Mystery Bundle (Saints Preserve Us, Pray For Us Sinners, Murder Most Trivial)

by Leigh Ellwood

“What?” Ronnie flopped on the bed as Lorraine brushed past Gina to her highboy dresser. Had Allayne been right all along? Why was Lew reluctant to pursue a case, though?

  “But Allayne died in her sleep, right?” She looked to her sister, who only gave her a look that said Just wait.

  Ronnie’s eyes caught a shining object nestled in a shallow dish sitting atop the highboy. As Lorraine retrieved it and brought it closer, Ronnie saw it was a half-eaten cookie wrapped in plastic wrap. Unbidden, Ronnie held out her palm and stared at the object, turning it in her hand.

  “This is a chocolate-covered Oreo cookie,” Ronnie said dully.

  “I found that next to Laney’s bed when I went into her room to wake her up for E! News Daily. There was supposed to be a news item about her tonight that she wanted to watch…” Lorraine’s voice broke.

  “Why are you giving me this?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Lorraine gestured wildly to the cookie. “That’s what killed her. That cookie is poisoned, I just know it!”

  “What?” Ronnie cried. Behind Lorraine, Gina merely shrugged and shifted nervously in place, clearly at a loss for words, as was Ronnie.

  When words finally came, however, Lorraine’s own voice was a steamroller.

  “Mrs. Witz, surely you’re not suggesting the shop—”

  “Of course I don’t accuse the chocolate shop of poisoning my Laney,” the woman snapped, her chubby arm wobbling as she violently pointed to her door. “It was one of those schmucks out there what killed my Laney. Tampered with the cookie and poisoned her…”

  Lorraine joined Ronnie on the bed and heaved fresh sobs onto her shoulder. Ronnie felt the weight of the grieving woman pushing her deeper into the mattress, so much that she nearly toppled backward.

  Her physical discomfort, however, hardly compared to the queasiness roiling in her stomach. She dreaded Lorraine’s reaction to the next words out of her mouth.

  “You think somebody in this house killed Allayne?” she ventured. “You think Danny or maybe Nora—”

  “Either one of them.” Lorraine was adamant. “Or that girl. Carolina.”

  “Dakota?”

  “Whatever her name is. One of them did it. Laney was doing just fine, there’s no other explanation.” She raked a hand through her hair. “There’s just no other explanation.”

  “Mrs. Witz.” Gina took the corner of the mattress beside Lorraine. “This is a very serious accusation. What makes you think anybody in this household would want Allayne dead?”

  “Jealousy, money,” Lorraine immediately spat. “Laney had everything anybody could ever want, and she was going to get better and further her career. All these hangers-on… Laney had more talent in her earlobes than any of these people have!”

  The woman was hysterical now. Ronnie placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and brought her calmly back to Earth before she launched into a soliloquy on how she carefully selected the earrings Allayne wore for soap opera magazine photo shoots, if only to accentuate those talented lobes. “Er, Mrs. Witz, my sister does seem to have a point,” she said. “I can’t imagine why anybody here would want to kill Allayne, seeing as how they are dependent on her income.”

  “They don’t need Allayne to be alive to enjoy her money. In fact, she’s worth more dead.” Lorraine beckoned the two women closer with her finger and her voice lowered into a frantic hiss. “Allayne drafted a will not long after she was diagnosed, I saw it. Two Witt stays with me, along with enough money set aside to keep it maintained, but Danny stands to inherit her property in LA and a good percentage of her residuals.”

  “Residuals? I thought you only got those for working in primetime television, assuming your show gets syndicated,” Ronnie said.

  Lorraine rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have a satellite dish, dearie? The Soap Opera Network recently contracted to run old episodes of Southwest Memorial, starting from day one! That means every actor from the show who negotiated residual payments is going to be receiving a fair amount of checks for years to come. Ask Danny yourself, he’s her agent. She told me since he helped her get the money, he should be entitled to some of it in the event she passed.”

