by Dee Ernst
He grinned. “Hearing about it and seeing it are two very different things. Now I can’t wait to see this parade you’ve been talking about.”
Sam Kinali was a very sexy man. That was the very first thing I noticed about him when we first met three months ago. He was tall and broad, with thick hair turning silver and very white teeth that flashed out of his dark and handsome face. He was Turkish, and my early fantasies about him involved tents in the desert and mutual grape feeding. Now that I knew him better, I could add that he was also very smart, with a dry sense of humor and the ability to talk to anyone about anything. He was intensely curious about the world, which made him an excellent police detective. He was also excellent in the sack. Just sayin’.
I put my arm through his. “Come around to the side. We’ve got plenty of beer. Cait and Kyle are here, and tonight you’ll have the pleasure of meeting Marc.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, my, that should be interesting. Does he know about us?”
“Yep. Although like you said, hearing about something is quite different from seeing it in person.”
He shook hands with Cait and Kyle, then sank into a lawn chair. Cait liked him, I knew, but he made her a bit uncomfortable. Probably for the same reason Kyle made me uncomfortable.
I handed him a red plastic cup full of beer, sat next to him, and then nudged his foot with mine. “So, do you know what happened in Emma’s garden?”
He grinned. “Why did I know that would be the primary topic of conversation?”
“Hey, you’ve been around long enough to know the excitement level here in Mt. Abrams,” Cait said. “Come on, Sam. This is hot stuff.”
He settled back in his chair. “I don’t know much. I’m not working the case, but I do know that the FBI has been called in to help with forensics. They’re still down there, apparently getting an earful from the residents because the street will probably be cordoned off all weekend.”
“Really?” I asked. “Davis Road is on the parade route. Oh, I bet Sharon is having a fit.” Sharon Butler, who grew up on Sommerfield and now lived in an expanded cape on Dogwood Lane, was this year’s president of the Founders’ Day Committee. I didn’t know her that well, but I liked her.
“Yes. Apparently, there’s already been a series of very forceful phone calls to the mayor’s office. But after all, a body had been found. Surely, people recognize that this investigation is a priority?”
Kyle made a rude noise. “Sam, you forget. This is Mt. Abrams. The Founders’ Day parade has had the same route for over a hundred years. That’s the only priority people consider around here.”
“One hundred years?” Sam echoed. “That’s how long this has been going on?”
“Well, the parade part. The actual weekend started as just a big barbecue at first in the late 1870s, I think. The parade wasn’t added until the early 1900s.”
Sam chuckled. “This small-town living is quite extraordinary.”
“Well, all small-town living certainly is,” I said. “But I think Mt. Abrams is at the very deep end of the extraordinary pool.”
He nodded. “Yes, you may be right. I’m fairly certain that things happen here that happen no place else on earth.”
How right he was.
The thing about Friday night of Founders’ Day weekend was that lots of people got free meals. Practically everyone with an entry for the Best Decorated House had some sort of food or drink available for visitors, because walking around and looking at all the houses and noshing at each entry was a generally accepted practice. Nobody was denied, because you never knew who was judging. This fact was taken advantage of by several less than honest Mt. Abrams residents who had no interest in house decorations at all, but were simply trolling for free food and drink. Certain individuals were notorious. Gary Koch, for instance, was known to ask for Tupperware containers, so he could take food home with him. Louise Lombardi was usually so drunk by the time she made it to my house that she would often pass out on my couch. I always found a thank-you note taped to the refrigerator door when she left in the morning.
So Friday night often found me surrounded by people I didn’t know very well, because if I say so myself, my pulled pork was something of a local legend. My friends would all be there of course, having walked their kids up to the clubhouse and dropped them off. The little ones stayed on the beach and lawn, where there were games and booths and even pony rides. The older kids went up on the screened porch and waited for the DJ to crank up the music, which usually happened around nine. From my yard, you got a bird’s eye view of everything that was happening, which made it a perfect place to hang out.
