by Elaine Macko
Ryan leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “It was hard for her at the beginning but we saw the potential to have an all encompassing site. Products, blog, TV spot, radio interviews. And the blog wasn’t just about attacking businesses. Maria planned on writing informative articles, having online seminars. A lot of it was just in the planning stage.”
“My take on things is that Maria started the whole vegan thing as a lark. Ellery told me her mother got excited over stuff and then after about a year her enthusiasm waned. I’m getting the idea you were the driving force behind this entire project. That you needed someone with money, intelligence. You met Maria by chance, you started talking about veganism, slowly reeling her in. Then she quits a very good job, chucks it all in, for this.” I looked around the room and made it clear I didn’t see anything impressive at all. I picked up one of the plastic bags. “I mean, really, some hemp products, some vegan food stuff that anyone can pick up at the local grocery store. Come one. What’s really going on here?”
I was well aware I pretty much just accused a potential murderer of bilking a woman out of her life savings and that the two of us were alone.
“I’m busy. And you’re insulting me. I think it’s time you left and don’t come back.”
I shrugged. “Fine.” I made my way through the boxes and saw a bunch of empty ones stacked against a wall. “I have a friend who’s moving. I’ll just take a few of these if you don’t mind.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’m not talking to you anymore. You’re not even the police.”
He had me there but a certain detective with full credentials was going to be getting an ear full tonight because Ryan Reynolds was up to something and like with everything else about this case so far, I had no idea what it was.
Chapter Forty-Nine
I went back to my office because I didn’t know who else to question. I had exhausted everything I had. Someone was lying, but without alibis I couldn’t figure anything out. This PI stuff was harder than it looked. People get mad at the police when things don’t get sorted out but it’s a lot harder than anyone realizes. Maybe I should just stick to running my own business.
I hauled in the empty boxes I had pilfered from the Vegan View and put them in the kitchen for Millie to take home. It was wonderful to see how excited she was about moving in with Reuben. They made a great team. I was incredibly lucky. I had a successful business, a wonderful, tolerant husband, and my office mates were all stable, intelligent women in happy relationships which made our work environment drama free. I had a loving family and a grandmother who brightened my life and a niece and nephew who kept me laughing. Yes, I was certainly blessed. So why was I feeling so blah?
Of course, the answer was the murder. I felt I was letting Ellery and Mr. Kravec down. I had gotten nowhere fast. Though somewhere very deep in my mind, I knew there was something lurking that would tie everything together. But what?
I was deep in thought, sitting at my desk facing the window and the autumn panorama outside when I felt a presence.
“Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“John. Not at all.” I got up and walked around the desk and gave him a hug and a kiss. “What brings you here?” I asked as we sat down in the two chairs in front of my desk.
“Nothing. I just had a quick sandwich and need to get back to work but I missed you. And I’ll probably be working all weekend.”
“Ah, the curse of being married to a policeman. So, anything new with your investigation because mine is stalled completely?”
My husband had great hair and eyes and the most fantastic smile but he looked tired. I had a feeling things weren’t going too well for him either.
“I do have one bit of new information and it cements the theory this was premeditated.” I leaned forward, eager to hear what he had. “The auto injectors weren’t emptied. They were training devices.”
“Training devices?”
“The company also makes empty injectors so new users can practice. That’s why my guys initially thought they were emptied. There never was any drug in them to begin with.”
“So someone replaced Mrs. Kravec’s pens with these training things.” I thought this over for a moment. “Maybe it was Mrs. Kravec’s training device? Maybe she had one as well and she just kept it in the kitchen for some reason.”
John shook his head. “There were two of them. She wouldn’t need two. And besides, she’d been using the stuff most of her life. She knew how to use the pens. The cases in the drawer, the things that held the pens, the lot number matches her prescription. The training ones had lot numbers on them but they were peeled off.”
“Oh my. So what now?”
“So now I put in a lot of hours until I figure things out or something breaks in the case. I’m sorry about the weekend.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m having dinner with Mary-Beth tonight and a bunch of us are going to Body Expressions tomorrow.”
John smiled and raised an eye brow. “Don’t tell me where you put it this time. Let me find it.”
John and I locked eyes and I had a brief image of his searching for my tattoo and then his cell phone buzzed and he pulled it out and read the text.
“Jesus.”
“What?” I leaned forward and put my hand on his leg. “What happened?”
“Nena Connick. She’s dead.”
Chapter Fifty
After stopping off at home and changing into my skinny jeans and a bulky sweater and a scarf I’d just finished making, I found myself driving along the coast road connecting Indian Cove and Pirates Cove. The turnpike would have been faster but any chance I got to be by the water, I took. How did people who lived in the middle of the country cope? I could handle a Great Lake, but not having access to a large body of water was a deal breaker for me. Indian Cove had been my home since I was born and hopefully, I would live here for the rest of my life.
I continued my drive, occasionally spying a light somewhere out on the water close to the marina. It was a cold night but not even the coming of winter could keep some people off the ocean.
