Three Woofs for the Dead, White and Blue

by Laura Quinn

  Traci shoved a forkful of chocolate cake into her mouth just as Jill Tonelli strode into the room with a platter of vegetable crudité. The former fitness model glared in their direction as she removed the cake to make room for her calorie-conscious contribution.

  “She wears a white bandage dress to a wake and has the nerve to glare at me?” Traci said, shoving in another forkful of dessert.

  “I think that was directed at me,” Claire said. “She probably heard that I doubted the health claims of her diet brownies. I never should have said that in front of an audience; it just slipped out when I tasted it.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t bring those to pitch when she got up to see Ken. It’s not enough she and Tony make millions from their gyms, I guess she wants to be like one of those Real Housewives.” Traci was still fuming about receiving size 3X Spanx in her VIP bag, a vicious exaggeration of her curvy size-fourteen body.

  “Poor Ken, as if he doesn’t have enough to deal with now. I hope the police are leaving him alone,” Claire said absentmindedly. “And you too, of course.”

  “If only. We’re still in their crosshairs, as is my idiot soon to be ex-husband. Do you know he had the nerve to show up here tonight?”

  Claire thought it wasn’t so unusual. If he really had feelings for Kim, he must be grieving. Daring not to say this to her friend, she instead answered, “Really?”

  “I wanted to kill him myself, I can only imagine what Ken would do if he sees him. I gave him my new house key and told him to get the donations in order so he could make the deposit. I don’t like keeping cash at home, especially when it isn’t mine.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Claire agreed.

  “I’m staying at a hotel tonight while my kitchen dries out, so hopefully he’ll be done before I come back.”

  Claire asked how the remodeling was progressing. Traci praised Sam’s patience as she changed her mind on the final design several times. She hoped it would be finished in a few weeks. Claire chatted about a few other light subjects before Traci decided to face the long line to offer her condolences to the family.

  Dottie walked up to Claire next. She also shunned conventional mourning attire by wearing a red polka-dotted blouse with red slacks and matching heels. “Don’t look so surprised. I just wanted to make sure the bitch is dead,” she said. She led Claire to a private balcony in the back, a secret she knew about from listing the mortuary property a few years prior.

  “I heard about the commotion at the opening yesterday,” Dottie said. “I’m glad you’re investigating. As much as I wanted Kim dead, I don’t want Traci to be railroaded by the police. So, how can I help?”

  Claire broached the delicate matter of Kim’s lovers. Dottie didn’t flinch as she provided details about the affairs she knew of, including her husband’s. “In case you’re wondering how I’m coping after my breakdown at your shop, David surprised me with an impromptu romantic getaway to Mackinac Island. It really shook him when I came home in tears that night. We left the next morning and stayed through Wednesday. I really think we worked through a lot of issues while we were there. He promised to go to personal and couples’ therapy.”

  Returning to the public area, Dottie scowled when she bumped into Brendan as he escorted his girlfriend through the crowds. He responded by adjusting the gold “Agent of the Year” pin on his lapel. Doris stormed off, leaving Claire to talk to the pair as they waited to sign the condolence book. A digital screen flashed images of Kim, from childhood to adult. Claire remarked on how striking the late village president was, when Sam ran to the powder room. Claire apologized to Brendan for saying anything upsetting, but he wrote it off as being Sammy’s time of the month. Suppressing an urge to slap the grin off his face, Claire went outside and joined the back of the line. She was glad to be breathing fresh air, until a cloud of smoke choked her.

  Brendan puffed on his cigar and shared confidential details of his latest business success to the queued mourners. Claire contemplated making a break for her car, but the valet service prevented a discreet escape. She suffered through the boasts of his spearheading the arrival of the internationally-acclaimed Sushi restaurant, putting North Haven on the map. Swearing friends and strangers alike to secrecy, he announced that he and his uber-talented girlfriend were championing the new waterfront development. He even posed and asked for votes as to which was his best smile for the billboards.

