by Krista Davis
I sidled into the kitchen. Careful not to touch anything, I searched for signs of blood or anything unusual. There were stacks of empty pizza boxes on the counter along with a jar of instant coffee, a six-pack of sodas, and a bag of barbecue-flavored potato chips. Empty beer bottles cluttered the recycling bin. Angus hadn’t been a health food fanatic.
I edged around the counter to what would normally be a dining area and stubbed my toe on something hard. I cried out and everyone looked over at me.
Even though my big toe throbbed, I said, “Sorry. I’m fine.” I glanced down at the culprit. It looked like a cast-iron ball with a flat bottom and a handle on top. Next to it was a set of dumbbells in graduating sizes. And hanging off of some of them were small chains. “Officer McGraw,” I called.
He walked over to me and nodded. He squatted near them, his arms on his knees, and eyed them. “Thanks, Sophie. I think you’re on to something here.”
Wolf walked up behind him. “She has a good instinct for things like this.”
I wasn’t about to tell him I had literally stumbled into the mother lode of murder weapons. “What are the chains for?”
“They make the weight heavier as you lift it,” Wolf explained.
Nina and I ran through our story again for Wolf.
“Hollis and his handyman,” mused Wolf. “You two can take off. I’ll stop by if I have any questions.”
Nina grabbed my hand and tugged me out of there like a locomotive. When we reached the sidewalk, she stopped and sucked in huge gasps of air. “That poor man. Can you imagine? He probably thought, I’ll have a beer and watch some ESPN, then take a nap. He had no idea what was coming.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“He thought he was going to be murdered today? Seriously? Sophie, you’ve gone round the bend.”
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t think some stranger barged into Angus’s home and choked him. Look around. If you were burglarizing a house, is this the one you would have picked?”
“I see your point. The shabbiest house in the neighborhood probably isn’t where you’d find gold coins or something worth stealing. Somehow, he must have been more involved in Hollis’s murder than we know.”
“He might have had a hunch that he needed to watch his back.”
“Well, he didn’t do a very good job of that!” she said.
We started walking back to our block.
“Angus’s death points at Kelsey,” said Nina.
“You mean because a dead man can’t deny what she told me?”
“Exactly.”
I didn’t want to agree with her, but Angus’s demise was very convenient for Kelsey in that regard. Too convenient.
My cell phone buzzed. I glanced at it while we walked. It was a text from Mars.
Have news. On way to your house.
“Mars says he has news. He’ll meet us at my place.”
Nina lifted the cupcake bag she still carried. “I’m bringing dessert.”
In spite of the grisly scene we had left, I was getting hungry. When I unlocked my front door, I heard a voice behind me.
“Where have you been?” asked Francie. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home.”
The three of us and her dog, Duke, entered the foyer.
I stopped myself from reminding her that I had a cell phone and she could have called me. “Is everything okay?”
“I know who killed Hollis.”
Chapter 23
Dear Sophie,
When we recently had a death in the family, I hosted the repass, as well as out-of-town guests. My dear cousin brought a salad in the plastic grocery store container where she had clearly assembled it at the salad bar. My aunt flipped out and accused her mother of not teaching her any funeral etiquette. As much as I love my aunt, I sorely wanted a quick comeback to help my cousin save face. What can I say the next time this happens?
Mad as a Wet Hen in Smackover, Arkansas
Dear Mad as a Wet Hen,
You could tell your aunt that while it might be poor etiquette to bring a salad bar contribution to a repass, it’s absolutely barbaric manners to mention it. Good manners means always making others feel comfortable.
Sophie
Francie had our full attention. So much so that Nina shrieked at the sound of a pinging against the window in the kitchen door.
It was Mars. I unlocked the door and Daisy bounded in. She circled around me, prancing and wagging her entire rear end. “I missed you, too, Daisy!” She licked my face and calmed down when I hugged her. Speaking to Mars, I said, “Francie knows who killed Hollis.”
