Murder Most Persuasive tkm-3

by Tracy Kiely

  Really, not even Jane Austen would have a snappy comeback to that.

  At my mom’s mention of George, Kit and I exchanged glances of derision. It was funny, but after a lifetime of butting heads, we’d finally found one thing in common. We both found a night with George to be a damned tedious waste of an evening. But we love our mother, so we put up with him. The only reason we hadn’t had to deal with him today was that he was at some cycling convention in Seattle, learning how to channel Lance Armstrong or something.

  “Yeah, Mom, that would be great,” said Kit. “Just let me know when it’s a good time.”

  “I’m free all next week,” I added.

  “Except Tuesday,” said Kit. “Don’t forget, you’re watching little Pauly for us next Tuesday night.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be there,” I mumbled. My social life had taken a hit lately, and Kit saw no reason not to take full advantage of this temporary lull. My best friend, Bridget, was newly married. She and her husband, Colin, had purchased a “fixer-upper” and now spent most of their time trolling Home Depot and poring over paint samples. As much as I love them both, I couldn’t endure another conversation about whether “hushed hue” or “inner balance” would be a better color for the living room. (Seriously, do either of those colors suggest taupe to you? Why can’t they just call colors what they are? In this case, “really light taupe” and “even lighter taupe.”)

  As for Peter, he was putting together a new business deal in California, and we hadn’t had much of a chance to get together. The result was that in addition to my other “Kit duties,” I had now become her very own free babysitting service.

  From the front seat, Kit suddenly gave a loud laugh. “Well, you’ll be there unless they suddenly discover that Uncle Marty was murdered and you have to fly off to solve the case!”

  I looked out the window and sighed, wondering for maybe the hundredth time just how bad exposure to mold was anyway.

  Chapter 3

  If there is anything disagreeable going on men are always sure to get out of it.

  —Persuasion

  It was around three when we arrived at Kit’s house, a two-story, whitewashed colonial dating from the 1940s. Like many of the houses in Silver Spring, it retains a vintage charm in spite of being expanded and modernized over the years. Kit, of course, is hoping to move into one of those McMansions that line the Beltway.

  As soon as Kit stepped inside, Pauly launched himself at her with an enthusiasm that bordered on violence. Pauly is a miniature of his father. He has curly brown hair, a round freckled face, and a sweet, lopsided smile. He has some of his mother in him, too. He doesn’t like it when things don’t go his way and isn’t shy about letting people know it. I should know, I have bruises on my shins to prove it.

  “Will you play Candy Land with me? Please? I’m so bored,” he wailed, climbing up Kit’s leg. Wiping his nose, he repeated, “Please?”

  “Don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve,” Kit said automatically. “Are you feeling better, baby? Where’s Daddy?”

  A head cold had kept Pauly home from preschool today. Kit’s husband, Paul, had stayed home from his job as a hot-tub salesman to watch him. Hearing our voices in the foyer, Paul wandered out from the living room, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Gesturing to Kit to wait a minute, he continued his conversation. “Yeah, Tom? Hey, listen, my wife just got in so I can get to the store after all. Tell them I’ll be there within the half hour. Okay, thanks. Bye.”

  He turned to Kit. “Hey, babe. How was the funeral?”

  While I tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the question, Kit put her hands on her hips and glared at Paul. “Did I hear you correctly? Are you going into the store? Today? Now?”

  “Babe, come on. It’s the high season for hot tubs. You know that. The store is packed today. As manager, I have to be there. This could mean a big bonus for us.”

  “You’re really going to leave? I just came home from burying my uncle! I’m exhausted!” Kit cried.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that they actually made you dig the hole!” Paul shot back. “If you’re that tired, take a nap. I’m sure Elizabeth can watch Pauly,” he casually offered.

  “But that’s not the point,” Kit began.

  “Kit, he’s right,” I said. “I have the whole day off. You go take a nap. Let Paul go to the store. I can watch Pauly.” Turning to Pauly, I said, “Come on, little man, let’s go play Candy Land. But I get to be the blue guy.”

  “Deal!” said Pauly, breaking into a run to his room to get the game.

