Mint Juleps, Mayhem, and Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “And now you’re worried about how it’s going to look,” I said.

  “I know it’s not going to look good. And there’s no way to hide it. No one else knows, except for the lawyers I talked to, of course. But all the information is there for them to find—the searches I did on my computer about how to prep for a divorce—it’s all there in my search history. I don’t know how to remove it and I’m afraid that if I tried, I’d look even guiltier.”

  “I think it’s hard to completely remove anything from your computer,” I said as I flicked through the keys on her key ring.

  “It doesn’t matter. The new bank accounts and credit cards can’t be removed. It’s only a matter of time until they’re uncovered,” she said.

  She was right. I knew the detectives would keep pressing until they found the information she was worried about and then they’d wonder if she’d chosen murder over divorce.

  Her voice broke into my thoughts. “So you can see why I thought it would simplify things if Lewis was having an affair. It didn’t make sense to me that he would do that after we worked so hard on our marriage, but it would have made it more understandable for me to be looking into a divorce. I didn’t want to believe he was, but…”

  “Now you’re back where you were.”

  “Prime suspect.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes. I’m sure. Who else do they have? Somehow I don’t think they’ll take anyone on that list we made very seriously.” She shoved her sunglasses in her purse with a resigned sigh as she added, “Just spats and anger, typical sour grapes stuff that commanders have to deal with every day. None of those people have a good motive.”

  “I don’t know. I think they’ll take Carrie’s letters seriously.”

  She half-shrugged and moved to get out of the car. “Not as seriously as they’ll take a wife who wanted a divorce and has no alibi. I can’t prove that I drove over to Wool Works yesterday afternoon.”

  She did have a point, but I kept that thought to myself. I didn’t want to bring her further down. I handed her the keys and followed her into the kitchen. I wanted to make sure her sister was back before I left.

  “Don’t you have a receipt? I know you’d never come out of a knitting store empty-handed.”

  That made her smile briefly. “You’re right. I would have bought something. I was actually going there to pick up a special order, some alpaca yarn in the most gorgeous shades of aqua, cobalt, and navy. I’m making a scarf for my sister. But they were closed. I thought I could get there before they closed, but MaryAnn had to leave early and she closed up at noon that day. I drove back home.”

  “Well, what did you do the rest of the afternoon?” I asked.

  “I knitted.”

  “Of course.” What else would she be doing? If she wasn’t taking care of squadron spouse business, then she was usually knitting.

  She tossed her purse on the counter and pointed through the doorway. “Right there in the living room, and believe me, if I’d known I was going to need an alibi I would have called someone, or asked someone over, or gone for a walk, but you know me, once I get into a project, I can’t stop. I did show Detective Waraday the throw I finished,” she stopped and suddenly laughed. “You know what? I just realized how funny that is. ‘Here, Detective, here’s my alibi.’” She was laughing harder now and I smiled along with her, but I didn’t think it was quite as funny as she did. Half laughing, half gasping for breath, she said, “I gave the man a throw as an alibi.”

  It was kind of funny when you thought about it, but it wasn’t that funny. Okay, this was not good. Denise was losing it, laughing, but on the verge of tears, too. She drew a long breath and I relaxed as she seemed to get a grip on herself. She dropped down at the kitchen table and I handed her a bottled water. “Do you think your sister is back from the store?” I asked.

  She sipped the bottle, then listened, “Yes, she’s back. I can hear the TV upstairs. She always has the news on.”

  Denise set down the bottle and picked up the page of names we’d left when we’d rushed out the door. “We have to see where these people were on Saturday. It’s hardly anything, but it’s all I’ve got at this point.”

  “I don’t think we need to do that, Denise.”

  “Yes, we do.” The paper wrinkled in her tight grip. “If you don’t help me, I’ll do it on my own.”

  She’d certainly showed her determination earlier. She would have walked out that door without me, no hesitation.

