Never Mess with Mistletoe

by Edie Claire

  “What?” Leigh demanded.

  “Her birthday presents,” he replied. “They have phone apps.”

  Chapter 22

  Leigh paced back and forth in her living room as Chewie napped fitfully by the couch, eyeing her with a sleepy but wary look. The corgi had paced with her for a good part of the day, but his short little legs were tired, and his efforts hadn’t profited him much. Still, he seemed reluctant to close both eyes, lest he miss the moment if Leigh happened to suddenly veer off into the kitchen and the vicinity of his treat bin. Finally, after seeming to despair of her ever sitting down again, he heaved himself up, walked to the kitchen doorway, and sprawled his chunky body across the opening like a trip wire.

  Then he closed both eyes.

  Leigh smiled at him and then turned to look out the window again. She had tried to work. She had managed to scribble down a dozen pages’ worth of ideas on a print ad campaign for an incredibly boring line of industrial dehumidifiers. Some of her ideas were even decent. But Maura still had not called her back, and Leigh was ready to jump out of her skin. Warren was holed up in the basement den, also working from home today, and also uptight. Maura had replied to Leigh’s early-morning voicemail with a brief text saying that the Harmons should keep Allison home after school and not worry about Frances, and that Maura would call at some point. But those assurances weren’t good enough.

  Leigh still, desperately, needed to do something. But what?

  Her eyes moved to the portable landline phone currently sitting on the coffee table. It had been quiet all day, which was odd. Why hadn’t her mother called? Frances had taken to calling at least once a day, and often twice, ever since Lydie had begun spending so much time with Mason. Leigh hastened to the phone and dialed her parents’ number.

  Frances did not pick up until the fourth ring.

  “Mom?” Leigh asked, her tone panicked. “Are you okay? Is everything all right over there?”

  A beat of silence passed. “Why yes, of course, dear. Why shouldn’t it be? Is everything all right with you? And my grandchildren?”

  As Frances’s own voice rose from perfectly calm to increasingly frightened, Leigh wanted to kick herself. “We’re all good,” she said quickly. “The kids are at school. I just hadn’t heard from you in a while, that’s all.”

  “Oh,” Frances replied, sounding confused. Then she sounded amused. “Did you miss the sound of my voice, then?”

  There was really no good way to answer that question.

  “I’m waiting on a call from Maura,” Leigh said instead, changing the subject. “And I’m getting impatient. I was hoping she’d have an update for us, but she’s supposed to hand over the case sometime today, I think.”

  “Yes, that does always seem to happen,” Frances agreed. Now she sounded distracted. “Listen, dear, I’d love to chat with you, but I’m a bit busy at the moment getting everything ready for the meeting.”

  “The meeting?” Leigh repeated. “What meeting?”

  “Why, the Floribunda chapter meeting, of course.”

  Leigh couldn’t believe her ears. “Mom, you can’t— I mean, you just met with the Floribundas yesterday!”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Frances asserted. “We were just cleaning up a bit, then. This is a chapter meeting, dear. We have business to conduct.”

  “But,” Leigh protested, wishing she could lock up her mother right along with Allison. “Can’t you postpone, under the circumstances?”

  “Why on earth should we do that?” Frances retorted. “The Floribundas always meet the first Tuesday of the month! And I always host the December meeting. Why, it’s tradition!”

  Leigh closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  “Besides,” Frances continued, “we have important new business to conduct! Lucille was an officer, and we must hold a vote to replace her. You can’t expect us to continue operations without a duly elected sergeant-at-arms! Who would shut Virginia up? We’d never get a thing done!”

  Leigh gave up. “Is Olympia going to be there?”

  “She is the president. She will be running the meeting. She even has some new business of her own. As secretary, I’ve just added it to the agenda.”

  “What new business?”

  “Our meetings are closed to the general public,” Frances stated. “Unless you’d like to apply for a prospective membership?”

  Leigh stifled a primal scream. “No, Mom. Just be careful, okay? Do whatever Maura said to do.”

