Murder at the PTA (2010) bk-1

by Laura Alden

  I rushed across the room and my hands wrapped familiarly around the best weapon possible. I stationed myself on the darkest side of the stairs. When he came all the way down, I’d give him a good slash, then run up and out across the street to Marina’s house and safety.

  “Hello?” A heavy tread squeaked the top stair. “Is anyone here?” He came down one stair at a time.

  His legs came into view. From my position I could see his leather belt, then his jacket, then his shoulders, and finally the back of his head. My hands tightened on my weapon. Head up, eyes intent on the goal, I swung the stick fast and high.

  At the last second he turned, and I watched with horror as the curved blade of Agnes’s autographed hockey stick sailed straight into the side of the unsuspecting head of Don the dry cleaner.

  Chapter 18

  “Beth!” Marina forced her way around two law-enforcement officers, jumped over a case of medical equipment, and ran to my side. “Beth! Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.” The rotating lights of the ambulance and two police cars came through the living room windows and washed over us all, giving the scene a bizarre disco feel.

  “I’m fine.” I blessed Gloria for being lax in having Agnes’s utilities turned off. My cell phone was in my purse, which was in my car. Luckily, Don had ducked away from the hockey stick and I’d barely landed a glancing blow. After he’d assured me that he wasn’t hurt, I’d called 911, then called Richard’s condo and talked to the children, getting a lecture from Richard beforehand on my irresponsibility of not being available when they’d called earlier and did I really expect him to wake them so I could say good night (to which the answer was, of course, yes). Then, as sirens broke the suburban quiet, I’d called Marina.

  “What happened?” Marina’s red freckles stood out sharp on skin turned white. “Don, what are you doing here?”

  “Finally got those drapes done.” Don nodded at the plastic-encased drapes hanging on a dining chair. “I’ve had them in the van for a couple days. I was driving past and I saw a light on, so I knocked. The door was unlocked, and there was Beth in the basement, swinging a mean high stick.”

  “What?” Marina looked at me blankly.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow. One of Gus’s young men”—I nodded at the officer in blue standing nearby—“is going to take me to the hospital.”

  “The hospital?” She put shaking fingers over her mouth.

  “For a tetanus shot,” I said patiently. “And to take out a few splinters. But who knows how long that will take, so I need a favor.”

  She dropped to her knees. “Anything. Just say the word.”

  I squinted at her. All I needed was a little shot. She was acting as if I’d had a near-death experience. “My car is behind the school. Can you drive it to the hospital and get your DH to pick you up?”

  “No. I’ll wait for you. I won’t abandon you in your time of need. I’ll sleep in the waiting room if I have to. I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ll—”

  “Ma’am, are you ready?” The EMTs helped me to my feet. A sudden and blinding headache reminded me of the damage Iron Grip had done to the back of my neck. There was no need to mention that tidbit to Marina.

  “Beth.” Marina moved to my side and touched my leg.

  “I know. This place is a mess.” Iron Grip had sliced open pillows, emptied bookshelves and cabinets, and strewn papers everywhere. “I’ll take care of it later. You’ll move my car, right?” I asked as the officer guided me toward the door. “Just drop the keys off at the front desk.”

  “But I don’t have your keys,” she wailed.

  “I left them on the dining table.”

  “Beth . . .”

  Whatever she wanted to say, she wasn’t saying it fast enough. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I called.

  Then I was out in air cold enough for heavy frost. I looked up at the clearing sky and couldn’t stop shivering as the officer opened the sedan door for me.

  “It’ll be warm in a minute,” he said. “I’ll have you toasty before you know it.”

  “Thanks.” But I hadn’t been shivering from the cold.

  Both Gus and Deputy Sharon Wheeler interviewed me in the hospital. I’m sure they grew as tired of hearing my two standard answers as I did of saying them.

