Murder Wears White

by Stephanie Blackmoore

“You ruined it!” I threw up my hands in exasperation. “I wanted to hear about Jesse’s proposal and why Mom didn’t marry him. But the other stuff I could do without. Yuck.”

  “C’mon, we know why she didn’t marry him. He’s tied to his mama’s purse strings, and Mom probably couldn’t stand to live with Delilah. Thank God.” Rachel cringed. “I’d hate to have her as a stepgrandma.”

  I had to agree. And I wished more than anything that Doug was here. Rachel must’ve read my mind.

  “Should we call Doug and let him know Mom’s former . . . ,” she faltered for the word.

  Flame? Almost-fiancé? Great love of her life?

  “Former boyfriend is here?” I filled in.

  Rachel nodded.

  I thought for a moment. “No, that’s Mom’s business. We’ll just keep an eye on them.”

  Rachel gave me a reluctant nod, and we uneasily went back to planning Whit’s wedding, just in case she didn’t cancel.

  * * *

  My mother moped around for the rest of the week, while Jesse gave her a wide berth. I gathered all of the documentation I needed for the Planning Commission and put it in a file to take to City Hall next week.

  It was Friday night dinner at the Davies household, or date night, as I liked to think of it. Garrett and I had yet to go on a formal date, but I’d been joining his family for their end of the work week meal for the last couple months. I got to chat with his lovely thirteen-year-old daughter, Summer, and his charming mother, Lorraine, and hear the latest police goings on from Truman. Not to mention seeing Garrett.

  I knocked on the door of the Davies’ tidy brick ranch. An autumn-leaf wreath was mounted on the front door, its sparkly orange bow set at a jaunty angle. Carved pumpkins with gap-toothed smiles huddled squat on either side of the entrance, and twinkling lights lined the picture window. Summer must have convinced her grandma to decorate for Halloween. Lorraine Davies opened the door, and I presented her with a pumpkin-rum cake.

  “Sweetie, you shouldn’t have.” She always said the same thing, then offered a shy smile and accepted the dessert. Garrett’s family were my guinea pigs as I tried out recipes for the B and B. Lorraine was decked out for fall in a brown turtleneck sweater with a scattering of yellow and red leaves knitted along the bottom hem.

  “No trouble at all. I love the decorations.”

  “Summer did them. Isn’t she sweet?” Lorraine bustled into the kitchen and assembled a pot roast on a platter already laden with potatoes and carrots. It smelled heavenly.

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “Why don’t you help Summer set the table?”

  “Mallory!” Summer bounded into the kitchen with her black kitten, Jeeves, in her arms. She set him down, and the little guy sniffed carefully at my jeans, no doubt searching out the smell of his mother, Whiskey, and sister, Soda. He jumped back in alarm, then renewed his sniffing with vigor. He probably picked up canine smells in addition to the usual cats.

  “You need to help me change Grandma’s mind,” Summer whispered as we set the table for five. “All of my friends are going as zombies for Halloween, and she won’t let me be one too.”

  “What does she want you to be?” I didn’t want to get in the middle of it, but maybe I could help Summer think up a compromise costume that would be acceptable to her grandma.

  She wrinkled her cute elfin nose. “A Disney princess.” Summer was thirteen going on twenty, and I agreed that she was probably too old to be a princess.

  “Can you think of anything that isn’t a princess or a zombie that you’d like to be? Something your grandma would be okay with?”

  Summer ran a hand through her short blond hair and sighed dramatically. “That’s not the point. Phoebe and Jocelyn are going to be zombies. I won’t match!” She shuddered at the thought of a Halloween where she couldn’t coordinate with her best friends’ theme.

  “What does your dad say?” I thought I’d deflect and defer to Garrett.

  “He thinks a zombie is okay, just tacky.”

  I stifled a smile.

  “But Grandpa told me to listen to my grandmother, and he’s doing it just to get back at Dad. Dad and Grandpa aren’t talking.”

  “What?” I said it a little too sharply because Lorraine leaned her head into the dining room.

  “Do you need something, Mallory?”

  “No, thank you, Lorraine.”

  Summer dropped her voice after her grandmother left. “It’s because of that case a million years ago. Daddy says his client is innocent, and Grandpa called him a fool. Grandpa also said he was just doing his job back then, upholding justice, not defending losers who are guilty like Dad did.”

