Moving Is Murder (30 page)

The scent of rain mingled in the cool air as I stood full in the weak sunshine, warming Livvy and myself. Despite the
NO EARLY BIRDS
sign posted on the garage, the first knock on our door came at six-twelve. For the first two hours, Mitch had taken care of Livvy, but then Jill sent him to the store for more change.

A bearded man in a flannel shirt over a dirty T-shirt held up an electric edger. “Does this work?”

“I have no idea. There’s a plug and an extension cord over there. Help yourself,” I shouted over Livvy’s operatic attempts to shatter the remaining crystal in the vicinity.

I left the garage sale in the hands of the other spouses on duty and escaped up the steps into the house. In Livvy’s room, I sank into the rocking chair and got Livvy latched on. Then I leaned back and closed my eyes. They could get along without me for a while. She gulped down the milk like she hadn’t eaten in days, instead of barely two hours ago.

I rocked gently and listened to the hum of the edger. It cut off abruptly. Other snatches of conversations drifted up through the open window that overlooked the backyard. “Nothing here. Let’s go….” and “Oh,
Stan needs a hat like this.” I drifted, flirting with sleep as the hum of conversation and the thud of car doors receded.

Livvy, of course, picked that moment to lean back with a sigh and a smile. I wiped a drop of milk off the corner of her mouth, burped her, and settled her on the other side. One of the advantages of breast-feeding was that it gave me the ability to escape and spend some time with Livvy. And no bottles to wash either.

Compared to the last week, I felt better and she did, too. Since we’d decided to let her learn to go to sleep on her own, she’d cried for a shorter time each night. Last night, she cried for about ten minutes and then went to sleep. Score one for the parents.

I propped Livvy up on my shoulder and patted her back. Her head bobbed as she strained to take in every detail in that corner of the room. I prodded the floor with my toe and set the rocking chair in motion as I thought about my last conversation with Gwen. It had felt more like a confession. I rocked faster as I considered my options. If she didn’t kill Cass, I didn’t feel I had a right to say anything about her nondivorce. But if she did kill Cass to conceal her past, then I had to go to Thistlewait. Especially if she’d killed a second time. I shivered, remembering Colin’s body falling from the car onto the ground at our feet.

The problem was I didn’t have any proof. There wasn’t any proof she’d killed twice and there wasn’t any proof she was innocent. She’d been at the barbeque, but so were about fifty other people. Anyone could learn how to trap wasps if they did an Internet search.

Livvy let out a very unfeminine burp and I stood up with a sigh. I had to keep Gwen’s secret until some physical
evidence connected her to either death. I tuned into the sounds from the driveway when I heard Gwen’s husky voice. “Sorry, I’m late. The traffic was horrendous. Have you ever tried to get across Vernon on a Saturday? It’s insane. Who planned this town? Did they have something against turn lanes, or what?”

A chorus of voices agreed with her. Gwen’s grave, reserved attitude yesterday was almost the opposite of her usual wordy, extroverted side that showed today. Everyone has different aspects to their personality, but the contrast made me wonder. Did she really have a calmer side or was yesterday’s confession an act? But why would she make up something like that?

I put Livvy down for her nap and returned to the garage sale, where I slid into my chair at the checkout table with Diana. In between waves of customers, the conversation centered on the tabloid-like events in the neighborhood.

“They don’t know how he died.” Irene Innes pushed her blond hair out of her face and stacked some books. “I’m a news junkie.” She looked slightly embarrassed, but then she dove right in again. “At least, they aren’t reporting it.” Gwen became absorbed in picking up some clothes that had fallen off hangers.

“Were there injuries? Obvious wounds?” Diana asked as she recorded a sale. I watched her form the perfect sweeps in her cursive letters with a mixture of horror and admiration. Her exact strokes looked like they could be posted in Abby’s elementary school for students to copy. My scribbles, a mixture of cursive and print, looked terrible. But you’re supposed to make your handwriting your own, distinctive and unique, I thought defensively.

“I don’t remember anything like that,” I said.

Irene said, “It’s so violent here. Friona gets her throat cut and then that man dies in a car on our block.”

Everyone was silent. Gwen’s fingers slipped and a coat fell off the hanger she held. A few people looked at Irene disapprovingly.

