Quiche of Death

by Mary Lee Ashford

  “I think the Square Merchants Association may have sent your company some questions about the operation,” I said.

  “That’s right!” He answered so loud I jumped. We were back to full volume. “And I’m here to answer them.”

  “Hmm.” I wanted to ask him to use his “inside voice” but I wasn’t sure he had one.

  “Tonight!” He slammed a card down on the counter and I feared for our fancy quartz surface. “Tonight, we are havin’ a meeting at the chicken restaurant and I will answer everyone’s questions.”

  He waved his hands in the air as if he’d be presenting an oracle where all life’s questions would be answered.

  I picked up the card, which simply said: Glue Man Group Meeting, Red Hen Diner, 7PM. That’s what I’d thought he meant by “chicken restaurant” but it was good to have confirmation.

  “I hope you can come.” And with that, Glue Man gave a salute and lumbered out.

  I was still standing in stunned silence when he popped back in. “I almost forgot. Here’s a glue sample for you.” He tossed a bright green tube on the counter. “Be careful with it. It works fast and it’s strong!” He flexed his massive arms and gave a big grin. And then he was gone again.

  I waited for a few minutes to be sure he wasn’t coming back before I picked up the tube of glue to look at it.

  That’s where I was still standing when Dixie got back with our lunch.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Glue Man glue,” I answered. “He was here.”

  “Glue Man was here?”

  “Yep, and you missed it. He was huge.” I held up my hands. “And loud.”

  “Well, come on back and pick which salad you want and let’s have some lunch. You can tell me about it.”

  No hesitation on my part. Dixie had picked up salads from the deli at the grocery store and they looked fabulous. I grabbed the Cobb salad and we scooted stools up to the counter.

  After discussing my Glue Man encounter and talking about the meeting planned for tonight, we decided we didn’t both necessarily have to be there.

  “Let me take this one,” Dixie insisted. “I’ll explain that you’re still recovering.”

  “Man, I hate to throw you under the bus on this one, but just the thought of listening to Glue Man shout for an hour makes my head hurt.”

  “No worries.” She waved a plastic fork at me. “I’ve got this one.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  “But I am keeping track and you’ll owe me big-time.” She grinned.

  “Remember, I have this glue.” I waved the green tube at her. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  As it turned out, I needed that tube of glue sooner than I’d thought. When I walked in the front door at my house, it appeared either I’d had a break-in or my two furry roommates had had a party. Or a fight.

  I was betting on the last one.

  When I let myself in and stepped into the living room, two innocent faces looked up at me. Frenchie peered out from her carrier where she’d been snuggled against the soft blue knit: What was left of Colette’s sweater.

  “Amy’s sweater,” I corrected myself. I needed to start calling her by her real name.

  I shifted my gaze to Ernest, who looked up from his place on the back of my easy chair. He blinked his eyes at me as if he’d been asleep since I’d left that morning.

  “What have you two done?” I said sternly, looking from one to the other.

  All the genealogy papers from Lucinda that I’d been looking through the night before were scattered across the floor. I pictured a cat-vs.-dog race atop the coffee table that had sent them flying.

  Picking up the papers, I stuffed them back in the manila envelope. I’d put them in order later. It had been kind of Lucinda to share them with me. She’d been at this research a long time and she was right—it did help to see the types of public documents that were available. Cemetery listings, records of land sales, business transactions that had been filed, and even plats of towns that no longer existed.

  I worried about what had happened to her. Sheriff Terry had said he’d let us know if there was any word, but they were still trying to piece together exactly what had actually transpired. How had someone gotten in? Why hadn’t the others heard anything?

  As I grabbed a couple of papers that had landed near the bookcase, I noticed a vase had also been knocked to the floor.

  Unlike the one that had shattered the first night I’d arrived home with Frenchie, this vase was not an inexpensive yard sale find. It was a vintage Fostoria vase, a gift from my Aunt Celia. I really liked the light blue color. It was a clean break, so perhaps the Glue Man super-fixative would be able to repair it.

  Placing the two pieces on the coffee table, I glared at the two culprits. “I should have known better than to leave you two home alone.”

  Frenchie gave a little whimper at my harsh tone and I immediately felt bad. Ernest looked at me and then twisted his head to look around the room, as if he couldn’t figure out who I was talking to. I sighed.

  I plucked the glue sample from my bag and laid it on the table with the vase pieces and then headed upstairs to change before tackling the job. Not wanting to chance dripping something that could glue a guy to a steel beam onto my good clothes, I changed into jeans and an old cotton top.

  As I came back downstairs, I remembered I hadn’t taken Frenchie out. I’d been so focused on cleaning up the mess that I’d forgotten. This dog-sitter thing took some attention.

  I quickly clipped the leash onto her collar and we headed outside.

  It was getting dark earlier and next door, Mrs. Pickett had her porch light on. There were bags of leaves on her curb.

  I glanced with satisfaction at the bags of leaves on my curb as well.

  See there, I can be a responsible homeowner.

