I wanted to smile, but I didn’t. He was so much like me he could have been my biological son.
After we prayed together, I tucked Charlie into bed, then I sat down in front of the television and flipped to the local news.
The perky news anchor read a teaser about the local landfill, which was temporarily closing. That’s where Norm, Lee Ann’s husband, worked. The newscaster moved on to the murder at the grocery store. “The local Shopper’s Super Saver is now open after the body of pharmacist Jim Bob Jenkins, a local resident, was discovered murdered in the refrigerated room behind the dairy case. Police report that the investigation is ongoing. A source close to the situation has indicated that store finances might be involved. Store manager Frank Gaines spoke with us earlier.”
They cut to a clip of an interview with poor Frank. His charming, Dudley Do-It-All-Right persona had lost quite a bit of its shine. His hair was flat, and his tie was crooked.
The newsperson shoved the mike closer into Frank’s face. “Can you tell us what you know about the murder investigation?”
If I were a betting person, I would wager that Frank’s scowl indicated more than minor irritation.
“I’m not privy to the investigation,” he snarled. “I have nothing to say.”
Yep. I was right.
The news cut back to the studio. Ms. Perky beamed into the camera, as though she’d just covered a cheery piece of Americana. Then she babbled on about an investigation at the landfill—something about hauling in medical waste from New Jersey.
I turned off the television. The phone rang. Why would someone call this late? Shortly after, I heard Tommy tromping down the stairs.
“Where’s Dad? He’s got a call.” He waved the phone in the air.
“In his study,” I said. “Who is it?”
He covered the receiver. “It’s Mrs. Jenkins.”
Dear Steffie. Now why was she calling Max? I jumped up from the couch. “Give me the phone. I’ll take it to your father.” I snatched it from Tommy’s hand.
He stared at me. “Mom, Dad has a phone in his office, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
I trotted down the hall, pushed open the study door, and marched inside.
“Come on in,” Max said, staring at me over reading glasses, with a slight grin on his lips. His desk was littered with bluish architectural plans.
I made sure my hand was over the receiver. “The phone’s for you. It’s Steffie.” I said her name as if it were a four-letter word.
Max took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then picked up the phone on his desk.
Okay, so I have no pride. I listened in on the headset I held.
“Maxwell, hello.” At least six syllables.
“Hello, Stefanie.” He glanced at me.
“I’m so sorry to call you so late. I hope I didn’t wake your wife.”
Did Steffie want to talk to Max without my knowing? My grip on the phone got tighter.
“No, it’s fine,” Max said. “What can I do for you?”
I sat in a chair opposite his desk. He looked up at me with a slight grin and winked.
Stefanie began to talk. “Sugar, I need to get into Jim Bob’s unit as soon as possible. There are things in there I absolutely must have.”
Sugar? I raised my eyebrows and watched Max.
“I told you I need a court order.” He spoke in a low, even tone and tapped his fingers on the desk.
My mind processed the information. Jim Bob must have had a storage unit contract on which Steffie’s name wasn’t listed.
“But surely you can understand given my delicate state that I can’t wait for those old judges to make a decision. Please, sugar, make this teeny little exception for me.”
I stuck my finger into my mouth and pretended to gag.
Max ignored me. He also ignored her pleas. “I’m sorry. I can’t make any exceptions.”
I stared at him in admiration. There is something terribly attractive about a man who can say something like that and still sound nice. In the silence that followed, I heard her breathing. I wondered if she was going to offer a bribe of the intimate sort to get the unit open, in which case I would be obligated to find her and rip out her hair.
“Please, Maxwell. Just take me into the unit. You can stand there. I only need a couple teeny little papers. Nothing big. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Worth your while” was open to interpretation. Unfortunately, it wasn’t blatant enough to excuse any ripping or tearing.
Max met my gaze and tapped his fingers harder on the desk. “I’m sorry, Stefanie. I have to obey the law.”
