Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection

by Pamela Frost Dennis

  I wondered what she’d think when there was no big news story. Wouldn’t that make her suspicious? How could a crime of this magnitude not make national headlines? But if the police had released a phony story about my death in order to fool Erin into a false sense of security, I’d have to go into hiding, and all my friends would think I was dead. That would be like going into the witness protection program. I’m extremely grateful that the coin theft is being kept under wraps, too. If the public knew about that, you can bet there’d be fortune hunters digging up my yard.

  I covered Daisy and hobbled to the kitchen to make coffee. Pop was sitting at the table, wrapped in his ancient wool plaid robe, working a crossword with Tabitha curled on his lap.

  “Hey, Katy-did. What’re you doing up?” He set the puzzle aside. “I thought for sure you’d sleep ’til noon.”

  “Can’t. Too many bad dreams.”

  “I couldn’t sleep either. Too many bad dreams, too.” He stood, placing the cat on the rattan settee by the window. “Sit, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee. Two sugars and half-and-half?”

  “Better make it four.”

  He chuckled. “Why even bother with the coffee?”

  Like I haven’t heard that before.

  He set the steamy cup on a placemat and sat again. “I imagine the police will be dropping by at some point today to ask questions.”

  Can’t wait. “Pop?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of putting up with me? This is the third time in the last year that I’ve wound up back home because of the stupid decisions I keep making.” I cupped the hot mug in my icy hands but found I couldn’t lift it.

  “Let me get you a straw.” He opened a couple of cabinets. “Where does your mother keep the straws? Oh, never mind. Found them.”

  He plunked one in my coffee and sat. “First off, I’ll never get tired of putting up with you. Don’t tell your mother, but you’re the reason I married her. You were the cutest little two-year-old. You stole my heart, pumpkin.” He reached across the table and stole my nose, making me grin. “Still works. What exactly are these stupid decisions you’ve made?” He shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile. “One. You found a treasure trove in your attic, and you tried to find the rightful owner because you’re a good person. Boy, was that stupid.” Pop ticked off the recent events on his fingers. “Two. You befriended a long-lost cousin and then tried to help her. Wow. How stupid was that? Three—”

  “I told Erin about the money.”

  “I’ll give you that, but we all liked Erin. She seemed genuinely nice. And she led us to believe she was wealthy, so you never would’ve thought she’d steal it.”

  “Not in my wildest dreams. But the trip to Belize. That was so unlike me.”

  “You’re right about that, Miss Un-Spontaneity.”

  “I know. Usually, I research everything to death. If I’d done that, I wouldn’t have wound up being left for dead in the attic. And I’d still have the money.”

  “Erin was determined to take it, and she used her boyfriend just like she used you. Except she murdered him in cold blood.”

  “Oh, Pop. I thought for sure she was going to shoot me. And then the gun went off, and...he fell on me.” I hadn’t told my parents any of this yet, and now the whole awfulness of it was tumbling out of me. “Pop, he...I ...couldn’t breathe, and...and.”

  My father held out his arms, and I sat on his lap, bawling into his shoulder while he patted my back, murmuring, “It’ll be all right, honey. You’re safe now.”

  “And when the rats started...eating...him, I was relieved because at least they weren’t crawling on me anymore and....” I stopped, feeling my father’s body stiffen. I pulled back and saw the horror on his face.

  “Oh my poor baby,” said Mom from the doorway. She came to us, wrapping her arms around me.

  I set my cheek back on Pop’s shoulder, tears running freely as the terrible memories surged.

  After a while, he whispered, “Katy-did? You need to get off my lap.” He gasped. “My knee.”

  I lifted my head and saw him trying to maintain a stoic face, and for some odd reason, I giggled. Not maniacally, like I was slipping off the deep end, but more like a tension release. Like, in spite of everything awful that happens, normal, everyday life still goes on.

  “Sorry, Pop. I forgot about your knee.” I stood, stifling my giggles because I think it was scaring the folks.

