by Liz Wolfe
“I have to run,” Jasmine said. “I just wanted to stop by and say hi.” Jasmine gave her mother a kiss and waved at me. “Nice to see you, Derek.” She floated out of the shop in a cloud of patchouli.
“Derek, I’d like you to meet one of my best friends.” Lily took his hand and pulled him over. “Skye, this is Derek.”
Derek and I barely greeted each other before Lily led him over to the counter where she had his special tea stashed. I almost forgot to drink my tea as I watched them. There were soft giggles from Lily, and Derek kept holding earrings and necklaces up to Lily’s neck and ears, letting his hands skim along her cheek and neck. I was stunned and watched them shamelessly until Derek finally took his tea and left.
“What the hell was that?” I demanded.
“What?” Lily assumed an air of innocence but I wasn’t buying it.
“You were flirting with that man. Outrageously. Who is he?”
“He’s a friend. Although I wouldn’t mind if he were more than that.” Lily giggled.
“I gathered that much. Lily, are you having an affair with him?”
“Heavens, no! I would never cheat on Grant and Kyle.”
“You just said you wouldn’t mind if he were more than a friend.”
“Well, yes, I did. But I would never do anything unless Grant and Kyle agreed.”
“This is too much for me. I can’t imagine having a husband and a lover and wanting another one.”
“So, Craig satisfies every one of your needs?” Lily asked.
That stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t answer Lily but the minute she asked the question, my mind had screamed NO! In fact, I couldn’t think of any need that Craig was satisfying lately. Worse, I wasn’t even sure what my needs were. I was saved from thinking about it any further by the chirp of my cell phone. I dug it out of my bag and flipped it open.
“Skye?”
“Oh, Bobbi Jo. Am I late for lunch?” I glanced at my watch. Eleven thirty. I wasn’t supposed to meet her for an hour.
“It’s Edward.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “He’s gone.”
Edward’s doctor had asked Bobbi Jo if he could perform an autopsy. The cancer that had killed him was rare and little was known about it. Bobbi Jo had agreed, of course, hoping they would discover something that would help someone else with the same disease. Brian had argued against it, saying he didn’t like the idea of his father’s body being desecrated. But Bobbi Jo had stood her ground, insisting that Edward would want to do anything that would help someone else. The doctor scheduled the autopsy for the following week, so Bobbi Jo had delayed the memorial service until the weekend following the autopsy.
The next week was a blur of exhausting activity. I spent as much time as possible with Bobbi Jo. I helped her pick out an urn for Edward’s ashes on Tuesday. I arranged for a caterer for the reception that would take place after the memorial service on Wednesday. I held her hand while she listened to the reading of Edward’s will on Friday. I answered her phone and relayed messages of condolence. I kept a list of everyone who sent flowers and cards. Mostly, I listened to her cry. And on Saturday, I answered her door when the detective came by.
“Is Mrs. Melrose in?”
“Detective Madison, right?” I asked.
A shadow darkened his light blue eyes and he ran a hand through his short black hair. “Right. We met when I was investigating the Natalie Turner homicide.”
“Where’s the other detective?”
“Detective Spiner is busy with another case. Why?”
“I didn’t care for his attitude last time.”
“I see. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Melrose.”
“I’m sorry, she isn’t receiving visitors right now. May I give her a message?”
“I’m afraid not. I have to see her.”
“What’s this about?” I could tell from the stubborn look on his handsome face that he wasn’t going to tell me. “Her husband just passed away a few days ago. If this can wait—”
“This pertains to his death.”
“Oh, I see.” I opened the door wider and motioned him to follow me. “Have a seat. I’ll get her.” What the hell could this be about? I slid open the screen door to the patio. Bobbi Jo was sitting under the shade of an umbrella. The glass of iced tea I’d made for her was untouched, the ice cubes almost melted. The fashion magazine on the table hadn’t been opened.
“Bobbi Jo? There’s someone here to see you.”
