“I’ll remember that when you’re down with the flu and can’t even move your little pinkie finger.”
Ashlee shrugged one shoulder. “You’re the one who insisted on this schedule, so that’s what we follow. But enough about boring old chores. I need to change my clothes.” She slipped off her shoes and left them in the middle of the floor before going to her room.
The kitchen timer dinged. I kicked Ashlee’s shoes into the corner by the sink and removed the casserole from the oven. The Tater Tots were a toasty brown. Liquid bubbled up from underneath. The dish even smelled pretty good. I wrapped the casserole in foil and went into the bedroom to get ready.
I’d never attended a Celebration of Life before, and I wasn’t sure how it differed from a funeral. Should I wear black as a sign of mourning? Or were bright colors more appropriate since we were celebrating Carla before her death? I perused the contents of my closet before settling on black slacks and a red top. Either way, I’d be half right.
By the time I’d brushed my hair and touched up my makeup, it was time to go. I used hot pads to carry the casserole to the car and place it on the floor on the passenger side, then got in on my side and started the engine.
I’d never been to Patricia’s house before, but based on the street name, I assumed it was over in the newer subdivision in town. Sure enough, after cruising down Merlot Avenue and past Chardonnay Lane, I reached the turnoff for Vine Street.
I checked the street numbers until I located Patricia’s address. Her house was a two-story stucco affair with a well-tended yard and two brightly painted birdhouses hanging from a pair of trees. Cars lined both sides of the street, so I drove past and parked on the next block. As I walked back to the house, several more cars slowed down near Patricia’s house. For someone who no one seemed to know, Carla was certainly drawing a crowd. Maybe people liked potlucks. Or more likely, the allure of murder.
The front door was partly ajar, and I could hear voices drifting down the walk. I stepped inside and was immediately greeted by Patricia, who had been lurking off to one side of the door.
“Hello again. Dana, right?” Patricia lifted a corner of the foil covering my casserole. “Are those Tater Tots? How cute. I haven’t eaten those since grade school, when my mom made me eat the cafeteria lunches.” She started to walk away and waved me along. “Come on. We’ll put it by my fruit salad.”
Fruit salad wasn’t exactly haute cuisine. Who was she to mock my Tater Tots? I followed her through clumps of people until we reached a spacious kitchen. A long wood table, already laden with bowls and platters of food, sat against the wall. Patricia took my dish and set it beside a carved-out watermelon full of star-shaped kiwi slices, peeled grapes, and plump, juicy strawberries. Where had she found such ripe strawberries this early in the season?
Patricia leaned in close. “It took me four hours to make this,” she whispered, “but I wanted to create a dish worthy of Carla’s memory.”
I considered the fifteen minutes it had taken me to assemble my Tater Tot and hamburger mess. Well, it was the thought that counted. Right?
“It’s lovely.” I looked around the kitchen, at the dark hardwood floor and marble countertops. “Your home, as well.”
Patricia beamed. “Thank you. I personally decorated every room in this house.”
A woman came up to the table, grabbed a thick paper plate, and began loading it with everything in sight.
“You certainly have an eye for design,” I told Patricia as I watched the woman try to squeeze half a dozen prawns onto her already full plate.
“I planned to be an interior decorator, but you know how it goes. Met Stan in college, when I was a student and he was a TA. I always did go for the older man. Anyway, I got pregnant my junior year, and life got in the way. I couldn’t finish my degree and take care of a new family at the same time.”
The woman moved away, and I grabbed a plate from the stack. I took a scoop of Patricia’s fruit salad and saw her nod of approval. “Did you ever consider going back to school?” I asked.
Stan walked up to the table right then, and Patricia gave him a loving look. “I already had my hands full with the house and one child, and then the second came along. School seemed like the last thing I had time for.” Patricia put her arm around Stan’s thick waist. “Besides, someone has to take care of this big lug.”
Stan kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Another couple of months and both kids will be done with college. You should come up with a project for yourself now, honey. You have such a good head for business. It’s too bad that plan with Carla didn’t pan out.”
Patricia pressed her lips together as her face noticeably reddened. A man at the buffet table bumped into me, then muttered, “Excuse me.” I stepped to the side and grabbed a large strawberry before it could roll off my plate.
When I looked at Patricia again, her face was returning to its original color. “Don’t forget I’ve got big plans of my own.” She patted Stan’s arm. “I need to check the ice.” She walked toward the living room.
Stan gave me a little smile and muttered something about the other guests before moving away, leaving me to wonder about his comment.
What plan did Patricia have with Carla? Why had she gotten so upset when Stan brought it up? I’d have to try to talk to either Patricia or Stan again before I left.
I spooned up a few more items, including a helping of my own casserole. My hand trembled as I rolled a Tater Tot around with my fork. What if it stank?
I scooped up a pile of corn kernels and hamburger and then speared the Tater Tot before raising the forkful to my mouth. I closed my eyes in anticipation. The slightly salty, soupy filling spread across my tongue. Not bad. Not bad at all.
