by Vicki Delany
“That bowl has a matching lid,” I said. “If it was put in the fridge with the lid on, no reason anyone would pay any attention to it. It was on the island waiting to be served, along with all the other food, when I arrived. When it was time to serve, I took the lid off and brought it out. Same for the EpiPen, if Karla had one. This isn’t a B&B. The bedroom doors don’t lock, so any of the women had access to Karla’s suitcase or purse if she wasn’t in her room.”
Diane Simmonds sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap. She was looking at nothing. I said nothing and watched her think. Finally, she stirred and said, “Do you know whose idea it was to have this potluck?”
I thought back. “Mom said Ruth suggested it, and Mom was quick to agree. Ruth doesn’t appear to have a lot of money, and Mom wanted to avoid going to a restaurant again. I don’t think anyone objected to that.”
“When you got here, all the guests were in the living room?”
“Yes, including Mom and Vicky.”
Simmonds pushed herself to her feet. “We’re almost finished here. My people will be out of your hair soon.”
“Take your time. I don’t see myself getting much sleep.” I patted the beige leather couch. “This isn’t the most comfortable bed in the world. I’d better go out and check on Mattie and take him for a short walk before turning in. He will not be happy spending the night in the garage. I don’t suppose I can bring him in?”
“He’s fine outside for one night, but you can leave him in your dad’s study if you want. Your mom said none of the women had reason to go in there, and she doesn’t think they ever did.” She turned as though to leave, hesitated, and then swung back to face me. “One more thing. You’ve helped with cases in the past, and I appreciated it, although you put yourself in danger.”
“I . . .”
She lifted one finger. “Not this time. Stay out of this, Merry. I want no unofficial investigating. No questioning of those who you consider suspects. No placing yourself in danger. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said. And I meant it.
Chapter 8
I’d left my coat over a chair in the kitchen and didn’t want to ask one of the forensic officers to get it for me, so I grabbed one of Mom’s, a nice calf-length brown suede number, out of the front closet. Mattie’s leash was in my coat pocket, so I’d have to manage without, but that shouldn’t be a problem as it was late, the streets were quiet, and we weren’t going far. Saint Bernards are not rambunctious dogs, and he could usually be counted on to stay by my side and enjoy the walk, with only an occasional detour to sniff under a bush. Saint Bernards are not at all aggressive, either, and Mattie would never start a fight with another animal. Any passing dog would take one look at his bulk and, failing to see the timid pussycat inside, run for the hills.
I left the house by the side door, the one closest to the garage. Before freeing Mattie, I stopped in the soft light under the portico and checked my phone. I’d put it on “vibrate” when the emergency personnel arrived, and while I’d been sitting on the couch it had been shaking as though it were lost in a hurricane. I scrolled through the texts and voice mail messages. I ignored my landlady, Mrs. D’Angelo, the fastest gossip in the East, not at all surprised she was up to date on the news. Jackie breathlessly reported that “everyone” was talking about police cars outside the Wilkinson home, and Sue-Anne Morrow, mayor of Rudolph, complained that my dad wasn’t answering her calls demanding to know what was going on. Russ Durham, editor in chief and head bottle-washer at the Rudolph Gazette, asked me for an off-the-record statement. I deleted his message along with the rest.
I called my father, who answered before the first ring died away. “Merry! What’s happening there?”
“We’re okay, Dad. Mom’s upset, but that’s all. She’s gone up to bed. I’ll spend the night at the house and keep an eye on things. Detective Simmonds told Mom’s friends they can’t leave town, and they’re going to be mighty mad about that in the morning, but we can deal with it.”
“Diane’s calling this a murder? Your mother said her friend died from an allergic reaction.”
“The police haven’t come to any conclusions yet, but they have their suspicions. As do I. We can talk about it when you get here.”
“Okay. I’ll be home around noon.”
“I’ll ask Jackie to come in early and open the store so I can stay until you get here.”
“You don’t have to do that, honeybunch.”
