Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  “Katy.” He held out his hand for mine, and I ignored it. “I really did lose my wallet, I swear.”

  What the hell was I thinking? Is he even old enough to go to an R-rated movie? I set down my glass and leaned forward on my elbows, speaking low. “Matthew? Exactly how old are you?”

  “Do you mean my chronological age or my spiritual age, because I’m an old soul, Katy.”

  I gave him a withering look. “Guess how old I am.”

  “Well, you might be a little older than me.” He held his thumb and index finger a smidge apart. “But age means nothing in the spiritual world. It’s just a number on the calendar.”

  “Humor me, Matthew.” I grabbed the last breadstick and munched, crumbs flying everywhere.

  “Call me Matt.”

  “Just take a guess. Matthew.”

  He scrutinized my face, probably trying to come up with a number that worked for both of us. “Twenty-six, twenty-seven? But really, Katy, it doesn’t matter that you’re an older woman.”

  “I’m thirty-one. And a half.”

  His eyes widened, and a faint smirk flitted across his pretty face.

  “What was that look for?”

  “My friends said you looked old enough to be my—”

  I held my hand up. “The little twerps in the hoodies?”

  He nodded, drinking his water and avoiding eye contact.

  “I’m paying for this meal, aren’t I, Matthew?”

  The busboy reappeared bearing a Caesar salad that could have fed a family of four for a week. Lorenzo swooped in from behind, brandishing a colossal pepper mill.

  “Would you like cracked pepper, sir?” The pepper mill hovered over the salad.

  “Sure,” said Matthew.

  “No,” I said, swatting at the pepper mill. “Wrap everything to go. We’re leaving.”

  “I’ll be right back with the bill.” Lorenzo avoided my killer glare. “The busboy will wrap your food.”

  “Way to go, bro,” said the busboy with a knowing leer.

  I dusted the bread crumbs off my big boobs. “If you’re thinking he’s getting laid by this old lady, you are so wrong.”

  As my former boyfriend and I exited the restaurant, the accordionist trailed us to the door, playing “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.”

  Chapter Thirty

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  FRIDAY • JULY 26

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  Thursday, July 25

  Part Three

  “Jeez, Louise, he’s a dreamboat.” Ruby scrutinized the Matthew-and-me selfie. “Well, at least something good came out of your date with the juvenile delinquent.”

  “And what would that be?” I asked because nothing good came to mind.

  “My dinner. Thanks for bringing over this feast. I can’t remember the last time I had lobster.” Ruby eyed the colossal crustacean on her plate. “You sure you don’t want any? This bad boy must weigh a couple of pounds.”

  “Forty-eight ounces. Market price and probably older than my date. And yes, I’m sure. Not into crustaceans. Looks too much like a giant prehistoric bug for my taste. I’ll stick with the fettuccine.”

  “Your loss.” Ruby drizzled melted butter over the lobster and popped a bite into her mouth. “It’s a little late for me to be eating such a heavy meal, and I’ll probably be up all night with heartburn, but it’ll be worth it.”

  She chewed in silence for a while (except for several mm, mm, mm’s, and a few eye rolls), and then out-of-the-blue, she said, “You know I haven’t spoken to my brother, Ted, in years, right?”

  “Yeah.” Why is she bringing this up? “What about it?”

  “I’m thinking it’s time to let bygones be bygones. He’s getting old and—”

  “Isn’t he younger than you?”

  “Yes, but I stopped aging years ago, when I decided to go blond instead of gray.”

  “That and your facelift helped.”

  “Best money I ever spent.” She stroked her smooth neck. “Anyhoo, I think it’s time. I told you my sister is coming for a visit in the fall and it got me to thinking. This could very well be our last chance to all be together.”

  “You’re not that old, Ruby.” I pushed my crummy dinner around my plate. “I’m getting more water. The fettuccine is really salty.” I went to the sink and filled my glass. “Keep talking.”

