Sharpe Edge (Cozy Suburbs Mystery Series)

by Lisa B. Thomas

  Blake was the first man to show any real interest. They met at the bookstore, both looking through the mystery section. He had asked her to recommend a good book for him—an obvious pick-up line. He was tall with dark brown hair and strong features. She had blushed when he first spoke to her. His job as an “internet entrepreneur” gave him plenty of free time for courting. Their relationship had gone well the first few months, but then her mother began to question his intentions. That’s when he proposed. Estelle was overwhelmed, especially considering the fact that their romance had not progressed very far physically—they had barely reached second base. At least she thought that was second base. She had accepted, of course, and her mother was beside herself.

  Two weeks later, Blake came to the house and broke off the engagement. He said he was leaving town and leaving her behind. She cried for days, but finally resigned herself to the lonely life of a lovesick spinster. Not long after that, she met Russell.

  Blake and Russell looked nothing alike. Russell was medium height, slim with a slight beer belly, and had sandy brown hair. He was older than Estelle by a few years but looked younger. He had laugh lines and a twinkle in his hazel eyes. Far from the Prince Charming she had often dreamed of, there was something about him that she found magnetic. As they spent more time together, the attraction grew.

  The reflection in the mirror made her wonder how on earth she could have two men vying for her affection. Her skin was pale, her hair a mousy brown. Her figure was average, neither slim nor heavy. She had long since stopped worrying about fashion. Looking at her maroon cable-knit sweater and gray wool skirt, she wished she had taken time to buy some new clothes. A feature she did like about herself were her eyes. They were a grayish-blue, and someone had once described them as “mesmerizing.” She added a little more mascara and applied another splash of perfume.

  A knock on the front door made her stomach flip. She had no idea what the night might bring or how she would feel about it. Tonight was about giving Blake a chance to explain himself and to figure out what her true feelings for him were. Now, she had her relationship with Russell for comparison.

  Irene answered the door, and Estelle counted slowly to twenty before approaching the staircase, not wanting to appear too anxious. Irene and Blake were talking when she finally made her grand descent. They did not even notice her at first. That’s annoying, she thought. He missed my big entrance. When she got to the bottom step, Irene headed back down the hall to the kitchen and Blake turned around. He smiled and she felt her face flush.

  “There you are,” he said, taking her hand. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You are more beautiful than ever.”

  He held her coat while she put it on and led her to the driveway. His face beamed as he opened the car door. She slid onto the slippery seat. This must be that new-car smell people talk about, she thought. I’ve never seen so many gadgets on a dashboard before. What could they possibly all do?

  He folded himself in through the small door opening and started the engine. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About my new car, of course! It’s a Porsche 911 with full leather interior and a four hundred and seventy-five horse power engine.” He caressed the steering wheel as he purred with delight. “It can go from zero to sixty in three point three seconds.”

  “Umm, it smells nice.” By the look on his face, that was the wrong answer. Fastening her seatbelt, she struggled for something else to say. What was it they used to talk about? Books? No. As it turned out, Blake was not much of a reader.

  He interrupted her thoughts. “There’s so much I have to say to you.”

  What a relief. She waited.

  “We’ll talk at the restaurant. Let’s just enjoy the Christmas lights as we drive.” He peeled off, something that was supposed to impress her.

  Estelle looked out the window and thought about Russell. He always had some little tidbit to talk about and asked her interesting questions. One of her favorites had been, “Would you rather go into space or explore the bottom of the ocean?” Turns out he was a space guy while she was more fascinated by the sea. That led to a discussion of the movie Titanic, which led to a discussion of shipwrecks, which led to a decision to try scuba diving off the coast of Florida.

  “We’re here,” Blake said, breaking her trance.

  After opening her door, he polished the handle with the sleeve of his jacket. Estelle rolled her eyes and watched to see if he was going to give the car a kiss goodbye.

  Hadley’s on the Square was an upscale restaurant that Blake had taken her to on their first date. The owners had converted a crumbling Victorian-style house into a chic eatery. The dining rooms were small and held only four or five tables each, making it the perfect place for an intimate dinner. Rich hardwood floors, architectural details, and period paintings made Estelle feel like Elizabeth Bennett out for a night in London with her Mr. Darcy.

  After ordering wine, it was at last time to address the elephant in the room. “So, why did you leave?” She looked directly at him, knowing her heart and her future were at stake.

  Blake reached across the table and held her hand with both of his. “My dear Estelle, as I told you, your mother came to me and said that she wanted me gone. She didn’t think I was good enough for you. That I couldn’t take care of you. I protested, of course, but finally realized it was no use.”

  She resisted the urge to withdraw her hand. “But why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why didn’t you give me a chance to talk to Mother and make her understand?” This was the hardest part for Estelle. She felt like Blake had not fought hard enough for her.

  “Darling, what if I had? I was not willing to put a wedge between you and your mother. I couldn’t do that to you or to her. I felt like I was in an impossible situation. I know I hurt you, but now we have the rest of our lives together. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly.

