I hung up, my knees buckled, and I groped my way back to the chair, still hugging the purring Dagmar. Clumsy, the black tom, joined us, scrambling up my leg and onto my lap. The tiger-striped manx Hefty settled on my feet. I closed my eyes, hugged the cats and tried not to think about Clifford Brody.
An engine sounded in the driveway, and I tensed, to the annoyance of the beasties. Had the sheriff been out on patrol nearby? I waited, listening, and the rumble of the garage door reached me. Aunt Gerda. Thank God, she was back. I rose, dislodging Dagmar and Clumsy, and ran for the front door.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Noises drifted up, of the garage closing, of a car door slamming, then the safety stair light switched on, revealing Gerda’s tall figure, wrapped in a purple wool cape. She started up the steps.
“Aunt Gerda-” My relief at seeing her faded beneath my need to warn her, not to let her walk in on the horror that waited.
Gerda waved. “You’re home early, dear. What a delight to find Freya in the garage. How did you get away so soon?” She reached the landing and spun about, swirling the damp wool of her cape. “What do you think? I cut it off the loom only three days ago.”
“Great. Get inside, it’s starting to rain harder, again. There’s…there’s a bit of a problem.”
Aunt Gerda stopped one stair below me. Feathers of faded blonde hair emerged from beneath a knitted tam of hand-spun purple wool. Her blue eyes sparkled as she fixed me with an accusing gaze. “You’ve lost your job.”
“No. That is, yes, I quit. But that’s not what I’m talking about. It’s-”
“You quit? You mean you have another job all lined up? You didn’t just walk out, did you?”
“Yes, I just walked out. I tried to hold on, but-”
Aunt Gerda sniffed. “You always act before you think, that’s your problem. Honestly, a widow of thirty-nine should be beyond throwing temper tantrums. What were you planning on doing with yourself? How will you keep Vilhelm in seed treats and cuttle bones? Well, you’ll just have to move back here, won’t you?” She mounted the last step and enveloped me in a welcoming hug.
I returned it with fervor. “Aunt Gerda,” I tried once more, only to break off. How did you tell your beloved aunt there was a dead body in her study? One complete with her letter opener rammed through its chest, at that? It wasn’t something you just blurted out.
Gerda pulled back, a gleam lighting her eyes. She lowered her voice. “Maybe it’s all for the best. Why don’t you set up as a rival to Brody? You’re a C.P.A. every bit as much as he is.” She led the way into the house. “We’ll all be glad to have someone honest and trustworthy for a change. Take a stab at him!”
I blanched. My throat got a stranglehold on my voice and refused to let it out. Numbly, I accepted the canvas shopping bag Aunt Gerda thrust at me. I checked inside automatically and headed for the kitchen to put away the giant bottle of vanilla, its sole contents. “Funny…funny you should put it that way,” I managed at last.
Gerda paused in the dining room while she dragged off the tam, then fluffed her mangled curls. “I can promise you my business, for one,” she continued, her voice still hushed with conspiracy. “And just about everyone else in town will be only too glad to switch over, you’ll see.” She cast a frowning glance toward the living room and the hall beyond. “I suppose he had to call someone for a ride home. Now I’ll have to apologize, but I honestly didn’t mean to be gone so long. He is gone, isn’t he?”
“In a manner of speaking.” I closed the cupboard. I had to tell her. I drew a deep breath and searched for words gentle enough to break such a terrible shock.
Gerda trailed me into the kitchen, unfastening the single button at the throat of her cloak. She swept it off and draped it over one of the painted chairs where it could drip onto the hand-loomed rag rug that covered the hardwood floor. She stared at me, her brow creased. “Something’s troubling you.” She pushed me onto one of the chairs, then settled herself on the other side of the old pine table. “Out with it. What’s the matter?”
I swallowed. “It’s Brody. He-” I broke off, startled as Gerda flushed.
“Did he take my papers away with him?” she demanded. “The nerve of that man! I specifically told him not to. When I get my hands on him…”
“He’s dead.” Oh, damn, exactly the way I hadn’t wanted to let it out.
