by Ellery Adams
Starling laughed. “Well, you and Clara are right about my clothes,” she said. “My shorts and T-shirt are too casual for where Rachel and I are going. I’ll go change.”
Starling tussled Tyler’s hair as she walked past him to the mudroom, where the door to the in-law apartment was located. Molly washed the bowls and spatula in the sink, and when the cookies were ready, removed the baking sheet from the oven.
With the last of the cookies cooling, she increased the oven temperature to preheat it for the meat loaf. She got out the ingredients, mixing the beef with ketchup and mustard, an egg, and bread crumbs. She patted the meat into a loaf pan, and in a separate bowl mixed brown sugar with ketchup and mustard to spread over the top. As she put the pan into the oven to bake, Starling came downstairs wearing a short red top over tight jeans belted low on her hips. Being slim, she could carry the look off, whereas Molly, who was born big, couldn’t remember a time in her life when she could have pulled off wearing such an outfit.
Starling took her car keys out of her purse. “I’ll be home before ten,” she said.
“Have fun. Say hi to Rachel,” Molly said.
Starling had driven from Ohio, and Matt had insisted she park her car in the garage with the Audi. This meant he was parking his car outside again, as he had when Clara lived with them. It wasn’t a big deal in the milder months, but the winter meant shoveling snow and scraping ice, if their team of snow removers didn’t show up before he went to work. Recently, Molly had hinted to Sean they might be interested in buying the Tudor-style house. They currently rented it from him, and he assured her that if they did buy it, he would put her in touch with the builder he’d worked with to renovate the house. He didn’t think expanding the garage to three cars would be a problem.
After Starling left, Molly cut up some roasting potatoes and spread them out on another baking pan. She drizzled the potatoes with olive oil and salt and pepper. She wouldn’t have to do anything to the prepackaged green beans, other than cook them in the microwave.
Tyler was at the age where Molly still had to mash up his food. She was glad he’d taken an interest in trying new foods, and mashed meat loaf was one of his favorites. She also prepared a little fruit and formula for his dinner. She had breast-fed him as long as she could, and had only switched him to formula a month ago. To her relief, he hadn’t put up a fuss. She’d worried he might reject it.
She gave Tyler a biscuit to chew on for teething, and next prepared the cats’ dinners. She didn’t know where they were, as they hadn’t made an appearance when she’d come home, but as soon as she took a can of cat food out of the pantry, Merlin and Griffin flew into the room, skidding to a stop by her feet.
“Well, there you are,” she said. “You don’t welcome me home, but as soon as I even think about your dinner, you come running.”
“Meow!” Griffin cried out.
Merlin twirled around her ankles purring.
As soon as their bowls hit the floor, they dove in. Molly heard her cell phone ringing in her bag. Brett’s name and number flashed on the screen.
“Hi, Brett. Did you hear from Helen?”
“No, that’s why I’m calling,” he said. “She still isn’t answering her phone. I did call Atlas, like you suggested, but he has no idea where she could be. I asked him if he could try her, and he did, but he said he keeps getting her voice mail, too. I’m really worried something’s happened to her. What if her car went off the road? She could be bleeding to death in a ditch.”
“Do you know any of her friends? Maybe one of them had an emergency and she went to help them.”
“Helen doesn’t have any close friends here. Could you call that cop you know and ask him if I should report her missing?”
“Sure, I can do that,” Molly said. “I’ll call you back and let you know what Detective Lombardi says.”
“Thanks, Molly. I really appreciate it.”
She ended the call and hit the speed-dial for Lombardi. He wasn’t just some cop she knew. He was also a personal friend. She’d met him when she came to Burlington to plan her wedding and had ended up working on a homicide case with him. Lombardi had become such a good friend to her, and to Matt, that they chose him to be Tyler’s godfather.
He answered the phone sounding breathless. “Molly, how are you?”
“I hope I’m not interrupting you,” she said, cringing. She hoped he wasn’t with a woman, unless it was her friend Jazzy Joyce, who she’d been trying to fix him up with for the past year.
“I just got home from a run,” he said.
“Oh. Did you work today?”
“Yeah, but I was in early and left at three. What’s up?”
“I need your advice,” she said. She went on to tell him about Helen, and Brett’s growing concern. “What do you think? Should he report her missing, or is it too soon?”
“Well, from the way she took off, and the fact she’s not answering her phone, I’d be a little worried about her, too. I’ll talk to the watch commander. He can see if there have been any reported accidents matching the description of her car. If not, I’m sure he won’t mind putting out an alert for her and her vehicle.”
“Thank you. I’ll let Brett know.”
“I’ll call you back when I hear anything,” he said.
Chapter 4
Molly dreamed that Matt was licking her face, which even in her dream seemed a little disgusting. But when she opened her eyes, she saw it wasn’t Matt at all, but Merlin and his little pink tongue working diligently on a spot on her left cheek. Griffin was on the pillow above her head, purring loudly. She pushed both cats aside and sat up in bed. They sprang back immediately, climbing onto her lap. Molly stroked their soft fur. “Silly kitties,” she said. She could hear the shower running. It was seven fifteen, and Matt had to be at work by eight. She checked the wireless video baby monitor on the nightstand. Tyler was still asleep. She thought about going back to sleep for fifteen more minutes herself, but her phone lit up. It was Lombardi.
