Murder in the Milk Case

by Spyglass Lane Mysteries

  God had answered my pleas, and so quickly. I stared into Max’s eyes, anticipation waking me up. That sounded like an excellent plan. Then I remembered that either Russ or I, possibly even both, might be arrested. I didn’t want anything to interfere with time alone with Max. I had to solve this mystery as quickly as possible.

  I smacked Daryl with a door in my hurry to get into the building to make my doctor’s appointment on time.

  “Oh. Sorry. Hi.” I looked up at him. I’d have to be late. I didn’t want to miss a chance to ask some questions. I thought about Corporal Fletcher’s comment about scum, but I just couldn’t see Daryl as a bad guy.

  “Hey, Trish.” He met my gaze.

  “Is your thumb okay?” I asked.

  “Uh, yeah.” He shifted from foot to foot.

  “Listen, Daryl, do you remember that our brothers were friends?”

  His lips tightened, and he didn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t remember a lot. Too painful. Always living in the shadow of a dead younger brother. My mom never recovered.”

  “I’m sorry.” I shifted my purse. “Have you gone to the sheriff’s office a lot to be questioned?”

  He glanced down at me. “Maybe a couple of times. Like everyone else. Listen, I gotta run. I’m, uh, temporary manager.”

  “That’s great,” I said.

  He smiled briefly. Then he turned and left.

  Well, that didn’t get me anywhere but more frustrated. I took a deep breath and went inside.

  A couple of minutes later, I was sitting on an examining table.

  White coat flapping, Dr. Bill Starling walked through the door of the examining room, holding my folder in his hand. “Trish, how is that stomach?”

  “It’s okay. Better, in fact. It was just coffee and stress.” I wanted to get my appointment out of the way and move on. I had a lot to think about.

  He pulled out his stethoscope. “Well, we can take care of you. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  Twenty minutes later, minus several vials of blood and other bodily fluids and holding a referral to a gastric specialist, I paid my bill and left the clinic. Bill promised to call me if the blood tests indicated anything he could help with.

  Max had phoned me on my cell to say he’d returned to the office. George was coming by. Tommy and Karen were home with the little kids.

  I decided, spur of the moment, to surprise Max with a picnic dinner. We needed some time to talk. I called Tommy to ask if he’d continue to watch the kids. He grumbled but agreed. I didn’t dare ask Karen right now.

  I picked up some food and drove back to Four Oaks Self-Storage. Two vehicles were parked in the lot. One was Max’s. The other looked familiar, but it wasn’t George’s. Odd because office hours were over.

  I went inside carrying two bags. “Max? I brought dinner.”“Hi, baby. I’m in my office.”

  He sounded too perky and bright.

  “Is something wrong?” I walked into the room. That’s when I remembered why I’d recognized the car parked outside.

  Stefanie was perched on the edge of Max’s desk, swinging her shapely legs. Sandals with impossibly high heels dangled from her toes. She looked at me rather like the cat that swallowed the canary. The teeny black skirt and turquoise shirt she wore left very little to the imagination.

  Max was in his chair, leaning back, legs stretched out in front of him, arms behind his head. His lips were turned up in a tiny little smile as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “Hi, honey,” he said.

  “Anyone hungry?” I used my iciest tone.

  “I’m starving,” Max said as if nothing were wrong.

  I tossed my purse on the floor, ignoring everything that fell out. I proceeded to place the food and drinks on a file cabinet, laying everything out neatly, giving myself a chance to collect my thoughts. Then I turned around to survey the scene. Max looked disheveled. That was normal and didn’t really mean anything. By the end of the day, when he was working on the new part of the facility, he was always tousled.

  But the lipstick on the shoulder of his shirt wasn’t normal. It wasn’t my shade.

  I knew Max wasn’t guilty of anything, but Stefanie’s motivations. . . Her big blue eyes took in every move I made, including my reaction when I’d seen the lipstick. I clenched my fists. Her smug expression almost pushed me over the edge. I eyed her precarious position. Just a little shove was all it would take. I could make it appear like an accident, perhaps falling over an imaginary lump in the carpet and bumping into her. Oops. Sorry, Miss Fancy-Pants. Hope you’re not hurt—too bad.

