The police led Bill away in handcuffs.
I drank more coffee.
I gave my statement to Detective Peters and confirmed my gun was my gun.
I drank more coffee.
The house emptied.
I drank a glass of water.
“You’re still up.” Anarchy’s voice soothed my over-caffeinated nerves.
“I am.” I’d been waiting for him.
“I’m going to the station. The captain wants a report.”
I nodded. “Will I see you later?”
His grin was like dawn breaking on a dark winter’s morning. “Count on it.”
“Mrs. Russell, I’m sorry to disturb you.” Aggie stood in the door to my bedroom with a cup of coffee in her hand.
I struggled to sit. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
“Noon?”
“Your mother has called six times.”
“She has?”
Aggie hurried across the room and handed me the coffee.
I closed grateful fingers around the mug and took my first sip. Heaven.
I’d dragged myself out of bed to get Grace off to school then immediately crawled back into bed. Without coffee. Hours ago.
“Six times?” I’d unplugged the phone in my bedroom after I waved Grace good-bye. I hadn’t heard a single ring.
Aggie nodded. “What happened here this weekend? I knew I shouldn’t have gone away with Mac.”
I told her everything. Ray’s dying in the driveway. Bruce shooting Mrs. Hamilton. Me shooting Bill.
“I missed a lot.” Her voice was dry, as if a lot was an understatement.
“Lucky you.”
Brnng, brnng. The sound was far away.
“I guess I should plug in my phone.” I made no move to do so.
“You take it easy. Drink your coffee. After the weekend you’ve had, the least I can do is run interference.” She disappeared into the hallway and the ringing stopped.
Six calls? Mother must be on the warpath.
I leaned back against the pillows and drank my coffee. In peace. Mother and her warpath were in California.
Tap, tap.
“Come in.”
“Those six calls.” Some of Aggie’s bounce had bounced away.
“Yes?”
“The first three were early this morning. Then there was a break and I took three more.”
I didn’t like where this was headed. “She’s on a plane isn’t she?”
Aggie nodded. “That was your father. He’s picking her up at the airport shortly after one.”
“Her head is going to explode. In front of me. And after her head explodes, she’s going to make sure mine does too.”
“I’ll fix you brunch. You’ll feel better once you’ve had something to eat.”
I’d feel better if Mother was still safely in Palm Springs. Although, it was a good sign that she’d called Daddy to pick her up.
By the time Mother and Daddy arrived, I’d been fortified with three additional cups of coffee, two slices of Aggie’s cinnamon crumble coffee cake, and a heaping plate of eggs and bacon.
I felt almost human.
Mother blew into my kitchen like an F5 tornado. “Explain yourself.”
I’d grown up on the edge of the plains. I knew what do in case of tornado. Take cover, let the storm blow, and, when it was over, clean up the debris. That had been my life-long plan for dealing with Mother. Not today.
“Pardon me?” My tone was polite, even sweet.
“What has been going on in this house?” she demanded.
“I’m so glad you arrived safely. It’s nice to see you. Would you care for coffee?” I stood and entered Mr. Coffee’s comforting orbit. “Daddy? Coffee?”
“Ellison!”
“That’s a no? Daddy?”
“I’d love a cup, Elli.”
“Of course, Daddy.” I pulled a cup from the cupboard and filled it for my father. Then I refilled my own.
Mother gnashed her teeth and clutched the side of her head. Like Grendel. “Ellison!”
“Yes, Mother?” My voice was mild.
She gave me the look. The one meant to turn me to stone. “Was someone murdered in your front yard?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, still pleasant.
“Were two people shot in your family room? In separate instances? On the same day?”
I cocked my head. “It sounds so awful when you say it that way.”
“Did that detective spend the night at your house?”
“That is none of your affair.”
Mother’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out. She couldn’t have been more shocked if I’d slapped her.
I was not going to discuss Anarchy with Mother. Not under any circumstances. “You’re sure you don’t want coffee?”
“I’m sure.” Good thing her glare couldn’t actually melt flesh off bones.
I resumed my seat. “It’s so nice to see you and Daddy together.”
Mother blinked. She wasn’t done talking about Anarchy.
I was. “Daddy missed you.”
Mother blinked again.