  The waiter returned to pour more wine and take their order. Estelle stared at the menu without really seeing it. All she could think of was that day on the front porch when Blake had left her. At last, she ordered and excused herself to the powder room.

  Locking the door behind her, she gazed into the elegant mirror. Could this be happening? The man she had pined for was back and wanted to marry her. That never happens—except in books and movies and books made into movies. She needed someone to talk to. She needed a friend. Then she thought about Russell. He was so easy to be around. He made her laugh. He made her happy.

  On the one hand, she thought, Blake offered excitement. He talked about traveling and having great adventures. She stuck out her pointer finger on her left hand. On the other hand, Russell was a homebody who liked to read and cuddle by the fire. She stuck out a finger on her right hand. Blake is sweet, but so is Russell. She stuck out two more fingers. Russell says he likes my laugh and my sense of humor. Blake—

  A tap on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Just a minute,” she called and proceeded to wash her hands. One last glance in the mirror set her resolve. She needed to know more about Blake and his feelings.

  When she returned to the table, he was texting on his cell phone but quickly put it away.

  “Business,” he said in the way of an apology as he pulled out her chair.

  “Speaking of business, what exactly is it that you do? I mean, you said you were an internet entrepreneur, but what exactly does that mean?” She began picking at her salad.

  “I am invested in a number of businesses, mostly companies that design and sell software applications. It’s all very boring, really, and I’d rather talk about us. I know you have been seeing someone since I’ve been gone, and I want you to know that it doesn’t matter. We don’t have to discuss it. You can end it with him, and we can announce our engagement right after your mother’s funeral.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. “I still have the ring you returned to me on that terrible day in Septem
ber.”

  Estelle caught her breath, staring at the diamond as it sparkled brilliantly off the candlelight. She kept her hands under the table, wrenching the cloth napkin in her lap.

  Blake set the box down. “Think of it, Estelle. No more hiding our feelings. No more sneaking around behind your mother’s back. Although, I did enjoy our little game of Romeo and Juliet on the balcony. We can still do that from time-to-time after I move into your house.” He winked at her and finished off his wine.

  She didn’t speak. She couldn’t take her eyes off the ring. A few months ago she would have been overjoyed and jumping at the chance to marry her Prince Charming.

  The waiter brought their entrees. Estelle had little appetite, her stomach in knots, her head foggy from the wine. She poked at her food. There was a question she had wanted to ask him back when they first started seeing each other. She had been too afraid to ask it then. She mustered her courage to ask it now. “Why do you love me?”

  Blake appeared startled. “Why? Because you’re you. You’re wonderful, of course.”

  “But what specifically do you like about me?” She reached for her glass and took several big gulps to steady her nerves. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

  “Estelle, you’re beautiful and sweet. What’s not to love?” He chuckled as though she were making a joke.

  She decided to stop while she was ahead. I guess that’s a good enough answer, she thought. Her mind jumped from remembering the past to foreseeing the future. Something nagged at her. What was it? Then she remembered. “Did you say you want to move into my house? What about your business? Don’t you have your own home? Where exactly did you go when you left Maycroft?”

  Blake cut his steak, more vigorously now, Estelle thought. Had she made him uncomfortable? He chewed slowly before answering. “You see, my business allows me to live anywhere I want. I just assumed you would want to stay here. I suppose we could move if you’d like. You name the place. London? Paris? How about Verona?” He smiled and reached out to touch her cheek.

  She leaned back. “But where have you actually been staying the past three months?”

  “Here and there.” He seemed annoyed. “Mostly New Orleans. It’s a great place to drown your sorrows.” He picked up the ring box, snapped it shut, and put it back in his coat pocket.

  They ate in silence for a long while. Estelle was numb. She needed time to sort things out.

  When they got back to the house, Estelle opened the front door and turned to face him. “This is where you broke my heart,” she said. “Where you said goodbye.”

  He put his arms around her, and she let him kiss her. She wanted to see how it felt. After a moment, she pulled away. “I don’t want you to come to my mother’s funeral. After all that you’ve told me, I don’t think she would have wanted you there. You can call me on Friday.”

  With that, she turned and went back into the house, closing the door behind her. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the stairs and walked down the long hall to her bedroom. She turned on the table lamp and sat on the settee by the window. The clouds covered the moon but left a hazy glow. A rustling noise drew her attention followed by the familiar tap of a small rock hitting her window. “Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” she said aloud through clenched teeth and stormed into the hall, throwing open the door to the middle bedroom. It was her mother’s sitting room, a place where she and Blake would often rendezvous. She could just make out Blake’s silhouette behind the drapes covering the balcony doors. Once again, he had climbed the ivy trellis. She opened the curtains, but kept the door closed, not trusting herself or her feelings.

  Blake put his palm against the glass. “Juliet,” she heard him whisper. For a moment, she was tempted to let him in. She knew they would cuddle on the sofa, and he would kiss her and talk about all the wonderful, romantic adventures they would have together. She would blush, and he would tease her about being so innocent.

  “No,” she said. “Not tonight. Not yet.” She shook her head and walked out of the room. Before long, she heard him scuttle back down the trellis and screech off in his new car.

