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

by Leslie O'Kane

  He nodded and said, “I can imagine.”

  That was, I knew, just a passing comment, but made me tighten my arms across my chest. This was all too raw for me to want anyone “imagining” the particular scene of Lauren and me naked, whirling a towel full of rocks.

  He thanked me, then we returned to the juice bar where Lauren and Julie still sat.

  The officer took a total of ten minutes getting Julie’s and Lauren’s statements. We were all set to leave, but, as the saying goes: Be careful what you wish for. Two more police vehicles arrived, including one from the sheriff’s department, driven by the petite female officer, whom I was seeing so much of that we should have been on a first-name basis.

  Realizing I’d be inordinately late, I asked if I could phone home. Knowing that Jim wouldn’t have his cellphone on, I called my business number. Everybody must have been asleep; my combination fax-answering machine-phone picked up, and I had to listen to my own recording for Molly’s eCards. I left a message that I was going to be late getting home and not to worry about me. Which was not to say that my family had even noticed I was gone, let alone half baked to death. So much for the thank-God-you’re-all-right! telepathy that all my heavy sweating should have earned me.

  The officers conferred, and Officer Montoya left. The snatches of conversation gave me the impression that he was going to visit Katherine, Lois, and Nancy, which lifted my spirits. At least the guilty party would experience an anxious moment or two when a policeman knocked on the door.

  Another male officer took Lauren into Julie’s office to speak to her, while the female officer ushered me back to the same spot in the lobby where I’d given my statement to Officer Montoya. In a matter-of-fact voice, she asked, “Do you think someone was trying to kill you?”

  “Yes, and I’ll tell you one thing, whoever did it was not thinking logically. If you were going to go through the effort of framing someone for a murder, would you attempt to kill your framee? I mean, wouldn’t that defeat your whole purpose in setting the person up in the first place?”

  She watched my face for a moment without answering. “So, backing up a little, you think you were framed for the murder of a friend of yours at a greeting-card retreat. And you think that the same person who framed you tried to kill you by locking you and another friend of yours in a sauna. Is that right?”

  “That’s what happened, yes. It’s been a lousy week.”

  She fought back a smile. “Why do you think someone would do this to you?”

  “I think I might have unknowingly learned why Allison Kenyon was killed.”

  “Oh? And why was she killed?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I meant when I said I ‘unknowingly’ learned why.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Oh, I just thought you weren’t being clear.”

  I smiled and couldn’t help but think that, under vastly different circumstances, she and I might have been friends. “What I meant was, I’ve had quite a bit of contact with some of the—” My story was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Tommy Newton, looking very worried.

  My officer, as I’d come to think of her, went to the door and opened it. I rose and followed, but stayed a step behind her. “I’m Officer Newton from the Carlton, New York, Police Department,” Tommy immediately began. “Is everything all right here?”

  “Yes, we—”

  “Lauren’s fine,” I answered, over her shoulder. “Somebody locked us in the sauna, but we got rescued in plenty of time.”

  “Can I speak to her?” Tommy asked my officer.

  “She’s in the process of giving her statement. If you’d like to wait outside, I’ll let her know you’re here as soon as she’s through.”

  Tommy shook his head, then turned his gaze to me. “Just tell her that I’ll be at the Marriott.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tommy. Stay and talk this thing out with Lauren.”

  Again, he shook his head. “I’d just be taking advantage.”

  I understood his feelings. He was afraid that Lauren might well act lovingly toward him after the trauma she’d just survived, but that didn’t mean they’d resolved their differences. “How did you know we were here? Have you been at my house till now?”

  He shrugged. “Parked out front of it, actually. Didn’t see your car come back, and finally decided to cruise through the lot.” He paused, then said, “Moll, tell her …”

  He let his voice drift off, and I said, “I will.”

  Tommy nodded, then returned his attention to the officer and raised his hand as if he were about to tip his cap to her and then remembered he wasn’t wearing it. He ran his fingers through his short red hair and said, “Thanks, officer.”