“I don’t want to see anyone.”
“I know, sweetie, but it’s Detective Madison from the police bureau.”
“Tell him his timing sucks and if he wants to talk to me again about that murder, he needs to make an appointment with my lawyer.”
“I think you need to talk to him. He said it’s about Edward.”
Bobbi Jo looked up, perplexed. “Edward?”
“Let’s just go talk to him. I’ll stay with you.”
“Okay.”
She’d been like this since Edward’s death. Just going through the motions. I was worried about her, and I didn’t think the detective was going to make her grieving process any better.
“You wanted to see me?” Bobbi Jo asked.
“Mrs. Melrose. I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this.”
“Please have a seat.” Bobbi Jo gestured to a chair as she sat on the sofa. I sat next to her and held her cold hand.
“Mrs. Melrose, I’ve just received the results of your husband’s autopsy.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you be informed about that?”
“Normally I wouldn’t. But the autopsy revealed that your husband didn’t die from the cancer.”
“Then what did he die from? A heart attack? Another stroke?”
“He died from an overdose of a beta-blocker. That’s a drug often given to patients suffering from heart problems.”
Bobbi Jo nodded. “Edward routinely took a beta-blocker. He’d been taking it for several months. It seemed to be helping.”
“Do you have that medicine here?”
“Of course.”
“Could I see it?” He stood up.
“I’ll get it,” I volunteered. “Is it in the bathroom?”
“In the right-hand drawer,” Bobbi Jo said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want anyone else handling the bottle. If you’ll just show me where they are?”
Bobbi Jo nodded, stood, and led the way to the bathroom. I tagged along and watched from the doorway while he used a tissue to drop the bottle into a plastic bag. He held the bag up and looked intently at the transparent amber bottle. We all trooped back to the front room.
“When did you get this filled?” he asked.
“A few days before Edward went into the hospital. Why?”
“There’re only about a dozen pills in here. The label says the prescription was for sixty pills.”
“The bottle was almost full. Edward hadn’t taken more than a few of them.” She looked confused. I was probably starting to look a little pissed off. Was the detective suggesting something? Like Bobbi Jo had overdosed Edward?
“Your husband received a massive dose of this drug, which caused his death.”
Bobbi Jo gasped. “Are you saying my husband was murdered?”
“We ruled out the possibility of suicide since your husband didn’t have access to the pills. Unless someone assisted him.”
“Edward would have seen suicide as cowardly.”
“Are you suggesting that someone assisted Edward to commit suicide by giving him the pills?” I asked.
Detective Madison turned his attention to me. “No, I’m not. Although that is a possibility, we believe that Mr. Melrose was murdered.”
“Who would want to kill Edward?” Bobbi Jo asked.
“That’s what I plan to find out.” He set the baggie down on the coffee table and flipped a page in his small notebook. “Who would have had access to those pills?”
“I suppose anyone who was in the house. Myself, of course, an
d Brian, Edward’s son. He’s been staying here for a few weeks, since Edward first went to the hospital.”
“Me.” Both of them looked at me. “Well, I mean, I’ve visited, so I suppose I had access to them.”
“Your name?”
“Skye Williams.” Detective Madison scribbled in his notebook.
“Anyone else?”
“We had a small gathering a week before Edward went into the hospital. I could get you a list of everyone who was here,” Bobbi Jo offered.
“I’d appreciate that. What about anyone who was here after he went into the hospital and before he died?”
“My friend, Lily was here. His assistant, Sean Castleton, came by a few times. And Jimmy McLaughlin, his business partner. I believe Jimmy’s secretary, Irene, dropped off some papers once. But I don’t think she left the living room.”
I watched Detective Madison write the names in his notebook while something nagged at the back of my mind.
“You aren’t sure?”
Bobbi Jo thought for a moment. “No, I’m sure. I asked her to come in, but she was in a hurry to meet someone for lunch.”
Detective Madison made another note, then put the pill bottle in his pocket.
