Death by Association

by Paula Darnell

  “Guess I’m not as hard-headed as I thought.” I smiled wanly. “Or as smart—I thought Eva was the killer.” I glanced at Wes and stammered, “I didn’t go over there to confront her; really, I didn’t. I was just going to ask her about that brooch of hers, and then Karl showed up, and he admitted that he’d shot Victor, and then he—”

  “I get the picture, Laurel. You can fill me in on the details later. Right now, you need to rest and recuperate. I talked to the doc, and she said you’d probably be able to go home in the morning, but you’ll need to take it easy for a few days.”

  “Wes,” I whispered. “Thanks for not yelling at me.”

  Wes shook his head in mock annoyance. “Wouldn’t have done a bit of good if I had. You have a mind of your own, Laurel McMillan.” He kissed me gently on the forehead and eased off the bed.

  “Knock, knock.”

  The door to my room opened, and Amy stuck her head in.

  “You have a special visitor, Laurel,” she announced. “Here he comes.”

  Amy opened the door wider, and Bear bounced in, tugging at his leash so hard that it slipped out of Cynthia’s hand. He ran to my bed and jumped up, putting his front paws on the side of the bed, panting excitedly, and wagging his tail.

  “We sneaked him up on the back service elevator,” Cynthia said, as I hugged my furry pet. By now, Cynthia, Pete, Amy, and Tracey had all crowded into the room, along with Wes and Bear. “I don’t think anyone saw us.”

  “Wrong!” came a strident voice from the hallway. “No dogs allowed in the hospital, except service dogs. You’ll have to get him out of here.” A shapeless woman, dressed in equally shapeless, pink scrubs stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. She glared at my friends and Bear as they meekly filed out of the room, but, despite the woman’s officiousness, Bear’s brief visit had cheered me up, and I couldn’t wait to go home.

  “Don’t worry about Bear, Lo-lo,” Tracey said, as she headed for the door. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  “Thanks, Trace. You’re the best.”

  “And I’ll bring you some clothes for you to wear when you get out of here tomorrow.”

  I started to protest that I could wear the clothes I’d donned that morning, but then I remembered that my blouse had blood on it.

  “Move it along,” the pink-clad pit bull demanded, and Tracey ducked out of my room, closing the door and leaving me alone again with Wes.

  “I should get that blouse soaking in cold water right away so that I can remove the stains. I wonder where the rest of my things are.” Tracey had left my handbag with me after retrieving it from Amy, but I didn’t know what had happened to my clothes.

  “They’re probably in the closet,” Wes said, opening the closet door. “Yes, here’s a plastic bag with your shoes and, uh, unmentionables,” Wes said uncomfortably.

  “Is the blouse there?”

  “I’m sorry, Laurel, but it’s been bagged for evidence. You’ll get it back after the trial.”

  “Oh, no!” I wailed. “It’s my favorite. I designed and made it myself. I even designed and hand-painted the fabric I used. The stain will set for sure if it’s not removed right away.”

  Tears dripped down my face, undoubtedly causing my eye make-up to run even more than it already had. I felt another crying jag coming on. Sure, I was upset about the blouse, but normally that wouldn’t be enough to bring me to tears. My emotions were roller-coastering all over the place, and I knew that I needed to get a hold on myself. Wes eyed me in distress.

  “I’m sorry, Laurel,” he said.

  “No, I’m sorry. I should have realized that you’d need the blouse for evidence. I guess my nerves are on edge,” I sniffed, wiping my face with a tissue I’d plucked from the box beside me on the hospital’s nightstand.

  “It’s no wonder after what you’ve been through today.” Wes’s phone buzzed, and he reached into his pocket and looked at the display. “I need to take this,” he told me. After he made several short responses, he returned the phone to his pocket and turned to me. “Good news! Karl’s been apprehended.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief! What will happen now?”

  “I’m going back to the station to question him—that is, if he doesn’t ask for a lawyer. In any case, he’ll be charged with assault for what he did to you, maybe even attempted murder and kidnapping, but that’s up to the district attorney. As for Victor’s murder, we’ll see. So far, there’s no physical evidence tying him to that crime, but we may still be able to develop something.”

  “He confessed, you know. Eva and I both heard him.”

