Lethal Lasagna

by Rhonda Gibson

  A police car passed, and its presence reminded me that Mitzi’s apartment was a crime scene. I sighed, “I should probably see if it’s okay to be in there now.” Even as I said it, I dreaded the visit with Detective Howard.

  ****

  “Ms. Parker.” Detective Howard acknowledged me. He moved to sit behind his cluttered desk and dropped into his chair.

  I took note of the deep black circles under his eyes. His lips were drawn down. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Mitzi’s son called me this morning and asked if I would pack up her apartment. I wanted to make sure it was okay with the police before I did anything.” The words came out rushed, and I felt breathless.

  He sighed. “Yes, they took the tape down a couple of days ago.” Howard picked up the papers and stacked them into neat little piles.

  Baffled, I watched. What was wrong with the man? Something that kept him awake at night? Or had he pulled a long weekend here at the station?

  His head came up, and he looked at me. “Is there something more?”

  I stood. “No, I guess not.” I moved to the door but couldn’t make myself step through it. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face him once more.

  He’d propped his arms upon the cleared area and rested his head upon them. I cleared my throat and waited.

  He didn’t look up. “Yes?”

  “Detective, are you okay?” I asked.

  He raised his head. “As well as can be expected. Thanks for asking.”

  I stared into his blue eyes. They looked tired and old. Not sure what to say, I nodded and then hurried from the room.

  During the drive to the college, I worried about the detective. It was none of my business, and yet I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to cause the man to lose sleep. I was still fussing and contemplating when I entered the classroom—late I might add.

  I slipped into a hard wooden seat. As I fumbled in my purse for a notebook and pen, Brandon’s voice filled the room.

  “I’m glad to see everyone here. How did you do on your homework? Any problems?”

  The only problem I had was that I’d forgotten all about the synopsis with its main plot and subplot. I laid my notebook on the desk and crossed my hands over its cover, praying he wouldn’t ask for mine.

  His gaze moved about the class and then landed on where I sat at the back of the room. A knowing smile touched his lips. “If you don’t have any questions, please pass your synopsis to the front.”

  Papers shuffled about the room. I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. “Here, pass this up,” Martha whispered. I smiled over my shoulder and took her paper.

  A second whisper grabbed my attention. “That first date must have been something since you won the auction for the good professor and rumor has it that the two of you had lunch at Braums yesterday.”

  Since Brandon was speaking again, I decided to ignore her. When had people started gossiping about me? A mental dialogue filled my head. Let’s see, maybe it was when you agreed to have coffee with him, or maybe it was when he showed up at your church’s garage sale, or even better, when you paid to have a date with the man, and then you arrived at his church and had lunch with him and his friends. Did I miss anything? I felt this horrible urge to slap myself.

  “Ms. Parker?”

  I looked up, confused. Had he said my name more than once? “Yes?”

  Several women chuckled including the one behind me. I refused to act embarrassed.

  “What do you write?” Brandon asked, grinning.

  Grocery lists. No, that wasn’t the correct answer. “I’m not sure. I guess romance novels.”

  She watched him jot down this piece of information.

  He looked up once more.

  “Why?” His eyes twinkled at me.

  Oh why hadn’t I remembered he’d asked several people before me this question? “Because it’s what I like to read?”

  “That’s a good answer.” He looked past me, “Ms. Lewis?”

  “Children’s books.” She spoke clear and loud.

  I winced at the volume she projected. Didn’t the woman know we were all in the same room? I’d like to have some hearing left at the end of this class.

  “Why?”

  Her self-righteous voice blasted my eardrums once more. “I want to make a difference in the lives of young people today.”

  Was that answer for my benefit? Or to prove to the handsome instructor that she took her writing seriously?

  Brandon went about the rest of the room. I noticed two new faces in the classroom. They had scooted their desks together and had their heads pressed so close it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended. Obviously a couple. I wished I’d paid better attention. Brandon had already asked them what they wrote and said their name.

  If I intended to find Mitzi’s killer, I needed to be more aware of what was going on around me.

  “I would like to move people around now based on the genre that you write.” Brandon told them.

  “This is new,” whispered Martha, sounding puzzled.

  I couldn’t help but smile. How many times had Martha Lewis attended Brandon’s class? Was the woman so smitten with Brandon that she took his class repeatedly? And if so, how jealous would she become when he showed interest in someone else? The thought sent a shiver down my back, and the smile vanished.

  “Romance writers, come to the front and sit here.” He indicated he wanted them to sit on the right of the room.

  I gathered my things.

  “Figures.” Martha growled.

  I smiled sweetly as I passed her, moved across the back of the room, and then down the side aisle until I stood at the front of the class with three other people.

