Murder in the Milk Case

by Spyglass Lane Mysteries

I lowered my hand and shrugged. “What do you mean by ‘involved’?”

  I got a glittery-eyed glance. “You’re avoiding the question. A simple yes or no would do. Frankly, I want you to leave the whole thing behind.”

  How could I leave it all behind? “You’re being overprotective and maybe even a little bossy.”

  “What?” He ran his other hand through his hair. “I’m not. . .” He glanced at the children.

  I turned to look at them, too. Two pairs of bright eyes stared at us. I’m always amazed at how children listen when they aren’t supposed to and ignore the things they’re supposed to listen to.

  Max said nothing else, just handed me the notebook, shut my door, and climbed into the driver’s side. We didn’t speak as he drove from the parking lot. I had a feeling the topic would come up again.

  When we’d gotten premarital counseling, the pastor had given us tests, so he could determine our strengths and weaknesses. Max rated pretty high in bossiness, although they called it something else that didn’t sound quite so negative. He tried his best to watch his attitude with me, but he wasn’t always successful.

  A couple of minutes later, he reached over and squeezed my hand. “Remember we talked about that convention in Chicago?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve decided I have to go. I need to see the programs and try them before we buy. It starts tomorrow afternoon.”

  I bit my lip. That didn’t give me much time to get ready, but a trip would give me more time alone with Max than just this evening. It was perfect. “Okay, I can be packed by tonight. I’m sure Mom and Dad will watch the kids.”

  He glanced at me, surprise on his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m thinking out loud.” I smiled at him, but he wasn’t smiling back.

  His attention went to the road while he turned a corner, then he turned back to me. “Why would you think that you’re going with me?”

  Panic gripped my chest. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, I’m not.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I thought we agreed yesterday that you couldn’t leave right now.”

  Yesterday? Had I said that? Had we agreed? I couldn’t remember. And I couldn’t believe he was going without me. When was I going to talk to him?

  “I know this isn’t a good time to leave you, but with the expansion, I need to shop programs and other things now.” His words came out in a rush.

  “Max, I thought we were both going.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve already booked my flight. I’m sorry. I thought we agreed.”

  I wanted to stomp my feet on the floor. “We didn’t agree at all. Why are you leaving me?”

  The vehicle had become deathly quiet. Max glanced in the rearview mirror. I could feel the children leaning forward in their seats, waiting to see who said what next.

  “Let’s discuss it later,” I said quietly, although I was screaming on the inside.

  He nodded. “Good idea.”

  My agenda for the evening was shot. As my mother would say, “The best-laid plans of mice and men. . .”

  When we walked into her kitchen, the steamy air was fragrant with the smell of potatoes and roast. My father was leaning against the counter. I met his wide smile with one of my own. Besides Max, my father is the most important man in my life. He crossed the room in three steps to hug me. I clung to him for a beat longer than I usually did. He looked down at me with narrowed eyes but said nothing. He had always been able to read me—sometimes too well. If we’d been alone, he would have probed to find out what was wrong.

  The huge dining room table was loaded with food. Ma served roast beef with all the trimmings. The only sounds I heard for the first few minutes were forks clinking against plates as we all ate. Everyone except Karen, who had been moping all morning. That didn’t go unnoticed by my mother.

  “What’s ailin’ you, Karen?” she finally asked.

  Karen twirled her fork in her mashed potatoes and sighed dramatically. “Nothing.”

  “Hah!” Charlie said. “She’s upset ’cause her best friend wants to run away.”

  That sounded serious. I wondered if Lee Ann knew.

  “You shut up,” Karen said to Charlie. “At least I’m not a freak who sees ghosts.”

  “Karen. . . ,” Max warned.

  “What are you talking about?” Charlie yelled.

  “All your talk about dead people,” she said.

  “What do you know anyway, so busy talking on the phone and—”

  “That’s enough,” Max said sternly. His order, combined with his frown, made an impression. The kids quieted—for a moment.

