Death Comes to a Retreat (Book 4 Molly Masters Mysteries)

by Leslie O'Kane

  “Molly, this is Lois Tucker. I just got off the phone with Julie. She told me you have Allison’s puppy. That dog is mine.”

  “Yours?” I repeated, too surprised to say anything else.

  “That’s right. As Allison’s best friend, she would have wanted me to have Betty, not you.”

  Lois considered herself to be Allison’s best friend? If that were true, why hadn’t Allison said two words to her on the retreat? Why had Lois acted so indifferent to her “best friend’s” death?

  Through the sliding glass door, I could see the children laughing as they played a game of tag with BC. “Lois, I’m sorry if you feel you should have gotten the dog, but Julie gave her to me. And since Julie bred the puppy in the first place, it seemed reasonable that she had the right to select the new owner.”

  “I spoke to Julie, as I already told you. That’s how I got your number. But I don’t happen to agree with Julie’s assumption or yours, and I want that dog. Maybe we should take the matter to small claims court and let a judge decide.”

  Go before a judge over ownership of a puppy? What is wrong with this woman? Surely a judge would rule in my favor, but my faith in the judicial system nowadays was not what it once was. “Lois, my kids and the puppy have already bonded. It would break their hearts if—”

  “You should have taken that into consideration before bringing her home and acting like you owned her.”

  I took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Could we discuss this face-to-face?”

  “Fine. But you‘ll have to come here immediately. I’ve got an electrician coming over this afternoon, and I want you out of here before then. As a matter of fact, Allison was supposed to come. We were such good friends, she used to do work for me for free. Now her partner’s going to have to do it, and I’m stuck with the tab.”

  “I met him once,” I said, trying hard to turn the tone of this conversation into one less vitriolic, if not friendly. We’d once bumped into each other at a golf course in Longmont. “Joe something.”

  “Cummings,” Lois promptly answered. She told me her address. With only a brief hesitation—during which I considered but then dismissed Tommy’s latest instruction to stay home—I said I’d be right over. This, after all, was an emergency. If we lost the puppy now, my children would be devastated, especially Karen.

  Jim had plopped down on the couch toward the end of my phone conversation. He was coughing and wheezing. I gingerly sat down beside him and rubbed his shoulder.

  “Are you still angry about my getting Betty Cocker?”

  “You should have discussed it with me first.”

  My spirits sagged. “Well, we may not get to keep her anyway. I just got off the phone with a woman from that retreat. She wants BC.”

  “Well, she can’t have her!” Jim tensed and furrowed his brow, his attempt at a shout only making his voice froglike. “Who is she? Does she have any right to take her?”

  “I doubt it, but she seems to think she has. I’m going to go talk to her now.”

  Jim lapsed into a brief coughing fit, rolling his eyes afterward. “Threaten her with me, if you have to. Tell her we keep the dog, or I breathe on her.”

  I felt his forehead. My temperature-taking skills were well honed from ten years of checking children’s foreheads. He had a fever of around a hundred and one. I gave him some ibuprofen, warned Karen and Nathan to be considerate and quiet around him, then took off, feeling a heavy dose of guilt. I promised myself that if I could just get out of this without being arrested for murder, I was going to be a better wife. Some vague memory of having made just such a promise once or twice before tugged at me, but I ignored it.

  I waved and smiled at a police car that was puttering past my house in the opposite direction. I watched through the rearview mirror as he pulled a U-turn. That was illegal, but this was probably not the time to make a citizen’s arrest. Plus, having a police escort might give me some clout with Lois. The officer drove right up on my tail, then suddenly sped up and crossed the double yellow lines to pass me, putting on his siren as he went. So much for my clout.

  If I was lucky, Allison’s partner might arrive soon. I’d like to know what he thought about Allison’s ex-husband, and especially his murder. The two murders could be related, and if so, the fact that Celia had posed so lovingly with Richard was an interesting development.

