Organized for Murder

by Ritter Ames

  Suddenly the butterflies were back. Speaking in public again? So soon? At all? Her smile slipped a little, but she forced herself to get brave. "Let me see how busy my schedule gets after the girls are out of school. Maybe we can plan a back-to-school workshop in August."

  Nodding, Saree said, "Very good. And lunch tomorrow?"

  "Again, let me see," she replied. "Keith's out of town tonight, and we usually try to meet midday when he's been gone."

  "Ah, make a date with your mate, eh?" Saree flashed an insider grin. "That be the way, chickie, that be the way."

  They all laughed, then Jane waved and headed for the front door. "Well, I really do need to go. I'll see you and the girls tomorrow."

  "Bye, Jane." Kate looked around to see if she had anything left to load. "I guess you and I need to run, too, Meg."

  With a sigh, Meg said, "Yes, home to see what kind of disaster my men have made this evening. Gil said the boys could make brownies."

  "They might surprise you."

  "Yeah, the kitchen might be worse than I think."

  They climbed into the van and pulled carefully out of the alley.

  "Can you stop a second at the mini-mart?" Meg asked. "Mentioning rechargeable batteries in your talk reminded me Mark needs double As for some science thing tomorrow."

  "I could lend you s—"

  Meg waved her words away. "Nope, he'll never get them back home. I'd rather buy disposable, rather than replace your environmentally-correct ones later."

  The Shop-A-Way, was as busy as ever, and Kate was pleased when a front space opened right by the fluorescent-lit entrance. Meg checked her jacket pocket. "Oh good, I thought I had a ten in here. Be right back."

  As she waited, Kate counted more than a dozen people walk out, most with fountain drinks and cigarettes, and nearly as many who entered. She peered through the glass, checking out the store's layout, watching the patrons' traffic patterns, where congestion areas formed. Maybe she could branch out, propose ways for businesses to streamline and attract more customers through better stock organization. She decided to write up some notes on the idea later, as Meg walked out with her small paper bag.

  "They actually sack one package of batteries?" Kate asked, as her friend opened the passenger door.

  Smiling sheepishly, Meg shook her head. "I asked for it. I bought me a candy bar, too, for my morning chocolate attack, and I didn't want to share with the boys. I'll give you half, though, since I've had to confess."

  "No. I'd rather save the information to blackmail you in the future."

  "Okay. I'll risk the threat of blackmail if it means keeping all of my chocolate."

  They left the parking lot, and Meg said, "It was kind of bizarre in there. I could have sworn I saw Thomas Lane in the back of the store, but I went to check, and no one was in the aisle."

  "You're sure it was him?" She turned off Main Street and onto Wayfarer Road. The town couldn't afford to put streetlights more than a block past Main, and darkness engulfed the van. A new moon reigned over the black sky. Trees that lined the roadside, and seemed so comforting by day, delivered intense claustrophobia by night. The headlights did their job but delivered little further than the tunnel-strength of their beams. Almost like a new world was being created just before she drove into it.

  "No. I'm not sure of anything anymore," Meg answered. "There wasn't any door he could have left through unless he crawled into one of the refrigerated cases, and I definitely didn't see enough room between those shelves. But I really thought I saw someone."

  "He couldn't have gone around the aisle and ducked?"

  Meg shrugged. "That would make the whole thing weirder. Maybe one of the store personnel resembles him. Maybe there was never anyone, and I imagined the whole thing."

  "Sounds like you need sleep as much as I do." Kate frowned as she looked in the rearview mirror. "Is someone behind me?"

  Meg turned to look between the seats. "Yeah, I think so. Somebody driving without headlights."

  The hair on the back of Kate's neck stood at attention. "I don't like this."

  "Just someone tired or distracted who forgot to turn them on. I've done that before. They'll realize and hit us with high beams in a second."

  But the trailing vehicle remained shrouded in the blackness, only visible as a vague outline reflected from the van's taillights.

  "We'll be in our neighborhood in a minute. Should I drive on? Not let them see where we live?"

