by Krista Davis
Faux candles flickered in each window in true Old Town- style. I rang the bell and waited. The scent of wood burning in a fireplace drifted to me, and I longed to head home to my own cozy fireplace. A bit impatient, I rang the bell again and leaned sideways to peer inside her front window. Artfully swagged drapes prohibited me from seeing inside.
I stepped back and looked up at her house. Maybe with the party and the brouhaha over Phil and Shawna, she’d forgotten our appointment? Or maybe I was now persona non grata because my family had marched out of her party? I hadn’t thought about it from her perspective, but we’d left a lot of embarrassingly empty seats.
I sighed and the mist from my breath drifted like a little cloud in the cold air.
Surely Bonnie separated business from her private life. Besides, even if she was angry with me or my family for making a scene, wouldn’t she come to the door and tell me that she no longer had any interest in working with me? Everything I knew about her indicated that she was as sweet as the candy she used in her decorations. I couldn’t imagine her snubbing me.
As I looked up toward the second floor of her house, I saw smoke coming from a chimney. A good clue that she was home. I rang her doorbell again, though I felt a bit guilty for ringing it a third time. She still didn’t answer.
Although I was sorely tempted to give up and go home, I thought about the fact that she lived alone like I did—well, when Phil wasn’t there with her—and that she might need help. I stood on her stoop and debated.
Caution won out and I tried the handle on the front door. It didn’t budge. I checked around the side of her house to see if there was an alley that would provide access to the rear. I found a cute cranberry red gate, higher than I was tall, with an arched top and a pineapple, the symbol of hospitality, carved into the wood. The gate swung open easily, and in moments, I stood in her fenced backyard, where someone had converted what had most likely been a screened porch into a cozy room with paned windows all around, making it look like a cottage.
A fire blazed in a corner fireplace and wrapping paper was strewn across the coffee table and the floor. She must be home. I leaned closer to the glass for a better look, and rapped on it, in case she was close by and could hear.
As I scanned the room, I spotted a shoe—beige with a pointed toe and three-inch heel—lying on its side on the brick floor. I squinted and used my sleeve to wipe condensation from my breath off the little square of window. Surely that couldn’t be her foot in the shoe. A piece of red and white wrapping paper had fallen, partially covering the shoe. The angle of the coffee table prevented me from seeing more. I squinted again and decided there was definitely a foot in the shoe.
I whipped out my cell phone and called 911. When I hung up, I decided I couldn’t wait for them. Even a minute or two might make a difference if Bonnie was sick or bleeding. I tried the handle of the back door, but it was locked. Taking a cue from the Christmas-gift thief, I found a cast concrete kitten and smashed it into a glass panel in the door. The sound reverberated through the small garden. Careful to avoid the shards of glass that wrapped around the hole like teeth in a shark’s mouth, I inserted my arm and felt for a latch. Oh no! Smart Bonnie installed a lock that required a key on both sides. “Bonnie!” I called. “Can you hear me?”
No answer.
I backed up and kicked the lower part of the door with the bottom of my foot. Ouch! That didn’t work. Poor Bonnie. Panic rose in me. I had to get inside—now!
I gazed around the garden, heaved a large terra cotta pot out of the snow, and slung it at a window. Much better. It left a gaping hole and spidery lines crackled through the tempered glass. I hurried the breaking glass along by knocking the edges with the concrete kitten. With one last tap, the remaining glass rushed to the floor in bits. The windowpanes proved to be ornamental and gave easily when I yanked them.
I was able to step inside, glass crunching under my feet, freezing air gushing in through the huge opening. The faint smell of bleach mingled with pine and the smoky scent of fire. I rushed toward the shoe I’d seen, and found Bonnie sprawled on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table.
I shoved the coffee table aside and kneeled by her head. Tapping her cheeks gently, I called her name, but she didn’t revive. Surely she couldn’t be dead? There was no blood, no sign of a wound.