“Good morning,” she said. “Any news on Helen?”
“Molly, I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it. I’m at Brett’s house, and he’s dead.”
Molly felt her jaw drop. “What?”
“Helen found him and called it in,” he said. “The officer who was first on the scene told me she was incoherent and couldn’t answer any of his questions. I couldn’t get anything out of her either, then she passed out, and I had to call for an ambulance.”
This can’t be happening. The shower had stopped. Matt walked out of the bathroom. He took one look at her face and rushed over to her side. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.
Molly held up two fingers, then put the call on speaker. “How did Brett die?” Matt’s eyes widened in shock.
Lombardi said, “He hanged himself from a beam in his kitchen.”
“No, he couldn’t have,” Molly said. “Brett wouldn’t commit suicide.”
“The coroner is here. We’re not ruling anything out at this point, but it does look like he took his own life.”
Molly remembered the tour Brett had given her of his house last year. He was so proud of the renovations he’d made to the kitchen. He’d stripped off layers of old paint, stained the original wood floors to a warm honey color, and replaced all the appliances. “Did you find a note?”
“No.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Because he didn’t kill himself.”
“If he left a note, we’ll find it.”
“I’m coming over,” she said, pushing the cats off her lap.
“There’s no reason to.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she said, and hung up the phone.
Matt put his hand on her shoulder. “Molly, this is terrible news about Brett, but don’t you think you should let Lombardi handle it?”
“No.” She kicked the quilt off and swung her long legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t, Matt. Yesterday, Brett had one of the best day
s of his life. And last night, he called to ask for my help in finding Helen. And this morning she shows up at his house and finds him dead? It doesn’t make sense.” She got up and went to her dresser. She pulled some clothes out of a drawer and laid them on top. “I’ll take a quick shower and run over there. Would you mind feeding the cats? And tell Starling I boiled a dozen eggs last night, and she can mash one up for Tyler’s breakfast, and give him a quarter cup of fruit, plus his formula.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Molly started toward the bathroom, but Matt stopped her and pulled her into a hug. She didn’t want to cry, because she didn’t want to waste any time, but she couldn’t help herself. Brett was dead.
“I have to know what really happened,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“I know you do,” he said.
• • •
A uniformed police officer was guarding the entrance to Brett’s driveway. Molly powered down the window and gave him her name. He told her she was expected and let her pass. At least Lombardi hadn’t banned her from the premises, she thought.
The driveway was long and graveled. Lombardi’s car was parked in front of the house between a coroner’s office van and Helen’s red Mustang. Molly parked on the other side of the Mustang. As she got out of her car, Lombardi came out the front door and down the porch steps. He wore slim gray slacks, a starched white shirt open at the collar, and dark brown leather shoes. With his jet dark hair, olive tan complexion, and straight white teeth, he looked more like a GQ model than a cop.
He said, “The coroner took the body away ten minutes ago.”
“Then you won’t mind if I take a look at the crime scene,” she said.
“I’ll approve it on one condition. You stay in the kitchen. The coroner’s investigators have finished in there, but they’re all over the house doing their job, and I don’t want you getting in their way.”
“If Brett killed himself, why do you need investigators at all?”
“As I told you on the phone, I wasn’t able to question Helen. I don’t know where she’s been all night, or what she was doing here this morning, and that bothers me.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear you aren’t assuming Brett took his own life based solely on appearances, because I don’t believe it.”
“I gathered that much,” he said.
They went up the porch steps, and Molly saw two small boxes by the door, one with plastic booties, the other with latex gloves. She followed Lombardi’s example and donned both before walking into the foyer. A grandfather clock in the corner ticked quietly, its brass pendulum swinging back and forth, and in the living room, a technician dusted a glass-fronted bookcase for fingerprints. Another was going through Brett’s roll-top oak desk. Lombardi led her down a dark, narrow hallway to the kitchen, and she heard floorboards creak over their heads. The techs were doing their jobs, going through every room and all of Brett’s things.
The early morning sun was shining into the kitchen, which only made the death scene look more depressing. Molly saw the upended chair on the floor, and the beamed ceiling above it, and her imagination started running wild. “Is this where . . .” Her throat closed up, and she couldn’t finish.
Lombardi nodded. “Apparently he kicked the chair out from under his own feet.”
“Is the medical examiner doing an autopsy?”
“Yes, and I’ve requested a toxicology test.”
“Brett didn’t use drugs,” she said.
He looked at her. “How well did you know him?”
“He was the first dealer I interviewed after moving to Vermont,” she said. “I know he didn’t use drugs because he told me he had a brother who was an addict. He didn’t drink, either.”
“Good to know,” he said. “How long has he owned Laurel Wreath?”
“Five years,” she said. “Last year, he expanded into the furniture renovation business.”
“And before he owned Laurel Wreath?”
