by Elaine Macko
“Me?”
Sam turned to me and we locked eyes. We could read each other’s thoughts and right now I beamed her a message that said if you want to be on the inside track of everything I hear, you had better keep your mouth shut.
My grandmother turned her ample body toward me, totally dismissing my mother for the moment. “So? You have an idea, don’t you?”
I smiled. “One of us killed her. That’s a given. And no one plunges a knife into the back of another person over a lost tile.”
“And?” my mother asked, obviously forgetting her admonishments of a moment ago and getting as caught up in the mystery as the rest of us.
“And,” I began as every person at my kitchen table leaned in closer so as not to miss one word, “we all spent time with her, we all talked with her, and somewhere in all the talk is the key. Somewhere, locked away in our subconscious, in a muddle of gossip and idle banter is the clue that will tell us why Penelope Radamaker was killed in my library on a dark and stormy night.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Our plan hatched, an hour later we busily worked to get my kitchen back in order, each of us lost in her own thoughts. Phone calls had been made, and everyone agreed to meet at my mother’s house at six. Meme wanted to know if I planned to reenact the murder and had kindly volunteered to play the part of Penelope. Geesh.
My sister called her husband with instructions he take the kids along with our father to the movies this evening, and from her tone, I could tell she wasn’t leaving him any room to argue. When I called, Mary-Beth volunteered to bake her famous cheesecake, and my mother and I would put out savory treats.
With my house back in somewhat order except for the library, everyone left, leaving me alone in the murder house. For the next hour I successfully managed to keep my eyes off the door of the library, but it really didn’t matter. And how pretentious is it to have a library? I needed to find another name for the room but deep inside I knew what it would be for the rest of my life—the murder room. My eyes momentarily went to the door of the library/second den/murder room and even though it was closed I knew what lingered on the other side and I didn’t want to spend another minute alone in this house. John wouldn’t be back for a couple more days and it was no use to try his cell. Out in the middle of nowhere, he warned me he would be out of cellular reach. No worries, I had assured him with a wave of my hand. I was having the girls over for mahjong, so what could go wrong? Ha!
Thirty minutes later, I arrived at my health club, slowly jogging on the treadmill and keeping my eyes peeled for Connie.
“Hi, Tina,” I said to one of the club managers who just finished showing a prospective new client around. “You haven’t seen Connie today, have you?”
“Oh, hi, Alex. No. She called in sick this morning. Must be that bug going around. I have two other front desk personnel out today as well.
“Okay. I’ll try to catch up with her next week.” I turned the treadmill speed up a notch and raised the incline. I suddenly needed to burn up some energy.
So Connie had called in sick. She hadn’t seemed sick to me last night, but then we were all pretty tired. Maybe she just needed to sleep in or maybe the ordeal of being trapped in a house all night with a dead body had been too much for her. Or…my mind began to race as I turned the treadmill up another notch, maybe Connie was at this very second packing a bag and planning to flee the country after she snatched Bert out of the county jail. But why would she? She and Bert planned to divorce, but something told me a divorce wasn’t set in stone.
Twenty minutes later, with sweat bathing my face, I headed for the showers. I let the warm water rush over me soothing away the stress of the night before while I idly went through all that had transpired. What were the chances someone would come into my house and kill one of my guests? Or better yet, what were the chances someone I had intentionally invited would kill another invitee? I would have thought slim to none but then I should have known better. Indian Cove and the surrounding towns didn’t see murder too often, but for some reason I seemed to be involved in quite a few lately.
I don’t know how long I stood there, basking in the warmth of the shower, but all of a sudden the water wasn’t so warm anymore. I looked around and didn’t see anyone else in the locker room. Good. I sheepishly turned off the faucet and got dressed and out of there before someone came in and charged me for using all the hot water, or worse yet, cancelled my membership.
I drove the few miles from the club to the center of Indian Cove. All along the highway uprooted trees left behind huge craters in the earth. It resembled what I imaged the surface of the moon to be like. The sun shone brightly, but the destruction left by the storm devastated this part of town. Luckily the city center had been spared. Tree branches covered the town green but other than that everything looked okay.
Born in Indian Cove I’ve lived here all my life. I would probably stay until I died and this thought felt both comforting and bothersome. What did it say about me? Was I dull? Unadventurous? Boring? I don’t know what other parts of the country were like, but living in Indian Cove the last couple of years had been anything but boring. Between my job as part owner of a temporary agency and my new career solving murder, I was one busy girl. This thought brightened my mood considerably as I pulled into a parking space conveniently located in front of Kruger’s Market.
