“Yes. That’s why we’re talking, isn’t it?”
“It is. And it’s why you’re a person of interest. You were in charge of the auction of a very valuable antique that has gone missing. An auction where over a hundred people suffered from rat poison in their lunch, one of whom died, not coincidentally ingesting a larger dosage of that poison. You were right on the scene when the body of another murder victim, Louis Martinette, was discovered.”
“I was not! Not first on the scene, anyway.”
“Who was, Mrs. Borne?”
“Well, Father O’Brien, of course.”
“The same Father O’Brien whose body you discovered not an hour ago.”
I said, “If you’re really accusing Mother of something, I think we should be allowed to have our attorney present, or you should read her rights or something.”
The chief’s face smoothed into blankness again. He said, “This concludes the interview with Vivian and Brandy Borne,” and shut off the tape.
We stood, but the chief said, “Mrs. Borne, would you please step outside? I need a moment alone with your daughter.”
Mother’s nose and chin went up again. “Haven’t you had quite enough moments alone with her lately?”
“Mother!”
She gathered a few more shreds of dignity and went out.
I sighed, shook my head, and said to Tony, “I’m so sorry about her. You don’t really suspect her of anything?”
He said nothing, just gestured for me to sit again.
I sat.
And braced for an off-the-record come-to-Jesus meeting.
But instead of a tongue-lashing, he said gently, “I need both you and your mother to write down who you saw where and when at the funeral—and do this separately, without discussing it beforehand. In ink, so I can see any changes. Can you go home and do that?”
“Sure. Mother loves homework assignments.” I wasn’t kidding. And I liked this, too, because it would keep her busy, for a while, at least. Which may have been Tony’s intention.
The door to the chapel opened, and a good-looking, sandy-haired, thirtyish plainclothes detective leaned in. Brian Lawson, to be exact.
Remember him? My once and possibly future boyfriend?
“Sorry to interrupt, Chief,” Brian said in the doorway, revealing Mother just behind him, wide-eyed and hovering, “but the caterer is out here, and insists on seeing you—something about a missing cake knife.”
Mother’s ears perked, the way Sushi’s did when I opened a bag of Cheetos.
“Bring her in,” the chief said. To me he said, businesslike, “We’re done for now, Ms. Borne,” adding for Brian, “Would you please escort the Borne women off the premises. They’ve been questioned and are released.”
Brian nodded, slipped out briefly, quickly reappearing with Mimi, still wearing her white chef’s jacket, her pretty, pudgy face clearly troubled. The detective deposited the woman at the card table, then escorted me out to join my lurking mother.
Except for a path leading from the small chapel to the lobby, the sanctuary had been cordoned off. A two-person forensics team, a man and woman in Kevlar and latex gloves, were working the crime scene. Father O’Brien’s body had been removed, but tape outlined where he’d fallen.
When we entered the lobby, Mother scooted ahead, flashing me a glance that said she was giving Brian and me some privacy.
As we walked, side by side but not looking at each other, he asked, “So, Brandy—how are you doing?”
“Fine. How’s your daughter?”
“Gaining weight. Not as much as we’d like, but her nutritionist is hopeful.”
“Good to hear. How’s your wife doing?”
The couple had been separated when Brian and I were dating (I’m not that big a creep).
“We’re in counseling.”
“Good.”
I didn’t ask for details—part of me, despite the budding relationship with Tony, was not really rooting for the Lawsons to get back together, though I certainly hoped their daughter would get well. Soon.
We stepped outside the church, and I turned to look into those puppy-dog brown eyes. Somehow I could tell he’d heard about Tony and me. The Serenity P.D. was a small world in a small town.
So I said simply, “Hey, the chief and me? I don’t know where it’s going.”
He nodded, understanding. “Same here. I don’t expect your life to stop while I try to see where mine is headed. But as for my marriage…we just have to give one last try. Owe that to ourselves, and our daughter.”
“I’m glad.”
And I was. Kind of. Sort of.
He gave me his boyish smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”
I smiled back. “No place to hide in Serenity.”
“That’s the truth. Unless you’re a bad guy, of course.”
Soon Mother and I were in my Buick, and I turned to her and asked, “Did you get a good look at that knife, Mother?”
“Enamel handle with rosebuds. Was it that caterer’s knife, dear? That Mimi woman’s?”
“Sounds like it.”
Which might explain why the caterer had taken so long to cut the cake, besides flirting with Sam Woods. She’d been looking for her missing knife.
I said, “I saw it on the buffet table when I went through.”
And while that flirting was going on, somebody made off with the thing—maybe even Sam Woods.
We were sitting there in the parking lot, engine off.
“Just about anyone could have taken it,” Mother said. “Anyone, that is, who partook of the food. Some guests were hesitant, after the last meal served at St. Mary’s.”
I said, more to myself than to Mother, “Let’s see—I was about the first, except for—”
“Don’t say it, dear. Write it down when we get home! Remember what the chief said—we’re not to influence each other.”
I glowered at her. “You weren’t even there—how did you hear that?”
“I have exceptionally good hearing, dear.”
“No, you don’t. Who was guarding that door?”
