Murder Wears White

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  “We’d better go,” Angela declared and ushered her niece and brother off the porch and to her car. Angela’s car rolled down the drive, kicking up a small cloud of dust. They left Lois’s Jaguar parked beneath a ginkgo tree, emblazoned with a “My terriers are smarter than your honor student” bumper sticker.

  “They didn’t take the dogs!” I could see the Westies through the kitchen window. They must have forgotten them in their shock and haste. Bruce sat in the corner, whimpering dolefully in the direction where Lois had lain, his voluminous eyebrows dancing up and down. Maisie milled about the kitchen, her little stumpy tail between her legs. She returned again and again to the spot where we’d found Lois’s body. Fiona licked Maisie’s face in what seemed like an attempt to calm her down.

  Whiskey, my calico cat, marched into the kitchen, then screeched and alighted on the table when she saw the dogs. She arched her back and hissed in disdain at the canine interlopers. Soda was less perturbed, but she also hopped onto the table and swished her tail in annoyance. She gave the pups a quizzical look, then resumed washing herself in a patch of sunlight. The dogs barked in return and ran in frenzied circles around the oak table. Finally, Soda braved the dogs to get a bite of kibble. The little orange kitten wanted nothing to do with Bruce or Fiona, but she did a delicate, sniffing do-si-do with Maisie and swatted playfully at the Westie’s nose. Maisie shied back as if Soda were a Doberman instead of a five-pound miniature ball of orange fluff.

  I opened the door and whistled, and the three little dogs ran out onto the porch. Little Maisie placed her snowy paws on my calves, and I reflexively bent down to pick her up.

  “There goes that wedding.” Rachel frowned.

  “Rachel! A woman has died!” I was outwardly aghast at her comment, but inside I was thinking the same thing. I stroked the small white dog and buried my nose in her fur. She missed her human mommy and shook like a leaf.

  “I know, and it’s awful, but you can’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

  Garrett relieved me from responding with his arrival. He crossed the last few feet of the backyard that connected our houses and enveloped me in a bear hug, stopping at the last minute to avoid crushing Maisie.

  “Dad told me what happened,” he whispered into my hair. He patted Maisie, and the Westie licked his hand. “I came as soon as I could.” Garrett and his daughter, Summer, lived with his mother and his father, Chief Truman.

  “Can it get any worse?” I pulled back and gestured around me. “This renovation has been plagued with accidents, there’s no time to pull off Whitney’s wedding, and now Lois is dead. Not to mention,” I snuck a glance at my sister, “the wedding is probably off now.”

  “I was just telling Mallory she’s not to blame.” Truman sidled up next to his son and shot me a pleading look. “There was probably a trace of allergen in the food, but that couldn’t be helped.”

  I stepped away from father and son and held my chin high. I placed Maisie on the ground, and she snuggled next to my feet. “That kitchen was spotless. Whitney gave me a list of every allergen for her family, and I made sure none of them were near the wedding tasting.”

  “It was most likely some kind of shellfish, but we won’t know the official cause for a few days,” a cheerful voice said behind me. I whirled around to face a small, buoyant, pretty young woman with nutmeg-colored hair and eyes and freckles dancing across her ski-jump nose. Her whole demeanor was bouncy. She had bouncy hair, a bouncy step, and a girlishly enthusiastic voice. She must have been a cheerleader in a former life.

  “Mallory, this is Natalie Nelson, the coroner.” Truman smiled at the peppy woman, who held out her hand.

  I shook it in a daze. This woman is the coroner?

  “Don’t feel bad, Mallory. It could have been a minute bit of shellfish from anywhere.”

  Thank you, voice of reason.

  “Although,” she cocked her pert head, “it was likely in the food you just served.” I dropped her hand like a hot coal and bristled as I picked up Maisie.

  “Garrett!” Natalie stood on tiptoe and enveloped my sort-of-boyfriend in an embrace just long and familiar enough to make me uncomfortable. “It’s so nice to see you!”

  Garrett looked appropriately sheepish and broke off the hug before Natalie did.

  “How’s it going, Nat?” He took a step back and rewarded her with a slow but flustered smile.

