by Krista Davis
Uh-oh. I might not be fully awake, but I knew where this was going.
Mom floated over to Zack and offered him steaming coffee in a bright red mug that featured a Christmas tree. She sat next to him on the sofa. The scent of nutmeg floated to me.
“Thank you.” He sipped the coffee. “This is so much better than the swill they have at the station. So, Sophie, we were hoping you might find it in your heart to step in and help us.”
“Us?” asked Mom.
“Several law enforcement agencies participate. But we’re not on the organizing end. Bonnie did all that. I’m in charge of Fairfax County’s involvement.”
I was mulling it over when Hannah flounced back into the living room. Dressed in a cerise shirt with one too many buttons unbuttoned to show cleavage, and a pair of my jeans that I couldn’t fit into, she looked like a casual bombshell. Her hair hung loose and long, and her makeup concealed every hint of exhaustion.
Zack nearly spilled his coffee.
“We would love to help,” purred Hannah. “The whole family will pitch in!”
Mom oh-so-subtly tapped her wedding ring. “Will your wife be helping, too, Zack?”
“Uh, no. I’m divorced.”
I thought Mom and Hannah might swoon and break into applause. They controlled themselves, though, and immediately invited him to breakfast.
Zack appeared to thrive on their attention. Walking between Mom and Hannah, he was ushered into the kitchen.
Dad placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, bunnikins. Sounds like a lot of people depend on the proceeds from that auction. It would be a shame if they had to cancel it.”
I wanted to point out that I hadn’t agreed—it was Hannah who volunteered us all—but the truth was that I would have done it anyway. Bonnie’s auction benefitted needy people. After the chaos of our holiday, it would do us good to help those less fortunate. Our turkey and gifts might have been stolen, but they weren’t things we couldn’t replace or do without.
As I walked up the stairs to my bedroom to change clothes, it occurred to me that the auction might help get Laci’s mind off her troubles. I opened the bedroom door and found Marnie sitting up in my bed, holding a wet washcloth against her forehead.
“I’m sorry, I just came to get some clothes. Won’t take me a minute.”
“I’m the one who should apologize.” She spoke softly, her eyes closed. “I’ve been such a fool. And now I’ve gone and made things worse.”
I retrieved a soft green turtleneck and jean shirt while I pondered what to say. I’d been through a divorce, but it had been fairly civil. I never felt the need to go on a drinking binge or wear elf shoes. Folding the clothes over my arm, I decided she probably needed to vent. “He said you threw him out. Did you think he was seeing someone else?”
Marnie’s laugh sounded like a croak before it warped to a moan. She opened her eyes and held her head between her hands as though she wanted to steady it. “I certainly didn’t think so at the time, but now I have to wonder. Phil wasn’t the type to fool around with other women. He was a good dad, and a loyal husband.”
“Then why did you throw him out?”
“That’s a bit of dramatic license by Phil. I imagine he meant to make me feel responsible, which I suppose I am. You don’t have children, do you?”
I shook my head and found the jeans with the hidden elastic waist.
“Laci and Shawna were the center of our lives. When they left home, Phil was promoted to vice president in charge of personnel at the brewery, and I became the principal of our elementary school. Life was good, but it was all about work. We retired within a month of each other and it seemed like life screeched to a sudden halt. Phil and I were left staring at each other with nothing to say.”
I didn’t dare jostle the bed by sitting on the corner, so I perched on the edge of a chair and listened to her.
“I tried to talk him into ballroom dancing classes, but he refused. I suggested we buy a camper and hit the road, see the country. He couldn’t leave his precious supersized TV behind. He didn’t want me to join a book club or get a dog to take to visit kids in hospitals.”
A note of irritation crept into her voice. “Then at Thanksgiving, after the kids left, it was just Phil and me and the TV and leftover pecan pie. I thought—is this all there is? Am I going to spend the rest of my days handing Phil pie and washing dishes while he watches TV?” Marnie sat up, her face full of fury, but she promptly groaned and carefully leaned back against the headboard. “So I suggested a separation and told him I intended to stay in the house. I had to! He wouldn’t have lifted a finger. The place would have fallen down around him while he was glued to that TV set.”
