The Deadly Jellybean Affair

by Carrie Marsh

  “Hillary!” he yelled angrily before slamming the sliding door for the second time.

  Mary felt awful that Hillary was going to take the brunt of it for the letters not being in the trash. Ray was sure she had taken them out. Who else could it have been, right? Certainly, not Mary Tuttle, the innocent older lady who ran the bead store in town.

  Scrambling out from her hiding spot, she took off at a jog around the side of the house. Once she made it to the sidewalk, she power-walked to her car. The sound of the engine roaring to life seemed almost surreal. Had she just done that? Had she just stolen garbage, evidence, from the Hulka house?

  “Yes, Mary,” she said proudly as she flipped the heater on and dumped the papers in the passenger seat. “Yes, you did.”

  Quickly, she drove to a twenty-four-hour Wal-Mart store and parked underneath the bright lights in the parking lot to read the letters Hillary never wanted to see again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A SWEET INVITATION

  A SWEET INVITATION

  “No, Andrew. It isn’t an emergency,” Mary said into her cell phone. “Yes, it can wait until tonight if you are busy. Tomorrow morning is probably okay, too. All right, honey. Be careful and have a good day.”

  Clumsily, Mary looked at the cell phone and slid her finger across the screen to shut it off. She set it next to the cash register and let out a deep sigh.

  After her adventure at the Hulka house and then hunkering down for some reading in the Wal-Mart parking lot, Mary had spent most of the night wondering what to do with this crazy new development. She wasn’t thrilled about telling her son about her snooping around. She would call it being resourceful. Andrew would most definitely call it being reckless.

  “But it’s over and done with.” She looked out the storefront window. “And I’m still the mother. He needs to know about these letters. No matter how gross they are.”

  Mary admitted that on occasion she liked to indulge in a good-old-fashioned romance novel. Swooning damsels and striking scoundrels professing their love or lust in secretly passed notes and longing glances across crowded rooms was as old as romance itself. But these letters were not romantic. They were cheap, poorly written confessions of torrid affairs that included Regina. Mary could only assume it was Regina the biker, since one of the notes made reference to a necklace. There was a mystery girl by the name of Leigh and judging by the date on the letter, it was an older relationship that had probably ended several months ago, due to lack of interest. Then there was the letter from Summer. It was four short lines. But they were the most disturbing four lines of any letter Mary had ever read:

  Dear Ray,

  I’ll never forget that summer, either. The way everything was so new and exciting. It’s too bad things can’t stay that way. I know how hard you’re trying.

  Summer

  Whether there was just a genuine love between family members or if the rumor Dawn Williamson had mentioned about Ray and Summer being more than cousins, Mary didn’t want to guess. But Mary did know one thing. If she had come across these kinds of things and they were to Ward, God rest his soul, she might not be completely in control of her actions either.

  Whatever was going on, these had to be given to Andrew. Hillary stopping in the store babbling and buying an unreasonable number of lapis lazuli beads had to be seen as a cry for help.

  “She feels guilty. It’s understandable. And Ray, in order to ease his conscience after driving her to this lowly state, is covering for her but really, he’s covering for his own indiscretions first and foremost. Yes. I do believe that is it.” She put her hand on her hip and shifted from her right foot to her left.

  A few people came in and bought some beading supplies. Dawn made another trip in and thankfully didn’t have time to shoot the breeze. She was meeting a local reporter for the Morhollow Bugle who was doing a small article on her and her award-winning knitting skills for an upcoming craft event at Piltcher Park.

  But no matter who was coming and going in the store, Mary was distracted. Even Grace noticed when she stopped by for their morning coffee, pastry, and gossip.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Grace said with a mouthful of almond croissant. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Grace. Really I am. I’m just a little out of it. I think I might be coming down with something.”

