Toni L.P. Kelner - Laura Fleming 07 - Mad as the Dickens

by Toni L. P. Kelner

  “I’ll go,” Jake said immediately.

  “Let me do it, little brother,” David said.

  “We’ll all go,” Florence announced, and she took the two men by the hand to follow Mark.

  There was dead silence for a few seconds, and then people started chattering, probably trying not to think about what the Murdstones were going through. I took advantage of the distraction to escape Aunt Maggie and Richard long enough to go to Junior. Her nieces and nephews seemed relatively unaffected and were playing with brightly colored Gameboys.

  “Junior, what’s going on?” I asked her.

  “You heard Deputy Pope,” Junior said, with extra-heavy emphasis on Mark’s title. “He’s in charge here—I’m just a private citizen.”

  “I heard it; I just didn’t believe it. Since when do you let personal time get in the way of police business?” Usually it was the other way around. Junior had been using official excuses to get out of unwanted family and social obligations for years.

  Junior frowned. “This vacation wasn’t exactly my idea. I got a memo from the city council that I had some accrued vacation, and if I didn’t take it I’d lose it at the end of the year. I wasn’t going to worry about it, but Mark found out.”

  “Why did he care?”

  “Didn’t you know he’s angling for my job?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Apparently he’s been nursing a grudge ever since I took over for Daddy—he just did a good job of hiding it up until recently. He figures the more time he has in charge, the better his chances are of proving to the city council that they need a real man in the job.”

  “Is anybody dumb enough to buy that?”

  “I hope not, but you know the council. Some of them think I’m going to up and quit as soon as I find myself a man to marry.”

  “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Anyway, Mark called my mama and told her I was working too hard. Mama has been complaining for years that I don’t take enough time off at Christmas, and when she found out how much vacation I was going to lose, she tore into me about it. I tried to tell her about the mess that people get into over the holidays, like drunk driving and shoplifting and domestic problems, but she was a police chief’s wife too long to be impressed. She said Mark can handle the drunks by himself, and he can get my brother to help with the domestics, and that nobody bothers to shoplift in Byerly when they can go to the mall in Hickory instead. So to make her happy, I told her I’d take the time off. Which means that, short of a major emergency, I’m not to even set foot in the station until after New Year’s.”

  I know there are people who would think Junior was insane for letting her mother push her around like that, but those people don’t have families. Or maybe their families aren’t run by anybody as strong-willed as Mrs. Norton. I said, “We can always hope for an earthquake.”

  “Even that might not be enough to convince Mama. Though I might have been able to change her mind if we’d known you were coming down.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Laurie Anne, do you know how few homicides we get in Byerly, and what percentage of those homicides take place when you’re in town?”

  “Ha, ha,” was the best response I could come up with. “Anyway, can’t you get away with helping Mark on the sly? Without telling your mama?”

  “I might could, but Mark won’t accept so much as a suggestion from me while he’s trying to impress the city council with how good he’d be as police chief.”

  “Isn’t catching a killer more important than making points?”

  “Of course it is, but Mark’s bound and determined to prove what a big man he is.”

  “Playing politics shouldn’t come between the police and solving murders.”

  “It happens all the time,” Junior said. “I hear it’s even worse in big departments, not to mention competition between the county mounties and state troopers, and federal versus local, and every other kind of authority. Fighting over turf is a fact of life. Besides which …” I waited for her to go on, but all she did was to shake her head and mutter, “It’s probably nothing.”

  I knew I wouldn’t get anything more out of her until she was ready, so I changed the subject. “Do you think Mark is up to handling the case?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see,” was all she would say.

  Vasti burst in then, completely ignoring the officer who was trying to stop her. “What in the Sam Hill is going on?” she said, looking at all of us accusingly. Then she saw me. “Laurie Anne, I told you to keep an eye on things. What did Richard do now? I saw an ambulance out there. Don’t tell me he hit somebody!”

