Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  Wife?!?

  He came back on the line. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes.” I kept my tone calm, controlled.

  “It was the only way I would be allowed in. Maybe I should have said I’m her brother.”

  Ya think?

  I wanted to look my best for meeting my cousin, Erin, but in all the excitement this past week, I forgot to do laundry, and that’s where my favorite dressy outfit was. Crushed in the bottom of the jam-packed laundry basket. It wasn’t actually dirty, so I sprayed the armpits with Febreze and tossed it in the dryer with a damp cloth and a softener sheet.

  While my ensemble tumbled, I fluffed my hair with the blow-dryer, then freshened my makeup. My in-house cosmetics consultant, Madame Daisy, lay on the bath mat supervising my makeover with a discerning eye. When she sensed I was done, she woofed, “Maybe a tad more mascara and bronzer.”

  I finished with a spritz of Victoria’s Secret “Pink” perfume and dabbed a little behind Daisy’s ears. She accompanied me to the dryer, and I donned my toasty-warm and almost wrinkle-free clothes. “How do I look, Daisy?”

  She waved her tail, but it lacked her usual gusto. Sometimes she can be so nitpicky.

  When I entered Le Stella, the host gave me a snooty once-over, as his hairy unibrow twitched in disapproval. “Have you a reservation?”

  “I’m meeting a friend.” I looked across the nearly empty dining room and recognized Erin sitting at a window seat overlooking the ocean. “There she is.”

  “You’re with her?” He looked dumbfounded that a country bumpkin like me could be meeting an elegant woman like Erin.

  “Yup. That there gal’s mah dinner date. We gotta thang goin’ on.”

  He visibly shuddered. “Follow me.”

  Erin stood as we approached and after a quick hug, we sat. Let me clarify that: the snobby host helped Erin get seated and ignored me wrestling with my heavy chair. Then he snapped her napkin open with a flourish and placed it on her lap. “Your waiter will be with you momentarily.”

  Erin giggled. “That little twerp certainly seems to think he’s something, doesn’t he?”

  “Oh good, it’s not just me.” It probably was just me, though. I doubted that Erin’s exquisitely tailored pearl gray slacks had ever seen the inside of a hamper. Everything about her reeked old money: classic, understated elegance. Her tasteful silver jewelry had to be platinum. Her short curly brunette pixie set off her hazel eyes and made me want to whack off my shoulder-length auburn mess. Erin’s makeup looked airbrushed (Daisy would approve), and her soft pink manicure made me curl my chomped fingernails into fists. I can’t wait to reek of money.

  A waiter approached our table and presented a bottle of wine for Erin to inspect the label. “I hope you don’t mind that I already ordered.” She nodded to the waiter, and he began the uncorking. “It’s a Syrah.”

  I peeked at the label. Alban Vineyards, “Reva,” Edna Valley, CA 2006.

  “It’s a local wine,” she said. “I’ve never had it, but I’m told it’s good.” The waiter poured a taste into Erin’s glass, and she sipped. “Mmm. Very nice.”

  After our glasses had been filled halfway, Erin toasted me. “Here’s to my long-lost cousin and newfound friend.” We sipped the rich red ambrosia.

  “Delicious,” I said. “Did you know that Edna Valley is just a few miles from here?”

  “The waiter told me. He said they’re known for their wines made from Rhône Valley varietals.”

  All through dinner, we shared our life histories, with the exclusion of The Santa Lucia Hoard, of course. Her parents have a mansion in Atherton, next door to Palo Alto. She’s thirty-four, attended private schools, then college at Brynn Mawr. Liberal Arts major.

  I doubt I impressed her with my stellar academic background. Roosevelt Elementary. Kennedy Middle School. Santa Lucia High School graduate without much honor. The University of Santa Lucia with a BA in graphic design—that seemed to impress her.

  “I saw that on your Facebook profile. I always wanted to be a graphic artist. But my parents didn’t agree, and they were paying the bills. Looking back, they were right. I have zero artistic talent. It seems like such a glamorous, exciting profession.”

