Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  Judy called from the kitchen. “How do you take your coffee, Katy?”

  “Half and half or milk, and two sugars.”

  “We don’t have any sugar. Is agave okay?”

  “Sure.” Meh.

  “And we don’t have any dairy, so hemp milk okay?”

  No! “Sure.” Next she’ll say, “We don’t have any real coffee, so is herbal coffee substitute okay?”

  Heather flashed me a sympathetic smile, as if she’d read my mind. “I talked to the doctor this morning. Chad’s been taken off the respirator.”

  Of course, my first thought was: Oh my God. They took him off to let him die.

  She interrupted my doomsday thoughts. “Evidently he is improving and breathing well on his own.”

  “But we are in agreement that he is not welcome back in your life. Right?” said Judy. She handed me a mug of coffee and set a plate of glazed almond-topped cookies on the coffee table. She must have caught my suspicious glance at them, because she said, “I hope you aren’t gluten-intolerant.”

  “Nope. I love my gluten. In fact, if my doctor ever tells me to quit eating it, I’ll change doctors.” I grabbed one, hoping it would help me wash down the stuff in the mug.

  “Don’t worry, Mom, I’m done with Chad. I just meant it’s good news for Katy since the police have been questioning her. They talked to me, too, did you know that?”

  “You’re kidding,” I said. “They suspect you had something to do with what happened to him? That’s absurd.”

  She twirled one of her long braids. “Yeah, but I had a pretty good alibi, so I think I’m off the list of suspects. But you know the spouse is always the first person they suspect.”

  “Or the ex-spouse, in this case.”

  Heather waited until I’d devoured another tasty cookie before saying, “Please tell me everything that happened. I know I said I’m done with Chad, and I mean it, but in spite of everything, I still love him and I need to know.”

  It was tough, but I told her everything while her big blue eyes shimmered with tears.

  I left on an agave high, toting a bag of cookies that I had no intention of sharing with Emily. My ringer had been off while visiting Heather, so I took a quick peek to see if I’d missed anything. Sure wish I hadn’t.

  There were two recent calls from the Santa Lucia Police Department. I listened to the latest voice mail, certain I was going to toss my cookies all over Veronica’s worn leather seats.

  “This is Detective Kailyn Murphy with the Santa Lucia Police Department. I would like you to call me as soon as you hear this message.”

  Outside the police station entrance, I called the folks and gave them a heads-up in case I was truly in trouble, then did one of the hardest things I have ever done. I went inside.

  At the counter, I identified myself and asked for the detective. The clerk told me to wait in the reception area. A few minutes later, Detective Murphy appeared. She shook my hand and thanked me for coming in so promptly. All very warm and friendly, like nothing was up.

  I, on the other hand, was shaking like it was thirty below. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, no. We just want to ask you a few more questions. Is now a good time?”

  No! Never is a good time. I wanna go home. I want my mommy. But I was supposed to say yes, so I said, “Yes.”

  I was escorted into a room furnished with a long, battered table shoved flush against a blank puke-green wall. A one-way mirror covered most of the opposite wall, and there were two wall-mounted video cameras. Murphy motioned me to take a seat in a metal folding chair facing away from the back wall at the end of the table. The chair was set about a foot away from the wall behind me, making me feel cornered. I set my orange purse on the table and propped my bad leg on one of the other two chairs, shifting the weight off my sore thigh with a lot of dramatic groans.

  Detective Murphy didn’t looked impressed with my theatrics but had the decency to ask, “How’s the leg doing?”

  “I’ll live.” Wince. Groan.

  “Would you like a water?”

  I would like a big, tall glass of vodka, and I don’t even like vodka. “Water would be good. Thank you.”

  Murphy left the room and I gazed at the mirror, wondering who was looking at me looking at them. After a few minutes passed, it dawned on me that they might be gauging my behavior. Did I look guilty? Heck, who wouldn’t look guilty under the circumstance?

  I rummaged in my purse and extracted my ibuprofen bottle and made a big show of dumping four in my hand. Maybe they would feel sorry for me and bring my water.

