Mint Juleps, Mayhem, and Murder

by Sara Rosett

  “So the funeral will be…?” I asked.

  “Thursday at one o’clock at the chapel,” she said, her voice softer.

  I nodded, understanding that she meant the service would take place at the base chapel.

  “There will be a graveside service at Roseview Meadows,” Denise said, naming one of the large cemeteries in North Dawkins. She paused and looked down at the books. “I really didn’t know where to have him buried. We spent the last twenty years moving back and forth across the country. We haven’t been back to Pennsylvania since his parents died and it’s just my family down in Florida, so North Dawkins seems as good a place as any.”

  Would that be Mitch and me in ten or twenty years, I wondered? After skipping around the country, would any place feel like home? But then I thought of Mitch’s boisterous, rambling family and my roots in Texas and knew we’d always have family to return to, unlike Denise, who seemed very alone right now.

  I asked, “Anything we can do to help?” We were speaking quietly, almost reverently, as if we were in a church and couldn’t make too much noise.

  “Not with anything at the chapel. They’re used to funerals and have them down to a routine there, it seems. If you could leave the graveside service a little early and go to the O Club to make sure everything is ready there, that would help me out.”

  “Of course, I can do that,” I said.

  Abby said, “Maybe we should go. If we’re not here, your…student might come back.”

  Denise broke the somber mood and spoke in her regular tone of voice again as she said, “No, he’s long gone for today. You might as well stay for a while.” She moved into the living room, sat down in a chair positioned near their large front window, and picked up her knitting. “Tell me what Carrie said, besides insinuating I’m behaving like someone on a soap opera,” she added, positioning a swath of blue knitted cloth so that it fell across her lap like a wave of water.

  As we sat down on the couch, I said, “Those are interesting needles.” I’d only used the traditional long metal knitting needles. Denise held up thick metal needles that were connected with a wire cord. “They’re circular needles.”

  Abby leaned in for a closer look. “I’ve heard these are great.”

  “They’re so much lighter and I don’t have to purl as long as I’m knitting in the round. I can knit every row, which is faster for me.”

  “I’m working on a scarf,” I said, studying the needles.

  Abby did a double take and Denise stared at me as she said, “You? You knit?”

  “Well, I’m certainly not in the same class as you, but I did make a baby blanket. Very basic stuff.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’d love to see what you’re working on,” Denise said as she resumed knitting.

  “That’s good, because I’m counting on you to help me fix my mistakes. Maybe I should get some needles like those.” I was amazed at how fast her needles flashed in and out of the yarn.

  “So, about Carrie?” Denise asked, as she adjusted the position of the ball of yarn.

  “Well, she says she has an alibi, but I didn’t come right out and ask her what it was and she didn’t volunteer it.”

  Her needles clicked out a quiet rhythm as Denise said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m not putting much faith in what she says.”

  “Detective Waraday and the OSI agent visited her. She wasn’t happy about that and she’s so bitter and angry. “

  Denise shrugged. “I suppose that’s to be expected. Anger is one of the stages of grief, isn’t it? That’s what my counselor told me when my dad died. Of course, I was fifteen then, and angry about a lot of things anyway, but she told me it was natural to feel angry.”

  I glanced at Abby and she said, “Denise, I’m no expert, but it’s not just that she was mad at Colonel Pershall and, by extension, you. She’s furious in a cold, almost calculating way. I think she’s a little messed up right now,” Abby summarized.

  I thought that was a huge understatement. “The whole thing with watching your house is slightly disturbing. I think you should be careful.”

  Denise stopped knitting and looked from one of us to the other. “You think she’s…dangerous?”

  “Have you seen her lately?” I asked.

  “No, not since the memorial service. Like I told you, she’s not returning my calls or answering the door when I go over.”

  “She’s completely different. No crying now, only cold fury. It’s not healthy. You should be careful,” I said.

  “Lock your doors and all that,” Abby added. The base was probably the safest neighborhood in town. Crime in base housing was practically nonexistent. The frequent security police patrols and the fact that everyone pretty much knew everyone else kept break-ins and other crime down. Of course, since it was so safe, people had a tendency not to be quite as vigilant as they would have been off base. I’d been with Abby several times when she left her house unlocked when we went to the playground.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Denise said. “I’ll be fine. After all, this is the ultimate gated community.”

  Tips for Busy, Budget-Minded Moms

  Daily calendars, which break the day down into hours, can be an invaluable tool for people with busy schedules and many appointments each day. They can also be a handy way to see if you’re doing too much. Take one week and block out your days. List all your weekly activities, like work, commuting, committee meetings, exercise, shopping, picking up and dropping off kids, cleaning, volunteering, and relaxing. You might see ways to rearrange your schedule to free up more time or you might realize that you literally have more to do than hours in the day and need to reassess your activities.

  Chapter Nine

  “Why do I have to wait until Thursday to go to school?” Livvy said with a sigh.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll go by quickly and then you’ll be in school for years and years. Enjoy your last days of freedom.”

  She looked at me, her eyebrows pressed down, confused. “But I want to go to school.”