  I grimaced, but Summer seemed to relish her report.

  “That was two days ago, and they haven’t spoken since.”

  I was sure Garrett and Truman would think differently about volleying insults at each other if they knew Summer was parroting them back.

  Just then Truman ambled into the room in his off-duty outfit of light washed jeans and a West Virginia University sweatshirt. Garrett entered from the kitchen. He carried the pot roast and blatantly ignored his father.

  “Good to see you.” He squeezed my arm and sat across from his daughter. “The pumpkin cake looks delicious.”

  “Summer, will you tell your father he forgot to bring in the peas?” Truman stared at a spot above Garrett’s head.

  Summer giggled and ignored her grandfather.

  “Summer, tell him to get the darn peas himself if he noticed they’re missing.”

  Summer tossed me an “I told you so” look.

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  “Oh, dear, I wasn’t expecting anyone else.” Lorraine looked flustered. She was a tidy, precise woman, from her tight gray curls to her trim leaf apron that matched her sweater. She didn’t like surprises.

  “I’ll get it!” Summer leaped to her feet and ran to the front door, Jeeves bounding after her like a furry black pinball.

  “Look who’s here.” Her voice was flat as she returned with a perky, grinning Natalie Nelson.

  “Natalie! My word!” Lorraine shoved the mandarin Jell-O salad she’d been carrying onto the table and crossed the room in three quick strides to embrace the pert coroner.

  “Great to see you, Mrs. Davies.” Natalie presented Lorraine with a cheery fall arrangement of tiger lilies and black-eyed Susans erupting out of a ceramic cornucopia. It was as cute, bright, and adorable as its giver.

  “These are just lovely.” Lorraine beamed as if she’d been handed a bouquet as the winner of the Miss America pageant and shoved my pumpkin cake out of the way to make room for Natalie’s flowers.

  What is she doing here?

  “Care to stay for dinner, Natty?” Truman asked, although I was sure that was her intention all along. He called her Natty?

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Natalie flashed a triumphant grin and slyly cut a glance in my direction, as if to observe me. She plopped down on the chair next to Garrett, the one I always sat in.

  I tried to not glower and surreptitiously gauged his reaction. He looked impassive and took his seat next to the coroner and across from his daughter. Summer looked furious and stroked Jeeves until he yelped and twisted out of her arms. I lamely took the chair next to Summer, catty-corner to Garrett and across from Natalie. She turned her sunny smile to me, and I swear I saw a challenge in her sweet nutmeg eyes.

  “I love what you’ve done with the dining room,” she simpered, showing me she’d spent time here before. “When did you put in this wallpaper?” She turned around to further admire the new accent wall of cream and mint stripes.

  “Just a month ago, dear.” Lorraine served a helping of potatoes onto Natalie’s plate. I grimaced at the dear part, but that was what Lorraine called everyone.

  “I see you still have the place mats I crocheted!” Every other sentence from Natalie ended in an exclamation point. I stared at the cheerful red place mats, and Summer appeared to
do the same.

  “And how are you, kiddo?” Natalie turned her megawatt smile on Summer and waited expectantly. I saw Summer wince at being called a kid.

  “I’m doing just fine, Natalie,” Summer responded politely, if not a bit coolly.

  “Summer and I were talking about Halloween costumes.” I offered up a change of subject.

  “With her delicate good looks, I think she should be something pretty, like a princess.” Lorraine smiled. “What about Elsa, from Frozen?”

  Summer shook her head, her short blond hair fluffing out. Just this July, Rachel and I had convinced her to cut off all of the inky Goth black hair she’d dyed. I didn’t think she’d ever go for Elsa.

  “I think I’m a little too old to be anything princessy, Grandma. I’m sorry,” she added to soften the blow. She took a deep breath and braced her hands on the dining room table. “I’d like to be a zombie.”

  Natalie drew in a sharp breath. “The deceased I work with deserve dignity and respect. Not the mockery I see in all of these zombie movies and shows. I don’t think a zombie is an appropriate costume.”

  Summer appeared mortified. She chewed on her lower lip and pulled her cloth napkin into a taut line. Her eyes filled with embarrassment. Garrett looked furious. He opened his mouth to speak when Natalie beat him to the punch.