  “You know, this time of year is crazy. You never know how to dress. It’s warm one day and freezing the next. My second youngest has allergies something awful. Sinus infections are just around the corner. I know it’s just a matter of time before I’m taking her to a minute-clinic to get some penicillin so the poor thing doesn’t think her eyeballs are going to pop out of her skull.”

  “Yeah. It could be anything,” Mary agreed.

  “Do you want me to stop by tonight? You know I’ll use any excuse to get out of the house. It’s like a mental institution over there. People arguing with themselves, shouting at the walls, barely having the most basic life skills like flushing a toilet or eating with a fork. I’d be happy to stop by and check on you.”

  “No. I’ll be fine. Just a good night’s rest is all I need.”

  That was early this morning. Then she spoke with Andrew, hoping to get this burden of information off her chest earlier rather than later but he was busy at work. Mary knew how much he loved his job. Whatever he was doing, he’d stay until it was finished. She wouldn’t see him until sometime tomorrow.

  Finally, the small clock on the register read five o’clock.

  “No overtime tonight.” Mary went to lock the front door. Just as she was reaching for it, a man appeared on the other side and yanked the door open.

  “Oh, Mary. I’m so glad I caught you,” Ray Hulka said, smiling.

  “Ray. Hi. Well, I was just about to close up shop,” Mary said, hearing herself sound like someone reading off cue cards.

  “I’m glad I caught you. I just wanted to apologize. My behavior yesterday at your home was inexcusable. Especially when you have been nothing but nice.”

  “Really, no need to apologize.”

  “Yes, I was raised that when you make a mistake you say you’re sorry. I was also raised to believe a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.”

  “What?”

  “Please come by the house tonight.” Ray smiled while ducking his head like a dog that heard the word “bad” before his name. “I just made some peach ice cream and homemade waffle cones. Let me do something nice for you.”

  “It’s really not necessary.”

  “But it is.” Ray’s voice became serious. “You remember the way to my house, I assume.” The way Ray looked at her made Mary wonder if he knew she had been at his house the previous evening. He couldn’t know. Could he? He could suspect?

  “Yes, I remember. I think,” Mary stuttered.

  “Great. Then I’ll see you around seven.”

  “Will Hillary be there, too?”

  “Yes. She wants to see you, too.”

  “Oh. Well, all right then. It’s a date.” Mary suddenly regretted her poor choice of words and hoped he wouldn’t repeat them to the jealous Hillary.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Ray quickly turned and left as if he were in a hurry. Mary locked the door behind him before he could turn around and ask her something else.

  “This is awkward,” Mary muttered. But she was committed to go. Maybe she could get Ray to open up a little more about Hillary or perhaps Hillary would take the chance to talk herself. “Look at it as an opportunity to help, Mary Tuttle. You have been put in this situation for a reason. Do your best to bring peace, even if it’s just in the simple act of eating ice cream.”

  She scooped up her purse, the bag for the bank, and the stack of receipts. Her phone was left on the side of the register.

  Please, let’s cast a protection spell over you, Alabaster urged. It can’t hurt. Just in case Hillary goes off the deep end. If she thinks you know about anything Ray has
done, she might get powerful protective.

  “You might be right.” Mary looked at her watch. “But traffic was awful and there was an old-fashioned rush at the bank due to it being Friday and payday for most folks. I’ve got to get going now or else I’ll be late.”

  You’re not practicing smart witchcraft.

  “Alabaster, you worry too much. I’ll be fine. I won’t be at their house but twenty minutes, putting on a friendly smile, giving Hillary a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to lean on before Andrew comes and slaps the cuffs on her.”

  That was the scenario Mary had visualized in her head on the way to the Hulkas’ house. She imagined how Hilary would answer the door, the kind words she’d have for Mary, the apologies for being so weird at the store and then Ray would chime in, to make excuses for the woman he married. Once Mary accepted their heartfelt apologies, Hillary would break down sobbing and then the truth would come out.