  Lois didn’t answer the doorbell. I was starting to worry I had the wrong address when an old tan pickup truck pulled up and Joe Cummings stepped out. He looked exactly as I’d remembered him: tall but somewhat paunchy, with wavy white hair and broad features that seemed to bear a look of happy surprise as their regular expression. He was in his late fifties or early sixties. His navy blue work pants were two inches shorter than his bowed legs and revealed frayed running shoes of an indistinguishable color.

  I trotted down the porch steps toward him. “Hi. You’re Joe Cummings, aren’t you? I’m—”

  “Molly Masters? You’re the woman Allie was spending the weekend with, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Only—”

  He took my hand in both of his damp, fleshy ones and shook it vigorously. “Well, hello there, Molly. You know, skinny little thing like you could be a good electrician. You could crawl into a whole lot of holes.”

  “Yes, and I’ve been known to dig myself into them. I was wondering—”

  “Your hands would be good for wiring. Too small for plying, though.”

  “Why would I want to ply my hands?”

  “I mean for using pliers. Got to have good, strong hands.” He’d peered straight into my eyes as he spoke, but now he lowered his gaze and shook his head. “Allie had incredible hands. She could crack a walnut, just by giving it a good squeeze.”

  “She could?”

  He chuckled. “Course not. When you get to be my age, you’re entitled to your minor exaggerations.” Joe suddenly furrowed his brow and pointed at me. “Did you kill Allie?”

  “No! She was my—”

  “Do you know anything about wiring?”

  “A little.” I knew that wires were long and thin and carried electric current. “Why?”

  “This job’ll go a lot quicker with two, and I hate to ask the customer to help. Kind of shakes their confidence.” His smile quickly faded, and he said wistfully, “I can’t believe she’s really gone.”

  I’d come to realize that if I hoped to get any information from this man, I’d have to limit his ability to interrupt me. In one breath, I said, “Neither can I. Yet the police seem to think I’m their prime suspect. That’s why I wanted to ask you about her, about what was going on with her and her ex.”

  “Richard?” He shook his head. “Most mismatched marriage you can imagine. Here Allie was this bright, thoughtful, loyal gal who’d never say a bad word about anybody. Richard was only happy when he was hurting people. Meanest bastard I ever—”

  He broke off as Lois Tucker threw open her door. She was still wearing the same black sweat suit she’d worn last Saturday, but now her dark hair looked recently washed and curled, and she’d put on makeup. Her smile faded a little as she looked at me. Then she waved and said, “Aren’t you ever coming in, Joe? I baked a batch of your favorites, double-chocolate brownies.”

  “Sounds delicious. Be right there, soon as I get my tools.” He rolled his eyes as he turned. “Glad you’re here. The wife’d kill me if she heard tell I went to Lois’s house alone. Been after my tail for five years now, ever since me ‘n’ Allie did our first rewiring job here, ‘round the time Lois’s husband had a fatal heart attack. She’s been coming up with odd jobs for me ever since.”

  “Really? Lois told me Allison used to do work over here for free, because they were friends.”

  “Friends? Lois and Allison? More like Mrs. Hatfield and Mrs. McCoy.” Joe flipped open a metal box built into his truck bed. He stuffed his arm through a white coil of electrical wire till it rested easily on his shoulder, then hoisted up a large toolbox as if it were empty.
“Wait’ll you get a load of her house.” He gestured with his chin at an aluminum ladder on the truck. “Bring that stepladder, while you’re at it.”

  Lois cut off Joe’s attempt at an introduction with a gruff: “We’ve met.” She narrowed her eyes at the ladder I was carrying and said, “Taking up odd jobs to keep your greeting card business afloat?”

  “No,” I said, studiously keeping my voice even and refusing to be baited into an argument. “Joe asked if I’d give him a hand, and I said I would.”

  We went inside—Joe handling his toolbox with ease and me struggling not to barrel into anything with the ladder. My mouth watered at the rich aroma of chocolate, redolent in the cool air inside.

  “I understand you changed your mind about the kitchen switch,” Joe said to her.

  “Oh, yes.” She nodded, a Cheshire-cat smile never leaving her face. “I’m sorry to make you take another trip. I just can never seem to make up my mind till I give it plenty of thought.”

  I stared at Lois, incredulous at her flirtatious mannerisms.

