Banana Muffins & Mayhem

by Janel Gradowski

  "That's so sweet. She loves her momma." Amy squinted at her. She tilted her head to the side and said, "Shepler may be doing okay, but I can see you aren't. Do you want to talk about it?"

  Amy's intuition was working exceptionally well. Carla had always admired her friend's ability to go with her gut feelings. Sometimes her decisions seemed impulsive, but most things worked out marvelously. How wonderful would it be to live life without overanalyzing everything? Carla looked past Amy, staring at the window behind her. Because she just wasn't capable of making eye contact.

  "Do you want to go outside?" Amy asked. "I bet you could use some fresh air."

  That was an understatement. She needed air in a bad way, fresh or not. "Sure. That sounds like a good idea."

  Carla stopped at the check-in desk to let the receptionist know she was stepping outside for a few minutes. When the automatic door slid open, the hot air slammed into her. Had it been that warm when she ran into the ER? She locked her fingers together behind her neck and pulled down to try to release some of the tension that was making her shoulders ache. "I don't know why, but I can't stand to hang out in the emergency room anymore. I've spent so much of my life here, yet today, I feel like a caged animal. The controlled chaos I used to thrive on feels wrong and disorienting to me now."

  "You weren't worried about your husband being shot for the majority of the time you worked here."

  Once again, Amy's comments had pinpoint accuracy. Carla kicked a chunk of brown mulch which was on the sidewalk. The lump of tree bark tumbled over the cement before landing back in the flower bed where it had come from. "You're right. It's like I've completely blocked out the fact that he goes after killers with low levels of morality and compassion. Killing a cop to save themselves from going to prison probably isn't a difficult decision once they've already committed murder."

  "Thinking about those kinds of things constantly would drive you crazy." Amy shrugged. "Not dwelling on them has let you be happy with your husband instead of worrying every second he's away from you that something bad will happen. It's a survival skill."

  "Did you start some kind of advice column on your blog?" Carla wrapped her arm around Amy's shoulders and squeezed. "You are spouting some seriously good wisdom today."

  "Really? That doesn't happen often, so I'm glad I can help. Because we both know I tend to go more for nonsensical rambling than solid advice."

  They laughed as they paused in front of a small pond teaming with tiny silver fish. Carla stared at the dark water. "Coming here today, walking back into the mayhem and stress…I know I made the right decision to quit. But I'm not sure I can handle being a stay-at-home mom either. I feel like I'm lost. Nothing seems right. Maybe I'm just too sleep deprived to think straight."

  "Or maybe you haven't found your true calling for this point in your life."

  Carla giggled. It was so odd to have the friendship tables turned. Amy raised her left eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

  "I have all kinds of wild ideas running through my head, and you're being completely practical. It feels like Topsy-Turvy Day. All I need to do is figure out how to cook, and our role reversal will be complete."

  "I usually appreciate your sensibility checks, so I'm thrilled that I've been able to help you in the same way." Amy turned to face Carla instead of the pond. "Being a mom is a fantastic thing, but that is never a woman's entire life. You don't have to be just a nurse or just a stay-at-home mom, especially if you don't feel completely happy focusing on one thing. I liked cutting hair, but I never really felt satisfied until I began developing recipes. It's sort of like the perfect pair of shoes. Until you find them, you have no idea you could be so comfortable. It's just a matter of finding the right style and size."

  "If that's the case, then I'm walking through the shoe store during a power outage. I can't see anything that appeals to me."

  Amy held her hands out, palms up. "You know I'm always up for a shoe shopping trip. Maybe I can come up with a flashlight to help."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Amy sighed with relief when she stepped onto the landing. Stairs and snack trays were a challenging combination. Rather miraculously, all of the crackers were still on the metal platter with the bowls of dip roughly centered among them. Her balancing skills were playing nice that evening. It was much more likely that she would've left a trail of crackers in the stairwell. As she began walking down the hallway, a man emerged from Geri's apartment. Amy nodded a greeting to him as their paths crossed. He was probably in his early thirties, with light-brown hair and blue eyes. Very good looking and very obviously younger than Carla's mother.

  What was he doing in Geri's apartment?

  Since Alex was working late again, Geri had insisted that she come to another wine and whine evening. The girls' night out probably would've made Carla feel better too, but she was home—in her own words—clinging to her husband. After the couple returned home from the emergency room, she had learned more about what had transpired with the shooting. A murder suspect had panicked when Shepler knocked on his door and decided to try to shoot his way out of the situation. Luckily, the guy didn't have great aim, and the bullet ended up barely clipping Shepler's arm. But the wound was only a few inches away from his heart. Scary. She didn't blame Carla for spending the evening snuggling with her, thankfully, barely-injured husband.

  Amy tapped on the wooden door with her free hand. A couple seconds later, Geri answered. A wide smile spread across her face, and she said, "Hello! I'm so glad you could join us again."

  "I had so much fun the last time. How could I resist?" She slipped off her shoes and used her foot to slide them over to the other footwear congregated beside the welcome mat. "Thank you for inviting me again. But I'm curious—who was the man who just left?" She looked at Charlotte and Tommy, who were already sitting on the floor cushions in the living room. "Is one of you a cougar?"