  She returned it with a billion-kilowatt grin and kept her eyes locked on his.

  Nat? What the heck is going on?

  “I haven’t seen you in a while.” She continued mugging, like an adorable, pint-sized jack-o’-lantern, and I could stand it no longer.

  “Would anyone like a piece of cake? We have a lot left over.” I stuttered and wondered if it was bad form to serve something that might have killed Lois.

  “I’d love some!” Natalie chirped. “But I bet Truman will need it for evidence. I could go for a cup of coffee, though.” She smiled at me expectantly, and I had no choice but to leave her on the back porch gazing at Garrett and retreat to the kitchen. I set Maisie on the floor, and Bruce and Fiona raced in behind me, to the chagrin of my cats, who retreated to the breakfast room and their perch on the table again.

  “Alert, alert,” Rachel whispered as she followed close behind. “That chick has designs on your man.”

  “He’s not my man,” I retorted with a touch of irritation in my voice. I banged the percolator around the counter. “We haven’t even been on a single real date!” I shook coffee beans into the grinder with an unsteady hand, and several spilled over the counter and onto the floor, where they pinged around like marbles. I hated to admit the woman flirting with Garrett had unnerved me more than Lois’s untimely death.

  “He is so,” Rachel soothed and emerged from the closet with a broom to sweep up the beans. “You guys have just been too busy to go out on a proper date. But I know men, and this one is absolutely crazy about you. Now go out there and get ’im.” She shooed me out of the kitchen and took over the coffee-making duties.

  I must have been imagining things, because when I returned to the back porch, Natalie, the cute-asa-button coroner, was gone. She hadn’t stayed for a cup of coffee, and she didn’t have designs on Garrett. She was just dropping in to inform her colleague Truman about Lois’s cause of death. From the corner of the porch, I could see a lemon-yellow VW Bug exiting the drive, a pink flower attached to the antenna.

  She even has an adorable car.

  Garrett and Truman were deep in conversation.

  “This family doesn’t need any more tragedy.” Truman stroked his chin. “This year will be the twentieth anniversary of Vanessa Scanlon’s disappearance.”

  “And the tenth since an innocent man was wrongly convicted.” Garrett squinted his hazel eyes, an exact replica of his father’s.

  “Don’t start with that again.” Truman snorted and waved his hand, making light of Garrett’s comment.

  “Your department’s investigation was sloppy at best.” Garrett’s voice was clipped and strained, and his hands were fisted at his sides.

  I frowned and took a step closer. I’d never seen him this worked up.

  “It wasn’t my department. I wasn’t chief yet. Rusty Dalton was still in charge. And, son, it was your very first homicide case.” A warning note pierced his dismissal. “I know you’d like to do things differently, but you can’t turn back time.”

  “Eugene Newton is innocent.” Garrett’s nostrils flared, and he turned to me. His eyes softened, and he dropped a kiss on top of my head. “I’m sorry. I need some air. I’ll call later.” The right side of his mouth crooked up, and he turned to leave, threading his way through the newly manicured gardens and fields of purple thistle and goldenrod back to his house.

  Truman shook his head. “I apologize for my son’s behavior.” He stated this as if Garrett were a two-year-old who’d just pitched a tantrum. “But someday he’ll admit that his client murdered Vanessa Scanlon in cold bl
ood.”

  I trembled and went back to the kitchen to settle my nerves with a cup of coffee.

  Truman strode away with leftovers from the wedding tasting in evidence bags. Before he left, he reiterated that Lois’s death wasn’t a homicide, just a horrific accident. Rachel and I cleared the tasting table.

  We only had a few minutes to spare before my mother arrived, and she always showed up a tad early, the better to catch us straightening up.

  “My daughters!” She surprised us in the kitchen. “This house is a disaster,” she said cheerfully as she advanced for a hug.

  “We must’ve left the front door open,” I whispered to Rachel.

  Mom held us both back at arm’s length for a quick inspection, while Bruce, Maisie, and Fiona sniffed Mom’s pants, probably picking up the scent of her pug back in Florida.

