Murder Most Sweet

by Laura Jensen Walker

  Spending time behind bars can do that to a person.

  I didn’t blame Brady for arresting me and putting me in jail. Two women had been strangled in our little town—both with scarves that belonged to me—and an attempted strangulation had been made on the life of a third woman, again with one of my scarves. When Melanie hysterically called me out as her attempted murderer, Brady had to arrest me. I would have done the same in his position.

  I didn’t blame Tavish either. I could see the shock, confusion, and disbelief in his eyes when he looked at me after Melanie’s accusation. But what was he to do when his distraught employee and young friend, whom he’d known so much longer than me, sobbed in his arms after the attempt on her life and identified me as her strangler?

  Upon hearing the news of Melanie’s confession, a contrite Tavish immediately called and wanted to come over, but I told him I needed some alone time and promised to get together with him later. Right now, I needed to decompress. Mom drove me home from jail, passing several townsfolk on the way, including Wilma Sorensen, who gave me the stink eye. I waved my fuchsia scarf at her.

  Once we were home, Gracie cuddled up next to me on the couch as I checked my phone. My voice mail was full, and the number of text messages—several from reporters, friends, extended family, and Tavish—was too overwhelming to deal with now. There was one important call, however, that I needed to return. I called my editor and gave her the good news that my accuser had lied and I had been released.

  “I never expected anything less,” Jane said.

  Promising her a brief synopsis and the beginning of Suffocating in Soufflé by the end of the day, I hung up and took a long hot shower, scrubbing off the jailhouse grime. Although Brady kept a neat and clean jail, it was still jail. Somewhere I’d never expected to spend the night. As I toweled off and put on my happy clothes—a sunny yellow cotton boho dress and my Monet water lilies scarf from the Museé D’Orsay—I decided to view my jailhouse experience as behind-the-scenes research for a future Kate and Kallie novel. Now I would be able to paint a realistic and accurate picture of what it was truly like—not only physically, but also emotionally and psychologically—for my protagonist to find herself behind bars. How many mystery authors could say that? Ha! I straightened my shoulders and shook my wet curls.

  Atta girl, Mom. Gracie gave me a proud look.

  When I walked into the kitchen, Mom was waiting with a fresh cup of coffee.

  “Thanks for getting Melanie to spill the tea, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome, but you’re using that slang incorrectly.”

  “I thought it meant tell the truth.”

  “No, actually it means to gossip, usually about something scandalous,” Mom schooled me. “Cheryl at book club told us it comes from the southern custom of women getting together for afternoon tea and gossip.”

  I took a long drink of coffee. “Well then, all of Lake Potawatomi must be spilling the tea about me today.”

  * * *

  Come on, Mom! Gracie urged me on. We need to make up for that lost time while you were in the joint.

  I flapped my scarf at my face to cool down a sudden hot flash. Those suckers strike without warning. “Okay, Gracie-girl, settle down, there’s no rush. The park’s not going anywhere.” I smiled at elderly George and Kathy Henderson from church as they approached, walking their Maltipoo Honey on the sidewalk. Honey and Gracie are pals. They always do the butt-sniff dance and banter when they see each other.

  Kathy Henderson paled, her wide eyes fastening on my scarf. George put his arm protectively around his wife and hurried across the street, Honey yapping all the way.

  Gracie tilted her head at me, a confused and hurt expression in her soulful eyes.

  “Sorry, girl.” I squatted down and stroked her head. “Mom’s a little persona non grata at the moment, but this too shall pass.” Sooner rather than later, I hope.

  When we arrived at the park, it was empty—no kids playing hide-and-seek behind the trees, no dogs chasing Frisbees, no couples on a morning stroll. The rain must have chased away all the usual visitors. Holding back my Monet scarf, I bent over the drinking fountain near the facilities for a drink. All at once, Gracie began to bark furiously. My lip smacked the metal bubbler as she yanked on the leash, throwing me off-balance. I tasted blood.

  “Hey there,” I heard a familiar voice say.

  I whirled around, touching my tender lip, to see Tavish’s assistant exiting the women’s room. Talk about awkward. I reminded myself that the poor girl had been traumatized—nearly becoming another one of the Silk Strangler’s victims. A little jail time was nothing compared to that.