“They’re pills,” I blurted out.
“What?” Detective Madison looked up.
“The beta-blocker is a pill. Wouldn’t Edward have thought it was strange that someone wanted him to take a handful of pills?”
Detective Madison raised his eyebrows. “Good point, but the pills could have been crushed and mixed in with something.”
Bobbi Jo’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Edward was so doped up, he hardly knew what was happening a lot of the time.”
“Oh.” How sad that her last days with him had been marred by that. I reached over and grasped her hand.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mrs. Melrose. And I’m very sorry for your loss.” Detective Madison stood. “If you think of anything else, please call me.”
I walked him to the door and stepped outside. “Have you found the person who murdered Natalie Turner?”
“No. We’ve pretty much hit a dead end.”
“You mean you’ve closed the case unsolved?” I asked.
“Is that what you want to hear?”
“Excuse me?”
“You seem very concerned about it.”
“Of course I’m concerned about it. It bothers Bobbi Jo that it was her gun that killed the woman.”
“She should be concerned. It doesn’t help that her husband was murdered, too.”
“But Sean told me he remembered that Bobbi Jo answered the phone once that night he called Edward. It proves she was at home and couldn’t have murdered Natalie Turner. Not that she had any reason to.”
“Yeah, I remember Mr. Castleton’s conveniently remembering that. Nice alibi for your friend.”
“You don’t believe him?” Detective Madison might be one of the best-looking men I’d ever seen, but he was starting to piss me off.
“Castleton was her husband’s assistant. That gives him a reason to manufacture an alibi for his boss’s wife.”
“Good-bye, Detective Madison.” I would have slammed the door in his face but I didn’t want to upset Bobbi Jo. I walked into the great room. Bobbi Jo was curled on the sofa sobbing. How was she ever going to get through the funeral?
I stood in the walk-in closet I shared with Craig and stared at my clothes. So far, staring had not created the perfect outfit for the memorial service. I had three black dresses. A cocktail dress that was entirely inappropriate for a funeral. A simple sheath that would be perfect, but it had been a little tight for almost a year. And one that was just plain ugly. I looked at the rest of my side of the closet. It was a wall of beige with an occasional spot of sage green or soft blue peeking out. When had my clothes become so boring? When had I become so boring?
I pulled out the dress that was tight. My pants had felt looser the last couple of weeks. The situation with Craig seemed to have created an overload of nervous energy and I’d been using it to clean out the garage and closets, and working extra hard in the yard in the mornings. In the afternoons, I went to Bobbi Jo’s and we usually swam for an hour. Maybe something good had come of all that activity. I carried the dress into the bedroom and laid it on the bed.
Craig was still in the bathroom, but the door was open. He’d made a feeble attempt to get out of the memorial service, pleading an overdue project at work. I’d compromised by telling him he could leave after we got to the reception. I didn’t think Bobbi Jo would care, or even notice, if he was there or not. I wondered if Detective Madison would attend. In the movies, detectives always went to the funeral. Didn’t they say the murderer always went to the funeral, too? Or was that just if they knew the victim?
I sat on the bed and pulled on black stockings. “That detective bothered me. He had an attitude.”
“I think they have to have an attitude. It’s part of the job description.” Craig leaned out of the bathroom, his face covered in lather.
“He almost accused Bobbi Jo of killing Edward. And he still suspects her of the other murder.”
“He’s just eliminating suspects. After all, she inherited a lot of money.”
“Well, what about Brian? He got a bundle, too.”
“Wasn’t he told not to leave town? That sounds so corny.”
“He wasn’t happy about it, either. Evidently he wants to audition for a new play and staying here is cramping his style.”
“I don’t think Brian has any style,” Craig said.
“It’s just doesn’t make any sense. Edward was going to die in a few months anyway. Bobbi Jo and Brian would have gotten the inheritance then.”