  Claire saw Henry walk up and stepped back to be with him. She commiserated with him about boastful Brendan and shared her concerns about Sam’s involvement with him. The bookshop owner, a longtime North Haven resident, confirmed her suspicions.

  “He wanted my sister to pimp herself out to entice Chef Takahashi into signing that lease. Can you imagine?” Henry asked, still incensed. “Liv exposed the plan, resulting in a very hefty discount on the rent for the restaurant. Turns out she and Nato really did hit it off and have been dating since her divorce.”

  “I wondered how they met,” Claire said. “I’m glad that worked out so well for her, though now I’m even more worried for Sam.”

  Although Claire had heard rumors of Brendan’s questionable business tactics, she was shocked to hear how low he would stoop. She vowed to talk with her naïve friend, to make her aware of what might loom in the future.

  The time waiting in line passed quickly, with several people coming up to talk with Claire. Many hadn’t seen her since before she left for New York, and were only too happy to fill her in with village happenings over the past few years. When she approached the family beside the casket, she barely recognized Matt, Ken’s son from his first marriage. He was a shadow of the confident freshman who made the NHHS varsity rowing team. He looked at her with red, swollen eyes, clasping her hands tightly. Bandages wrapped his fingernails, frayed at the edges from picking.

  He whispered into her ear, “I’m so glad you’re on the case. Those damn cops think Dad did it. She was a complete bitch to him, but no way would he ever harm her. Not him, never.”

  “I know,” Claire said. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  She moved on to Ken next, who clearly overheard his son’s conversation. He whispered his gratitude for her understanding and hugged her. The woman next to Ken looked like an older version of Kim. Claire was unsure if this could be the deceased’s mother or sister, so simply introduced herself and offered her condolences. Claire received a slight nod and dismissing wave of the hand before stepping up to the rose-enrobed casket. The corpse was made up so perfectly, that Claire half-expected Kim to rise up from the silk pillow. She apologized for not knowing her better, thanked her for all the work she did for the community, and promised she would find out who did this to her.

  The sky was starting to darken when Claire walked through the heavy oak doors. She checked her phone for the time and noticed a text from Marti that her date was a dud. While waiting for the valet, Claire texted back that she was just leaving, but was exhausted from the long day. She hoped her friend could wait until they met up in the morning to talk, looking forward to an early night.

  As she was drifting to sleep, Claire’s phone chirped. An email from Ann contained several photos taken at Fourth Fest. She scrolled through the images, impressed with the skill in creating such a large cake while incorporating hidden mechanisms for sparklers. Her eyes began to close towards the end of the long slideshow, but the last photo shocked her awake.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday, July 10th

  “Mystery Mavens meetup needed ASAP!” Claire texted to Marti and Bob. She told them only that she had an important discovery to reveal.

  While she waited for responses, she tried out a new recipe for beefy cheese sticks, but Baron showed no interest.

  “These are beefy and cheesy, what’s not to like?” She took a bite herself before offering it to him again. He turned his nose away in a more exaggerated motion, since she obviously didn’t get the hint this time. “Let me guess, they need more cheese?” Claire kneaded
more grated Parmesan into the dough, covered the bowl and let it rise again. When the second batch emerged from the oven, Baron sniffed the air and paced until they cooled enough for him to gobble down a sample.

  “What’s the scoop?” Bob asked, the first to arrive.

  “Not til Marti gets here. She’s stuck in traffic, so her patience is ebbing already.”

  “Enough said. How about if we take my nephew on a walk, so we can’t be accused of conspiring before she arrives.

  As soon as he heard the magic word, Baron brought his leash to his Uncle Bob. Along the loop, Claire told Bob about how Kyle was acting strangely the day before, running off before she could catch up to him and not returning her phone calls.

  “Maybe he’s afraid that you think he’s a suspect,” Bob said.

  “Well, we haven’t ruled him out, though being angry about bee hives hardly qualifies as a powerful motive for murder. Betrayal is a stronger reason, but that’s politics for you. I do wonder why Kim changed her mind just before the vote, though.”