“Me too,” said Mars. “And it’s not who you think!”
Simultaneously, Francie said, “Cindy!” as Mars said, “Jay!”
Nina sighed. “I need a drink.”
“Me too.” I felt like I’d walked all over Old Town. I boiled water and salt in a large pot and tossed in quartered red-skinned potatoes. Nina whipped up icy piña coladas in the blender and poured them into tall hurricane glasses.
Francie helped Mars set the table with a cheerful yellow and red tablecloth.
Nina collapsed onto the banquette and told Francie and Mars about finding Angus.
“Angus is dead?” Mars retrieved forks and knives. “That changes everything. There has to be a connection.”
I pulled yellow Fiestaware plates from the cabinet, as well as rectangular white serving dishes. I set out a cutting board loaded with cheeses, olives, water crackers, and salami for us to nosh on while dinner cooked. Then I removed the marinated flank steak from the refrigerator and set it on the counter.
“Where’s Bernie?” I asked.
Mars groaned. “Ever since the power came back on he’s been at the restaurant. They have food to throw out and orders to place, and people are lining up at the door, sick of peanut butter sandwiches. Until I moved in with Bernie, I had no idea restaurants were so much work. When you eat at one, it all seems so simple and organized. They cook, you order, eat, and pay.”
“Maybe they’ll make up some of the lost revenue,” said Nina.
“Ladies first,” said Mars to Francie.
“Thank you, dear. Do you remember how awful I felt because I broke the news about Hollis’s death to Cindy? Hah! She acted like it was the first she had heard of it, but I just found out from my friend Frieda, who works as a volunteer at the hospital, that Cindy was at the hospital to see Hollis by six in the morning! Now why would she have misled me that way unless she had something to hide?”
I stopped slicing a juicy rosy-red German Johnson tomato from my garden. “Things are beginning to look bad for Cindy. Could she have somehow entered the house and set off the bug bombs? She would have been waiting to hear that he had died. Someone must have notified her that he was in the hospital. She went to see him, and either before or after that, she removed the foggers and hid them in the library, where Jay found them.”
“Now hold on,” said Mars. “Jay found the foggers? That might not have been a coincidence. It could have been Jay who stashed them there. Get this—Hollis recommended an investment to Jay that crashed and burned. Jay lost a huge amount of money and was furious with Hollis.”
“I’ve never seen Jay be furious in my entire life,” said Nina. “He’s always well-mannered and polite.”
Mars cocked his head. “Really? People who are polite can’t get angry?”
“Some people hide their emotions,” said Francie. “They let their anger build up until it just explodes. Maybe that’s what happened. Jay held it in for so long that he couldn’t contain himself anymore and finally murdered Hollis.”
“Who told you this?” I asked Mars. “Did he lose enough money to impact his life? Will he have to retire later or sell his home?”
“He was acting very odd about us walking him to his house,” said Nina.
“You’re kidding,” said Mars. “That’s now the measure of a killer?”
“Even Alex thought he was behaving oddly.” I
added olive oil to the bowl.
In a resigned voice, Nina said, “Jay never should have invested so much of his savings. My husband said he may never recover financially.”
“You knew about this but you never told us?” I glared at her before scooting the tomatoes into the bowl, sprinkling them with salt and pepper, and turning them gently.
“My husband told me. I didn’t mention it because Jay didn’t murder Hollis.”
“And how do you know that?” asked Mars.
“He’s not the type.” Nina spread cheese on a cracker.
“I suppose I am the type?” asked Mars.
“Apparently not. If you were, you’d have murdered Natasha a long time ago.”
“Okay, you two.” I placed the flank steak on a broiler pan, turned on the boiler, which heated immediately, and slid in the steak, carefully watching the time. “So what we’re saying is that while we can’t eliminate Kelsey as a suspect, we now have two more viable suspects—Jay and Cindy.” I checked the potatoes with a fork to be sure they were cooked through and poured off the water. Adding a knob of butter, three tablespoons of cream cheese, and a splash of milk, I began to mash them furiously with an old-fashioned potato masher.
