All The Deadly Secrets

by Carol Schaal

  “I did get the photo. Thank you for sending it. He is a little chubby-face darling. And the cold is what one of the other retailers up here refers to as ‘refreshing.’ I have other words for it.”

  I hesitated, then decided to tell Greg what had prompted my call.

  “Unfortunately, the cold isn’t really my problem now.” I took a deep breath and started in. “The woman whose shop I bought died a few days ago. I found her body. It was terrible.” I heard Greg gasp. “She was murdered, Egg! She wasn’t real popular, and she annoyed a lot of people, but she didn’t deserve to die.”

  I hoped I sounded calm when I told him the rest of my news. “A police officer up here has started asking me lots of questions. He acts like he thinks I killed her.”

  My bald statement was met with a few seconds of silence.

  “Vic, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?” Greg finally said. “Murder? Seriously? And what, you found her body?”

  “I did, Egg, and it was, oh, I can’t even tell you how awful it was. I wish you were here, I wish,” I broke off, trying to keep from sobbing.

  More silence. I figured Greg was trying to make sense of the news his apparently hysterical sister had just dumped in his lap.

  Eventually, after he cleared his throat, my brother, his voice low, said words I had never expected to hear.

  “How did this woman die? What caused it?” He paused. “Please don’t tell me she fell off a roof and managed to, to …” as his voice faded, I yanked the phone away from my ear, held it out and stared at it.

  Did Greg say what I was sure he had just said? My own brother? The one who saw the hell I went through after Drew’s death? I could hear him talking some more but couldn’t make out the words. I stared at the phone for several pain-filled seconds. Then slowly, carefully, I pressed my thumb down to disconnect the call.

  About a minute later, my phone buzzed. I was still holding it in my hand, and I saw Greg’s name on the caller ID. I reached down, opened my purse, and tossed in the phone.

  10

  I sat by my condo’s lakeside window, sipping Earl Grey tea. The clear blue sky and warmer temperature, it was almost 30 degrees out, apparently were cause for great joy, as several people were walking along the beach this Saturday morning. The thought that I should join them crossed my mind. Aunt Raelynn wouldn’t be back from her vacation cruise until later that day so I couldn’t get a pep talk from her, urging me to enjoy the great outdoors. Instead, I kept staring at my phone, at the notification that I had voicemail.

  As I stared, the phone buzzed, startling me so much I almost dropped it. I checked the caller ID. It was Sarah. I immediately connected.

  Sarah wanted to know if I could drive out to her house. “I have a lot of paperwork and can’t come to the shop today but really want to help with whatever you need. Kylie told me at the wake she had some web stuff done. Can I, do you mind if I look?”

  Half an hour later, Sarah was sitting at her desk in the upstairs apartment, reviewing the papers I had brought, Eliot curled up on the floor near her. While Sarah did that, I checked out the display she had put together in a pine cabinet along the far wall, a mix of antique knickknacks and old stoneware bowls. “Oh, this is so cool, you really know how to showcase things.” Still wandering around, I peered out of one of the room’s windows, which showed the farm property just east of the house. About a hundred yards away, some stakes were visible in the snow-covered lot. They delineated an area that looked to be about the size of a large patio.

  Sarah showed up at my side, and I motioned to the stakes. “Building something?”

  “Nothing exciting,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “The, the house needs a new well, ’cause ours, ours was failing and Mom was having the area tested and that’s one of the things I need to check into and, and there’s so much to be done what with the will and all and, oh I love, I adore what Kylie did with the website.” Her words were coming in a rush, and Sarah paused to catch her breath, then took my arm and steered me toward the desk.

  “I want to talk to Kylie,” she said, pointing to the sketch I had brought. “The art of the woman needs some tweaking, she looks a bit too young for our customer base, but that won’t be hard to fix.”

  Sarah picked up the sketch, and we headed for the wingback chairs, Eliot deigning to join us. “I’d like her to be about 35 or 40,” Sarah said.

  I nodded in agreement. “Great plan. I still need to finish setting up the ordering and payment process. but the end is in sight.” I hesitated, then took the plunge. “Have you heard any more about your mom’s death? Have the police been in touch?”