  “Oh, it has its moments.” I thought of my latest glam jobs. Acme Upholstery and Uncle Charlie’s Clunker Carnival. “But tell me about your job.”

  Working for Google sounded like a dream occupation. Important, interesting, challenging. Everything I would want in a job.

  “I travel quite a bit. Paris, London, Rome. Last week I was in Japan.” Erin shrugged like it was no big deal. “But traveling gets old. It seems I’m always packing and unpacking but never settled. And don’t get me going on perpetual jet-lag.”

  Oh, you poor thing. I’ve never even been to Canada. Or Mexico.

  She refilled her glass. “I don’t have to work, but I don’t want to just be another rich brat with a fat bank account. I want to make something of myself.” She dug a phone out of her black woven leather purse. “I want to show you a picture of my boyfriend, Tyler.”

  “I love your purse.”

  “Thank you. I got it on sale at Neiman Marcus. Twenty percent off. It’s a Bottega Veneta.”

  I nodded, trying to convey a knowing look, but the truth is, I’d never heard of Bottega-whatever. Probably because they don’t sell them at Marshall’s, where I got my dark red handbag for fourteen bucks—which I get compliments on all the time.

  Erin scrolled through a thousand photos. “Here’s a good one.”

  “Wow. He looks a lot like Zack Efron,” I said. “I mean, he could be his twin.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “He’s a few years younger than me. We’ve been dating for almost six months, and we’re thinking about moving in together. Do you have a picture of Josh?”

  “No. I need to do that.” Dammit. Wish I had that selfie he took at Victoria’s Secret. Josh is way better looking than her boyfriend, and I want to show him off.

  We finished the wine with our shared dessert of salted caramel macaroons drizzled with dark chocolate. After a half-hearted argument over the bill that I let her win, we had a long chatty goodbye in the hotel lobby, and then I headed home driving extra carefully, fearing that two and a half glasses may have put me over the limit.

  Chapter Sixteen

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  SATURDAY • JANUARY 31

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  I’ve had several phone conversations with Josh over the last couple days. The topic is usually centered on Nicole. She’s still recovering nicely. No complications have arisen, thank goodness. Just wish he would come home.

  I heard back from Oliver Kershaw yesterday afternoon. When he was here on Wednesday, he told me he wanted one of his colleagues to see the coin collection. That person, Rosalyn Perez, is out of town at the moment on a family matter. Oliver said he would call me to set up an appointment as soon has she returns.

  I understand I must be patient. But I’m ready to be rich right now! Realistically, I already am...but not.

  Earlier this evening, I had a brilliant idea on how to eradicate the attic pests. Music. But not just any music. Head banging, in-your-face Heavy Metal. Since I’ve never been a fan, I did a little research, then put together a playlist in iTunes. Megadeath, Iron Maiden, Metallica, Slayer, Death. I downloaded the playlist onto an iPod, then got out my old boombox and attached the iPod to it.

  I set the boombox on the floor in the center of the attic and turned the volume to max. The first song featured a singer who sounded like Lucifer on a bad acid trip.

  “YEEEEEAAAAAHHH! DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!”

  “I hope you enjoy the tunes!” I screamed, then dashed downstairs and closed the attic steps.

  I went to my bedroom, and curled up on the bed thinking I’d watch a romantic movie on Netflix. But no matter how loud I cranked up the TV volume, all I heard was, “SCREAM FOR MERCY, SCREEEEEAAAAAM FOOOR MEEERRRCY—I WILL KILL YOOOOOUUU!”

&nbs
p; What astounded me was Tabitha and Daisy slumbered right through the racket. I tried to hang in and give my plan a chance to work, but after twenty minutes of misery, I was ready to wave the white flag.

  On my way to the attic, Randy, from across the street, rang my doorbell. “Dude!” he said with his eyes locked on my chest. “I didn’t know—”

  “WHAT? I can’t hear you.” I stepped out to the porch and closed the door. It was just as noisy outside. Probably should have given some thought to the neighbors before I set my plan in motion, because now they were gathering on the sidewalk looking mighty surly.