  “Thanks, Elizabeth,” said Paul. Looking back at Kit, he said, “Babe, don’t be this way. I have to go in to work. I wish I didn’t, but I do. I’ll try not to be too late.” Giving her a peck on the cheek, he waved good-bye to me and yelled to Pauly, “I’m leaving now, Pauly. Love you, buddy. Play nice with your aunt Elizabeth!” Two seconds later, he was out the door. I turned to Kit, about to say, “Nursing does not belong to a man; it is not his province,” but then I saw her face and thought better of the idea.

  Kit frowned at the door Paul had just exited before storming up the stairs to her bedroom. “Men,” I heard her mumble before shutting the door behind her.

  “Sisters,” I added under my breath before heading to Pauly’s room for a rousing game of Candy Land.

  Two hours later, after multiple trips to the Candy Cane Forest and Gum Drop Mountain and hanging out with Princess Frostine, I felt like a diabetic in need of an insulin shot. Happily, Pauly seemed as exhausted as I felt, and I had no problem convincing him to take a nap. I tucked him into his Pottery Barn Speedboat bed, which Kit paid through the nose for after getting into a bidding war over it on eBay. Given the final price of the bed, I suspected that Pauly would be stuck with it all the way through high school. But who knows? It just might have been wise parenting on Kit’s part. I mean, I doubt the kid was ever going to try and sneak any girls into his room to make out on the plank detailing.

  Once I was sure that Pauly was asleep, I headed for my room and flopped on my bed. Immediately, the lyrics to “I Wanna Be Like You” from Disney’s The Jungle Book burst into my brain. It wasn’t my fault. My room was the future nursery, and Kit had decided to go with a—you guessed it—jungle theme. Everywhere I looked animals of all shapes and sizes crowded together and gazed back at me. On the walls, painted monkeys and chimpanzees swung from twisted branches. From the closet doors, an elephant and a rhino peered out from behind a giant bush. On the ceiling, a giraffe leaned toward a full green leaf, its long blue-black tongue extended to take a bite.

  I tried really hard not to look at the ceiling if I could help it.

  When I’d moved in, Peter had taken one look at the room and reprogrammed the ring tone on his phone to play “Jungle Fever” every time I called. I did so now.

  “Hey there!” he said. “I was just thinking about you. How are you doing?”

  “Pretty good,” I said, scooting back on the bed so I could rest my head on the pillows all the while keeping my eyes averted from the ceiling. “Aunt Winnie says hi.”

  “I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there. But I think we’re close to signing the deal.”

  “That’s great!” I said. Peter was in San Diego overseeing negotiations for a new property. He’d promised to fly me out there for a getaway weekend if the deal went through. “When do you think you’ll be done?”

  “What’s today? Tuesday? Probably by Friday. Think you can sneak away for the weekend? Or does Kit not let you take off weekends?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve started a tunnel to the outside from my bedroom closet. I dump the dirt out of my pants pockets when I take Pauly to the playground. By Friday, it should be ready. I already have the papier-mâché of my head completed.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you on the outside.”

  We chatted a little while longer until Peter had to go. Before he hung up, he once again tried to convince me to stay at his place while my
apartment was being redone. “The commute can’t be as bad as that tongue on your ceiling,” he said.

  “You might have a point there,” I said with an uneasy glance upward.

  “I do have a point. We’ll talk more Friday.”

  “Okay. See you then.”

  “Hang tough. I love you.”

  My heart made that little flip-flop it did every time he said that. “I love you, too,” I said.

  I hung up and rolled off the bed. Stepping out into the hall, I listened for signs of activity from Kit’s room but heard nothing. Peeking into Pauly’s room, I saw that he was still asleep, curled up with an assortment of wooden trains.

  Heading downstairs, I looked at the clock. Seeing that it was five thirty, I cleaned up the kitchen and living room for Kit and then started dinner. Around six o’clock, Pauly woke up and came stumbling into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his eyes. A few minutes later, Kit emerged from her room as well. “Oh, thanks, Elizabeth,” she said, when she saw that I’d started dinner. “I’m sorry you’ve been stuck doing so much. I just don’t have any energy these days. This pregnancy is really taking a toll on me.”