  "I'm beginning to share your heebie-jeebies, Katie. Look, the road to the maple syrup farm is coming up. It will take us back to town."

  She started to hit the blinker arm, but Meg cried, "No, just turn. They're following close and will likely miss it. We'll know we have something to worry about if they come back again."

  At the last second, Kate cut the wheel to the right. Glancing back through the mirror, she sighed in relief. "The car went on. I hope the driver isn't drunk or sick or something."

  "Probably not paying attention is all. We were ahead and they could see our taillights. Their need for lights wasn't noticeable, but that will change. It kind of feels like you drive into a black glove when you hit Wayfarer Road."

  "That's a great analogy." Kate said, remembering her own thoughts of only a few minutes earlier. "I think we need to petition the city council—" She caught her breath. "Omigosh. The car's back."

  Meg jumped and twisted, then started speaking rapidly, "Okay, we can't panic. We're almost to the farm, and then it's a straight shot to town. We'll go to the police station and—"

  "Please, calm down." Kate felt a lump forming in her throat. "You're talking so fast, it's making me even more nervous."

  "Right! We'll call the police." Meg searched the floorboard. "I'll get my purse and—"

  "No, we put our purses in the back." Kate shivered as she remembered.

  Meg unfastened her seatbelt.

  "Be careful." Kate leaned into the driver-side door, to give Meg more room. Her neighbor wiggled and shoved until she was through the space between the headrests. The first slam from behind came as Meg landed in the backseat.

  "They're ramming us!"

  "They probably figured out what you're doing. Buckle in and hang on!"

  Stomping on the accelerator, Kate prayed a local cop had a speed trap set up ahead. The orange-red needle climbed slowly, but steadily. The next impact came as the speedometer read seventy-five.

  Meg squealed as the van fishtailed a little. Kate pushed harder, nausea forming with her fear. She hoped no animal ran out into the road. There was no way she could brake in time. The van shook from trying hard to do what she asked from it. The glowing speedometer read ninety. Though wanting to charge even faster, she worried what might get hit if she continued at this great a speed. A couple of rural homes and yards lay along either side, but she couldn't see lights in any of the windows and didn't want to risk stopping to ask for help. Getting caught in a trap was too easy. Releasing the accelerator a bit, the needle retreated ten mph.

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm afraid at such a high rate of—"

  The next blow nearly knocked the van off the road. Kate panicked, metal on metal screaming in the air. Her grip on the wheel tightened to white knuckle level, and she willed herself to not let the steering veer again. Another slam came before she completely corrected from the first, but she stayed on the road. Barely. "Can you see what kind of car it is?"

  "Dark and big."

  Lights ahead signaled they were almost to Main Street. Kate let the van return to ninety. Just as she wondered what to do next, Meg said, "The car is gone."

  "Did it turn into one of the driveways?"

  "I don't know. One second the outline tailed us. The next it was gone.

  "Well, I'm going by the police station anyway." Kate slowed at the stop sign. "My insurance company will want an official report to process this new damage. Now I really do need to call my agent."

  "Two back-to-back hit-and-runs," Meg said. "I'd be
willing to bet whoever did this tonight is the same person who hit your van yesterday at Sophia's."

  "But why? What did he or she accomplish?"

  "Were you scared?"

  "Of course.

  "Then, mission accomplished." Meg grabbed the paper sack and withdrew the Hershey bar. "I need this, and you're getting half."

  "I won't argue."

  *

  They got a police escort home but little more. The pimple-faced constable on-duty said he would have the report typed and ready for Kate the next afternoon. The women couldn't provide a definite description of the car or driver, so he offered no assurances.

  "Can you at least tell Lieutenant Johnson of the state police? He should know this incident happened," Meg requested, but her tone really made it more a demand.

  "I'll make sure he's aware of it, ma'am," the officer replied.

  A patrol cruiser escorted them home, and Kate even made the officer wait as she dropped off Meg and loaded the twins to run Tiffany home. Luckily the damage to the van wasn't noticeable in the dark as long as she kept everyone away from the back doors and bumper.