  Joe shot me a little darting glance that indicated a spot on the wall behind me. I did a double take at the switch plate just inside the door. It held six switches, all bearing tiny dimmers. This could win a Most Obsessed with Electricity award from Public Service. I followed Joe and Lois into the kitchen and was so concerned about scratching her pristine white linoleum that I balanced the ladder on top of my sneakered foot.

  Joe pointed at the overhead light and instructed me to “holler when that goes out,” then he excused himself out the back door to the circuit breakers.

  “This is a lovely home you’ve got, Lois,” I said.

  “You’re not getting Betty Cocker, so don’t bother trying to suck up to me.”

  The light went out and Lois instantly cried, “That’s it, Joe,” with childlike enthusiasm. Her expression soured again as she looked me up and down. “Let’s just get right to the point, shall we? I’ll buy Betty Cocker for two hundred dollars. That’s my top offer.”

  “She’s not for sale,” I shot back, then reminded myself to stay calm. “Julie’s Golden Labrador has a new litter.” She was already shaking her head, so I quickly added, “Or you can buy a newborn Cocker puppy for two hundred—”

  “I don’t want just any puppy! I want Allison’s!”

  Why, I wondered, was she being so vehement about owning this particular dog? Could BC somehow identify her as Allison’s killer? No, that was impossible. The puppy wasn’t there when Allison was killed, and Richard’s murder was before BC’s time.

  Lois curled her lip at me. Her expression warmed as Joe returned. “So, Joe. How’s your wife’s health lately?”

  “Just fine. Thanks for asking.”

  Her smile faded a little, and she turned her eyes to me and said, “Did you ever meet Allison’s ex-husband, Molly?”

  I shook my head, surprised at the non sequitur.

  “Really? You never met her ex-husband, even though you were so close as to claim her pet. That seems odd, don’t you think, Joe?”

  Joe shrugged and grabbed the stepladder from me and set it up under the light with one fluid motion. “You’re taking Betty Cocker? Good for you.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that Molly never even met Richard, yet wants his widow’s dog?”

  “Not ‘specially,” Joe said as he climbed the ladder and began to remove the glass globe above us. “Allison told me that Richard never hung out with her friends.”

  “Well,” Lois puffed, setting her thick brow, “of course not. Considering the way he used to beat her.”

  “What?” My voice was shrill. Lois merely smirked at me, so I focused on Joe. “Is that true?”

  “‘Fraid so,” he answered through gritted teeth, coming down the ladder, glass globe in hand. The revelation nauseated me. “My God. I had no idea.” I sorted through dozens of images of Allison, only now realizing that she’d always worn slacks and long-sleeved blouses. I’d commented about that only once, when we’d been golfing in ninety-five degree heat with her in full clothing. She’d told me her skin couldn’t handle the exposure to the sun.

  Suddenly, it felt as though all the clues had been there all along, screaming at me, but I’d ignored them: the secretive, isolated life she led with her spouse, all the walls that would go up when anyone tried to get personal with her, the excuses and demurrals she’d always made whenever I’d suggested the four of us get together.

  Lois lifted her chin in smug superiority. “So, Joe, wouldn’t you say this shows which of us was Allison’s real friend? You and I knew about her and Richard, and Molly here didn’t.”

  Joe snatched up his toolbox with so much force I half expected him to fling it across the room. He gestured with his chin. “She lived right next door. You could hear what was going on. Did you ever try to stop him?”

  Lois’s face fell. “Nobody did,” she murmured. “What was your excuse, Joe?”

  He looked stricken but made no reply.

  For the next several minutes, I mutely followed Joe’s patient and complete instructions about our task, my concern over Betty Cocker overshadowed. We were to run an additional circuit from the kitchen light fixture to a switch plate in Lois’s bedroom, so that she could control the kitchen light from her bed.

  The three of us went to her bedroom, where Joe replaced one of the four-position switch plates with one that housed six. I despaired of there ever being an opportunity for me to talk privately with him, but then he told me to follow him into the attic.

