“Uh.” I looked at the other mothers’ eager faces, Melinda’s included. I dated Sebastian. Right? “Yes?” Darn, that sounded more like a question. He was mad at the moment, but we didn’t break up or anything. I had no idea where he’d gone in his Range Rover this morning since Claire hadn’t called. Did girlfriends know where their boyfriends were all the time?
“I hear you and Adrian Davis made up this summer. You seemed chummy on the rocking chairs the other night outside his campaign office.” The teacher’s tone was scandalous. She gave a killer cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.
Et tu, Brute?
“Mama says you never forget your first true love.” Eleanor was at it again.
Lexi slid out of her seat and raised a red folder over her head. Team Adrian was etched across the folder in a rainbow of Crayola colors. “Team Adrian.”
“Sebastian!” The Bert and Ernie shirt kid stood up. His black folder had Sebastian’s name rubbed away with an eraser, shining white against the dark backdrop.
The moms turned in on themselves in the back. “It’s true about your first love. I found mine on Facebook. We’re going to meet as soon as his divorce is final.”
I shut my eyes and counted to ten. Once the kids figured out I got paid to listen and give advice, they lost interest. Most said they did that every day at recess.
I thanked the class for having me and walked away wondering if Ander would blame his mom for asking me to represent him on Career Day. I owed that kid a milkshake.
“Thanks for coming,” Melinda called down the hallway behind me.
I took paved streets home, obeying all traffic laws. I trudged up the steps in need of a shower and a solid reason to bow out of dinner at the Franks’ house. Freud lay on the stoop sunning. Except, it wasn’t Freud. My eyes focused on the mass laying on my stoop. It was a bird. A dead one. No. Three dead ones. “Aah!”
I ran back down the steps and pounded on Adrian’s office door. He opened it and stale air rushed around me. The lingering scent of smoke clung to everything, him included.
“What’s happened?” He gripped my shoulders.
I pointed upstairs.
“Stay here.” He took the steps two at a time.
I followed. “Please tell me Freud killed them and they aren’t some island version of a horse’s head.”
Adrian looked disappointed. “These are all bigger than Freud. He’d be lucky to land sparrows.” He rubbed his forehead. “Where is Freud?”
“He’s a free agent.” I slid past Adrian and unlocked my door with shaky hands. “Let me get a trash bag.”
Adrian lifted the corpses into the cinch sack. When the final bird was in his hand and about to go in the bag, the town mob arrived.
“She killed the Black-Tailed Godwit!” Birders stuck binoculars over their eyes and peered up the stairs at us. I was caught literally holding the bag.
“Well, that’s going to make the front page tomorrow.” Adrian dropped the final body into my sack. “They’re pigeons.”
Panic surged through me as the crowd grew and murmured. “I did not kill these birds!”
Karen Holsten snapped a picture of us and waved.
“Yep. Not good at all.” Adrian deflated.
Good thing birders weren’t voting in the election.
For safety reasons, Adrian drove me to the Franks’ house in his Jeep. The birders had demanded a look at what was in the bag until Adrian gave in. They weren’t impressed. No Godwit. Still, I had a bag of dead birds in a town crawling with bird lovers. Better to ride in something with doors that didn’t top out at ten miles per hour. Just in case.
We idled in the Franks’ driveway.
Adrian spoke first. “The insurance has agreed to pick up half the tab on my smoke damage. A cleaning company will come this week, so I won’t have to fear carbon monoxide death while working in my office much longer.”
“Sweet.” I nodded.
“It’s the little things, you know?” Adrian tapped my knee and pointed to the Franks’ porch. Mrs. Franks hustled down the path toward me.
“I better go.” I opened my door and Mrs. Franks grabbed it. She leaned her head into the Jeep.
“Hi, Adrian. Do you like lamb?”
