Death Under the Venice Moon

by Maria Grazia Swan

  CHAPTER TWO

  Say Goodbye to Frantic A.M.s

  Stop cluttered, crazy mornings by setting a bookcase beside the door and designating a shelf for each family member. Make sure all backpacks, lunches, homework projects, sports items, purses, briefcases, etc. are in place before bedtime. Assign each person a color, and put small plastic baskets in his/her assigned color on shelves for keys and personal items.

  * * *

  Kate stayed at loose ends as she shuttled her girls and the Berman boys to school the next day. When the kids piled out at the neat bricked elementary building, she wanted to go along as well, to feel she belonged somewhere. Several times she touched her pocket notebook like it was a talisman, knowing she wouldn't complete the Nethercutt job lists prepared for the rest of the week, but wanting to do something to fill the void created by Amelia's death.

  This is ridiculous. Stop being maudlin.

  She couldn't understand why she stayed rattled. While shocked about Amelia's death, she was ecstatic about the job ending, yet a little depressed about being let go. Out of sync, out of place, and out of sorts.

  The vacillating Vermont spring weather matched her frame of mind. She flipped the heater to its highest setting and resolved to drag herself out of the doldrums. Her mood lighted upon her return home to find Meg at the McKenzie front door with freshly brewed mocha lattes. Hot mocha lattes.

  "What is wrong with me?" They faced each other across the kitchen table, their hands cradling warm cups. Kate wished self-esteem heated up as easily. "Even though I've gotten what I wanted, to be free of the job, I'm still feeling dissatisfied. And crazed about not finishing what I'd started. Not to mention guilty for being happy that I don't have to go back. Ugh!"

  "You can't wish a person dead just to get out of a crazy project," Meg said, smiling to soften her words. "Get off the guilt train."

  "No. I'm not sure what I'm thinking exactly. Maybe selfish I get to quit, but what a heavy price to pay. Guilt. Selfishness. Even confusion about her death."

  "Confused? Why?"

  "She was such a formidable woman. Everything about her seemed strong, from her strength of character to physical presence." Kate thought back to the exchange between Amelia and Sophia. "You should have been there the moment she told her stepdaughter she was bringing in the family lawyer to change her will. And dropping the verbal bombs to Mrs. Baxter and me about the papers for the garden club. Amelia positively radiated power. No way you would expect the woman to drop dead just a few hours later. I wonder how she died."

  She rose and grabbed the cookie jar from the countertop. "Oh, I'm just being silly. I tried to quit the job, and now I'm trying to concoct some kind of conspiracy. Why do I have all these conflicting emotions?"

  "It's the strange way closure works." Meg grabbed the first Oreo. "I remember Gil once got laid off from a job he absolutely hated. He experienced the same ambivalent feelings you're having. The only thing to do is keep busy. Get your mind working farther down your to-do list."

  "Well, there's plenty to get done," Kate moaned. "I focused earlier on what I couldn't finish, and forgot all the things I needed to accomplish to put an end to this job."

  In the next few hours she un-ordered all of the organizing materials ordered the previous afternoon and confirmed how to return anything already shipped. She mailed an itemized invoice of time and supplies used, assuming it would get forwarded to the estate's lawyer. Her cell phone felt like a permanent extension of her left hand by the time she got through to the last vendor.

  "Hey, honey." Keith walked into her home office about two o'clock, dressed in khakis and a golf shirt. "Considering you have this free day and all, would you pick up the girls so I can meet the guys for nine holes?"

  A free day? Was he kidding? Luckily Keith pulled her into an embrace before she had a chance to splutter a reply. When her mouth was no longer otherwise occupied, she said, "Okay, go. Just don't make any bets you can't win."

  He grinned and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Thanks, Katie, I owe you one." He disappeared out the door, then called back from down the hall, "Oh, and I promised to help the girls with after school soccer practice. The assistant coach isn't going to be there."

  "In that case, you owe me more than 'one', buster."

  The only response she received in reply was her husband laughing as he closed the front door.

