Moving Is Murder (27 page)

Jenkins laughed. “Nah. She’s the little real estate lady that handled most of the lot sales in here. There are still a few left, but you’d be better off looking at my lots because I can give you the whole deal, the lot and a house designed specifically to maximize the terrain and the value of the location.”

“I think I know her. She handled the whole development? Why?”

Jenkins shrugged. “Wilde Creek hired her. Did a great job. Of course, these lots sell themselves.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’d want to waste your time on someone else’s development. I bet you’ve got your own subdivision going somewhere in Vernon.”

“Three subdivisions, to be exact.” He named a few subdivisions that Mitch and I had visited, but left as quickly as we could because the houses looked cheap and boring. “But I’m not wasting a minute of my time,” he continued. “Wilde Creek is going to change the way folks here think about homes. It’s going to be the standard and I’ll be associated with that standard. Connections
are what it’s all about.” So Jenkins was using Wilde Creek to move into the luxury home league.

“Who do you work with from Wilde Creek? Are they local?”

“They’re out of state, but you know how it is with fax and e-mail. I didn’t catch your name.”

I ignored him, just like Barri ignored two-thirds of the school population. “I’ll think about it.” I climbed in the Cherokee, slammed the door, and gave Jenkins a brief wave before I did a quick three-point turn that would’ve made my driver’s ed teacher proud. On the way out, I spotted a white clapboard house with outbuildings tucked at the foot of Black Rock Hill, probably either the old Norwood or Coombes homestead.

I inched my way down the buffet and added cheese and crackers to the fruit salad on my plate. I grabbed a tortilla roll-up, my contribution to the spread. I’d raced home, mixed the chives and pimentos with the cream cheese, and slathered it on the tortillas. Then, I’d rolled and sliced the stuffed tortillas. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was the best I could do after the day I’d had. I turned from the buffet with a weird sense of being in a replay. It had only been a month ago when I first met the other spouses at the coffee at Cass’s house. I felt tense and on edge as I scanned the faces. Did one of these people murder Cass?

“Ellie.” Abby touched my arm and I jumped, nearly dumping my plate.

“Sorry. You’re holding up the line.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Diana poised near the kitchen door. “Green tea or coffee?” she asked.

I hid a grimace. “Just water for me.”

“I’ll try the tea,” Abby said from behind me.

I felt awkward with Abby. I couldn’t just blurt out, “I think Jeff tried to kill me.” I didn’t want her to let Jeff know what I suspected. Abby and I had scurried through the cold to Diana’s red brick colonial. It was a small mansion with a lofty balcony over a portico that extended out to cover the circular driveway. The questions I’d asked as we walked over must have been casual enough because Abby told me what I wanted to know without asking why I wanted to know. She said yesterday Jeff worked in the squad, except for a trip to the gym around lunchtime, which would have been about the time my house was searched.

I picked up a napkin and moved into the kitchen. Diana was hosting the coffee this month. Of course, I should have expected it, but I was surprised to find her address one block north of ours. I wondered who else from the squadron lived close to us. I made a mental note to buy a pooper-scooper.

Diana’s home was decorated in the country home look: hardwood, chintz, florals, plaids, and leather furniture mixed in an eclectic blend that looked haphazard, but I’d bet there was a decorator involved somewhere in the casually elegant surroundings. Something felt odd about the house, too. But I couldn’t figure out what it was.

In the blue and white country kitchen, cows, pigs, and ducks ornamented everything from the towel rack to the curtains. Diana handed me a tall glass of ice water with a lemon slice. She straightened the turtle-neck on her sweater with fall foliage and returned to serving drinks. I propped myself up near the sink. Gwen was in the living room and I didn’t know if she’d be civil to me, so I figured avoidance was the best policy
until the formal part of the coffee started. Surely she wouldn’t make a scene with Jill going over old business. And I needed to sort through the info I’d found out. Friona and Jeff were both connected with Wilde Creek.

Abby edged over to me and interrupted my thoughts. “Wow. Did you see the pool in the back?” she asked.

I peered out the French doors and saw leaves snagged on the edges of a large rectangular tarp.

“Who knew the military paid so well?” I asked.

“It’s a huge house. How do they afford it?” She lowered her voice. “And everything is so perfect. I feel like I’m in a furniture showroom.”

