by Ritter Ames
"I'll leave this door open, if you don't mind," the woman explained, "but there's a chair on the other side of the screen if you want to spend some extra time. No hurry."
As the funeral home employee scurried away, Kate looked at her watch. Almost dinner time. She wondered if the family would be by later and moved inside the screened area.
Lila looked lovely. It always felt like a cliché when she heard it, but in death Lila Collier truly did look as if she was sleeping. A high collar hid the wound that killed her, but Kate could tell the fabric had been moved slightly and assumed someone who had already been by felt it necessary to see where her throat was slashed.
Along the padded side of the casket, a lavender envelope stood between Lila's arm and the cream-colored satin. On the outside was written "You Made Me Who I Am," and Kate recognized the handwriting as Sydney's from notes she'd seen in the workroom. Could it be a confession? Could she and Meg be wrong? She bit her lip and used a fingernail to pull the envelope away from the fabric. The flap was tucked in, not sealed. Kate pushed it back into place, then touched the top, fingering it several times.
No! I don't have the right!
She crossed her arms and turned away but slowly rotated back around, her gaze drawn to the envelope. What if it was a confession? Or what if Sydney knew who did it and refused to tell, didn't realize the risk she was doing to her own future? Okay, now she was being melodramatic. It was probably just a goodbye note, and she had no right to even consider reading it.
But if I'd gone ahead and read the journal last month, I might have saved myself tangling with a killer. Slamming the door on her own good ethics, Kate glanced quickly over her shoulder and around the screen to make sure she was not seen, then slipped the envelope out of the casket and teased open the flap.
The letter was several pages of half-sized stationery, a love letter from a daughter who acknowledged her mother's greatest gift was allowing Sydney to grow into a strong adult. The adoption was never mentioned, and Kate wept at the part where Sydney thanked her mom for giving her independence by standing strong for beliefs and for showing her daughter the importance of taking on responsibility from an early age. Rather than feeling betrayed by her parent's turning over household challenges, Sydney thanked her mom for allowing her to see what she truly was capable of handling.
"Damn," Kate whispered, folding the sheets and returning everything to the side of the casket. "She understands more now at seventeen than I do at nearly twice her age. She saw Lila's absences as gifts to learn who she was, and I saw my parents' work as more important than me."
And Kate had learned to stand on her own feet early because of her parents. If they had been more conventional, she would have never been so self-sufficient. Maybe she was too self-sufficient at times. Like lately when everyone tried to get her to take it easy like the doctor said, but she kept pushing because of a need to do everything herself.
"I obviously still have some learning to do."
She shook her head in dismay and seated herself.
"Thank you, Lila, for helping your family grow strong and steady." There was no pressing need for her to speak out loud, but Kate hoped her presence there told Lila's spirit that she was doing everything she could to make sure Sydney was clear of all suspicion in the death. That she hadn't just come to read personal correspondence.
Nevertheless, for a moment there was an overwhelming need to make a connection, and she reached out a hand to touch the outside of the casket. Then she heard the whisper.
"Stop looking, Kate McKenzie."
For a moment she thought it came from the casket.
"Quit investigating before it's too late."
She realized the voice came from behind the screen at her left shoulder, right by the doorway. She jumped up to see who was there.
No one.
Kate flew out into the hall, hoping to see the back of a figure racing away. Instead, she heard the clunk of the emergency door bar on the previously locked side exit. The door was hidden by a turn in the hallway, but the flash of sunlight she saw told Kate the whisperer had exited to the outside.
The tiny woman in black suddenly appeared at her elbow. "Who was that?"
"I don't know. Didn't you notice the entrance door buzz?"
"Yes, a few minutes ago. But when I got to the front no one was there, so I just assumed someone either realized they'd come to the wrong business and left or decided they weren't ready yet to come in."
Kate walked back to grab the purse she'd left by the chair near Lila's casket. The woman followed her.
"Are you okay? You're very pale. Did the person try to attack you?"
What did just happen? Kate wasn't sure, but she decided a call to Lieutenant Johnson wasn't a bad idea.
"I'm fine. However, I think I'll leave now."
Kate stayed on high alert as she walked back to her car. The only people around were pedestrians on the sidewalk, moving in and out of the nearby businesses. No one seemed to be taking a particular interest in her. Kate thought about the warning, and mentally went back over the words and the voice. Her van's door lock clunked open, and she slid into the driver's seat and touched the button to slam the locks back again to the down position.
Did the voice sound familiar? Had she recognized the words as the speech pattern of anyone she'd met with this job? Besides the whispering, she assumed the voice was disguised in some way, the person trying to sound differently. But words often were favorites used over and over. Was she mistaken? Was she simply obsessing?
She flipped the rubber band on her wrist. Yes, the message was too short to give any such clues.
Between her clients, the house, the library sale, and all the assorted people she'd met through the recent experiences, too many voices filtered through her head. They were all there, but how could she isolate them one by one? And who's to say the whisperer wasn't just some prankster pulling a joke.