  “Well, none of us is getting any younger, that’s for damned sure and I don’t want to die regretting that I never tried. So, I have to do this. Bury the hatchet, so to speak.”

  In his back would be good. I sat back down. “I’ve never heard why you had a fight with him.”

  “It wasn’t so much a fight as it was a heartbreaking betrayal. My sister feels the same way.” She set down her fork and wiped the buttery grease off her lips.

  “Years ago, when our mother was dying… You remind me of her so much, Katy. Anyway, Mom wasn’t going to last much longer, and I called Ted, thinking he would jump on a plane and get there as soon as possible. I mean, who wouldn’t? Edith flew out from the UK, for God’s sake. But Ted said he and his wife were about to leave on a road trip. I begged, but he refused to change his plans. Said he’d been working long hours and really needed a vacation.

  Mother kept asking, ‘When is my little Teddy coming?’ And I had to keep saying, ‘Soon, Mom. He’s on his way.’ The last thing she said was, ‘Tell Teddy his momma loves him.’ At that moment I wanted to kill him.”

  “And you haven’t spoken since?”

  “Oh yes, we spoke all right. When Mother’s will was read. All three of us were doing well by then and had no need for the little bit of money she had saved. Ted owned a heating and air-conditioning business. Gramps and I weren’t wealthy like Ted, but we were comfortable. And Edith was living in England with her husband and had a thriving veterinary practice, so we were fine with Mother’s decision to leave her money to the women’s shelter. But Ted had a fit. He wanted to break the will, and Edith and I refused.”

  “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Around $18,000. So $6,000 each before taxes. Wouldn’t have made one bit of difference in our lives, but I’m sure it made a huge difference at the shelter.”

  “And so you never spoke to him again after that?”

  “Right. Eventually, I boxed up his childhood mementos and sent them to him and that was that.”

  “When did this all happen?”

  “Mom died when your mother was eleven, so, long time ago. Anyway, it’s time to reach out. Who knows? Maybe he’d like to reach out, too, but thinks we’ll never forgive him.”

  “But why would you want to? I mean, just because he’s your brother doesn’t mean he has to be in your life,” I said, thinking, I have to change her mind on this. “Ask yourself this. If you met him at a party, and then someone told you what kind of a person he is—knowing what you had been told, would you want him as a friend?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “But because he is blood related, you think he should be in your life?”

  “No, but he is my brother.” She set down her fork and reached across the table for my hand. “Sweetheart, I get what you’re saying, and in theory I agree. But I need to do this. Like I said, I don’t want to die regretting things that I could have done and didn’t. There will be enough things that I’ll wish I’d done but didn’t or couldn’t.”

  “Like what?”

  Her face lit with an impish leer. “Like have a romp in the hay with Bruce Willis, Richard Gere, Morgan Freeman, George Clooney. Hmmm, who else?” She narrowed her eyes, thinking. “Oh, and Ryan Seacrest. He is so cute. That’s my current list. Want to hear my old list?”

  If it gets you off the brother meet-up idea. “Sure.”

  “No, you don’t.” She pulled back her hand and picked up her wineglass. “If it doesn’t work out, then so be it. But I have to know I tried. I’ve talked to Edith about this, and she’s on board. Now
I have to locate him. But that shouldn’t be too difficult with the Internet. Trouble is, my computer’s on the fritz. It keeps freezing up.”

  “I’d be glad to look for Ted.” And drag it out as long as possible.

  “Oh, honey. I would really appreciate that. Just think—with your help, maybe I’ll get my baby brother back.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  SATURDAY • JULY 27

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  The bimonthly book club gathering was today at Chris’s home, a quaint 1940s duplex, everything original. The yellow-and-black tiled kitchen is so out of date that it’s back in style. I guess you call that retro-chic. I was amazed that she lived in such a cozy, cute house. From the way Chris dresses and acts, I’d pictured her living off the grid in a bunker.

  “Looks like we’re all here except for Heather,” Nora said, as we gathered around the red Formica kitchen table to fill our paper plates from the potluck.