Brian had thrown a fit when the will had been read. Evidently Edward had changed his will and hadn’t informed Brian that his inheritance would be in the form of a trust fund. Still, he was set for life, since the trust fund would give him half a million a year until he died. Bobbi Jo received the bulk of Edward’s estate. About thirty million dollars. Most of it was invested and would earn her well over a million a year. Edward’s attorney had called Bobbi Jo to let her know that Detective Madison had requested a copy of Edward’s will.
“Then it had to be someone else,” Craig said.
“Who? The only people in his room were Bobbi Jo and Brian and the hospital staff.” Actually, I wasn’t sure about that. There could have been other people who had been allowed to visit Edward.
“I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”
I slipped the black dress over my head just as Craig came into the bedroom.
“It would help if they’d find whoever killed that woman with Bobbi Jo’s gun. Could you zip me up?”
“Sure.” Craig moved behind me and zipped the dress. I looked in the mirrored closet door and realized I’d lost quite a few pounds. The dress skimmed over my hips and tummy, where before I’d had to clench my stomach muscles into a knot to avoid looking pregnant.
“I’ve lost some weight. This used to be tight on me.”
Craig glanced at my reflection for a fraction of a second. “Really?”
Men! Or was it just Craig? He’d never been one for compliments, but surely he could see the difference, if he looked. Maybe that was it. Craig never really looked at me anymore. I pushed the feelings aside and finished dressing. This wasn’t the time to think about what I looked like or if Craig ever looked at me. My focus had to be on Bobbi Jo today.
We were both silent on the short drive to the memorial service. I’d offered to drive Bobbi Jo, but she had insisted on driving herself. I wasn’t sure that was a good idea, and I planned on driving her home after the service.
Edward had left Bobbi Jo explicit instructions about his memorial service, and she’d made sure everything was exactly the way he’d wanted. The eulogy would be given by Jimmy McLaughlin, his friend and business partner.
I sat on one side of Bobbi Jo, Brian on the other. Sean Castleton and Jimmy M
cLaughlin had taken the seats across the aisle from us. Even though Craig hated funerals, he’d promised to sit in the back of the room, although when I turned around, I didn’t see him. I suspected he’d slipped out as soon as I was seated. The only people in the back row were Detective Madison and another man who was obviously a cop.
At the end of the eulogy a recording of “Spirit in the Sky” was played.
“Edward always liked that song for funerals.” Bobbi Jo gripped my hand. “He was anything but religious, but he said it sounded like the kind of song you’d want to usher you into the presence of a higher being.”
“Come on. I’ll drive you back to the house.”
“You don’t have to, Skye. I’m fine. Really.”
“I know. But I want to.”
Learning that someone had murdered Edward had lifted the fog Bobbi Jo had been in. She wanted the killer found. The fact that the police considered her a suspect didn’t appear to bother her at all. She carried Edward’s urn in her lap as I drove back to her house. Brian was behind us and turned off the main driveway to the guesthouse in the back. When we went inside, she placed the urn on the mantle in the front room.
“This is where he said he wanted to be. He told me to take his urn home so he could watch over me.” A half laugh gurgled in her throat. “He said not to put it in the bedroom, though. Said he was going to try to be an angel and he didn’t want to test himself by watching me in bed.” A tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it away. “Damn, I’m gonna miss that man.”
I gave her a fierce hug. “I know. We all will. Why don’t you go rest for a few minutes?”
“I can’t. Everyone is going to be here soon.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Go lie down and I’ll check on the food.”
“No, I should help you,” Bobbi Jo protested. “No way. How often do I get the run of your kitchen?” I wasn’t completely kidding. Bobbi Jo had everything in her kitchen. Wolff stove, Sub-zero fridge, yards of granite counters, a beautiful island with a sink and disposal. The only thing she didn’t have was Emeril. Not that she couldn’t afford him.
Lily arrived with Grant and Kyle a few minutes later. I put them to work setting out all the food the caterer had dropped off earlier. When the food was set up and the bar stocked, I sent Lily to get Bobbi Jo ready to greet her guests.