Drip Dead

by Christy Evans

  “But she just wanted everything to be done right, that’s all.”

  “And you didn’t agree?”

  “Let’s just say Mom and I have different standards about some things.”

  The sheriff switched tracks. “And how did Mr. Whitlock feel about the wedding preparations? You say you talked with the two of them about the plans. Did he express an opinion?”

  I shook my head. “He pretty much stayed out of it. Mom was in charge of the wedding, and Gregory let her do whatever she wanted.”

  The sheriff sat back in his chair and thought for a long time before he asked his next question. I tried not to fidget, but the chair was putting my butt to sleep.

  “You’re absolutely sure?” he asked. “There was no question that they were going ahead with the marriage?”

  I stared at the sheriff.

  I opened my mouth to answer his insane question, but I was at a loss for words. Of all the crazy things I had heard in the last twenty-four hours, this was surely the craziest.

  “Okay, I don’t know where you got that idea, but the marriage was definitely going to happen. I even witnessed the prenuptial agreement. Not that I really wanted to know all the details of their financial arrangements.” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. This was one thing I was certain about. “No way either one of them was backing out.”

  The recorder clicked off when I stopped talking. The constant clicking as it started and stopped was making me nuts, the chair was killing my butt, and the bitter coffee was roiling around in my stomach with my hasty lunch from Franklin’s.

  “Are we through?” I asked.

  Sheriff Mitchell hesitated. He nodded his head. “For now. But I do need to talk to your mother. And”—he gave me a stern look, his eyebrows drawing together over his sharp nose—“you will need to wait and sign your statement after we have it printed.

  “You seem to forget about coming back for that little detail.”

  “Come on, Sheriff. I forgot once. Okay, maybe twice. I’ll come in and sign the statement this time. I promise.” I looked around for a clock and realized the room didn’t have one. Funny, I had never noticed that before.

  “As for my mother, she’s probably at work this afternoon—”

  “No, she isn’t,” the sheriff interrupted. “The office is closed until we have had time to search Mr. Whitlock’s files. No one is allowed in, and no paperwork goes out.”

  Which meant Mother was probably at my house right this minute, doing Lord knows what.

  I had to get back while I could still recognize the place.

  It took me several more minutes to convince the sheriff to let me go.

  I had to promise not to leave town without letting him know, since I hadn’t signed my statement—the guy was never going to get over that flight I took to San Francisco—and we agreed that he would come by the house later to talk to my mother rather than making her come to the station.

  I wasn’t looking forward to his visit, but at least he would be the one to tell Mom that Gregory’s death was being treated as a homicide. She could answer his questions about her wedding plans, if he didn’t believe me.

  Whatever it took to get me out of the sheriff’s station.

  Driving away I was torn between going home to rescue my house and my dogs from Mom and stopping to talk to Sue. I was still debating when I passed Doggy Day Spa.

  There was an empty parking space at the curb in front and I decided it was a sign I should stop. I wasn’t avoiding my mother. Really.

  Sue was with a customer when I walked in the store. I waved at her and went through the shop to the office in the back. I could run a computer security scan while I waited for her.

  I sat down in front of her computer and started through the familiar routine.

  I was still trying to figure out how I felt about walking away from high tech. Blake Weston’s death had drawn me back into that world, and for a few crazy days I had seriously considered the offer to return to Samurai Security.

  In the end I’d said no.

  It wasn’t because I didn’t like the work. In fact I was enjoying my secret job as a computer consultant and I could have a lot more work if more people knew about my skills and experience.

  Which I wasn’t sure I wanted. I liked that I only worked for a few close friends, like Sue and Paula and Barry. My computer skills had been a bonus for Barry when he hired me, and I liked making his office computer jump through hoops he didn’t know existed.

  But the constant pressure and the long hours? No time for a personal life? Devoting every waking hour to the company?

  That was the part I didn’t miss.

  I also didn’t miss the rigid schedule of hair and nail appointments to maintain the perfect image of success. I didn’t miss being so work-obsessed I had to hire a dog-walker because I didn’t have time for Daisy and Buddha. I didn’t miss turning every meal into a business meeting and every business meeting into a substitute for real friendships.

  Still, I had to admit I missed the money. Living on my wages as an apprentice plumber was a far cry from an income that let me drive a vintage Corvette on the few days I actually had time to drive anywhere.

  Now I drove the Beetle my dad had given me when I graduated from high school and I walked my own dogs. I hadn’t had a manicure in years, and I trimmed my own hair. I still had the ’Vette though. A woman has to have at least one luxury.

  I heard the bell over the front door ring, and a moment later Sue appeared in the door of the office. She ignored the computer screen and pulled a bottle of water from the tiny refrigerator.

  “Afraid to go home?” she asked.

  “Just stopped to let you know how it went.” I side-stepped answering her question.

  “And?”

  I drew in a deep breath. “Have you heard anything about Gregory and my mom? Anything about problems over the wedding?”