“Well, I’m sorry!” She stood up and dusted her hands. “It’s true. It may sound shocking, but that’s exactly what happened.”

“And don’t forget Cass,” Penny murmured. Gwen re-hung the coat and smoothed the other clothes.

“Right. So that’s three people dead from this neighborhood. Maybe there’s a serial killer.” Irene looked more excited than scared.

“Those deaths aren’t connected in any way,” Diana argued.

Irene said, “I bet they are. We just can’t see the connection yet.”

Keeping Collections under Control

• Evaluate—Do you have duplicates or items that aren’t as rare as they were at one time? Moving time is a great time to thin your collections.
  
• Display—Choose the best format to show off your collection:
  
  • Books need bookshelves.
    
  • Kitchen collectibles might fit in a corner cabinet or on a baker’s rack.
    
  • Shadow boxes are a great option to display small items like buttons or rocks.
    
• Set limits—Allow a reasonable space for your collection and don’t let it expand beyond those boundaries.
  
• If your collections are delicate or require special packing steps, be sure to let the movers know a few days ahead of your pack-out date, so they can bring the appropriate boxes with them.
  

The ability to simplify means to eliminate the un
necessary so that the necessary may speak.
—Hans Hofmann

I
climbed out of the Cherokee and the drizzle hit me in the face, making my vision fuzzy. I scurried to the squadron door with Livvy’s blanket-covered car seat banging against one hip and her diaper bag thumping against the other. Low dark clouds had fooled the lightsensitive parking lot lights into glowing. The cold bite of the air on my hands and face told me fall was almost over. With my head down and drizzle-impaired vision, I didn’t realize someone else was hurrying across the parking lot until we collided at the heavy door.

“Oh.” Nick Townsend. I felt my heart speed up, unsure of what he would say or do. I hadn’t seen or heard
from him since he threatened me. I gripped the slippery door handle and tugged, wanting to get around other people. It was too far back to the Cherokee. I yanked on the door again, but it remained shut.

“Here, let me get that for you.” He punched in a code on a number pad above the handle. I blinked the water off my lashes and looked at him. He didn’t look angry. His face wasn’t flushed and he smiled over his shoulder when he opened the door. “Someone forgot to unlock it this morning.”

He held the door and I went in. We walked down the empty hall in an awkward silence. “Look, I wanted to apologize.” He fiddled with his Air Force Academy ring. “I’m sorry for overreacting. I’ve got a short fuse and you set me off asking about … well, the uh …” He didn’t even want to say the word “shot” inside the squadron. He pulled the ring down and spun it around his finger.

He continued, “I want the Air Force to stay out of my personal life, that’s all. Anyway, I don’t need them anymore. Season’s over and I’m going to a new assignment next month.” He’d ended his allergy shots. I wondered if he was lying. Medical records were sealed pretty tightly. It would be my word against his. His chunky ring flashed as it circled his finger.

“Well, good luck. I hope you get a good base,” I said.

He studied my face for a moment and then nodded. “Thanks.” He turned and walked down the hall. At least I’d told Thistlewait about Nick. I was sure the OSI could keep track of him.

“Hi.” Mitch had walked up behind me. He picked up the car seat and pulled back the cover. Livvy gurgled and smiled. “Let’s go down to The Hole,” Mitch said.

Once I was settled on the earth-tone couch, I pulled the paper bag with our hamburgers out of the diaper
bag. I’d picked them up on the way to the squadron as I ran errands, tidying up loose ends that had been piling up as I focused my attention on getting ready for the garage sale and thinking about Cass. Livvy was in a great mood, stringing “aah” and “ooh” together. Apparently, falling asleep on her own suited her as much as it did us.

“Do you want a Diet Coke?” Mitch asked as he got a Dr Pepper from the refrigerator behind the bar.

“No, I brought some water.” I pulled a bottle from the diaper bag and twisted the cap. It made a satisfying crack. Since the antifreeze incident I’d taken an instant liking to bottled water and I was especially fond of the safety seal caps. Mitch poked fifty cents into the money box for his drink and then dropped into the couch beside me. I thought about Nick moving to a new base. Allergy season was over for him now, but what about next year?

“Hey, are you going to eat that burger or just look at it?” Mitch asked.

“Sorry. I’m a little preoccupied.” I focused on Mitch. “Are you busy today?” I asked.