  Sarah reached out and grabbed a tissue from a box on a stand between the chairs. “Oh, Lauren, some detective guy, he kept asking me a lot of questions about my trip and what was I doing that Sunday, and did I have any hotel receipts. It was awful.” Her eyes welled with tears. “All I could think was how I was sitting at the Ryman, listening to country music, and to think, to think that Mom was probably there in the shed, dying, and I was enjoying myself in Nashville and happy to get away from here for a bit, and, and …”

  I clasped her hand. Sarah’s response brought back memories of finding Bernice’s body and of my own dealings two years ago with the Florida police and then with Maccini. The onslaught of those events brought me so close to tears myself that I couldn’t speak.

  Sarah broke the silence. “I’ll come by the shop Monday and help out, do some work with the inventory,” she finally managed to say. “We both need a break from this horrible time. And we might have another funeral to attend. I hear Dennis is barely hanging on. What’s happening around here?”

  * * *

  On the way back to Alleton, I stopped at a small roadside diner. At noon on a Saturday, it was packed with people looking happy and relaxed, talking about football playoffs and ice fishing and all the normal day-to-day things I craved hearing about, a break from the drama of deaths and suspicions that had darkened my life.

  After finishing my oversized omelet, apparently the diner’s specialty, I accepted the waitress’s offer of more tea. Then I pulled out my phone and connected to voicemail. I figured it would be easier to listen to my brother’s message surrounded by a roomful of people, that it would keep me from either breaking down or throwing the phone across the room.

  “Hey Sis, please, I am so sorry. Stupid me. You took me by surprise. I need you to call me back, please.”

  A second or so of silence, then, “You’ve always been stubborn. I get that I hurt you, but you can’t keep pushing everyone away. I know other people hurt you, and I don’t blame you for leaving here, but don’t do this.” Another short silence. “We’re family, Vic. Call me. Please.”

  The waitress came by with my bill, giving me a sympathetic look. She probably thought I had been stood up by a boyfriend.

  I got up, paid my bill, and left the comforting confines of the restaurant. I sat in the car, heat turned up full blast. Then I pulled out of the lot and drove back to Alleton.

  11

  I almost drove to the condo, but the thought of all the inventory still needing to be unpacked, priced, and shelved weighed on my mind. Bathing Beauty was not where I wanted to be on a cold Saturday afternoon, seeing people walking to the nearby Italian restaurant for a nice meal while I slogged through a seemingly endless supply of creams and potions and elixirs, feeling left out of life’s better moments.

  Still, it was one of life’s better moments when I got to the store and discovered D.J. already there, looking handsome as always in jeans and a dark blue crewneck sweater. He’d opened almost all the boxes and had stacks of product waiting for me to point out their proper placement. When I walked in, he looked up and grinned.

  “Dad’s still hanging in there,” he said, “so I thought I’d come by, make some money today.” He stared at me in surprise when I burst into tears.

  “This was supposed to be good news,” he said.

  “Oh, D.J, you’ve give
n me two pieces of good news this morning,” I told him, “your dad’s still fighting, and the shop might actually open in February. How could I not cry?”

  “Women,” he said, slapping his face lightly. “I don’t understand them at all.”

  “Oh, ask Freud,” I said, “he’ll tell you nobody does.”

  As I sat at the computer, entering prices, D.J. spent the next couple hours putting products away. Bathing Beauty was starting to look like an actual store instead of an empty box.

  Finally, we took a break, and I showed off my new coffeemaker. “This was Kylie’s doing,” I said as I made coffee for D.J. and tea for me. “That girl can get what you need.”

  D.J. took a sip, then pursed his lips. “We had a long talk at the hospital yesterday,” he finally said. “And we both agree there’s nothing there to save. She was pretty teary about it all, even though it was mostly her idea.” He sighed. “Again, I just don’t understand women.”

  “You’re young,” I said, sounding like his mother even though I was only seven years older than him. “You have plenty of time to learn that you won’t ever understand women.”