  “Of course he didn’t hit anybody!” I snapped.

  Mark Pope appeared and said, “What’s this about somebody hitting people?”

  “Nobody hit anybody,” I said; then I realized how ridiculous that was, considering what had happened to Seth. “I mean—”

  “What she means is that her husband has been repeatedly losing his temper ever since he got here,” Vasti said, “but I’d never have left him alone if I’d known he was going to get violent.”

  Mark actually pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Would you say Mr. Fleming had any particular animosity toward Seth Murdstone?”

  “Lord, yes,” Vasti said, rolling her eyes. “He’s been picking on Seth ever since he got into town.”

  “Was the late Mr. Murdstone acquainted with Mr. Fleming before then?”

  “I don’t think so. Why—” She stopped. “What do you mean, ‘the late Mr. Murdstone’?”

  I said, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Vasti. Somebody killed Seth.”

  “What?”

  “Chief Norton said she’d told everyone it was an accident,” Mark said, his attention suddenly on me.

  “A child could have seen it wasn’t an accident,” I said in as scathing a tone as I could manage. “Besides which, Junior and I already discussed it.”

  “I wasn’t aware Chief Norton was sharing information about the investigation,” Mark said.

  “Just one private citizen talking to another,” Junior said.

  Mark narrowed his eyes. “Then let’s get back to Mr. Fleming. Mrs. Bumgarner, you were explaining how Mr. Fleming came to know Mr. Murdstone.”

  “I didn’t even know they knew each other,” Vasti said, flustered. “Laurie Anne never told me.”

  “They didn’t know each other!” I said. The baby picked that moment to start kicking, and I was about ready to join in.

  “Mark,” Junior said, “if you ever get around to questioning witnesses, you’ll find out that Richard was on stage when Seth was killed. I can vouch for him myself.”

  “Is that right?” Mark said, sounding disappointed as he shoved the note pad back into his pocket. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to the investigation.” He stalked off.

  “Thanks a lot, Vasti,” I said. “You almost got Richard arrested for murder.”

  “Did I hear that correctly?” Richard said, joining us.

  That led to two rounds of explanations: one to tell Vasti what had happened to Seth; and a second to tell Richard the ridiculous conclusion Mark Pope had come to.

  “That idiot,” I seethed. “How dare he think that about Richard!”

  “It is his job to explore every possibility,” Richard said mildly, “though I must admit I’d never considered myself the murderous type.”

  Then Vasti said, “But what are we going to do about the play?”

  “Vasti!” I said. “A man’s been killed.”

  “I know that, Laurie Anne, but we’ve made a commitment to the community, and to the Shriners’ Hospital. Let’s not forget about that.”

  “You mean, let’s not forget about your getting into the Junior League!” I shot back. I was planning to keep going when Junior reached out and touched my arm.

  “Y’all might want to hold off on that for now,” she said. “They’re bri
nging out Seth.”

  We quieted down and turned to watch as ambulance attendants rolled out a gurney with a black body bag on top. David, Jake, and Florence followed after, their eyes red from crying.

  Feeling awful for arguing with my own cousin at a time like that, I reached out and rubbed Vasti’s shoulders in silent apology. She nodded back and squeezed my hand as we watched the Murdstones accompany Seth outside. There were plenty of tears then, and I wasn’t ashamed that I was one of the ones crying.

  After that, I thought the question of the play would be moot, considering that we’d just lost our Scrooge and figuring that surely the other Murdstones wouldn’t want to go on. But I’d underestimated Vasti.

  At least she wasn’t rude enough to bring it up again right then. Not that she had a chance. Once Seth’s body was gone, a crew of county police officers started pulling people aside to question us about what had happened during rehearsal.

  The humorless officer who interviewed me wouldn’t tell me a thing, and at first I wondered if Mark had warned him about me. Then I realized that as far as he was concerned, I was a murder suspect. After all, I’d been outside alone for a while, and that could have been when Seth was killed. Maybe I should have been gratified that he would think a pregnant woman capable of murder, but I wasn’t.

