Organized for Murder

by Ritter Ames

  Most of all, she couldn't shake the feeling the next shoe was about to drop.

  *

  The next morning, Kate ran fingers through her hair and noted her 'do getting too long again. She made a mental memo to call Dixie about a hair appointment. The twins looked cute in curls, but she liked to keep her blond waves at bay, and the most efficient way meant keeping her cut at chin length.

  Just another expense.

  She wondered how soon Charles Webster Walker paid invoices. Of course, she and her crew hadn't even worked a full day yet. With a sigh, she turned off the light and headed downstairs.

  In the kitchen, she pulled out the pre-made French toast she'd frozen the previous week and made a cappuccino. She'd gotten hooked on Starbucks while Keith had played for Vancouver and they'd lived near Seattle. This single serving variety didn't meet professional standards, but it was cheaper and served her purposes to fight residual addiction attacks. And today's hit hard.

  The cappuccino's rich smell tickled her nose and jolted her mind and stomach alive, its steam rising cloud-like in the chill air. Her ears tingled. Kate's pulse slowed, waves of comfort riding in the light's verve. Yes, this was what she needed.

  She thought about Amelia's service and reflected on what she'd seen of the family. Bill stayed at one side of the first pew. Sophia sat a row back and at the other end, with Thomas midway down and Danny behind his father. Likely Bill's glee was due to putting something over on his sister, but the whole group seemed contentious. Only Mrs. Baxter shared Bill's pew, with the other relatives keeping a vast distance between one another, as if no one had wanted to sit near anyone else. Or trusted each other.

  Everyone else, friends and community leaders, had whispered and cried quietly into tissues. She'd recognized the garden club all sitting together in the pews to her right, every member wearing a white orchid in Amelia's memory. Within the family pews only Mrs. Baxter showed great emotion, breaking down during a turn at the podium to speak about her late employer. Bill helped her back to her seat, her speech forever unfinished.

  Which led to Kate's next question. She wrote in the casebook:

  1) Was Mrs. Baxter invited to sit with the family? Or did she just assume her place?

  Again, Kate contemplated the relationship, or lack of relationship, between the wealthy matriarch and the cook. Two women who grew up together, shared space and conversation, but remained endless rungs apart on the social ladder. Mrs. Baxter's place at the funeral must have been by invitation, or Sophia would surely have opposed such familiarity between an employee and the employer's family. Then again, maybe she had. Maybe Bill invited the cook to push his sibling's buttons, and that explained his seeming delight and his sister's sourness. The more Kate thought about it, the more this scenario sounded like a sure bet. Those two were nothing if not consistently adolescent toward one another.

  The questions and impressions were something to later talk over with Meg. Her neighbor and Valerie hadn't wanted to attend the funeral, choosing instead to stay behind and work. But they had already left by the time Kate arrived at the mansion at about five to make sure the place was locked up tight. The Berman house had stood dark as she'd arrived home, reminding Kate it was the nineteenth anniversary of Meg's mother's thirty-ninth birthday. She'd intended to watch out for the Bermans' return, but instead fell asleep, jarred awake at midnight with Keith's return. Obviously, her talents did not include surveillance work.

  This morning, the mechanical surveillance pros stayed alert and professional. The small, camera Meeks had placed under the house's eaves at front and back doors identified, clocked, and categorized all visitors. Four more cameras hid around the perimeter of the house and yards. Meeks had called the previous night and explained that each camera operated under a live feed, loading directly into a computer in his shop. According to him, even an invisible man would find it difficult to enter her house without one or more of the cameras catching evidence of the intruder.

  "Not even if the creep drops by parachute and onto your roof," he'd assured. "You'd be amazed at the peripheral range of these lenses."

  Au contraire. Everything amazed her. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine being involved in anything resembling her current predicament, let alone get interviewed by police twice in one week and hear the infamous imperative, "don't leave town."

