She had a valid point. In the crowded universe of the writer, Lisa Caldwell's reputation definitely preceded her.
"Lisa won't be shy about giving her a push, that's for sure," I said. I'd seen Lisa in action. The woman did not suffer fools gladly, particularly when the fool was a fellow writer. "Maybe I can drop a word or two in Sarah's ears."
"Would you? That'd be awesome, Caro." She took a last sip of her wine and added her glass to Sarah's. "You wanna drive? I'm fine, but it would be just my luck to get pulled over. Not a good plan for someone who's supposed to be a leader in town."
"And is dating a cop." I held out my hand for the keys to the Mini Cooper, her pride and joy. "Let a real Brit show you how to drive a British car."
CHAPTER FOUR
"It's good to have you home," I said, giving my hubby a tight hug. Trixie demanded her share of attention as well, winding through our feet like a cat.
"Trust me. It's good to be home."
I looked up at Greg's face, noting the faint lines radiating from his bright blue eyes. Knowing his diligent sleeping patterns, I suspected the cause to be an irritating peer or endless, meaningless meetings.
"Another useless conference?" I asked lightly, taking his coat from him and hanging it on the hall rack. A red scarf followed, a gash of color against his sensible woolen outerwear.
"They could have sent everyone a PowerPoint and been done with it." Greg leaned over to untie his shoes, kicking them off with a sigh. "That's better. Next time I'm going casual."
Greg, the quintessential British solicitor now masquerading as a professor of international law, always insisted on dressing quasi-formally at work. His peers, on the other hand, affected a more laid-back style, and one even wore leather sandals in the class. I couldn't see my fastidious husband going that far. Leaving his shirt tails hanging out was generally as casual as he got.
"Come have a cup of coffee with me," I urged him. "I've got a lot of news to share that you're not going to believe."
"'Not believe' because it's so good or because it's so bad?" Greg pulled out a kitchen chair and sank into it with an audible groan. "Those plane seats are getting smaller and smaller. Pretty soon we'll either be sitting on one another's lap or standing."
"Standing's not such a bad idea," I said. "Remember that last flight we took together?" I mentally shuddered as I recalled the sizeable man whose girth, shall we say, tended to cross the line of demarcation between seats and overflow onto my side of things. I'd scooted so far over that both my seat belt and my patience were strained.
"So what's the scoop?" Greg took a sip of the coffee I placed in front of him and grimaced. "What the heck is this, Caro?"
"My new favorite, and if you don't like it, don't drink it." I made a "gimme" gesture toward the mug. "I can't believe just how difficult it is to find Peppermint Bark right now."
"I thought it tasted like something off a tree." He took another cautious sip. "At least it's hot."
"As is the news I have, so pay attention. And 'bark' as in candy, not a tree." I took a sip of my own coffee, relishing the mint-flavored chocolate undertones. "You know that I promised Merry I'd help her with the fall festival, right?" Without waiting for an answer, I plowed on. "Well, I decided that I really didn't want to be the corpse, so I passed the torch, so to speak, to Viviana Drake." When he cocked his head and lifted one eyebrow, I added, "You know, the woman who took over the secondhand store after last year's fiasco."
"Ah. I see."
"When Merry and I went over to ask her, we found that she was already a corpse. A real one, I mean," I added with a wry expression. "And now that detective from the city, Leonides the Great-in-his-own-mind, is in town, and Merry is acting interested in him, and I'm feeling so sorry for…"
"Whoa, Caro. Just hang on." Greg held up both hands. "Take a deep breath, okay? In fact, why don't you drink your coffee and let me make a few notes."
Trust my husband to turn lawyer on me. But I did as he suggested, enjoying the hot drink as I watched him scribble in the small notebook that he always carried. So typical, I thought fondly. While we both loved technology, there were some things that just couldn't be replaced.
"All right. This is what I have." Greg began to read from his neatly written list. "And now you think there's an attraction between Leonides and Merry and not Scotty?"
I nodded. "Yes. And that worries me. The big city just isn't her lifestyle."