Adrian sat across from me at dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Franks occupied either end of the table. A rack of lamb served as the centerpiece, and bowls of seasoned greens and vegetables surrounded the creature. The Franks’ home was decorated in garage-sale chic. Doilies and knickknacks covered every free inch of space. A giant freestanding television with knobs graced the living room. A tweed couch and two wing chairs filled the space around it, along with end tables, a coffee table and a bookcase filled with china dolls and sock monkeys. In the dining room, a china cabinet held a mishmash of plates and figurines. The chairs had little cushions tied on the seats. Scents of seasoned meat and butter formed a cloud over the table.
“How long have you two been dating?” Mrs. Franks shoveled lamb onto Adrian’s plate.
He winked at me. “About twelve years.”
Mr. Franks chewed loudly and nodded. “You see. I told you there was nothing going on between Patience and me.” He helped himself to seconds. “She’s a good listener. Nothing else.”
“Oh, definitely else.” Adrian grinned wickedly across the lamb.
I kicked him under the table and mouthed “Stop it.”
“Why can’t you talk to me?” Mrs. Franks shot her husband a pointed look, then shifted in her seat to face me and reached for the lamb.
I pulled my empty plate against my chest. She glared.
“Sometimes I want to talk about things you don’t want to hear.” Mr. Franks looked at Adrian for support.
He nodded appropriately. Sure, sure.
“How do you know I don’t want to hear if you don’t tell me,” she argued. “You can read my mind now? Quick, what am I thinking?” Mrs. Franks dropped the lamb carver on the table and pressed her fingertips to her temples.
I scooped red potatoes onto my plate and busied my mouth.
Adrian’s shoulders bobbed, and he kept his head down.
“I think you’re undressing him with your eyes.” Mr. Franks stuffed a “take that!” bite between his lips and his wife turned purple.
She looked at Adrian, who stopped laughing and had the good sense to look frightened.
I inched my seat away from the table and Adrian followed suit.
“Oh yeah?” she growled.
“Yeah.”
The staring contest lasted long enough for me to unhook my purse strap from the back of my chair and loop it over one shoulder.
“I think you want her.” Mrs. Franks pointed a forkful of French cut green beans my way. “Sexually.”
Thank you, crazy woman, for the clarification. I struggled to keep the disgust off my face. How would Mr. Franks feel if I looked disgusted?
“I think we all need to calm down and think about what we say next.” I made a show of inhaling through my nose.
“Shut up!” They screamed in unison.
Adrian stood. “Did I hear your phone?”
“Yes. Yes, you did.” I put it to my ear and the Franks continued ranting about infidelity and trust. “Mmm-hmm. Yep.” I talked to my phone and rounded the table toward the front door. “Gotta run. Thank you for dinner.”
A plate smashed somewhere behind me. Adrian took my hand and ran with me to his Jeep, laughing like a hyena. “I love your job so much.”
&nbs
p; “Shut up.”
Chapter Fifteen
People walked the street below my front window, the sun beaming on their upturned faces. The temperature dropped enough overnight to replace shorts and tank tops with long pants and windbreakers, but the sun still shone beautifully. I hoisted my left foot on to the couch and leaned over my knees with the tiny brush poised in my fingertips. Femme Fatale seemed an appropriate pedicure color choice these days. The deep violet shade dazzled. I wiggled my toes, admiring my work.
My phone buzzed to life on the coffee table. Princess. Good. Maybe Claire had news.
“Hello?” I twisted the little brush into the bottle and fell onto my back with the phone. I kicked my feet in the air, speed drying and working my glutes for a double win.
“I have news.” Claire’s hushed tone stopped my feet mid-kick.
“Yeah?” I swiveled on the couch, checking outside my window. With someone dropping threatening notes and dead stuff on the stoop, I had to be vigilant.
“Sebastian’s in his office. He ran a report on the town pathologist. Jennie McIntyre.”
I knew she was shady. “And?”
