Meredith shrugged. "Maybe her parents named her after a great-great-someone. At any rate, I definitely think that she needs to be on the list. She's tough to get along with as it is, and when Lucia chose Bethany as her gofer instead of Mabel, I thought the fur would fly."
I nodded and wrote. "Next?"
"Jetta."
"Jetta?" I frowned. "You mean that ditzy receptionist?" I gave her another note.
"Yep. I thought she had an attitude when we asked to see Lucia."
"If all it takes is an attitude to be considered, you'd better put my name there as well." I laughed then abruptly stopped.
Meredith busied herself with the two sticky notes on the wall, rearranging them as if her office's feng shui depended on it, not meeting my eyes. The unsaid hung in the air between us. We'd need to add her name as well.
CHAPTER THREE
"Okay, I think that's it, Caro."
Meredith took the last sticky note from me and placed it next to Bea's name. She hadn't wanted to include the shy business owner, but I had pointed out the obvious.
"If we really want to figure out who was where when Lucia was killed, we should be thorough."
Of course, we'd left off our names, but really, how many folks will volunteer to find a killer if they're the ones who did it? I stood surveying our handiwork, reading the names to myself.
Bethany Jorgensen had a motive simply by working in close proximity with Seneca Meadows Chamber of Commerce's resident witch. Apparently Lucia had confused the word employee with serf. Maybe Bethany finally snapped when told one too many times to pick up the dry cleaning.
Mick O'Reilly, Candy's new baker, whose work had been declared "below satisfactory" by Lucia. That bit of news irked me; I loved the bakery's new selections of sweet treats and couldn't imagine anyone criticizing Mick's work.
Beatrice Lemon, the owner of Second Time's the Charm. Lucia felt that a "charity shop" lowered the "tone" of Seneca Meadows' downtown area and told anyone who would listen, including poor Bea.
Every one of these had filed a complaint with the town manager's office except Bethany Jorgenson. I wasn't sure we should include her name, but Meredith was insistent.
"I think she's hiding her true colors, Caro." She stood up and flipped on the electric kettle she kept on a file cabinet. "I can't imagine working for that woman and not hating her."
"Well, there's someone for everyone," I said. "Maybe Bethany is-slash-was Lucia's special someone."
Meredith snorted. "I highly doubt it. Green with honey?" She handed me a delicate teacup, its sides hand-painted with violets. "By the way, don't you still need to go down to the SMPD?"
I glanced at my watch: nearly eleven and no call yet from the Seneca Meadows Police Department. Well, I didn't need to borrow trouble. If they wanted to speak with me, they had my number. I sipped my tea in silence, eyes on the wall. Any one of those people could be a killer; I only hoped that it wouldn't take as long as it did last time to sort things out.
"I think that we need to procure some lunch, my friend." My stomach, treacherous at the best of times, had begun grumbling. "My place or yours?"
"Neither." Meredith grabbed up her handbag and grinned. "Let's go to Candy's."
Sweets for lunch? It could be worse. I grinned back. "Right behind you."
* * *
"Candy, this is fantastic!" I took another bite of my toasted pecan and strawberry salad, savoring the raspberry vinaigrette dressing. "I can't believe I didn't know about your new menu." I turned to face Meredith. She smiled at me innocently, scooping up a spoonful of rich tomato basil soup. "Some friend you are," I added. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Meredith shrugged. "You're all about the sugar, Caro. I knew you'd figure it out sooner or later." She glanced up at Candy. "How's Mick doing?"
Candy snorted. "If you mean how's Mick feeling about no more Lucia nosing around here, he's just fine." She pulled a chair to the table and sat down. "Look, I probably shouldn't be saying anything, but I overheard him talking to someone a couple days ago about getting a 'homie' out here to help take care of business." She lifted her hands, palms turned outward. "His words, not mine."
Mick was from Brooklyn, the capital of Gangsterland USA, so perhaps he had a few unsavory connections that could whack Lucia for him. I'd seen enough American mobster movies to understand what taking care of business meant; homie, however, was still a foreign word to me. I glanced at Meredith and saw that her eyes had widened, bright splotches of color on her cheeks. Hmm, I thought. Maybe Mick is more than a fellow SMCC member. I looked back at Candy.