This particular Friday night was made special by the appearance of Madam President herself, Sharon Butler. I thought she was just there for the food, but it turned out, she was after Sam.
Living in a community as small as Mt. Abrams, there were very few secrets, and pretty much everyone knew that I was seeing a police detective. Sharon, having no luck with whoever was in authority at the scene down on Davis Road, was obviously trying to get some assistance through more personal, if indirect, means.
She shamelessly introduced herself to Sam, lowered herself into a wicker chair right next to him, and then went to work.
“Sam, I know we’ve just met, but I’m president of Founders’ Day, and I could really use your help. The police officers at Emma McLaren’s refuse to tell me when they will be out of there, and there’s a parade scheduled for ten o’clock tomorrow, and I need Davis Road clear.” She was open, honest, and completely sincere. She was just barking up the wrong tree.
It was still light out, although my solar lights were starting to flicker on. I could see Sam’s face. He looked sympathetic and obviously amused.
“Sharon, it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid I can be of no help. I am not involved in what’s going on down there, and even if I was, the FBI has now stepped in. As local law enforcement, I’d have little or no say. Sorry.”
She made a face. She was very pretty, weighed close to three hundred pounds, and always looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine. Even tonight, in eighty-degree heat, and after running all over Mt. Abrams checking on things, her makeup was perfect, her hair sleek and bouncy, and her linen outfit relatively unwrinkled.
“But Sam,” she said, leaning toward him, “it’s Founders’ Day. Didn’t Ellie explain to you how important this weekend is?”
Sam chuckled. He had been drinking beer for a few hours now and was probably as close to drunk as I’d ever seen him. Not that he was slurring his words or anything, but he was…relaxed, his usual high-energy demeanor was dialed down. “Ellie explained everything to me. Several times, in fact. I’m still in a state of disbelief over some of the things she has told me to expect. So I sympathize with you. Really. But I’m not so important that I can tell anyone, let alone the FBI, what to do.”
Aggie Martin and Rita Ferris had come by earlier and were standing with my good friend Shelly Goodwin. All three of them immediately stopped talking as soon as Sharon made her pitch, and I could tell they were hanging on every word.
“Sam, really,” Rita said. “Can we at least get them to turn off those spotlights? I don’t know how we’ll get to sleep tonight. We live next door, and it’s like daylight outside our window.”
Sharon looked over at Rita. “Oh, that’s right. You’re next door to Emma.”
Aggie nodded. They had eaten a bit of pulled pork earlier and had a few beers. They had never hung out at my house before, usually just came by to see what the girls had done to the porch, but I wasn’t going to question them lingering. I had a hunch Aggie was a judge. She had looked very carefully at the way the girls had set up the lighting.
Sam shrugged. “Ladies, you do understand that a body was found? It’s being treated as a crime scene until what happened there can be positively determined.”
“That body is probably a hundred years old,” Aggie said.
Sam leaned back an
d laced his fingers together. His body language changed slightly, and I could tell he’d slipped into a slightly more official mode. “I doubt that. Those lilac bushes, they’re not as old, surely? And the body was not buried all that deep. If it had been there a hundred years, the body would have been discovered when those lilacs were first planted.”
“Sam,” I said accusingly, “you stopped to look?”
He grinned. “Of course. Professional curiosity. And I chatted with Martin Feltz, the detective in charge.”
“What did he say?” Sharon asked, somewhat breathlessly.
“That they were trying to find the previous owner of the house,” Sam said.
“Oh, we know where she’s living,” Rita said. “Jupiter, Florida. We still get a Christmas card from her every year. Paula was so nice to us when we first moved in. She used to bake us cookies every Sunday. But you can probably find her this weekend down on Blackburn staying with the Millers. Betty and Paula were great friends, and Paula comes up every year for Founders’ Day.”
Sam nodded encouragingly. “Really? On Blackburn?” He looked at me, half smiling. “People come back here for Founders’ Day?”
“All the time. She was a very nice woman,” Shelly said. “He was a real piece of, well, whatever.”