She applied the damp washcloth to her head again. “I thought it would be good for him to get out. To be forced to live again. I never thought the fat old fool would find another woman.”
I hardly dared ask, but I did anyway. “Do you still love him?”
She sat up straight. “Yes. Yes, I do. And I’m going to get him back if it’s the last thing I do!” She winced and spoke more softly. “But first I think I need a nap to sleep off this headache.”
I tiptoed out, closed the door, and took my clothes into the bathroom.
After a shower, I dressed in the green turtleneck, jeans, and an oversized denim shirt embroidered with snowy pine trees, and returned to the kitchen, where Mom was cutting juicy cantaloupe and shimmering kiwis for fruit salad.
She’d laid round loaves of sourdough bread on the kitchen island. “Baked eggs with smoked salmon?” I asked.
“Do you mind? You know how much your dad and I like it.”
I listened to Hannah flirt with Zack as I chopped dried rosemary and fresh parsley and slid the sliced bread into the oven to toast a bit. The aroma of dried rosemary soon wafted through the kitchen.
Mochie sat on the seat in the bay window, his tail twitching angrily at the sight of Jen and Zack playing with the kittens.
I poured cream into a baking dish, dotted it with butter, and shoved it under the broiler. In minutes, the butter had melted and bubbled. I slid two eggs per person on top, sprinkled them with the herbs, and slid the baking dish under the broiler again.
While they cooked, I laid slices of smoked salmon across the warm bread.
Since there were too many of us to comfortably fit around the kitchen table, Laci and Dad set the dining room table with a red and white tablecloth adorned with Christmas trees around the edge and set it with festive red earthenware plates. I carefully spooned the baked eggs on top of the salmon and carried a tray of them into the dining room.
Dad had built a fire, and Laci had whipped together a charming cascading centerpiece of rosy pears, red apples, and assorted Christmas cookies.
“How clever of you,” I said. “We can eat the centerpiece for dessert.”
Laci beamed, and George gave her a little peck on the cheek. He whispered, but I heard him say, “We’ll get through this, too, babe.”
Our spirits had lightened considerably, maybe because we knew we were going to do something good for other people? Shawna was the only one dragging. Hollow-eyed from a sleepless night, her shoulders sagged, and she looked so morose I feared she might burst into tears. Apparently Beau still wasn’t taking her calls. Mom and Laci convinced Shawna that the trick would be to bake something to bring to him.
After breakfast, the three of them set to work making a chicken cheese casserole and a streusel cake. I used Daisy as an excuse to get out of the house and away from the chaos in my kitchen.
I slipped into a down jacket and clipped Daisy’s leash onto her harness. We left by the kitchen door and found the street to be eerily quiet. Leftover snowflakes still floated in the air, which added to the Christmas charm of the historic houses. Daisy happily trotted ahead of me, sniffing every gate and lamp post. Meanwhile, I wondered how I could obtain more information on Bonnie’s death. Wolf had always kept quiet about details, but my friends Humphrey and Nina had
connections and dug up the best information. They were away for the holidays, though, and I was on my own.
Daisy turned the corner and I followed, deep in thought. She paused to smell an urn that contained lighted branches, and I realized that we stood exactly where I had seen Forrest the day before.
I peered into the store window but couldn’t see much—just a dark, empty storefront. A FOR RENT sign rested in the window. I gazed around. There wasn’t much to see. Forrest must have been meeting someone. Why else would he dally in front of an empty building?
There was no good reason to stroll over to Bonnie’s house, but Daisy kept walking like she had a destination. She finally stopped to sniff around an adorable display of a green-clad Santa’s elf peering into a red sleigh. I was so absorbed in my thoughts about Bonnie that it took me a few seconds to register that the darling elf who perched on the sleigh was wearing high heels.
