by Ritter Ames
"You've set this all out in order, haven't you?" Meg mused as she turned a page in the casebook. "I just jotted everything down willy-nilly on a pad in my car."
Alarmed, Kate asked, "But they didn't know why you were interested, right?"
Meg shook her head. "Like I said, I wrote the notes in the car after I'd left. At the table, all I had to do was mention Amelia Nethercutt's name, and the ladies did the rest. I sat back and listened."
"What did your mother say?"
"Are you kidding? She was the worst gossip of the bunch. Nearly embarrassed me, until she gave the choicest tidbit of all."
Meg leaned across the table and pointed to a line near the bottom. Kate read:
Amelia discovered items in an antique store last week that should have been in an upstairs room of her home. Determined to unmask the criminal stealing and selling her possessions. Said she'd see the 'filthy thief' in jail if it was the last thing she ever did.
CHAPTER SIX
How to Keep a Happily Organized Home (for the organization presentation) Unless you live alone, don't try to organize your home by yourself. Involve the same people who helped get your disordered abode into its present state. Teamwork isn't just more efficient time-wise. It's critical if you want to make permanent organizational changes.
Learn as a team to clean as you go. No one is too young or too old to help in some way. Children can learn to put away one toy before taking out another, and the whole family can help load the dishwasher by rinsing and placing their own used tableware in after each meal. Hang hooks for coats and clothes, collect boxes and bins for toys, file paperwork as you're finished with it, and easily find what is needed later.
Most of all, don't expect perfection at all times—the white glove test died with the 1950s. Ten minutes a day of family pick-up time, with everyone pitching in once a week for an hour to accomplish the big cleaning, and your house will stay comfortable for daily living and inviting when unexpected guests arrive.
*
Being married to a hockey pro may have meant bright lights and her husband's triumphs in the papers. But as the trash talk between players piled onto the gossiping and sniping of the more competitive hockey wives, Kate had often dreamed of "less glamorous" ways for Keith to make a living. So when the team doctor had called early the previous fall to tell her Keith was in the hospital and needed a surgery that would likely take him permanently out of the game, she'd had trouble working up a sorrowful face for her husband's bedside.
The phone call two nights after the surgery seemed a clear lifeline to both of them—the management at WHZE reported a newly changed format and wanted a local sports star to anchor the nightly Sports Talk. Keith accepted the general manager's offer, and in two weeks they'd moved in with his parents in Vermont. The next day the girls were enrolled in the local first grade, and a month later the couple's offer was accepted on the house next to the Bermans.
Kate smiled, happy about their new life, as she turned the van into the Hazelton East Elementary pick-up circle. The school looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting; prim and neat in red brick and white trim. Swings and slides on one side, and Old Glory waving proudly in the circular median. She took her place in line behind the already-waiting vehicles, then nosed forward as teachers distributed children like as many shapes in a Fisher-Price sorter ball.
"Buckle up, girls," Kate called as the twins clamored into the back seats and a teacher slid the side door closed.
"Mommy, Daddy said—" they began together.
"Yes, we're going for ice cream."
Ten minutes later Kate sat in a cotton-candy-pink and white booth. Across the table, the girls' tongues battled in a sticky ice cream marathon to see who could devour the dripping cones before the chocolate scoops of Ben & Jerry's ended up on hands and shirts. Kate skipped a treat herself, choosing to spend the time developing her plan of attack on Tiffany. She had to find out how the box had arrived in their home.
"Suze, Sam. Did any strangers come by the house last night?"
"Na-uh." Blond curls shook in choreographed tandem.
"No one you didn't know?" She pressed to no avail. Both girls encored the head shaking routine. Playing the good mom, she reached over with a napkin to catch a huge drip before it hit Samantha's sleeve. "And Tiffany or Meg was with you in the house the whole time?"
Suze nodded, as Sam said, "Except when we heard the firecrackers."
"Firecrackers!" It was far too early for Fourth of July shenanigans. Hazelton statutes forbade fireworks of any sort in the town limits, and the law was strictly enforced. "Where?"
