A Candidate For Murder (Old Maids of Mercer Island Mysteries Book 2)

by Lynn Bohart

  As darkness began to close in around her, two scruffy feet appeared. Then an ugly face swam into view, as a hand reached out and pulled back the hood of her coat.

  “Shit!” the face said.

  “Why?” she whimpered.

  The man sat back on his heels and allowed a chuckle to emanate from that evil face. “Because mistakes happen, I guess. Too bad,” he said with a shake of his head. “Too bad for you, anyway.”

  Then the hand holding the hammer rose and fell a second time, and the lights went out for Trudy Bascom.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The weather was miserable. Christmas had come and gone, and New Year’s Eve was just a loud but fading memory. A cold front had moved into Seattle, and the wind and rain had threatened all day to derail my first date with Detective David Franks. The heavy winter storm that had gripped the Seattle area for two days had brought intermittent bouts of sleet, ice and even snow; but it failed to keep us home. We were tucked inside the warmth of the Mercerwood Shore Club, enjoying dessert after a movie, and I was loving every minute.

  I had waited several weeks for this date, while I healed from a car crash that happened just before Christmas. One of my book club members, Blair Wentworth, and I had been fleeing a couple of killers late one night on the Enumclaw Bridge. The crash had sent both of us to the hospital. Me, with two broken fingers, a badly twisted ankle, and a face that looked like it had been used as a punching bag. And Blair with a broken leg. But that’s a story for another time.

  Despite the weather, the club’s dining room was packed, and the air was filled with enthusiastic chatter and the smell of fajitas and grilled seafood. Outside the big bank of windows, the rain had turned to sleet, hitting the windows like little bits of splintering glass.

  I glanced toward my date, thinking he looked handsome in dark slacks, a dark turtleneck and camel-colored blazer. The color combination set off his deep brown eyes and thick silver hair. We’d chatted briefly at the theater before the movie started, and I’d learned that his wife of twenty-two years, Jolene, had died of ovarian cancer. Instead of immediately falling into the arms of another woman as many men do, he’d moved from their home in Sammamish and taken the job with the Mercer Island Police Department. For the past eight years, he’d been married to the job. That’s how we’d met. He’d been one of the detectives that investigated the murder of my good friend, Martha Denton. The thought that I was the one to take him out of his self-imposed social retirement made my heart flutter.

  We were both rusty at dating, so while the wind rattled the awning outside the window, the two of us sat awkwardly toying with our desserts.

  “So, Julia, did you enjoy the movie?” David finally asked, sneaking a glance my way.

  I shrugged at his question. “I did enjoy it. Although there were so many near misses in that car chase, I thought I was back up on the Enumclaw bridge.”

  He winced. “Sorry. I knew it was an adventure flick, but I didn’t know about the car chase. You’ve barely healed from the accident.”

  I flexed the fingers on my right hand. “Well, my fingers have healed pretty well. And at least my face isn’t all black and blue anymore.”

  His luscious lips pulled into a smile. “I’d say that pretty face has healed very nicely.”

  I felt my face grow warm.

  I wasn’t sure of David’s exact age, but he appeared to be in his early sixties, like me. He usually wore his gray hair a little long, which I liked. But it appeared he’d recently had it trimmed. I wondered if that was on my account. I felt my face grow warm again at the prospect. Of course, I’d been to the beauty parlor myself that afternoon, having my hair newly colored and coiffed. While I loved the look of his thick silver mane, nary a gray hair would show through my auburn curls tonight.

  “Who’d have thought I’d be having dinner with the detective from a murder investigation?” I said with a smile. Then I took a big sigh. “Too bad I had to lose one of my best friends in the process.”

  The mention of Martha’s death momentarily dragged down my spirits. David had given me the last few weeks to heal before suggesting tonight’s movie and dessert. But I wasn’t sure I’d ever get over Martha’s death.

  “So, how is Rosa doing?” he asked, changing the subject.