  “I shall, dear. And the same goes for you.”

  Leigh agreed and hung up. Her mother obviously remained convinced that none of the Floribundas themselves were a danger to herself or to Allison. Leigh was not so sure. But her hands were tied. Maura had insisted that she would handle the reporting of appropriate case information to Frances herself, warning Leigh that any rumors reaching the Floribundas by way of Leigh would necessarily cast more suspicion on Allison. Maura had also assured her that, aside from the same risk by association that all the Floribundas faced, Frances had no particular reason to fear for her own safety.

  But Leigh couldn’t stop worrying. She began to pace again.

  What was Olympia up to, after all? Melvin’s worries about his wife’s emotional state yesterday afternoon had hardly been comforting. He seemed to think that Olympia was close to Lucille, but Leigh had seen no evidence of that. True, Olympia had fainted when she’d caught sight of the old woman’s head lolling. But such a sight could be horrifying even for a stranger. Then again, the whole fainting episode could have been an act.

  No matter what was going on with Olympia, Bobby Busby’s actions still made no sense. The night Lucille died, he’d acted guilty as hell. But why had he come over to the Koslows’ house yesterday? What could he possibly have been fishing for? If one of the Floribundas was his accomplice, the smart thing to do would be to stay as far away from her as possible. And if his accomplice wasn’t one of the Floribundas, why was he there at all? Why would he and Lucille hire a personal assistant who’d been sued for the death of a previous employer in the first place?

  Leigh collapsed on the couch in a heap. The conjecture was driving her crazy. If it weren’t for the blasted notebook being thrown on her lawn, she might believe that Lucille had died of a heart attack with no “help” whatsoever. And why not? Bridget could still have panicked and skipped town, fearing she’d be blamed. Bobby could have been caught off-guard, thinking his accomplice had gone trigger-happy.

  Yes, Leigh could believe that Lucille had died naturally. Except for the notebook. And of course, there was still the baffling business of the “snowing anthrax” prank call, which had accomplished nothing except to panic everyone by sending the police to the house before Lucille had even died!

  Leigh sat up again. Yes… that was odd.

  A coincidence?

  Surely not.

  Her cell phone made a siren sound, and Leigh scrambled up like a mad woman. Chewie awoke from his slumber and pawed at the air like an upside-down turtle before getting his stubby legs underneath his plump belly again. Leigh dove for her cell, which she had left plugged up on the kitchen counter.

  “Maura? What’s up?”

  “Chillax, Koslow,” the detective said smoothly. “I’m just reporting in, as promised.”

  Leigh breathed a little easier. She looked at the time. The middle school should be letting out now. Soon, she could gather her little family together and bolt the doors.

  Warren appeared at the top of the steps, and Leigh put Maura on speakerphone. “Did you know the Floribundas have another meeting at my mother’s house today?” Leigh asked the detective.

  “She mentioned that, yes.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “The police department isn’t in the habit of forbidding friends of the deceased from seeing each other, even in the case of a suspicious death,” Maura answered calmly. “Although I have advised your mother privately to avoid both Bobby Busby and Bridget, if that makes
you feel better.”

  “It does,” Leigh admitted.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?” Warren asked.

  “There is one thing,” Maura answered. “I intend to visit your mother later this afternoon and tell her this myself, but if you see her before then, that’s okay, too. Because of the anthrax call and the fact that Ms. Busby ate and drank refreshments also served to the general public, the medical examiner ran some tests to rule out the more obvious causes of food poisoning or contagion. I’m sure your mother will be happy to know that there was no evidence of either.”

  Leigh was very happy to hear that. “Good to know.”

  “However,” Maura went on, “there were some other abnormalities in the bloodwork that led the ME to order a full toxicology screening.”

  Leigh’s heart fell again. “Meaning?”

  Maura blew out a breath. “Meaning, in general terms, that such a ruling usually tips the scales away from a natural death and toward something like a medication overdose.”

  Now Leigh felt sick.