"Behind the house," Suze said between licks. "In the bushes at the little park."
A line of trees and grass circled the McKenzies' cul-de-sac. This green crescent buffer bounded the end of theirs and the neighbors' backyards. Christened "the park" by the girls, the end rolled up to a high-fenced creek screened by evergreens. While initially apprehensive about the nearby water, Kate had been thoroughly charmed by the sleepy little development, cut out from Vermont's emerald wilderness. The more they looked, the sooner she'd shared her family's initial enthusiastic opinion that the blue Victorian house made the top pick. Besides, she'd told herself, if the seven-foot fence didn't deter Sam from the creek, Suze would run and tattle.
But with this fireworks incident, those trees obviously can hide more than just the fence.
"Did you see who shot off the fireworks?" she asked.
Sam cut a look her sister's way, then stared intently at her ice cream as she replied, "It was dark, and Tiffany told us to stay in the house while she went out back to check."
The dropped gaze, coupled with the other twin's shamefaced expression, nudged Kate to dig deeper. "But you followed. Right?"
Suze bit her lip, and Sam offered an ambiguous shake of the head.
"Girls—"
"I told her we should've stayed in the house!" Suze gave her sister a stony glare, and turned to her mom. "But Sam ran out the door, and I thought I needed to make sure she found Tiffany okay."
Kate wanted to grab Suze before the tears started, to hug the guilt out of her little body, but the issue was too important. Adopting a quiet tone and mother-down-to-business attitude, she said, "You both know the rules. If you have a sitter, the sitter rules."
Blond heads nodded. The distinctive sound of a sniff came from Suze's direction, and Sam had the grace to look slightly sheepish.
"I don't want to be difficult about this, girls, but you should have obeyed Tiffany. No matter how exciting following her might seem—" Kate raised an eyebrow at Sam, then turned to Suze "—even if the goal was to keep your sister out of more trouble."
"Are we going to be punished?" Suze asked, her half-devoured scoop running muddy rivulets down the back of her hand.
Sam, always cool under pressure, took a big swipe of her ice cream and suggested, "We could have to clean our room for punishment. That would make us remember to obey the sitter next time."
As if Kate hadn't already mandated the chore be completed by the following afternoon. Oh, well, at least one Saturday task can get struck off the list.
"It's a deal," Kate said. "Hurry and finish up, then go to the bathroom and wash your faces and hands."
All stress vanished, and the twins finished their treat in record time. While they were cleaning up, Kate mentally amended the questions she needed to ask Tiffany, and was startled when the teenager actually appeared before her eyes, apron and white ice cream hat in hand.
"Tiffany? Do you work here?"
"Hi, Mrs. McK. Yep, most Fridays and all day Saturday and Sunday—for the past month now." Tiffany put the apron to her waist and turned her back to Kate, holding the cotton ties behind her. "Can you tie this into a cool bow? Try to make it kinda sexy, okay?"
"I've never really had a talent for sexy apron bows, Tiff."
The teen sighed. "No one does, but a girl can hope."
Kate pulled the loops taut and said, "I thought you
needed to be sixteen."
"Mom decorated the owner's place." Tiffany twisted, using the silvery, solar glaze on the window to check out her backside. "If I want a car next year, I have to earn some money."
Surprise, surprise. Kate had expected Valerie to produce a shiny, red Porsche for her beloved offspring. "Good plan, Tiff. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about your job last night."
"I told the girls to stay in the house."
"You're not in trouble. My daughters share an impetuous nature," Kate assured. "But I wondered how long all of you were outside."
Tiffany scrunched her forehead. "Five, maybe ten minutes. We couldn't find whoever shot off the fireworks. More of your neighbors came, and a couple had flashlights. That's when we found the burned firecrackers under one of the bushes." The teen's brown eyes grew large as she retold the drama. "Someone said it was a good thing we'd had all the rain lately or your neighborhood might've been torched."
