“You sound like my mother,” Avery muttered, tantalized by the warm smell of melting butter and frying bacon.
“Are we both wrong?” he wisecracked.
“Go on and set down wherever ya like,” a college gal in jeans and a University of Illinois sweatshirt called out.
“I like this place already,” Avery grinned, sliding into a booth with red plastic seats.
“Wait ‘til you taste the food,” Kerry commented, taking off his jacket and grabbing a menu from behind the aluminum-topped sugar dispenser.
“Thanks for keeping me company,” Avery smiled over the top of her menu.
“Thanks for giving me an excuse to eat naughty food,” was the distracted response as Kerry perused the menu.
The two ordered and ate heartily while catching up on what had happened in their lives in the past twenty years since high school. At the end of the evening, just as they were leaving the diner, two police cars, a firetruck and an ambulance screamed past them, lights flashing and sirens wailing.
“Wow, I wonder what’s going on,” Avery raised her voice to be heard, following the progress of the vehicles.
The lights and sirens came to a sudden stop, apparently having reached their destination.
“Oh, that’s not good,” Kerry frowned.
“What?”
“Well, judging by when they shut the sirens off, and the direction that they were headed in, they may have stopped at the Chamberlain, or somewhere close to it.”
“Is Champaign still safe downtown?” Avery’s eyes widened.
“Yep, definitely. There was a shooting a few months ago, but it was just a fluke thing. Let’s go see if we can find out what happened,” Kerry took off down the sidewalk at a fast clip, and she hurried to catch up with him.
“Oh no,” Avery whispered as they turned the corner up the street from the Chamberlain. Bile rose in the back of her throat, and her knees began to shake.
“What?” Kerry stopped at her tone.
“The police cars and firetruck and ambulance are all surrounding my car. That little blue one right in front of the police car is mine,” she pointed down an alley that ran beside the florist shop that was right next to the Chamberlain.
“Looks like something happened in the alley. Let’s go check it out,” Kerry began walking again.
With the lights and sirens announcing that something had happened, a small crowd began to gather at the mouth of the alley. Police kept everyone from entering the alley, which made Avery wonder how she was going to get home.
A large, intimidating policeman stood at the corner near the florist shop, making certain that no curious onlookers wandered into the alley. Kerry walked right up to him, with Avery in tow.
“Hey Vaughn,” he greeted the hulk of a man with disarming familiarity.
“Hey Kerry,” the greeting was somberly returned, with the cop’s eyes flicking toward Avery as though assessing her threat risk.
“What happened?” Kerry asked, craning his neck to try to see past the mountain of an officer.
“Can’t say. We’re assessing the scene. You two should probably get going. It’s going to be a long night,” the cop advised.
“I can’t actually get going…that’s my car,” Avery pointed down the alley.
“The blue one?” the cop’s eyes were laser-focused on her now.
“Yes,” she gulped, nodding.
“Well, this is my lucky day. We need to talk to you,” the policeman said, his tone menacing.
“Uh, okay,” Avery was confused.
“We can meet you inside the Chamberlain, where it’s a bit warmer,” Kerry suggested.
“It isn’t going down like that. You can go on home. Your lady friend is coming to the station for questioning.”
“Questioning about what?” Kerry asked, when it was obvious that Avery was speechless.
The officer turned to Avery. “The murder of Rosanne Nelson.”
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
“I have been worried sick,” Doris pounced and hugged her daughter close when she came in.
“You knew where I was, Mom,” Avery accepted the hug, exhausted after spending three hours at the police station.
“I wanted to come down there and get you, but your father said that it might make you look guilty,” she worried, her hands on Avery’s cheeks as she examined her daughter for trauma.
“I didn’t do anything, Mom, it’s fine,” Avery assured her, and headed for the kitchen.
“Do you need tea? I can make tea,” Doris hovered.
“I’m just going to get some water to take up to my room. Go get some sleep. I’ll be fine, I promise,” Avery gave her mother a reassuring smile.
“But, if…” Doris began.
“I’m fine,” Avery interrupted. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. We need to be quiet so we don’t wake up Dad. Have a good sleep, Mom,” she turned toward the sink and filled her water glass.
“Fine, but I want details,” Doris muttered, wandering toward the stairs.
Avery trudged up the stairs moments later, secretly glad that her mother loved her and worried about her and fussed over her. She’d never gotten that kind of attention from Rob, and it was really nice to feel cherished for a change, even if it was by her parents. She was asleep the minute that her head hit the pillow, and she was thankful that she didn’t have nightmares after being questioned concerning a murder.
**
“Did the police talk to you?” Avery asked Shelly.
Her friend had come over to have tea and try to process the fact that one of their classmates had been brutally murdered, just hours after they’d seen her.
“Yeah,” Shelly clutched her mug. “They asked a ton of questions about you and the other gals, since we were the ones who last saw her alive,” she shook her head. “I mean, she could be unpleasant, but it really shakes me up to think that someone killed her.”
“Do you think that maybe it was a robbery gone bad or something?” Avery wondered.
