Mom: Why even have a phone if you don’t use it?
Brady: WTH possessed you to go to Annabelle Cooke’s house?! By yourself?
Group text from Sharon and Char: ARE YOU INSANE? Don’t EVER do something like that again on your own! Remember: all for one, and one for all.
Tavish: Are you all right? Please ring me.
My thumb hovered over the voice mail button. I really wasn’t up to listening to everyone scold me.
“Eight seventy-nine, please.”
Saved by the fast-food worker.
Chapter Sixteen
Opening my back door two hours later, I called out, “Gracie-girl, Mommy’s home!”
The door hadn’t even fully opened before Gracie flung herself at me, begging for a hug. I scooped her up in my arms, nuzzling my face in her creamy fur as she planted ecstatic doggy kisses on my neck and nose.
“Good girl. Mommy missed you. I’m sorry I was gone so long.” When I lifted my face from my dog, I saw them: Sharon, Char, Brady, Tavish, and my mother all crowded around my kitchen table with coffee mugs in front of them, glaring at me. All except Tavish, who wore an expression of concern.
“What is this, the Inquisition?” I joked as I set Gracie down and plopped my purse on the counter.
Mom stiffened in her seat. “Don’t you take that cavalier tone, young lady! Not after what you put us through.”
I glanced at my fellow Musketeers, expecting the familiar discreet eye roll that usually accompanies my mother’s criticisms. No eye roll, discreet or otherwise. Not even a quirked lip as they tried to hold back a smile. Sharon and Char weren’t smiling tonight.
That’s when I knew I had messed up.
“Dammit, Ted, what were you thinking?” Brady exploded. “Going to a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar city without telling anyone or having any kind of backup?”
“A stranger who turned out to be a murderer,” Sharon said, her lip quivering.
“An alleged murderer,” Brady, ever the proper lawman, corrected her.
“Alleged, schmelleged, I don’t care about that.” Char’s eyes blazed at me. “But if you ever do something like that again, Theodora St. John, I will personally strangle you with one of your own scarves.”
“Not if I get there first,” my mother muttered.
“Teddie,” Tavish said in a conciliatory tone, “no one knew where you were, and when you didn’t answer your phone or respond to repeated messages and texts, we grew concerned.”
“I told Joanne I had an out-of-town appointment.”
“Yes, but she didn’t know where you were or when you’d be back,” my mother said in a clipped voice. “We’ve all been trying to reach you, and no one could get ahold of you.”
“We thought something might have happened,” Sharon added. “There is a killer running loose, you know.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry. And I did text you on my way home—belatedly, I know, but I was focused on trying to learn more about Annabelle from the people who knew her best. The reason I went to Calumet City and met with her family was to get proof that Annabelle killed Kristi, since I knew Tavish didn’t, and neither did I.” And Brady, if I’d told you—or Char—my plan in advance, you’d have stopped me.
“What about the person who killed Annabelle?” Brady said quietly. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe one—or more—of her family members might have killed her?”
Had that occurred to me? It must have on a subconscious level; why else had I brought the pepper spray?
“It’s not like I went unprepared. I had protection.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the can of pepper spray. “See? I was well armed.” I lifted my chin. “I know how to take care of myself, Brady, and am quite capable of doing so.”
“She certainly is,” Tavish said. “I can personally attest to that.”
I felt my face flush. Even more so after glimpsing the knowing glance Sharon and Char exchanged. I rushed out the words “Anyway, all’s well that ends well. The murderers are gone, and now things can settle down and get back to normal around here again.”
Did I really want normal, though? I wondered. Normal can sometimes be boring, and the past week in Lake Potawatomi had been anything but.
You know what else normal means, don’t you? I asked myself. Tavish will be leaving soon to return to his exciting jet-setting life in New York, LA, and England.
Tavish’s hazel eyes met mine, and my stomach did a strange flutter.
Don’t even go there, my practical self said. He’ll be gone soon. This was just a brief diversion. Time to return to the real world.
