Something Borrowed, Something Blue and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Except there was no X marks the spot, was there? The red line I’d assumed (hoped) was an X when we’d first found it was actually just that a line that went nowhere and didn’t seem to have a reason for being. Could it have been added there later, some kind of error or damage? But red, why red if it wasn’t important?

  Dad looked up from studying the map and his eyes fell to the music box with its delicate ballerina holding her perfect pose. His frown caught my attention and I followed his gaze, noting the butterfly clips nestled in the main section, red velvet a contrast to the pretty blue of the costume pieces.

  I’d recovered one of them from the nursing home when I retrieved Grandmother Iris’s things, ever and long ago and found the other right there where it rested. Did he recognize them as his mother’s? Likely. Made me wonder what memories they brought back for him.

  He didn’t comment, though, not while speculations flew and Crew and Liz started throwing out ideas about what the map showed us.

  For me, as I observed it, looking for clues, I had to admit there was nothing the new piece gave us except for one step closer to the full assembly. So, was this a wild goose chase? An old map of Reading and nothing more? Well, that would suck, surely, and yet we were having so much fun, weren’t we? Could it be anything but awesome when this mystery had brought us together the way it did, regardless of the ultimate outcome?

  Not in my books.

  My phone pinged and I checked it instantly, seeing Jill’s number and sighing in relief over her text.

  They’re done, she sent. You can go home.

  Finally. I looked up to find everyone looking at me and smiled. “Petunia’s is mine again.”

  I wasn’t expecting everyone to come along for the ride home, but was grateful when Crew harnessed my pug, Liz and Mom laughing over something they whispered about, wicked smiles on their faces, Daisy tucking her arm through mine as, en masse, we walked through the gently falling snow—the clouds had moved in quickly, moon obscured and still night air beautiful, fresh, inviting. More hope, more love, more gratitude for the people around me as we all went together to the place where we’d started.

  Maybe this meant we could get married tomorrow after all. If Robert released Petunia’s to me… yes, we’d lost a lot of time and the person who was going to do the ceremony and everyone else attached to the wedding (aside from my loved ones) were murder suspects, but.

  But. Maybe.

  That whispered sweetness? Crushed, dashed, destroyed the moment I walked through my unlocked front door and stopped, shock taking my breath, at the sight unfolding in front of me as I fought more tears, a faint wail building in the back of my throat, as I realized it wasn’t the treasure after all Robert was after.

  My foyer was trashed.

  ***

  Chapter Nineteen

  Oh, and not just the foyer, with all my paperwork scattered around the floor, the carpet pulled up and bunched into a corner, the sitting room furniture tipped over, some of the upholstery torn away and a lamp on its side, the old ceramic shattered. No, as I moved into the disaster of my front entry, I caught a glimpse into the dining room, of the wedding decorations shredded, the side table tipped over, the red strip I was to use as my walk down the aisle torn and discarded like trash.

  No one said a word as we toured the house together, the kitchen the only place that garnered a response, from Mom, her cooking tools spread out over the floor, the fridge door left wide open, food spilling out onto the tile, her aprons ground underfoot with old coffee grinds, from the looks of things, dug out of the garbage worked into the fabric by clearly defined shoe imprints.

  Mom gurgled. That was all. It was enough.

  I’d cried so much already today, there was no way I had more tears in me, right? Except they leaked out, endlessly streaming and I did nothing to stop them, hope turned to hopelessness, my inability to process what I was seeing just another symptom of shock. Because I’d likely been in shock all day, now that I thought about it. Hadn’t I thought so, on a regular basis? Detached myself from the unfolding mess and destruction and accepted while clinical logic took over and saved me from hurt. At least long enough I could make it through the tour of the rest of the house without losing my mind.

  Total vindictiveness, that was all this was. Robert lashed out at me the only way he knew how, by destroying what I loved.

  Could he have known, though, as I completed my tour—the bedrooms upstairs in that state of disarray that could only have come from the deepest, darkest anger of a bitter and hateful soul—instead of collapsing into a heap of my own fury and descent into a need for vengeance, I felt a liberation like I’d never experienced before? If he had, it would have been the sweetest revenge. Because I caught myself shrugging, sighing, at the sight of my apartment kitchen overturned, my bedroom in broken disarray.

