Moving Is Murder

by Sara Rosett

  I froze. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.What was I doing? Someone could still be here. Why hadn’t I thought of that when I looked in the pink bedroom? I couldn’t move. The kitchen and living room were fairly open, so there was probably no one in those rooms, but the entrance to the basement was in the kitchen. Had that door been open? What if I had interrupted the intruder and they were in the basement now? These thoughts flittered through my mind in a few seconds.

  I pivoted slowly. I could see a sliver of the front door, the kitchen counter, and the back of the living room couch. I tried to do my Lamaze deep breathing techniques, but just like during labor, they didn’t seem to do much good. I took a cautious step, trying to make absolutely no noise, but the blood pumped through my body so quickly I was sure anyone within twenty feet would be able to hear it.

  Another cautious step and I heard a faint sound. A magazine slid off the pile of mail and newspapers on the kitchen cabinet. It landed on the tile floor with a soft thud beside a newspaper. I shot to the front door and was on the sidewalk before the envelopes edging down the pile could cascade onto the floor.

  “And nothing was gone except the DVD player?” Abby asked.

  I tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I could put Livvy in her swing. “I don’t know. That’s all I could tell. The computer was still there. Broken, but there. At least their DVD player was exactly like ours. I showed ours to the police, so they’d know what brand and model to look for.” I rubbed my forehead. “I just can’t believe someone broke into their house and only took the DVD player. It was odd. Like they were going through things, drawers and cabinets, but they didn’t take anything valuable.” I switched the swing on and picked up clumps of packing paper that were scattered around the floor.

  “What about Joe? Did the police ask him?”

  “They’re still trying to get in touch with him. He went fishing with a friend. His mother said it was to get away from everything. Deal with things and think. He’s at some remote cabin without a phone, but he’s supposed to call her tonight.” I shoved the paper into the box and dragged it over to the door.

  “I thought everyone had a cell phone now,” Abby said.

  “I know. The cabin is out of range.” I leaned against a box labeled DISHES that we hadn’t unpacked yet. “Everything feels strange about this whole thing, these break-ins. And Joe can’t be reached. He could be anywhere. The police seem to think whoever broke into the garage figured out the house was empty and came back again.”

  “Then why isn’t more gone?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m wondering.” I rubbed my forehead again. I was getting a headache.

  “I don’t have much time, but I did get to talk to Rachel,” Abby continued.

  “Her husband’s in the Security Police, right?” I asked.

  “No,” Abby corrected. “I thought that, too. But he’s actually in the OSI. That’s where Thistle-whatever-his-name-is works. You know, the rude guy who suspects Jeff. She couldn’t tell me anything.” Abby sighed. “Look, lunch is almost over. I’ve got to go. I’ll come by your house a little before six tonight. We can walk over to Jill’s together.”

  I put Livvy down for her nap, then I stood a few minutes irresolutely at the kitchen door. The situation with Cass was a mess. Like a jigsaw puzzle dumped out of a box, nothing fit.

  I remembered sitting on a step stool in my dad’s workshop one afternoon. His tools hung on a peg board inside their outlines. Nails, nuts, and bolts rested neatly in small boxes across the back of his worktable. The air always had a warm woody smell. I’d sort the curls of wood into different piles as they spiraled down from his planer. I’d hand him a bolt from the floor and he’d toss it into the right-sized box saying, “A place for everything and everything in its place.” I’d taken after my dad. I liked things lined up and in order. Nothing was in order with Cass’s death. Everything was jumbled and didn’t fit. I couldn’t help poking and prodding, trying to make it make sense.

  I clipped the baby monitor to my belt, squashing the guilt I felt at leaving Livvy alone in the house. It would take a minute to run the mail inside and look around.

  At Joe’s door, I twisted the key and the deadbolt slid back quietly. The only noise inside the house was the faint static on the baby monitor. Everything was still a mess, only worse now that it was covered with fingerprint powder. I had thought I might poke around, see if I could find anything, but the sheer amount of the disorder dismayed me. What was wrong with me, thinking I could find a clue in this madness that the professionals, the police, hadn’t found?