  Wes nodded. “We’ll see what he has to say for himself now, after his great escape. He was driving his own car when he was taken into custody—not exactly a master criminal. I’m hoping I can get him to repeat his confession.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Try to rest now, Laurel.”

  Wes leaned down and planted a lingering kiss on my lips. I clung to him for a few seconds and then let him go. “No more worrying, okay, Laurel? I’ve got this. Everything’s under control.”

  ***

  Three weeks later, a slight nip tinged the early autumn air as we gathered for a harvest moon party at Liz’s, and everybody oohed and aahed as the huge orb shone in the gathering dusk. Liz had timed her party perfectly. Cynthia, Amy, and I had all helped to make the decorations. A large wreath of gold, orange, brown, and red lacquered fall leaves hung on Liz’s front door while, inside the house, the scent of cinnamon wafted from the potpourri we’d made, and candles twinkling inside hollowed-out pumpkins and gourds reflected the party’s theme. A gigantic golden horn of plenty I’d made of paper mâché contained a colorful display of apples, miniature pumpkins, eggplants, and ears of corn with their husks peeled back.

  Outside, surrounding the pool, the colonel had set up bales of hay, and we’d arranged straw scarecrows dressed in red gingham shirts, cut-off jeans, and straw hats atop some of the bales. Orange and green floating lights sparkled in the swimming pool, contributing to the festive mood.

  Liz had invited her friends and neighbors, not only to party but also so she could introduce Luke as her grandson. She had followed through on her plan to tell him her secret, and although he was surprised at first, he was happy to learn that he had a grandmother he’d never even realized he was missing, one who wanted to have a relationship with him and his family. Luke had been unaware that his father, a man he’d never met, had been adopted as an infant.

  Wes and I arrived at the party just as Luke and his wife, a Kate Hudson lookalike wearing a bright red maxi dress and lipstick to match, showed up. Luke introduced us to his wife, and I asked him whether their twin five-year-old daughters had met their great-grandma yet. According to Luke, they’d visited Liz a couple of times, but they were staying with a babysitter during the party so that Luke and his wife could take a rare evening off.

  Liz’s son Leonard was just as surprised as his nephew, but not nearly as happy. After the four of us entered the house, I spotted Leonard in the crowd, lounging against the wall in the den, holding a martini. Luke offered his hand, and Leonard grudgingly shook it and nodded to Luke’s wife, then wandered off into the kitchen. Obviously, he hadn’t accepted the new reality yet. I still hoped he’d come around eventually, but I wouldn’t want to bet on it.

  We made our way out to the patio, where Liz, in one of her bright beaded caftans, and the colonel were talking to another couple who had their backs to us. It wasn’t until we approached them that I realized the woman was Bessie. Although at first I didn’t recognize the man who accompanied her, he looked familiar. Then it hit me. He was Al, the security guard Bessie had greeted so effusively at her retirement party.

  “Great party, Liz,” I said as Liz and I air kissed. I didn’t want to ruin her make-up, which was perfect, as usual. “Everything looks wonderful.”

  “Thanks to all the help I had—that includes you and Bobby, too.”

  I turned to Bessie and gave her a
quick hug.

  “Did you finally get my dog treat recipe?” she asked.

  “Yes, thanks, Bessie. I’m looking forward to including it in my new book. Chloe sent it to me this morning.” It had been weeks since Bessie had agreed to give me her recipe for the dog-bone-shaped treats Bear had so looked forward to getting from his favorite security guard every day when we took our morning walk. Bessie didn’t use email herself, but her granddaughter did, so she’d asked her to forward the recipe to me. After a few phone calls back and forth, I had realized that the bright, but spelling-challenged, middle-schooler had been sending it to the wrong email address—diydeeva@email.com, instead of diydiva@email.com. No wonder it hadn’t shown up in my inbox earlier.

  More guests had crowded onto the patio, so Wes and I moved to the far side of the pool where Cynthia, Pete, Amy, Fran, and Brian had gathered.

  “Look who’s here—our very own Nancy Drew. Laurel, you look great!” Brian said. “Last time we saw you, you were coming home from the hospital,” Fran noted.