“I hope things do settle down,” Brady said, with a sigh. “I’d like to close the book on this whole case and move on, but there are still a few loose ends to tie up. The police chief in Calumet City will keep me informed on the Harley Cooke investigation, and once it’s wrapped up, I’ll let you know.” He wagged his finger at me. “Meanwhile, Ted, from now on please confine your sleuthing to your mystery novels and leave the true crime to the professionals.”
Sharon giggled.
My mom scraped back her chair and stood up. “And perhaps you could select at least one person here to keep apprised of your whereabouts in the future.” She walked up to me and arched an eyebrow as best she could. “And I don’t expect it to be me,” she said softly. Mom gave my arm a brief squeeze, then checked her watch. “Now I’m going to see if I can catch the end of Bunco night. Good night, everyone.” She reached down and petted Gracie on her way out. “Good night, Gracie.”
Gracie licked the back of Mom’s hand.
Char and Sharon sent me an incredulous stare as the door shut behind my mother. Then Sharon jumped up from her chair. “That’s my cue,” she said. “I need to get back and relieve Jim.” She flung her arms around me and hugged me tight. “I never thought I’d say this,” she whispered, “but please listen to your mother. Promise me you won’t go off again without letting someone know exactly where you are.”
I hugged her back. “I promise.”
Char and Brady approached next, and we did the awkward group-hug thing. “And from now on, answer your flipping phone,” Char growled, punching me none too gently on the arm as they departed.
That left Tavish.
“Aren’t you going to read me the riot act too?” I asked.
“No need. I think everyone else covered that quite thoroughly already.” He tilted his head, a puzzled expression on his face as he regarded me. “You look different. Not yourself.”
“It’s my reporter’s disguise.” I removed the blazer and kicked off my flats. “I had to play the part.” Lifting the tie-dyed scarf hanging from the kitchen hook where I kept my aprons, I wound the scarf loosely around my neck with one hand while nonchalantly plucking out the knitted knockers with the other. “Plus”—I dropped the yarn-covered breast substitutes on the table—“you’ve never seen me with boobs.”
Tavish threw back his head and guffawed. He laughed so hard he snorted—something I’d never expected from a well-bred Englishman. Then he snorted again, which made him laugh even more.
I joined in. It would have been rude not to.
We laughed and laughed until the tears came. Then we laughed some more.
Tavish swiped at his eyes. “Teddie St. John, you are bloody marvelous. I have never known anyone like you.”
“What can I say? I’m an original.”
“That you most certainly are.” He stopped laughing and got an odd look in his eyes. A look I’d never seen before, a look that took my breath away. He stepped tentatively toward me, raising his eyebrows in a question mark. I closed the distance between us until we were face-to-face. Then I closed my eyes. Tavish tenderly cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.
I kissed him right back.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning I slept in—as much as is possible with a dog. Gracie had tried to wake me at seven thirty, our usual morning walk time, but I sh
ooed her away. She tried a second time at eight and I put her off again. Finally, at eight thirty, she bounded on top of me, landing on my T-shirted stomach and urging me out of bed. Then she jumped back down to the floor and stood on her hind legs doing her cute begging routine as she pawed the air with her front feet.
“Okay, okay, just a minute.” I shoved my feet into my fuzzy slippers, then followed her to the kitchen, yawning. When I opened the back door, she shot into the yard like a kid on the last day of school.
I sat down at the kitchen table in my oversized T-shirt and cotton sleep pants, chin in hand, thinking back to last night, which caused me to break out in a blissful smile. Tavish and I had talked into the wee hours, squeezed up next to each other on the couch—although Gracie chaperoned herself between us. As we talked, I gave Gracie her nightly tummy rub and Tavish scratched her behind the ears, earning himself a friend for life.
“Now that these dreadful murders have been solved,” Tavish said, “we can get to know one another properly and not have to worry when the next shoe will drop.”
“Or the next scarf will be found,” I said dryly, flicking the ends of my silk scarf.