  There's nothing Valerie can say that can't be explained away. I've done nothing wrong.

  Except hide and withhold evidence, that tiny voice of a guilty conscience whispered from behind her right ear. Manufactured evidence, countered the voice of justice and fair play. Evidence that would have done nothing but make the police focus erroneously on Kate. After all, no pertinent fingerprints remained on the box after she'd dropped it into the washer. But the police could have dusted her house and van for prints if they knew the stolen items had been hidden by person or persons unknown. "Wonder what the penalty is in Vermont for withholding information?"

  Where had that line of thought come from? She shook her head. Obviously she was picking up a bit more lingo from the police, Meeks, and Meg than she'd realized, or she was getting more interested than she ever believed possible. Kate wondered what this new revelation said about her personality.

  It was just self-preservation. Her mouth curled in frustration. And it came from continually getting set up as a dupe. She needed to stay focused. No telling what might happen next, and she still had to worry about where the mask might pop up and redirect attention her way. Lieutenant Johnson hadn't told Meg or Valerie they couldn't leave town, as he had Kate. Not that she wanted to go anywhere, but she didn't like the cloud of suspicion hanging over her head. She didn't blame Johnson; if the tables and jobs were reversed she would probably say and do the same as he. But still…

  Which reminded her of question three.

  What did Valerie tell Lieutenant Johnson?

  After the police left the mansion, she and Meg tried repeatedly to pull this information from Valerie but to no avail. Regardless of how they worded the request, the diva decorator ducked the issue and shot the squint-eyed, self-satisfied look a cat assumes after appropriating a dish of cream. Kate suddenly remembered the telling sniff and expression Valerie wore the previous afternoon when she mentioned wanting to again visit Mrs. Baxter at the cottage. The look was one of those "I'm in the know" kind that too often meant trouble. She fumed.

  Not only was she clueless about what the look meant, but she forgot to go peek through the cottage's curtains.

  Some investigator I am.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Little Timeframes Make Big Differences (Talk about this idea at presentation) Like a television exec, use half-hour scheduling to get tasks completed. Divide the day into thirty-minute segments, first blocking out time for regular routine duties, then identifying any available half-hours for to-do list chores. While some jobs always require more than thirty minutes, short spurts are perfect for a surprising number of organized tasks. For example: 1.Plan weekly dinner menus or clip coupons.

  2.Bill paying and envelope addressing

  3.Groom the pooch.

  4.Sew a button or repair a seam.

  5.Start a craft.

  6.Jot down Christmas and birthday gift ideas.

  Stay ahead with the thirty-minute rule, no matter how tight a schedule. Accomplish more without working harder. For big seasonal tasks, divide individual parts into half-hour zones and complete one zone per day. Handle large chores like heavy cleaning and clothing rotation the same way. Can't split up a large chore, such as painting a room? Employ half-hours to ready supplies and complete prep work like taping. Allocate a few minutes of every timeframe for gathering tools and supplies. Or designate the day's first half-hour to gather up needed materials for all tasks.

  *

  "I guess I'm getting ghoulish," Kate said to Meg as she drove her van the route to the mansion. "Instead of thinking about Amelia during the service, I spent most of the time noting what each of our sus
pects did and their interactions with one another. Guess I'm converting to the dark side."

  "Yes," Meg took on a deep, sinister voice. "You're one of us now."

  Kate grinned and slapped her shoulder.

  As they glided down Main Street, Meg shouted, "Stop!" Pointing at the Dazelight Donuts shop she asked, "Isn't that Danny getting off the tattooed guy's motorcycle?"

  Kate nosed the van into a parking spot, and with several vehicles shielding them the women watched. Danny hung a helmet onto the back of the bike and waved, apparently thanking the driver for the lift. The bike roared off in a gargling crescendo, and the teen made his way into the donut shop.

  "Okay, before we go in, what do we need to know?" Kate asked.

  "You mean besides who killed Amelia?"

