A Mother's Day Murder (Mt. Abrams Mysteries Book 1)

by Dee Ernst

  I turned into the kitchen and stopped short. Marc was there.

  I hadn’t been in the same room with him in over six months. When Tessa announced she was old enough to go from house to car door without an escort, Marc and I stopped needing any regular face-to-face interaction. But I knew why he was in my kitchen. Tessa was throwing a fit, and he was trying to calm her down.

  He was on his knees in front of her, and she was yelling at him, her little face mere inches from his own. Cait was slumped against the doorjamb, looking miserable.

  “Whoa, Tessa, stop yelling,” I said, loud enough for her to hear. She turned and ran to me, throwing her arms around my waist.

  “Daddy won’t make Cait stay home,” she wailed, then burst into tears.

  Well, damn.

  Marc looked up at me miserably. “I don’t know what to say,” he said over the sound of Tessa sobbing.

  Tessa was getting tall and was all gangly arms and legs, but she was still my baby. I picked up my little girl and carried her up to her room.

  She took a while to cry it out, but she finally settled into a hiccupping bundle, half on her bed and half in my arms.

  “Tessa, honey, you are making us all very sad by acting this way,” I said softly. “You’re hurting Caitlyn and your Daddy and me. I know you love your sister and don’t want her to leave, but this is important to her. And when you love somebody, you can’t keep them from following their dreams.”

  She sniffed. “What about my dreams?”

  I stroked her hair. “What are your dreams, baby?”

  “That Caitlyn and I live together on a farm with six horses and a goat.”

  “Oh.” I kissed the top of her head. “And when were you going to do that?”

  “After I got out of vet school.” She sat up and wiped her eyes. “And we were going to have lots of rescue dogs, and I’d take care of them for free.”

  “That’s a great dream, Tessa. But isn’t Cait going to have to wait an awfully long time for you to get out of vet school?” She nodded, then looked at me with narrowed eyes. She was a smart kid. She knew where this was going.

  “So, while she’s waiting,” I went on, “shouldn’t she be able to do what she wants?”

  She took a deep breath. “But she’ll be gone for two years.”

  I hugged her. “I know. I’ll miss her too. But we can Skype and stuff. She can still text you all the time.”

  She buried her face in my side. “Not the same.”

  “I know. But it’s what we’ve got.”

  She nodded.

  “Good. Now go downstairs and say goodnight to Daddy, and then take a quick shower, OK?”

  She uncoiled herself and slid off the bed and out the door. I sat there for a few minutes, looking around her room. She was still in the princess stage, the pink and purple stage, the stuffed animal stage. I knew that at any moment I would turn around, and she, too, would be going off on her own into the great unknown.

  A few minutes later, Cait and Tessa came back upstairs. I got off the bed and met them in the hall.

  “How are my favorite girls now?” I asked.

  Cait gave me a hug. “She’s a tough bug, but I think we’re good.” She glared at Tessa, who promptly stuck out her tongue and scurried to the bathroom.

  “Dad’s still downstairs,” Cait said, then went into her room.

  I went downstairs slowly. I could hear Marc talking, and I knew he was lecturing Boot. He had been crazy about that dog and would spend evenings lecturing her on various subjects, from proper canine behavior in public to how to properly clean her butt. Cait had especially loved those times, and she would be collapsed in giggles by the time Marc was done.

  But tonight he was sitting alone in what used to be his living room, and I could hear him…

  “And don’t forget to go in everyday and smell Cait’s room. You don’t want to forget her,” he said.

  I paused to watch him, sprawled in the corner of the couch, Boot practically on his lap with her ears perked in intense concentration.

  “Spend more time with Tessa, until she becomes a pain, then pee on the floor a little so she goes away on her own.”

  “Please,” I said with a grin, “do not be telling that dog it is okay to pee in the house.”

  He looked up and smiled. “I told her just a little.”

