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

by Dee Ernst

  My mother’s head snapped around. “Yes. Yes, I love cards.” She waved in my direction as she got up. “See you tomorrow, Ellie. Give your babies a kiss for me.”

  I smiled gratefully at Liz, who took my mother’s arm and led her out of the room.

  I sat there for a few minutes more. My high school graduation picture was on one of her shelves. I looked at it closely. I was a very pretty girl back then, pretty enough to have had lots of young men offer me beer and pot and sex. In the spirit of the seventies, which was when I had come of age, I took many of them up on their offers.

  That was then. This was now. I closed the door behind me when I left my mother’s room.

  Sam Kinali called while I was walking down to get Tessa at the bus stop.

  “How are you?” he asked, like he actually meant it.

  “I’m fine. What have you found out?”

  “I’m fine too, thanks for asking,” he said, laughter in his voice. “I realize it’s short notice, but can I take you out for dinner this evening?”

  “Cait is working, and on a Friday night on such short notice, getting a sitter for Tessa might be tough.” I tried to remember what was in my freezer besides Smart Ones frozen meals, sugar-free ice pops and Cait’s chicken potpies. “How do you feel about spaghetti and meatballs?”

  “Two of my favorite things.”

  “I have homemade sauce, and I’ll get some salad. About seven?”

  “I’ll bring wine and dessert,” he said, and hung up.

  Damn. Dessert.

  Tessa and I made a quick run through Stop and Shop, and only spent one hundred and forty seven dollars. That little girl grabbed everything her little arms could reach. When we got home, I pulled the sauce and meatballs out of the freezer, put away everything but the salad fixings and the box of pasta, and quickly dusted the dining room. The girls and I ate in the kitchen, and the weekly housekeeping routine tended to be a little lax.

  Cait came down, dressed for work, halfway through the process. “You’re dusting? Are we expecting the queen?”

  “No. Sam Kinali.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Do you like Kyle Lieberman?”

  “Fair enough,” she said, and left without further comment.

  The sauce was still frozen when I threw it in the pot, but by ten to seven, it was bubbling gently, and the house smelled amazing. It had been my mother’s recipe, and every time I made it I remembered Sunday dinners when my father was alive, and he and my mother were still in love after thirty years.

  “Why are we having the policeman over to dinner?” Tessa finally got around to asking. “And why did you change? Is this a date?”

  “No,” I lied. I did not want Tessa to start getting attached to anyone, or think that I was. “But after we eat, you are going to excuse yourself from the table and go upstairs and watch TV up in the spare room. We may be discussing grown-up things.”

  “Like that dead Mr. Mitchell?”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  “Is there a mad killer on the loose in Mt. Abrams?”

  I shook my head. “No, there is not. And if there was, we have the worlds most protective dog to scare anyone away, right?”

  She nodded. “Can I bring popcorn?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Oreos?”

  “No. Just popcorn. And if you don’t behave, I’ll return the Oreos and all the other junk you bought today. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  The doorbell rang exactly at seven. I hurried to answer, opening the door to find Maggie and Viv standing there, looking excited and each holding a bottle of wine.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, trying not to look disappointed.

  “Don’t you want to hear what we found out today about Lacey Mitchell?” Maggie asked.

  Before I could answer, I saw Sam Kinali step up on the porch behind them. He had a bottle of wine in one hand, and what looked to be a bakery box in the other. “I’d love to,” he said.

  Viv turned around and immediately got it. “Come on, Maggie, we’ll come back another time.”

  Maggie, however, missed all the clues. “Detective Kinali, what luck. We found some very interesting things out today. They might help your case.”

  My shoulders slumped as Viv poked Maggie with her elbow. “No, Maggie. Let’s take our wine to Shelly’s house. We’ll talk to Ellie later.”

  “Please, ladies. Don’t let me run you off,” Sam said, his eyes dancing. “I find all this amateur sleuthing very entertaining. Unless, Ellie, dinner is ready right this minute?”

