Mimosas, Mischief, and Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “Why wouldn’t they just search at night? We’re not in the house now.”

  “I bet they are!” I practically bobbed up and down. “That dresser has been moved since yesterday, so it had to have happened during the night, after we left. We were back there pretty early this morning. I suppose whoever is doing the searching has a life, too. A job to go to, a family—something that prevents them from being there all the time. And we’ve been coming and going at pretty irregular times, so that could make them cautious, too. They can’t search all night and then stay up all day. They’re probably only able to spend a few hours there.” I gripped Mitch’s hand. “And his grave! Maybe the plan wasn’t to dig up Grandpa Franklin’s grave to cover up evidence, but to search his casket. What are they looking for?” I sagged back against the tub, frustrated. “Ugh, this is like algebra. Find x. I hated those equations. We don’t even know what they’re looking for. We don’t know what x is.”

  Mitch nodded, but pulled out his cell phone and a business card. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  Mitch consulted the card, then dialed. “Calling Detective Rickets.”

  “Why?”

  “Because since we disturbed the person at the cemetery, they may have headed back to Grandpa Franklin’s house.”

  “Well, why don’t we just go check ourselves?”

  “Because we’re not going to intentionally put ourselves in a bad position.”

  “Right,” I said, realizing just how carried away I’d been with my theory. “You’re right. That would be stupid.”

  Mitch apologized for calling so late, then asked the detective if he could have someone check Grandpa Franklin’s house tonight. “Oh, I see. Well, thank you.” Mitch hung up and said, “Detective Rickets says he sent an officer out there after the incident at the cemetery. There hasn’t been any activity. He said he’ll contact us if anything changes.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, you’re right. We should still check the house tomorrow.”

  “Yes, after we go to Book Daze. We promised Aunt Nanette and Livvy.”

  “We’ll be lucky to get out of there after a couple of hours.”

  Three hours later, I was staring at the chink of light coming in from under the door frame. I’d done a pretty good imitation of Nathan that night, falling into a deep sleep almost instantly as soon as Mitch and I went to bed. But something had woken me and now I was on the other end of the spectrum, as wide awake as if it was the middle of the day. I rolled onto my back and watched the smoke detector light blink while I listened to the sounds of my family’s breathing—Nathan’s slightly raspy deep breaths, Livvy’s shallower more nasal tones, and Mitch’s rumble of breath that was almost a snore. It was kind of comforting to listen to the symphony of breathing and know we were all here, safe and warm. I tried to relax myself into a sleepy state, but I couldn’t do it. My thoughts kept bouncing all over the place.

  I rolled over on my side and watched the rise and fall of Mitch’s chest. My thoughts kept bouncing back to what Mitch had said during our walk after dinner, but I skittered away from contemplating what he was leading up to. Much better to think about other things. Much better. I shifted up on one elbow and carefully leaned across Mitch to pat the bedside table on his side of the bed. My fingertips connected with his phone and I gently pulled it over the surface until I could touch the button that made the display light up. Nothing. No calls. Mitch’s breathing changed and I retracted my arm. “So you’re awake now, are you? No more Sleeping Beauty?” he said, his voice gruff and sleepy.

  “Yeah. I was checking to see if Detective Rickets had called. He hasn’t.”

  Mitch made a noise between a snore and a grunt and his breathing evened out again.

  I snuggled down on my side and tucked my hand under my cheek as I watched him sleep. He’d said we weren’t the same couple we used to be. Those words seemed to echo around in my head.

  “Mitch, are you still awake?” I whispered.

  “Um-hmm,” he said faintly.

  “Because I know this probably isn’t the best time, but I can’t stop thinking about what you said. It’s driving me a little crazy, because I don’t think we’ve grown apart.”

  He didn’t move for a long moment.

  I flipped onto my back and let out a sigh. Great time for a heart-to-heart. Was I a coward or what? I’d picked the one time when I was guaranteed to get no response.

  “I never said that,” Mitch said quietly.

  I rolled back to my side and saw Mitch was blinking at the ceiling. “I said we’d changed.”

  “That we’re not the same people we were before,” I said. My heart was beating quickly and I didn’t want to think about why I was suddenly so nervous.

  Mitch rolled onto his side to face me. “We’re not. We want different things than we did ten years ago. Ten years ago, we wanted adventure and excitement, to see new places and do new things. We’ve got two kids now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Yes,” I said. “I don’t see where you’re going with this. Are you talking about us? You and me?”

  “I’m talking about us, as a family. Where we want to go from here.” He propped himself up on one elbow and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m really mushing this up, aren’t I?” he said, using one of Livvy’s favorite expressions for when she messed up.

  “I’m completely confused,” I said.

  “Okay. In a year and a half, my commitment is up.”

  I rolled onto my back. “Oh! I see. I hadn’t thought about that in a while. Nine years,” I said quietly. “That’s what you’ve been stressing about?”

  “Yeah. Stay in or get out,” Mitch said.

  “Oh, Mitch. Why didn’t you just come out and tell me?” I asked as I rolled onto my elbow, mirroring his posture.