  I closed the door and locked it. Then I went to the kitchen and looked around. The Vernon police had finished this morning. I took my hands out of my pockets. I could touch anything now.

  I picked my way carefully between the items on the floor. A bag of sugar teetered on the edge of the counter, about to fall onto the floor. I pushed it back, shoving glasses, mugs, and a stockpot out of the way. It looked as if everything had been pulled out, set on the counter, or tossed on the floor.

  Why would anyone do this? The police said it was probably robbers looking for jewelry or money. I picked up the wall calendar off the floor and opened it. August’s glossy photo featured a shade garden with a small koi pond. Most of the white squares were blank, but a few had hurried scrawls with a time. Every Tuesday night had “7:30” circled in red.

  I looked back to the week Cass died. “Sp. Coff” was noted on Wednesday of that week. Had it only been a little less than two weeks since I’d met Cass? Then Thursday’s note read: “Dr. W—9:30,” but it was scratched out. She must have rescheduled because “Dr. W—10:15” was scribbled on the next day, Friday. And today’s block noted, “Jill—Garage Sale,” but without a time. So there had been a meeting scheduled, but Cass had forgotten to tell me. I put the calendar on top of the refrigerator and picked up cans to put them in the cabinets. I couldn’t stand in the middle of the mess any longer and not do something.

  The door to the backyard rattled. I whirled toward it, clutching a can of chicken broth.

  Rex shot in through the doggie door and bounded up on me. “Down, Rex.” My voice was breathless. He sat. I put down the soup can, a pretty ineffective weapon. “How did you get out of the backyard?” I’d left him tethered on a new steel tether, guaranteed to withstand the sharpest teeth. I rubbed his ears and then his neck. His collar was gone.

  I found it attached to the tether in our backyard. After I buckled it on again, I asked, “How did you get that over your head?” There were only a few inches of space. “What are we going to do with you?” He twisted his head and perked up his ears. “You think this is a great game, don’t you?” Rex grinned.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Jill wrote a note and squared the edges of her stack of papers. “I’ll handle the newspaper ads and put up the signs. Abby’s got the bank deposit and the schedule for the checkout table.” Jill swiveled toward me and demanded, “How’s the pricing?”

  “Well, we still have a long way to go.” I thought of the jumbled boxes in my garage. All the way to go, I amended silently.

  “Call Diana. She volunteered to set up. Turn her loose in your garage and she’ll have a preprinted price tag on everything in there in no time. We’ll make more money with everything priced. People hate to ask how much something is. If it has a price on it, they may try to talk you down, but if it’s not marked, they’ll just walk away.” The phone rang and Jill went to answer it in the kitchen.

  Abby looked at me with raised eyebrows. “I never knew people planned a garage sale. I just open the door and pull everything outside.”

  I stifled a laugh and wrote down Diana’s phone number from the list Jill had handed me before she left.

  We were in Jill’s dining room. Her muffled voice continued in the kitchen. Abby asked about my afternoon and I filled her in on my cleaning session at the Vincents'. Jill returned to the table. “Now, where were we? Pricing and
setup. Do you have enough tables?”

  “I have a card table.”

  Jill made a note. “I’ll have some brought over from the squadron on Friday.”

  We covered every aspect of the garage sale until Abby glanced out the window and noticed Jeff’s blue hatchback parked at the curb. “Oh! Got to go. We’re having dinner at Merdi’s.” Abby pulled on her coat and grabbed the cloth bank deposit envelope.

  “Well, I think we’ve covered everything. I’ll call one of you if something comes up.” I suppressed a sigh as I watched Abby trot out to the car. She hopped in and it glided smoothly to the corner. No more impulsive late dinners at quiet Italian restaurants for us. We tried it once. We made it through the salads, but we had to leave with our untouched dinner in boxes because Livvy wouldn’t stop crying.

  I put on my coat and gathered my notes.

  “Thanks for taking on the garage sale. I’m sure you’ll do a better job than Cass.” Jill opened the door.

  I paused on the top porch step. “Did you happen to talk to Cass during the barbeque?”