  A minute later, Murphy, her sidekick, Mike Devlin, and Lieutenant Joann Yee entered. I know Joann from when I solved the Belinda Moore cold case back in April.

  “Thank you for coming in.” Joann tossed her sleek, black hair over her shoulders. “I’m sorry we had to call you in, Katy, but we have some problems with this case and need your help.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can.” Oh thank goodness. They just want my help.

  Murphy handed me a bottle of water and just as I was about to swallow the pills, I remembered how they always get your DNA off the water bottle in the crime shows. It shouldn’t have mattered since I was innocent of any wrongdoing, but I didn’t trust any of them, so I set the bottle down.

  “Not taking your pills?” asked Murphy.

  “I just realized it’s too soon since the last ones, so I better wait. Even though I’m in a lot of pain.”

  “I can’t stay.” Joann eased out the door. “Duty calls. But you’re in good hands here. We’ll do this as quick as possible so you can get home.”

  Detective Murphy tossed a thick red binder on the table, pulled out the remaining chair and sat facing me. Devlin did his usual fade into the background thing. Probably because I had my leg on his chair. Too bad.

  It was all so different from the cop shows. Wasn’t I supposed to be sitting on one side of the table and them on the other, instead of jammed against the wall? I would have preferred to have that barrier between us rather than having this cop practically breathing in my face.

  Murphy opened the binder and flipped back and forth through pages I couldn’t see, stopping to jot down a note here and there, while Devlin inspected his nails.

  Finally she spoke. “We have a problem, Katy.” She glanced back at the binder, tapping the page with her pen.

  Those almond cookies crept up my throat and I needed a barf bag bad. “You two are really scaring me. Did Chad die?”

  She leisurely shook her head, taking her sweet time to answer. “But he could have. The bullet just…,” she glanced at the page again, “…missed his heart. Nonetheless it’s going to take a while for that hole in his lung to heal.”

  “You do realize that was an accident. Lisa didn’t mean to shoot him.” I couldn’t believe I was actually defending that vile woman. But it was true. She’d been pointing the gun at me.

  “That’s not our biggest problem right now,” said Murphy, still smiling, her big brown doe eyes exuding reassuring compassion. The gun strapped to her waist, not so much.

  Now they were both grinning at me like Cheshire cats. I felt myself shrinking as their eyes drilled into me, compelling me to ask, “Oh? What is?”

  Devlin leaned against a wall, nonchalant, arms crossed. “The syringe.”

  The detective uncrossed her slim legs, edged her chair closer to me and leaned in. “Yeah. Your husband…”

  “Ex-husband.”

  She sat back, shrugging a “whatever.” “As you know, your ex-husband was injected with a lethal dose of potassium chloride.”

  I nodded slowly, wondering where this was leading. Then it hit me. Murphy had said lethal. “I thought you said he didn’t die.”

  Murphy waved her hands in the air, blowing me off. “I stand corrected. Potentially lethal dose.” She leaned forward again. “It’s amazing he didn’t die.”

  “So far,” said Devlin. He pushed away from the wall and left the room.

>   “And then when your ex-husband didn’t die, your friend Lisa…,” said Murphy.

  “She is not my friend.” I shook my head so hard, it’s amazing my neck didn’t snap.

  Another annoying “whatever” shrug. Detective Murphy reminded me of all those snotty, super popular girls back in high school that wouldn’t give me the time of day.

  “Shot him,” she finished, crossing her arms over her perky cleavage.

  Devlin returned bearing a large manila envelope and handed it to Murphy. She extracted a Ziploc bag containing a syringe and slid it down the table toward me. “Recognize this?”

  What is going on here? I had been led to believe I was there to help with the investigation, but this was feeling more and more like I was being accused.

  “Do I need an attorney?” I squeaked. “Should I call Ben?”

  “Are you guilty?” asked Murphy.