  “I hear that Brendan Hughes was complaining to her that the hives would detract from home values in the area. He must have convinced her that people would be terrified of killer bee colonies, resulting in their looking at real estate in other towns.”

  “That’s what Olivia meant,” Claire said, telling Bob about the conversation she had with Brendan’s ex-wife at the farmer’s market. “I heard Kim could be swayed by suspect deals, but killer bees? Really? Even I know better, and I’m terrified of stings on wings.”

  Baron barked just as Claire received the text that Marti was at the shop. “Sometimes I think he’s psychic,” she said. They walked back quickly to the shop and set up the murder boards. Marti was in mid-rant about Sunday morning drivers when Baron greeted her.

  “You’re exactly what I needed, my furry friend,” Marti said. “You would think a funeral would put things into perspective, but traffic stresses me to no end.”

  “Plus, now you’re the last to know Claire’s news,” Bob said, ducking when keys were hurled at his head.

  “I’ve invited you here for a dramatic reveal,” Claire said. With a flourish, she posted an enlarged photo on the board.

  “Of a blurry cake?” Marti asked. “This is what I rushed over here for?”

  “You’re looking with crangry eyes,” Claire said, using the term for cranky-angry she learned from Emma. “Look beyond.”

  Bob grinned. “I knew he was lying.”

  “That little shit,” Marti said, zeroing in on Larry’s face. “He looked me straight in the eyes when he swore he was nowhere near the park that night, even offering a witness to confirm his story.”

  “He fooled the police too,” Bob said. “They talked to his client who testified that he was with him for an urgent business matter.”

  “Larry probably threatened to expose a financial indiscretion if his client didn’t help him with the alibi,” Claire said. “Guess he learned something from his crooked competitor.”

  “Do we know who the recipient of Larry’s burning glare is?” Bob asked. “I can call the photo desk to see if they have anything.”

  “No need,” Claire said, swooshing another print up to the board. “I submit Exhibit B.” The photo was taken from a different angle, showing profiles of Larry on one side of the cake and Kim, Sam and Olivia on the other.

  “It’s hard to tell which one he’s glaring at,” Bob said.

  “It’s Kim, or course,” Marti said. “Why would he be mad at the other two? He probably just witnessed her flirting with the hunk.”

  “So, we have motive and opportunity. Now, we need means,” Claire said. “Or, if we could at least get a photo of Larry slipping something into Kim’s drink, the police can deal with finding the evidence.”

  “Maybe someone has pictures that catch him in the act, without realizing it,” Bob said. “I’ll ask around today. I can say we’re thinking of running a contest in the paper.”

  Bob and Marti left with just enough time to get to the viewing before the funeral service. Claire wished she could go with her friends to seal the case against their prime suspect, but they promised to return after the luncheon to tell her everything.

  Claire pulled out her baking list and set to work on the longest bakes first. With trays of cheesy beef bagels and twists proofing in the oven, she mixed and rolled out batches of peanut butter crunchies and a selection of grain-free cookies. Through precise timing she was able to keep her ovens and mixers occupied at all times, restocking her barren bakery shelves in record time to open at one o’clock.

  The front door jingled and Baron jumped up to the counter to greet his first guest of the day.

  “Welcome to the Posh Pup Pawtisserie,” Claire said, as she turned the corner into the shop floor. “I remember you. You have the Airedale Terrier, right? Where is he?”

  “You’ve got a good memory. Cubbie’s at home while I run errands. He loved the brownies, so I need more, as many as you have.”

  Claire packed up six squares. “You better keep some in the freezer to keep them fresh, unless you’re having a party.”

  “I’ll tell the Paw Spa. They’re watching Cubbie this week since Bummer, I mean Dr. Blummer, is sending me to a four-day seminar. It’s a great place, but I still feel guilty. They said they will give him a daily brownie and ice cream while I Skype into his private cabana.”