  Randy straightened his t-shirt and puffed his chest so I could appreciate the clever slogan on it. F_CKING isn’t the same without U.

  “I didn’t know you’re a metal head,” he said. “I had you pegged for more of a Barry Manilow—Kenny G fan.”

  “I like all kinds of music,” I said. And then I shouted for all to hear before they lynched me. “Sorry about the ruckus. I’m trying to get rid of the squirrels in my attic.”

  ‘DEEEEEAAAAATHHHH!” screamed the music filtering through the attic windows. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

  A neighbor I’ve never met yelled, “Try an exterminator.”

  So much for my diabolical plan.

  Chapter Seventeen

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  MONDAY • FEBRUARY 2

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Erin was leaving Los Angeles and heading back to Palo Alto yesterday, so I invited her to stop for Sunday brunch on the way and meet the family. I baked a broccoli and cheddar frittata recipe I found online that turned out to be a keeper. Samantha made her signature fruit salad—she adds a few shots of Triple Sec and a lot of sugar. Ruby and Ben brought the fixings for mimosas. And Mom and Pop stopped at the bakery and bought croissants and bear claws. After everyone introduced themselves, we gathered in the kitchen, and Ruby took mimosa orders.

  “I still have a four hour drive, so none for me,” said Erin.

  “And none for me,” said Samantha. “I’m working the second shift today.”

  “Sam’s a maternity nurse,” I told Erin, then turned to my bestie. “But you usually don’t work on Sundays.”

  “I’m filling in for someone.”

  “I can make virgin mimosas,” said Ruby.

  “Then count me in,” said Sam. “Make it a double.”

  During brunch, Erin reigned like a queen, telling funny anecdotes about her family. I could tell everyone was smitten with her sweet personality. Sam admired her peach silk scarf, and later when she was leaving for the hospital, Erin followed her to the door and draped it around her neck.

  “I want you to have this. The color looks much better on a blonde.” She turned Sam to look in the entry mirror. “See?”

  “I couldn’t, really.” Sam threw me a pleading glance.

  “I think it looks beautiful on you, Sam,” I said. “Really sets off your purple scrubs.”

  “Thank you, Erin. I love it.”

  Erin glanced at her watch and groaned. “I had no idea it was already two-thirty. I need to get on the road. Wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “Do you really have to?” I asked. “I’d love it if you spent the night.”

  “I’d love it too, but tomorrow’s a work day.” She paused a moment, chewing her lower lip. “You know what? I worked at least fourteen hours yesterday, and I usually don’t work weekends, so I earned this. I’m staying.” We high-fived, and then she said, “But I need to be out of here by six-thirty in the morning to make a lunch meeting that I absolutely cannot miss. You know how traffic always backs up through San Jose.”

  “I’d say this calls for another round of mimosas,” said Ruby from the kitchen entrance. “Corrupted this time.”

  Later, after everyone had gone I made coffee, and we sacked out on the couch. Daisy had crammed herself against Erin, thrilled to have a new friend who would scratch behind her floppy ears. And Tabitha was curled up on my lap, delighted not to have to share it with her sister.

  “You’re going to be covered in dog hair,” I said.

  “Oh, that’s all right.” She snuggled down into Daisy and cuddled her. “Right, Daisy? We don’t care about a little dog hair, do we? I have a little Yorkie girl. Lulu. She only weights four-and-a-half pounds, but she’s a little terror. It’s kind of nice snuggling with a big dog that you can’t break.”

  “That was so generous of you, giving your beautiful scarf to Sam. It looked expensive.”

  “It was, but that’s what money’s for. Through no fault of my own, I happen to have a lot of it. Besides, it was only a scarf.”

  “That has to be one of the joys of being wealthy. You know, doing nice things for other people. I can’t wait until I can do that.”

  “Spending money on others is easy when you have it. I’m sure you do lots of nice things for people. I think that’s more important than gifts.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do. But pretty soon, I’ll be able to....” I realized I was running off at the mouth.

  “You’ll be able to what?”

  Oh, what the hell. She’s family. “Well, it just so happens that I have recently come into some money.”