“Nah. Just trying to look busy until lunch time.”

“You government employees are such slackers.” Civilian friends often kidded Mitch, saying he had a cushy job because he had times when he didn’t have much to do and was able to be home for part of the day. And I had to agree with them, at times. He had a great job with flexible hours, except for the deployments that could endure for months.

“We’re working hard. We just got out of a class, IRC. It starts up again at twelve-thirty. I’m free until then.”

Mentally I translated Mitch’s acronym of IRC into civilian language. It stood for Instrument Review
Course. “Well, I’ve got some work for you and whoever is lounging around. I have some folding chairs in the Cherokee that need unloading.”

“We’ll get them after lunch.”

The guys from the squadron picked up the tables after the garage sale, but they left the folding chairs. I’d brought them in myself this morning to get them out of our garage. The sale had been a success and all traces of it were gone.

“So what else is going on?” I asked.

“Not much. Wade just got back from the Caribbean. St. Kitts.”

“Really?” The image of vivid blue waters of St. Thomas popped into my mind. We’d gone there on our honeymoon.

“It would be great to go back, wouldn’t it?” Mitch asked.

I thought of the gray drizzly day. “It’s just going to get colder here.”

We looked at each other. Then he smiled, slowly. “What about January or February? Let’s plan a trip and go.”

I couldn’t help smiling back when he looked at me like that. “I did want to go to St. John, too, when we were there. Remember? But, we ran out of time.”

His smile widened. “I remember.”

I had to laugh at his mock-leer, but then I sobered. “What about Livvy? How many hours would that be on a plane?”

“You know both our moms could literally be here overnight if we asked them to keep Livvy for a few days.”

“Leave Livvy? I don’t know, I’ve never been away from her.”

“Let’s just check into it, right now.”

“Okay. I’ll stop at the travel office and get some brochures.” I picked up my purse and water, then heaved the diaper bag onto my shoulder. Mitch carried the car seat as we climbed the stairs.

“See if you can find something on Grand Cayman, too. I think there’s good diving there.” Mitch opened the heavy door to the parking lot. “I’ll go round up some guys to carry in the chairs.” In a few minutes, the chairs were unloaded and my list of things to do was reduced to leaving the box for Brent. After my conversation with Gwen, I’d forgotten about dropping off the box.

I pulled the box out of the front seat of the Cherokee. I wanted to avoid Brent, so I’d hand this little task off to Mitch. A spotlessly clean white SUV pulled into the open parking space beside us. I wondered how Diana kept it so clean, even in the rain. Mitch and I squeezed against the Cherokee and I tried to avoid touching its mud-spattered side.

“Oh, that’s Diana. We can just give it to her.”

We met her around the back of her SUV. “Hi, Diana. I’ve been meaning to return this box.” She zipped up her coat halfway, paused to study the box, and then yanked the zipper up, enclosing her cardigan and oxford shirt.

“Ah, sure.”

“I was going to have Mitch give it to Brent. I figured you’d be at work today and I didn’t want to leave it on your porch with the rain.”

“I had a dentist appointment.” Diana studied the box, but didn’t move, like she didn’t recognize it.

“It was with the garage sale donations, but it must be a mistake. It’s files and stuff. I’ve had it in the back of the Cherokee for weeks, and I kept forgetting to drop it
off.” She fumbled with her keys as she unlocked the back portion of the SUV. Mitch placed the box in the back and slammed it shut.

“What are you doing today?” Her voice was hoarse. She pulled a water bottle out of her purse and unscrewed the lid. “Are you going to lunch?”

“No, we just ate and Livvy’s getting fussy. I’m heading home.” I glanced at the sky. “I wanted to plant some bulbs and seeds. I don’t think I’m going to make it before the heavy rain starts, but I might.”

“Well. Maybe we could have lunch another time.” She tilted the water bottle up for a drink as she hurried across the parking lot.

“What’s wrong?” Mitch asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s bothering me.” I shrugged. “I’ll think of it later, I’m sure. She didn’t sound very excited about going to lunch,” I said.

“Maybe she had a cavity filled and she’s not feeling good.” Mitch clicked the car seat into its holder. We said good-bye and Mitch gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. He jogged off toward the squadron and I headed for the travel office.