Organized for Murder (11 page)

Letting fate provide the final vote, she walked into the darkened living room and peered through the curtains of the front window. All the lights were out next door.
Okay, question answered.
Kate suddenly felt six years old again—and very, very cold. Moving to the kitchen, she pulled the cocoa from the pantry.

Funny how nothing the hockey wives ever said shook her nearly as much as this lost phone connection with her motherin-law. Well, that and her husband's unplanned business trip accompanying an old flame.

She took her cocoa to the table, then penned her next two questions. The first was more than a little scary, but abject fear of the second made her stomach roil.

3) Is Sophia setting me up for the murder to cover up her own crime, or to try another attempt at Keith?

4) Has Keith seen Sophia since we've moved to Hazelton? Is he having an

She stopped short of writing the last word.
Affair.
Okay, she'd let the word slip into her thoughts, but an affair? Had she missed any signs? Sure, Keith came home at erratic times, but Kate knew how social he was, and he always told her who'd held him up to talk. No pattern of missing hours or nights, or any inconsistencies to point toward infidelity. He never smelled of strange perfume, and his shirt collars always came home lipstick-free. Kate paid the credit card bills and tracked down any dubious charges, but should she expect a credit card trail if they met at Sophia's or put the expenses on a corporate card? After all, they were presumably staying in the same hotel that very night. Moreover, what about Sophia's husband?

Who was the man who gave her the "White" to tack on after the hyphen?

Kate chewed her lower lip. She'd let fatigue and paranoia take control tonight. Nothing more. No way was her husband cheating on her.

In a bold move, she crossed out question number four and scribbled five more, almost as if each addition further reduced the likelihood of the struck sentence.

4) Has Keith seen Sophia since we've moved to Hazelton? Is he having an
4) Who picked the lily of the valley for the vase in the kitchen? Amelia, Danny, or Mrs. Baxter?

5) If questioned, will the pizza order clerk remember anything about the person (or voice) who placed the order delivered to our house some time after 7:00 p.m. on Thurs. night? Probably a long shot.

6) Who can tell me what Thomas is up to? Does his business need a transfusion of cash? Does Meg know anything about him?

7) Mrs. Baxter was a childhood friend of Amelia's. How well did the transition work out when it became an employer/employee relationship?

8) What are Danny's plans for the future? Does he see himself as heir apparent to the Nethercutt Empire?
What is
the Nethercutt Empire?

Jane might be the best lead on the last question. Maybe number seven as well. While Kate was only at the Nethercutt mansion the one day with Amelia and Mrs. Baxter, the women's attitudes toward one another had seemed strictly professional. No word or deed between the two on the day of the murder even whispered of a childhood bond, which had probably included dolls and pretend tea parties. However, through a succession of marriages, Amelia had been gone a good many years. Any friendship that survived such an absence would have a tough time staying on steady terms. And Amelia liked being in charge, regardless of any adolescent adventures the pair might have shared.

As an adult mistress of the manor, Amelia's manner likely sent a "keeping you in your place" message to anyone in her employ. Besides, how nostalgic can one be with a former friend when their places shifted from girlhood confidants to servant and mistress?

Mrs. Baxter's house also puzzled Kate, the frou-frou front room in sharp contrast to the stainless steel coffee carafe. Yet equally at odds were the woman's décor and design employed in the Nethercutt kitchen—all work, no frills. If the kitchen in her cottage resembled Amelia's, that could tell the tale. Or, had she taken the carafe from the Nethercutt's? Had she removed anything else from the mansion?

9) Sneak by Mrs. B.'s cottage and peek in the kitchen window.

Kate smiled. She'd need some kind of backup excuse in case she got caught, but another side trip to Mrs. Baxter's place was definitely in order.

She paused. Even as she wrote each letter, she wished the ink would disappear from the page.

10) What was the value of the items Sophia took with the display case? And if she'd assumed those items belonged to her, could she have been the one pilfering valuables before Amelia's death—using the justification they were hers anyway?

