Some Enchanted Murder

by Linda S. Reilly

  Lillian dabbed at her eyes. “Then the strangest thing happened. That February—it was nineteen fifty-one—Frederic was crossing the street in downtown Manchester and he slipped on the ice and fell. A milk truck struck him and killed him instantly.”

  “So that’s how Frederic died,” I said.

  And the recorded deed languished inside the valentine. No one ever found it—not until Lou Marshall cleaned out the old desk.

  “I was sad to learn how Frederic died,” Lillian went on, “but I had bigger worries. You see, right around then I realized I was …” Lillian blushed a deep crimson. “… I was going to have a baby.”

  I set down my wine glass. Frederic’s diary entries about Lil

  lian looking unwell now made perfect sense.

  “Anton’s child,” I said.

  “Yes, he was the only man I ever loved. I tried to deny it, but by the end of February I was sure. My mother, of course, was furious. For a whole week she barely spoke to me. She sent me to Pennsylvania to live with my aunt until the baby was born.

  The child went to an orphanage and was adopted by a middle-aged couple. The records were sealed, so I never knew who they were.”

  A weird feeling clawed at me. A host of odd-shaped puzzle pieces began tumbling into place.

  “Giving away that baby was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Lillian murmured. Then her face lit up and she broke into a smile. “How lucky for me that my child has found me. Apple, Daniel … Jack is my son.”

  I felt Daniel gasp. I was grateful he didn’t spill his wine on me.

  Jack’s arm slid protectively over Lillian’s shoulder. “I’d been looking for this beautiful lady for a long time. When at last I had success, I immediately moved to Hazleton so I could be near her. I didn’t know how she would take the news, so I decided I’d try to get to know her first. I’m afraid I became a bit of a stalker myself, but only so I could watch out for her.”

  “You should have told me right away,” Lillian scolded, but her eyes held a world of joy. “Jack didn’t give me the news until after I was out of the hospital.”

  I shot a look at my aunt, who was grinning like the conspirator she was. “You’ve known for days, haven’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It wasn’t my story to tell, or my place.” She popped a miniature peppermint cheesecake into her mouth.

  She was right. Only Lillian had the right to disclose her secret.

  “By the way,” my aunt said, “I got a call from Darla this morning. She was so psyched when she heard about Lillian’s rescue that she invited us all there for a special New Year’s Eve celebration. Lil, she asked me what your favorite dish was, so I told her I’d ask you.”

  “Oh, how thoughtful of her! But she really needn’t go to all that trouble.”

  “She wants to,” Aunt Tressa assured her. “So how about it, what tickles your palate?”

  “Well, let’s see. Perhaps a roast chicken dinner? Would everyone enjoy that?”

  We all heartily agreed, so roast chicken it would be.

  “It’s curious, isn’t it,” I said pointedly to my aunt, “that right after you and I visited Darla’s, someone reported her to the state board of health?”

  Aunt Tressa examined her shimmering ruby manicure. “Yeah, I thought that too,” she said, frowning at a nail. “Anyway, the industrial-strength cleaning company she hired will be done with the overhaul right before Christmas. After that all the new appliances have to be installed. By New Year’s Eve, she’ll be ready to rock in a sparkling clean environment. And we’re going to be her first customers!”

  “Seems happy endings are the order of the day,” Daniel said.

  “Let’s not forget Blake Dwardene,” Jack quietly reminded us. “Poor fellow’s got to be feeling pretty low right now.”

  Stunned was more like it. I’d spoken to Blake twice this past week. I had the feeling he hadn’t totally absorbed all the things Celeste had done. It would be a while before he got past the hurt and the anger. Lou had apparently warned Blake that his fiancée was not all she seemed, but Blake had been too in love to take him seriously.

  In the meantime, the sale of the mansion had gone through without any glitches. Over Lillian’s protests, Blake insisted that once the estate was closed, half the proceeds would go into a savings account in Lillian’s name. After that, Aunt Tressa and Jack were going to take her house shopping.

  “I do feel strange about him offering me all that money,” Lillian fretted. “In spite of Frederic’s obsession with me, I never loved him.”

  “But he loved you, Lillian,” I said. “And Blake truly wants you to buy a comfortable little home for yourself. It’s the least you deserve after everything Celeste put you through.”

  “We’ll find a house with plenty of room for Elliot to have a friend,” Tressa piped in gleefully.