  After having me go over my whereabouts about a dozen times, and then those of Richard, he wanted to know where everybody else in the crew had been at every moment of the rehearsal. I was more than a little embarrassed to have to tell him that I had no idea. I knew Richard had been on stage, and that Vasti and Junior had spoken to me at various points, but otherwise, it was just a blur. People had been wandering onstage, and backstage, and into the kitchen, and all over. When it came down to it, the only person I could really vouch for was myself, and I didn’t have anybody to give me an alibi.

  When he finally gave up on me, I was sent to sit down at a table with the other witnesses. Or maybe we were suspects, because an officer was standing over us, watching and listening. Mark was still questioning Jake, but everybody else was sitting around, looking bored, disgusted, or annoyed. Needless to say, Vasti was one of the annoyed ones.

  “Can you believe that that officer had the nerve to ask if I went straight to my in-laws’ house?” she said. “I told her that it was Bitsy’s feeding time, but she seemed to think I could have snuck around back and killed Seth.”

  “It’s theoretically possible,” I said, “assuming you had a reason to want Seth dead.”

  She glared at me.

  “I know you didn’t do it, Vasti, but they don’t.” I’d been just as mad at the officer who interviewed me, but I did understand why he was acting that way. “They’re just determining who could have killed Seth. Isn’t that right, Junior?”

  “That’s what they’re trying to do, anyway,” she said, “but I don’t think they’ll have much luck. We all compared notes a minute ago, and nobody’s in the clear except your husband.”

  “Really?”

  There were nods all around.

  Before I could ask anything else, Mark brought Jake back over. I was expecting Mark to say something about the case, but all he said was that the investigation was proceeding and that none of us should leave town. If I hadn’t been worn slap out, I’d have tried to get more out of him, but it was awfully late and I was starving. So when he said we could go, I went.

  My next thought was to talk things over with somebody in the family, but Aunt Maggie said she was going straight to an auction where she was supposed to sell, Vasti had to go get Bitsy, and the triplets had dates. So Richard and I made a quick stop at Hardee’s for dinner, and though he and I halfheartedly rehashed the whole mess, neither of us really had anything to say that we hadn’t heard already. I was relieved to fall into bed.

  Chapter 7

  Richard and I stay with Aunt Maggie when we’re in Byerly, in the Burnette home place where I’d grown up. I don’t know how many Burnettes have lived in that old white clapboard house, but going there makes me feel like I’m surrounded by family. When my parents were alive, we were always there visiting, and after they died, I’d gone to live there with Paw. Years later, when Paw died, the house had passed on to Aunt Maggie, but she’d never hesitated to open the doors to me. She’d even left my bedroom the same as it had been when I left, so when I awoke late the next morning, it was in comfortably familiar surroundings.

  I stumbled downstairs to the den in the basement, found Richard reading, and joined him on the flower-patterned couch. “Where’s Aunt Maggie?” I said around a yawn.

  “She was up at the crack of dawn as usual, pursuing her appointed rounds.”

  Though the flea market where she sold was only open on weekends, Aunt Maggie spent most of the rest of the week tracking down new merchandise at auctions, yard sales, thrift stores, and who knew where else.

  “I should have known.” Then I caught a glimpse of the cover of the book in his hand. “What are you reading?”

  He looked sheepish as he held it up. “It’s one of Aunt Maggie’s romances. I didn’t bring anything to read other than Dickens and related material, and there doesn’t seem to be any reason to finish them now.”

  “I’m sorry you won’t get to direct the play,” I said, hugging him, “but you’ll get another chance.”

  “I suppose,” he said. “It’s not important now.”

  “Maybe you can hook up with one of the local theater groups when we get back home.”

  “I don’t think there’s going to be time before the baby arrives.” He patted my tummy. “And I have a hunch this little one is going to be taking up a lot of my energy for the next few years.”