“I wouldn’t think so. That kind of stuff just doesn’t usually happen downtown. I wonder why she was right next to your car like that,” Shelly stared into her tea.
“I’m sure it was just a coincidence,” Avery shrugged. “Who on earth could have done this? Was she married?”
“Yep, her husband was probably on a business trip, he’s not around much.”
“Really? Why?”
“He travels a lot for his business.”
“What does he do?”
“What doesn’t he do? He owns like half of Champaign,” Shelly took a sip of her tea. “He’s…older.”
“Older? Than what?” Avery was curious.
“Than us, by far. I think he had twenty years at least on Rosanne.”
“Hmm. Is he cute?”
“If you’re into dating the elderly, sure, I guess,” Shelly looked at her oddly. “What a strange question.”
“Well, I mean, there must’ve been something that attracted her to someone so much older,” Avery shrugged.
“Uh…yeah, there was. It’s called money.”
“Do you really think that Rosanne was that shallow?”
“Do you think she wasn’t?” Shelly raised her eyebrows, amused.
“You do have a point, but now I feel like a total jerk, speaking ill of the dead. I wonder what happened to her.”
“You mean, how did she die?” Shelly clarified.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me, and the media isn’t giving out details either. It’s weird.”
“Sometimes law enforcement holds back details because they’re waiting for the killer to bring them up. There are things at a crime scene that only the killer would know, so the police use those details to make them incriminate themselves during questioning,” Avery murmured, thinking.
Shelly stared at her for a moment, then realization dawned.
“Oh, that’s right. You’d know a bun
ch of this weird stuff because you write mysteries!” she exclaimed. “So, what kinds of details do the police hide?”
“The murder weapon, the method used, the position of the body, any souvenirs taken…”
“Souvenirs?” Shelly was puzzled.
“Yes, sometimes murderers, particularly serial killers, take pieces of the victim with them, as kind of a trophy. They may take jewelry, or an article of clothing, or they may chop off a hunk of hair or a finger or something.”
“Oh wow…that’s disgusting,” Shelly turned a bit green.
“Well, serial killers aren’t known for their socially acceptable behavior.”
“Hmm…Janet works for the city. I wonder if she could find out what happened,” Shelly mused.
“I wouldn’t ask her.”
“Why not?”
“She was one of the last few people to see Rosanne alive, and as you’ll recall, their interaction wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Avery explained.
“So? Those two never really got along.”
“That’s my point. There are at least four witnesses to the fact that the two of them went at it right before Rosanne died.”
“Well, yeah, but it wasn’t like a big deal I didn’t think.”
“True, it wasn’t. But we don’t want to make it seem like it was by having Janet go poking around City Hall asking questions,” Shelly pointed out.
“True. Usually they look at the spouse first, so they’re probably focusing on the husband and his friends right now.”
“It’s a little freaky how much you know about this stuff,” Shelly patted down the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Occupational hazard,” Avery smiled faintly.
Shelly blinked several times, then glanced at her watch.
“Oh, look at the time. I’ve gotta run. You take care, Avery,” she popped up out of her chair and headed for the front door.
“I’ll see you out,” Avery trailed along behind her.
“No need, I can find it,” Shelly let out a nervous laugh that sounded like a hiccup.
She was halfway to her car before Avery got to the front door to close it behind her.
“Wow, she sure left in a hurry,” Doris remarked, coming out of the kitchen and drying her hands on a towel.
“Yeah, she did,” Avery frowned, lost in thought.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
Avery sat on her bed, staring at the blank screen on her laptop. She’d re-read the first part of her manuscript, and knew where she wanted to go with the story, but she just couldn’t seem to get the words out for some odd reason. She was fully caffeinated, which was a requirement for writing, and had gotten plenty of sleep the night before, despite worrying about Rosanne Nelson’s murder and Shelly’s seeming avoidance of her in the days since the horrible death.
Knowing all-too-well her daughter’s need for solitude when she was writing, Doris had come upstairs and wordlessly set a plate of still-warm homemade chocolate chip cookies on the nightstand, then disappeared again. Avery was thrilled that her parents grasped the importance of her alone time, and was understandably confused when Doris called up to her.
“Avery, honey. Can you come down please?”
Clenching her teeth in frustration, and taking a deep breath through her nose, Avery made an effort to sound positive when she replied. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that she had a wicked case of writer’s block.
“Can it wait?” she asked brightly, making herself smile so that the upbeat tone would be conveyed in her voice.
“Umm…sure, I guess,” Doris replied faintly.
“Thanks, Mom,” Avery replied, once again frowning at her keyboard. “I have to type something,” she murmured to herself. “I just have to write a couple of sentences and things will start flowing.”
The harder she tried to think, the more stymied she became, until finally, she snapped her computer shut in frustration.
“I’ll go for a walk and breathe deeply, then I’ll come back and write,” she vowed.
Snagging a cookie which was pure heaven, even if it was no longer warm, she headed downstairs.