  My mother and father, along with Sammie, watched Charlie and Karen with wide eyes.

  Tommy, who was so busy stuffing his face that I didn’t think he’d noticed anything, waved his fork in the air. “Sometimes I think Charlie knows more than we all give him credit for.”

  “What?” Karen yelped. “You’re crazy. So is he. My whole family is crazy. A total embarrassment. I should just leave with Julie.”

  “I said, that’s enough.” Max’s angry tone and glittering eyes left no question in anyone’s mind that he meant what he said.

  “More gravy, Tommy? Mashed potatoes?” my mother asked brightly, as if gravy and potatoes would fix everything.

  “Daddy’s going, too, like Julie,” Sammie piped up. “He’s leaving Mommy.”

  The silence that followed her statement was louder than Karen yelling. I can safely say that children hear everything, but important facts get lost in the translation.

  “What she means is, Max is going out of town,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

  My mother dropped her fork to her plate. “Out of town? Without you?”

  “Yes, without me.” I couldn’t help the way my voice wavered.

  “Well, I never. I thought the two of you were attached at the hip.” She glanced from me to Max. “If you ask me, it’ll be good for you. Too much togetherness is unhealthy.”

  I hadn’t asked her. And it wasn’t like Max and I had time to really be together. I’d married a man with three children. We’d hardly had a honeymoon to speak of because Charlie had been so little at the time and we didn’t want to leave him for long. Automatic family. Now, with four kids and a growing business, not to mention our church activities, running the kids around, and things like ball games, we had very little time alone together. I opened my mouth to express my thoughts, but Daddy must have seen the anger in my eyes.

  He cleared his throat. “So, Max, where are you going?”

  “Chicago. To a self-storage convention.” Max went on to explain in great detail why he was going and what he needed to accomplish.

  He probably wanted me to listen so I’d understand, but I didn’t. Instead, I twirled my fork in my mashed potatoes like Karen. Now when would I get a chance to talk to him? Tonight he’d want to spend time with the family. Plus, he was leaving me stuck at home alone with quarreling children. I felt his gaze on me but didn’t look up. I was not a happy camper.

  Monday night, after the kids were in bed, I pulled on one of Max’s sweatshirts instead of pajamas and retrieved my steno pad. While I waited for him to call me, I’d organize all my clues. Maybe while he was gone, I could come up with some answers. I’d been right about having no time to talk to him the night before. Besides, telling him that my brother had possibly killed his first wife wasn’t something I wanted to drop on him before a business trip.

  I reviewed the notes I’d taken at Abbie’s, starting with Russ’s friends. I didn’t remember much about my brother’s life back then. I was ten years older. Tim, Peggy Nichols, Norm. I bit the end of my pen. Was it possible that Tim had stolen the stop sign and Daryl told Jim Bob that Russ did it just to protect his dead brother? And maybe Peggy still had sour grapes over Russ dumping her. She’d never married. Was it possible to carry a torch that long? Then there was Norm. He was a bit older than Russ, but they u
sed to hang out together during the summer. That’s all I knew, which frustrated me. I decided to work on Jim Bob’s murder instead, but as soon as I flipped the page, the phone rang. I snatched it from the bedside table, dropping my steno pad on the floor in my hurry.

  “Hello? Max?”

  “Hi, baby.” His voice on the phone is even better than in person. Low and intimate. Just hearing it through the receiver makes my insides feel like warm syrup. “I miss you. I hate sleeping alone.”

  “Me, too. So. . .are you. . .having a good time?” I hoped not.

  “Good time isn’t the right word. I’m getting things done. I think I’ve found a new computer program, but I want to talk it over with you before I buy it.”

  “Tell me,” I said, settling back against the headboard. He talked for about thirty minutes, and we discussed the pros and cons.

  “What do you think?” he asked when we’d explored all the options.

  I agreed with his choice.

  Silence fell between us. I was afraid to speak because I might cry.

  “Trish, what’s wrong?” Max asked. “Has Eric been in touch with you again?”

