Mother Knows Best (A Margie Peterson Mystery) (14 page)

Her eyes widened. “What?”

I glanced behind me to make sure nobody was in earshot. “I think I’m the one who dropped your business card on George Cavendish,” I confessed.

“You mean . . .
you
killed him?” Her hand leapt to her chest. “You did that for
me
? I never wanted him dead . . .” She paused for a moment, thinking about what I said, and her forehead wrinkled. “And why did you leave my business card?”

“No . . . I didn’t kill anyone! I just . . . helped move the body.”

“Why?”

I glanced over my shoulder again. “Peaches called me.”

Becky looked confused. “Peaches killed him? But she doesn’t even have kids!”

I took a deep breath. “We don’t know who killed him. He was in a young woman’s apartment, wearing . . . well, not very much.”

“He had a mistress?”

“Sort of,” I said. “Anyway, somebody broke in and shot him while she was in the other room buying curtains.”

My friend blinked at me. “Buying curtains?”

“She’s into interior design—she’s pretty good, actually. Anyway, Peaches called me to help her move the body, so that the young woman wouldn’t be connected with his death and her parents wouldn’t find out how she pays her college tuition.”

Becky’s eyes got even rounder. “So she’s a . . . a prostitute!”

“I think so,” I told her. “She’s got a whole dungeon and everything, and some kind of weird sex chair . . . Anyway, I messed up, and I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, Margie. Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “When Peaches called, I didn’t really understand what I was getting into. And the girl was nice—I felt bad for her. I can understand why she didn’t want her parents to know about . . . well, how she paid the bills.”

“So you helped move the body. But how did you manage to drop my business card? I’m always looking for new business, but hookers and dead men aren’t my usual target market.”

“It was an accident.” I told her about showing Peaches my new cards, and the attack of the renegade cat. “I guess one of them must have gotten wedged in the pool.”

She blinked again. “The what?”

“He was in a pink vinyl pool when he died.”

“What was he doing in a pink pool?”

“Um . . . marinating in pee, evidently. Wearing Aquaman tights and goggles.”

Becky looked horrified. Then she giggled. “Aquaman tights? Seriously?”

“It smelled even worse than it sounds,” I said, and started giggling with her. Soon, we were doubled over laughing and wiping our eyes. When we were gasping for breath, I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I talked to Peaches this morning, as soon as Bunsen showed me a copy of your business card. She wanted me to stay mum for a week before talking to you, so that we could solve the case, but I’ll call Detective Bunsen right now if you want.”

“Wait,” Becky said, putting a hand on my arm. “Wouldn’t that mean you and Peaches might go to jail?”

“We did move a murder victim, so there’s a good chance of it.”

“But the kids . . . with everything going on between you and Blake, and Elsie’s issues . . .” She looked at me. “I don’t know, Margie. Do you really think we can figure this out on our own?”

I glanced back at the minivan, where I’d stashed the diaper bag and its contraband contents. “I grabbed his mail and a couple of files from the Holy Oaks office today. It’s a start.”

She bit her lip. “I think Peaches is right,” she said slowly. “We should at least try to figure this out on our own.”

“Are you sure? I can call the police and clear this up right now.”

She nodded. “If I get arrested, we’ll talk. We can at least see what we can find out. What
did
happen, anyway?” She was already looking better, I noticed. Still pale, but that was to be expected when she wasn’t wearing her signature Cherry Blossom blush.

“Somebody broke open the sliding glass door and shot him, then took off. We’re going to talk to Desiree to see if she saw anything else.”

“Desiree?” She snorted. “Was that really her name?”

“I doubt it’s on her birth certificate, but that’s what she goes by.” I sighed. “It’s been a pretty shitty twenty-four hours, all in all. And to top things off, I dropped Elsie’s fry phone next to an angry pig.”

“A pig?”