  * * *

  She may have been hoodwinked to help out with the team, but the exercise and the girls' high energy were the best tonic for Kate's soul. They all arrived back home at four-thirty, sweaty and grass-stained, and ready for a quiet evening.

  Nearly an hour later, with everyone finally fed and her kitchen back to normal, Kate pretreated and washed a load of sports clothes before retiring to the living room with a diet soda, settling on the couch next to Keith to watch the twins play Barbies. Or, in her daughters' case, argue over who had "the real" Barbie.

  Keith looked at the clock and stretched. "Guess I should head for the station." He clicked off ESPN and added, "Watching sports on TV is different since I started the radio show. I used to watch for entertainment, but now I focus more for information and technique."

  "Maybe we can deduct cable on our taxes," Kate suggested.

  He kneeled to kiss each twin goodbye. Suzanne added an extra hug before the girls resumed their argumentative play. The doorbell rang and Keith moved to answer it. Kate glanced out the front window and saw a Hazelton police cruiser sitting at the curb.

  "Honey," Keith called. "You need to come here."

  In the foyer beside her husband loomed a fifty-ish looking man wearing a dark suit. A uniformed police officer remained on the porch.

  "This is Lieutenant Johnson of the Vermont State Police and Constable Banks of Hazelton PD," Keith introduced the pair.

  "Mrs. McKenzie, we'd like to talk with you about Amelia Nethercutt," Lieutenant Johnson cut in, dragging his vowels out in a husky drawl. "You'll have to come with us to the police station. We need to take your fingerprints and get a DNA sample."

  "DNA? What's this all about?" Keith demanded.

  "My fingerprints? Why?" Kate asked at the same time.

  "For elimination purposes." The lieutenant trained a steely-gray gaze on Kate. "As I believe you are already aware, Amelia Nethercutt was found dead yesterday. The death looked suspicious when the constable here," he nodded toward Banks, "responded to the call. Given his concerns about the nature of the death and evidence at the scene, we managed to expedite the autopsy, and the results corroborated his suspicions. It's a murder case, and we've been called in to handle the investigation." Turning to Keith, he added, "Your wife is a material witness in our investigation. She was at the scene, so we need her fingerprints and DNA for elimination purposes."

  "I'm calling a lawyer." Keith grabbed the cordless phone.

  "No, don't." Kate pulled her husband into the hallway for a little privacy. "This can't be a big deal. Get a babysitter, and I'll go answer their questions. Don't worry."

  "I don't like the sound of 'material witness,'" he whispered. "It usually means the police suspect a person, but don't yet have enough evidence to make an arrest."

  She shook her head. "It means no such thing. We can't afford the extra expense of a lawyer, and I have nothing to hide. I'll answer the lieutenant's questions, and he can quickly move on to other leads."

  Keith frowned as he phoned a colleague to cover for him that night. Hours later, he waited for her in the police department lobby as she sat alone in one of the eight-by-eight interrogation rooms. The door was locked. She'd already checked three times and stopped herself from making another trip across the room to check again. She made herself breathe deeply and snapped the rubber band on her left wrist instead. Number six for the day.

  The Hazelton PD was compact and functional. The officers had ushered her through a small waiting area, past the hallway that led to the jail cells, and into this windowless box that contained nothing more than a heavy table and tw
o chairs. The room needed a thorough cleaning, as did her hands. Kate pulled a packet of moist towelettes from her purse. She worked the table over as best she could, but it showed little improvement. The effort and feel of the cool wipe in her hand did lift her spirits a bit, however.

  She'd remembered the town constable, Jim Banks, from his easygoing manner at PTA meetings, but had never actually met him, just recognized his bushy mustache and knew two Banks teens attended Hazelton High. The oldest, a daughter, used to babysit for Meg. The state police lieutenant, Walter Johnson, looked the older of the two law enforcement officials by a good half-decade, and was unfamiliar to her. His slow drawl claimed roots to some distant place like Tennessee or Texas.