"Is he here today?" I took another bite of my salad, marveling that Mick could both bake and prepare such wonderful food.
She laughed, pointing at my plate. "You didn't think that I made that, did you?" Standing, she put her hands to the small of her back and gave a little twist. "Ah, that's better. Mick's amazing. He's come up with an entire menu that is perfect for a business this size." She looked around the bakery. "I might even have to rename this place."
Meredith, who had been sitting quietly eating her soup, spoke up. "Why not call it Candy's Sweets and Treats? That way you'll only need to add one tiny word to your signage."
I stared at her in admiration. "That's perfect, Meredith! That is," I added, "if Candy likes it as well."
"I sure do, Meredith," Candy said, a huge smile on her face. "Easy-peasy with changing the signs, and no Lucia here to tell me I'm doing it wrong." She glanced over at the counter. "Oops! I'd better get some more pastries out. This new menu has really increased our sales." She shook her head. "And if Lucia had just left him alone, not been such a witch-with-a-b, Mick would have gotten this started long before now."
I slid my eyes at Meredith, trying to gauge her reaction. She was carefully wiping her mouth on a paper napkin, not looking at Candy or me. Perhaps I had just heard the perfect motive for getting rid of Lucia Scarantelli. I cleared my throat, smiling brightly at Candy.
"Please tell Mick that this is one of the best salads I've had in a while," I said. "We'll each take a slice of that awesome strawberry cheesecake." I reached over and gave Meredith's hand a pat. "And an entire one for the road."
I was counting on sugar to loosen Meredith's tongue. It usually did a right good job on mine.
* * *
"Absolutely nothing, dear," I said in my most confident voice. "It's been as dull as dishwater without you." Gregory had rung just as I was about to turn in for the night; since he was only six hours ahead, that meant he was up early or still on New York time. "I've been helping Meredith out at her book store, doing inventory and a few other things."
"I see." He sounded unconvinced. "Inventory. Voluntary work. Uh-huh."
"Really, Greg, how can you be so suspicious?" I added just a touch of offense to my words. If I went overboard, he really wouldn't believe me…and he'd be on the next plane home. "Meredith needs my help."
"Well, just stay out of trouble, Caro." I could hear paper rustling in the background. "Look, I've got to meet with the faculty before breakfast, so I'd better ring off." He paused, then added, "Make certain you stop and think before you do anything, and I do mean anything, Caro."
After assuring him that I would indeed "stop and think" before any action and that I loved him dearly, I hung up with a grin on my face. Both sentiments were true…and a little thinking never hurt anyone. I snuggled under my covers and went to sleep with a clear conscience.
The next morning found me sitting in Meredith's eclectically decorated kitchen, sipping green tea and sketching out a plan for the day. Yesterday's cheesecake had done nothing but add more girth to my hips in spite of an evening spent trying to winkle info concerning Mick O'Reilly out of Meredith; I mentally added that task to my own list. I'd need a clearer impression of their relationship status before I began digging too deeply.
"I think we need to visit Bea first, Caro." Meredith sipped her own cup of tea, a somber expression on her face. "Her attorney got her released yeste
rday, so I know she's home."
"Are you certain she'll want company?" I was skeptical. If I'd been arrested, bailed out, and sent home to await a felonious future, I knew I wouldn't want visitors. On the other hand… "You're absolutely spot-on, Meredith," I said. "And I say the sooner, the better."
"Let me call her first, Caro." Meredith turned to look at her wall clock, a tail-wagging, Felix the Cat monstrosity. "She's probably awake now."
I finished my tea and waited as she dialed Bea's number. If she hadn't been told not to talk to anyone by her attorney, I intended to interrogate Beatrice Lemon to the best of my ability. After all, I had learned from the greatest: I shared a domicile with him.
"And what does our favorite felon have to say?" I stood and placed my teacup in the sink. "Will she talk to us?"
Meredith shot a sour look my way. "I don't think Bea would appreciate being
referred to as a felon, Caro," she said. "And yes, she said we can come over."