“She was fired from her last job for mistakes on paperwork and possibly for her affair with the pathologist. There’s no way to tell if she was incompetent or covering for him, but she definitely lied on her application to Chincoteague Community Hospital. She was a lab tech at her last job, a pathologist’s assistant at best. Not a pathologist. She faked her credentials.”
“That’s why she was so nervous when I talked to her. She looked at her wall of degrees half a dozen times. I bet they came with the frames.”
“Sleeping with the boss is a definite no-no. I’m guessing they fired her for that more than any clerical errors.”
“Is Sebastian’s team still headed out here today?”
“Oh, honey, they left hours ago. They probably arrived in time for breakfast.”
I peeked out my window. No sign of federal agents.
“You did great, Claire. Thanks.”
“All in a day, my friend. How’s the campaign going? Has that crazy Karen tried to chop down Adrian’s sign lately?”
My intuition squirmed. “No.” Claire had raised an excellent question. Why would Karen give up so easy? I moved my curtain for another look on the street. Karen was perpetually up to something. So, what kept her busy the last few days?
“Adrian should have a campaign rally or something. Drum up some excitement, piss off Karen.” Claire cackled.
I nodded against my phone. This was why I loved Claire. She was so smart. “Brilliant. Yes. Let’s.”
“Better yet, let’s plan a big celebration party for after his win and make sure she knows about it. I can handle all the details.”
“I love it. I’ll tell Adrian. He’ll pay as long as he doesn’t have to do anything girly like choose flowers.” My stomach knotted. Poor Minnie.
“Who’s the best caterer on the island?” Claire’s fingernails clicked over her keyboard.
“We should use Melinda Crown. She’s not a caterer-caterer, but she lives here, knows the island and is in the market for new opportunities. I bet she can get our friend Missy involved too.” Missy could use a girlfriend. Couldn’t everyone.
“Excellent.”
“Yep.” I rattled off Melinda’s number
“That’s settled.” Claire’s voice lowered. “Now, how about you? Any more threats on your life taped to your door, tossed through a window, stuffed in an Igloo or otherwise?”
“No.” Maybe the dead birds were meant as a threat, but I held out hope that Freud had hauled them up with his super kitty strength.
“How’s Sebastian dealing with you in danger again? He’s snapping at everyone here.”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him.” I checked the window again and touched my toenails with the pad of one finger. Dry.
“He’ll come around. He’s got a lot of heavy stuff on his plate right now.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah. Listen, I’m going to get back to work. Call me if you need anything. Got it?”
We disconnected and I slid my feet into flip-flops. I wasn’t ready to let autumn take over. I matched my favorite skinny jeans with a long sleeve T-shirt and marched into the cool wind wearing silver flip-flops. Jennie McIntyre had a huge secret and I’d missed it because I wasn’t seeing things clearly. I was too focused on the minutiae. Wasn’t that what I told my clients? Step back and look at the whole situation. What else had I missed?
I pulled into the lot at Flick’s Funeral Home and talked myself off the ledge. It was a nice old house with lots of viewing rooms...er...sitting rooms. I opened the front door and crept down the hallway to the room marked Office. The fact there was a Welcome sign dangling from a funeral home’s door made everything creep-tastic.
“Hello?” I rapped two knuckles against the wooden door frame. The office was empty. Plush emerald green carpet crossed the floor to rose and cream floral papered walls. Collections of dusty Home Interior items screamed 1984 from every direction. My footfalls were swallowed whole in the heavy padded carpet. Mrs. Flick was at least a hundred years old. What if she died in here and Mark wasn’t around to find her. A wave of rose scent washed over me and the knowledge a ghost had entered the room threatened my bladder.
“Patience?”
I jumped across the threshold to the office and danced from foot to foot. Ohboyohboyohboy.
Helena Flick slunk passed me to her desk and eased into the chair. Skin drooped on her ultra-white arms and cheeks. Blue veins ran patterns over her knotted hands.
“Have a seat.” She lifted thin frameless glasses from the chain around her neck and hooked them over her nose. “What can I do for you today?”