  He was something else. “No. I haven’t even put the pasta on,” I said. “But it’s a beautiful night, let’s stay out here on the porch. I’ll get glasses and a corkscrew.”

  “Here,” Sam said, openly grinning now. I recognized the box. Pirelli’s Bakery. I knew Pirelli’s. They made things filled with sugar and cream and candied fruits.

  I was doomed.

  They were all laughing quite companionably when I went back out on the porch, holding a tray of glasses and a bowl of pita chips. Sam was enjoying himself very much. Viv rolled her eyes apologetically and grabbed the corkscrew, opening her bottle of wine. She poured, and we all drank. I introduced Sam and Viv, but they already seemed like fast friends.

  The evening was starting to cool off, but the air smelled fresh and clean, with the faint scent of lilacs, and it was still light. I looked out toward the lake, and of course, the Mitchell house. There was still yellow crime scene tape everywhere.

  Sam snagged a pita chip and motioned toward Maggie. “So tell us, what did you find out?”

  Maggie cleared her throat. “Well, we talked to Joanie. Joan Dudley, down at the post office. That’s kind of the information hub out here, if you know what I mean.”

  Joan was something over seventy, and had been postmistress for fifty years. She heard every single word that was spoken in the post office, even if it wasn’t spoken to her. We often joked that if she could, she’d have tables and chairs in the lobby so that people could sit down and gossip longer. As it was, she pretty much knew everything that was going on in town.

  “Lacey came in every morning at the same time,” Maggie went on. “I guess right after she came up from the bus stop. Joanie said that she was always polite, never chatted, and didn’t get a lot of junk mail. She also said that Doug brought the boys in every Saturday, and that he was much friendlier, but still not much for idle chitchat.” She leaned confidentially toward Sam. “Joanie lives for idle chitchat.”

  Sam nodded encouragingly. “I see.”

  “Anyway, Joanie noticed that Lacey had a postcard from the library, the ones they send to tell you a book you’ve reserved has come in, so she thought that’s where Lacey went next. So we went there as well.”

  Sam drank some wine. “And?”

  Viv took over. “Carol said that yes, Lacey was there Friday morning. And she did pick up a book. But then something weird happened. Kate Fisher and Lynn Fahey were talking about something, probably the damn Garden Club, and Carol said that Lacey just kind of froze and listened. Kate has a big mouth, just so you know. Not only does she talk a lot, but she’s loud. Whatever Lacey heard, Carol said she turned white and practically ran out of the library.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Really? And Carol—this is Carol Anderson, yes?—didn’t remember what the conversation was about?”

  Maggie and Viv both shook their heads.

  “We were going to Carol’s tonight and ask her,” Viv said, “but she’s got a hot date as well.”

  Sam grinned, and I gulped my entire glass of wine.

  Viv stood up. “Well, hate to leave, but we’ll take our bottle here and go tell Shelly what we’ve learned. Maybe we can all talk to Carol tomorrow, Ellie?”

  I stood up, and so did Sam.

  “Great idea,” I said.

  “It was a real pleasure talking to you ladies,” Sam said, bowing graciously. Maggie giggled as she and Viv walked off
into the evening.

  Sam and I settled back down. My solar lights went on. My front porch wasn’t as neat and chic as the Mitchell’s porch. My furniture was older and a bit creaky, but I had painted it all last year, and the cushions had been dusted off. It was cozy and comfortable, and with the view of the lake, it was one of my favorite places on earth.

  “This must be a good life for you.” Sam said softly. “I can smell your spaghetti sauce from here. Good food, a beautiful lake, and friends who come by with wine.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m very lucky. This is a good place to live. I’ll put on the pasta. I’ll be right back.”

  Inside the house, I turned up the water for the pasta, lit a few candles, and turned on some music. Tessa made a face at me from her reading chair in the living room, and I stuck my tongue out at her as I went by.