  “Tell you what,” Natalie continued. “I was Glinda the Good Witch last Halloween for the police department party, and we’re about the same height. It’s an impressive costume, and I’d be happy to lend it to you!” How was this perky, adorable woman a death examiner? Does. Not. Compute.

  “Natalie, how wonderful!” Lorraine actually clapped her hands together, and I tried to not stare. I’d thought I had a good relationship with Garrett’s mother, but Natalie made her practically manic with happiness. “Say thank you, Summer.” Lorraine cast a look at her granddaughter that brooked no wiggle room.

  “Thank you for the offer, Natalie.” Summer set down her fork. “But Grandma,” Summer continued with real fear in her eyes, “I’ll be the laughing stock of the whole eighth grade if I show up in a princess costume.” She abandoned her dinner. “Did you come over tonight just to offer me a Halloween costume?” she asked Natalie, her big hazel eyes wide and questioning.

  Bingo. Leave it to Summer to get to the heart of the matter. I’d been wondering the same thing myself.

  “Actually, I’m here to give Mallory some good news! The lab informed me there was no shellfish in the food you cooked for the wedding tasting.”

  That was fantastic news.

  “So that means—,” I began.

  “Oh no, don’t start.” Truman held up his large hand in a halt. “I can see where you’re going with this. Lois wasn’t murdered, Mallory. Just because there was no shellfish in the dishes you cooked doesn’t mean she didn’t ingest them elsewhere, by accident.”

  “That’s right!” Natalie chimed in, as buoyant as a cruise ship director. “The anaphylaxis didn’t have to be immediate. And the contents of her stomach showed she ate a big breakfast and probably several snacks, any of which could have contained—”

  “Thank you, Natalie,” Garrett said with a tight smile. He placed his hand gently over hers to stop her dissertation on the digested contents of Lois’s stomach, which had turned Lorraine an interesting shade of green.

  I was glad to see Garrett quickly remove his hand.

  The rest of the meal passed in a blur. Garrett and I waited until dessert was over and Summer was excused. We slipped out of the house while Summer and Lorraine did dishes and Truman and Natalie talked shop, and we went for a short walk back to my car. I was pleased that not a crumb of my pumpkin cake remained and glad Rachel and I had been cleared of making allergenic goods in our kitchen.

  “So how long did you and Natalie date?” I breathed in the damp, early-evening air and held it in my lungs. It had turned hot and stuffy in the dining room, and I was glad to be out of there. A light rain began to fall, and we didn’t have umbrellas.

  Garrett put his arm around my shoulders and drew me closer. The drizzle drenched my curls, probably turning them to frizz, and little beads of moisture adorned Garrett’s dark hair.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mallory. What matters is I’m dating you right now.”

  So they had dated.

  I stepped out of his embrace and turned to face him. Rivulets of rain ran down his face and under his jacket collar. “We’ve yet to go out on a real date.”

  Garrett took my hand and looked carefully into my eyes. “Let’s go out on a real date. Just you and me.”

  I shook my head. “I love eating with your family. I don’t want to take you away from your Friday dinners. I just wish we had more time.” And I can’t help but wonder why Natalie keeps showing up, and why now.

  “We have all the time in the world.” He leaned over and planted a slow kiss on my lips that quickly crescendoed to firework proportions. I no longer felt cold, but warm to the bone.

  BEEP! BEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEP!

  I yelped and jumped back, expecting to see an oncoming car. We broke apart and peered down the street to his driveway, where a frenziedly grinning Natalie peered sheepishly at us from behind the wheel of her yellow Bug. She rolled down her window and raised her eyes to meet mine.

  “Sorry! I hit the horn by accident!” She reversed down the drive, nearly taking out a jack-o’-lantern in the process, and peeled down the street.

  “You’re over her?”

  Garrett cast a frustrated look at Natalie and pivoted back to me. “Completely.” There was a steely edge to his voice.

  “It seems like she didn’t get the memo.”

  Garrett flushed red and opened his mouth to explain, but there was no time for a response.

  “Mallory! I need to talk to you.” Truman burst out of the house and placed his hands on his hips, a sour look on his face. His jaw worked back and forth, making his jowls dance.