  “He or she sure is taking up a lot of mine now,” I said, stifling another yawn. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly eleven. You better hurry up. Junior will be here soon.”

  “Shoot, I’d forgotten about getting together with Junior,” I said. Before everything had gone crazy the day before, Junior had asked me to go to lunch with her. “Do you think she still wants to go?”

  “She called to confirm a little while ago.”

  “Don’t you want to come with us?” I asked, not wanting to leave him there by himself.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then maybe I’ll call her and cancel. I’m kind of tired after yesterday.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said with a knowing smile. “You just don’t want me to brood about the play. But I’m not brooding—I just want to finish this book. Romances are really underrated. The plot of this one is incredibly complicated and I want to see how the author ties it all together.”

  I let him get away with it for two reasons. First, I was pretty sure that he’d say so if he needed me to stay. And second, he loved reading enough that he probably really did want to see how the book ended. So I headed upstairs to shower, dress, do my hair, and take my prenatal vitamin. When I heard Junior honking her car horn from the driveway, I asked again if he wanted to come, but by that point he was so immersed in the book that all he did was wave.

  When I got into Junior’s battered Jeep, the first thing I noticed was her outfit. I rarely saw her in anything but her police uniform and cowboy boots, but today she had on winter white slacks with a matching blazer, a pretty blue blouse, and flats. “You’re looking spiffy today. I feel underdressed.” Actually I’d felt underdressed most of the time I’d been pregnant. I had a couple of nice maternity outfits for work, but mostly I was relying on stretch pants and oversized sweatshirts like what I was wearing. “Is that makeup?”

  “I don’t get many excuses to dress up. Besides, I was up early and didn’t have anything better to do.”

  “This vacation is pretty hard on you, isn’t it?” I said sympathetically.

  “You don’t know the half of it. Now that the play’s been canceled, Mama wants me to help with the baking and wrapping and shopping and I don’t know what all.”

  “Don’t you enjoy getting into the Christmas spiri
t?” I teased.

  “About as much as getting a tooth pulled. I like Christmas fine, but I’ve burnt every Christmas cookie I’ve ever tried to make, my presents have to be rewrapped before they’re fit to be seen under a tree, and I’d rather face a riot than a mall at Christmastime. Riding herd on the kids at rehearsals was boring, but it beat the heck out of the alternatives.”

  “Any word about the investigation?”

  “I’m just a private citizen, remember?” she said.

  I quickly changed the subject. “Where are we going to eat?”

  “Wherever you want.”

  “I’m dying for some barbecue,” I said. “How about Fork-in-the-Road? It’s closer than Pigwick’s, and I’m about to starve.”

  She snickered. “Does being pregnant really make women that hungry?”

  “Junior, I swear I dream of food. I wonder if Aunt Nora has started her Christmas baking yet; I could really go for some of her double-butter cookies.”

  “You can find out later. My mama asked me to drop by her house later and pick something up.”

  “Why don’t we go now? I can wait that long for barbecue.” Besides which, Aunt Nora’s house was closer than Fork-in-the-Road and she always had food around.

  “Let’s not. I know you Burnettes—if y’all get to talking, we won’t get out of there for an hour.”

  “Good point. Barbecue now, double-butter cookies later.”

  We made small talk about old friends from high school along the way, and in no time we were sitting at a table with a plastic red-and-white checked tablecloth, with iced tea, heaping plates of pulled-pork barbecue, and a basket of hush puppies in front of us.

  I took a big bite of barbecue and sighed happily. “I really ought to take some of this home with me and let my Boston friends taste what they’ve been missing. They grill beef, put some ketchup or barbecue sauce on it, and think they’ve got something. They look at me like I’m crazy when I try to tell them they need a vinegar sauce, but if they had just one bite of this …”

  “Laurie Anne, you know as well as I do that if you took any of this up North, you’d have it all eaten yourself before anybody knew you were back.”