  “Which could have been entirely accidental,” Maura finished. “All that can be said at this point is that further toxicology testing is needed. And those results are going to take a while, I’m afraid.”

  Leigh looked up at her husband. Even Fiji didn’t sound safe enough anymore. “You up for some winter camping in the Yukon?”

  Warren smiled nervously. “Do they make heated tents?”

  “Calm down, kids,” Maura soothed. “Everything’s going to be all right. Just keep Allison with you today. I’ve got to go — another case breaking. Ciao.”

  The policewoman hung up abruptly, and Leigh and Warren shared an uneasy look. “Allison isn’t a threat to anybody. At least not anymore,” Leigh told herself and him, again. “I acted like I never even found the notebook in the yard, which is perfectly plausible — I might not have. And I told all the Floribundas that Allison couldn’t care less, and they should have believed me. Unless Mom already told them about her peculiar… hobby. Oh, I don’t know what those women are thinking!” Leigh dropped her forehead on the counter.

  Warren put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “We’re just being cautious, remember? Whoever threw her notebook on our lawn was sending a message that Allison should stop butting her nose into the matter, and as far as anyone else could possibly know, she’s heeding that warning. End of story.”

  “I hope you’re—” Leigh jumped as her phone sounded again, this time with the happy jingling sound that indicated a text from Allison. She picked it up and read the screen.

  Don’t freak out or anything, but Bridget just showed up outside the school.

  Leigh freaked out. She fired back a series of questions as fast as her index finger could type, and Allison responded with frustrating slowness.

  NO she was not threatening me. She just waved from a distance. I think she wanted to talk to me but I motioned that I couldn’t and I got on the bus. End of story.

  And then again, two seconds later.

  Calm down, Mom. I’ll text Aunt Mo myself.

  Leigh tried to slow her breathing.

  “Allie’s safe on the bus,” Warren assured, reading over her shoulder. “She’ll be home in minutes.”

  Bridget. Bridget who had gone AWOL as of last night, avoiding the police. Why the hell would she show up at Allison’s school? What could she possibly want?

  What had Allison seen?

  Theories zipped painfully through Leigh’s frayed neurons. Why did Bobby Busby even need a Floribunda when he had Bridget the incompetent personal assistant right there by his mother’s side? Bridget could stage an “accidental” overdose, even take the heat for it, and Bobby would still collect his money. He could even sue her for negligence, collect from her insurance too, and then someday down the road, the both of them would be better off! Bridget could declare personal bankruptcy, start working fast food, bide her time… what did she have to lose, really?

  Her freedom, of course. But only if she got caught! And she’d be less likely to get caught if the accident happened in a public place, with plenty of people about, perhaps even with a bit of chaos going on or even during a full-out panic which would distract everyone’s attention and make Bridget’s “honest” mistake more understandable…

  What had Allison seen during the anthrax scare?

  “We’ve got to call Maura,” Leigh shouted, jumping up.

  “I already did,” Warren replied, hanging up his phone. “I had to leave a message. She’s on that other case.”

  Leigh’s phone jingled with another text from Allison.

  Do NOT freak out, Mom. But I think Bridget is following the bus.

  Chapter 23

  Leigh was in the basement garage with her hand on the car door before Warren’s words got through to her. “Unless you have the bus route memorized, there’s no point!” he pleaded, shoving her coat at her. She had grabbed her keys and her purse, but that was all.

  “Besides,” Warren continued to reason, even though he looked every bit as flustered as she felt. “You don’t know where they were when she texted. The bus could be here any second. The smart thing to do is just to go out and wait!”

  Leigh thought about it. Then she released the door handle, shrugged on her coat, and headed outside. They raced up the drive together and out to the edge of the highway. “I don’t see it,” she panted.

  “No,” Warren agreed, looking both directions. “Not yet.” He glanced at his phone. “Still nothing from Mo. I’ll call the locals. They may think I’m crazy, but I don’t care.”