  Boot followed me back on the porch. She growled softly at Sam, who patted her on the head and behind her ears, making them friends for life. She hopped up on a chair and sat back, ready to join the conversation.

  “I suppose it’s terribly unprofessional to talk about an active case?” I asked.

  Sam nodded. “It is indeed. But Lawrence isn’t too strict about things. The preliminary autopsy shows that Doug Mitchell may have been injected with something prior to his death by asphyxiation. There were no signs of struggle or any other trauma, which indicates he sat there quietly in the car until he passed out. We have to wait for toxicology reports before we can determine what, if anything, was in his system. That will determine whether he either did, in fact, kill himself, or if he was drugged and murdered.”

  “When will you know for sure?”

  “Hopefully by tomorrow. In the mean time, we’re looking for Lacey.”

  “She’s a suspect?”

  He shifted in his seat. “When a person is murdered, the spouse always gets looked at very closely.”

  I nodded. A few cars had gone by, and the clubhouse on the lake suddenly lit up.

  “What’s going on there?” Sam asked.

  “That’s the lake clubhouse. Every Mother’s Day, the Historical Society holds a brunch, a fundraiser for Founder’s Day Weekend. They’re over there now, starting to get ready.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “It is. I take my mom every year. The food is good; it’s lots of fun for my girls, and you can’t beat eating out by the lake on a beautiful spring morning.” I stood up. “Ready for dinner?”

  We went inside. Tessa was solemn and polite. The dinner was delicious. Sam and I finished the second bottle of wine, and inside the bakery box were perfect little butter cookies that melted in your mouth, and after months of sugar deprivation, may have been the best tasting cookies ever. I made espresso, and Sam and I sat at the dining room table, talking and laughing, and when he left, he gave me a goodnight kiss that did more than send electricity to my toes—it sent all sorts of other feelings to all sorts of other parts of my body. This was a man who really knew his way around a woman, and I was pretty sure I wanted him to get to know mine a lot better, and the sooner the better.

  It wasn’t until I was going to bed that I saw the text from Marc. Asking about Sunday, with a little heart emoji at the end.

  Chapter 9

  Shelly called me first thing Saturday morning.

  “How was your dinner? Viv and Maggie came over from your place last night, and we drank ourselves silly.”

  “My date was terrific. Really. He is a lovely man, and we talked forever, and I had pasta and butter cookies. Pretty much the perfect night.”

  “Great,” she said. “When are we going to talk to Carol?”

  The library closed at one on Saturdays, so Shelly and I met up with Carol as she was locking up. She saw us and rolled her eyes.

  “Are you here to torment me about the Friday Lacey Mitchell was in the library?”

  We fell into step beside her. “Yes,” I said. “But first tell us about Leon.”

  Her eyes lit up. “He’s nice,” she said. “Almost seventy, widowed for twelve years, golfs three times a week, and thinks John Updike is overrated. We had quite a bit in common and agreed to have a longer date next week. Possibly even dinner.” She glanced sideways at me. “And I hear you had some company?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Sam Kinali and I are getting along very well, thank you very much, although we did not discuss Updike.”

  Carol sighed. “Do find out what he reads, Ellie. How else will you know what kind of person he really is?”

  “She will,” Shelly broke in. “Now what about Lacey?”

  Carol lived on Sommerfield in a 1920s Craftsman with lots of beams and a deep porch. We climbed the steps and sat down on weathered teak chairs.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked, and when we nodded, she closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. “She had reserved the Cleopatra biography that came out a number of years ago. I had it brought in from another branch. She checked out the book, and we were standing at the desk, talking about it, when suddenly Kate Fisher laughed very loudly about something; you know how she can be.” Carol frowned. “I think Kate and Lynn had been over by the computers in the back, and they were walking toward the front. Lynn was not, I don’t think, talking about those stupid pavers. It was something about Mother’s Day. The brunch.”