“Your nice friend—Brian. I’m not sure trading him in on an older model like the chief is a good—”
“Don’t tell me—you sent Brian off on some errand, glass of water or who-knows-what, then you cracked the door and eavesdropped.”
Her smile betrayed a not-so-secret satisfaction. “A good detective doesn’t reveal her secrets, dear. You must develop your own techniques if you want to make it in this game.”
“Game. You can call it a ‘game’ after what we found in the sanctuary? That’s no cardboard church, Mother, and the man bleeding there was no game token.”
She swallowed and turned and looked out the window.
It’s just possible I’d made her tear up. Whether that was a good thing—getting her to take this situation with the seriousness it warranted—or just further edged her to the abyss of a full-blown breakdown, well, I didn’t have the detective techniques developed yet to make that call.
I fired up the car, and we drove home in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.
Every suspect on our list had an opportunity to take the knife, even Clifford Ashland. While I hadn’t seen him go through the food line, I had noticed him walking by the banquet table on his way to the kitchen, shortly after he and his wife had arrived. Later I noticed Mrs. Ashland greeting mourners as she held a glass of water, which must have been what he’d fetched.
The bidders I’d spoken to had not been glued to that table of theirs, getting up and around to hit the food table or go to the bathroom or out for a smoke, as far as I knew. Anyone who knew Father O’Brien might be praying in the sanctuary could have copped the knife, slipped out and upstairs and done the deed, and come back down to join the food fellowship. At this kind of event, anybody could excuse him or herself long enough to dispatch Father O’Brien, attracting no attention at all.
Whoever that was, he or she was a cool customer. Make that cold cus
tomer….
At home, I tended to Sushi, while Mother scurried to find two legal pads and several pens, and then we went to separate rooms—me, my bedroom, Mother, the dining room—to do our assigned homework.
We were still at it when, at about four that afternoon, Jake called saying his dad’s plane had just crossed the Mississippi River, and I should head out to the airport pronto.
As soon as Sushi heard my car keys jingling, she started dancing at my feet, hoping to go with, so I got her FidoRido car seat from the front closet, and she really went ballistic. It took several minutes to calm her down enough that I could pick her up. And then when I did, she pee-peed in excitement, a little, on my top.
That’s what I got for not taking her along more. You get pee-peed on and so it makes you gun-shy to take her, so you take her along less, and then when you finally do, she’s so excited that she…. You get the picture. This is that vicious circle you hear so much about.
Anyway, I hauled her upstairs and she danced on the bed while I put on another top, and this time, when I picked her up, all I got was kisses for my trouble.
It used to be a quick ride south to the airport on the treacherous bypass, but now—in the wake of so many accidents—nearly every intersection had a light, and I managed to hit them all. I was bemoaning the lost time to myself when a little rational voice reminded me how much time had been lost by the fatalities who’d inspired these stoplights.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at Sushi in her car seat; she had been to the municipal airport only one other time, so I wasn’t sure she knew where we were going. But since Shoosh wasn’t shaking in terror, she at least understood that we weren’t headed to the veterinary, a.k.a. the House of Pain.
My thoughts drifted to Jake. Would I notice any changes in my son since I’d seen him at Christmas? Would he be taller? More young man than child?
We were in the sandy-soil area south of Serenity, famous for growing melons (watermelons and cantaloupes, especially). Farmers, idle in the fields since fall, were out on tractors turning the fertile soil. But planting wouldn’t happen for another month, due to the chance of late frost.
As I approached the airport—used only by private and corporate planes—Sushi began to whimper with excitement, which increased into little yaps when I pulled off the highway and drove up to the small, one-story brick administration building. To the right of the building loomed two large hangars; to the left, one landing strip, where a wind sock flapped in the breeze.
Surprisingly, I had beaten Roger’s plane here. After gathering a wiggling Sushi from the backseat, I headed to the gated area by the landing strip, where I waited by the fence.
Soosh heard the distant drone of the engine before I did, and began to get squirmier.
“Stop that,” I said firmly.
She didn’t.
“No more car rides!”
She did.
The plane came into view, a silver speck in the sky that grew into a twin-prop aircraft, dropping lower, and lower, as the pilot lined up to land. I held my breath until the wheels hit the ground, then sighed with relief. Can any parent watch their child (of any age) come in for a landing without dying a little?
The pilot taxied toward us, the propeller blowing my hair around like Ingrid Bergman’s in Casablanca, and then the engine stilled, and Roger was getting out, and turning to help Jake down, my son hauling a small duffel bag.
And I was running through the gate toward Jake, with Sushi bumping against my chest, the pooch making no noise, just going along for an out-of-the-ordinary ride.
I gave my son a one-armed hug, while Soosh frantically licked his face, then Jake, laughing, took the dog so I could talk to Roger.
His hair was a little grayer at the temples, but otherwise he hadn’t changed, wearing a tan leather jacket, designer jeans, and expensive Italian shoes—his idea of casual. (To any females in the audience who are thinking, “Brandy, you blew it,” I can only say, “Girlfriends, you are right.”)
We exchanged polite how-are-you’s, and I’m fine’s, then got down to the parameters of our son’s stay, which was four days.