  Leigh did not care either. She breathed heavily of the frigid air and continued to stare in the direction from which the bus normally came. When had it gotten so cold? There were no gloves in her coat pockets; her hands already felt like blocks of ice. She reached for the phone she had stashed in her pants pocket and was barely able to turn the screen on. There was another text from Allison.

  You’re not panicking, are you? I really think she just wants to talk to me.

  Leigh did not care what Bridget wanted. She sent a reply.

  Just stay on the bus until you see us! We’re waiting for you outside.

  Allison’s response made clear that she took after her grandfather Randall.

  SIGH. Please, Mom. No drama.

  A couple hundred years later, Leigh’s heart lurched as she heard the familiar hoot, squeak, and hiss of bus brakes in the distance. She looked to see the blunt yellow nose of the Bluebird school bus pulling onto the main highway from the next crossroad. “They’re here!”

  Warren stepped up to her side. He had finished his phone call, although she had no idea what he’d said. They watched in nervous silence as the bus rattled its way up the highway and closed the distance between them, making one more infuriatingly slow stop on the way. “Is there a car following it?” Leigh asked, squinting.

  “I can’t see,” Warren replied. “But there almost certainly will be, whether it’s Bridget or not.”

  At long last, the bus neared them and began to slow. “Would jumping on board and throwing her over my shoulder qualify as drama?” Leigh quipped, scanning the windows.

  “Stay right here,” Warren warned.

  The bus stopped. The folding door bent open with a groan and their tall, red-headed son hopped out, grinning at them. “Gee, you guys must have really missed me today,” he joked.

  Leigh started to answer, but Allison stepped out right behind him, her small face red with embarrassment.

  “What’s up?” Ethan asked.

  The bus door slammed shut and the engine revved. “Where’s Lenna?” Leigh asked as soon as her voice could be heard over the din.

  “She has cheerleading, remember?” Allison said with exasperation. “You’re supposed to pick her up later because Aunt Cara is giving her presentation today?”

  Oh, right.

  Leigh’s eyes were focused on her daughter, making sure she looked whole and well, but Allis
on’s gaze was fixed on something else. “There,” she said suddenly, pointing down the road. “I think that’s her car.”

  Leigh and Warren stiffened like soldiers drawn to attention. Indeed, a very old rat-trap of a car which had been one in a line of several caught behind the bus had begun to pull off the road. They watched, stunned, as the woman behind the wheel waved at them with a gloved hand, then turned off into the private drive beside them and parked on the gravel shoulder.

  “What is she thinking?” Warren murmured.

  “I told you she just wanted to talk to me!” Allison pleaded. “I got to know her on Saturday. She’s okay.”

  The child’s words had no effect on her parents’ defenses. As the frumpy, gray-haired woman in the tattered wool coat got slowly out of her car and walked toward them, Leigh grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and loomed over her from behind. Warren stood beside and a little in front of the two of them, squaring his shoulders and pulling himself to his full, impressive height. Neither of them had a weapon, of course, and Warren had about as much experience fist-fighting as Leigh did racing stock cars, but Bridget had no way of knowing that. He looked imposing, and Leigh knew that he, like she, would fight as dirty as necessary with no guilt whatsoever if this harmless looking, diminutive, middle-aged witch laid so much as one chipped fingernail on their daughter.

  Ethan, who had never received an answer to his earlier question and clearly had no clue what was going on, took in the situation with a quiet glance and then came to stand on the other side of his mother and sister. He squared his own thin shoulders, crossed his arms over his chest, and stood up to his full height. Then he glared at Bridget with a studied frown in perfect imitation of his father.

  Leigh so wanted to hug the boy. But it really wouldn’t be appropriate right then.

  “Um,” Bridget said uncertainly, stopping about ten feet away from the family. “Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anybody.”

  “Too late,” Leigh replied. She thought about informing Bridget that the police were on the way, which could be true. But it would only allow the fugitive a head start in escaping them, and truthfully, the personal assistant looked more pathetic than menacing at the moment. “What do you want?”