“Right.” Mars sipped his drink. “They both had motives and opportunity.”
Minutes later, I pulled out the steak, placed a mound of home-style mashed potatoes with the skins on each plate, and brought them to the table. Nina carried the tomato salad to the table, Mars sliced the flank steak and set the entire cutting board on the table so everyone could help themselves, and we sat down to eat.
Francie worked her fingers uncomfortably. “There is one other person I believe we may have overlooked. Mind you, I don’t think he did it, but we’d be foolish not to consider him. I’m talking about Gavin.”
Nina almost spilled her drink. “Francie! He’s just a kid.”
“Hollis ruined life as Gavin knew it.” Francie’s lips drew tight. “I don’t want to think he killed his father, but did you see him at the underground dinner? He ran from Hollis every time he came near. It was terribly sad. Gavin already admitted being there that night. And he certainly had the ability to hide the foggers at the library where his mother works.”
“But Gavin was in the hospital and couldn’t have murdered Angus,” I pointed out.
“Mmm, good.” Mars swallowed a bite. “I wonder if Cindy left Gavin’s side today. If she didn’t, then we could rule her out in Angus’s murder.”
Nina speared a tomato. “The only person who could possibly have a motive for murdering Angus is Kelsey. She didn’t want him exposing her for killing Hollis. He knew what she had done, and he would have talked eventually.”
I still didn’t want to believe it was Kelsey. “That would be easy enough to find out. She was going to give blood when I left her this afternoon. If she went to the hospital and donated blood, then she wouldn’t have had the time to get back to Angus’s and kill him.”
“I bet there’s a way to verify that,” said Francie.
“Wolf can probably get that information.” They all looked at me. “If I ask nicely, he might tell me. Sometimes I’m surprised by what he shares.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Soph.” Mars helped himself to more potatoes. “Wolf’s no pushover. If he gives you information, it’s for a reason. It means it’s something he wants you to know.”
I saw the look that passed between Francie and Nina. Mars and I got along well, but we could easily fall into obnoxious bantering.
“There’s another person we haven’t considered. What about Parker?” I asked.
“What possible motive could he have?” Francie cut a tomato on her plate.
“Money?” I looked around at them. “Wouldn’t that be an incentive to get rid of partners?”
Nina giggled. “I can’t see staid old Parker sneaking into Hollis’s house at night and setting off bug bombs. I’m sorry, but that image cracks me up.”
“Maybe he’s out of money. Or maybe Hollis and Gage were planning to leave? Is there such a thing as partner insurance?” I gasped. “Would Parker get money when Gage and Hollis died?” I asked.
Everyone stopped eating and stared at me.
“I always wondered about Gage’s death,” said Francie. “He was a young fuddy-duddy. Jay Charles is proper and dignified, but Gage was simply a bore.”
Mars put down his fork. “You might be on to something, Sophie. But how would we find out more?”
“I talked to Madison about Gage, and she’s still wondering about his death, too. I can ask Alex about the insurance angle,” I offered.
“Francie,” asked Nina. “How close are you to Trula?”
Francie nearly choked on her food. “That pompous egotist? I will not listen to her babble about Parker and her ancestry. Those poor people are probably flipping in their graves in shock that they’re her claim to fame. I’ve never heard her express an interest in anything else.”
We all snickered a little at Francie’s assessment of Trula.
“Well, I guess that leaves me to have a chat with her,” said Nina.
“Find out if they knew Angus. Maybe he did some work for them,” I said.
At that moment, I looked up to see Natasha standing outside the kitchen door, watching us. I hopped up, opened the door, and invited her to join us.
“Thank you, Sophie. It would have been nice to receive an invitation.”
Natasha chose a seat directly opposite Mars. I brought a plate, napkin, and silverware to the table for her.
