by Linda Reilly
The scrape of polyester-clad thighs, rubbing against each other with every step.
“Don’t leave me,” Arthur begged. “That’s the bad lady.”
And in that instant, the memory came to her.
Time to go clean the zoo.
Connie Parker’s words.
Crazy Connie Parker, fixated on her daughter to the point of obsession.
No wonder Whitnee had been so evasive about her mother’s job—she didn’t want Talia to know she worked at the Pines.
The morning after Phil’s murder, Whitnee had shown up for work in clothes that were stained and rumpled. She’d blamed it on her mother having left work sick the night before and not having done the laundry. The truth now dawned. Connie left work “sick” so she could confront Phil. Had she planned to kill him? Or was she only going to give him an ultimatum?
Talia looked around the room, scanning the area near the bed. Shouldn’t Arthur have a call button? She yanked her purse off her shoulder. “You’re right, Arthur, she’s badder than you know, but she’s not going to hurt anyone again.” Her hands shook as she dug around for her cell phone, which had somehow migrated to the center of the Earth. Before she could curl her fingers around it, the door flew fully open, slamming the rubber door stopper.
Connie barged into the room, dragging her janitorial cart behind her. With one foot she pushed the door shut. “Nosy bee-yotch. I heard what you called me.”
Her mouth dry with terror, Talia stepped in front of Arthur. “You have no right to come in here, Mrs. Parker. Please leave.”
Connie reached for her mop handle. “I bet you think you’re real smart. I talked to my girl a little while ago. She told me about you comin’ to our house, actin’ like you’re some kind of detective. You think you got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Talia said, hating the tremor in her voice. “I—”
Wielding the mop like a baseball bat, Connie slammed the handle into Talia’s left leg. Talia yelped, and her purse flew from her shoulder as she toppled to the floor. Pain soared up her leg like a rocket of white heat.
“You think I was gonna let that piece of crap in the lamp store get away with what he did to my girl?” Connie spat out.
Pain seared Talia’s shin, and her eyes watered. “Is that why you killed him? Because he had an affair with Whitnee?”
“My girl was pure before she met him! He did the dirty deed with her and then dumped her like a piece of trash. Now she’s just used goods. No decent man will ever want her.”
Talia struggled to twist her body into a sitting position, her shin throbbing. “Mrs. Parker, that’s simply not true.”
“That’s simply not true,” Connie mimicked. “Why do you think she had to go out with the likes of Pug Terranova? I told Whitnee when a man ruins a girl, he marries her. That’s the way it works. Period.”
So with starry visions of wedded bliss and a deranged mother for an advisor, Whitnee bought a bridal magazine and started planning the nuptials. So what if her intended wasn’t in on the plan? A minor detail, right?
Biting her lip against the pain, Talia inched backward a smidge. If she could get to Arthur’s table, she might be able to reach his carafe and use it as a weapon.
Distract her. Keep her talking.
“But how … when did Whitnee meet Phil? She never mentioned him, except to say that he dissed her.”
Connie’s upper lip curled. “Not that it’s your business, but she met him last spring. He saw her walkin’ to her car after work one night—she was parked behind his store. He started flirtin’ with her, tellin’ her how he’d been admirin’ her from afar. All he wanted was to get into her pants, but my poor, gullible girl fell for it, like a fish swallowin’ a worm. I didn’t find out about any of it till she came cryin’ to me that he dumped her. For him it was nothin’ but a fling, but my Whitnee thought she was in love. When she told me what he did”—Connie’s eyes darkened with rage—“I told her that scumball had better be plannin’ to marry her, after what he robbed her of.”
Stifling a cry of pain, Talia moved a millimeter closer to the table. “Is … is that why Whitnee bought the bridal magazine? Because you told her he had to marry her?”
“Yeah, but when she told him what I said about marryin’ a girl you ruined, he laughed in her face.”
The throbbing in Talia’s shin was growing worse. “Why did you wait so long to kill him?”
Connie pointed the mop handle at her. “I was givin’ him a chance to do the right thing. Whitnee kept hintin’ like they were gettin’ back together. I figured she started seein’ Pug just to make Phil jealous. But last week, when she told me how Phil insulted her and called her a ditz, I knew she was only foolin’ herself. It was time to make him pay.”
