I smiled, remembering all the times Mitzi had tried to get me to join in the fun. “I think I’d enjoy that.”
“Good.” She handed me a business card that read, MAD HATTERS. The rest of the information was Margery’s address, phone number and a cute saying that read. “Alice’s queen had nothing on me!”
“This is a cute card.” I ran my finger over the red embossed hat in the left hand corner.
“If you like us, I’ll tell you where you can get them made. We’re having our weekly tea Thursday morning at nine. Be sure and come a few minutes early, that way I can introduce you to the other ladies as they arrive.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “I’m glad you’re interested in joining us. I’ll see you Thursday.”
Margery walk away. She was an interesting woman. My first impression was that nothing ruffled her feathers but then when I’d told her about Olivia’s hopes of helping me find Mitzi’s murderer, she’d turned into a ferocious mama bear. Had Mitzi brought out that emotion in Margery? And if so, would the grandmother be willing to kill to protect her family?
The tea no longer tasted sweet on my tongue.
TITLE
Lethal Lasagna
Chapter 11
“You’ve been quiet this morning.” Brandon observed.
He sat on the floor of Mitzi’s bedroom watching me go though papers I’d found in the side dresser beside Mitzi’s bed. There were book marks, patterned note paper, cards from her son, and a few manuscript pages she’d jotted notes on.
“It’s just hard to go through her things. This just, seems so final.” A sob built in my throat, and my eyes began to sting.
He was at my side in seconds. His strong arms wrapped me up close to his chest, and the dam broke. I knew my tears were soaking his shirt, but I couldn’t stop the flow. Feelings of loss, loneliness, and deep sorrow drew on the fountain of tears that I poured upon him.
Then anger consumed me. Someone had taken the life of my best friend, and thus far, had gotten away with it. I gently pushed away from Brandon.
“Feeling better?” He asked, handing me a tissue.
How does one delicately blow one’s nose in front of the man she’s just drenched with tears? Plus, answer a stupid question without being sarcastic?
“Excuse me.” I sniffled and moved to Mitzi’s small bathroom. I turned on the overhead fan and blew my nose like a woman with a faulty drip.
Then I returned to the bedroom. Plastered on what I hoped was a sweet smile and said. “Much better, thank you.”
The man burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe him. Here I had cried all over his shirt, and he was laughing. I stared in wonder.
And then he snorted.
The shocked expression on his face sent me into giggles. His cheeks filled with red and his ears looked like scarlet lollipops. Anyone watching us would have thought we were insane as we both filled Mitzi’s house with laughter.
Just as she would have wanted.
The thought comforted me.
“What’s this?” Brandon asked, picking up the story I’d found in the drawer.
I scooped up the bookmarks and cards. “It’s a manuscript Mitzi was working on.” Should I toss them out or box them for Jake?
“No it isn’t.” His head was lowered, soft locks of brown hair begged to be touched. I wadded up a postcard and then focused on spreading it back out.
“It isn’t?”
He didn’t answer for several moments. “Nope, I’ve seen her handwriting and this isn’t it.” He held the paper up for me to study.
Why hadn’t I noticed that? Mitzi’s writing was more flowing, less blocky. “Then whose is this?”
He pulled it back toward him. “Do you think her son would mind if I hung on to this for a little while?”
“I’m sure Jake won’t care.”
While Brandon read, I finished cleaning out the drawer. Her date book sat off to the side. I picked it up put it in my purse. There wasn’t a lot left, and I really didn’t want to do anymore today. I glanced over at him. Black mascara marred his blue t-shirt from my cry fest earlier.
He looked up. His gaze met mine and he grinned. “Sorry. I got involved in this story. Whoever wrote it is good.”
“Mitzi good?”
Brandon scooted to the edge of the bed. “No, Mitzi had talent but she didn’t write mysteries. Her stories were more along the line of young adult.”
I sat down beside him. “That’s a part of her life I wasn’t involved in. Were her stories good?”
He folded the papers down the center and unfolded them again. “Her stories were sweet. She wrote about princesses and knights.” A soft laugh escaped him. “Only her princesses weren’t weak. She usually had the knight in jeopardy and in need of rescuing.” His eyes took on a far away look. Sorrow filled his face.
Was that the face of a man who’d lost a friend or the woman he loved? I didn’t want to focus on the thought that he might have loved Mitzi as a man loves a woman. I patted his knee. “How about you and I go get something to eat?”
He nodded and stood. “She really was a special lady, wasn’t she?”
“Yes she was.” I couldn’t contain the question that screamed through my mind as he led the way down the narrow hallway and to the front door. “Were you two romantically involved?”
