by V. M. Burns
Dixie plopped down into a chair. “I wish someone would tell me what’s going on.”
Blue Eyes looked at her. “Are you a member of the fam—”
“Yes. This is my sister.”
Despite the stony façade, which hid all emotions, Blue Eyes raised one eyebrow and stared.
I held my ground and refused to allow his uplifted eyebrow to force me to confess I was lying about Dixie’s relationship.
Stephanie had recovered herself and put on her lawyer’s cap. “What can we do for you, officers?”
The officers exchanged a brief glance.
Whether by mental telepathy or prior consent, Blue Eyes took the lead. “We’re sorry to have to inform you that Albert Echosby was found dead this morning.”
“Dead? He can’t be dead. He was just here last night.” In my mind, I knew the two facts had no correlation, but my logic didn’t seem to be working very well at the moment.
Stephanie gasped and merely stared at the officers.
Dixie was the only one whose brain cells were firing on all cylinders. She asked the questions Stephanie and I were too stunned to ask. “How did it happen? Was it a heart attack?”
“Did he have a bad heart?” Redhead asked.
“Hell if I know.” Dixie turned to me.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He never mentioned it, but I suppose he could have.” I looked at Stephanie.
She shook her head and whispered, “He never said.”
“Did you ask his tart…ah, I mean, his girlfriend?” Dixie asked.
The officers hadn’t missed her slip. I could tell by the quick glance they gave each other.
“How did he die?” Stephanie asked.
“He was shot,” Blue Eyes said. “I have to ask if you know of anyone who wanted to see your husband dead?”
The irony of the question didn’t escape me. “You mean, other than me?” I asked, with only the slightest bit of hysteria in my raised voice.
“Mom, don’t say anything else.” Stephanie stood up and squared her shoulders. “Officers, thank you for coming here to tell us about my father’s death.” She walked to the door. “However, unless you have a warrant, I’m going to ask you to leave and allow us to grieve in peace.”
The officers exchanged looks but then walked toward the door. Before Blue Eyes got to the door, he stopped at a bureau and made a point of looking at one of the red marinara/red wine stains on the carpet. He turned and looked at me.
I started to explain about the party, but Stephanie held up a hand for silence and opened the door wider. The redheaded officer left and Blue Eyes followed.
Before Stephanie could close the door, Blue Eyes stepped back toward the door and handed her a card. “We will need a statement from each of you, eventually. In the meantime, if you think of anything that will aid in finding the person who murdered Mr. Echosby, please call.”
Stephanie took the card but didn’t say a word.
After a hesitation, Blue Eyes walked out and Stephanie closed the door.
We sat in stunned silence for so long the sun set and the dogs came in search of the kibble provider.
Dixie got up and flipped on the lamp. “I’m going to take the dogs out, and then I’ll make something for you two to eat.”
Stephanie and I started to protest, but Dixie held up a hand. “You’re going to have to eat sooner or later, and cooking will give me something to do.” She attached leashes to all three dogs and left.
Stephanie and I sat for a few moments.
“I can’t believe he’s dead.” She shook her head.
I hugged her and she rested her head on my shoulder. “I know, dear. It’s such a shock.”
“I can’t imagine what Nonna Conti must be going through.” She turned to face me. “Do you think we should call?”
I thought for a few moments. “Maybe you should call. Find out if they need anything.”
Stephanie pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number.
I only heard one side of the conversation, which was even more limited because she wasn’t allowed to complete her sentences without interruption. After a few moments, she hung up and turned to me. The color had drained from her face. “She said, according to Bambi, they surprised a burglar and he shot Dad and took off.”
“I wonder why the police didn’t mention that.”
She shrugged. “According to Aunt Angela, Nonna Conti is hysterical. The doctor had to sedate her. All of the uncles are at the house.” Stephanie hesitated. “She wants me to come over.”
I noted the emphasis on the singular word. “But not me?”
Stephanie blushed.
“It’s okay, honey. It would be awkward if I was there, given the state of things,” I reassured her. “I think you should go. They may need you.”
Stephanie protested, but I convinced her that being confined in a house with my in-laws, whom I didn’t like under the best of circumstances, was the last thing I wanted. Eventually, she agreed and left to console the family.
I called my son, David, and gave him the bad news. At twenty-three, David was two years younger than Stephanie. From the time he was a small child, he’d dreamed of being an actor. When he graduated from high school, he moved to New York and enrolled in the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Albert was dead-set against it, and he and David had many battles. I found myself in the middle, trying to keep the peace. Albert quoted statistic after statistic about the odds of making it as an actor. Nothing swayed David’s resolve and determination. In fact, I admired how determined he was to pursue his dream. In the end, Albert agreed to pay for college and two years’ living expenses for him to break into the business. David wasn’t really concerned about college or his father’s feelings. He was determined to move to New York with or without his father’s blessing or his money. As it turned out, David excelled in New York. He finished college, landed a role in a Broadway musical, and had been touring the world for close to a year. I wasn’t sure what angered Albert most, the fact that David had proved him wrong or the fact that he was succeeding in his chosen career.