  His smile could still make my stomach do flips. When he left, he had truly broken my heart. It had taken me three years to get over his being gone. I never got over being in love with him. Looking at him now, I could still feel his body against mine. I knew the way his skin tasted, and the sound of his breath in the night.

  “How are you?” I asked. It felt easy, standing on the other side of the room. After not being alone with him for so long, I wasn’t sure how I would feel. It wasn’t bad.

  “I’m good,” he said, scratching Boot behind her left ear. “The babe is up and grown.”

  I nodded. “We’ll get used to it, I guess. I’m really happy for her.”

  “How’s your mom?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “The same. Maybe worse. I see her every Friday for lunch.” I had a sudden flash. “I’m taking her to the orchid show this Sunday for Mother’s Day. Would you like to come? She always asks for you.”

  He smiled. “Sure. Since my own mother still insists on celebrating Mother’s Day alone in the Caribbean, I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “Great. I’ll let you know the details. The girls will love it.”

  He was watching me. “You look really good.”

  I shrugged. “Yes, well, losing fifty pounds will do that.”

  He shook his head. “Not just that. You look happy.”

  “I am. Work is good, money’s coming in, I’ve got friends. I’ve even got a date.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “A date? Good for you.” He glanced around. “You painted the living room?”

  “Last year. When Cait was around for Christmas break. We went for gray rather than the usual taupe. I like it”

  He got up. He was not tall, barely five foot ten, and was slightly built. His hair was dark red, the color of fall leaves and copper wire tangled together. His eyes were a deep green, his skin fair and freckled. He had aged a bit, a trace of gray at the temples and a tired look around his eyes.

  I suddenly thought of Sam Kinali, all big and dark and sexy. I blinked, and there was Marc again, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he seemed suddenly frail.

  “You look tired,” I told him.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well, you know publishing. And right now it’s even a bigger cluster fuck than ever.”

  I nodded. “I bet. I’m still in a lot of the loops. Still get Publisher’s Weekly. Not a pretty picture”

  He nodded a few times, looking down at the floor. That meant he was thinking, and thinking hard. “So, a date?”

  “Yep. First date in a really long time.”

  “Well.” He looked up. “I still love you, you know that, right?”

  I think I stopped breathing. He what? He just said what?

  I finally exhaled. “Yeah, sure. You’re just not in love with me anymore, right? Isn’t that what you said?”

  He walked past me to the front door, turned around, and grabbed me by my shoulders and kissed me.

  The feel of his lips on mine was such a shock that I almost fell to the floor. And it wasn’t just his lips. I felt his fingers as they gripped my shoulders, and then the slim, hard line of his body pressed against me, and I opened my mouth to him as all sorts of things came crashing in—familiarity, lust, happiness, more lust, that oh-my-God-he-wants-me-back feeling.

  I pushed him away and stepped back. “And what the hell was that?”

  He looked down at the floor again. “I’ve missed you,” he said at last.

  “So? I’m sure you miss your brother out in San Diego. Do you give him a lip lock when you see him too?”

  He shook his head. “No, of course not, but—“

  “But
what? We haven’t been in the same room together for months, and you think you can just, well, what you did?”

  He looked at me. His eyes were full. Was he crying? “I miss you,” he said again. And walked out the door.

  I put my hand to my mouth. My lips were still tingling. The rush I had felt had settled down in, well, you-know-where.

  He still loved me. He missed me.

  Damn him anyway.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning it was raining, which suited my mood perfectly. I’d slept very badly the night before, plotting various forms of ecstatic sexual reunion and/or severe mental and physical torture, with Marc as the central figure. Throw in Sam Kinali and his incredibly gorgeous eyes, and it was a pretty disrupted night.

  Sometimes, when it rained, I drove Tessa to the bus stop, but today brought a light, warm spring shower, so we put on matching yellow fisherman’s slickers and walked down the hill.