  Jill wrapped her cardigan around herself. “No. She was busy holding center stage with her story about her van.” Her tone was as cold as the wind that sliced across my neck.

  “She mentioned Gwen’s name to me, but—”

  “Don’t believe anything Cass said.” Jill cut me off. “She was spreading rumors about Gwen. It wasn’t true.”

  “But I don’t know what she was saying,” I said placatingly. Jill shook her head and crossed her arms tighter around herself. “It could be very important,” I argued. “Cass died shortly after mentioning Gwen and, if you know about it, she probably mentioned it to other people, too.”

  “Gwen’s my friend. I’m not going to repeat Cass’s lies. Gwen has had a hard enough time rebuilding her life since her divorce. Good night,” she said and shut the door.

  I walked home briskly. The sharp breeze whisked my white breath away. There was obviously no love lost between Jill and Cass. Did Cass talk to anyone else about Gwen at the barbeque? And what was Cass saying about Gwen, anyway?

  I awoke with a start from the deep sleep that left me feeling like I hadn’t rested at all. Heart pounding and still breathing heavily from REM sleep, I blinked in the sunlight and pushed the quilt roughly onto the ottoman. I identified the distant sound, an irritatingly regular buzz, as the phone. Blearily, I snatched it up, a reflex, and answered before I remembered why I needed to keep the house quiet. But then I remembered, all too vividly, our sleepless night with Livvy from midnight to five A.M. the night before.

  “Ellie?”

  I registered that Livvy wasn’t crying and dropped back onto my chair, where I had tried to steal a nap along with Livvy this morning. Stifling a yawn, I replied, “Yes?”

  “Oh, you didn’t sound like yourself.” I recognized Joe’s soft-spoken tone. The connection crackled with static, making his voice even fainter, but he was speaking quickly, as if he thought we might be cut off. “I’ll be back in town next Wednesday. I don’t think I can face seeing Cass’s things, like her clothes and her”—he broke off, then started again after a deep breath—“perfume, in the house. I think it would be better—” he stopped again. Crackling silence filled the line.

  “Joe?”

  “Cass told me about your organizing business. Would you go through her things? Box them up and give them to Goodwill?” I wouldn’t have even described the few jobs I had done as “my business,” but this was not the time to fill Joe in on my lack of resume. His voice was strained, and I realized he was speaking quickly so he could make his request before he broke down crying. Listening to someone fight back tears, especially a guy, always did me in.

  “Sure. I’ll do that. I’ll have a cleaning service come in first. It’s a mess.”

  “That’d be great. I’ll pay whatever you usually charge.”

  Maybe airline tickets for the holidays weren’t out of the question. I shifted to a less emotionally charged topic. “We’re really sorry about the break-in.”

  Joe cleared his throat. “Don’t be. The police said whoever broke into the garage realized the house was empty and came back. It’s not your fault.”

  “But still, I wish we had seen something.”

  “It really doesn’t matter. Everything could be gone and I wouldn’t care. That’s what got me thinking about her clothes and things. It would be too hard to come back with the house looking like she’ll be back any minute.” He paused, regained control of his faltering voice. “When I know she won’t be. So, don’t worry about the break-in. Cass was important. People are important. Things, possessions, aren’t.” He swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “Sorry. I’m just …” He started over again. “I just don’t understand. This was awful enough with Cass dying, but now to know someone planned it. Someone deliberately ended her life.”

  “So, you talked to the OSI?”

  “Yes. They wanted to know where I was after Cass left.”

  “Weren’t you inside?”

  “At the flag football sign-up table,” he said bitterly. “If I’d been with her she might have made it. I might have noticed the wasps or been able to give her an injection.”

  Here was my chance to find out if Joe had the missing EpiPen. “So there was an EpiPen in the van? In the glove compartment?”

  “Of course. Cass could never keep up with one, so I put one in the van and another one in her purse.”

  But there hadn’t been one there when the police released the van to me. “Did the police return her purse to you? And keep the EpiPens?”