  “Well, I’ve done some checking. The airlines aren’t hiring. I can put in applications, if they open their windows, but right now everything’s closed. The economy, you know. And I’ve only found a couple of openings at reserve units, but they’ll probably be gone before I get out.”

  I was a more here-and-now kind of girl. I was concerned with today, tomorrow, and next week. I rarely had time to think long-range. Mitch’s commitment date was so far away that I hadn’t even thought about it. “So you’re saying, either we get out and hope the airlines pick you up or you find a reserve job.” The airlines were the natural follow-on job for a military pilot. Mitch had tons of flight time on his resume.

  “Or we stay in. Guaranteed paycheck.”

  I blew out a deep breath. “That’s not something you want to give away, especially now with so many people out of work.”

  “But it would mean more moves,” Mitch said, and I was very aware of the soft cadence of the kids’ breathing. “And we both know how hard the last move was on your work.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “It almost killed it. Another move would probably finish it off,” I said. Did I want to keep starting over, trying to drum up clients and reestablish myself every three or four years? “Not to mention the deployments,” I added. Those long separations were hard to endure and, right now, the deployment locations were legitimately dangerous places. Usually air force guys deployed and returned home, but no base was immune to attack. I swallowed. “I don’t know. I see why you’ve been so distracted, but surely we’ve got time. A year and a half is a long time.”

  “If I’m going to separate, I have to turn in paperwork several months ahead of time.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not right away. But we do need to start looking at all the options.”

  “Well, I . . . I don’t know what we should do.... I haven’t thought about it at all.”

  “I know.” Mitch shifted and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close. “Take some time, think about it from all different angles,” he said, his breath right above my ear.

  “Okay.” I relaxed into the warmth of his body. “Well, that went so much better than I thought it would.”r />
  “Mmm? Why?”

  “I thought you were trying to tell me you wanted out.”

  “Of what?”

  “Our marriage.”

  A low-pitched laugh sounded in Mitch’s throat. “Like you’d get rid of me that easily,” he said. “I must be out of it, if you have any question about my commitment. I’ll have to show you . . . ,” he said as he trailed kisses down my neck. “We are going to search that house tomorrow from the attic to the last kitchen drawer and figure out what is going on. And we definitely need to change these sleeping arrangements.”

  I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Maggie Key leaned closer to the microphone and lowered her voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she said, addressing the boy in the second row who’d asked if she ever got stuck and couldn’t figure out what to write in the Infinity mysteries. “Everyone gets stuck. I don’t care who you are—if you’re writing a paper in fifth grade or if you’re writing a book. There’s a point when you don’t know what to say or what’s going to happen. The great thing about writing fiction is,” she paused dramatically to scan the audience of elementary-age kids and their parents before she smiled widely and said, “I make up stuff! Now, I know you can’t do that in your writing assignments at school, but I can and I love it. For instance, when I was writing The Hexagon Riddle, I needed Zoe and Hunter to be able to see what had happened three years before and I couldn’t figure out how to do that until I hit on the idea of having Mrs. Kettering’s little red car become a time machine.” Maggie Key smiled. “See? I made it up! It’s a wonderful system!”

  Livvy tugged at my sleeve. “That doesn’t sound right,” she whispered when I leaned down.

  “I know,” I said, thoughtfully. Something in those words bothered me, but I couldn’t figure out exactly why.

  Livvy squirmed closer and said, “The red car didn’t belong to Mrs. Kettering. It was Karen’s car. Their neighbor. Remember?” Livvy was a stickler for accuracy. She remembered practically every word of every story she’d ever read. She used to correct us if we missed a word in her bedtime story. I figured she had a bright future if she went into something like accounting or science where each tiny variable had to be exactly right.

  “She probably just mixed up her words,” I assured Livvy, but I was still trying to figure out why those words didn’t sound quite right to me, either.

  Nathan leaned around Livvy and handed me several pieces of notebook paper. “Here, Mom. Save these. Don’t throw them away,” he instructed me in a loud whisper.

  I put my finger to my lips. Besides Nathan’s scribbles, there were several games of tic-tac-toe on the paper. Mitch had let Nathan win most of them. I folded the papers and put them in my pocket as I smiled over Nathan’s head at Mitch.

  “Look, there’s Aunt Nanette,” Livvy said.

  Aunt Nanette had been standing off to the side of the crowded room, but as she walked to the podium, she said, “That’s all the time we have for questions. A big round of applause for Margaret Key.”

  As the applause died down, Aunt Nanette said, “Margaret will be signing books in Room two-o-one. You can buy Margaret’s books in the New Books area. That’s near the snack bar. And don’t forget to stop by the Friends of the Library Used Book Sale in Auditorium B. Our next speaker is Donna Hoover, who will talk about her new cookbook, Southern Fried Synthesis: Haute Cuisine Meets the Old South.”