  "Going for the obvious today, are we?" Kate grabbed her purse, withdrew the casebook, ticked off points with her finger. "Let's see. Get a handle on his dad's finances and find out why he goes to public school instead of private—"

  "Which begs the question—why he's even here?" Meg interrupted. "By my calculations the first period bell rang ten minutes ago."

  "Maybe he's out the whole week because of Amelia's death?"

  Meg cocked an eyebrow. "When did donuts become part of the mourning process?" She groaned. "Sorry, no pun intended. Besides, he doesn't look very broken up to me."

  "Emotional eating?"

  A glance into the shop's plate glass window showed the teen ordering at the counter, accepting a tray with a Styrofoam cup and glazed donut, then settling into an empty booth. His gaze stayed fixed on the road as he sat, and he never touched his food.

  "Who do you think he's waiting on?" Meg asked, coming to the same conclusion about his actions that Kate did.

  "Might be interesting to find out."

  A few minutes later, a gleaming white Mercedes purred into the parking lot and tucked itself into a distant, perimeter slot. Danny perked up.

  "Looks like the eagle has landed," Kate said, as a silver-haired, very precise sixtyish woman got out. "Any idea who she is?"

  "Uh-huh." Meg nodded. "Gabriella Cavannah-Wicker."

  "You mean the Gabriella Cavannah?" Kate had never seen her, but had heard much about this woman whose family had stepped off the Mayflower and headed straight for Vermont. Plaques with the Cavannah name festooned Hazelton's more public locations. The first such marker Kate had noticed upon moving into town was the one prominently displayed above the arch leading to the children's section of the library. And the day of Amelia's death she'd said something about her in relationship to Mrs. Baxter's errands, but Kate couldn't recall exactly what except its connection to a budget issue. "How is she related to the Joey Cavannah who was Thomas's father?"

  "Gabriella was Joey's sister, and she and Amelia have been in competition to see who would be unofficially crowned Hazelton's greatest grand dame for decades. Both families have been here since the dawn of time, but Gabriella believes she deserves extra points for having lived here all of her life. Even if she's never associated with the mere peasants. Amelia always trumped those points at parties when she held court and recounted her years living on the European Continent."

  "And you know this how?"

  "Mother." Meg grinned. "Due to her decades as garden club royalty, my dear mamma is guaranteed an invitation to any party where one-upmanship is the cocktail hour entertainment. Mother revels in such festivities and always exploits the events as opportunities to get hefty cash donations for Hazelton's beautification."

  "But why would Amelia's and Gabriella's feud mean anything to the garden club?"

  Meg waved a hand in the air. "Oh, my dear, Kate, you don't understand. Both women not only belong to the club, but each vie, or in Amelia's case I guess I should say vied, for top honors in whipping the other's butt each year and becoming president. With Amelia's death, Gabriella, as this year's V.P., will assume the mantle as club leader and probably run unopposed into the next century."

  That's what it was. Some budget feud Amelia wanted to give Gabriella time to come to terms about.

  Kate flipped to the first empty page in her casebook and noted the time, date, and location of this rendezvous, then turned back to her list of questions for Danny. "So, why would she meet Danny at the donut shop?" Kate looked into the window again. "Sure, she has a cup of coffee, but she made a face and pushed it aside. And I cannot even imagine her biting into any food served here."

  "No, nothing could possibly be up to her standards."

  Danny suddenly got red-faced at whatever Gabriella told him and shook his head. He jumped up and hooked an arm through the camouflage-print backpack he'd tossed beside him in the booth. Before he could stalk off, Gabriella grabbed his arm.

  Kate and Meg studied the fascinating pantomime as Danny turned, his face shifting in an instant from scarlet to ghostly white at whatever Gabriella said, before resuming his seat.

  Minutes later, the incongruous pair walked out together and climbed into the Mercedes.

  "Follow that car, Wonder Woman," Meg cried.