The Widow Jenkins’s sweetness slipped. “This is an inconvenience, you know.”
Max stayed right on the party line. “I understand you’re inconvenienced. I want to open it for you and will as soon as I can.”
She sniffed. “I guess that will have to do.”
“I’m sorry,” Max said. “If there’s anything else we can do for you, please let us know.”
I hung up after he did and put my phone on the floor. He stared at me with a smirk on his lips.
I hopped up, walked over to him with exaggerated swings of my hips, and leaned against the edge of his desk in my best imitation of a femme fatale. “Sugar, just do what I want, and I’ll make it worth your while.” My imitation sounded surprisingly like her.
Max grinned and pulled me close. “You really dislike Steffie.”
I ran my finger over his lips. “Dislike? No. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t like her going on and on about how good you are. Besides, I have a bad feeling about her.”
He had the nerve to laugh. “You’re adorable.”
“Chauvinist,” I said.
“Guilty as charged.” Max pulled me into his lap. “You have nothing to worry about. And I guess you figured out what’s going on. She’s even been by the office a couple of times. She needs to get into a storage unit that Jim Bob rented a year ago, but her name isn’t on the contract.”
“I guess we can’t, either, can we?” I glanced at him hopefully, wishing we could take one little look.
Max kissed me lightly. “Curious, aren’t you? But you’re right. I won’t touch it at this point until everything is settled. It’s just too bad people don’t think about things like emergency access in case of injury or death when they rent units.”
Of all the negative character traits I’d heard about Jim Bob, stupidity wasn’t one of them. I wondered if he’d left Stefanie off the contract on purpose.
Chapter Eight
You’re going to call the doctor today, right?” Max asked as he buttoned his shirt in the mirror.
“I’ll be fine, Max.” I had spent the first few minutes out of bed that morning being sick. Now I was trying to figure out what to wear.
He turned around to face me and gave me a once-over. “Trish, you haven’t been feeling well for days.”
I finally decided on nice jeans and a pink shirt. “I’m just overwrought. It’s got to be nerves. Stop worrying.” Of course, that’s what happens when you keep secrets and guilt eats you from the inside out. I yanked on the shirt.
He blinked, and his mouth twitched. “Touchy, aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m just tired of everyone telling me that I don’t look well. It makes me feel flabby and white, like my mother’s doughnut dough.” I adjusted my blouse collar and glared at him. “So stop thinking that.”
He grinned. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Well, then, what were you thinking?”
He walked around the bed. “Actually, I was reflecting on how good you look.”
“What?”
His eyes had that little gleam in them. “Max, we have a meeting and—”
I can’t talk and kiss. And once again, my guilty conscience was bugging me, which was distressing because kissing Max is one of the joys of my life. However, pounding at our bedroom door distracted both
of us.
“Mom!” Charlie shouted. “I can’t find my math book.” Interruption by child. Morning had begun.
Doughnuts are in my blood. Hopefully the fat isn’t. My mother began perfecting her doughnut recipes when I was too little to eat them. Now she owns Doris’s Doughnuts. The store is in a tiny strip mall near Four Oaks Self-Storage, so I decided to stop by and pick up a dozen to take for the guys in the meeting. George, the contractor who would be in the office this morning, loves my mother’s doughnuts.
Since she now offers a lunch menu as well as baked goods and coffee that rival the chains, the store is a favorite spot for everyone from construction workers to cops. I sincerely hoped there would be no cops there today.
The bell above my head rang as I walked into the bright red-and-white room. The scent of coffee and fresh doughnuts made my mouth water. Ma looked up from behind the cash register. From the glance she gave me, I knew I was in for it.
“Well, it’s about time.” No one’s voice is louder than my mother’s, especially when she’s trying to make a point. Everyone in the place looked up. “People have been asking about my daughter. I say, what daughter?”