“Where did you get the knife?”
“That slob of a cook who works here must’ve dropped it. It was the day she cooked that disgustin’ cod. I remember, because the kitchen still reeked from it. I found the knife stuck halfway under the stove when I was washing the floor.” Connie cackled. “Her loss, my gain.”
Talia glanced up at Arthur, who looked almost catatonic. It she could keep Connie talking, maybe Nancy would realize Talia had been gone too long and send someone looking for her. “How did you get into Phil’s shop?”
“Oh, that was easy. Whitnee told me he left his office every night at seven sharp, through the rear door. She used to park her car next to his and wait for him. So I pretended I was sick and left work early, then I waited outside his door. Sure enough, he trotted out the back door at two minutes past seven. I shoved him right back inside, the little wimp. I gave him a chance, though. Even showed him my girl’s picture when she was a darlin’ little thing, so he’d see how sweet she was and change his mind and marry her. Know what he said?” Her eyes hardened. “He said she was just another slutty flirt, like all girls, and he only gave her what she wanted.”
Bad move, Phil.
“But he underestimated your motherly devotion, didn’t he?” Talia scooched, ever so slightly, toward the piecrust table.
Connie tossed her head back and laughed. “Did he ever! He tried to escape through the store, but I showed him my knife and turned him right back around. Afterward, I unlocked the front door so the cops would think the killer got in that way.” She tapped a forefinger to her temple. “People think I’m dumb because I clean for a livin’, but I outsmarted ’em all.”
“Yes, you did,” Talia agreed. She edged a few inches closer to Arthur’s table. “You must be awfully strong to have overpowered a young guy like Pug.”
“Pffft.” Connie waved a pudgy hand. “I’m strong as a bull, but that one was easy. He was sittin’ in his car with some bimbo, smokin’ God only knows what. But I was crouched behind it, waitin’. After the bimbo left Pug got out, and I smashed him from behind with a big rock I found in the woods behind the strip mall. And you know what? I’m sick of explainin’ all this to you. It’s time I got rid of you, and I got a good idea for that, too.”
Connie reached into the yellow nylon bag attached to the bottom of her cart and began rummaging through the contents. Ignoring the pain shooting through her leg, Talia dragged herself a few inches closer to the piecrust table.
When Connie straightened, her chunky fingers were wrapped around the handle of a silver letter opener. “I’m gonna stab you with this and blame it on the daffy doodle over there. His fingerprints are already on it.”
“So are yours.”
“Of course they are!” Connie chortled insanely, and her thick jowls jiggled. “That’s because I found it stickin’ out of your neck and tried to save you by pullin’ it out!”
Gripped by sheer terror, Talia said, “Leave Arthur out of this, Connie. He never did anything to you.”
Connie’s eyes bulged with cold fury. “Oh, yeah?” She reached into the nylon bag again and whipped out yet another photo of Whitnee in the orange plaid boots. “Him and me, we got talkin’ one night
, and I told him all about my girl. I showed him this picture, and know what he said? He said my girl was funny-lookin’. Funny-lookin’! That’s why I started stealin’ his stuff, to pay him back for being so nasty.” She tossed the photo at Arthur. It landed on his thigh, and he flinched.
“The police won’t be fooled, Connie.” Talia moved her fingers slowly toward the base of the piecrust table. “How will you explain the bruise on my leg?”
“Shut up!” With a demonic grin, Connie twisted the letter opener.
It was now or nevermore. Talia shot her arm up and grabbed at the carafe, but she wasn’t quite close enough to grasp it. The carafe toppled and shattered, spilling water over the floor.
Arthur’s eyes widened. In the next instant he sprang off his chair, one shaky finger pointing at the puddle spreading over the floor. “Water, water, everywhere, and all the boards did shrink!”
Connie gawked at him in surprise. “What the—”
His eyes aglow with the passion of the poem, Arthur advanced toward Connie. He was taller than Talia realized, and made an imposing figure. “Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink!”