  “I know. And I’m sure you’ll love it.” I didn’t understand why, but the first day of the school year was Thursday. I supposed Thursday and Friday would be spent mostly letting the kids adjust to their class and the new routine. Livvy and I were going through her school supplies. I handed her a box of crayons.

  The first notes of “Livin’ La Vida Loca” sounded from my purse. I answered, rolling my eyes, hoping Mitch had gotten a call today, too. How did he manage to change the ringtones without me noticing? I needed a belt clip so I could keep my phone on me all the time. That would show him.

  As soon as I answered, Mitch said, “Funny.” I could hear guffaws in the background. He must have gotten a call and immediately called me after he ended the earlier call.

  “See, it’s not so funny when it happens to you, is it?” I asked. I’d set his phone to play “Danger Zone” from Top Gun, a movie that Mitch and most other pilots couldn’t stand. “Two can play at your game,” I said as I heard someone shout, “Hey, Mitch, are you on that road? You know—the one that leads to the danger zone,” followed by more laughter.

  “Let the games begin,” Mitch said rather determinedly.

  “Oh, I think they already have.”

  “Fine. I was calling to tell you I don’t need you to pick me up.”

  Nathan patted the refrigerator door and said, “Snack. Snack time.” Livvy waved her new extra thick pencils in my face and I lost track of what Mitch was saying. When I held up a finger, meaning wait a minute, Nathan’s request became a chant and Livvy waved her pencils more frantically. Why was it that when I was on the phone everyone wanted to talk to me? It looked like I needed to go over the phone rules again.

  I grabbed the pencils before Livvy managed to put my eye out and handed them each a cheese stick, which bought me a few moments of peace, so I was able to concentrate on Mitch. He was saying, “Jeff gave me a ride to pick up my car at lunch. The tire and air bag are fixed, but I’ll ha
ve to take it back in next week to get the dent fixed.”

  I didn’t want to ask how much it would cost to fix the dent. I knew bodywork was expensive, but I was crossing my fingers that our insurance would pick up part of it. We were still paying on the new minivan and we couldn’t afford a huge repair bill for Mitch’s car. I was thankful that his car had only minor damage. At least we still had only one car payment.

  I wanted to focus on slightly less stressful things at the moment. After dealing with Carrie, I needed to keep things simple. “Hey, do you know where the pencil sharpener is? We bought the rest of the school supplies today. I think Livvy wants to sharpen one of her pencils and try them out.” When she heard my words, she nodded energetically. “Is it in the storage shed?”

  “Yeah, I think I had it out there last week. Ah—I put a new lock on the shed door.”

  “Really?”

  “Just thought it would be a good idea.” His voice sounded evasive, not like his usual relaxed drawl. “I’ll be home soon. I’ll get it for you.”

  Mitch helped me out around the house, but that was going a bit far. “Thanks, but I think I can manage by myself. Why did you change the lock?”

  “I figured it couldn’t hurt. The Winthrops had a break-in while they were on vacation.” He told me where to find the key—he’d put it on a hidden nail on the inside of the fence—then said he had to go. He hung up so quickly I barely had time to say good-bye.

  After walking up and down the fence three times, I finally found the nail with the shiny new key, hidden behind one of the posts. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d hidden it. I’d never have found it if I didn’t know it was there.

  I opened the shed, found the pencil sharpener on his workbench, and was on my way out when I stopped and looked back at the workbench. The leaf blower was gone. I tilted my head and walked around the small space, checking all the crevices and possible storage spots. It wasn’t there.

  I locked everything and went back inside, frowning. I helped Livvy sharpen a few pencils, then set her up with a tablet of paper. Nathan immediately joined her. Anything she could do, he had to try, too. I dialed Mitch’s number. I was sure he’d already changed the ringtone. When he answered, I said, “Did you know the leaf blower isn’t in the storage shed?”

  “Yeah, I forgot to tell you about that,” he said quickly. “Jeff’s borrowing it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. You were out shopping. I came by and picked it up this afternoon after I got the car. There’s Colonel Barnes. I have to go. Bye.”

  I hung up the phone. Mitch and I were usually pretty honest with each other, so alarm bells were going off in my head at his evasive tone and quick escape from the conversation. It was the same tone he’d used a few years ago when he planned a surprise birthday party for me. Somehow, I didn’t think a surprise party was in the works. I wanted to call Abby and ask if Jeff really did have the leaf blower, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too underhanded, I decided. I’d just ask Mitch about it when he got home.

  The phone rang in my hand, playing “Livin’ La Vida Loca” again. I had to change that ringtone. I didn’t recognize the number on the display, but I did know the area code, Alabama. It had to be one of Mitch’s relatives.

  “Ellie, this is Dan.”

  “Dan! How are you?” I said, wondering why he’d call again so soon after his last call. We usually didn’t hear from him for months at a time.

  “Much better. Back to running and I’m doing a mountain bike race this weekend.”

  “That’s great. I’m glad to hear it. And how’s Felicity?”

  “Doing good. Feisty as ever.”

  I took that to mean she was still upset about his training, but didn’t pursue the topic. Instead, I said, “Mitch isn’t here, he’s still at work.”

  “That’s okay. Just tell him thanks for the coin. It’s outstanding.”