11) Has anyone entered our house through the back door since Tiffany unlocked it and ran outside last night?

12) Do I dare call the police and ask them to look for fingerprints in my laundry room?

She already knew the answer to the last question. There was no possible way of getting official help unless she gave the police everything, and she couldn't do that, so number eleven was a non-starter as well. Getting the police to help answer either question would not only get her further entangled as a possible suspect but likely implicate Meg.

Kate closed the casebook. It was late. Maybe if she went to sleep her mind would work out all the puzzles and have everything solved by the time she woke in the morning.

"Sure. And maybe I'll figure out a way to clone myself, too."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Saturday, April 10th – To-do

Girls' soccer game—home field (thank goodness)

Plan what to say to Keith.

Pick up Jane and George this evening.

Work on Book Nook presentation.

Don't worry—really.

*

Lists of tasks and worries woke Kate before the alarm went off Saturday morning. Dawn was just a promise in the sky when she plopped onto the rattan loveseat on her front porch, warm in her tightly wrapped robe and bunny slippers, and holding a cream-filled cup of coffee. The comforting weight of her casebook lay in her lap. The sun rose in golden ribbons over the Green Mountains, glittering light mixing with the peaks' blue-green swaths and eventually pulling the sky awake to a clear, crisp blue. White pine, sturdy hemlock, and balsam trees created a darkened, shadowy palette. This solitude was what she needed. Nothing beat a bright new morning to ignite a person's determination toward solving a problem, she decided. Or two, or twenty.

Even a few minutes of solitude is priceless.

It could be a game-changer, she knew, offering new solutions and possibilities to hold stress at bay. She had no revelations but felt better capable of tackling the day ahead.

An hour later, she had the girls up, fed, and bullied into soccer uniforms, getting them out the door earlier than usual. She marveled at the smiling faces of her twins, and knew the extra time that morning made all the difference. Those few precious minutes, not having to rush like most Saturdays, added calm to her troubled soul and kept the girls from arguing their way past teeth-brushing to van loading. She was nearly out the door when the telephone rang. It was Keith, no doubt in her mind, but she had no intention of talking to him until his return. This was too big to discuss over the phone. She turned off her cell before he tried that communication avenue.

At the curb in her housecoat, Meg slipped envelopes into the mailbox and raised the flag. She waved down the van. "Just wanted to tell you I put the
package
in the safe deposit box yesterday."

The girls were already immersed in an argument over which sister was better at imitating Rock Star Barbie. Kate didn't worry about being overheard. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help. I'll figure out a way to get the, uh, package back to…um…where it belongs as soon as possible."

"Don't be too quick. You may need to give the thing to the police if you find anything else. Any ideas about who put it in—" Meg glanced into the backseat, then held up a hand to shield her mouth from the twins and whispered "—in your house yet?"

Kate checked the mirror. The argument had moved on to who kicked a ball the farthest. From experience, she knew this exchange could last for hours with neither girl noticing anything going on around her. She turned back to Meg and briefly related her ideas about the firecracker incident and pizza delivery.

"I can't believe Louie would be involved. I've known the kid forever." Meg chewed her lower lip for a moment. "The boys must've been getting out of the bath when he stopped by. But I definitely wouldn't have been concerned."

"Yeah, I figure I'll be able to eliminate my suspicions as soon as I talk to him," Kate said. "It's just his out-of-town trip right after the incident that gives me reservations."

"Those firecrackers." Meg stared off toward Kate's house, as if she had laser vision through the Victorian's blue siding and into the wooded area beyond. "I figured they were set off by some teen with too much time on his hands, but you're right about a perfect distraction if someone wanted everyone away from your house."

"Mommmmeeee, can we get a slushie on the way?" Suze pleaded.

"Yeah, Mom, we're thirsty," Sam added.

"Not before the soccer game. Water bottles are in the back cooler," Kate called over her shoulder. "Gotta go," she said to her neighbor.