Talia used the distraction to her advantage. She lunged for Arthur’s chair and hauled herself onto her good leg, her shin pulsing with pain. She hopped over to Arthur’s bureau and reached for the bust.
Connie’s eyes flickered in confusion. She shifted her gaze between Arthur and Talia, as if trying to gauge who was the bigger threat. She jabbed the letter opener wildly at Arthur, stuttering backward until she rear-ended her own cart. “Get away from me, you crazy coot!” She kicked him in the knee with the bottom of her shoe.
Arthur buckled but didn’t stop. He thrust his arm past Connie and snagged a spray bottle from the cart. “Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs upon the slimy sea!” He squeezed the handle fiercely, squirting a shower of lemon-scented liquid into her startled face.
Connie shrieked with rage. She still held on to the letter opener while she dug at her eyes with the thick fingers of her other hand. “I’ll kill you!”
Talia seized the bust off the bureau and fast-hobbled over to Connie. Using every bit of strength she could rally, she swung it into the side of the woman’s head. Connie’s eyes crossed like a cartoon character’s, and she crumpled to the floor in an ungainly heap. A thin river of blood trickled toward her ear.
With a choked sob, Talia dropped the bust onto Connie’s cart. She stumbled toward Arthur. “Are you okay, Arthur?”
He looked at her blankly and then stared at the spray bottle in his hand, his eyes clouded with bewilderment.
Talia took the bottle from him and tossed it to the floor. “Come on, Arthur, let’s sit down. I need to call for help. Could you get my purse for me?”
The throbbing in her shin had subsided to a burning ache. Arthur gripped her waist and helped her limp over to his chair. He fetched her purse, and she used her cell to call the front desk, instructing Nancy to call 911.
Arthur bent to retrieve the photo of Whitnee that had fallen near his chair. He pointed at it. “Funny-looking,” he said, with a childlike giggle. “These boots are funny-looking.”
26
Howie Lambert reached for his wife’s hand, his smile stretching from one large ear to the other. “Ah, look at her, Bea. She’s always been a natural at this, hasn’t she?”
“That she has, luv.” Bea squeezed her husband’s hand, and then moved his wheelchair back a smidge so as not to block Talia’s path.
“Oh, you two are biased and you know it,” Talia scolded, loving every word they said. She removed two meatballs—which she’d dredged first in a Parmesan batter of her own design—from the deep fryer. She set one on a plate for each of them, along with a plastic fork. From a small saucepan on the stove, she ladled up a spoonful of marinara sauce and dribbled it over each of the servings. “Don’t gobble, now,” she cautioned. “These are sizzling hot.”
Ignoring her warning, Howie jabbed his fork into his meatball. “Never too hot for me,” he boomed and plopped the entire thing into his mouth. He grinned broadly after he swallowed. “Talia, these are going to be a hit.”
Favoring her right leg slightly, Talia moved over to the work counter to be sure everything was ready for Ryan and Arthur’s early lunch. They’d promised to come by around eleven fifteen. The thought of seeing Ryan again sent a pleasing little zing through her, though it was Arthur to whom she owed her life. Ryan had texted her an hour ago that Arthur had skipped his breakfast so he’d have plenty of room for an extra helping of fish and chips.
Bea speared her meatball. “I can’t help feeling bad for Whitnee. Poor luv, growing up with that daft mum.”
“I know, Bea. I feel the same.” Talia covered the bowl of Bea’s freshly prepared slaw with plastic wrap and slid it into the fridge. “I really wanted her to stay on, but the publicity over her mother’s arrest was more than she could face.”
Whitnee had long been aware of her mother’s obsession with her, she later told the police, but never realized it had turned deadly. The day Whitnee bawled to her mother about Phil’s rudeness to her, something inside Connie snapped. She’d waited months for Phil to propose marriage to Whitnee, but after the incident at Lambert’s she saw it was never going to be. With her little girl “ruined,” the perpetrator had to pay.
Interviews with neighbors had revealed similar—and disturbing—vendettas. It seemed Connie sought revenge for every minor infraction, even going so far as to flatten the bicycle tires of a little boy who accidentally kicked his soccer ball into her scraggly yard.