  “Mystery writers please come forward and sit on the left-hand side of the room.”

  Six people moved forward. I studied them, two older women, three young women who seemed to be friends, and one middle-aged man. They took their seats.

  I returned my attention back to Brandon and the way he was arranging his students, noting that the children’s writers were two strong and now sitting at the back of the room. Martha hadn’t been moved, and her companion, a young woman who was probably a new mother, had joined her. A scowl marred Martha’s strong features. I had to turn my head to hide a smile. I made a mental note to ask him if it were possible Martha Lewis had become jealous of his and Mitzi’s friendship.

  “Now, remember where you are sitting, this is our new arrangement. We’ll be working in groups from now on.”

  A silver-haired woman raised her hand.

  “Yes, Mrs. Watson?” Brandon smiled at the woman.

  “What if we write in two genres?”

  Brandon smiled. “Choose the one that you enjoy writing the most.”

  She nodded and moved to the Science Fiction group.

  I noted that her new group held five members, six now counting her. The young couple I’d watched earlier was among that group.

  “Let’s take a quick break and regroup.” Brandon announced. He’d moved to stand in front of my desk.

  The groups migrated toward the door. Once everyone had left, Brandon knelt down in front of me. “I figured out a way you can question each person here about Mitzi.”

  Interested, I leaned forward. Our faces were inches apart. His breath drifted over me, smelling of peppermint. “How?”

  “Since you really don’t know what you want to write, I’m going to suggest you move about the groups. Ask questions about each genre and if an opening comes ask about Mitzi.” He smiled at her for approval.

  A smile touched my lip. It was a first-class plan. “Sounds good to me.”

  His head raised as several students returned to the classroom. “So anything new happen since last night?”

  I nodded. “Jake, Mitzi’s son, called and asked me to pack Mitzi’s stuff. I made a trip to the police and got permission to do so.”

  He stood slowly, the remainder of the class had returned. I smiled at the other writers
that sat in my group.

  “That was a quick break.” He announced as he moved to stand at the front of the room. “While we were on break, Ms. Parker and I chatted. She’s not sure what genre she’d like to write.” He smiled in her direction. “She seems to like them all and can’t choose a favorite. So, I have suggested she visit each of our groups. Please tell her why you enjoy writing the genre you have chosen.”

  I watched them nod, some faces looked eager to spend time with me, others indifferent, but Martha simply reflected anger. What caused a woman to feel such resentment? Surely it wasn’t that she was jealous. I turned my attention to the romance writers.

  They smiled.

  TITLE

  Lethal Lasagna

  Chapter 9

  Later that evening, while I ate supper, my thoughts moved toward what I’d learned about the three romance writers in the creative writing class. I glanced down at the paper that I’d made notes on while talking to them. Their names lined the left hand side under the words “romance writers.”

  Dora Lee, a Southern lady, perhaps sixty years old, with a desire to write at least one bestseller before the Lord calls her home. Blond hair with silver streaks, blue eyes, and dimples. Her reason for writing romance? Expressing to readers that true love can still be found.

  Rikki, the mother of two teenagers, in her early forties, wanted to meet new people. Brown hair framed her heart-shaped face. Green eyes looked tired but excited when she spoke of writing. Her reason for writing romance? Because she loves escaping into another world.

  Then there was Linda Grace, the woman who confessed she’s fifty-five years old. Auburn hair, stark green eyes, and a long face. Very self-assured of publication almost to the point of being brazen. Her reason to write romance? At the time, it seems the easiest to write, and she wanted to prove she could do it.

  I read through them once more. Beside each name I wrote one word to describe each woman. Dora Lee: romantic. Rikki: lonesome. Linda: arrogant.

  Carrying my dishes to the sink, I decided two of the romance authors weren’t suspects in Mitzi’s death. The third, Linda, I hadn’t decided on yet. When they had asked why I was taking the class, I answered, “My friend Mitzi had suggested it.”

  Memories seemed to drift across their faces. Sorrow had filled Dora and Rikki’s eyes. Linda’s had remained cool and uncaring, she claimed to not have known her.

  I walked back to the table and placed a star by Linda’s name. The star represented possible suspect.

  She’d shown no emotion at the mention of my friend’s name. I’d read somewhere that killers have no feelings for their victims. What motive would Linda have to kill Mitzi?

  As I tapped my pencil on the kitchen table, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway grabbed my attention. I glanced out the dining room window. Megan stepped from her car and headed for the backdoor. A moment of guilt stung me. I should have visited her over the weekend, but church and new friends had filled the time.

  Brandon’s handsome face floated through my mind’s eye for a few moments.

  “Mom, you home?” Megan called as she came through the back door.

  I smiled. “Hey, sweetie. What brings you out here?”