  “Melanie. Good to see you. How are you feeling today?” I glanced around. “Is your family with you?”

  Gracie continued to bark and strain against her leash. “Gracie, stop that,” I scolded, pulling her back. I noticed Melanie had added a pop of color to her standard black uniform—a red scarf loosely draped around her neck. Likely to hide the bruising. She stopped a few feet away, maintaining a safe distance from my dog, who continued to bark.

  I pulled on Gracie’s leash and tried to make her heel. “Gracie, stop. What is wrong with you? I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t know why she’s acting this way.”

  “I do.” Melanie had an odd expression on her face. “I knew you’d come here to walk your dog. I’ve been waiting for you.” Her eyes had a slightly feverish look to them.

  Ah, she’s come to apologize and she’s nervous. “Are you okay, Melanie?”

  “I will be once I take care of some unfinished business.”

  “What’s that?” I asked gently.

  “Getting rid of you, Nigella Lawson,” she said. “For good this time.” She fingered the scarf at her neck. “I thought I’d finally managed to break your hold on Tavish with your arrest, but I should have known my self-induced attempt at strangulation wouldn’t hold up against your hick town posse.”

  Wait. What? My fingers tightened on Gracie’s leash. “You strangled yourself?”

  “Piece of cake.” Melanie yanked the ends of her scarf taut, tightening the looped portion around her slender neck. “I had to pull the scarf tight enough to choke myself and look believable, but not as tight as Kristi’s so that I too shuffled off this mortal coil.” She casually flicked a piece of lint from her scarf.

  I stared at her, unable to take it in. “You—you killed Kristi?”

  “Easy-peasy.” She snapped her black-polished fingers. “The klepto bimbo was already wearing your scarf she’d stolen. When I saw that, I realized I could get both of you out of Tavish’s life in one fell swoop.” Melanie smiled with satisfaction. “All I had to do was sneak up behind Kristi, grab her scarf tight, twist hard, and hold.”

  Bile rose to my throat as I listened to Tavish’s assistant nonchalantly detail the murder of his ex-fiancée. Melanie’s crush on Tavish was much more intense than any of us had realized. Something in her twisted recounting didn’t make sense, though. “The day Kristi died, I wasn’t even in Tavish’s life yet,” I told her. “I’d only just met him.”

  “Yes, but I watched him with you. You’d already piqued his interest with your fluffy little book and your baking,” she said with a disdainful sniff. “Tavish loves his sweets, so you scored some serious brownie points with your scrummy cookies. When I heard him say he wanted to compare writing notes later, I knew I needed to stop things before they started. Then when I saw Kristi out back with your scarf around her neck, it all clicked. I knew I could—excuse the cliché—kill two birds with one stone.”

  Melanie leaned forward, causing Gracie to bark anew and me to take a step back. “Since your scarf strangled Kristi, you should have been arrested for her murder, which would have gotten you out of the way and effectively ended Tavish’s interest in you.” She glared at me, her eyes glittering behind her Harry Potter glasses. “I didn’t know the sheriff was such a good buddy of yours. That’s when I knew I had to step up my game with Annabelle.”
>
  I looked at Melanie with mounting horror. The woman was a stone-cold killer. She showed not even a hint of remorse over ending the lives of two women. “Why Annabelle?” I asked faintly. “Tavish wasn’t interested in her—he had a restraining order against her.”

  “True, but since your sheriff friend wouldn’t arrest you for one murder, I figured he’d have no choice when two women were strangled. With your scarves, in your town.” Melanie played with the ends of her red scarf and smirked. “Annabelle was so obsessed with Tavish, she didn’t notice that the entire time she was following him, I was following her—until the night I found her asleep and snoring on one of her stakeouts.” She gave me a maniacal grin. “Your scarf effectively cured her snoring.”

  I shivered as all the pieces fell into place. “You broke into my house.” Gracie growled and I pulled her closer, making sure not to break eye contact with Melanie.

  “Cute place, but way too cluttered. You need to do some Marie Kondo–ing.” Her eyes flickered to Gracie. “I tried to get you started, but I see the sleeping pill I gave your fur ball didn’t do her any harm. Pity.”