  She sat up, and her face changed. “Yes. She wanted Kate to help with the brunch, and Kate said something about her own daughter living in California. She had a question about when the boathouse was going to open, and Lynn said next week. Kate started saying she always wanted to learn to sail, and then she was off about boats; you know how she always talks like she knows everything. And in seconds, Lacey turned white and broke into a cold sweat and practically ran out.” Carol sighed happily. “That was it. The brunch and the boathouse.”

  Shelly and I looked at each other.

  “What on earth,” Shelly said slowly, “could have scared Lacey about the boathouse opening up?”

  “Or Mother’s Day?” I said. “Lacey was at the last Mother’s Day brunch. She sat at our table. My mother thought her little boys were adorable.”

  Carol shrugged. “I have no idea. Then Kate and Lynn checked out their books, and Lynn made a comment about Lacey rushing off, and Kate asked about her, Lacey I mean, and if I knew her at all, and I told her that none of us knew her very well.” Carol shook her head. “I wonder where she is. If she ran away from Doug for some reason, surely she would have come back by now for her sons, no?”

  “This hasn’t been very helpful,” I said. “But thanks anyway, Carol. And good for you and Leon.”

  She smiled happily. “Yes. Leon. There may be something there. Are you sure I can’t get you ladies anything? I can make coffee.”

  Shelly and I both shook our heads and left. We walked in silence until we turned up towards Davis Road.

  “I wonder if Kate’s home?” I said, half to myself.

  “She’s always home,” Shelly said. “She has no visible means of support that I know of. All she does is roam around in search someone to talk to.”

  “Still. I think I’ll wander over. Talk to you later.” Shelly continued up the hill, and I walked toward Kate’s house.

  There was something bothering me, but it was so far in the back of my mind I couldn’t quite reach it. I stepped onto her tiny porch and knocked.

  She opened the door and smiled. “Hello, Ellie. What a surprise! She pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. “Where are your friends? I swear you girls are just like a pack of kittens, running all over town together. All alone? My, is everything all right?”

  “I just wanted to ask you, Kate, did you know Lacey Mitchell before you moved here?”

  That stopped her. Her mouth dropped open and nothing came out. Then she shook herself. “What a question! Why don’t you come on in. I’ll make us some tea.”

  Her house was like a staged photo shoot. Lots of chintz and soft pastels, ferns, and small white candles everywhere. No fami
ly pictures. No shoes kicked to a corner or magazines spread open on a side table.

  It looked just like the Mitchell house had looked.

  Then I remembered something she’d said.

  “Kate, how did you know about the money?”

  She scooted right by me, off to the back of the house.

  “I have this wonderful green leaf tea, so flavorful. I get it from a little specialty shop in Boston. Pricey, yes, but so worth it. I do love a good cup of tea, don’t you?”

  I followed her into the kitchen. Again, clean and perfect. Even the towels, hanging on hooks, were spotless.

  “At the Garden Club meeting, Kate, remember? You said something about all that money not being able to bring the parents back. How did you know about the money?”

  “Because it should have been mine, dear. All mine. I was married to that man for years. I really did deserve something from that miserable son of a bitch. Why do you think I killed him in the first place?”

  I took two steps back and felt my heart in my throat. Her blue eyes were perfectly calm, her smile sincere. But the air in the room had changed, and I was suddenly very afraid.

  She took a long breath. “That was probably more information than you wanted to hear,” she said. “Honestly, Ellie, I have to tell you the strain of the past few weeks has really taken a toll on my nerves. Now, about that tea. Honey or sugar?”

  There were two ways out of her kitchen, back the way we came, through the living room, or through the screened back door. The back door was closer, but I’d have to get past her. Running through the whole house would put her behind me, and I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

  I cleared my throat. “Honey. Please.”

  She beamed. “I love honey too. Put it on everything, even my toast in the morning.” She turned away from me again, pulling two pink mugs from the cabinet and adjusting the kettle on the stove. I moved slowly toward the right. The back door was barely ten feet away. God bless old houses and their tiny rooms, I thought. I could easily make it to the door…