David was as shocked about the murder as the rest of us. He was going to make arrangements to fly home, but I suggested he wait until we knew more details about the funeral arrangements. I wasn’t sure how long it would take the police to release the body, so there was no point in him coming back until we knew more. I promised to keep him informed as soon as I knew something.
Dixie made grilled cheese sandwiches. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled them cooking. We sat and ate soup from a can and gooey grilled cheese after Stephanie left.
“You wanna talk?” Dixie asked.
I sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want to do.”
The poodles had already eaten and were stretched out on the floor, all except Aggie, who was curled up in my lap.
I looked down at the sleeping dogs and wished I could lie down and sleep with the same type of careless abandon. They didn’t worry where they would sleep tomorrow or pace the floor wondering if they would be able to afford any more kibble. “Why is their hair in those wrappers?”
“I do it to protect their coat.” Dixie stared at the dogs. “Actually, I just finished their titles, so I could take the wrappers off and shave them down.” She shrugged. “I hadn’t decided whether I was going to go for their Grand Champion title or not, and there’s another specialty show in Nashville next month.”
“I have no idea what you just said.”
Dixie smiled. “I show my dogs in conformation. That’s where the dogs are judged on how well they measure up to the breed standard. It’s basically to determine if they would make good breeding stock. So, all dogs entered must be intact, not spayed or neutered, and are shown in full coat.”
I must have looked puzzled because she continued. “Have yo
u ever watched the Westminster Dog Show on television?”
“Of course.”
“That’s conformation.”
“Okay. What other types of shows are there?”
“Loads. There are performance events, like Obedience, where dogs demonstrate how well they can follow commands like heeling. There’s Agility, which is the obstacle course where dogs have to perform various activities like jumping, going through tunnels, or climbing a dog walk. Agility measures speed and accuracy, and then there’s Rally Obedience, which is kind of a combination of the two. Herding, Sled Dog Racing, Tracking…there are tons of other events I can’t even remember. There’s even Dancing.”
“Dancing?” I raised an eyebrow. “You have got to be kidding me.”
She laughed. “No, it’s wonderful. They call it Canine Freestyle.” She pulled her cell phone up. “You should Google it.” She typed and then made a few swipes and handed me her phone.
I watched in stunned silence while a woman and her golden retriever performed to “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease. It was amazing watching the woman spin and turn while her dog pranced alongside. “That was amazing. Do you do that?”
She smiled. “Honey, I can barely dance with Beau without stepping on his toes. I certainly couldn’t do anything like that.” She pointed to the phone. “But I am planning to try Obedience and possibly Agility when we’re done with Conformation.”
“Can you do more than one at a time?”
“Oh yes. Most of my friends at the East Tennessee Dog Club do lots of different things. It can take years to get a title, if at all.”
I thought about what Dixie said and scratched Aggie behind the ears. “What do you think I should do with her?”
She shrugged. “Whatever you want. I will say that Conformation will be challenging. You don’t have her AKC paperwork. There are other registries, like the United Kennel Club, that are a little easier to register with than the AKC, but I don’t think you would enjoy Conformation. I would recommend Obedience and maybe Agility. Those are fun. You can also do Canine Good Citizen and Therapy Dog. That’s a test you can take, and then your dog is certified and can go to nursing homes and hospitals.”
“Sounds like something I’d like.”
Dixie looked at me. “Now, are you ready to address the elephant in the room, or are we going to continue avoiding the subject of who shot your husband?” She tilted her head and looked at me.
I scratched Aggie behind her ear and avoided eye contact. “I don’t know what to say.”
“How are you feeling?” She reached across and grabbed one of my hands.
“I don’t know. I feel cold. I don’t feel anything inside. My mind has gone through so many emotions in the past two days that I don’t know if I have anything left. I think I’ve depleted my supply.”
She squeezed my hand. “You’ve had a lot of shock and gone through the gamut of emotions.”
“I think I feel angry more than anything. He turned my life upside down and then he just dies and moves on, and now I have to figure out how to deal with this mess. When he was alive, I felt angry, but now I feel guilty for feeling angry, and then I feel bad.”
“Honey, it’s okay. There are no right or wrong emotions. You feel how you feel.”
“It’s like he drops a bomb and blows up everything and then dies and leaves me to figure out how to put the pieces back together. I don’t even know if I should go to the funeral. Technically, we’re still married. We were in the process of getting a divorce, but since it wasn’t finalized yet, I don’t know what my role is anymore.”
“Your role is to take care of your children and yourself. Everything else will work itself out.” She squeezed my hand again.
My cell phone rang. I took it out of my pocket and looked at the screen to read the name of the caller, then dropped the phone on the table when Albert’s picture appeared. Why was my dead husband calling me from the grave?
CHAPTER 4
Dixie reached over and picked up the phone. “Hello.”
She listened for a few seconds and then handed the phone to me and mouthed, “Bambi.”