  The only thing that stung? My wedding dress. Once secured in the heavy garment bag, spread out on the bed in the Green Room, my favorite, now sunk to the bottom of the claw-foot bathtub, soaked and stained with food coloring from the kitchen.

  Unsalvageable. Like Robert’s soul.

  Someone had righted the sofa in the sitting room, everyone kind of wandered off on their own to make an attempt to put things right while I sank into the cushions and patted my legs, inviting my pug to join me. She did, heaving herself up and throwing herself down next to me, the whites of her eyes showing, faint whine escaping her. She knew, didn’t she, how badly things had gone? That our home had been violated beyond anything I’d expected from Robert, despite knowing how far down the path of darkness he’d walked? But how much did she comprehend?

  I stroked her ears, rubbed her ruff until she moaned softly and closed her eyes. “It’s going to be okay, pug,” I said. And believed it.

  Dad settled next to me, his tall shadow blocking the light from the foyer for a moment before his arm went around me and he sighed, a pat for Petunia preceding a swipe over his face from one big, strong hand. I looked up at him, feeling nothing, really, as he met my eyes with a sad smile.

  “She wouldn’t have cared about this, any of it. It’s just stuff, she’d say.” I nodded. “Your grandmother adored you, did you know that?” He chuckled then, shoulders slumping a little, weariness in them, on his face. He looked around, with that sorrow releasing. “She was so proud of you, kid.” He swallowed. “So am I.”

  What prompted me to tell Dad about the day Victor French died? What was it about that quiet moment, sitting in the wreck of Petunia’s, thinking about my grandmother and my life that brought up the day that lingered like an old toothache?

  I don’t think I’ll ever know, and it didn’t matter. I told him everything, all the nightmares, the increasing return of memories, how, in the end, I realized the shadow that let Victor die was my father’s nephew. Dad didn’t say a word, his arm tucked around me, head down, ear near my lips as I felt like a little girl confessing a terrible secret to her loving Daddy who would do everything and anything to keep her safe.

  When I was done, Dad didn’t say a word, just shook his head, his face flat, troubled. I wanted him to tell me what happened, if I was remembering the day right, but I didn’t get to wait for him to speak.

  Crew appeared, interrupted. “Fee, let’s stay at my place tonight, okay? We’ll tackle this in the morning.” He sounded sad, too, frustrated, but sweet. My darling.

  Dad hugged me swiftly and stood, leaving us alone, with a quick squeeze for Crew’s shoulder on the way by. My fiancé raised an eyebrow and I shook my head. What could I say? Nothing mattered right now. And he was right.

  I wasn’t going to sleep at Petunia’s tonight.

  We assembled in the foyer then, no one speaking. I don’t think I could have borne it, if one of them had said something about Robert, about revenge, about payback or complaining to council. Not then. Not yet. It was too soon and I knew, in my heart, that no matter what came of this mess, Robert would pay in ways that had nothing to do with the law.

  I
joked at times I was going to hell. He was already living in it.

  We left together, as a group, though I was the last to go. I stood one long, final moment in the foyer of my home and felt the heartache surface, just for a single beat. Enough to chase me out before it consumed me.

  I locked the door behind me and followed Crew home.

  ***

  Jill arrived the next morning as Crew was making breakfast, her expression telling me she knew what happened, what Rosebert had done. From my fiancé? Or were they boasting about the destruction? Didn’t matter.

  She chose not to bring it up, though, setting a file in front of me that I glanced at as she spoke. “Confirmed murder from the forensics lab,” she said. “Not that we needed it, but nice to have.” She waved off Crew’s offer of an omelet, setting her hat on the counter as she sat on a stool and took the cup of coffee he slid in front of her. “Eight ounces or so of isopropanol is lethal,” she said, “though it could have taken less, considering Thea’s size and history with alcohol abuse.” She sipped the java before going on. “Symptoms are just like excessive consumption of normal alcohol, ending in depression of the nervous system and death.” She set her mug down. “Access to the murder weapon is a problem. It’s a pretty common item, used for any variety of reasons.”