"And the house seemed exactly as you left it?" Kate pressed.
"I guess so." Tiffany raised her right hand and chewed a cuticle. "The back door was open and the light on, but I figured we did that. Did somebody steal something?"
"No, no problem with stolen articles." Kate wondered what direction to go next. The heavy bathroom door clunked, and the girls created a weaving, skipping pattern toward her through the tables. Her sleuthing moment was over. "I just thought someone might have dropped by."
"Nobody except the pizza kid."
Sam and Suze hit Tiffany from both sides, enfolding her hips in a giggling hug.
"What pizza kid? You mean Louie?" Kate asked. Louie was the neighborhood delivery person for Hazey Pie, the town's local, award-winning pizzeria.
"Sure. Louie had a pizza for us, but we didn't order it." Sam grinned up at Tiffany.
"But you told me no one came to the house last night," Kate said.
"No strangers!" the girls chorused.
When would she learn? Meg hadn't mentioned seeing Louie either, or the firecrackers.
"It was some mistake," Tiffany said, returning the girls' hug. "Louie's ticket said your address, and he got plenty miffed. He called the dispatcher and argued a lot but finally left after I kept telling him we wouldn't pay for something we didn't order. I'm not sure what made him madder, though, the messed up order or the fact his cell battery was dead and he had to look up the number to call from your phone." She pulled her hair into a ponytail and clipped it under her hat. "I gotta go, Mrs. McK. My shift starts in a minute."
"Okay, thanks, Tiffany."
The aproned teen slipped behind the counter. Kate contemplated whether to detour by Hazey Pie to see if the order taker remembered anything about the person who placed the pizza delivery request. Could Louie be in the paid service of whoever tried to frame Kate, using the pizza delivery ruse as a ploy to get more than pizza into the house? After all, he had used the phone. Did he use the one in the entry or the kitchen?
She asked the twins and received shrugs in reply.
How carefully would Tiffany have watched if he'd used the kitchen phone? Would he have an opportunity to hide the box in the utility room? The more she thought about it, the more her mouth watered for a hand-tossed pie, and her brain hungered for answers to her questions. Maybe Louie should make a delivery to the McKenzie household that evening. They could have cheeseburger potato casserole any old evening.
*
She heard the telephone pealing from inside, as she shoved her key into the front door lock. Kate scooped up the receiver and heard the dial tone. Caller ID offered an out of area reading.
"Darn."
"What's wrong, Mom?" Suze dumped her backpack on the entry hall bench.
"Nothing, sweetie. Missed the call." Kate pointed a finger at the adolescent detritus that littered the area at the girls' return. "Go ahead and take your things upstairs, you two. We don't want to walk around this all weekend. Change clothes and bring those shirts back. I can get everything into a presoak. And start your homework, too. You can do it at the kitchen table."
"But it's Friday!" Sam wailed.
"You're right. Start cleaning your room instead."
Kate hid a grin when Suzanne punched Samantha's shoulder. The pair banged up the stairs, the rumbling reminiscent of a herd of cattle. The phone rang again.
"Hello."
"Hi, dear. Can you hear me?" It was Kate's motherin-law, Jane, on a static-filled connection.
"Barely. Where are you?"
"Close enough to Florida to finally use my cell phone," Jane replied. "The satellite TV in the lounge had a report at noon saying Amelia Nethercutt died. Is that true?"
"I'm sorry, but yes, very true." She'd been afraid of this. "I tried calling earlier to tell you but got an out of range recording."
"I didn't catch the cause of death. Was it her heart? What day is the funeral?"
Kate took a deep breath. "I haven't heard when services will be held. I imagine early next week. But in regard to her death, Jane, Amelia was murdered."
"Murdered!" Jane gasped. "Oh, poor Thomas. He'll be lost without his mother. I hope Sophia keeps an eye on him."
"Right now, the only thing she seems to be keeping an eye on is her inheritance." Kate explained the morning's discovery that Sophia had already removed the glass chest of collectibles.