  "No, I'm Batgirl—"

  "Drive!"

  Kate reversed out of the space, letting two cars pass before slipping back onto Main to tail the Mercedes. Traffic in Hazelton was never heavy until tour bus season, and she hoped they wouldn't be spotted. Gabriella didn't know her or what she drove, but Danny did and might recognize the van.

  "Looks like they're turning onto the school road," Meg observed. And indeed the Mercedes' left turn signal winked. "Drive on by. No point in following them into the high school's drop-off circle. We could follow Gabriella, but I don't even want to think about what kind of trouble we'd be in if we got caught."

  "We're getting used to it. Getting pulled in as a public nuisance for running surveillance on Hazelton royalty might be more interesting, too."

  "Likely, more boring." Meg removed the casebook from Kate's lap. "I would love intel on what made Danny angry, though. What could the old bat have on him?"

  "Maybe he was trying to negotiate for the orchids," Kate suggested, her eyes scanning the road ahead. "You said she was a head honcho, after all. Given the animosity she and Amelia shared, Danny might believe Gabriella would go for a deal that went against his grandmother's wishes."

  "Step-grandmother," Meg mused, turning a page to continue scanning the casebook's notes.

  "Huh?"

  "Nothing," Meg replied. "Wait a minute. What's this note about? Natalie 2K?"

  Kate shrugged and hit the blinker to merge onto the road to the mansion. "Danny wrote it in ink on his hand. I saw it when we were talking about who kept up the mansion's fresh flowers, but Walker called us into the parlor to finish up with the heir meeting, and I never got the chance to ask him what the words meant. Any ideas?"

  "I have my suspicions," Meg said. "But I have one fact. Gabriella's granddaughter is named Natalie, and rumor has it her recent Paris vacation was actually a cover story for time spent in a Swiss clinic specializing in drug dependency cases."

  *

  Valerie paced the mansion's front porch as they arrived, arms crossed tightly around her body. Which, given the morning's brisk temperatures, signaled both chill and irritation on her part. Kate opened the driver's door, and the decorator stomped over, boot heels ringing on the cobblestones.

  "Where have you been? I'm freezing."

  Kate looked across at Meg and walked around to the back of the van before answering. "We have more to do than just show up each morning. We have young children, husbands, and," she opened the rear doors and pulled out two collapsed boxes, "have to load supplies. Here, you can carry these so I'll have a free hand to unlock the door."

  Valerie scooped up the huge cardboard squares, all the while muttering unintelligible remarks under her breath. Meg carried the laptop, and Kate grabbed her purse and the thermal bag she'd packed with snacks and drink containers. Now that Mrs. Baxter cleaned out the kitchen, water was the only on-site refreshment. And Kate was determined they were go
ing to put in an entire day's work—without leaving for snacks. She also hoped the reading of the will, scheduled for the following day, wouldn't be at the mansion as well. Any intrusion seemed to wreak havoc on their work schedule.

  Meeks had gotten Walker's permission to override the original alarm number and reset the system. Kate punched in the new code he'd given her the previous evening, and the red lights flashed off to show deactivation. When everyone and everything was inside for the day, she keyed it once again, comforted that no one could enter unobtrusively. Meg and Valerie followed her into the kitchen.

  "Okay, Meg said you both finished the parlor after I left for the funeral yesterday." Kate placed bottles of juice and tea in the refrigerator. She watched Valerie lean the cardboard against the counter. "How about we move across the hall and work up the dining room next?"

  Meg shook her head as she pulled a thermos from the bag, and poured herself a cup of black coffee. "I understand your organizational mind wants to work the floor plan in some order, Katie, but why don't we do the study first? It's as chaotic as the parlor, and once we get the room inventoried the rest of the first floor will almost be a breeze."

  "I think 'a breeze' might be a bit of a stretch." Valerie laughed.

  "Hey! I added the 'almost' qualifier. The real challenge, of course, will be those upstairs rooms."