  Kate looked at her watch. After ten already. Why had they brought her in so early, only to make her wait? She'd heard doors opening and closing periodically, and assumed others were being interviewed. At least she hoped so. Her stomach knotted. They couldn't really believe she had anything to do with Amelia's murder, could they?

  An eternity passed before Lieutenant Johnson walked in with a manila folder clasped under an arm, and a steaming coffee in each hand. He offered her a cup and forced a smile. She sipped the bitter liquid and watched Johnson extract a printout of the swirls and whorls that tagged Kate to her fingerprints.

  "Yours matched those on the teapot, Mrs. McKenzie." Johnson pulled a pen from his pocket, as Constable Banks silently entered the room. The men nodded at one another. The local officer remained near the door.

  "I don't doubt what you say, Lieutenant." Kate found herself nervously twisting the dirty towelette and dropped the cloth onto the table. "I worked there most of the day, so you'll find my fingerprints throughout the house. The bigger question you should be asking is what possible reason I might have to kill Amelia Nethercutt. I can't get paid for a job if I murder my client."

  "A witness tells us the victim said you implied you wanted out of this particular arrangement."

  "Quitting is much simpler than killing someone."

  "Which implies you did want out of the job."

  Kate blinked. The way he said it sounded ominous. Obviously, logic wasn't going to work here, at least not hers. Best to go with the original plan and simply answer the questions. "Yes, I did want out of the situation, Lieutenant, but we hadn't signed a contract. Given the sheer magnitude of the chore, coming up with a total job price was impossible. Amelia agreed to pay me by the hour. Without a contract, I could leave at any time, and I planned to do exactly that within a few days."

  Johnson made a series of lengthy notes on the pad sandwiched in the folder, stopping several times to study the wall above her head before adding more scribbles onto the hidden page. Constable Banks remained straight and silent. She shifted in her chair, wondering whether they were doing this to get her to talk.

  If so, it can't work. I have nothing to say. She did have a question, though. "How did Amelia die?"

  "The family cook found her," Johnson said. "Mrs. Baxter let Mrs. Nethercutt's lawyer in the front door, and found her employer's body when she went to announce his arrival."

  "Yes, Amelia mentioned her attorney was coming later in the day." Kate wondered whether she should elaborate on the conversation between stepmother and stepdaughter and decided there was no harm in stating facts. "She said she was updating her will now that her husband had passed on."

  Johnson nodded. "Always a good idea. You'd be surprised how many people don't change their wills after the death of a spouse. Can make for a big family fight after the remaining spouse finally dies and the will is ambiguous. What do you think?"

  Behind him, Constable Banks's dark head nodded in agreement.

  What did this guy want from her? First he left her to sit for hours, and then starts a gab fest about wills? She had her own thoughts on this, of course, given the undertones of Amelia's words, she but didn't believe he truly wanted her opinion. Kate settled for an impartial shrug.

  "The cook came back from grocery shopping and saw the lawyer at the door," Constable Banks added his deep voice to the conversation for the first time. "They walked into the parlor together, and the cook screamed her head off. The 9-1-1 operator reported hearing her in the background while Miss Amelia's death was reported by the lawyer."

  "Oh, poor Mrs. Baxter." Kate thought about that grandmotherly-looking soul coming back to see such a sight. Then she realized she didn't know what kind of sight it was. Though the lawmen had turned uncharacteristically talkative, their words veered sharply away from her question. She tried once more. "But how did Amelia die?"

  Johnson closed down again, and returned his gaze to the area above her head. He tapped a pen against the table's edge.

  Different murder scenarios tripped through her mind like a super-speed movie, and Kate realized she was holding her breath. Stop it! They were trying to psych her out. Focusing, she forced air in and out of her lungs in a slow, regular pattern. That's better. No way were they going to think her guilty of a murder she knew nothing about. She smiled. Miss Calm—that was Kate McKenzie.

  So, it was a shock when she once more found herself unconsciously winding the towelette through her fingers. She swallowed a scream of dismay, and shoved the soiled cloth into a pocket, filth and all. Total calm—right.

  Lieutenant Johnson redirected his sharp-gray eyes her way, evidently settled on his next interrogation tack. "Your prints are the only ones on the teapot, and the only prints on the poison."