  “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” she said in her breathy tone.

  “No, not really.” I met her gaze with a slight smile and could only assume that my thoughts showed in my eyes. For the first time since I’d arrived, she looked worried. “I know exactly why you’re here.” I didn’t look at Max, just kept my gaze focused on her. “You want to get into your dearly departed’s storage unit. Did you bring your court order?” I moved closer to her.

  “Trish, honey.” Max could probably read my mind, and it scared him. “Stefanie is about to leave.”

  “Yes, she is,” I said firmly. I smiled again and moved closer still.

  Steffie wasn’t dense. She hopped from the desk in an unladylike hurry. “Yes, I’m leaving. And no, I don’t have a court order. I—I—” She pouted, and tears welled up in her eyes. “You just don’t know how painful this is.”

  If she thought her tears would move me, she was greatly mistaken. “Oh, I see how it is, all right. Those mean ole court people. Jim Bob has been dead for, what? A little over a week now? Having the right priorities is, after all, a matter of great pain.”

  Steffie’s tears dried up quicker than a drop of water on a hot griddle. She picked up her purse, flung it over her shoulder, and turned to Max.

  “Thank you for your sympathy, Maxwell. We’ll talk again soon, I hope.”

  When she turned back to me, I stepped aside for her to leave, motioning toward the front door. “There will be no more talking until you have your court order. Good-bye, Stefanie.”

  She stomped from the room and the building, slamming the front door behind her. I followed and waited until she pulled from the lot. Then I locked the door and returned to Max’s office.

  He had his feet up, leaning back in his chair, looking too composed and self-satisfied. That was so like him, I had to try hard not to smile.

  “Trish,” he said with a little grin.

  “Max.”

  “Baby.”

  “Don’t you ‘Baby’ me.” I walked to his desk, placed my palms on the fine wood finish, and leaned over it. “After our nice little talk this morning, I bring you a picnic dinner and interrupt some sort of rendezvous—”

  “It wasn’t a rendezvous.” Max didn’t look the least bit repentant.

  I stood up straight and crossed my arms. “Then explain the lipstick on your shoulder.”

  “What lipstick?” He sat up and pulled out the fabric of his shirt so he could see it. The dumb male expression on his face was funny, and I had trouble not laughing.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he said in amazement.

  “I’ll tell you what you’ll be—sorry—if you don’t explain really fast.” I pretended to glare at him.

  Max looked at me with a grin. “I love it when you get possessive.”

  “Don’t flatter me. Explain,” I ordered.

  “Stefanie arrived a little bit ago, right after George left. I was outside doing some last-minute things when she drove up. I managed to call Tommy as she waltzed from her car and begged him to find you and tell you to drive over here. He said you were already on your way. I didn’t want to take any chances, which was obviously a wise move. She flung herself at me, presumably for a comfort hug.”

  I wanted to spit nails at the thought of her in my husband’s arms. “Comfort?”

  He had the nerve to laugh. “After I pried myself loose, I invited her into my
office to talk, positioning myself behind my desk and in full view of the security camera.” He motioned toward said camera with his head. “I thought about pushing the alarm button under my desk, but I figured I wouldn’t do that unless she jumped me. When she heard you come in, she hopped on the desk, posed to give you the full effect of her, ah, assets. I’m not stupid.”

  I didn’t like the fact that he’d even noticed her assets. “All men are stupid,” I snapped. “At least when it comes to women’s wiles.”

  He stood and stretched. “Maybe. But, Trish, I love you. I would never do anything like that. If for no other reason than I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of your temper.” He paused. “Is it safe for me to move now?”

  “Is that the only reason you wouldn’t do anything? You’re afraid of my temper?”

  “Oh, I think you know better than that.” Max walked around the desk.