I pulled into the parking lot of a small but crowded restaurant Mary-Beth had chosen. I hadn’t seen her since the murder in my home and I was looking forward to catching up.
“There you are,” Mary-Beth said as I slid into a booth by the window. We had a great view of the marina and the gently bobbing boats. “You look great and I bet you made that scarf.”
I pulled off my latest creation in various shades of grays and browns. “I have yarn left over. I’ll make you one.”
A waiter came over and handed us menus and placed a basket of bread on the table with some softened butter. We both fell silent while we perused the menus.
Once our orders were placed Mary-Beth leaned forward and put her arms on the table. “What the hell, Alex. How are you possibly mixed up in another murder?”
“The victim, Maria Kravec, was a neighbor.”
Mary-Beth shook her head of dark, Dorthy Hamil-cut hair. The gold ball earrings she always wore caught the light of the small candle on the table. “You need to move.”
I shrugged. “It won’t help. I went to Europe for my honeymoon and look what happened. Three-thousand miles and an ocean away and I still spent most of my time trying to solve a murder.”
Our appetizers arrived—Manhattan clam chowder for me and New England style for Mary-Beth. I savored the chunks of clams and pieces of celery and carrots while letting the aroma of the thyme-laden broth warm me. I broke off a chunk of crusty bread and dunked it in the soup. “And Mrs. Kravec isn’t the worst of it,” I said.
Mary-Beth wiped a bit of soup from the corner of her mouth. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’s another body. The girlfriend.”
“Mrs. Kravec had a girlfriend?”
I laughed. “No. The husband had a lot of them. This was the most recent. And now she’s dead.”
“Murdered?”
I shrugged. “I d
on’t know. John got a text a couple of hours ago when he stopped by my office. He had to run off. I don’t have any details.”
Our waiter brought out plates of fish and chips and a bottle of malt vinegar. I finished my soup and pushed the bowl away. The fish was delicious, plump pieces cooked to perfection and the frites, as I now called French fries after my trip to Europe, were just as good.
“Well, obviously it’s connected. What’s that look for? Alex, is there more?”
“Okay. Here’s the deal,” I began. “I didn’t tell John, but in my defense he ran out before I could say anything.”
“Say what?” Mary-Beth was losing patience with me.
“The daughter. Ellery, Mrs. Kravec’s lovely daughter, stopped by this morning. She’s had a couple of run ins with her father’s current love and she told me that if Nena Connick, that’s the girlfriend,” I added for Mary-Beth’s benefit, “didn’t stop bothering her father, she, Ellery, would have to do something about it. And I’ve already pulled her hands from Nena’s throat once before.”
“Is that how she died? Was she strangled?”
I swallowed my piece of fish, which I had sprinkled with the vinegar, and began to cough. I reached for my iced tea and took a sip. “Sorry. I guess I can’t talk and eat at the same time. But to answer your questions, I don’t know how she died. I don’t think John did either when he sprinted out of my office.”
“Do you think the daughter did it?”
I thought about this for a moment. “I don’t know. You should see her. Beautiful. Successful. Intelligent. But the way she latched onto the woman last week when Nena turned up at the house was scary. And she did tell me that if Nena didn’t stop pursuing her father, she would not be responsible for her actions and now Nena is dead.”
“Well, hang on a minute. Maybe she just died. Was she sick? Maybe it was a car accident.”
“I don’t think so, Mary-Beth. Wouldn’t that be too much of a coincidence?”
Mary-Beth ate her last frite and moved the plate aside. “Who else is on your list of suspects. I know you have one,” she said with a smile.
I filled her in on the background about the case and told her about the blogs. “So at first I thought the Corliss family, mainly Frank Corliss, was a good contender for the murder, but he’s a reasonable man and I think he figured out his business was in trouble with or without the blog. There was another restaurant owner, Julie Vang, but I wrote her off at the beginning. She changed her menu and seems to be doing okay.” I wondered if I had written her off too soon, but felt certain she wasn’t involved and the police had also spoken with her and nothing seemed to come from their inquiries either.
“You mentioned a brother?” Mary-Beth said.
The waiter came and took our dessert order for their decadent chocolate house cake.
“The brother. Right. Tall, bird-like. Plays the violin and likes working in the garden, where I might add, he has poison ivy.”
“I have poison ivy,” Mary-Beth said.
“You’re not being helpful. He also lived in a house which Maria was hell-bent on selling and he was hell-bent on keeping.” I told her about Ryan and Nadine and the student, Jeff Metz, whom Maria had failed and who died in a car accident. And then I remembered the other guy. “Maria sent a weird email to some guy named Bob Spangler. She said she had information for him or something like that. I can’t remember. I went to see him and he had no idea who she was and what possible information she could have for him.
“That is weird.”
“I never told John about him but the police have Maria’s computer and access to her accounts and there were hundreds of emails. I guess they’ll eventually get around to talking with him. Plus, her daughter brought over a disk Maria made with archived emails. I gave that to John, but not before I made a copy.”
“Sneaky devil.”
“And that’s about it. So,” I leaned forward, “what do you have for me?” Mary-Beth always had a great story about a former classmate. Okay, she always had gossip and I loved hearing it.