I nodded and realized that was it. There wasn’t anything personal in the rooms. No magazines, books, or family pictures.

Something moved at the edge of my vision. I hadn’t realized anyone else was beside me in the kitchen, but a petite, plain woman stood beside me and had, apparently, been absorbing our conversation. Her long reddish-brown hair, pulled back in an untidy French braid, revealed her bland face. Small brown eyes surrounded by stubby lashes darted from me to Abby. She looked vaguely familiar. I glanced at Abby for help.

“You’re Penny, aren’t you?” asked Abby. “You’re arranging the children’s Christmas party, right?” Then I remembered her from the last coffee. Thank goodness, I could always count on Abby to remember faces. Penny nodded and sipped her tea. She wore an oversized gray turtleneck with a black broomstick skirt that sagged down to the tips of her scuffed black boots. “Did you bring your daughter with you?” she asked me.

“No. She’s at home with my husband,” I said, surprised she even knew I had a daughter. I wondered how
Livvy was doing. Would she cry as long as she did last night?

“Oh, I hoped you’d bring her. I saw her at the squadron barbeque and she was so precious. I wanted to hold her.” She finished her tea and set it in the sink. “Do you ever need a sitter? I like kids and would love to babysit her. We live just around the corner.”

“Don’t we all? Thanks for offering. I might give you a call sometime.” She studied the brick floor a moment and I wondered if she could tell that I wouldn’t call someone I didn’t know to watch Livvy. I regretted my casual reply, but she said, “Thanks. I’m looking for a new job, so I have a lot of time on my hands right now.”

Abby said, “I’ve just found a job myself. I hate the want ads. I hope I never have to do it again. But, of course, I’ll have to since we’ll move again in a few years.” She said the last with a grimace. “I teach. What do you do?”

“I’m an archivist. Archeological conservation. I’m hoping for an opening at one of the universities, but nothing so far.”

I was surprised. Her unassuming personality and sloppy appearance didn’t look like university material, at least not tenured material. I mentally scolded myself for my prejudices. I slid over to the phone and called Mitch to see if Livvy was asleep.

“Forty-five minutes. She’s out like a light.” There was a note of triumph in his voice.

“Really? That’s better,” I said.

“Ladies, let’s get started,” Jill commanded from the living room. I hung up the phone, put my glass in the sink, and looked around for the trash can. I noticed a built-in desk and stopped to look at it. My dad’s parttime hobby of making desks and other furniture always
made me curious when I saw unusual furniture. Made of golden oak, this one had cubbyholes and small drawers across the back. A snapshot was propped up in one of the cubbies behind a small blue bottle. I stopped because it was the first picture I had seen in the house. We have so many pictures I don’t know where to put them. Diana’s house seemed barren without smiling portraits in the hall and candid snapshots on the fridge.

This snapshot captured two women. Diana wore a black cap and gown. She looked the same as she did now, except her hair was longer. The other woman was older, probably early forties. Frizzy bright red hair surrounded a tan face with heavy black eyeliner and mascara circling her eyes. The two women stood stiffly beside each other. No hugs or arms around each other. Something about their faces, the noses or something, seemed similar.

Diana entered the kitchen, carrying coffee cups. “Diana, is this your mom?” The cups clattered into the sink and she hurried across the kitchen.

She snatched it out of my hand and removed my paper plate from the other hand. “They’re starting in there.”

As I left, Diana shoved the picture in a drawer and slammed it shut.

I
slid into a dining room chair near the back of the room. The clipboards were already circulating as Jill reminded people of their assignments for the garage sale at the end of the week. She quickly moved on to upcoming events, like the next spouse coffee and the Christmas party. When she launched into the next fundraiser, a weekly sale of sandwiches and snacks at the squadron, “Monday Morsels,” I tuned her out, thinking of Joe’s arrival a few hours ago.

I couldn’t really tell any change in him. He was quiet and withdrawn. I wondered if the time away had helped at all. Maybe it had just delayed the awful reality of his empty house. He murmured something about picking up Rex in a few days after he got settled, which I thought was odd. Wouldn’t he want some companionship in that quiet, dark house?