  Carol and Co. did not walk in the rain. Or the snow, for that matter, or when it was below thirty degrees. Taking Boot for a long walk to make up for the lack of exercise was out of the question. She did not like getting her feet wet. Yes, I know, spaniels are sporting dogs, and you’d think they would be fine in any weather, but—no. Not Boot. She started dragging her feet at the third raindrop. Puddles made her whimper. What a dog.

  One of the advantages of the kind of community that was Mt. Abrams was that certain traditions remained intact. Marie Wu, for example, moved into the farmhouse style house across from the bus stop five years ago, and when she was told that her front porch was the spot of the school kids to take shelter during the rain, she just nodded and smiled. So there we were, crowded around Marie’s rocking chairs and empty planters, waiting. Shelly was at the opposite end of the porch, so I couldn’t fill her in on the latest Marc development, but I knew I’d talk to her later in the day.

  The bus came and went, and I started back up the hill. It was raining harder, and I had the hood of my slicker pulled up over my head, so I didn’t hear the car as it drove up beside me, not until a voice was calling my name.

  “Ellie, how about a lift?” It was Doug Mitchell, his window rolled down, smiling at me.

  “Ah…” This was odd. Doug had never said more than five words in a row to me. Was he really trying to suddenly be a good neighbor? Why? “I’m good.”

  “Ellie, it’s pouring.”

  It was pouring. What could I say? “Sure. Thanks.”

  I ran around to the passenger side and jumped in the front seat. I was dripping all over his nice leather interior.

  “Oh, Doug, I’m sorry. Everything is getting wet.”

  He was driving slowly. “No worries. I’m glad I saw you walking. I need to ask you a question.”

  I was busy with my seat belt. Yes, I was only two minutes away from home, but well, it was a thing. “Sure. What?”

  “Why were you in Jordan’s room yesterday?”

  I opened my mouth. Then I shut it. I swallowed hard. “What are you talking about?“ I said, very proud that my voice did not tremble, squeak, or crack. My heart started to beat a little faster. I was a terrible liar. More than that, I was guilty as charged.

  “Well, you see, Ellie, when Jordan was little, he kept insisting that someone came in his room at night. So Lacey and I set up a nanny-cam, just to show him that it was only his imagination, you know? These days, I just automatically reset it every night for him. It’s a very sophisticated piece of equipment. Motion activated. So imagine my surprise when I looked at the log and saw that the camera went on when no one was supposed to be home.”

  I stared straight ahead, barely breathing. His voice had started out calmly enough, but he was talking faster and faster, and his tone was changing. He sounded angry. He had a right to be.

  I was trying to think a way out of this, but seriously, how could I? Caught on nanny-cam. I thought that sort of thing only happened on reality shows.

  “We walk past your house every morning,” I told him. When caught, try the truth. My father used to tell me that all the time. “And yesterday, Boot chased a rabbit into your yard, and we followed, and Shelly saw that your back door was open, so we went in to check to see if anything was wrong. It was a good deed sort of thing.” Oh, God, that sounded so lame.

  “I see.” His voice was tight. “And you went upstairs because…?”

  Very good question, Doug. I stared out the window. We were almost to my house. I could leap out of the car, run inside, lock my door and avoid him for the rest of my life.

  “Did she send you?” he whispered hoarsely. “Did she?”

  He suddenly sounded afraid. Of what? I turned to him. “Did who send me?”

  His jaw was clenched, and his hands gripped the steering wheel like it was his last link to the real world. “I didn’t think she made any friends, but of course, she’d use you against me.” He seemed to be talking to himself more than to me. He was white as a sheet, and sweat had broken out across his forehead. “What did she send you there for?”

  “Doug,” I said slowly and a little loudly, because, honestly, I was starting to panic. He was freaking out about something. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He jammed on the brakes, put the car into park, and turned in his seat. He looked desperate, and I was suddenly afraid. This was not about me being in Jordan’s room. This was a lot more than that.

  “What did she tell you?” he asked harshly. “You know she’s a liar, don’t you?”