  Sam uncorked a bottle of zinfandel and filled a motley crew of wineglasses. “She had a scare a couple of days ago and needs to lie low until the babies arrive. Gestational hypertension.”

  “Ooo. That’s not good.” Melanie tasted her wine. “But this sure is. Nice choice, Chris.”

  “I stopped by the bookstore this morning,” said Chloe, “to get a Mother Goose book for my niece, and she was working. She said she’d try to get here and didn’t mention anything about problems with her pregnancy, though she wasn’t her usual perky self. Seemed kind of dragged out.”

  “She’s not supposed to be working,” Sam said, as we all trooped into the tiny living room.

  I settled on the wood floor next to Sam. “Did you see Chad there, Chloe?”

  “Sorry I don’t have more seating,” said Chris. “I really should move to a bigger place.” She tossed a couple of throw pillows to Sam and me.

  “Not a problem.” I set the cushy pillow behind my back. “This reminds me of my college days, except the wine’s way better.”

  “If Chad was at the bookstore, I didn’t see him, Katy,” said Chloe.

  I shook my head, not surprised. “Last I heard, he was on a golf trip and my guess is, he still is.”

  “What a despicable person.” Justin cuddled Chloe. “I will always take care of you, Pooh-bear.”

  “I know, Papa Bear,” she cooed, leaning into him.

  Oh, barf. Get a room.

  “Not to change the subject, but what is everyone reading?” asked Nora, sitting prim on the fireplace hearth.

  “Before we get into that,” I said, noting her miffed look at me. “I’d like to share a couple of stories about my ex.”

  When I finished my nasty tale of sister-seduction and stalking, my audience was spellbound. “So what do you all think? Should I tell Heather?”

  Chris shoved a hummus-loaded pita chip into her mouth and mumbled, “Hell yes.”

  “No.” Debra held up a hand to squelch our gasps of disbelief. “Hold on till you hear me out. Yes, she needs to know but not in her present condition. Not with her blood pressure problems.”

  “What a mess,” said Sam.

  “She’d be better off if he just dropped dead,” Chris said. Garlic hummus clung to her mustache, making it uncomfortable to watch her while she spoke.

  “You said that about Melanie’s brother-in-law too,” said Chloe, intent on scrutinizing the paper plate of food on her lap.

  “And I was right, right?” She popped another chip gobbed with hummus into her mouth. “He’s dead and she’s better off. Just sayin’.”

  I tapped my upper lip, hoping Chris would get the hint. She didn’t. Instead she ate another chip and smeared more hummus into her ’stache. I was mortified for her.

  “She’s right.” Melanie focused her amber eyes everywhere but on Chris. “And my sister got Travis’s life insurance policy, so she doesn’t have to work and can concentrate on taking care of her sick daughter.”

  “My heart goes out to Heather, and I agree with everyone here that she needs to know, eventually.” Justin leaned forward in his seat and tossed Chris a napkin. “Sweetie, you have a little something-something.” He touched his clean upper lip.

  Chris wiped off the hummus, and you could feel the silent sigh of relief in the room. And then she reached for another pita chip.

  “Don’t hate me for saying this,” said Justin, “but Heather knew he was a scoundrel when she married him, and now she is paying the price for her bad judgment.”

  “That’s a little harsh, Justin.” Chloe slapped his arm.

  Justin crossed his arms over his burly chest. “But it’s the truth.” He turned to me. “And you, my dear, deserve a man who will cherish you, the way I cherish my Chloe.”

  “Thank you, Justin. Now tell me where I can find one.” And then it struck me. I need a man who’s in touch with his feminine side. A man who can communicate his feelings and truly “get” me. A BFF with benefits and preferably in my age group. Oh my God, I need a “Justin.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  MONDAY • JULY 29

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  I was downtown stocking up on beauty essentials at Sephora and decided to drop by the police station and see if Chief Yaeger had time for a chat. I peeked in her open office door. “Knock. Knock. Got a sec?”

