Frugal Lissa Finds a Body

by Ritter Ames

  “She just kept asking why a man would go into her garage to die,” Abby said, sitting at the table and flipping her dark hair over one shoulder. “I don’t think it’s sunk in for her that someone murdered Carlisle.”

  “Did anyone actually say it in so many words?” I started a fresh pot of coffee. “She might think something fell on him.”

  “What did happen?” Abby asked. “No one said, other than asking who’d been in the garage recently, and how long the items inside had been there.”

  A shiver raced up my spine. I briefly described the murder scene to her.

  Abby visibly shook for a second. “How awful! Oh, Lissa, I’m so sorry you had to find him like that.”

  “You and me both.”

  “What did Brian ask you?”

  I made myself busy loading Oreos onto a plate. We’d already finished off the homemade chocolate chip cookies. Then I asked, “You want milk with these instead of coffee.”

  “Since you asked, yes,” Abby said, frowning. “Then I want you to answer my question.”

  The carton was still half full, thank goodness, and I focused on filling the glasses without spilling a drop, as I hedged, “He just wanted to know why I went inside. Seemed to take particular pleasure about chiding me for letting Honey in ahead of me. He already had Carlisle’s name. I’m assuming from his wallet.”

  “So you didn’t tell him you knew him, right?”

  “Well...” I carried the glasses to the table.

  “Oh, Lissa, don’t tell me you told Brian you threatened the dead guy last night—”

  “I didn’t threaten him.” I slammed the glasses down hard enough that some of the liquid slopped over the rims and onto the red-checked tablecloth. So much for no spilling while pouring. I grabbed the tea towel from the refrigerator door when I headed back with the plate of cookies. “I just responded to Carlisle because he mentioned his blasted list. And no, I didn’t tell Baker what we said to one another last night.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I asked if Carlisle’s pocket diary was on the body.” I landed heavily in the chair and grabbed a cookie. “I said he’d had it out when he was trying to make an appointment with me, and Carlisle slipped it into his pocket when I said we had nothing to say to each other.”

  “The police know you had an argument then?” Abby shook her head and sighed. “I should have let Mrs. Glover wing it and followed you instead.”

  “I didn’t talk about the argument.” The first Oreo went into my milk, and I took a small bite to buy myself time. “I just wanted to look like a cooperating witness. So I said we’d met when you and I went to karaoke night, and that he mistakenly thought my house was available for purchase. I didn’t mention the list or anything along that line.”

  “Except that once Brian Baker talks to people at the hotel, someone is bound to bring up the fact you and Carlisle had words, and you stalked out of the place.”

  “If they do, it can only add more suspects for the police to check out. If he had a list, that meant there were more people than me with houses he was looking at purchasing. And who’s to say there weren’t more houses on the list by mistake?”

  “But you were the one seen publicly having words with him the evening before you discovered him dead.”

  I propped my right elbow on the tabletop and rested my head on my fist. She was right. I knew it. “You’re saying I said too much.”

  “Anything is too much, beyond ‘just the facts.’ But it’s probably okay. Your bringing up the pocket diary and him knowing it’s gone will point the investigation toward other suspects. Maybe the whole thing is for the best. He has to realize you wouldn’t have brought up the diary if you’d taken it, and the fact it’s gone means someone is trying to hide their association with the victim.”

  “He can’t suspect I could have killed Carlisle.”

  “He might if he hears about the argument. And you found the body, remember. I don’t want to scare you, Lissa, but just finding the body makes you a more likely suspect.”

  I slammed my palm against the tabletop. “There is no way I have the strength to use one of those heavy old galvanized tent poles like a javelin. If he’d been hit over the head, I could see my being a suspect. But you and I both know upper body strength is not one of my gifts.”

  Abby put her hand over mine. “Calm down. I’m not trying to get you worked up. I just want you to see that you need to keep your story simple and stick to answering exactly what someone asks you. Nothing more. Whether I’m beside you to interrupt before you say too much—or not.”

  “You’re right, and I know it. To be honest, I kept hearing your voice in my head when I was talking to Baker, and I actually listened. Kept me from digging my hole any deeper. Did he ask you anything about Carlisle?”

  “He asked if I knew him.” Abby dunked her own cookie and took a bite before continuing, “But I never talked to the guy, and I didn’t mention that you did. Who knows what Brian is going to think. At least both of us gave honest answers, even if we did tell abbreviated versions. For now, the truth as we’ve told it has to be enough.”

  I chewed my lower lip.

  “Don’t worry,” Abby said, taking hold of my left hand. “I’ll be here to make sure nothing sticks.”