“I think I do, Dad. The visit with Mom’s friends was not going well even before this, and tensions are going to be sky-high around here tomorrow. Oh, Sue-Anne’s trying to get in touch with you.”
“So she is. As a town councilor, not to mention responsible citizen, I should call her back, but I need to save all my battery power in case Aline calls.”
I chuckled. “Don’t they have landlines in Florida?”
“Landlines? What are those? See you tomorrow, honeybunch. Take care.”
“I will, Dad. Good night.” I felt a smile on my face. Just talking to my dad went a long way toward making me feel better.
Mattie had recognized my voice, and he let out a loud bark from inside the garage. “Be right there,” I called. First, I needed to reply to one more call.
I texted Alan: One of Mom’s guests has died. Mom Vicky and I are fine, just upset. Talk tomorrow. I added a line of X’s, then decided that looked silly and deleted them before pressing “send.”
I put my phone into the coat pocket and stepped out of the light of the portico.
“Hey, Merry,” came a voice from the darkness.
I yelped and must have jumped about a foot into the air.
Russ Durham came into the circle of light. “Sorry. Did I scare you?”
“No. Not at all. Nothing like a voice looming out of the night to make a girl feel all warm and fuzzy.”
“Sorry,” he said again, not sounding sorry in the least. He had a big black camera strung around his neck and was dressed against the night’s chill. He nodded to the house. “Can you tell me what’s going on in there?”
“No.”
“Come on, Merry. Cruisers are parked outside, state police forensic vans are at the back, people are coming and going in white suits carrying evidence bags. Something’s happened. No one’s been dragged out in handcuffs, at least not while I’ve been watching. You can tell me.” He spoke in a soft, slow, liquid Louisiana accent and gave me a crooked grin.
I tried not to grin in response. He was a darn good-looking man, Russell Durham. When I came back to Rudolph a little over a year ago, having quit my job as a style editor at a national lifestyle magazine to buy Mrs. Claus’s Treasures, Russ and I had casually dated. Nothing came of it—I realized in time that the Southern charm I’d started to fall for came as naturally to him as pointing his camera at a crime scene. I also realized, again just in time, that Alan Anderson was the man for me.
Russ and I had remained friends, although at the moment he was a newspaper reporter, not my friend. And I’d better remember that.
“I’m not telling you anything, Russ,” I said. “You’ll have to speak to Diane Simmonds.”
“Who, for some reason, isn’t taking my calls and shut her car door firmly in my face. She almost took a finger off while she was at it. I might sue.”
“You do that,” I said. I headed for the garage. Mattie had tired of waiting for me and set up a series of increasingly frantic barks.
Russ fell into step beside me. “Cops all over the house. Simmonds slamming doors. Mattie confined to the garage. Something’s up, all right.” He opened the people door and was almost knocked over as Mattie ran out, heedless of who might be in his way. “Whoa! I keep forgetting to stand aside when I open any door when you’re around. How you doing, boy?” Russ gave the dog a hearty pat, and Mattie wagged his tail and bounced on his toes.
Any friend
of my dog is a friend of mine.
“I’m taking him for a short walk,” I said. “You can come with us if you like, but I won’t talk about anything that happened here tonight.”
“In that case, I’ll decline. I’ll head back to the sidewalk and resume my post. Who knows, Simmonds might return and decide to tell me all.” He glanced up into the night sky.
I followed his gaze. It was a cold, clear night, and this side of the house faced away from town. The stars above us glittered like diamonds on a bed of black velvet. The lights of an airplane crossed the sky heading north to Canada. “What are you looking at?”
“Searching for flying pigs.” He shook his head. “Nope, not a one. I think I’ll call it a night and try to get a statement from our determined detective first thing in the morning. Maybe I’ll call Sue-Anne. See if she knows something, unlikely as that is. The cops have learned not to tell her anything they don’t have to. Nothing our mayor loves more than to get her name in the papers.”