“Oh, sure. I never talk to you. I’m surprised you even recognize me.” I headed for the self-serve coffee, recalling what the pastor had told me in premarital counseling about one of the sources of my self-esteem issues—my mother.
“Just like kids, isn’t it?” Gail, my mother’s best friend and longtime help, nodded like a bobblehead doll. “Ungrateful. All of them. We give birth, go through all that agony, and then what?”
As if I hadn’t gone through labor myself. I ignored them and poured some fresh Colombian into a Styrofoam cup at the self-serve counter. Then I scoped out the fresh, doughy, fattening circles.
“One day you’ll wish you had visited me every day,” Ma said as she handed a customer a bag stuffed with pastry. “When I’m dead and gone, buried next to your father.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said under my breath. She was on a roll. The white tables and chairs were mostly filled, which meant she had an audience for her comments—something she reveled in. I tried not to take her seriously, but dealing with her barbs was hard.
“Are you here to buy?” she asked.
I took a huge sip of coffee. “Yeah. I need a dozen to take to work. You choose. Oh, and a bear claw, too. That’s my breakfast.”
“Something going on?” She deftly picked up the doughnuts and boxed them.
“A meeting with George about the expansion.” The coffee wasn’t settling well in my stomach.
“I’m surprised you can eat anything after finding poor Jim Bob stabbed to death, sprawled over a grocery cart, guts in all directions,” Gail said as she turned on the espresso machine. “It’s only been four days.”
Well, there went my appetite.
“I mean, really, imagine the blood,” she continued as steam hissed from the machine and brown liquid squirted into a tiny cup.
Ma sadly shook her head in total agreement. “What a mess. I wonder if they hired someone to clean up the floor.”
My stomach twisted.
April May came from the back with flour on her hands. “I heard there was gore from one end of that place to another.”
Ma looked at April and back at Gail. “Now, do you suppose there are companies that do that sort of thing? Clean up murder scenes? Can you imagine? What happens to all the parts?”
The memory of Jim Bob came back with a vengeance. The coffee in my stomach curdled. “Back in a minute,” I managed to gasp as I slapped my hand over my mouth. I made it to the bathroom just in time. When I finished, I pulled a cleaning wipe from a plastic pouch in my purse and wiped my mouth. I stood for a few minutes in the bathroom, waiting for my stomach to settle. After I stuck a piece of gum in my mouth, I went back to the counter.
“Are you sick?” Ma asked.
“I think I have a bug or something.” I was beginning to suspect I was allergic to caffeine or had an ulcer. I paid for my coffee and the doughnuts, although it would be awhile before I could ingest either.
“I hope you’re not pregnant,” she said in a loud voice.
From the sudden silence and surreptitious looks from the people sitting at tables, everyone in the room heard her. Great. Now rumors would fly. I felt heat crawl up my face. There was no way I could be pregnant. The doctors said so. Sammie had been a miracle.
“That’s all you need—more kids. Four is plenty,” she said as the bobbleheads Gail and April nodded rapidly in the background. “You don’t want to be like all them Perrys, havin’ all those kids out in their shantytown near the landfill.” She took a deep breath.
“I can’t imagine how they do it,” Gail chimed in. “I mean Cheryl Perry must have one every nine months.”
I considered explaining exactly how it was done just to watch their reactions, but I refrained.
“Landfill germs,” my mother said. “They breathe ’em in every day, especially now.”
April May wrapped a breakfast sandwich in foil for a customer. “Think of the hospital bills.”
“That’s probably why doctors cost so much,” Gail said. “I mean, even with insurance we’re robbed blind. Look at all I paid when I was there the other day.”
“I spent years paying off my three children,” my mother said, eyeing me as if I were responsible for me and my brothers.
“Nowadays, people like the Perrys don’t have to pay for nothin’.” Gail slapped a coffee-filter basket against the edge of a trash can, and the used filter slid into its depths. “The government pays for everything out of our pockets. Bunch of thieves.”