  A pack of Skittles had nothing on my mom’s wardrobe. For as long as I could remember, she always dressed in a sweater set in a bold hue, with matching accessories. She even worked this look down in the heat and humidity of Pensacola, where she and my stepfather, Doug, had retired and never managed to sweat a drop. Today was kelly green. She wore a wool sweater set in the vivid color, with matching suede loafers and a jade elephant nestled just below her throat. Had her monochromaticism inspired confidence from her decorating and staging clients? Ever since she’d retired five years ago, she’d commandeered Doug’s wardrobe. He’d stayed in Florida for Mom’s short trip, but I bet he was sporting a matching green polo shirt today, with his usual defiantly white socks. He had to draw the line somewhere.

  Mom tucked a piece of hair behind Rachel’s ear and scanned her outfit. “This dress is just stunning on you, dear.” She gave us each a kiss.

  Rachel sent me a victorious smile.

  Mom took in all of the food in the kitchen. “I see you girls have been working hard on the wedding-planning business. This all looks absolutely divine!” She switched to one of her favorite topics, my love life.

  “How is Garrett and that darling daughter of his? You’d make a wonderful stepmother someday.”

  Rachel looked torn between laughing, with amusement dancing in her pretty green eyes, and helping me distract Mom.

  “Garrett and I haven’t even been on a proper date yet, unless you count the family dinners I’ve had over at his and Truman’s house.” I needed to set the record straight.

  My mother made a tsk-tsk noise and opened her mouth to say more.

  “Check out our newest guests at the B and B.” Rachel knelt down to pat Lois’s dogs, and I sent my sister a grateful look.

  Rachel and I caught Mom up on the happenings from the morning, just as the rest of the contractors arrived. We had to raise our voices to be heard over the cacophony of drills and hammering. They’d graciously postponed their workday until the afternoon after the wedding tasting.

  “That’s dreadful!” My mother dropped the cookie she’d been noshing on as if it contained poison and clasped the jade elephant at her throat.

  Bruce motored over and deftly gobbled the cookie.

  My mom moved her pendant up and down on the chain around her neck with nervous, jerky movements. “You girls ought to have been more careful!”

  “I fully expect the police will find no shellfish in any of our cooking. I could use your expertise with decorating the place,” I offered, trying to kill my mom with kindness.

  Her green eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together.

  “That would be wonderful! I can just see it now.” She dramatically shut her eyes, then flicked them open, shining with ideas. “We’ll do a tropical vacation theme. It’ll be just the thing for guests looking for a getaway when it’s cold and gray here in Pennsylvania. We can reupholster everything and brighten up this heavy, dark wood. I’ll mix sumptuous fabrics with playful ones. It’ll be magnificent!”

  “Whoa, who said anything about a vacation theme?” I stepped back in alarm.

  Maisie picked up on my dismay and began to whine.

  “Besides, that sounds expensive. I’ve got a strict budget, Mom, and I’m applying for this house to earn historical status. Maybe you’d like to consult with the local historian before you jump in. I plan on using existing pieces of furniture.”

  “Don’t worry your little head about those pesky details, Mallory. Leave it all to me. I’ll get right on it.” Mom spun on the heel of her green loafer and began to take stock of the house, with Fiona the Westie trotting to keep up with her.

  “Whew! You got her out of our hair, and I didn’t even have to say a word.” Rachel slumped in a chair and undid her cloisonné clip. “I’m exhausted, and she’s been here for what, five minutes?”

  “She’ll be back in a second with some sweet comment,” I mused. “Do you really think she’ll try to decorate with a Florida theme?” I regretted asking my mother for decorating help, even though she was the expert.

  “It’s not like we can stop her if she does.”

  A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air. Maisie went wild, yapping and turning around in nervous circles. Whiskey hissed and streaked up the back stairs to a calmer area of the house, a blur of black, white, and orange.

  “What now?” Rachel and I hightailed it to the hallway, expecting the worst.

  Delilah had scooted within ten feet of my mother. She pointed her knobby index finger at her and stabbed at the air. She looked like a pirate, marauding around with big gold earrings, a red bandana restraining her gray curls, and a flag attached to the pole on her scooter with a Dia de los Muertos skull. “You! You came back!” Delilah stared at my mom as if she were a damp gym sock left in the bottom of a bag.