“You bet he is. Just as soon as-”
“I mean…” I swallowed again. “I mean he already is.”
Aunt Gerda froze, then blinked at me. “Dead? You mean as in…dead? No longer among the living? Funeral time?”
I nodded. “Funeral time.”
“Well.” Gerda stared into space for a long moment, digesting the information, then rose and crossed the kitchen to the pantry cabinet. She dragged open its door, drew out a brightly painted enameled tin canister, and deposited it on the table in front of me. As she pulled off the lid, the odor of raspberry chocolate chips wafted forth.
It left me queasy, but caffeine was caffeine, and chocolate doubly so, with other added benefits. I picked out a single chip from the trove, but couldn’t bring myself to eat it.
Gerda popped a neat dozen into her mouth. When she had dealt with these, she turned back to me. “It’s unsettling, certainly, but I never liked him, you know. It’s not a devastating blow to me, or anything like that. Why are you making such a fuss over it?”
My frayed nerves stretched a little further. “Maybe because I found him. Funny, you know, how finding a corpse in your aunt’s study has an unsettling effect on you.”
“Finding… In your aunt’s study?” She surged to her feet. “You mean here? Now? He’s here?”
I nodded.
“Of all the nerve!” Aunt Gerda turned on her heel and stormed from the kitchen.
I caught up to her halfway through the clutter of wool baskets in the living room. “You don’t want to go in there.”
She slowed, but didn’t stop. “I suppose it’s too late to tell him off,” she agreed. “But we can’t just leave him there. Have you called anyone? The paramedics?”
“The sheriff.”
That stopped her. “What do you want him for? Or was it just habit?”
“Necessity. He didn’t exactly have a heart attack, I’m afraid.”
“He didn’t? Was it an accident?” Gerda stared at me, aghast. “Oh, please, tell me it wasn’t an accident! That damned sister of his will sue me for everything I’ve got, as if she hasn’t managed to cheat me out of a good deal of it, already!”
A vision sprang into my mind, of Brody’s body lying across the desk with the letter opener protruding from his chest. “I suppose you’ll be delighted to hear it’s murder?”
“You’re sure? There’s no chance of it being an accident? No,” she added as she pulled away from my restraining hand. “I want to see for myself.”
She marched down the hall and shoved open the door into the study. For a long moment she stood just over the threshold, unmoving. I waited outside my own room, hugging myself, feeling the sort of chill that threatened never to let go.
“What a god-awful mess,” Gerda declared at last. “How…” A long moment of silence followed, then she turned to face me, her complexion unnaturally pale. “That’s my letter opener,” she managed to choke out.
I hurried to catch her arm. “You shouldn’t have looked at him.”
She shook herself free. “Annike, did you hear me? That’s my letter opener!” Her voice rose on a note of hysteria. “He was stabbed with my letter opener!”
“I noticed.”
She looked over her shoulder. “We’ve got to get rid of him. He can’t be found here, not like that. We’ll have to take him somewhere, leave him…”
“No we won’t.” I got a firm grip on her and led her resolutely back toward the living room. “He stays right there ‘til the sheriff arrives. I’ve already called him, remember?”
Gerda cast me a frantic, baleful glare. “How could you do such a thing to me! Wel
l, we’ll just get rid of my letter opener, then.”
“We’ll do nothing of the sort. That’s tampering with the evidence. Now, come back in the kitchen. We both need a strong cup of tea.”
Gerda dug in her heels. “Annike, you don’t understand! If he’s found like this, I’ll be arrested! You don’t know what’s been going on. Unless we do something, right now, before it’s too late, I’m going to be convicted of murder!”
Chapter Two
“Convicted…” My voice trailed off as I stared, bewildered, at Aunt Gerda. “What do you mean convicted? Why on earth should anyone even suspect you of murder? It’s ridiculous! You’re just upset, you should never have gone in there.”
“Stop patronizing me!” Gerda hugged herself. The color had drained from her cheeks, leaving her unnaturally pale beneath her dusting of powder. “I know what I’m saying. I told you, you don’t know what’s been going on.”