  “Coin?”

  “Yeah, a military coin. It’s got his jet on one side and a symbol on the other side, a hawk on a shield-type thing of blue, yellow, and black. Something to do with the squadron, right?”

  “That’s the squadron patch. I’ll tell him you got the coin and that you like it,” I said.

  “Great. I really should get something like this going with my buddies at work. You know, take on the whole nerdy IT-guy reputation.”

  I had to smile at that. “Okay, Dan. Give that a try.”

  By the time Mitch got home, I’d almost forgotten about the missing leaf blower. Livvy and Nathan’s interest in drawing had lasted ten minutes. Livvy wanted to pack and unpack her new pink kitty backpack while Nathan cried because he didn’t have one. They were both tired from playing so hard in the jumpers and obstacle courses at Fun Time, but it was too late for a nap. We’d have to make it through the rest of the day somehow. I turned on some classic cartoons, which they loved more than any of the new shows. Livvy would adamantly protest that statement—she was too big for those “kiddie” shows, but she was practically immobilized when I let them watch Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck.

  With them settled, I went to cut up a honeydew melon to go with our rather unimaginative dinner of baked chicken and carrots. I’d had two carrot-free days, so I figured I could have some with supper tonight. Zucchini was still off the menu. I heard the garage door open and knew it was Mitch pulling in, which reminded me of the leaf blower. I cut the last of the melon and stowed it in the fridge, trying to decide whether I should bring up the missing leaf blower right away or wait until after dinner. After a few seconds, Mitch still hadn’t walked in. I rinsed my hands, checked the timer on the stove, and then headed for the back door.

  A tremendous boom, like a jet breaking the sound barrier, shook the house, rattling the china cabinet in the dining room. Nathan immediately burst into tears and Livvy looked at me with wide eyes. “What was that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said as I hurried over and wiped Nathan’s tears. He hiccupped a few times, then noticed that his cartoon was still on and he focused on it again. It was only a few seconds before Livvy, too, was enthralled in the action.

  I left them in the living room and hurried back into the garage where I met Mitch. He was holding the mail in one hand and his hat in the other, looking in the back window of his car.

  “What was that? A jet?” I asked. We sometimes heard jets from the base as they flew overhead and broke the sound barrier in a massive boom.

  “If it was, it would have to have been directly over our house to be that loud.”

  “What’s that in your car?” I asked, looking at a distorted piece of clear plastic through the partially rolled down window.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly as he placed the mail and his hat on the trunk and opened the door to the backseat. I was on the other side of the car and opened the other door.

  It took me a second to recognize that the clear plastic had been a two-liter plastic soda bottle. Mitch picked it up and twisted it around. An explosion had ruptured the base of the bottle, peeling back the plastic. It looked like some sort of exotic blooming flower with jagged petals.

  “Mitch, that was so loud. If you’d been in the car…”

  “I might not have my hearing,” he finished grimly.

  Suddenly, I dropped down into the backseat. If Mitch’s hearing was damaged, that could mean the end of his flying career. That fact seemed relatively minor when I thought of the other things that could have happened. If the explosion had happened when he’d been driving on the road, the sheer volume of the noise could have startled him so badly, he might have run off the road or crossed into on-coming traffic.

  “Could this have been a joke?” I asked. Practical jokes were almost standard issue in the military. One of the classics was the command to a new airman straight out of basic training to “get two hundred feet of flight line,” which is impossible. The flight line isn’t an actual line, but a specific area on the airfield. I frowned, looking at the bits of plastic. This situat
ion was too dangerous, even for the most extreme jokers in Mitch’s squadron.

  Mitch said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Someone must be trying to hurt you.” Even as I was saying the words, I couldn’t believe they were coming out of my mouth.

  “Afraid so,” he said and slid into the seat beside me.

  “You knew?” I asked.

  “I suspected.” He twisted the bottle in his fingers and the sharp edges twirled. “This pretty much confirms it.”

  I took the bent plastic from him, then scanned the car. Everything else in the car looked normal. “Where’s the rest of it?” From the sound that shook our house, I expected to see bits of metal and—I don’t know—wires. Something that looked like a bomb.

  “There is nothing else. It’s a dry ice bomb. Uncle Kenny made one for us when Dan and I were kids. You put dry ice in an empty soda bottle. As the ice warms, it changes into gas, carbon dioxide, I think. Anyway, pressure builds up and eventually the bottle explodes.”

  I handed the remnants of the bottle back to him. “I do remember seeing something about that on the Discovery Channel a while back. So that huge sound was from dry ice? That’s amazing something that simple can be so dangerous. But how did it get in—” I stopped. Like Abby and so many other people on base, Mitch didn’t lock his car doors when he was on the base. Just last week he’d forgotten a flash drive and I’d dropped it off for him. Because I was in a hurry, I’d simply found his car in the squadron parking lot and left the flash drive in the glove compartment. I hadn’t even called him, because I knew his car would be unlocked. The base was a safe place. Well, it used to be. Lately, it seemed like it was more dangerous than the shadiest parts of Atlanta. “Your car was unlocked this afternoon?” It was more of a statement than a question.