  I pointed at his shirt. “Take that off.”

  He laughed again and began to undo the buttons. “This is just an excuse to see me in my undershirt.”

  “You’re pretty full of yourself, mister,” I said. “I wouldn’t push me too far if I were you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I remember you used to help neuter your father’s cattle.”

  “I haven’t forgotten how,” I said.

  Max tossed his shirt on the desk. He looked good in his undershirt. All things considered, I felt sorrier for Stefanie than angry. After all, Max was mine.

  “You know what?” He reached for my hand.

  “What?”

  “I think we should pack up the picnic dinner, put it in the refrigerator here for Shirl and Kevin, and go out. That little French place you love. Just you and me. Alone.”

  “The one with candlelight and servers in tuxes?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Yep.”

  “And we can hold hands under the table and stare into each other’s eyes over the table?” I was getting excited.

  He grinned and nodded.

  “Then we can share a dessert and you can feed me from your fork?” I could barely contain myself.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  I thought the idea was brilliant.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On Saturday morning, the house was quiet. My spur-of-the-moment date with Max the night before had been as romantic as I’d hoped, more than making up for the days I felt so guilty and bereft. He knew how to sweep me off my feet, and he’d done it with abandon, leaving me feeling breathless. The only rough moment had been when he informed me he was going to hire a PI to help solve the question of Russ. I was mildly offended that he didn’t think I was capable of discovering the truth, but more than that, I was afraid where the truth might lead.

  However, I was so happy to have our relationship back on an even keel I let the topic go. Today, Tommy was out with friends. Max took the other kids to the mall and then to lunch at Bo’s before the playoff game. I had suggested the outing and stayed home in an effort to give the children time alone with him. I hoped Karen would come around and realize that she was as important to him as I was. Perhaps doing this on a regular basis would alleviate possible future problems with our younger kids.

  They would be heading to the game immediately after lunch. I was going to eat with Abbie and then join my family at the ball field.

  I made lasagna for Sunday. Then, while I waited to leave, I settled in the family room, holding my steno pad. Several things besides Stefanie’s visit to Max spurred me on to think about my mystery. Knowing I was in danger, for one, and in turn, so were my children. But now I had the additional challenge of beating a PI to an answer, if I could.

  I flipped the pad open and added the fact that Peggy Nichols had been dragged to the sheriff’s office for questioning. Then I reviewed the notes I’d already written down.

  Stefanie. Why did she want in Jim Bob’s storage unit? I bit my lip, and a thought occurred to me. If Jim Bob was blackmailing everyone, maybe he held something over Stefanie’s head, too. Why else would she stay with him? I jotted down: Was Jim Bob blackmailing Stefanie? What’s in the unit that she wants so bad?

  I looked at my next note. Frank—embezzling; Jim Bob—blackmailing? Why was Frank so hostile? I scribbled: Frank is weird and creepy. Makes me scared.

  Now, what about Daryl? I’d already written, Daryl sleeping with Stefanie? What else did I know about him? I tapped the pen against my head. Then I wrote: Did his brother take the road sign? I also added: smashed thumb and stitches, although I couldn’t figure out how that fit in.

  Then there was Lee Ann. I knew she was upset about Norm. But how could that have led to her killing Jim Bob? Besides, she was a woman. Jim Bob might have been middle-aged, but he was still a man and wouldn’t have lain down and let her stab him. That had to have taken strength.

  And that led me to the question I’d forgotten about. Why wasn’t there blood all over the milk case? Unless Jim Bob had been stabbed somewhere else and moved. That was possible, given he was on the cart.

  As I wrote that down, the phone rang. I took my notebook to the kitchen and yanked the receiver off the wall.

  “Hello?”

  “Trish? This is Bill—Dr. Starling.”

  “Hi, Bill.”

  “Tried to reach the cell phone number you gave me, but no one answered.”

  I stuffed my notebook into the kitchen junk drawer to hide it and grabbed my purse to see if I’d lost my phone again.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked as I dumped the contents on the kitchen table. I couldn’t imagine why he’d call me at home on a Saturday.