  “Are you all right?” asked Mom, using a quiet, measured tone. Probably wondering if she needed to call the people with the straitjacket.

  “No, and yes. I realize that I have a lot to work through, but I was laughing because here I am, sitting on poor old Pop’s lap like a three-year-old, forgetting that I weigh at least one-hundred pounds more than a toddler.”

  She half-smiled and sat at the table next to me, not looking reassured. “I’m sure you’re holding back a lot to spare us, but you may need some therapy.”

  “You may be right, but the thought of spilling my guts to a total stranger does not sound comforting. Who knows what they’d dredge up?” Then I tried a little humor. “Probably find out that everything’s my parents’ fault.”

  She ignored my hilarity. “Well, I can’t force you to do something you don’t want to do, but,” she swung her eyes onto Pop, “it’s time to schedule your knee replacement. You’ve put it off long enough.”

  “I know. Just hate the idea of being out of commission for several weeks.”

  “Everyone I know who’s done it says it’s worth it.” She stood, heaving an annoyed sigh aimed at both of us. “And now I’ll make us all some breakfast.” She opened the refrigerator and removed eggs and orange juice, then looked out the kitchen window. “I wonder if the officer out there would like some breakfast.”

  The phone rang, verbally announcing, “Santa Lucia Police Department.”

  Detective Kailyn Murphy arrived on the dot of ten a.m., accompanied by the police chief, Angela Yaeger. The chief hugged me, then drew back to take a long look at my puffy, scraped face. “Good grief, girl. How do you keep getting into so much trouble?”

  “Just lucky, I guess.” Murphy held out her no-nonsense manicured hand and shook mine, and I winced. “Sorry. Really sore.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” said the detective. “I hate to intrude like this, but I have to ask you some questions.”

  Was that a hint of warmth in her tone? I wasn’t sure, but she didn’t seem as nasty as I remembered.

  “I understand,” I said. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”

  Angela took off her tweed coat and settled next to me on the sofa. The detective sat across the coffee table in an armchair. Pop offered coffee, which both declined.

  “We won’t be here that long.” Angela shot a glance at Murphy, as if to say, right? “So, please don’t trouble yourself.”

  “Well, maybe half-a-cup for me, please.” Murphy opened her notebook on her lap. “Just getting over a bug and I’m dragging a bit.”

  About ten minutes into it, Angela accepted a cup, too.

  It was grueling going over every dreadful detail, and I broke down several times. At other times, I found myself shaking my head in awestruck wonder at my naiveté. “How could I have been so trusting?”

  Murphy looked up from her notes, “Because you’re a good person.”

  What the what? She thinks I’m a good person?

  “You look surprised I said that.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  She leaned back in the chair. “I deal with a lot of bad people, and sometimes that overshadows all the good, decent people out there.”

  “Most people are good,” said Angela. “Or this job wouldn’t be worth doing.”

  Now I felt like a jerk. “I thought you didn’t like me, Detective Murphy.”

  The slim brunette’s smile warmed her face. “That was just me, doing my job.”

  I started to say, You accused me of shooting my ex-husband, arrest
ed me, and threw me in jail. But the truth was, she was just doing her job. So I didn’t.

  The interview turned out to be cathartic (there’s that darned word again) for me. I had to organize my thoughts and tell the entire sordid story, in minute detail, from beginning to end. Angela and Murphy patiently guided me through the process, and when I finished, I felt lighter. Relieved, if that makes any sense.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  COINS AND CADAVERS

  WEDNESDAY • FEBRUARY 25

  Posted by Katy McKenna

  Friday, February 20

  That morning, with profound relief, I peeked out the living room window and saw the police car was no longer parked in front of the house. I took that to mean that it was safe to get on with my life.

  Ruby called in the a.m. to check on me. “Hey, hon. How’re ya doing?”

  “Oh. You know. One minute I’m feeling pretty good, and then the next, I kind of crash and burn.”