  She locked the door again, and I said to her, “I don’t know why any of this happened. One of the five women on that retreat with us killed Allison Kenyon. One of them also locked us in that sauna.”

  She held my gaze for a moment but made no comment. Just then, Lauren emerged, and she and I were left alone while both officers escorted Julie into her office to speak to her.

  Lauren, frankly, looked terrible, and I suspected I did too. “Tommy was here,” I told her. “He said to tell you that he loves you and that he’s really sorry about your argument. He can’t stand the thought of living without you, and he realizes he’s too stubborn and has a hard time expressing his feelings for you, but that that doesn’t diminish them in any way. He also said that he’s staying at the Marriott.”

  “Tommy said that?”

  “That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.” I started to head to the ladies room, the gallon or so of Gatorade having worn out its welcome. “I’ve got to figure out how to go to the bathroom without looking into any mirrors. I’ve already had enough scares for one night.”

  When I returned, Lauren was sitting with tears running down her cheeks. She promptly dried her eyes and said under her breath, “This was the last straw. I gained half a pound!”

  I sat beside her and said quietly, “Would it cheer you up any to know that I just peed out a good five pounds?”

  She chuckled and answered, “There’s no such thing as a good five pounds.”

  “Probably not in reference to urine, at any rate.”

  After another ten or fifteen minutes, the police said we could go home. I thanked Julie again for our timely rescue, and we hopped into our car before the officers could change their minds and ask more questions or insist on driving us in a squad car. On an impulse, I took an extra turn to swing through Celia, Lois, and Julie’s neighborhood.

  “I’m curious to see if there are any police cars still out in front of one of our aerobic friends’ houses.”

  “You don’t even know where Nancy and Katherine live, though, do you?”

  “No, but we can cruise by the other ones.” I pointed out Lois’s, Julie’s, and finally Celia’s houses. The lights were on at Lois’s and Julie’s, but off at Celia’s. This didn’t mean anything, since it was nearly midnight, when most folks would be asleep.

  I did a double take at Allison’s house. “That’s really strange,” I said, slowing. “The lights are on.”

  “She probably had them hooked up to a timer system. She was an electrician, after all.”

  “Oh, of course. That makes perfect—”

  Just then, a silhouette appeared in the window.

  Chapter 11

  Do Not Place Items on Airbags

  Surprised by the sight of a figure moving about in Allison’s house, I hit the brakes. Lauren had to grab the dashboard, and we were probably lucky that bumping about inside the car couldn’t trigger the airbags.

  I stared at the silhouette in the window, which quickly vanished.

  “Did you see that?”

  “Yes,” Lauren said under her breath, “just before you nearly sent me through the windshield.”

  I edged the car over to the curb, set the emergency brake, and rotated in my seat to look back at the house. The driveway was empty. None of
the lights upstairs were on, just the ones in the front room and on this side of the house, which was probably the kitchen. “It looked like a woman to me. A short woman with teased-up hair. Maybe it’s the police officer. No, she couldn’t have beaten us here. Maybe it’s a tall kid with big hair.”

  “Molly, I—”

  “Look! The lights are going off!” Wanting to see if anyone would soon emerge from Allison’s house, I shut off my car engine and headlights. The garage door opened. I gasped and sank down a little in my seat.

  Lauren glanced at me but merely crossed her arms and obstinately stared straight ahead. “Molly, you know I love you. But this has been the evening from hell. If you don’t get me out of here right away and let me get some sleep, I’m going to have to strangle you.”

  “I know, I know. I’m being terrible and I hate myself for it, but I just have to see who this is.” A badly dented white Toyota Corolla backed down the driveway and drove off in the opposite direction from where we were parked. I never got a look at the driver’s face, though my one glimpse of the driver’s petite profile gave me the strong impression that it was a woman whose head barely showed above the back of the seat I also jotted down the license plate number.

