She was the perennial optimist.
“We’ll find him and take care of this.” Harold stood behind his wife. His expression went beyond grim, all the way to furious.
I liked the Murrays. I wanted to reassure them that everything was fine, all the uninvited guests were no problem.
Even in the interest of good manners, I couldn’t tell a lie that big.
I went inside.
King Henry, the cat who moved in and took over a couple of years ago, looked up from his position beside the basement door. His sky blue eyes were stormy. He returned his gaze to the door and switched his tail across the kitchen floor.
His actions brought back unpleasant memories of the time people kept breaking into my house and digging up my basement, looking for drug money George had buried when his grandparents lived there.
Henry snarled and pawed at the bottom of the door.
Suddenly everything made sense.
George’s insistence that we have his party at my house rather than his grandparents’.
The people George invited to his party.
The way those people kept causing problems...playing music, smoking, drinking...things to divert my attention.
It wasn’t because he had such fond memories of visiting his grandparents when they lived here. It was because George thought the money was still buried in my basement.
I grabbed my marble rolling pin off the counter.
I would be first in line to kill George after all.
I flung open the door. The light at the bottom of the stairs was on. No surprise.
Henry darted down the steps ahead of me.
My cat weighs twenty-three pounds, all muscle. With his half-inch claws and teeth, he could take George down before I got there. I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted to be part of the takedown.
I hefted the rolling pin over my shoulder and charged down the stairs. Henry was a few feet ahead of me as we crossed through the basement to the old furnace room where coal had been delivered when my house and the twentieth century were young.
Henry stopped at the open door, tail in the air, hair on the back of his neck standing straight up, waiting for me so we could attack together. We’re a team.
In the corner of the small, dark room, George was so intent on digging up the floor he didn’t see either of us.
Fred and I had worked hard to get the bricks in that area smooth. He’d even used a level. When I got through with George, Fred was going to kill him too.
“Hey!” I shouted.
George looked up, startled.
“The money’s long gone, and you’re going to put every brick back in place, then you’re going to go upstairs and send your horrible friends home!”
He raised his shovel threateningly.
Hadn’t counted on that. Shovel trumps rolling pin.
Henry hissed.
I reached down and put my hand on his head. Sometimes Henry over-estimates his own abilities. I wasn’t sure he realized that shovel trumps half inch claws and teeth.
Henry stilled but remained tense, ready to spring.
“What did you do with my money?” George demanded.
“Tiger Lily probably found it,” I said, referring to his girlfriend he’d sent to retrieve it while he was in prison. She was in prison now so she was safe even if he believed me.
“You’re lying.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. I’d said probably.
“Lindsay, are you down there?” Trent called.
On one hand, I was irritated he’d followed me. But on the other hand, the most important hand, gun trumps shovel.
“Arrest this man! He broke into my home and is digging in my basement!”
George lowered his shovel. “I didn’t break in. I was invited to a party. I have every right to be here.”
“Why were you digging up her basement?” Trent knew why. He didn’t know what had happened to the money, but he knew George had put it there.
George threw down the shovel and started for the door. “I gotta get back to my grandma. She’s gonna be worried about me.”
I blocked his exit. He no longer had a shovel. I had a rolling pin, a cat, and a cop. I was suddenly brave. “Not until you put that floor back the way you found it.”
George hesitated, looked at the floor then at Trent.
“Let him go.” Trent’s voice was cold. “Get back outside with your buddies. Now.”
George grumbled as he trudged away, but he went. One does not argue with a cop when he takes that tone. Well, I do, but that’s different.
“Grace wants you to come to her house.” Trent’s voice had gone soft. Scary soft.
Chills darted down my spine. “I don’t think so. I’ve got to do something with all the crazy people in my back yard.”
“Fred’s getting rid of them. You need to go to Grace. Something happened to Chuck.”
“Something? What?”
“I don’t know. Grace came running over, hysterical. She said he fell down and she can’t wake him up. I called 911 and sent her home to wait for the EMTs, but she wants you.”
“Me?” I squeaked. Grace and I weren’t friends. We’d met when we thought our mutual ex, Rickhead, was dead. It had not been a bonding experience. Why did she want to see me now?
Chapter Two
A siren screamed from the street above.
“We need to go,” Trent said.
I didn’t want to know what brought the sirens shrieking into my neighborhood. I wanted to stay in the basement, hidden away from the lunatic crowd in my back yard and from whatever horrible thing had happened to Chuck.
But there was no chocolate in the basement. I’d have to leave eventually. Might as well be now.
Henry padded silently up the stairs. Trent and I followed.
Henry deserted us at the front door. I didn’t blame him. The sirens had stopped, but I knew nothing good awaited us out there.
George’s friends were racing helter-skelter toward the junker cars lining the street. Were they running because Fred had terrified them or because they heard the siren? At least they were leaving.
A fire truck sat in the street. Two men in clumsy gear ran toward Grace’s house.
An ambulance screamed in from the other side and screeched to a stop. Three attendants rushed out.