  You sick, twisted psycho. My fists clenched, and I had to refrain from smashing them into Melanie’s face. I knew I could take her down—I’m bigger and stronger than she is—but I wasn’t sure what kind of weapon she might have on her to carry out her latest murderous plan. I will not become Melanie’s third victim. I am not a victim. I am a survivor. I need to come up with my own plan. Fast. Keeping her talking is a good start.

  Slowly I unclenched my fists. “How did you manage to get into my house without Gracie barking her head off and alerting my mom or the neighbors?”

  Melanie flicked her hair. “Like any good assistant, I did my research. I learned that the neighbors closest to you are all over sixty-five and that they love their bingo. Once I discovered it was bingo night at the Elks Lodge, I simply waited until your mother and all the other old geezers had left for the hottest game in town before I made my move. After that it was a snap.” She snapped her fingers, causing Gracie to emit another bark and Melanie to grimace. “Cotton ball here is sure a noisy-ass dog, but that hunk of meat quieted her down real quick.” She sent me a twisted grin.

  It took everything I had not to punch her lights out. Time to change tack. “How long have you been in love with Tavish, Melanie?”

  Melanie’s face softened as she pushed her glasses up, a dreamy look in her eyes. “Since I started working for him and discovered what an amazing, incredible man he is. There’s no one like Tavish.”

  “What about your boyfriend?”

  The shine dulled. “Boring Brandon who never reads anything other than plumbing manuals? The literary giant who never heard of Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters?” Melanie snorted. “The cultural savant who only knows Michelangelo and Leonardo as Ninja Turtles?” Her upper lip curled with contempt. “Yeah, he’s a real Renaissance man. Every girl’s dream. When we first started dating, I thought he was cute and sweet. A really nice guy. Everyone loves Brandon. Including my parents. Brandon is a really nice guy,” she acknowledged. “But he also doesn’t have a single cultural bone in his entire body. His idea of a great vacation is going to sporting events. Or camping. I hate sports. And I despise camping.”

  While Melanie talked, I had been covertly scoping out the park, looking for signs of someone arriving. The rain had stopped, so people would soon venture out again. I tried figuring out the best avenue of escape. Sprinting to the nearby restroom and hitting 911 as I ran? Furtively slipping my hand into my back pocket and pressing Brady’s number in my favorites?

  Then I heard the silence. Crazy-girl had stopped talking. As I returned my attention to Melanie, I saw her closing in on me.

  Gracie growled and bared her teeth, effectively halting her advance. “It’s okay, girl, it’s okay,” I soothed my canine daughter, keeping my eyes on Melanie. I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye. Someone approaching, thank God. Tavish. A wave of relief washed over me.

  “Your mom told me where I could find you,” Tavish said, as he came up alongside me. He sent a warm smile to his psycho assistant. “Mel, brilliant to see you up and about. How are you feeling, dear girl?”

  He doesn’t know. How to tell him his friend and employee was a total nut job?

  “I’m feeling great now that you’re here.” Melanie beamed out her crazy love at her boss.

  Danger, Tavish Bentley, danger. I nudged his arm and tried to warn him discreetly and telepathically. Then I blurted out, “She’s the Silk Strangler. Melanie killed Kristi and Annabelle, and I’m next on her list.”

  Tavish’s head swiveled from me to Melanie, his mouth a large O. “What?”

  “I did it for you, Tavish,” Melanie said. “I did it so we can be together as we’re meant to be.”

  He stared at her, his face bleached of color. “You killed Kristi?”

  “She was trying to get you back after you’d broken up with her. She told me as much at the bookstore.”

  “That was you I heard in the restroom with Kristi that day,” I said.

  Melanie ignored me. She had eyes only for Tavish. Bright shining eyes burning with a fanatical passion. “I love you, Tavish. I’ve always loved you and I know you love me too.”

  I used her distraction to make my move, lunging forward to grab at her scarf.

  “Not so fast, Nigella.” Melanie whipped out a gun from the back of her waistband and aimed it at me.

  Gracie snarled and tried to surge toward the crazy woman threatening her mom, but I held her back.