  And look how she came back, deflated and devastated, my conscience whispered. She was obviously going to pursue this with or without me. She was too emotionally fragile to do this on her own.

  “Let me take a look,” I said and she handed me the paper.

  Chapter Six

  I skipped over Colonel Barnes’s name. I didn’t have any connection to him. He didn’t live in our neighborhood and even if I did see him at some squadron function, a lieutenant colonel was well above Mitch’s rank of major, and I couldn’t think of any reason I’d have to speak to him. But Denise was looking at me with such hope in her gaze that I said, “Well, I do know Henry’s wife, Megan. She won four hours of free organizing last spring at the squadron raffle.”

  In between diaper changes and carpool duty, I had a part-time organizing business called Everything in Its Place. “I haven’t seen her much since Tyler was born, but she joined the stroller brigade—that’s a workout group in my neighborhood—last week so I could talk to her and see what they were doing on Saturday. Carrie hasn’t had much contact with anyone, so she’d be harder to talk to, but Abby lives close to her on base, so I might get Abby to go with me to see her.” Hadn’t Abby said something about inviting her to the supper club?

  “Wonderful! That’s a start.”

  “But you have to promise to call Detective Waraday and give him the letters from Carrie.”

  “I will,” she said reluctantly.

  “All right ladies, time to cool down for a stretch.”

  I parked my stroller beside Megan Fleet and she murmured, “Thank God. I haven’t been this exhausted since I gave birth.”

  “I know. The first few workouts are real killers, aren’t they?”

  The sound of a rifle shot cracked through the air and I flinched, half-ducking before it registered that the sound was far away, not like the one on the day of the family reunion. Megan stared at me, puzzled. “You okay?”

  I stood up straight. “Yeah, just a little jittery,” I said as I pulled off my baseball cap and wiped my damp forehead before more sweat dripped off my eyebrows and ran into my eyes. The humidity was intense even at ten in the morning, despite the trace of a breeze. I’d been doing the stroller brigade workout for almost two years, but I was still beat at the end of each session. It had gotten easier, but the combination of cardio and toning still challenged me, partly because Tina, the leader, showed us different levels of intensity for each section of the workout.

  “Mom, can we go play now?” Livvy asked impatiently. I unhooked the straps that held Livvy and Nathan in the double stroller. At five, Livvy was one of the oldest kids in the group and looked like a giant compared to the toddlers making their way unsteadily around the neighborhood playground, the starting and ending point of the workout. I felt a bit sad as I watched her swiftly climb to the top of the play fort. Only a few days and she’d start kindergarten.

  Tina called out, “Extend your right leg behind you for a good calf stretch. Take your time. You need it after those hills.”

  I gripped the handle of the stroller and leaned into the stretch, thinking about Megan and Denise. I realized I’d missed Tina’s prompt to switch to the other leg, which was typical of today’s workout. I couldn’t keep my “mind in my muscle” as Tina was always reminding us to do. I’d been thinking about Denise and Colonel Pershall’s death.

  Denise’s dramatic shifts in attitude yesterday had been a bit extreme. I switched to arm stretches and decided that there pr
obably wasn’t a “normal” reaction when your spouse is murdered. With that awful situation, any reaction she had was legitimate. And if talking to Megan could help Denise, I’d do it.

  We finished with several deep cleansing breaths and then all hit our water bottles. The group usually didn’t break up right away. I drifted toward the park benches with Megan.

  “Wait, you dropped something,” I said as I picked up a pale blue blanket that had fallen out of her stroller’s basket. “I remember you knitting this during one of the spouse coffees,” I said, handing it to her.