“Well, at least Whitnee’s switching her major to fine arts,” Bea said, shaking her head. “All along, it was her mum who coerced her into taking those business classes. Poor girl hated them, but didn’t want to disappoint that awful woman.” She nibbled a corner of her meatball. “Oh, luvvy, these are marvelous!”
Talia smiled, thrilled that her meatball concoction was, so far, a success. Over the past few days, she’d experimented with a few other “deep-frieds,” and was itching to try them out on Ryan and Arthur.
And she was more than grateful that Connie Parker had survived her clash with the bust of Shakespeare, although the woman did suffer a severe concussion. The cleaning fluid Arthur had squirted into her eyes was nontoxic and caused no permanent damage. On Friday morning, sporting a thick bandage and a hard scowl, Connie was indicted for the murders of Phil Turnbull and Brandon “Pug” Terranova.
The door opened and Talia swiveled around, prepared to bestow a dazzling smile on Ryan and Arthur. When she saw who entered, her lips flatlined. “K … Kendra,” Talia stammered. “What are you doing here?”
Kendra LaPlante tossed back her blond curls and laughed. “Well, isn’t that a fine greeting.” She tugged off her black leather gloves and stalked over to the counter. “By the way, kudos on nailing Phil’s killer, Talia. From all accounts, you were quite the heroine. Or do they say hero these days?”
“Thanks, but I only reacted. Arthur Collins is the real hero.”
“Not the way I heard it.” Kendra slid her hand into her Coach clutch. “Interesting tidbit for you. It seems a young woman telephoned Always You a few nights after Phil was murdered, pretending to be my assistant.”
“I …” Talia sputtered.
“This impersonator,” Kendra barreled on, an amused twinkle in her eye, “was trying to find out my whereabouts on the night Phil’s life was so brutally snuffed.”
“Huh, how about that,” Talia muttered, admiring the shine on the blue-and-white tiled floor.
“The truth is,” Kendra said in a low voice, “I ditched my massage that evening to sneak into the spa’s office. My goal was to copy their client records onto a flash drive—a little industrial spying, if you catch my meaning. Well, it seems a little bird tipped off the police that I’d gone missing during my massage, which prompted the spa to view their surveillance films.”
A little bird …
“You can imagine the fetch
ing picture I made for the hidden camera, attired as I was in my spa towel and unmade-up face.”
“Kendra, I … don’t know what to say.”
“Luckily, the spa agreed not to press charges, as long as I never set foot in there again.” Kendra gave out a tinkling laugh.
“Wow. That’s, um …” Talia had no response that wouldn’t make her come off like a Nancy Drew wannabe, so she crossed her arms over her blue Lambert’s apron and zipped her lips.
“The truth? You actually did me a huge favor. As long as Phil’s murder remained unsolved, the life insurance company was balking at paying out. I am pleased to report that I received a check from them yesterday morning, for the full amount of the policy.”
“Oh. Well, then … congratulations, I guess.”
Kendra withdrew two gold-engraved lavender cards from her bag and presented them to Talia. “One for you and one for Bea. When my spa opens next fall—fingers crossed—I’d like to invite each of you to enjoy an all-day luxury treatment, on me.”
Bea scuttled around Howie’s wheelchair and went over to claim her ticket. “Why, what a lovely gesture,” she gushed. “Thank you!”
“Yes, this is very generous of you,” Talia agreed. “So, is Aaron going to open the comic book store now?”
“No, and I no longer care.” With a curl of one cherry-tinted lip she slipped her gloves back on. “He wants to draw comic books, instead. Can you believe such idiocy? Oh, and I’ll be selling the lighting shop to the highest bidder, so if you know anyone …”
Talia and Bea shook their heads, and with a flip of her hand Kendra was gone.
“She’s a strange one,” Bea said, and the door opened again.
“Hey, everyone. Did you save any fish and chips for us?”
Talia’s insides did a tiny jig at the sound of Ryan’s voice. He entered with his arm looped through Arthur’s, and for the first time Talia saw the strong resemblance between the two. Strong jaw, slender build, kindness beaming from intelligent gray eyes.
Hugs were exchanged all around, and Talia led them to the table she’d set for them.