“Oh yeah,” Aggie said. “He was cheating on her. With someone in Mt. Abrams. Well, that was the rumor anyway. She was the one who planted those lilac bushes. I remember helping her. That side yard was full of rocks. He never lifted a finger to help her. She did everything in that house. Remember, Rita?”
Rita nodded. “He was always down at Taylor’s. That was a bar next to the train station. It was a real dive before Zeke bought it and turned it around. Walt Malleck was a mean drunk.”
Sharon made a noise. “He was more than that. He was perverted. Evil.”
Sam tilted his head. “That’s pretty strong.”
Sharon shifted in her seat. “I grew up here. I knew all about him. He was a selfish bastard.”
“Hey, no swearing in front of the innocents,” Marc called. He came into the yard with Tessa, Jerome, and Shelly’s youngest son, Greg. He’d picked them up from the carnival and walked with them through town, looking at the other house decorations.
Tessa ran up to me, excited. “We are going to take first place. Absolutely. Nobody comes close.”
I kissed her. “Really? You’re not just a little prejudiced?”
Marc stood by the keg, pouring himself a beer. “No, I think the girls have it wrapped up again this year. Right Jerome?”
Jerome, his mouth full of chocolate chip cookie, nodded.
Marc grabbed a folding chair and swung it around to join Sam and Sharon. “So, Sam, what do you think of this circus?”
I had been watching the two of them all evening, and they were perfectly polite to each other. Each had known the other would be there, of course. I had no worries about Sam. Marc, I knew, could charm the leaves from the trees if he wanted, but he also had a small but vicious jealous streak. And since he had recently told me that he still loved me, I was a bit concerned. But he had either forgotten that fact or never meant it in the first place, because he and Sam got along like long-lost brothers.
Sam took a long drink of beer. “This is like nothing I have ever seen before. You people should have your own reality show.”
Shelly giggled. She’d been drinking here for a bit and was in a great mood. “I know, right? The Real Housewives of Mt. Abrams.”
Aggie shook her head. “No, please. You don’t want all your dirty little secrets to come out, do you?”
Shelly giggled again. “Dirty little secrets? Sorry, I got nothin’. You Ellie?”
“I inhaled,” I said.
Marc made a rude noise. “Is that all you’re going to confess to?”
I kicked him and grinned. “For now, yes.”
Aggie looked at Sharon. “How about you, Sharon? You’ve lived here your whole life. I bet you know all the dirt.”
It was almost dark now, but I could see Sharon’s face, and she didn’t look comfortable. “I know enough,” she said. “Not that I would repeat anything. Loose lips sink ships, as they used to say.”
Rita threw her arm around Aggie’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
Aggie rolled her eyes. “What possible secrets could you tell me I don’t already know about?”
Rita made an elaborate show of thinking hard. “How about the night I looked out the window and saw…” She paused, obviously for dramatic effect, “…who was digging a grave under the lilacs.”
We all laughed.
Aggie jostled Rita with her elbow. “Talk about loose lips. Rita, you’re going to get yourself into trouble.”
“Well,” Sharon said, getting up. “I obviously will have to sort this entire mess out myself. The mayor is useless; you all just sit here, and the parade starts at ten tomorrow.” She seemed visibly upset. “After years and years, to have this happen. And during my year.”
“Sharon, calm down,” I said. “People will understand. No one can blame you for something like this.” I said it, but I’d lived in Mt. Abrams long enough to know that lots of people would, in fact, blame her. “You can reroute the parade across Elliot.”
She shook her head “And have all those people who sit in Main Park not see a thing?” Her voice was actually trembling, and she hurried off into the darkness.
Sam turned to me. “Is she really that upset?”
I nodded. “President of Founders’ Day is a very elite position around here.”
Shelly nodded. “Seriously. This could ruin her social standing.”
“Social standing?” Sam asked.
Marc snorted. “I’m with you there, Sam. It’s ridiculous how narrow-minded everyone is around here.”