"And Seneca Meadows is? Looking at this"—he waggled the notebook at me—"I think the bigger problem is the dead body. A body, I might add, that you've managed to get involved with once again."
"I don't do it on purpose," I said, a scowl puckering my forehead. "And don't make me frown, Greg. I don't want wrinkles."
"And I don't want a wife who's tied up in another murder investigation." He stood up and walked around the table, kissing me lightly on the forehead. "There. No more wrinkles."
* * *
"I can't believe how much of an egotist that Sarah Lawson is." Merry looked at me over the opened boxes of apples that sat on my kitchen table, the color in her cheeks matching the ruddy fruit. "I hate to speak badly about my authors—"
"That's a relief," I said dryly.
"—but she is driving me to drink."
"Do tell." I reached in the box and began sorting the apples by size, snagging a couple for us to munch on as we worked.
"Well, this morning she called and asked if I was sending a driver over for her."
I'd just taken a bite of my apple and almost choked at her words. "A what? How'd she get here?"
"My point exactly. Thanks." Merry took the proffered apple, wiping it on her jeans. "I told her that I couldn't spare anyone but I was sure she'd be able to pay one of the neighborhood kids to bring her."
"You didn't!" I grinned at her. "Merry, that was absolutely brilliant. And what did she say?"
"Actually, it's not suitable for polite ears." Merry grinned back at me. "I think her Amish characters would be a tad horrified, you know?"
Trixie, always on the hunt for a handout, waddled into the kitchen and made a beeline to Merry.
"Oh, you sweet little thing," she crooned, scooping the decidedly not little dachshund up in her arms. "Have you come to see your Auntie Merry?"
"Don't give her anything to eat," I warned, shaking my head at the dog's innocent act. If there was an Oscar for animals, Trixie would be a shoo-in. "The vet says she's overweight."
Merry laughed, and Trixie threw me a sour look over her plump shoulder. "Not a surprise, considering all the sweets y'all always have around here. Speaking of," she added as she looked pointedly at the pound cake sitting on the counter. "How about something to balance this healthy apple I just ate?"
"You, Meredith Holmes, are a woman after my own heart," I said.
We spent the rest of the afternoon happily drinking coffee, eating cake, and gossiping about other authors we'd both known. While most of those I knew personally were absolute dears, there were a few divas out there who gave the rest a bad name. It would seem that Sarah Lawson was determined to do just that. And to be quite honest, it was a relief to keep the more serious topic at bay. I was still processing Viv's death in the only way I knew how to at the moment, and distracting my mind with the festival plans was a help. One of these days I'd need to visit a shrink and dig into my past. I was sure that something had happened back then to make me react the way I did whenever confronted by something traumatic.
"I'd love to sit here and eat and talk and eat, Merry, but we've got to finish sorting through this box," I said, dragging my attention back to the present and waggling my empty coffee cup at the fruit.
"Fine, but honestly, it'll already be dark by the time we get started, and I can't imagine that anyone is going to inspect each apple that closely." Merry reached over and grabbed my empty plate and stacked it atop of hers. "But if you insist."
I nodded. "I do."
The next thirty minutes flew by as we began emptying the box
apple by apple, setting aside those that were damaged and tossing the ones with the telltale sign of worms, Finally, the last box emptied and inspected, we began replacing the apples in the boxes.
"Well, it's getting late." Merry stood up groaned as she stretched her arms over her head and gave her back a twist. "I'm telling you, Caro, I had no idea how much work went into a silly apple-bobbing tank."
"I'm fairly certain most folks don't worry over what the apples look like, Merry. It's just you." I too gave a groan as I stood up, my knees popping like a double-barreled shotgun. "No one will be able to hold a candle to our fall festival, that's for sure."
"If I can keep the guest of honor happy." She leaned over and scratched Trixie on the soft spot between her ears. "Too bad you couldn't have any tre—"
"Don't say the 'T' word," I warned her. "This dog is fluent in English."
"Unlike you," she said and ducked, laughing, as I mimed tossing an apple at her.