Trent and I made it to Grace’s front porch between the firemen and the EMTs.
I raised my hand to knock. Trent pushed through the door and strode inside.
A bit rude, but since the EMTs were right behind us, I followed.
Packing boxes surrounded a plaid sofa in the middle of the living room. A fireman pulled Grace away from the man lying motionless on that sofa.
Chuck.
The other fireman began CPR.
Grace flung herself into my arms. “He’s not breathing!”
I patted her thin shoulder. “He’ll be okay.” I was pretty sure that was my second lie of the day. Chuck’s body looked terribly still. He didn’t seem to be responding to the efforts of the firemen.
The EMTs brought out electric paddles.
Not good.
“Let’s go outside,” Trent suggested.
Grace sobbed as she allowed me to lead her out.
I looked at Trent helplessly.
He looked at me helplessly.
Maybe Grace and I weren’t friends, but her pain broke my heart. All I knew to do for pain was offer chocolate. That didn’t seem appropriate at the moment.
“What happened?” I asked. “He was fine a few minutes ago. Wasn’t he?”
Tears laced with mascara streamed down Grace’s face. “I think he had a heart attack. He was carrying a big box. I shouldn’t have let him carry such a big box!”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Trent assured her. “Did he have a history of heart problems?”
“He smoked! I knew it was going to kill him! He picked up that box and then he dropped it and grabbed his throat and fell down. I helped him get on the sof
a. He gasped and choked and...” She burst into sobs again.
A dark sedan parked at the curb. A man carrying a black bag got out and strode up the sidewalk. “Is this the residence of Chuck Mayfield?”
Grace lifted her tear-stained face. “That’s my husband. Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. Richard Newton. I’ve been called to check on Mr. Mayfield.”
“Okay.” She started toward the door.
I stopped her. “Stay out here. Give him room to work.”
The doctor disappeared inside.
“That’s a good sign, isn’t it?” she said. “That they called in a doctor.”
I wasn’t so sure. If a doctor could help Chuck, why hadn’t the EMTs put him in their ambulance and rushed him to the hospital?
Grace turned to Trent. “Isn’t it a good sign?” Desperation rose in her voice.
He shifted from one foot to the other. “It depends.”
“I need to go in there.” She reached for the door again.
It opened from within.
Dr. Newton stepped out. “Mrs. Mayfield—”
“Is he okay?” Grace interrupted.
“I’m sorry. Your husband...he’s deceased.”
Grace’s hands flew to her throat. “You...he...he’s...” She turned to me, eyes wide and frantic and filled with pain.
She’d been in love with Rickhead, and that had ended disastrously. Now she’d lost her new love. Life had not been fair to Grace.
“Was it a heart attack?” she asked. “He was lifting that heavy box and he used to smoke.”
“I’m not sure at this point,” Dr. Newton said. “We need to call in the police.”
“The police?” Grace’s incredulous response echoed my own thoughts. Chuck had collapsed. He hadn’t been shot or stabbed.
“Yes, ma’am,” the doctor said.
“Standard procedure for an unattended death with no obvious cause.” Trent took out his wallet and showed his badge. “I’m a detective with the Pleasant Grove Police Department. I can take over.”
“Unattended?” Grace repeated. “No. I was there.”
“Let’s go inside,” Trent said.
Grace clutched my arm. “We’ve got to tell Rickie about his daddy. Lindsay, can you go get him? Please?”
“Of course.” Not on my list of fun things to do, but at least it delayed going back into that house and seeing Chuck lying so still on that sofa.
I trudged across the street and returned to my back yard to find the guest of honor and his uninvited guests gone. One bright spot in the evening.
Fred, Sophie, Cathy, and Harold sat together on the patio, watching silently as I approached. All four clutched crystal glasses. Two wine bottles rested on the ground beside Fred’s chair. Two bottles for the four of them? Not enough.
No one said a word, but I heard the question.
I shook my head.
Rickie sat at the patio table, his entire attention focused on his half-eaten burger.
The last rays of sun disappeared below the horizon. A shadowy cloud of silence settled over my back yard. Maybe over the entire world.
“Rickie.” I flinched at how loud the word sounded. “Rickie,” I said more softly, “your mother wants you to come home.”
Rickie examined his burger carefully then took another bite.
In the distance an owl hooted his lonely, eerie call.
Sophie went to Rickie and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go see your mother.”
He didn’t look up. “I’m eating.”
He must have heard his mother telling Trent something had happened to Chuck. The sirens meant that something was not good.
He was scared.
He didn’t want to admit he was scared.
I could let him avoid it for a few more minutes. “Grace hasn’t eaten. I need to put together some food for her.”
“We moved everything inside.” Cathy rose. “I’ll help.”
We entered the house and Henry butted my leg then showed me his empty food bowl. The home intrusion was forgotten. He never dwells on the past.
Cathy closed the door carefully behind us. “Rickie’s father...step-father...”