  “Including fixing an old organ,” I said. “Andrew Isaac had some with him yesterday when he was here.”

  Jill grunted faintly. “It’s used by doctors, sometimes as a cleaning agent.” My deputy friend stared down into her cup. “Not sure it’s going to be much help, but at least we have a definitive on what killed her.”

  The fact she was happy for the forensics report told me she wasn’t trusting Barry’s word any more than I was. “He giving you any trouble?”

  No need to identify who I was talking about, apparently. “No,” she said, forcing a smile that told me he was, but she had it handled, and I trusted her to do so.

  “Might I make a suggestion,” Crew said, looking back and forth between us. “Just as an outside observer with a certain set of skills?”

  We both nodded in turn.

  “He may not have anything to add,” the former sheriff of Reading said in that graveled voice, “but he’s been a huge help in the past and I’d wager Lloyd Aberstock might be a valuable resource.” He sipped his own coffee. “Off the record, like.”

  I grinned at my fiancé and winked at Jill. “Feel like sticking it to the man?”

  She laughed. “As long as that man is Geoffrey Jenkins.”

  Boo-yah.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty

  Bernice Aberstock looked as much like Mrs. Claus with her round cheeks and white hair, her round body and sweet smile as her husband did the man in the red suit. Adorable, the pair of them, really, and no less so as she kindly beamed at me and Jill before ushering us inside their large two story.

  “Fiona, Jillian, how lovely to see you both.” The (fittingly) red-clad woman closed the door behind us, rubbing her little hands together. “So chilly for this time of year, isn’t it?” She held out her arms to us. “I can take your coats. I’m sure you’re here to see Lloyd, aren’t you?”

  I nodded to her, almost wanting to apologize to her for the state of affairs but she simply hung up my coat, taking Jill’s and her hat all the while chattering away like a five-foot-nothing bundle of Christmas cheer.

  “Now, you two just go on into his study and I’ll be along with coffee. Or would you prefer hot chocolate, girls?” She giggled then, hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I know you’re not girls.”

  I grinned back. “I’d love hot chocolate, thanks, Bernice.”

  Jill seconded the request and followed me as our hostess disappeared at a clip, her slippered feet silent on the floor, deeper into the house, waving at a door at the far end of the hall.

  I peeked inside, spotting the doc behind a big desk, bookcases behind him making him look very official, though when he looked up from his reading and noticed the two of us hovering at his door, that smile of his lit the room.

  “Fee!” He stood, closing the hard cover with a thud, standing to wave us inside. “And Jill, how wonderful to see you both.” As if we were here for a social call and he hadn’t been basically fired from the job he’d held for ages.

  “Hey, Doc,” I said, sitting in one of the overstuffed easy chairs that made up a reading nook on the far side of his office. Jill hesitated before perching on the edge of her own, though the doc didn’t seem uncomfortable with our presence at all, dropping himself into a third, the small coffee table between us not so much a barrier as it was a meeting space. Dr. Aberstock exhaled happily, folding his hands over the slight paunch of his tummy, his wedding band shining on his ring finger. I’d never noticed before, but it seemed embedded in his skin, as if he’d worn it for so long it had become a part of him and I caught myself twisting my engagement ring, thinking about Crew and the wedding and not wanting to wander down that mental and emotional road at the moment.

  “We’re sorry to intrude, Dr. Aberstock.” Jill sounded as uncomfortable as she looked, cheeks pinking just a little while Bernice hustled into the room with a tray, the mugs rattling as she set it down on the coffee table.

  “Not at all, Jill,” he said while his sweet wife handed me a mug, dropping a scoop of mini marshmallows into my hot chocolate when I nodded at her silent offer. Jill did the same, though the doc waved them off, chuckling and patting that same rounded stomach. “Bernice has me watching my sugar.”

