He was putting the greenery back in place as I stepped onto the screened-in porch. Disappointed, I asked a stupid question. “You leaving?”
“With Darlene and Sara behind bars, you no longer need me here.” He pushed the chair I used for my morning Bible studies back into place.
How could he think I no longer needed him? I’d grown to love him. It dawned on me he’d never said he loved me. I’d called him my protector, my friend, and my teacher but I had never called him my boyfriend. Well, not to his face, anyway.
Megan came through the door. “All packed up?” she asked.
He grinned. “Yep, I’ve got it all.”
What should I say? I wanted to throw my arms around his neck, tell him I love him and beg him not to leave. But Megan stood staring from one of us to the other. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“It was my pleasure, except I wish you hadn’t been in danger.” He looked about the porch. “Well, it looks like I got everything.”
I looked about also. Not seeing anything else, I had to agree. “Yes, I guess so.”
“Then I’ll be seeing you.” He waved and left. The screen door slammed behind him.
I stared at it. I’d grown so used to him being here. Even though he hadn’t driven out of the driveway yet, I missed him.
“Come on, Mom. I’ll help you get ready for bed.”
I followed like a child after its mother. Depression settled over me. Tears stung my eyes, and my chest felt as if someone had taken a hammer to it.
For the next few days, Megan stayed with me. She fixed my meals, made my bed, and treated me like a child. On the fourth day, I got up and proclaimed myself healthy enough for her to go home.
“Are you sure, Mom?”
I watched her pack her suitcase. “I’m sure.” I hugged Megan to me. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“You’re my mom. I’ll always be here for you.” She returned my hug and then stepped away.
Half an hour later, I waved goodbye to her and sighed. Sara had loved her mother enough to kill for her attention. “Lord, please get Sara and Darlene the help they need.”
For the first time in a long time, I was alone. After locking myself in, I fixed a grilled cheese sandwich and turned on the television.
Half way through my game show the phone rang. Thinking it might be Brandon, I grabbed the telephone and practically yelled into the receiver, “Hello!”
“Missed me that much, did you?” Gloria asked.
I laughed. I’d forgotten she’d left to visit her brother and had been gone all week. “How was your trip?”
She sighed heavily. “Long and boring. Tell me about your week.”
I told her about Darlene and Sara. And then I told her that I’d been sick and that Brandon had left.
She ignored the part about Brandon. “I wish I’d have been here. I could have saved you from Megan’s mothering.” She giggled.
Her amusement was contagious. I laughed, but then confessed that it wasn’t that bad.
“How about we do lunch tomorrow, and you tell me what happened between you and Brandon?” Gloria offered.
Would I be able to talk to her about Brandon? So far, I’d only confided in God my true feelings. “I’d love to have lunch, but can’t promise what the conversation will revolve around.”
“Deal.”
TITLE
S he has to die.
Mitzi Douglas is sweet and kind, but she’s making my life miserable. I can’t have her coming into the room and being the center of attention, it’s just not fair. A layer of lasagna noodles went into the pan.
She makes me sick! A chuckle filled the kitchen. Now that is funny...she makes me feel bad, and so I’m making a special dish to make me better, much better.
The fragrant scent of meat sauce rose as it poured on top of the pasta. Ummmm. This smells good enough to eat. But, I won’t. It’s for Mitzi alone. She’ll just die when she gets a taste of this.
Laughter filled the room, and more layers were added to the poisoned pan.
TITLE
Chapter 4
“What made you decide to observe my class?” Brandon cupped his coffee between his palms.
Being a Christian it is my duty to answer as honestly as I can, at moments like this I’d rather not answer at all. What did I really know about Brandon Harvest—besides the fact that he’s easy on the eyes? He could be the killer. “I’m an old friend of Mitzi Douglas.”
Sadness entered his caramel eyes. “She was a very talented writer and a good friend. Still that doesn’t tell me why you joined a creative writing class.”
Mitzi had never told me her professor was her friend. She’d not told me about Brandon at all. If I’d been the one to meet him first, I felt sure I’d have told her what a hunk he is, and she would have said, ‘step into the twentieth century Claire, men are no longer hunks. They’re hotties.’
I’m not sure if it was the melancholy sensation I’d just walked into or what, but I answered. “I plan on finding Mitzi’s murderer.”
His brows drew together, and he ran a hand through his thick looking hair. “You think you will find him in my class?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Right now, I’m just going where she went and doing some of the things she did.” I took a careful sip of my hot tea. The aroma of lemon and honey filled my senses.
“Ah.” He focused on his drink.