  GUS: “Was there anything missing from the house?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  DEPUTY WHEELER: “Can you think of anything about your attacker that would help us identify him?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  DEPUTY WHEELER: “What time were you attacked?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  GUS: “Did he leave in a vehicle? Did you hear a car start?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  And so on and so forth. The Rynwood police department had jurisdiction over the break-in, but the sheriff’s department was investigating anything connected with Agnes’s murder. Why at least one of them couldn’t wait until the next day to talk to me, I didn’t know.

  I was dirty, I was hungry, and I was growing immensely tired of the emergency room doctor’s humming as he pulled tiny hunks of wood from my skin. It was barely past Halloween, but all the songs this impossibly young doctor hummed sounded like “Frosty the Snowman.”

  DEPUTY WHEELER: “Did your attacker say anything that led you to believe he killed Agnes Mephisto?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  DEPUTY WHEELER: “Do you have any idea what he was looking for?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  GUS: “Why were you there, Beth?”

  “Sorry . . . oh.” This was a question I should have been able to answer. “Um, well, Gloria—that’s Agnes’s sister—asked me to clean up the house. Marina and I did most of the work a couple of weeks ago, but there was some paperwork to do. I had a free night since the kids are with their dad on Wednesdays, so I took the opportunity and . . .” I was doing that babbling thing again. “And that’s about it.”

  Gus and the deputy both made notations on their notepads.

  Taking down the facts was all they were doing. I wasn’t being arrested, and I hadn’t done anything wrong. So why did watching them jot down my words make me feel guilty?

  “I might be in contact for some follow-up questions, Mrs. Kennedy,” Deputy Wheeler said. “Thanks for your help.” She nodded at us, then left.

  “Help?” I crossed my eyes. “If I was helpful, I’d hate to see someone who wasn’t.”

  Gus chuckled and slid his own pad into his coat pocket. “You were polite at least.” He looked at the doctor. “How much longer?”

  Still humming about Frosty, the doctor pulled out another splinter and dropped it onto a metal tray. “Ten minutes.”

  “Have you had any dinner?” Gus asked me.

  “Not really, but—”

  “I’ll go down to the cafeteria and get you a sandwich. Then I’ll drive you home.” I started to object, but he overrode me. “No arguing. You try to drive like that and you’ll be sorry tomorrow.”

  “Sure will,” the doctor said cheerfully. “Tomorrow morning she’ll be okay, but I hope you have an automatic transmission.”

  We ignored him. Long ago, in the back of the choir stalls, Gus and I had come to an agreement about Christmas carols before Thanksgiving: Anyone who forced them upon an unwilling world should be ignored as much as possible. “I’m driving you home,” Gus said. “And I’ll get one of the guys to drive your car back to your house.”

  “But I’m—”

  “You’re not fine,” Gus interrupted. “For once, let someone help you.”

  Tears stung my eyes. I must have been more tired than I thought. “Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”

  The next morning personal hygiene was an exercise in frustration. The doctor had slapped gauze pads on the worst of the splinters. “Keep those dry for twenty-four hours,” he’d said. What he hadn’t said was how to manage that simple-sounding task. With gauze on both hands, I couldn’t take a shower and I couldn’t take a bath.

 
I ended up using a washcloth and kitchen gloves. I washed my hair in the sink, and by the time I put it up wet in a ponytail, I wanted to go back to bed. Who knew that a few splinters could make you so tired?

  With one thing and another, I was half an hour late getting to the store. I came in the back door and hung up the coat I’d draped over my shoulders. “Sorry I’m late, Lois.”

  “Oh! My! Lord!” Lois dropped the armload of books she was carrying. “What happened? Did you—? Are you—?” She put her hands to her mouth.

  “It’s nothing. An accident.” Kind of.

  “Accident?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I was doing some cleaning at Agnes’s house and you know how klutzy I can be. A picture fell off the wall and onto my hands, and the glass broke.” I looked at the masses of gauze. The story had sounded better last night.

  The front door burst open. Marina flew in, her red hair sticking out in a dozen directions. “Beth, it’s all my fault you’re hurt. I am so, so sorry.” She flung herself onto me and drew me to her bosom. “How can I make it up to you?”