I’m a frugal person. Being a New Englander frugalness and a good dose of quirky came with the territory, but for some reason, I loved shopping at Kruger’s. The original owner, Mr. Kruger, had sold the store a couple of years ago when his children showed no interest in taking his place. The new owners kept the name and in fact, didn’t make too many changes at all much to my delight. The prices were scandalous and my sister thought I was crazy for shopping here, but I just really enjoyed the old-fashioned store. I liked the slightly musty smell of it and in summer, when mixed with the scent of suntan lotion, the whole place felt very beachy. The aisles were narrow and only one person could go down them at a time. It made it inconvenient but that was a part of the place as well. And I loved their cold cuts counter that couldn’t be beat and I headed there now to get some liverwurst and salami for lunch. Before I left my house, I packed a small bag and planned to stay the night with my parents. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t going home until John called. The police had a key and I knew they planned on going back in to scour the crime scene again. They also had my cell phone number so I saw no reason why I had to be there; the fact I hardly ever turned my cell on was something I kept to myself. I had answered enough questions last night to last me a lifetime and I didn’t have anything more to add.
But that’s what I planned for tonight. Our big get together at my parent’s house would hopefully provide the key to why Penelope had been killed. I got lost in my thoughts when I heard a voice.
“Can I help you?” a young woman asked me from behind the deli counter.
I didn’t recognize her. This was one of the problems with Mr. Kruger selling out. A constant parade of young college students worked here and just when I got to recognize one they moved on and another showed up.
“I’ll take a half pound of the liverwurst and the same of your hard salami. Oh, and can you give me about ten slices of the provolone? Thanks.”
While she filled my order I wandered over to a giant basket packed with long loaves of crusty bread. The basket leaned up against a window facing Main Street and just as I pulled out a loaf, I saw two people walking on the other side of the street—Connie and Bert.
I leaned against the wall and watched them. Connie didn’t look one bit sick to me but the thing that really bugged me was she and Bert were laughing. What could they possibly be laughing at? The man put a tracking device on her car for pity’s sake. And why was Bert not in jail, I wanted to know.
“Can I help you with anything else?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. No, that’s all for now,” I said to the young woman.
After picking up some tomato
es, fruit, and Lorna Dunes shortbread cookies, I paid the equivalent of our current national debt and left the store.
I stood there on the sidewalk looking up and down the street but Connie and Bert were nowhere to be found.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Like Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz, there’s no place like home. And she was right. In this instance, the home was my parents’ house, not where I lived with John, and I instantly felt guilty thinking that. I knew I would come to love the house he so beautifully restored; at least I thought I would before last night. Now all I wanted to do was slap a for sale sign on it and move back to my little house. The thought of the one tiny closet and the one tiny bathroom in my house quickly put the idea out of my mind. But still. Would I ever love the murder house like I loved my tiny house or my parents’ house? Would the sight of Penelope bent over the card table with my cake knife sticking out of her back ever vanish from my memory? I didn’t think so. With a sigh I took the walkway up to my parents’ front door and let myself in.
“Hello?” I called from the foyer as I took off my coat and placed it in the front hall closet. Despite the sunshine, the air felt cold and I had on a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. Black was my color of choice and I didn’t even want to think about what this said about me. The fact is most people look good in black and wearing black most of the time just made life easier. I was gradually easing in some browns and grays, but black usually won out. I softened it by wrapping homemade scarves around my neck though most of them had black somewhere in the pattern.
“Alex. I wondered when you would show up,” my dad said, coming into the hallway and wrapping his arms around me.
My dad, Harry Harris, was a kind soul with twinkling blue eyes. Everyone in my family was tall, except for Meme, and my dad was no exception. He kept in great shape having a membership to the same club I went to and taking every advantage of it.
“What a terrible ordeal, honey. I’m so sorry about that woman last night. What was her name?”
“Penelope,” I said into my dad’s shoulder. “Thanks, Dad. Where’s Mom?”
“Out shopping for tonight. What’s going on here this evening? I wasn’t told anything, just to leave. I take it that means you ladies are up to no good.”
Luckily he said this with a smile because I wasn’t sure how much I should tell my dad. We had serious business to conduct tonight and if he got wind of what we wanted to accomplish, he would put a major crimp in the evening’s plan.
“Nothing much.” I turned my head because my father could always tell when I was lying.
“Sure. Well, as long as your mother is here, I guess you can’t get into too much trouble.”
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” I said, quickly changing the subject. It may have been my idea to have this little soiree this evening, but my mother had promptly volunteered to host it. And I had seen the gleam in her eyes. Like I had with Meme, I thought I might be turning my mother into a nosy sleuth. Finding dead bodies just did something to a person and my mother was right there last night, front and center. If my dad thought having my mom around would keep a damper on things and keep everyone under control, he was in for a shock.
I led the way down the hall to the kitchen, keeping my back to my dad. “I’m starving and I have a bag of goodies from Kruger’s.”
My parents had recently done a minor renovation of their kitchen. Upgraded stainless steel appliances and a beautiful concrete countertop modernized the room substantially. It looked wonderful but they had managed to retain the same comforting ambience it held before.
After grabbing some plates and a couple of knives, my dad and I settled ourselves at the kitchen table still covered with the same table cloth and napkin holder in the center that had been there for years. Neither went with the new appliances, but I didn’t care. Despite the updates, my parents seemed stuck in the fifties and it gave me comfort.