  I laid my hand slowly on the latch to open the car door. I needed to be away from here. This had gone from embarrassing to scary to something totally beyond scary in just a few heartbeats. I lifted the latch gently, but of course, it was locked. “Doug, who are you talking about?”

  He lunged forward, his face suddenly inches from mine. “She got everything she wanted,” he screamed at me. “She said she would leave us alone.” He had to be talking about Lacey. Why had she left? And why was he so terrified of her coming back?

  I was done. My blood was pounding so hard I could feel it trying to burst through my heart and out of my chest. I looked down, found the lock button, pressed it, and pushed the car door open. He grabbed at me, caught my wrist, and twisted. There was a brief spurt of pain, but I jerked my arm, and his fist closed on the sleeve of my rain slicker. I pulled away, leaving him holding the empty slicker, and went running out into the rain and up the street toward my house. I was afraid to look back. He was in a car. He was obviously crazy. What if he tried to run me over?

  I swerved off the street and jumped up on the stone wall bordering my yard. I immediately slipped, falling on my face in the wet grass, but at least I was on the other side. He couldn’t run me over without plowing through hundred-year-old puddingstone and mortar. I struggled to my feet, soaked, sprinted through to the back yard, and then slowed enough to glance over my shoulder.

  Doug’s car had not moved. It was still in the middle of the street, wipers on, motor idling, my bright yellow slicker spilling out the open car door.

  I ran through the lilac bushes, up the steps, and into the house. I locked the back door with unsteady hands. Then I raced to the front door and threw the dead bolt. I sank to the floor, shaking uncontrollably, breathing in great gulps, Boot whimpering at my side.

  I had texted Maggie. I was still huddled on the floor when Boot started barking. Seconds later, there was a pounding on the door behind me.

  “Ellie, are you okay?”

  I struggled to my feet and unlocked the door. Maggie was standing there, Vivian Brewster behind her. She came in, grabbed my arm, and pushed me back into the kitchen.

  “You need tea,” she said. I sat down. My breathing was back to normal, but I was drenched and felt cold. I think I was shivering. Viv had been in my house enough times to know my kitchen, and she pulled out mugs and tea bags. Maggie had vanished, but returned with a throw from the living room and put it around my shoulders. I wiped my face with the corner of the throw and pulled it
tightly around me.

  There was silence, until a mug of tea was put in front of me. I took a grateful sip and closed my eyes.

  “Do you want to call the police?” Maggie asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Ellie, you sent me a text that Doug was after you. Are you sure?”

  I took another sip. “Is he still parked out front?”

  “No,” Viv said.

  “He has my slicker.” My teeth had stopped chattering.

  “We’ll get it back,” Maggie said. “What happened?”

  I told them. I looked into my tea, sipping it as I spoke. When I was done, I looked up at them. “What should I do?”

  Viv sat back, folded her arms across her chest, and shook her head. “Girl, you are into something here.”

  Vivian Brewster, besides being a very successful business woman, was the kind of person you wanted in a dire emergency, because she never seemed fazed by events around her. A few years ago, when Hurricane Sandy came through and Mt. Abrams was without power for eight days, she got the key to the Josiah Abrams original summer retreat, which had become the clubhouse for the Lake Association. It still had gas for cooking and a fireplace in every room, and she set up a place where we could all come to get warm and fed.

  She was also beautiful, with skin the color of coffee with a hint of cream, high cheekbones and wide dark eyes. She could have easily been taken for an African princess, but when she opened her mouth, Bayonne would come out.

  She wagged her finger at me. “Breaking into that house? You both know those people aren’t right. And now you have him goin’ all kinds of crazy on you, and not in a good way.” She shook her head again. “What were you all thinkin’?”

  Just hearing Viv’s voice made me feel better. I love Maggie to death, but despite her coolness and bravado, most of the time she tended to be useless in a crisis. Thank God for her husband, because every time Serif skinned a knee or bumped her head, Maggie would get hysterical while Derek applied first aid. With Viv in my kitchen, I wouldn’t have cared if Doug came through the door with a machete.