  I dropped my hands to my side. “Looks like we’re in trouble.”

  The two of us shuffled back to the stoop like chastened teenagers.

  “You were right.” Truman said the words softly, with great regret. “It was no accident. Lois Scanlon was murdered.”

  * * *

  I hurried home to tell Rachel the bad-yet-good news. Lois had been murdered, which was inconceivable and devastating. But that definitively got Rachel and me off the hook for accidentally killing her with allergens.

  “Bloody Mary mix in her mints?” Rachel frowned and returned to chopping cranberries for a new biscotti recipe we were trying out. Bruce sat at her feet and stared dolefully at her with his white mustache quivering.

  “Doggies can’t eat cranberries,” I counseled and scruffed him behind his ears. I got him a biscuit, and he gratefully gulped it down. Fiona sat contentedly nearby, and Maisie was stretched out on her back with her little white paws windmilling in the air, dreaming doggy dreams.

  “Truman explained Lois’s mints were coated with Bloody Mary mix containing clam juice.” I gasped as I recalled her popping an Altoid into her mouth right after she solicited me for a bribe. “I saw her eat that mint! Who would have laced her mints with shellfish, and better yet, when and why?”

  Before we could ponder the motive for killing Lois, my phone trilled out to announce a new text. “It’s from Whitney.” I bit my lip as I opened it, and Rachel crowded in to read the screen.

  The wedding is still on. Can you meet to discuss?

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and sat back with relief.

  “That’s great news!” Rachel resumed chopping while I texted Whitney back to affirm a meeting with her on Monday.

  “She wants me to meet her at her maid of honor’s house. She was staying with Lois and doesn’t feel she can go back there.”

  “Who is her maid of honor?”

  I dropped the phone with a clatter on the table and stared at the address on the screen in shock. It couldn’t be. I clicked on the address, and
it opened up a map website on my phone. I was astonished when a grid of streets materialized on the screen.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you recognize this address?” I spun the phone around and showed it to Rachel. She shrugged. “Should I?”

  “It’s the place Helene bought for Keith and me.” Before I called off my wedding to Keith Pierce, his mother had bought us a barren plot of land in a development of mega McMansions.

  “But there couldn’t be a house there already, could there? It was just a foundation this summer. We know from renovations here that it’s impossible to throw up a structure that fast.”

  Rachel reached for my phone. She clicked off my screen with a decisive tap of her long, strawberry-colored nail. “Don’t go into that den of vipers. I smell a trap.”

  “I have to go.” I took a cleansing breath and tried to whoosh the panicked tone out of my voice. “Whit is my client, and we’re lucky she still wants to have the wedding here.”

  * * *

  On Monday afternoon, I took a fortifying slug of coffee and climbed into my vintage, rattling Volvo station wagon, a hulking tan vehicle I’d christened the Butterscotch Monster. Bruce, Fiona, and Maisie sat in the backseat, sliding down the long bank of tan leather each time I made a turn. I didn’t relish meeting Whitney at my ex’s address.

  I pulled into the circular driveway and stared at the four-car garage, trying to discern whether Keith’s navy BMW was already parked inside. When I last saw this plot of land in the summer, there had been a skeleton of a foundation rising out of the mud. The contractors had worked at a dizzyingly fast speed, because a monstrous, eclectic edifice stood complete and imposing on a new sod lawn, where seams of grass met together like green jigsaw puzzle pieces. The house was a maroon brick study in modernism, with cubes and angles jutting out in alarming, unpredictable patterns. Floor-to-ceiling windows of glass block graced each level, and a garish copper roof crowned the hulking colossus, reflecting the autumn sun in long, blinding slices. The landscaping echoed the abstract architecture, with Lilliputian topiary trees cut in geometric shapes, clustered together like nervous passersby on a crowded sidewalk. Red-leafed Japanese maples stood at attention, flanking the wide, double front door. The house would have been at home perched on a canyon in Los Angeles but looked out of place in Port Quincy. How had it been built so quickly? I shook my head. Silly me. Keith’s mother, Helene, practically ran Port Quincy, and she’d no doubt commandeered the best and swiftest contractors to throw the house up in record time. When the doyenne of Port Quincy cracked the whip, things happened fast.