I piled several slices of liverwurst on a chunk of crusty bread and lathered the other side with so much mustard I could no longer see any bread.
“Hmmmm. I needed this,” I said after swallowing a huge chunk.
My dad placed another slice of tomato on his salami and cheese sandwich just as the door leading out to the garage opened and my mother walked in.
I jumped up and went to help her. “Here, Mom, let me take those for you.” I placed two grocery bags on the counter and turned the heat on under the kettle while I was up.
“Alex, I didn’t expect you so soon,” my mom said as she put her keys down and pulled off a pair of gloves.
“I couldn’t stay in my house one minute longer. If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay here until John comes home.”
“Fine with me, dear. I couldn’t stay there on my own either.”
I spent the remainder of the afternoon cuddled up on the sofa reading the New Yorker, while my mom made snacks for the evening and my dad worked out in the yard, clearing branches and debris from the storm.
About a half hour before everyone else was due to arrive, I went into my dad’s home office and found a couple pads of lined paper and a bunch of pens with the name of some hotel or organization written on them. I don’t think my mother ever bought a pen in her life preferring to pilfer them from places she visited.
Forty-five minutes later everyone gathered in the kitchen filling plates with wedges of cheese, crackers, tiny eggrolls my mother fried up earlier, and veggies and dip. Meme brought a large platter of salami, olives and pickled eggplant. I was suddenly very hungry again and had to grab another plate.
After we stocked up on food and Sam pushed Michael and my dad out the door, we all marched into the living room and settled down. Dad had brought in a few more chairs from the dining room before he left and we needed them. I looked around at our assembled cast of characters and hoped I hadn’t included a murder in my invitations.
While we ate and talked I glanced around the room at the others and just like last night, I could find no reason any of these women would kill Penelope. With the exception of Judith. I hesitated asking her to participate, but not including her would upset Millie and everyone else, actually, so I did. I hated entertaining the idea Judith killed Penelope, but whom else? Only Judith knew the woman beforehand. But that wasn’t true. Bert knew Penelope and had problems with her. This made me feel better about Judith. As for the others, they were my friends and family so I mentally removed the rest off my suspects list and wondered what the police would think of my logic.
Then my eyes fell on Sam. Okay, of course Sam didn’t kill Penelope, but I liked giving her a hard time, most probably a subconscious retaliation for all the times she had tormented me as a child. I watched as she ate yet another eggroll, sour sauce dripping off her chin, and smiled. My sister was Henry’s mother and if she could keep herself from wringing his little neck all these years despite what he put her through, I felt certain Penelope could do nothing that would incite my sister to plunge a knife into her back.
So that left me and I knew I didn’t kill Penelope. If I wanted to kill anyone at the party, it would have been Mia with her constant yelling. As I took one more glance around, with the exception of Judith—and I hoped I could scratch her off my list by tonight—I could say no one in this room had killed Penelope Radamaker, which meant only one thing—somewhere amongst the four women I didn’t invite lurked a killer and, with any luck, by the end of the evening we would know which one of those four was guilty.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word. It is victory. Victory at all costs.”
Sam gave me an eye roll. “Didn’t you use that one earlier this morning?” she asked me then leaned toward the chair where Judith sat and sighed at Judith’s questioning look. “Winston. Churchill. She quotes him. All the time.”
To Sam’s chagrin, Judith looked impressed and I smiled demurely. If I had a fan, right about now is when I would give it a gentle wave across my face.
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�I did, but for the benefit of those who did not hear me earlier, I thought I would say it again.” Sam rolled her eyes again. “Fine. Forget it. You all know why we’re here.”
Mary-Beth placed her plate on the coffee table and turned to me. “Okay, Alex, you told me a bit about what’s going to happen tonight but mostly you gave me implicit instructions on what kind of cheesecake to make.”
“Cheesecake?” my grandmother piped up. “What kind?”
“Chocolate,” Mary-Beth said with pride and well she should. Hers was the best around.
“Not now, Meme,” I said. “We need to get started and then we’ll have cheesecake.”
My mother, who ran to the kitchen for a tray, walked around the room collecting everyone’s dirty plate. Once she finished the clean up, she and Dorothy brought out a pot of coffee and one of tea and placed them in the center of the coffee table, along with mugs, spoons, and sugar and milk. Everyone filled up a mug with their drink of choice and then I passed out paper and pens to all.
“Okay,” I began to an eager crowd. “Penelope Radamaker died in my house last night. What we want to accomplish tonight is to find out the reason why. Other than Judith,” I said turning to look at Millie’s mother and putting a smile on my face, “no one knew her until she showed up. We know nothing about her. Nothing at all. And presumably no one else did either, but yet she was killed.”
“It could have been a mistake, Alex,” Theresa said. “She wore red and so were a lot of the other gals. Liz wore red and Mia sounded like she wanted to kill her. Maybe in the dark she got mixed up.”
“Well, I thought about that, but in the dark how would anyone differentiate colors? Someone had a brown sweater on, and someone had on black. In the dark I think everything would just look dark,” I said looking around the room for confirmation.