  “That’s a stretch—saying I knitted it.” She stuffed it back in the basket and parked the stroller. “I had to rip out so much and have Denise fix it. In the end, I gave up. She finished it for me.” She disengaged Tyler’s car seat from the stroller base and walked with me over to the park benches. I could see his tiny pink toes kicking above the edge of the car seat. She plopped down on the bench and laughed. “In fact, I cleaned out all my knitting stash and threw it away the next day. Henry came in and found me tossing everything in the trash. I told him I was so frustrated that Denise had to finish the blanket for me and I was never knitting again. By the time I described how she put the needles back in their plastic bag—she was almost reverent about it, do you remember? Anyway, by then, I’d cooled down and felt a little foolish for tossing everything. I’d spent a small fortune on yarn alone. Henry talked me into keeping everything.

  “Do you knit?” she asked as she rocked Tyler’s car seat with her foot. “I’ve still got all my needles and yarn packed away. I stuffed everything in those bins in the garage you helped me organize. I thought I might eventually try knitting again, but I don’t really have any desire to knit, not to mention any time. Do you want my leftover yarn and needles?”

  “No. Thanks, though. I tried knitting before Livvy was born. I’ve got everything, needles, yarn, and those little stitch markers. I actually completed a very simple pink baby blanket.” Normally, organizing is about as crafty as I get, but I’d loved the soft, beautiful yarns. I’d started a scarf next, but had never finished it. I’d been too busy after Livvy was born to pick it up again. I made a mental note to give it another try. I had Denise around now, too, to help me when I got stuck, so I really should make another attempt.

  “Hey, how’s the storage system working out?” I asked.

  “Good. It’s about time for me to get out those bins where we put the bigger size clothes and see what Tyler can wear now. That was a good idea to put them away until he grew into them. It freed up a lot of space in his room.”

  “I’m glad it’s working for you.” Unlike some of my organizing clients who wanted me with them at each stage of the project, Megan only needed me to get her started on the right track. She’d completed the project on her own. “So do you like the workout?” I asked.

  “I don’t think like is the right word. I need the workout,” she said as she adjusted her white-blond ponytail. “I gained thirty pounds with Tyler and I’ve got to do something to get rid of the weight. I look like a cow,” she said, rocking the car seat with her foot.

  I glanced down at the car seat. Tyler waved his fat fists and stared at the alternating pattern of sun and shade that flickered over us as the wind gently brushed through the tall loblolly pines overhead. He had a patch of brown flyaway hair that stuck up an inch from his scalp and make him look like he had a Mohawk. The wind teased at the tuft of hair.

  “You look great. How old is Tyler now? Six months?” Megan wasn’t overweight, or even slightly overweight. She looked normal, healthy.

  “Yep, six months last week,” she said. “I’ve been working out and watching what I eat, but I’ve only been able to lose twenty pounds. No matter what people say, breastfeeding doesn’t make you skinny again.” She patted her stomach. “I’ve still got ten pounds to go and it’s all right here. I hope this workout combined with weight workouts at the gym will get me back in shape. I suppose I should be glad that I’ve dropped the weight I have. It’s amazing that I’ve been able to lose anything, considering I’m surrounded by food all the time,” she said dryly.

  “Really, you look great.” Megan had a part-time business baking cakes. The squadron had ordered one for the last spouse coffee, a three-layer chocolate concoction, and it had been delicious. Megan hadn’t eaten even a bite of it. Her willpower blew my mind. Pass up a three-layer chocolate cake? Unthinkable.

  “Thanks, but Caroline Corriday’s wearing a bikini now. Her son was born two weeks after Tyler,” Megan said, naming the star of a popular TV crime drama. “I saw it in People.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from saying what I really wanted to say. Megan looked really good, considering she’d had a baby six months ago and that those images in the media of moms who regain their pre-baby body in a few weeks have given us a warped idea of what’s normal. But I didn’t feel like I knew her well enough to be that honest. Instead, I took a breath, one of those deep ones that Tina was always instructing us to take, and shifted my attention to why I really wanted to talk to her.

  “So how was your weekend?”

  “Let’s see, nothing very exciting happened. Henry finally left on Saturday morning, thank God. I can get so much more done when he’s not under my feet.” A few fussy cries came from Tyler and Megan spun a rattle attached to the car seat handle.

