The Trouble with Murder

by Kathy Krevat

  “Another one with issues,” she said. “Who else?”

  I made her happy by listing all the moms who were at the event, including the ones selling Tupperware, gourmet chef supplies, and inexpensive jewelry. Nothing made me think any of them could be capable of murder.

  “You should invite that SPM group to your house for a meeting, but what you’re really doing is interrogating them,” Lani said, her voice growing excited. “You should put your notebook down at the head of the table, so they get the message that you’re in control.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” I asked. “I don’t have the time, or patience, to run that group.”

  “In control of the meeting,” she said. “Heaven forbid you actually take over. Then you can ask questions from a position of authority.”

  “If anyone thinks I’m investigating, they won’t answer questions,” I said. “I think I should lie low.”

  “Hmm.” She stayed quiet for a minute. “That’s a good point. But seeing them all together could help you figure out if any of them could be the killer.”

  * * * *

  Talking with Lani about the Sunnyside Power Moms made me realize that I hadn’t even tried to get beyond a surface level relationship with any of them except Twila. I’d reluctantly joined the SPM Facebook page—when Twila requested it a second time—but other than posting information about my cat food products, I didn’t spend a lot of time reading their news.

  And really, we had a lot in common. We were all moms, working hard to build businesses to make a better life for our kids. I’d enjoyed our discussions about our businesses when we had meetings but I’d never tried to dig deeper.

  Maybe because I assumed Elliott and I wouldn’t be in Sunnyside long. Although we were taking it day by day, in the back of my mind I thought that in September, Elliott would be back at his regular school. It was a magnet school that emphasized creative and performing arts, which was a perfect fit for him.

  And now wasn’t the time to become friends with my fellow SPM-ers. In reality, I had to think of them all as suspects.

  I went downstairs to make a quick and easy dinner, allowing Elliott to eat in his room and bringing the tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches into the living room so my dad and I could eat in front of the TV. “Would you mind if I asked the Sunnyside Power Moms to meet here?” I asked.

  He stared at me, mouth slightly open.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You hardly ever brought your friends here,” he said.

  “They’re not my friends,” I said, feeling oddly defensive. “They’re professional acquaintances.” My dad and I had moved into this house when I was fourteen, too rebellious to realize how good I had it, and I rarely brought friends home.

  “Sure,” he said. “No problem. Then he grinned, like a parent finding out his kid is suddenly popular.

  “It’s not a playdate, Dad,” I said.

  My exasperation didn’t dim his smile.

  “Hey,” he said. “I got a call from one of my buddies.”

  My dad had lived in Sunnyside so long that he knew just about everyone. He had a network that rivaled Homeland Security, except his was filled with his “guys.” I’d quickly learned that anytime I stopped at the grocery store, or library, or Chubby’s Pizza, someone was sure to ask me how my dad was feeling and how I was enjoying Sunnyside.

  “He knows the sheriff’s deputy. They’re cousins of some kind. Anyway, he wanted to let me know that a bunch of those deputies don’t think you did, you know, it.”

  “Really?” My voice sounded way too hopeful. “What about Norma?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the tricky part,” he said. “She’s not telling anyone anything. She’s like that, he said. Keeps her thoughts close.”

  “Did he say anything about Little?”

  He snorted. “I don’t think anyone takes him too seriously.”

  My cell phone buzzed, notifying me of a message. It was a group text from Daria Valdez, inviting everyone to an emergency meeting in one hour.

  Even me. I couldn’t help the wave of happiness that I was still included, although it didn’t quite beat out the ominous feeling that I’d have to face them all.

  And was she trying to take control of the group, just like Lani tried to get me to do?

  * * * *

  “Help me,” I said to Lani. “I’m on my way to an emergency SPM meeting.” A murky fog had rushed in right at sunset, forcing me to drive slowly through the streets of Sunnyside to Daria’s house. The phone glowed from its stand on my dashboard.

  “You didn’t call the meeting?” She sounded distracted. I heard the whirring sound of her sewing machine through the phone.

  “No,” I answered, “Daria beat me to it. She sent a text and invited everyone to her house.”

  The machine stopped. “Hmm,” she said. “This is better, actually.”

  “What do you mean?” I was surprised. “You said I should take control of the meeting, and all that.”

  “This way you can be sneakier,” she said. “I mean, stealthy, with your questions.”

  “I don’t even know what questions to ask,” I said. “And maybe they’ll be freaked out to see me.” I started driving even slower, tempted to turn around and go home.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “Because you found her.”

  “And because I’m a prime suspect,” I said flatly. “Maybe I shouldn’t go.” I really hoped Sharon wasn’t there, since I’d basically told the police her husband was at the scene of the crime.

  “Let’s think it through,” Lani said. “You don’t want them to know you’re looking into it. Then you’ll never get information from anyone,” she said, echoing what I had said to her last night.

  “This is going to be awful,” I said. How was I going to face so many women who were not only sad about the loss of their friend, but might believe I had something to do with her murder.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “More than fine. You’ll be excellent. You’ll be the greatest sleuth since Miss Marple.”