  “You need to give it some time. What you’ve been through was very traumatic. Devastating. I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like.” She paused. “You lost the money, but you didn’t lose your life. And you already have everything that truly matters. Your family and a nice, hunky boyfriend.”

  “Who’s busy taking care of his ex-wife.”

  “Does that bother you?” she asked. “Because it sure would bother me.”

  “No. I know it’s the right thing to do.”

  “You do realize that the situation that broke them up is no longer a situation now.”

  My back muscles seized up at this point. “Well, he’s no longer an undercover narcotics cop, if that’s what you mean. But I’m sure there was more to the breakup than just that.”

  “I’d be a little worried is all I’m sayin’.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about it. We talk a few times a day—”

  “On the phone?” she said.

  “And he’s come over to visit me, too.” I tried to keep my tone from becoming defensive, but she was pushing my buttons.

  “Okay, I’ll keep my mouth shut. You know what I think?”

  “What?” I blew out an exasperated sigh, not caring if Ruby heard or not.

  “You need to get out of the house and blow off some steam. The gals are going to Applebob’s “four by four” happy hour. Four dollar Long Island iced teas and four dollar all-you-can-eat buffet snacks, starting at four. It’ll be a hoot. You up for it?”

  “Jeez, Granny. That’s a little early to start drinking. You better count me out. Four is coffee time, not booze time. If I start drinking that early, I’ll be in bed by six-thirty.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a party pooper. How about we push it to four-thirty? How’s that sound?”

  Like I’ll be in bed at seven. “Who’s driving?” ’Cause I’m not.

  “We’ll take the dial-a-ride bus, of course. None of us are willing to lose our driver’s license like poor Iris did the last time we partied. I could’ve sworn she only had one Long Island. Maybe two. Anyhoo, Iris lost her wheels, and she was a damned good driver, given her age and all. She’s the only one who doesn’t have night blindness.”

  “Isn’t she ninety-two?” I remembered her telling me her age when she told me she was planning a birthday bash for Granny.

  “Yes, but these days, ninety-two is the new eighty-two, or maybe it’s seventy-two.”

  “That would make her younger than you. Oh wait, seventy-four is the new fifty-four, right?”

  “You got it.”

  Which would make me, at thirty-two—too young to drive. Makes sense to me. “Is the bus driver going to be that Duke guy? I know you told him I’d go out with him, but I have a boyfriend now—so it would be embarrassing.”

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Duke went back to jolly old England. Turns out he really is a duke. Get this—his family lives in that Dunton house. You know. The one that TV show was all about.”

  “Downton Abbey?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. Guess I’ll have to watch it now, especially since he invited me to visit if I’m ever in the area.”

  “You’re telling me that Duke—the Dial-A-Ride guy is a real duke and he lives in a freaking castle in England? Come on, Granny. You’re kidding me, right?”

  “I was pretty flabbergasted about it, too. I’m trying to remember the real name of the castle. I know it’s not Downton.”

  “Does Highclere Castle ring any bells?”

  “Bingo. That’s it.”

  “Why on earth would a duke be driving a senior bus in Santa Lucia?” I may have been screeching at this point.

  “He was learning how real people live—all over the world. We were part of his quest. Anyhoo, he’s back in the bosom of his family and running the estate.”

  Oh. My. God. I could’ve been a princess. Princess Katy. Oh wait—he’s a Duke. Duchess Katy. We would’ve had adorable English children. Penelope and Peter. And they would have called me Mummy. And we would have gone to Buckingham Palace to have tea with the queen. And I would’ve become besties with Princess Kate. And I would’ve lived in Downton Abbey! Downton freaking Abbey! And maybe, if enough people died first, I could have been queen. Queen Katy!

  “Sweetie, you still there?”

  “Yeeessss. I’m still here.” In Santa Lucia. All my money is gone. My house is a shambles. My boyfriend lives with his ex, and I could’ve been queen of the British Empire. But instead, I’m going to happy hour at Applebob’s with a bunch of grandmas. My life sucks!