  Our laughter was interrupted by a knock on the door, and I heard Frank’s voice as he yelled into the shop. “We know you’re in there, you can’t hide. Let us in.”

  Frank and Justin came in, and Justin checked the store out and let out a whistle. “Looking good,” he said. “and I love the new lighting. I kept telling Bernice the store was too dark, made everything look dingy.”

  “Oh, Sarah gets credit for the new lighting, she oversaw the installation right after Christmas, and D.J. gets credit for getting things stocked. Who needs me?”

  Frank held up a hand. “We do! In fact, that’s why we’re here. Want to join us for an Italian dinner? We have things to discuss. D.J., you can come, too.”

  D.J. waved and put on his coat. “Thanks, but nope. Need to get back to the hospital. Mom’s going stir crazy sitting in the waiting room. I think a quick burger and beer break would help both of us.”

  * * *

  Antonelli’s normally would be jammed on a Saturday night, but since the tourist trade had slowed for the winter, the three of us had no problem getting a table. We hungrily grabbed the garlic toast when it appeared and decided that sharing a bottle of Chianti, maybe two, was just what we all needed.

  “What’s up, guys?” I asked the Waves End owners. The pair had yet to reveal what it was they needed me for, enjoying being mysterious.

  “First,” Frank said, “we’re canceling tomorrow night’s January Doldrums gathering. The wake was enough excitement for a while. But more important, we have a job for you.” Frank tilted his wine glass at me. “And you can’t say no.”

  “Hmmm, I feel a bit like you’re playing the Godfather, with an offer I can’t refuse. Go ahead, hit me with your best shot.”

  “Here’s the deal. We want your blood. Well, we don’t, but Kylie does. We’re just her PR folks.” Frank, dressed relatively sedately for him in a light gray Fair Isle sweater, gave me one of his devilish grins.

  Justin pushed up his hipster glasses. “Frank, you always skip the important details. Kylie doesn’t want your blood, Lauren, she just wants to know what your HLA type is.”

  They continued to give me Cheshire Cat smiles. “You don’t have a clue what we’re talking about, do you?” Frank asked.

  As we picked at the antipasto, Frank told me about Kylie’s plan to start a bone marrow registration drive. After a lot of tests, her niece, Evie, had been diagnosed with aplastic anemia and needed a bone marrow donor.

  “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds scary. Is Evie’s life in danger?” I pictured the sweet, shy toddler, now understanding why she didn’t bounce around like most four-year-olds.

  “I’m afraid it might be. The doctors can treat her for a while, but a bone marrow transplant is her only real chance at surviving the disease,” Justin said. The three of us sat quietly for a moment, not wanting to believe the tragic possibility.

  “It’s all so damned unfair,” Frank finally said. “And since she’s adopted, she doesn’t have any blood relatives available who might be a donor match. Kylie came up with the idea to ask Alleton merchants to join the registry. She needs big numbers because a match will be hard to find, and this is not the most diverse town. That’s why we all need to get involved.”

  Justin reached over and tapped my hand. “Kylie is quite the organizer, and she set up official committees. Frank and I oversee recruiting donors. And we are recruiting you.”

  “A little fresh blood, you might say,” said Frank, never one to let a joke pass by. Justin gave a see-what-I-put-up-with sigh, then smiled.

  “You know I’ll do whatever needs to be done,” I said, “but I have a question. What’s the deal with Evie and her parents? I know Kylie doesn’t seem to mind all the babysitting, but where are Evie’s mom and dad in all this?”

  The waitress came by with our entrees, glazed salmon for me, baked mostaccioli for Justin, and some heavenly smelling bouillabaisse for Frank, which put a temporary stop to our conversation. Eventually Frank picked up the thread.

  “Nobody likes to talk about it, because it might be unfair to Evie’s parents to point a finger — and you know how much I hate to gossip,” he winked at me, and I saw Justin roll his eyes, “but Evie turned out to be more difficult than Christie and Tom were expecting. Not saying they don’t love the little tyke, but she needs such close supervision and her medical bills are so outrageous that they work extra to cover the expense. Christie counts on her sister to help out.