“It’s the only case in the office right now,” I said, wondering how I was going to get Elsie’s fry phone back. I’d swung by the house again on my way to Green Meadows, but evidently Bubba Sue remembered me; I hadn’t even gotten to the gate before she was battering the cat carrier against the fence. I was going to need to resort to a pig tranquilizer—or hiring a bull rider from a rodeo.

“A case involving an angry pig?”

“A pignapping. Ex-husband took the momma and is planning to sell the piglets,” I explained. “The pig’s name is Bubba Sue. She’s supposed to be teacup-size, but she’s about the size of a Fiat.”

“I thought it was bad enough with your mother coming to town.”

“Oh, my mother got in first thing this morning—when she rang the bell, I thought it was the cops. She’s emptied the cabinets of edible food and replaced it with organic sawdust,” I told her, “and she’s invited Blake’s parents to join us for dinner at Casa de Luz tonight.”

Becky grinned. “The vegan macrobiotic restaurant down by the lake?”

I nodded. “And you haven’t even heard about Blake’s new Christian anti-gay program. Journey to Manhood. He wants me to go to the wives’ support group: Warrior Wives.”

“Have you considered divorce?” she asked. “Maybe from your entire family? Except for the kids, of course.”

“When would I have the time to file?” I sighed. To be honest, the prospect made me feel sick to my stomach. The familiar thoughts churned through my head. I hated the idea of destroying my children’s home . . . And how would I be able to make it as a single mother? I pushed the thoughts away; I couldn’t afford to think about my marriage right now. “Is Rick still out of town?”

“Till Friday.”

“Can I come over and steam open some envelopes tonight?”

“Call me when the kids are down,” she said, getting out of her van. Together, we walked through the Green Meadows gate to retrieve our children, giving Mrs. Bunn—whose distinctly authoritarian leadership style had earned her the nickname Attila the Bunn—a quick wave as we hurried past the office.

Things might not be going great, I told myself.

But least I hadn’t accidentally dropped off pictures of dead Aquaman for the school newsletter.

The kitchen table was no longer piled with packaged food when I stepped through the door at 4:30 that afternoon, both kids in tow. The windows were now closed, and the air conditioning was huffing as it attempted to return the interior temperature to a habitable range. We’d stopped at Subway so the kids could eat something substantial before facing my mother’s version of an after-school snack. Not to mention “dinner” at Casa de Luz.

“Wow,” I said, opening the fridge and blinking at the glass jars of green juice that now lined the interior. “You really cleaned us out.”

“Not at all!” my mother said, her earrings tinkling as she swept across the kitchen on a wave of patchouli. “I simply replaced what you had with higher-prana food.”

“I know what pranas are,” Nick said. “Mommy got some when we were in Galveston. They’re big shrimps!”

My mother laughed. “No, Nick,” she said. “Prana is life energy. You want to taste some?”

“Sure!” he said. Elsie, who was older and wiser, stood in the corner adjusting the buckle on her dog collar. She hadn’t said anything about school yet, but I hadn’t heard from the teacher, either. I was operating under the assumption that no news was good news.

“I’ll pour you a big glass so you can really taste it,” my mother said, grabbing one of the jars of green liquid from the fridge and pouring him a healthy glob.

“What do I do with it?” he asked, tipping the glass from side to side and watching the contents climb up the sides of the glass. It reminded me of those lava lamps from the sixties.

My mother squatted down and grinned at him, her earrings tinkling. “You drink it, silly!”

He eyed her with suspicion. “But it looks like frog water.”

“No frogs,” she said. “Just lots of good growing things.”

“Like mold?” he asked. “Mommy had to throw out two peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches last week because the bread was furry.”

I grimaced. Embarrassing moments got very hard to sweep under the carpet once you had children.

“Not mold,” my mother said, sounding somewhat less chipper. “Fresh fruits and vegetables. Good things like cabbage, and kale, and apples.”

“I like apples,” he said. “But cabbage smells like bathroom.”

“Try it!” my mother encouraged him, her smile looking a little tight. “Just a sip.”