  “That will be nice.” Lillian’s blue eyes twinkled at me. “Looks like you and I will both be making a trip to the shelter, Apple. Your Cinnie needs a friend, too.”

  That was undeniably true. Cinnie missed Elliot something awful. I’d already decided that after the holidays I would adopt another cat.

  A muffled, trilling sound filtered through the wall from my apartment.

  Once.

  Twice.

  “Someone’s calling you,” my aunt chirped.

  I shrugged. “Well, since my nearest and dearest are all in this room, it can’t be anyone who matters.”

  I wondered briefly if my dad was trying to reach me. Three days ago he sent me a flower bouquet the size of a small tree, then called to see how I was doing. Truth be told, I was thrilled to hear his voice. He promised to visit next summer, when the heat in Vegas would be unbearable.

  My phone had no sooner stopped ringing when Aunt Tressa’s started up. Excusing herself, she traipsed into the kitchen to answer it. A moment later, she signaled to me.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said to the group.

  Aunt Tressa held out the phone. “A woman, for you. Didn’t say who she was. Voice sounds kind of hoarse, though.” With a shrug, she breezed away to give me privacy.

  “Hello?” I said to the caller.

  No one responded.

  “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  Again, no one spoke, but in the background a catchy little tune began to play. A Christmas song, one I hadn’t heard in years: “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.”

  My first reaction was to smile—I’d loved that song as a kid— until I remembered that the caller hadn’t spoken. “If you’re there, say something,” I said crisply, losing patience now.

  A few more seconds elapsed. Irritated, I started to hang up the phone when the faintest of whispers reached my ears. “I love you, Apple.”

  I sucked in a startled breath. “Mom?”

  In the next instant she was gone, leaving in her place a silence that felt oddly warm and comforting.

  Slowly, I set the phone back in its cradle. Had that really been her? Or had it been only my imagination, playing a crazy trick on me?

  No, deep in that place where old memories cling to the heart, I felt sure the caller had been my mother.

  I scooped up a tiny cream puff before reclaiming my seat next to Daniel. “The caller hung up,” I said, willing my voice to sound natural instead of giddy. “Probably kids, playing with the phone.”

  Aunt Tressa, meanwhile, had a strange look on her face. My stomach fell. Was something wrong?

  She looked at each of us, then grinned wickedly at me. “Don’t look so scared, Apple. Everything is fine. But I do have an announcement to make. Once Lillian is settled in her new home, I’m going to retire from the real estate business. Permanently.”

  “What?” I shrieked.

  She nodded. “The housing market’s been in a slump for so long, I’m not sure I want to wait for it to recover.”

  I looked at Jack, who was nodding slowly, absorbing her every word.

  “Anyway, it seems silly to continue po
uring money into that office space. My last commission—the Dwardene sale—gave my nest egg a sweet little boost, so I’m going to use it to start an entirely new business. Something I really love.”

  For several interminable seconds everyone was speechless. “And that is … ?” I said finally.

  “I’m going to open a designer handbag shop.” Her eyes sparkled, and I could see she was already imagining it. “But it won’t be only designer bags. I’ll sell vintage bags from the sixties, too—funky stuff like that.” She looked at Lillian. “And maybe the ladies in your knitting club would like to sell some of their felted purses. I love those!”

  “Oh, I’m sure they would,” Lillian said, looking happier than I’d ever seen her.

  “I’ll be glad to build display cases for you, Tressa,” Jack offered. “Any kind you want.”

  She touched his hand. “Thank you, Jack. And now, I think it’s time to open that other bottle.”

  Jack reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll get it. You stay put.”

  Aunt Tressa beamed like a harvest moon as he strode off into her kitchen. He returned a minute later with the open wine bottle and refilled each of our glasses.

  Daniel was first to lift his. “A toast,” he said, “to the three most perfect ladies on Earth, all of whom happen to be in this room.”

  We chuckled and sipped our wine. The chardonnay sent a pleasing flash of warmth through me. In spite of all the bad things the past few weeks had dumped in our laps, at this moment I was feeling pretty darned lucky.

  “By the way, what are you going to name your store?” I asked Aunt Tressa.

  “Oh, I’m sure if we all put our heads together we can come up with a good name. In fact,” she said slyly, “that’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Linda S. Reilly lives with her husband in southern New Hampshire. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found prowling the stacks of a bookstore or library, hunting down a good mystery.