“How did you know it was Lark’s?”
“He wrote his name, the month, and the year on the first page.”
“And you asked her about it?”
“Of course I did. It obviously wasn’t hers. But—” Mother pointed at me “—you said the husband was responsible.”
Mother blamed me. Her being held at gunpoint was my fault. I should have known. “And then?”
“She held a gun to my head. She said she’d shoot me if that detective didn’t give her his gun.”
“Anarchy gave up his gun?”
“Yes.” Mother finished off her scotch in one gulp. “There was madness shining in that woman’s eyes. She would have shot me.” Mother sounded positively outraged. How dare a murderer threaten Frances Walford?
Aggie stepped into the living room. “I’m back.”
Mother, who’d just downed a healthy scotch in less than five minutes, stared at Aggie’s kaftan—an orange, yellow, and lime green print—with her mouth hanging open.
Before she could utter anything forthright and unforgivably rude, I said, “You missed the excitement.”
“I noticed something happening next door.” Aggie’s voice was dry. “They arrested Marshall?”
“Jennifer.”
Mother stood and crossed to the liquor. “That woman nearly killed me.”
“Jennifer?” Aggie’s voice said she didn’t believe her.
Mother poured herself a second scotch (healthier than the first). “Exactly.”
Aggie shifted her gaze to me and her brows lifted.
I nodded.
“Why?” asked Aggie.
Mother lifted her freshened drink to her lips. “She said she owed it to Katherine.”
Aggie looked confused. “Katherine?”
“Marshall’s sister,” I explained. “Adam Roberts raped her. Adam’s father convinced the defense attorney to bribe the judge and Adam was acquitted.”
“So, you were right. It was the rape case.” Aggie glanced at my empty mug. “More coffee?”
“Please.”
She took the mug from me. “I’ll be right back.”
Mother watched her go. “You should get that woman a uniform.”
“Not your house, Mother.”
She snorted softly as if she disapproved of the way I ran things.
But she also worried. About me.
I sat next to her on the couch and took her free hand in mine. “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”
She drank. “I’m glad none of us were.”
We sat like that for a long minute—silent and holding hands.
Until Aggie reappeared. “Here’s your coffee.” She held out my mug. “I put on a fresh pot.”
Twenty-One
Anarchy appeared at the back door a few hours later.
“Come in,” I said. “Aggie’s fixing lunch. BLTs.”
“Thanks.” He opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. “Good afternoon, Aggie.”
“Extra bacon?” Aggie stood at the stove with a package of bacon and an enraptured dog at her feet.
“Please.”
Anarchy sat next to me at the island and we passed a few seconds watching Aggie cook.
“Was Marshall part of this?” I asked.
“As far as we can tell, he didn’t know what Jennifer had done until he found Lark Flournoy’s journal and papers. He tried to burn them.”
“He told me they were love letters.”
Anarchy nodded. Once. “He wasn’t sure if you believed him so he started following you.”
The man in the park. The man at the hospital.
Using tongs, Aggie positioned the bacon. “I still can’t believe it. Why did she do it?”
“Have you ever seen Strangers on a Train?” asked Anarchy.
“The Hitchcock film?” I nodded. “Yes.”
Aggie shook her head. “Al and I didn’t go to many movies.”
“Two strangers meet on a train. They each have someone they want dead. They agree to commit each other’s murders.” I glanced at the man next to me. “What does a movie have to do with Jennifer’s killing spree?”
The scent of frying bacon filled the kitchen, and Max licked his chops.
“Apparently, Katherine killed the man who raped Jennifer. Jennifer was returning the favor.”
“Jennifer gets bonus points.” She didn’t just go after Adam Roberts, she killed everyone associated with his acquittal. “Why kill Marigold?”
“Two reasons,” Anarchy replied.
The toaster popped, and Aggie removed two perfectly browned pieces of bread. Why was it when I used the same toaster, I reduced the bread to carbon?
Aggie flipped the bacon. “What are the reasons?”
“Katherine held Janice partially to blame for what happened to her.”
“And?” Aggie poked at a piece of bacon that wasn’t browning as fast as she liked.
“Marigold, Janice, developed feelings for Lark.”
“I don’t understand.” Aggie’s brow creased. “Jennifer and Marigold were working together?”