  "Why is a policeman following us?" Suze asked.

  "He's making sure we stay safe since Daddy isn't home tonight." The quick fib satisfied them, and she sighed in relief at not having to do any more explaining.

  They got back to the house and Kate kissed the girls and told them to run up to bed. She promised to come tuck them in, but they still had energy to burn so she knew there was no hurry. The message machine light wasn't blinking. She frowned. Nothing from Keith. Turning on the radio, she heard his voice still calling the game.

  "Yep, we're in overtime, folks." Keith's voice traveled over the airwaves. "This'll probably run too late for a goodnight call, so I hope my wife and kids are listening. I love you, girls."

  Her smile returned at the coincidence. Kate listened until Keith and his color-commentary partner resumed their baseball banter, and she became bored. She wished for his strong arms to hug her and tell her everything would be okay but was more than a little pleased to realize she actually felt fine.

  Second revelation of the evening.

  Maybe it had been some drunken teens out for a joyride like the officer suggested. Maybe it was her unknown assailant. Either way, she'd survived. She was home. She—well, she felt like Batgirl!

  Chuckling, she prepared the coffeepot for next morning's single cup, rather than the three she and Keith shared, and headed upstairs to the girls. Lights out and eyes closed. Kate didn't honestly believe them already asleep but decided to play along. She would check for lights under the door later.

  On the way upstairs, Kate had taken a brief census tallying the results of the girls' assigned tasks for the evening and was suitably impressed at the good job. She needed to commend Tiffany as well. "Thursday night pickup" was the McKenzie family's regular, all-together-now weekly routine used to keep from having to scrub on the weekend. Kate hadn't made the twins do any more than they usually did, promising to do hers and Keith's share in the morning. Sam and Suze had shot her a stern look before she left for Saree's with the admonition, "You'd better."

  She smiled and closed their bedroom door, thinking about how to properly reward the pair for the follow-through. But knowing the vagrancies of the first-grade mind, she wasn't gullible enough to assume the habit was set and it would happen the next time.

  The last chore before her own bedtime was to unload the van. And inspect the damage. She'd backed into the garage, and had no trouble seeing the full effect. It could have been worse. The lock held and the doors stayed closed, but she was going to have to do without the vehicle for several days while it was repaired. Thanks to their black shadow on the way home, she had to do some tugging and prying to get the back open. It took just a minute to remove the visual aids and place them against one wall. She patted her jacket pocket and felt the laser pointer. Missing was the small plastic display wheel she'd used, the one that went on the box on her bedroom floor that currently sported only three wheels.

  "Drat! Did I leave it at Saree's?" Suddenly, she remembered it falling to the pavement as they'd loaded up in the alley and how Meg had tossed the wheel into the back of the van.

  Kate flipped on the overhead light and scanned the vehicle floorboard. She felt under the backseat and found something much bigger and bulkier than her objective. Sucking in a breath, she withdrew the satin covered journal from Amelia's desk.

  Panic! Another item she shouldn't have in her possession that belonged to the murdered woman. After a moment, her pulse slowed with the realization the book must have slid under the seat the day before when the box of archived desk items spilled.

  Oh, well, what's another trip to the lawyer's office? She bit her lip. Would it be terrible to take a peek first? Kate rubbed her hand across the cover. No! This is private.

  Resolved, she renewed her search for the wheel and, once it was found, marched back into the kitchen and placed the journal on the counter by the phone.

  She drummed fingers on the silky cover. Her alarm at finding the contraband item, no matter how innocent the circumstances, made her think she needed to tell the police everything. Yes, it was important to carefully word the tale, but the authorities needed to know about the stolen items and how she and Meg once again found the puzzle box during their antique store sleuthing. And the only way to accomplish the goal was to admit items had surreptitiously come her way.

  Nevertheless, she couldn't do it. This was too much. Too confrontational for a person who always tried to operate under the code of live and let live. Yet, that was it, wasn't it? Mrs. Baxter, for whatever reason, had decided to steal and kill. She wasn't letting people live. Could she have been lying about not being able to drive, too? Could she be who had tried to run Kate and Meg off the road this very evening?