I waited. Nothing more came from his lips. He simply stared into the dark liquid in his cup. That was it just ‘ah’? Where were the questions? The comments? Anything at all would be better than his silence. Maybe he thinks I’m a crazed woman. If so, what did I have to lose by confessing? “The police think I did it.”
His head came up and serious light brown eyes studied me. “I doubt that is true.”
I felt the heat rush into my face. Had I actually said those words aloud?
“You don’t look much like a killer to me.”
Yep, I’d said them. “Thanks but if the killer looked like a murderer I’m sure the police would have caught him by now.”
A warm chuckled greeted my ears. His laugh enough to send my heartbeats into overtime. Not since Frank, had a man brought my senses to life like this. I found myself joining his laughter.
He continued to smile when he asked, “So, if you are the main suspect what’s kept them from arresting you?”
The question sobered me up. “I’m the one who found Mitzi. She was laying on the floor beside a pan that had lasagna in it. When I saw her, I pushed the pan away and left my fingerprints. I gave them the details when they arrived. So, on one point they believe me, because I’d told them I’d touched the pan, but on the other hand they aren’t sure because mine are the only prints at the scene that aren’t Mitzi’s.” I stirred my tea.
Fresh tears filled my eyes as I relived those moments of finding her. Tears I was determined not to let fall. I took a deep breath and slowly released it before looking across at Brandon.
He sat his cup down and reached across the table. His warm hand engulfed mine. “She was more than a friend wasn’t she?”
I nodded. “We weren’t sisters by birth but we were as close as any blood sisters could ever be.” His palm scratched mine. I wondered what Brandon did that would create calluses on his hands. Editing papers surely hadn’t created the rough skin.
“Then I am doubly sorry for your loss.” His voice sounded sincere and strong. He squeezed my hand and then released it.
I missed the warmth immediately. “Thank you.” I picked up my teacup and traced the blue china design that decorated the sides.
As if talking to himself, Brandon said. “I wonder how far the police have gotten in their investigation.” He took a drink from his cup before looking at me.
Where was my willpower? “They know now that she was poisoned.” I offered then gulped the now lukewarm tea. The flavor of honey teased my tongue.
He sat his cup down slowly. “Poisoning?” Brandon’s voice
sounded so low and soft I questioned whether or not I’d heard him right.
I nodded.
He studied the wall behind me for several long moments. “Claire, how would you feel if I offered to help you find Mitzi’s murderer?”
Excitement raced through my veins. How would I feel? My first instinct was to squeal with happiness. I’d love to get to know this man better. My second reaction was to say no. Again, I had to ask myself, what did I know about him? My third thought was, I hope he can’t read what I’m thinking by the expressions on my face.
As if he knew the turmoil my thoughts were going through, Brandon offered, “Mitzi was a friend of mine, too.” He paused. It seemed to me he was debating what to say next. Then he spoke again. “The creative writing class is a three month course. We cover whatever genres the students wish to write. A little over a month ago, we covered poisons for the mystery writers. I can’t help but think that maybe something I said had something to do with Mitzi’s death. More than ever, I’d like to help catch her murderer.”I met his sorrow-filled gaze and made the decision that it would be nice to have someone to discuss things with. Since this is all new to me, Brandon would probably have a better insight on how to go about finding a killer. He was a writer after all.
“Ok, I guess the first thing we need to know is who the mystery writers are in your class. And do you think we should tell the police what you just told me?” I leaned forward.
Brandon sighed and seemed to relax. “I’m not sure who the mystery writers are.”
“How can you not know?”
He leaned and met me halfway across the table. It was then I realized just how small the café’s tables were. I watched his mouth as he said, “When the course began I asked the class collectively who wrote what.” I must have frowned because he continued. “You know I said something like, ‘do we have any children’s authors?’ And so on. As each group raised their hands I wrote ‘yes’ beside that genre on my paper.”
“I see. So you created assignments for those genres and then had the class write collectively for each?” The words came out in a whisper. I ignored the breathiness of my answer, telling myself it was the quiet tone and not the man across the table.
He nodded.
How were we going to find out who the mystery writers were in his class?
Brandon smiled. “Looks like you have to attend my class again.”
“Why?” Excitement soared into my chest. Did he really want me there? Stop it Claire. This is about Mitzi not you. Besides, I had planned on going anyway but why did he feel I had to attend?
In whispered tones he answered. “Because Monday I’m going to ask everyone what they write again, and you can write down their answers.”
I scooted back in my seat. The distance helped me deny him this task. “Sorry Professor, but that’s not happening.”
A startled look crossed his face. He reacted as if I’d just slapped him, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Look, just have everyone write down on a piece of paper what they write. We’ll still get our answer.”