  Sue pulled a chair over and sat down. She reached for my hand where it rested on the computer mouse. Her fingers were damp and cold from the water bottle, but the touch was reassuring. “You know I would have told you if I heard anything important,” she said. I could hear the but in her tone.

  “What did you hear that wasn’t important?”

  She sat back and took a long draw on her water bottle. “Nothing, really.” She shrugged. “You know how rumors fly in a small town.”

  “Yeaah.” I drew the word out, not sure I wanted to hear the rest.

  “Well, I heard they had an argument the other day. In Dee’s. Not like a big battle or anything, but it was clear they were disagreeing about something.” She shook her head. “You know how it is. I didn’t even remember hearing about it until you asked just now.”

  I groaned. “So that was what he was talking about.” I slammed my fist on the desk, making the mouse jump. The cursor skittered across the computer screen, interrupting my scan.

  I instantly regretted the flash of temper.

  I slowly and deliberately restarted the scan, then moved away from the computer.

  Sue watched me without moving. She’d seen me lose it when we were in high school and she still didn’t completely trust the new and improved Georgiana Neverall.

  “Your boyfriend asked me if there was a problem about the wedding. I had dinner with them a couple days ago. They were getting along just fine.” I shook my head, remembering the too-cute antics of my mother fussing over Gregory, and him loving every minute of it. I gave myself a shake to dislodge the image. “So if they had an argument they were definitely over it by the time I saw them.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. I don’t know where the rumor started, but somebody said they overheard them arguing about wedding expenses.”

  I glanced at the computer to check on the progress of the scan. A couple more minutes.

  “Fred’s only doing his job, Georgie. He has to ask. You know that.”

  “I suppose.” I didn’t concede the point with much grace.

 
Sue looked miserable. I had to admit she was in a tough spot, torn between the man she was dating and her best friend, and I wasn’t making it any easier.

  “Sorry,” I said. I held my right hand up and raised three fingers in a pledge. “I promise not to let issues with boyfriends come between me and my best friend.”

  Sue laughed. “And vice versa.”

  I laughed, too. It was an old joke.

  “You didn’t have to break up with Wade, you know.”

  “Yes, I did,” I insisted. “He shouldn’t have covered for that two-timing jerk you were dating. I totally had to.”

  “Well,” she said, standing up and heading back into the shop, “you didn’t need to wait twenty years to make up.”

  “More like fifteen,” I said, following her. It probably was closer to twenty than fifteen, but I didn’t want to think about how long ago it really was. “And most of that time I wasn’t even living here, so it shouldn’t count.”

  “Whatever.” Sue dismissed my argument with a wave of her hand. “Seriously, though.” She turned around and faced me. “Has anyone told your mother about Gregory?”

  She gave me “the look.”

  “You mean that Fred thinks he was murdered?” The word felt funny on my tongue, but I was getting used to it. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  “I got the distinct impression the sheriff wants to tell her himself. I may be chicken, but I’m happy to let him.”

  I looked up at the vintage cat clock on Sue’s wall. “And now I had better get going. Even if the sheriff is taking responsibility for talking to her, I think it would be better if I was there.

  “Just in case.”

  chapter 10

  The Escalade took up two-thirds of the driveway, and there was a strange car in front of my house when I arrived. I carefully maneuvered the Beetle into the remaining sliver of driveway and locked the doors.

  I opened the front door and stepped into chaos.

  It appeared to radiate from my mother who stood in the middle of the living room, her hands on her hips, a frown drawing her perfectly arched brows down over her nose.

  “No, no, no, Penny. I think the sofa should go over there.” She waved a gloved hand toward the front wall. “Then we can move the lamp table to the corner—” She stopped when she caught sight of me.

  “You remember Penny, don’t you, Georgie?” She indicated the young woman who was struggling with the overstuffed sofa that was my temporary bed. She looked vaguely familiar, like the younger sister of someone I’d gone to school with. Mom didn’t bother to fill in the blanks.

  “We use her at the agency to clean and stage houses. Since we couldn’t meet at the office today”—her tone implied I was somehow to blame for her inconvenience—“I asked her to come here. We finished our business, and then we just sort of . . .” She spread her arms wide, taking in the entire living room. “We won’t be long,” she said, oblivious to my frozen smile.

  Penny caught the look, and there was a flicker of sympathy in her eyes.

  “Hi, Penny,” I said in what I hoped was a friendly manner. It wasn’t her fault my mother was unable to leave my things alone.

  Daisy and Buddha appeared in the kitchen doorway, identical expressions of doggy panic on their faces. These strange women were moving furniture in their house while I wasn’t there, and they were distressed.

  “Mother,” I managed to get out through clenched teeth, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I walked into the kitchen.

  I leaned my back against the counter and crossed my arms over my chest. While I waited for her to join me, I looked around my kitchen.

  It wasn’t my kitchen anymore. The formerly bare counters now held an assortment of my small appliances that had been stowed in the pantry closet. Each one had been scrubbed and polished, and several dish towels hung from strategic points around the room.

  The table, a space usually kept clear, had been covered with a cloth, placemats, a decorative bowl, and a vase of fresh flowers I suspected came from the supermarket.

