‘Just before we went into the crematorium. But there wasn’t time then, so we agreed to go for coffee later. Un-poisoned coffee.’
‘Too bad,’ I said. ‘Might’ve been important.’
‘Indeed.’ She returned the chalk to the lip on the board.
I rose from the bench. ‘Well, I’m hungry. What are you cooking for dinner?’
Mother’s eyebrows rose above the rims. ‘Why me?’
‘The hammer? You lost the bet.’
‘As I recall, I didn’t accept your terms.’
‘But you were wrong,’ I pointed out.
She shrugged. ‘It’s all irrelevant with no verbal agreement or handshake, much less anything in writing.’
I grunted. ‘So that’s how you’re going to play it. OK, then I’ll “cook” – how do peanut butter sandwiches sound? Jelly optional.’
Mother grimaced. ‘Very well … I’ll fix Labskaus.’
Yum! That was a recipe passed down from Vivian Borne’s Danish grandmother. (And an antidote to Mrs Mulligan’s spicy stew.)
She continued, ‘Besides, we’re going to need a hardy hot meal before venturing out later this evening.’
I should have known. Labskaus usually came with a price.
‘Venture where?’ I asked.
‘To look up Skylar. This entire misadventure began with him. Maybe the answer will start there, too.’
‘Maybe even end,’ I said.
Labskaus
(Beef and Vegetable Stew)
2 lb. boneless beef
2 lb. potatoes
4–6 carrots
1–2 stalks celery
4 parsnips
1 small head cabbage
2 tbl. minced parsley
black pepper
Cut or chop beef in bite-size pieces. Wash the vegetables; pare the potatoes, scrape the carrots, celery and parsnips, then cut or chop all vegetables into pieces. Place chopped meat in large pot, and add lightly salted water to cover, bring to a boil and cook until meat is tender. Skim the top of fat, and add all vegetables. Use more boiling water if needed, but only enough to cover the vegetables and be absorbed by the time the stew is done. Cover pot with a lid and cook on medium low heat for a little over an hour or until done. Stir in parsley, and black pepper to taste. Makes 8 servings.
A Trash ‘n’ Treasures Tip
To properly insure your antiques, get them appraised for value, keep an updated inventory, and understand the terms of your policy. Mother refuses to insure any sterling silver, hoping the stuff gets stolen and she doesn’t have to polish it anymore.
EIGHT
Carry On Teacher
After dinner, just before seven p.m., Mother, Sushi and I ventured out to the Ford Fusion under dark clouds rolling in from the west, distant thunder threatening to disrupt a peaceful spring evening. Mother Nature was providing us with an unsettling mood.
Behind the wheel, I asked, ‘You have directions to Skylar’s house?’
‘North on River Road,’ Mother replied.
I handed Sushi off to her, and started the car.
Long ago I stopped bothering to ask Mother if we should call ahead before dropping in on anyone. Her answer was always pretty much the same: ‘What, and give them a chance to make some excuse? Not on your Nellie! Besides, it’s the element of surprise that helps me gage reactions to my questions.’
And anyway, to be perfectly honest with you, I get a perverse pleasure out of witnessing the reactions of unsuspecting victims when they open their doors to reveal Vivian Borne standing on their stoop. In Serenity, finding Mother come calling is second only to finding the sheriff on your doorstep … and when she was sheriff, what a double whammy that was!
Following the winding Mississippi, River Road was a narrow two-lane that sometimes came disturbingly close to the water, which had become choppy as the wind picked up. The moon drifting in and out under the shifting clouds created shadows at once lovely and troubling.
We remained silent, me concentrating on the road, watching for the occasional deer to dart across, Mother mulling over questions to ask Skylar, while Sushi – who normally curled up on Mother’s lap – stood facing forward intently, sensing we were out on a mission, the little figurehead at the bow of our hybrid ship.
The intuitiveness of the dog never failed to amaze me. For example, we were nearing the turn-off leading to Tony’s cabin home, at which point Sushi would usually begin to quiver and quake in anticipation of seeing Rocky; but tonight she didn’t flinch. Why? Maybe because Mother was along. After all, Sushi and I never went to the cabin with her. It was a place of refuge, after all.