  As soon as the car was out of sight, I started the engine. “Who do you suppose that could have been? And why would she have access to Allison’s garage-door opener?”

  Lauren massaged her temples and said evenly, “Maybe it was her sister, or whoever’s the executor of her estate.”

  “Couldn’t be a sister. Her parents were her only relatives at tonight’s funeral.”

  “That was earlier tonight wasn’t it?” Lauren moaned. “This has been the world’s longest twenty-four hours.” She leaned back against the headrest, her brown hair fanning across the seat.

  “We’ll be home soon, and once we get there, I’ll wait on you hand and foot. Whatever you want. A glass of wine, a dish of ice cream…”

  “That’s a nice offer, but your cupboards are still pretty bare. Tommy and I didn’t buy you any wine. Or ice cream. All I want right now is a prefrontal lobotomy.”

  I chuckled and said sarcastically, “See? There you go, Lauren. ‘I didn’t buy you any wine. I want a prefrontal lobotomy.’ It’s all just ‘me, me, me’ with you.”

  Lauren laughed and jabbed me on the shoulder.

  Later that night, safe at home and in bed, I was wide-awake despite my exhaustion. Beside me, Jim was groaning in his sleep—his typical behavior when he’s sick. Counting a spouse’s groans apparently does not work as well as counting sheep. I finally gave up, crept downstairs, and checked on the puppy, who seemed to wake out of a sound sleep the instant I peered through her crate. I let her out for a minute, assuring her that she was a very good dog. She returned to her crate with just a few commands from me, and one small push.

  I located my sketch pad. Inspired, no doubt, by my earlier musings about airbags, I drew a pair of old women in the front seat of a car that’s been in a fender bender. The airbags have inflated. The face of the woman in the passenger seat is completely hidden by a plate with chunks of cake oozing down the sides. The driver is saying to her, “Why did you have to go and put my cake on the dashboard! Now it’s ruined!”

  Finally starting to nod off, I went back to bed. Maybe I could send my latest cartoon to the editor of the university press. It was totally irrelevant to her profession, of course, but surely editors drive cars. Except maybe the editors who live in New York City.

  “Mo-om!” Karen greeted me the next morning the instant I left my bedroom.

  “Wha-at?” I replied, following the sound of her voice, which was coming from the children’s bathroom. It took an inordinate amount of time for me to get there. Though the bathroom is only five steps from my bedroom, my muscles were staging an incredibly painful we-ain’t-moving! protest after their workout the night before.

  “Look!” she said, pointing at the portion of the floor hidden behind the open bathroom door.

  I did as commanded and spotted her toothbrush, lying on its back against the wall. I picked it up for her. “Couldn’t you bend over yourself to pick this up?”

  “Every morning, I come in here, and my toothbrush is lying on that same exact spot!”

  “Really? That must be rather annoying, unless, of course, you want to keep your toothbrush on the floor.”

  “No, Mom,” Karen said in a near shout. “If I wanted to keep it there, I wouldn’t be mad about it. Nathan’s dropping my toothbrush on the floor just to bug me!”

  “Well then, it would appear he’s succeeded in his goal. But why are you yelling at me? “

  “Because he’s your son!”

  “Yes, but it’s your toothbrush. And, knowing Nathan, he’s doing it because you aren’t putting it away after you use it.” Karen folded her arms and glared at the floor, furthering my suspicion that my hunch was correct. Nathan has always been something of a cantankerous neat freak. “So, all you have to do to stop him is to put your toothbrush away after brushing your teeth, which you should do anyway.”

  Karen stormed past me, crying, “I knew you wouldn’t understand!” She slammed her door shut.

  “Sweetie?” Jim, his voice still hoarse, called from downstairs. “Is everything all right?”

  I left Karen to her pouting and gingerly descended the stairs before answering. I felt a hundred years old. I’d read in the paper recently that old people seldom catch colds. Maybe my body was so prematurely aged as to be immune to my husband’s illness.