  Her soft laughter tinkled as she opened the refrigerator and grabbed a soda. “Greg has open house tonight at his school. Besides, can’t a girl just come see her mom?” she popped the top and drank deeply.

  “Oh course.” I scooped up the paper and pencil.

  “I needed that.” She sighed as she lowered the can. “Whatcha got there?” Her gaze had moved to the writing materials in my arms.

  I closed the notebook and smiled. “Just some stuff I’m putting away. Nothing important.” I slipped the notebook and pencil into the junk drawer. The crazy thing wouldn’t go down flat.

  “Then why do you look like one of my students who’s trying to hide something from me?” She grinned knowingly.

  It was silly to try to conceal what I was doing. Besides, why was I trying to keep it a secret from her? She was my daughter, not my mother. Still I asked, “What makes you think I’m hiding something from you?” I shoved things around. Still the notebook refused to lay flat enough to close the overstuffed drawer.

  “Aren’t you?” This banter was getting us nowhere. I frowned.

  Megan laughed. “Jake called this morning. He’s worried about something you said ...” she raised a light brown eyebrow. “About his mother.”

  “Meddling kids.” I muttered, pulling the notebook from the drawer.

  My daughter laughed. “Mom, this isn’t Scooby Doo, and you aren’t Velma. Jake says you’re looking through Mitzi’s things for a clue to who might have killed her. Shouldn’t you be leaving this to the police?”

  My voice rose. “The police? They think I did it. I have to clear my name don’t I? Besides I’m more of a Daphne, than a Velma. “

  She slipped into a kitchen chair. “You’re kidding. Right?” Concern laced her delicate features.

  I joined her at the table. “Nope, I’m a Daphne not a Velma.” The cheeky grin I gave her did not soften my daughter.

  “Mom, you know that’s not what I was talking about.”

  “You know they took me in shortly afterwards. Well, I’ve been in several times since then. This last time, I’d had enough. I’m going to find Mitzi’s killer and clear my name.”

  “I don’t know. This could be dangerous.” Her gaze met mine across the table.

  “I’m not doing anything dangerous. Just asking a few questions. Following in her footsteps and having a good time.”

  “Having fun! Having fun! Have you lost your mind?” Her voice went so high I’m sure only dolphins and I could understand her now.

  I laughed. She stared at me as if I’d grown fangs. “Look Megan. All I’ve done is join Mitzi’s old writing class and gone to her church. Does that sound dangerous to you?” From the look on her face, I gathered she didn’t buy it and thought both actions meant I was in mortal danger.

  Suspicion laced her voice when she asked. “Really? Then, where does Brandon Harvest come into all this?”

  My little girl had done her homework. “He’s my writing instructor.”

  “Interesting.” A relieved smile touched her lips. “Is that why you purchased a date with him at the high school auction?”

  Heat filled my face. “That was an accident.”

  She laughed.

  Later, after an old movie and tons of iced tea and popcorn, I hugged my daughter goodbye. “Tell Greg I said hello.”

  “I will.” She walked to her car and then turned back around. “Mom, please be careful.”

  I laughed. “Going to writing class and church have never been dangerous. But, I will.”

  Megan smiled, waved, and then got in her car and drove away.

  The sounds of rustling in the bushes scared me. I turned to see what made the noise. Sara stood up.

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I hope I didn’t scare you.” She sniffled. “I just came by to see if you have any chicken soup.”

  “Sure. Come on inside.” I wondered what she’d been doing in the bushes.

  Sara followed. “Did you get a new cat?” she asked as she closed the back door behind us.

  “No.” I walked to the canned good cabinet. “Why?”

  The sound of the blowing of a nose filled my ears. When Sara finished, she answered. “I thought I saw a black one dash into those bushes by the house.”

  I sighed. That explained her lurking in my shrubbery. “Oh, I think we have a new stray. I saw him the other day, too.” The chicken soup was behind the tomato soup and I pulled it out and handed it over to Sara. “It seems I only have one can. Will that be enough?”

  “Oh yes, thank you.” She took the soup. “I’m going to go now; I’d hate to get you sick, too.”

  I followed her to the door. “Well, if you need anything else, please feel free to ask.”

  “Thanks again.” She waved and left.

  Exhausti
on washed over me. I made my way to the bedroom and undressed for bed. The light on my answering machine blinked up at me. When had anyone called? I hit the play button and a gravely voice filled the room. “Leave Mitzi’s death alone. I’d hate for you to get hurt, too.”

  I flipped through the caller ID. No new number filled the screen. As my heart pounded in my chest, I felt the need to call Brandon. I pushed the thought away. What would he think? Who would leave such a message? And how had it gotten on there?