by Gail Oust
Chad probably cringed at hearing me say that, but oh, well. No matter what his age, he’ll always be my “boy.” These days, I answer his calls with motherly pride mixed with trepidation that he’ll ask for a donation to his Living-Well-at-College Fund. In addition to books and tuition, money was always needed for clothes, entertainment, and dining out. For some reason I didn’t comprehend, Chad tended to ask me before his father even though CJ’s bank account wasn’t perpetually strained like mine.
“I’m fine, Mom, but school keeps me really busy. The professor for Organic must think we’re all grad students. Half the class is flunking.”
“I hope you’re not among them.”
“No way,” he said.
“Good to hear.” I could almost picture the smile that was so like his father’s.
“I’m hanging in there but only got a B on my last quiz.”
Bs weren’t part of Chad’s vocabulary. Lindsey, on the other hand, was perfectly content skating through classes with Bs and Cs.
“I’ve barely started a paper for Anthropology that’s due tomorrow,” Chad continued.
I sat down on a stairstep and absently stroked Casey’s head. “With Thanksgiving only a week away, you’ll be able to relax and unwind while you’re here. It’ll be a nice break.”
“Um, Mom…?” Chad cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but…”
The hesitation in his voice caused my mom alarm to buzz. Worst-case scenarios tumbled through my brain like towels in a dryer. Did he intend to drop out of school? Was he head over heels in love and wanting to get married? Had he spent his tuition money playing online poker? “What’s wrong, honey?” I managed as calmly as I could.
“Promise you won’t get mad or upset?”
“Promise.”
I could hear his deep breath all the way from Chapel Hill. “I’m not coming home for Thanksgiving,” he said.
“Not coming home?” I echoed. If I hadn’t been sitting already, my knees would’ve buckled. “Next to Christmas, Thanksgiving is your favorite holiday.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. Thanksgiving recess is only five days long and exams start the same week we get back. I can better use the time off to hit the books.”
I knew Chad had his heart set on being accepted by one of the country’s top medical schools—and he knew how much I wanted him to succeed. So what could I say? I smothered my disappointment and said, “I understand. Do you plan to stay on campus?”
“I, um,” he hemmed and hawed. “A friend of mine came up with a great idea. His parents own a beach house on the Outer Banks.”
A chain of barrier islands off the coast of North Carolina is my son’s preferred destination for a favorite holiday?
“Kyle said the place is virtually deserted this time of year,” Chad continued, unfazed by my silence. “It’s the ideal spot to get some serious studying done. If we need a break, we can take a long walk on the beach to clear our heads.”
“As for Thanksgiving dinner, there’s always frozen dinners,” I said, trying to make light of the situation even though I felt crushed.
“Kyle said a diner nearby is open 24/7 and serves home-cooked meals. Besides,” Chad added, “it’s not as if it’s really family time since Dad left. Nothing’s the same. You and Dad even sold the house where we grew up. When I do visit you, I end up sleeping on the sofa.”
Ouch! That hurt. My boy would make a wonderful surgeon someday. He’d just sliced straight into my heart with one precise incision. But I couldn’t deny the truth of his words. Everything had changed. We were no longer the same family. I felt dangerously close to tears but didn’t want him to know. “I know how important your grades are, but I’ll miss you all the same. Christmas will be here soon, and we’ll have plenty of time to get caught up. Unless…”—I paused as an unpleasant thought occurred to me. “—you’re planning to attend your father’s wedding in the Dominican Republic.”
“No way, Mom,” Chad retorted. “Gotta run. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I said, but he’d already disconnected.
Heartbroken that my son wasn’t coming for Thanksgiving, I picked up Casey and set him in my lap. My throat felt clogged with unshed tears. “Looks like we’ll have one less plate at the table this year.”
I’d no sooner set Casey on the floor when Lindsey called to ask if it was okay if, instead of coming home for dinner, she met with her study group for pizza and to review material for SATs. They were a good group of kids, so I said yes. The teens seemed earnest about scoring well, and all of them planned to go on to college, even Brittany Hughes whose primary goal was to be on the cheerleading squad of a football team playing in a bowl game. Rose, Cotton, Orange, Sugar, Peach, or Fiesta, Brittany didn’t care as long as there was a pom-pom to wave.