  I perked up and lifted my fork. “As far as I know, she’s fine,” I said, cutting off a piece of chocolate lava cake. “Her mother came from Brazil last week and took her home.”

  David’s eyebrows arched. “How do you feel about that?”

  I sat back and paused in thought before taking a bite. “Sad. But good. We saved Rosa from the sex-trafficking ring, and she gave birth to a beautiful little girl. It’s probably better that she’s back with her family. She went through so much.”

  David was toying with the edge of his own dessert. “You were very brave, Julia. There aren’t many women who would have done what you did. You gave her and her daughter a second chance.”

  I shrugged. “Actually, there are at least four other women I can think of who would have done the very same thing.”

  I placed the bite of cake in my mouth and thought about my four best friends – April, Blair, Rudy and Doe – who had helped during the investigation.

  He chuckled, forcing small dimples to appear at the corners of his mouth. “You’re right,” he said, putting up a hand in defeat. “The five of you are unstoppable.”

  “You got that right,” I said, swallowing. “We don’t like it when someone messes with us.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I’d hate to get on your bad side. You come with reinforcements,” David said, putting down his fork. “I thought using the garbage truck as a battering ram was a nice touch, though.”

  The memory of my friend, Doe Kovinsky, driving one of the garbage trucks from her waste management company through the wall of the church where I was being held prisoner made me laugh.

  “Yes, Doe had a lot of ‘splaining to do the next day.”

  “So, what did your husband think of all that?”

  David threw the question out carelessly; but the fact that he dropped his gaze to his plate told me he was worried that my past marriage had the potential of spoiling our budding relationship.

  “Ex-husband,” I reminded him.

  “Sorry. Ex-husband,” he said.

  “He chastised me for taking chances,” I said, stirring cream in my coffee. “But we were married for long enough that he’s learned not to try and control me.”

  I raised my eyes to glance at my date, wondering what he thought of that. He looked up and smiled.

  “I learned that in less than a few days,” he said with a smirk.

  “Very funny,” I replied with mock annoyance.

  My ex-husband, Graham, was currently serving as Washington State Governor. Even though Graham and I had been divorced for several years, and I had moved on with my life, everyone tiptoed around the fact that I had once been married to him. Whether he was the most powerful man in the state or not, to me he was just the guy I’d been married to who occasionally farted, scratched his nether parts, and had bad breath in the morning.

  “Trust me,” I said with a seductive smile. “You have nothing to worry about from Graham. We’re friendly, but the relationship was over long before the divorce. We stayed together for my daughter’s sake.”

  “When did you adopt Angela?” he asked. “Was she just a baby?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “We actually traveled to China to get her. Well, I went to China, along with a group of adoptive parents. Graham was busy with a major trial here in Seattle and couldn’t get away.”

  David glanced cautiously at me. “Did that bother you? I mean, that he couldn’t go to China with you? I often felt my wife was jealous of my work.”

  I pondered that question for a moment. “No. Not really. I had come to expect it. I knew Graham was ambitious, and I was ambitious for him. I wanted him to succeed. But somewhere along the line, we drifted apart. I started my antique b
usiness and became more involved in charitable work, and he got very serious about politics. Before long, we were like two different moons orbiting the same planet.”

  “And the same planet was the Inn?”

  “No. I think the Inn was a consolation prize. He bought it for me just before he asked for a divorce,” I said with a sneer. “I meant that the same planet was Angela. He was a good father, even if he wasn’t around too much. And look, she’s turned out just like him. She works in the prosecuting attorney’s office, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she runs for office one day herself.”

  “How do you feel about her dating Sean?” he asked.

  Now it was me who had to be cautious. Sean Abrams was the lead detective in the Mercer Island Police Department. He’d only been there about a year, having come over from the Seattle PD and was now David’s boss. I used the moment to take a sip of coffee and consider my answer.

  “Daughters don’t listen to their mothers when it comes to men, no matter what I might think. I want whatever will make her happy.”