  Which meant Mom had gone grocery shopping, too.

  I was still taking in the changes when Mom strode in. Her usual mile-high stilettos had been replaced with a pair of expensive espadrilles, and I was shocked at the realization she was actually several inches shorter than I was.

  Even doing housework she had on full makeup, her hair was carefully tied into a loose knot, and she wore a casually stylish outfit of Capri pants and a matching long-sleeved top.

  With an expertise born of necessity—dressing for success had taken practice—I could assess her clothes at a glance and I knew her casual outfit was worth more than my entire stock of jeans and T-shirts.

  Not that it mattered to me, but I knew it did to her.

  “Mom, the sheriff wants to talk to you. He’s agreed to come here rather than make you go to the station, but he’ll be here any minute.”

  “Okay,” she said. She looked around the kitchen and glanced back through the door into the living room. Her eyes lit on the dogs, and they moved away from her, as though afraid she was going to banish them from the house.

  “I’ll just have Penny finish up in the living room while I clean up and change,” she went on.

  “I doubt there will be time for that,” I countered. “You will have to leave the furniture moving for another day.” My voice was low, a too-calm tone that most people around me had learned was a warning of the possible release of my tightly controlled anger.

  Mom either didn’t hear or didn’t heed the warning. “It won’t take long.”

  “Mother.”

  “Yes, dear? What is it?” A note of annoyance crept in, and she looked impatient. “I have to go change.”

  “Forget changing your clothes and listen to me!” I swallowed the flash of anger and went on. “There isn’t time. We need to put the living room back together as best we can and let Penny go home.

  “Besides, do you realize you just put my bed directly under the living room window?”

  “Don’t worry about that, dear. I’m sure the sheriff will get this all straightened out, and I’ll be going home in another day or so.” She cocked her head to one side in a coquettish gesture meant to indicate she was thinking. “In fact, I’ll bet that’s why he’s coming over.”

  She sailed back toward the living room, confident that everything would work out.

  I admit I took the coward’s way out and let her go.

  Sure, I could have stopped her and explained that the sheriff was most definitely not coming over to tell her she could go back to her house. But that would have led to questions about why and how I could be so sure. Questions I didn’t want to answer.

  I followed her into the living room and volunteered to move furniture.

  Penny left a few minutes later. Mom followed her to the door, assuring her they would be “back to normal” in a day or two.

  She had no idea how wrong she was, nor how fervently I wished she was right. But as Penny pulled away, the sheriff glided into the empty space at the curb. She would know soon.

  Fred Mitchell parked his personal pickup and made his way up the walk to the front door. I didn’t know why he wasn’t driving an official car, but I was just as glad not to have a sheriff’s squad car in front of my house.

  The sheriff looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, his usual ramrod-straight posture was sagging slightly, and his uniform was wrinkled, as though he’d slept in it.

  Which he probably had.

  He had the murder of a prominent local businessman on his hands. I doubted he’d been home since the initial call came in yesterday morning.

  I felt sorry for him. After everything else, the next several minutes with my mother would be grueling. And unless he had personally killed Gregory Whitlock—a ludicrous thought—none of it was his fault.

  It was just his job—a job I didn’t envy. I didn’t much like talking to him in an
official capacity. Would anyone? But when I wasn’t the one butting heads with him I realized what a tough position he was in. He had to deal with people at their worst. And my mother’s worst? Like I said, I felt sorry for him.

  I took the sheriff’s jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the front door. “I’d offer you a beer,” I said, “but there’s that whole ‘on duty’ thing. How about a cup of coffee?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve had too much already.” He winced and instinctively put a hand against his stomach.

  “Water?” I suggested.

  He nodded.

  I went to the kitchen and filled a pitcher. I brought it back to the living room with a couple glasses of ice, just as my mother emerged from the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Somehow in the few intervening minutes she had managed to ditch her casual outfit and replace it with a pair of tailored slacks and a creamy yellow sweater set.

  And stilettos.

  I managed to keep a straight face. “If you don’t need me?” I asked the sheriff, glancing toward the kitchen.

  He shook his head. I would be close enough if he wanted me, but I’d leave the two of them alone.

  Coward.

  I retreated to the kitchen.

  I opened the refrigerator, intending to make dinner. I confronted full shelves, a novelty in my kitchen, and a couple plates already filled and covered with plastic wrap, ready to microwave and serve.

  My mother needed a hobby. Or at least to get back to work.

  I set my laptop on the kitchen table and flipped it open. Maybe I could distract myself by checking my e-mail or cruising the Web. Anything to take my mind off the interview taking place a few feet away.

  There was an open doorway between the two rooms, so I could hear them talking. I couldn’t make out all the words at first, but as I grew accustomed to the sound of their voices I could make out most of the conversation.

  It wasn’t eavesdropping as much as hearing a conversation I couldn’t avoid.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” the sheriff said.

  I felt a smile curl my mouth. I could picture him taking out the little recorder and putting it on the table next to the water pitcher.