  Lois looked from Marina to me and back again, then lifted her eyebrows. “Accident?”

  My best friend snorted into my hair. “If you call someone overpowering Beth and tossing her into a basement an accident. If you call Beth using her wits to escape certain death an accident.”

  The future unfolded before me. Marina would spread the story hither and yon. A parade of people would traipse through the store, gawking at my wounds, begging me to tell the story over and over again. No one would buy a single book, and I wouldn’t get a thing done.

  I extracted myself from Marina’s clutches. “Lois, can you watch the store?” I dragged Marina to my office and shut the door. “Tell me you didn’t blog about last night.”

  “Not yet.” She pursed her lips. “I’m trying to think of the best way to start it. How does this sound? ‘Local business owner defies death.’ Or how about ‘Courageous Rynwood woman lives to fight another day.’ Or—”

  “Don’t you dare post anything about this.”

  “Of course I won’t. But just think if I did.” Her cheeks glowed with color.

  There was a knock, and Lois popped her head in. “Beth, there’s a gentleman to see you.”

  Before I could tell her to send whoever it was away, Evan Garrett came in. “Good morning, Beth. Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”

  His gaze fell on my hands. “Oh, my God. Beth.” He took hold of my shoulders and looked into my upturned face. “Are you all right?” He kissed my forehead, then pulled back and searched my eyes. “You’re in pain, I can tell. Here.” He hooked his foot around the leg of a chair and drew it near. “Sit.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, pulling free of him. “Marina, this is Evan Garrett. Evan, Marina Neff.”

  They nodded, and Marina shot me a you’ve-been-holding-out-on-me look. “Evan and I,” I said, “went to kindergarten together. He bought the hardware a few weeks ago.”

  “Kindergarten?” Marina’s eyes narrowed to small slits, and I knew I’d be grilled later on.

  Evan paid no attention to the feminine undercurrents swirling about. He was gently turning my hands this way and that. “How on earth did this happen? A car accident?”

  Excellent idea. A car crash could explain all sorts of bizarre injuries. Anyone would believe a car crash story. This would work. All I had to do was convince Lois I’d been in a car accident, work on getting Marina to spread a car-crash story, and make sure Gus and Deputy Wheeler didn’t release my name to the press. Piece of cake.

  “Hah.” Marina tossed her hair back. “This young lady was almost murdered last night.”

  “What?” Evan went still.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Maybe sitting down wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I groped for the back of the chair and sat. “If he’d wanted to kill me, I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “What!” Evan’s voice rose. “Who? Your ex-husband? Have you told the police? You’ll need a restraining order.” His former profession was rearing its legal head. “Let’s go. The paperwork takes a while, but you’ll be safer in the long run.”

  I wanted to drop my head into my hands, but I didn’t want to undo the carefully taped gauze. Instead, I closed my eyes and wished they’d both disappear.

  “It wasn’t her husband,” Marina said. “It was the guy who killed Agnes Mephisto.”

  “The school principal?” Evan looked from Marina to an unresponsive me, then back to Marina. “What’s going on here?”

  Marina launched into an extravagant version of what I’d done last night. Every time I tried to get her to stop, she overrode me. After three attempts, I quit trying. It was like trying to fight a tidal wave.

  She concluded, “Beth made her way to a telephone and called 911.”

  I opened one eye. Evan was crouched in front of me, his mouth firmed into a straight line. “Why were you in Agnes’s house?”

  Trust a lawyer to get to the crux of the matter. “Cleaning up,” I said lamely.

  “No, you weren’t.” Evan touched one of my earlobes. It was burning hot. “What were you doing?”

  I didn’t say anything. Marina, for a change, didn’t say anything, either.

  “Are you two investigating the murder?” he asked.

  I closed the open eye.

  “You are, aren’t you? Leave this to the police,” he ordered. “They’re trained for it. They get paid for it. It’s why we have police. Investigations into murder aren’t for amateurs. You could get hurt.”

  No kidding.

