Murder Mansion

by M K Scott

  A nervous giggle escaped as she shoved the list into her scrubs pocket. Okay. That did sound flirty. Get ahold of yourself. Rubbermaid set purchased, and then she’d make her departure. A banner guided her to storage. She plucked up the nearest box, compared it to the ID number on the list. Satisfied, she tucked it under her arm. A quick glance confirmed Mark stood where she left him. Stuck between a display of boxed pots and pans and table linens, awkwardness wafted off the man. His discomfort touched something deep inside of Donna. Just a tweak, but still a touch.

  Her firm plan to make her goodbyes and head out softened a bit. Box in hand, she sauntered up to Mark, displaying a bravado she did not feel. “Ready. Now all I have to do is remind the clerk that this is from the gift registry. Whaddya doing for dinner?” She ran the words together; half-hoping he hadn’t heard the question.

  “Ah.” He shoved his hand back into his pocket. “There’s my dilemma. There’s a certain nurse I’d love to ask out, but because I’m still on a case, I can’t.”

  “Oh.” She hadn’t considered that angle. She should have since it came up in enough police dramas. “Don’t think she’s guilty of wrongdoing, do you?”

  The smile, which was becoming familiar, stretched across his face again. “Oh, she’s guilty all right.”

  Donna’s breath caught in a gasp. He knew good and well she had nothing to do with that man in her inn. Before she could protest, Mark continued, catching her attention with a wink.

  “Guilty of a smart mouth, equally keen nose and a very observant eye.”

  “Ha, ha.” She forced the words since she didn’t feel like laughing, just yet. Her heart had to slow down to a normal rhythm. “I can see that’s a problem. Too bad, I had some grilled sirloin meatloaf I wanted your opinion on. I was considering it as an offering for the inn.”

  A frozen loaf of sirloin meatloaf sat in her freezer. Along with many other items she had created, trying to decide what recipes would work best for the impending B and B. Of course, she expected to vary them with the season. It had never crossed her mind to invite Mark over to sample some of the food until she did. His comment about not associating because of the case meant he’d refuse.

  “Sounds like a great idea. I do love a homemade meatloaf. You almost never see it in restaurants anymore.” His expression reminded her of her brother’s when he spied the wished-for bicycle underneath the Christmas tree.

  “Okey dokey, then.” Sure. She had just muttered her grandpa’s standard agreement and pivoted in the direction of the sales counter. What fresh hell did she just create? Didn’t the man realize he should have refused? Who knew meatloaf would exert a siren call?

  Chapter Seven

  The sales clerk handed her a receipt with a sunny smile. Donna attempted a return one, but her jaws felt frozen. The clerk’s smile dropped as she stumbled back a step. Her lifting of her lips must have resembled a snarl. The urge to growl, at least grimace at the situation, pressed on her, similar to the waiting crowd on a Black Friday shopping day.

  Not ready for company, especially of the male variety. Her evening plans would include shoving her purchase in one of the floral gift bags she kept in stock, convinced they suited a variety of occasions, followed by a stiff drink. The closest she came to a stiff drink was a small glass of sherry, but tonight she’d unearth the Hennessey brandy. A nervous, cardiac patient who ran a liquor distribution warehouse gave it to her after he had survived open-heart surgery, convinced she held the key to his recovery. Donna would generally refuse such an expensive gift, but the heart surgeon voiced his contempt, remarking that a plebeian nurse wouldn’t appreciate aged cognac. Yeah, she might be a plebeian, but she got the bottle.

  Now everything changed. Instead of slapping on her comfortable pajamas and kicking off her shoes, clothes would be a requirement. Not too many worries about the state of the house. If her mother taught her nothing else, it was to keep the bathroom and living room reasonably tidy. No real reason for guests to wander into any other rooms. The kitchen she kept spotless, ironically because she spent the most time there. The stainless steel appliances and granite countertop crowded with an array of culinary devices retained the place in her heart that many women reserved for shoes or celebrity crushes. A particular skillet or powerful blender carried more punch than a strappy pair of Jimmy Choo sandals.