  Tommy snorted and pointed her thumb at Charlotte. "She likes to think she is, but you have to get the younger guys to actually go out with you to be considered a cougar. Charlotte just likes to look and pretend. She takes the say it and you will become it approach."

  Charlotte shot her sister a death ray of annoyance look and then turned to smile at Amy. "To answer your question…the man you saw was Isaac, my son. He is going to fix the leaky faucet in Geri's kitchen and stopped by to see what he needs to bring with him for the job."

  Heat crept up Amy's neck and settled in her cheeks. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I know you mentioned a son. I didn't think he would be older than his late teens or early twenties."

  Tommy cupped her hand beside her mouth and whispered loudly, "She's old."

  Charlotte shook her head. Her scarlet-red hair was so bright that it seemed to glow in the diffused lamplight. "I'm flattered. I got pregnant with him when I was in college. Life hasn't always been easy, but we made it. I'm so proud of the man he's become. It was difficult to find husbands when he was little, but everything worked out."

  "Notice she said husbands, with an S." Tommy laid her open hand on her chest, over her heart and a strap buckle for her overalls. "I haven't had even one husband or a child, and my life has worked out just fine also. To each her own."

  Amy was still standing in front of the door, staring in amazement at the sisterly verbal sparring. It was unlike anything she had ever witnessed before. She smiled at Geri when she exchanged a glass of white wine for the snack tray. "Thank you."

  "Find a comfortable pillow, and settle in for a while."

  There was a low table in the center of the arrangement of pillows. It reminded Amy of a table at a Japanese teahouse. Geri slid the platter of homemade cornmeal crackers, mango salsa, and avocado hummus next to the other plates of snacks as Amy settled onto a cushion that faced the window. Had Geri told the other women about her fear of parenting issues, or was she just being paranoid that the topic had strayed in that direction?

  It didn't really matter. After the last discussion with Geri about motherhood, Amy h
ad come to a realization. If people wondered why she didn't have children, they would come up with their own reasons anyway—either surmising that she had fertility problems or that she chose not to have them. So she had decided to stop worrying about what others would think or thought she should do and made a decision based entirely on what she knew she wanted in her heart. She was not going to be a mom.

  Geri nudged Amy's arm with her elbow. "What do you think of that?"

  A conversation had been going on, and Amy had missed it all because she was lost in her own thoughts. Sometimes it was like a cornfield maze in her head—very easy to get turned around. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about something. What's going on?"

  Tommy smiled sympathetically. She ran her hands over her ultra-short cropped hair, which without the addition of colored gel, looked rather like peach fuzz that evening. "It's okay. I zone out most of the time when Charlotte talks too."

  Amy laughed. She couldn't help it. The zingers between the sisters could be interpreted as being mean or cruel by observers, but neither one seemed to take much offense. It seemed to be more of a game than actual animosity.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Never mind my sister. She likes to pretend she's making funny quips." She plucked her glass of wine off the table and held it up toward Amy. "I was just saying that I agree with Geri—something isn't right about the Old House/New Style production crew. It doesn't seem right that they would want a cast who lives so far away from the set house. I think they're sticking around for another reason too. Geri may be correct that they're trying to cover up some kind of evidence which could connect them to the murder. Since they've approached all of us about being on the show, do you realize we all could've been face-to-face with a cold-blooded killer? It makes me shudder to think about it."

  "You are such a drama queen. Sometimes it makes me shudder to listen to you." Tommy leaned back against the front of the couch, propped her legs into inverted Vs in front of her, and rested her hands on the threadbare knees of the baggy overalls. "They've talked to Aubergine from The Inkwell too about being on the show. She came into the studio to work on a piece this morning and told me."

  Geri raised her hand. "They've approached Rori too. She chatted with me about it when we ran into each other at Riverbend this morning. They told her they wanted to add exercise segments to the new version of the show."

  Amy leaned forward to grab a napkin and chocolate no-bake cookie which had already been on the table when she arrived. "So they're getting us all excited about being on the show to distract us from discovering that they're killers?"

  Tommy shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. In all seriousness, think about how odd it is for them to ask Charlotte about auditioning to be the new host. She would just reverse all of the changes that have been made to the house so far and return it to its original appearance. Her decorating style is the polar opposite of Phoebe's. That one show, where she had all of the stained-wood moldings painted in neon colors…I thought Charlotte was going to attack the TV."

  Charlotte's entire body visibly trembled. Her white silk poet's blouse shimmered from the exaggerated shiver of disgust. "I don't understand people who buy old houses and then completely modernize them. Go buy a new house if you want sleek design with an open concept. History should be preserved, not ripped out and replaced with cork flooring, glass tiles, and skylights. I just refused to take on a client who wanted to do that to an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Refurbish, not replace, is my motto when it comes to historic homes."