“Not everyone,” Aggie said.
“No,” I said, a little louder than probably was necessary. “Not everyone.” I glared at Marc.
He shook his head. “Let me say goodnight to the girls. Where’s Cait?”
I was feeling prickly. Marc had not liked living in Mt. Abrams. It had been our longest, and ultimately, final battle. In the end we had both won. I stayed. He left. “She’s at Kyle’s, I think.”
He nodded. “Well, okay then, I’ll just find Tessa.” He held out his hand. “Good meeting you,” he said to Sam.
Sam rose and shook Marc’s hand. “The same.” They shook, and Marc walked off towards the clubhouse.
“My, my,” Shelly murmured. “How civilized we all are.”
“Oh, shut up,” I growled.
Sam reached down, grabbed my hand, and then pulled me up and into a hug. Then he kissed me. “I’ll go back down to Davis Road and see if there’s anything to be done. I doubt it, but I’ll try.” He looked at Rita. “Should I have Detective Feltz come up and question you? About what you saw out your window?”
Rita’s jaw dropped. “I was kidding,” she squeaked. She pointed to Aggie. “She’ll tell you. I sleep like a log. I’m never looking out my window at night.”
Aggie nodded. “True that. You’ve got to learn to keep that mouth shut, Rita.”
“I was just trying to be funny,” Rita said. “We’ll come with you, Sam. Thanks, Ellie. And the house looks great.”
“Good. Glad you could come by.” I stood there and waved, then looked around my yard. I could see Tessa and Jerome walking back from the lake. Shelly and her husband Mike were slow dancing to the music that drifted in from the clubhouse. Maggie Turner and her husband Derek were lying on the grass, pointing out things in the sky to each other. Carol, who had arrived rather late and had stayed quiet the entire evening, came up to put her arm around my shoulder.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think it’s a perfect Founders’ Day Friday night.”
She nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
Chapter 4
Louise Lombardi slept on my couch again. She had wandered over after eleven, when there were j
ust a few of us still sitting around the keg, and had kept Shelly and Mike, Carol, Maggie, and me in stitches. She was another of the Mt. Abrams Old Guard. She had grown up on the new side on Sommerfield, gone away after college, then moved back in to one of the tiny houses on Morris after her divorce. She was childless, worked on Wall Street, and was a first-class drinker. She was one of a kind in Mt. Abrams, a high-powered, hard-partying, working woman who had a string of men in and out of her home at all hours and was totally unapologetic about it.
She was kind of my idol.
Usually she rolled out earlier than the rest of us, but when I came down, she was still snoring on the couch. Boot, who had been given a doggie Prozac the night before to keep her from barking her head off, was curled at Louise’ s feet. I smiled at them both and made coffee, and then brought up a chair from the side yard up to the porch to sit among the starfish and seahorses to watch the sun come up over the lake.
My porch was one of my favorite places in the world. I could look across Abrams Lane to the spread of green sloping down to the lake. The clubhouse, which had been Josiah Abrams’s original grand summer home, was off to the right, and beyond the lake stood Mt. Abrams, barely a real mountain at all, but enough to make for spectacular sunrises.
At this hour of the morning, the loudest thing you could hear were the birds chattering back and forth. The sky was a clear blue. The saying went that in never rained on Founders’ Day, and in all my years of living here, I had come to believe it to be true.
“Hey,” Louise said groggily from the couch. “Anybody?”
“Out here,” I called. “Grab some coffee.”
She slouched out a few minutes later, mug in hand, her hair disheveled. Lou was tall and very thin, a body kept taut and toned from daily workouts and bronzed from her membership at the tanning salon down on Rt. 51. Her sundress was made of that crinkly material, so it didn’t look any worse for wear after she’d slept in it. She looked around. “Chair?”
I pointed to the side yard.
She carefully put her mug on the floor, went to get a chair, pushed aside a swath of fake seaweed, then sat. She sighed. “God, I love this ridiculous little town.”