  It didn't matter whether Mrs. Baxter was the phantom driver or not. Kate had to tell everything about the thefts and their suspicions. Except doing so, besides muddying suspicions around her own actions, would ultimately implicate Meg, too.

  "Maybe not." An idea formed, and Kate moved her hand to the phone, but she stopped short of taking it from the cradle. What if she mentioned the puzzle box found in Ursula's store as something she and Meg saw in the house? Not mention it was planted in Kate's home earlier. Johnson already knew about the thefts, he'd said so when they reported the disappearance of the mask. Sophia had raged about it. Yes, Kate could explain how the puzzle box had been in the parlor on the day of the funeral, how she'd noticed it by the plant, all without mentioning she'd been the one who'd hidden it behind the ceramic pot. Leading Johnson to watch the surveillance films and possibly catch Mrs. Baxter as she withdrew the item.

  She searched the drawer under the telephone for Johnson's card, found it, and dialed his office number. As expected, she was connected to voice mail to leave a message, or call his cell phone number to speak to him immediately. She wasn't brave enough for that. Voice mail was perfect.

  "Lieutenant Johnson, this is Kate McKenzie. You don't have to call me back, but I have some new information to report." She delivered her facts, tips and suspicions, almost dropping the phone when her nerves gave way. Her hands still shook a full minute after she returned the telephone to the cradle.

  There was still more to do. Once her voice strengthened again, she dialed Charles Webster Walker's office number and got his voice mail. Irrationally, she wondered whether her parents would be proud right then or disappointed in their only child. Despite her mom's and dad's brushes with the law, they had always been on the side they'd figured as right, and Kate decided in this case their views would mesh with her own.

  "This is Kate McKenzie for Charles Webster Walker. Yesterday, I left a box of private papers at your office that relate to the Nethercutt estate, but I just found a journal belonging to Amelia which had accidentally fallen under my backseat. I wanted to let you know, on the off chance someone was looking for it."

  And to tame my c
uriosity.

  The sooner she returned the journal, the better. She picked up the book and a scrap of paper slipped from the cover. "Oh, I have what appears to be a number to what looks like an account of some sort. It's labeled with the abbreviation 'G.Cay'. I'll try to get everything to you by mid-morning tomorrow. Goodbye."

  She put the scrap back inside and stroked the satin cover once more. The draw to read was great, but it was too late. The day had been long, and she really was too tired for the temptation to last. She tossed her jacket back across the kitchen desk, deciding she'd spent too much energy on setting things straight lately and needed to play a little organizational hooky.

  A rebel for just the moment.

  As she climbed the stairs, she squeezed the wheel that would soon be in its rightful place under her bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Words to Live by

  "Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm."

  — Abraham Lincoln —

  "Or, in other words, don't let the bad guys scare you, Batgirl!"

  — Kate McKenzie —

  *

  Kate woke to the phone ringing, seconds before the alarm.

  "Hi, honey, did I wake you?" Keith asked, as the buzzer sounded.

  Too many things at one time. She hit the snooze to keep from having to find the switch right away. "I miss you when I have to sleep alone," she told Keith, stretching with her free arm before pushing into a sitting position.

  "I'm sorry. I miss you, too." His voice even sounded like he did, the words coming out a bit huskier than normal. She smiled, picturing him in a motel room bed with tousled hair and the phone wedged between his ear and the pillow. Then she heard chewing and road noise.

  "Where are you?"

  "McDonald's just south of Burlington," he replied.

  Kate's stomach gurgled in hunger. "You're already on the road?"

  "Yep," he spoke around a mouthful of what she knew was Egg McMuffin. "Proud of me?"

  She hugged blanketed knees with her arms and cradled the phone in the crook of her neck and shoulder. "I sure am." Keith hated driving through anything that resembled morning traffic, always nervous in bumper-to-bumper snarls. It was something his former hockey teammates had ribbed him about mercilessly. "You drive carefully, and I'll be thinking about you."