Veins of lightning flashed, turning the early purple-pink dusk into sudden inky night, big drops of rain splattering on the windshield like ill-fated bugs.
As we approached what the locals called Colorado Hill, I tightened my grip on the wheel. The stretch of highway was called such because, for one brief mile, you were magically transported from typical flatland Iowa to a winding Colorado mountain road, with rocky bluffs, pine trees, and a majestic view of the river below.
At the top there had long been a lookout, wide enough to accommodate one or two cars. But years of mud slides and erosion had eliminated the spot, so that the only thing between road and cliff was a meager guardrail.
Colorado Hill was beautiful in the winter, spring, summer, and especially the fall – any time of year … just not at night. And particularly not in the rain. Or when blinding headlights came at you as you neared the crest.
Like now.
I held my breath, the oncoming car passed safely, and then we were winding back down into the soothing boredom that was Iowa.
At the bottom of the hill, Mother said, ‘The next turn.’ Which could only be left, unless we were all in the mood for a swim.
For a quarter of a mile, we bumped along a narrow dirt lane guided only by our headlights, then continued up a short incline to the leveling off of a bluff, where several bright security lights popped on, revealing an unusual ranch-style hacienda constructed of burnt-adobe brick with a red-tiled roof.
One concession had been made to the structure, allowing for the inclement Midwestern weather: an attached garage, shut tight. With no other vehicle in the driveway, we may have made the trip for nothing.
Still, a few lights were on in the house, so I pulled the car into the drive, and we exited hurriedly under Mother’s umbrella, me holding Sushi, big raindrops splattering our barely sufficient covering.
A flagstone walk led to two steps up to a wood-carved door, where a pair of potted cacti on either side acted as mute sentries, an overhang providing further protection just as the sky really opened up. The rain was coming at an angle, though, which encouraged us to keep using that shared umbrella as best we could.
Mother’s finger was poised at the bell when the door opened as quick, and as startlingly, as another thunderclap, revealing Angela James, wearing a colorful blouse, dark jeans, and a surprised expression.
(While noteworthy in its wide-eyed way, Angela’s reaction upon seeing Mother did not knock out my top contender, Mr Fusselman*, who – glass in hand – once did a spit-take worthy, Mother said, of Danny Thomas, a reference that younger readers may wish to Google, if they have nothing better to do with their time.)
‘Oh!’ Angela said with a hand to her chest. ‘I thought you were my husband.’
Vivian Borne had been mistaken for many things, but never a man, with the exception of when she went incognito (Antiques Wanted).
Disappointed, Mother said, ‘Ah, then Skylar’s not home, I take it.’
Angela shook her head, dark tresses bouncing off her shoulders. ‘No, he went out just after dinner, right before six.’
‘Do you expect him back fairly soon?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Well, uh … yes.’
‘Then we’ll wait,’ Mother replied with cheerful finality.
Angela hesitated, but stepped aside.
I asked, ‘Do you mind …?
’
I was indicating Sushi in my arms.
With only a hint of irritation, Angela again shook her head.
We went in, Mother leaving her umbrella on the stoop. The large entryway was as colorful as a kaleidoscope – high-glossed red-tile floor, vivid wall mosaics, ceiling painted with white moons and blue stars, and a bench decorated with howling coyotes in an artsy fashion.
Also greeting us was the lingering aroma of a Mexican meal, making Sushi’s presence moot, as far as sniffing out our home invader.
‘Lovely house,’ I said, to break the strained silence. But I meant it.
‘Thank you,’ our hostess replied curtly. ‘We wanted to bring New Mexico with us.’
‘Oh, it’s a lovely state, New Mexico,’ I said. ‘You must miss it.’
Angela arched a beautifully-shaped dark eyebrow. ‘I do.’
Not ‘we,’ I noted.
She led us into a more subdued main room, which had plaster walls, open wood-beamed ceilings, and a bank of front windows offering a stunning vista of the river in the distance, now glimpsed only during the occasional flash of lightning.