After that, I said, “Say, Roger—can I ask you something a little out of left field?”
“Sure. Don’t you usually?”
“You ever hear of Clifford Ashland? A broker here in Serenity?”
“Yeah. Pretty successful one—we’ve dealt with him ourselves.”
“Really! Would you say he’s got millions?”
“Well, he and his partners own a company worth millions, certainly. So is mine, but don’t get any new alimony ideas. I don’t have millions lyin’ around, you know.”
“I know. But he’s not one of these successful guys who’s gone under because of the stock market.”
“No. We’ve dealt with them several times since the you-know-what hit the fan. He’s solid. Nobody’s liquid right now, but Brandy, if you’re thinking of investing, why not come to your own kid’s dad?”
“Maybe I’m afraid you’d pay me off in pennies.”
He winced but smiled. “Ouch! You ever going to forgive me for that?”
I’d once received an alimony payment from him in that form. But we were getting along better these days.
“Never,” I said, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
He was brushing hair from my face, giving me a fond look when Jake, anxious to get going, said, “Get a room, or hurry up! I wanna see Grandma!”
And so ended my most recent reconciliation with my ex.
Which was maybe a good thing. I wouldn’t have wanted to answer too many “What’s new?”-type questions.
In particular, I had not yet told Roger about the baby. Jake knew, because I’d wanted his approval before going ahead with the surrogacy—I’d be having a baby brother or sister for him that would immediately leave both our lives, and I’d figured he had the right to know.
But since Roger hadn’t alluded to it, I could safely assume Jake hadn’t spilled the beans. I just had to pick the right time to tell my ex. And now was not it.
On the ride home, while Jake held Sushi, I questioned him about school, what new video games he was playing, if there was a girl he liked, and other mother-intrusive things, since he was a captive in the front seat, and I was hungry for any insight into his life.
A few blocks from home Jack said, “Okay, back off! That’s all you get. I wanna hear about this latest murder.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“Grandma texted me this morning.”
“Oh, she did, did she?”
“Uh-huh. Pretty tech-savvy old girl.”
“Look, Jake,” I said, “you’re supposed to be helping me keep her out of trouble, not encourage her to get into more. I don’t want us involved in this ‘mystery’ anymore.”
“But you’re already involved. It’s like…you can’t be a little pregnant.”
“Don’t get smart. Anyway, we’re gonna get uninvolved. Understand?”
“Okay, okay.” Sushi was whimpering for attention. “Quiet, girl! I’ll play with you when we get home! Mom, it’s okay, isn’t it, if Grandma tells me all about it, kind of fills me in? That wouldn’t hurt, would it?”
“I…I guess not.”
Later, after dinner, against my better judgment (as if I had any), Mother did indeed entertain Jake in the dining room, regaling him with her version of the events, from the poisoned audience, the murdered Madam Petrova, the murdered bidder Martinette, the suspiciously deceased gossip down the block, the priest stabbed in his own sanctuary, and of course the fabled, incredibly valuable, missing Fabergé egg.
I chose not to be present for much of it. I had to field phone calls once again from a concerned Peggy Sue and an at least as concerned Tina, who’d heard about the latest murder at St. Mary’s. But several times I watched through the closed French doors, where Jake, riveted to his chair, was hanging on his grandmother’s every word.
That was when I realized I couldn’
t count on Jake. Apparently the same Curiosity DNA that ran through Vivian Borne had gone on to infect me and now my only son.
Exhausted from the long day, I went off to bed, taking Sushi with me, and fell asleep almost immediately….
I was at St. Mary’s, climbing the spiral staircase, which broke away from the wall, taking me with it, in a crash of metal gnashing on metal and on an endless slow-motion fall….
Willing myself to wake up, I became aware of another presence in the room.
A dark figure was reaching for me with clawed fingers.
Which was when I did what you would done.
I screamed.
A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip
When going to an auction, come prepared—this means comfortable clothes, water, snacks, a book and, most important, a soft cushion. You picture yourself on your feet, waving your auction card or going off to collect your prize; but mostly you’ll be on your backside, for a long, long while.
Chapter Eleven
Egg Hunt
The figure gripped my shoulder and shook.
“Wake up, dear! It’s me—Mother!”
All right, I realize some of you (perhaps all of you) are thinking, What a cheat! You end a chapter with a spooky scare, and then it’s just your mother. Like one of those cheesy fake “boo” moments in a movie, where it turns out to be some good guy coming up behind another good guy, in a sudden and unjustified manner; or the frightening sound, the metal clunk that echoes maybe, or the ominous rustle of drapes, and then it’s just a cat.
Fine. But remember two things: people were dying mysteriously, including Mrs. Mulligan down the street; and, anyway, with apologies to Count Floyd of SCTV, if you don’t think my mother coming up on you in the dark is scary, kids, then you haven’t been paying attention.
I sat up in bed and said, “I’m awake, already! I’m awake! You wanna give me a damn heart attack?”
Despite the darkness, I could tell Mother was shaking her head at me. “Language, dear—and in front of the boy…!”
Jake materialized, shining a flashlight my way.
Antiques Bizarre Page 17