  I wanted to stick out my tongue in the direction of her house, but thought it might ruin my “responsible homeowner” status. Though I wasn’t truly a homeowner yet, but Greer had begun talking about selling again. If she could just hang on a little longer, I’d soon be in a better place to buy the house.

  Frenchie and I did a short walk up the street and back. Returning home, I realized I was hungry. It had been a while since those salads Dixie had picked up. I decided to eat a quick bite before tackling the aftermath of the Ernest and Frenchie chase scene.

  Unlatching Frenchie’s leash, I hung it on the coat hook by the door and headed to the kitchen to see what I could find to eat.

  I heard the knock at my front door but wanted badly to ignore it.

  What could Mrs. Pickett want now? Was my grass not growing straight? Had my leaves fallen on her side of the fence again? Or, heaven forbid, were my weeds jumping the fence?

  Whatever it was, I was sure it wasn’t good.

  Scratching Ernest’s head as I passed, I headed to the front door.

  Opening it a crack, I was surprised it wasn’t Mrs. Pickett. It was a tall man with a dark hoodie covering his head and most of his face.

  “Can I come in?” a low voice asked.

  “Uhm, no.” I wasn’t about to let some guy I didn’t know in my house. I started to push the door closed.

  “Sugar, it’s me,” a female voice choked out breathlessly. Her hand reached up and lifted the hood so I could see her face.

  Good grief, it was Lucinda!

  “Everyone is so worried about you.” I grabbed her in a hug and pulled her inside. “What’s going on?”

  “Close the door quick.” She pushed it shut. “I’m not sure that I haven’t been followed.”

  “Come into the living room.” I took her by the arm. She was shaking.

  “I need—” Lucinda tried to catch her breath. “I need—”

  “Take your time.” I tr
ied to keep my voice calm but I was worried about her. She looked like she might pass out. “Let’s sit down.”

  “I can’t.” She twisted her hands and then reached out and grabbed my wrist. “Sugar, you won’t believe this but I think—”

  KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

  We both jumped at the pounding on the door.

  “Go on in there until I find out who it is.” I motioned for Lucinda to move out of sight in the kitchen.

  Had she been followed? It could be the person who was threatening the Arbor family members. I didn’t want to take any chances.

  I eased open the door and peered out.

  Mrs. Pickett.

  She wore her favorite pink chenille bathrobe; her hair was rolled in those pink foam rollers that went out of style several decades ago. A blue gingham dish towel tied the rollers tight to her head instead of a scarf. Yellow rain boots completed the ensemble.

  “You can’t use those trash bags.”

  “What trash bags?” The quickest way to deal with her was always to hear whatever her complaint was. Otherwise she wouldn’t move on. Which I needed her to do. Now.

  “Those.” She pointed at the paper bags of leaves I’d raked a few days ago. I’d had Max help me place them on the curb for collection. “They won’t take them.”

  “I got them at the grocery store and they told me they were the right ones.”

  “They were wrong.” She pulled a bag out from under her bathrobe and held it out so I could see. “You gotta have this kind.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I reached for it and she snatched it back, tucking it under her robe again. Well then, the bag had apparently just been for show-and-tell.

  So off you go, then.

  “Get them at Harrison’s Hardware, not at the grocery store.”

  “Got it.” I appreciated the advice even if the delivery left a lot to be desired. However, I had a missing person hiding in my kitchen and I needed Grumpy to move along.

  She narrowed light blue eyes, watching me.

  Did she expect me to rush to the hardware store right now?

  “Thanks so much. I’ll get them tomorrow.” I stepped back and moved to close the door.

  A booted foot stopped me.

  “Those will blow around.” She pointed at the wrongly bagged leaves. “You’ll hafta put them in your garage till you get the right bags.”

  “I’ll do that.” Pushing the door closed, I heard her clomp across the porch and down the steps.

  “Lucinda,” I called. “Sorry about that. It was my next-door neighbor all in a fuss about me using the wrong leaf bags.”

  I stepped into the kitchen and looked around.

  Lucinda was gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I walked through the kitchen and looked in the laundry room.

  “Where did she go?” I asked Ernest and Frenchie, who had followed me.

  I checked the hallway that led to the back of the house and the basement stairs with the two on my heels, though I think they were less interested in Lucinda and more interested in if I planned to feed them any time soon.

  “Lucinda?” I called again.

  Where on earth had the woman gone? I couldn’t imagine that she’d slipped past me and headed upstairs, but I’d check anyway.

  Halfway up the stairs, I called her name again. “Lucinda?”

  There was a loud knock on the door. Had she gone out the back for some reason when I was talking to Mrs. Pickett and now come around to the front? I hurried down the stairs.

  “Luc—” I pulled open the door, but it wasn’t Lucinda. This time it was Jezzie.

  Good grief, that was fast. Had Lucinda called her to come and pick her up? I had no idea how Lucinda had gotten to my place and I also didn’t know how I was going to explain having lost her in such a short time.

  “Hello, Sugar,” Jezzie said, stepping inside. As usual she was dressed to the nines: A navy skirt, a soft blush blouse, and matching four-inch heels.