A lonely evening stretched ahead of me. Casey cocked his head and gave me a look as if to ask, So now what are we going to do? I thought briefly about calling Reba Mae but remembered she was meeting with a rep from a beauty-supply company. Casey thumped his tail on the floor, a hopeful gleam in his button-bright eyes.
“Want to go for a ride, boy?” I asked.
Casey was at the back door, his little body wriggling with anticipation, before I could collect my purse and trench coat and snap on his leash. Before leaving I dashed upstairs for the remainder of the chicken strips I’d stored in the freezer. Even though Doug said to keep them, I’d use them as an excuse for my visit. I wanted to find out whether he was still serious about relocating because of Brandywine Creek’s recent upsurge in crime of the homicide variety. My mind balked at thoughts of him leaving. I didn’t want to believe it. Doug had become an important part of my life, and I didn’t want to lose him.
Once in my Beetle, I followed Old County Road out of town. Doug’s home/animal clinic was a neat, low-slung ranch-type building on the outskirts of town. His living quarters occupied one end, the clinic the other. I parked in an area designated for clients, got out of the car, went up the front walk with Casey prancing alongside me, and rang the bell. A porch light switched on, casting me in its jaundiced glow. I felt myself being scrutinized through a peephole. Peepholes always made me feel as if I was auditioning. Should I break into song? Maybe do a little soft shoe? Instead, I smiled, opting for friendly and harmless.
At last Madison Winters opened the door. “Piper!” she exclaimed, her tone less than cordial. “Dad didn’t tell me you were coming?”
“Mind if we come in?”
Casey’s cheerful tail wagging sealed the deal, and Madison reluctantly stepped aside, admitting us into a small tiled foyer.
“Who is it, Madison?” Doug called from the direction of the kitchen.
“It’s just Piper, Dad,” she called back.
Doug emerged, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, a dish towel slung over one shoulder. His face lit with pleasure at seeing me, making my heart do a happy dance.
“Hi there,” he said, wearing a big smile. “This is a nice surprise. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” I smiled in return and handed Madison the Ziploc bag of frozen poultry parts. “I thought you should have what was left from the aborted cooking demo.”
“That wasn’t necessary. I wanted you to keep it.” He moved in to give me a kiss but stopped when he caught Madison’s disapproving frown. “Madison and I just finished dinner and were about to have a cup of tea. Care to join us?”
Tea? When had Doug become a tea drinker? Coffee had always been his beverage of choice. I caught a gleeful sparkle in Madison’s dark eyes and had my answer. The switch to tea had been another of Doug’s ploys to bond with his daughter. I applauded his efforts, but switching from coffee to tea? Every relationship needed boundaries.
“I’m usually a coffee drinker, but tea sounds lovely.” I experienced a weird vibe that Madison had hoped I’d refuse.
“Here, let me take your coat.” Doug helped me off with my trench coat, then hung it in the guest closet. An action tha
t had always felt comfortable now seemed awkward under Madison’s scrutiny. At this point, Lindsey would have politely excused herself, but not Madison. The girl stuck to Doug’s side like a burr. She wasn’t about to let some woman—moi—worm her way into her father’s affections. No, she wanted them all to herself.
I trailed behind Doug. Bypassing the dining area, we went into a spacious gourmet kitchen with a center island. He’d kept the original maple cabinets but installed granite countertops and upgraded to high-end appliances. A nook with a bay window held a table and four chairs. Two china teacups and saucers rested on place mats while a kettle burbled merrily on the back burner of the gas range.
“How do you like your tea?” Doug asked, getting another teacup from the cabinet. “Sugar, cream, lemon, honey?”
“Just plain,” I said. “Anything I can do?”
“We don’t need help.” Madison poured hot water over tea bags in a pretty china pot.