A conical-shaped open fireplace hugged one wall, and the continuation of the red-tiled floor was mostly obscured by a large rug woven in a Native American print. The furniture ran from shades of dark brown to light beige, some pieces rough-hewn, but others, like the couch and an armchair, upholstered in soft leather.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ Angela asked, perfunctorily. ‘Coffee, tea, lemonade?’
‘Very gracious of you,’ Mother replied. ‘But we’re fine.’
Me, I would have loved some lemonade. But since Angela was on our suspect list for poisoning Tiffany, I kept my mouth shut.
We sat on the couch, Sushi on my lap, while Angela took a straight-back chair with a cowhide seat to one side of us.
‘I understand you’re a teacher,’ I began, my job being to begin a benign conversation.
Angela wasn’t having any of that, responding with a cursory nod and looking at Mother, moving past any small talk with, ‘What do you want with Skylar?’
Mother, perhaps thrown a little, shifted on the couch, and said, ‘I wondered if he’d heard the sad news about Tiffany Wallace.’
Angela frowned. ‘He did mention at dinner that she’d apparently had a heart attack.’ Then, out of politeness or perhaps a sense of propriety, she added, ‘How is she?’
‘Oh, she’s dead, dear.’
Angela reared back a little. ‘My God …’
That reaction seemed genuine enough. If Skylar had known Tiffany was dead, he’d apparently failed to share that information with his wife.
Mother, working to sound pleasant and not bluntly interrogative, asked, ‘Did you know the woman well?’
‘Not really.’
‘Ah.’ Innocently, she asked, ‘And Skylar?’
Not innocently enough, apparently, because Angela’s eyes flashed. ‘If you’re referring to this morning … he mentioned to me that you walked in on him consoling Mrs Wallace.’
Mother splayed a hand against her chest. ‘My dear, I do not refer, and did not at the time infer, that I’d witnessed anything improper. I merely thought that if they were friends, he would want to know of her passing.’
Our hostess appeared appeased. ‘I believe Skylar only knows – only knew – Mrs Wallace through his business dealings with her mother, Ruth Hassler.’
Mother nodded. ‘I see. Then perhaps Ruth had sold him some of her antiques in the past?’
Angela shrugged. ‘I’m not sure if they ever came to an agreement on anything – really, I’m not at all involved with the shop. That’s Skylar’s domain. You’ll have to ask him.’
‘Thank you, dear. I will.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head. ‘Are you here in some official capacity, Mrs Borne? Because this is sounding more like an interrogation than an expression of neighborly concern.’
Mother’s little laugh might seem genuine to the untrained ear, but I knew differently. ‘Oh, goodness, no! I’m no longer sheriff. Though I do retain a badge with certain privileges. Even authority.’
That was stretching it.
Meanwhile, Sushi, tiring of my lap, jumped to the floor and settled on the rug. Angela, to her credit, looked at the little dog with a faint smile. She clearly liked Soosh best among her uninvited guests.
Mother continued, ‘The thing is, dear, Tiffany did not die from a heart attack.’
Now Angela’s attention returned sharply to Mother. ‘Oh?’
‘The doctor who attended her in the ER feels she may have been poisoned. Of course, the autopsy will tell.’
Angela, looking horrified, sputtered, ‘You … you can’t be serious …’
‘I’m always serious, dear.’
Even regarding the most trivial of things.
Recovering, Angela asked, ‘When would this … this poisoning have happened?’
That struck me as odd. Not ‘why,’ or ‘where’… when.
‘This morning,’ Mother said. ‘Quite possibly at the tag sale, although her death occurred some time later. But, as I say, more will be known after the autopsy.’
Mother had got a rise out of Angela the first time she used that unsettling word, and was clearly hoping for a repeat performance.
She was disappointed. Angela merely looked at her watch and said, ‘Skylar should have been back by now.’
No longer making any effort to conceal an interviewing-a-suspect approach, Mother went on, ‘You were at the sale. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Other, of course, than your own presence, after saying you have little to do with your husband’s profession.’