My throat contracted with fear as I reached for her wrist. She still wore the winter white outfit she’d worn to her party earlier. Her makeup was perfect. She looked like she ought to sit up and start talking.
I couldn’t find a pulse. I felt her neck, hoping I was just being clumsy, and that she was alive. The doorbell rang, and I jumped at the sound. My heart beating like crazy, I ran through the adjoining kitchen in search of the front door. Fortunately, Bonnie’s house wasn’t very large. I twisted the deadbolt and threw the door open to emergency medical technicians. Thanking them for coming, I led the way to Bonnie.
They moved the coffee table for better access, revealing a music box and a fancy ribbon with a felt snowman attached to it, as well as a jewelry-sized box and a little Christmas gift-wrap bag that it must have come in. I picked them up to get them out of the EMTs way.
Old, probably an antique, the large music box was made of inlaid woods and featured string instruments. I’d never seen one quite like it. Judging from the size of the white box on the sofa, the music box must have been a gift she’d opened while waiting for me to arrive. If I wasn’t mistaken about the wrapping—a gift from Shawna.
The small white box contained a pearl brooch in the shape of a flower. The tag on the bag read, “Can’t wait for another romantic evening with you.”
Ouch. That had to be from Phil.
“Is she diabetic?” one of the EMTs asked.
I had no idea. I rushed to the kitchen, where the acrid smell of bleach hung in the air, proving Bonnie’s prowess as an immaculate housekeeper. Her refrigerator was spotless. I moved aside a bowl of what appeared to be ambrosia, judging from the mandarin orange slices. Bonnie stocked a fairly amazing assortment of cheeses, a boxed angel food cake, a store-bought roast chicken, a container of cornbread stuffing, and several cans of refrigerator biscuit dough. I checked the door of the fridge but didn’t see any insulin among her condiments.
When I returned to the EMTs, they were administering CPR. “I don’t see any insulin,” I offered.
Her purse! Of course. Wouldn’t a diabetic have some sort of medical card in her wallet? I found it on the console in the front hall. A small beaded purse in ecru with a tarnished metal strap. Vintage, perhaps? I snapped it open. On top I found a black velvet ring box.
NINE
From “Ask Natasha” :
Dear Natasha,
I make my own wrapping paper (I love your show!), and I die a little each time someone crumples it and throws it to the floor. I sneak behind them and collect it, but the following year, it always looks so sad. How can I save my beautiful paper?
—Unwrapped in Gift, Mississippi
Dear Unwrapped,
Place a protective sheet over your ironing board and iron your wrapping paper on a very low heat with no steam. Either fit it into a large, flat box, or gently roll it and insert it inside a long, cardboard tube for the next year.
—Natasha
Curiosity got the better of me, and I took two seconds to snap the box open. A fancy diamond engagement ring sparkled inside. It definitely wasn’t the honker Bonnie flashed around at her party. Still, it was a decent-size pear-shaped stone, the sort of thing a young lawyer might give his fiancée. The one missing from Beau’s sock drawer, perhaps? I set it aside and located her wallet easily, but it didn’t contain any medical information that I could see.
Beau would know. I glanced around for a home office, where she would have his phone number. I found a tiny room upstairs with a desk piled high with papers and magazines. For an organizer, she wasn’t very organized. Hoping she’d called Beau recently, I found a phone and hit the redial button.
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Beau answered the phone, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Sophie Winston, Beau. I’m at your mom’s house and she’s been taken ill. Can you tell me if she’s diabetic or has some kind of medical condition?”
I heard his breath catch.
“No. She’s not diabetic. I’m on my way.” The phone clicked off.
The door bell rang again. When I opened the door, Detective Kenner stood on the doorstep.
His cold black eyes flashed wide at the sight of me. “Sophie?”
Honestly, I was equally shocked to see him. As a homicide detective, he wouldn’t have been called unless Bonnie was dead and someone suspected foul play. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t nice of me, but I blurted out the words before I realized how hostile they sounded.