Brandon turned with his hand on the doorknob. A soft smile touched his lips. “No, we were friends.”
I felt happy to know Mitzi and Brandon hadn’t been involved. It shouldn’t have been important to me, but it was. His words made my heart flutter, and the look on his face said he knew how I felt.
Embarrassed, I muttered, “Come, on. I’ll meet you at my house in ten minutes for a home cooked meal.” Then, I walked past him with my cheeks feeling as if someone held a heater too close to them.
“Right behind you.” Brandon pulled the door closed after us and locked it.
Ten minutes later, he pulled his pickup into the driveway behind me. Sprocket woofed a hello and stuck his head through the fence for a scratch behind the ears. I promised to take him on a walk first thing tomorrow morning and then hurried inside ahead of Brandon.
The scent of roast beef filled my senses as I entered the kitchen. My stomach growled and I smiled. What man could resist homemade roast beef?
“Wow, something smells really good in here.”
The old cliché the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach filtered through my mind as I tossed my pocketbook on the counter and grabbed an apron off the hook just inside the pantry door. “I put a roast in the crock pot earlier today. Have a seat at the table, and I’ll whip up some corn bread to go with our meal.”
“I see you baked, too.”
What? Who baked? Not me. I turned to see him pulling a pan of brownies toward him. Panic gripped my throat and cut off my air. “Wait. I didn’t bake brownies.” I hurried across the floor to the kitchen table.
He motioned toward an envelope. “Looks like someone left you a note.”
I scooped it off the table and ripped the paper open. A card slid out. Flowers decorated the paper in bright colors. Thinking of you was inscribed on the front. I opened it and read aloud. “Love, Mom.” Even if my mother were still alive, this isn’t her handwriting. The thought took me by surprise. Whose was it?
Brandon popped a brownie from the pan. “See, they’re from your mom.” He brought it to his lips.
I reached out and stopped him. “No, they aren’t. My mother died in a rafting accident when I was a child.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me.
I nodded. “I was raised by my grandparents, who are dead now, too.”
Brandon placed the treat back in the pan. “Why don’t you call the police?” He wiped his hands of crumbs.
Yes, I needed to call the police. How could someone have left brownies in my kitchen unless they’d been in the house? How had they gained access? My heart thumped with fear, and I silently thanked the Lord above for keeping me safe.
/> “Do you want me to do it?” Brandon asked, pulling me from my thoughts and prayers.
I pushed up from the chair I’d sat in, unawares. “No, I’ll do it.” My hand shook as I picked up the receiver.
Dispatch answered. “Detective Howard, please.”
His gruff voice barked through the lines. I glanced at Brandon, who frowned at the pan of brownies.
“Detective, this is Claire Parker. Would you come to my house, now please?” I explained about the pan of brownies and then hung up with his promise to be right over and his demand that I not touch anything. “He’s on his way.” I informed Brandon.
He looked up. “You know, I think I’ve lost my appetite for roast beef. What do you say I order a pizza?”
“I agree. The meat might be tainted also.” The thought that I’d need to clean out all the containers in my refrigerator rattled through my mind as I continued. “But I’ll order the pizza. This was supposed to be my thank you dinner for helping me at Mitzi’s.” I picked up the phone and ordered a large pizza with everything. Pizza might be tomorrow’s meal, too; I also ordered a two-liter of diet soda and one regular for Brandon.
Then, I moved to sit back down. My gaze wouldn’t stay off that plate of brownies. A chill ran down my spine. Even the thought of pizza turned my stomach.
It was an ordinary aluminum pan; anyone could have gotten it and baked the brownies. But, why lie and say they were from my mother? Why not just say, I made you brownies?
The answer hit me in the gut, taking my breath away. Because they are poisoned. Just like the lasagna that killed Mitzi. Someone wanted me dead, just like my best friend. But why?
****
An hour later, sitting in my living room, I told Detective Howard—again—that I didn’t know who would want to poison me. I was truly tired of answering his questions. The detective had called in several other policemen who had dusted for fingerprints, trampled the flowers under my windowsills, and pretty much asked me so many questions my head had started to ache. Now, the only one left was Detective Howard, and he’d given us permission to move about the house as we pleased again, but he was still questioning me.
I could hear Brandon rummaging through the kitchen.
“Have you been asking questions about Mitzi’s case?” he asked. The officer jotted the answer on his pad of paper before I could answer him.
The man must think me stupid. “You know I have.” I answered.
“I suggest you stop.” He answered. “Leave Mitzi’s case to us. We’ll find her killer.”
He had my interest. I scooted to the edge of the couch and asked. “You have new leads?”
His steel blue eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I can’t give out that information, Ms. Parker.”