  “She was fictional,” I said.

  Lani ignored that and went into even greater rah-rah mode. “Okay, so first you let them know that you were very grateful for Twila’s friendship and regardless of what they might have heard, you had no reason to hurt her. And that you’re even more thankful for your professional relationship with them. Oh! And you really appreciate all of those who reached out to you to offer support.”

  “No one has done that.” Which made me a little mad. Why hadn’t at least one of them contacted me?

  “I know,” she said “That will make them all feel guilty for not being more sensitive. Then add something about the community you’ve all created, blah, blah.”

  “And why am I saying all that?” I asked.

  “To get them on your side. You have to remind them that you’re part of their team, and maybe they’ll reveal their secrets,” she said patiently as if talking to a child. “The conversation will surely turn to Twila anyway. See if you can get them to start speculating about who killed her. Remember who says what. And go from there.”

  She made it seem easy.

  I pulled up in front of Daria’s house, watching wisps of fog drift by the streetlamp. Her home was a clone of my dad’s but with a larger front lawn. I wasn’t ready to get off the phone, but then Gina pulled up behind me in her red Jeep. “Okay, one of them has seen me. I have to hang up.”

  “Break a leg, I mean, good luck!” Lani said.

  I took a deep breath and got out of my car before joining Gina to walk toward the front porch. She’d changed out of exercise clothes into a cute sundress with a short-sleeved shrug that showed off her toned arms.

  “This is just terrible,” I said.

  “It’s the worst,” she agreed, looking uncertain.<
br />
  My phone buzzed in my pocket. Behind her back, I pulled it out to see a text from Lani. On second thought, see if anyone is trying to take over the group. Possible motive!

  I almost laughed out loud. Twila volunteered to run the group only because no one else wanted to do the work.

  The front door was propped open and we could hear a hum of conversation coming from the kitchen. I peeked into the dining room and saw a notebook at the head of the table. I moved closer and saw a BeesWax Parties logo of a bee holding a flaming candle on it. Daria and Lani must have learned the same take control tactics. But why would Daria want to be in charge?

  Gina had gone ahead, joining everyone in the kitchen. I bit my lip and moved in, hovering right inside the doorway.

  The conversation stopped.

  Chapter 6

  My heart started racing, and I waited in nervous silence until Daria stepped forward. “Hi Colbie. Can I get you a glass of wine? Chardonnay? Pinot?” She was wearing all black except for short purple boots.

  “Um, anything’s good. Thank you,” I said. Then I pushed my shoulders back. I trusted Lani’s people sense. I’d use her words and win them over. “Can I just talk about the elephant in the room? I want you all to know that I didn’t do it. Twila was my first friend here after I moved to Sunnyside, and I was very grateful that she brought me into this group. I would never hurt her. I know that the police will clear me. I know it, simply because I didn’t do it.”

  I paused and took turns looking each of them in the eye as I added, “I value our professional relationships and friendships that we’ve built, and I’m really grateful to all of you who reached out to me in the last couple of days. I hope that this horrible act doesn’t hurt the important work that we do together.”

  I knew that was going a little over the top, but everyone seemed to relax. Perhaps it had worked.

  Daria was the first to step forward. “Of course not,” she said, and gave me a hug.

  Tears unexpectedly threatened and I hugged her back, holding on a bit too long.

  She dropped her arms and stepped back, looking a little weepy herself. “Definitely time for that wine.”

  The others moved forward with hugs, pats on the arm, and murmurs of “It’ll be okay,” and “We’ll get through this together.”

  Sharon was the last one. Before she could say anything, I said, “I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding.” That was a nice euphemism for telling the police your husband was at the scene of the crime.

  I had interrupted whatever she was going to say because she paused with her mouth open. She closed it and said, “It’s okay, dear. You were under a great deal of stress, finding her and all. And that’s been cleared up.” She patted my shoulder in a there-there gesture.

  Daria delivered a large wineglass practically filled to the top with chardonnay. I grabbed it dramatically with both hands. “I definitely need some of that.”

  The others laughed more than the joke deserved, and the tension in the room dropped even more. Daria touched my arm and walked me over to the appetizers, allowing the others to move into small groups. Even though I wasn’t hungry, I grabbed a few grapes and slices of cheese.

  The beginning of our meetings was usually somewhat social with everyone asking each other about families. When I first joined, this was the most painful part of the meetings. These moms had known each other for years and knew enough to talk about families, their kids’ teachers, tryouts for various teams, and the politics involved with getting the best coach. They were starting from scratch with me, asking if I had children and what my husband did. Only Twila had gone deeper—asking what Elliott was into and why I’d chosen to sell cat food.