  Melanie held the gun steady on me. “Should I shoot you”—she swiveled the gun and pointed it at Gracie—“or your rotten little dog first?”

  Get away from her, you bitch, I screamed in my head, moving in front of my canine daughter to shield her.

  “Put the gun down, Mel,” Tavish pleaded. “Please. You do not want to do this. This is not who you are. You need help.”

  “No, what I need is you and to get the hell out of this stupid town. Let’s go back to New York where we belong, Tavish,” she implored, “and put all this behind us. Let’s forget we ever came here.”

  “I can’t do that,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I care about you, Mel. I want to help you. I promise I will get you the best help available. Will you let me do that?”

  Maybe I can rush her and grab the gun, I thought as Tavish tried to reason with his assistant and talk her down. She wouldn’t expect that. I would have the element of surprise.

  You would also be dead, my common sense countered. Check out her stance and the way she’s holding that gun in her hand. This is not her first time at the rodeo. She knows how to use that bad boy.

  “Give me the gun, Mel,” Tavish said, holding out his hand. “Let Teddie and Gracie go. They have nothing to do with this. It’s between you and me.”

  “You and me?” Melanie released a bitter laugh. “There is no you and me,” she said. “You care about me, but you don’t love me. Even after all I’ve done for you.” She waved the gun, her eyes wild and unfocused. “Well, if you think I’m going to let Nigella here have you, you’re wrong. If I can’t have you, nobody can.” Then before either of us could react, she quickly turned the gun on the object of her affection and shot him.

  As Tavish crumpled to the ground, Gracie broke free of her leash and charged at Melanie, who swung the gun toward her.

  “No!” I roared, head-butting Melanie in the stomach. The shot went wild. She fell, and I grabbed her wrist and slammed it on the ground to jar the gun loose from her hand. Gracie sank her teeth into Melanie’s ankle.

  “Ow!” she shrieked. “Get your damned dog off me!” She attempted to stand. Remembering the weapons training Dad had taught me in high school—which I had never used before now, since I hate guns—I grabbed the pistol and hit Melanie in the head with it, knocking her out. Then I sprinted over to Tavish, telling Gracie to stay and guard the unconscious woman.

  Sirens screamed nearb
y, and I could hear shouts and running feet, but my only focus was the motionless man on the ground whose shirt was drenched in blood. Tavish lay on his back, his hand clutched to his bloody chest, unmoving.

  “Tavish, Tavish!” I yelled, the tears coursing down my cheeks as I pressed my hands tightly on his chest to stop the bleeding. “Tavish, can you hear me?”

  His eyes flickered open. “Can you keep it down, please? How’s a guy supposed to sleep with all this noise?” He sent me a weak smile. “That’s the second time you’ve come to my aid, Wonder Woman. I owe you.” Tavish’s eyes fluttered shut.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I set the Victoria sponge cake on the counter, next to my dad’s favorite fifties fruit-cocktail cake. Since getting home from the hospital this afternoon after Tavish was safely out of surgery and resting, I had thrown myself into a baking frenzy. As I baked, I thought long and hard. Gracie, sensing my pensive mood, stared up at me from her bed in the corner, concern etching her furry features.

  “It’s okay, Gracie-girl,” I said as I mixed the batter for my carrot-cake muffins. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Things had started heading toward okay when Brady called to update me on Melanie. After Brady took her to the Lake Potawatomi jail and tried to question her about the two murders, Melanie had had a complete breakdown. She was now in an upscale Milwaukee sanitarium asking every person in sight—including her parents and boyfriend—if they’d seen her husband Tavish and when he was coming to take her home. Melanie’s psych stay was paid for by the generous insurance policy her boss provided. That same boss had also instructed his lawyers to provide the woman who had shot him with the legal services she would need at the appropriate time.

  Definitely one of the good guys.

  Then Brady told me about Ron Simms. Turns out the Gary cops had caught the creep taking some shady bondage porn pictures of women—including a few underage teen girls—at the empty houses he was selling. The blue Victorian featured prominently in the pictures the police confiscated. I shuddered, remembering how the perv had looked at Char and how hard he’d been trying to entice her to the blue house. Thankfully, Ronald Simms would not be enticing anyone to any houses for a long time.