“Is there anything you can tell me? Like if the brownies are poisoned?” Bitterness laced my voice.
The detective stood. “That I can tell you but not before we get the results from the lab. Until then, stay out of this investigation, Ms. Parker.”
Yeah right. I arranged a smile on my face and showed him to the door.
TITLE
Lethal Lasagna
Chapter 12
When I returned to the living room, Brandon had filled two glasses with soda. He handed me a paper plate. “You have no intentions of butting out of this case, do you?”
My appetite came back in full force at the aroma of warm pizza. “Not on your life.” I smiled and picked up a slice. I almost took a bite but noticed that Brandon sat with his hands in his lap. “Something wrong?”
He grinned. “I was just going to say grace.”
I laid the pizza back down on my plate. “Oh, sorry. I forgot.”
“Not a problem.” He lowered his head and said a quick prayer over the food.
How could I have forgotten to pray? I’d been praying over my food all my life. Seldom did I forget. The desire to make an excuse popped into my head, but I chose not to do so. Instead I silently said my own prayer of thanks.
“So what now?” Brandon asked, picking up a slice of pizza and then taking a big bite.
The smell of pepperoni and onions filled the warm air. I inhaled deeply before answering. “The police will test the brownies and the roast beef, after that I’m not sure. Someone doesn’t like my asking questions. But, who?” Cheese coated my tongue as I chewed.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” He took a swig of cola and swallowed hard. Concern laced his eyes.
I swallowed the now-dry pizza. “Whoever it is, they don’t know much about my life.”
He continued to study me. “No, if they did they would know your mother doesn’t live around here.”
I knew he was trying to be sensitive by not saying that they didn’t know my mother was dead. It was sweet…But, must focus on the matter at hand, not about him being sweet and handsome right now. “So, I’m going to assume it was someone who I’ve just met.” I folded a napkin in my lap.
Brandon picked up another slice of pizza. “It would seem that way. Did anyone act upset that you were asking questions about Mitzi?”
“Not really. Most just showed sorrow for her death.” I scooted back in the chair, my mind working to remember if anyone acted suspiciously. Margery Williams had gotten upset, but I thought that was because of her granddaughter Olivia. Could she be hiding something?
The doorbell rang.
For a brief moment, panic welled up inside me. Having someone break into your home causes you to behave a little irrational at the slightest sound. The killer wouldn’t ring the doorbell I thought as I made my way to answer it. Maybe one of the policemen had forgotten something.
My neighbor, Sara, stared down at me. “Are you okay?”
I sighed and pulled the door open. “Come on in, Sara. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? I saw the police drive away a few moments ago.” She followed me through the entryway and into the living room.
Brandon stood when we entered. He’s such a gentleman. I ogled him for several long moments. Stop staring, you ninny, and introduce him to your neighbor. I continued into the room. “Sara, I’d like you to meet Brandon Harvest.”
They shook hands. I couldn’t help thinking how meeting Sara must feel like meeting another man. She shook his hand long and hard.
“Sara lives next door.”
She dropped his hand and moved to sit on the chair I’d just vacated, leaving me to join Brandon on the couch. Once we were all seated again, I said, “Sara, would you like to join us?”
A smile touched her lips. “Sure. Thanks.”
I stood and handed her a paper plate and napkin. “I’ll go get you something to drink. What will it be? Diet cola, cola, or water?”
“Just water, please.” Sara grabbed three slices and dropped them onto her plate. Her gaze never left Brandon.
When I returned they were talking about the college. But as soon as I sat back down Sara turned troubled brown eyes on me. “What were the police doing here? I was worried about you.”
I wasn’t sure how much to tell her but then thought if someone were out to hurt me they might try to hurt her, too. “Someone broke into my house today.”
She looked about. “Did they take anything valuable?”
The urge to laugh hit me. “No, actually they left me a present.”
Her black curls bounced as her head swung back around and she faced me. A frown marred her smooth forehead. “And you called the cops on them?”
“It wasn’t a nice present.” Brandon inserted. He sat back on the sofa and rested his arm across the back.
“Oh?”
“No, it was a pan of brownies.”
The frown deepened. She hesitated but asked. “And you don’t like brownies?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Her expression, and the way I explained it just struck my funny bone. Or, maybe it happened because I was overly tired. Either reason, I laughed.
She looked at Brandon. “I don’t understand.”
He shook h
is head. “I don’t blame you.”
I tried to sober and explain. “When I came home tonight there was a pan of brownies waiting for me. I don’t know who they came from but whoever it was had to break into the house to get them on the kitchen table. So, we called the police. I think the brownies were poisoned.” I gasped for breath and then exhaled.
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