"No, my name was spoken. That was no prank."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
All Those Little Things That Entertain Us
The boxes that puzzles come in rarely last as long as the puzzle. Whether it's large children's puzzle pieces or a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle, adapting to new storage right away is often a good idea. For large children's puzzles, use a plastic container with a snap-on lid. For jigsaw puzzles, put the pieces inside a large Ziploc bag then place into the original storage box. Both methods keep pieces from getting lost in transit between game closet and table, or as they are moved with other household belongings. Do the same with board games—put small pieces into Ziploc bags from the start. Then when the box starts to come apart at the seams the pieces will still be with the rest of the game, or easily found together.
Family photos are another group of small items that take a lot of space and are easily lost in a move. Digitizing photos not only offers the ability to share more easily, and inexpensively print only what you want, but makes for much more efficient storage. Flash cards and USB drives save large amounts of photos within very small storage drives, and the constantly falling cost of technology means these kinds of drives hold more for less cost all the time. The tiny drives take very little space in safe deposit boxes, too. Or you can back up your photos easily with cloud servers, and access photos anywhere at any time—you won't have to pack or move anything.
* * *
She planned to call Lieutenant Johnson when she arrived home, but as the van reached the top of her cul-de-sac, Kate saw Jane's car already in the driveway, so she drove on. No way she was going to worry her mother-in-law. A call from the van was now plan B, but she needed to make sure she was completely calm before trying to talk. The lieutenant stayed irritated enough with her, and this call likely wouldn't help his mood.
Downtown Hazelton was small but offered people and cover, so she drove to Main Street. She loved the charm of her current hometown, rooted in the early 1800s but adapting well with the changing times, and most of the buildings at least could boast that
parts were constructed ahead of the twentieth century, especially the custom trim work displayed along the eaves and window sills. People around here appreciated their signage and used the town's turn-of-the-century rustic look for inspiration. While some of the names on the buildings changed, reproductions of original beaten metal signs or stylized new designs were called on to give new businesses a historic air. All signage hung securely on wrought iron, and most swayed when a brisk wind blew. Kate loved sitting on one of the sidewalk benches and listening to the squeaks.
Many older buildings used to house other functions. An old filling station now boasted the local IT geek crew. From fueling early days' highway gas guzzlers, to now keeping Internet potholes and wrecks from crippling residents' computers, the business space was used well. But for Kate's purposes, the parking lot held a bigger attraction, and she pulled the van into one of the spaces.
Johnson answered on the second ring.
"Hi, this is Kate McKenzie."
"Mrs. McKenzie, what can I do for you?"
"I have some information you might need to hear." As succinctly as possible, she relayed the information, following up with the suggestion that was the true reason for her taking the risk of his wrath to call. "The funeral home's video security system might offer a look at the person. At least let you know if the whisperer was a man or woman."
"I'll take your expert opinion under advisement," Johnson said, dryly. "You do realize, however, the warning was simply the same advice I've been giving you all along. Stay out of my active cases, Mrs. McKenzie."
"Please know, Lieutenant Johnson, I never want to be in any way associated with your cases. Circumstances simply make things happen that way."
"Well, try to make circumstances lead in another direction in the future. Okay?"
The man infuriated her. Where did he get the nerve to insinuate all the things his sarcastic comments implied?
"I'm only asking questions because I'm concerned a young woman's future is in jeopardy. I don't actively pursue clues to your cases, but if I learn anything through conversation, I take note and ask questions if the need arises."
"So what needs have arisen lately?" Johnson asked.
"Pardon?"
"What have you heard to make you feel you needed to ask more questions? Why did someone feel you should be warned off?"
He'd nailed her again. Darn her anger. After the murder at the Nethercutt mansion, she had begun watching a few highly rated crime shows just to take note of the things that had gone over her head during the investigation. And one thing she'd noticed right away was how law enforcement often made witnesses and suspects angry as a means of getting them to actively spill what they knew or to incriminate themselves. Johnson had just pulled the same tactic on her.
"Did you know Erin Parker hired a bodyguard because she thinks she should have been killed instead of Lila?"
Johnson sighed. "Believe me, Mrs. McKenzie, I know far more about Mrs. Parker and her fears and conjectures than I ever planned on knowing."
"Don't you think she could be using this to hide that she could have killed Lila? She arrived on the scene soon after the police. But who's to say she didn't circle back around after she killed Lila. Erin most likely was the one who keyed her car."
"And you know that, how?"
"Because she keyed Blaine Collier's."
He blew a long breath into the phone. "Mrs. McKenzie, I appreciate your information. Really, I do. And I want you to always call whenever you learn something promising about the case. But for you own mental and physical wellbeing, quit playing sleuth. Whatever reasons you think you have, they aren't good enough."
"Goodbye, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, again, for calling to tell me this."
She wanted to just hang up, but she simply couldn't. "You're welcome, Lieutenant, but just one more thing—"
"Is this going to make me angry about you forgetting to stay clear of my investigation again?"
"Probably."
He sighed. "What is it?"
"Did you know that Lee Ann Miller is Sydney Collier's birth mom?"
"It was one of the first things we noticed when the records department pulled Sydney's birth certificate."
"Oh."
"Goodbye, Mrs. McKenzie."