“He worked for Milo Stanton at Oldman and Stanton in Boston. It’s an auction house with a stellar reputation. Milo was at the auction yesterday, and he was in a sour mood. He probably resented Brett getting Atlas’s auction.”
“Besides dating Helen, what else do you know about Brett’s personal life?”
“When I first met him, he was dating a woman named Lucille. But when he gave me the tour of the kitchen last year, he said he’d broken up with her and was dating someone named Venita. I wouldn’t have known he was dating Helen if Julian hadn’t told me. Helen said they met in April, in the park.”
“Do you know if he was having financial difficulties?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “But he did tell me he spent a small fortune renovating the barn, and the farmhouse renovations were costly and taking longer than he would have liked.”
He looked out the window. “The backyard looks professionally landscaped. That couldn’t have been cheap.”
“Actually, Brett did the landscaping himself. He loved his flower garden.”
“Besides being concerned about Helen yesterday, did he seem troubled to you?”
“No, not at all,” she said. “He’d held a successful auction, and put Laurel Wreath on the map. So tell me, how does a person go from such a high to such a low?”
“The problem is, Molly, you never know what someone’s state of mind is in the moment they decide to take their own life. Maybe he was having financial troubles. Or perhaps he suffered from depression. A lot of people do. They put a smile on their face every day, but they’re hurting inside, and no one is the wiser. For all we know, Helen’s disappearance triggered some kind of emotional stress he couldn’t handle.”
“Will you be questioning his employees? Will you look into his finances?”
“I will do all of that, if his death is determined by the medical examiner to be suspicious.”
“It is suspicious!”
“To you it is, but to me, or the coroner . . .” he said. “Let the medical examiner do his job, and let me do mine.”
“The autopsy results could take days,” she said. “What if he was murdered?”
“I hate to be blunt here, but he was swinging from the rafters, Molly. If it’s murder, it’s unlike any I’ve ever seen. Thank God. Do you know his family?”
“No, but he told me he’s from the Philadelphia area, if that helps.”
“It does,” he said. “I’ll get someone on it. They need to be informed.”
Molly’s eyes swept the room. Brett was obsessive-compulsive, and the setup reflected it. The espresso machine, toaster, and a stainless steel knife block were lined up perfectly straight on the counter. She opened the refrigerator door, and thought hers hadn’t looked this clean since the day they bought it. There was a carton of skim milk on the door, almost full, along with a jug of orange juice. On the shelves were condiments and salad dressings, and a tub of fat-free vanilla yogurt. The freezer had two frozen pizzas, four frozen dinners, and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. She went over to the pantry and opened the door. Plastic containers held flour and sugar. There was a bag of Dunkin’ coffee beans and a coffee grinder, a box of granola cereal, a roll of paper towels, and various canned foods. Everything was lined up in order.
Lombardi looked over her shoulder. “Am I imagining it, or did he alphabetize his canned goods?”
“Yes, they’re alphabetized,” she said. “Brett was OCD. You won’t find anything out of order or out of place in this house. Everything you see, like the knife set and coffee maker, are only there because they served a purpose. He hated knickknacks and he hated clutter.”
“He must have been a real joy to work for,” he said. “Maybe you’re right, and one of his employees murdered him.”
“This is no time to joke,” she said.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said. “Blame it on the job. I’ve seen too much of this to—”
“Hold that thought,” she said, walking over to the kitch
en table. Brett had found it at an antique store in Maine. The maple wood had been battered and scarred, but he’d sanded it down and stained it a rich honey color to match the floor. He was proud of the way it had come out, and Molly thought it was beautiful.
Lombardi came up behind her. “What’s your interest in the table?”
“It’s not the table that interests me,” she said. “It’s the ceramic cookie jar in the middle of it. It’s out of place.” The jar was white and shaped like a picnic basket. The lid had colorful fruits and vegetables painted on it.
“What do you mean it’s out of place? It’s in his kitchen. Where else would it be?”
“I told you, everything had to have a place and a purpose if Brett was going to leave it out.” She took the lid off. “There are no cookies in the jar, but look at this.” She held up a purple pawn piece. “What is a pawn from a game doing in the cookie jar?”
“Maybe it had sentimental value,” he said. “Is the cookie jar an antique?”
“No, it’s not old enough to be an antique. It’s a collectible.” She held it up and looked at the bottom. “It’s marked McCoy. It has to be the McCoy Company. They made decorative cookie jars from around 1940 until 1990, when their last factory closed. I’d say this one was made sometime in the 1960s.”
“Is it worth a lot of money?”
“You can buy a jar like this for around thirty or forty dollars,” she said. “Even an extremely rare cookie jar probably wouldn’t fetch more than a thousand. Their affordability is what makes them so popular with collectors.” She held the pawn up to the light coming in through the windows. “This is made of plastic, so it’s not from an old board game.” She put it back in the jar and closed the lid. “Like I said, the jar and the pawn are out of place.” She turned to him. “I don’t think you should wait for the medical examiner’s report. You should start talking to people right away.”
“I told you, the coroner believes the cause of death was suicide,” he said. “At this point, unless the medical examiner tells us otherwise, that’s what the death certificate will say.”