"Sounds about right," Jane said. "I'm certainly glad she didn't collect Keith that time he came home from college. Though it surprised me she would even let the radio station hire him after my smart son spurned her affections all those years ago. Carrying long grudges has always been one of her gifts."
"Keith and Sophia?"
"Yes, hard to imagine. Isn't it?" Jane's chuckle mixed with cell phone static. "I thought since her husband has controlling interest in the radio sta—"
The line went dead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Notes for my Organization Connection at the Book Nook:
Five Gremlins That Combat Organization Efforts
Fear of Failure. Staying positive fights this meanie. You must think you can, like the "Little Engine That Could." Small progress is still progress and leads to big finishes.
You'd Rather Do Something Else. Overcome this tyrant by scheduling an early hour each day to work on organization, leaving the rest of the day free for more enjoyable tasks. Or make doing a favorite activity contingent upon completing specific projects.
Setting Goals and Priorities That Are Too Broad. Masked as a life-coach, this baddie challenges you to do your best but ultimately guarantees failure. Instead, define exactly what the assignment is. List each clutter-task—then prioritize. Do big stress chores first, and break everything into mini goals that can be completed within small periods.
Trying To Finish Too Quickly. Pushy gremlins get beaten when you realize many organization projects can't get done in one sitting. On the other hand, waiting until you 'have time' often means projects never even get started.
Hanging On To the Past. Sentimental and thrifty, this organizational jinx hates saying goodbye to anything. Determine each item's real importance. Strive to discard 30%. Can't bring yourself to throw away something still good? Give to charity or hold a tag sale.
*
Sophia and Keith. Sophia and Keith. Sophia and Keith.
An icy sensation had settled in Kate's spine after hearing the names together in Jane's voice, and she shivered as the names looped continuously in her brain, twining through treasured memories like demented ivy. All the conversations she and Keith had shared over the Nethercutt job, both before and after the murder, and he had never once mentioned anything about knowing Sophia. Why hadn't he said something? Her conscious mind told her he'd just been taking the husbandly, wimp-out approach to the situation. But, that cold sharp fear at the base of her brain scratched like a finger scraping off a scab, and made her wonder if he…
No. She hadn't listened as those few witchy hockey wives whispered their lies whenever the team played away from home, so why should she
build up deceptions in her own mind now? Still…
The obsessive frigid finger tapped again, leaving her numb with the next thought. Could Sophia be setting Kate up in order to make another run at her former beau? He didn't answer his cell. She speed dialed Keith at the radio station, taking deep breaths as ringing began at the other end.
The bright voice of Eileen, the station's pert, nineteen-year-old receptionist, answered after four rings. "WHZE radio. All talk all the time."
"Hi Eileen, it's Kate McKenzie. Can I speak with Keith please?"
"Um, sorry Kate, but he's gone to the Big Apple. Didn't he leave you a message?"
"New York?"
"Uh, huh. He took off with Mrs. Nethercutt-White about an hour ago on the corporate jet. He has some big sports interview lined up for tonight."
Pain shot through Kate's left temple. She dropped her head into her hand. "I haven't checked the messages…Sorry I bothered you."
"Oh, no trouble at all." Eileen's voice maintained its cheerful chirpiness, never realizing what she'd said set off an atom bomb in Kate's world.
Sophia and Keith. Sophia and Keith winging their way together to New York City. Numb, Kate replaced the telephone on its cradle. Sounds of a developing screaming match drifted down from upstairs. She experienced guilty relief knowing her daughters would stay in their room, prolonging the argument unless she intervened.
Which won't be anytime soon.
She didn't like taking advantage of a negative situation, but she needed time, alone, to work through all of this.
In the kitchen, the phone system light blinked to signal a missed call and message. She loved the money they saved running voice-over-internet-protocol instead of a landline or souping up their cell minutes, but at that moment she hated their Ooma system. The long gap between each red flash silently accused her of being a fool. After she hesitantly pushed the touchpad's pulsing triangle, Keith's voice penetrated her funk.