Doug smiled apologetically to take the sting out of his daughter’s words. “What Madison meant is that we do this every night. We have our routine down pat.”
“I’m sure you do,” I replied, taking a seat at the table. The phrase “two’s company, three’s a crowd” ping-ponged through my head. After having felt like the main attraction in Doug’s life, I didn’t relish being part of the “crowd.” I didn’t like it one bit. I couldn’t rid myself of the notion that our relationship was about to derail.
Doug produced a doggy treat from a tin on the island for Casey, who accepted it gratefully and settled at my feet. I waited until Doug, Madison, and I were seated and the tea poured before proposing an idea. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner, but, well, I wondered if you two would care to join me for Thanksgiving dinner? It’ll be just Lindsey and me, but we’d have turkey with all the trimmings.”
Madison kept her gaze fixed on her steaming cup. Doug shifted in his chair. “Ah, Piper, as much as we’d love to accept your invitation, I’ve made reservations for Madison and me at a lodge I’ve read about in the North Georgia Mountains. It’s supposed to have a fabulous Thanksgiving buffet along with a variety of planned activities for their guests.”
“That sounds amazing, and no more than I deserve for a last-minute invitation.” I smiled, but it took Herculean effort. So much for spending more quality time with the man in my life. Suddenly the holiday looked even grimmer. Deciding to sulk later, I changed the topic. “I didn’t see either of you at Chief McBride’s press conference.”
“By the time we heard about it, it was already too late.” Doug stirred a spoonful of sugar into his Earl Grey. “What did McBride have to say?”
I blew on my tea, then took a tentative sip. “The chief kept his comments brief. Who, what, when, where, but no why.”
“Did the ME establish the time of death?”
I nodded. “Somewhere between the hours of ten and midnight.”
Doug let out a low whistle and turned to his daughter. “That’s cutting it pretty close, isn’t it, sweetheart?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Madison mumbled.
“The night of the murder, Sandy kept the cast rehearsing till late,” Doug explained, vertical frown lines forming above the bridge of his nose. “It was around midnight before I heard Madison come in.”
“Ah, so that’s why Lindsey saw your Miata around that time.” I bravely ventured another sip of the scalding brew.
“Mmm, I guess.” Madison pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to return a phone call.”
Doug and I watched her go, puzzled at her abrupt departure. Something about the time line seemed … off. Wanda and Dorinda were workingwomen and had to get up early for their jobs. I was finding it hard to believe that the two outspoken ladies wouldn’t have objected to rehearsal lasting close to midnight. But what reason would Madison have to lie?
Doug poured more tea into our cups. “I was happy when Madison got involved in Steel Magnolias. She’s been slow to make friends in Brandywine Creek. That’s one of the reasons why I spend so much time with her—even though it means less time for us.”
“Family first, I always say.” I placed my hand over his and squeezed gently. “Your daughter is having difficulty adjusting. It’s only natural you’d want to help. That says a lot about your character.”
Behind rimless lenses, his chocolate brown eyes seemed troubled. Turning his hand, he linked his fingers with mine, his expression somber. “Piper, I have a favor to ask.”
I nodded slowly, not sure what was coming next. Was this where he told me we should just be friends? That he needed his space? Were we breaking up? I already felt an aching sense of loss at the prospect. Clearing my throat, I said, “Ask away.”
“I realize this is going to be contrary to my previous advice and warnings,” he began, “but I’d like you to try to get to the bottom of this—find the person responsible for killing Sandy. You’re resourceful when it comes to solving crimes. I’m convinced you can help. Madison tries to put up a brave front, but I know she’s really frightened by what happened. I’m afraid she’s going to pack her bags and move back to live with her mother.”
This was a 180-degree turnaround from his usual telling me to mind my own business. To leave the detective work to the professionals. Nothing like applying pressure. First Reba Mae, now Doug. Who did they think I was, Nancy Drew? How on earth was I, a simple shopkeeper, supposed to find a vicious killer when I couldn’t find people to join me for Thanksgiving dinner?