“So, while I’m pumping my students for answers what will you be doing?”
“I’ll be there but as a student. I’m not sure I want everyone to know why I’m really attending this class. If we don’t come across any suspects, we’ll need to turn the list over to the detective. He’ll want to know about the contest.”
“That makes sense. I’ll take care of getting a record of my students to him and telling him about the final exam, not contest. What’s your next step?” He asked.
“Sunday morning I’m going to go to her church.”
A grin broadened on his face. “You seriously expect to find the killer attending her church?”
When he said it like that, it did sound a little ridiculous. But it was possible. “I don’t know but it is one of the few places Mitzi socialized.”
The smile slipped from his lips and eyes. “I suppose so.”
Once more, I wondered how well he knew Mitzi. Had they dated? Or were they just friends like he said? If there had been romantic sparks, why hadn’t Mitzi told me about them?
Later that evening, I finished grilling my cheese sandwich and carried it to the table. At the same time, the microwave dinged announcing the bowl of tomato soup was done. I placed both on a large dining tray and headed to the living room. My favorite game show had just come on.
While the contestants introduced themselves I thought about Brandon Harvest. I hate to admit it, but it disturbs me that Mitzi and Brandon might have been closer than just friends.
Just before leaving the college, he’d offered me a class list of names, which I snatched up and tucked into my purse. Now what was I going to do with it? I couldn’t just call them all up and ask if they’d killed my best friend. That would just be tacky.
Warm buttery cheese teased my taste buds. On the television, a woman wearing a bright green top and the nametag that read “Florence” had just spun the wheel and landed on the three hundred dollar marker.
The category was “Thing,” and there were three words to fill in. I sipped at the hot soup as Florence asked for an M and got one. Then she did something I hate, she asked to buy a vowel. The crazy woman chose a U, which wasn’t in the puzzle.
It was the next contestant’s turn. He was a middle-aged man with a bald spot in the middle of his scalp. It reflected the light each time he bent over to spin the wheel. The thought he should do something about that crossed my mind as he spun the wheel and landed on the five hundred marker. He chose an S and got three of them. Then he asked for a vowel. Again I groaned.
This time the request was for an A, which he didn’t get. The game continued. Slowly I made out the words Single Stem Rose. The player who got it had a total of three hundred dollars. He could have continued guessing at the consonants and gotten more money but he was too anxious.
“Dumber than mud,” I grumbled, picking up the dinner tray and heading back to the kitchen during the commercial. Normally I would pick up the phone and call Mitzi but not tonight, not ever again. My gaze moved to the phone on the wall.
There were a number of women friends I could call. Gloria Fielding’s name came to mind, but I felt a twang of guilt. Mitzi was the one I shared these silly calls with. To call someone else was like saying Mitzi no longer mattered. It was betraying our friendship. I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t.
I hurried back to the living room and forced myself to become absorbed in the game show but Mitzi stayed on my mind.
TITLE
Chapter 14
Venturing into the unfamiliar waters of flirtation, I answered. “Why thank you kind Sir. I’m so glad you noticed.”
His warm laughter greeted my ears and warmed my heart. We moved into the kitchen. “Sit down and I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
“Thanks.” He looked out the window that faced Sara’s house. A frown marred his handsome features.
My gaze moved to where he seemed to be looking. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Why was he frowning? He looked lost in thought, maybe it was personal. I decided not to question him about it. If it were something important, or had anything to do with me, I felt sure he’d say something.
I put coffee in the filter and then turned on the coffee maker. “How does eggs and bacon sound?”
“Great.”
Pulling the eggs from the fridge I asked, “How would you like them fixed?” I set the carton on the counter and reached for the bacon.
He turned from the window and grinned. “Scrambled and crispy.”
I smiled. “Me, too.” I ducked my head and went to work preparing my knight in shining armor a breakfast fit for a king.
Soon the fragrant smell of coffee and bacon filled my cozy kitchen. I popped bread into the toaster. Scrambled eggs and set butter and strawberry jam on the table. While I worked I noted that Brandon continued to gaze out the window.
I set plates and silverware down. “Something bothering you?” I asked as I placed a cup o
f coffee in front of him.
He smiled. “Not really. I was just thinking that if you hung a feeder in front of this window, you could watch the birds while you enjoyed breakfast every morning.”
I poured scrambled eggs from the pan into a bowl. I didn’t buy his story for one moment. But went along with it just the same. “I’ve had the same thought but just haven’t taken the time to hang one.” I added the glass coffee pot to the assortment of breakfast items and took my place.
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