  I felt like a slouch in my jeans and a top that had seen better days. Still, I hadn’t been expecting company. Frenchie went back to her carrier and Ernest jumped on the arm of the sofa, watching this new visitor but keeping an eye on Frenchie.

  “Please come in,” I replied, although she’d already moved into the entryway.

  “I’ll get right to the point.” She straightened the pearls at her neck. “I understand Lucinda gave you some papers the other day.”

  “She did.” I nodded slowly as it dawned on me that Lucinda had not called her. Interesting timing. I immediately went on high alert. “Some things to help me with my research on my father’s biological parents.”

  I motioned for her to have a seat.

  “I’ll need those papers.” She continued to stand.

  Well, that was kind of rude.

  “What possible interest do you have in my family?” I stalled, trying to make sense of the demand.

  “Just get them,” she bit out.

  “I don’t think so.” I frowned at her.

  The Arbor family had been through a lot, between the murder of an almost-family member and the threats against other family members, but there was no excuse for barging into my home and barking orders.

  “Get them for me.”

  That’s when I noticed the handgun she’d pulled from her purse.

  Suddenly the missing piece of the puzzle slid into place. I stepped backward into the living room. I didn’t know what the heck was in those papers, but I knew I would hand them over rather than get shot.

  “They’re right over there.” I pointed toward the table.

  She motioned with the gun. “Get them.”

  Well, there went my rather naive thought that I’d just hand them over. That my cooperation would prevent me being shot. That she’d take them and leave. I eased toward the table and reached for the envelope where I’d stuffed all the papers.

  The determination on Jezzie’s face told me she wasn’t going to simply accept the envelope and go. I didn’t know how she’d explain away my death, but I was sure she had some plan.

  Could I buy some time?

  “So, it’s been you all along,” I said.

  She nodded, a bit of a proud smirk on her face.

  “But you killed the wrong person.” I’d figured out Colette aka Amy hadn’t been the target, but I hadn’t known who had been.

  A shadow passed over her face. “That stupid girl grabbed Lucinda’s coat to take her dog out.”

  “And then instead of a potential hunting-accident scenario you had a full-scale police investigation on your hands and had to wait to try again.”

  She nodded, her perfectly coiffed hair not moving, her gun hand steady.

  “I don’t think the mailbox bomb would’ve killed her, though.”

  “Wasn’t the intent.” She smiled.

  “Ah, you were trying to get rid of the DNA tests.”

  “Those ridiculous DNA tests were just a bonus. The idiot had already found out too much with all of her digging. If she was able to get everyone interested in digging up the past, there would be no stopping her.”

  “You were trying to kill her, then?”

  “If I’d been trying to kill her, she’d be dead.” Her dark eyes were cold. “I just wanted to send her to the ER, get her out of the house, so I could find her papers and get rid of them.”

  “Which you did when you staged the break-in.”

  “I destroyed everything and then she let it slip that she’d given you copies of some of the records.” She stepped toward me. “Now give me those copies.”

  I’d held out hope that Lucinda was in hiding and was maybe waiting to surprise Jezzie. And save me. But I didn’t see any evidence that she was still in the house.

  I glanced down the hallway.

  Cou
ld I make a run for it?

  I didn’t know if Jezzie was a crack shot in addition to being a champion archer, but she handled the gun like she knew what she was doing. Which meant my chances were not good.

  Still, I’d been held at gunpoint before. I was not about to get shot without putting up a fight.

  And I wasn’t going to just hand over the papers she wanted and let her shoot me.

  I leaned over the table, picked up the envelope and the Glue Man tube, squeezing a good glob of the glue onto the paper.

  “Here you go.” I held out the envelope, deliberately extending it toward her gun hand.

  She shifted the firearm to her left hand and grabbed the papers from me. “They had better all be in here.”

  “Oh, everything is there,” I assured her.

  “What’s this?” Jezzie suddenly registered the sticky substance on the papers I’d handed her. She tried to pull it loose but it stuck.

  True to Glue Man’s word, the stuff worked fast and it was strong.

  Jezzie shook her hand to let go of the paper. She tried to put the gun back in her right hand but couldn’t do it with the envelope stuck to her hand. In a hokey-pokey sort of move she shook her hand all around, trying to lose the envelope.

  It would have been funny if it weren’t so terrifying.

  I ran for the stairs, thinking the bathroom door was the only door in the house that locked. I’d call 911 from the bathroom.

  It was then I remembered my phone was in the kitchen.

  I started back down, then quickly changed my mind. Even if she hunted me down, that would take her some time and maybe by that time I could come up with plan B.

  Or if Jezzie fired the gun, Mrs. Pickett would likely call the police to report a violation of the noise ordinance at my house.

  My legs felt like lead and I was babbling.

  The babbling was all in my head, but still.

  Get a grip, Sugar! I said in my best Aunt Cricket voice. In my head.

  As I reversed course and headed back upstairs, Jezzie was right behind me, the gun clutched awkwardly in her left hand. She still flailed about with her right hand trying to get the envelope to let loose.