  Book Daze had taken over Smarr’s Civic Center, converting the meeting rooms and auditoriums to a book lover’s paradise. I’d found several new authors who looked promising and Mitch had a thriller tucked under his arm along with a book about fire engines for Nathan.

  Livvy jumped to her feet. “Can we go get my books, now?”

  “Sure,” I said, thinking that the sooner we got to the house and began searching, the better.

  “All sixteen?” Livvy asked, hopefully.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  “Aunt Nanette said they’re at the checkout.”

  The checkout line stretched the length of the building. Mitch took one look at the line and said, “I’ll see if I can find Aunt Nanette. She might be able to expedite this process.”

  “What’s expedite?” Nathan asked immediately.

  “It means speed things up,” I said.

  “Good,” Livvy declared, “because I don’t have anything to read.”

  “Nothing?” This did not sound like my book-crazy child. “What about Grandpa Franklin’s book? Did you finish it?”

  Livvy became fascinated with the hem of her sleeve. “Yeah, sort of,” she mumbled.

  We shuffled forward a step. “That’s usually a yes or no type question,” I said.

  Resigned, she stopped picking at her cuff. “No, but the good part—the letters from Sal—are over,” Livvy said. “Now, there’s just a long story about camping in the woods.”

  “Well, if you want to read, then I guess it will have to be that book.”

  “I can’t. I put it away where I found it, like you always say to do after I’m finished with stuff.” She smiled at me, hoping for bonus points for following my often-repeated directions.

  “I’m proud of you for putting it back. A few more minutes and we’ll have the books you picked out,” I said.

  Her shoulders drooped. “I’d rather read about a stupid camping trip than be bored.”

  “Sometimes it’s okay to be bored,” I said sharply in an effort to cut off a whiney outburst. “You don’t have to be entertained every second of the day. Look around. People watching can be fascinating.”

  Her mouth turned down. She didn’t agree.

  “Livvy, it’s so good to see you here!” exclaimed a voice behind me. Livvy’s face lit up and I turned to see Maggie Key. She continued to address Livvy. “Have you found some good books?”

  Livvy nodded and said, “Yes, but they’re all at the checkout. I don’t have them yet.”

  Ah, the honesty of children. If something is bothering them, they don’t hide it. I edged into the conversation. “I’m sure they’ll be worth the wait. Your talk was great. We enjoyed it.”

  “So glad you liked it.” She glanced at her watch and said, “I have to scoot. I’m supposed to be in the signing room right now. Enjoy the festival.”

  “Thanks,” I said as she scurried away. We moved up another millimeter. Livvy plopped down on the floor with her back against the wall with an exaggerated sigh.

  My phone rang and I answered it. An unfamiliar voice, a teenage girl, asked for Ellie Avery. I identified myself.

  “This is Recyclables Unlimited,” she said, boredom dripping from each syllable. “We’ve had a cancellation and could make the pickup at 929 Mimosa Drive today. Are you interested in moving up your appointment?”

  “What time?”

  “They’ll be in your area in about . . . oh, thirty minutes,” she said.

  Moving out all those stacks of boxes would free up quite a bit of room in the garage and I hated to turn down an opportunity to speed up the cleaning-out process, but the line was so long. “I’m not sure I can make it out there in time,” I said.

  “Okay. You were on the cancellation list, so I had to call you. No problem.”

  I saw Mitch moving through the crowd and said, “Wait. I may be able to work it out.” I tilted the phone away from my ear as he said, “I couldn’t find Aunt Nanette, but I did run into Chris Evan. I haven’t seen him since the state basketball finals my senior year. He’s heading this way.”

  I quickly filled him in on my phone call. “I’ll run out there, let them in the garage, and then swing back by here to pick you and the kids up.”

  “Oh, I see how this is going to work out,” Mitch said, nodding to the wobbly line that stretched out into the distance. “I get to wait it out.”

  “And catch up with your friend. No box moving,” I coaxed, and when he nodded, I tilted the phone back to my mouth. “Yes. I can be there.”


  With the warm sun beating down on my back, I removed the padlock, then shoved hard on the garage door to move it over the slight rise of ground where it usually stuck. The hinges groaned as the door folded back on itself, revealing the dim interior. I dusted off my hands and checked the time. I had about fifteen minutes before the recycling truck arrived, so I made a quick circuit of the garage. Inside, it was chilly. I zipped up my jacket and hurriedly paced to the back of the garage, amazed at what a difference a few trips to the Salvation Army and the dump had made. I crossed my arms as the nippy air brushed against my face. The garage was by no means empty, but it looked better. After the boxes of books were gone, there would be room to park a car.

  Mitch had borrowed Uncle Bud’s truck and made several trips to the Salvation Army drop-off point loaded with stuff that we knew we didn’t want and that no one else had asked for. The stockpile of backup appliances was gone. I thought of all the toasters, Crock-Pots, electric can openers, and mixers. I hoped they made some thrift store shoppers happy. At least they were out there where someone could use them, instead of stored away in here collecting dust. Mitch had also made at least a few runs to the dump, clearing out trash and anything that was broken or too decrepit to donate.