I took the phone and tried to regulate my breathing, which had become labored. “Hello.”
“What am I supposed to do for money?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sure you had something to do with notifying the bank that Albert was dead. You couldn’t even wait until the funeral? Now the bank has frozen his account and won’t let me withdraw money. How am I supposed to live?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and pushed the speaker button so Dixie could hear as Bambi rambled on about how she needed money and that it was my fault she couldn’t withdraw anything from the bank. I looked up from the phone and saw a look of utter disgust on Dixie’s face, which I suspected mirrored my own. After a few seconds, I pressed the button to disconnect the call.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Dixie said.
“I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.”
We stared at each other for several seconds and then burst into laughter.
“Do you think it was just a burglary gone bad?” Dixie asked.
I shrugged. “I have no idea. I mean, the police didn’t really explain any details. All we know is what Stephanie found out, and I don’t know how much faith we can place in that.”
“Why not?”
“Albert’s family is biased. He could do no wrong, as far as his family was concerned.”
Dixie got up and headed to the cabinet. “Do you want coffee?”
I shook my head. “No, but I could use a glass of wine. You get the glasses, and I’ll get a bottle.”
Dixie smiled. “Sounds good to me.” She returned the coffee mugs to the cabinet, got out two wineglasses, and placed them on the table.
I went downstairs and took a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. I headed for the stairs but stopped and headed for the washer and dryer instead. I might as well do a load of laundry while I was down here. I made a mental note that my next house would have a washer and dryer on the same level as the bedrooms. As I transferred clothes to the dryer and loaded the washer, I thought about how long my list for changes to the new house had become. I wanted a garage attached to the house so I wasn’t juggling my purse, an umbrella, and the groceries on rainy days. I wanted a fence for Aggie and a master bath that was large enough to move around in. Although, now that I was single, or a widow, or whatever I was, the size of the master bathroom wouldn’t be an issue. I would be the only person using it. That thought put a smile on my face for a few seconds, but then I remembered what had happened to Albert and smiling seemed wrong, so I stopped.
I was on my way upstairs with my bottle of wine when I noticed that one of the basement windows was open. That was strange. We never opened the basement windows. I was too afraid mice would get inside. I went over to the window and closed it.
“Hey, did you get lost?” Dixie yelled from the top of the stairs.
“Coming.” I hurried up the stairs.
“Your next-door neighbor came by.”
Dixie pointed to a brownish mass in a round pie tin. I stared at the mass for several seconds and then looked up. “What is it?”
She shrugged. “She said it was rhubarb pie.”
We both stared at the “pie.” I took a fork and poked at the top, but the fork wasn’t able to penetrate the hard outer shell. “Let me guess, small, petite woman with bright orange hair?”
Dixie nodded.
There was a blue willow plate under the pie tin, and when I picked it up, I nearly dropped the entire thing due to the unexpected weight. “Oh my God, that must weigh at least five pounds.”
Dixie nodded. “You could use it as a boat anchor.”
I put down the bottle of wine and used both hands to lift the pie tin, making sure
to leave the plate on the counter. Carried the entire thing to the garbage can and dropped it in. I opened a cabinet and located an empty pie tin that matched the size of the one I trashed and placed it on the empty plate.
“You’ve done this before, I see.”
“It’s a wonder her brother has survived as long as he has.”
“Maybe he doesn’t eat it?”
I shrugged. “I take food over once a week, usually on Sundays. I think he also gets meals delivered from the Lighthouse Dunes Senior Citizens Center.”
Dixie uncorked the wine and filled our glasses.
I pulled a bag from the freezer.
“Are those scones?” Dixie craned her neck to get a better look at the treats.
I nodded. “Yep. I made them myself.”
“I never knew you could freeze them.”
“I didn’t either until I went to my favorite tea shop and bought a bag.” I pulled a jar of Double Devon cream from the cabinet and ran the lid under the hot water to loosen it. It worked like a charm and when I twisted, I heard the seal pop and the lid came off easily. I put the cream and strawberry preserves on the table. In ninety seconds, the scones were ready. I put them on the table, and we sat down to scones and wine.
Dixie slathered Double Devon cream and strawberry preserves on her scone and took a large bite. She moaned as she chewed and closed her eyes. When she swallowed, she sighed.
We did a semester abroad in college and discovered the joys of real scones and clotted cream in a small tea shop on a back street in England. We’d been hooked on the delicacy from that point forward.
Dixie ate two scones before she spoke. “I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had a scone with clotted cream.” She licked the gooey cream from her fingers. “I can’t believe you can get clotted cream in Lighthouse Dunes, Indiana.”
“I found the recipe for the scones online. Then I found a little store by the lakeshore run by a British expat who orders it for me.” I looked at the jar. “It’s not the real stuff, but it’s close enough for my taste.” I finished my scone, then followed Dixie’s example and licked my fingers. “It lasts for a long time if you don’t open the jar. Once you open it, then you really need to finish it quickly.”