* * *
The next day was picture postcard perfect. The sky was blue with only a few clouds to mar the expanse, the sun was shining as if storing up for the days when the weather would not be cooperating, and Seneca Meadows' downtown was sparkling. Everything was in place for the 1st Annual Fall Festival, and I couldn't have been more proud of Merry. Viv's corpse kept hovering on the edge of my thoughts, but I had to ignore her, knowing that the SMPD would be more than qualified to get to the bottom of things. Besides, having been mixed up in murder more than once before, I knew how my dear hubby would feel if I allowed myself to get involved.
"Greg," I called down the hallway, "can you help me get these boxes loaded?"
The only response I got was a mumble followed by a terrific crash. Trixie came dashing down the hall, her eyes wide and tail curled down between her stubby legs. Actually, dachshunds don't "dash" anywhere if they can help it. At the most they waddle quickly, and that only occurs when they're assured of a treat at the end of their exertions. Trixie headed straight for her basket and got into it, tucking her pointed nose under her paws.
I, however, could and did dash down the hall to see what it was that had made so much noise. I found my husband standing in front of what was left of the bathroom mirror, hands on his hips as he surveyed the damage.
"Don't come any closer, Caro," Greg said as I peeked around the corner of the bathroom door.
"I'd say we need to get those HOA-approved contractors back here on the double." I stood surveying the damage with my arms folded across my chest, visions of our monthly HOA fee dancing through my head.
He shook his head in disgust. "I could have hung this better and saved a ton of money in the process."
He was right, of course. Our HOA, in all its wisdom and might, had given each household a list of "approved contractors" to do any work that was needed. We, like obedient children, had called when we'd noticed that the bathroom's vanity mirror—the hinged portion that magnified my face to alarming proportions—was hanging at a precarious angle.
"I'd say we take lots of pictures, post them on the HOA website, and be done with it." I could see bits of glass sparkling in the carpet at my feet and began carefully backing out the way I'd come. "Besides, I've decided I don't need one of those silly things anyway. It just depresses me to see myself up close." I didn't mention the newly sprouted hairs I'd discovered recently on my upper lip. Sometimes a girl just needs to keep some things a secret.
Greg shot a grin at me, and I shot my chin at him.
"Don't worry, Caro. I haven't even noticed."
"What haven't you noticed?" I'd already started back down the hall toward the kitchen, but his words brought me up short. I reached up to feel under my nose where I'd applied the hair-removal cream just the day before. Had it left behind telltale bumps?
"I'm just teasing you." He carefully picked his way over to where I was standing and put both arms around me. "It's good to be home."
I stayed there for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his chest against my cheek. As much as I'd loved my "me time" when he was away, there was definitely something to be said about having that special man hanging about. Besides, having my own live-in muscle was a benefit.
"I'm glad to hear that, Greg. Now, could you help me get those boxes of apples loaded into the back of the car? I promised Merry that I'd be down there by nine."
I was ready to go by a quarter of nine. Sliding the seat belt across my lap and securely fastening it, I leaned out my window to plant a kiss on my husband's cheek. Trixie, snuggled into his arms with her eyes closed, gave an irritated yip as he straightened back up. I had to grin.
"She's all yours. And you, missy," I said, pointing a finger at our pet, "can just forget about bamboozling him into giving you extra t-r-e-a-t-s. Doctor Faith says she's overweight," I added as Greg's eyebrows rose. "I had to tell Merry the same thing."
"Why am I not surprised?" he said, nuzzling his face into Trixie's soft fur. I could have sworn that she smiled, and rather smugly too. Waving good-bye at the pair of them, I backed out of the driveway and headed for Seneca Meadows' Main Street, ready to get started with the festival.
It was already quite a busy scene when I arrived in my designated spot. I parked my car and began looking around for some unsuspecting pair of arms to help me wrestle the apple boxes out of the back of my car and into place near the dunk tank. For now, it was still empty, but Merry had assured me it would be filled before the festival began.