  “Wow,” Ronnie said. She had not realized Allayne was worth so much money.

  When Gina echoed her sentiment aloud, Lorraine hastened to add, “Most soap actors don’t make the big bucks like the primetime folks,” she said. “There are always lots of factors involved, but Laney was very wise with her investments.” She paused. “The Allayne Foundation, of course, stands to benefit the most here. Laney arranged for them to receive the bulk of her liquid assets.”

  “And Nora Daily handles that?” Ronnie guessed. “That’s why you suspect her, too? You think she’d embezzle?”

  “No, the Allayne Foundation is run by my niece, Marlene. Sweet girl in Ponte Vedra with an accounting degree. She was practically Laney’s sister. Oh, she’s going to be so devastated when she hears about this.” Lorraine resumed heaving loud, anguished sobs.

  The sisters waited out this recent bout of grief, and Ronnie asked if Lorraine suspected Nora of being a possible culprit.

  “Of course!” Lorraine was emphatic. “I never trusted her. She has a perfectly nice apartment in Jacksonville, yet she insists on hanging out here. Like anything involved with the fan club can’t be handled over the phone. She covets what Laney has… had.” Lorraine’s voice broke.

  “That makes sense,” Ronnie said, “but that doesn’t give Nora a motive for murder. I’d think with Allayne dead, the gravy train stops.”

  “Not necessarily, dear. When Laney and Nora chartered this club, there was a provision made that Nora could continue running it in the event of Laney’s… death, or if Laney decided to retire from acting altogether.”

  Gina shrugged. “It hardly seems like a profitable venture from which Nora could skim funds, though.”

  Lorraine slapped her thighs. “Ah, let me finish,” she said. “With the agreement, Laney granted permission for the fan club to license her name and likeness. Nora has the power to print Nurse Bethany T-shirts and posters and any damn thing she wants with Laney’s image. Laney, of course, never wanted things to get too commercial, but,” Lorraine tapped her temple, “with her out of the way Nora can exploit her for millions. Six months from now you’ll walk into the mall and find Allayne Witt memorial teddy bears, right next to all the Marilyn Monroe and Elvis crap. You watch!”

  Ronnie thought of the Elvis clock with the swinging pelvis pendulum packed away in her new home and cleared her throat. “Er,” she said, “that’s an interesting theory. And the house girl, Dakota?”

  “Dakota,” Lorraine scoffed. “She’s a hoodlum. Like she needs a legitimate reason. She’d probably kill for kicks, that one.”

  “Okay.” Ronnie shook her head, bewildered. From what little she saw of Dakota she did not get that impression, and having worked with young adults, she knew age hardly equated to criminal behavior. “Another interesting theory, but I still don’t see a connection to murder.”

  “Besides which,” Gina added, “if you’re certain Allayne was poisoned, why didn’t you say something to Lew Caperton and give him that cookie when he was here?”

  “Oh, girls, what good is a small town sheriff?” Lorraine grasped Ronnie by the shoulders, catching her off-guard. “Veronica, I know all about how you solved the murder of Paul Dix.”

  “Well, actually…” Ronnie squirmed under Lorraine’s tightening grip.

  “I know you’re much better at this than that schmuck Caperton, honey. And Allayne thought highly of you for it, she really did. That’s why I’m counting on you to find proof of her killer.”

  Me? Ronnie’s legs felt suddenly numb. Truly this had to be grief talking, as Lorraine Witz was much too levelheaded, albeit overzealous, to think this irrationally.

  Then Allayne’s voice invaded her consciousness again. She was worried about something… maybe about somebody trying to kill her? Poison her?

  “Mrs. Witz, I’m jus
t an English teacher—”

  “You found Dix’s killer, you’ll find this one.” Lorraine sniffled and wiped her tears on her sleeve. She put her hand over Ronnie’s. “Take the cookie. Have it analyzed. I watch enough of these forensic cop shows to know they can find anything they need in it. Laney’s room has a lock, I sealed it off myself after they took her body, and I have the only key. You can nose around in there for clues.”