“Let me out alive” came to mind, followed by “tell me who’s in the basement.” Instead of speaking, I crossed my legs and pulled the cuffs of my sleeves over my hands. It was super cold. I took a few steadying breaths.
“What do you think about Mark’s arrest?” I scooted to the edge of my chair in case I needed a quick getaway.
Her mouth opened and shut a couple times. She looked out the window and back at me. Her rose-scented perfume overpowered me until I smelled nothing but the fragrance, which reminded me of graveside flowers, which reminded me of death. Death equaled ghosts. Ghosts haunted old creepy houses. This was, in fact, a super old and very creepy house.
“I think it’s a travesty. I hate that Deputy Knucklehead had the audacity to put Mark under investigation. Mark couldn’t hurt a fly. He’s kind right down to his bones.”
I wiggled in my seat, appreciating the fact other islanders had fun names for Doof—Fargas.
“I’ve worked hard to keep this business alive since my sweet husband passed away, and I can’t afford the bad press this thing’s given me. There’s already no business to speak of. Now the hope of any future business is gone too.”
“Did you notice Mark behaving oddly before his arrest?” I asked.
Watery blue eyes looked into mine, measuring me up. Helena was probably a real beauty in her day, petite and painfully thin. Why she married an undertaker was beyond me. Now she looked lost, lonely and one missed meal away from the basement of this place. The pattern of wrinkles on her face changed several times before settling. As she debated how to answer my question, I leaned forward, enticing her to confide in me.
“He has been acting odd lately. Distracted and quieter than usual.” She stood and marched to the front door without further eye contact or comment. “I’ve things to do, Miss Price. You’ll excuse me.”
I followed. “Thank you.” No need for long goodbyes. She wanted me out. I wanted out. I ran across the lawn and leaned over the cart’s steering wheel. I made it out. Alive.
I pointed my cart to the
next logical spot. If Mark had seemed distracted at work, maybe something was bothering him. Who would he confide in? His wife. I pressed the little gas pedal harder. The Mathers’ home was a quaint island cottage. White clapboard and blue shutters. Travel brochure material. Hanging baskets and a swing with marina-themed cushions adorned the front porch, and fresh planted mums outlined the cobblestone walk.
I spied a big black SUV parked across the street and down a block from the house. Claire was right. The feds were here. I wondered if I knew the guys in the SUV or if they recognized me. If they did, how long would it take for Sebastian to hear about my visit to the Mathers’ home?
A welcome rug greeted me with a lighthouse and their names embroidered in the center. Mark and Mary Mathers. The front door stood open, although a screen door kept bugs and visitors out. Knocking seemed intrusive. Loud. I rang the bell.
Helena shouldn’t have said Mark was flakey without offering some additional details. What did that even mean? Quieter than usual? My mom was louder than usual and she was hiding something, too, but a surprise party was far from murder.
“Hello?” A small woman with red eyes and a tissue pressed to her nose appeared at the screen.
“Mary Mathers? I’m Patience Price.”
She unlocked the screen door and shoved it wide open for me to pass. “Come on in. I’m glad you came.” The door creaked open on ancient springs and clapped shut behind me.
Their home was like a country craft bazaar. Beautiful quilts and afghans covered the couch and recliner. Dried flowers decorated the fireplace mantle. Scents of apples and cinnamon drifted through the air. Oversized picture books warmed the coffee table—books of horses and other islands like ours.
“Have you heard anything new about Mark’s arrest?” She sat in a wing chair and motioned for me to sit on the couch. Her elbows pressed into her knees, barely slowing their bounce. “I’m a wreck without him. We’ve been together so long I don’t even know who I am if he isn’t here.” She stifled a tiny sob and pressed the tissue to her nose again. Her shoulders rolled in toward her chest and she pulled her navy blue cardigan tighter, cinching the ties at her waist.
Murder Comes Ashore Page 17