I drew a deep breath and guided my distraught aunt toward the kitchen. After shoving her into a chair, I poured a selection of chocolate chips from the tin container across the table. Gerda grabbed several and chewed them with frantic urgency.
I waited until she swallowed and reached for more. “Okay, tell me the worst. What have you been up to?”
“I-” Gerda broke off and gathered a handful of chips, then laid them out, one by one, in a straight line in front of her, as if giving herself time to think. When she at last looked up, it was through half-lidded eyes that revealed nothing. “No, you’re quite right, dear. I am overreacting. Talking utter nonsense, in fact. It…it’s just been a bit of a shock, that’s all. Now, help me get my mind off it ‘til the sheriff arrives. Tell me about the drive. Did it rain the whole way? How is Vilhelm? I don’t hear him chattering his little head off. Is it too late for his evening cheep session?”
“He’s fine. But you’re babbling. Why?” I stared her down, waiting.
Color tinged her cheekbones. “I’m not babbling. I’m just a bit upset right now, and I’ve got every right to be. I’ve got a murdered man in my study!”
“You were upset before that, when you first mentioned him. Come on, out with it. What are you trying to hide from me?”
Her flush deepened. “Nothing! I’m just upset because of all the uproar we’re having around here. Anyone would be.”
“Uproar? What uproar? What’s been going on?” My gaze narrowed on her. “Have you been fighting over something with Brody?”
“No! Of course not!” She didn’t meet my gaze. She glanced around, as if seeking a diversion, and found it in the three cats who sat around her feet. She detached Furface’s teeth from her ankle, then gathered up an armload of lavender point Siamese. “No, Olaf. No claws,” she informed him, and for a long minute busied herself settling the animal in her lap.
“Well?” I prodded.
“It has nothing to do with Brody,” Gerda averred with too much fervor. “But it’s typical of him that his dying act would be to make one last muddle for me. Why couldn’t he have had the decency to finish my accounts, then go and get himself killed somewhere else?”
“I doubt if anyone asked him his preferences.” There had been some major disagreement, if not an actual fight, between Aunt Gerda and Brody, of that I now felt certain. I wouldn’t push, though. I’d get it out of her eventually.
Gerda, having found a tangent, was up and running with it. “Now we’ll have the sheriff and his people tramping over the place all weekend, tracking mud through the house and nibbling all the Thanksgiving goodies.”
“I doubt the new sheriff will like it, either,” I stuck in dryly. “Videotaping the football game just isn’t the same as watching it live.”
“That’s Brody all over, making life as difficult as possible for everyone else. And now, of all times! Honestly, Annike, it couldn’t be worse timing. There’s so much work to do!” She handed over the sleepily blinking Olaf and rose, pacing with restless steps to fill her kettle, a blue and white enameled job made in the shape of a whistling bird. She turned a burner to high. “Get out the chamomile and peppermint, will you, dear? We need something soothing.”
I deposited the cat on a chair, then selected the dried herbs from among the sizable collection in the racks hung on the pantry cabinet door. “Why’s this a worse time than any other for him to be killed?” Was there any good time to be murdered? And just what was it my aunt was hiding?
She looked down her long nose at me. “The Thanksgiving weekend festivities, of course.”
“What on earth does he have to do with them? I mean, no one’s going to cancel anything because of this, are they? We’ve held the community dinner for what, thirty-something years, now?”
“It’s gotten a little more complicated this year.” Gerda brought down her antique blue onion pattern teapot and filled it with hot tap water. The familiar occupations of making tea and discussing town events seemed to calm her. “This afternoon our Event Coordinator quit on us.”
“Why so late in the proceedings? All the work must be done, by now.” I fished in the cupboard for the ever-present tin of shortbread cookies. Lemon, this time.
Aunt Gerda pulled a woven cozy from a drawer and set it beside the pot, then smoothed it with nervous fingers as it lay on the tiled counter. “But that’s why it’s all such a crisis. She didn’t do anything. And I was going to call her up tonight and give her a piece of my mind, and now I can’t.”
“Can’t spare a piece of it, you mean?”
That succeeded in diverting her, at least for the moment. She fixed me with a reproving eye. “Living on your own is doing nothing for your manners, young lady.”