  Her throat tightened and she suddenly felt very alone. She missed her mother. She missed the sound of the little bell. An uneasiness washed over her. She knew she was in danger—in danger of giving her heart to the wrong man.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Barking dogs startled Deena out of a fitful sleep Tuesday morning. It was the ringtone setting on her phone for unknown callers. Hurley hated that sound and began echoing the noise. She grabbed for the phone and felt an ache in her back.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you.” It was Trey. “I wanted to let you know what we found on that knife.”

  She sat up to clear the tumbleweeds rolling around in her head. “No problem.” The clock on her nightstand read 7:46. Early bird and worms and such, she thought, trying to focus.

  “There was only one set of prints on the handle. I assume they were your friend Sandra’s from the thrift store. The knife had apparently been cleaned before that. Whoever else handled it may have been wearing gloves.”

  “Oh, I see. What about the blood?”

  “That was blood all right. But not human blood.”

  “Steak?”

  Trey chuckled. “Nope. Turns out it was cat blood.”

  “Cat blood? Are you sure?”

  “Yep. I’m gonna take heck from the guys in the lab for that one. They’ve already dubbed me ‘Deputy Kitty.’”

  Deena wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or disappointed. “So what happens now?”

  “I’ll hold on to the knife until the final medical examiner’s report. Then I’ll give it back to you to return it to its owner.”

  “Sorry for all the trouble, Trey. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll see you Thursday at the funeral.”

  When she hung up, she walked over to let Hurley out in the backyard. Her body ached from the hours of work she had spent the day before cleaning and rearranging her antique booth. All the bending and lifting was catching up to her. She leaned in the doorway, letting cold air splash her face. A feeling of foolishness washed over her. Had she been on a wild goose chase all this time? Carolyn had probably been curious about what was happening downstairs at the party and rolled too close to the edge of the stairs. That’s why they call them “accidents.” No one expects them to happen, and they don’t always make sense.

  She had a theory about the knife, too, and wanted to run it by Sandra. If she were right, she might have just solved the case of the missing knife. But convincing Estelle that her mother’s death was just an accident would be much more difficult.

  *

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” Sandra said when Deena came in the shop later that morning. “I need to talk to you.” She looked around anxiously to see if any customers were within earshot. Two young women were trying on clothes.

  Deena followed Sandra to the storeroom. “I heard from Trey this morning about the knife.”

  “Oh, really? What’s the verdict?”

  “The only fingerprints on it were yours. But get this. The blood…was cat blood, not human blood.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” Sandra shook her head in disbelief. She poured herself a cup of coffee and offered one to Deena. “Check this out.” She led Deena over to the back door with its new heavy-duty deadbolt lock.

  “What’s this about?” Deena asked and blew in her cup.

  “The store was broken into over the weekend. Probably Saturday night.”

  Between the hot liquid and the startling news, Deena spilled a few drops of coffee from her lips. She grabbed a napkin from the table and wiped her mouth. “You’re kidding! What did they take? Are you okay?”

  Sandra was like a nervous mother trying to multi-task, always keeping one eye on her children. She walked to the doorway and looked in on the store. She turned back to Deena and told her the odd circumstances surrounding the breakin. Another customer came into the store, prompting Sandra and Deena to move to the f
ront counter.

  “I started thinking that perhaps whoever broke in that night was looking for something in particular,” Sandra said. “Possibly that knife.”

  Deena was wondering the same thing, too.

  The shoppers brought their items to the counter to check out.

  Deena wandered over to the pottery and glass aisle, strictly out of habit. She gazed mindlessly at the wares rather than actually seeing them. Her mind was playing out Saturday’s events at the flea market and then that evening at the shop. Could her hunch that Marie stole the knife still be correct? Would Marie break into the store to retrieve the knife she had stolen? What about the cat blood?

  “Deena,” Sandra called out, waking her from her daydream.

  They huddled together at the counter, and Deena floated her theory. “I came here to tell you that I think Marie may have stolen the knife that night from the kitchen. She probably knew it was expensive and wanted to sell it.”

  Sandra nodded. “I thought of that, too.”

  “Suppose she picked up the knife, wiped it with a dish towel, and carried it upstairs. That’s where she said the closet was with Carolyn’s gifts. Maybe the closet was locked or maybe something spooked her, so she dropped it into the box of coats.”

  “Right,” Sandra said. “She would have planned to sneak back later that night to get it or even get it when she came later in the week to clean. But then with Carolyn’s fall—”

  “Exactly,” Deena said. “She didn’t go back to get it until it was too late.”

  Sandra eyed a customer who was looking at shoes. “But what about the cat blood?”

  “Carolyn had a cat. So I was thinking that—” Deena jumped when she heard a customer come up behind her. “Oh, my. You scared me.” She stepped out of the way so Sandra could ring up the sale.

  The man set an old Royal electric typewriter on the counter and asked Sandra if she could plug it in to make sure it worked. Delighted by the hum, he asked for paper and began typing. Deena tried not to seem too impatient as he began telling a story about having used an identical model to type all of his papers in college.