  “Really?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. He’s forever talking about how hard work is, how essential he is to the squadron, blah, blah, blah. I’m sure you hear it all, too.”

  I never liked it when Mitch left and opened my mouth to say so, but Megan chattered on, “I mean, it really is so much easier when they’re gone, isn’t it? Less laundry, fewer dishes, and I don’t have to listen to his jabbering about squadron politics, which I’m completely sick of, let me tell you.” She gave the rattle an extra hard spin.

  I was afraid she was going to tell me about it in detail. I hurriedly said, “So Henry’s TDY. Where’s he going?” TDY was the military acronym for Temporary Duty, which meant that Henry was out of town on a short flying assignment.

  Megan shrugged. “West Coast. California or Hawaii, I think.”

  “Oh, the medical support flight to Hawaii, where they do their training in the back of the jet during the flight?” The trip came up several times on the schedule, but it wasn’t as glamorous as the destination made it sound. Mitch had flown that mission before and it involved very little time actually on the ground in Hawaii. I glanced over to check on Livvy and Nathan. They were both sitting in the shade of the slide digging busily in the dirt. Megan said, “I guess so. He should be back for the supper club at Abby’s this week,” Megan said.

  “Oh, that’s right.” I’d forgotten the meeting was this week.

  Megan lowered her voice and leaned over. “Have you heard anything about Colonel Pershall?” We’d talked briefly about Colonel Pershall’s death at the beginning of the workout, but the workout had ended that discussion.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “I’ll be glad when Henry gets back. I hate it that he’s gone right now. It’s…creepy, knowing someone out there did that to Colonel Pershall. I don’t even like to think about it, but I can’t help it, especially at night. Five Pines isn’t that far from here.”

  I could sympathize. Being alone was a major part of being a military spouse and, often, the nights were the worst. “Hey, we’re right around the corner, call us if you need anything. Anything. You’ve got our number, right?”

  “Yeah, Denise made up that spouse recall roster, which I thought was clever. The guys always have a way to get in touch, but we hardly ever do.”

  “I know. Denise has done some great things.”

  “What do you think will happen to the squadron? Who do you think will be the new squadron commander?”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t even thought about it,” I said, running my hand across my sweaty forehead and then repositioning my baseball cap.

  “I ta
lked to Henry on the phone this morning. He thinks it will be Colonel Barnes.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Henry says Colonel Barnes has been angling for the position and was really angry when he got the D.O. slot instead.”

  I sorted through squadron acronyms in my mind, and matched “D.O.” with director of operations, essentially the second in command under the squadron commander. “I guess he would be next in line, but I wonder if they’ll bring someone new in.” The squadron had different slots, different jobs, that the pilots held. Like a pyramid, the idea was that you gradually worked your way up to the top, the squadron commander. Holding different positions was critical for promotion, but complicating the system was the fact that slots were assigned by the squadron commander and it often seemed to me that it was whim, chance, or friendship that determined how the slots were filled.

  “I don’t know. God, I hate to even think about what a shake-up this will cause.” Megan slumped back against the bench. “The maneuvering in the squadron is driving Henry crazy. He didn’t get the in-residence AQS slot he wanted and he was so upset.”

  Just like teachers who continued their education in the summer, the military had many schools that you could attend to enhance your promotion chances. Some were only a few weeks, but others were as long as a year and required moving to the base where they were taught. The same classes, like AQS, short for Advanced Qualifying School, were also taught by correspondence, but it looked better to take the classes “in residence.”

  Mitch had a chance to go next year. He was on the list to attend in residence, but he was trying to switch to the correspondence course. We didn’t want to move right after Livvy’s first year of school. Some guys would have pushed for the school and the move because it would be a good career move, but I was glad Mitch had a bigger picture that included how changes would impact the kids.

  “Henry’s so stressed right now,” Megan said.