  “You’re not going back to Dallas tonight?”

  “I am,” she said. “But only because I have a deposition scheduled for tomorrow morning that I can’t get out of. Brian strongly suggested I stay in town, but I placated him when I said I’d be back by late tomorrow afternoon. I just need to take the deposition, get the paralegal I work with set up for the rest of the week, and explain to my boss why an unscheduled week of vacation is necessary. Piece of cake.” She grinned. “And if that guest room you mentioned is still on offer—”

  “Absolutely. It sounds like sharing a house with you is the only way to keep me out of jail.”

  “In the meantime, don’t talk to Baker or anyone from the police again until I get back.” She held out her hand. “Give me a dollar.”

  “What for?”

  “Just give me a dollar, Lissa.”

  I found eighty-seven cents in the drawer of the kitchen desk. “One second and I’ll get the rest.” I turned toward the living room.

  Abby waved her hand. “Stop. This is good enough. Hand it to me.”

  She took the coins then rose and tore a sheet from my grocery list pad on the refrigerator, scribbling something on it. “Here’s a receipt. You’re now my client. Consider this my retainer. If Brian finds out any more facts from other people, and he asks why you didn’t tell him everything, say you were acting on the advice of counsel.” She put her hands on her hips. “No, scratch that. Remember what I said first and don’t talk to him until I get back. Not one word. However, if you accidentally forget and—”

  “If I can’t keep my big mouth shut, and I spill any more beans, I should say I didn’t mention anything before because I was acting on the advice of counsel.”

  “Lovely. You remembered it word for word.” She smiled, as she teased, but I knew she truly meant it, and mentally zipped my lip.

  Abby pulled her phone from a pocket and thumbed through screens. “There’s a flight leaving in two hours. Thank goodness Southwest doesn’t charge a fee to change flights. I’ll drive my car back tomorrow, so I’ll have it while I’m here and don’t have to always cadge rides from you and my mom. I figure the deposition will run until about eleven, and if I can get out of the office by noon, I can be back here before dinnertime. The earlier flight home will give me time this evening to get things done and scheduled ahead of tomorrow’s meeting, plus pack my car with whatever I need in the coming week. Can you run me to the airport now? I’m leaving what I already have here, so I should be able to make the flight if we hurry.”

  “Sure, let me get the boys.” I rose and walked to the back door, my hand on the knob when I asked. “Are you going to tell your mom you won’t be around this evening? Don’t you and you
r parents always eat out on your last night in town?”

  “Hmm... I’ll call her en route. Maybe just before takeoff. She’ll be okay when I tell her I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “But not when she hears you were at a murder scene.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Abby grimaced. “Probably best if I don’t mention that when I call.”

  “Chicken.” I laughed.

  “One-hundred percent grade A,” she said, grabbing her purse and following me out the door. “Police don’t scare me a bit, but don’t make me face my mother.”

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  NEXT MORNING, BEFORE I woke the boys for school, I sat at the table and made a list of what I needed to do that day. My original schedule for the week was completely blown. Everything had been overridden by the new, possibly-keep-me-out-of-jail, assignments I had to do this morning. Errands I hadn’t had any idea existed when I’d completed the draft of my upcoming weekly planner on Saturday morning. Friday afternoon, I’d been so pleased with myself, having my blog posts scheduled for the week and all my tasks lined up with plenty of time for each—every extra minute available to spend with Abby and the boys. Should have remembered not to get cocky. Now, my Monday morning promised solid focus on my new mission—keep Lissa out of jail and off the police radar. Or at least give me some way of proving my innocence if Baker decides I look like public enemy number one.

  While it was still quiet, I opened my subscriber email, figuring I needed to do something productive business-wise before I gave myself over to sleuthing and making sure my family stayed safe. The first was from a reader asking for a car warranty service recommendation. After asking for a list of warranty choices, she wrote:

 

  I caught my breath. I felt this woman’s pain, frustration, and the feeling of being at wit’s end. Bad enough the problem wasn’t or couldn’t be fixed, but it left her and her family concerned they’d have another repair charge coming shortly—suddenly and out of nowhere. That kind of worry did nothing but keep day-to-day stress levels high.

  While I did not have the answer to my current problem, I could at least help this poor woman with hers. I hit reply and responded:

 
  Please remember this for any item you buy in the future, Candace.