  There’s a long list of laws I’m guilty of breaking: parking tickets, illegal U-turns, speeding, driving while under the influence of two glasses of wine, but not attempted murder. “No.”

  “Then no worries, huh?”

  I glanced over at the one-way mirror, wondering if my friends Chief Yaeger and the lieutenant were watching on the other side. Angela and Joann have to know I’m not capable of murder.

  Then Jeremy Baylor’s body flashed in my head. I’d been the one who called the cops then, too. After letting myself in the house. Uninvited. Just like at Lisa’s house. But Jeremy hadn’t been murdered. He’d died of a toxic mix of alcohol, cocaine, and oxycodone. Then a shiver trickled down my spine. Or had he? A dribble of sweat rolled down my cheek. Oh, crap. I am so screwed.

  “You all right?” Devlin loosened his tie and undid his shirt’s top buttons, revealing a spray of curly, black chest hair and a gold cross. “Getting a little hot in here. Maybe you should drink your water.”

  He was right. It was getting hot in the windowless, claustrophobic room, but I wasn’t touching the water. “Do I get a phone call?”

  “Why? You haven’t been arrested.” Murphy advanced her chair toward me again. We were now so close that her stylish shoes were nibbling at my right foot’s old green croc.

  That was it. I’ve watched enough Law and Order to know how this was going down. “Either arrest me or I’m leaving.”

  Detective Devlin stepped forward, flashing a pair of cuffs. “Katy McKenna. You have the right to remain silent…”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  TUESDAY • AUGUST 20

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  It was too late in the day for my bail to be set, so guess where I slept last night? Yup. Jail. The hoosegow. The clink. The pokey. The big house. I’m innocent, but I suppose that’s what all the jailbirds sing.

  Like my cellmate, Ms. Dee Lite, a self-proclaimed victim of police entrapment. “Girl, I was profiled.”

  Right. Doesn’t everyone wear thigh-high scarlet stiletto boots with skin-tight micro-minis and bustiers while waiting on a corner trying to catch a ride to their dear old granny’s house?

  Dee also swore he was a woman, but he wasn’t fooling me. His makeup was too perfect, plus there’s no hiding a five o’clock shadow against milky-white skin. On the plus side, his skin was flawless and he gave me some great beauty tips. I can’t wait to try the mascara he told me about, because, “Girl, he had lashes to die for.”

  Mom and Pop busted me out of the slammer shortly before noon and we went straight to a luncheon meet up with Ben. I hadn’t eaten since the day before and was starving, so despite my jangled nerves, I wolfed down a veggie cheeseburger and a pile of sweet potato fries, while Ben attempted to make light of my impending doom.

  “The cops are on a fishing expedition.” He wiped his wire rims with a napkin. “If they had something solid on you, we wouldn’t be sitting here now. And the judge released you on your own recognizance, because she knows the police don’t have a solid case.” He put on his glasses and looked at me in earnest. “So who would want Chad dead?”

  “That’s easy,” I garbled through a mouth full of fries. “Me for one.”

  “And me.” Pop patted my hand. “He hurt both our girls.”

  “Add me to the list,” said Mom. “And he continues to harass Katy.”

  “Actually he had stopped before all this happened,” I said. “I think he really cares about Lisa. Go figure.”

  “Maybe so,” said Mom. “But you can still add me to the list of suspects. And Ruby, too.”

  Pop gave me a rueful look. “I know you don’t want me to say this, but if anyone had a motive, it would be his wife.”

  I dropped my burger in the basket, shaking my head. “No way. Besides, she’s not strong enough. She just had a baby and a stroke.”

  “What about her mother?” asked Mom. “With everything he’s done to her daughter, what mother wouldn’t want to protect her child?”

  I had already briefly considered Judy as a suspect. “I don’t think so. She just had surgery, so I doubt she could have done it.”