“All done?” Doris asked, surprised, when her daughter came into the kitchen for a drink of water to wash down the cookie.
“Not even close. I’m going for a walk to clear my head and then I’ll be back at it.”
“Having a rough time with this one?” her mother asked softly.
“The blank page is accusing me,” Avery sighed.
“Well, you’ve been through quite a lot recently,” Doris commented.
“I know, and that usually spurs my creativity. I’m just bogged down. I’ll get it back,” Avery sounded much more confident than she felt. “What did you need me for earlier?”
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Doris pointed to a plain brown cardboard box on the counter that was a little bit smaller than a softball. “It was just sitting on the porch when I brought the mail in.”
Curious, Avery went over and picked it up. Letters that were clearly cut out from magazines formed her name on top of the box. Puzzled, she took the packing tape off of the flaps and opened it. There was a mass of fluffy pink tissue paper inside and she pulled the edge of it back to reveal a necklace, nestled upon fresh rose petals. Reaching in, she pulled it out, and examined it. It was a beautifully sculpted free-form heart, with a cascade of what looked like diamonds gracing the left-hand side.
“Wow, that must’ve been some date you had the other night,” Doris remarked, taking in the sparkling necklace.
“I didn’t have a date,” Avery turned to her, confused.
“Sure you did. Before you had to go to the police station. You went out with Reverend Sawyer’s boy,” her mother reminded her.
“Oh, there’s no way that this is from Kerry. He’s a bartender, and we don’t have that kind of relationship, even if he had the money,” Avery shook her head.
“You never know,” Doris smiled. “Maybe he was smitten and this is how he’s letting you know.”
“I have a bad feeling about this, and I can’t figure out why,” Avery mused, holding the necklace up, its gems glittering in the rays of sun streaming through the kitchen windows.
“Maybe because you write about a bunch of spooky stuff that makes you paranoid, even about a nice gift?” Doris hazarded a guess.
“Probably,” Avery smiled and dropped the necklace gently back into the box. “I’m going for my walk now. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Grab a sweater, honey. You don’t need to catch a cold,” her mother warned.
Avery grinned and shook her head. Some things never changed. Her mother had been concerned about her warmth every single day of her life, but the day was sunny, and her pace was brisk, so she knew she would be fine in her plain grey t-shirt.
The writer concentrated hard on how she could arrange the next several chapters of her current mystery novel, and became so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even hear the bell of the bicycle rider behind her, until they were right on her heels.
“Hey!” a sweet, familiar voice rang out, finally breaking into Avery’s thoughts.
She turned to see Linda Brown, pedaling a turquoise cruising bike, complete with tassels on the handlebars and a woven plastic basket on the front, which was full of books.
“Hey, Linda. What are you up to today?” Avery asked, pleased for the distraction.
Her friend hopped off of the bike and walked it along, falling in step beside her.
“I always go to the library on Saturday.”
“People still use libraries?” Avery joked.
“I would think that you, of all people, would appreciate that fact.”
“I actually sell way more ebooks than paperbacks,” Avery shrugged. “I prefer having an actual book to hold, but apparently e-reading is here to stay.”
“I know what you mean. There’s nothing like the smell of a new book,” Linda grinned. “Speaking of which…how is your latest one coming a
long?”
“Slowly, unfortunately. That’s why I’m out here. I have a wicked case of writer’s block.”
“Yikes, that’s awful,” Linda sympathized. “What do you think is distracting you?”
“Just about everything,” Avery chuckled. “Who knows? I’ve had this happen before. I’ll get through it. Did you hear about what happened to poor Rosanne?”
Linda grimaced. “Yes, how terrible. The police came to my house and talked to me. I sure hope they find whoever did it.”
“Me too,” Avery agreed.
The two walked along in silence for a bit, then Linda spoke hesitantly.
“Can I ask you a strange question?”
“Why not? Everyone else does,” Avery smiled.
“Do things like what happened to Rosanne…inspire you? I mean, obviously not her particular case, but you know, things like that in general?”
“True crime? Definitely,” Avery nodded. “I get some of my best material from watching the news and digging up cold cases.”
“Doesn’t that stuff give you nightmares?”
“Nah, I think I’ve become desensitized to it, really.”
“That’s hard to imagine,” Linda shivered, whether from the subject matter, or the cool Fall day, Avery couldn’t tell.
“Well, police get to that point. If they freaked out at every weird or gruesome thing that happened, they’d lose their minds pretty quickly. I think it’s just a matter of looking at things clinically, you know?”
“I suppose,” Linda didn’t sound convinced. “So, have you talked to Janet at all since…that night?”
“No, why?”
“I’m kind of worried. We were supposed to meet at the new Indian restaurant downtown for dinner last night – we planned it a couple of weeks ago – and she never showed. I’ve tried calling her and she doesn’t answer, and her car wasn’t at her house when I dropped by.”
“Does she typically stay in touch?”
“Well, it’s not like we communicate all the time, but when we do have plans, if she can’t keep them, she at least lets me know.”
Cozy Christmas Murder Page 3