"Goodbye, Lieutenant Johnson."
* * *
Jane met her at the door, huge black purse in hand, as Kate walked up the front steps of home.
"Sorry I'm late, Jane. Thanks so much for your help."
"Pshaw." Jane McKenzie wore her "don't worry about it" face and waved away the comment. "I enjoy my time with the girls. I just saw your lights as you drove up and thought I'd get away so you could keep your family time on track. Keith called a few minutes ago to tell you he'd be home soon."
While she talked to Johnson, Kate's phone had signaled another call was coming in, but she hadn't wanted to switch over under the circumstances. She should have checked to see who had called but forgot by the time the conversation ended. "I think he tried my cell, but I was in the middle of a conversation."
"No problem. He'll be here momentarily." Jane reached out to hug her goodbye then said, "I'll go and hug the girls then be on my way to the car. They came back from a neighborhood walk a few minutes ago and asked if they could make peanut butter sandwiches to eat outside. I hope you don't mind. I told them only half a sandwich each. You're almost out of bread, by the way."
"Oh, I forgot. I bought another loaf but left it in the van. I'll send one of the girls out for it later." Kate hung her purse on a hook inside the coat closet. "At least they're getting some nourishment from the snack. They usually bug me for cookies."
Jane crossed her arms. "It surprised me, too. But even more surprising was they didn't want the chunky type when I got it off the shelf. They chose the creamy style you use for peanut butter pancakes. I thought both the girls were nuts about nuts."
"They are. Neither ever eats creamy unless it's the only thing in the house. Something tells me I need to check on this." Kate crossed the foyer and headed for the kitchen and the back door, Jane hot on her heels.
She could see through the curtains that the back patio light was already on. She threw open the door and looked down to find her girls sitting on the steps, and stretched across both their laps was what looked like a matted up, orange and gold, and dirt-toned, dust mop. A dust mop that made a sound like an outboard motor.
"What in the world?"
"See, Mommy, isn't he sweet?" Suzanne's face almost split, her grin was so broad.
"He followed us all the way home," Samantha added. "We didn't have to call him or anything."
Kate rolled her eyes. The animal looked up at her, its nose smashed so flat against its cheeks it could be part pug, but the ears looked pointed under all the grime. One eye was open and bright green, and the other squinted shut, making Kate think of the Popeye cartoon. Was it a dog, a cat, or some kind of new species entirely? "But other than filthy, what is he?"
At that moment the noisy dust mop yawned, showing a clean pink tongue in the middle of the dirty face, then offered a hearty meow.
"Mystery solved," Jane said, laughing.
"Girls, get up, and go wash up," Kate said. "Better yet, go take a shower. There's no telling what this cat has in its fur, but it needs to find its way back home."
"But it has no home, Mommy," Sam said.
"It wants to live here with us," Suzanne piped in at the same time.
I knew it. I knew if I didn't figure out this pet problem the girls would find one on their own. And now I'm having to fight off this monster feline.
"He likes peanut butter, Mommy," Sam explained, stroking the cat's head. "He ate every bite we gave to him."
"Cats don't like bread."
"This one does," Suzanne said, running her hand down the filthy back. "He loves anything we give him. Because he loves us."
"Girls, quit petting him and stand up. He ate the peanut butter sandwich because he's hungry, bu
t he needs to go home now and eat. Stop petting him."
"He likes it," they chorused.
Kate was almost ready to start snapping her rubber band, but at that exact moment the front door opened and Keith called out, "Hello."
"In here, son." Jane walked back to meet him, and Kate heard them whispering on the way back. She presumed her mother-in-law was filling Keith in and was grateful for the help since she was trying to hide her anxiety level from the girls.
"What do we have tonight?" Keith asked, wrapping a strong arm around Kate's waist and kissing her right temple.
The girls gently scooted the cat off their collective lap and jumped up to hug their daddy. Kate knew right then she had lost the battle. "We have a cat, Daddy. He followed us home."
"Wow, just followed you home."
Kate chewed a hangnail. "He seems to have only one eye and a lot of dirt."
"Well, I think we can handle the dirt problem. He's probably already used to the eye situation," Keith said, breaking away from Kate and heading for the phone. "But it wouldn't hurt to get him checked out by a vet. Let me call Gil and see who they use. Maybe get him looked at tonight."
Yep, battle, war—you name it—I lost. The McKenzies are now the uncertain owners of a half-blind eating machine that is not only as big as two regular tabbies but purrs as loudly as three or four combined.
"Today has simply not been the day for this," Kate whispered to Jane. She thought about the phantom in the funeral home and the phone conversation she'd just had with Lieutenant Johnson. "I don't want to be a bad sport but—"
Jane patted her shoulder. "You're not a bad sport. You're just exhausted. I can see the stress on your face." She turned Kate around, and they walked toward the stairs. "Why don't you go up and take that shower you suggested to the girls. I'll get Meg over here to help get the girls squared away with litter and food and all." She rubbed a hand between Kate's shoulder blades. "Your muscles are rock solid. Take a couple of ibuprofen, get under a hot shower, and then crawl into bed. Your whole body will thank you."