Suddenly, I had a feeling I knew where Marnie’s path had taken her the night before. Hoping no one noticed, I slid the shoes off the elf’s feet, promising him I would return his shoes the first chance I got.
Bonnie’s house was only a block away. I tried to convince myself that we were headed in that direction by Daisy’s choice. Right. I could blame it on Daisy, but I was the one itching to see what was going on.
In the overcast haze of snow-laden skies, so many lights glowed in the windows of Bonnie’s house, that it stood out from its neighbors long before we neared it. Figures hurried in and out, like busy giant ants. Police cars crowded the street, and a terrible suspicion sent a shiver creeping up my back—the autopsy must have revealed that Bonnie had been murdered.
Daisy pulled at the leash. Every dog owner in the neighborhood had used walking as an excuse to linger outside Bonnie’s house and be nosy. I’m ashamed to say that I readily joined them.
Polite sniffing ensued as Daisy greeted the other dogs, and I brazenly listened to the gossip.
“The son is devastated.”
“Did you hear she was planning to remarry? At her age!”
“Her killer broke into the house through a window in the back. This used to be such a safe neighborhood.”
“Excuse me.” I addressed the woman who spoke last. “I broke the window to get in when she didn’t answer the door. I don’t think you have to worry about your safety or the neighborhood.”
As though rehearsed, everyone took a step away from me. “They’re saying she was murdered,” said the woman.
“Well, I didn’t do it! I just found her.”
A man holding the leash of a Rhodesian ridgeback laughed with too much joy given the situation. “Too bad you didn’t do her in. You’d have been a heroine.”
“What an awful thing to say!” A woman snatched her Chihuahua off the sidewalk and into her arms as though she was afraid the laughing man would harm it. “Bonnie was warm and generous, and about the sweetest person I know.”
“Then you didn’t know the real Bonnie Scarborough.” The man’s Rhodesian ridgeback snuffled Daisy’s muzzle. “A whole lot of people are going to sleep better now that she’s gone. I’m not surprised that someone finally knocked her off. She was bound to torture the wrong person someday.”
“Torture!” said someone in the crowd. “I’m confused. Are you saying Bonnie hurt people or blackmailed them?”
“Blackmail is a strong word, and it implies financial gain. Manipulation was more Bonnie’s style. She got people to do her bidding, but they rarely realized she had manipulated them into it. Not until it was too late.”
I left the crowd to their speculation and turned to leave, but before I’d taken two steps, a hand gently touched my elbow.
“How are you, Sophie?” The muted lighting didn’t do anything kind to Kenner’s sharp features.
It was a simple question—the same one that every polite person asked but didn’t really want answered, yet there was something about the way he looked at me that creeped me out.
I was about to respond when a person in a large, unwieldy suit and a gas mask appeared on Bonnie’s front stoop. “Is that a Hazardous Materials Unit combing the house?”
TWELVE
From “Ask Natasha” :
Dear Natasha,
I love the holidays, but my townhouse doesn’t have a basement, attic, or garage. Where do I store all my decorations?
—Kitty in Ragland, Alabama
Dear Kitty,
Make your own storage boxes and hide them in plain sight! Wrap boxes and lids in fabric or paper that coordinate with your decor. Store your holiday decorations inside and slide onto a shelf until next year.
—Natasha
Kenner squirmed, like he didn’t want to confirm anything. “Are you experiencing any upper respiratory problems?”
“No.” I said it cautiously, taking a long breath.
“No coughing, wheezing, difficulty swallowing, or inhaling?”
“What’s going on, Kenner?”
“Don’t worry, I feel okay so far, too.”
“So far?!” Was he kidding? “If my health is at risk, I think I have a right to know what you’ve discovered.”
He chewed his lip. “Her upper respiratory tract swelled shut.”
“That’s why the EMTs gave up on CPR so fast.”
“At first blush, they thought the swelling was from an allergy, but now they think she inhaled some kind of chemical.”