  I’d expected a dark, icky attic like mine, but should have known better. Lois flipped a few switches in the hallway next to the attic stairs, and lights and air-conditioning greeted us. Upstairs, Joe immediately whispered, “I’ll do all the work up here. Whatever else you do, don’t leave us alone in her bedroom.”

  I took a seat on the plywood flooring next to the attic entrance, bracing myself so that no matter what shocking news I might hear, I wouldn’t go toppling down the stairs. Joe was uncoiling a length of wire from one side of the attic to the other.

  He glanced over at me. “I did try to stop Richard, once I found out. One day she was following me down from an attic, and her shirt got caught on a loose nail. That was the first time I’d ever seen poor Allie’s stomach. All bruised and welted.”

  “Did you confront her about it?”

  He grimaced. “She denied it, at first. Then I tried to convince her to leave him. Many times. Told her I’d come get her myself. Told her she could come live with me and the missus for as long as she needed to, and I’d protect her from him. She wouldn’t hear of it. Said that if I ever interfered, he’d kill her.”

  “So then…he left her?”

  Joe smoothed his fingers through his hair, which only left dusty finger marks. “Allie told me he’d finally decided to move in with one of his mistresses.”

  “But I heard he was killed in his own apartment, a bachelor pad.”

  He nodded. “Guess that ‘mistress’ got wise to him in time. She got out alive.”

  My teeth were chattering, though I wasn’t cold. “But Richard didn’t kill Allison.”

  The muscles in Joe’s jaw worked, and he paused from his wiring long enough to meet my gaze. “No, because somebody got to him first. Gave that bastard what he deserved.”

  Involuntarily, my eyes widened, and Joe read what I was thinking. He held up a palm. “Not me. I never laid a finger on him, I’m sorry to say. Doesn’t mean I never thought about it, just that I got too much to lose. The missus. The kids. Grandkids even. But I always thought if I knew I only had one day left on this earth, I’d take that Richard Kenyon straight to hell with me.” His words sank into me. I knew I’d never forget them or his voice. Joe was now stuffing wire down into the hole for the kitchen light I asked quietly, “Do you think Allison hired someone to kill him?”

  He stopped and peered at me over his shoulder. “If you’re just asking for the sake of conversation, yes, that’s what I think.
And I think she should have done it ten, twelve years earlier. But if you’re asking’ cause you want to help the police find his killer or something, the only answer you’ll ever get from me is Allie’s an innocent victim. Period.”

  Were the two murders related? I’d suspected so and wasn’t sure if this terrible information had made me change my mind. “From what you’ve told me, I don’t care if they ever find Richard’s killer. I do want Allison’s killer brought to justice, though.”

  He nodded and muttered under his breath, “Me, too. Me, too.” He crossed the attic and began to push wire down through a second hole. “Molly, take a flashlight and go into Lois’s bedroom. Shine the beam into that spot where the switch plate’s going so I can eyeball it from up here. I’m going to drop the wire down to you, and your job’s to grab the wire and pull it down till I tell you to stop. Think you can handle that?”

  This had all the intellectual challenge of lacing one’s shoes, but I merely nodded and climbed down the rickety stairs.

  Lois met me on the bottom step. “Is Joe coming down yet?”

  “Not until I’ve pulled on his wire.”

  A regrettable double entendre, I noted silently, not lost on Lois, who blushed. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Have you decided to sell me Betty, or do I have to sue you for her?”

  “No. And if you take me to court over this, you’ll lose. Can’t you see that?” Lois set her jaw, but her lower lip trembled slightly, and I knew my words had finally gotten through to her. She whirled on a heel, and I followed her into her bedroom. In a softer voice, I asked, “Why do you want this one dog so badly?”

  She sat on her bed, an antique four poster with one of those white, bumpy cloth covers. “Betty used to bark all day long. Allison would leave her in the backyard and go to work. I’d go over there and bring Betty into my house. Betty was more mine than Allison’s, and I want her back.”

  Uh-oh. This explanation made sense to me, and for the first time I began to believe that Lois might truly care for BC. “How can we solve this, Lois? I can have my husband bring Betty Cocker here, and we can see which of us—”