  Bill cleared his throat. “Well, last minute I decided to do an additional test. I was in the office for an emergency this morning and noticed the results. If you made that appointment with the specialist, you can cancel it.”

  “Why?” I still couldn’t find my phone and headed for the garage to look in the SUV.

  “Remember when you were pregnant with Sammie? How coffee made you sick? I took the liberty of doing a pregnancy test just to eliminate that possibility. I’m glad I did. You’re pregnant. Congratulations.”

  I stopped midstep, feeling as though I’d been hit in the stomach. All my thoughts crashed and jumbled into a useless wad of incoherence.

  “Trish? Are you there?”

  “Yeah,” I managed to say. How could I be pregnant?

  “You should make an appointment with an obstetrician as soon as possible, given your background. You’ll be able to get help with the nausea if it’s still a problem. And then you’ll find out how far along you are.”

  “Bill, I can’t be pregnant. You know that. All the doctors said I couldn’t conceive again. Besides, I’m thirty-two.”

  “Still a perfect age to have a baby. And you did have Sammie despite the odds. Sometimes miracles happen. You really need to stay out of trouble now. You’ve got a baby to think about.”

  “I’ve had coffee to drink and two painkillers.” Like that was my biggest concern.

  “Not to worry. Just stop. Call me if I can do anything else for you.” He hung up.

  I held the receiver in my hand. Pregnant? Worry overran a tiny quiver of happiness. Max and I had tried for two years to have another baby after Sammie, but the doctors said it was highly unlikely unless we sought very expensive procedures. Neither of us felt right about that and agreed that four children were enough. I knew Max didn’t really want any more kids at his age. I still did but had to agree that four were plenty. How many times recently had he insinuated that he was glad they were all getting older? Last night at the restaurant, he’d mentioned how happy he was that we were going to have more time together because the kids were growing up. How would I tell him this news? Especially on top of everything else.

  I glanced at the clock. I was due over at Abbie’s. The way things were planned, I could avoid telling Max until after the game. If he saw me beforehand, he’d know something was up. Even though he’d come to terms with things recently, I did
n’t want to add to his burden, especially right before a game. He might be upset, play horribly, lose, and I’d feel doubly guilty. Besides, I needed some time to sort this out.

  My cell phone was nowhere to be found. As I dressed to go out, I tried to recall where I’d put it. The last time I’d used it was to call Tommy and tell him I was going to see Max. It had been in my purse then, and. . .it must have fallen out in Max’s office.

  I called Four Oaks Self-Storage and asked Kevin to look for it. As I suspected, it lay under one of Max’s chairs. I asked Kevin to put it on Max’s desk and said I’d be there to get it in a couple of hours.

  Abbie met me at her door with a hug. “Come on into the kitchen. I’m finishing our lunch.” I followed her and sat at the breakfast bar. She went back to the counter where she was working. “You going to the game after we eat?”

  I nodded. “First I have to go get my phone from the self-storage. It fell out of my purse in Max’s office.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at me and laughed. “You and your phone. You should attach it to your purse with rope. Hey, you want coffee? I can make some.”

  “I can’t. It makes me sick when I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” She turned around, bread in one hand, knife in another. “How far along?”

  “I don’t know. Bill told me an hour ago.”

  “Wow.” She grinned. “Well, given the past and the fact that all the doctors said this wasn’t likely to happen, I guess it’s a miracle.”

  That was what Bill had said. Would Max see it the same way?

  “I guess you’re right.” I rubbed my fingers over the beige countertop.

  “You haven’t told Max yet, I take it?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t want to tell him until after the game.” I paused. “Truthfully, I don’t want to tell him at all. Lately he’s been talking a lot about how glad he is that the kids are getting older.”

  She smiled. “I think he’ll be happy.”

  “I don’t know.” I shifted on my stool.

  “Let’s eat in the living room,” she said. “It’ll be more comfortable.”