  I’d held back, believing I wouldn’t be in Sunnyside long enough to learn much about this group of suburban moms, let alone fit in. But being here now made me realize I’d quickly become so entangled in this group that I knew Daria’s daughter had made the junior varsity cheerleading squad and had to decide between that and gymnastics, that Bronx’s husband lost his IT job and was driving for Uber, and that Fawn had recently been forced to buy condoms for her eighty-five-year-old grandmother-in-law who was having way too good of a time at the retirement community she’d never wanted to move to.

  I wouldn’t say I was friends with them, but I was further down the friends path than I thought.

  Daria realized that we were running out of small talk and suggested, “Should we move into the dining room?”

  Everyone was being ultra-polite to everyone else and to avoid more awkward “after you” exchanges, I grabbed the first seat that wasn’t at the other end of the table from Daria. No way did I want to look like I was challenging anyone for an upgrade in my pecking order. Everyone else avoided that seat too. Smart ladies.

  Daria had fit as many of her products as she could into her dining room décor. A complicated dining table centerpiece held coconut-smelling tea lights, trios of pillar candles sat on the display shelf against the wall, and ornate wall sconces held long taper candles.

  “I called this meeting so we could figure out what to do,” Daria said, looking serious. “We all loved Twila.” She paused to clear her throat, emotion getting the best of her. “I’ve had individual talks with a few of you, and I want to make sure we have a consensus to continue this group.”

  Everyone nodded as she looked around the room.

  “I’m willing to coordinate,” she said. “I won’t be as good as Twila, but I’ll do my best.”

  “You’ll do fine,” Mona said, while everybody added their support, too.

  The rest of the meeting went smoothly, with other moms agreeing that our next event should coincide with Sunnyside’s Halloween Festival, followed by a Holiday Fair in early December. I didn’t know if I’d still be here then, but went along with the crowd.

  Daria let everyone know that she’d lead the group through the next school year, and that someone else would have to step up after that. Everyone gratefully accepted, totally assuming the someone else wouldn’t be them. I’d bet ten-to-one that poor Daria would be in charge far longer than she assumed.

  Fawn spoke up, her voice tentative. “I’ve noticed a spike in visits to the SPM website, especially Twila’s puzzle site. I’m still her website administrator. You all have links there—are you seeing more activity?” Fawn had designed the group website along with many of the members’ sites.

  Mona nodded. “I’m not sure if it’s because of the trade show or…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Is anyone else getting more orders this week?” Daria asked.

  A few nodded.

  Shoot. I wasn’t.

  “That’s just…wrong,” Fawn said.

  * * * *

  Stay after and see what the candle lady is up to.

  Following Lani’s texted order, I lingered after the meeting, helping Daria with clean-up long past the other moms, who had listened to her saying she’d handle it and left.

  “I just wanted to thank you for including me,” I told Daria once we were alone in the kitchen. “I know you must have thought twice about it, and I understand. I’d worry about the same thing in your situation. So thanks.”

  “What happened to Twila is a tragedy,” she said, while loading small plates in the dishwasher. “We have to work together to get past it.”

  “You’re going to be a wonderful leader.” I took my time washing a wineglass in hot, soapy water while watching her out of the corner of my eye. “I just can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt Twila.”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “She seemed to get along fine with all of the moms,” I said.

  A thoughtful expression crossed her face.

  “What?” I asked. “Did any of them give her trouble?”

  “Not really,” she said, reluctant to answer.

  I t
ried to figure out how to get her to reveal more without outright asking. “I can’t imagine any of the moms having a problem with how she organized us. I hope they won’t give you a hard time.”

  “Nothing like that,” she said. “Twila just mentioned last week that she felt like one of the members was doing something.…”

  “Something what?” I kept my tone light, which was difficult.

  “Like, unethical.” She frowned.

  Unethical?

  “That’s weird,” I said as if I couldn’t believe it. “I don’t know everyone as well as you do, but does anyone seem like they’d be unethical?”

  She waved her hand around as if wanting to dismiss the whole thing. “Yeah. That couldn’t be true.”

  I remembered her fight at the trade show. “Any chance it was Mona?”

  Her face darkened. “I asked Twila, but she said it wasn’t her. And then she changed the subject.”

  “But she didn’t tell you who?” I asked, holding my breath.

  She shrugged. “Nope.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder. What could one of us do that Twila would think was unethical? And did it lead to her murder?

  * * * *

  I arrived at home to see an unfamiliar car in the driveway and went inside to see a man I didn’t know sitting with my dad. “Hey, Colbie,” my dad said. “I’d like you to meet Bert, my financial guy.”

  Oh man. I felt a wave of embarrassment. I’d practically accused him of murder. “Nice to meet you,” I said. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

  “I’m good,” he said. “Thanks.” He was a slightly overweight man in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair. He was wearing a suit and tie. Even in our air conditioning, he had to be uncomfortable.

  I stayed in the doorway. “Dad, you want anything?”

  He shook his head and lifted his glass. “Bert brought me my favorite whiskey.”

  “How nice,” I said. “Is Elliott upstairs?”

  “Yeah,” my dad said. “Your cat wasn’t happy about my guest.” He used that disapproving tone of voice that drove me crazy as a teen.