  Bag on her arm, she nodded at Mark, prepared to take her leave and speed home as fast as legally possible. His forehead wrinkled as his brow lowered, he moved his lips. Nothing. Finally, he shook his head and let out a shuddering sigh.

  “Ah, Donna, you don’t have to invite me over because you think I’m some lonely old man who eats takeout over the sink while watching television in the next room. Even though you offered the invitation in a generous moment, it is clear that you have doubts.” He shook his head again as if surprised at himself for even accepting.

  There it was. A lovely way of backing out and being able to go back to the night she’d previously planned. Mark shrugged into his sports jacket, fiddled with the buttons as he waited for her reply. An artist could use him as a subject if his theme were loneliness. Lost Man in the Mall could serve as a title. Everyone knew women ruled the mall. Occasionally couples showed up early in their dating relationship and non-custodial fathers appeared on the weekend, tasked with updating their child’s wardrobe or treating them to a current movie.

  A small violinist set up shop in her brain and played the most melancholy music possible. What type of monster would she be if she waved a delicious dinner in front of a lonely man only to yank it back? “Um, that man watching television from over the sink. That wasn’t you, was it?”

  Mark put one hand up to his chest and winked. “Would it matter if it was?”

  Oh mercy. It was him. No hope, no chance to weasel out, but suddenly when given an opportunity she didn’t want to. Inhaling deeply, she decided what she’d do. Be herself. Yeah, what a concept. “Nope, the invite is still good. Give me about an hour. Nothing fancy now. I might want to go home and slap on some sweat pants.”

  Two teenaged girls with earbuds trailing over their shoulders slowed as they walked by. One of the girls elbowed the other. “Did you see that? I think they’re making a date.”

  Apparently, daily music blasting compromised their hearing. Mark waggled his eyebrows at the remark. Donna almost laughed, but the friend’s reply stopped the chuckle before it even worked its way up and out of her throat.

  “No way, Lauren. They’re old. No romance ever rocks their world. They do well to get up off the sofa.”

  Sofa. Might as well have said an assist lift chair that all the medical device stores always advertised. The commercial had the chair not only lifting the people to a standing position, but also doing everything else, except giving them a little push to get them started. Her eyes cut to Mark, who appeared undisturbed by the remark, even amused. His hand cupped her elbow as he urged her to the exit door.

  Aware of his intentions, she fell into step beside him. They strolled silently for a few minutes. He glanced back over his shoulder before chuckling. “Goodness, those two would have us dead and buried already.”

  “I’m not sure about you, but I’m a little insulted that they would consider us so old.” She gave a little sniff but realized her behavior would be exactly what the girls would expect from an older adult. When did she get old? The invitation from the AARP could have been her first indication.

  “Donna, don’t you remember when you were their age and convinced anyone over thirty wasn’t worth your time?”

  At the time, malls weren’t that trendy, but she could remember her best friend Portia and her yucking it up because two of their teachers were dating. The idea that adults might desire romance and companionship kept them amused over the very public courtship of their teachers. Their every shared glance, remark and casual touch became fodder for lunchtime conversation. Eventually, the two of them quit seeing each other, proving only the young should engage in the provocative d
ance of attraction.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I remember a couple teachers dating at my junior high. We gave the two of them such a hard time they broke up.”

  Mark half jogged to get in front of her to open the exterior door. “My lady,” he murmured as she passed through.

  “Thanks, kind sir.” She teased him back with a slight jump in her pulse. It didn’t mean anything besides being grateful. He didn’t think she was the murderer, or did he? Plenty of television detectives played the suspect, lulling the person into a sense of false security where the criminal inadvertently confessed to the crime.

  The cold air rushed at her like a linebacker, causing her to fold her arms as she walked into the blustery wind. She pointed in the direction of her car and gave a small wave. “See you later.”

  Taber grinned and shook his head, pointing in a similar direction. “I’ll see you to your car first.” He moved up closer to her, but didn’t touch as they walked. His open sports coat whipped out behind him, creating dark wool sails that might suddenly float him up into the sky like a kite. The dropping temperature dictated their fast pace across the hole-pocked asphalt.