  “I killed Summer Moran,” she’d weep as Ray sat next to her on the couch, with one arm around her shoulder as he held her hand with the other.

  “It was my fault,” Ray would say, choking back the tears. “I treated my wife terribly. It isn’t her fault. You must believe us.”

  “It isn’t up to me,” Mary would say. “But I promise to put in a good word with my son, Andrew Tuttle, Captain of the Morhollow Police Department. I can promise you he’ll be fair.”

  That was what Mary envisioned as she drove. Some kind of Lifetime movie ending that would wrap things up without the slightest bit of danger.

  But when she pulled into the driveway, she knew she was fooling herself.

  “Just drive away, Mary,” she said as she watched Ray Hulka come outside, looking like he had been waiting for her. “Just hit the gas and keep going.”

  “Mary!” he yelled, his voice sounding a little strange. “Hello!” He waved as if he was floating on a raft in the middle of the sea and she was standing at the edge of an ocean liner admiring the view.

  Not wanting to appear crazy, Mary pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. Before she could reach for the handle, Ray had yanked the door open and offered Mary his hand.

  “I’m so glad to see you. Thank you for accepting my invitation,” Ray said. Mary thought she could smell alcohol on Ray’s breath but before she could confirm it, he was leading her into the house. “I just felt awful for the way I acted toward you the other day. Especially when you have been nothing but kind to me.”

  Stepping inside, Mary expected to see Hillary there, too. But, aside from the living room and the kitchen, the rest of the house was dark.

  “I thought you said Hillary was going to be here.” Mary looked on the kitchen counter and saw two beautiful crystal ice cream dishes set out with a small spread of syrups, sprinkles, peanuts, and two stacks of giant waffle cones.

  “Oh, did I say that?” Ray babbled as he dashed around the counter and slipped an apron over his head. “Well, as it turns out, she said she’d be home later,” Ray replied, offering no more information.

  “Ray.” Mary reached out her hand and gently took hold of Ray’s sleeve. “I was really hoping to see Hillary, too. Maybe it would be better if I came back another time.”

  “Nonsense.” Ray looked at Mary as if she just suggested she eat some raw garlic. “I think you and I should have a nice long talk.” He indicated the bar stool and motioned for Mary to sit.

  “Okay. What would you like to talk about?”

  “My cousin.”

  Mary nearly fell off her chair. Gripping the side, she pulled her composure back to an upright position with her right hand and leaned on her left elbow.

  “You see, no one, including Hillary, understood how we felt about each other.” Ray walked to the refrigerator, opened the freezer, and pulled out a plastic tub with the word Peach scribbled in Magic Marker on the side. He brought it back to the counter where Mary was sitting.

  “How did you feel about each other?”

  “We loved each other.”

  “Well, of course you did. Growing up together the way you did, spending holidays and family vacations with each other. Of course, you loved her like any brother loves his sister and vice-versa.”

  Ray smirked. Then he chuckled. Then he laughed outright. “That’s what everyone thinks. But it was so much deeper than that. So much more than that.”

  “I don’t think I’m really following you, Ray.”

  Ray took another slow stroll across the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and withdrawing an ice cream scooper. Leaving the drawer open, he walked back and began to pry the lid off the tub.

  “Of course, you don’t. Well, it isn’t that you don’t follow; you don’t want to follow. You can’t. Your mind just won’t let you.” With a quick snap of his wrist, Ray grabbed one of the waffle cones and held it up. “I made these myself. You wouldn’t believe what I charge some of the high-end sundries shops in New York City for a sack of twenty-four. It’s amazing.”

  “Really?” Mary politely smiled then looked at her watch. As Ray opened a cabinet overhead, she glanced toward the front door. Looking back at Ray, she felt her breath hitch in her throat.

  “These are worth even more. I don’t make these myself, though. I buy them from a supplier in Montreal, Canada.” He pulled down a large glass jar filled with oversized jellybeans. The kind Hillary had in her purse. The kind Summer had in her throat.