“Okay,” he said with a quick glance at me. I kept my poker face on as my son took a small sip and scrunched up his nose. “Gross.”

“Be polite, Nick,” I reminded him.

“Okay.” He looked up at my mother. “I don’t care for any more green slime, thank you.”

My mother was still smiling, but her face had a set look that worried me. “I’ll just drink this up,” she said, tipping the glass up and taking a swig, then smacking her lips as if she were drinking a chocolate milkshake. “I’ve got another recipe I think you’ll like better.”

“Is it green?”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” she said vaguely, finishing the drink and tucking the glass into the dishwasher. Elsie had walked over to the pantry and stood staring at the largely empty shelves.

“Where did all the food go?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” My mother hurried over to the pantry. “There are rye crisps, and seaweed snacks, and even some fruit leather.”

“Where’s my Easy Mac?”

“I dropped it off at the food bank, darling,” she said.

Elsie turned in horror. I could only imagine how she’d react when I broke the news about the fry phone. “The food bank? Can we get it back?”

“We don’t need it back! We’ve got lots of other things that are just as yummy—and much healthier for you!”

“Like green slime?” Elsie asked.

I stepped in between my mother and my children. “Why don’t we get our homework done before dinner?” I asked in a bright voice. “Kids, why don’t you get your backpacks and we’ll work together at the table!”

“I don’t have homework,” Nick said.

“Well, then,” I said. “You can read a book or go outside and play.”

“Can I watch TV?”

“Um . . . I seem to have disconnected something when I moved the television,” my mother said.

I sighed. “How about Duplos?”

He crossed his chubby arms. “But I’ll miss
The Clone Wars
!”

“I’ll get a copy at the library tomorrow,” I said.

“But they don’t have the new ones!”

“Just go,” I said, more sharply than I meant to. He shot me a dark look and trudged down the hallway to his bedroom. Elsie, meanwhile, had taken the opportunity to skulk out into the backyard, where she was squatting in the doghouse she’d made out of an old refrigerator box. Occasionally she’d throw herself a tennis ball and fetch it.

“They’re going to need some serious nutritional retraining, Margie,” my mother said. “But I think you’ll see a real shift in their behavior problems.”

I blinked at my mother. “Their behavior problems?”

She looked out the window, where Elsie was crawling back to the refrigerator box with a tennis ball wedged in her mouth.

Perhaps she had a point. But I didn’t see how kale-and-garlic smoothies were going to help.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

B
lake was running late, so he was planning on meeting us at Casa de Luz. I’d detached the tennis ball from Elsie’s canines, wiped most of the dirt off of her knees, and surreptitiously slipped each child a cheese stick to tide them over through dinner. My mother had put on a glittery sari-like thing and refreshed her patchouli oil. As we pulled out of the driveway, I switched the minivan’s AC from “Recirc” to “Fresh.”

Casa de Luz was in a low-slung building at the back of a New Agey complex close to Lady Bird Lake. It was beautifully landscaped, but the look veered more toward untamed tropical rainforest than country-club golf course. Prudence and Phil had already arrived and had stationed themselves near an outdoor Japanese teahouse area that was ringed by bamboo and covered with some kind of aggressive vine. As we pulled up, a couple with matching dreadlocks and Hula-Hoop-size holes in their ears sauntered by while my in-laws pretended not to notice. Phil looked very out of place in khakis and a golf shirt, and Prudence looked like she might already be sweating through her cashmere twinset. There was no sign of Blake.

“Prue!”

I could see Prudence recoil as my mother launched herself at her in a wave of patchouli-scented batik.

“Constance,” she said, giving my mother an awkward pat on her cotton-clad back.

“Call me Connie,” my mother said. “All my friends do!”

“Right,” Prudence said, then bent down to hug the children. “How was your first day of school, sweetheart?”

Elsie turned away, fingering her dog collar.

“It seems to have gone okay,” I answered for her.