  “Katy. So good to see you.” Angela came around her desk and hugged me. She pulled back and took my hands. “Ready to sign up?”

  “I don’t know, Angela. Having that guy die practically in my lap really did a number on me.” Not to mention what it’s done to my dreams.

  She waved me into the leather chair fronting her desk and returned to her seat. “Oh, Katy, I’m so sorry. You know, in all my years on the force I’ve never had as traumatic an experience as you had on your ride-along. In fact, due to your experience we’ve suspended the program indefinitely.” She folded her hands on the desk, looking chiefly. “Now what can I do for you today?”

  “I was wondering if the cause of Jeremy Baylor’s death has been determined yet.” Another face that’s been haunting my dreams.

  She shuffled a pile of papers into a neat stack and set it aside. “The autopsy was completed, and first off, he did not have HIV.”

  “Are you saying Brittany died for nothing? Oh my God.”

  “What can I tell you? I guess he thought telling her he had HIV was a funny joke. You ever watch any of those prank shows on TV?”

  “I have in the past, but so many of them are just plain mean. I guess I have a different idea about what funny is.”

  “You and me both. And they give kids bad ideas. I don’t know if Jeremy was influenced by any of that, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  I picked up the brass nameplate from her desk and traced the etched letters with my finger. “Well, he’s not laughing now. But what about that kid who posted a girl’s picture on Jeremy’s Facebook? The one that said, ‘your numero uno, bro.’”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Jeremy told all his friends the same thing he told Brittany.”

  “How sad to think he thought it was funny. And it’s even sadder if all his friends thought so, too. What is wrong with this generation?” As soon as those words popped out of my mouth I felt a hundred years old. “Wow. I sound like my parents.”

  “Wait’ll you have kids. You’ll be channeling your parents endlessly. It’s in our DNA.”

  “Can’t wait. Anyway, can you tell me the cause of death, or is that classified information?”

  “Jeremy died from a lethal mix of cocaine, oxycodone, and alcohol.” She exhaled an exasperated sigh. “There was one thing that was odd though. We never found the oxycodone bottle and the parents said there was none in the house. To their knowledge anyway. What do parents ever really know once their kids reach their adolescent years?”

  “Probably got it from one of his friends or bought it on the street.”

  “That’s what we assume. The coroner
ruled it accidental, and there’s no evidence to suggest otherwise, so we aren’t pursuing it. The good news is, we don’t have to track down his virginal conquests and ruin their worlds.”

  Walking to my car, my phone chirped a group text from Samantha: Heather back in hospital. Serious.

  I stopped under the Pier One awning and called her. “What’s going on?”

  “The idiot was on a stepladder at the bookstore and fell off. One of the employees called 9-1-1.”

  “What the hell was she doing on a stepladder?”

  “And what the hell was she doing at work?” said Sam. “Right now her blood pressure’s through the roof and she has high levels of protein in her urine, so it’s looking like preeclampsia.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes. Find Chad. He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Is he back from Vegas?”

  “According to Heather, he is. We’re having a tough time calming her down. She wants Chaddie. And I want to kill him.”

  “I’ll run by their house.”

  I knew where their house was located due to several drive-bys I did right after his marriage to Heather. Chalk it up to curiosity fueled with red-hot resentment. All I can say is the bookstore must be doing pretty darned well, or they are in serious debt. I’m betting the latter.

  At the massive mahogany-planked double entry door that looked like it cost more than my house, I rang the bell. Its catchy gong-song echoed through the house. I rang again, tapping my foot to the beat on the terrazzo-tiled porch. No answer. I called Sam. “Has Chad shown up?”

  “Nope. You need to find him, Katy. She’s frantic, and if we can’t get her stabilized soon, it’s going to be bad.”

  “There’s only one thing Chad loves more than himself and that’s golf. I’ll head to the country club and see if he’s there.”