“Thank you. I haven’t been called young in years.”
Aunt Gerda snorted. “You’re only thirty-nine.”
“And counting,” I agreed, pleased with the success of my tactic. “So why can’t you call her? Who is it?”
“Cindy Brody.”
“Ouch.” The kettle’s rumblings took on the first note of a whistle, and I retrieved it from the stove. In the renewed silence, I asked, “Aren’t she and…I mean, weren’t she and Brody getting divorced?”
Gerda emptied the tap water from the pot and began measuring in spoonfuls of loose herbs. “Anyone else would have been over and done with it by now. But that’s Cindy, always complaining and never finishing.” She moved back, allowing me to add the boiling water.
“So Cindy took on the job, and you’re only just now finding out she didn’t do anything? I’ll just bet the SCOURGEs are in an uproar.”
Aunt Gerda directed a pained look at me. “You mean the Service Club Of Upper River Gulch Environs.”
“That’s what I said. The SCOURGEs. If they didn’t want to be called that, they should’ve been more careful about choosing their name. Are they going to kick her out of the club?”
“Technically, she doesn’t belong anymore, anyway. She moved to Meritville as soon as she decided she wanted a divorce.” Gerda popped the lid on the pot, covered it with the cozy, and set it on a trivet in the middle of the huge pine table.
“Sounds like a ‘good riddance’ on all sides. Okay, so nothing’s been organized. Everyone’s done it all so often before, they can cope anyway, wouldn’t you say?”
“I told you, it’s been expanded a little. We need someone who isn’t already working on something to take charge, and where can we find someone who-” She broke off, a sudden gleam lighting her eyes.
“Oh, no, you don’t! I am not crazy enough to actually chair a SCOURGE project.”
“Of course you are, dear. You’re the very person.” She inspected the pot and poured tea into the blue and beige stoneware mugs I unearthed from a cupboard. Her voice, as she continued, sounded tight. “It’ll let everyone know you’re here to stay, and more than capable of stepping into Brody’s shoes. No, that’s not the best choice of phrases at the moment, is it? Well, you know what I mean. If you’re going to be living here, this is just the thing.”
“Sort of a ‘wel
come home’? Gee, thanks. If no one will hire me as their accountant, maybe I can open a business as an event coordinator. Events Unlimited, that’s what I’ll call myself.”
Gerda breathed in the pungent steam from her mug. “Not bad. We’ll work on the name. The first event on the program is the pancake breakfast Thanksgiving morning. As far as I know, Cindy hasn’t bought any of the food or lined up cooks. She did say something about ordering the turkey for the raffle prize, but that’s the least of our problems.”
The faint wail of a siren punctuated these last words. I looked up, met my aunt’s stricken gaze, and tried to smile. “Guess we have to quit pretending this has nothing to do with us.”
Aunt Gerda nodded. Her softly powdered complexion had faded once more, and strain etched itself about her eyes. She swallowed and managed a wavering smile. “Pity. Tea, cookies, and a project. Best medicine there is. Heavens, I should have straightened up the living room. Everything’s in such a mess. Not at all the way I want strangers to see the place.”
“Better not to have touched anything.”
The sirens filled the night. I rose and drew back the hand-woven curtain so I could look down into the yard, in time to see lights swing onto the drive. A minute later the sheriff’s elderly Jeep pulled around the last bend and halted in front of the garage. An ambulance followed, then came a light-colored sedan. Four men and three women climbed out from the collection of vehicles and ran through the rain toward the stairs.
I turned back into the room. “Well, the investigation’s underway.”
Gerda made a rapid attempt to at least tidy the kitchen table. “I suppose you’d better let them in.”
“Gee, thanks.” I opened the door as the first yellow-slickered figure reached the top step.
The man ducked beneath the overhanging roof of the porch and dragged off his rain hat. For a long moment he studied me, his sharp gaze traveling the considerable distance from the top of my dark blonde perm to the begrimed soles of my ancient running shoes. “Ms. McKinley?” he hazarded. “I’m Owen Sarkisian.”
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