“I missed you, too.” It was true. For all her sound and fury, Mother was the one I wanted in my corner when the going got tough. I sipped my coffee. “How about we all just forgive each other? Water under the bridge? All’s well that ends well?”
Mother’s gaze was stony. Her face was stony.
“To err is human, to forgive, divine.”
The stone façade crumbled. A bit. “I can’t leave town for a day without disaster striking.”
“Believe me, Mother. You couldn’t have stopped this disaster.” But she could have added color commentary. She would have added color commentary. “The real disaster is the rift in our family.” I leveled a stare at her over the rim of my coffee cup. “It’s time to move forward.”
For a moment no one moved. No one except Max. He yawned.
Mother glanced at Daddy and her expression softened. “You might be right.”
I nearly fell off my stool.
She reached up on her tip-toes and kissed Daddy’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Harrington. I don’t know what got into me.”
A two-hundred-mile-per-hour wind.
The stress Daddy had been carrying on his shoulders all week slid right off. He straightened. His eyes twinkled. “I’m glad you’re home, Frannie.”
Mother smiled.
I’d done it. I’d faced down a tornado and won. This called for a celebration. I refilled my coffee cup.
Ding dong.
I hurried to the front door, pausing to smooth my hair before closing my fingers around the handle.
Deep breath.
I pulled the door open.
Anarchy stood on the other side holding a pizza box. “Combo, right? It’s Minsky’s. Grace says that’s your favorite.”
My stomach rumbled and my mouth watered. That pizza smelled like heaven. Heaven I’d been denied last night. At that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than a slice of pizza—not even coffee.
Anarchy stepped inside and dropped a kiss on my cheek. His eyes searched mine. “Feeling better?”
“Much. How’s Jane?”
“At home with her grandmother.”
“Madame Reyna? Where was she?” I’d forgotten to worry about Madame Reyna.
“Apparently she had a premonition and went to stay with a neighbor.”
Maybe she really was psychic. “I’m glad she’s okay.” I should have worried for her.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” He stared down at me. A woman could drown in the depths of his coffee brown eyes.
I swallowed (gulped). “Let’s take that to the kitchen before it gets cold.” We took
a few steps. “I’ll get us some plates. Maybe some wine.” A thought stopped me dead in my tracks. “What about Bill? What will happen to him?”
“He confessed to five murders. He’ll be going away for the rest of his life.” Again Anarchy’s eyes searched my face. “You didn’t seem surprised to see him.”
“I wasn’t.”
“How did you know?”
“I believed Rocky and I figured it had to be Bill or Wright and, frankly, one hotel deal going south didn’t seem like it would matter to Wright.”
We walked the rest of the way to the kitchen with Max at our heels (pizza). I didn’t blame him. The scent was tantalizing. My stomach growled.
“I’ve been thinking.” Anarchy dropped the Minsky’s box on the counter.
“About?” I reached up into the cupboard and grabbed two plates.
“You saved me.”
“I did, didn’t I?” I put the plates on the counter.
“I didn’t thank you.”
“You didn’t.”
He pulled me into his arms. “Thank you.” He kissed me then. Turns out, there was something I wanted more than pizza.
Author’s Note
In 1974 and 1975, Kansas City did tear down the strip clubs on 12th Street and replace them with a convention hotel. Any skullduggery is purely a product of my imagination.
As for Leesa and Jane, what happened to them happens every day. I encourage you to visit www.state.gov/j/tip/id/help/ to learn more.
About the Author
Julie Mulhern is the USA Today bestselling author of The Country Club Murders. She is a Kansas City native who grew up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie. She spends her spare time whipping up gourmet meals for her family, working out at the gym and finding new ways to keep her house spotlessly clean—and she’s got an active imagination. Truth is—she’s an expert at calling for take-out, she grumbles about walking the dog and the dust bunnies under the bed have grown into dust lions.
The Country Club Murders
by Julie Mulhern
Novels
THE DEEP END (#1)
GUARANTEED TO BLEED (#2)
CLOUDS IN MY COFFEE (#3)
SEND IN THE CLOWNS (#4)
WATCHING THE DETECTIVES (#5)
COLD AS ICE (#6)
SHADOW DANCING (#7)
Short Stories
DIAMOND GIRL
A Country Club Murder Short
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SHADOW DANCING Page 24