  She blinked in confusion. Impossible! Mrs. Baxter's and Amelia's fingerprints should have been on the teapot as well, and Kate hadn't touched anything that resembled poison. Then she remembered seeing Amelia grasp the thin wooden handle to pour the tea and the matching wooden button-top on the pot's lid. "Didn't the handle show any fingerprints?"

  "Wood isn't helpful at transferring print evidence."

  Meaning hers, as she'd checked the temperature of the remaining brew, left the only available prints for comparison. What bad luck. Still, this didn't explain the rest of his statement. "I touched the sides of the pot to see if it needed emptying. The tea was still warm, so I wrapped a towel around the teapot. But I never touched any poison."

  "Another witness told us you did. Watched you return the container to the kitchen island, as your fingerprints at the base verify."

  "You mean the vase of flowers?" Kate was incredulous.

  "Lily of the valley. After several days the water becomes poisonous to humans," the lieutenant explained. "In this case, the same water was added to Mrs. Nethercutt's covered teapot and killed her with that one last cup."

  A chill raced up Kate's spine. She'd only touched the vase when Danny came into the kitchen. He must be the witness who gave her over to the police. The little rat.

  "Do you have something you'd like to tell us, Mrs. McKenzie?" Johnson interrupted her thoughts.

  "Huh?"

  "You were frowning."

  "Oh." Kate straightened in the chair, her gaze meeting his as she took a steadying breath. She touched her pocket notebook to shore up her psyche. "Just thinking. I assume Amelia's grandson told you about me to divert suspicion from his family. I nearly knocked the vase to the floor when Danny opened the back door and startled me."

  Johnson's face stayed as impassive as the area's native granite, but Constable Banks showed surprise at her words.

  Teach these two for getting complacent and taking the word of some self-possessed rich kid. Then, ashamed of herself, she amended the thought. She was a stranger. It was natural for a teenager to throw her over to save his kith and kin. "Did you speak to her stepdaughter?"

  "Sophia Nethercutt-White left right after you. Said Amelia Nethercutt mentioned she was going to the kitchen for more tea. Ms. Nethercutt-White only returned after the death was discovered."

  "In updating her will, might Amelia have included changes the heirs weren't happy with or expecting?" Kate asked.

  "The attorney said everything was standard," Johnson responded. "Mostly differences
in how the late woman's greenhouse and flower stock were taken care of, and the means for setting value on everything else. A few new bequests added, but nothing significant or likely to cause a fight. It's really none of your business, ma'am."

  Kate felt her face redden. Didn't the man realize she didn't care who got what, as long as she wasn't charged with murder? "That's not why I asked."

  "I'm listening, Mrs. McKenzie."

  "Well…" She felt shaky, realizing how confrontational this interview was becoming. "Did Sophia tell you she had a problem with my working among the various collections in the house? She didn't like the idea of Amelia signing a new will either."

  The men exchanged startled looks, and she recounted the conversation that occurred in the front parlor. Johnson's expression returned to stone before she finished.

  "As you probably know from all the cop shows on television, Mrs. McKenzie—"

  "Those aren't my cup of tea, Lieutenant." Kate shook her head, before realizing what expression she'd used, and amended, "I mean, my video viewing is usually limited to whatever my six-year-olds watch in the evening."

  Johnson rolled the page containing her fingerprints into a tube, and tapped it several times on the tabletop. "What I'm trying to get across is how, no matter the crime, but especially murder, we must follow a number of leads before settling on a final suspect."

  "In that case, why didn't you question me at my home?" She knew an edge was creeping into her voice, but didn't care. "Let's face it. I'm the person least likely to gain from her murder."

  "Like all the other witnesses in the case, we needed you here to take your fingerprints," he explained. "Get a hair sample to eliminate trace evidence."

  "So, everyone else has come in?"

  "Well, most." His expression changed, admitting he was telling her more than he wanted. "This is just a first step in the investigation. And since your story follows a logical path and you clearly have no inheritance motive—"