“I like your scarves.” Tavish ran his hand up the tie-dyed fabric and lightly stroked the back of my neck. “Just not around other women’s necks.”
“That makes two of us.” I tried to ignore the delicious shiver his touch sent down my spine.
Easy, girl. I took a sip of wine and brought my mind back to the murders. “Tavish,” I said thoughtfully, “do you think Annabelle planned to kill Kristi, or did she just suddenly snap and strangle her in a moment of jealous rage?”
He frowned and stopped petting Gracie. “I don’t know. If she had planned it, that would be premeditated murder, which would be rather chilling. However, I don’t think Annabelle was clever enough or cunning enough to pull that off.”
Gracie nudged his hand with her nose. Tavish resumed his doggy affections.
“I think you’re right,” I reflected. “From what I saw and have since learned, Annabelle had an intense obsession with you, but she wasn’t calculating. With her it was all emotions.” I took another sip of my Cabernet. “My guess is she killed Kristi in the heat of the moment—assuming she was still your fiancée. She was jealous that Kristi had what she wanted.” I angled my head. “Did Kristi ever meet Annabelle?”
“Once.” Tavish’s neck reddened. “Kristi was at an event in Atlanta with me a couple of months ago when Annabelle showed up, proclaiming her love for me, and tried to kiss me.”
“And?”
“And what?” he asked.
Gracie jumped down from the couch and stretched out at our feet.
“And how did Kristi respond to Annabelle’s attempted kiss and declaration of love? Did she get angry and tell your stalker off?”
Tavish steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. He closed his eyes, remembering. “No. Kristi laughed at Annabelle and said, ‘In your dreams, fatty.’”
“Ah.”
He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Kristi wasn’t an especially kind person.”
Ya think?
I set my hand lightly atop his. “And what did Annabelle say to that?”
“It wasn’t what she said.” Tavish laced his fingers with mine, his eyes downcast. “It’s what she did. Annabelle shrieked and lunged at Kristi, yelling, ‘I’ll kill you.’”
“Whoa.”
“Yes. And in the end, that’s what she did.” He stared off into the distance. “Perhaps if I’d lent more credence to Annabelle’s threat at the time, Kristi might still be alive.”
“You can’t think that way.” I squeezed his hand. “You had no way of knowing Annabelle would actually act on those words.”
“No, but if I hadn’t dismissed them as so much rubbish, my former fiancée’s parents wouldn’t be burying their daughter next week.”
“And how did everyone else—including Kristi,” I asked gently, “react when Annabelle yelled at her?”
“No one took her seriously.” Tavish raked his hand through his hair. “It was just crazy Annabelle being Annabelle.”
“Well, okay then.” I lightly touched his cheek with the back of my hand. “You are not to blame, so don’t put that on yourself.” I brushed his lips with mine. “No if onlys allowed.”
Later, as we stretched out side by side on the couch, Tavish’s long legs dangling over the end, he played with my hair. “I love your curls—they’re so springy.” He gently tugged on a ringlet in front of my ear and then released it. The curl snapped back, softly slapping against my ear. “See what I mean?”
“Just like a yo-yo.”
“Wasn’t that a song or something?”
“Before our time.” But not my father’s—he loved the Osmonds.
Tavish’s forehead creased. “Do you think Annabelle’s husband knew she killed Kristi?”
“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “I’ve been thinking about that. If he did know, perhaps he thought if he committed a copycat murder, no one would suspect him and he could get away with killing his wife. That would make sense.” I sat up as I pictured the scenario. “Maybe Harley followed Annabelle to Lake Potawatomi—perhaps even the day she assaulted me in front of Andersen’s.” My words tumbled over each other eagerly as I imagined how the scene unfolded. “Harley would have seen that I have a dog and he could have easily found out where I live. That night when we were on our date in Milwaukee, he could have come back here and broken into my house with the sole purpose of stealing one of my scarves to mimic Kristi’s murder.”