  Sliding into a chair at the kitchen table, she pulled Pauly onto her lap. “We are very lucky to have Aunt Elizabeth staying with us, you know that, buddy?” she said, laying her blond head on his. Pauly nodded and grinned at me.

  I smiled back and thought that Kit wasn’t all bad. After all, she was eight months pregnant and undoubtedly exhausted. Taking care of Pauly and the house had to be draining even when enjoying the best of health. She then ruined my newfound goodwill by suddenly frowning at the stove and asking, “Wait. Are you making spaghetti? Again?”

  Aunt Winnie’s advice that “Patience is a virtue” popped into my head, reminding me of my own version of patience. I wondered where Kit kept the booze. Maybe I could make a nice vodka sauce for tonight.

  Paul was home in time for dinner, which was good, as Kit tended to pout when he was late. Thankfully, he took over after dinner, cleaning up and giving Pauly his bath. While Kit prepared to snuggle in with Pauly and read him a Thomas the Tank Engine adventure, Paul turned to me and said, “Hey, Elizabeth, how about we go test out the new hot tub? It’s the latest model, you know.”

  I did indeed know. It was a frequent topic of conversation. In fact, I think I could get a job at Paul’s store with all the “portable spa” knowledge I’d amassed in the last week. For instance, the model that Paul had installed was the Vanguard. It boasted a gray spa-stone surround, four-zone multicolor lighting, an integrated MP3 sound system, and a total of thirty-two jets. It could comfortably hold six adults and four hundred gallons of water or the entire cast of The Jersey Shore. Hair gel was optional.

  “That’s not fair!” said Kit. “Elizabeth gets to use it before me! You know I can’t go in while I’m pregnant!”

  Paul shot her an irritated look and Kit realized how horrible she sounded. “I’m sorry,” she said meekly. “I’m just grumpy, I guess. You guys go enjoy the tub. I’ll get Pauly to bed.”

  I am not normally a hot tub person, but tonight it sounded like a good idea. I quickly changed into my bathing suit and stepped outside into the crisp evening air. As befitting a tub of this caliber, Paul had given it its own special area of the backyard. The tub was situated under a picturesque grouping of dogwood trees. The fall foliage provided a purplish-red canopy over it while elaborate stone flooring provided its base. It was all lit by a custom spotlight. As I climbed in the hot water, Paul fiddled with a few buttons and soon the lights and jets were both pulsing away. Hidden speakers were activated and Bruce Springsteen began to croon about a long-lost love and a car. Or it might have been about a long-lost love that was a car. I closed my eyes and leaned back, enjoying the quiet and letting the bubbling water ease away the tension in my shoulders.

  “Hey, Elizabeth?”

  I reluctantly pried my eyes back open and looked at Paul.

  “I just want you to know that I really appreciate how helpful you’ve been these past few weeks.”

  I smiled. “I think I should be the one thanking you. You guys helped me out of a bind. I really appreciate the use of … your guest room,” I said, thankful that I had stopped myself in time from saying “jungle land.”

  “Well, I’m not sure that we didn’t get the better end of that deal,” said Paul with a rueful look. “I know that Kit can be difficult at times.” He paused and laughed. “Well actually, I don’t think I need to tell you that. But this pregnancy has thrown her, somehow. She complains about everything. You’ve noticed, haven’t you?”

  I shifted uncomfortably in the tub. This wasn’t the relaxing time I’d had in mind when I’d accepted Paul’s offer. “Hmmm,” I said noncommittally.

  “Well, I was wondering … do you think you could talk to her?”

  Although I had a vague suspicion of what he was referring to, I refused to believe it. “Talk to her about what?”

  “About her constant complaining.”

  I opened my eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you serious? You want me to talk to her? About that?”

  Paul sighed. “All right. Maybe it’s a bad idea.”

  “Yeah, you think?”

  “It’s just that maybe if she heard it from you…”

  “Oh, and she so loves my opinion as it is! I think you’ve spent too much time in this tub. It’s melting your brain.”

  Paul opened his mouth to say something when Kit called out. “Elizabeth! Phone!”