  The list of people who Nigel and Ginny were talking to was getting larger by the day. Apparently, none of them were standing out in the production company's eyes. They certainly were casting a wide net in their search for talent in Kellerton. If that was what they were actually doing. Amy took several gulps of wine to wash down the chilling realization that had just come to her. Instead of helping, the rush of liquid made her cough as though she had contracted pneumonia. The other women looked at her with concern as she tried to cough up a lung. Once she could breathe and talk again, she shared the source of her torture. "Everybody that they're talking to about being on the new show was around Phoebe at the Cabin Fever Cure. Since we all had contact with her—much of it unpleasant—theoretically we could all be possible suspects. Going on the theory that Nigel and Ginny committed the murder, they may be looking for someone to implicate—to draw attention away from themselves—instead of new cast members. So who better to blame the murder on than a person who was recently upset or annoyed by her?"

  "If the police come calling, I guess I'll know who to blame—Scruffy and Princess." Tommy drained her glass. The wine guzzling habit was going around. "How do we prove what they're doing, if that is what they're doing?"

  "That's a million-dollar question." Geri plucked the bottle of chardonnay out of the pedestal ice bucket, which seemed to be a fixture at the wine-filled evenings. She refilled Amy's and Tommy's glasses then said, "I think we'll need more wine to come up with the answer."

  If only wine was the best way to solve a murder. While the sisters were excited about the lingering production company staff as suspects, Amy knew there were more people who could've committed the crime. And none of them seemed to fit in with the killer television show crew theory. Had Geri told them about the possible blood on Mick's workshop wall? And what about the mystery man in the Quantum shirt who Phoebe was at the bar with?

  A chattering sound coming from the window made Amy jump. A bit of wine splashed from her filled-to-the-top glass and landed on her thigh. "What was that?"

  "The wind rattling that loose pane of glass again," Charlotte said. "I need to get Isaac to check that out too. These old buildings have tons of character, but they're challenging to live in sometimes."

  Even though she knew it was wind causing the sound, Amy's heart was still galloping out of control. She set her glass on the table so that she wouldn't end up wearing all of the wine. "You know, I would really like to get some fresh air. Do you mind if I go up to the roof?" Amy asked as she stood up.

  Geri gave her a puzzled look. "I'll come with you. A few of the seeds I planted are beginning to sprout already, so I can check on them to make sure they have enough water."

  As soon as they were out the door Geri asked, "What's wrong? You're as white as a ghost."

  There was no easy way to explain the huge, irrational leap her mind had made. So she just blurted it out. "I want to make sure Alex's building is okay. I know it was just the wind, but it made me think of an explosion rattling windows. And he's probably still at the office right now."

  Geri nodded. When they reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she flipped the switch to turn on the outdoor lights then unlocked the door. Amy brushed past her and ran to the corner of the roof where she could best see Quantum's building. There were lights on in various offices. No glow from fires or reflections of emergency vehicle lights. The wind played with her hair as though it was a spirit tugging on her ponytail. She could see people moving in one of the offices. Even from a distance, she recognized that the tall broad-shouldered man was Alex. It felt vaguely inappropriate to stay there watching him. She was being a Peeping Amy, but she couldn't help it. There was no way to forget the terror of seeing the Dumpster fire raging at the side of the building he was in.

  When she turned around, she found Geri curled up in one of the wicker chairs. "Satisfied that he's okay?" she asked.

  "Yes. Everything looks fine. It was just my overactive imagination playing games with my emotions."

  "Sometimes thoughts are out of control freight trains." Geri uncurled her legs and stood up. "Believe me, I can sympathize after everything that has gone on with Mick. But I think the things we've thought of tonight could lead to the killer. When that person is found, you'll be able to stop jumping at rattling windows, I can enjoy my new romance, and we can both get back to being normal again."

  "If you ask your daughter, I'm sure she would tell you I have never b
een normal."

  Geri tipped her head back and laughed. "I bet she'd say the same thing about me too."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Amy stuck the red plastic coffee stirrer into the layer of foamy milk and drew a tiny line and then another. The barista had made a coffee art kitten on the top of her buttered rum latte, and Amy had just added the finishing touch to match the situation—devil's horns. It certainly felt as if she was meeting with the devil or at least one of his minions. That is, if she and Geri were on the correct path to finding the killer.

  At least she felt relatively safe surrounded by a packed house of Riverbend Café customers and employees who were almost like family to her after working with them for over a year. If she was attacked by a switchblade or even one of the café's mugs, which were so sturdy that she had seen them dropped on the hardwood floor resulting in not even a chip or crack, surely someone would come to her rescue. She checked the time on her phone. Ginny was five minutes late. More time to go over the questions she planned to ask and work at crossing all of her fingers and toes that the assistant wouldn't catch on to what she was really trying to figure out. Why were she and Nigel really still in Kellerton?

  "Sorry I'm late," Ginny said as she plopped down in the chair on the other side of the table.

  A tidal surge of adrenalin pulsed through Amy, right into the arm which was cradling the coffee mug. The latte art devil kitten came to life as her rattled nerves jiggled the cup. A tan stain bloomed on the napkin under the mug. Great way to start off the meeting. She had been so busy going over what she would say while staring at the fireplace, she hadn't realized Ginny had arrived. So now, thanks to the case of jitters, she was even more on edge. She forced herself to smile and said, "No problem. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me."