After I’d finished my helping, I nibbled some noodles while I observed the dozen or so people who now stood around the kitchen. I spotted Brittany in the corner, dressed in a short black dress and four-inch heels, talking with another girl her age. A moment later Erin joined the group, wearing faded jeans and a hoodie. I wiped my mouth with a napkin, tossed my paper plate in the trash can at the end of the table, and walked over.
“No way was I letting her keep me away from Aunt Carla’s memorial. Who does she think she is?” Erin was saying to Brittany and her friend.
Brittany nodded rapidly, reminding me of a bobble head. “You’re totally right. She’s such a witch.” She giggled.
The girls watched me approach and stopped talking, as if by some secret signal. They all looked at me, waiting.
“Hi, Erin. I don’t think I offered my condolences to you yesterday. I’m so sorry about Carla’s passing.”
Erin looked at her shoes, while Brittany and the other girl shuffled away. I guessed the talk had turned too serious for them. “Thanks. She was pretty cool.”
“I’ve heard only wonderful things about her from everyone.” No need to mention the rumors about the married boyfriend, but the thought made me glance around the room, as if he might be standing nearby this very minute. No luck. I saw only women. Even Stan hadn’t returned.
“I owe her a lot,” Erin said. “Without her help, I would have quit nursing school ages ago.”
Her eyes kept flitting to where Brittany and the other girl huddled nearby, so I shifted a bit to block her view. “Where do you go to school?”
“Santa Rosa. I was in one of my night classes when Aunt Carla died.”
So she’d been dozens of miles away when Carla was murdered. Or had she? Back in college I’d taken more than one class that contained well over a hundred students, and the professors never bothered to record attendance. Were these nursing classes held in small classrooms or large lecture halls? Would anyone remember if Erin had been there?
I saw her attention stray to her friends again. “That’s quite a drive to attend class every day,” I said.
She focused back on me. “Yeah, but the rent’s free. School costs too much already. Thank God I have only one more semester. Who knows what’ll happ
en now that Aunt Carla is gone.” She flipped her hair back, and some strands got caught in a gold chain around her neck. As she worked to untangle her hair, she pulled the chain up and revealed a gold locket with delicate roses etched on the front.
“Beautiful necklace.”
“Aunt Carla gave it to me when I moved in with her.” She unclasped the necklace, pulled the final strands out, and handed it to me.
I cracked the locket open to find a younger version of Carla staring up at me on one side and a picture of Erin when she must have been six or seven years old on the other.
“Carla remembered the pictures were in an old album, and thought I might like them,” Erin said. “The locket’s my favorite thing she ever gave me.” Erin’s eyes misted up, and she passed a hand over them. “I wish we hadn’t been fighting so much the last couple of weeks.”
“What were you fighting about?” I didn’t expect Erin to actually answer, but she surprised me.
“My boyfriend. Aunt Carla decided she didn’t like him, but she never even gave him a chance. It got so bad, I told her I’d move out if she didn’t at least try to like him. He’s an awesome guy, and I wasn’t going to have her nagging me all day about the two of us.”
Was that the threat Jessica had overheard that day, when Carla was talking on the phone to Erin? Was Erin simply choosing her boyfriend over her aunt?
“Oh, crap,” Erin said from beside me.
I looked over and saw Patricia come into the kitchen. When she caught sight of Erin, she frowned, then rearranged her face into a smile. She made a beeline for where we stood. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Stan heading our way from the other direction, as if hoping to intercept Patricia, but he was too slow.
I tensed as I recalled the ugly scene between Patricia and Erin outside the spa last night. Was I about to witness an encore performance?
Chapter 11
“Erin, so glad you could make it,” Patricia oozed, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Thank you for planning a memorial for Aunt Carla,” Erin replied, a frosty edge to her tone.
“And thank you for not bringing Ricky.”
“He’s waiting for me outside.”
Patricia managed to squeak out an “Oh” before Stan joined us. He put his arm around Erin’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Hiya. It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
There was an awkward silence. I could feel people around us watching our little group like we were stage actors putting on an impromptu performance.
“Erin was telling me about nursing school,” I said.
Patricia gave Erin a concerned look. “Oh, dear, will you be able to continue school? I assume you’ll be moving out of Carla’s house now.”
Erin stiffened. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”
A young man in loose jeans and a black T-shirt appeared in the doorway. A thin patch of dark hair sprouted from his chin, making me wonder if he was trying to grow a beard. When he shifted around, I spotted an angel tattoo on his forearm and realized this was Erin’s boyfriend. Judging by the look of distaste on Patricia’s face, she’d spotted Ricky, too.
Erin caught the look and smiled. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Please,” Patricia said, laying a hand on Erin’s arm. “Carla would be so upset to know you were throwing your life away on that boy.”
Erin shoved Patricia’s hand away, and Patricia jerked it back with a gasp. In a flash, Stan took the hand and clasped it between both of his.
“Ricky is amazing,” Erin said. “Aunt Carla would have realized that eventually, if she hadn’t been killed.” She hurried past Patricia and over to Ricky. She gave him a hearty kiss on the lips and then cast a backward glance at Patricia for good measure. The two walked hand in hand out of the kitchen.
Patricia sniffed, as if Ricky had left a bad smell in the room. “She’ll ruin her life. Carla was her only hope.”