I clapped my hands together. "Then let us anon, good friend." I laughed at Meredith's puzzled expression. "Let's get this show on the road, as you Yanks say."
She shook her head. "Y'all from England are the ones who talk funny, Caro. 'Anon' my eye! What does that even mean?"
And as I started to sputter out an answer—I didn't know myself exactly what it meant, but if old Willie Shakespeare could say it—Meredith grinned at me, grabbing up the keys to her Mini Cooper.
"I'll drive." She gave me a little push. "And if you're a good girl and don't harass Bea too much, I'll take you by Candy's."
I snapped my mouth shut. I'll do almost anything for a treat.
* * *
Beatrice Lemon lived in a house on the edge of town, a small edifice that appeared held together by a massive ivy vine covering its exterior. A mailbox sat disconsolately on a wooden post at the end of her driveway, its metal sides battered and worn. The front yard had two small raggedy patches of grass bifurcated by a pitted concrete sidewalk. It was a fitting place for a secondhand store owner from my rather critical point of view. (I admit it: I can be a snob at times, although I'm trying to reform. Truly I am.)
Meredith tapped softly on the front door. As if on cue, a chorus of barking began. Meredith turned to me and grinned. "It's one of those machines that make it sound as if you're living with a whole pack of wild dogs." She shook her head. "Bea's not crazy about being alone, especially in this part of town."
I frowned. It hadn't looked that derelict to me. Sure, the houses were older and maybe on the rundown end of the spectrum, but other than the close proximity of the county fairgrounds, I didn't think it was so bad. My thoughts didn't have to time to progress any further. The front door opened slightly, and I could see a pair of frightened eyes staring at us from an unnaturally pale face.
Meredith, always ready to dish out a hug, reached through the doorway and took the slight woman into her arms. I stepped around the duo, flipping the switch to the off position on the box of mechanical canines. A blessed silence filled the house and my ringing ears.
"You poor thing," Meredith murmured, patting Bea's back with gentle hands. "What you need is some good company and something to drink."
My face brightened at that last word; surely, if it was as an aid to comfort, a glass of wine could be excused at this time of the day. I had started toward the kitchen in pursuit of said bottled restorative when Meredith's voice chimed out, "Please put the tea kettle on, Caro. We need a good dose of caffeine and sugar right about now."
I sighed. I really didn't want to earn a reputation as a lush. I had enough problems being known as the lady who finds dead bodies. Feeling saintly, I proceeded to prepare a proper English tea.
* * *
"I just can't be sorry she's dead," said Bea as her eyes filled with tears. "I know that sounds awful, but I can't help it." She took another sip from her teacup, holding it with both of her trembling hands. "But I can't believe that someone would even think I'd kill anyone!"
"There, there," Meredith said. "Here, have another slice of cake."
I'd found an almost whole cake sitting under a domed plastic cover, the icing a thick milk chocolate. Together with the tea—sugar for both Meredith and Bea and lemon for me—it was an altogether satisfactory effort at comforting our friend. Of course, a nice Pinot Grigio could have been just as uplifting, I thought. Maybe later when I sat down with my latest manuscript effort…
"How did they make a connection between you and—and that woman?" Meredith was asking Bea, effectively derailing my rather boozy train of thought. I was curious as well; just watching the slight figure try to hold it all together was enough to convince me of her innocence.
Beatrice Lemon shrugged, her hands flapping helplessly like a caged bird's. "I have no idea, Meredith. They really didn't tell me much, just kept asking me over and over where I was at a certain time and could I account for my movements between the times I closed the shop the night before she was found and…" Her voice trailed off, and her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to remind you about, you know, finding her and all that."
"It was nothing," I began, then stopped. It wouldn't do to bolster my reputation as a ghoul. "I mean, it certainly was a little off-putting, wasn't it, Meredith?" I didn't wait for affirmation but kept babbling. "Sometimes it is more distressing to imagine what they look like—the dead bodies, I mean—than to actually see one."