Mary-Beth shrugged. “I got nothing. Absolutely nothing. I haven’t heard a darned thing. You’re the most interesting person I know right now.”
“Mary-Beth, you really need to get a life.”
Chapter Fifty-One
On a glorious November Saturday seven women descended on Body Expressions. Sloth had no idea what he was in for. Make that eight. As we all stood there in the parking lot arguing over who would go first a familiar car pulled up.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” my sister said turning toward the car. “Is that our mother, stick-in-the-mud Mable Harris?”
I turned and looked at the car and sure enough my mother had arrived no doubt with a bunch of stuff she had printed off the Internet about the perils of tattooing one’s body parts. Geesh.
“If she’s coming to take me to some senior home where they lock you up all day, you girls gotta fight her off while Francis and Theresa get me outta here,” Meme said through her pursed lips.
“I’m in. I’m in,” my mother sang out as she crossed the parking lot and came to stand with the group. “I’ve secretly always wanted a tattoo. I’m thinking about a small skull and crossbones.” My mother looked practically giddy.
“Who are you?” my sister asked.
“That’s my girl,” Meme said taking Mom’s arm. “I knew the real Mable would eventually come out again now that the kids are raised and gone.”
The kids had been raised and gone for quite some time now but maybe it just took some people longer to get their groove back.
“Okay. Everyone gather round,” I said using my best camp counselor voice. “A few things before we go in. First, his name is Seymour. Only certain people call him Sloth.” I eyed my grandmother. “And he’s an interesting guy. He’s a tattoo artist and he also custom designs rosary beads.”
“Oh, good. Because as soon as my husband sees my tattoo, I’m going to have to start praying… or packing. I’ll pick up some of those, too,” my sister said.
I gave her the evil eye. “Stop being so dramatic. The second thing is they’re fake.”
“What’s fake,” my mother asked.
“The tattoos.”
“But I want a real one.”
I lifted my leg and pulled up my jeans exposing my bare ankle. “See. It fades off after a few days. I had Seymour make me a bunch so I can put them on whenever I want.”
My mother brightened. “Maybe I can get several different ones made and change them up.”
“Ohhhh, I’m with you, Mable,” Marla gushed, “I’m with you. Variety is the spice of life. My husband is in for a treat.” Marla linked arms with my mother and headed for the door.
After we managed to make Sloth considerably richer than when we first arrived, Sam, Marla and I headed over to Millie’s to help with the remainder of her boxes while her mother and grandmother went over to Reuben’s house to put up the new bedroom drapes they had made.
“I can’t believe I don’t live here anymore,” Millie said looking around the living room.
“You’re on a new journey,” Marla said. “And if you’re as lucky as me, you’re in for one heck of a ride. And wait until Reuben sees your tattoo.”
Millie told Sloth her idea and within minutes he had sketched out two sets of skis crossed to represent how Millie and Reuben met. She was the only one who opted to get a real tattoo and had an appointment later in the week. Once Millie went through the process, both Sam and I wanted to rethink getting a real one. My mother ordered her skull and crossbones, Marla chose a flower and Meme convinced her gang to get tattoos with a bingo motif.
I grabbed another box and carried it out to my car while my sister got a bunch of coats out of the front hall closet and Marla rolled up an area rug in Millie’s room. In no time at all we had everything packed up in four separate cars and headed over to Reuben’s.
Reuben Radford was a great guy and a perfect fit for Millie. He was about seven years older
than she, he had a medium build and he had salt and pepper colored hair. He seemed to always be dressed in a suit, mostly because of working in a funeral home, and liked to liven the mood with bow ties. He was kind, intelligent, had a great sense of humor and loved Millie to bits.
Today he was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt and immediately came out of the house and took the box from me as I carried it up the walk.
“This is the last trip. Millie has officially moved in.” I took a look at the small house. It reminded me so much of my little house a few blocks away. I missed living there but I did love my new home with John.
“Come see what Judith and Gran did. You wouldn’t believe it was a boring old bachelor pad a week ago,” Reuben said.
I followed him inside. He was right. The house looked great. Millie and her mom and grandmother had done a terrific job. It wasn’t girly at all; it just seemed pulled together, lived in, and comfortable with the addition of drapes, some bright pillows and wall color.
Millie thanked us for our help and then Sam and I headed over to my parents’ while Marla left to do a bit of shopping. My mother was busy cutting up carrots for a stew when we walked in, while my grandmother sat at the table doing something on her laptop.
“It smells great in here. When’s dinner?” I asked while lifting the cover off the pot on the stove.
“Later. How did it go at Millie’s?” my mom asked.
I took a seat at the kitchen table next to Meme, and grabbed a cracker and a slice of cheese. “Our little Millie is all grown up. Relationships are like pasta, they start off as mac and cheese and mature into Fettuccini Alfredo. Winston—”
“Winston Churchill said that? Winston Churchill said relationships are like pasta, they start off as mac and cheese and mature into Fettuccini Alfredo? Really?” my sister asked while giving me her “mom” look.