“Well, some people just don’t have good insurance,” April said, the voice of reason.
“Then they should get jobs,” Gail pontificated. “I mean, even Shopper’s Super Saver has good insurance. I overheard what Daryl’s co-pay was that day I went. And he had stitches and a smashed thumb.”
Before the conversation digressed further, I decided to leave. I waved at my mother, but before I stepped out the door, I heard Dudley Do-It-All-Right’s name and halted midstep.
“And what’s going to happen to Shopper’s Super Saver now after all that stuff about Frank is out in the open?” Gail clucked her tongue.
I turned back around to listen.
“You can’t be too careful these days. The best people can be living double lives,” April May intoned.
“Isn’t that the truth?” Gail looked up at me as if I were hiding the very worst of secrets, which I was.
Ma nodded. “Just look at Frank. He’s always been perfect. His wife, kids, and house are perfect. Those two youngest of his are cute as bugs. They go to Sammie and Charlie’s school, you know.”
“That just goes to show you,” Gail said.
I waited to find out what it goes to show, but no one said anything.
“What do you think he did with the money?” Ma asked.
Gail put on a new pot of coffee. “Gold. I’m sure he bought gold.” She’s convinced that the world is headed for a financial collapse and gold is the only safe investment.
They busied themselves behind the counter. I waited. My mother finally looked at me, hands on her hips.
“You need something else? You should sit down if you don’t feel well. You certainly look like it. Something about your face. Pasty and a little swollen, like you’re holding water maybe? Is your blood pressure okay?”
I reached up to feel my face, expecting it to feel spongy, like a balloon. If I hadn’t felt bad before, I did now. “I should go,” I said.
“Well, don’t let me stop you. At least I’ll see you again on Sunday.”
My mind was whirling, but not because of Sunday dinner. “Before I go, I want to know about Frank.”
Gail almost dropped the mug she held. “You mean you don’t know?”
April stared at me openmouthed. “I would have thought you’d know everything, seeing as how you’re in the loop and so close to the
police and all.”
“Rumors ’R Us” had been busy. Of course, this was their company headquarters. But why did April think I was in the know with Detective Eric Scott?
“Where in the world did you get that idea?” I asked.
“Your mother’s been telling everyone about it,” April May said. “You’ve been called in for meetings a couple times.”
I stared at my mother in disbelief. She’d always done that. Made me feel like a loser in private but bragged to everyone about all my accomplishments—even those I hadn’t done. She lived in a different reality. I was a suspect, for crying out loud. But there was no sense in trying to convince the bobbleheads. They’d believe what she wanted them to believe. “Just tell me about Frank, please.”
Gail, April, and Ma exchanged glances.
She sighed. “Frank has been stealing money from the store.”
Frank? Dudley Do-It-All-Right? Stealing from the store? “Embezzling?” I asked.
“See,” Ma said triumphantly. “You knew. You just wanted to see if we knew.”
I headed for the door once again. “See you later, Ma.”
She waved her hand in the air, and I left. In my SUV, I placed the box of doughnuts on the passenger seat, musing how easy it is to think you really know someone when, in reality, you don’t know them at all. Of all the people in town, I would never, ever have thought Frank capable of embezzling.
This was an interesting turn of events. Did Frank’s crime have anything to do with Jim Bob’s death? I pulled a pen from my purse and turned over the receipt my mother had given me to jot some notes. Using the dashboard like a desk, I started to write. Embezzling. Frank a murderer?
Gail had said something. . .something that was important. I was so engrossed in my thoughts I didn’t see Detective Eric Scott until he tapped on my window. I jumped and stuffed the paper and pen into my purse. He motioned for me to roll down the glass. As I did, Corporal Nick Fletcher, otherwise known as Santa Cop, nodded at me from an unmarked car. Stupid me. I’d stayed too long.
I looked up at the tall, blond detective. “Are you harassing me?”
Murder in the Milk Case Page 7