“I’ve just come from the Habermans. That house needs so much work. It’s dreadfully old-fashioned. I hope Kelsey will update it and rip out that ancient interior.” She looked over at me. “And I’m furious with Wolf! He took my entire Coca-Cola cake for testing. Can you even imagine? I bet they’re eating it down at the police station as I speak. Now I’m going to have to bake another one. I hear it was Hollis’s favorite.”
Mars finally gazed at her. “You do realize that he won’t be there to enjoy it?”
“How do you manage without me to tell you what to do?” asked Natasha. “One brings dishes the deceased enjoyed to a repass.”
“Repast,” Mars corrected.
“I’ve never heard that.” Nina scowled at her. “And before you say something derogatory about my upbringing, my mama taught me etiquette from day one. In North Carolina they take it very seriously.”
Francie shook her head. “That’s just silly. One should be grateful and welcome any dish at a repast.” She giggled. “Can’t you just see the bereaved standing at the door with a list of approved dishes and turning people away? Preposterous!”
“You people act like a repass,” she emphasized her pronunciation and glared at Mars, “is just a haphazard thing. No wonder so many of them are slapdash.” Natasha frowned as she poked at a slice of beef on her plate.
“Um, I hate to tell you this, but a funeral isn’t something most people plan well in advance,” said Nina. “Death is often unexpected. Like Hollis’s death, for instance.”
“Oh, Nina. I fear your mother did not do a good job with etiquette, after all. All funerals and memorial services should be at least a week to ten days after the demise of the person so the event can be properly planned. You have to choose the color scheme, order favors, and pick meaningful flowers. Not to mention hiring a videographer. They are not always readily available, you know.”
“Are you sure you’re not confusing a repast with a wedding?” I asked. “A color scheme and favors? Really?”
Natasha clasped a hand to her chest. “Bless you, Sophie. You do try. Did you cook this dinner? It’s so . . . interesting.” She speared a tomato and held it up in the air to examine it.
I’d had about enough of her snide remarks. What had gotten into her? “So how are things going with Jay Charles?”
She froze and shot me a look of daggers. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She glanced at Mars out of the corner of her eye.
“I ran into Humphrey’s mother on the street today. She was looking at his house.” It was probably mean of me to say. But it was true.
“She wasn’t! She has been chasing him ever since the underground dinner. I don’t know what he could possibly want with an older woman.”
“You mean when he has you around?” asked Francie.
Natasha flashed her an irritated look. “Sophie, I hope you have your contribution to the bereaved Haberman household ready. I’ve let everyone know that Kelsey will be receiving tomorrow.” She turned in Nina’s direction. “Don’t bother bringing anything store-bought.”
“Who made you the funeral director?” spat Francie. “Nina can bring whatever she pleases.”
“I’m trying to save her from embarrassment, Francie. There’s simply no excuse for stopping by the store for something. You show you care by cooking a dish from the heart. Every good Southerner has a funereal recipe that she can whip up at a moment’s notice.”
“I suppose you have one?” asked Francie drily.
“Absolutely. I keep a Coca-Cola cake in my freezer at all times.”
“Nina, we can bring crudités,” said Francie. “Natasha won’t know if it came from a store or if we broke off every little bit of broccoli with our own delicate hands.”
Natasha’s eyes flashed. “Crudités are out of vogue. You see, this is why I have to tell you these things. Being old is no excuse for poor manners.”
Francie howled with laughter.
Chapter 24
Dear Sophie,
A coworker’s husband was murdered recently. Unfortunately, I had problems of my own at the time and wasn’t able to prepare a casserole to drop by. Now it’s ten days later. Is it too late to bring her food?
Better Late Than Never in Opportunity,
Montana
Dear Better Late Than Never,
The sad truth is that a great deal of food is thrown out because everyone rushes to bring it immediately. The family will still be grieving and may appreciate your kind gesture even more now that the other food is gone.