"Sure." Meg smiled. Then her green eyes took on a surprised look. "Hey, where's Keith?"

Kate's backbone stiffened. "We'll talk later."

*

"Are you crazy?" Meg slammed both palms onto the McKenzie breakfast table, jostling the steaming cups of coffee. "What could possibly make you think Keith might be having an affair? Especially with Sophia."

Kate fought to hold back tears that threatened whenever she thought about this very question. Her mental turmoil had staged a continuing battle during less intense moments of the girls' soccer game—which they won—and throughout the drive home. The coach had whisked away all comers for a hotdog party in his backyard, and the twins had hardly noticed Kate beg off as they joined giggling teammates in the coach's huge Suburban.

Now, across the table from Meg, she finally voiced the worries she'd been vacillating over all day. Mounting circumstantial evidence pointed decisively, at least in her opinion, toward potential marital woes.

"Did I tell you how Keith and I met?"

"Yeah." Meg gave a sideways shake of her head, like she wasn't sure she understood the question. "You were coordinating a big shot corporate event at a Vancouver Canucks game for a group of Portland executives. You each looked into the other's eyes, and bam! I love that story."

Kate smiled, in spite of herself. They had shaken hands and knew immediately from the first touch. Her right hand tingled even now at the thought. "Yes, I think we could've powered all of Vancouver."

Her love for hockey began in an instant, and their courtship was just as quick. Three months later she was Mrs. Keith McKenzie, her wedding a last extravaganza planned as an events coordinator, and she relocated to the Canadian Pacific.

"What I didn't tell you was the underhanded ways some of the hockey wives helped their husbands' careers by shoving a wedge into other players' families with gossip and innuendo. Most of the couples were really nice. But for a few…the competition extended past the ice." She stood and paced. "I know the same thing happens in the corporate world."

"At newspapers, too."

Kate stopped at the coffee counter to gather her thoughts before continuing. "There was always a small clique of snippy wives who built tension between couples, saying things in whispers that just stayed in your mind. That's what happened to Keith and me, anyway. Nights we argued caused friction and little sleep. Travel days when I stayed behind heightened the tension and ultimately led to him not having his mind on the game during crucial plays. Any mistakes Keith made allowed other husbands to step in and increase their own worth with the team."

Meg scooped up the mugs and joined her at the coffeepot. "That would be ingenious if the plan wasn't pure evil."

"Got it in one, friend." Kate sighed and followed Meg back toward the table but only to set down her cup. "It's not an easy life. When other couples broke up, we vowed to double our efforts. After the girls were born things got better—then worse."

She walked over and replayed Keith's first phone message, where he'd repeatedly said "boss" instead of naming Sophia. Kate still hadn't listened to the message from that morning, the one she'd raced from the house to avoid, so the women heard it for the first time together.

"Hi, honey. Me again. I keep missing you all. Well, I'll be home tonight. Tell the girls I love 'em and hope they win today. I—"

Keith's conversation halted as a double knock came over the speaker.

"Oops, that's the door. Gotta go. Love you and the girls. Take care."

Tandem beeps signaled the message's end. Kate moaned, "That was probably Sophia," and burst into tears.

"Oh, honey," Meg wrapped arms around Kate, and rubbed her back as she sobbed. "Don't let this be the evil wives all over again. Keith loves you."

Kate pulled away and grabbed a napkin to dab the corners of her eyes. "Easy to say, but…" After a couple of deep breaths, she finished, "You have to admit the evidence looks pretty daunting."

"Girl, you are jumping to ludicrous conclusions." Meg wrapped an arm around Kate's shoulders. "I've known Sophia peripherally for years. Yes, she's a piranha, I'll give you that, but Keith loves you. The proof is in his eyes every time he's near you."

"Then why keep it secret he had a fling with Sophia before we were married?" Kate felt heat rise in her face. "And that she owns the radio station?"

"Well, technically, neither of those things is true," Meg said, not meeting Kate's eyes.