  I popped a couple ibuprofens in my mouth and drained my iced tea. “The big problem is that the only fingerprints on the syringe are mine and Lisa’s. I know I didn’t do it, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Lisa. The only people who know what happened in that bedroom are Chad and the person, or persons, who did it. And Chad’s not talking.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  WEDNESDAY • AUGUST 21

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Late this morning, I had an appointment at the medical center next door to the hospital. My doctor said the wound is healing nicely and traded out my crutch for a cane. On the way to my car a tantalizing aroma caught my nose, leading me to Chad’s favorite food truck parked around the corner.

  I’ve read how a person’s long forgotten memories can be triggered by an aroma. It’s true because every time I catch a whiff of Old Spice, I remember my grandpa and it always gives me the warm and fuzzies. So I thought maybe the smell of Chad’s favorite food could weave its way into the deep, dark crevices of his comatose little pea-brain and wake him up. It was worth a try.

  I ordered his favorite, a green chile chicken empanada, and a spinach, mushroom, and goat cheese empanada for me. Since Chad wouldn’t know the difference whether his food was hot or not, I plunked down on a bench under an olive tree and devoured mine.

  “I have a big surprise for you,” I merrily singsonged, setting the greasy white bag on Chad’s hospital tray table. “Yummmm. Green chile chicken empanada from the Ensenada Empanada food truck. Your favorite.”

  I unwrapped the pastry, resisting the urge to take a chomp, and swished it under his nose. “Remember that smell, Chad? Mmmm. Doesn’t it make you want to wake up and eat it?”

  I wondered what would happen if I slipped a teeny-tiny little morsel into his mouth. Not enough that it could choke him, but just enough to tease his taste buds. Then we’d be working on two of the five senses.

  I washed up, then broke the empanada in half, and dug my finger inside to get a dollop of the green chile goo. I peeped around the curtain to make sure the coast was clear before proceeding. “Okay, Chad. Open up.”

  Fighting back the chili-willies, I parted his slack lips and slithered my finger inside, depositing the green glob on his tongue. “If anyone comes in here now, this will be a little hard to explain.”

  After scrubbing the Chad-saliva off my finger in the sink, I again waved the food under his nose, cooing, “Mmmm. Yummy to your tummy. Chad wants to wake up now and eat his empanada, doesn’t he?”

  Chad did not, and then I had another brilliant idea. “Perhaps you’d like a little dinner music, huh?” I scrolled through iTunes on my phone and downloaded his favorite song. “Taste, smell, hearing. Three out of five senses ought to do something.”

  The song loaded. “Okay, Chad. Here’s my last ditch effort. Your all-time most favorite song. “Who Let the Dogs Out?” Remember how you sang it
every morning in the shower?”

  I turned up the volume and prayed I wouldn’t get kicked out. As the song played, I continued the aromatherapy until the final “woof.”

  “Dammit, Chad. If you don’t wake up, I could wind up in prison for attempting to murder you. And we both know it wasn’t me, but you’re the only one who can set the record straight.” I watched his face for a few more minutes, then shoved the phone into my purse. “I give up. You win. I’m outta here.”

  Halfway to the door, he whispered, “Woof.”

  Chapter Fifty

  BETTER DEAD THAN WED

  THURSDAY • AUGUST 22

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Private

  Mom asked me to join her for lunch at Suzy Q’s today. From the tone in her voice, I knew she was upset, and I figured it had to be about Uncle Ted.

  I found her sitting outside on the patio in the shade of an arbor cloaked in crimson bougainvillea and grapevines. I set my cane against the table, and she helped me get settled in a rattan chair opposite her.

  I noted her forlorn expression, so I decided to lead off with a hair compliment. “I love the new golden highlights in your hair, Mom. Really flattering.”

  Her posture straightened a tad as she ran her fingers through her chin-length brown bob. “Thank you, honey. I think Jeri did an excellent job.” She tasted her iced tea, then added two packets of raw sugar. “I know I shouldn’t burden you with this, not with everything else going on in your life, but you’re the only one I can really talk to about this. Your father gets too upset.”

  “Is it about Uncle Ted?”

  Mom nodded, pulling an envelope from her handbag. “He sent me a letter.” She handed it to me. “Here. You read it.”