  “What are they?” Mary stuttered, pretending to be interested when her mind had suddenly stopped thinking. Images and snapshots of things flickered by but it was like seeing them from the seat of a carousel. If she reached out to grab hold of anything, she’d just lose her balance and come back empty handed.

  “They’re jellybeans.”

  Mary raised her eyebrows and nodded.

  “Summer loved these,” he mused. “I would send them to her when I sent her care packages. She was always struggling. Always living from paycheck to paycheck.”

  “You know, Ray, I’m sorry but I need to get home,” Mary said, as if she were so terribly disappointed. “I’ve suddenly developed a terrible migraine. They set on quickly.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” His tone sounded as phony as Mary’s excuse. “Perhaps you’d like to lay down. Give it a few minutes to pass.”

  “No, I don’t want to be any trouble.” She slid off the stool and started to inch her way toward the front door. “Perhaps I could take a rain check. I’d love to taste some of that ice cream but sugar is bad for migraines and often makes them worse.”

  Ray flew around the counter and stood between Mary and the door. “But I haven’t finished talking to you. We were getting along so well that I thought I could make you understand. You seem to be the only logical person in Morhollow. I know if you’ll just let me finish that you’ll be able to help me.”

  “Help you with what, Ray?”

  “With Summer.”

  “Summer is dead. Someone murdered her.” Mary let the words drip off her tongue. She watched Ray’s reaction but instead of feeling like she was helping him, she felt like he was dragging her down into quicksand.

  “You should really try these jellybeans, Mary.” He had two in his hand. Had this been any other situation with any other person in the world, Mary would have happily accepted the sweet candies and been on her way. But this wasn’t just anyone and the little red and orange globes were not mere candies.

  Had he said those words to Summer? Did he offer them to her before he beat her up or did he slip them in her mouth afterward, leaving her to choke.

  Before Mary could say anything more, a set of headlights flashed over the wall coming from the driveway.

  “Looks like Hillary’s home,” Mary almost cheered.

  Ray clenched the candies tightly in his hands and stuffed them in the front pocket of his jeans. He looked at the lights while Mary watched his jaw muscles jutting out at the sides of his face.

  “I didn’t think she was coming back,” Ray growled.

  “What? Wha
t did you say?” Mary stopped for a moment, feeling brave for a split second.

  Ray grinned at Mary but said nothing.

  “Thank you again, Ray. But I’ll be going now.”

  As soon as she went to reach for the door handle, the front door swung open and Hillary charged in.

  “Mary?” Hillary looked as angry as Ray except for different reasons. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was just leaving, Hillary.” Mary put her hand on Hillary’s arm. Looking into her eyes, she tried to tell her that her husband was dangerous. That he was never going to stop being with other women and he was probably never going to stop killing them since he thought he had gotten away with it once.

  “Mary’s got a bad headache. I’m going to follow her home to make sure she arrives safely.”

  “But, Ray.” Hillary’s voice was quiet. Like she was trying to get someone’s attention in the library.

  “I won’t be gone long.”

  “That’s really not necessary, Ray,” Mary argued. “You can stay here and talk to Hillary. That’s a good idea. Okay, well, have a good evening and a raincheck for that ice cream, right? Great.” With that, Mary squeezed past Hillary and out the front door.

  But no sooner had she gotten behind the wheel of her car did Ray come stomping out of the house, shaking Hillary off his arm to get to his car and climb in. His wife wasn’t about to let him leave without a fight, even an all-out brawl in their driveway if necessary. Mary could hear Hillary yelling but couldn’t make out the words. She was too busy hurrying out of the driveway and putting the pedal to the metal to beat it out of this weird little corner of Morhollow.

  “What were you thinking, Mary Tuttle?” she scolded herself. “Andrew and Alabaster are right. You should have your head examined. There is something certifiably wrong with you. A padded cell. That’s what you deserve.”