“That’s what I was going to ask you. We were called to the scene of a suspicious death.”
“We?”
A woman trotted up the steps behind him and nodded at me before she passed.
“The medical examiner and me.”
“That was fast.” Granted, I’d been racing around in a panicked search for insulin, but Kenner’s presence meant the EMTs must have called in right away.
“We happened to be at the police station when the call came in.”
At least he hadn’t accused me of murder yet, as was his habit. I braced myself, though. With Wolf out of town, I didn’t have a friend on the police force.
“Merry Christmas!” he uttered softly, as though he was afraid to say it. The taut skin on his face flushed, and he pushed past me.
I followed him to the EMTs.
He stopped abruptly, and I knew he was taking in the glass on the floor and the broken window.
“I did that.” I might as well admit it up front. He would question me about it anyway. “I could see her shoe, and I thought she might need help.”
He didn’t acknowledge what I said, just went about his business with the EMTs.
The rush of adrenaline that had coursed through me began to abate. With great sadness, I realized that revival efforts had come to a halt.
Bonnie had died, much too prematurely. Poor Beau had been considering a future with Shawna, and now he would face it without his doting mother. I glanced around, wondering where Phil was. Was he staying with Bonnie over the holidays? I shivered from the combination of horror at Bonnie’s sudden death and the frosty air that filled the room through the huge hole I’d made.
Kenner rose from a squat next to Bonnie. He walked over to me and asked when I had arrived and what I had seen and done. I made it clear again that I had broken the glass to gain entry.
For once, Kenner didn’t badger me. He didn’t shout or threaten me. In fact, the beady-eyed guy whom I disliked so intensely had vanished. The prominent nose and sunken cheeks looked the same, but he treated me with such politeness and deference that I almost forgot how dreadful he’d been to me in the past.
“What were you doing here?” he asked.
“We had an appointment. She wanted to talk about making organizing videos.”
“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”
“My family.”
He nodded and stepped back to allow a gurney with Bonnie’s body to pass.
“What do you think happened?”
Kenner spoke matter-of-factly. “We’ll know more after the autopsy.” He looked away as though he was uncomfortable. “There’s no outward sign of violence. She may have died of natural causes.”
“Then why were you called?”
“The broken window, I guess.”
I studied him. He’d arrived awfully soon. Then again, maybe there wasn’t a lot going on in town on the day after Christmas.
He followed the gurney out. I picked the wrapping paper up off the floor and folded the festive print of snowflakes on a red background. Bonnie wouldn’t want it strewn about and crumpled. Her holiday cheer showed everywhere. A fat red pillar candle surrounded by holly sprigs decorated the coffee table. The only books in the room were three carefully stacked art books on a side table on which a trio of elves danced. The slender artificial tree decorated in a cheerful candy theme seemed out of place now.
Shouting at the front of the house drifted to me. I placed the paper on the table and hurried to the front door. On the sidewalk under the streetlights, Bonnie’s handsome son, Beau, yelled at Shawna, “This is your fault!”
Kenner eyed Shawna with the same sharp look that he had used on me so many times.
Shawna didn’t notice his scrutiny. She threw herself at Beau, trying to wrap her arms around his neck. “You can’t mean that! You’re upset and not thinking straight. Honey, you need me.”
Beau untangled himself from her groping hands. “My mother was right. You and your crazy family are beneath us. I never should have gotten involved with you. She’d be alive right now if I’d listened to her.”
I shot down the stairs and into the street to Shawna’s side. In as calm a voice as I could muster, I said, “Beau, I’m so sorry about your mother’s death, but Shawna had nothing to do with it.”
I expected him to burst into tears and take comfort in Shawna’s open arms, but he glared at me, which reminded me that I was a stranger to him.
“She warned me about Shawna. She said you would ruin my life—and now you have!” He stormed to a blue BMW and slid into the driver’s seat. The ambulance carrying Bonnie’s body drove away, and Beau pulled into the street behind it. Poor Shawna gripped the car door and ran alongside, begging Beau to listen to her.
