Lottie's car and go home for a nap.

I was putting on my jacket when my cell phone rang and Marco's name appeared on the screen. “Hey, Buttercup. Feeling any better?”

“No. I'm going to skip lunch and head home for a nap.”

“It'll have to be a quick one. We have a meeting with Thorne at twelve thirty.”

I sighed as visions of curling up on the sofa flew out the window.

“I can meet with him alone if you'd rather nap.”

Miss out on an interview? Even in my sleep-deprived state, I couldn't do it. That was my favorite part of an investigation, not to mention the fact that I wanted to address the floor situation. “No, I'll be fine. I'll drink more coffee.” Maybe the entire pot. Black.

“Okay. Be out front in twenty minutes.”

I glanced at the clock as I ended the call. I had plenty of time to have that java before I went. And then I put my head down on my desk and fell fast asleep.

What felt like seconds later, Rosa shook me awake. “Marco is out front waiting for you.”

I jumped up, grabbed my purse, and headed out, stopping to tell Lottie where I was going. “I might be a little late getting back,” I called as I headed out the door.

“No problem,” Rosa said, coming up to the cash register. “I will make sure everything runs smoothly.”

I stopped and turned around.

Lottie and Rosa had their heads bent over an order form.

•   •   •

I ate the sandwich Marco had provided on our way to Brandywine. “Thanks,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of turkey. “I was starving. How did your meeting with the electrician go?”

“Joe and I roughed out a design, but Down the Hatch is an old building with old wires, so I have to have some rewiring done before I can start the project. By the way, I mentioned to Joe what Rye told us about the house possibly not being up to code, and he said he'd be glad to check it out one evening this week.”

“Great. Now we just need to get Brandon to agree to pay for Joe's service call. Did you say anything to Joe about Maynard Dell?”

“He's aware of Maynard's shortcomings but was surprised about the code problem because it leaves the city wide-open for lawsuits. But that's what happens when politicians give away patronage jobs.”

“And on the subject of plumbers,” he continued, “I called every plumbing company in the greater New Chapel area, even into Maraville and up around the Indiana Dunes. Not one of them had scheduled an appointment with Dirk for last Friday or any other day in the past two weeks.”

“But someone fixed the pump.”

“Put that on our list of questions for Thorne. We also need to ask Theda if she saw anyone working on the pump last Friday.”

I took out my notebook and wrote them in. “I've got quite a list for Brandon already. It's what I did last night while you were sleeping.”

Marco put his hand on the back of my head. “I'm sorry you had a rough night, sweetheart. Early to bed for you tonight. Shag Jillian out by nine.”

Jillian! Another appointment I'd forgotten.

“Also, I arranged for us to meet with Dirk's wife tomorrow morning at eleven.”

“Perfect. We can stop for lunch afterward and then hit the furniture store. I'm determined to replace that card table.”

We pulled up to the clubhouse and parked beside Brandon Thorne's black Lexus. “Does Brandon know why we're meeting with him?” I asked, stifling a yawn.

“I didn't give him a reason.”

“Then he must think it's about the floor. He wouldn't know we're investigating Dirk's death unless you said something. And I still believe we should discuss the floor today so we can get it resolved. I don't want it to drag on for months.”

“I have to disagree, Abby. Today is about the investigation. We'll bring up the floor another time.”

Thus speaketh the king. If I weren't so tired, I would've mounted a defense.

I unbuckled my seat belt and put my purse strap over my stiff shoulder. My head felt like a bowling ball propped on a toothpick, and my eyes felt like they were deadlifting a hundred-pound weight. Even my muscles ached from lack of sleep.

Still, I'd spent almost the entire night thinking about what to say to Brandon Thorne to convince him to replace our floor, and as Marco opened the car door for me, I couldn't help but champ at the bit. When would we have this opportunity again? A week from now? Two?

“How about this?” I asked. “We discuss the floor if Brandon brings it up.”

“Okay
, if
he brings it up we'll discuss it, but at the end of the interview.”

We walked into the clubhouse foyer and turned right into a short hallway that led to the Brandywine sales office. Finding no one there, we checked the small galley kitchen, the fitness room, and a large multipurpose room filled with round tables.

We finally spotted Brandon in the media room sitting at a high-topped table in front of a bank of windows working on his laptop. A pool table occupied the middle of the room and a row of swivel chairs faced a large-screen television on the opposite wall.

“Welcome,” Brandon said, getting off the chair to shake our hands. “Have a seat.”

He was wearing a crisp blue-and-white checked shirt tucked and belted into blue jeans, and a pair of polished Timberland boots. He was fit, trim, and tanned, and even with silver at the temples, he looked nowhere near sixty years old. He had a firm handshake, an engaging smile, and a pleasant, boyish face that gave him an air of trustworthiness that Theda had warned me not to believe.

“I hope you're enjoying your new home,” he said, giving us his winning smile.

“Well,” I said as we sat down across from him.

Marco put his hand on my shoulder. “The reason we're here—”

“You're not happy with your home?” Brandon asked.

“We need a new floor,” I blurted.

Brandon scratched behind his ear as if this was puzzling information. “Why?”

Marco was pressing his thumb into my shoulder, but I ignored him. I was battling extreme fatigue and annoyance, and that was a bad combination for a feisty redhead. “Didn't Rye explain? He said he'd tell you first thing this morning.”

“Rye mentioned something about a little water problem around the patio door,” Brandon said smoothly, “but my understanding is that the floor can be sanded and restained.”

A
little
water problem? I didn't believe that was what Rye told him. “That's not our understanding, is it, Marco?”

Clearly not pleased with me, Marco folded his arms across his shirt and gave me a scowl. “No, it isn't. But we can discuss this later.”

“Just a minute,” Brandon said, his charm slipping. “What is
your
understanding?”

“That the wood is damaged because one of your workers left the sliding door open during a storm,” I said. “That the heavy rain may have even seeped down to the subfloor, and that the damage necessitates a new one.”

Brandon typed something into his computer. “How big is the damaged area?”

I glanced at Marco for backup, but he was silent. “It doesn't matter,” I finally said. “The whole floor needs to come up.”

Brandon looked at me over the top of his laptop. “I'm afraid that's not possible.”

“Why? Is it bolted to bedrock?”