I laughed. “Good night, Russ. I’ll switch off the garage light, and we’ll walk with you to the road.” I stepped into the garage and groaned.
Mattie had knocked over the garbage can and ripped open the thick green bag, leaving trash spread across the garage floor.
Russ joined me. “Bored, was he?”
“Obviously,” I said to the man. “That was very naughty, Matterhorn. You know better,” I said to the dog.
Mattie smiled up at me.
“I hope he didn’t eat anything he shouldn’t.”
“He looks okay to me,” Russ said.
Earlier, when Simmonds had poked through the kitchen garbage, the can had been almost full. Most of what Mattie had disturbed, I was glad to see, were old bath towels and faded kitchen linens Mom had thrown out as she prepared for a house full of guests. Among the debris, I recognized one of Dad’s favorite Christmas sweaters, the one he refused to admit was too full of holes to salvage for another year.
“Have you got a broom in here?” Russ asked.
“Against the wall behind Dad’s car.” I reached for a fresh bag on the shelf while Mattie sniffed through the trash.
“Get away from there,” I said, giving him a mighty shove.
He looked up at me, and I saw something in his mouth. “What have you got there? Give me that.” I held out my hand and snapped my fingers. “I said, drop that.”
Reluctantly, he opened his mouth. A tube fell into my palm. At first I thought it was a marker, white and yellow with a blunt orange top, the type used for children’s drawings or to print signs. Then I noticed the illustration on it and the word “EpiPen” clearly printed across the top.
I squealed and dropped it. Mattie moved to pick it up again, and I shoved at his big head. “No!”
“What’s the matter?” Russ stood beside me, holding the broom. “What’s that?”
“Nothing!” I grabbed Mattie’s collar. “We have to get out of here.”
Russ bent over and stretched out his hand.
“Don’t touch that,” I said sharply.
He gave me a quizzical look and then he straightened. “Okay. I get it. Evidence, right?”
“I’m afraid so. Let’s go.” I pulled Mattie out of the garage. Russ followed and shut the door behind him.
“I’m going to call Detective Simmonds.” I let go of the dog and found my cell phone in the pocket of Mom’s coat. Mattie wandered off to check on recent squirrel activity in the yard. It was late, and Simmonds had a young daughter. But this was her case, and she’d not thank me for not disturbing her.
Due to past events, I have Diane Simmonds’s cell phone number in my contact list. I made the call. She didn’t sound sleepy when she answered. “What’s happened, Merry?”
“I found an EpiPen in the trash in the garage.”
“On my way,” she said. “Don’t touch anything. Are any of the forensic people still in the house?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll call them, but I don’t want them going in until I’ve had a look. Wait there.” She hung up.
“We’re to wait here,” I said to Russ.
He fingered his camera, looking as pleased as Mattie did when he flushed a squirrel up a tree.
Apparently no squirrels were on the prowl tonight, and Mattie soon gave up his inspection of the yard and came back to me.
The short, chubby man who’d arrived when Mom returned from the hospital came around the side of the house. “Detective says you’ve found something.”
“In the garage.”
“She says we’re to wait for her.” He eyed the man with me suspiciously. “Who are you?”
“Russ Durham,” Russ said. “Rudolph Gazette.”
“You can’t be taking any pictures.”
Russ just smiled.
Mattie sniffed at the newcomer. He ignored the dog completely. Mattie, all one hundred and seventy pounds of him, might as well not have been there. Mattie wasn’t used to being ignored. He touched the man’s leg with a front paw and got no reaction. I grabbed his collar and pulled him away.
We didn’t have to wait long before headlights washed the driveway as Simmonds drove up. We watched her walk up the path, wrapping a woolen scarf around her neck and pulling on gloves. “What are you doing here?” she said to Russ.
“I was having a friendly chat with Merry, enjoying the evening, when we found what I suspect you’re looking for. I guess that means I’m a witness.”
“Did you find it yourself?”
“I was with Merry when she did.”