  I felt as though I were back to normal except for the scar on my neck that probably wouldn’t ever completely fade away. For the moment, I’d settled on hiding it with my shoulder-length hair, sweeping it forward in loose waves to cover the scar. That wouldn’t work, of course, if I wanted to wear a different hairstyle. Eventually, I planned to experiment with heavy-duty make-up to see whether that would hide the scar, but for now, I’d use my hairstyle to disguise the ugly gash that was still red, although the stitches had already been removed. Not overly concerned with the cosmetic problems covering up the scar might present, I just felt lucky to have survived the knife wound, which my doctor had told me had come perilously close to my jugular vein.

  “Yes, I hate to even think about it. It’s nice to be back to the everyday routine and not to have to worry about a killer in our community,” I said.

  “Frankly, it’s a good thing Karl confessed,” Wes said. “We didn’t have any physical evidence to support the murder charge.”

  “We might never have found out it was Karl if he hadn’t burst in on Eva and me the way he did. I wasn’t expecting him to show up. I was certain that he always played golf on Sunday mornings and went to brunch at the buffet afterwards.”

  “I know why he went home that day,” Pete informed us. “It was his turn to pay for brunch, and he’d forgotten his wallet.”

  “That explains it. I thought if I could talk to Eva alone, I might come up with some useful information,” I explained. “Karl said he’d done the community a favor by shooting Victor. I guess maybe more than a few people would probably agree,” I said.

  “In a way he did,” Pete said. “Evidently, Victor had cooked up quite a scheme. Most residents don’t realize it, but there’s a yearly independent audit done for the Hawkeye Haven HOA. The accountant who handled it last year was fired from his firm, and another accountant ended up doing this year’s audit. That’s when it came to light that Victor had been taking kick-backs from some of the contractors he’d hired for HOA business. He wanted to take Karl’s landscaping contract away from him and award it to another company that would play ball with him. Of course, the board’s tendency would be to accept Victor’s recommendations to hire the contractors, but they didn’t realize they were helping him to line his own pockets. Victor wasn’t a poor man by any means, so he didn’t need the money. Just greedy, I guess.”

  That figures, I thought to myself. Just as Luke had surmised, there was more to Victor’s attempts at coercing some of the board members than a mere power play. He’d wanted to secure the votes of a majority so that he could hire only contractors who’d be willing to kick back a substantial portion of their revenue for work at Hawkeye Haven to Victor.

  “Guess who else was in on the kick-back scheme with Victor?” Cynthia asked.

  “Patty,” we residents all chimed in unison.

  “Right, and, as of this morning, Patty’s company’s contract has been cancelled. She’s out. We’ll never see her around here again,” Cynthia informed us. “She could even face charges.”

  “Woo-hoo! I can’t say that I’ll miss her,” I said. “She’s one of the most unpleasant women I’ve ever met.”

  “Rachel Caswell told me all about it,” Cynthia interjected. “For a while there, I thought for sure that she’d resign from the board, what with all the trouble Rachel’s son Kenny has caused, but, now that she’s the board president, she’s decided to stick it out for the rest of her term.”

  “You heard what happened to Kenny, didn’t you?” Amy asked.

  We hadn’t; that is, nobody except Wes knew the disposition of Kenny’s case.

  “His attorney arranged for a plea deal. Kenny’s out now on probation and looking at several hundred hours of community service,” Wes said.

  “That should keep him busy and out of trouble,” Amy commented. “He’s fortunate that his father could afford a high-powered lawyer like Gerard Foster.”

  I wondered what kind of a deal Karl’s attorney would be able to make with the district attorney. I certainly didn’t want to see him again anytime soon. Wes had assured me that he wouldn’t get off lightly, though.

  As for Eva, her life would be tough without Karl, even tougher than it had already been for a woman who had voluntarily confined herself to her own house. Both Cynthia and Amy had been trying to help her, but I’d steered clear. Although I felt sorry for Eva, I hadn’t quite forgiven her yet for ignoring my pleas for help when her husband had held a knife to my throat.