  Her burgundy sub-compact sat near a parking light, her usual place. She chose it not because she worried about safety, but more about the inconvenience of not finding her car. Although the handful of cars at this time of day made such an occurrence dubious. Key fob in hand, she aimed it at the car, unlocking it.

  “Donna, you should really wait until you get closer to do that.” Mark remarked, gesturing at the distance between her and the car. She was five feet, maybe six feet from the car door. “Why?”

  Instead of answering, he looked around and gestured with his right hand to a half dozen cars. “Thugs wanting to rob, assault, or steal your car could be lurking nearby. The beep alerted them, along with your car flashing its headlights, which one was yours. Someone could come from behind, slam into you, take your keys and drive off.” His head bobbed up and down vigorously at the wisdom of his pronouncement.

  “Ah, thanks.” Not what she wanted to say, but his comment made her feel unsafe in the mall she visited countless times. They’d reached her car and she made a show of peering into the backseat. No one, not that she expected anyone, but she hadn’t expected her keys stolen along with her car, either.

  Mark opened her car door before she could. Gentlemen were scarce in the area. Plenty of women, both co-workers and patients, made various comments about the lack of such a commodity. The remarks usually occurred after a run-in with an abrupt doctor, rude technician, or a boorish specialist. She smiled up at him as she sat in her seat, reminding herself it was a detective trick to fool her. Yeah buddy, not buying it. You’ll find I’m not an easy nut to crack.

  He stood near the open door, leaning into it while talking, creating a small pocket of intimacy. “As for those teachers, I bet they kept seeing each other outside of school. They only pretended to stop because of all the attention the students gave them. As a detective, you learn to look past the obvious and expect the unexpected. See ya at seven.” Mark slammed the door and strolled off before she could reply.

  Just as well, she didn’t have any great comeback. She could have remarked it sounded like he stole the last bit from a Sherlock Holmes novel. Didn’t make it less true. Any dedicated mystery looked past the obvious. Clear clues led people to suspect an underpaid domestic or a disenchanted spouse at the start of the story. Some authors felt it important to make the person so disliked that everyone had a motive.

  The motor purred, but the temperature gauge hung at cold, which meant a chilly ride home. With her luck, it wouldn’t warm up until she pulled into her garage. Not much she could do about it, especially with a guest on his way.

  Her tires squealed as she accelerated out of the parking lot a little faster than needed. The rearview mirror showed a minivan behind her. Good, it wasn’t Taber. He probably went out a different exit. Just as well, she didn’t need any comments about her driving. She had enough to deal with finding an unknown dead man in her house wearing a watch that could have served as a down payment on the inn. Robbery couldn’t be a motive. Maybe a rendezvous. A known empty house served as a point hidden away from prying eyes because his lover or he, or both, were married. It would make sense that the woman lived nearby. All of it worked. The suspicious husband could have followed and killed the stranger after his wife left.

  Unaware of his wife’s infidelity, the husband didn’t bother to pack a pistol. He didn’t even own one. In the end, he resorted to his hands as a murder weapon. Ah ha, she had just solved the crime. A self-satisfied smile graced her face as she pulled into her neighborhood. Wait until the good detective arrived. He’d be so pleased.

  There was the issue of not knowing who the killer was, but all she needed was nearby neighbors with a shaky marriage. Her smug expression dropped as she realized that could describe a good number of people. She had heard on some radio talk show that over forty percent of people cheated while married. Her head moved side to side in disbelief at the figure. It was just as well that she didn’t marry. Any husband of hers who decided to cheat would end up with a sizeable crease in his skull from her cast iron skillet. One of the benefits of singlehood is that it kept her out of prison.

  The car bumped up the driveway and idled as she hopped out to get the mail. In the garage, she scampered out of the car mumbling, “Why did I invite that man to dinner?” An abrupt snort answered her question. The same reason she had picked up her pup, she felt sorry for him. The man practically salivated when she mentioned the grilled Angus meatloaf and it wasn’t even one of her best dishes.