My stomach clenched and my eager imaginings ended as abruptly as they began as I remembered the rest of the story. “But first he had to feed Gracie the sleeping-pill steak.” I leaned down and scooped my sleeping white fur ball into my arms, hugging her tightly to my chest. “Worst day of my life.” Next to my dad’s death.
Tavish put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him.
Gracie released a comforting woof. Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not going anywhere.
I stared at my dog and frowned, as I recognized the fallacy in my imagined scenario. “Except … Gracie would have barked her head off when Harley broke in, and Mom or Joanne would have heard her. Gracie always barks at anyone who comes to the door, and she would have raised a ruckus at someone entering her home—especially a stranger—as Mom has complained about on more than one occasion.” Like the pizza delivery guy. Repairman. Even sweet Girl Scouts hawking cookies.
“Scout does the same,” Tavish said. “Sherlock too.” He gave Gracie an affectionate pat on the head. “Our four-footed friends are quite protective of their turf. That’s what makes them such brilliant guard dogs, on top of everything else.”
“Uh-huh,” I said absently, my mind on other things. I had just realized another flaw in my re-creation of the night in question. “Harley doesn’t have a car,” I said softly. I turned to face Tavish. “How did he get from Calumet City to Lake Potawatomi to kill Annabelle?”
“Uber?” Tavish suggested.
“For that distance? Way too expensive.”
“Right. Perhaps he borrowed a friend’s car?”
“Maybe,” I mused. “Or stole one. Having met Harley, the latter seems more likely.”
“Bit dangerous, that,” Tavish said. “The owner of the car would have reported it stolen, and if Harley was stopped driving a stolen vehicle, he wouldn’t have been able to carry out his deadly plan.”
“True …” More and more holes kept opening up in my theory. I sighed. “Could it be I’ve got this all wrong? Maybe it wasn’t Harley who broke into my house at all but Annabelle, as we originally thought.” I rubbed my head. “Which still begs the question of how Harley got here in the first place.”
“Not to mention Gracie’s barking,” Tavish reminded me. “After her run-in with Annabelle in the street earlier that day, I would imagine Gracie would bark up a storm if she dared even approach your house, never mind actually break in.”
“Why don’t we leave it to the police to figure out?” Tavish gently removed my hands from my head and brought them up to his lips. “We’ve got more important things to think about.”
“Exactly,” I said innocently. “If I don’t meet my deadline for A Dash of Death, my editor will kill me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gracie scampered back into the kitchen, interrupting my remembrances of last night.
After Gracie answered all her mail within a two-block radius, I settled into my wingback with my laptop, ready for a day of writing the latest adventure of Kate and Kallie and beefing up my paltry word count. Recent events had put me way behind schedule, and I seriously needed to make up for lost time.
Before I began composing the next chapter, however, I sent a group text to Sharon and Char: Incommunicado today—hunkered down in writing cave.
Char: Hunker away. Just don’t run away.
Sharon: Have a productive day! Want to hear all though after you come up for air.
I’ll bet you do, my friend. I had a lot to tell my fellow Musketeers—later.
My fingers flew across the keyboard as my crime-solving duo followed the Danish butter cookie trail of their latest murder. As Kallie pursued the probable suspect through the cobblestoned streets of the fictional Wisconsin town with Kate hanging on to her leash for dear life, I couldn’t wait to discover what was going to happen next. As a classic seat-of-my-pants writer, I don’t plot my books out in advance. Though I know the beginning and usually the ending, the middle is always a surprise to me as I allow the story to unfold organically. It’s as much fun for me to uncover the twists and turns of my mysteries as it is for my readers.
A knock at my back door interrupted Kate and Kallie’s exciting chase. Are you kidding me? Can you not read, Mother?
I had hung my Do Not Disturb: Genius at Work sign bearing Einstein’s face on the doorknob—a necessity after one too many times of my mom barging in on me over the years while I was trying to write—and still she persisted. I ignored the intrusion and tried to regain my train of thought.
Murder Most Sweet Page 13