  We’d learned that the woman Tracey and I had seen at the strip mall hadn’t been Eva at all. Tracey and I had been browsing the racks at Ooh La La, the trendy boutique we’d thought Eva had been entering when we’d spotted her a few weeks earlier, when we’d seen the woman again. Eva’s lookalike turned out to be a member of the boutique’s sales staff, and she really did look a lot like Eva. Even their hairstyles were similar. Karl had been telling the truth about his wife’s agoraphobia: Eva hadn’t left the house in over a year.

  “Yes, Kenny’s fortunate,” I agreed. “I hope Karl’s not so lucky.”

  “Surely, he’ll be locked up for a long time, won’t he, Wes?” Tracey asked, as she joined our group.

  “Very likely. The D.A.’s not going to agree to a light sentence.”

  “Just think, Laurel, he’d still be on the loose if it weren’t for you,” Amy said.

  “We’ll have to start calling you the DIY detective,” Wes joked.

  “Some detective—I thought Eva killed Victor.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Laurel. You were on the right track. You picked up on things that nobody else, including this master detective himself, noticed.”

  “Maybe because I know the community, but I’m glad it’s all over, and Hawkeye Haven can get back to normal. I’d much rather be the DIY Diva than the DIY detective. Like you said, murder in a guard-gated community is rare.”

  “Yep, the odds are against another murder happening in Hawkeye Haven.”

  I nodded in agreement. The residents of Hawkeye Haven would be safe now that both Bessie’s attack and Victor’s murder had been solved.

  Or would they?

  Read all about how Laurel unravels a new mystery in Death by Design

  DIY for Dog Lovers – Treats and Projects

  Caution: never feed dogs treats with ingredients that they are allergic to!

  Laurel’s Peanut Butter Dog Treats

  Laurel’s chocolate Labrador retriever Bear loves these peanut butter dog treats. Although there are only two ingredients, these tasty little morsels must bake for quite a while, so if you’re making these peanut butter treats, don’t plan on giving one to Fido right away.

  Ingredients

  4 egg whites

  ¼ C creamy peanut butter

  Note that commercial peanut butter contains not only peanuts but also other ingredients such as molasses, hydrogenated oils, and salt, so if you don’t want your dog to eat the other ingredients,
use natural peanut butter, instead.

  In a mixing bowl, beat the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Add small amounts of the peanut butter on top of the stiff egg whites, and attempt to fold the peanut butter into the egg whites until mixed. This can be difficult, so the alternative is beat the mixture with the electric mixer until blended, but do not overbeat because some of the volume will be lost if you do. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper, and drop rounded spoonfuls of the mixture onto the parchment paper about 1 ½ inches apart. Bake at 200 degrees for 1 ½ hours. Before removing the cookie sheet from the oven, test for doneness by removing one treat and letting it cool on a wire rack. If the treat is crisp, remove the cookie sheet from the oven and place the treats on the wire rack to cool. If the treat is not crisp, continue baking the rest of treats for about fifteen minutes. Store the treats in an air-tight container.

  Lynn’s Pumpkin Doggie Snacks

  Laurel’s cousin Lynn makes these pumpkin doggie snacks for her beagle Barkley. Barkley’s always in the mood to eat a pumpkin snack.

  Note: This recipe calls for oat flour. Lynn makes her own oat flour from Quick Quaker Oats cereal. To make your own oat flour, just pulverize the oats in a food processor until they’re the consistency of flour.

  Ingredients

  2 eggs

  1 C canned pumpkin

  ½ t cinnamon

  2 C oat flour

  Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Beat the eggs in a large mixing bowl before adding the pumpkin. Mix the eggs and pumpkin until smooth. Sprinkle the cinnamon over the egg and pumpkin mixture and stir well. Add the oat flour ½ cup at a time and mix well. Roll the treat dough between two sheets of parchment paper until the dough is 1/8 inch thick. Use a 2 ¼-inch cookie cutter to cut round snacks from the dough. (Lynn uses the rim of a small juice glass.) Place the round treats on the lined baking sheet. Bake the pumpkin treats at 400 degrees for 10 minutes. The treats can be cooled on the parchment paper (carefully slide it off the baking sheet) or removed and cooled on a wire rack. This recipe makes about 3 dozen pumpkin treats, way more than Barkley or any other dog should have in a few days, so store them in the freezer, layered between sheets of waxed paper or parchment paper in an airtight container.