  As far as extended car warranties go, I don’t personally recommend different ones because they can vary so much, but if you’ll contact your local Better Business Bureau, they’ll be better equipped to offer you information in this situation. They can tell you which warranties have the best rating with them and please ask them to advise you if you need help with your dealership situation. Also, be sure to tell them your whole story and ask for their input on the lemon law in your state. I realize you’ve already checked the law, but the BBB may be aware of other options. You may still decide an extended warranty is your best bet, but you shouldn’t have to buy one just for the electrical issue.>

  Maybe the service manager wasn’t trying to make the sale on an extended warranty to escape having to keep fixing the problem for free. Maybe he simply brought up the warranty application because the original would lapse shortly. I had no problem giving the benefit of the doubt. However, I’ve found too many people don’t know their rights on these types of issues, and service managers and repair people could be much more upfront with the information.

  “Well,” I mused. “That’s one thing I can enlighten my readers about with the Frugal Lissa blog.” I made a note in my Blog Ideas file to write on warranties soon.

  The next question was from a reader, SueAnn, asking if there was an inexpensive way to remove rust from steak knives, or if she just needed to throw them away and buy new. She wrote:

 

  I replied:

 

  I added another note in my idea file, since this subject would be a perfect addition to one of my summer blogs when I covered camping hacks and getting gear ready for any annual camp-outs. It also made me smile when thinking about my grandma, the woman who raised me after my parents died together in a plane crash. A crash that would have killed me, too, if I hadn’t come down with the flu and stayed with my grandma and grandpa instead.

  A knot formed in my throat when I even thought about it. How devastated I was by my parents’ deaths, and the sacrifices my grandparents made for me. The many times I likely made their hair turn prematurely gray. Grandpa died when I was still in high school, but not before he’d taught me everything he could teach me about the world. Teaching me to drive a stick shift, however, was beyond his capabilities. For that, it was my grandma, just like she taught me to knit, cook, can, and all other things she learned from her Depression era parents to save household money.

  I looked at the calendar. The end of the week was the anniversary of her death. In the middle of all the extras I had to do in the next few days, I had to make up a wreath to put on the adjoining graves she and Grandpa shared. Side-by-side forever. It made me sad they were both gone, but I smiled over knowing they now watched down on me and my family. I missed them both, but especially Grandma. When I moved to Europe with Dek, we came back whenever his work offered a long break. When Jamey was born, she came over and helped me find everything I needed. We were living in Berlin then, and she didn’t speak German. But she carried her phrase book, and that really was enough for her to accomplish everything she felt needed doing to get us settled in with the new baby. I was so glad we’d come home after Mac was born, and we at least had three more wonderful years with her. She got to watch the boys grow and was there when Mac said his first word and took his first step. She helped Jamey catch frogs by the pond. Oh, how she’d loved her great-grandsons.

  I raised my face to the ceiling and whispered, “I hope Dek and I are making you proud, Grandma. We’re giving the boys all
the love you and Grandpa gave to me.”

  The phone rang, and I jumped, startled for a second that Grandma would be at the other end.

  “Lissa, you were up, right?” It was Abby.

  “Yes, on the computer already. Are you at work?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “I wanted to catch you before things got too busy.”

  “I’m just answering reader mail before the boys get up.”

  “Was Mrs. Glover okay after yesterday’s excitement?”

  I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. “Yes, the boys and I brought her over here for dinner last night. We grilled burgers, though the boys were pulling for pizza. Thought I’d keep the evening quieter if I kept her near home.”

  “Good thinking,” Abby said. I heard the click of computer keys through the receiver. In typical Abby-fashion, she was working as she talked. “And that quiet evening idea touches on the other reason I wanted to talk to you early. I spoke to my boss last night and got the okay for time off. I’m in the middle of typing everything I need anyone else to do for clients in the coming week. But between work and the drive, I’ll be out of touch most of the day. So, I’m reminding you now not to talk to anyone about the murder. Not just Brian. Don’t talk to anyone.”

  “I can’t imagine what I would have to say to—”

  “See, that’s what I mean, right there.” The clicking stopped, and the sound of her voice strengthened, alerting me that she no longer had the receiver clamped between her shoulder and chin. Abby always meant business when she stopped multi-tasking and held a phone. She only focused on one thing when it was truly important.

  “Lissa, all you need is for some gossip-monger to start you talking, then they’ll repeat something you innocently say, adding their own hint of innuendo, and by the time the conversation gets repeated eighteen times you have half the town ready to find you guilty of the murder.”

  “But everyone knows me, and—”

  “Yes, too many people know you, Lissa. Too many people are aware how quickly you react, and what you’ve done in your youth. You’d be surprised how things like that can get turned against you in situations like this.”