  As a future B and B operator, she concentrated her recipe repertoire on crepes, frittatas, challah French toast and gingerbread waffles. She’d pair the breakfasts with superior coffee or tea with a glass of fresh squeezed juice.

  Jasper’s excited barking made her walk faster, knowing the dog had spent a few extra hours alone in the house. The last thing she needed was an accident before Taber arrived. Jasper danced around her feet as she squeezed sideways through the tight laundry room with her purse and mall sack. Baskets of clean laundry teetered on the dryer. She should have put away the laundry Sunday, but after finding the dead man her schedule had derailed. Another reason she didn’t need guests over. Her dog buffeted against her legs like a furry, excited tide and she a cruise liner.

  She steamed into the kitchen with the dog following her. First things first, she opened the back door for the dog, who ran out and immediately turned back and stared at her. He never quite understood that after his fulsome welcome, she always stuck him outside, but his loyalty to her always outweighed his limited comprehension.

  The frozen block of meatloaf went into the microwave defrost cycle. What should she wear for a casual evening at home? Typically, she changed, especially if she had no reason to go out. Her polar bear decorated PJs certainly were more comfortable than her work clothes, but probably might err on the side of being too casual. A pair of jeans and a checked shirt would give her the right balance between normal and not trying too hard.

  A brush smoothed out a few of her windswept tendrils, while a cosmetic sponge eliminated the creases in her makeup. No reason to redo her makeup, the man had already seen her at her worst on a Sunday. Anything other than her hair sticking out of a ball cap and her face white with shock would be an improvement.

  Not a date, but more of a fact-finding mission. He thought he’d dig up stuff on her and she’d wiggle out info about the case from him. Only difference would be he’d think she was clueless about his intentions. It served her purposes to let him keep on believing that. A spritz of perfume at her neck might help. A chirp from her microwave reminded her the ultimate aroma still needed to go in the oven.

  A sharp bark denoted the dog’s whereabouts. “Oh, I forgot to let Jasper back in. Where is my head?” Her bare feet smacked the hardwood floor as she sprinted for the door. Her pooch marched in on stiff legs and gave her an imperious gl
are. How a rescue dog managed such a high and mighty attitude both amused and puzzled her. A person would think he’d be in a constant, grateful mode. If there was a thought bubble over his head, it should be sentiments like Thank you wonderful human for rescuing me from certain death or I’m so lucky to have a happy home. Nope, Jasper’s thought bubble contained phrases, not sentences. Want in, want out, cold, hungry, food giver, bacon! Strangers, not that many ever came to the house, fell in either the category bacon giver or serial killer.

  The doorbell chimed, setting off her canine alarm. Startled howls worthy of a sighting of pillaging Vikings echoed down the hall as she padded to the entrance. The good detective fell into the mass murderer designation as her dog bumped against her legs, trying to hide behind her while investigating the visitor. Her hand gripped the doorknob, but she hesitated opening it. In the intervening seconds, she reminded herself that entertaining Taber would be excellent practice for hostessing a B and B. People she didn’t know would come through the doors of The Painted Lady Inn and her job would be to not only welcome them, but also draw them out, make them comfortable, relaxed with an underlying desire to come back.

  Her brother could do it in his sleep. Donna sucked in her lips, considering the lacking skill set. “Good practice,” she mumbled to herself as more of a reminder than a mantra as she opened the door.

  Chapter Eight

  Detective Taber stood on her porch clutching a green tissue-wrapped bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. He grinned, holding up the flowers and the bottle. “It’s been so long since anyone invited me over for dinner I wasn’t sure what the proper hostess gift was, so I brought both.”

  Her misgivings fell away like broken Mardi Gras beads when she realized no one ever invited the man over. How could she have even regretted her impulsive invite? Another part of her, the one that usually frightened the newbie nurses, pointed out there may be a reason people didn’t invite him over. Possibly, she’d have a hint of that before the evening ended.