  “Mrs. Witz.” Ronnie gently eased her hand from the woman’s sticky grasp.

  “Call me Lorraine, sweetheart. You’re not in the Girl Scouts anymore. You’re a grown woman, for crying out loud.”

  “You know, Lorraine,” Ronnie corrected tensely, “if you suspect foul play, you can authorize the county to conduct an autopsy—”

  Ronnie blanched at the look of horror on Lorraine’s face, as if Ronnie had just made a lewd suggestion.

  “An autopsy?” Lorraine’s reddened eyes widened, mascara smeared her lower lids. “Absolutely not. Jewish law forbids it. Laney is going to be buried as soon as possible. She’s on her way to Kantor and Sons right now to be prepared.”

  “Mrs.—er, Lorraine,” Gina said, “I’m afraid there’s quite a bit we don’t know about Jewish customs, but I was under the impression that if a crime was suspected, a rabbi could authorize an autopsy. Really, that would make an investigation much easier.”

  “I don’t care.” Lorraine was firm. “My Laney’s body is not going to be desecrated any further than it already has by this cancer and now this poison.” She stood and faced the darkened window, folding her arms tightly about her waist. She took no care to straighten her rumpled blouse, which had become untucked from her slacks.

  “You have evidence,” she added, not turning, “and I’ll keep her room untouched until you decide you want to help. That should be sufficient.” Her tone effectively ended the discussion, Ronnie knew. Whether she wanted to or not, she was officially on the case, assuming one existed.

  “Are you going to be okay here?” she asked Lorraine. “If this is true, if Allayne was killed by somebody here, are you sure you want to be in the same house with this person?”

  Her feet firmly planted, Lorraine twisted to meet Ronnie’s face. “Don’t you worry about me, they won’t be here much longer,” she said. “And if anybody wants to make trouble, I’ll make some myself.”

  Ronnie swallowed. She did not doubt that.

  ~ * ~

  “What do you think?”

  “She’s hysterical, Gee. Allayne was probably sicker than she let on, and she’s looking for somebody to blame. I guarantee you, in the morning she’ll have forgotten she ever said anything.”

  A short gust of wind cleared the Firebird’s driver side window before Ronnie could close it completely, blowing several long strands of hair out of place. Ronnie, exasperated, exhaled with a sputter and resumed driving down the gravel path toward the main road.

  “Maybe that’s why Lorraine won’t agree to an autopsy,” Ronnie continued. “Maybe deep down inside she knows she’s grabbing at straws, and knows nothing will be solved by having Allayne’s body cut open.”

  Gina folded her arms and stared out her window. “She certainly sounded convincing to me.”

  “Remember how I was when Jim died? How many heads did I want to roll?” Ronnie shifted into fourth gear and turned onto the road leading back to the deli. “Now, can we talk about something else? I’m depressed enough.”

  “Okay, why are you and Lew fighting?” Gina asked, annoyance coloring her voice. “You guys seemed fine a few months ago.”

  “Yeah, well, a few months ago he didn’t think I was…” Ronnie stole a glance at her sister and paused. Even with the lack of light she could tell Gina appeared distressed, and that it had nothing to do with Ronnie’s spat with Lew.

  “You okay? We can talk about sports or something instead. I’d rather talk about something else, anyway.”

  “I’m fine,” Gina said with a sigh, then chuckled nervously. “Just you mentioning Jim got me to thinking about death. Can you imagine if we had been there, if Allayne died earlier in the day? I mean, you’re sitting with somebody, and all of a sudden they—they just don’t exist anymore!”

  “Yeah.” The reality of the situation haunted Ronnie. “Who was it that said that the only two things that are assured are death and taxes, Mark Twain? Dorothy Parker? I’m an English teacher, and I don’t even know.”

  Gina did not know, either, and said as much.