  “No. They gave everything back to me. Her purse is at home in the bedroom. Just keep the pictures and her credit cards.”

  He thought I was asking about the purse for when I cleaned out Cass’s possessions. I didn’t mention the possibility of the EpiPen being gone. I’d check first.

  “Why would someone want Cass to die?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

  “I don’t know.” I searched for a gentle way to phrase my question. “Did anyone dislike her?”

  A short huffing sound came over the line. “I’ve been over that with the investigators. I can’t think of anyone. She was the life of the party, you know, always laughing and having fun. Everyone loved to be around her.”

  Maybe someone didn’t like her hogging the spotlight. I kept that idea to myself. I knew of several people who didn’t love her. “What about Jeff? He was awfully upset at the barbeque.”

  “Yeah, the hunting thing. Cass didn’t like it when people interfered with nature. ‘We’re always messing it up,’ she’d say.”

  “But I thought hunting kept wild animal populations under control.”

  “That’s what hunters like to say. But I don’t think that conversation had anything to do with her death.”

  I wasn’t ready to dismiss Jeff’s anger so quickly, but I changed tracks with Joe. “Well, maybe she knew something,” I ventured, thinking of her gossip about Gwen.

  The line was quiet, not even static marred the silence for a few seconds. “Yeah,” Joe said reluctantly. “She did want to know things about people. She was curious, a real people person. Sometimes she was a little too nosy. Almost like a kid, she would ask anyone about anything. She asked Jill how long it took them to get pregnant.” Joe’s laughter came over the line. “Boy, that took a while to smooth over. She just wanted to get to know people and know the details of their lives. I guess she would’ve made a good investigative reporter. She was never afraid to ask questions.

  “I used to tell her to relax sometimes. People open up if you give them time, but she didn’t want to wait. She was always in a hurry for everything. It was like she tried to pack all the action and life she could into every moment. And it turned out she was right. She didn’t have that long to live.” Joe’s voice turned even softer. “She was like a sparkler, all bright, explosive, and beautiful. But they don’t last very long.”

  “Did she tell you anything about Gwen?”

>   “Who?”

  “Gwen Givens, Steven’s wife.”

  “No,” he said quickly. Too quickly?

  “Do you know where she went every Tuesday night?” I asked, remembering the calendar.

  “I guess it won’t hurt to tell you, now that she’s gone. She didn’t want anyone else to know. She was embarrassed.”

  It was a little hypocritical to want the details of people’s lives, but then jealously guard your own secret.

  “It was her AA meeting.”

  I was searching for a reply when Joe continued, cutting through the faint rustling on the phone line. “She’d had a pretty rough time. She got married young and they had kids right away. I don’t know all the details, but there were problems. Her first husband was a real partyer. I guess she was, too. She told me they used to hit the clubs every weekend. Then after Chloe and Julie were born she said she lost it, thought she was falling into the pattern of her parents. You know—boring respectability. She didn’t want that. I think their marriage was already shaky and the pressures of kids really added to it. When Luke lost his job, everything went downhill. Cass told me she was drinking all the time, trying to escape. Eventually, they divorced and Luke got the kids because of her drinking.

  “That was her wake-up call. She checked herself into a rehab center and then moved back home to get her life straightened up. I don’t think she’d had a drink since then.”

  “That’s amazing. Quite a turnaround,” I said.

  “She always had such a strong will. Anything she did, she did it all the way, to the extreme. When she partied she pushed herself to the edge, and then when she realized she lost the girls because of it, she pulled herself back the other way.”

  “How did you two meet?” Joe’s words were pouring out. I hoped talking would help him and I couldn’t think of a way to ease out of the conversation without sounding abrupt.

  “We went to the same high school. We knew each other but never dated. She was wild. She wanted to be out on her own and live. She told me she thought I was boring.” He laughed. I could tell it didn’t bother him. “We went our separate ways. I went to the Academy and she moved to Dallas and met Luke. Later, after rehab, I saw her at the mall when I was back visiting my parents for Christmas. And, well, it just grew from there.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry to talk your ear off like that. You’re easy to talk to.”