Angela stood, said, ‘I’m going to call him,’ and left the room.
Our reluctant hostess seemed distracted, perhaps really wondering why her husband was so late getting back; but she might have just been ducking Mother’s persistent grilling.
I looked at the ex-sheriff. ‘Well?’
‘She either knows, or suspects, something.’
‘I concur. But if you keep pressing like this, she’s bound to balk. We’ll be back out in the storm toot sweet.’
Mother nodded. ‘I do not disagree. She’s already skittish.’
Angela was back.
‘Skylar’s not answering his cell,’ she said with what certainly seemed to be real concern.
I asked, ‘Does his shop have a landline?’
Angela shook her head. ‘He canceled it to save on expenses.’ Perhaps regretting any negative reflection cast upon his business, she added, ‘Most people know to call his cell phone.’
Mother waved a hand. ‘Nothing to worry about. He’s probably on his way and didn’t answer due to the nasty weather. Keeping his hands on the wheel!’
Underscoring Mother’s words, thunder clapped over our heads as rain continued to pelt the windows, as if hundreds of tiny creatures were trying to get in.
‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Angela said with an uneasy smile, and returned to her chair.
Mother shifted on the couch. ‘I must say, I was absolutely thrilled to finally meet the elusive Colette Dumont at the tag sale – what an interesting woman! Had you had the pleasure?’
‘No.’
‘Perhaps you’re unaware of how unusual her attendance was, since you are not “into” antiques. But in all my years in the business, I never caught sight of her out in the wild before.’
‘Skylar mentioned she’s a … big deal or something. In your trade.’
Mother forced a laugh. ‘I hear she found something to buy at the Hassler manse, and I’m just dying to know what it was.’
Angela’s glance conveyed her own wish for Mother to just die. ‘I have no idea.’
Mother, regrouping, took another tack. ‘I understand you’re quite the Agatha Christie afficionado.’
Angela shrugged. ‘Somewhat – but I prefer modern mysteries. You two do true crime or something, don’t you? I like co
zies.’ She stood abruptly. ‘I’m going to head out and see if Skylar is still at the store – his phone may be dead, and that’s why he’s not answering.’
In other words, here’s your hat, don’t let the door hit you you-know-where on the way out.
‘Why don’t we take you?’ Mother suggested solicitously, in a last-ditch effort to continue questioning the woman. ‘Then you can return with him.’
When Angela hesitated, I said, ‘The road is really slick, so taking one car does make sense. Besides, if you’ll forgive me … you seem upset.’
‘I am,’ she admitted, and sighed. She shook her head, her worry obvious. ‘It just isn’t like Skylar not to let me know he’ll be so late. He said he’d only be an hour at most.’
Mother and I got to our feet and followed our hostess into the foyer, Sushi trotting behind.
When Angela opened a closet onto the usual outerwear, Sushi darted inside, then began barking.
Our hostess looked at me quizzically.
‘She wants to get home,’ I said, and retrieved the little furball. ‘She’s just loves to burrow in our closets.’
A lie.
Reaching for a raincoat, Angela turned her back to us, and I shared a look with Mother.
Sushi must have reacted to the scent of something – but with both Angela and Skylar’s belongings intertwined, whose scent was it?
Mother retrieved her umbrella, handing it to me, and I ducked under with her, Sushi in my free arm. Then we made a bold beeline for the car. In the downpour, it was amazing how quickly I got drenched between handing off the umbrella and getting in behind the wheel.
Mother didn’t fare much better, having trouble closing her bumbershoot (her term) once she’d reached the front passenger side. We both sat, sopped, waiting for Angela.
Adding insult to injury, Sushi shook the rain from her thick fur, dousing us further.
The back door opened and Angela slid in closing her own umbrella, relatively unscathed.
The drive into town was a nerve-wracking, white-knuckled, lip-biting trip, during which I could barely see the markings on the highway. Even the occasional flashes of lightning didn’t help illuminate the road, momentarily blinding me as they did.
Antiques Carry On Page 12