  The forensics team had finished at my house, so it was time to go see the damage. After I parked in the driveway, it took me a good five minutes to muster up the courage to go inside.

  Mom and Pop had described the havoc that Tyler and Erin had wrought upon my home, but the reality was so much worse. My cozy bungalow had been trashed. Piles of broken plaster were strewn everywhere. A thick coat of chalky dust coated the furniture, the wood floors, drapes, shutters, windows.

  Every square inch of the hallway walls had been stripped down to the quarter-inch wood lath. The family pictures that had lined the hall, dating all the way back to Ruby’s childhood, lay smashed on the floor. The original ornate cast iron wall grate was battered beyond repair.

  Tears threatened as I bent to touch the dusty grate. I recalled how its uniqueness had caught my eye the first time I had looked at the house. Even if I could find a similar replacement, that’s what it would always be. A replacement. I sat on the floor, legs crossed, clutching the metal cover to my chest.

  “I hope you rot in hell,” I screamed at Erin and Tyler.

  “Katy?” Josh bent down behind me and folded his strong arms around me. “You really shouldn’t leave your door wide open. No telling who might walk in.”

  I leaned back into his safe embrace. “It’s all too much.” I held up the grate and blubbered, “Look what they did.”

  “I know, cupcake.” He set the grate on the floor, then helped me up. “Let me get you a tissue.”

  I dried my eyes and blew my nose.

  “Things are going to get better.” He kissed me tenderly, mindful of my healing chin, then grabbed a brown lunch bag from the entry table. “Nicole made you chocolate chip cookies. They’re still warm.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Most days, pretty good, considering. But she’s having some trouble today. The oncologist put her on a new medication, and it’s kicking her butt. On top of that, she’s losing her hair. She seems more upset about that than the cancer.”

  I get that. “And still, she thought of me and made cookies. That’s so sweet.”

  “It’s typical Nicole. Always thinking of others.”

  “And here I am crying over my messed up house. Compared to what Nicole’s going through....” I gestured at the chaos surrounding us. “This is nothing. It can all be fixed.”

  “Katy. This is a lot more than just a mess. Your cousin put you through hell and left you for dead, so you don’t have to make light of it. It w
as a very traumatic experience and most people wouldn’t be handling it as well as you are.”

  I didn’t want to tear up again, so I asked, “Why’d the doctor change Nicole’s medicine?”

  “Her white count isn’t where she’d like it to be.” He sighed. “I guess it’s a lot of trial and error. It’s an uphill battle, but Nicole’s a fighter.” He glanced around. “So, what’s the plan here?”

  “Pop had a claims adjuster inspect the house, and he said there’d be no problems, other than I have to cough up the $1,800 deductible.”

  “Do you have it? If not, I do.”

  “That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine. I have it in savings.”

  Josh set his hands on my shoulders, looking grim. “I can’t get over the fact that you were over here, trapped and close to dying.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I was home, dammit. Right next door. Probably watching a game. And you could’ve died.” He ran his hands down my arms and took my hands.

  “Don’t feel bad, Josh. You had no way of knowing.”

  He sighed a ragged breath. “Hey, how about tomorrow morning I help you clear out the mess? I can borrow my friend’s truck and haul this stuff to the dump.”

  “Won’t the insurance company take care of that?” I said.

  “Probably, but I feel like I need to do something physical.”

  Hmmm. He wants to get physical. “You wanna see the holes in my bedroom walls?”

  Girls Night Out

  When the Dial-A-Ride bus picked me up in front of my parents’ house, the atmosphere on board was a tad cool. A woman wearing a red satin turban, matching caftan, and huge black-rimmed round glasses, said, “I hope we can get a good table. We usually don’t go this late.”

  “Oh, put a lid on it, Betty.” Ruby leaned close to me and whispered, “Don’t tell her, but we already have a table. Ben’s holding it.”