He sped up and left her—a lonely figure standing in the middle of the street.
Kenner sidled up to me. “You know her?”
“You probably do, too. Shawna waits on tables at The Laughing Hound.”
“I don’t go there much. I thought you might be related.”
Because my family was beneath Bonnie and Beau? “By marriage. My brother’s wife is Shawna’s sister.”
His jaw pulled tight, and I would have sworn he stood a hair more erect. “Given the circumstances, I don’t think we should date just now. I can’t compromise an investigation—not even for you.”
Date!? Good heavens, I’d hoped that nonsense was behind us. As scary as it was to contemplate a date, the word investigation worried me more. “But there’s nothing to investigate!” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted kick myself. What was I thinking? It was the perfect excuse not to go out with him. But I couldn’t leave Shawna in a bad position. “You know perfectly well that there’s no sign of foul play.”
In spite of the darkness, I swear I saw a twinkle in his eye when he said, “And you know perfectly well that not all foul play means blood and gore. There are plenty of ways to kill a person.” He paused, like he was assessing my reaction. “Women are more prone to killing with poison, slow and sinister. Much tidier that way.”
Chills rippled across my back. “Shawna didn’t murder Bonnie. Beau’s reaction came from the stress of bad news—the heat of the moment. It’s not uncommon for people to want to blame someone when a loved one dies. It doesn’t mean anyone committed murder. It’s just a psychological response to the situation.”
His thin lips pulled into a smile. “You’re not going to talk me into that date until I know for sure that she died of natural causes. But it’s very flattering that you’re so eager.”
I was anything but eager. As much as I didn’t want Shawna to be under suspicion, it did buy me a little time. When Wolf returned, we might have to finally admit that we were dating just to get Kenner off my back.
A uniformed cop I didn’t know looked out the front door and asked, “Do you have anything personal in here, ma’am?”
“No.” I shook my head, and he secured the door. I turned to Kenner and said, “Good night.” It was abrupt and reflected my discomfort, but I didn’t know what else to say. I walked away, toward Shawna.
Wind whipped her hair into her face but she made no effort to remove it. Her arms hugged her chest, as if sh
e were cold.
“C’mon, Shawna. Let’s go home.” I wrapped an arm around her and began to walk in the direction of my house.
She toddled along, like a child who had no choice in the matter. The twinkling lights I had enjoyed so much on my way to Bonnie’s seemed wrong. Her death had brought the festive feeling to an abrupt end.
“He loves me, you know,” Shawna blurted.
“I’m sure he does.” I wasn’t at all certain that was the case, but it wouldn’t help her to know that. Besides, I was an outsider. I didn’t know much about their relationship.
“Do you think we’re not good enough for them? It’s not like they’re rolling in dough or they arrived on the May-flower ,” she sniffed.
“Don’t be silly. Beau was ... is lucky to have you.” I couldn’t help suspecting that Bonnie had indeed said something about Shawna’s unworthiness to Beau. It came out of his mouth in the heat of the moment, not like a lie that he had to make up first. But if Shawna and her family weren’t good enough for Beau, then why was Shawna’s father good enough for Bonnie?
I opened the gate to the service alley that ran alongside my home. Through the window in the door, my kitchen looked warm and welcoming. I ushered Shawna inside. With a whimper, she hustled to Laci for a hug.
“Sophie!” cried my mom. “Thank goodness you’re here. I was getting so worried about you, but your brother and father insisted I shouldn’t interrupt your meeting by calling you on the cell phone. Have you had dinner? I hope you don’t mind that we went ahead and ate.” She bustled by me and whispered, “I had to do something to distract everyone.”
I shrugged off my coat and tossed it over the back of a chair.
Laci held her sister, her eyes closed and her face wrinkled like she was trying not to sob. She seemed to be having trouble composing herself.