“She died from some kind of weird chemical leak in her home?”
“That’s what they’re trying to rule out.”
I swallowed as a test. Was my throat sore? “Do you feel anything? What about the EMTs?”
“So far everyone is fine. It’s just that ... you were the first one on the scene.”
He left the implication hanging, but I knew what he was getting at. If there was toxic air in the house, I would have inhaled more than any of the responders.
“What do they think it is? Should I be worried?”
“I don’t know much yet, but I’ll keep you apprised.”
So that was why he stopped by the house last night to see how I felt. He really wanted to know if I was having any adverse reactions. “Thanks, Kenner. C’mon, Daisy, we’d better be getting back.”
He reached down to pet her, but she snarled. Kenner snatched his hand away.
“I’m so sorry. She must be agitated because of all the people and other dogs.” I didn’t really think that, though. She’d been a perfect lady up until Kenner tried to pet her. Daisy just plain didn’t like the guy.
He kept his eyes on her as though he didn’t trust her. “If you have any trouble breathing, go straight to the emergency room. Okay?”
Daisy and I walked away. I sucked in a deep breath. Everything still worked. No burning sensation or trouble inhaling. Whew!
I thought back to finding Bonnie on the floor. The house had smelled of pine, which I assumed came from Christmas decorations or some kind of pine-scented air infuser. The only other smell I’d noticed was bleach—not exactly an uncommon household odor.
We walked home, Daisy prancing happily in the cold weather, and me breathing erratically, making sure everything was functioning.
When someone called my name, I paused at the service gate to my house.
Natasha again.
“Sophie! Wait up.”
Wearing robin’s egg blue leggings that accentuated her long, slender legs, Natasha strode toward me with a young girl in tow.
“Did you hear about Bonnie Scarborough?” asked Natasha. The girl with her looked on in awkward boredom.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you know what happened? Car accident?”
“They don’t know the cause yet.” I smiled at the girl. “It’s cold out here. Come on in.”
A fire snapped and crackled in my kitchen fireplace, and the warmth was a welcome relief. The scent of cheddar cheese baking hung in the air. Hannah and Mom relaxed at the kitchen table.
Mochie leapt from his position, paraded by Nata
sha holding his tail high, and hissed at her.
“A drive-by hissing,” giggled Hannah.
Natasha drew back. “What’s wrong with him? He usually ignores me.”
“He’s put out because someone dropped off a couple of kittens. Sorry.” I tried to pick him up, but he raced under the table, then bounded back onto the chair and resumed his mission of guarding the kitchen from the interlopers.
“He’s a cat, they’re cats—why wouldn’t they like each other?” Natasha sounded puzzled.
“It’s a territorial thing. How would you feel if another woman moved into your house?”
Natasha stiffened at the thought. “Don’t be silly. Surely you’re not comparing me to an animal.”
I let it go. Natasha wouldn’t appreciate cats or dogs until she finally loved one. Besides, if I really had a mind to compare her to an animal, it wouldn’t be to a sweet feline or canine.
“They’re absolutely adorable,” said Mom. “It’s the most peculiar thing, the way they showed up. I think they’re purebred Ragdolls.”
“Ragdolls?” Natasha looked at Mom quizzically.
“A lovely breed of cat. They’re gorgeous and known for their loving and easygoing personalities.”
“Can I see them?” asked the girl with Natasha.
Natasha introduced the girl with her as Vegas.
My mother recoiled at the name but recovered quickly.
“Vegas is my cousin—second cousin, we think,” said Natasha. “She and her father are spending the holidays with us. I was hoping Jen might be around because I believe darling Vegas is getting a little tired of boring adults.”
Vegas made a show of sighing and turning her eyes toward the ceiling. Her cute face suggested she was around Jen’s age, but I thought I spied a spark of mischief in those big eyes. She stood nearly as tall as me, which wasn’t saying much, and when she handed me her jacket, I saw that she wore the latest teen trend, which displayed her bare stomach.