  Jim was at the kitchen table, a bowl of Wheaties in front of him. Though truly a handsome man under normal circumstances, he was not wearing his sickness well. His eyelids were droopy and his nose red. He hadn’t shaved. His sandy-colored hair was now mud colored and bore the worst case of bedhead I’d ever seen, sticking up in the back like an Indian headdress. In answer to his question, I said, “Our daughter is a preteen, Nathan’s Nathan, and I’m older than germs. Everything’s great.”

  “What does that mean?” Nathan piped up, seated at the table beside his father and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms.

  Knowing which part of my remark he’d honed in on, I answered, “That you’re one of a kind. It also means you shouldn’t toss your sister’s toothbrush on the floor.”

  He grinned.

  With visions of him dropping it into the toilet tonight, I realized I should be specific: “You’re not to drop her brush anywhere from now on, or you’ll have to buy her a new one. It’s none of your business if she forgets to put it away.”

  Nathan had a fit at the unfairness of the concept of having to buy his sister a new toothbrush and eventually stormed off to his room. Jim, watching all of this, met my eyes and smiled.

  “Witness the Molly Masters Mothering Method,” I said. “When in doubt, tick off your entire family.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “It’s not even nine a.m. Give it time.”

  Despite his ill health, Jim launched into a series of questions regarding how much I knew about the status of the police investigation. I had few answers for him, but I did gloss over an account of last night’s sauna incident, saying, “Lauren and I got locked in there for a few minutes till the manager let us out.” I tried to sandwich that account between tales of my horror at how unpleasant this group of women was, which, since one of them was a murderer, was not much of a stretch.

  Jim, however, immediately leaped onto one particular phrase. “What do you mean you were ‘locked in’ the sauna?”

  “Somebody locked the door and we knocked on it until Julie opened it and let us out, so we called the police. By the way, has Tommy—”

  “How long were you locked in there? Weren’t there any controls on the inside?”

  “I don’t know and, no, there weren’t.”

  “You could have been killed! Why didn’t you wake me up last night? Just when were you planning on telling me about this?”

  I sighed and glanced at my watch. “See? Now y
ou’re ticked off at me, too, and not even five minutes have passed.”

  Lauren emerged from the downstairs guest room, her complexion blotchy and her eyes puffy, obviously from crying. She mustered a reasonably cheerful, “Good morning,” which both Jim and I returned.

  Jim, seemingly oblivious to her current emotional state, immediately said, “Molly was just telling me about what happened to you last night”

  “It was harrowing, but fortunately, we were only trapped in there for—” She glanced at me where I was standing behind Jim’s chair. I spread the fingers of one hand, and she continued smoothly “—five or ten minutes. We maintained our dignity throughout. Wouldn’t you say, Molly?”

  “Oh, absolutely. We kept both our dignity and our decorum. Just lost some sweat. And,” I quickly added with enthusiasm, having come up with a positive spin for Jim’s sake, “now the police know there’s someone besides me doing these evil acts. They know I couldn’t have locked myself in that sauna.”

  I let that sink in for a moment, but if Jim was relieved or impressed by this announcement, he didn’t show it. He merely polished off his bowl of Wheaties without comment

  “I don’t suppose I slept through the sound of the phone ringing,” Lauren said to me, her eyes pleading.

  “Shouldn’t you call Tommy?” I answered. “He did try to see you at the health club, after all.” By my book, that was a definite: Tag. You’re it.

  Lauren merely poured herself a cup of coffee and slumped into the seat across from Jim. “Just because I’ve delayed the wedding a couple of times doesn’t mean I don’t want to marry him. Honestly. Here we are, stuck in Colorado, your friend Allison gets killed in our midst, and all he cares about is our wedding date.” She glared at Jim. “You men seem to think you’re the only ones who have any reason to fear making a commitment. I’ve been a single mom for three years now. I know all about responsibility and commitment. Just because I wanted to wait a while doesn’t mean I never intend to marry him, now does it?”