“I can’t make any promises, Doug, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
“Thanks,” he said, releasing my hand and leaning back. “I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate any help.”
“What are friends for?” I took a sip of tea, which by now had grown tepid.
“There’s something else,” he said hesitantly.
Had I dodged one relationship bullet, only to be wounded by a second? Red warning flags flapped like crazy. “What is it?”
Doug avoided looking at me and, instead, fiddled with the edge of the place mat. “I’ve been doing some soul-searching. Madison has practically become unglued by this whole thing with Sandy. I think it would be wise if we slow things down between us—at least temporarily. My daughter requires my undivided attention right now. You have children of your own, so I’m sure you’ll understand.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat that felt the size of a basketball. My eyes stung with tears, and I blinked them away. “Of course, Madison needs to come first.”
I shoved back from the table, and Doug walked me to the door, where, after helping me on with my coat, he turned me to face him. “You’re the best,” he said, giving me a chaste kiss on the forehead.
As though sensing my glum mood on the ride home, Casey rested his head on my thigh as if to confirm he also thought I was the best. If I was the best, why did I feel the worst? A lone, traitorous tear rolled down my cheek, and I impatiently brushed it aside. There would be time enough for tears later; right now I had a murder to solve.
CHAPTER 13
I WOKE UP early the next morning feeling reenergized. While I slept, my subconscious had formed a plan to coerce—“persuade” might be a more diplomatic term—McBride into conducting a self-defense class in a timely manner. I wasn’t asking for the moon. An hour of his precious time, two at the most. Some friendly advice. A few rudimentary maneuvers. A little kung fu; throw in some karate. Was that too much to expect?
Popping out of bed, I raced to my laptop. Casey opened one eye, stared at me quizzically, then resumed his snooze at the foot of the bed. He seemed to deduce, and rightly so, I wasn’t about to go jogging. Instead, I sat down at the computer and drafted a basic, straightforward petition, leaving plenty of room for signatures.
While I waited for the petition to print, I gave more thought to my idea. My goal was to collect as many names as possible in the shortest amount of time. To accomplish this, I needed to lure women into my shop in droves. I picked up a pe
ncil and absently tapped it against the desktop. Baked goods, something sweet and fragrant, usually worked like a charm. And coffee, lots of coffee. The answer came to me like the proverbial bolt out of the blue. I tossed the pencil aside. I’d make a pan of gingerbread. Perfect with the holiday season upon us. The spicy aroma of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves would draw people off the street.
Still in my jammies and humming to myself, I creamed sugar and butter, then added an egg and dark molasses. In another bowl I whisked together flour, baking soda, and the spices before adding them to the creamed mixture. I’d bake the gingerbread in the downstairs oven for the maximum olfactory assault. In the meantime, I threw a coat over my pajamas and took Casey out for a quick walk and let him do his business. When I returned, I fed my furry friend, showered, dressed, and downed a bowl of cereal.
An hour later, the spicy scents of gingerbread and fresh-brewed coffee permeated Spice It Up! I’d just opened the oven door and slid a knife into the center of the gingerbread to test for doneness when Bunny Bowtin charged in.
“Well, did he agree, or didn’t he?” she demanded.
Satisfied when the knife came out clean, I removed the gingerbread from the oven and set it on a rack to cool. “Good morning to you, too, Bunny.”
“You did talk to him, didn’t you?”
“I assume by ‘him’ you’re referring to McBride.” I felt dowdy in jeans and a loose-fitting sweater next to Bunny. The woman was dressed impeccably, as always, in tailored black slacks, crisp white blouse, and tweedy wool Chanel jacket. Her jacket wasn’t the only Chanel in evidence. Oversize sunglasses with black frames bore the recognizable CC logo on the stems. “What’s with the dark glasses? Did the sun finally decide to come out?”
“A migraine!” she snapped. “I’m finally recovering, but bright light hurts my eyes.”
“I expected you to call last night to see how my meeting with McBride went. Care for a cup of coffee? The beans are from Guatemala.” At her nod, I grabbed two cups and poured some for each of us.