I glanced around the room. Diana’s house was quiet, too, except for Jill’s voice. Had Brent taken the kids out for the night? I couldn’t picture him eating a Big Mac and guarding the Happy Meal toys at a McDonald’s playland while his kids climbed in the tunnels.

Jill finished up the business portion of the coffee. “Remember everyone, the garage sale is this Saturday. Show up fifteen minutes before the time slot you volunteered to take,” she commanded sternly. Then she announced, “We didn’t have time during the last coffee, but this month we will have a craft.” I checked out the supplies. Baby food jars and votive candles, aka candle-holders. Across the room, Abby crossed her eyes and I suppressed a smile. Why we had to incorporate craft time in the coffee like preschoolers, I had no idea. I was inherently uncrafty and had no use for a baby food jar with hot-glued gingham ruffles. I went in search of a bathroom. The half bath downstairs was occupied, so I climbed the stairs, hoping the rest of the house was empty.

I found the kids’ bathroom, decorated with a Mickey Mouse theme. I dried my hands on the red towels and walked quietly back down the ornate runner in the center of the hall. The open doors revealed the kids’ rooms, blue spaceships for the boy and yellow sunflowers for the girl. A closed door stood between these rooms, probably a closet. I decided to take a quick peek before I let myself wonder what I was looking for or mentally talk myself out of it.

Brent’s raised eyebrows and icy blue eyes met mine. It wasn’t a closet; it was a tiny office. Unlike the rest of the house, which had a hotel-like neatness, the office was a mess, with stacks of boxes covering most of the
floor and papers scattered over the desk. No decorator’s touch in this room. In a glance, I took in the locked gun display case, a gray metal desk and file cabinet, the uncurtained window, and the plain white walls. He cocked an eyebrow and said, “Looking for something?”

“Just the bathroom,” I stammered and mentally told my heartbeat to calm down.

“Well, you’ve found my hideaway. Care to join me?” He slipped one paper under another, then grabbed his beer and pointed with it toward a small refrigerator tucked beside the file cabinet. “No one will miss you for a few minutes.”

“I’ll pass on the beer, but I did want to ask you a question.” I sat down in the metal folding chair to get a closer look at the paper he’d covered so quickly, but the Nevis bank statement hid all but a thin edge of the paper underneath. I could see part of a logo, a leaf or vine, on the bottom paper. “I want to know why you told Cass you were sorry. What did you do?”

His bottle paused in midair for a beat, then he took a swallow and set the bottle down. He smiled and brushed his golden hair off his forehead. “We just had a little misunderstanding.” He stood up and came around the desk, then leaned back on the front of it. He angled his long legs out, blocking my way to the door. Even though I’d left it open, I felt a trickle of unease nudge my heartbeat faster. He looked directly into my eyes and asked in a low voice, “Did she tell you about it?”

I swallowed. There was something about his directness and his sense of pent-up energy that made me nervous and aware of him. “In a roundabout way,” I hedged. “Has the OSI asked you about it?”

“The OSI?” He snorted and folded his arms across
his chest. “Why would they ask me about it? It was a little misunderstanding. She was a beautiful woman.” He shrugged as if that explained everything.

He must have made a pass at her and she rejected him. “Did you talk to her at the squadron barbeque?” I eyed the distance to the door and listened for someone else in the hall, but the women’s voices were faint, barely floating up the stairs in bursts of chatter and laughter.

“No, I never got to talk to her.” His smile was still there, but it looked a little forced.

“She rejected you,” I said, pushing a little.

His tension seemed to evaporate and he shook his head. “She wasn’t interested in what I wanted. Fine by me. There are lots of beautiful women out there.”

“What about Diana? How does she feel about your beautiful women?” I bet there was a long line of women in Brent’s life.

He shrugged again, leaned back over the desk, and picked up his bottle of beer. “We have an understanding. She knows I admire women. She leaves me alone and I leave her alone. We don’t interfere in each other’s lives.”

I tried to keep the disgust off my face. After all, Cass rejected Brent before she died. Could he have been angry enough to kill her? Or maybe Diana was tired of being cheated on and killed Cass. But if there was a long line of women, why would Cass be the one to die? Diana couldn’t take it anymore? I would have thought that if Brent’s affairs upset Diana, she’d have killed him.