Anarchy nodded. “Initially, Marigold was to gain Winnie’s trust and find out if there was any evidence of collusion. Apparently, Marigold snuck into Lark’s office and discovered the case notes. They made the plan to steal the notes incriminating Lark, John Wilson, and Roberts.”
“But after Marigold let Jennifer into the house, Jennifer hit her over the head and dropped her body over the bannister. Why?” The memory of Marigold’s body swinging in Winnie’s foyer almost killed my appetite. “And what about Winnie? Why poison her?”
“Jennifer insists Lark did that.”
“Lark?” That couldn’t be right. “Lark was dead when it happened.”
“There’s no telling how long that poisoned packet was in Winnie’s purse. Lark and Marigold fell in love. He wanted to be with Marigold, and he didn’t want the embarrassment of a public divorce.”
“The morning you were locked in the yoga studio, Marigold told Jennifer she wanted to leave Lark out of their revenge.”
“So Jennifer killer her?” Aggie placed toast on two plates, topped the toast with lettuce and tomato, then added bacon strips. She slathered the remaining toast with mayonnaise and finished the sandwiches.
We all watched her—me, Anarchy, and Max.
Max was the only one who openly drooled.
“Yes,” Anarchy replied. “She says the decision to kill Marigold was made that morning, but—”
“But she brought a rope,” I finished. Jennifer had killed Marigold. Just like she’d killed John Wilson, Lark, and Mark Roberts.
“She hit Roberts over the head.”
“Yes.”
“Why did she put him in my car?”
“She claims she didn’t know the car belonged to you.”
“Hmph.” Aggie added potato chips and carrot sticks to the plates and pushed them toward us.
Max whined in frustration.
She tore one of the remaining strips of bacon in half. “Sit.”
Max sat.
She tossed the bacon in the air, and Max snapped it mid-air.
Anarchy and I bit into our sandwiches.
“She seemed like such a nice girl.” Aggie shook her head sadly.
She’d seemed like the perfect neighbor.
“Mhmm.” I chewed. “This is delicious. Napkin?”
“Sorry.” Aggie opened a drawer, took out two ironed napkins, and handed them to us. “I have the laundry to do. Would you please leave your plates in the sink?”
Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared up the back stairs.
We spent the next minute concentrating on our sandwiches.
“I understand a little bit,” I said.
“Understand what?”
“Why they did it.”
“Jennifer and Katherine?”
I nodded. “The system let them down, the men who hurt them walked away. I understand the rage. I’d feel that rage if someone hurt Grace.”
“But—”
“I’m not saying it justifies murder. It doesn’t. But when someone you love is victimized, it’s tempting to react.”
He took my hand in his. “I get what you’re saying but we can’t have vigilante justice. Just look how it can go wrong. Speaking of which, is your mother okay?”
I grinned. “Drunk.”
“Drunk?” His brows lifted. “Your mother?”
“Three scotches before breakfast will do that. I drove her home and put her to bed.”
“Wow.”
“I know.” I took another bite of BLT and moaned.
Anarchy shifted on his stool. “I have a question for you.”
“Mmmm.” My mouth was full.
“When the gala is over, would you—” he glanced down at his plate “—would you go away with me? For the weekend?”
I finished chewing before I gave him my answer.
About the Author
Julie Mulhern is the USA Today bestselling author of The Country Club Murders. She is a Kansas City native who grew up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie. She spends her spare time whipping up gourmet meals for her family, working out at the gym and finding new ways to keep her house spotlessly clean—and she’s got an active imagination. Truth is—she’s an expert at calling for take-out, she grumbles about walking the dog and the dust bunnies under the bed have grown into dust lions.
The Country Club Murders
by Julie Mulhern
Novels
THE DEEP END (#1)
GUARANTEED TO BLEED (#2)
CLOUDS IN MY COFFEE (#3)
SEND IN THE CLOWNS (#4)
WATCHING THE DETECTIVES (#5)
COLD AS ICE (#6)
SHADOW DANCING (#7)
BACK STABBERS (#8)
TELEPHONE LINE (#9)
Short Stories
DIAMOND GIRL
A Country Club Murder Short
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TELEPHONE LINE Page 23