  “No, but. . .Max, we need to talk.” I picked at the sheet.

  He paused. “I thought we were talking.”

  “No, I have something we need to talk about. In person. That’s why I wanted to go to Chicago with you.”

  I heard him breathing, then he inhaled. “Are you okay? Did you go to the doctor?”

  I almost laughed, realizing where his mind was going. He thought I was ill. “I’m fine. It’s nothing like that.”

  He took a deep breath. “I want you to go to the doctor, okay?”

  I didn’t answer, because I didn’t intend to go. But I did feel bad for Max. He’s so self-assured that I sometimes forget he’s got vulnerabilities.

  “I’m serious, Trish.”

  “Okay, okay,” I grumbled.

  He sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to discuss whatever it is right now?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  He sighed again. “All right. Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I slept fitfully, thrashing around in bed. At around two in the morning, I woke with my covers and legs twisted together like a pretzel. I untangled myself and rolled over on my back. Something banged against the side of the house. I sat up. Then I heard another sound, like scratching. Was the wind blowing? My heart pounded. I held my breath and listened.

  Nothing. I waited. Still nothing.

  But now I was wide awake and would most likely toss and turn with guilt if I tried to sleep. Maybe I should eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Nothing says comfort like peanut butter and jelly.

  I pulled on a pair of jeans to wear with Max’s sweatshirt, slid into my favorite old bunny slippers, and crept down the stairs. All the kids were asleep. Everything was dark except for a tiny night-light next to the front door. I walked down the hallway, scuffing my slippers on the wood floor. Then I heard scratching again.

  It’s the wind, I told myself. But it continued, sounding like dog nails on the front door. Our front door is massive. One of those solid doors with heavy duty windows at the top. It also has a really nice doorknob. Brass. And it was jiggling.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m calling the police right now, so you’d better back off,” I yelled as I jerked on the lights to the hall and the porch. Praying under my breath, I backed down the hallway, hands on the wall, feeling my way to the kitchen. After almost falling over the doorjamb, I turned and fumbled for the light switch and turned it on. Then I snatched the cordless phone from its bed on the wall and dialed 9-1-1.

  Even while dispatch answered, I crept back up the hallway. I had to protect my children from whoever was trying to break in. But the doorknob had stopped moving.

  After I explained what was going on, the dispatcher cautioned me not to open the door. Like I’m that stupid.

  I assured her I was staying put, then I got a beep telling me I had another call. I ignored it and sat on the bottom step, watching the doorknob. Still no movement.

  She kept me on the phone until squad cars with flashing lights filled my driveway and deputies were at the door.

  I flung it open. Detective Eric Scott stood there, face scruffy with beard growth, dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt. He would have looked almost human except for the gun on his waist and his eyes, which were squinting at me.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said automatically.

  “What?” He rubbed his face then shook his head. “I know that. We need to come in and check things out. Are you okay?”

  Mad, scared, heart still pounding, but. . . “Yes.” I stepped back to give him room.

  The detective came in, followed by Corporal Fletcher and a younger deputy.

  “We’ll check things out, Sarge,” the corporal said.

  “Good.” Detective Scott nodded.

  “My kids are asleep,” I said.

  “Not all of them.” Corporal Fletcher motioned behind me.

  I turned. Tommy, clad only in jeans, was tromping down the stairs, followed by Karen in a bathrobe.

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Tommy asked.

  “Someone tried to break in,” I said. “Are Charlie and Sammie still in bed?”

  Karen nodded.

  Detective Scott glanced at the corporal. “Fletcher, after you two check things out in here, I want you outside to supervise, okay?”

  “Yes sir.” Corporal Fletcher turned and walked off the porch.

  “Is there somewhere we can sit?” the detective asked.

  I nodded and led the way to the kitchen where I slumped into a chair, placing the phone on the table. I felt Tommy’s presence at my back. Karen was leaning against the counter, twirling her hair in her fingers.

  I rubbed my eyes and explained everything.