  Ronnie sighed and squinted into the bright spots cast by the Firebird’s low headlights. Death was inevitable; it would hit close to home. One day she knew she would be talking with Nana and the old woman would close her eyes forever…

  They turned onto Main Street and the Firebird coasted past the darkened windows of the downtown shops to where Bill’s car was parked. The Vilano’s marquee was still blinking, and Ethan Fontaine’s car was still in sight, meaning he and their very much alive grandmother were still inside the theater. With a strong tug of the parking brake, Ronnie killed the engine, and the inside lights illuminated the cab, causing both women to wince until their eyes adjusted.

  Ronnie peered into the deli storefront; the kitchen light was not visible through the porthole window on the door, and Ronnie relaxed. There would be no spies tonight.

  Gina rummaged through her bag, Ronnie presumed, to find her keys. Ronnie glanced back at Ethan’s car. “Think we should wait ‘til the movie lets out?” she asked.

  “What?” Gina looked up sharply, then followed her sister’s gaze. “Never mind them now.”

  Huh? Ronnie had not expected that reaction from Gina, Allayne’s death notwithstanding. She opened her mouth to retort when Gina produced an object wrapped in clear plastic wrap.

  The cookie. Ronnie had forgotten she handed it to Gina as they were getting in the car. She stared, hypnotized, at the morsel—black crumbs and bits of Oreo white clung to loose sections of the wrap, while lines of white chocolate decorating the outside appeared flattened from handling. A closer look revealed teeth marks indented in the milk chocolate shell. Allayne’s teeth marks? A match against her dental records would say for certain, and what physician in his or her right mind was going to release that information to her? What was Lorraine thinking when she ordered this quest?

  “You know some rabid Southwest Memorial fan is going to want to bid high on that thing,” Ronnie said with a whistle. “Imagine buying the last snack your favorite actress ever ate, freeze-dried and encased in an acrylic cube for all eternity.” That Nora Daily didn’t think to snag such a prized relic in the chaos following Allayne’s death surprised Ronnie, unless the girl had several last suppers stored in the house somewhere for just such a situation.

  Gina undid her seat belt and opened her door. “Don’t get any silly ideas. What should we do about this?”

  “I say we wait, do nothing. Chalk up Lorraine’s hysteria to grief. We’ll worry about a plan if she mentions anything next time we see her.”

  “That could be tomorrow, or whenever Allayne’s funeral is.”

  “If we are invited, which is doubtful. That fan club president seems to be pulling the strings there,” Ronnie said, then caught her breath as an object landed in her lap. She swatted the air, thinking at first Gina had allowed a large horsefly into her personal space. She was less enthused to see the wrapped cookie nestled between her legs.

  “Why are you giving this to me?”

  Gina shied away. “I don’t want that thing in my house. I have kids who can sniff chocolate from a mile away. They’d eat a Snickers bar that’s been rolled in the dirt, to say nothing of a bon-bon with teeth marks in it. Besides, what if it is poisoned?”

  Ronnie raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe the hype now? Do you think somebody killed her?”

  Gina was already out of the car, her hand clasping the door handle. “No, not really, but why take chances?” She slammed the door and retreated to her car before Ronnie could protest. Within seconds the engine o
f the other car was humming as Gina put even more distance between her and the cookie.

  “Goodnight, sis,” Ronnie called sarcastically from her seat. Idly she inspected the sweet, holding it close to her face. Nothing foreign oozed from its chocolate wafers or white Oreo center.

  “You look dangerous enough without the threat of poison,” she muttered, feeling the enamel on her teeth dissolve.

  Chapter Six

  The half-eaten cookie sat on Ronnie’s dresser for the remainder of the night, and for the first time since moving into her new home, Ronnie was grateful for her bed not yet being assembled so she would not have to bunk with it. Instead she slept fitfully on her sofa, watching shadows crawl across the living room walls, wondering if a strange green vapor was emanating from the baggie and slithering its poison throughout the townhouse.