“Dead.” I filled Henry’s bowl, focusing on those ugly, smelly pellets instead of Chuck’s unmoving body and Grace’s tear-stained face. “An unattended death. They don’t know what happened.”
“I see. There’s a lot of food here. How much do you want to take over?” She peeled plastic wrap from a platter of hamburger patties.
“I don’t know. There’s just the two of them now. Half, I guess. Rickie’s a growing boy.” I got out plastic containers and bags. “Interesting custom, taking food to the bereaved family at a time when they have no appetite.”
Cathy put half a dozen patties in a bowl and snapped on the lid. “It’s why we do it. When our hearts are broken, we won’t cook for ourselves. If someone else brings food, we’re more likely to eat.”
Cathy had lost a son. She knew whereof she spoke.
I zipped a bag of lettuce then paused. Cathy had also lost...in a different way...a grandson.
“This is probably none of my business,” I said, “but should George be hanging around with those friends of his?”
Cathy shoved the container of meat into a shopping bag. “According to the terms of his parole, he should not be associating with convicted felons.” She smoothed the bag and didn’t look up. “We don’t know that the men out there were convicted felons.”
Maybe we didn’t know it, but I’d have bet an entire week’s supply of chocolate that they were. “He came with you and Harold. How did he leave? With one of them?”
“They all ran at the sound of the siren. George ran with them. I assume he’ll be home eventually.”
Would George be back in prison before the embers in the grill from his welcome home party turned to ashes?
Cathy filled a container with potato salad and put it into the bag.
It was my turn to speak. All of a sudden my blabbermouth went silent. I couldn’t say anything positive about George’s actions because I couldn’t think of anything positive. Probably not a good idea to put my thoughts into words.
We finished packing food and went outside to find the only change was Rickie’s empty plate. Sophie still stood beside him. Fred and Harold still held empty glasses.
“Lindsay’s ready to take some food to your mother,” Sophie said. “You’d better go with her.”
“I want another cookie,” he demanded.
“The cookies are going to your house. If you want a cookie, you can get your skinny butt in gear and follow them.”
I was once married to his father. I knew what worked. When cajoling fails, bully.
Rickie grumbled but slid from his chair.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Sophie asked.
Rickie studied the ground. “No.”
I wouldn’t have minded if everybody went. I had no idea how to comfort Grace or Rickie.
But Rickie was going to have a meltdown and didn’t want anybody to witness the loss of his tough kid persona.
He probably didn’t even want me there.
I didn’t want to be there, but his mother wanted me.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’d really appreciate it if you all could finish cleaning up here before you go home.”
Except for Rickie’s empty plate and Fred’s empty wine bottles, the area was spotless.
It was just an excuse. They all knew it.
I strode briskly across the street.
Rickie lagged behind.
The dark sedan, fire truck, and ambulance were gone.
I waited on the porch for Rickie to catch up then opened the door and let him enter first.
Grace shot across the room and pulled him into her arms. “Baby, it’s your daddy!”
Rickie pushed her aside and ran from the room without looking at Chuck lying on the sofa or Trent sitting on one of the boxes with his ever-present notebook and pen.
Grace turned her mascara stained face to me. “Do you think I should go to him?”
She was asking me? The only experience I had with motherhood was a cat. I tried to think of what I’d do if Henry ran to his room after his step father died.
Henry is, as far as I know, an orphan, and he doesn’t have a room. He owns the entire house.
In times of stress I give him catnip.
“I brought chocolate chip cookies.” It was sort of the same thing. “And hamburgers. I’ll take them to the kitchen.”
She pulled a tissue from a half-empty box and pointed to a door on the far side of the room.
I went into a kitchen filled with boxes. Not only did Grace have to cope with Chuck’s death, she would have to unpack alone, taking out each item she and Chuck had packed together.
I put the food in the refrigerator except for the cookies.
Should I take them to Rickie’s room? He’d said he wanted one, but I wasn’t sure he wanted me to deliver it.
Better I give them to Grace and let her deal with her son.
I returned to the living room to see Trent at the front door welcoming a new visitor. The tall woman with short brown hair carried a black bag. Another doctor?
“Donna Green,” Trent said, “this is Grace Mayfield, wife of the deceased. Donna is one of our lab techs.”
Lab tech?
She went to the sofa, set down her bag, and rummaged inside.
“Lindsay,” Trent said brightly, “I see you have cookies. Why don’t we go in the kitchen and let Donna work?”
Grace went first. I hung back so I could corner Trent. “Lab tech?” I hissed into his ear.
“Standard procedure for an unattended death with no obvious cause.”
“You said that already. What does that mean?”
Had Chuck been murdered? No. I was being paranoid. Chuck had died in the arms of his wife.
Which didn’t preclude murder.
“It means we have to gather all trace evidence at the scene and retain it until we know for sure the deceased died of natural causes.”
Until we know for sure the deceased died of natural causes?
“Lindsay?” Grace’s small voice sounded pitiful. She stood at the kitchen table, waiting for us to join her.
Guns, Wives and Chocolate Page 2