  “Sounds like Cubbie will have a better time than you will,” Claire said. “I thought everyone at the high school had the summer off.”

  “Not the administrative office…how do you know where I work?”

  “I try to keep up with news from my alma mater. Dr. Blummer is the principal, isn’t he?”

  “Please don’t tell anyone I call him Bummer. I picked it up from the kids.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Claire promised. He thanked her and paid for a selection of ice cream and the brownies. As he opened the door to leave, a stream of expletives shot through the air.

  “Some woman on a tricycle just ran into a guy, spilling his coffee everywhere, and she’s yelling at him,” the exiting customer reported.

  “Sounds like the sour pickle is at it again,” Claire said. “Oops, I didn’t mean to say that aloud.” She explained that Nurse Dill also earned a nickname from her former students. He waited until the terror peddled away, allowing a safe exit.

  Nick came in, dripping with hazelnut-scented liquid.

  “Aren’t you supposed to drink coffee? Or is this a new fashion statement?” Claire teased.

  “That woman is hell on wheels,” Nick said. “She is a perfect example of why the city has an ordinance that cyclists must stay off the sidewalks.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “I may rush into burning buildings, but I’m not that brave. I’ll leave it to Chief Maloney to tell her.”

  Knowing the chief, Claire didn’t see that day happening any time soon. She escorted Nick upstairs to the bathroom so he could rinse the coffee from his shirt, arms, face, and hair. Dottie came into the shop next, just in time to see Nick walking down the stairs with wet hair, buttoning up his damp shirt.

  “Don’t mind me, I’m browsing for a gift,” Dottie said, winking at Claire. She stepped to the far corner, pulled out her phone and started tapping away.

  “Well, the grapevine just got super-charged,” Claire told Nick.

  “You can tell her I stopped by to get some treats for Dot.” Nick said, grabbing a bag of Yam Yummies for effect. “I was actually bringing you an iced coffee, figuring you could use the caffeine. I heard you were at the wake pretty late last night.”

  “Word is out that I’m working on proving Traci’s innocence,” Claire admitted. “A lot of people want to help, though plenty are just plain nosy.”

  “That’s the other reason I’m here,” Nick said. “I heard a call on the radio a few minutes ago. Your designer’s husband was found unresponsive in their home.”

  “What?” Claire shrie
ked, drawing the real estate agent’s attention. Nick couldn’t answer any questions, but the look on his face confirmed the worst.

  “Poor Traci, she’ll go to jail for sure,” Dottie predicted.

  “You know Traci is innocent. She’s the victim,” Claire said. “And now a widow.”

  “Anyone can snap, especially a wronged woman,” Dottie said. “The jury will recognize that the hussy and the pig deserved what was coming to them.”

  “Maybe we should wait for the coroner’s verdict,” Nick suggested.

  “We’ll see,” Dottie said. “I better stop by the bakery and get something for Traci. Or maybe the liquor store.” She ordered three fancy treat assortments, one for Traci’s dog, one for her dog, and the third for the neighbor who watched her dog while she and her husband were in Michigan.

  “Now I’m really going to be in the dog house, as a department leak,” Nick said after Dottie left. “Better make it two bags of treats.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Claire said, “you just witnessed how fast gossip spreads in this town. At least our faux tryst will be buried with this…” Claire stopped suddenly, as the news sunk in that Larry was dead.

  “Are you okay? You better sit down,” Nick advised. He stepped around the counter to get her a bottle of water from the kitchen. Baron sat next to Claire, resting his paw on Claire’s arm for support.

  “She’s right,” Claire said. “Traci is going to be the chief suspect, for both murders.”

  “We don’t know he was murdered. A man of his age and sedate lifestyle is at risk for a heart attack. Not to mention the strain of being a suspect himself.”

  “Yes, maybe we were right after all,” Claire said, eager to talk with her friends. She packed a few extra treats for Nick to take with the yams, to smooth over any ruffled feathers at the station.

  When Marti and Bob returned, both rushed to tell Claire their news before she could try to tell hers.