“She must be doing something right if she’s almost finished with her degree,” I said. “That takes commitment.”
Patricia didn’t acknowledge my comment as she continued to stare at the doorway through which Erin and Ricky had disappeared.
Stan patted the hand still trapped between his. “I think she’ll be fine, honey.”
She whirled on him. “How can you say that? You know what she’s done. Why, she’s just lucky that her mom’s boyfriend didn’t call the police. If her mom hadn’t talked him out of it, that girl would be in jail right now.”
Now, that was interesting. “For what?” I asked.
Patricia placed a hand over her mouth, but it seemed like a practiced gesture. “Oh my, I shouldn’t say.” She paused with dramatic flair. “Erin stabbed one of her mom’s boyfriends.”
“What?” I blurted. “And she wasn’t arrested?”
Patricia shook her head. “Can you believe it? Her mom patched the guy up and convinced him to keep his mouth shut. That’s when Erin moved in with Carla. I told Carla not to allow it—you can see how unstable Erin is—but Carla always had such a big heart.”
“She sure did,” Stan added. “One of her many attributes.”
Erin hadn’t struck me as the violent type, but then again, I barely knew her. As I considered the implications of what Patricia had said, I became aware that I was gripping a small object in my hand. I looked down to find Erin’s locket dangling from my closed fist. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to return it.
“Excuse me,” I told Patricia and Stan as I pushed my way through the throng of people, who seemed intent on blocking my way. Maybe I’d luck out and Erin and Ricky were slow walkers. Maybe they were making out in front of Patricia’s house just to spite the woman.
I threw open the front door to rush after them but stopped short when I almost ran into Jason on the other side.
He stepped back in surprise. “Leaving already?”
I moved past him to the walkway. “Hang on a sec. I’ll be right back.” But even as I spoke, I heard the rumble of an engine on the next block. I jogged out to the sidewalk in time to see Ricky’s muscle car pull out and drive away, heading in the opposite direction. Shoot.
Jason joined me on the sidewalk. “What was that about?”
I pointed toward Ricky’s car, the taillights barely visible from down the street. “You missed all the excitement.”
He groaned. “Never tell a reporter that.”
“It was quite the show.” I swung my arms around. “Fireworks, dancing bears, guys on stilts.”
Jason crossed his arms. “What really happened?”
“Patricia and Erin had another fight about Ricky. But get this. Patricia told me that the reason Erin moved out of her mom’s house was that she stabbed her mom’s boyfriend.”
Jason dug his notebook out of his back pocket and flipped through the pages. “That never showed up in my background check.”
I lowered my voice as a couple came out of the house and walked to their car. “That’s because the boyfriend didn’t call the cops. Erin’s mom convinced him not to.”
“So we have no way of knowing if this story is even true,” Jason said.
“Unless you ask Erin, but she could easily deny it. I also discovered that she was in class when Carla was murdered, or at least that was her claim.” I held up the necklace. “Maybe I’ll work both of those topics into the conversation when I return her locket.”
Jason reached out and opened it. “Why do you have her locket?”
“I was looking at it when she and Patricia started talking. She flew out of here before I could give it back. No way can I trust Patricia to return it, the way those two ended things a minute ago.”
“I can take the locket back for you.”
I removed the necklace from his grasp. “Right, sure you can. Then you can ask Erin all those reporter questions you’re dying to know the answers to.” I dropped it in my pants pocket. “She commented on how important the locket is to her. I’m the one who had it last, so I’m
the one who should return it.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.” More people came outside, and Jason watched them. “It’s not ending already, is it?”
“Not that I know of.” I took his arm. “Come on. I’ll go back in with you. I never had dessert.”
I led him through the living room, where I noticed a blown-up photo of Carla on a side table, which I’d somehow missed the first time through, and on into the kitchen. Jason headed straight for Patricia, and I stepped over to the buffet table to let him work. While I snacked on a brownie, I watched as he infiltrated the group with an easy smile and a handshake.
Brittany wandered past the table, eyeing all the dessert platters. “I wish I wasn’t on a diet,” she whined. She didn’t have an extra inch to pinch as far as I could see, but maybe she was like Ashlee, who always seemed to be on one diet or another. She saw the brownie in my hand. “Bikini season is coming up, you know.”
I smiled at her. “But brownie season is here now.”
“Huh?” She surveyed the table again. “I guess this mini chocolate chip cookie would be okay.” She nibbled the tiniest bite off one edge. “Say, you work at that spa outside of town, right? That place with all the pigs and stuff?”
“Right.”
“Someone told me that a girl from your place killed Carla because our spa was so much cooler. A bunch of people saw her sneak in the back door, and then bam! Carla’s dead.”
Oh God, is that what people are saying? “No one from Esther’s place killed anyone.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Brittany giggled. I hoped she choked on that ridiculously small cookie.
While I stood fuming, I became aware of a handsome Hispanic man in his early fifties standing alone by a curio cabinet. He sipped a cup of punch, his eyes constantly shifting around the room. The only other men I’d seen so far tonight had been accompanied by a wife or girlfriend, but this guy appeared to be alone.
A Healthy Homicide Page 8