"I'll send one of our cutie patootie firemen over to give you a hand, Caro, so don't worry."
"Worry? Moi?" I'd put my hand on my heart and feigned surprise. "Besides, if I can get a hand from Mr. Calendar Boy, maybe I can get a leg, a…"
"Whoa, Caro. Just stop right there." Merry had held up both hands, palms out. "I'm the single one in this little group, I'll have you remember."
I had to laugh. I loved teasing my friend.
Looking around now, I saw that several of the booths had already been set up, brightly colored flags flying from the corners. A few banners had been draped across the width of Main Street as well, and a light breeze gave them a wave every now and then. It was, I had to admit, a quintessential American small-town scene.
Except for the body.
From where I stood on the sidewalk, I could see the legs and feet of someone protruding from behind the large steel horse water trough that we'd procured for the apple bobbing. Where was one of those handsome firemen now when I needed someone?
CHAPTER FIVE
Drawing in a deep breath, I began sidling toward the tank, my heart pounding and my legs feeling as though I'd added an extra kilo or ten to my weight. And maybe I had. Trixie wasn't the only gal in the house who liked her snacks.
It was a young woman, maybe seventeen or eighteen, stretched out on her back. Her long blonde hair was spread out around her like a fan, and she looked so peaceful. I couldn't see any sign of trauma on her person. Thank goodness for that, I thought, leaning closer to see if I recognized her.
"Hello." Her eyes opened, staring directly into my own startled ones.
"I thought you were, I thought you were…"
I couldn't get a complete sentence out to save my life, and she smiled up at me, two dimples popping out of nowhere at the corners of her mouth.
"You thought I was dead? That's great," she exclaimed. "I was practicing for tonight's crime caper." She lifted herself up on one elbow and held out the other hand. "I'm Victoria, as in the queen, but most folks just call me Vic."
"Well, Vic, I'm delighted to meet you, although you did almost give me a heart attack." I grinned down at her, still clutching her hand. "Here, let me help you up before someone thinks I've bumped you off. And I'm Caro, by the way."
"Right?" She laughed, standing up and brushing off her jeans. "I guess I'm hoping to be the chosen one because the other one really did get bumped off. Did you hear about that?" She gave me a cheeky grin, her teenaged sangfroid on display for all to see. I was beginning to wonder if Seneca Meadows was mor
phing into the World's Most Uncaring Town with me as it most prominent citizen.
Shaking off this rather uncomfortable thought, I nodded, wondering how in the world she'd gotten that information. I couldn't imagine Merry actually saying something to someone her age, especially not to a hopeful Corpse Number Two.
"So," said Vic, slapping her hands together. "What're you doing?"
"As in the festival, or right now?"
"Yes." Delivered with that dimple-bracketed grin again.
"I'm going to be running the apple-bobbing tank, which is where you chose to practice dying, and right now I need some help unloading all the boxes of apples that are currently in my car." I nodded to where my sedan was parked.
Vic mimed rolling up her sleeves. "There's no time like the present. Let's get 'er done."
I hadn't planned on having to carry the boxes myself, but I shrugged, following her over to my car.
"Are you from Seneca Meadows?" Vic's question, posed to a person—me—whose accent was clearly not local, made me laugh out loud.
"Only for the past couple of years," I said, sliding one box forward and lifting it into my arms. "I'm from Victoria's stomping grounds, you might say."
"That's what I thought." She grinned at me as I watched her effortlessly hoist one box. "So, is it true that Australia's weather is opposite of ours?"
"Australia?" I was now completely confused, trying to figure out what England might have to do with… "Ah. You mean the Australian state called Victoria. I'm talking about the queen. As in England, where I'm from."
"I thought the queen's name was Elizabeth."
Vic gave a small laugh, and I was hard-pressed to figure out if she was playing games with me or truly confusing her history and geography.
"That's my sister's name. And my brother is Phillip. You might say," she added with a grin, "that my mom had royal aspirations when she had us."
You Can Lead a Horse to Water (Proverbial Crime Mysteries Book 3) Page 4