  “Beth.” His courtroom-hard voice was suddenly soft. “Don’t you see? I don’t want you in danger. I care about you. Please leave this to the police.” He cupped my cheek with his palm. “Please.” His lips brushed my hair, and he left.

  I opened my eyes in time to see Marina fold her arms. “Well, well, well,” she said. “Isn’t he the handsome one?”

  “Don’t start. All I’ve done is go to lunch with him a couple of times. He hasn’t even met the kids yet.”

  “Really?” She put ten pounds of doubt into the two syllables. “He’s acting awfully possessive for someone you barely know.”

  In some ways I barely knew him; in other ways I’d known him most of my life.

  “For uno momento,” Marina said, “he sounded like Richard.”

  I frowned. “He did, didn’t he?” Matter of fact, he’d treated me like a bubbleheaded female who didn’t have the sense to kick off her shoes if she fell into deep water.

  “Um, you’re not going to give up, are you?” Marina sounded unsure, scared, and small, and I longed to have my confident friend back.

  Evan had assumed he could tell me what to do. And why? Because he was bigger and stronger and a lawyer? Hah. There was nothing lawyers could do that children’s bookstore owners couldn’t do better.

  Give up? I looked at Marina. “Not a chance.”

  The doorbell of Agnes’s house chimed. Spot leaped up from the living room floor and burst into a flurry of barking. “Nice job,” I told him. “If Mr. Grip comes back and rings the doorbell, we’ll have plenty of time to hide.”

  Standing on the front stoop was a stocky balding man. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Pete Peterson of Cleaner Than Pete. You’re Beth?”

  At the hospital, Gus had given me the name of a Madison cleaning company that did forensic work. I’d called Gloria, squirmed as I’d told her most of the truth, and gotten her okay to hire someone to clean up the mess. “Sure, what do I care?” she’d said morosely. “Have them send the bill up here. It’ll get paid when the lawyers get done lawyering.”

  “Yes.” I stood aside and waved Pete in. “Thanks for coming out on a Thursday night.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Hey there, pup.” He leaned over and ruffled Spot’s ears. “What’s your name, big guy?”

  “Spot,” I said.

  Pete gave me a startled look, then laughed. “About time someone named a dog Spot. Don
’t suppose you have a Rover, too?”

  “Just a cat. George.”

  “Good cat name.” He gave Spot one last pat and straightened. If he’d stood as tall as he could, he might have been an inch taller than my five foot five. His gaze flicked to my hands, then back to my face. “What do you need help with?”

  I gave him a bonus point for not asking any questions and showed him around the house. “It all needs cleaning, and I just don’t have the time.” Or the energy. “How long do you think it will take?”

  He ran a critical gaze over the mess. “Three hours, tops. I can do it tonight, if you want.”

  “Will that cost extra?” I didn’t want to spend any more of Gloria’s money than I could help.

  “Nah.” He smiled easily, and I found myself smiling back. It was the first time I’d smiled all day.

  “Sounds great,” I said. “I’ll be in the master bedroom if you have any questions.”

  My former splinters were aching as I tied up a garbage bag. “Almost done,” I said to Spot. “One more room and we can pick up the kids.” Despite their pleas to see Agnes’s messy house, I’d left them with Marina and a new bag of gourmet popcorn.

  “Ooo ave ids?”

  I jumped, turned, and shrieked. In the door of the guest room stood a monster. White from head to toe, the lower half of its face was covered with—

  Pete lifted off his hood and pulled down the respirator. “Sorry about that.”

  I put my hand to my chest. Heart still working, adrenaline still flowing—I was, in fact, alive.

  “I always wear the hazmat—hazardous materials—suit when I’m working.”

  “Sure.” I tried not to be offended that he was scared of my germs. “Safety first.”

  He flashed me a boyish grin. “Just wanted to tell you I’m all done out there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room and kitchen.

  “Great. Thanks.”

  He shuffled from one foot to the other. “I was surprised to hear you say something about kids.”

  My tired brain made a small leap. “This isn’t my house,” I said. “It’s a friend’s.” Somewhere in the back of my head I heard a dry chuckle.