  “Ahhh, enough with this downer talk. We’re going to get Evie a bone marrow match and she will be healthy, and Tom and Christie won’t be under such stress, and Kylie can focus more on her business, and we can all live happily ever after.”

  He lifted his glass of Chianti in a toast, and we all clinked glasses.

  I didn’t know about happily ever after for all of us, but at that moment I was feeling happy. Not for what Evie was facing, of course. But for the first time since I’d moved to Alleton in October, interrupted by a short trip back to Tampa in December, a visit I didn’t want to end, I felt like I was starting to belong here. Bernice’s death, Maccini’s suspicions, Sarah’s secrecy, Kylie’s questioning, and my brother’s unanswered message all faded away.

  I lifted my wine glass for a second toast.

  “Here’s to Kylie,” I said, “and her bloody good idea.”

  12

  When Aunt Raelynn’s face appeared on my computer screen in response to my Sunday morning video call, my world suddenly became a better place.

  “How was the cruise, Ms. Minnie?” I managed to ask through my laughter.

  My aunt sported a pair of Mouse ears and a Minnie Mouse T-shirt. “That’s Princess Minnie to you,” she said. “And you know I adore Disney dazzle. The girls loved it, and even Garrett was happy because the food was good ’n’ plenty. But all good things must come to an end. Now I have to get back to blessed reality and do laundry.”

  Aunt Raelynn and her husband, Garrett, were the grandparents of six-year-old twin girls. The cruise had been a Christmas surprise for them, and I knew Raelynn and Garrett had scrimped and saved for months to pay for the gift. I also knew better than to offer to pitch in.

  “Don’t want to mix money and friendship,” Aunt Raelynn once told me. “You need to love people for who they are, not what they got.”

  The call was a distant second to what I really needed, which was the warm presence of the woman who had watched over me while my parents worked all kinds of odd hours, keeping their realty business afloat. She saw me through my angst-ridden teenage years, convincing me that the boy who paid no attention to me just wasn’t worthy of my tears, and that life was full of ups and downs for us all, but we could still sing and dance and appreciate the good stuff while working to get through the bad stuff.

  Aunt Raelynn, who looked like an earth mother with her caramel brown hair tumblin
g to her shoulders, light brown eyes, and golden skin tones, suddenly leaned in and gave me one of her typical don’t-mess-with-me stares.

  “Sweetie, what’s up? You’ve always been thin, but now you look skinny as a pea turkey and that smile needs a sprinkle of pixie dust. Talk to me. Are you too lonely? Do you need to see a grief counselor up there?”

  Her concern was all it took to shatter my resolve not to throw all my problems her way. I told her about Bernice’s death, about Detective Maccini’s suspicions, and about Greg’s slip of the tongue.

  “And if it gets any colder, I’m going to turn into an ice sculpture,” I finished with a dramatic flourish. Then I shook my head. “Sorry, I sound like a spoiled brat.”

  Aunt Raelynn reached out a hand, as if we could touch across the thousand miles that separated us. “Oh, Sweet Pea, you don’t sound like a spoiled brat. You sound like someone in danger. Whoever killed Bernice might be setting you up.”

  I’d deliberately ignored that possibility, pretending the world was still a sane, normal place that wasn’t out to destroy me more than it already had.

  “Do you feel like you should come home?” Raelynn asked. “You can stay here for as long as you want.”

  Typical Raelynn. Not offering advice, simply presenting an option.

  I looked away from the computer screen to the clouds scudding by outside. Did I want to leave, run from a new set of problems?

  Finally, I turned back to the screen. “What’s with you, always making me think?” I asked and got a grin from Raelynn. “No, I don’t think leaving is a good plan. Bernice had a wide social circle, and the killer could be someone I don’t even know.”

  Aunt Raelynn took off her Mouse ears. “Three things, no arguments accepted. Be very, very careful. This is serious. Second, let’s keep this a secret from your mom. She would go nuts because she can’t come flying to your rescue. Last, call Greg. He loves you.”