  I laughed at that while she rolled her eyes. “Mom tries that with Dad,” I said to our hostess who sighed like it was a constant battle she knew she’d never win.

  And when they met each other’s eyes and that spark of love flew? The same one I saw between my parents? My wedding worries went away again. Because I knew that look, the feeling that went along with it and understood that what I had with Crew would end up just like this one day, teasing one another about who knew what—didn’t matter, but there would be something—while his wedding band became part of him and I adored him like the moment we met.

  How awesome was that?

  I half expected Bernice to leave us then, as she doled out a round of fresh chocolate chip cookies onto little plates we balanced on our knees. And yes, despite his teasing of her, she handed him one while I grinned around a bite of mine, though I was feeling a bit like a traitor. Mom’s baking? Stellar, amazing, the best in the world. But Bernice Aberstock’s cookies?

  I honestly thought I’d die of the yum.

  When she was done serving, she instead took a seat on the arm of her husband’s chair with her own mug and sweet, clearly intending to be part of whatever conversation was to come. Not that I would ever ask otherwise. I was used to my parents, after all, and knowing these two were as inseparable… made my day.

  Two cookies later—yes, I did take the offer of more, since my wedding dress was ruined anyway so I didn’t have to worry I wouldn’t be able to zip it up after indulging and besides two freaking cookies wasn’t going to hurt me, thanks for the attempt to make me feel bad about myself, bridal magazines—I sat back with a contented sigh and addressed the white elephant in the room.

  “Crew suggested we talk to you, Doc,” I said. “About the case.”

  He nodded, smile fading, hands clasped around his bright red mug. He stared into the froth of chocolate at the top, the good mood in the room not completely gone, but dampened. “I assumed as much,” he said. “Nice of him to do so. Considering he’s in the same position I am, these days.”

  How much had they supported each other over the four years Crew was sheriff? Did they have each other’s backs? I could only assume that was the case. I knew a little bit about what Crew went through as sheriff, the constant undermining of his authority, how he was tormented over the fact he wasn’t a Fleming, wasn’t Dad. Dealing with Robert, with being stonewalled by the Pattersons, my intrusions on his investigations, Olivia continually twisting events to the benefit of
tourism and often to the detriment of his job. He’d shared some of it, but I could only guess, knowing him as well as I did, that I was seeing the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I hated that he didn’t feel he could share, knowing he needed someone he could talk to.

  Was Dr. Aberstock that someone?

  “He’s happy to be free of the job,” I said before glancing at Jill who nodded, not surprised. “They honestly saved him the trouble of quitting.”

  The doc sighed heavily, nodded too. “I know, Fee,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many times I told that young man of yours he was better than this place, than how they treated him. I often thought he would quit, leave. But Crew Turner has a stubborn streak about as wide as yours, my dear.” He laughed then, blue eyes twinkling. “I think the pair of you are in for an interesting life together.”

  Bernice giggled and slapped his shoulder. “They’re perfect for each other,” she said.

  Okay, they had to stop staring into each other’s eyes like they’d just fallen in love yesterday instead of… how long ago?

  “Barry warned me,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to ruin the mood, “about my meddling. That it was making people’s lives harder than they needed to be.”

  The doc waved that off, Bernice tsking and patting her husband’s shoulder. “Nonsense,” he said. “I would rather be fired, Fee, than carry on one more case in a position where I could be asked to do something that goes against my ethics.”

  Jill shifted in her seat. “Have you been asked to in the past, Dr. Aberstock?”

  He hesitated while Bernice’s face fell.

  “Just tell them, dear,” she finally whispered.

  “Yes,” he said, firm and determined, one hand thudding on the free arm of his chair. “And I’ve refused every single time.” He met my eyes. “So don’t for a moment blame yourself for this, Fee. They’ve been looking for a way to replace me and you’re just an excuse. I wouldn’t have traded a single moment, not to mention the fact thanks to you and Crew we’ve put some truly horrible people away for reprehensible crimes.” Not that I was taking myself totally off the hook but it was good to know. “I’ve always been curious myself, not a suggested way of being when one has dealings at all with the Pattersons.”