  When I was done, Detective Scott took a deep breath. “Are you aware that someone tried to break into the offices of Four Oaks Self-Storage tonight?”

  “What?” Tommy barked behind me. “Mom, we gotta call Dad.”

  “In a minute, Tommy.” I didn’t want to talk to Max until I’d totally calmed down. I wondered if the beep I’d ignored had been the alarm company trying to call me about the attempt at the storage offices.

  “Did they get in?” Tommy asked, sounding very much like his father.

  “No,” the detective said.

  About that time, I heard Charlie’s voice. “Mom! Where are you?” He stormed into the kitchen, face squished up with fear. “What’s going on around here? There are cops upstairs and cop cars outside.”

  “Someone tried to break in the house, but it’s okay.” I attempted to sound reassuring, feeling anything but. Things weren’t okay. My fear was dissipating, leaving behind only anger. I needed to talk to the detective. I turned to the children. “Would you three mind giving me a few minutes alone with Detective Scott? Karen, go check on Sammie. Charlie, if she wakes up, don’t you dare scare her with this. I mean it.”

  Karen nodded and left the room.

  Charlie bounced next to me. “Mom, can I—”

  “Charlie,” I snapped. “Just go away, okay?”

  He ran from the room. I had a feeling he was going outside to watch the activity. I didn’t try to stop him.

  Tommy didn’t move. I turned and looked up at him. His jaw was set. “Mom, I’d really like to stay. Dad sort of left me in charge.”

  I didn’t want any of the kids in there in case Detective Scott said something about Russ. “I appreciate your concern for me, but I think perhaps the other kids could use your strength right now.”

  “I think I should stay,” he said, crossing his arms.

  I met his gaze and shook my head. We had a silent battle of wills, a stare down of sorts. He finally looked away. Then he put his shoulders back and gave the detective a steely glance. “All right. But if you need me for anything, call.”

  Detective Scott watched him
leave. “Tommy really watches out for you.”

  “Just what I need—another keeper,” I grumbled as I waved at a chair. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  He did.

  “Would you like coffee, Detective?”

  “Yes, please,” he said. “Black.”

  I busied myself fixing it, my anger growing by the second. When the liquid started to drip into the carafe, I whirled around. I guess the anger showed on my face or in my gaze because his eyes widened.

  With as much dignity as I could muster, given that I was wearing fuzzy pink bunny slippers with crossed eyes and Max’s sweatshirt, which hung to my knees, I decided to tell the detective what I thought. “It was Stefanie Jenkins.”

  “What?” He fastened his sharp gaze on my face. “Did you see her?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  I crossed my arms. “Because she wants to get into Jim Bob’s storage unit and will use any method possible, including offering to do anything for Max. We’re both adults, and I’m sure you understand what that means. She tries to act nice, but I don’t believe her. Do you think a little locked door is going to keep her from trying to steal a key? Not to mention, she was probably hoping Max would be here alone or something.”

  A slight grin danced on Detective Scott’s lips. I wasn’t amused. I filled a mug with black coffee and clunked it down in front of him. Then I got some for me and sat at the table.

  “So how could she have been in two places at once?” He lifted his coffee to his lips, watching me over the rim of the cup.

  “How should I know? But I’m sure if she could offer favors to Max, she’s capable of offering the same thing to someone else to help her.” I leaned forward. “What’s in that unit that she wants so bad?”

  Detective Scott watched me.

  “You know, she married him for his money. That’s the only thing that makes sense because he wasn’t exactly the studly kind of guy that a looker like Stefanie would be attracted to. Everyone says he was ugly. Of course, ugly is as ugly does, as my mother would say. Steffie probably killed him.” I paused, took a sip of coffee and put the cup down. “Then there’s Frank. Maybe Jim Bob knew about the embezzling and threatened Frank. He’s a creep. I didn’t know that before he cornered me at the school, but now I do. I guess if he could embezzle and be creepy then murder wouldn’t be out of the question.” I frowned at the detective. “I have trouble imagining the Dweeb guilty of murder.”