Judging by the expression on both faces turned in my direction, I had upped my ghoul factor by several notches. I gave a mental shrug. They could take me as I was or—or what? I was discovering that I needed Meredith's friendship as much as I needed my muse to awaken.
I smiled apologetically, murmuring something about the vagaries of being a mystery writer. Lifting the spatula, I asked brightly, "More cake, anyone?"
Who could frown with a mouthful of chocolate?
CHAPTER FOUR
We left Bea standing in the doorway, a bemused expression on her face. I could have taken a more "softly, softly" approach with the poor woman and skipped the flippancy; judging by Meredith's silence, it seemed she thought I could have as well. Sigh. Some days I pleased no one, not even myself. Still, there was the promise of all things good to eat, and I felt the burgeoning malaise lift.
"Onward and upward, as my gran always said," I piped up blithely. I was answered with a most Gregory-like grunt which I swore had a southern accent to it. I just grinned in response; I was focused on the future, and my immediate future included the sublime gastronomy awaiting me at Candy's.
Meredith found parking directly in front of the bakery-slash-café. The new signage, proclaiming Candy's Sweets and Treats, was posted both on the glass of the front door and above the striped awning that fluttered in the breeze. I gave Meredith's arm a poke.
"You should add a consulting business to the bookstore," I said in jest. I got a confused look in return. "The sign—see up there?—is the one you suggested."
"Oh. Yeah, nice. I guess." Meredith's mood had certainly plummeted in the time it took for us to drive from Beatrice Lemon's bungalow to the downtown district.
"I'll buy today," I offered, hoping to elicit even the smallest of smiles. Another grunt came from the direction of the driver's side. If it killed me trying, I was going to dose this woman with as much sugar—preferably chocolate—as was possible.
That last thought brought me up short. Perhaps that explained Meredith's current frame of mind—the reference to death, not the chocolate. A dose of Mick O'Reilly might put the perk back in her step.
"Hey there, Mrs. B!" Candy straightened up from behind the counter as the door chimes jangled. "We've posted the lunch specials by the register." She grinned proudly. "Roast turkey and avocado paninis, made with your choice of pesto or mayo, steak salad with bleu cheese and toasted pecans, or grilled chicken lettuce wraps." She paused, waiting for us to either order or applaud. I did both.
"Mick has outdone himself," I said, my stomach giving an appreciative rumble. "I'
ll have the panini with pesto, please, along with an iced tea and two of the snickerdoodle cookies. Meredith?" I glanced at my lunch companion, not surprised in the least to see her looking around the bakery. I gave Candy a conspiratorial grin and Meredith a poke with my elbow. "Wake up, Merry," I said, then paused uncertainly. I'd unconsciously given her the nickname of a childhood friend, and I wasn't sure of her response. To my relief, she smiled at me.
"I was wondering when we'd get past the formalities, Caro," she said. Looking at Candy, she added, "You can call me Merry as well. 'Meredith' sounds so old-fashioned." This statement was accompanied with a wry grin. She still hadn't ordered lunch, though, and the rumbling in my stomach was swiftly becoming a roar.
"Tell Candy what you'd like for lunch," I said. "I'll secure the table."
The bakery was quiet, the lull between the breakfast crowd and the midday rush. I had my choice of tables and chose the one nearest the front door; with its street view, it was the best for people watching. Merry, however, did not concur with my selection of seating.
"Do you mind if we move?" Her voice was hesitant, and two bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks.
I took pity on her, remembering the time before marriage when I would do anything to get a glimpse of Gregory. I pushed back my chair and stood up, a smile on my face.
"Not at all, Merry." I pointed to a table not far from the entrance to the kitchen. "Would that one do?"
She gave a small nod and headed across the room. I sincerely hoped that Mick O'Reilly would keep up his end of her dream.
Over a veritable feast of grilled turkey paninis and homemade sweet potato fries, we turned to the topic of Beatrice Lemon as killer. I could not get my mind around it, although I know that anyone can be anything given the right circumstances, but I still couldn't see the meek secondhand store owner in that role. Nothing that Merry said changed my mind, and the conversation headed in the direction of food, always a viable topic in my humble opinion.
When the Cat's Away Page 3