  “Oh? Did you win the lottery?”

  “Pretty much.” I relocated Tabitha and grabbed Erin’s hand. “Come on. I’ll show you. You’re not going to believe this.” I led her to my bedroom closet where I pulled aside the clothes concealing the safes.

  “So what’d you do—rob a bank or something?” she asked.

  “Nope.” I unlocked one of the fire safes.

  Erin knelt, looking astounded. “Is this real?”

  “Yup.”

  We sat cross-legged on the closet floor, and I told her how I found the treasure. When I concluded my tale, she said, “That has to be the craziest story I’ve ever heard.” She put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “I’m so happy for you. But don’t you think you should put it in the bank where it’ll be safe? I mean, anyone could come in here and walk away with it. Doesn’t that worry you a little bit?”

  “Yes, it does. But pretty soon, it’ll all be moved to the coin grading company in southern California that Oliver Kershaw, the coin expert that I told you about, owns. Besides, no one knows it’s here. I mean, no one except family. So please, whatever you do, don’t tell anyone. Not even your boyfriend.”

  “No worries,” she said.

  “Once I can start selling the coins, the money will go in the bank, of course.” I locked up the safe, and we returned to the sofa.

  “What’s the first thing you’re going to do with the money?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Pay off all my bills for one thing. Invest in some safe stocks.”

  “Boring. Of course, you’ll do all that. But what’s the first fun thing you’ll do?”

  “Pay off my parents’ mortgage and send them to Hawaii for a dream vacation.”

  Early this morning, over coffee and leftover bear claws, Erin said, “After I got in bed last night, I had the most fantastic idea.” She picked up her phone from the coffee table. “After everything you’ve told me about your divorce from hell, and all that other crazy stuff that’s happened to you over the past year, I think you need a vacation.”

  She flipped through photos on the phone. “My folks have a fabulous place in Belize, and I know they’d be happy to let you use it. It even has a staff and a car. Here….” She held out the phone. “Look at these pictures. Isn’t it pretty? Your boyfriend could go, too. How romantic would that be?”

  I scrolled through several photos of white sandy beaches. “Look at that water. It’s like blue crystal. I’ve always dreamed of going somewhere tropical. But I don’t know when Josh could go. You know, with his ex-wife having cancer.”

  “But even if he can’t go, you still can. At least promise you’ll think about it.”

  “I promise. Another thing I’d like to do is come up and visit you and go shopping. You always look so stylish, and I’m ho
ping some of it will rub off on me, now that I can afford to shop somewhere besides Ross and Marshalls.” I stopped for a sip of coffee. “I’ll stay at a hotel, of course, and—”

  “No, you won’t. You’ll stay with me.”

  “But I thought you were moving in with your boyfriend.”

  Her sunny smile drooped. “No. That’s not going to happen. At least not right now. We’re having some problems.”

  “What kind of problems? I don’t mean to pry, so don’t feel you have to answer, but just the other day you seemed so happy.”

  “The thing is, I am, most of the time.” She paused, searching for words. “All right, I’ll just say it. Tyler has a temper. We had a huge fight on the phone on Saturday night. He was jealous because I’d been out with my coworkers down in L.A. It’s not like I was cheating on him. We all went to the Whiskey a Go Go on the Sunset Strip and were just having fun.”

  I placed a hand on her shoulder and gently asked, “Does he ever hit you, Erin?”

  “No.” She hung her head, her voice hushed. “He hasn’t hit me. But he shoved me into a wall a couple of weeks ago. Things have been hard for him lately. He lost his job, and he has massive school loans, and he won’t allow me to help him.” She choked a laugh. “At least I know he doesn’t love me for my money.”

  I took her hand and squeezed it. “Erin. Shoving you into a wall is pretty much the same as hitting you.”

  She sighed. “I know. I was thinking about that on my drive up here. And then after listening to Ben talk about the battered women at the women’s shelter, I realized I need to end this before something bad happens. I don’t want to be one of those women.”

  At 6:45, I walked Erin out to her red Jaguar convertible parked at the curb.