“Mattie found it,” I said. “And I found it in Mattie’s mouth.” This important piece of evidence would now be covered in dog slobber.
“Then you can leave, Mr. Durham,” Simmonds said. “If I need to talk to you, I know where to find you.”
“I’m sure you do,” he said.
Chapter 9
Leather couches do not make comfortable beds. For one thing, they’re narrow and slippery.
The temperature in my parents’ house is set to automatically go down at midnight. The fire had gone out, the readily available supply of wood was used up, and I wasn’t allowed to venture out to the garage to get more firewood. With all the guest rooms occupied, the only covering remaining in the linen closet was a thin summer-weight comforter that wasn’t up to the task of keeping me warm. The living room faces the street, and a streetlight stands at the bottom of the property. I’d left the curtains open, in case of further police activity outside, and the light shone on my face all night. Mattie, who can spend the entire day in the back of the shop without making a sound, didn’t like being alone in the study while people were moving about the house, and at regular intervals he let me know he was displeased.
All in all, it had not been a good night.
“Can we go into the kitchen?” a low voice said. “I’d kill for a coffee. Sorry, bad choice of words.”
I opened one eye to see Barbara standing over me. She wore red flannel pajamas decorated with cupids and hearts, and her cropped gray hair stuck out in all directions.
I groaned.
“Oh, sorry, were you asleep?”
“No.” I pushed the cover aside and swung my legs off the couch. Not having come here expecting to spend the night, I hadn’t brought pajamas and had gone to bed wearing my T-shirt and underwear.
I glanced out the window. It was still full dark, the streetlight shining on a quiet neighborhood. “What time is it?”
“Five thirty.”
“Nothing will be open yet. Even the bakery doesn’t open until seven.”
“I’m an early riser,” she said. “Not that I slept much last night.”
“I doubt any of us did.” I got off the couch and fumbled for my clothes. “The police have gone, but Detective Simmonds said we’re to stay out of the kitchen until she gives u
s the okay.”
“I’m not the sort to do anything just because she tells me not to.”
I gave her a look.
“Don’t worry, I know better than to interfere with a crime scene.”
I pulled on my jeans and ran my fingers through my hair. “I have to let the dog out.”
Barbara followed me down the hall to the study. She greeted Mattie almost as enthusiastically as he greeted her.
Surely this woman couldn’t be a killer.
Barbara followed us to the closet, and we got our coats. Before I’d gone to bed, I asked Simmonds if I could have my coat, and she sent an underling into the kitchen to get it. I took Mattie’s leash out of the pocket, snapped it onto his collar, and we left the house. A thin layer of ice covered the pavement, and we walked carefully. I took a lungful of the crisp cold air, hoping we’d get some snow soon. In Rudolph we love winter, the snowier, the better. There’s nothing better for building Christmas spirit than a fresh snowfall.
“Sometimes,” Barbara said, falling into step beside us, “I think Constance has the right idea. Southern California. Los Angeles. Sunshine and heat. Must be marvelous.” She rubbed her hands together against the cold.
“Um,” I said. I had a lot to process, and I wasn’t in the mood for a friendly chat. I hadn’t invited Barbara to walk with us, but she’d put her coat on over her pajamas, slipped bare feet into her sneakers, and followed. The police had been almost finished in the kitchen when I found the EpiPen. They then spent a lot of time crawling around inside my parents’ garage. I watched them for a long time: they took away only that single bag of garbage. My dad keeps a spotlessly clean garage. Mom says it compensates for the way he cooks: he uses every pot and pan, every spoon and knife, spreads splatter everywhere, and leaves the trash can overflowing and soapy water spreading across the countertops and dripping onto the floor. Most of my childhood fights with my siblings were, as I remember, over whose job it was to clean the kitchen after Dad made dinner.
A thin red band began to grow in the sky to the east, and the stars overhead slowly faded. A car drove down the road as someone headed to work. It put its turn indicator on and took the next corner.