  David laughed. “Now that was a politically correct reply.”

  I smiled in return. “What did you expect? I was married to a politician. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll get the check,” he said, starting to get up as a courtesy.

  I waved him back down. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  I stood up and pushed my chair back without looking behind me. Just then, the waitress crossed between tables with a tray of desserts. Her foot caught in the leg of my chair, and…well…the chair flew out from under me. I turned in time to see her go airborne, arms extended in front of her. Three plates filled with dessert flew off the tray, heading straight for a neighboring table.

  I watched in horror as the waitress landed face down on the carpet. One dessert plate slammed down in front of a surprised Mabel Worth, splattering a glob of coconut crème pie into the center of her ample cleavage. The second one flipped over and landed on top of Marley Randeau’s remaining lobster, burying it in chocolate pudding. The third one hit her husband’s coffee cup, tipping it over and flooding the table with hot liquid.

  Marley jumped up to avoid the scalding coffee. Her chair tipped backwards hitting a young boy in the back of the head. He began to wail as she stumbled and fell against the boy’s mother, practically slamming the poor woman’s head into her salad plate. As Marley regained her balance, the room went quiet – well, except for the seven-year old sounding like an air-raid siren.

  I glanced around me. Mouths actually hung open. I have to admit that it was a little like watching a pileup on Interstate 5. The only thing missing was the steam escaping from the cars’ engines.

  David appeared at my side just as his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, still staring in disbelief at the scene in front of him.

  “Franks,” he said into the phone.

  I leaned over to help the waitress pick herself up off the floor, but she yanked her elbow from my grasp. Meanwhile, Marley tried to console the little boy, while her husband stared at the glob of dessert wedged between Mabel Worth’s breasts with the expression of someone in need of a long drink of water.

  I stepped forward and stuttered an apology to everyone concerned, but it was accepted with all the warmth of an arctic blast.

  “We need to go,” David said, taking my elbow and turning me toward the door.

  “But,” I stammered, turning back to the field of destruction.

  “They’ll take care of things here,” he said, nodding to a waiter. “I need to take you home.”

  Two men at a neighboring table had gotten up to help the waitress, while additional wait staff arrived to restore order. I pulled away from David to grab my purse off the back of my overturned chair.

  “But why do we have to go? I really should stay to help these people.”

  David leaned in to me just as the mother picked up her inconsolable young son. “Because there’s a body,” he whispered in my ear.

  “A what?” I said above the din behind me.

  “A dead body!”

  Silence.

  We turned to the crowd.

  The screaming kid had chosen that exact moment to suck it up and stop screaming. Everyone in the room gawked at us a second time.

  “Um…not to worry,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “He’s a police officer. So, it’s good. We’re all good.”

  More silence.

  David forcibly grabbed my elbow this time and pulled me to the entrance. He helped me slip into my coat and then opened the door to greet the biting cold outside.

  “What’s going on?” I said, throwing my muffler around my neck. “What dead body?”

  “I’ve been called to a case,” he said, helping me out the door.

  We were moving through the parking lot. The pavement was slick with ice, so he kept a hand on my elbow to steady me.

  “I’m fine, David. I’m not the one who went flying in there. Now where are we going?”

  He stopped at the passenger side door to his Jeep Cherokee. “I’m taking you home. They found a body at the library.”

  “The library?” I said in alarm. “Someone was murdered?”

  He unlocked the car door and attempted to help me inside. But I wasn’t budging. He sighed in defeat. “I don’t know. That’s why I have to get up there. I’ll drop you off at the Inn.”

  “No you won’t,” I said, climbing into the car. “I’m going with you. I’m a member of the library board.”

  “No, Julia,” he said firmly. “I’ll call you first thing tomorrow morning. But right now, I’m taking you home.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Every guest room at the St. Claire Inn was full – unusual for this time of year, especially with the bad weather. If you had asked me two months ago if I thought murder would be good for business, I would have said no. I would have been wrong.