  “We will not continue this conversation later,” I said with a laugh as I hopped out of the tub. Grabbing a thick terry-cloth towel off a patio chair, I rubbed myself dry before stepping back inside the house. Kit was waiting by the door. I could tell from her face that she was annoyed.

  “Who is it?” I whispered.

  “Ann,” she answered, thrusting the phone at me.

  Well, that explains the annoyance, I thought, taking the phone. Ann had asked for me and not her. Junior high all over again.

  “Hello?” I said as Kit walked away pretending not to listen.

  “Oh, Elizabeth, thank God I got you! Your cell phone keeps going to voice mail. I think it’s dead.” I was surprised when I heard her voice. Ann was agitated, an unusual state for her.

  “What’s going on?”

  “They found a body!”

  “What?! Who found a body?” Across the room, Kit spun around and stared at me.

  “The new owners of the house in St. Michaels,” said Ann. “Apparently they dug up the pool and found a body!”

  “Holy shit, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “Wait. It gets worse. The body. It’s Michael. It’s Michael Barrow.”

  Chapter 4

  Our pleasures in this world are always to be paid for.

  —Northanger Abbey

  “Michael Barrow!” I gasped. “But that’s … that’s impossible!” At the sound of Michael’s name, Kit’s eyes grew wide and her hand flew up to her mouth. Our eyes met in mutual horror. She made no pretense about not listening to the rest of the conversation.

  “I know, I know,” said Ann. “But nevertheless, it’s true.”

  “But that means … Oh, my God, that means…”

  “I know. I know. I can’t even get my head around it,” said Ann.

  “Wait a minute. They found a body under the pool. How can they be so sure it’s Michael?”

  “They found his wallet. The police are going to do some … tests, I don’t know. But they seem pretty confident. Oh, God, this is like some sick nightmare.”

  Michael Barrow. It had been a long time since I’d thought about him. Movie star looks, intelligence, charm, and the morals of a sewer rat. My stomach turned in disgust now that I was forced to revisit the memory. A new thought occurred. “Reggie! Does Reggie know?” I asked.

  “No. I haven’t told her yet and I don’t know how I’m going to tell her. I don’t know how I’m going to tell any of them.”

  “Do y
ou want me to come over?”

  “Could you? I don’t know what I’m going to do. I need someone here. If you can, maybe you could spend the night? Bonnie is absolutely no help.” Lowering her voice, Ann added, “She still plans on going on that stupid spa retreat of hers. Can you believe it? She even packed the flag.”

  “Oddly enough, I can. I’ll be over as soon as I can. Just let me grab some things.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Elizabeth.”

  I hung up the phone and stared at Kit, dumbfounded. “They found Michael Barrow’s body under the pool at the St. Michaels house,” I said.

  “Dear God. Do they think he was murdered?” she asked.

  “I didn’t ask, but I can’t imagine any other scenario. He had to have been murdered.” It was testament to the severe shock that this news had produced that Kit didn’t launch into some mocking speech about how I saw intrigue and mystery where there was none. But really, Michael didn’t bury himself under the pool.

  Kit sat down heavily. “But I thought that Michael stole all that money from Uncle Marty and then ran off,” she said slowly.

  “Yeah, well, it looks like he didn’t run very far,” I said. “I’ll call you when I know more. Ann wants me to come over.”

  “Well, I should come!” Kit said. “After all I’m her cousin, too!”

  I paused, unsure if Ann would want Kit to come. Kit didn’t know the whole story of Michael Barrow and Ann, and I wasn’t sure if Ann wanted to make that story public. If you have a secret, Kit is the last person you should tell it to.

  “Kit,” I said calmly, “that’s very sweet of you, but you should stay here tonight. You’re tired, you need your sleep. And besides, what about Pauly? He needs you here. I’ll go to Ann’s and then I’ll call you.”

  Kit stood up. “No,” she said, in a firm voice that I knew from experience brooked no argument. “I’m going. I’ve just as much right as you to go. After all, it’s my family, too.” Turning on her heel, she marched over to the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Yanking the door back, she stuck her head out and yelled, “Paul! I’ve got to go out for a while with Elizabeth. Ann’s called and there’s a family emergency. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”