  Mom had a similar reaction to Delilah, her lips pursed and screwed in a scowl.

  Rachel positioned herself between Mom and Delilah. “Don’t talk to my mom like that! Who do you think you are?”

  “How in the heck does Delilah know you?” I gasped.

  Jesse stepped out of the shadows and stared at my mom. He glanced at Rachel and me and seemed to consider what he was going to say. Finally, he addressed my mother instead of us. “She’s the one that got away.”

  “That is the hussy who broke my son’s heart!” Delilah screeched, peering around Rachel at my now ashen mother.

  Chapter Five

  Jesse took a step toward Mom, as if he wanted to gather her up in his giant arms. But he faltered at the last second and took a hesitant step back. Mom stared back and forth between the triangle of her daughters and Jesse and Delilah, then burst into tears and tore up the bannisterless stairs. She called over her shoulder, “I need to touch up my makeup!”

  “Whoa! You and Mom used to date?” I stared at Jesse. I couldn’t picture it.

  Delilah must be going crazy.

  “I offered to marry her.”

  “Say what?” Rachel reached out for the bannister that wasn’t there and almost fell over. She grabbed my shoulder and steadied herself.

  “Quit joking around, Jesse.” I playfully punched his colossal arm, and he barely moved, a pillar of stone.

  “It’s no joke. She didn’t accept.” Jesse stared off into the middle distance, right where my mother had last been on the stair landing.

  Delilah snapped her gnarled fingers and awakened him from his trance.

  “It’s a good thing she didn’t! I foretold awful things about your union, as you recall. And it appears she’s married to someone else, so you can stop looking so hangdog.”

  Jesse whirled around and glowered at Delilah. “This is all your fault, Mother.” He stomped off to the second floor like a six-foot-eight toddler.

  “C’mon. We have to get to the bottom of this.” Rachel grabbed my elbow and hauled me up the stairs in search of our mother.

  She didn’t have to twist my arm. I was as curious as she was about my mother’s former relationship with my contractor.

  We found my mother calmly seated at an antique dressing table in the green bedroom. She carefully patted on a new layer of foundation and expe
rtly covered the red blotchy patches her crying had raised.

  “Mom, you have some splainin’ to do.” Rachel pulled up a frilly chair and sat next to our mother.

  “When did you date Jesse? Did he really propose?” I tried to not sound gossipy and eager.

  My mother slid down farther, and her ears betrayed her, turning red, since she hadn’t slathered them with foundation.

  “It was a long time ago. I was just shocked to see him again. I don’t want to talk about it.” She buried her face in her hands and waited for us to leave.

  “Not so fast, Mom. We know it was a long time ago. You and Doug have been married for ages.”

  “It was right after your father left us.” Mom let her hands fall to her lap and nervously twisted her elephant pendant. “He was renovating a house in Coal Valley, and I was decorating it.” She named a town halfway between Port Quincy and Pittsburgh. “I never had you girls meet anyone I was”—she paused and blushed—“dating, unless it was serious.”

  She’d only introduced us to Doug very carefully, very slowly. By the time they were engaged and got married, it felt like a natural progression, and we were happy to be adopted by Doug and take his last name. I’d never caught a whiff of a relationship with Jesse Flowers.

  “I was lonely . . . ,” Mom began tentatively, picking a minuscule dot of lint from her sweater sleeve. “And Jesse was so handsome, and . . .” A slow flush of pink began at her neckline and crept upward, stopping where she’d applied the foundation.

  “It’s okay, Mom.” I placed a hand on her shoulder. But I really wanted to scream Stop the story! Picturing my mom together with Jesse in a romantic rendezvous made me wish they made Magic Erasers for upsetting thoughts.

  “Ooh, Jesse was your rebound!” Rachel leaned in as if hearing an especially juicy bit of gossip. She raised her brows and went in for the kill. “Was this before or after Doug?”

  “That’s it! Forget I said anything.” Mom stood and minced out the door. “I’m going to bring in the rest of my luggage,” she called over her shoulder in a huffy tone.