  Since Martha had been poisoned in my dining room back in December, we’d barely had time to turn rooms before the next guests arrived. The Inn was booked solid six months out. Of course, it wasn’t so much because Martha had died, but because my friends and I had helped to solve her murder, thus bringing lots of positive attention to the Inn.

  Of course, the ghosts didn’t hurt, either. Not only had we been featured on Jason Spear’s paranormal investigation show the year before, we had also been listed in the latest version of his book, The Most Haunted Hotels in the Northwest. In fact, he had a book signing scheduled at the Inn the next weekend.

  The second Monday of the month was my scheduled meeting with our accountant, Mr. Mulford. And while I waited anxiously for David to call as promised, I had to take care of business.

  Mr. Mulford was a mousy little man who wore suits a size too large and shirts that had yellowed at the collar. He often smelled like the Italian restaurant next door to his office, and sometimes arrived with a box of cannoli, which of course, I couldn’t refuse. But he was a whiz with numbers and never failed to produce a good financial statement.

  My job at these meetings was to hand over receipts for all purchases during the month coded by expense sub-account, along with deposit slips and copies of checks. This could get complicated since both the bakery and the sale of antiques were considered part of the same business.

  Mr. Mulford had arrived promptly at 8:30 that morning and was spread out on one of the tables in the breakfast room, his handy little calculator by his side.

  “There seems to be a variance in the food budget in January,” he said in his nasal voice. “Specifically, you purchased larger than usual quantities of sugar and cocoa.”

  He looked at me over the top of his glasses, his bushy brows clenched together like dueling caterpillars. I circled around the table to look over his shoulder. Mickey and Minnie, my two miniature Dachshunds, followed me and stopped to sniff his ankles – no doubt wondering where he’d hidden the spaghetti and meatballs.

  “Oh, that,” I said. I pul
led out a receipt. “As you’ll see, we not only bought a bunch of sugar and cocoa, we also bought a case of butter. We had to throw out our entire inventory of fudge in December and replace it,” I said matter-of-factly.

  His face betrayed his confusion.

  “Martha’s murder?” I prompted him. “You heard all about that, didn’t you?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Applegate. Martha who?”

  “Denton. She was a close friend. She died after eating some of the fudge we sell.” His eyes popped open, forcing his glasses to slip down his nose. “No, no,” I said quickly. “It wasn’t our fudge that killed her. Well…technically it was, but someone else had poisoned it.” If I thought my clarification would make things better, it didn’t. His eyes grew bigger. “Like I said, she was murdered. We found the killer, but we had to get rid of all the fudge. No one would buy it. We don’t even sell that flavor anymore. April developed a completely new recipe – raspberry mint chocolate chip. Would you like a sample?” I asked brightly, hoping to elevate the declining mood.

  “No…no thank you. I’ll just move on,” he said, turning back to the spreadsheet.

  “Speaking of Martha’s murder, we’ll also have a variance in our equipment budget,” I said. “We installed a new alarm system last month. Unfortunately, it’s on the fritz. So we may have a repair bill next month.”

  He gave me a curious look. “If it’s brand new, shouldn’t it be under warranty?”

  “Yes. But they had to order a new keypad, and it won’t be fixed until tomorrow.”

  I smiled sweetly and led the dogs across the hallway to the living room, leaving Mr. Mulford to his figures.

  Since selling antiques was part of the business, I spent much of my time arranging and rearranging the antique furniture and collectibles at the Inn. Almost everything visible was for sale, and we often sold several pieces a day. This required me to bring over new items from our warehouse on a regular basis.

  My maintenance man, Jose´, had placed a polished oak library table under the living room window. A collection of old clocks sat in boxes on the floor in front of it. I began unwrapping the clocks and arranging them on the table, but kept checking my watch because the girls in my book club were due to arrive at 10:00 a.m. I hoped to give them a full report on the dead body from the night before. Unfortunately, I was beginning to doubt I would hear from David in time.